The Aesthetics of Qiyun and Genius: Spirit Consonance in Chinese Landscape Painting and Some Kantian Echoes 1793641560, 9781793641564

Citation preview

The Aesthetics of Qiyun and Genius

The Aesthetics of Qiyun and Genius Spirit Consonance in Chinese Landscape Painting and Some Kantian Echoes

Xiaoyan Hu

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 6 Tinworth Street, London SE11 5AL, United Kingdom Copyright © 2021 The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. Cover image: A fourteenth-century unidentified artist, formerly attributed to Mi Fu (1052–1107), Spring Mountains and Pines. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 35 x 44.1 cm. National Palace Museum, Taipei. Accessed 2021. Open Government Data License, version 1.0. The Open Data is made available to the public under the Open Government Data License, and users can make use of it when complying with its terms and conditions. Open Government Data License: https://data.gov.tw/license. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Hu, Xiaoyan, author. Title: The aesthetics of qiyun and genius : spirit consonance in Chinese landscape painting and some Kantian echoes / Xiaoyan Hu. Other titles: Art of genius Description: Lanham : Lexington Books, [2021] | Revision of the author’s thesis (doctoral)—University of Liverpool, 2020, under the title: The art of genius : the notion of qiyun (spirit consonance) in Chinese painting and some Kantian resonances. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021014933 (print) | LCCN 2021014934 (ebook) | ISBN 9781793641564 (cloth) | ISBN 9781793641571 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Landscape painting, Chinese—Philosophy. | Aesthetics, Chinese. | Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804—Aesthetics. | Genius. Classification: LCC ND1366.7 .H814 2021 (print) | LCC ND1366.7 (ebook) | DDC 758/.151—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021014933 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021014934 ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Dedicated to my parents and teachers

Contents

List of Illustrations

ix

Preface xi Acknowledgments xv Chronology xix Introduction 1 PART I: THE NOTION OF QIYUN IN THE SIXTH TO FOURTEENTH CENTURIES

13

1 The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

15

2 The Thread of Qiyun: A Shared Legacy in Tenth-to-FourteenthCentury Landscape Painting

41

PART II: THE ART OF GENIUS: AN EXAMINATION OF QIYUN AESTHETICS FROM A KANTIAN PERSPECTIVE

99

3 The Master of Qiyun: Genius as an Innate Mental Talent of Idea-Giving

103

4 Spontaneity of Qiyun: Genius as the Innate Mental Talent of Rule-Giving

127

5 The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun: The Exemplary Originality of Genius in Yipin 163 6 Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I: Aesthetic Autonomy and Balanced Human Nature vii

189

viii

Contents

7 Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II: Moral Cultivation of the Kindred Mind

213

Conclusion 231 References 243 Index 267 About the Author

299

List of Illustrations

Figure 2.1 Guo Xi (1000–1090), Early Spring, 1072. 96 Figure 2.2 Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322), The Mind Landscape of Xie Youyu, ca. 1287. 97 Figure 2.3 Zhao Mengfu, Record of the Miaoyan Monastery, ca. 1309–1310. Princeton University Art Museum. 97 Figure 2.4 A fourteenth-century unidentified artist, formerly attributed to Mi Fu (1052–1107), Spring Mountains and Pines. 98 Figure 5.1 Ni Zan (1301–1374), Rongxi Studio, 1372. 184

ix

Preface

Although some philosophers attempt to widen the scope of art and redefine the notion of art with new theories, the controversy and difficulty in appreciating contemporary art and the new theories raise a question whether art should return to imitate nature and stop “flaunting” its artificiality or disseminating its conceptuality. My initial research started from examining the question whether art should imitate nature. It implied the following sub-questions: Should art look like nature? Does art merely pursue formal likeness so as to appear as nature? Could art avoid flaunting its artificiality or dictating its conceptuality? How should art appear as nature? Does the cognitive or moral dimension of art contradict the artistic representation of naturalness? Concerning these questions of whether and how art should appear as nature, not only do modern Western philosophers contribute different opinions, but classical Chinese aesthetics also contributes important insights to the history of art. Through comparing modern Western aesthetics and classical Chinese artistic theories, I noted that the notion of qiyun (which may be translated as spirit consonance) initially proposed by Xie He (active 500–ca. 535) and echoed by numerous Chinese artists, connoisseurs, and critics, may be a key notion in exploring the relationship between art and nature. Thus, I moved on to exploring these following questions: What are the explanation and philosophical origin of the notion of qiyun in classical Chinese art? What is the role and importance of qiyun in the artistic depiction of naturalness? Why are such unique aesthetic features of Chinese art as blandness beyond flavorlessness, and submerging-emerging of cloudy mountains highly valued? What is the relationship between the criterion of qiyun and the story of mists or the praise of blandness? Can we understand qiyun aesthetics in the analytical terms employed by modern Western aesthetics, that is, Kantian aesthetics? How does the criterion of qiyun bring in different possibilities, xi

xii

Preface

expecting art to involve creative spontaneity, emotional expression, and even a moral dimension instead of a focus on mimesis or representation? What is the role of unselfconsciousness in artistic spontaneity or intoxication for qiyun-focused artists attempting to create artworks which appear as nature? Drawing upon my research into these questions, this book discusses and provides an interpretation of the notion of qiyun in Chinese painting, and considers why creating a painting (especially a landscape painting) replete with qiyun is regarded as an art of genius, where genius is an innate mental talent. A central feature of my discussion is a comparison of the role of this innate mental disposition in the aesthetics of qiyun and Kant’s account of artistic genius. Through this comparison, the book addresses an important feature of the Chinese aesthetic tradition, one that evades the aesthetic universality imposed through the lens of Kant. Although this book does not provide final answers to the questions of whether and how art should appear as nature, as initially planned, I believe that one may still gain significant insights about these questions from my discussion of qiyun aesthetics in comparison with Kantian aesthetics. The book includes two parts. The first part draws upon the views of the Southern Dynasties artist Xie He, the late Tang art historian Zhang Yanyuan (847), the tenth-century landscapist and theorist Jing Hao (ca. 870–ca. 930), the Northern Song art historian Guo Ruoxu (ca. 1080), and the early Yuan connoisseur Tang Hou (ca. 1255–ca. 1317), to explain and discuss qiyun and its development from a notion mainly applied to figure painting to one that also plays an important and enduring role in the aesthetic of landscape painting. In the light of Kant’s account of genius, the second part examines a range of issues regarding the role of the mind in creating a painting replete with qiyun and the impossibility of teaching qiyun. These include why the ability to create paintings replete with qiyun is regarded as determined by an innate mental disposition endowed by tian (nature) and belonging only to a few gifted artists, how genius establishes pictorial yi (idea) under the animation of shen (spirit) in the context of qiyun-focused landscape painting, how following the rule of tian enables qiyun to be captured in artistic spontaneity, and why genius requires somatic training or practice despite the impossibility of teaching or learning qiyun. Also discussed are why and how yipin (the untrammeled class) demonstrates the originality and exemplarity of genius, why and how a pure, untrammeled and lofty mind is cultivated as an ideal mental state for conveying qiyun, how the disinterested aesthetic pleasure of the heart in tune with forest and stream is combined with an interest in pursuing the carefree wandering of a city-recluse-artist, and how a balanced human nature is nourished and its union with tian realized through painting a work replete with qiyun. Finally, I explore how the Confucian doctrine of

Preface

xiii

sincerity is involved in spiritual communion (shenhui) between artist, object, work and audience, and how aesthetic autonomy and the moral relevance of art are reconciled under the first criterion of qiyun. The comparison with Kant on these issues demystifies the uniqueness of qiyun aesthetics and also illuminates some limitations in Kant’s aesthetics.

Acknowledgments

I must first thank my parents and my brother for their loving support. I wish to thank Prof. Simon Hailwood, Prof. Barry Dainton, and Dr. Nikolaos Gkogkas for their valuable constructive advice given on the drafts of the book. My thanks to Dr. Christopher Bartley for advising me to narrow down the comparison of qiyun aesthetics and modern Western aesthetics to the comparison with Kantian aesthetics, and to Dr. Vid Simoniti and Dr. Chialing Yang for valuable advice. I also wish to thank Dr. Weijia Wang and Prof. Jingyao Zhou for inspiring discussions on Kant and on the theory of yijing, respectively. I am grateful to the editors of this book Jana Hodges-Kluck, Nicolette Amstutz, Sydney Wedbush, and Crystal Branson for their support and advice, and to anonymous reviewers for their valuable advice on my manuscript. My paper “The Notion of ‘Qi Yun’ (Spirit Consonance) in Chinese Painting”, an earlier and shorter version of chapter 1, was published in the Proceedings of the European Society for Aesthetics, vol. 8 (2016). The article “Genius as an Innate Mental Talent of Idea-giving in Chinese Painting and Kant,” a shorter and earlier version of chapter 3, first appeared in the volume 70, issue 2, 2020 issue of the journal Philosophy East and West published by the University of Hawai‘i Press (April 2020) (DOI: 10.1353/pew.0.0175). “The Dialectic of Consciousness and Unconsciousness in Spontaneity of Genius: A Comparison between Classical Chinese Aesthetics and Kantian Ideas,” an earlier and rough version of chapter 4, was published in the Proceedings of the European Society for Aesthetics, vol. 9 (2017). Chapter 6 is derived in part from the article “A Kantian Reading of Aesthetic Freedom and Complete Human Nature Nourished through Art in a Chinese Artistic Context” published in the journal Asian Philosophy 29 (2) (May 2019) (copyright of Taylor & Francis), available online: www​.t​​andfo​​nline​​.com/​​ xv

xvi

Acknowledgments

doi​/f​​ull​/1​​0​.108​​0​/095​​52367​​.2019​​.1610​​526. “The Moral Dimension of Qiyun Aesthetics and Some Kantian Resonances,” an earlier and shorter version of chapter 7, was published in the Proceedings of the European Society for Aesthetics vol. 11 (2019). “The Moral Dimension of Qiyun Aesthetics and Some Resonances with Kant and Schiller” (a shorter version of chapter 7) published in the journal Estetika: The European Journal of Aesthetics (2021), is a revised version of this paper. I wish to thank Prof. Franklin Perkins, Prof. Brian Carr, Prof. Yong Huang, Prof. Chung-Ying Cheng, Dr. Joseph Harroff, Dr. Tereza Hadravová, Dr. Zoltán Papp, Prof. Stephen R. Palmquist, Prof. Christian Helmut Wenzel, Prof. Jana S. Rošker, Prof. Pradeep Dhillon, Prof. Fabian Dorsch, Prof. Dan-Eugen Ratiu, Dr. Connell Vaughan, Prof. Iris Vidmar Jovanović, and anonymous reviewers for feedback given on my papers. Thanks also to the International Association for Aesthetics and Prof. Jianping Gao for a Young Scholar Award for my 2016 paper “Beyond Representation: Reconsidering Loehr’s Periodisation of Chinese Painting,” and also for the European Association for Chinese Philosophy and Prof. Ralph Weber for a Young Scholar Award Honourable Mention for my 2017 paper “The Master of Qiyun (Spirit Consonance): Genius as an Innate Mental Talent in Chinese Painting” (an earlier version of chapter 3). Thanks also to the European Society for Aesthetics for shortlisting my paper “Some Kantian Resonances to the Reconciliation of Aesthetic Autonomy and Moral Relevance in the Context of Classical Chinese Art” (an earlier version of section 7.2) for 2019 ESA Essay Award. I am also grateful to the IAA and EACP for the grants associated with these awards. I have given talks on topics covered in this book at universities/institutions in Belgrade, Belfast, Bath, Warsaw, Beijing, Taipei, Philadelphia, Sheffield, Leiden, Basel, Berlin, Seoul, Barcelona, Norwich, Southampton, Chester, and Liverpool. I am grateful to the participants in the various conferences and workshops involved for their comments. I thank the organizers and reviewers of these conferences/workshops including the Twenty-First International Congress of Aesthetics, Society for Asian and Comparative Philosophy Fifty-First Annual Conference, European Society for Aesthetics 2019 Annual Conference, Twenty-Fourth World Congress of Philosophy, Fourth Conference on Contemporary Philosophy in East Asia, American Society for Aesthetics 2018 Eastern Division Meeting, New Research on the History of Chinese Garden and Landscape Conference, Second Conference on Middle Period Chinese Humanities, Second Biennial Conference of the European Association for Chinese Philosophy, ESA 2017 Annual Conference, Twentieth International Congress of Aesthetics, ESA 2016 Annual Conference, Eye’s Mind: Visual Imagination, Neuroscience and the Humanities Conference, Third British Society for Aesthetics Postgraduate

Acknowledgments

xvii

Conference, Chinese Culture and the Creative Economy in Global Context Conference, and others. I also wish to thank the British Society for Aesthetics and the American Society for Aesthetics for 2019 and 2018 BSA travel grants and 2018 ASA Irene H. Chayes travel grant, respectively. My thanks also to the School of the Arts at University of Liverpool for postgraduate research support funding in 2016 and 2017. Thank Hong Kong University Press for granting me permission for using quotations from Early Chinese Text on Painting (Bush, Susan, and Hsio-yen Shih eds., 2012), copyright © 2012 Hong Kong University Press in this book.

Chronology

Xia Dynasty 夏 Shang Dynasty 商 Zhou Dynasty 周 Spring and Autumn period 春秋 Warring States period 戰國 Qin Dynasty 秦 Han Dynasty 漢 Western Han 西漢 Xin (Wang Mang Interregnum) 新 Eastern Han 東漢 Three Kingdoms 三國 Cao Wei 曹魏 Shu Han 蜀漢 Sun Wu 孫吳 Six Dynasties 六朝 Western Jin 西晉 Southern Dynasties 南朝 Eastern Jin 東晉 Liu Song 劉宋 Xiao Qi 蕭齊 Xiao Liang 蕭梁 Chen 陈 The Sixteen Kingdoms 五胡十六国 Northern Dynasties 北朝 Northern Wei 北魏 Eastern Wei 東魏 Western Wei 西魏 Northern Qi 北齊 Northern Zhou 北周 Sui Dynasty 隋 Tang Dynasty 唐 Five Dynasties (in the north) 五代 Later Liang 後樑

21st–16th century BCE 16th century BCE–ca. 1045 BCE ca. 1045 BCE –256 BCE 722–403/476 BCE 403/476–221 BCE 221–206 BCE 206 BCE–CE.220 206 BCE–CE 8 9–23 25–220 220–265 220–265 221–263 222–280 220 or 222–589 265–316 317 or 420–589 317–420 420–479 479–502 502–557 557–589 304–439 386–581 386–534 534–550 535–556 550–577 557–581 581–618 618–906 907–960 907–923

xix

xx Later Tang 後唐 Later Jin 後晉 Later Han 後漢 Later Zhou 後周 Ten Kingdoms (in the south) 十國 Shu 蜀 Later Shu 後蜀 Nanping or Jingnan 南平 Chu 楚 Wu 吳 Southern Tang 南唐 Wu–Yue 吳越 Min 闽 Southern Han 南漢 Northern Han 北漢 Liao Dynasty 遼 Song Dynasty 宋 Northern Song 北宋 Emperor Taizu Emperor Taizong Emperor Zhenzong Emperor Renzong Emperor Yingzong Emperor Shenzong Emperor Zhezong Emperor Huizong Emperor Qinzong Southern Song 南宋 Emperor Gaozong Emperor Xiaozong Emperor Guangzong Emperor Ningzong Emperor Lizong Emperor Duzong Emperor Gong Emperor Duanzong Jin Dynasty 金 Yuan Dynasty 元 Ming Dynasty 明 Qing Dynasty 清

Chronology 923–936 936–946 946–950 950–960 907 – 979 907–925 934–965 907–963 927–956 902–937 937–975 907–975 907–978 907–946 951–979 907–1125 960–1279 960–1127 reign: 960–976 reign: 976–997 reign: 997–1022 reign: 1022–1063 reign: 1063 – 1067 reign: 1067–1085 reign: 1085–1100 reign: 1100–1125 reign: 1126–1127 1127–1279 reign: 1127–1162 reign: 1162–1189 reign: 1189–1194 reign: 1194–1224 reign: 1224–1264 reign: 1264–1274 reign: 1275 reign: 1276–1278 1125–1234 1260–1368 1368–1644 1644–1911

Introduction

The question of whether art is representation or expression has triggered many debates among contemporary aestheticians. This was not such an either-or question for a qiyun-oriented Chinese artist. To understand this, our exploration might best start from the first law of qiyun shengdong 氣韻生动 (through spirit consonance engendering a sense of life), originally proposed by Xie He 謝赫 (active 500–535?) as the first of his six laws of Chinese painting, and echoed by numerous later Chinese artists up to this day. This aesthetic taste of valuing qiyun 氣韻 in painting has been advocated by intellectuals (scholar-artists or literati-artists and critics) throughout Chinese history. Focusing on the notion of qiyun in Chinese painting, my book attempts to use modern idioms to explain the qiyun-focused aesthetics formulated by the leading intellectual elite from sixth century to fourteenth century. As the first step, I will explain the notion of qiyun in painting initiated by Xie He, followed by the late Tang art historian and connoisseur Zhang Yanyuan 張彥遠 (815–875), and developed by the landscapist and theorist Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930, active in the late Tang and Five Dynasties), the Northern Song art historian and connoisseur Guo Ruoxu 郭若虛 (ca. 1080), and the early Yuan connoisseur and critic Tang Hou 湯垕 (ca. 1255–ca. 1317, active around the late thirteenth century and early fourteenth century). In the second step, I will focus on the role of mind in qiyun-focused art, by explaining why qiyun shengdong is an art of genius, how genius as an innate mental talent of idea-giving and rule-giving plays a significant role in creating work replete with qiyun, how genius’ original exemplarity is demonstrated in qiyun-focused art, and how aesthetic autonomy and moral cultivation through art are reconciled in the qiyun-focused context. In chapter 1, by tracing the meaning of each character of the four-character term qiyun shengdong from the pre-Qin period up to the Six Dynasties, I 1

2

Introduction

conduct a comparative analysis of the renderings of qiyun shengdong by influential Anglophone scholars, and establish “spirit consonance” as the rendering of qiyun. In addition, I present the merits and demerits of different interpretations regarding the meaning of qiyun suggested by the Anglophone scholars. I suggest that in the context of figure painting as a dominant genre from the Six Dynasties up till late Tang, the notion of qiyun is developed upon the notion of shen 神 proposed by the Eastern Jin master Gu Kaizhi 顧愷之 (ca. 345–ca. 406) in his account of chuanshen 傳神 (conveying the spirit of object depicted) and involves the following dimensions: once the painter successfully captures qiyun as the essential character of the object depicted, and transmits it into the work, qiyun further implies the expressive quality of the work beyond formal representation; spiritual communion between artist, object, work, and audience is required in this process. Although the qiyun (expressive content) of a work captures the qiyun (internal essential feature) of the object and reflects the painter’s qiyun (as the quality or disposition of its painter), we should not confine the notion of qiyun to merely the scope of the painter or the object or the work. We shall see that qiyun, as the core concept, draws the painter, the object, the work, and the audience together. In spite of attempting to offer a comprehensive explanation of qiyun, I do not want to give the reader an impression that I ignore the nuances or differences of the notion of qiyun in specific contexts. Some scholars such as Ronald Egan (2016, 283) think that Xie He intended his six laws including the first law and his notion of qiyun to apply only to figure painting in his time, and it was Jing Hao’s later application of qiyun to landscape painting that brings a new sense of landscape painting as a living and dynamic entity. One may question whether the notion of qiyun initially proposed by Xie He and inherited by Zhang Yanyuan significantly differs from the notion of qiyun applied by Jing Hao, further developed by Guo Ruoxu and Tang Hou in the tenth-to-fourteenth-century context dominated by the genre of landscape painting. Thus, in chapter 2, I attempt to argue against this objection to a possible generally applicable notion of qiyun. In the first three sections, by examining the notion of qiyun developed by Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou, and relevant artistic terms contributed by Song and Yuan artists and critics, we will see that although there are differences between Xie He and later critics, there are also important correspondences between them regarding the notion of qiyun. In the fourth section, I give a synthesis of these scholars’ views of qiyun. We will see that beyond the mere fact of their sharing the terminology of qiyun it is reasonable to posit an understanding of qiyun based on common grounds between them and justify a continuity of the legacy of a comprehensive notion of qiyun in tenth-to-fourteenth-century landscape painting. I show that the application of qiyun in landscape painting in this period reflects contemporary landscapists’, theorists’, and connoisseurs’

Introduction

3

conception of natural beings as processual, formulated through a synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism. Moreover, we will see that the notion of qiyun in landscape painting involves a moral dimension. We will see in chapter 2 that Jing Hao’s six essentials for creating a landscape masterpiece concern the role of the artist’s mind in formulating a mental image and commanding brush and ink to respond to the mind and release the mental image into the final image replete with qiyun; Guo Ruoxu explicitly points out that conveying qiyun through painting, is fundamentally determined by the innate mental disposition of the gifted artist; Tang Hou’s view echoes the earlier two scholars’ ideas regarding the role of the artist’s mind in creating a masterpiece. That creating a painting replete with qiyun is the art of genius (as innate mental disposition) is echoed by their contemporary and later artists, connoisseurs, and critics of influence, including Deng Chun (ca. 1107–ca. 1177), Dong Qichang (1555–1636), Shi Tao (1642–ca. 1707), and others. In the second part of book, I attempt to explain why and how Chinese painting replete with qiyun is the art of genius through comparing the eighteenth-century German philosopher Immanuel Kant’s (1724‒1804) view of genius. In five chapters (from chapter 3 to chapter 7), centring on the impossibility of teaching qiyun (qiyun feishi 氣韻非師) initially claimed by Guo Ruoxu, I focus on explaining the role of mind in creating painting replete with qiyun, in the light of Kant’s account of genius as innate mental talent in creating beautiful art. Through comparing qiyun aesthetics and Kantian view of genius, I aim not merely to help Western readers to understand the role of the mind in creating a masterpiece replete with qiyun. I attempt to make some progress in laying the groundwork for a feasible systematic framework for qiyun aesthetics, since classical texts on painting in relation to the notion of qiyun and the role of mind were often written in a suggestive, unsystematic, or informal style. One may question why I need to make such a comparison and why with Kant. As Jesse Fleming (2003, 260) points out, it appears inevitable for us (both Western and Chinese readers) to “understand, or interpret, the new and unfamiliar by comparing it with that with which we are already familiar.” At least one century ago, earlier modern Chinese aestheticians started exploring a way of writing the Chinese aesthetic tradition by adopting modern aesthetic terms formulated by German philosophers.1 As seen in works by Wang Guowei 王國維 (1877–1927), Xu Fuguan 徐復觀 (1903‒1982), Zhu Guangqian 朱光潛 (1897‒1986), and Zong Baihua 宗白華 (1897‒1986), modern aesthetic terms and ideas from Kant and other German philosophers were consciously adopted to explain traditional Chinese aesthetic ideas. In his series of papers and books, the modern Chinese scholar Luo Gang points out that the modern account of traditional Chinese aesthetics constructed by

4

Introduction

these earlier scholars is essentially formulated through German aesthetics. For example, he argues that in modern and contemporary Chinese aesthetic forums and textbooks, the account of yijing 意境 initially proposed by Wang Guowei, and developed by Zhu Guangqian, Zong Baihua, and Li Zehou 李澤厚 (1930‒ ) is just another version of German aesthetics (that of Kant, Schopenhauer, and Schiller, and so on) (Luo 2011, 38‒58; 2018, 1‒16).2 He suggests that China should re-establish its own national aesthetics and claims that the modern version of the Chinese aesthetic tradition formulated by earlier scholars in the process of modernization of China reflects a dangerous “othering of the self” (Luo 2011, 56‒58).3 As a Chinese, I want to consider how to establish Chinese aesthetics and introduce it to the Western world without referring to the aesthetic terms which still monopolize the power of speaking in the international forum of aesthetics. In this global village, will it be plausible and feasible to discard Kantian terms in the post-Kantian age of aesthetics, since many influential contemporary aestheticians in the international forum still frequently refer to Kantian aesthetics and debate within the framework Kant provided? If the Chinese attempt to have their own voice in the international arena of aesthetic arguments and introduce Chinese aesthetic tradition into this arena, it seems best to adopt an approach comparing the traditional aesthetic ideas with the modern Western ideas with which most scholars in this arena are familiar. François Jullien’s (1999; 2004; 2007; 2012; 2018) comparative study of classical Chinese philosophy and European philosophy exemplifies the feasibility of clarifying essential differences between distinctive cultural traditions. Some contemporary philosophers such as Chung-ying Cheng (2010a) and Stephen R. Palmquist (2010) have achieved inspiring success in introducing Chinese philosophy to the world through comparing Chinese metaphysics and ethics and Western (including Kantian) accounts of these topics. Roger Scruton (1983, 13) claims that “it seems to me that too much of contemporary analytical aesthetics has focused on questions concerning the nature of art, at the expense of more basic questions considered by Kant, the question of the nature and value of aesthetic interest.” However, that I choose the Kantian idea of genius is not due only to the significance of Kant’s profound insights in aesthetics and his influence on modern aesthetic study in Western and Chinese academia. Regarding the role of the mind in creating a painting replete with qiyun, due to the similarities and differences between qiyun aesthetics and Kant’s aesthetics I believe that referring to the Kantian philosophy of art not only helps Western readers unfamiliar with the Chinese aesthetic tradition demystify qiyun-focused art, but also sheds useful lights on the issues with those modern Chinese aestheticians adopting Kantian terms within the Chinese context. Even though one may question the value of this comparison because Kantian scholars uninterested in Chinese art

Introduction

5

and Western art historians who do not care about Kantian aesthetics or even have little intellectual sympathy for aesthetics do not need to bother with it, neglecting or ignoring alternative paradigms and counterparts might be “to their detriment” in this global village (Fleming 2003, 267). As announced in the first East/West Philosophers Conference at the University of Hawai’i, comparative philosophical analysis “will hopefully lead to different cultures understanding” each other (265). It is true that there are essential differences between Kantian aesthetics and qiyun aesthetics in terms of philosophical approaches and preoccupations. My comparative research with regard to genius in these contexts aims to lead Western readers to better understand qiyun aesthetics and also to illuminate some vagueness in Kantian aesthetic study. Critics may claim that precisely because of distinctive cultural contexts and aesthetic preoccupations, qiyun aesthetics and Kantian ideas of art are not compatible, and that the problems of Chinese aestheticians adopting Kantian terms to develop the modern version of Chinese aesthetic tradition lie in these essential differences between philosophical and cultural traditions. As mentioned above, Luo Gang thinks that the modern version of Chinese aesthetic tradition formulated by earlier scholars as another version of German aesthetics reflects a dangerous “othering of the self” in the process of Chinese modernization.4 It is clear that there is an asymmetry between qiyun aesthetics and Kantian ideas, since Kant’s aesthetics, including his accounts of genius in his philosophy of art, is highly analytical and systematic, and consistent with the general approach of his transcendental philosophical system, while qiyun-focused aesthetic views were written on an empirical and a practical basis and in a suggestive, and unsystematic style by numerous artists and critics throughout Chinese history. However, we should not stay at such a superficial level. Since Chinese artistic texts in relation to qiyun did not aim to provide the kind of systematic philosophical theory Kant aims for, it would indeed be unwise to expect an exact correspondence between the qiyun-focused aesthetic accounts and the details of Kant’s philosophy of art. Nevertheless, there are some important and interesting correspondences that should be noticed and are helpful in illuminating qiyun aesthetics for Western scholars and Kantian aesthetics for Chinese scholars. This may help us understand why earlier Chinese aestheticians adopted some key Kantian terms in their writing, although we should realize the problematic issues raised by doing so. The problems raised by projecting Kantian ideas into a qiyun-focused artistic context help to clarify the superficial parallels and essential differences between two cultural traditions and better understand why such Chinese aestheticnationalists as Luo Gang are so unhappy with the modern versions of the Chinese aesthetic tradition.

6

Introduction

Regarding my methodology, I am inspired by modern comparative philosophy scholars including Jullien and Christian Helmut Wenzel. Wenzel (2006, 96) writes the following in his paper Beauty in Kant and Confucius: A First Step: “the comparison is more along a diagonal, from a theory to a phenomenon unfamiliar to that theory. It would be an application and at the same time a test of Kant’s theory.” Due to the fact that aesthetic ideas about qiyun are dispersed in the classical texts by numerous artists and critics and appear unsystematic and suggestive in comparison to the Kantian aesthetics, the methodology of my comparison between them in the second part of this book is partly inspired by Wenzel, that is, to mainly do the comparison in a diagonal line, and aim to analyze the role of mind in qiyun aesthetics by projecting Kant’s terminology and account of artistic genius into the qiyunfocused context of landscape painting. Kant’s aesthetics is allegedly universal, and we will see whether Kant’s philosophy of art can explain the classical insights on qiyun. Following the diagonal line, applying Kantian philosophy of art within a qiyun-focused context will constitute a challenging test for Kant’s aesthetics as well as qiyun aesthetics. Theoretically, we have two ways to make the comparison. One approach may start with Kant’s concept of genius and relevant discussion, and then explore where they apply in the qiyun-focused context shown in the views concerning the relationship between art and mind in Jing Hao’s, Guo Ruoxu’s, Tang Hou’s, and other followers’ works. Another might start by analyzing classical texts regarding qiyun and examining its philosophical preoccupations, and then consider whether relevant Kantian ideas can be appropriately and meaningfully applied to qiyun-focused art. During my writing process, I have been undergoing my research as a creative experiment in comparative aesthetic research. The comprehensive notion of qiyun based on the synthesis of relevant scholars’ views of qiyun argued in the first part of this book aims to offer a basis for the comparison in the second part. Thus, the overall book takes the second approach, since I start off discussing the qiyun approach and then conduct its comparison with Kant. From chapter 3 to chapter 7, I generally use the first way mentioned above as a strategic approach to help to establish a basic structure for explaining the role of mind in the qiyun-focused context through the comparative research. In some sections in the second part, I also use the second approach as a necessary supplement of the first method. It is the use of both approaches that makes the comparison a diagonal, and yet more than a diagonal. This process will allow us to see whether, where, and why applying Kantian aesthetics regarding genius into a qiyun-focused context may leave irreconcilable issues and wrongly offset the uniqueness of qiyun aesthetics, and whether, where, and why some discussion in the qiyun-focused context can help to illuminate some vagueness and ambiguity in Kantian aesthetics and philosophy of art.

Introduction

7

In chapter 3, I examine the feasibility of illuminating the innate mental disposition in creating painting replete with qiyun in the light of the Kantian account of genius as an innate mental talent of idea-giving. One might note two pairs of counterparts in classical Chinese texts which find parallels in Kant’s account of genius. Yi 意 (idea) in Chinese literature is regarded by Yu-kung Kao as analogous to Kant’s notion of aesthetic idea, and the role of shen 神 (spirit) of the artist in imaginative evocation is regarded by Yu-kung Kao (1991, 66, 87) and Karl-Heinz Pohl (2006, 133) as consistent with the spirit as the animating principle for presenting aesthetic ideas in Kant’s account of genius. I explain that yi or yixiang 意象 (idea-image), which is supposed to be established in the painter’s mind and later released into the final work, appears analogous to Kant’s aesthetic idea in at least two respects, and that the shen animating yi appears similar to the Kantian notion of spirit animating the aesthetic idea. In these terms, the role of the mind in establishing yi or yixiang appears to fit in with the Kantian account of genius as an innate mental talent presenting the aesthetic idea. However, I show that behind the illuminating correspondences between the two aesthetic traditions, there are essential differences between the two pairs of terms, which challenge the efficacy of applying Kant’s account of genius (as an innate mental talent of idea-giving) within the qiyun-focused context. I remind the reader that my discussion of pictorial yi, yixiang, and yijing will mainly focus on comparing Kant’s term aesthetic idea with the notion of (pictorial) yi in qiyun-focused painting (not in literature or calligraphy, nor in Wang Guowei’s or Zhu Guangqian’s or other modern scholars’ discussion of yijing in poetry). In chapter 4, I examine the rule of tian (nature) and the valuing of unselfconsciousness in creating a painting replete with qiyun, in comparison to Kant’s account of genius as an innate mental talent of rule-giving, and point out that there are problems behind the otherwise plausible parallels between the two approaches. Regarding artistic spontaneity, I argue that the basis of an analogy between qiyun aesthetics and the Kantian account lies in the conditions that tian 天 (nature) described as empowering genius with artistic spontaneity is regarded as analogous to Kant’s view of nature giving the rule to art through genius, and that the impossibility of defining the Dao illustrated in spontaneous creation is analogous to the impossibility of communicating the Kantian rule which nature endows art through genius. I question whether the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature in Kant’s aesthetics can be seen as analogous to the supersensible, transcendental element of tian and that of the Dao penetrating everything. In addition, by examining whether the freedom experienced by the qiyun-focused artist during spontaneous creation is equivalent to Kantian aesthetic freedom in genius’ creative process, we shall see that classical texts on qiyun aesthetics value the overcoming of

8

Introduction

self-consciousness. However, it is hard to see how the unavoidable contradiction between genius as “chiasm of the unconscious and conscious” and genius as the unity of imagination and understanding can be overcome within the strict rationalist confines of Kant’s philosophy.5 Additionally, the unification between subject (artist) and object depicted realized through acting unselfconsciously in artistic spontaneity corresponds to shenhui 神會 (spiritual communion) between artist and object. The unification of subject and object is absent in Kant’s thought, while Daoist ideas of wuhua 物化 (fusion of self with object) and wuwei 無為 (acting without conscious intention or effort) are more flexible in supplying a philosophical ground for the overcoming of self-consciousness in artistic spontaneity. We shall see that in terms of explaining the co-play of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness, Daoist philosophy offers more flexibility to make sense of any apparent paradox in artistic practice. In addition, the somatic training or practice of genius is valued by qiyun-focused artists and critics to follow the rule of tian and exploit unselfconsciousness, and this point is absent in Kant’s philosophy. Here, it is worth reiterating that in chapter 1, I emphasize the spiritual dimension of qi and yun in the original pre-Qin Period texts from which the later artistic theories derive their philosophical inspiration, even though I do not deny the bodily dimension of qiyun. In addition, we shall see that the somatic training of genius in the qiyun-focused context aims to reach the accordance of mind, hand, and the Dao. Kant thinks originality is the key feature of genius, while the tradition of respecting models and learning through copying throughout Chinese art history has caused such scholars as Pohl (2006, 134) to misunderstand originality in Chinese art. In chapter 5, I attempt to examine whether the exemplary originality that Kant associates with genius can be applied to the context of yipin 逸品 (the untrammeled class). I remind the reader that the aesthetics of yipin is not my primary interest in this book, although he/she may understand it better through reading this chapter. We will see that although Kantian genius’ exemplary originality may be applied to the context of yipin to illuminate yipin’s exemplary originality, it is noteworthy that the aesthetic merit of yipin is closely related to the qiyun of the high-minded yipin artist. This corresponds to and verifies the view that the artist’s innate mental disposition determines his competency to create a masterpiece replete with qiyun, and the mental disposition associated with the adjective yi 逸 (untrammeled) also shows the moral dimension of qiyun and genius. The inimitability of yipin recorded, or even experienced, by such late Ming and early Qing artists and critics as Dong Qichang, Li Rihua (1565‒1635), Yun Ge (1633–1690), and Shi Tao also further verifies the impossibility of teaching or imitating qiyun. Although genius is an innate mental disposition, in chapter 6, I show that qiyun-focused artists adopted either Daoist or Buddhist meditation to

Introduction

9

cultivate their mind to be in accord with the Dao which is regarded as ideal for painting. We will see that the disinterested aesthetic pleasure of having heart in tune with forest and stream which may be prepared by meditative contemplation and engaged in creating or appreciating a landscape painting is accompanied by an interest in pursuing the carefree wandering of the spirit. I suggest this appears to fit in with the Kantian empirical or intellectual interest in the beautiful combined with the disinterestedness of aesthetic satisfaction. It might be claimed that sensibility is valued over rationality in the Chinese artistic tradition. However, I suggest that the detached mental state cultivated through Daoist or Buddhist meditation and experienced through artistic practice helps artists restore a balanced nature in their everyday life. By projecting Schiller’s (1759‒1805) accounts of the play drive, and aesthetic freedom he developed from Kant’s ideas, into the qiyun-focused artistic context, I attempt to explain the balanced human nature realized through artistic play by qiyunfocused artists, and point out the differences between these two approaches behind the parallels. Having seen the moral dimension of qiyun aesthetics suggested in Jing Hao’s, Guo Ruoxu’s, and Tang Hou’s writings in chapter 2, in chapter 7, we will further see that qiyun should not be regarded merely as an aesthetic criterion; that qiyun-focused landscape painting has moral relevance. I argue that the Confucian doctrine of cheng 誠 (sincerity) involved in bringing the landscapist’s or audience’s mind in accord with the Dao during aesthetic contemplation underpins the moral dimension of shenhui (spiritual communion) between artist, object, audience, and work, that is, establishes the moral dimension of genius in qiyun aesthetics. Regarding the reconciliation of aesthetic autonomy and moral cultivation through art, again I make a comparison with Kantian ideas. In the context of qiyun-focused landscape painting, aesthetic freedom and moral freedom converge—when the mind is in accord with the Dao, and its moral significance is not merely for individual but for an aesthetic and ethical community constituted by the artist engaging with sincere will, the congenial audience, and even the natural object depicted who share a sense of spiritual kinship and affinity. Although unlike Kant qiyun aesthetics does not have a systematic and transcendental analysis of art’s moral relevance, it is worth noting the parallels and differences between qiyun aesthetics and Kantian ideas that I will be discussing further in chapter 7, and reflection on these helps to better understand the moral dimension of genius in qiyun aesthetics and further illuminate some limitation of Kantian aesthetics. Since the second part of this work is carried out within the Kantian framework of aesthetics, one may ask whether the term “beauty” can appropriately express the qiyun-focused aesthetic phenomena. I must remind the reader that even Kant himself would object to applying the term beauty to

10

Introduction

the qiyun-focused context, since he does not think of this term as a criterion for aesthetic appreciation or the property of aesthetic object. Kant explains this clearly: aesthetic judgment is universally subjective, and this does not mean that the object itself is beautiful, so I do not think that I need to answer whether the term beauty defined by Kant may be applied to the qiyun-focused context. Moreover, we shall see that while the aesthetic pleasure and freedom experienced by the qiyun-focused artist appear to respectively correspond to the Kantian aesthetic pleasure and freedom which people with taste universally enjoy in an aesthetic experience when encountering a beautiful natural object or artwork, there are significant differences between them. In the Chinese context, there is a term mei which may be translated as beauty. The term has different meanings and dimensions in various philosophical and historical contexts. For example, what Confucius means by beauty is different from what Zhuangzi means by beauty; what the Six Dynasties connoisseurs regard as beauty may appear ugly in the eyes of people in later periods. There is no necessity for me to deal with the notion of beauty in classical Chinese painting in this book, and I must leave it aside since it is beyond my concern here. As mentioned above, Luo Gang portrays the modern writings on the aesthetics centring on yijing as another version of German aesthetics, and this has raised furious debates among scholars in China. My book may be regarded as an indirect resonance or response to these debates in some sense, although I remind the reader that its focus is not on yijing and my initial motivation does not lie in participating in that specific debate. Although Luo Gang claims that he finds the philosophical origin of the modern theory of yijing not merely in Kant, but also Schopenhauer, Schiller, Croce, Cassirer, and Hegel, I also emphasize that my overall arguments center on the notion of qiyun in Chinese painting (especially in tenth-to-fourteenth-century landscape painting), and the role of mental disposition in the creative process of conveying qiyun in comparison with Kant’s account of genius. I will not touch on Schopenhauer, Croce, Cassirer, and Hegel. Although in chapter 3, I discuss the notion of yi, yixiang, and yijing in painting, I reiterate that my focus is to explain the role of mind in presenting yi (which is consistent with that in transmitting qiyun) by projecting relevant Kant’s ideas into the qiyun-focused context. However, in chapters 6 and 7 I refer to Schiller’s philosophy regarding the balanced human nature fulfilled through art, and the reconciliation of aesthetic autonomy and moral relevance of art, because Schiller’s ideas, although developed from Kant, appear to better resonate with these topics in the Chinese context. Overall, we will see that it is possible to illuminate the role of the innate mental talent played in creating a work replete with qiyun in the light of Kant’s account of genius, and the problematic issues behind the otherwise plausible parallels help us better understand the two aesthetic traditions.

Introduction

11

The comparative approach adopted is not a matter of transforming qiyun aesthetics into Western aesthetics, but rather emphasizing an important feature of the Chinese aesthetic tradition in relation to the notion of qiyun initiated by Xie He, developed in tenth-to-fourteenth-century landscape painting and echoed by later artists and connoisseurs beyond the aesthetic universality imposed through the lens of the other, so as to help more Western readers understand traditional Chinese aesthetics and allow more Chinese scholars to reflect upon the problematic othering of the self in the writings of earlier modern aestheticians. NOTES 1. At least from the end of the nineteenth century, in the developing process of China opening its door and studying from the West, almost no field of industry or academia can avoid the input of Western terms and ideas. 2. Yijing 意境 may be translated as the mindscape of (aesthetic) ideas, if we accept the rendering of yi 意 as idea and the rendering of jing 境 as mindscape. I will explain in detail the notion of yijing in chapter 3. 3. Luo (2011, 56‒58) argues that the German aesthetic tradition which supplies the theoretical basis for the modern version of the Chinese aesthetic tradition reflects a bourgeois taste and mirrors only some traditional Chinese aesthetic notions in Lacan’s psychoanalytic sense of “mirroring” as an important stage in an infant’s developing sense of self. 4. Luo (2011; 2018) suggests that the contemporary version of traditional Chinese aesthetics is merely an illusion of tradition. He claims that Wang Guowei’s yijingbased poetry criticism was constructed by adopting the German aesthetics of Kant, Schiller and Schopenhauer, and that later Zhu Guangqian mainly adopted postHegelian aesthetician Benedetto Croce’s aesthetics when developing his modern theory of yijing in poetry criticism; and Zong Baihua’s discussion of yijing in Chinese art shows parallels with the aesthetic theory of Neo-Kantian philosopher Ernst Cassirer, while Li Zehou’s Marxist aesthetic reading of yijing influenced by Soviet aesthetic theory can find its origin in the German aesthetic tradition, especially in Hegel’s aesthetics (Luo 2011, 38‒58). 5. For genius as chiasm of the unconscious and conscious, see Otabe (2012, 89–101).

Part I

THE NOTION OF QIYUN IN THE SIXTH TO FOURTEENTH CENTURIES

Chapter 1

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

INTRODUCTION In the writing of the pre-Qin philosopher Han Fei (233 BCE), a painter claims that “dogs and horses are most difficult to paint” but “demons and goblins are easiest” (Bush and Shih 2012, 24). The reason for this is that the former are common and visible things whose representation demands a higher standard of formal likeness, while the latter are things that painters can depict following their imagination. Although this seems to be the earliest evidence that formal likeness had been valued in artistic practice in the pre-Qin period, formal imitation was not the first aim for Chinese artists at least from the Six Dynasties when Xie He initially placed qiyun shengdong 氣韻生動 (spirit consonance engendering a sense of life) as the first law of Chinese painting, and yingwu xiangxing 應物象形 (correspondence to the object in depicting forms) as the third law.1 Xie He lived in the Qi and Liang Dynasties in the Six Dynasties Period (220 or 222–589). The Six Dynasties refers to six dynasties during the periods of the Three Kingdoms (220–280), Jin dynasty (265–420), and Southern and Northern Dynasties (420–589). The Six Dynasties with legitimate lineage as recorded in the Northern Song scholar and historian Sima Guang’s (1019– 1086) Zizhi Tongjian (Comprehensive Mirror in Aid of Governance) are Cao Wei (220–265), Jin (265–420), Liu Song (420–479), Xiao Qi (479–502), Xiao Liang (502–557), and Chen (557–589). This period after the collapse of the Han Dynasty before the Sui Dynasty unified China is also called the Wei Jin Northern and Southern Dynasties period. The Six Dynasties with capitals in Jiankang (now Nanjing, in Jiangsu province of China) are Sun Wu (220–280), Eastern Jin (317–420), (Liu) Song, (Xiao) Qi, (Xiao) Liang, and Chen.2 Eastern Jin, and another four consecutive regimes in the South, 15

16

Chapter 1

Song, Qi, Liang, and Chen, which all chose Jiankang as capital, are called the Southern Dynasties. Although the Six Dynasties period is a disunited period of political upheaval, cultural prosperity in poetry, painting, and calligraphy in this period is influential. Qiyun shengdong proposed by Xie He in the Southern Dynasties as the first and essential standard of Chinese painting has been accepted and echoed by numerous later Chinese artists and theorists since its formulation. Concerning Xie He’s first law qiyun shengdong, Anglophone scholars such as Alexander Soper, William Acker, James Cahill, Wen C. Fong, and Max Loehr offer valuable contributions toward an appropriate translation. But their respective renderings are based on different understandings. Possible discrepancies should be noted: qiyun might refer to (i) the character of the object depicted, which is captured and transmitted by painters beyond form, or (ii) the expressive quality or content of a work, or (iii) a property or talent which an ideal painter should possess, or (iv) the aesthetic interaction between artist, object, work, and audience. In this chapter, my interpretation of Xie He’s first law and his notion of qiyun is based on the comparative examination of different renderings and interpretations proposed by influential Anglophone academics. First, I list the main translations of qiyun shengdong. Then, I examine the renderings of qi and yun respectively by exploring the initial meanings of qi and yun from pre-Qin, the Han Dynasty, up to the Six Dynasties period, along with comparing the translations and interpretations. After that, I will establish “spirit consonance” as the least imperfect rendering of qiyun. Then I examine the rendering of shengdong, and the issue of punctuating Xie He’s first law, and finally establish the rendering of qiyun shengdong to be “(through) spirit consonance engendering a sense of life.” Additionally, I explore the essence of qiyun in Xie He’s context in the process of examining the merits and demerits of the different scholars’ suggestions. We will see that merely confining the scope of qiyun to that of the painter, or the object, or the work alone is unreasonable. 1.1 VARIOUS TRANSLATIONS OF QIYUN SHENGDONG Soper (1949, 414–423) argues against five previous translations, and establishes that qiyun shengdong means “animation through spirit consonance.”3 Qiyun as “sympathetic responsiveness of the vital spirit,” is rendered as “spirit consonance” to keep it simple; “spirit consonance” (qiyun) engenders the effect of “animation” or “life-motion” (shengdong). Soper suggests that qiyun requires painters to capture the essential quality of the object depicted and transmit it into the work of art, and thus guarantee that the qi of the object as depicted in the painting responds to its like in the universe (418, 422).

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

17

Acker (1954, 4) translates qiyun shengdong as “spirit resonance, which means vitality.” Acker (xxiii) suggests a new punctuation and grammatical analysis: the former two characters qiyun and the latter two characters shengdong are two separate two-word phrases that share the same meaning, so spirit resonance (qiyun) means vitality (shengdong). Additionally, Acker (xxxiii, xlii) regards qiyun as an ability which an ideal painter should possess: during the creation of a painting, a painter should be filled with vital energy (qi) and remain vibrant with qi (vital energy) in order to enable his work to “show evidence of this power and vitality” and to demonstrate a sense of life. Cahill (1961, 372–381) argues against Acker’s punctuation of the first law, and insists that qiyun shengdong is better regarded a four-word phrase made by two two-character compounds, where the second binomial term shengdong is the result of the first one qiyun, and thus qiyun shengdong means “Engender a sense of movement through spirit consonance.” In Cahill’s mind, “spirit consonance” (qiyun) appears to be an aesthetic quality shown in a successful work of art. Fong (1966, 159–164) offers another new interpretation: qi (“breath”/“vitality”) and yun (“resonance”/“harmony”) refer to “the vital essence of creation” and “the harmonious manner of execution” in a work respectively, and “aliveness” or “life–motion” (shengdong) appears to be the effect of qi and yun. For Fong, qi and yun manifested in the work determine the aesthetic attribute and style of the work. Loehr (1973, 68–69) seems to agree with Acker’s punctuation, but thinks that the binomial terms qiyun and shengdong function as two nouns, and thus qiyun shengdong means “spirit resonance or vitality.” What makes his translation distinct from Acker’s is that Loehr appears to suggest qiyun as a criterion concerned with an expressive quality or content of a work rather than a personal attribute or psycho-physiological state of an ideal painter as Acker thinks.4 These renderings contribute a great deal to the understanding of qiyun shengdong as the first law of Chinese painting. Since their understandings of qiyun are representative and influential in subsequent Anglophone studies and later scholars’ discussions seem not to have moved beyond the understandings of those earlier scholars, my comparative examination of each character of the first law draws mainly upon the valuable points and demerits in those renderings. However, I also consider understandings of qiyun offered by other twentieth-century scholars, such as Michael Sullivan (1962, 74–127), Harold Osborne (1968, 65–83), Qian Zhongshu (1979, 1352–1366), Xu Fuguan (2001, 86–133), Li Zehou (1994, 185; 2006, 98, 137‒139), Jianping Gao (1996, 125–147), J. Hay (1983, 72–111), Martin J. Powers (1991, 909–931), Zong-qi Cai (2004, 331–332), and Paul R. Goldin (2018, 497–503) (along with the discussions of qi by Chung-ying Cheng

18

Chapter 1

1986, 361–367, and Tu Wei-ming 1983, 67–68; 2004, 27–31), to support my argument as appropriate in this chapter. 1.2 QI First, the original and essential meaning of qi 氣 in Chinese philosophy and literature from the pre-Qin period up to the Six Dynasties which was familiar to and may have influenced Xie He and his contemporaries needs to be explored. Qi may be translated as “vapour” or “steam” or “breath” or “exhalation” or “emanation” or “aura” or “energy,” “pneuma,” or “nervous energy” or “vital energy” or “vitality” or “vital force” or “life-spirit,” or “spirit,” and so on. As Chung-ying Cheng (1986, 362) points out, “all existing translations conceal and obscure the rich experiential structure of meaning in the concept of [qi].” Cheng explores the notion of qi in pre-Qin philosophical texts such as Laozi’s Daodejing (The Classic of the Way and Virtue), Zhuangzi, Guanzi, Yijing (Book of Changes), and Huangdi Neijing (Esoteric Scripture of the Yellow Emperor), and distinguishes the following three senses of qi: (i) on the natural level, qi refers the vapour from steaming rice paddies, and the clouds or mists in the sky; (ii) on the human level, qi means “breath” or “organic life-energy”; (iii) on a metaphysical level, qi as vital energy or vital force (the basic and dynamic “substance-process”) forms all beings (animate or inanimate) and becoming in the universe (361–367). The Chinese character qi vividly indicates that the original meaning of qi as vapor from steaming rice is easily perceivable. It is believed that the qi flowing in the air and pervading the surroundings may be observed, felt, and sensed. Qi as breath or vitality in the physical sense may be touched and sensed to make a medical diagnosis, or may be nurtured through some breathing and physical practices such as daoyin or taiji or any other traditional Chinese martial art.5 A “psycho-physiological” dimension or power of qi associated with breathing and blood circulation is obvious in some pre-Qin philosophical texts (Tu 1983, 68; 2004, 28–29; Chan 1969, 784). For instance, in Daodejing, Laozi (1999, 65, 156) advises people to rely (or concentrate) exclusively on qi (“vital force”) to attain softness like an infant, but to refrain from forcing the mind to control qi. Zhuangzi (2013, 25) advises people to listen with qi instead of listening with the mind or ear (see the fourth chapter of Zhuangzi, In the World of Men). Guanzi suggests that for human beings, the body and mind filled with qi as life-spirit or life-energy, is benefited by its nurturing, or suffers from its pollution.6 This pre-Qin understanding of the psycho-physiological dimension of qi in human beings was followed by philosophers in the Han Dynasty. For instance, Huainanzi (Book

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

19

of the Prince of Huainan) suggests the psycho-physiological power of qi thus: “through a sufficiency of qi (pneuma or vital energy) as communicated by shen (spirit)” a human being can see and hear clearly, control his body, discriminate similarities and differences, and have cognitive understanding of objects (Bush and Shih 2012, 3).7 As for the metaphysical dimension of qi, pre-Qin Chinese philosophy which was familiar to and may have influenced Xie He, his contemporaries, and later followers of his aesthetic ideas does not confine the notion of qi to vapour/mist/air or human beings’ breath/vitality, but believes it to be an energy/force that pervades and forms everything (sentient and insentient) in the universe.8 Noting that qi as vital energy “pervades the whole of animate and inanimate nature” in Chinese thought, Harold Osborne (1968, 70) wisely remarks that “Chinese thought has never made an absolute distinction between organic and inorganic, spiritual and material.” Although Soper and Acker both take qi to exist in animate and inanimate things and both contribute valuable insights regarding the rendering of qi as “spirit” in Xie He’s text on painting, one of their differences concerns whether the qi refered to in that text is only that of sentient beings (mainly people as the subject-matter of painting) or also the qi transmitted from the painter to the image. Soper (1949, 418) notes that in pre-Qin Chinese philosophy of nature, qi as “a universal concept” can refer to the fundamental quality of everything animate, as vital energy gives life to human beings and any other sentient beings, and the qi of inanimate things such as a rock is also believed to endow insentient objects with vitality. However, he regards the qi mentioned in Xie He’s text to belong merely to sentient things, perhaps because he considers Xie He’s six laws to apply initially to figure painting. For Soper, rendering qi as the physical breath of human beings merely denotes its most basic connotation, while the translation of qi as “spirit” seems to indicate its “passion-nature” and its role as “psychological concept.” Considering that qiyun and shenyun 神韻 appear to share a similar meaning, Soper claims that the kinship of “shen in the sense of soul” and “qi as vital spirit” is just “like the kinship of psyche and nous.” (420)9 Acker (1954, xxix) recognizes that qi exists in animate and inanimate things as “life-spirit,” which appears to be a kind of “electricity-like fluid” or aura flowing pervasively and mysteriously inside everything in the universe. For human beings and animals, qi as “vital spirit” seems to be a kind of “nervous energy,” “the electricity-like nerve-currents within the body,” while for inanimate things qi also functions as electricity-like energy which can flow and be transmitted from or to animate things (xxix–xxx). He traces the meaning of qi in Guanzi, which offers a theoretical explanation of qi as the essence of everything, and regards this as supportive evidence for his emphasis on the cultivation and transmission of the qi of the painter. Although Acker is concerned

20

Chapter 1

mainly with qi in the painter, he emphasizes that as the fountain of life-energy, the painter’s qi can accumulate, and be cultivated “under conscious control” and transmitted from the painter to the images in his work (xxxi). Both Acker and Soper trace the meaning of qi in texts before the Six Dynasties. By examining the adoption of qi in literature and art after the Han Dynasty, Fong (1966, 160) offers his translation of qi as “vitality” and regards it as “vital creative force” (of the artist) or “vital essence of creation” (manifested through the work), determining the aesthetic quality or effect of a work. As the “vital force” or “moving force” of the literary artist or of the work, qi was discussed in some famous works of literary criticism during the Six Dynasties, such as Wenxin Diaolong (The Literary Mind and The Carving of Dragons) and Shipin (Classification of Poets). The claim that qi (“moving force” or “vital force”) is the “master of literature” is initially proposed by Cao Pi (189–226), a leading critic and the first emperor of the Wei Kingdom, in his essay Lunwen (A Discourse on Literature) (Fong 1966, 159). Stephen Owen (1996, 361) translates Cao Pi’s discussion of qi in literature thus: Qi, “vital force” or “breath,” is the most important factor in literature. Qi has its own norms, either clear or murky. And it is not something that can be brought about by force. As “breath,” we may compare it to flute music. Two performers may be equal in knowing the melody and following the rules of rhythm; but when there is an inequality in drawing on a reserve of qi or breath, we can tell a skilful player from a clumsy one. A father cannot pass this on to his son, and an elder brother cannot pass it on to his younger brother.10

It would be superficial to think that the qi which functions like a vital force or moving force in stimulating the artist to spontaneous creation and further determining the quality of the work is just breath in a materialistic and physical sense. As Owen (1992, 66) notes, even though qi as the dominant factor in literature “is grounded in physiological ‘breath’ and physical ‘air,’” it “carries a weight that goes far beyond the physical,” and qi as the artist’s innate spirit-energy or vital force can be “nurtured,” “stored up” or “depleted in use,” rather than learned or forced. As mentioned above, the possibility of nurturing and storing up qi is discussed by Guanzi and noted by Acker. Cao Pi’s discussion of qi as the dominant force in literature might also have been inspired by the pre-Qin Confucian philosopher Mencius who suggests that the qi will be vast and unyielding, and “fill the space between Heaven and Earth,” and “[unite] rightness and the Way [Dao]” when one cultivates and nourishes one’s “flood-like” qi with integrity (see Mencius; Lau 2004, 33). For Mencius, the nurturing of qi refers to one’s spiritual and moral selfcultivation, rather than the physical practice of breath.11

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

21

As Owen notes, the artistic spontaneity implied in the analogy between the flowing of qi in artistic creation and improvisatory music in Cao Pi’s Lunwen is significant and deserves more attention. “The ongoing control of act rather than object is the mode in which qi is used, both in music and poetry.” (Owen 1992, 66)12 In chapter 4 I will discuss in more detail the way in which the spontaneous exertion of qi is also valued in painting by later painters and critics. Although Owen’s interpretation shows that in Cao Pi’s text the qi as the vital force or moving force in literature initially belongs to the artist, Fong suggests that the relevant texts about qi in artworks tell us that when the qi is expressed through the work, the qi manifested in the work refers to the substance of the work and determines its aesthetic quality. The following examination of the views of two later Southern Dynasties critics, Zhong Rong (468–518) and Liu Xie (465–522) apparently lend supports to Fong’s suggestion. Cao Pi’s advocacy of qi as the vital force or moving force in literature is echoed by Zhong Rong and Liu Xie, who are approximately contemporaries of Xie He. In the poetry review work Shipin (Classification of Poets), Zhong Rong claims that, Where [qi] moves an object, the object stirs human emotions. Thus when feelings and emotions are agitated, they become visibly expressed in dances and songs. (Fong 1966, 159; see also Wixted 1983, 230)

Thus, for Zhong Rong, qi is the moving force of the universe which agitates objects and further stirs humans’ feelings and emotions through the agitated objects, and then may be expressed in artistic actions such as dances, songs, or poems. Zhong Rong’s text implies the qi of the artist resonates with the qi of the object, and the latter moves the former to express sympathetic resonance through the work. The aesthetic style of the work may be affected by the quality of the qi manifested in the work. Here, it is also noteworthy that, as Li Zehou points out, in a general sense, the qi embodied in different styles of works may express “the beauty of yang, of masculinity, powerful and vigorous,” or “the beauty of yin, of femininity, mild and circuitous.” (Li and Cauvel 2006, 98) In his Wenxin Diaolong Liu Xie claims that qi (vitality) determines one’s “personal inclinations,” “temperament and nature,” and further acts as the dominating force to determine his language style and literary expression (Fong 1966, 159).13 For Liu Xie, since qi (vitality) as the “vital creative force” of the artist affects his writing style and quality, the nurturing, cultivation, and adjustment of qi is significant for literature, and artists should keep qi “harmonious and freely circulating” and maintain a pure and tranquil mind (159–160).14

22

Chapter 1

Fong thinks that, as the moving force or vital force in poetry and literature discussed by Cao Pi, Zhong Rong, and Liu Xie, qi can also be applied to painting, and in Xie He’s text the qi (vitality) expressed in painting refers to “the substance of a work.” It is noteworthy that the meaning of qi as moving force or vital force in artistic criticism during the Six Dynasties does not contradict its original meaning as vital energy in the pre-Qin period. In general, by examining the meaning of qi from the pre-Qin period up until the Six Dynasties, we have seen that qi appears like a basic universal cosmic unit or force which conveys energy or life-spirit to everything. The qi of the artist can work like a moving or vital force and resonate with the qi of the object, and the quality of the artist’s qi is manifested in the work and determines the artistic quality of the work. It is worth noting the dynamic connection (or resonance) of the artist’s qi, the qi of the depicted object in the universe, the qi manifested in the work, and even the qi of the audience. Regarding this connection, I agree with Li Zehou that as a vital force or moving force (initially discussed by Cao Pi and echoed by later poets and prose writers such as the Tang scholar-official Han Yu, the Northern Song scholar-officials Ouyang Xiu, Wang Anshi, and Su Shi, and painters) qi endows literature and painting with an expressive quality by immediately and intuitively arousing and exciting the audience’s feelings, emotions and vitality, and the artist needs to cultivate his own qi so as to create artworks in which the qi embodied in their formal elements “[tallies] with the rhythm of the universe.” (Li and Cauvel 2006, 137‒139)15 Whether the qi refers to the spirit-energy or vital force of the object depicted or that of the artist or the work, in the context of literature and art (in the Six Dynasties as we have seen), it carries a more spiritual sense beyond its material, physical, or physiological meaning as air or breath. The flowing qi in the object depicted or of the artist or conveyed in the work and the possible transmission and resonance of qi between them is not static; rather it may denote a dynamic, ongoing process. For the sake of simplicity, I follow Soper and Acker, and select “spirit” as the translation of qi. This does not mean that the English word spirit is the optimal rendering of qi and works for any context of qifocused Chinese painting throughout its long history. I choose this rendering to emphasize its spiritual “weight that goes far beyond the apparently physical” or physiological. 1.3 YUN Having examined and established the meaning of qi from pre-Qin up until the Six Dynasties, I will explore the meaning of yun 韻 in a similar way. Although yun appears much later than qi, yun may also be translated in

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

23

many ways: “tone,” “overtone,” “corresponding tone,” “rhyme,” “rhythm,” “consonance,” “harmony,” “sympathetic vibration,” “resonance,” and so on. The meaning of yun originates from music. In Wenxin Diaolong Liu Xie claims that “when differing sounds are in mutual accord, one speaks of ho [peace 和]; when notes of the same key respond to one another [tongsheng xiangying 同聲相應], one speaks of yun [harmony].” (Soper 1949, 419–420)16 Since yun originally refers to the harmony of sounds, as described by Liu Xie, Soper discusses that he opts for the translation of yun as “harmony” or “concord” or “consonance.” Understanding yun as harmony or consonance (the opposite of discord), does not confine its use to the scope of sound. In Shishuo Xinyu (A New Account of Tales of the World) by Liu Yiqing (403–444), a collection of anecdotes from literati and statesmen from the end of Eastern Han to late Eastern Jin, the meaning of yun as “consonance” refers to the elegance, purity, loveliness, or superiority of human personality, or personal manner and bearing (see Xu 2012, 102–5; Liu 2007).17 Up to this day, in order to cultivate and perfectly demonstrate the elegance of body and the harmony of its movement, the training of the body’s yun 身韻 is emphasized in the practice of classical Chinese dancing.18 However, even though Soper (1949, 420) appears to think Xie He may have initially intended his first law to apply merely to figure paintings, he does not think that yun refers to the harmonious or elegant quality of living beings depicted in images in such paintings. Soper (1949, 421) mentions Confucius’ explanation (in a commentary attributed to Confucius) of the fifth line (yao 爻) of the first hexagram qiangua in Book of Changes and suggests that this idea helps us understand that yun denotes the “power of mystical correspondences and sympathies”: Notes of the same key respond to one another [tongsheng xiangying]; creatures of the same nature [qi], seek one another. Thus water flows down toward wetness, while fire aspires toward dryness; clouds follow the dragon, and winds the tiger. The sage appears, and all things look to him. All that has its origin in Heaven is drawn upward; all that has its origin in Earth is drawn downward; everything follows its kind (emphasis added).19

According to this, Soper (1949, 422–423) establishes yun as “sympathetic response” to the qi of congenial animate things, although his final suggestion is “consonance” to keep the translation simple. For Soper, as the sympathetic responsiveness of qi, yun requires the artist to ensure that the object depicted in the work “[finds] and [responds] to its like” in the universe (422). Fong’s rendering of yun as “harmony” sounds close to the rendering of yun as consonance. However, Fong (1966, 160–161) thinks of yun as the harmonious or elegant manner of execution in an artwork. He makes this suggestion by tracing the use of yun, along with qi, in the literature of the Six

24

Chapter 1

Dynasties. When reviewing the meaning and use of yun in Wenxin Diaolong, Fong explains it as the demonstration of a harmonious or graceful (literary) manner or style. Indeed, as Fong (1966, 159) notes, in Liu Xie’s text, yun is interpreted as the harmonious or elegant manifestation of qi (vital creative force), and both qi and yun determines the beauty and aliveness of literary expression (see Wenxin Diaolong, chapter Shenglü; Shih 2015, 240–244).20 Fong (1966, 160) thinks this understanding of qi and yun is also shared by Xie He in his texts on painting: if qi as vital creative force dominates the expressive content (“substance”) of a work (poetry and painting), yun refers to the harmonious manner of execution “in which the substance is expressed.” Fong does not merely examine the application of yun as harmonious manner as well as qi as vital force in Xie He’s text in comparison with Liu Xie’s text. Considering the original meaning of yun as “the consonant response of words of the same tone” and the connotation of he 和 as “the harmony of words of different sounds” suggested in Wenxin Diaolong, Fong also mentions the significance of yun as the harmonious manner of execution valued in art by Liu Xie’s contemporary poet and poetry critic Shen Yue (411–513) who points out the six defects in tones and rhymes in poetry (161). By citing remarks on painting by several later critics after Xie He, Fong is at pains to show that later critics such as Jing Hao, Huang Tingjian (1045–1105), Han Zhuo (active 1095–1125), Wang Fu (1362–1416), Yun Ge, and Zhou Yigui (1686–1774) concur with Liu Xie’s and Xie He’s view that as the graceful and “distinguished manner of representation,” yun is a synonym for ya 雅 (elegance), and constitutes the “felicitous expression” of qi as vital creative force (160–162). Although Zong-qi Cai (2004, 331–332) refers to Qian Zhongshu’s (1979, 1362; Egan 1998, 110) discussion of yun (resonance) as lingering tone or echoes, his claim that yun is the aesthetic effect of qi “pulsating inside a painting” appears to echo Fong’s understanding of the yun which (along with qi) determines the aesthetic quality of the work. Acker (1954, xxxi–xxxiii) renders yun as “resonance.” For him, and consistent with his view that the master of qi in painting refers to painters, yun is better understood as “lingering resonance or overtone” of the painter who commands qi. He notes that yun may be explained as “sympathetic vibration” or “conveyance” of qi (spirit-energy or vital energy) between the painter and the audience by virtue of the work of art as medium. Acker also points out that yun could be rendered as consonance, to indicate the state in which the painter gets in tune with the object depicted and releases the brush until “a definite rapport has been established.” (xxxii) However, Acker rejects these explanations of yun without any further argument, selecting “resonance” as the rendering of yun, to refer to the “conveyance” of qi from the painter to his work (xxxiii).

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

25

Slightly earlier than Xie He, the painter and theorist Zong Bing (375–443) claims that he wanted the rhythm and melody of mountains in landscape painting to be resonant or vibrant with the music one might perform in front of the landscape painting (see Songshu). It is unreasonable to deny that yun can exist as the sympathetic vibrancy or resonance between the painter, the object of representation, the work, and the audience. The rendering of yun as consonance not only reflects its origin as a concept applicable in music, and subsequently adapted in human manners, natural scenery, and artworks, but also adequately covers the possibilities of harmonious sympathetic agreement between the painter, the object, the work, and the audience. Although my renderings of qi as well as yun are the same as Soper’s, this does not mean that I fully agree with his understanding of qi and yun. Now that the meanings and renderings of qi and yun have been elucidated, the plausibility of “spirit consonance” as the rendering of qiyun is apparent. I will further explore the notion of qiyun in section 1.5 after establishing the meaning and rendering of shengdong in section 1.4. 1.4 SHENGDONG Sheng as a verb means “engender” or “produce,” and dong as a noun means “animation” or “movement.” If shengdong is regarded as a verbal phrase made by a verb and a noun as the verb’s object, its meaning would be “engender animation,” or “engender a sense of movement.” However, shengdong may also be thought of as a noun phrase, which means “animation” or “vitality,” or as an adjective term, which means “animated” or “lively and vigorous.”21 To explore the grammatical character and meaning of shengdong, it is better to start from examining the punctuation of Xie He’s first law. When we have clarified that and established the meaning of shengdong, the rendering of qiyun shengdong will be finally established. Concerning the punctuation of the first law, there have long been intense debates. Traditionally, qiyun shengdong is treated as a four-character phrase made by two two-character compounds, and this tradition derives from the influential late Tang critic, connoisseur, and art historian, Zhang Yanyuan (847) whose Lidai Minghua Ji (Record of the Famous Painters of Successive Dynasties) inherited Xie He’s six laws as criteria for painting (see Lidai Minghua Ji, vol. 1; Wang and Ren 2002a, 105–106).22 The original sentence of Xie He’s first law was punctuated as: Yi, qiyun shengdong shiye (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 17). Yi means “firstly”; shiye has no meaning, functioning as an indicative term of definition, and here suggests qiyun shengdong is the first law. However, Acker’s (1954, xxii–xxviii) punctuation for Xie He’s first law is: Yi, qiyun, shengdong shiye. His new

26

Chapter 1

punctuation derives from the claim that qiyun and shengdong are two separate two-character phrases and the latter phrase explains the former. That is, for Acker, shiye follows shengdong, works as a noun phrase, and still functions as the indicative term of definition, and suggests that qiyun simply means shengdong. Thus, the first law was construed by Acker: first, “spirit resonance” means “vitality.” This rendering is controversial, but it is echoed by some critics such as Sirén (1956, 5), Loehr (1973, 68), Qian Zhongshu (1979, 1353), Peter Way (1997, 271–291), Victor H. Mair (2004, 83–95), and Shao Hong (2006, 115–116), although there are differences of interpretation among those who accept the punctuation advocated by Acker.23 Before Acker, Soper and other scholars agreed with the traditional punctuation of Xie He’s first law. Soper (1949, 415) suggests these interrelationships between the two halves of each law in Xie He’s six laws: the latter two-character term appears to suggest a quality or process of the painting, while the former term offers the governing condition or principle of the latter. In Soper’s mind, shengdong as a noun phrase means animation, and it is the “reward” or effect of “spirit consonance” (qiyun); so he translates qiyun shengdong as “animation through spirit consonance.” (422–423) This view appears to be consistent with the late Ming scholar Gu Ningyuan’s (1580? ‒after 1645) claim that shengdong necessarily follows qiyun (see Yu 1986, 118; Wang and Ren 2002b, 287). However, for Gu Ningyuan, the first law means that if the object depicted or the painting is replete with qiyun, the object depicted or the work will appear alive. For Soper, as mentioned above, yun means the sympathetic response of qi, and thus qiyun implies the sympathetic response between the artist, the object depicted, the work, and the audience. Cahill (1961, 372) shares a similar view on the meaning of qiyun shengdong to Soper, claiming that Soper’s writing on the first two laws of Xie He provides “the soundest” exposition.24 Concerning the punctuation of Xie He’s first law, I agree with Cahill’s argument against Acker, and accept Cahill’s interpretation of shengdong as a verbal phrase made by a verb and a noun.25 Even though Goldin’s (2018, 496–510) research indicates that the syntactical structure of a two-character phrase followed by another two-character phrase in which the latter explains the former can find a lot of supportive evidence in texts before Xie He and in Xie He’s time, I think the fact that Zhang Yanyuan must have been fully aware of this structure but does not apply it to Xie He’s laws deserves more positive attention. As Cahill (1961, 374) interprets it, shiye functions as a connective between the number and the four-character phrase. On the basis of a comprehensive analysis of the six laws of Xie He, Cahill convincingly argues against Acker’s punctuation and insists that qiyun and shengdong could not be regarded as two-character compounds which

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

27

share the same meaning, in order to keep syntactical parallelism in each pair of the six laws in terms of grammatical structure (372–381).26 According to Cahill (1961, 380; Cahill’s addition; see also Cahill 2007), shengdong means “engender [a sense of] movement,” and qiyun shengdong means “engender [a sense of] movement [through] spirit consonance.” My rendering is a little different from that of Cahill, in considering that a sense of movement is actually a demonstration of a sense of life. In Lidai Minghua Ji Zhang Yanyuan suggests that a real painting is a painting replete with qiyun and “every stroke of a real painting” demonstrates the “breath of life” (shengqi 生氣) (Bush and Shih 2012, 62; see Yu 1986, 36; Wang and Ren 2002a, 111). I also agree with Hay (1983, 96) that regarding the first law of Xie He “movement (dong 動) is the irreducible sign of life itself.” As Zhu Liangzhi (1995, 7–8) suggests, through representing the sense of movement, Chinese art fundamentally aims to pursue a sense of life. Shengdong is thus better rendered as “engender a sense of life.” As Osborne (1968, 73) notes, shengdong does not necessarily point to the European idea of visual illusion, since excessive concern for formal likeness is regarded by later Chinese painters and connoisseurs who echoed Xie He’s first law as “being destructive of” qiyun and shengdong. As suggested in the last section, the rendering of qiyun is confirmed as “spirit consonance,” so the rendering of qiyun shengdong can be now conveyed as “(through) spirit consonance engendering a sense of life.” 1.5 QIYUN IN XIE HE’S FIRST LAW AND ZHANG YANYUAN’S ECHO Although the meaning of qiyun shengdong has been elucidated, the essence of qiyun in Xie He’s first law still needs to be explored. Concerning the essence of qiyun, previous scholars’ opinions seem to focus on merely one aspect, despite offering valuable points on different aspects. In this section, I explain the context in which Xie He proposes his notion of qiyun, and we will see why Xu Fuguan sees Xie He’s notion of qiyun as an advanced version of the Eastern Jin painter and theorist Gu Kaizhi’s earlier notion of shen 神 (spirit), and in which aspects the later notion of qiyun appears to develop upon the notion of shen.27 Not only did he propose the six laws of painting, Xie He also classified twenty-seven painters from the third to the fifth centuries into six grades in his Guhua Pinlu (Record of the Classification of Old Painters/Painting) (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 17–23).28 Most of the painters listed in Guhua Pinlu are good at figure painting, while among them at least three painters Gu Kaizhi, Zong Bing, and Wang Wei (415–443) painted landscape. Some aestheticians

28

Chapter 1

and art historians such as Fong, Xu Fuguan (2001, 134), and Ronald Egan (2016, 282) think that Xie He intended his first law and his notion of qiyun to apply only to figure painting.29 However, one may question whether the initial application of qiyun was merely to figure painting, since landscape painting had already sprung up in the late fourth century after the Han Dynasty.30 Before Xie He, there are three significant texts on landscape painting written by Gu Kaizhi, Zong Bing, and Wang Wei. One is Gu Kaizhi’s Hua Yuntaishan Ji (Record on Painting the Cloud Terrace Mountain), another is Zong Bing’s Hua Shanshui Xu (Introduction to Painting Landscape), and the third is Wang Wei’s Xu Hua (Discussion of Painting) in which the discussion mainly concerns landscape painting.31 Both Cahill (1961, 380) and Sullivan (1962) draw on historical evidence to suggest the possibility that Xie He’s laws applied initially to landscape painting.32 Although Sullivan found few historical and literary texts in the Han Dynasty concerning actual landscape paintings or theoretical ideas of landscape representation, he notes that the situation changed in the Six Dynasties. Evidence for this comes not only from texts on landscape painting written by such artists as Gu Kaizhi, Zong Bing, and Wang Wei, but also painting titles indicating the subject-matter of landscape recorded in such historical texts as Zhang Yanyuan’s Lidai Minghua Ji, the Tang art historian Pei Xiaoyuan’s (active 627–650) Zhenguan Gongsi Hualu (Record of Paintings in Public and Private Collections in the Zhenguan Era, 627–650), and the Northern Song art historian Guo Ruoxu’s Tuhua Jianwen Zhi (An Account of My Experiences in Painting) (see Sullivan 1962, 86–87, 114–127).33 Although Cahill (1961, 380) and Sullivan (1962, 107) remind us that Xie He may have intended his notion of qiyun to apply to landscape painting in the Six Dynasties, landscape painting did not become a mature and dominant genre until the tenth century, and there is no extant work or copy of landscape painting produced by painters in the Six Dynasties. Thus, in this section I start by examining the notion of qiyun in figure painting as a dominant painting genre in the Six Dynasties (and the following Sui and Tang Dynasties). Such painting was popular in the Six Dynasties and served various functions: didactic teaching (reflecting Confucian ethics) as “a moral mirror to society,” religious purposes (in portable scrolls or murals in temples or caves), or to meet secular demands as the subject of patrons’ choices (McCausland 2016, 121).34 The Nymph of the Luo River, attributed to Gu Kaizhi, illustrates the romantic encounter between the nymph of the Luo River and Cao Zhi (192–232) depicted in a well-known rhapsody (rhyme-prose) by Cao Zhi, might have been produced for secular enjoyment in accordance with a patron’s order.35 An example of figure painting functioning as didactic teaching through the use of narrative scenes is the scroll entitled Admonitions of the Imperial Instructress, attributed to Gu Kaizhi. The scroll collected in the

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

29

British Museum contains nine (originally twelve) narrative scenes of court with didactic text inscriptions initially composed by Zhang Hua (232–300) to instruct court ladies in virtue.36 Shane McCausland (2016, 115–120) offers an interesting illustration of how the scenes in the scroll, along with the inscriptions, function as an ethical mirror in arousing audiences’ psychological reflection on the vivid admonitions performed by the figures (see also McCausland, 2003). As he (2016, 120) remarks, this scroll also “can afford insight into [. . .] qiyun shengdong or ‘animation through spirit consonance,’ meaning that the figures rendered by the painter should come alive by resonating with the figures they represent in life.” His understanding of qiyun shengdong follows Soper’s interpretation of Xie He’s first law. According to Xu Fuguan, the valuing of qiyun in figure painting in Xie He’s text might derive from the praising of the qi and yun of human beings during the Six Dynasties period, evident in contemporary literary works such as Shishuo Xinyu. The superiority, purity, and loftiness of qi, and the elegance, loveliness, and attractiveness of yun, reflected in language style, personal manner and bearing, and personality, were highly praised in Shishuo Xinyu. Mainly by exploring the notions of qi and yun used in the fashion of observing human personality or mentality, as recorded in Shishuo Xinyu, Xu Fuguan concludes that in figure painting in the Six Dynasties qiyun refers to the second nature of human beings as the object depicted, as higher than their first nature. According to him, qi tends to mean sublime and even masculine, while yun tends to mean graceful and even feminine.37 He suggests that in the context of valuing qi and yun in literary writing, and in relation to human personality and spirituality, Xie He’s emphasis on both qi and yun seems to provide a more advanced and complete picture than Gu Kaizhi’s view of transmitting shen (Xu 2001, 89–108; see Shishuo Xinyu, chapter Qiaoyi). It is worth discussing the idea of shen as an important precursor of Xie He’s idea of qiyun. Before Xie He, Gu Kaizhi points out the significance of chuanshen 傳神 (transmitting spirit) in painting and regards figure painting as a first-class genre (see Weijin Shengliu Huazan; Wang and Ren 2002a, 10).38 As Xu Fuguan (2001, 94) notes, Shishuo Xinyu recorded that Gu Kaizhi sometimes did not draw the eyes for several years after painting all the other parts of his figures; when someone asked him the reason, he answered that the crux of transmitting shen lies in eyes. His fame was based on his distinguished skill of transmitting shen. Zong-qi Cai (2004, 310‒342) discusses the philosophical origins and aesthetic significance of shen in texts on literature and painting in the Six Dynasties in five categories: (1) shen as conscious supernatural beings and the mysterious indwelling force of nature; (2) shen as “anima,” as in Gu Kaizhi’s claim that to transmit shen is to convey the innermost spiritual feature of the animate object depicted in figure painting; (3) shen as “élan vital,” as in Liu Xie’s theory of

30

Chapter 1

nourishing qi, refers to the artist’s vital creative force, while shen as the élan vital manifested in the work appears to refer to its expressive quality; (4) shen as “Daemon,” as shensi 神思 (which may be translated as “spirit and thought,” or “spiritual thinking”) in the Han scholar Lu Ji’s (261‒303) Wenfu (The Poetic Exposition on Literature) and Liu Xie’s Wenxin Diaolong, refers to the carefree “flight” of the imagination of the artist; (5) in traditional Chinese literary and painting criticism during the Six Dynasties and later periods shenyun as “daemon resonance” used interchangeably with qiyun as “breath resonance” refers to the aesthetic quality or effect of the artwork.39 Yu-kung Kao (1991, 86–87) explains the role of shen (spirit) in Chinese painting in three aspects: (1) “the intrinsic and innate qualities of the subject or subject-matter, which in its early application is primarily human or animate,” and when shen refers to “the essence of an inanimate object,” it “challenges the artist to capture its transitory quality”; (2) “the artist’s genius in creating an impression or an idea and transmitting this idea through his art”; and (3) the aesthetic quality in the work of art. Comparing this with Zong-qi Cai’s examination of the meaning of shen, we can see a consensus on three aspects regarding the notion of shen: (1) the innate quality of the object depicted, although in this aspect, Zong-qi Cai only refers to human figures as the objects depicted in figure painting popular in the Six Dynasties, while Yu-kung Kao may also have considered that the notion of shen in Zong Bing’s text and later texts is applicable to the inanimate objects depicted in landscape painting; (2) the ability of the artist (in artistic imagination); and (3) the aesthetic quality of the work. There is another dimension of shen implied in Gu Kaizhi’s notion of transmitting shen. As Soper (1951, 127) and Sullivan (1962, 111) note, in his Lidai Minghua Ji Zhang Yanyuan quotes the Tang scholar-artist and critic Li Sizhen’s (d. 696) claim that Gu Kaizhi “achieves his marvels by [shenhui]” (神會 spiritual communion) with the object depicted (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 59). This spiritual communion between artist and object is suggested also in Zong Bing’s Hua Shanshui Xu, although he discusses it in the context of landscape painting rather than figure painting. Zong Bing’s account suggests that the shen of the artist is supposed to respond to the shen of the object. This point can be seen in his claim that “[the] response by the eye and [the] accord by the mind to nature [. . .] will affect the spirit [shen of the artist or the connoisseur] and, as the spirit [shen] soars, the truth will be attained. [. . .] Furthermore, the spirit [shen], which is essentially limitless, resides in forms and stimulates [or responds sympathetically to] all [similar] kinds of life [感類 ganlei].” (Bush and Shih 2012, 37–38; with emphasis and modifications; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 12–13; see also Bush 1983, 145)40 As mentioned above, Xu Fuguan suggests that Xie He’s praise of qiyun over formal likeness might derive some inspiration from Gu Kaizhi’s

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

31

emphasis on transmitting shen, even though Xie He thinks Gu Kaizhi’s reputation for figure painting is overrated and ranks him as third class. By examining scholars’ explanations of the notion of qiyun, we can see that qiyun in Xie He’s first law appears also to embody four dimensions, analogous to the four dimensions of the notion of shen mentioned above. Let’s look at Soper first. According to him, since qiyun is “sympathetic responsiveness of the vital spirit,” painters should guarantee that the qi of the object depicted in the work will “find and respond to its like” in the universe (Soper 1949, 422–423). For Soper, although qiyun cannot itself be understood as a quality of the artist or of the object depicted, qiyun requires the artist to capture the “ultimate, quintessential character” of the object (422). This understanding of qiyun implies an account of the aesthetic interaction between the artist, the object, the work, and even the audience, although Soper discusses the scope of qi in Xie He’s first law only in relation to sentient beings. As mentioned above, the sympathetic resonance between the artist, the object, the work, and the audience implied in Soper’s understanding of qiyun is suggested in Zong Bing’s text on landscape painting, although Zong Bing does not apply the terminology of qiyun, but shen. As for the mystical sympathy, Osborne (1968, 70) appears to agree with Soper, in his claim that qiyun “expresses with some element of metaphor the sympathetic resonance as of a musical note between the vital energies of the individual and the vital principles which transfuse external nature.” Hay (1983, 98) also echoes Soper’s view, suggesting that qiyun in the first law of painting embodies aesthetic consciousness of the phenomenon of sympathetic resonance. For Soper (1949, 422), the “ultimate, quintessential character” which the artist should capture would be “the horsiness of horses, the humanity of man,” and, “on a more general level,” perhaps “the quickness of intelligence, the pulse of life.” Following this illustration, one may think that the first law of Xie He seems to suggest painters ought to capture the perfect ideal (perhaps in the Platonic sense) rather than imitate the mere shadow of the perfect ideal world. However, it is noteworthy that the metaphysical ideal of Plato is not the pursuit of painters either in Xie He’s time or later. Soper would agree that the Platonic picture is out of place in the qiyun-focused context. We will see in chapter 2, in the context of landscape painting, that the idea of the spiritenergy or vital force of the natural object depicted in landscape painting finding and responding to its like in the world can be accommodated in later theorists’ advocacy of shenhui (spiritual communion). As mentioned above, Acker’s (1954, xxxiii, xlii) notion of qiyun focuses on the ability of the painter. He considers only the painter’s business of nourishing and controlling qi, staying vibrant with qi during artistic creation, and finally demonstrating qi in the work. It should be emphasized, however, that Acker’s observation of the mysterious connection between the painter and the

32

Chapter 1

expressive quality of the work is valuable, since the painter’s brush can be regarded as “an extension of [his] own body” and thus brushwork “projects a painter’s physical movements.” (Fong 1992, 5) As seen above, Acker is inspired by the Guanzi which suggests that qi may be polluted or cultivated, and the significance of cultivating qi for literary writing was suggested by Cao Pi and was further developed by Liu Xie. Although Xie He discusses nothing of the cultivation of qi or yun for creating painting, later critics such as Guo Ruoxu (who adopts Xie He’s six laws to evaluate painting) points out that the level of the qiyun of the artist (which reflects a kind of innate mental disposition) determines whether he can create a painting replete with qiyun (as an expressive quality of the work), and qiyun manifested in the work originates from the carefree wandering of his shen (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 316–317; Bush and Shih 2012, 95–97). We will see more detailed discussion of this in chapter 2. Regarding qiyun as the expressive content or quality of a work, Loehr appears to concur with Fong, although Fong notes that Xie He uses qi and yun separately when commenting on some of the twenty-seven earlier and contemporary painters in Guhua Pinlu, and thus he explains qi and yun as two separate critical concepts.41 As seen above, Fong thinks that in Xie He’s first law qi refers to the substance of the work, yun refers to the harmonious, elegant manner of the work, and both contribute to the aesthetic quality of the work. However, Fong (1966, 160, 162–164) also admits that in Xie He’s text both qi and yun may refer to the “qualities of the depicted subject” (in figure painting) or the “personal, expressive characteristics of the artist.” That is, Fong is aware of that qi and yun not only deal with the representative problem of the work and determines its expressive quality, but also can refer to the innate, essential qualities of the object depicted, or of the artist. Unlike Fong’s emphasis that qi and yun in Xie He’s text refer to the expressive aesthetic quality of the work, Xu Fuguan, as seen above, thinks that the qiyun advocated by Xie He refers to the spiritual, quintessential quality of the object depicted.42 Looking at Xie He’s text, one may see that both explanations appear to make sense. Wei Xie (active from late third century to early fourth century), a painter in the Western Jin Dynasty, listed by Xie He in the first class, was not perfect in rendering formal likeness but excellent in attaining vigorous qi. This vigorous qi may belong to the work or the object. Zhang Mo (active in Western Jin) and Xun Xu (ca. 218–ca. 289) in the first class “attained the utmost in subtlety and partook of the divine,” and captured the jingling 精靈 (essence and spirit) of the object depicted (Bush and Shih 2012, 29; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 18). Fong (1966, 163) suggests that this comment on Zhang Mo and Xun Xu by Xie He is about their ability to convey qiyun beyond formal likeness. Gu Junzhi (fifth century), ranked in the second class in Xie He’s text, was careful and skilful at formal

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

33

representation, but less proficient than the first-class masters in conveying the shenyun and qili 氣力 (the strength of qi) of the object or in the work (see Bush and Shih 2012, 30; Wang and Ren 2002a, 18).43 The valuation of qiyun above formal likeness initiated in Xie He’s laws and classification of twenty-seven painters is inherited by Zhang Yanyuan in his valuation of paintings. I agree with Fong (1966, 163) that one can see that in his comments on the six laws of Xie He, Zhang Yanyuan echoes Xie He in prizing qiyun above formal likeness.44 Zhang Yanyuan suggests that nobody before or after the Tang figure painting master Wu Daozi (ca. 680–759) could compete with him, since his skills seem to match all the six laws of Xie He, and his distinctiveness does not lie in perfectly depicting formal likeness, but in the transmission of qiyun (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 106, 111). Zhang Yanyuan comments that, “while all others took pains to join the ends of strokes, he for his part broke up and left spaces between his dots and strokes. While all the rest paid careful attention to verisimilitude, he rid himself of such vulgarities.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 61; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 111) There is no extant work by Wu Daozi. It is only through reading the comments of Zhang Yanyuan, or other critics who saw his original work that we can imagine his excellence. Even though the fact that there is no extant work of landscape painting or even copy attributed to any painters in the Six Dynasties cannot rule out the applicability of qiyun in landscape painting in Xie He’s time, Zhang Yanyuan’s negative comments on such paintings produced in the Six Dynasties may persuade people to tend to doubt this possibility: In their painting of landscape, the appearance of crowding peaks resembles hair ornaments or horn combs. Sometimes the water does not support what is floating on it; sometimes human beings are larger than mountains. Almost always trees and rocks are inserted to encircle areas within the paintings, and the shapes of these ranked plantings are like the spread fingers of outstretched arms. (Bush and Shih 2012, 66; see Yu 1986, 603; Wang and Ren 2002a, 107)

In addition, he claims that architecture (terraces and pavilions), trees and rocks, and carriages and furniture have neither shengdong nor qiyun (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 106; Acker 1954, 150; Soper 1949, 418). Even though there are extant works attributed to Sui and Tang landscape painting masters such as Zhan Ziqian (ca. 545–618), Li Sixun (651–718), and Li Zhaodao (675–758), the “static and representative aspects” of landscape painting seen by Zhang Yanyuan in his time may have led him to deny the possibility of conveying qiyun in landscape painting, and it was Jing Hao’s later application of qiyun to landscape painting that brings “a new sense of [landscape painting] as a living and dynamic entity” “into the fore” as Egan (2016, 283) suggests.

34

Chapter 1

INTERIM CONCLUSION In conclusion, as we have seen above in the context of figure painting as a dominant genre in the Six Dynasties, various scholars’ views on the notion of qiyun all have contributed valuable points, although merely confining qiyun to the scope of the painter, or the object depicted or the work, or as the interaction between the painter and the object appears unreasonable. Acker’s viewing qiyun just as the quality of the painter seems obviously limited approach, even though it is undeniable that a painter should cultivate his ability to get in tune with the object, and release the image replete with qiyun until a rapport is achieved. Although Xie He’s contemporary Liu Xie emphasizes the significance of cultivating qi for literature, Xie He does not mention this, and the significance of the artist’s qiyun was not emphasized until about 500 years later, Guo Ruoxu’s understanding of Xie He’s laws suggests qiyun originates in the painter’s innate mental disposition. Fong’s and Xu Fuguan’s understanding of qiyun as respectively the expressive quality of the work and the essential character of the object depicted are both identifiable in Xie He’s text and his contemporaries’ literary writing. One may suggest these two points do not conflict: where the process of creation by painters is concerned, qiyun refers to the essential quality of the object depicted; once the painter releases the brush to complete a work, qiyun becomes the expressive quality or content of the work. Although the artist attempts to capture the essential quality of the object beyond its formal appearance, the qiyun transmitted into the work unavoidably is colored by his perception, emotions, and feelings of the world. Soper’s suggestion regarding qiyun implies the spiritual communion and sympathetic response between artist, object, work, and even audience, although he merely discusses this in the context of figure painting in Xie He’s time. We will see in the following chapters that later landscapists and critics echoes the view of qiyun as the core concept that draws painter, object, work, and audience together, and promotes a fascinating interaction between them. In chapter 2, I will explain how the notion of qiyun initially proposed by Xie He and echoed by Zhang Yanyuan is further developed in landscape painting by leading theorists in the Five Dynasties, Song Dynasty, and Yuan Dynasty. Regarding the dichotomy of qiyun and formal likeness, from later applications of Xie He’s first law to landscape, we will also see more clearly how a landscape painter in Song and Yuan is advised to engage with qiyun.

NOTES 1. Xie He’s six laws (fa 法) for Chinese painting are thus: The first law qiyun shengdong means (through) spirit consonance engendering a sense of life; the

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

35

second law gufa yongbi 骨法用筆 refers to “bone method” (which is unique to Chinese painting) in using the brush; the third law yingwu xiangxing refers to correspondence to the object in depicting forms; the fourth law suilei fucai 隨類敷彩 means conformity to kind (of objects) in applying colours; the fifth law jingying weizhi 經營位置 refers to division and planning in positioning and arranging (the composition); the six law chuanyi moxie 傳移模寫 means transmitting and conveying earlier models in making copies. These translations draw on the translations by Alexander Soper and James Cahill (Soper 1949, 412–23; Cahill 1961, 372–81). 2. Jin was divided into Western Jin and Eastern Jin; Western Jin (265–316) was overthrown by invading Northern nomadic ethnic minorities in 316, and the remnants of the Jin court lost control of northern China, fled to the south-east, and established the regime of Eastern Jin in the new capital Jiankang in 317. 3. Six previous English translations of qiyun shengdong cited by Soper are: “Rhythmic vitality” by Herbert A. Giles (1918, 26‒29); “Spiritual element, life’s motion” by Friedrich Hirth (1905, 57‒59); “Through a vitalizing spirit, a painting should possess the movement of life” by Shio Sakanishi (1939, 46‒51); “Resonance of the spirit, movement of life” by Osvald Sirén (1936, 18‒23, 219); “Spiritual tone and life-movement” by Taki Seiichi (1910); “spirit-harmony; life’s motion (explained as: ‘The artist should show the operations of the spirit producing life’s motion’)” by Arthur Waley (1923, 72–73). Laurence Binyon (1911, 12) translates qiyun shengdong as “rhythmic vitality, or spiritual rhythm expressed in the movement of life”; we can see that his translation may be inspired by Giles (1918). Listing the translations by Giles, Hirth, Sirén, Seiichi, and Binyon, Lin Yutang (1967, 36) also cites the translation by Benjamin March: “A picture should be inspired and possess life itself,” but Lin himself translates qiyun as “tone and atmosphere,” and shengdong as “fully alive, moving, lifelike.” Harold Osborne (1968, 70) translates qiyun shengdong as “spirit resonance which brings life movement,” and his rendering appears to be inspired by Sirén (1936). As seen above, the renderings by Sakanishi and Lin clearly show that they regard qiyun shengdong as the quality of a work of art. 4. Loehr (1973, 69) claims that “only the first of [Xie He’s six] canons is concerned with expressiveness, a quality related to content to some extent, but primarily considered as the formal quality of aliveness.” 5. See Huangdi Neijing; Unschuld et al. (2011, 29–82, 219–32, 301–50, 383– 418, 447–58, 567–74). This is a medical work attributed to the probably mythical Yellow Emperor (2697–2597 or 2698–2598 BC), but the compilers of Siku Quanshu (Complete Library of Four Sections) think that it was written and compiled sometime in the Warring States Period (480–221 BC). Huangdi Neijing suggests that there is sympathetic resonance between the qi of the human being and the qi of the universe, and that human disease results from an unbalanced, disrupted state of the qi of human beings effected by the qi of other things in the universe. 6. Guanzi was named for and attributed to the 7th century BC philosopherstatesman Guan Zhong (720–645 BC), and compiled by the Western Han scholar Liu Xiang (77–6 BC) in about 26 BC. Scholars think it may have been written by some scholars in the Jixia Academy in the fourth century BC in the Warring States period.

36

Chapter 1

7. Huainanzi is attributed to the Western Han Prince of Huainan, Liu An, 179– 122 BC. 8. See Yijing and Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi (2013, 7) describes nature as the “Great Clod” breathing qi and listening to it as if hearing the piping of the earth or heaven in his second chapter (Discussion on Making All Things Equal). 9. Zong-qi Cai (2004, 330‒34) mentions that shenyun and qiyun are used interchangeably in “traditional Chinese literary and art criticism.” 10. For the translation of Cao Pi’s Lunwen, Owen (1992, 65–68) directly introduces qi as a foreign word and merely shows its pinyin spelling, but explains its meaning in comments following the text translation. 11. In chapter 7, I will discuss that how later artists and theorists believe that landscape painting practice requires immersion of the self in landscape, and spiritual communion between oneself and the landscape promotes the nourishing and cultivation of qi, which is also a moral cultivation in the Mencian sense. 12. Regarding dynamic qi and Chinese perception of the world as processual, see also Jullien (2002). 13. See Wenxin Diaolong, chapter Tixing; Owen (1992, 212–15); Shih (2015, 293‒96). See also Wenxin Diaolong, chapter Fenggu, Owen (1992, 218–23); Shi (2015, 215–18). 14. See Wenxin Diaolong, chapter Yangqi; Shih (2015, 293‒96). 15. In the English version of Li Zehou’s (1994, 185) The Path of Beauty, qi is translated as “spirit,” yun is rendered as “charm”/“rhythm,” and qiyun as “rhythmic vitality.” 16. Vincent Yu-Chung Shih’s (2015, 241) translation of this sentence is: “By ho [harmony] is meant the harmony of different sounds and tones, and by yün [rhyme], the consonant response of the same final vowel.” 17. Goldin (2018, 506–9) observes that yun is used to praise people in encomiastic epitaphs at least from the fourth century, and fengyun, yayun, shenyun, and qiyun are popular terms used in this aspect. 18. In the training of the body’s yun, the harmonious and elegant manner of the dancer in movement is cultivated partially through or at least along with the control of qi. 19. See the Seventh Wing (Wenyan) in Yijing; Legge (1899, 411); see also Baynes (1968, 9); Wei (1977, 300–307). Yijing (Book of Changes) discusses the ying/yang distinction between energy and its transformation and harmonisation in the universe. The core of Yijing is called Changes of Zhou, initially a divination manual in the Western Zhou period (ca. 1045–750 BC), attributed to the King Wen of Zhou (1112–1050 BC), whose son King Wu of Zhou (reign date: ca. 1045 BC–ca. 1043 BC) overthrew the Shang Dynasty and established the Zhou Dynasty. Later it was transformed into a cosmological text with a series of ten philosophical commentaries known as “Ten Wings.” The First and Second Wings is Tuanzhuan (Commentary on the Decision); the Third and Fourth Wings is Xiangzhuan (Commentary on the Images); the Fifth and Sixth Wings is entitled Xici, or Dazhua (Great Commentary, or Great Treatise); the Seventh Wing is named Wenyan (Commentary on the Words of the Text); the Eighth Wing is called Shuogua (Discussion of the Trigrams); the Ninth Wing is Xugua

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

37

(Sequence of the Hexagrams); the Tenth Wing is Zagua (Miscellaneous Notes on the Hexagrams). In his work Shi Ji (Records of the Grand Historian) the Western Han historian Sima Qian (145 BC–ca. 86 BC) suggests that Confucius (551 BC–479 BC) compiled the Ten Wings. In 136 BC, Emperor Wu of Han placed Yijing as the first among the Five Classics. 20. Goldin (2018, 505, 507–8) observes that yun appears as an aesthetic term to evaluate music at least from the end of Eastern Han in a lost rhapsody by Cai Yong (132–192), and it also appears in literature criticism in the writing of Xiao Zixian (489–537), a contemporary of Xie He. 21. Bush and Shih (2012, 13) suggest that shengdong is “variously interpreted as a binomial term functioning as a noun or adjective, or read as two characters functioning as adjectives, as an adverb and a verb, or as a verb and its object. Hence the first law has also been translated as: ‘spirit resonance or vitality’, ‘make the spirit [qi] lively and the rhythm [yun] vigorous’, and ‘the sign of qi [in objects] moves lively’.” 22. For an English translation of Lidai Minghua Ji, see Acker (1954, 59–382; 1974). 23. Powers (1991, 909–31) agrees with Acker’s punctuation of Xie He’s six laws, but suggests that the notion of qiyun refers to the character of the object depicted (animate beings in Xie He’s context and inanimate things in Jing Hao’s application in landscape painting). Although Mair (2004, 94) echoes Acker’s punctuation, his discussion of the meaning of Xie He’s first law shows that he thinks that shengdong is conveyed through qiyun. Even though historical evidence shows that the Indian six limbs were proposed earlier than Xie He’s six laws and cultural interchange between China and India occurred in the fifth and sixth centuries when Xie He wrote down his six laws, I do not think that the far-fetched parallels suggested by Mair (2014, 96–111) can support his assumption that Xie He’s six laws are derived from the Indian six limbs. I have no space to discuss this further in this book. Goldin (2018, 496–510) emphasizes the sequence of Xie He’s six laws (listed in decreasing order of importance) in questioning Mair’s suggestion about the Indian origin of Xie He’s six laws and indicates that the notion of qiyun may not be so simply explained. 24. Sherman Lee (1973, 253) also agrees with Soper’s punctuation and renderings of Xie He’s first two laws, and claims that Soper’s translation “threw real light on their meaning” (quoted in Shao 2006, 115). 25. I also agree with Wai-kam Ho (1981) that the third character in each law should be understood as a verb to keep the grammatical parallels of six laws (mentioned in Bush and Shih 2012, 13). 26. Cahill (2007) reiterates his objection toward Acker’s punctuation and translation of qiyun shengdong in his article “Good Grief, Not Six Laws Again” published in his blog. 27. Xu (2001) thinks that Xie He’s notion of qiyun and Gu Kaizhi’s notion of shen initially apply to figure painting rather than landscape painting in their period. 28. For an English translation of Guhua Pinlu, see Acker (1954, 1–32). 29. Xu (2001, 148) claims that Xie He’s comments on Zong Bing and Wang Wei merely apply to their figure paintings rather than landscape paintings. Concerning subject matter in early Chinese painting criticism, see Ledderose (1973, 69–83).

38

Chapter 1

30. Both Sullivan (1962) and Fong (1975) think that landscape painting had sprang up in the late fourth century. Sullivan (1962) also discusses how landscape images can be identified in some artifacts from the Han Dynasty or earlier. Peter C. Sturman (2016, 179–81) mentions that the representation of landscape shown in the Boshan Lu (universal mountain censer) of Western Han Emperor Wudi (157– 87 BC; reign dates: 141–87 BC), and in a ceramic Fanghu vessel (first century BC) collected in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, suggests a fascination with the legendary cloudy mountain as the habitat of immortals or intermediary place between the mortal world and the immortal world. 31. For Gu Kaizhi’s, Zong Bing’s and Wang Wei’s texts quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji and their English translations, see Yu (1986, 581–84); Wang and Ren (2002a, 5–7, 11–15); Bush and Shih (2012, 32–39). 32. In his book The Birth of Landscape Painting in China, Sullivan (1962, 106–7) mentions five (Sirén’s, Waley’s, Sakanishi’s, Soper’s, Acker’s) English translations of Xie He’s laws. 33. Sirén (1956, 26–37) discusses Gu Kaizhi and Lu Tanwei (?–ca. 485) as early landscape painters. 34. For an interpretive frame of the genre and functions of figure painting developed from the fourth century up to the nineteenth century, see McCausland (2016, 115–35). For a brief discussion of painting in the Six Dynasties, see Wu (1997, 34–58). 35. There are nine scrolls of The Nymph of the Luo River, attributed to Gu Kaizhi; Sickman (1980, xvii) mentions three: one in the Palace Museum in Beijing; another in the Liaoning Provincial Museum, considered a copy produced in the Song Dynasty; the third in the Freer Gallery of Art, Washington, considered a copy of the Song Dynasty. For Cao Zhi’s rhyme-prose and illustration in the scrolls, see Hsio-yen Shih (1976, 16–27). 36. Zhang Hua lived in the period of Three Kingdoms and Western Jin. After the Western Jin Empress Jia Nanfeng (257–300), the wife of Western Jin Emperor Huidi (259–307; reign dates: 290–307), triggered political chaos, Zhang Hua (292) composed the rhyme-prose Admonitions of the Imperial Instructress to urge court ladies to cultivate virtue. For the text of his, poetry illustration on the scroll collected in the British Museum, and the scroll’s dating, see Shih (1976, 9–15). 37. As mentioned above, Li Zehou (2006, 98) suggests that the qi embodied in different styles of artworks may express “the beauty of yang, of masculinity, powerful and vigorous,” or “the beauty of yin, of femininity, mild and circuitous.” It is not my concern in this book to discuss the plausibility of such gendered claims of beauty in relation to qiyun; I merely point out here that they are not essential to the wider aesthetic claims I will be discussing. 38. Egan (2016, 277–80) thinks that Gu Kaizhi discusses the dichotomy of shen and form in merely figure painting, while in Zong Bing’s text the notion of shen applies to landscape painting. 39. Shen as supernatural beings or the indwelling force of nature is excluded from my discussion in this book. Due to the philosophical origin and meaning of Daemon in Western thought, calling shen Daemon seems inappropriate and likely to cause confusion.

The Notion of Qiyun in Xie He’s First Law of Chinese Painting

39

40. Munakata (1983, 105‒31) examines the notion and significance of ganlei in Chinese philosophy in the pre-Han and Han dynasties, and the Buddhist element of ganlei in Zong Bing’s Hua Shanshui Xu. 41. Loehr’s (1970, 285–311; 1973, 67–96) periodisation of Chinese painting classifies pre-Yuan painting as pictorial representational art and post-Song painting as supra-representational art. However, this conflicts with his understanding of a work’s qiyun as its expressive content; see Hu (2016, 892–97). 42. Although, like Fong, Xu Fuguan (2001) explores the meanings of qi and yun separately in Shishuo Xinyu and Guhua Pinlu, he still offers an interpretation of the term qiyun in Xie He’s first law. 43. As mentioned above, Zong-qi Cai (2004, 330‒34) observes that shenyun is used interchangeably with qiyun in traditional Chinese literary and art criticism in the Six Dynasties and later periods. However, in Xie He’s comment on Gu Junzhi, since qili follows shenyun and emphasizes the strength of qi, shenyun before qili appears to merely refer to yun as the harmonious manner through which qi is expressed. 44. Fong (1966, 163) notes that this valuing of qiyun above formal likeness is echoed by later critics including Huang Xiufu (ca. 1006) and Guo Ruoxu.

Chapter 2

The Thread of Qiyun A Shared Legacy in Tenth-to-FourteenthCentury Landscape Painting

INTRODUCTION Landscape painting became popular and achieved a high level of accomplishment in the Song Dynasty and subsequent Yuan Dynasty. According to Guo Ruoxu (ca. 1080), in terms of painting “secular figures, gentlewomen, or cattle and horses,” the works of the Song Dynasty cannot compete with those of the Sui and Tang Dynasties, while paintings “of landscapes, woods and rocks, flowers and bamboo, or birds and fishes” in the Song Dynasty are much better than works of previous dynasties (Bush and Shih 2012, 94; see Yu 1986, 61; Wang and Ren 2002a, 322). In this chapter, I discuss the notion of qiyun developed after Xie He by such influential artists and theorists as Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou in a context dominated by landscape painting. We will see how the notion of qiyun is applied to tenth-to-fourteenth-century landscape painting, and whether the four dimensions of qiyun implied in Xie He’s text still apply within the new context. In the first three sections, I examine the notion of qiyun applied by Jing Hao in landscape painting, and the notion of qiyun further developed by Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou, respectively.1 My discussion of qiyun is not confined to these three authors, since some other influential Song and Yuan scholarartists and critics contribute important insights in relation to qiyun aesthetics. This is the case even though they do not use the term qiyun but rather adopt such terms as pictorial yi 意 (idea), qu 趣 (flavor), shen 神 (spirit), li 理 (principle), zhen 真 (truth or reality), and so on. In the fourth section, I attempt a synthesis of the ideas with regard to qiyun discussed in sections 2.1–2.3. We will see that the four aspects of Xie He’s 41

42

Chapter 2

notion of qiyun still apply to landscape painting, although Jing Hao’s, Guo Ruoxu’s, and Tang Hou’s views emphasize different aspects of the four. 2.1 JING HAO’S APPLICATION OF QIYUN IN LANDSCAPE PAINTING As mentioned above, Jing Hao, a recluse living in the Taihang Mountains (in modern Henan province) during the late Tang and the Five Dynasties, applies the notion of qiyun into landscape painting in Bifa Ji.2 Although his Bifa Ji may have been written after the collapse of the Tang Dynasty, he regards himself as a subject of Tang. His text shows the synthesis of Confucian ethics and Daoist ideas, which we will see shortly. In this section, I discuss Jing Hao’s application of qiyun in landscape painting and his advocacy of zhen in relation to qiyun.3 I explain Jing Hao’s modified version of Xie He’s notion of qiyun, and examine whether we can still read the terms qi and yun in light of their earlier definition formulated in pre-Qin and following Han philosophy, and application in literary and art criticism in the Six Dynasties as explained in chapter 1. Additionally, I illustrate how qiyun features in landscape painting attributed to Jing Hao, and show how later landscape painters and theorists such as Guo Xi (1000–1090) and Han Zhuo echo Jing Hao’s ideas of capturing the zhen of landscape and creating a work replete with qiyun. 2.1.1 Qi and Yun in Six Essentials As mentioned in chapter 1, Xu Fuguan (2001, 109) and Ronald Egan (2016, 282) suggest that Jing Hao might be the first person to apply the notion of qiyun to landscape painting. There is another apparent difference from Xie He: Although in Guhua Pinlu, Xie He also uses qi and yun separately to comment on different painters, his six laws do not separate qi and yun as two laws. However, in his six essentials of painting, Jing Hao separates qi and yun as the first two essentials among the six. Loehr (1980, 89) suggests that Jing Hao’s six essentials of painting offer a modified scheme of Xie He’s six laws, and agrees with Sullivan (1961, 142) that the former appears “terser” and “more logical” than the latter. He translates the former thus: [qi 氣]—spirit, life-breath, vitality, or aliveness, [yun 韻]—harmony, rhythm, or harmonious rhythm, [si 思]—thought, or mental concentration, [jing 景]—scenery, motif,

The Thread of Qiyun

43

[bi 筆]—the brush or brushwork, [mo 墨]—the ink, or tonality. (Loehr 1980, 89)4

Loehr’s translation is close to Fong’s. Fong (1975) translates the six essentials thus: qi as “life breath”; yun as “resonance and elegance”; si as “thought”; jing as “scenery”; bi as “brushwork”; and mo as “ink wash.” Fong (1966, 162) suggests that, as with qi and yun in Xie He’s text, in Jing Hao’s text qi still refers to the vital creative vigor or force of the work, and yun refers to the graceful and distinguished manner of the work through which qi is expressed, even though the subject-matter discussed in the tenth-century context has changed. In Bifa Ji, Jing Hao praises trees and rocks in Zhang Zao’s (active the late eighth century) works as replete with qiyun, and the qiyun in Wang Wei’s (699?–761?) works as “noble and pure.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 159; see Yu 1986, 607–608; Wang and Ren 2002a, 193) It makes sense to apply Fong’s understanding of qi and yun to this text. Susan Bush and Hsio-yen Shih (2012, 170) follow Kiyohiko Munakata (1974, 12) in the translation of the six essentials: qi as “spirit”/ “life force”/ “vital force,” yun as “resonance,” si as “thought,” jing as “scene,” bi as “brush,” and mo as “ink.”5 Diverging from Fong’s view, which locates qi and yun in relation to the artistic expression of the work, Munakata (1974, 3–5, 24–25) suggests that qi in Jing Hao’s Bifa Ji is “universal life force” or “Fong’s vital creative force” in natural objects that “is best achieved through an image which capture the object’s true nature,” and yun is “resonance” or “Fong’s felicitous expression” of qi in natural objects, that is, “resonating life force in individual objects.” That is, Munakata locates qi and yun in the object depicted and suggests they are internal, essential qualities of the object that the artist should capture and convey through the images of the work. He interprets the duality of qi as “undifferentiated ‘universal life force’” or “Cosmic life force” and as “differentiated in individual objects (a kind of echo of the universal life force in the individual object and thus to be called [qiyun] or spirit consonance),” and suggests that, for Jing Hao, to capture the zhen (reality or truth) of nature is to transmit qi in this dualistic sense to painting (5, 21).6 Jing Hao does not explain the meanings of qi and yun in his six essentials, but suggests how to obtain qi and yun: [Qi] is obtained when your mind moves along the movement of the brush and does not hesitate in delineating images. [Yun] is obtained when you establish forms, while hiding obvious traces of the brush, and perfect them by observing the proprieties and avoiding vulgarity. (Munakata 1974, 12; see Yu 1986, 606; Wang and Ren 2002a, 191)7

Here, it makes sense to understand the qi or yun as that of the object depicted, or that in or of the work. The text also suggests that conveying qi and yun

44

Chapter 2

through the work is closely related to the painter’s ability to manipulate his brush and bring his hand (or whole body) in accordance with his mind. On the one hand, Owen (2000, 216) notes that Jing Hao’s explanation of how to attain qi shows “such stress on the immediacy of doing.” This may remind one of Acker’s suggestion that commanding qi belongs to the business of the painter as analyzed in chapter 1. On the other hand, the role of the mind played in attaining qi and yun may be regarded as an implicit precursor of Guo Ruoxu’s emphasis on the significant role of the artist’s innate mental disposition in creating a painting replete with qiyun.8 Regarding the second essential, Munakata (1974, 25) claims that by saying “hiding obvious traces of brush,” Jing Hao is suggesting the artist hide his subjective personality in the image, and avoid “the showy exposure of skilfulness or artificiality.” Here, I only agree with the second point, since avoiding the showy exposure of skilfulness or artificiality by hiding obvious brush traces does not necessarily mean that the artist’s subjective personality and individual expressiveness need to be sacrificed, and the qi and yun of natural objects conveyed through the painting image may be unavoidably colored by the artist’s perception and cognition of the world. By looking at the other four essentials and examining the innate coherence of the six essentials, we can see that they are not separate, but rather constitute an organic whole. Jing Hao explains the other four essentials thus: Thought [si] is obtained when grasp essential forms, eliminating unnecessary details in your observation of nature, and let your ideas crystallize into the forms to be represented. Scene [jing] is obtained when you study the laws of nature and the difference faces of time [different times of the day or seasons of the year], look for the sublime, and recreate it with reality. Brush [bi] is obtained when you handle the brush freely, applying all the varieties of strokes in accordance with your purpose, although you must follow certain basic rules of brushwork. Here, you should regard brushwork neither as substance nor as form but rather as a movement, like flying or driving. Ink [mo] is obtained when you distinguish between higher and lower parts of objects with a gradation of ink tones and represent clearly shallowness and depth, thus making them appear natural as if they had not been done with a brush. (Munakata 1974, 12; see Yu 1986, 606; Wang and Ren 2002a, 191)9

Regarding attaining the third essential, the text indicates the significance of contemplating the object depicted or being spiritually engaged in observing the object, and formulating a mental image in the mind through such contemplation. The fourth essential follows the third, and the text with regard to how to attain it emphasizes the diversity of the sceneries in different time and season. The scene may include two dimensions: the mental image of the object

The Thread of Qiyun

45

established in the painter’s mind, and the final image of the object released from the painter’s mind into the work. Thus, the third and fourth essentials together suggest that the painter should establish the mental image (or intuitive representation) of the object in his mind and then release the image onto silk or paper. The fifth and sixth essentials emphasize the technical feasibility or method of releasing the mental image replete with qi and yun onto silk or paper by using brush and ink in an appropriate way.10 Thus, his six essentials center on creating a landscape painting replete with qi and yun, and we can see that Jing Hao’s six essentials are logically coherent, and better understand why both Sullivan and Loehr think his six essentials are more logical than Xie He’s six laws. Moreover, it is noteworthy that the moral dimension implied in the qiyun of the natural object can be identified in Jing Hao’s depiction of pine trees. For Jing Hao, the pine tree painted as a flying or coiling dragon does not have qiyun. He describes the authentic pine tree thus: It may grow curved, but never appear deformed and crooked. [. . .] Even as a tiny sapling it stands upright and aims to grow high, thus already showing its posture of independence and nobility. Even when its branches grow low, sideways or downwards, it never falls to the ground. In the forest, the horizontal layers of its branches appear to be piled one upon the other. Thus [appearing as a breeze blowing gently over the swaying grass], they are like the breeze of the virtuous [which passes over the bowed heads of the humbly respectful]. (Munakata 1974, 13–14; with translator’s additions and my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 192)

The metaphor that the pine tree is like the breeze of the virtuous originates in the Analects (Lunyu, which records the words and conduct of Confucius and his students), where Confucius says that “The Virtue of a gentleman is like the wind, and the Virtue of a petty person is like the grass—when the wind moves over the grass, the grass is sure to bend.” (Slingerland 2006, 36; Analects, 12.19) At the end of Bifa Ji, Jing Hao also cites another phrase from the Analects to eulogize the virtue of the pine tree: “when it joins ordinary trees below, ‘it brings them to harmony but does not accommodate itself to them’ [he’er butong 和而不同]” (West 2000, 212; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 194; see also Analects, 13.23).11 As Munakata (1974, 26) suggests, with regard to this moral dimension of qiyun, Jing Hao may be inspired by Mencius’ claim, mentioned in chapter 1, that the qi of a human being can “fill up all between heaven and earth” when nourished with integrity and uprightness, and be powerful when accompanied by righteousness and the Dao.12 Here, I agree with Munakata that Jing Hao’s view of the moral dimension of qiyun in the natural object may be inspired by Mencius’ view of the moral dimension of qi

46

Chapter 2

in virtuous human beings.13 The moral dimension of the qiyun of the pine tree may help to explain why Munakata suggests that for Jing Hao the zhen (reality/truth) of nature is an idealistic “manifestation of Cosmos, the harmonious structure based upon Confucian virtues, which was at his time a counterpart to the reality of human society characterized by, at least temporarily, chaos and injustice.” (8)14 That is, for Jing Hao, the zhen of the natural object captured by the artist embodies the dynamic vital force or energy of nature in accord with the Dao and his Confucian ethical ideal of an orderly world. In general, from the analysis on Jing Hao’s text above, at least three points regarding Jing Hao’s notion of qiyun can be seen: as far as the object depicted and the work are concerned, qiyun (or qi and yun) can refer to the essential quality of the object, and also the expressive quality or content of the painting. The painter’s ability to formulate a mental image and control brush and ink in accordance with his mind determines whether he can create a painting replete with qiyun (or qi and yun). This point implied in his first four essentials (especially the first and third essentials) above appear to be a precursor of Guo Ruoxu’s more explicit claim that the painter’s innate mental disposition determines whether he could create a painting replete with qiyun, and I will discuss Guo Ruoxu’s ideas regarding qiyun in detail in section 2.2. One might also see that Jing Hao’s text does not exclude the necessity of spiritual communion between the painter and the depicted object suggested in Zong Bing’s text and implied in Xie He’s first law. For instance, Munakata (1974, 30) notes that for Jing Hao attaining qi requires the artist’s unification with “the Cosmic action of Creation.” As seen above, conveying the qiyun of the pine tree may require a congenial sympathetic resonance between the artist and the object. In the next subsection, from examining the notion of zhen, the term zhi 質 in relation to zhen and qi, and the term shi 勢 in relation to qi and xiang 象 in Jing Hao’s text, we will better understand what Jing Hao means by zhen and qiyun and the relationship between them. 2.1.2 Zhen and Zhi in Relation to Qiyun Reading Bifa Ji, one may agree with Harrie A. Vanderstappen (2014, 21) that for Jing Hao, the mastery of qi and yun as well as the other four essentials contributes to the attainment of zhen. In this subsection, by examining translations and explanations of zhen, zhi, qi, shi, and xiang by such Anglophone scholars as Munakata (1974), Lin Yutang (1967, 65), Stephen H. West (2000, 202–13), Stephen Owen (2000, 213–218), Martin J. Powers (2000, 219–236), and David A. Brubaker (2016, 118–141), I consider how some of their points may help to understand the meanings of Jing Hao’s terms.15

The Thread of Qiyun

47

Jing Hao argues that si 似 (likeness/lifelikeness) is superficial, while the painter should capture zhen 真 (reality/truth). The parallel between zhen and qiyun is implied in Jing Hao’s comparison of zhen/shi 真/實 (internal reality/ truth) and si 似 or hua 華 (outward appearance or pattern). For Jing Hao, a painter should grasp both “the outward appearance [hua] from the outward appearance [hua] of the object, and the inner reality [shi] from the inner reality [shi] of the object,” and should not take hua as shi (Bush and Shih 2012, 146; Munakata 1974, 12; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 191).16 If a painter does not understand this, he might attain si by depicting the hua of the object but never achieve zhen. For Jing Hao, si “means to achieve the form [xing 形] of the object but to leave out its [qi],” and failing to convey qi through xiang 象 (image) will result in a dead image, while zhen means that both qi and zhi (“substance”) are strong.17 Qi as the vital energy or force of the object suggested by pre-Qin philosophy and echoed in art criticism during the Six Dynasties can be applied here, referring to the essential reality of the natural object depicted. In addition, the notion of yun (through which qi is expressed) is implied in his views on two types of faults in painting: the fault “connected with form” and the fault “not connected with form.” (Munakata 1974, 13; Bush and Shih 2012, 171; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 192; see also West 2000, 207–208) The former is related to si, and can be corrected by “changing the forms,” while the latter is fatal and related to zhen, where the absence of qi and yun will result in the painting coming across as a “dead matter,” which cannot be improved by amending details. Here, the meaning of yun understood in the Six Dynasties as the harmonious manner (of the object) through which qi is expressed makes sense in this text. Thus, I agree with Li Zehou’s (1994, 185) and Jianping Gao’s (1996, 125–141) views that Jing Hao’s notion of zhen corresponds to Xie He’s notion of qiyun, in terms of suggesting the painter capture the essential reality of the natural object depicted, even though the former focuses on landscape painting and the latter may have initially intended to apply the notion of qiyun merely to figure painting.18 By looking at Jing Hao’s classification of four types of landscape painting, we can further see his valuing of zhen above si as well as the unification of zhen and si. For Jing Hao, divine (shen 神) works are masterpieces of artistic spontaneity; Sublime (miao 妙) works in which “both the outward appearance [wen 文] and the inner natures [li 理] of objects accord with the proprieties” are achieved by thought; distinctive (qi 奇) work has untrammeled and unexpected brushstrokes but appears to deviate from “real scene” (zhenjing 真景) due to the painter’s lack of thinking; skilful (qiao 巧) work has the “minutiae of seductive beauty,” “heedlessly copies the outer appearances [wenzhang 文章] of things, and more and more diverges from the true images [xiang] filled with vital force [qi], [and thus] lacks ‘reality’ [shi] but only

48

Chapter 2

possesses an excessive ‘outward beauty’ [hua].” (Munakata 1974: 12–13; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 192) As mentioned above, Jing Hao explains that zhen means that both qi and zhi (substance) are strong (zhenzhe qi zhi jusheng 真者氣質俱盛). Here, one may understand why Xu Fuguan (2001, 176) thinks that Jing Hao emphasizes qi more than yun, since he does not discuss qi and yun evenly, but rather talks of qi along with zhi more than yun. Inspired by the Eastern Jin scholar Zhang Zhan’s commentary explanation of the term zhi in the pre-Qin work Liezi, Munakata (1974, 21) interprets zhi as “force of substance which characterizes individual nature or quality of the existences.”19 One may ask what the relationship between qi, zhi, and zhen is. In classical texts the contrast of shi (a synonym of zhen) and hua is analogous to the contrast of zhi (substance) and wen 文 (pattern). The notions of shi (reality/truth/ essential substance) and hua (flowering/pattern/adornment) originate from fruit and flower, respectively, and the meanings of zhi and wen are initially used to describe the internal, essential substance and the surface pattern of an object respectively. Munakata suggests that Jing Hao’s valuing of both si/hua and zhen/shi echoes Confucius’ praise of both wen and zhi as two types of personal characters. The Analects records Confucius’ claim as follows: When native substance [zhi] overwhelms cultural refinement [wen], the result is a crude rustic. When cultural refinement overwhelms native substance, the result is a foppish pedant. Only when culture and native substance are perfectly mixed and balanced do you have a gentleman. (Slingerland 2006, 17; Analects 6.16; see also Waley 1956, 119; Legge 1914, 112)20

Confucius’ remarks on wen and zhi may directly apply to figure painting, while as seen above, Jing Hao applies the terms zhen/shi/zhi and si/hua/wen to refer to two types of qualities of the natural object in the context of landscape painting. In addition, as we saw, Jing Hao puts si/hua/wen in an inferior place to zhen/shi/zhi (although he also values the former), while wen and zhi appear to be placed by Confucius in equal positions. Munakata (1974, 19–20) also suggests that Jing Hao’s dichotomy of zhen/shi/zhi and si/hua/wen may remind one of Liu Xie’s prizing of both hua and shi in literature, and the Tang critic Zhang Huaiguan’s (active ca. 710– 760) advocacy of both wen and zhi in calligraphy. Liu Xie suggests in Wenxin Diaolong that “the literary works of the Sage owe their grace and beauty to the fact that they are full of both flowers [hua] and fruits [shi].” (see Wenxin Diaolong, chapter Zhengsheng; Shih 2015, 17) Zhang Huaiguan comments on the two distinguished Eastern Jin calligraphers Wang Xizhi’s (303–361) and Wang Xianzhi’s (344–386) calligraphy that “both wen and zhi are together.” (see Huaduan quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji; quoted in Munakata 1974, 20) In

The Thread of Qiyun

49

Liu Xie’s and Zhang Huaiguan’s texts, hua and shi may be understood as referring to “splendid art (of writing)” and “meaningful content,” respectively, thus the advocacy of both hua and shi in Liu Xie’s and Zhang Huaiguan’s writings is essentially valuing both form and content. However, it is worth noting that it would be problematic to think Jing Hao’s dichotomy between si/hua/wen and zhen/shi/zhi parallels that of Liu Xie between hua and shi in literature, and that of Zhang Huaiguan between wen and zhi in calligraphy. On the one hand, Liu Xie’s and Zhang Huaiguan’s discussions deal with the expressive qualities of literary work and calligraphy, respectively, while as Munakata notes, Jing Hao applies the dichotomy of zhen/shi/zhi and si/hua/wen to the natural object depicted in landscape painting. On the other hand, as mentioned above, unlike Munakata, Fong thinks that in Jing Hao’s text qi still refers to the vital force of the painting and yun means the harmonious manner through which qi is expressed in the work. Following Fong’s suggestion, one may question whether in Jing Hao’s text the qi and yun of painting parallel shi/zhi and hua/wen in literature and calligraphy, respectively, suggested in Liu Xie’s and Zhang Huaiguan’s texts. Accepting the parallel between yun and hua/wen, one may further question whether Jing Hao classifies yun into hua/wen instead of zhen, and thus places yun as interior to qi. This inference appears problematic, when we consider Jing Hao merely places yun as the second essential of landscape painting after qi, so one may further question whether there is a logical conflict in Jing Hao’s text.21 In order to avoid this conflict, we must deny that yun parallels hua/wen. Before Munakata, Lin Yutang (1967, 65) equates zhi (substance) and xing (form), and translates qi as spirit and the phrase zhenzhe qi zhi jusheng as “zhen (reality, or real essence) means when you captured both the form and the spirit.” (quoted in Munakata 1974, 21) Although this translation apparently fits in with Jing Hao’s emphasis on both zhen/shi and si/hua, the rendering of zhi as form appears inaccurate, since in contrast with wen’s correspondence to hua as external appearance, zhi corresponds to shi as internal, essential substance. By saying zhen means both qi and zhi are strong, Jing Hao perhaps is suggesting that zhen as internal reality includes the two dimensions: qi as the “psycho-physiological” embodiment or manifestation of the essence and zhi as the metaphysical/physical essence inside the surface pattern. It is noteworthy that, slightly different from Munakata’s translation, West (2000, 204) translates zhen as authenticity, qi as vital energy, zhi as essence, and the phrase zhenzhe qi zhi jusheng as “authenticity is when vital energy and essence are both abundant.” Following this translation, authenticity (zhen) may be understood as referring to the authenticity of the object or manifested in the image in the work. In his note, West claims that “image (xiang) [. . .] is composed by external pattern (hua) or shape (xing), vital

50

Chapter 2

energy (qi), and the physical essence of an object (zhi).” If both qi and zhi as the psycho-physiological and metaphysical/physical essence of the object are manifested in the image of the work, they further constitute the authenticity of the image in the work. Thus, one may see that West’s understanding echoes both Munakata in the aspect of the object and Fong in the aspect of the painting. Regarding the latter, Brubaker (2016, 118–119) suggests that for Jing Hao, a painting exhibits qi and yun by displaying an image (xiang) that is authentic (zhen).22 One may note that it is not only zhi that is considered to contribute to zhen in Jing Hao’s text. Another term shi 勢 (which may be literally translated as force or momentum) is mentioned in Jing Hao’s claim shanshui zhixiang qishi xiangsheng 山水之象氣勢相生 (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 192). Munakata (1974, 14) translates the sentence as “the different formations [xiang] of mountains and streams are formulated by the combinations of life force [qi] and formal force [shi],” but does not give any further interpretation of shi and its relationship with qi and xiang. Powers notes the significance of the relationship between qi, shi, and xiang in Jing Hao’s text, and his discussion of the meanings of shi along with qi and xiang inspired by the Book of Changes is interesting.23 Powers (2000, 226) translates shanshui zhixiang qishi xiangsheng thus: “In the expressive figures [xiang] of the landscape, the characters [qi] and gestures [shi] of things give rise to one another.”24 Powers, who must have borne in mind that the term qi was applied to comment human beings and figure painting in literary and artistic texts in the Six Dynasties, suggests that in Jing Hao’s text qi is better translated as “character,” even though it is applied to landscape painting. As argued above, qi still refers to the internal character or quality of the natural object in Jing Hao’s text, even though the shift of the popular and dominant subject-matter from human figures to landscape occurs in his time. As Peterson (2000, 240) points out, adopting the renderings of qi as “character,” and shi as “gesture,” Powers (2000, 228) may intend to emphasize that for Jing Hao landscape is like an “expressive figure.” His reading of qi as character, shi as gesture, and xiang which as a noun means “expressive figure” or “expressive configuration” and as a verb means “to express” is noteworthy, especially when we think of Guo Xi’s later suggestion that landscape shows different “emotional” appearances (“expressive configuration” in Powers’ words) in different seasons like human beings (228).25 I agree with Powers (2000, 228–30; see also Peterson 2000, 240) that the terms such as qi and shi in Jing Hao’s text should be understood as reflecting a perception of nature as dynamic and processual, but disagree with him that the dynamic and processual embodiment of landscape conveyed by qi or shi is not essential.26 As mentioned in chapter 1, in pre-Qin understanding qi is not static but dynamic and processual, and the dynamic and processual sense of qi is identified in later

The Thread of Qiyun

51

applications of qi in Six Dynasties literature and art criticism. This understanding of qi applied to landscape painting by Jing Hao does not contradict an essentialist supposition or interpretation, since the essence of something does not necessarily denote that it is static.27 The dynamic, essential depiction of landscape advocated by Jing Hao is followed by later influential Northern Song landscapists, theorists, and connoisseurs. This is attested in the Northern Song master Guo Xi’s practice and theory.28 As Egan (2016, 285–87) suggests, Guo Xi’s account in Linquan Gaozhi of how to capture the transformation of nature (zaohua 造化) through landscape painting echoes Jing Hao’s advocacy of zhen. This idea is further inherited in Xuanhe Huapu (1120) compiled under the patronage of Emperor Huizong (1082–1135; reign dates: 1100–1125), which suggests that excellent paintings including landscape painting have the power of “[capturing] creation [zaohua] and [transmitting] quintessential spirit [jingshen 精神].” (Bush and Shih 2012, 128; see Xuanhe Huapu, vol. 15; Yu 1986, 1037; Wang and Ren 2002a, 546) In the next subsection, we will further see that for Jing Hao landscape’s essential, expressive appearances correspond to his view of qi as dynamic rather than static in landscape painting. 2.1.3 Zhen in Relation to Blandness and Emerging-Submerging In this subsection, I examine two kinds of expressive pursuits implied in Jing Hao’s text: the valuing of unadorned beauty and the praise of emergingsubmerging landscape. A better understanding of these can lead to a better understanding of why the painting “[aiming] at a depiction of ‘internal reality’ (zhen) beyond ‘form’ (xing)” demonstrates a suggestive, allusive, and poetic quality, as Karl-Heinz Pohl (2006, 130) notes.29 I suggest that the two aesthetic preferences correspond to the application of dynamic qi and elegant yun in landscape painting, and Jing Hao’s valuing of qi, yun, and zhen along with these two preferences are also echoed by later Song landscapists and theorists. As mentioned in chapter 1, Xie He places suilei fucai (conformity to kind of objects in applying colors) as the fourth law of painting, so he may imply that the application of color may contribute to conveying qiyun in a painting. Unlike Xie He, who emphasizes the application of color, Jing Hao depreciates the application of color in the transmission of qiyun in landscape painting. As seen in Jing Hao’s skilful (qiao) class, meticulous completeness in formal representation and coloration may not contribute to achieving zhen but may even ruin the work. Although his last two essentials may be regarded as a counterpart of Xie He’s second law gufa yongbi (bone method in using the brush), Jing Hao emphasizes the application of ink as well as brush. His

52

Chapter 2

comments on the landscape painting of some Tang artists, which should be regarded as a demonstration of how he applies his six essentials and critical terms such as zhen to landscape painting, also indicate that he favors the manipulation of different layers or gradations of ink tones instead of the use of color. For Jing Hao, “watered ink for graded wash [shuiyun mozhang 水暈墨章]” practiced by the Tang artists Zhang Zao and Wang Wei endows their landscape paintings with lofty qiyun. In his eyes, the works by Zhang Zao who “attached little importance to the five colours” is so distinguished that no earlier or contemporary artists could compete with him (Munakata 1974, 15; Bush and Shih 2012, 159; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 193). We might get a sense of Jing Hao’s own practice from the work Lushan Mountains, attributed to him, in National Palace Museum, Taipei.30 Loehr (1973, 69) observes, in the work that, The vegetation is sparse and does not obscure those shapes [of the cluster of cliffs], which are executed in an almost transparent technique of innumerable small dabs of diluted ink. In its total effect the design has a tone of solemnity and remoteness. It gives a meaningful, almost sublime interpretation of reality, without therefore being realistic.

Although favoring ink rather than colours may be also due to his financial situation and artistic objectives, the prizing of naturalness and blandness corresponds to his aesthetic aim to capture zhen in landscape painting.31 On the one hand, since, as mentioned above, the moral dimension of the qiyun of the pine tree in Jing Hao’s text shows his adoption of Confucian ethics, one may assume that the unadorned beauty appreciated by Confucian ethics influenced his preference for ink over color. The Confucian aesthetic ideal of unadorned beauty can be traced to the Analects, where Confucius claims that “the application of colours comes only after a suitable unadorned background is present [huishi housu 繪事後素]” and praises Zixia’s analogy of li 禮 (ceremony, ritual, or propriety) and the unadorned upon which to paint (Slingerland 2006, 7). On the other hand, considering Jing Hao’s identity as a recluse living in the Taihang Mountains, and his favoring of unadorned naturalness implied by his use of the critical terms qi, yun, and zhen, one may think that the Daoist view of nature influences him more to adopt that aesthetics corresponding to his advice to convey qi, yun, and zhen through painting. As Laozi (1999, 70) suggests, the stimulation of colors, sounds, and flavors is harmful to one’s nature and makes a person lose the original and natural functions of his sensuous faculties.32 “When the Dao is spoken of, how bland: it has no flavour at all. We look for it, but not enough is there to see anything. We listen for it, but not enough is there to hear anything. We try to use it, but not enough is there to use up.” (114; my emphasis) In Jing Hao’s

The Thread of Qiyun

53

aesthetic pursuit of the zhen of landscape, the unobtrusive aesthetic taste for purity and sincerity does not encourage spectators to pursue a negation of flavor, but rather, in the Daoist light, it opens possibilities of returning to the “foundation-fount” of processual existence, and protects our sensitivity to the fundamental truth from going astray (see Jullien 2004). The praise of naturalness along with the pursuit of zhen is echoed by such later Song critics and theorists as Han Zhuo and Dong You (active early twelfth century). In Shanshui Chunquan Ji, Han Zhuo quotes Jing Hao’s notes, although his quotation shows some difference from Jing Hao’s text edited in the Wangshi Huayuan (Wang’s Compilation of Texts on Painting) compiled by the Ming scholar Wang Shizhen (1526–1590).33 Despite the differences in some phrases, Hang Zhuo’s understanding of shi and qiyun echoes Jing Hao’s view of zhen/shi and qiyun. According to Han Zhuo, the first criterion for audiences and connoisseurs to look for in a painting is qiyun, while painters who grasp painting methods will “comprehend the vitality of spiritual perfection, but those who study copying methods will possess the defects found in geography book illustrations.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 184; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 616)34 His contrast between shi and hua echoes Jing Hao’s dichotomy of zhen/shi and si/hua. For Hang Zhuo, shi “connotes substance or corporeality,” and is essential since nature is its basis or origin, while hua “connotes floweriness or ornamentation,” and is artificial, secondary, and inessential, since it comes from human artistic creation and art is the application of nature.35 Since “nature is the underlying basis, art its application,” Hang Zhuo warns the painter not to “neglect what is fundamental and pursue inessentials” or “be unmindful of the basis and involved in technique.” When shi is insufficient, painters should stop painting, lest excessive hua will be apparent. He concludes that if hua is emphasized, shi might suffer or be destroyed by artificial ornamentation (Bush and Shih 2012, 183; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 615).36 In Guangchuan Huaba (Dong You’s Colophons on Painting), Dong You appears also to echo Jing Hao’s praise of zhen in his claim that the “perfect artistry” of painting lies in subtlety in attaining “a sense of life” (shengyi 生意) and “not deviating from the truth [zhen],” and a sense of life consists in “naturalness” and naturalness refers to “not deviating from the truth [zhen].” (Bush and Shih 2012, 215) Although art as the depiction of nature unavoidably suffers from artificial efforts, for Dong You, “what is valued in resemblance” is not formal resemblance, but zhen. As well as the preference for an unadorned flavor of naturalness realized by using ink instead of color, there is another prizing of submerging-emerging landscape in Bifa Ji. This can be seen in the depiction of a landscape scene, about which he writes (below the hills and ranges) “the forests and springs are seen here and hidden there.” (Munakata 2000, 14; my emphasis; see Wang

54

Chapter 2

and Ren 2002a, 193) The term yanying 掩映 (translated as “seen here and hidden there”) is the key term here, and suggests his praise of submergingemerging landscape and his view of nature influenced by the synthesis of Daoism and Confucianism. As mentioned above, Jing Hao’s writing reflects Confucian ethics. The taste for the submerging-emerging may find philosophical origin in the metaphysics of the Book of Changes (as one of the Confucian classics) which values change and advocates its eternality. In this Confucian metaphysics, yin and yang imply each other despite being “mutually exclusive”: “one is discreetly at work, even as the other is still on display.” (Jullien 2012, 1–2) It suggests that one step involves the element which might look like the reverse and appear insignificant but might become dominant in the next step; some precursory signs have been on display preparing the modification just before the next step comes. It is as if a crouching and hidden dragon preparing to leap and become manifest symbolizes a scholar who hides his virtues and talents and does not demonstrate them until a suitable opportunity arises. It can be reasonably assumed that a scholar-artist such as Jing Hao committed to Confucian ideals loves to use ink and brush to express his understanding of the submerging-emerging involved in the process of capturing the transient but eternal transition and reaching internal tranquillity and harmony. As Chung-ying Cheng (2009, 30–34) argues, the harmony endorsed by the Book of Changes involves both a unity of opposites (as a creative principle or result) and a differentiation in unity in a creative process of transformation.37 As Jullien (2012, 1–14) notes, the alternation in landscape painting between “there is” and “there is not,” “going in” and “coming out,” “emerging” and “submerging,” “coming up” and “sinking down,” “appearing” and “disappearing,” saturating and diffusing, manifesting and hiding, and “half-light” and “half-dark” looks the same as the alternation of yin and yang, inspiration and expiration, and the opposite sides in the interplay “constantly communicate with each other” in the alternation. This perspective offers an interesting insight into why Jing Hao advises the painter not merely to paint si but also to grasp the dynamic and processual qi and yun as the zhen of landscape beyond the surface. Again, the dialectical aesthetics of submerging-emerging landscape is also endorsed by Daoism such as Laozi’s ideas, according to which you 有 (presence) is born in 無 wu (absence), and you and wu coincide and harmonize in a reciprocity rather than being separate. Just like you and wu generating each other, xu 虛 (emptiness) and shi 實 (substance) engender each other, and there is a harmonious coexistence, exchange, and reciprocity of xu and shi.38 For Laozi (1999, 139), “great completion seems incomplete, but its functioning is never exhausted; great fullness seems empty, but functioning is limitless.” By the examples of “thirty spokes [sharing] one hub,” “[mixing] clay

The Thread of Qiyun

55

with water to make a vessel,” and “[cutting] doors and windows to make a room,” Laozi illustrates the dialectic of shi and xu: “it is exactly where there is nothing of it that the functionality of the wheel or the vessel or the room resides,” and “this is how what is there provides benefit and how what is not there provides functionality.” (69) The influential Neo-Daoist Wang Bi’s (226–249) commentary notes further explain that in those three cases where wood, clay, and wall, respectively, form wheel, vessel, and room, functionality (of wood, clay, and wall) is achieved through nothingness and the benefit (of wheel, vessel, and room) is based on the achievement of functionality. As Jullien (2012, 4–7) notes, presence and absence “remain separate” in mainstream European metaphysics, which is concerned more with issues related to existence, and advocates “the separation of ‘presence’ from ‘absence’” by worshiping presence in terms of beings or god. This dialectical aesthetics of emerging-submerging realized in the depictions of sinuous water, undulant mountains, mists and haze, in the tenthcentury and later landscape paintings reflects the painters’ love of challenging themselves to capture the eternal transition and modification beyond opposition.39 We will see this aesthetics is echoed by Jing Hao’s contemporary Dong Yuan, and later Song and Yuan painters and connoisseurs such as Li Cheng (919–967), Guo Xi, Wang Shen (ca. 1036–1104), Mi Fu, Mi Youren (1072–1151), Han Zhuo, Qian Wenshi, Li Chengsou (1150–after 1221), Tang Hou, Gao Kegong (1248–1310), Zhang Yu (1277–1348 or 1283–1350), and Fang Congyi (ca. 1301–ca. 1393) in section 2.3. 2.2. GUO RUOXU’S EMPHASIS ON MENTAL DISPOSITION IN RELATION TO QIYUN Guo Ruoxu worked as a minor official in the capital of Northern Song, and was born into a family of high officials close to the royal family.40 His preface to Tuhua Jianwen Zhi indicates that his grandfather and father liked collecting paintings and that his father was an accomplished connoisseur. In the preface, he says that he deals with the history of painters active from 841 to 1074 in Tuhua Jianwen Zhi as a sequel to Lidai Minghua Ji, and the title indicates that the materials included are based on what he had seen or experienced.41 His references to Confucian classics such as Yijing and Liji (Book of Rites) and Daoist works such as Zhuangzi show that Confucian ethics and Daoist ideas form the main philosophical origins of his aesthetics.42 In this section, we will see that although Guo Ruoxu follows Zhang Yanyuan’s adoption of Xie He’s notion of qiyun, and Jing Hao’s application of qiyun in landscape painting, his understanding of qiyun focuses on certain aspects not explicitly explained by them. I suggest that Guo Ruoxu’s

56

Chapter 2

understanding of qiyun may be inspired by earlier critics’ emphasis on the role of the artistic mind, and also shows his resonance with the aesthetic taste advocated by leading members of the eleventh-century literati circle such as Ouyang Xiu (1007–1072) and Su Shi (1037–1101). 2.2.1 Qiyun in Relation to an Innate Mental Disposition In this subsection, I indicate how earlier critics’ discussion of the role of mind in artistic creation may influence Guo Ruoxu’s ideas of shenhui involved in qiyun, and the qiyun of, or in, the work as a reflection of the artist’s mind-print. Guo Ruoxu describes Xie He’s six laws and his understanding of qiyun before his record of art history (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 316–317; Soper 1951, 15). For him, the last five laws by Xie He are “open to study,” while qiyun “necessarily involves an innate knowledge; it assuredly cannot be secured through cleverness or close application, nor will time aid its attainment. It is an unspoken accord, a spiritual communion [shenhui]; ‘something that happens without one’s knowing how’” (Bush and Shih 2012, 95; see Yu 1986, 59; Wang and Ren 2002a, 316).43 The ability to produce a painting replete with qiyun is determined by “the motive force of heaven [tian 天]” and originates in “the dwelling place of the soul” (Bush and Shih 2012, 96; see Yu 1986, 59; Wang and Ren 2002a, 317).44 Since this ability requires shenhui, and originates from tian, Guo Ruoxu thinks that it is impossible to teach or learn qiyun.45 Thus, for Guo Ruoxu, even though the qiyun within a work cannot be identical with the qiyun of the artist, the ability to produce a painting replete with qiyun is determined by the painter’s innate mental disposition. This innate mental talent belonging to only a few artists and attained without knowing how, is imparted by tian. As mentioned in chapter 1, Acker’s view of qiyun as the quality of the artist reminds one of Guo Ruoxu’s view that qiyun originates in the painter’s innate disposition. However, Guo Ruoxu claims that “a painting must be complete in [qiyun] to be hailed as a treasure of the age”; otherwise, it is just a common artisan’s work, and actually is not painting in spite of being called painting (Bush and Shih 2012, 96; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317). That is, Loehr’s and Fong’s views of qiyun as the expressive content or quality of a work can be seen explicitly in Guo Ruoxu’s understanding of qiyun, even though he regards the ability to produce a painting complete with qiyun as related to the level of the painter’s qiyun which refers to his innate mental disposition. Examining texts on painting referred by Guo Ruoxu, we can see that his view on the innate mental disposition determining the artist’s ability to create a work replete with qiyun may have been inspired by writings about the artist’s

The Thread of Qiyun

57

mind by the Southern Dynasties artists and critics Wang Wei and Zong Bing, the Tang artists, and critics including Zhang Zao, Dou Meng (eighth century), and Zhang Yanyuan. Before Xie He, Zong Bing notes the role of the mind in his claim that “If response by the eye and accord by the mind [to nature] is considered a universal law, when similitude is skilfully achieved, eyes will also respond completely and the mind be entirely in accord.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 37; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 12) Wang Wei suggests the role of mental disposition in painting in his claim that when painters paint, “what is found in form is fused with soul,” and “what activates movement is the mind.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 38–39; see Wang Wei’s text quoted in Xu 2001, 146) Four centuries after Wang Wei and Zong Bing, Zhang Zao emphasizes the role of mind as internal fountainhead, and Dou Meng states that the Tang master Yan Liben’s (600–673) success is indebted to his mental talent (see Bush and Shih 2012, 65, 84; Wang and Ren 2002a, 186–187, 174). Tuhua Jianwen Zhi does not mention Zong Bing’s and Wang Wei’s writings, but indicates Guo Ruoxu’s awareness of Zhang Zao’s Huajing (The Realm of Painting) and Dou Meng’s Huashi Yilu (Amended Record of Painting) (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 310). The original works by Zhang Zao and Dou Meng no longer exist, so we cannot know whether Zhang Zao and Dou Meng adopt Xie He’s term qiyun in their original works.46 However, we can see that the texts by Wang Wei, Zong Bing, Zhang Zao, and Dou Meng mentioned above are recorded in Lidai Minghua Ji, while Zhang Yanyuan does not explicitly link the artist’s ability to create a painting replete with qiyun to his innate mental disposition. As mentioned in chapter 1, although Zong Bing (in Hua Shanshui Xu) uses the term shen, not qiyun, his view on landscape painting also involves spiritual communion between artist and object; Zhang Yanyuan quotes Li Sizhen’s claim that Gu Kaizhi achieves his marvels by shenhui. Tuhua Jianwen Zhi mentions Li Sizhen’s Hou Huapin Lu (The Later Record of the Classification of Painters) and Zhang Yanyuan’s Lidai Minghua Ji which quotes not only Zong Bing’s Hua Shanshui Xu but also Li Sizhen’s writings on paintings (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 310; Soper 1951, 5).47 In addition, Guo Ruoxu uses Zong Bing’s phrases in Hua Shanshui Xu, such as chenghuai weixiang 澄懷味象 and yinghui ganshen 應會感神, to comment the Northern Song scholar-artist Yan Su (961–1040) (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 338).48 Thus, Zong Bing’s, and Li Sizhen’s ideas regarding spiritual communion between artist and object recorded in Lidai Minghua Ji may have influenced Guo Ruoxu to interpret qiyun as involving “an unspoken accord, a spiritual communion [shenhui].” While Jing Hao locates the moral dimension of qiyun in natural objects, Guo Ruoxu suggests that “if [the artist’s] [renpin人品] has been high, his [qiyun] cannot but be lofty. If [the qiyun] [of the artist and of the work]

58

Chapter 2

is already lofty, animation [of the work] cannot but be achieved.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 95‒96; with modifications; see Yu 1986, 59; Wang and Ren 2002a, 317)49 The character ren refers to human being and functions as adjective in the two-character term, and pin usually means ranking or classification (as in the grading system of state officials). Here, I think that pin is better understood to refer to a kind of (individual) condition or character based on internal intellectual and moral cultivation, rather than a ranking or classification according to such external criteria as social positions or official ranking. This makes sense when we think that in Guo Ruoxu’s mind, there are two kinds of people with lofty minds who are ideal candidates for being excellent painters, and by whom the masterpieces of the past were created: “talented worthies of high position [xuanmian caixian 軒冕才賢] or superior gentlemen in retirement [yanxue shangshi 岩穴上士], who cleaved to loving-kindness and sought enjoyment in the arts or explored the abstruse and plumbed the depths.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 95‒96; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 316–317)50 The loftiness or baseness of qiyun in painting in relation to that of the painter is indicated clearly in his view of painting as xinyin 心印 (mind-print). He indicates that this view derives from the Han Confucian scholar Yang Xiong (53BCE–18CE), who describes words as the “sound of mind” and calligraphy as the “painting of mind,” and who thus suggests that people can identify a person as a gentleman or a petty man according to his mind-print. Following Yang Xiong’s “mind-print” metaphor, Guo Ruoxu suggests that painting is also “mind-print,” just like calligraphy “[originating] from the source of the mind,” being “perfected in the imagination,” taking form “as the traces of mind [on the surface of silk or paper], which, being in accord with the mind are called ‘prints’” (Bush and Shih 2012, 96; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317; Yu 1986, 59).51 The modern scholar Peng Lai (2016, 138–139) suggests that Guo Ruoxu’s view on the artist’s innate mental disposition which determines his capacity to convey qiyun through painting is more influenced by his contemporary Neo-Confucianists such as Zhang Zai’s (1020–1077) and Cheng Hao’s (1032–1085) view on xin (mind), qi, and xing 性 (human nature). Zhang Zai (1978, 9) regards qi as the original essence of the universe, and human beings (as well as other things) as constituted by the condensation of qi, providing human nature (xing) with such (innate) qualities as benevolence (ren 仁), righteousness (yi 義), courtesy (li 禮), wisdom (zhi 智), vigor or gentleness, slowness or quickness.52 For Cheng Hao (1990, 10), human nature refers to qi, and the qi of a human refers to his nature, and one is born with the nature of qi; one may be born to be good or evil, resulting from the nature of qi being good or evil.53 I think that for Guo Ruoxu, inspired by former scholars including Zong Bing, Li Sizhen, and Zhang Yanyuan (as discussed above) and probably

The Thread of Qiyun

59

by contemporary Neo-Confucianist Zhang Zai and Cheng Hao (as Peng Lai points out), the idea of shenhui in relation to xinyin may be formulated through a synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism. Not only does Daoism advocate the identification of the self with the universe, but also Confucianism recommends achieving the trinity of individual, Heaven, and Earth, and “elevating the mind to a state in which the individual becomes one with the universe.” (Fung 1948, 177) For Zhang Zai, the latter means expanding the mind to a state of being able to embody all the things in the universe.54 Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary scholar-critic Wang Qinchen (ca. 1034–1101) says that, We know, indeed, that spiritual excellence [shenjun 神俊] is not easy to describe. But if one’s heart is in accord with the Dao, one can know how to do it. There is surely a single principle in literature, calligraphy, and painting. (Bush and Shih 2012, 209; Bush 2012, 28)

As seen above, for Guo Ruoxu, this relation to the mind of the artist (poet, calligrapher, or painter) is the same for literature, calligraphy, and painting. Wang Qinchen is indicating that this same relation is that of the mind of the artist being in accordance with the Dao.55 Despite obvious differences in writing objectives and target audiences, Guo Ruoxu apparently follows Jing Hao in extending the notion of qiyun to landscape painting. This may be directly due to Jing Hao’s influence, since Tuhua Jianwen Zhi mentions Jing Hao’s Hua Shanshui Jue (Secrets of Landscape Painting), which Soper (1951, 114) suggests is probably the same as Bifa Ji, since the latter compiled in Wangshi Huayuan bears the subtitle Hua Shanshui Jue. Guo Ruoxu’s earlier and contemporary painters’ achievement in landscape painting also urges him to make a similar extension. As mentioned above, Guo regards two types of people as excellent in conveying qiyun through painting: “talented worthies of high position” and “superior gentlemen in retirement.” A group of “princes, nobles, and officials” is listed at the beginning of his account of Northern Song art from 960 to 1074, and in this list at least nine painters including Prince Gongsu of Yan (Zhao Yuanyan, 985–1044), Prince Jia (Zhao Jun, 1056–1088), Li Yu (937–978, the last emperor of Southern Tang kingdom), Yan Su, Guo Zhongshu (d. 977), Wang Shiyuan, Song Dao (eleventh century), Song Di (ca. 1015–ca. 1080), and Dong Yuan are good at painting landscape (Soper 1951, 41–46; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 337–40). After the group of princes, nobles, and scholar-officials he put two landscape masters, Li Cheng and Song Xie, “who were highly honoured in their lives and took their pleasure in painting,” in another special list to show his reverence (Soper 1951, 46–47, see Wang and Ren 2002a, 340).56 In addition, within his text, he uses the term

60

Chapter 2

qiyun in his comments on landscape painting as well as figure painting.57 For example, he praises the Tang master Zhang Zao’s landscape painting for its loftiness in both qi and yun (qiyun shuanggao 氣韻雙高) (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 368).58 He also records that the monk Defu (in the Five Dynasties) is adept at painting pine trees and cypress trees, and that in his work qiyun is untrammeled (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 336; Soper 1951, 39). Sometimes, he uses other terms in relation to qi or yun to evaluate landscape painting. For instance, he comments on a landscape painting by the Northern Song painter Wang Shiyuan that the work’s fengyun 風韻 is lofty (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 339; Soper 1951, 48).59 Although Guo Ruoxu does not apply the term qiyun to describe his favorite landscapists’ works, for him the best landscape painting replete with qiyun must be masterpieces by three early Song masters “standing aloft like a tripod as the models for a hundred generations”—Li Cheng, Guan Tong (active ca. 907–923), and Fan Kuan (ca. 960–ca. 1030) (Bush and Shih 2012, 118; my emphasis; see also Soper 1951, 19; Wang and Ren 2002a, 320). From his description of these three masters’ painting, one may imagine what qiyun looks like in different styles of landscape paintings.60 Guo Ruoxu uses the term qixiang 氣象 (image replete with qi) in his description of Li Cheng’s landscape painting (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 320).61 The meaning of qi used in art criticism in the Six Dynasties and further applied by Jing Hao in landscape painting (as explained in chapter 1 and section 2.1) still makes sense in this context. In sum, we have seen how Guo Ruoxu interprets qiyun in the eleventhcentury context of painting connoisseurship: first, he explicitly states the qiyun of a work belongs to the painting’s expressive quality or content; second, he thinks the artist’s innate mental disposition determines his competence to create a painting replete with qiyun as the mind-print; third, qiyun involves shenhui between the artist and the object depicted, and thus it is impossible to teach qiyun; fourth, although Guo Ruoxu does not explicitly read qiyun as the internal essential reality of the object depicted, it may be wrong to say this point cannot be compatible with his understanding of qiyun. 2.2.2 Resonance with Leading EleventhCentury Scholar-Artists’ Aesthetics In this subsection, I show that Guo Ruoxu’s emphasis on a work’s qiyun as the artist’s mind-print, requiring shenhui between artist and object, resonates with the eleventh-century aesthetics of such leading scholar-artists as Ouyang Xiu, Li Gonglin (1049–1105), Su Shi, Chao Buzhi (1053–1110), and Huang Tingjian.

The Thread of Qiyun

61

Ouyang Xiu criticizes a focus on formal likeness in his poem Panche Tu (Turning Oxcarts Picture): Ancient paintings depict ideas and not forms, Mei [Yaochen, 1002–1060]’s poems sing of things but conceal no emotion. Few are those who understand abandoning forms to realize ideas [yi], No less in looking at a painting than in poetry. (Bush and Shih 2012, 203; see Ouyang Xiu’s poem quoted in Xu 2001, 218)62

As seen above, Ouyang Xiu implies that conveying yi (idea) in painting is comparable to conveying yi in poetry. He argues that painting should depict (pictorial) yi 意 (idea) and convey qu 趣 (flavor) above representing formal likeness. He claims in his essay Jian Hua (On Looking at Paintings) that, Loneliness and tranquillity [xiaotiao danbo 蕭條淡泊] are qualities difficult to paint, [. . .] birds’ and animals’ rates of speed are easy to see [in a painting], being things of superficial perception, while relaxed harmony and awesome stillness [xianhe yanjing 閑和嚴靜] are hard to shape, as feelings of farreaching mood [qu]. (Bush and Shih 2012, 230–231; see Yu 1986, 42)

That is, the painter is advised to depict the “loneliness and tranquillity” of landscape, the “relaxed harmony and awesome stillness” of flowers, birds, insects, fishes, beasts, human beings, or landscape, and paintings cannot supply a profound mindscape or embody lyric mood unless these “difficult to paint” expressive qualities are captured. Although Ouyang Xiu does not discuss the first law of Xie He or use the term qiyun, Guo Ruoxu’s echo of Ouyang Xiu may be seen in his comments on two Northern Song painters, Yan Shi’an and Qiu Shiyuan, that both the former’s ink bamboo painting and the latter’s depiction of a water buffalo possess yi and qu (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 357–358).63 Ouyang Xiu’s advocacy of the expression of yi or qu through painting is echoed by more contemporaries including Li Gonglin and Su Shi. For instance, Li Gonglin admits that “I make paintings as a poet composes poems, simply to recite my feelings [qing 情] and express my nature [xing 性].” (Bush and Shih 2012, 204; see Bush 2012, 27)64 Su Shi praises the poem-like expression in Li Gonglin’s painting: From ancient times on, painters have not been common men, Their subtle thoughts are produced substantially as in poetry. Mount Sleeping Dragon’s retired scholar is basically a poet; Thus, he [Li Gonglin] can cause thunderbolts to crash on the Dragon Pond. (Bush and Shih 2012, 203; see Bush 2012, 30)

62

Chapter 2

Su Shi values painting as soundless poetry and the successful practice of the Tang artist Wang Wei in this vein. In Shu Mojie Lantian Yanyu Tu (Written on Wang Wei’s Lantian in Misty Rain Picture), he writes that “when one savours Wang Wei’s poems, there are paintings in them; when one looks at Wang Wei’s pictures, there are poems.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 203)65 Guo Ruoxu echoes this aesthetics of painting as soundless poetry in his record of the Snow Poem Picture, painted by the late Tang painter Duan Zanshan, inspired by the snow poem of his contemporary Tang poet Zheng Gu (ca. 848–ca. 910) (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 371; Soper 1951, 84–85).66 In Su Shi’s eyes, “Wang Wei soared beyond images [xiangwai 象外], like an immortal crane released from the cage.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 203)67 Xu Fuguan (2001, 221) comments that Su Shi’s term xiangwai here is meant to praise Wang Wei’s painting the second nature of landscape beyond formal likeness as its first nature. It is noteworthy that the term xiangwai used by Su Shi here apparently means the same as the term wuwai used by his friend Chao Buzhi in his poem He Su Hanlin Ti Li Jia Huayan (Rhyming with Su Shi’s Inscription to Li Jia’s Wild Goose Painting): Painting renders form beyond (the appearance of) the object [Huaxie wuwai xing 畫寫物外形], And yet it is essential not to change the (outer) form of the thing. Poetry conveys ideas [yi] beyond that of painting. And values the character within that which is painted. (quoted in Dong Qichang’s Huazhi; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 214–215; my translation)68

Su Shi criticizes the defect of overly valuing resemblance, and emphasizes the significance of tiangong 天工 (natural genius) and qingxin 清新 (originality) in his Shu Yanling Wang Zhubu Suohua Zhezhi Er’shou (Two Poems Written on Paintings of a Broken Branch by Assistant Magistrate Wang of Yanling): If anyone discusses painting in terms of formal likeness. His understanding is close to that of a child. If someone composing a poem must have a certain poem. Then he is definitely not a man who knows poetry. There is one basic rule in poetry and painting; Natural genius [tiangong] and originality [qingxin]. (Bush and Shih 2012, 224)69

In his Jingyin Yuan Huaji (Essay on Painting in Jingyin Monastery), he also points out that craftsmen may skilfully represent form, but only a superior person of outstanding talent can understand the li 理 (inner nature) of the object (see Lin 1967, 95; Xu 2001, 220‒221). In his eyes, “when a mistake is

The Thread of Qiyun

63

made with regard to form, the mistake is confined to that particular object”; while “when a mistake is made in the inner nature [changli 常理] of things, the whole is spoiled.” (Lin 1967, 95) Xu Fuguan (2001, 120, 220‒221) suggests that li or changli as discussed by Su Shi corresponds to shen in Gu Kaizhi’s claim of transmitting shen, Xie He’s term qiyun, Guo Xi’s term zaohua.70 He quotes the Song scholar Ge Lifang’s (? –1165) comment that Ouyang Xiu’s advice to forget form and grasp yi, Su Shi’s advocacy of valuing tiangong instead of formal representation, and Chen Yuyi’s (1090–1138) suggestion of not seeking outward likeness when having adequate yi (意足不求顏色似), all essentially emphasize the dominant role of qiyun in painting (119).71 These critical terms do not exclude the role of the artist’s mental disposition, but rather point to an aesthetic taste of favoring individualist and intellectual artistic expression. Xu warns the reader not to confuse Su Shi’s term li (which does not exclude the possibility of this internal reality being colored by the artist’s emotions and feelings) with li’s use in contemporary or later Neo-Confucian philosophers (220).72 In Eugene Y. Wang’s (2018, 76) words, “the introspective literary culture [demonstrated and advocated by the eleventh-century scholar-artists and critics including Su Shi and his friends such as Mi Fu] shaped a more subjective and interiorized mode of viewing the world, and the artistic means of registering that subjectivity.” The importance of the artist’s innate mental disposition and shenhui with the object in creating a masterpiece is commonly agreed by Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary artists including Guo Xi, Su Shi and Huang Tingjian.73 For instance, Guo Xi says that “he who learns to paint landscape must become the landscape and absorb it; then its [yidu 意度] [ideas and attitudes] will be revealed to him.” (Stanley-Baker 1977, 14; with modifications; see Yu 1986, 634; Wang and Ren 2002a, 294)74 It is worth noting that the role of the artist’s mind in creating an emotional landscape implied in Guo Xi’s text is compatible with Guo Ruoxu’s praise of the painter’s innate mental disposition for conveying qiyun.75 I disagree with Stanley-Baker’s (1977, 14–15) view that the shenhui endorsed by leading and influential eleventh-century Northern Song artists and connoisseurs including Guo Xi only means to “[extrovertly] recreate the spirit of Nature,” without involving “an [introverted] expression of the spirit of the artist himself.” More evidence is given below. The idea of shenhui is also attested in Su Shi’s comments on Wen Tong’s (1019–1079) bamboo painting and Li Gonglin’s landscape painting (Peng 2016, 139). In his poem Shu Chao Buzhi Suocang Yuke Huazhu (Written on Wen Tong’s Bamboo Painting Collected by Chao Buzhi) in praise of Wen Tong, he advocates the artist’s fusion with the bamboo and ningshen 凝神, which may be translated as concentration or being absorbed spiritually.76 This view shows a kinship with Guo Ruoxu in emphasizing the artist’s innate

64

Chapter 2

mental disposition and shenhui between the artist and the object. In addition, in Shu Boshi Shanzhuangtu Hou (Written after Li Gonglin’s Mountain Villa Picture) Su Shi (1981, 2211) writes that when Li Gonglin stayed in the mountains to paint landscapes, his shen was in communion with thousands of things (shen yu wanwu jiao 神與萬物交), and the Dao means that the object is formed in the artist’s mind instead of his hand. This text speaks explicitly of the significance of shenhui between the artist and the object, and the artist’s mind in formulating mental images. Huang Tingjian (2001, 416) echoes Su Shi’s ideas on the role of the artist’s mind and shenhui between artist and object in his Daozhenshi Hua Mozhu Xu (Preface to Daozhen’s Bamboo Painting), where he advises the bamboo painter Daozhen that the secret of painting lies in mastering the mind before the skilled manipulation of the brush. In his Ti Mo Yan Guo Shangfu Tu (Inscription to Li Gonglin’s Painting of General Guo Ziyi of Yan), he also mentions that Li Gonglin’s insight on painting makes him realize the significance of shenhui for painting as well as writing literary works (729). Similarly to Guo Ruoxu’s view of the moral dimension of qiyun in relation to the artist’s moral character and cultivation, emphasis on the artist’s moral cultivation can also be found in Su Shi’s and Huang Tingjian’s writings on art.77 For example, in Wen Yuke Hua Mozhu Pingfeng Zan (Eulogy to Wen Tong’s Ink Bamboo Painting on Screen) Su Shi (1981, 614) praises Wen Tong’s essays and poems for reflecting his moral character, and his calligraphy and painting for expressing what may not be conveyed properly through writing. In his writing on calligraphy Huang Tingjian (2001, 674; my translation) echoes Su Shi’s ideas, claiming that To learn calligraphy one must have moral conviction in his mind and learn the teaching of the sage and the wise, and then calligraphy can be precious. If he has no lofty mind but the brushstroke of Zhong Yao [151–230] and Wang Xizhi, [his work shows that] he is still a vulgar person.

Despite differences in nuance between the aesthetic terms used by Guo Ruoxu and other eleventh-century scholar-artists, Guo Ruoxu’s emphasis on the mental disposition of the artist as determining whether he can create a painting replete with qiyun are in keeping with the contemporary aesthetic tendency to value intellectual and individual expression. One may question why Guo Ruoxu does not adopt such contemporary aesthetic terms as li or changli favored by Su Shi, but inherits the old-fashioned terminology of qiyun originally proposed by Xie He, even though, as Xu Fuguan and Jianping Gao argue, these terms apparently point to the same aesthetic taste in the Northern Song artistic context. As mentioned above, Guo Ruoxu regards his work as a sequel to Lidai Minghua Ji which follows Xie He’s six laws

The Thread of Qiyun

65

in evaluating paintings, so his adoption of the earlier terminology shows his salute to Zhang Yanyuan’s influence. Another reason may involve the fierce political struggle between the conservative group led by Sima Guang and the reformist group led by Wang Anshi (1021–1086) during Emperor Shenzong’s reign (1067–1085).78 In his preface, Guo Ruoxu admits that he prefers to immerse himself in art appreciation rather than “trouble myself over [the possibilities of] favour or disgrace in the world of power and profit; or care to plot [my chances of] success or failure in some place of bustle and hurry!” (Soper 1951, 1; with translator’s additions; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 307) Considering Guo Ruoxu’s prestigious family background, his affinal relationship with royalty, personal interest in art collection and appreciation instead of politics, and the approximate date of his book’s completion, one may reasonably assume that even though Guo Ruoxu sympathizes with Su Shi’s aesthetic ideas (and Su Shi’s friends’ ideas), it would have been wise for him to show in his work no explicit trace of standing in the same faction as the Old Policies group suppressed by Emperor Shenzong and the New Policies group. The possible motivation to avoid being involved in political rivalry may also explain why Guo Ruoxu excludes Su Shi, and his friends Wang Shen and Li Gonglin, as distinguished painters in his record of contemporary art history.79 2.3 TANG HOU’S VALUING OF QIYUN IN ART CONNOISSEURSHIP Tang Hou’s Huajian (Criticism of Painting) is divided into two parts: Hualun (A Discussion of Painting) and Kujin Huajian (Criticism of Past and Present Painting).80 The former part includes his views on how to appreciate paintings as a genuine connoisseur, while the latter includes his comments on paintings by about eighty painters from the Three Kingdoms period till his time. A preface to one of various editions of Kujin Huajian, attributed to the Yuan Daoist painter Zhang Yu, records that when in Dadu (the capital of the Yuan Dynasty, now Beijing) Tang Hou discussed painting with the Yuan artist and connoisseur Ke Jiusi (1290–1343).81 However, Diana Yeongchau Chou (2001, 13, 38; 2005, 11, 40–42) argues that this preface is a later fake, the association between Tang Hou and Ke Jiusi is questionable, and Huajian was completed before 1317.82 According to historical records, Tang Hou served as Rector of the Lanting Academy (a Confucian school) in Shaoxing (in Zhejiang province) in 1301–1304, and moved to Dadu sometime between 1305 and 1308 as a Scribe at the Court of Justice for Uighurs (Chou 2005, 27–32). Despite uncertainty about the exact date of Huajian, Chou assumes that it may have been written by Tang Hou as an instruction for his academy

66

Chapter 2

students to learn painting connoisseurship, and for contemporary painting collectors in the Jiangnan region (the south of Yangzi river), especially Hangzhou which was the capital of the Southern Song Dynasty, and still the cultural center of Jiangnan region in the Yuan Dynasty.83 Indebted to his father Tang Binglong’s engagement with art and association with some distinguished figures in the early Yuan literati elite class including Xianyu Shu (1257? –1302), Gao Kegong, and Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322), Tang Hou grew up in an excellent cultural environment to develop his taste and interest in art collection, and built a friendship with Zhao Mengfu and his circle.84 In the following two subsections, we will see that Tang Hou modifies Xie He’s six criteria of painting for painting connoisseurship, yet his notion of qiyun not only echoes the eleventh-century aesthetic tendency to value individualistic expression, but also reflects the aesthetic preference of the early Yuan scholar-artists, connoisseurs, and critics in his circle. 2.3.1 Qiyun in Relation to the Further Depreciation of Formal Likeness in Yuan As seen in chapter 1, Xie He values qiyun above formal likeness, and Zhang Yanyuan follows Xie He’s painting criteria. Zhang advises the painter to avoid “a meticulous completeness in formal appearance and coloring, and extreme carefulness and detail that display skill and finish.” Extreme carefulness in details and overly showing the skill of formal resemblance might hinder the conveying of qiyun, and this is why Zhang Yanyuan values an aesthetics of incompleteness. He suggests that, a painter “should not deplore incompleteness, but rather deplore completeness.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 63; see Yu 1986, 37; Wang and Ren 2002a, 112) Incompleteness in formal appearance and coloring is not incompleteness, while completeness in these but lack of qiyun is true incompleteness. This aesthetics of incompleteness is inspired by Daoist philosophy. As mentioned in section 2.1, for Laozi (1999, 139), “great completion seems incomplete, but its functioning is never exhausted.” Zhuangzi (2013, 233) suggests people “forget the words” when they have got the meaning, just as fishermen “forget the trap” when having caught the fish, and hunters “forget the snare” when having captured the rabbit. A similar taste for openness and suggestiveness above concrete depiction of sceneries, inspired by Daoist ideas, is shown in poetry criticism by Zhang Yanyuan’s contemporary poetry critic Sikong Tu who advocates “flavour beyond flavour” (韻外之致/味外之旨), “images beyond images” (象外之象), and “scenes beyond scenes” (境外之境) in his two letters (Pohl 2006, 130; see also Owen 1992, 352, 356–357).85 As we saw in section 2.2.2, the eleventh-century scholar-artists inherit this aesthetic pursuit in painting. In addition, as Shujiro Shimada (1964, 22‒24) points out, the

The Thread of Qiyun

67

emergence of yipin 逸品 (untrammeled class) in mid-Tang and the placing of yipin above shenpin (divine class, as the highest level in the three-level classification system) from the Song Dynasty mean that the tendency to depreciate formal representation that arose in the mid-Tang flourished in the Song Dynasty, and expressing qiyun through painting was further explored by challenging the orthodoxy of respecting formal representation.86 Tang Hou echoes such earlier Tang and Song artists and critics in valuing incomplete formal representation. He despises ordinary audiences who only pay attention to formal likeness and ignore the inspired subtleties of brushstrokes and qiyun, saying that “formal likeness is the point of view of people without taste” (Bush and Shih 2012, 260; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 711). He cites Li Gonglin’s painting to illustrate that an occasional deficiency in representing formal likeness does not affect success in expressing qiyun. However, especially for figure painting the conveying of shenyun and qixiang might suffer from an excessive emphasis on and adherence to “formal likeness and placement” (Bush and Shih 2012, 247; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 709). For Tang Hou, the first criterion for appreciating paintings is qiyun in painting as its expressive quality, the second is biyi 筆意 (the idea of brush), the third is formal structure, the fourth and fifth are placement and coloring, respectively, and formal likeness comes last (see Bush and Shih 2012, 261; Wang and Ren 2002a, 272‒273).87 His six criteria of appreciating paintings may be regarded as a modified version of Xie He’s six laws of painting. As seen in chapter 1, Xie He’s first law is qiyun shengdong, the second deals with applying the brush, the third concerns formal representation, the fourth discusses coloring, the fifth is in relation to formal structure and placement, and the sixth is about copying previous masters’ works. Comparing these two sets of criteria, one may note three differences: First, Xie He’s last law is dropped from Tang Hou’s criteria, since the latter focuses on artistic connoisseurship; second, Tang Hou places formal likeness as the final criterion while Xie He places it third; third, Tang Hou thinks such compositional elements as formal structure and placement should be ranked as third and fourth, while Xie He places these in the second to last. These differences show the tendency of the Yuan critic and connoisseur to place less value on the details of formal likeness, although placing formal likeness as the final criterion and valuing formal structure and placement as the third and fourth criteria also suggest that Tang Hou does not discard the principle of formal representation.88 As Chou (2005, 75) notes, unlike Xie He who emphasizes the “bonemethod” of applying the brush as a painting technique, Tang Hou’s listing biyi as the second criterion is consistent with his depreciation of formal likeness, “since a painter with solid brush technique may well capture the formal likeness of objects without conveying any of the [qiyun] of the objects rendered.”89 This aesthetic attention to biyi may have been influenced by his

68

Chapter 2

close associate Zhao Mengfu who successfully uses calligraphic brushstroke in painting, although listing biyi as the second criterion reminds connoisseurs that understanding the aesthetic idea behind calligraphic brushstroke is more important than appreciating the formal elements delivered by brush techniques.90 This appears to echo Jing Hao’s view of applying brush and ink to convey zhen embodied by qiyun. As seen in section 2.1, Jing Hao lists bi (brush) and mo (ink) as the fifth essential and the sixth, and his six essentials work as an organic whole for instructing a landscapist to create a painting conveying zhen and qiyun. The difference between Jing Hao and Tang Hou in this aspect lies in the former’s criteria work as a landscape painting instruction while the latter aims at offering evaluation standards for painting collectors. In addition to biyi, Tang Hou mentions another three types of yi in relation to qiyun: xieyi 寫意, guyi 古意, and xinyi 新意. Regarding Su Shi’s ink bamboo paintings, he writes that “I have seen a total of fourteen scrolls; he mostly sought to express ideas [xieyi] rather than formal likeness.” (Chou 2001, 157; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 705) In addition, he claims that: Painting plum blossoms is called sketching plum blossoms; painting bamboo is called sketching bamboo; and painting orchids is called sketching orchids. Why? Because the purity of flowers should be painted not merely through formal likeness but through sketching the idea [yi yixie 以意寫]. (Chou 2001, 77; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 712)

Here, he then cites Chen Yuyi’s couplet mentioned in section 2.2.2 to urge painters to work on conveying yi rather than focusing on capturing formal likeness. From his quotation, we can see that with regard to xieyi, Tang Hou follows the eleventh-century scholar-artists in emphasizing that the painter’s success in conveying pictorial yi through painting images is comparable to the poet’s achievement in conveying poetic yi through composing excellent verse. One may suggest that in classical texts on painting xieyi does not only mean “sketching ideas,” but also often refers to a brush mode. However, I do not think that what Tang Hou means by xieyi or yi yixie in the two texts mentioned above is a brush mode. Rather, for him, to sketch or write pictorial yi, as a poet writes poetic yi through verses, is to release the yi associated with a mental image (xiang 象) into the final image which conveys qiyun.91 Elsewhere in Huajian, Tang Hou quotes the couplets in Su Shi’s poem valuing tiangong and depreciating formal likeness (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 717; Chou 2001, 74). I remind the reader that, as mentioned in section 2.2.2, both Chen Yuyi’s couplet and Su Shi’s writing echo the advocacy of the dominant role of qiyun in painting.

The Thread of Qiyun

69

One may note that Tang Hou also uses another term tianzhen 天真, which may be translated as “natural truth” or “naturalness,” and which was previously used by Mi Fu in praise of his favorite master Dong Yuan in Huashi (Painting History).92 In his writing about six criteria of painting appreciation, Tang Hou appears to equate tianzhen and qiyun: One should first look at [tianzhen] and then [biyi], so that when one is in front of them, one forgets about ink traces and brushwork. Then their essence will be understood. (Chou 2001, 82; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 713)93

As we saw above, biyi is Tang Hou’s second criterion of painting. Tianzhen placed before biyi here appears to refer to qiyun. Although his discussion is mainly for painting connoisseurship, the praise of tianzhen reminds us of the notion of zhen proposed by Jing Hao in relation to qiyun, and suggests a similar advocacy of transmitting the internal, essential reality of the natural object into painting. Perhaps consistent with his revival of the first law initiated by Xie He and inherited by Zhang Yanyuan and Guo Ruoxu, Tang Hou applies the term guyi (the idea or flavor of antiquity), to emphasize the conveying of a sense of antiquity in painting. As Chou (2004, 274) notes, the term guyi used by Tang Hou, his contemporary artist Zhao Mengfu, and contemporary connoisseur Zhuang Su (1298) means “the idea or quality of antiquity blended with the literary movement of fugu 復古 (returning to the past).”94 Sometimes, although Tang Hou does not apply the term guyi, he emphasizes the yi expressed through painting ought to be lofty and antique. For instance, he cites Zhao Mengfu’s colophon on a painting, which claims that the reason for the two Tang masters Cao Ba (ca. 704–ca. 770) and Han Gan standing out from the mass of artisans lies in their ability to command lofty and antique yi (see Bush and Shih 2012, 254; Wang and Ren 2002a, 693; Yu 1986, 92). Chou (2005, 51) suggests that the taste for guyi, “promoted by Tang Hou and Zhao Mengfu, was likely formulated in the Jiangnan region and had a great impact on Jiangnan painting style during and after Tang Hou’s time.”95 However, we should also pay attention to Tang Hou’s application of the term xinyi, which may be translated as the idea or sense of originality, in his comments on landscape paintings by Jing Hao, Guan Tong, Su Shi, Mi Fu and his son Mi Youren, and on ink plum blossom paintings by Tang Shuya (active ca. 1130s–1140s) (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 696, 704–705, 707, 713). As seen in section 2.1, the metaphysical conception of nature as processual, influenced by the synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism, may have inspired Jing Hao to apply the notion of qiyun to submerging-emerging landscape painting. In the next subsection, I suggest that Tang Hou recognizes the tradition perceiving nature as processual and the aesthetics of

70

Chapter 2

submerging-emerging landscape in his comments on distinguished Song landscape masters’ paintings. 2.3.2 Qiyun in Emerging-Submerging Landscape In his general discussion of landscape painting in Huajian, Tang Hou says the following: Landscape is a thing naturally endowed with Creation’s refinements. Whether cloudy or sunny, dark or gloomy, sunny or rainy, cold or hot, or at morning or evening, day or night, landscape follows the forms of the Nature in its transformations and inexhaustible wonders. (Chou 2001, 84; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 713)

He mentions Jing Hao’s Hua Shanshui Jue (which, as mentioned in section 2.2, Soper thinks the same as Bifa Ji) as a “model for Fan Kuan’s generation,” and evaluates Jing Hao’s landscape painting as “the crown of the Late Tang.” (Chou 2001, 116; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 696). As we saw in section 2.1, Jing Hao values emerging-submerging landscape in keeping with his advocacy of zhen and qiyun. In this subsection, we will see Tang Hou’s salute to Jing Hao’s aesthetics is attested in his praise of submerging-emerging landscape in his favorite Song masters’ works. As mentioned in section 2.2, Guo Ruoxu lists Li Cheng, Guan Tong, and Fan Kuan as the best landscapists, standing like “three legs of a tripod.” For Tang Hou, the trio of Song landscapists who surpassed previous Tang masters are Li Cheng, Fan Kuan, and Dong Yuan instead of Guan Tong (see Bush and Shih 2012, 248; Chou 2001, 84, 142; Wang and Ren 2002a, 701, 713). In Tang Hou’s eyes, “Dong Yuan captured the spirit and breath [shenqi 神氣] of mountains, Li Cheng grasped the composition and appearance [timao 體貌] of mountains, and Fan Kuan obtained the bone structure [gufa 骨法] of mountains” (Chou 2001, 142; 2005, 136; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 701). Tang Hou uses a phrase yanyun bianmie 煙雲變滅 (the appearing-disappearing of clouds and mists) to describe landscape paintings by Li Cheng. He comments on Li Cheng thus: [Li Cheng] utterly exhausted the subtleties of all the variations in the shifts of mist and clouds [yanyun bianmie], the quietude and restfulness of water and rocks, the precarious cliffs and plain forms of level distances, and the aspects of wind and clouds or gloom and brightness [huiming 晦明]. The critics thus regard him as the greatest master of all time. (Chou 2001, 140–141; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 701)96

The Thread of Qiyun

71

Although Mi Fu in his Huashi indicates that in his time there is almost no authentic work by Li Cheng, the aesthetic interplay between solids and voids in Li Cheng’s works is valued by the later Southern Song critic Li Chengsou who asserts approvingly that in Li Cheng’s paintings “in substance [shi] there is emptiness [xu]” (Bush and Shih 2012, 163; see Yu 1986, 622).97 Tang Hou quotes Mi Fu’s praise for Dong Yuan’s painting as tianzhen lanman 天真爛漫 (“natural and undecorative”), pingdan duozi 平淡多姿 (“bland but charming”), and suggests that Mi Fu and his son Mi Youren were inspired by Dong Yuan’s painting style (see Chou 2001, 118–119; Wang and Ren 2002a, 696).98 It is worth noting that in Huashi Mi Fu describes Dong Yuan’s landscape paintings thusly: “fengluan chumo 峰巒出沒 (mountains and hills appear and disappear), yunwu xianhui 雲霧顯晦 (mists and haze emerge and submerge), buzhuang qiaoqu 不裝巧趣 (everything appears without artificial decoration), jiede tianzhen 皆得天真 (just with natural flavor).” (My translation; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 399) In Mi Fu’s eyes, the revealing-concealing of peaks, and the emerging-submerging of trees in a painting of misty scene by Dong Yuan have lofty and antique flavor (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 401). Even though Tang Hou only indicates that among the three legs of a tripod Li Cheng is adept at depicting the transformation of mists and clouds, he must agree with Mi Fu’s comments on Dong Yuan’s landscape painting.99 Tang Hou records that Guo Xi followed Li Cheng, and was adept at “depicting the shifts of mists and clouds [yanyun chumo 煙云出沒] as they hide or reveal peaks and mountains [fengluan xianyin 峰巒顯隱].” (Chou 2001, 143–144; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 702)100 He quotes Guo Xi’s recommendation that mountains have different countenances in four seasons as if they are emotional human beings, and suggests that by understanding Guo Xi’s theory one can better understand his painting. Indeed, Guo Xi appears to echo the dialectical aesthetics of emerging-submerging landscape implied in Jing Hao’s text through both his painting and theory. As Munakata (1974, 42) notes, the word yanying used by Jing Hao is also adopted by Guo Xi in Linquan Gaozhi (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 193, 298). Praise for emerging-submerging landscape can be seen in his claims: You may wish to make a mountain high, but if it is visible throughout its entirety it will not appear high. If mists enlock its waist, then it will seem high. You may wish the river to flow afar, but if it is visible throughout its entirety, then it will not appear long. If hidden sections interrupt its course [yanying duanqimai 掩映斷其脈], then it will appear long. (Bush and Shih 2012, 169; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 298; Yu 1986, 639)

With regard to the emerging-submerging aesthetics, Guo Xi also writes that:

72

Chapter 2

A mountain has water as blood, foliage as hair, haze and clouds as its spirit and character. Thus, a mountain gains life through water, its external beauty through vegetation and its elegant charm through haze and clouds. [. . . ] water gains its charm through the mountain, [. . . .] A mountain without haze and clouds is like spring without flowers and grass. (Bush and Shih 2012, 167–68; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 297–298)

Perhaps motivated or inspired by the far-reaching Dao, which, for Laozi, takes nature’s continuous transformation as a model, Guo Xi offers his original illustration of three distances and successfully produces the landscape pieces of yanyun chumo and fengluan xianyin in non-fixed perspectives.101 Tang Hou mentions that Guo Xi’s contemporary Wang Shen also followed Li Cheng in painting landscape, was excellent in painting misty rivers and layered peaks and painted the same subject repeatedly, and describes the aesthetic merit in Wang Shen’s paintings as “fresh with luminosity and charm” (qingrun ke’ai 清潤可愛) (see Chou 2001, 76, 145–146; Wang and Ren 2002a, 702, 711).102 Although he does not apply the phrases yanyun bianmie or yanyun chumo to Wang Shen’s painting, from historical comments and extant works attributed to Wang Shen one gets a sense of the aesthetics of yanyun bianmie inherited from Li Cheng. Su Shi writes a poem for his friend Wang Shen’s Misty River and Layered Hills. A few lines from Su Shi’s poem suggest the sceneries depicted in the work: Spring breezes stir the Yangtze, the sky is boundless. Sunset clouds collect the rain, the mountains are lovely. [. . .] Peach blossoms and streams do occur in this life, [. . .]. (Edwards 1991, 411)103

Looking at Misty River and Layered Hills by Wang Shen, dated ca. 1084, in Shanghai Museum, yanyun chumo in the vistas of “lost distance” and “remote distance” appears to exemplify the Dao going forth to the far-reaching indistinctiveness and dimness as described in Laozi’s (1999, 86–87) text. Jullien (2012, 2) notes the Daoist inspiration on the emerging-submerging aesthetics: when mists efface the ridges of mountains, the vague and indistinguishable landscape in the far-reaching points appears to transcend the transient motivation and particularity of the phenomenal world to return to “the undifferentiated fount of things” through the aesthetic interplay of wu and you, xu and shi. The Southern Song critic Qian Wenshi (ca. 1180) describes the difficulties painting transient motivation: when rain is approaching in fair weather, or when the sun starts bringing brighter weather before the rain stops, or when fog has not dispersed in the early morning or mist is accumulating at night, the landscape appears to emerge from or vanish in dimness, vagueness, and

The Thread of Qiyun

73

indistinctness, and such scenes of emerging-submerging are difficult and challenging to paint (see Yu 1986, 84).104 Perhaps because the challenge of depicting submerging-emerging cloudy mountain is successfully overcome by Wang Shen’s friend Mi Fu, Tang Hou praises the aesthetic merit of tianzhen in his paintings (see Chou 2001, 158; Wang and Ren 2002a, 705).105 Eugene Y. Wang (2018, 79) says that, “the edginess of the Mi cloudy landscape was deliberate mutiny against the well-wrought professionalism and artisanal practice of painting that had prevailed up to the 11th century.”106 This fits in with Tang Hou’s depreciation of artisanal formal representation as mentioned in section 2.3.1. Tang Hou applies the same phrase yanyun bianmie to Mi Fu’s son Mi Youren’s landscape painting as to Li Cheng’s. He says that: [Mi Youren] was capable of the family tradition. His landscapes were pure and charming. Moreover, he slightly modified his father’s painting style and perfected his own methods. The variations of his mists and clouds [yanyun bianmie] and the embellishments of his forests and streams [linquan dianzhui 林泉點綴] have an endless sense of vitality. (Chou 2001, 159–160; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 705)107

Since Tang Hou lists qiyun as the first criterion for appreciating painting, the dynamic landscapes of yanyun bianmie, yanyun chumo, and fengluan chumo painted by these distinguished landscapists, for him and his coterie, exemplify the best landscape painting replete with qiyun. As analyzed in section 2.1.3, understanding the aesthetic interplay of wu and you, xu and shi, one might better understand that the landscapists aim to capture the essential reality of the object undergoing the magical transformation of nature by their arrangement of solid and void, and appreciate that qiyun in the landscape of submerging-emerging invites painters or connoisseurs to enjoy an inexhaustible pleasure.108 Again, as mentioned in section 2.1.3, the landscapist’s perception and cognition of the natural world as processual appears to cohere with the dynamic essence of qi and the expressive power of yun through which qi is expressed. We cannot regard this taste for the aesthetics of submerging-emerging, as implied in Jing Hao’s Bifa Ji, and practiced by the leading tenth-century and eleventh-century landscapists favored by Tang Hou, as belonging only to Tang Hou himself. Tang Hou’s artistic preference, which may have been formulated under the influence of the leading early Yuan scholar-artists Zhao Mengfu, Gao Kegong, and others in his and his father’s circle, represents the taste of the late thirteenth-century and early fourteenth-century cultural elite in the Jiangnan region, as mentioned above. In the Yuan Dynasty, Gao Kegong, Fang Congyi, and Zhang Yu also practiced this aesthetic (see Nelson

74

Chapter 2

1983, 411–413). For instance, as the art historian Maxwell K. Hearn (2008, 110) observes, in Fang Congyi’s Cloudy Mountains in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the dragon-like mountain range surrounded and lifted by clouds and mists appear “weightless and dematerialized,” with an overwhelming life-energy beyond the physical form. In this work which I believe vividly exemplifies qiyun shengdong, the cloudy mountains in a condition of flux are as if “first levitating then flying off in a gust of [whirlwind]”; mountains perform as substance, vapour and clouds perform as the void, and the mutual supplement of emptiness and substance in painting is “a metaphor of the interaction of yin and yang.” (Fong 1992, 472) In Jullien’s (2012, 1, 8) words, the painter appears to attempt to “[grasp] the world beyond its distinctive features and in its essential transition,” and show the suspension of the “isolation between being and non-being.” It is noteworthy that Fong (1966, 164) mentions that some later Ming and Qing critics, including Wang Keyu (1587–after 1644) and Tang Dai (1673–1752), equate qiyun with the atmospheric appearance of vapour, cloud, smoke, and mist in painting, while the late Ming critic Tang Zhiqi (1579–1651) criticizes this as misleading, and diverging from the meaning of qiyun in Xie He’s text and applied by Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou in the context of landscape painting.109 Although I agree with Tang Zhiqi that it is inappropriate to understand qiyun in landscape painting as misty atmosphere, I think that one may feel reluctant to deny the vivid manifestation or transmission of qiyun in the masterpieces of cloudy mountains attributed to such masters as Dong Yuan, Wang Shen, Mi Fu, Mi Youren, and Fong Congyi if applying the first law of Xie He to evaluate their works. 2.4 A SYNTHESIS OF THE NOTION OF QIYUN As we have seen, it is implausible to claim Xie He’s notion of qiyun, Jing Hao’s, Guo Ruoxu’s, and Tang Hou’s all amount to the exact same thing. In this section, I consider whether contextual elements such as historical contexts, and the authors’ writing objectives and target audiences cause major differences in their understandings of qiyun, and give a synthesis of the notion of qiyun discussed by scholars I have examined. I suggest that in the context of tenth-to-fourteenth-century landscape painting, the notion of qiyun retains the four categories: the object, the work, the artist, and the interaction between object, work, artist, and audience. In addition, I suggest that the application of qiyun in landscape painting reflects landscapists’, theorists’, and connoisseurs’ conception of natural existence as processual formulated through a synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism. We will also see the moral dimension involved in the notion of qiyun in landscape painting.

The Thread of Qiyun

75

2.4.1 A Continuity: Four Dimensions of Qiyun in Landscape Painting First, let us review an apparent difference in contexts, objectives, and audiences between Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou, and consider whether this may have caused differences in their understanding of qiyun. As we have seen, the tenth-century landscapist and theorist Jing Hao initially applies Xie He’s notion of qiyun to landscape painting, and his modification of Xie He’s six laws into six essentials, as well as his advocacy of zhen rather than si aim at instructing a starter to use the brush and ink to create a landscape painting replete with qi and yun. The eleventh-century art historian and connoisseur Guo Ruoxu follows Zhang Yanyuan’s Lidai Minghua Ji in evaluating painting according to Xie He’s six laws, and records the stories of painters, their works, and relevant collections as a sequel to Lidai Minghua Ji. Tang Hou, an early Yuan connoisseur with close association with the cultural elite in the Jiangnan region, writes his Huajian as an instruction for painting connoisseurship, and follows the earlier theorists and connoisseurs in valuing qiyun as the first criterion of painting, although his modified six criteria of painting are slightly different from Xie He’s. Despite the differences, in this subsection, we will see that the notion of qiyun in landscape painting developed by them between the tenth and fourteenth centuries still involves the four dimensions mentioned in chapter 1: the essential reality of the object, the expressive content or quality of the work, the innate mental disposition of the artist, and spiritual communion between object, work, artist, and audience. These constitute the continuation of a long-standing legacy of a comprehensive notion of qiyun. As seen in section 2.1, although the tenth-century context of landscape painting differs from Xie He’s time when figure paintings dominated, Jing Hao’s understanding of qiyun still involves four dimensions: (i) First, for Jing Hao, qi and yun located in the natural object depicted refer to the object’s internal, essential qualities that the artist should capture and convey through the images of the work, corresponding to zhen; (ii) Second, it also makes sense to follow Fong and Loehr in interpreting Jing Hao as regarding qiyun in landscape painting as the expressive content or quality of the work; (iii) Third, Jing Hao’s six (especially first four) essentials for landscape painting imply that the painter’s ability to formulate a mental image and control brush and ink in accordance with this image contributes to capturing the zhen of the object and creating a painting replete with qiyun (or qi and yun). As argued in section 2.1, we cannot fully regard the zhen as objective reality or truth, since in capturing the zhen embodied by qi and yun, the mental image may be colored by the painter’s perception and conception of nature, or even his emotions and feelings. (iv) Fourth, Jing Hao does not explicitly suggest that conveying

76

Chapter 2

qi and yun and capturing zhen requires shenhui between artist and object. However, the moral dimension implied in the qiyun of the pine tree requires or at least cannot exclude spiritual resonance between the artist and the object. In addition, by advising the artist to forget the brush and ink to create authentic landscape scenes, Jing Hao implies that intuitive spontaneity is important for creating a painting replete with qiyun, while this intuitive spontaneity requires spiritual communion as Guo Ruoxu suggests more explicitly later. In what sense, does Guo Ruoxu’s understanding of qiyun correspond to Jing Hao’s understanding in spite of their different focuses? As well as the extension of qiyun to landscape painting, we can see that the four dimensions of qiyun involved in Jing Hao’s understanding continue to inform Guo Ruoxu’s understanding: (i) First, as mentioned in section 2.2, Guo Ruoxu regards qiyun in painting as the expressive quality of the work. That is, Loehr’s and Fong’s view of qiyun which applies to Xie He’s, Zhang Yanyuan’s, and Jing Hao’s understanding continues to make sense in Guo Ruoxu’s text about qiyun. (ii) Second, Jing Hao’s emphasis on formulating a mental image and controlling brush and ink appears to be a precursor of Guo Ruoxu’s more explicit claim that the painter’s innate mental disposition determines the capacity to create a painting replete with qiyun. By examining in section 2.2 Guo Ruoxu’s resonance with the aesthetic tendency of eleventh-century leading scholar-artists, we have seen that his focus on the artist’s mental disposition reflects or at least resonates with his contemporary “introspective literary culture” which, as Eugene Y. Wang (2018, 76) suggests that, “shaped a more subjective and interiorized mode of viewing the world, and the artistic means of registering that subjectivity.” (iii) Third, as also seen in section 2.2, Guo Ruoxu emphasizes how conveying qiyun through painting means or requires the artist’s spiritual communion with the depicted object, which is done unselfconsciously in artistic spontaneity.110 (iv) Although as connoisseur and art historian Guo Ruoxu cares more about the quality of painting in his writing, the understanding of qiyun as the essential reality of the object is compatible with or at least does not contradict his view of qiyun in terms of the three points mentioned above, since the mind determines how the painter perceives and understands the qiyun of the depicted object. Are the four dimensions of qiyun also to be found in Tang Hou’s writing about painting connoisseurship? (i) Tang Hou’s emphasis on qiyun as the expressive content or quality of painting constitutes a first continuity with Xie He’s, Zhang Yanyuan’s, Jing Hao’s, and Guo Ruoxu’s understanding of qiyun. One may note that Tang Hou also frequently uses another term shencai adopted by Guo Ruoxu to praise his favorite paintings, as apparently equivalent to qiyun, when pointing to the expressive quality of a work (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 691, 693, 704, 711).

The Thread of Qiyun

77

(ii) As mentioned in section 2.3, Tang Hou’s praise of tianzhen, as aesthetic merit in Dong Yuan’s and Mi Fu’s landscape paintings, reminds us of Jing Hao’s notion of zhen embodied by qi and yun, pointing to a similar advocacy of transmitting the essential reality of the natural object into painting. In addition, his praise of the depiction of emerging-submerging landscape in paintings by Li Cheng, Guo Xi, Wang Shen, Mi Fu, and Mi Youren implies that he favors those masters who capture the dynamic qi and elegant yun of landscape embodying the essence of natural transformation. This constitutes a second continuity. As seen in section 2.3, Tang Hou mentions neither spiritual communion (shenhui) between artist and object, nor the artist’s innate mental disposition as Guo Ruoxu does, since his texts mainly serves as guides for painting connoisseurship. In what sense does Tang Hou’s understanding of qiyun echo earlier scholars’ understanding of qiyun in these two aspects? (iii) One may note that when commenting on landscape painting, Tang Hou says that “unless there are hills and valleys in your [mind] as expansive as immeasurable waves, it will not be easy to depict it.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 248; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 713) Here, Tang Hou is speaking of an image the artist formulates in his mind before releasing it onto silk or paper. This reminds us of Jing Hao’s third and fourth essentials si and jing, by which, as analyzed in section 2.1, Jing Hao emphasizes the significance of building the mental image before applying the brush and ink. The role of mind implied here also echoes Guo Ruoxu’s view of the painter’s innate mental disposition. In addition, Tang Hou attests to the significance of superior talent and intelligence for a connoisseur in his explanation of what Mi Fu meant by “dilettante and connoisseurs”: A person who is extremely wealthy, obsessed by fame and competition, and who collects artworks based on the fame of the artists, is a dilettante. On the contrary, a connoisseur is a person whose talent and intelligence is superior, who is also knowledgeable about ancient records. Some can themselves paint, or comprehend the idea of painting, [. . . .] Not even music or [beautiful women] can distract him from this. (Chou 2001, 79–80; with slight modification; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 712; see also Chou 2005, 102)111

The echo from the perspective of a connoisseur can also be seen in his claim that “The study of calligraphy and painting originally was simply for scholars to experience exhilaration and lodge thoughts.” (Chou 2001, 68; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 710; see also Chou 2005, 96) Here, “the study” can be understood as referring to the cultivation of appreciation, but also may include learning to paint. (iv) Tang Hou’s text implies an extension of the notion of shenhui from between artist and object to between artist, object, audience, and work. Why

78

Chapter 2

does qiyun-focused painting have the magic power to attract an audience to look at it “for a long stretch of time without getting bored” as the modern art historian Gombrich (1995, 155) also observes? A connoisseur’s attentive engagement without boredom lies in a sense of affinity stemming from intuitive apprehension and spiritual resonance with the kindred spirit. I disagree with Stanley-Baker’s (1977, 14–17) suggestion that shenhui is only meaningful for Song artists to depict the truth of nature and Yuan artists discarded shenhui by only seeking xieyi. Without shenhui, it may be argued, the artist can neither convey qiyun through painting nor can the audience fully appreciate the genuine charisma of the work. 2.4.2 Qiyun as a Reflection of Conception of Existence as Processual Through sections 2.1 to 2.3, we have seen: a synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism reflected in the work of Jing Hao, a recluse living in the Taihang Mountains; both Confucian moral cultivation and the Daoist refusal to seek success in the “world of power and profit” and “place of bustle and hurry” are noted in the writings of Guo Ruoxu; both Confucian and Daoist philosophical influences can also be found in Tang Hou’s family background, social experience, and his writing on painting connoisseurship. From examining their application and understanding of qiyun in landscape paintings, we can note that a conception of the natural world formulated through a combination of Confucianism and Daoism is shared in their writings, and constitutes a philosophical continuity in the understanding of qiyun from the Six Dynasties to the early Yuan Dynasty. Jing Hao’s writings suggest that this Daoist/Confucian view of nature influenced him to apply his modified notions of qi, yun, and zhen to landscape painting and encourage landscapists to explore the dynamic, processual reality of nature. When commenting on a landscape painting by Gao Kegong, Gombrich (1995, 153) points out that if audiences try to imagine the “awe [which the artist] must have felt” at the sublime and magical transformation of nature, they might gain “an inkling of what the Chinese value most highly in art.” To imagine the awe, it might be best to start from understanding Jing Hao’s critical terms qiyun and zhen applied in landscape painting as depicting processual nature, as explained in section 2.1. In interpreting qiyun aesthetics in landscape paintings as a reflection of processual metaphysics, I have been inspired by Tu Wei-ming and Jullien. Tu Wei-ming (2004, 27–31) argues that in Chinese metaphysics of nature, all cosmic beings, which are fundamentally constituted by qi, fulfill a spontaneously self-generating organismic life process, and this unceasing, all-encompassing, open process of transformation shows the continuity,

The Thread of Qiyun

79

wholeness, and dynamism of being. Jullien (2012) emphasizes that the nonobjectivistic character of Chinese landscape painting lies in “without-form,” valued beyond with-form, not to fix the world as Being or existence but rather to show a continuous process of becoming in the coexistence, reciprocity, circulation, and harmonization of polarities. The without-form cannot be understood simply as a formless and invisible something, or regarded as “simply a-morphous or null or ‘gaping’” or “chaos.” (19) He implies that the “foundational without-form” refers to qiyun, zhen, shen, or yi, which dominate the image, constrain the specific orientation brought by concrete forms, allowing the possibility of the image becoming “the great image.”112 If concrete forms dominate in the image, the shen or qiyun of the object will “become riveted” to the reified image without freedom rather than “‘[digging] its heels into’ the great image.” (92) Jullien resorts to Wang Bi’s commentary on Laozi’s Daodejing and uses the example of a horse to explain the dialectical relationship between the great image and concrete form. “What constitutes the horse absolutely does not consist of these concrete attributes, such as riding crop or hair”; but if concrete attributes are left aside, “there is no longer any horse at all”; “spiritual energy animating the horse cannot but be located” in all these concrete attributes (Jullien 2012, 93–94). In the case of Jing Hao’s understanding of zhen in relation to qiyun and si (the resemblance of form), it makes sense to apply an analogous understanding, since landscape also embodies dynamic qi and elegant yun, as figures and animate things. As seen in section 2.1, for Jing Hao, si requires the artist to represent the concrete, external appearance of the object, while conveying qiyun or capturing zhen demands the artist to capture the object’s internal, essential reality. Without form, qiyun or zhen might not be able to inhabit anything, and nobody can recognize what the painter is painting; without qiyun as the embodiment of zhen, form appears lifeless, and image is a dead image. In this sense, Jing Hao’s valuing of zhen and si, guides landscapists neither to be bogged down in a representational mire nor to discard their caring for formal likeness. That is, his valuing of zhen in relation to qiyun and si appears to fit in with the principle of buji buli 不即不離 (not sticking, not quitting). “Not quitting” suggests that formal representation is not discarded, while “not sticking” in relation to a processual conception of existence helps explain why qiyun as initially proposed by Xie He in figure painting is applied by Jing Hao and further developed in Song and Yuan landscape painting and echoed by Song and Yuan theorists. In the process of capturing the Dao through brush and ink, both imitating form and conveying qiyun require the landscapist to depict a nature continuously undergoing transformations, which the Dao takes as a model. Although Jullien’s Daoist interpretation offers profound insight into the dialectic of si, and zhen embodied through qi and yun, and the praise of emerging-submerging landscape

80

Chapter 2

replete with qiyun, regarding the metaphysics of nature as processual we should not neglect the correspondence with Confucian ideas suggested in the Yijing as seen in section 2.1.3. This Daoist/Confucian conception of the natural world suggested in Jing Hao’s text, was held by Dong Yuan, Li Cheng, Guo Xi, Wang Shen, Mi Fu, Mi Youren, and other Song landscapists, and, as analyzed in section 2.3, also reflected in Tang Hou’s praise of these Song landscapists’ works depicting transformations of mists and clouds and the emerging-submerging of mountains and rivers. Although Guo Ruoxu does not express favor for cloudscape painting or an appreciation for emerging-submerging landscape, it is noteworthy that, as seen in section 2.2.1, he lists Li Cheng adept in painting yanyun bianmie as one leg of the tripod standing aloft as a model for a hundred generations, and also highly prizes Dong Yuan’s and Guo Xi’s landscape masterpieces. As seen in section 2.3, Dong Yuan, Li Cheng, and Guo Xi, who followed Li Cheng’s style, were favored by Mi Fu and Tang Hou for their merits in painting the transformation of clouds, mists, and the emerging-submerging of landscape. As Eugene Y. Wang (2018, 75) notes, Guo Xi “saw a landscape as definable only its variations, contingent upon particular moments in a season or a day, and upon weather conditions.” Since Guo Ruoxu praises Dong Yuan’s, Li Cheng’s and Guo Xi’s painting, one may reasonably assume that his understanding of qiyun does at least cohere with the landscape masters’ conception of nature as processual.113 We have seen in section 2.3 Tang Hou observes that the emergingsubmerging landscape conveying qi, yun, or zhen as favored by Jing Hao, was developed as a full-fledged aesthetic medium by the distinguished Northern Song landscapists through different styles. He uses the phrase yanyun bianmie to describe the appearing-disappearing of clouds and mists in landscape paintings by Li Cheng and Mi Youren, and uses another synonymous phrase yanyun chumo to describe Guo Xi’s landscape painting. Tang Hou’s preference for emerging-submerging landscape and his contemporary artists’ practice in this vein show that qiyun-focused emerging-submerging landscape, reflecting a processual conception of nature, continues to be recognized as a significant aesthetic merit by the influential connoisseur and his coterie in the art collection market in Jiangnan region during the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries. In general, since as mentioned in chapter 1 the notion of qiyun developed from pre-Qin philosophy and the Six Dynasties literature is a notion of something not fixed in time and space but rather of something embodying the process of becoming, it can be understood why Song and Yuan aesthetic theories of landscape painting advocating qiyun do not value formal likeness from a perspective fixing it in time and space. Again, the qiyun aesthetics demonstrated in Song and Yuan landscape paintings especially in the pursuit

The Thread of Qiyun

81

of submerging-emerging apparently corresponds to the metaphysical conception of nature as a continuous process of becoming. 2.4.3 The Moral Dimension of Qiyun Xie He’s text does not give qiyun a moral dimension. However, this dimension is shared in the texts written by the three scholars. As we saw in section 2.1, Jing Hao’s application of qiyun in landscape painting, does involve a moral dimension to the qiyun of depicted natural objects, and his view that natural objects share congenial attributes with the virtuous can be traced back to Confucius. Jing Hao suggests that capturing the zhen of the object requires and accompanies the moral cultivation of the artist, and claims that since “limitless desire is a threat to life,” by virtue of “[enjoying] playing the [qin] lute, calligraphy, and painting, [wise people] replace worthless desires with [worthy play of art].” (Bush and Shih 2012, 141, 146; see Yu 1986, 606; Wang and Ren 2002a, 192) As mentioned in chapter 1, before Jing Hao, Zhang Yanyuan follows Xie He’s six laws, although he does not apply the notion of qiyun to landscape painting. In his writing on the origin of Chinese painting, he cites the Han scholar Lu Ji’s claim that “the rise of paintings is like that of sacrificial hymns and songs, to celebrate great deeds,” since historical figures and events were popular subject-matters at the initial stage of painting (Lin 1967, 45; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 96; see also Acker 1954, 73).114 Unlike Jing Hao who locates the moral dimension of qiyun in the depicted natural object (the pine tree in his text), Zhang Yanyuan neither thinks that the landscapes painted in the works he has seen have qiyun, nor directly links qiyun with a moral dimension in his text. Guo Ruoxu echoes Zhang Yanyuan in claiming that paintings depicting sages and worthies or recording moral figures’ historical stories directly serve the moral function of “[appraising] critically their worth or folly or [shedding] light on their stability or disorder” by reminding observers of the moral merit of the role models (Bush and Shih 2012, 93; see Yu 1986, 55–56; Wang and Ren 2002a, 311–313). We have seen that Zhang Yanyuan’s classification of two kinds of people capable of masterpieces (yiguan guizhou and yishi gaoren) appears to have inspired Guo Ruoxu’s view that paintings replete with qiyun were usually created by xuanmian caixian or yanxue shangshi, who lodged lofty and refined emotions within their works. As seen above, unlike Jing Hao who suggests that the moral dimension of qiyun is in the natural object such as the pine tree, Guo Ruoxu links the moral dimension of qiyun with the innate mental talent of the painter determining his competence to create a work replete with qiyun. That is, the moral dimension of qiyun directly relates to the artist’s character, rather than the object depicted as

82

Chapter 2

Jing Hao thinks. For Guo Ruoxu, qiyun involves shenhui between artist and object, which requires the artist to achieve congenial kinship with the object possessing characteristics similar to those of the virtuous. This may explain why the artist’s innate mental disposition must include moral character. Although I partially agree with Peng Lai that Guo Ruoxu’s view of painting as mind-print may be inspired by his contemporary Neo-Confucian ideas of mind and human nature, in chapter 7 I will discuss in more detail how a Neo-Confucian interpretation of sincerity helps to better understand the moral cultivation fulfilled through shenhui. Two centuries later, Tang Hou does not claim qiyun-focused artistic creation and appreciation requires moral cultivation as both Jing Hao and Guo Ruoxu suggest, although, from his writing, one may see that this is not excluded by his ideas. As mentioned above, Guo Ruoxu observes that two kinds of people create masterpieces replete with qiyun, and lodge their lofty thoughts into painting. Tang Hou echoes this view in his recognition of painting as “playing with brush and ink in which lofty-minded men and superior scholars have lodged their exhilaration and sketched ideas.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 261; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 713) He writes that “The scions of good families must learn to look at calligraphy and painting.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 260; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 710) In the light of Jing Hao’s suggestion of the natural object’s qiyun’s moral dimension and Guo Ruoxu’s discussion of the artist’s lofty qiyun required by creating painting replete with qiyun, one can understand more deeply why Tang Hou persuades people born in good families to learn to appreciate calligraphy and painting. In general, considering that Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou are all familiar with the Confucian advocacy of the (moral) cultivation of mind as the basis of human social life, one can easily understand a rough continuity between them regarding the moral dimension of qiyun.115 Moral cultivation, as further suggested by Guo Ruoxu and echoed by Tang Hou, is involuntarily realized in, or at least accompanies, the practice of creating (and appreciating) a painting replete with qiyun. We will come back to the moral element of the notion of shenhui involved in the notion of qiyun in chapter 7. INTERIM CONCLUSION As seen in chapter 1 and sections 2.1–2.3 and summarized above, although there are differences in historical contexts, writing objectives, aesthetic preference, and hermeneutic focuses, between Xie He, Zhang Yanyuan, Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou from the Six Dynasties to the Yuan Dynasty, there are common grounds in their understandings of qiyun in the context of landscape painting: Where the process of creation by tenthto-fourteenth-century landscapists is concerned, qiyun still refers to the

The Thread of Qiyun

83

essential quality of the natural object depicted. The ideas of qi and yun (through which qi is expressed), developed from pre-Qin philosophy and literature in the following Han and especially in the Six Dynasties, belong to the dynamic, living landscape in the new context. Once the landscapist releases the brush and ink to complete a masterpiece, in landscape painting qiyun still refers to its expressive quality or content. As seen above, since the landscapist attempts to capture the qiyun of dynamic living landscapes, the essential reality of landscape is depicted as a reflection of processual natural transformation, under the synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism. This may explain why the role of the mind in creating or appreciating a painting replete with qiyun is valued in texts by Jing Hao and Guo Ruoxu. Although Guo Ruoxu more explicitly points out that the ability of conveying qiyun through painting is the gifted master’s innate mental talent, we have seen that Zong Bing, Wang Wei, Zhang Zao, Dou Meng, Zhang Yanyuan, and even Jing Hao value the role of mind and may have inspired Guo Ruoxu. This view also resonates with the eleventhcentury aesthetic tendency led by Ouyang Xiu, Su Shi, Li Gonglin, Mi Fu, Chao Buzhi, and Huang Tingjian, and continues to be echoed by later artists, critics, and connoisseurs. In relation to the artist’s innate mental talent, shenhui between landscapist and natural object is still involved in the notion of qiyun in the context of landscape painting. In addition, moral cultivation is required in the process of conveying the qiyun of landscape or creating a masterpiece replete with qiyun. In the next part of my book (chapters 3–7), I will move to discuss the role of mind in creating painting replete with qiyun in the light of Kant’s account of genius creating art. By referring to Kant’s philosophy, I attempt to cast some light on understanding that creating a painting replete with qiyun is the art of genius.

NOTES 1. Other scholars during the Song and Yuan dynasties, such as the Northern Song art historian Liu Daochun (mid-eleventh century), the Song landscape painting theorist Han Zhuo, the Southern Song art historian Deng Chun, and the Yuan art historian Xia Wenyan, also apply the notion of qiyun in their writings, but I will not discuss their ideas in detail in this book. 2. For two English translations of Bifa Ji with translators’ notes, see Munakata (1974); West (2000, 202–13). 3. For a biography of Jing Hao, see Munakata (1974, 50–56). 4. After Jing Hao, the Northern Song art historian and critic Liu Daochun proposes, in his Shengchao Minghua Ping (Critique of Famous Painters of the Present Dynasty), another six essentials and six merits based on Xie He’s six laws for understanding painting; see Lachman (1989). In Liu Daochun’s six essentials, “that [qiyun] be combined with strength is the first; that styles and rules be fully developed

84

Chapter 2

is the second; that innovations be in harmony with natural principles is the third; that coloring have richness is the fourth; that movements be spontaneous is the fifth; that imitation be selective is the sixth” (Bush and Shih 2012, 98; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 241). In his six merits, “to seek brushwork in coarse vulgarity is the first; to seek skill in rude roughness is the second; to seek strength in minute craftsmanship is the third; to seek natural principles in wild eccentricity is the fourth; to seek tonality in the lack of ink is the fifth; to seek merit in ordinary paintings is the sixth” (Bush and Shih 2012, 98–99; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 241). 5. Bifa Ji translated by Munakata (1974, 11–16) is quoted in Bush and Shih (2012, 145–48, 159–60, 164–65, 170–71), with slight modifications. 6. Although I draw on Munakata’s translation of Jing Hao’s text, I have some reservation about his view that a similar duality of qi found in later Song NeoConfucianism is recognized in Jing Hao’s text. Concerning the duality of qi in Song Neo-Confucianism, see Fung (1953, 480). 7. Fong (1975) translates Jing Hao’s explanation of how to gain qi and yun thus: (to obtain) qi (“life breath”) means “as the heart responds and the brush moves forward forms are seized without hesitation”; (to obtain) yun (“resonance and elegance”) means “where forms are omitted or elaborated upon, the choice is never vulgar.” West’s (2000, 205) translations of these are thus: “Vital energy [qi]—one’s heartmind follows it and the brush moves in accord with it, seizing the image without confusion. Resonance [yun]— one must conceal any traces [of the artist’s brush] yet establish the shape [of the object], and completely fulfil the formal elements without slipping into common vulgarity.” 8. We will see that the role of mind is also implied in Jing Hao’s third and fourth essentials. 9. Fong’s (1975) translations of Jing Hao’s other four essentials are thus— si: “by sorting out essentials, the painter conceives the form”; jing: “by observing the laws of nature and the seasons, he searches out the sublime and creates a true landscape”; bi: “though following certain basic methods, it must move freely and know how to improvise. It must not be too solid or assume too definite a form; it must look as if in flight and constant motion”; mo: “High and low peaks are described by a light ink wash, which also makes objects stand out clearly either in shallow or deep recession. The drawing and ink wash are so natural that they do not seem to be made by a brush.” 10. At the end of Bifa Ji, Jing Hao also suggests the artist to forget the brush and ink to create the authentic scene of landscape, as if he is asserting the necessity and significance of intuitive spontaneity as opposed to technique for creating a painting replete with qiyun (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 194). Owen (2000, 219) regards this as Jing Hao’s final rejection of technique in favor of intuition. I will discuss artistic spontaneity in the process of creating a work replete with qiyun in detail in chapter 4. 11. Waley (1956, 177) translates Confucius’ phrases “君子和而不同，小人同而不和” thus: “The true gentleman is conciliatory but not accommodating. Common people are accommodating but not conciliatory.” 12. Regarding Mencius’ notion of qi, see Mencius; Lau (2004, 33); Wing-tsit Chan (1969, 63). 13. We have seen above that qi as the essence of the (animate and inanimate) object suggested in Pre-Qin philosophy and applied in Six Dynasties art criticism

The Thread of Qiyun

85

still applies in Jing Hao’s text, although in Xie He’s text qi may mainly refer to that of figures and figure painting, while in Jing Hao’s text it is applied to landscape and landscape painting. In addition, whether it refers to the landscape or landscape painting, the notion of yun as the executive manner through which qi is expressed, as explained in chapter 1, can still make sense in Jing Hao’s text. 14. Fong (1995, 77) concurs with Munakata on this point, claiming that “In viewing landscape painting as a magical diagram of cosmic truth, Jing Hao nevertheless followed a [Confucian] rational approach of ‘investigation . . . leading to the perfection of knowledge’.” 15. Willard Peterson (2000, 236–44) points out that there are some problematic issues with West’s (2000), Owen’s (2000) and Powers’ (2000) views. 16. West (2000, 204) notes that hua “literally means flower, but can be used to mean (visible) pattern or ornamental adornment.” 17. Munakata (1974, 12) translates xiang as “image in totality.” A literal translation of xing 形 as form or shape is adopted by many scholars including Munakata (1974, 12–13), Powers (2000, 234), and West (2000, 204–5, 207). However, Owen (2000, 216) suggests that in Jing Hao’s text xing 形 refers to the “categorical nature” of the object. This understanding reminds us of the Platonic form and appears to deviate from the meaning applied by Jing Hao in landscape painting, as Peterson (2000, 239) notes. 18. Before Jing Hao, the late Tang critic Zhang Yanyuan claims that if the work achieves qiyun, formal likeness is guaranteed (see Bush and Shih 2012, 54; Wang and Ren 2002a, 106). Zhang Yanyuan’s claim may appear confusing, especially when we consider what Jing Hao means by zhen and si respectively. 19. Zhang Zhan explains that in Liezi “[zhi] means [xing 性] (nature). When the creation of things has been completed, they (things) then possess their own individual nature, such as square or round, hard or soft, quiet or noisy, or descending or ascending” (quoted in Munakata 1974, 21). 20. Waley (1956, 119) translates zhi as “natural substance,” and wen as “ornamentation.” Legge (1914, 112) translates zhi as “solid qualities,” and wen as “accomplishments.” 21. In section 2.1.3, we will see that later Han Zhuo’s views on shi and hua in landscape painting echoes Jing Hao’s ideas of zhen/shi and si/hua. 22. Brubaker (2016, 118–41) applies Merleau-Ponty’s idea of “surface of the visible” to explain zhen as the authentic image of the object rather than the internal reality of the object. One may question whether it is appropriate to use Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenological aesthetics to interpret Jing Hao’s ideas. However, discussing the parallels and differences between Merleau-Ponty’s “surface of the visible” and Jing Hao’s notion of zhen is beyond my concern in this book. Regarding Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenological aesthetics, see Merleau-Ponty (1964; 1968). 23. Fong (1995, 76) also points out the term “xiang” in Jing Hao’s text comes from the Book of Changes. 24. West (2000, 209) translates shi 勢 in Jing Hao’s text as “tendent force.” For more discussion of the meaning of shi (gesture) in Chinese painting, see also Powers (1991, 909–31).

86

Chapter 2

25. In Linquan Gaozhi (Elevated Emotions in Forests and Streams) Guo Xi claims that “Spring mountains are gently seductive and seem to smile; summer mountains seem moist in their verdant hues; autumn mountains are bright and clear, arrayed in colourful garments; winter mountains are withdrawn in melancholy, apparently asleep” (Bush and Shih 2012, 152; Wang and Ren 2002a, 294). Guo Si (d. ca. 1130) compiled his father Guo Xi’s notes on landscape in 1117. For a detailed account of Guo Xi’s life, style analysis of Guo Xi’s two types of landscape painting (monumental and intimate), and poetry about Guo Xi’s “level distance” landscape, see Foong (2006, 61–95, 119–253; 2000). 26. Although Powers also translates zhi as substance, he argues against Munakata’s essentialist interpretation. 27. Jullien (1999, 91–94) also notes the dynamic essence of landscape as living processual being implied in Jing Hao’s terms qi and shi, in his book The Propensity of Things Towards a History of Efficacy in China, where, qi and shi in Bifa Ji are translated as “vital breath” and “lifeline” respectively, and “shanshui zhixiang qishi xiangsheng” is translated thusly: “the aspects [xiang] of mountains and water are born from the interaction of vital breath [qi] and the given layout to which that force imparts dynamism [shi]” (my emphasis). For more discussion of the notion and significance of shi in Chinese military, political, philosophical, literary and aesthetic writings and practice, see Jullien (1999). 28. See Early Spring (figure 2.1) by Guo Xi, dated 1072, in National Palace Museum, Taipei, which exemplifies the dynamic qi of mountains in early spring, the yun (as elegant and harmonious executive manner of qi) in the genteel smiling seductiveness of landscape in this special season, and the sense of life expressed through qi and yun. 29. Pohl (2006) might be inspired by Jing Hao’s notion zhen and suggests that due to the pursuit of “zhen,” the “predominance of suggestiveness” in Chinese poetry is also found in Chinese painting. 30. Jing Hao values applying both the brush and the ink as his last two essentials, and commends the eighth-century master Wu Daozi as adept at applying the brush and Xiang Rong (?–?) as good at applying the ink (see Munakata 1974, 15; West 2000, 210–11; Wang and Ren 2002a, 193). 31. The late Tang Poetry critic Sikong Tu (837–908) praises chongdan 沖淡 as an aesthetic merit in poetry in his Ershisi Shipin (The Twenty-four Categories of Poetry) (see Owen 1992, 306–8); Owen (1992, 306) translates chongdan as “limpid and calm.” Jing Hao does not use the term dan 淡 (which may be translated as blandness), or its synonym chongdan or pingdan 平淡 in Bifa Ji; regarding the aesthetic significance and philosophical inspiration of dan in Chinese art, society, music, calligraphy, and poetry, see Jullien (2004); regarding the valuing of an isolated, tranquil and detached flavor often accompanied with blandness in Chinese art, see Zhu Liangzhi (2003, 165–90). Later, the Northern Song artist and critic Mi Fu (1052–1107) applies the term pingdan to prize landscape paintings by Dong Yuan (ca. 934–ca. 962), who was a native of Jinling (now Nanjing), approximately contemporary with or slightly later than Jing Hao, and served as an assistant director of the Northern park for managing the royal garden of the Southern Tang Kingdom (937–976). The flavor of pingdan corresponding to Jing Hao’s valuing of zhen can

The Thread of Qiyun

87

be seen in the Rivers Xiao and Xiang attributed to Dong Yuan. Unlike Jing Hao’s magnificent landscapes of the North, Dong Yuan, living in Jinling, the capital of the prosperous Southern Tang, was adept at depicting the scenery of sinuous rivers, lakes, and rolling hills in the misty weather of the South. For Guo Ruoxu’s text about Dong Yuan, see Soper (1951, 46); Wang and Ren (2002a, 340). For Mi Fu’s comment on Dong Yuan’s painting in Huashi, see Wang and Ren (2002a, 399, 401). 32. Laozi (1999, 70) thinks that “the five colours make one’s eyes blind; the five notes make one’s ears deaf; the five flavours make one’s mouth fail; and sport hunting on horseback makes one’s heart/mind go crazy.” One might note that a person liking spicy food tends to gradually enhance his capacity and appetite for spiciness as his tongue gets used to it and he does not feel the previous level of spiciness is now strong enough. 33. For an English translation of Shanshui Chunquan Ji, see Maeda (1978, 9–71). 34. Han Zhuo advises painters to strive for qiyun first, for then formal likeness would be attained in the work “as a matter of course”; this view is similar to Zhang Yanyuan’s point as mentioned above (Bush and Shih 2012, 183; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 615). 35. Manakata (1974, 20) translates Han Zhuo’s claim thusly: “Shi is basic substance and hua is flowerly decor. Basic substance is engendered by Nature, and flowerly decor comes from human creation. Shi is essential and hua is secondary.” 36. In Han Zhuo’s discussion, we can see clearly the contrast between shi and hua deals with the aesthetic quality of the work. 37. Concerning the dialectics of harmonization of polarities in Daoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism, see Cheng (2006, 26–40). 38. The interplay of shi and xu could also apply to brushwork for Jing Hao since his Bifa Ji aims to offer a practical guide to landscape painters. It is noteworthy that the Heart Sutra also states that “emptiness [kong 空] is not separate from form [se 色], form is not separate from emptiness,” and “whatever is form is emptiness, whatever is emptiness is form” (Pine 2004, 79, 83). However, the commonalities and differences between Daoism and Buddhism in terms of illustrating emptiness and substance are not my concern in this book. 39. Eugene Y. Wang (2018, 73) suggests that different to the first surge through the medium of cave painting, the second surge of Chinese artistic interest in depicting haze through brush-and-ink painting occurred around the eleventh and twelfth centuries. 40. Concerning Guo Ruoxu’s family background, see Soper (1951, 105–9). Guo Ruoxu’s great grandfather Guo Shouwen (936–990) as a general contributed much to the establishment of the Northern Song and its unification of the whole China, and Emperor Taizong (939–997; reign dates: 976–997) ennobled him posthumously as a prince; for his biography, see Song Shu (History of Song). Guo Shouwen’s second daughter was Empress Zhangmu (975–1007), the second wife of Song Emperor Zhenzong (968–1022; reign dates: 997–1022). Guo Ruoxu married the Princess Yong’an Xian, a daughter of the Prince Dongping Jun (1008–1069) who was Emperor Taizong’s grandson and the childhood companion of Emperor Renzong (1010–1063; reign dates: 1022–1063).

88

Chapter 2

41. Soper (1951, 2, 71, 105) notes that in Guo Ruoxu’s story relating to Su Shi, the words ascribed to Su Shi were written in 1080, and the title of Prince Jia recorded was given before the death of Emperor Shenzong (1048–1085; reign dates: 1067–1085) in 1085, so he suggests that Tuhua Jianwen Zhi was completed in about 1080, no later than 1085. However, Guo Ruoxu mentions Su Shi’s official affiliation as the Hanlin College. In 1086, Su Shi was awarded a position in the Hanlin College, and this put the completion date of Tuhua Jianwen Zhi later to 1086 (Peng 2016, 135). 42. For an English translation of Tuhua Jianwen Zhi with the translator’s notes, see Soper (1951, 1–207). 43. Soper (1951, 15) translates shenhui as “spiritual consonance.” 44. For the meaning of tian in Chinese philosophy, see Fung (1952, 31). I will discuss in more detail the notion of tian in classical texts on paintings in chapter 4. 45. Guo Ruoxu’s view on the impossibility of teaching qiyun is echoed by later artists and critics including the twelfth-century Song critic and art historian Deng Chun (ca. 1171) whose Hua Ji (Continuation of Painting History) records painting history from 1074 to 1171 as a continuation of Tuhua Jianwen Zhi. For Deng Chun, few “people merely know that human beings have spirit [shen] and do not realize that things have spirit [shen],” and the painting which imitates form but does not transmit shen is only nominally a painting rather than a real painting (Bush and Shih 2012, 132; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 667). Thus, he applauds qiyun shengdong as the first law of painting, echoes Guo Ruoxu’s view of the impossibility of teaching qiyun, and reiterates Guo’s claim that only “talented worthies of high position or superior [recluses]” could capture qiyun and lodge their “lofty and refined emotions” into painting (Bush and Shih 2012, 130, 132; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 622, 667). Here, Deng Chun uses shen and qiyun interchangeably. 46. Lidai Minghua Ji includes a paragraph on Zhang Zao as an artist, and Zhang Yanyuan comments that Zhang Zao “tells the basic secrets of painting, but there is a great deal that he does not cover” (Soper 1951, 114; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 186–87). Dou Meng’s comments on some artists and his views on art are quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji. 47. The original version of Li Sizhen’s writings on painting has lost, but we can see the quotations in Lidai Minghua Ji. The current version of Hou Huapin Lu (or Hua Houpin) attributed to Li Sizhen, which includes a preface and discussion of 123 painters from Liang to Tang, is generally considered a late forgery in the Ming Dynasty, based on quotations preserved in Lidai Minghua Ji (Soper 1951, 114). 48. Chenghuai weixiang means to purify the mind so as to comprehend the image of landscape; yinghui ganshen refers to the response of the eye and accord of the mind to nature affecting the spirit of the artist or connoisseur (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 12; Bush and Shih 2012, 36–37). 49. Here, Bush and Shih (2012, 95–96) follow Soper’s (1951, 15) translation of qiyun as spirit consonance, while their translation of renpin as “man’s condition” is different from Soper’s translation of it as “one’s ranking.” 50. This view echoes Zhang Yanyuan’s claim that excellent painters have been made up of only two kinds of people: “men robed and capped and of noble descent”

The Thread of Qiyun

89

(yiguan guizhou 衣冠貴胄) which refers to high-position scholar-officials or aristocrats, and “rare scholars and lofty-minded men” (yishi gaoren 逸士高人) which refers to distinguished scholar-recluses or hermits, even though Zhang Yanyuan does not link the qiyun of the work with the innate mental disposition of the artist (Acker 1954, 153; see Lidai Minghua Ji, vol. 1; Wang and Ren 2002a, 106–7). 51. The claim of painting as mind-print is echoed by the later Song master Mi Youren who also mentions Yang Xiong’s insight that written characters are mindprints, and claims that painting is “a depiction of the mind” (Bush and Shih 2012, 205–6; Bush 2012, 73; see Yu 1986, 685). 52. According to Zhang Zai, “when [qi] condenses, its visibility becomes apparent so that there are then the shapes (of individual things). When it disperses, its visibility is no longer apparent and there are no shapes” (Fung 1948, 279). For more discussion of Zhang Zai’s notions of qi and human xing, see Fung (1953, 477–98). 53. For more discussion of Cheng Hao’s and his brother Cheng Yi’s (1033–1107) views on qi and human xing, see Fung (1953, 498–532). 54. Zhang Zai claims that “by expanding one’s mind, one is able to embody the things of the whole world. If things are not embodied, it is because the mind has excluded them.” (Fung 1953, 491; quoted in Fong 1992, 75). 55. For indications of Dao in Chinese writing and aesthetics, see Gu (2016, 151–63). 56. His record of art history follows the chronology. After the lists of two types of masters in Song art history, he lists the categories of painters according to four subject-matters—figure, landscape, flower and bird, and miscellanea (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 309; Soper 1951, 47). 57. Guo Ruoxu praises the Tang masters Zhang Xuan (active ca. 713–ca. 741) and Zhou Fang (active ca. 780–810) (both skilled at painting gentle women), Han Gan (706–783, excellent at painting horses), and Dai Song (? – ?, adept at painting cattle) for exceeding human expectations in conveying qiyun, and criticises work by Wang Juzheng, who learnt figure painting from Zhou Fang, as lacking in qiyun (see Soper 1951, 22, 53; Wang and Ren 2002a, 322, 346). 58. Shuang means two, and gao may be translated as high or lofty. Soper (1951, 81) thinks that shuang refers to “the luxuriance of boughs in full leaf” and “the contorted turning of an ancient mulberry” in Zhang Zao’s painting as described by Guo Ruoxu and “qiyun shuanggao” means these two are “high in spirit consonance.” As seen, Soper’s translation of qiyun in Tuhua Jianwen Zhi follows his rendering of qiyun in Xie He’s first law, that is, this rendering here does not separate qi and yun. 59. Feng is literally translated as wind. Fengyun used in texts in the Six Dynasties refers to the harmonious and elegant manner of human figures or artistic works. It makes sense to understand that fengyun in Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, as a synonym of yun, still refers to the work’s harmonious and elegant manner through which qi is expressed, so I disagree with Soper (1951, 48, 62) in his translation of fengyun as “atmosphere.” Guo Ruoxu also uses fengyun to praise Qiu Qingyu’s paintings of flowers, bamboos, birds and insects (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 353; Soper 1951, 62). In addition, he uses the term shencai 神采 to comment on paintings (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317, 324). Shen and cai may be translated as “spirit”

90

Chapter 2

and “colour” respectively. Bush and Shih (2012, 97) translate shencai as “spiritual character.” In Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, the meaning of shencai approximately equates to that of qiyun. 60. For these three masters’ painting style and subject-matters, life, and extant excellent works recorded in Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, see Soper (1951, 19, 29–30, 46, 57); Wang and Ren (2002a, 320, 329, 340, 349). 61. I disagree with Soper’s (1951, 19) translation of qixiang as “atmospheric effect.” 62. Regarding the comparison of Chinese and Western views of the convertibility of painting and poetry, see Frankel (1957, 289–307). For verbal-visual intertextuality in traditional Chinese landscape poetry and painting, see Da’an Pan (1991). 63. Soper (1951, 67–68) translates yiqu as “suggestive” and “suggestiveness” in Guo Ruoxu’s comments on Yan Shi’an and Qiu Shiyuan respectively. 64. Excerpt from Xuanhe Huapu (Wang and Ren 2002a, 492). Li Gonglin is a close associate of Su Shi. Regarding Li Gonglin’s art, see Meyer (1923); Barnhart (1967); Muller (1981); Harrist (1989; 1998); Brotherton (1992). 65. Regarding the comparison of Chinese and Western views of the convertibility of painting and poetry, see Frankel (1957, 289–307). For verbal-visual Intertextuality in traditional Chinese landscape poetry and painting, see Da’an Pan (1991). 66. Duan Zanshan painted a wonderful snow scene according to Zheng Gu’s poem, and sent it to the poet, and later Zheng Gu wrote another poem to Duan Zanshan to praise his appreciation of the painter’s understanding of his poem and marvellous painting skills. 67. See Su Shi’s Ti Wang Wei Wu Daozi Hua (Comments on Wang Wei’s and Wu Daozi’s Paintings). 68. Jerome Silbergeld (2016, 477) translates “wuwai” as “outer form,” similar to Susan Bush’s (2012, 26) rendering of it as “external shapes.” Jonathan Chaves (1991, 434) wisely notes that translating the term “wuwai” 物外 in the first line of Chao Buzhi as “outer form” or “external shapes” is problematic, since in Chinese literature “wuwai” frequently refers to “beyond physical phenomena,” and what wuwai refers to in Chao Buzhi’s comment on the Eastern Jin poet Tao Qian’s (365?–427) poetry style in his colophon to his friend Huang Tingjian’s transcription of Tao Qian’s poem is “beyond the world of physical phenomena” or “transcendent.” Chaves (1991, 434) suggests that “wuwai xing” in Chao’s poem should be rendered as “form beyond the object.” 69. Marilyn Wong-Gleysteen (1991, 148) translates tiangong as “natural gifts,” and qingxin as “the pure and fresh.” Stuart H. Sargent (1992, 277) translates tiangong as “natural craft,” and qingxin as “clean freshness.” 70. Both Xu Fuguan (2001, 120, 220–21) and Jianping Gao (1996, 123–47, 157–58) suggest that Gu Kaizhi’s term shen, Xie He’s term qiyun, Jing Hao’s term zhen, Ouyang Xiu’s or Cheng Yuyi’s term yi, and Su Shi’s term li or changli are analogous, and all refer to the invisible internal quality of the object. 71. For Chen Yuyi’s poem quoted in Tang Hou’s Huajian, see Bush and Shih (2012, 261); Wang and Ren (2002a, 712). 72. In Song Neo-Confucianism Li 理 apparently denotes something’s objective nature. For instance, the Northern Song Neo-Confucian scholar Shao Yong

The Thread of Qiyun

91

(1011–1077) advocates “observing things in terms of things” as a learning approach and observing things with the principles of nature rather than with the mind or with the eye to avoid the disruption of “ego-centric human emotion” (Fung 1953, 466). Here, Shao Yong emphasizes a kind of objectivity in observing things. Later, the Southern Song scholar Zhu Xi (1130–1200), is a leading role in developing and delivering the philosophy of li, whose Neo-Confucian thought was established as orthodox by the central government at the end of Southern Song, and in later Ming and Qing Dynasties; for his ideas, see Fung (1953, 533–71). 73. Shenhui between appreciator and work is advocated in Li Tian’s preface, dated to 1006, to Huang Xiufu’s Yizhou Minghua Lu (A Record of the Famous Painters of Yizhou, dated around 1006), and in Mengxi Bitan (Dream Pool Essays) written in 1086‒1093 by Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary scholar Shen Kuo (1031–1095) (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 310; Soper 1951, 6, 114–15, 127). Guo Ruoxu mentions Yizhou Minghua Lu in Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, although he states Xin Xian as its author and Huang Xiufu as the author of Zonghua Ji (General Corpus of Paintings, which is no longer extant). Bush (2012, 50) translates shenhui in Shen Kuo’s text as “sympathetic identification,” and further suggests this term denotes “the fusion of subject and object through empathy.” 74. Guo Xi does not apply Xie He’s term qiyun here, and I do not think StanleyBaker’s (1977, 14) translation of yidu as “spirit” is appropriate here, since yidu belongs to the “expressive configuration” of the landscape (in Powers’ words as mentioned in section 2.1.2). 75. As mentioned above, the completion date of Linqun Gaozhi is later than that of Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, but we cannot be sure whether Guo Xi or Guo Si (the complier) read Tuhua Jianwen Zhi. 76. For a translation of Su Shi’s poem, see Bush and Shih (2012, 212). I will discuss the meaning of ningshen and the overcoming of self-consciousness in the artist’s spontaneous creation in detail in chapter 4. 77. Peng Lai (2016, 141) suggests that the moral relevance of art agreed by Guo Ruoxu, Su Shi and Huang Tingjian may be due to the influence of the prominent early Northern Song scholar, stateman and military strategist Fan Zhongyan (989–1052) and the Neo-Confucianists such as Hu Yuan (993–1059), Sun Fu (992–1057), Shi Jie (1005–1045), and Cheng Yi (1033–1107). Their advocacy of the artist’s moral cultivation may be seen as a social fashion in the eleventh-century Northern Song. 78. Wang Anshi’s reformist policies were executed with the support of Emperor Shenzong. Ouyang Xiu and Su Shi were in the Old Policies group. In 1079, the New Policies group condemned some of Su Shi’s poems as derogatory and subversive to the emperor and new government policies, and instigated a law case against Su Shi, who was thus arrested and put on trial for four months: Crow Terrace Poetry Trial (for more details of Su Shi’s trial and its historical background, see Murck 2000, 32–50). After the trial, the sentence of death was not actually applied due to the emperor’s exemption, but Su Shi was degraded and exiled. This also implicated his friends and associates including Sima Guang, Wang Shen, Huang Tingjian, Su Zhe (Su Shi’s younger brother), and other officials (29 people in total), who suffered different kinds of punishments including fines, degradation, exile, and official reprimands due

92

Chapter 2

to their connection with Su Shi. When Emperor Zhezong (1077–1100; reign dates: 1085–1100) ascended the throne after the reign of Emperor Shenzong, the political rivalry between these two groups remained fierce, and the Old Policies group was split into three groups—Shu, Luo, and Shuo, which argued against each other. Shu Shi led the Shu group, while the Neo-Confucianists Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi are significant figures in the Luo group. After Wang Anshi’s policies were abolished after the death of Emperor Shenzong in 1085, Su Shi disagreed with Sima Guang in abolishing some policies, so he was neither favored by some figures in the Old Policies group, nor by the New Policies group during the reign of Emperor Zhezong. 79. Wang Shen, who married Princess Shuguo (1051–1080), the sister of Emperor Shenzong, and daughter of Emperor Yingzong (1032–1067; reign dates: 1063–1067), suffered a serious punishment for his close friendship with Su Shi and helping Su Shi publish his poems. Su Shi’s friend Wen Tong is included in Guo Ruoxu’s list of “princes, nobles, and scholar-officials,” perhaps due to the fact that Wen Tong was not involved in the political, and died in the first lunar month in 1079 before the Crow Terrace Poetry Trail. 80. Hualun consists of twenty-three entries on miscellaneous matters of painting connoisseurship. For a complete translation of Huajian, see Chou (2001, 64–175; 2005, 94–152). 81. For the life and art of Zhang Yu, see Augustin (2015, 55–78). Bush and Hsioyen Shih (2012, 241) think that Tang Hou was active around 1320–1330 and may have formulated his ideas on painting connoisseurship in the 1320s. 82. Chou (2001, 13, 26, 38; 2005, 22, 31–32) suggests Tang Hou was born in sometime between 1255 and 1262, and died before 1317 or no later than 1320. For the biographies of Tang Hou and his father, a distinguished scholar-artist in the early Yuan, Tang Binglong (1242–after 1322 or 1323), and the discussion of date, circulation, extant editions of Huajian, see Chou (2001, 13–44; 2005, 33–37, 174–75). 83. Craig Clunas (2017) discusses different types of audience of Chinese painting in China including the gentleman, the court (especially the emperor), and the merchant. For Tang Hou’s motivation for writing Huajian and its main audiences, see Chou (2005, 46–50). 84. For Tang Binglong’s and Tang Hou’s association with the early Yuan elites, see Chou (2001, 11–32; 2005, 16–27). 85. For more on aesthetic suggestiveness and hermeneutic openness in Chinese literature and philosophy, see Gu (2006). 86. I will discuss the notion of yi 逸, the origin of yipin, and genius’ exemplary originality reflected in yipin in chapter 5. 87. Stanley-Baker (1975, 17) translates Tang Hou’s term biyi as “brush-intention,” referring to the artist’s intention to apply a brush mode. Bush and Shih (2012, 261) translate biyi as “brush conception.” 88. Formal representation is emphasized by the early Yuan scholar-artist Liu Yin (1249–1293) who is earlier than Tang Hou (see Bush and Shih 2012, 270; Yu 1986, 484). This is echoed by the Yuan plum blossom master Wu Taisu (active mid-14th century, after Tang Hou) (see Bush and Shih 2012, 286–88; Bush 2012, 142; Wang and Ren 2002a, 720, 734).

The Thread of Qiyun

93

89. For Chou’s discussion of Tang Hou’s revival of Xie He’s six laws, see Chou (2005, 71–76). 90. Zhao Mengfu writes a poem to summarize his merging calligraphy into painting: “Rocks like the ‘flying white’ [brushstrokes], trees like the great seal script, /To sketch bamboo also demands conversance with the ‘Eight Methods’ [of calligraphy]. /If there should be one who is capable of this, /He must know that calligraphy and painting have one origin” (Bush and Shih 2012, 278–79; see Yu 1986, 1063). It appears clear that, as Fong (1992, 438) suggests, the shape of trees in the Mind Landscape of Xie Youyu (figure 2.2), dated late 1280s, in Princeton University Art Museum, resembles the seal script character in Zhao Mengfu’s calligraphy work Record of the Miaoyan Monastery (figure 2.3), datable to 1309–1310, in the same Museum. Rocks like the “flying white” of cursive script can be found in Zhao Mengfu’s Twin Pines, Level Distance, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 91. I will discuss in detail the notion of pictorial yi preceding the brush, and the role of the mind in presenting pictorial yi, in chapter 3. 92. Lothar Ledderose (1979, 58) translates tianzhen in Mi Fu’s text in praise of the Eastern Jin calligrapher Wang Xianzhi’s calligraphy as “natural perfection” (quoted in Goldberg 1997, 227). 93. For Zhao Mengfu’s advocacy of guyi and works which draw on Tang traditions such as The Mind Landscape of Xie Youyu and Autumn Colours on the Que and Hua Mountains dated 1295 in National Palace Museum, Taipei, see Cahill (1976, 40–42); Shou-chien Shih (1987, 237–54); Chu-tsing Li (1965). 94. For more discussion of guyi, see Chou (2001, 57–61; 2004, 268–74). 95. Chou (2005, 53, 55–66) also suggests that the late Ming scholar-artist, connoisseur and critic Dong Qichang may have been influenced by Tang Hou in assigning landscapists to his divisions of the Northern and Southern schools and shaping his Chinese literati painting theory. For Dong Qichang’s theory and practice of painting, see Sirén (1973c, 1–10); Wang and Ren (2002b, 212–47). 96. Guo Ruoxu comments on Li Cheng’s works that “in misty woods and level distances, the wondrous was first attained by [Li Cheng]. (His way of doing) pine needles is called [chuanzhen], ‘converging needles’; the brush does not distinguish light and dark values, but gives the natural hue of luxuriant bloom” (Soper 1951, 19; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 320). 97. For Mi Fu’s comment, see Wang and Ren (2002a, 399). We cannot be sure whether Li Cheng’s works seen by Li Chengsou and Tang Hou are authentic or later copies. From the work A Solitary Temple amid Clearing Peaks attributed to Li Cheng, in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, one may get a sense of what yanyun bianmie looks like in Li Cheng’s style of landscape painting. The work is dated by Fong (1987, 43–45) to ca. 1050 and by Eugene Y. Wang (2018, 76) to the mid-eleventh century, in the style of Li Cheng. Wang (2007, 463–73; 2016, 286–89) discusses how this work apparently manifests two poetic ideas favored by Ouyang Xiu as we saw in section 2.2.2, loneliness and tranquillity (xiaotiao danbo), and relaxed harmony and awesome stillness (xianhe yanjing), and the issues with the painters’ visual parsing of the scholar’s aesthetics.

94

Chapter 2

98. Regarding the translation of tianzhen lanman, pingdan duozi, I follow Chou (2001, 118), but with slight modifications. 99. It is interesting to note the emerging-submerging landscape in extant works attributed to Dong Yuan, such as Grotto Heavens and Mountain Halls, in National Palace Museum, Taipei, which may remind the audience of the Northern Song scholar Shen Kuo’s comment on Dong Yuan. Shen Kuo records that when viewed from a distance in a sunset scene painted by Dong Yuan, “there is a village half-obscured in the deep distance,” and “the summits of remote peaks [have] just a trace of reflected colour,” but no merit exists when observed from up close (Bush and Shih 2012, 119; see Yu 1986, 625). 100. The term chumo means emerging-submerging, as synonymous to bianmie, or xianyin. 101. Laozi (1999, 96) says that “the Dao takes its models from the natural.” Guo Xi illustrates three distances thusly: “high distance” (gaoyuan 高遠) refers to from the foot of the mountain looking up its top; “deep distance” (shenyuan 深遠) is from the front of the mountain peering into what is behind; “level distance” (pingyuan 平遠) is from a nearby mountain looking at distant mountains (see Bush and Shih 2012, 168– 69; Wang and Ren 2002a, 298). Later the critic Han Zhuo, in Shanshui Chunquan Ji (Complete Essays on Landscape Painting), dating about 1121, summarizes another three distances as a supplement: “wide distance” or “broad distance” (kuoyuan 闊遠) is the view of a wide stretch of water by the foreground shore and a spacious sweep of far-reaching distant mountains; “lost distance” or “hidden distance” (miyuan 迷遠) is the view of thick and vast mists and fogs interrupting streams which seem to disappear; “remote distance” or “obscure distance” (youyuan 幽遠) is where scenery disappears in vagueness and mistiness (see Bush and Shih 2012, 170; Wang and Ren 2002a, 608). 102. Tang Hou also mentions that the landscape painting with colour by Wang Shen followed the style of the Tang masters Li Sixun and Li Zhaodao (Chou 2001, 145; Wang and Ren 2002a, 702). 103. Edwards’ rendering is based on two translations by Ronald C. Egan (1983, 428–29) and Burton Watson (1965, 110–11). 104. Regarding the aesthetics of emerging-submerging landscape, Han Zhuo (earlier than Qian Wenshi) in his Shanshui Chunquan Ji echoes Jing Hao’s and Guo Xi’s ideas, but I have no space to discuss it in detail in this book; see Wang and Ren (2002a, 606–14). 105. See Spring Mountains and Pines (figure 2.4), by an fourteenth-century unidentified artist, formerly attributed to Mi Fu, in National Palace Museum, Taipei. 106. Regarding the influence of the Mi style cloudscape on later Yuan, Ming and Qing painters and theorists, see Wang (2018, 80–84). 107. See Cloudy Mountains by Mi Youren, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. 108. In the painting of submerging-emerging landscape, anything which appears real, present, substantial, solid, full, concrete or figurative, visible, or tangible may be classified as shi, and anything which appears unreal, absent, insubstantial, void,

The Thread of Qiyun

95

empty, abstract, invisible, intangible, imaginary, or evokes poetic imagination, meditation or reflection in the mind of audiences may be catalogued as xu (see Kuo 2015, 329). 109. It might be that even though qi cannot be translated as atmosphere still an aesthetics of atmosphere discussed by contemporary Western scholars might have some similarities to qiyun aesthetics. Exploring the similarities and differences between traditional qiyun aesthetics and the contemporary Western phenomenological aesthetics of atmospheres is beyond my concern in this book. For the aesthetics of atmospheres, see Böhme (2017); Griffero and Tedeschini (2019). 110. We will see how qiyun requires spontaneity in detail in chapter 4. 111. For Mi Fu’s text about “dilettante and connoisseurs” in his Huashi, see Wang and Ren (2002a, 407–8). 112. In Jullien’s work (2012, 95–96), qiyun is translated as breath-resonance, energy-consonance, or spiritual resonance, and qi is regarded as the breath-energy or spiritual energy animating everything, and yun as the resonance of the spiritual energy between beings and things. For Jullien (2012, 220), qiyun, shen, li and yi are more or less different: qiyun (“the ‘spirit resonance’ of breath-energy”) “is better suited to show the mode of emanation of what is released imperceptibly, spreading ‘throughout’, what is not ascribable”; shen “tends rather to evoke the unfathomability to which that transcendence gives access and the efficiency at work within the sensible”; li “expresses the invisible coherence informing visible configurations”; yi “designates the mobilizing, emotional-signifying character of what always turns out to be fundamentally only a flow of energy.” 113. For Guo Ruoxu’s comment on Guo Xi, see Wang and Ren (2002a, 351). 114. For Zhang Yanyuan’s more discussion of painting’s moral relevance, see Lidai Minghua ji, vol. 1; Wang and Ren (2002a, 96); Acker (1954, 61–80); Lin (1967, 43‒47). 115. Daxue (Great Learning) (Legge 1914, 1‒23), one of the Confucian classics, tells of cultivating the self in eight steps. The first two are investigating things (gewu 格物) and extending knowledge (zhizhi 致知), and the next two are “sincerity of thought [chengyi 誠意] and rectification of the mind [zhengxin 正心]” (Fung 1948, 314). Cahill (1959, 77–78) points out that the Confucian elements of Chinese art were not noted by early Western scholars, who ignored the fact that throughout Chinese history most influential, distinguished, and philosophically reflective painters were Confucian scholars.

Figure 2.1  Guo Xi (1000–1090), Early Spring, 1072. Hanging scroll, ink and light colour on silk, 158.3 x 108.1 cm. National Palace Museum, Taipei. 2021. The Open Data is made available to the public under the Open Government Data License, User can make use of it when complying to the condition and obligation of its terms. Open Government Data License: https://data​.gov​.tw​/license.

Figure 2.2  Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322), The Mind Landscape of Xie Youyu, ca. 1287. Handscroll, ink and colour on silk, 27.4 x 117 cm. Princeton University Art Museum.

Figure 2.3  Zhao Mengfu, Record of the Miaoyan Monastery, ca. 1309–1310. Princeton University Art Museum.

Figure 2.4  A fourteenth-century unidentified artist, formerly attributed to Mi Fu (1052–1107), Spring Mountains and Pines. Hanging scroll, ink and colour on paper, 35 x 44.1 cm. National Palace Museum, Taipei. 2021. The Open Data is made available to the public under the Open Government Data License, User can make use of it when complying to the condition and obligation of its terms. Open Government Data License: https://data​.gov​.tw​/license.

Part II

THE ART OF GENIUS AN EXAMINATION OF QIYUN AESTHETICS FROM A KANTIAN PERSPECTIVE

Having explained the main outlines of qiyun aesthetics through the views of Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou developed in the context of landscape painting from the tenth century to the fourteenth century, it is now time to begin the comparison with Kantian aesthetics. A good place to start the comparison is with regard to the notion of genius as an innate mental talent. As seen in chapter 2, Jing Hao’s first four essentials, especially his first and third essentials for creating a landscape masterpiece, concern the role of the artist’s mind in formulating a mental image and commanding the brush in accord with the mind to release it into the final image on silk or paper in a spontaneous way. Guo Ruoxu more explicitly points out that even though a work’s qiyun refers to the quality of a painting and cannot be identical with the qiyun of the artist, the ability to produce a painting replete with qiyun originates in the painter’s innate mental disposition. Guo Ruoxu’s view that the mental disposition determining the competency to convey qiyun through painting, is imparted by tian, belongs to only a few artists, and is attained without knowing how, reminds one of Kant’s accounts of genius as “the inborn predisposition of the mind through which nature gives the rule to art” and of beautiful art as creatable only by genius. (KU §46, 5: 307)1 As discussed in chapter 2, Guo Ruoxu’s views of qiyun in relation to the artist’s innate mental disposition and painting as the artist’s “mind-print” are inspired by earlier artists and critics including Jing Hao, but also reflects his agreement with the aesthetic preference for intellectual, introspective expression, poetic mood, and lyric flavor of leading eleventh-century scholar-artists and professional artists. His views are echoed by later Song and Yuan artists, art historians, critics, and connoisseurs (including Deng Chun and Tang Hou, as seen in chapter 2), although some of them do not apply the term qiyun in their aesthetic writings. For instance, shortly after Guo Ruoxu, Dong You suggests

100

Part II

that all things have their own spirituality, but only a few painters know how to explore the spirituality of the object depicted, and claims that in masterpieces “the profound attainments of a divine invention are grasped and completed in the mind.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 229–230, 216) As Liu Xueqi (active ca. 1192, one century after Guo Ruoxu) states, even though an artist has excellent skills, if his mind is subjected to “vulgar influence,” “a discerning eye” will easily identify his work’s “commonness and baseness” and classify the work “as a subject for current gossip.” (198) Although Dong You and Liu Xueqi do not mention qiyun, we can see they echo Guo Ruoxu’s view in their emphasis on the artist’s mental disposition in conveying the essential quality of the object and determining the expressive quality of the work. We have seen that although Tang Hou’s later aesthetic views about painting connoisseurship, which represent the early Yuan literati elite in the Jiangnan region, does not directly deal with the role of the artist’s mental disposition, his valuing of qiyun and of sketching pictorial yi through painting still inherits the eleventh-century scholar-artists’ lyric aesthetics, and is best understood in the light of Jing Hao’s suggestion and Guo Ruoxu’s discussion of the role of the artist’s mind. In the second part of my book (chapters 3 to 7), in focusing on the role of the mind in comparison with Kant’s views of genius, I refer mainly to relevant theories in relation to qiyun-focused Song and Yuan landscape painting prefigured by Jing Hao, formulated by Guo Ruoxu and his contemporaries, such as Guo Xi, Su Shi, Chao Buzhi, Huang Tingjian, and Mi Fu, and echoed by later artists, critics, and connoisseurs such as Mi Youren, Han Zhuo, Dong You, and Tang Hou, to remain consistent with the context and ideas discussed in chapter 2. Sometimes, I refer to earlier aesthetic writings on landscape painting by influential Southern Dynasties scholar-artist Zong Bing (in chapter 3), and Tang critics and connoisseurs such as Fu Zai (in chapter 3), and Zhang Yanyuan (in chapters 3–7), and mention relevant views of the Yuan artists and critics Rao Ziran (in chapter 3) and Wu Taisu (in chapters 4 and 6) who were a bit later than Tang Hou. In comparison with Kant’s idea of genius, I reiterate the continuity with regard to relevant aspects between the earlier critics and later Song and Yuan scholar-artists and critics. Although the second part of the book examines the role of the mind in creating a painting replete with qiyun mainly in Song and Yuan landscape painting context, I do not exclude relevant ideas developed by some later Ming and Qing artists and critics such as Dong Qichang (in chapters 5–6), Li Rihua (in chapter 5), Tang Zhiqi (in chapter 5), Yun Xiang (1586–1655) (in chapter 3), Yun Ge (in chapter 5), Shi Tao (in chapters 4–6), Wang Yuanqi (1642–1715) (in chapters 3–5), Bu Yantu (ca. 1740) (in chapter 3), Fang Xun (1736–1799) (in chapter 3), and Shen Zongqian (1736‒1820) (in chapters 3–6), since their writings on

The Art of Genius

101

landscape painting resonate well with or are even built upon the ideas formulated by the leading Song theorists such as Guo Ruoxu and Guo Xi. Kant defines genius as an innate mental talent of idea-giving and rulegiving, explains unteachable spontaneity and exemplary originality as key features of genius, and implies that genius involves a moral dimension. First, in chapter 3, I examine the efficacy of applying Kant’s ideas of genius’ ideagiving to the qiyun-focused landscape painting context. Regarding the mental talent of rule-giving, in chapter 4 I discuss how unteachable artistic spontaneity works in the qiyun-focused context in comparison with Kant’s account of genius as that through which nature gives the rule to art. In chapter 5, I give a Kantian reading of the exemplary originality of genius manifested by yipin. In chapter 6, I examine the balanced human nature held to be nourished through qiyun-focused landscape art in comparison with Schiller’s modified Kantian ideas of cultivating a complete human nature through art. Since we have seen in chapter 2 that in Jing Hao’s, Guo Ruoxu’s, and Tang Hou’s views qiyun involves a moral dimension, and especially Guo Ruoxu relates the innate mental disposition determining the competency in creating a painting replete with qiyun to the artist’s moral character and cultivation, I further examine how the moral dimension of genius is involved in a qiyun-focused landscape painting context in comparison with ideas of aesthetic autonomy and the moral relevance of art in Kantian philosophy in chapter 7. Since the approach of Kant’s transcendental aesthetics is different to that of qiyun aesthetics, an exact correspondence cannot be expected. We will see whether the parallels between the two traditions help to illuminate qiyun aesthetics through the lens of comparison, and whether the significant differences between them undermine any analogies between the two traditions. NOTE 1. While I refer to the pagination of the Akademie edition of Kant’s collected writings (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1902‒), in this book I follow the translation of Kant’s Critique of the Power of Judgment by Paul Guyer and Eric Mathews (Cambridge 2001) and Critique of Practical Reason by Mary J. Gregor (Cambridge 1999). I put the section number in Kant’s Third Critique (Kritik der Urtheilskraft) before the volume number. In a few places I indicate that J. H. Bernard’s translation (1914) of Kant’s Third Critique is adopted.

Chapter 3

The Master of Qiyun Genius as an Innate Mental Talent of Idea-Giving

INTRODUCTION As mentioned above, Kant thinks that only genius can create beautiful artwork, and he defines genius as “the inborn predisposition of the mind through which nature gives the rule to art.” (KU §46, 5: 307) He explains this further in terms of spirit as “the animating principle of the mind,” which “is nothing other than the faculty for the presentation of aesthetic ideas.” (KU §49, 5: 313–314) Can we explain the innate mental talent that Guo Ruoxu and others believe determines the capacity to convey qiyun through landscape painting along Kantian lines, in terms of genius as the innate mental talent of idea-giving? To answer this question it will be useful to consider the notions of pictorial yi and of shen, which animates pictorial yi. Scholars have noted that yi 意 and shen 神 in the Chinese aesthetic tradition of poetry appear to be the counterparts of Kant’s aesthetic idea and spirit, respectively. Yu-kung Kao (1991, 66, 87) borrows Kant’s term “aesthetic idea” to refer to the yi (idea) in Chinese poetry established in the mind of an artist and later released into the work, and defines shen (spirit) of the Chinese artist as “the artist’s genius in creating an impression or an idea and transmitting this idea through this art.”1 Karl-Heinz Pohl (2006, 133) echoes Kao’s claim, suggesting that the use of “shen (spirit) or shen si (spiritual thinking, i.e., imagination)” in Lu Ji’s and Liu Xie’s texts appears consistent with the role Kant gives to spirit in creating aesthetic ideas. Pohl also sees a correspondence between the synonym of yi, yijing (“roughly ‘artistic idea’”) in Chinese poetry criticism and Kant’s aesthetic idea (134).2 The following discussion will examine correspondences between two pairs of terms in qiyun-focused landscape painting and in Kant’s account. First, I 103

104

Chapter 3

establish parallels between pictorial yi and Kant’s aesthetic idea, and between shen as animating pictorial yi and Kant’s notion of spirit animating the aesthetic idea. Second, I consider some differences between these elements in qiyun aesthetics and Kant’s account, that appear to challenge the efficacy of projecting Kant’s approach into the qiyun-focused landscape painting context. By introducing the notions of the aesthetic idea and the spirit, Kant explains how genius as an innate mental talent works for idea-giving, which is significant in artistic creation. When attempting to apply Kant’s terms in the qiyun-focused painting context, even if pictorial yi corresponded to the aesthetic idea, and shen to the spirit, we cannot say that the two aspects of yi preceding the brush and shen stimulating yi determine that the artist will create a work replete with qiyun. Even Kant does not suggest that if an artist has the ideal mental talent of idea-giving, he would create a beautiful work. Ignoring this may lead the reader to misunderstand my aim in this chapter, which is to point out plausible parallels between these two distinctive approaches and some problems raised by borrowing Kant’s terms to illuminate how the innate mental state of a gifted qiyun-oriented artist works for idea-giving in artistic creation. 3.1 THE IDEA-GIVING OF GENIUS IN THE QIYUN-FOCUSED CONTEXT In this section, I explore the parallels between pictorial yi and Kant’s aesthetic idea, shen that presents yi and Kant’s spirit animating the aesthetic idea, before discussing differences between the two approaches. 3.1.1 Parallels between Pictorial Yi and Kant’s Notion of Aesthetic Idea For Kant, the aesthetic idea is “a representation of the imagination,” in contrast to the rational idea; when aesthetic ideas are aroused, the mind is moved to soar freely over “an immeasurable field of related representation.” (KU §49, 5: 314–316) Aesthetic ideas are expressed through an artwork by genius (an innate mental disposition), and communicated to audiences, and the beauty of art lies in “the expression of aesthetic ideas.” (KU §51, 5: 320)3 The aesthetic idea in the work appears to refer to the expressive content of the work. Apparently similarly, in Yu-kung Kao’s (1991, 66) discussion of yi in poetry, yi (idea) as an internalized symbol (of the object depicted) is associated with the inner image in the artist’s mind, and the idea-associated image is released into the final work. This insight supports his arguments about the

The Master of Qiyun

105

internalization and symbolization in Chinese aesthetics (47–90). However, his translation of yi in texts on painting as intent or meaning seems mistaken (85, 88). I suggest instead that there are two similarities between pictorial yi and Kant’s aesthetic idea: First, the association of yi (idea) with xiang (image) is analogous to Kant’s association of aesthetic idea with aesthetic attribute. Second, like the aesthetic idea, pictorial yi is not a rational idea (strategy, intent, or meaning). First similarity: Classical (including Song, Yuan, and later) texts on qiyunfocused landscape painting provides evidence of the first similarity, between the relationship of yi and xiang and that of the aesthetic idea and the aesthetic attribute. As seen in chapter 2, at least a century before Guo Ruoxu, Jing Hao in his third essential implies the significance of formulating a mental image of landscape in the landscapist’s mind before applying ink and brush. In addition, we have seen that, in his praise of Yan Shi’an’s ink bamboo painting and Qiu Shiyuan’s water buffalo painting as replete with yiqu and of the late Tang painter Duan Zanshan’s Snow Poem Picture, Guo Ruoxu echoes Ouyang Xiu’s view of conveying pictorial yi in painting as comparable with depicting poetic yi in poetry. Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary landscape master Guo Xi illustrates the significance of establishing yi and xiang in the landscapist’s mind through an analogy with Chinese lute-making: Suppose an artisan is to carve a lute and finds a solitary [wutong] tree on Mount [Yi]’s south slope. If he has manual skills, brilliant ideas, and great inner clarity, while the material is yet growing in the ground, the leaves and twigs yet unstripped, the instrument perfected by Lei [the distinguished lute-maker of the Tang Dynasty] already exists in his mind’s eye. If someone has confused ideas [yi] and unresponsive [body], is clumsy and uninspired, he will see only the sharp chisel and knife and will have no idea where to begin. How would he ever create a lute as [Cai Yong’s] [Jiaowei] lute, whose sounds carried with the clear wind and flowing water? (Bush and Shih 2012, 157–158; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 299)

Guo Xi’s text suggests that if an artist’s mind is in a state of clarity, it might easily grasp the idea, and let the perfect mental image appear in front of his mind’s eye. However, when his mind is in a state of confusion and ideas are confused, it is impossible to see the clear mental image. Guo Xi’s contemporary and later artists’ and critics’ discussions of the perfect (mental) image established preceding the brush resonate with his views. For example, his contemporary scholar-artist and critic Su Shi suggests the artist should learn from Wen Tong in formulating a perfect mental image of the bamboo before painting it (see Bush and Shih 2012, 207; Lin 1967, 93).4

106

Chapter 3

Su Shi’s friend Chao Buzhi echoes his ideas in his poem inscribed on a bamboo painting by Wen Tong: When Wen Tong painted bamboo, He had the perfected bamboo in his breast. Its development was like the spring rain, Bringing out the earth’s greenness. When the stimulus arrives, thunder comes forth from the ground, And myriad shoots spring up in cliffs and valleys. (Bush and Shih 2012, 214; Bush 2012, 47)5

Slightly later than Su Shi and Chao Buzhi, Dong You believes that, for a painter painting horses, when the mental image of the horse has been engraved in one’s mind, “a true horse will emerge” on the paper or silk (Bush and Shih 2012, 215–216). Dong You criticizes the Tang painter Cao Ba for failing to paint without seeing horses in front of him, and advises his contemporary painter Li Gonglin (who had this same defect) to paint the horse without the hindrance of seeing it. Here, Dong You implies that the act of painting only demands the painter release the mental image onto the silk or paper without the hindrance of looking at the object by “following the course from the mind to the hand.” (Gao 1996, 156) Not only for painting horses, in his comments on landscape masterpieces by the Northern Song landscapists Yan Shu, Li Cheng, and Fan Kuan, Dong You also mentions the significance of intuitively formulating the clear mental image of mountains, forests, and waters for landscapists during their travel to nature (see Bush and Shih 2012, 216–217). Three centuries later, as mentioned in chapter 2, the early Yuan connoisseur and critic Tang Hou echoes that the difficulty of depicting a landscape cannot be overcome “unless there are hills and valleys . . . as expansive as immeasurable waves” which intuitively appear in the painter’s mind (Bush and Shih 2012, 248; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 713).6 As seen above, Guo Xi’s text denotes the embodiment of yi through xiang, while Su Shi, Chao Buzhi, Dong You, and Tang Hou appear to focus on the significance of formulating the mental xiang preceding the brush rather than clearly indicating an association of yi with xiang. However, following Guo Xi’s suggestion and considering the aesthetic preference for conveying pictorial yi as comparable to the poetic yi advocated by such leading eleventh-century scholar-artists as Ouyang Xiu, Su Shi, and Chao Buzhi, practiced by Guo Xi and his contemporary artists such as Li Gonglin and Mi Fu, and echoed by later artists and connoisseurs including Tang Hou, it seems unreasonable to deny that the signifying mental image of bamboo, horse, or landscape enumerated by the four scholars has no connection with the pictorial yi

The Master of Qiyun

107

required to be established in the painter’s mind before its manifestation in the final image of the work. The term yixiang 意象 was not applied in painting criticism until about four centuries after Tang Hou. The Qing critic Fang Xun in his Shanjingju Hualun (A Discussion of Painting in a Silent Mountain House) explicitly associates yi preceding the brush with the inner image (xiang) in the landscapist’s mind. However, what Fang Xun means by the term yixiang essentially corresponds to the “lute” in Guo Xi’s text, “perfect bamboo” in Su Shi’s and Chao Buzhi’s texts, the “horse” and “landscape” in Dong You’s texts, and the “landscape” in Tang Hou’s text. This can be seen in the following passage: The wonderful brush and ink comes from the wonderful yi of the painter. Therefore, the ancients made painting in the way of “yi preceding the brush.” Du Fu was said to paint a rock for ten days and water for five days. He did not mean to [spend five or ten days on wielding the brush and ink] and then complete a rock or water. The verses mean that in order to paint one should first [take time to] build [idea-images] [yixiang] in the mind, to have mountains and valleys in the breast; then one can naturally attain swift brushwork. (Gao 1996, 154; with modifications; see Yu 1986, 232–233; Wang and Ren 2002b, 545)

That is, when brilliant yi emerges in the artist’s mind, a clear xiang (image) correspondingly and simultaneously appears in front of his mind’s eye. Having noted the relationship of yi and xiang in classical texts on painting, we can move on to discuss the analogy with Kant’s account: yi and xiang appear analogous to Kant’s aesthetic idea and aesthetic attribute. Although Kant does not use the term “image” explicitly, mental images are accommodated in his discussion of aesthetic attribute and aesthetic idea: [Aesthetic attributes] do not, like logical attributes, represent what lies in our concepts of the sublimity and majesty of creation, but something else, which gives the imagination cause to spread itself over a multitude of related representations, which let one think more than one can express in a concept determined by words; and they yield an aesthetic idea, which serves that idea of reason instead of logical presentation, although really only to animate the mind by opening up for it the prospect of an immeasurable field of related representations. (KU §49, 5: 315; my emphasis)

In short, for Kant, by furnishing multiple relevant representations through the imagination, aesthetic attributes yield an aesthetic idea.7 He gives this example of an aesthetic attribute: “Jupiter’s eagle, with the lightning in its claws, is an attribute of the powerful king of heaven, as is the peacock of the splendid queen of heaven.” (KU §49, 5: 315) Thus, the aesthetic attribute

108

Chapter 3

appears to be the symbolic mental image, as the signifier of the aesthetic idea. “Ideas of reason, such as God or infinity, we can think, but not perceive. Aesthetic ideas, as in good works of art, we can perceive, but not fully grasp. . . . [A genius] can create an object for us to perceive that fits an idea of reason in symbolic ways.” (Wenzel 2006, 103) Since an aesthetic idea is perceived in a symbolic way, it is inseparable from aesthetic attribute. As discussed above, when the idea (yi) is established in the artist’s mind, the clear mental image (the lute in Guo Xi’s text, the bamboo in Su Shi’s and Chao Buzhi’s texts, the horse and landscape in Dong You’s text, the landscape in Tang Hou’s and Fang Xun’s texts) that embodies, reflects or lodges the idea is expected to be released from the artist’s mind into the work; if confused ideas and ambiguous images still haunt his mind, the artist will not be able to produce a good work. The relationship between yi and xiang shows that as “the moldable substance in the [artist’s] mind,” yi refers to “the idea at the moment when it is ready to be presented in its final artistic form,” as if “aesthetic idea, on the brink of presentation, is associated with an ‘image’ (xiang 象). In this sense yi is the internal symbol before its manifestation.” (Kao 1991, 66) Although Yu-kung Kao only discusses this in relation to literature, in view of the relationship between yi and xiang examined above, the analogy of yi in painting with the aesthetic idea appears plausible. When borrowing the “aesthetic idea” to refer to yi in literature, Yu-kung Kao implies that the mental image (xiang) refers to the aesthetic attribute. As seen above, the analogy of xiang in painting with the aesthetic attribute also looks plausible. Since, as an intuitive representation of the imagination, Kant’s aesthetic idea is perceived in a symbolic way, Michael McGhee (2000, 103) interprets the aesthetic idea as mental image: If one thinks of the aesthetic idea as an image that affects the mind, brings it into a state of free play around itself, we might think of the artistic image as begetting its kind and its circle of connections and differences in the minds of its audience. . . . An aesthetic idea is a particular representation of the imagination. In other words, it is an image, an image with evocative power, an image which carries some of the charge of the universal even in its particularity.

McGhee’s equating the aesthetic idea with the (mental) image reminds us of the term yixiang (idea-image) used in Fang Xun’s writing on painting cited above, and especially favored by modern Chinese aestheticians. Since the idea (yi) which is perceived rather than being thought is embodied and lodged in the mental image and released into the final image of the work, it sounds reasonable for Fang Xun and modern critics to prefer to use the term yixiang to refer to the internalized expressive symbol which appears in front

The Master of Qiyun

109

of the painter’s mind’s eye and is later released into the work, and then can be imagined by the audiences. On the one hand, although my initial aim is testing the efficacy of applying Kant’s aesthetic idea to interpreting yi established in artists’ mind, the Chinese term yixiang throws a light on McGhee’s interpretation of the aesthetic idea as mental image, since the aesthetic idea is always associated with the aesthetic attribute and can only be perceived by imagination rather than being fully grasped. Although for Kant the aesthetic attribute is more like a visual image or symbol, which furnishes the aesthetic idea, the aesthetic idea together with the aesthetic attribute constitute the intuitive representation of an imagination with evocative power. On the other hand, the analogy between yixiang and the aesthetic idea also throws a light on the modern theory of yijing 意境 initially proposed by Wang Guowei, to which I will turn soon. Second similarity: According to Kant, we think the rational idea rather than perceive it, while the aesthetic idea is perceived, and expressed in the artwork through genius. Different from the rational idea, the aesthetic idea as intuitive representation of the imagination with evocative power cannot even “be completely compassed and made intelligible by language.” (Pohl 2006, 132) As argued above, pictorial yi (idea) is perceived in the mind and associated with the mental image (xiang), and later is released into the image of the final work. Thus, we can see another similarity: neither Chinese pictorial idea (yi) nor Kant’s aesthetic idea is a rational concept or conception. One might question my argument, claiming that yi preceding the brush can be understood as intention or strategy or plan.8 For instance, Xiongbo Shi (2018, 871–76, 880–881) employs two main categories of yi classified by Zhang Dainian and argues that yi preceding the brush in calligraphy can refer to the artist’s intention. In calligraphy, yi preceding the brush was initially proposed by the Jin Dynasty calligrapher and theorist Wei Shuo (272–349) in Battle Strategy of the Brush (Bizhen Tu). Her student Wang Xizhi, the distinguished calligrapher in the Eastern Jin Dynasty, echoes that the calligrapher should consider the size, shape, posture, directions, and vibration of brushstrokes first, and not write the characters unless yi is formulated (Gao 1996, 152, 159). Wang Xizhi suggests that yi preceding the brush requires calligraphers to formulate the strategy or plan for realizing the intention of “fighting with the medium,” “achieving an effect within a particular time and space,” and lodging the mental image into the work (153). In the case of painting, it is also important for a painter to take time to contemplate the motif and consider the strategy for composition before wielding his brush. For instance, Xie Shanshui Jue (Secrets of Describing Landscape), attributed to the Yuan master Huang Gongwang (1269–1354), advises the landscapist to establish the motif or theme (timu 題目) before applying the brush to paint landscape (see Bush and Shih 2012, 264; Wang and Ren 2002a, 687). The Yuan critic

110

Chapter 3

Rao Ziran, who is a contemporary of Huang Gongwang or sometime later than Huang, in Huizong Shier Ji (The Twelve Faults in Painting Tradition), reminds painters to formulate the motif and strategic plan before painting so as to avoid the faults of “overcrowded compositions” and of “scenes without levels and risings.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 266–267; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 716–717) If yi preceding the brush is understood superficially as composition, strategy, or plan of painting, it is just a rational idea, thought rather than being perceived. However, it is noteworthy that intention, strategy, or plan does not convey the connotation of pictorial yi which classical painters and critics attempt to emphasize. The view that pictorial yi is embodied by or inhabits a mental image (which, of course, may serve an intention or strategy or plan) is attested in Guo Ruoxu’s, Guo Xi’s, Tang Hou’s, and later Fang Xun’s texts as seen above, and this point can be found also in writings by art critics and connoisseurs before the Song Dynasty. For instance, after observing the painting process of the Tang landscape master Zhang Zao, the Tang critic Fu Zai (813) commented that “[Zhang Zao’s] ideas [yi] reach into the dark mysteries of things, and for [Zhang Zao], things lay not in the physical senses, but in the spiritual part of his mind. And thus he was able to grasp them in his [mind], and make his hand accord with it.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 85; my emphasis) Here, Fu Zai suggests the yi formulated in the artist’s mind is finally presented onto the painting surface by a skilful hand corresponding to his mind. Shortly after Fu Zai, the Tang critic Zhang Yanyuan applauds the Tang master Wu Daozi’s art for perfectly illustrating “what was described as formulating [yi] before using the brush, so that, when the painting is finished [yi] is present.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 62; with modifications; see also Acker 1954, 177; Wang and Ren 2002a, 111)9 In both Fu Zai’s and Zhuang Yanyuan’s texts, yi is better understood as idea instead of intention or strategy or plan or conception. Otherwise, the painter would only need to realize his original aim and objectives by work rather than presenting and releasing them into the work. It is undeniable that before painting a painter should have a strategic intention and plan, which might involve deciding the object depicted, considering the subject-matter or motif, setting the strategic plan for the composition, thinking about the painting material, and considering the painting time and place, and so on. However, it would be superficial and inaccurate to understand the pictorial yi that is formulated in the artist’s mind before applying the brush, and then manifested in the work to arouse the audience’s free imagination with evocative power, merely as intention or strategy or plan in this context. This is even though it may in fact serve an intention or strategy or plan, in a similar way to Kant’s aesthetic idea serving that idea of reason instead of logical presentation through the evocative power of intuitive representation of the imagination.

The Master of Qiyun

111

Moreover, especially scholar-artists favor artistic spontaneity as something between being intentional (youyi) and being unintentional (wuyi), and forgetting conscious intention is advocated during spontaneous creation. As seen in chapter 2, Jing Hao implies the significance of artistic spontaneity in his first, second, fifth, and six essentials of painting landscape and advises the landscapist to achieve real landscape scenes by forgetting techniques, and Guo Ruoxu suggests that achieving shenhui and creating a painting replete with qiyun appear to happen without the artist knowing how. This view is echoed by later artists and critics. For instance, in Lutai Tihua Gao (Wang Yuanqi’s Colophons on Painting), the early Qing scholar-artist Wang Yuanqi points out that the Yuan master Ni Zan’s (1301–1374) success in untrammeled expression through painting lies in effortless spontaneity between youyi and wuyi (see Nelson 1983, 410; Wang and Ren 2002b, 416).10 If an intention or strategy or plan is better forgotten, why does the artist need to consciously present one in the final image? For Kant, “no [aesthetic idea as] intuition can be adequate to” a concept (rational idea), and “no concept can be fully adequate to” an aesthetic idea as intuition (intuitive representation of the imagination), even though an aesthetic idea may serve a rational idea (KU, §49, 5: 314, 342). Intention, strategy, and plan fall within the scope of rational idea, and the rational idea as the counterpart of the aesthetic idea only occurs in the very beginning of the creative process of genius as understood by Kant (KU, §49, 5: 314). This accords with my point above that interpreting yi as intention or strategy or plan or conception is not the appropriate way to understand the yi emphasized by the influential Chinese artists and critics I have mentioned. Yu-kung Kao (1991, 66) borrows “the Kantian term aesthetic idea to differentiate [yi] in Chinese aesthetics (which is ‘ready to be presented’ in the final image) from the more generalized idea.” As seen above, the differentiation of yi from the rational idea not only applies to literature as Yu-kung Kao argues, but to painting as well. It is noteworthy also that it is inappropriate to regard Kant’s aesthetic idea as a cognitive idea, although it can affect cognition (see Matherne 2013, 33–38).11 Thus, due to the parallels between pictorial yi or yixiang and Kant’s aesthetic idea as explained above, it is inappropriate and superficial to regard yi in the context of painting as a cognitive idea or meaning. I note that one of Xiongbo Shi’s (2018, 871, 876–881) claims regarding yi (idea) in Chinese calligraphy, as analogous to Kant’s aesthetic idea, echoes Yu-kung Kao’s suggestion of the role of yi in literature, while he also agrees with Zhang Dainian that yi is to be regarded as a cognitive idea. Thus, he appears to confuse Kant’s aesthetic idea with cognitive idea. This misreading of Kant’s aesthetics should be noted by more scholars interested in the parallels between yi in Chinese art and Kantian aesthetic idea.

112

Chapter 3

Moreover, as seen above, yixiang essentially corresponds to yi, being similar to Kant’s aesthetic idea in two aspects. What about the parallel between yijing and Kant’s aesthetic idea, when considering yijing as synonym of yixiang in the writings of modern Chinese aestheticians?12 James J. Y. Liu (1962, 84) translates jing 境 as world (a fusion of emotion and scene). In Wang Kuo-wei’s Jen-chien Tz’u-hua, Adele Austin Rickett (1977) translates jing as (poetic) state, referring to an aesthetic state (fusing emotion and scene) initially established in the artist’s mind, and then released into the work, to be aroused in the audience’s mind through appreciating the work.13 Since, as argued above, yi appears similar to Kant’s aesthetic idea rather than to rational conception or strategic intention, the rendering of yijing as intentional mood or conception appears inaccurate. I agree with Peng Feng (2018, 136‒138) that the translation of yijing as artistic conception by many modern Chinese scholars in the English abstracts of their papers easily causes confusion for Western scholars.14 Due to parallels between yi and the Kantian aesthetic idea, one might suggest that yijing is better rendered as the mindscape of the (aesthetic) idea. However, this rendering sounds a little redundant since, as mentioned above, Kant defines the aesthetic idea as the intuitive representation of the imagination. Can yijing be rendered simply as aesthetic idea? Jiang Ronggang (2015, 169‒173; 2011, 107‒115) argues that both yixiang and yijing were used in the art criticism of Yan Fu (1854‒1921), Wang Guowei, and Liang Qichao (1873‒1929) at the end of the Qing Dynasty as the Chinese analogical translation (geyi 格義) of the term “idea” in Western aesthetic writing.15 Marián Gálik (1989, 60) argues that the notion of yijing or jingjie proposed by Wang Guowei receives its philosophical inspiration from Kant’s aesthetic idea, claiming that: Jingjie is precisely such an aesthetic idea [as an intuition of the imagination]. It expresses enormous possibilities of the imagination controlled by reflection or some form of pressure or restriction which together go to make up the essence of genius.16

Although in his paper arguing against Luo Gang, Peng Feng (2018, 136) mentions Pohl’s rendering of yijing as “Kunstlerische Idee” (artistic idea) and Gálik’s argument about the philosophical origin of Wang Guowei’s yijing in Kant’s notion of aesthetic idea, he ignores any possible correspondence between yijing in classical Chinese art and Kant’s aesthetic idea.17 As seen above, the parallels between yijing and Kant’s aesthetic idea cannot properly be neglected or ignored.18 It is worth noting that there are slight differences in nuance between yi, yixiang, and yijing in the Chinese texts. Although yi is always associated with

The Master of Qiyun

113

xiang, yi emphasizes the image-associated idea, while yixiang emphasizes the idea-associated image. Yijing appears to emphasize the mindscape presenting the image-associated idea, which is formulated in the artist’s mind, so as to be aroused in the audience’s mind when released by the artist into the work and thus constitutes its expressive content, although this mindscape is still essentially a mental representation of the imagination in a similar sense to Kant’s aesthetic idea. 3.1.2 Parallels between Shen Animating Yi and Kant’s Notion of Spirit Animating the Aesthetic Idea Concerning the notion of shen in classical texts, Zhang Dainian (2002, 171, 175) explains that in the case of a human being, shen (spirit) refers to his “inner nature” (as illustrated in Zhuangzi, “perceiving by spirit [shen] is contrasted with perceiving by eyes”), and shen or jingshen 精神 (essential spirit) means “the activity of the human mind.” As mentioned above, both Yu-kung Kao (1991, 86–87) and Pohl (2006, 133) think that in the classical context of Chinese literature the role of the artist’s shen in evoking artistic imagination and formulating yi corresponds to Kant’s notion of spirit as the animating principle of the imagination. For Kant, spirit is “the animating principle of the mind” for presenting the aesthetic idea, and it “purposively sets the mental powers into motion, i.e., into a play that is self-maintaining and even strengthens the powers to that end.” (KU §49, 5: 313) In this subsection, we can see classical Chinese texts on painting provide evidence of a parallel between the role of the painter’s shen in perceiving the image-associated yi and Kant’s notion of the spirit animating aesthetic ideas.19 As mentioned above, Jing Hao’s first two essentials imply the role of mind in accord with hand in commanding the brush and creating a painting replete with qi and yun, his third essential, si (thinking), especially emphasizes the perceiving and thinking process of formulating an intuitive mental representation, and what he means by the fourth essential jing (scene) before its manifestation in the final image approximately parallels the mental xiang of landscape associated with yi in the landscapist’s mind before being released onto the painting surface. However, he neither applies the term pictorial yi, which is frequently discussed in following Song, Yuan, and later aesthetic criticism, nor discusses in detail what kind of spiritual state would be ideal for a painter engaged in formulating a clear mental image in the mind. What he means by the term shen in his four-grade classification of landscape painting in his Bifa Ji is mainly the aesthetic quality of the work, even though his description of the class or level of shen (divine class in this context) indicates his notice of unselfconsciousness (as an important psychological state) in artistic spontaneity (see Xu 2001, 177).

114

Chapter 3

Guo Ruoxu emphasizes that a carefree spirit (shenxian 神閑) is required for imaginative evocation and establishing ideas (yiding 意定), and also crucial for the artist to transmit qiyun (see Bush and Shih 2012, 97; Wang and Ren 2002a, 317). For Guo Ruoxu, qiyun “has its root in the carefree wandering of the spirit [youxin 游心]”; only when the painter’s mind is satisfied within itself, can his shen remain leisurely and carefree, and yi be established (Jullien 2012, 165; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317).20 At this moment, the imagination will not “flag,” nor the brush ineffectively “labour.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 97; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317) That is, yi emerges spontaneously in the mind, and is also released smoothly into the final image which embodies qiyun. His contemporary landscapist Guo Xi, appears to echo Guo Ruoxu’s view in his suggestion that a painter should feel mentally relaxed as if “loosening his clothes and sitting with his legs spread out” (jieyi panbo 解衣盤礡) and nourish in the mind a state of leisure and harmony; when “your mind becomes fully calm, upright, loving, and sincere, then [the idea-images of] the varying emotions and aspects of men, and the different characteristics of objects, will spontaneously order themselves in your mind and appear without effort under your brush.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 157; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 299) The story of the painter “loosening his clothes and sitting with his legs spread out” referred to by Guo Xi is originally recorded by Zhuangzi (2013, 172; see Bush and Shih 2012, 42).21 Reading Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, we can see that Guo Ruoxu also refers to this story to illustrate the leisurely and carefree spiritual state necessary for imaginative evocation and spontaneous creation (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317). Three centuries later, slightly later than the early Yuan critic and connoisseur Tang Hou, the Yuan critic Rao Ziran echoes that (the painter’s) shen being carefree supplies an ideal mental state for attaining yi in the mind, emphasizing that the painter should never conceive of yi until his shen reaches that state (see Bush and Shih 2012, 266; Wang and Ren 2002a, 716). The valuing of this mental state for presenting yi continues to be echoed by later artists and critics. For instance, in Yuchuang Manbi (Random Writings by a Rainy Window), the early Qing scholar-artist Wang Yuanqi (three centuries after Rao Ziran) claims that to release yi into the final image spontaneously, “one must be leisurely and carefree, without any secular concerns” and become absorbed spiritually and calm down when applying the brush to paint (Gao 1996, 156; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 394).22 It cannot be regarded as accidental that Guo Xi, Rao Ziran, and Wang Yuanqi offer an emphasis similar to Guo Ruoxu’s on the importance of the untrammeled self-pleasing of the artist’s shen for imaginative evocation and establishing yi.

The Master of Qiyun

115

3.2 PROBLEMS WITH PROJECTING KANT’S VIEW OF GENIUS INTO THE QIYUN-ORIENTED CONTEXT We have seen that yi (yixiang, and even yijing) is analogous to Kant’s notion of aesthetic idea, and the artist’s shen animating yi appears consistent with Kant’s notion of spirit as the animating principle of the aesthetic idea. However, it cannot be denied that there are issues that arise when we come to apply Kant’s account of genius’ idea-giving to the qiyun-focused Chinese artistic context. This is for the reasons discussed below. 3.2.1 Significant Differences between Yi and Kant’s Aesthetic Idea First of all, a particular issue arises when we consider that the Kantian aesthetic idea “imprints on our senses an intimation of a transcendental realm.” (Scruton 1982, 88) Kant’s accounts of genius and the aesthetic idea are in accord with the general approach of his transcendental philosophy, while the notion of pictorial yi in classical texts was written on an empirical and pragmatic rather than a systematic basis and in a suggestive style by numerous artists or connoisseurs who were not concerned with completing a systematic transcendental philosophy in Kant’s sense. Unlike Kant, the qiyun-focused artists and connoisseurs are interested in the practical process of producing or appreciating art; their accounts include practical advice and descriptions with regard to producing or appreciating masterpieces. Even though there is continuity of associating pictorial yi with mental image from Tang, Song, through Yuan, up until Qing, as mentioned above, discussions of practical issues in presenting or animating pictorial yi do not prevent painters from releasing pictorial yi into their final works through adopting different techniques, styles, or period styles, nor prohibit critics and connoisseurs from assessing the presentation of pictorial yi according to more or less different criteria within distinctive historical-cultural contexts.23 Kant is focused more on explaining universal conditions of the possibility of beautiful art and the working and requisites of genius in creating beautiful art in a way compatible with his account of aesthetic judgment and overall philosophical system. His aim is not really to give advice to aspiring artists or connoisseurs, even though it might include the occasional passing point of this sort. One may suggest in response that when one approach is transcendental and the other is empirical, this does not mean that they cannot be compatible. Moreover, some scholar-artists’ and critics’ understanding of yi appears also to involve a transcendental element. For instance, as Jianping Gao notes, the Qing critic Bu Yantu resorts to the Book of Changes to suggest pictorial yi is like an omnipresent, universal idea in the universe:

116

Chapter 3

The idea [yi] has a great number of functions and is not confined merely to painting. The changes of all things on earth are caused by the idea, which existed before the appearance of Heaven and Earth. In the Book of Change it is omen and all changes are predicted by it. In painting it is spirit and all manifestations of nature emerge from it. (Gao 1996, 136; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 493)24

Bu Yantu’s emphasis on the significance of yi for painting as analogous to that of an omnipresent idea implies that the painter should act like the universe in terms of presenting the pictorial idea in his mind and capturing the essential feature of nature. However, even though the transcendental element involved in the Chinese aesthetic tradition is noteworthy, we should not forget, that, unlike Kant whose aesthetics replaces and synthesizes the insights of, the prevalent schools of early modern Western aesthetics (the rationalism of Baumgarten, and the empiricism of Locke, Hume et al.), no any qiyunfocused artists and critics from the Six Dynasties, through Song and Yuan, up till the Qing Dynasty was aiming or able to complete a comprehensive critical aesthetic system, let alone to synthesize empiricism and rationalism.25 The second issue lies in the fact that the unique expressive charisma of intuitive representations of the imagination released from the qiyun-focused Chinese landscapist’s mind into the work and aroused in the audience’s imagination cannot be explained by Kant’s aesthetics. The yi established in the painter’s mind and later released into the work embodies the way qiyunfocused artists contemplate rather than gaze at the natural world, and reflects an expressive element above merely formal representation on the basis of it unifying representation and expression. Although Kant’s account of aesthetic ideas apparently offers theoretical support for artworks merging representation and expression, the Chinese understanding of the image-associated yi contributes to a qiyun-focused aesthetics in which the expressive charisma of art, is markedly different to that of Western art, and reflects a perception and understanding of existence as processual. By examining the analogies between yi, shen, and qiyun within the two scopes of the object and the work, we shall see that the emphasis on establishing yi in the mind serves for the first criterion of qiyun, and the innate mental talent for establishing yi is consistent with that for transmitting qiyun, and these will help the following comparison with Kant’s view. As mentioned in chapter 1, Yu-kung Kao (1991, 86–87) explains that as well as referring to the animating principle of generating yi in the artist’s mind, shen (spirit) in Chinese aesthetics can be classified into another two categories: the essential character of the (animate or inanimate) object, and the expressive quality of the work. The three categories of shen defined by Yu-kung Kao appear consistent with the three categories of qiyun discussed in chapters 1 and 2. As explained there, where the process of creation by painters is concerned, qiyun refers to the essential

The Master of Qiyun

117

or internal reality of the (animate or inanimate) object depicted; qiyun in the work means its expressive quality or content; and whether the artist can create a work replete with qiyun is related to the qiyun of the artist. As mentioned in chapter 2, both Xu Fuguan and Jianping Gao suggest that transmitting shen (initially advocated by Gu Kaizhi), conveying qiyun (initially proposed by Xie He and echoed by Zhang Yanyuan, Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, Tang Hou, and other artists and critics), and establishing yi (advocated by leading eleventh-century scholar-artists such as Ouyang Xiu, Chao Buzhi, and Chen Yuyi, and echoed by their contemporary and later artists and connoisseurs including Guo Xi, and Tang Hou), all refer to capturing the internal essence of the object depicted. In addition, as seen above, where the final work is concerned, yi as analogous to the Kant’s aesthetic idea appears to be the expressive content of the work which arouses the audience’s imagination, corresponding to the work’s shen or qiyun as the expressive content. As Guo Ruoxu suggests, when yi informs the brushwork, the final “images [xiang] will correspond” to the idea, and the “spirit [shen] [will] be whole” in the finished painting (Bush and Shih 2012, 97; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317). Here, shen can be understood as that of the object or the work, and Xie He’s term qiyun (spirit consonance) can be used to replace shen. Thus, the “spirit [shen] [will] be whole” in the finished painting can be read thus: the final work will be replete with qiyun. Critics may claim that a work which is not replete with qiyun may also require the artist to practice “yi preceding the brush.” Establishing yi in the mind is just a first step, the significance of releasing yi into the work is analogous to that of transmitting qiyun into the work, and success in releasing yi into the final work contributes to and appears simultaneous with the success in transmitting qiyun.26 The late Ming scholar-painter Yun Xiang claims that, “yi is the master of painting, and when yi (established in the artist’s mind) is released into the image, qiyun will be in the work.”27 It is true that there is no guarantee that pictorial yi or qiyun will be embodied in the painting, while it is regarded as a failure when the work lacks yi or qiyun. Both Jianping Gao and Yu-kung Kao suggest that the image-associated yi in the mind of the artist (painter and poet) plays a key role in motivating the artist’s expressive act and reconciling the self-expression of the artist and the representation of nature. Jianping Gao (1996, 153) argues that to advocate the formulation of yi in the mind preceding the brush is to emphasize the significance of “following the inner voice, struggling with the medium and searching for new methods of expression.” Influenced by processual metaphysics, the way that qiyun-targeted artists contemplate the object rather than gazing at its appearance offers the technical basis for self-expression above formal representation, since the vision gained through contemplation is “mixed with elements of feelings (of the artist) and with possibilities for expression.” (158) The xiang-associated yi plays a bridging role in

118

Chapter 3

transforming the formal appearance and spiritual reality of the object into images in the mind of the painter, and guarantees that the mental image gained through contemplation is “not merely confined to perception, but [involves] the realization of a more profound communication with the object.” (159, 153) Thus, yi preceding the brush requires the painter to be sincere to both nature and himself, to have spiritual resonance and communion with nature. From Jianping Gao’s discussion of pictorial yi, we can see that he emphasizes that the idea-associated image in the artist’s mind merges the spiritual essence of the object depicted and the self-expression of the artist. That is, on the one hand, establishing yi in the painter’s mind points to penetrating the essence of the natural object beyond its appearance; on the other hand, yi associated with the mental image reflects the artist’s feelings, emotions, and understanding of the world. Although Yu-kung Kao’s (1991, 66) writing does not center on the object and its spiritual essence which the artist aims to grasp, he explicitly indicates that through yi “interiority and the external world are reconciled,” and yi “is always the mediating element: it is aroused by either outside or inside stimuli, it is organized and integrated by the imagination, and it evolves into the art object.”28 As argued above, it is clear that this is not merely for poets, the association of yi with xiang in the mind plays a key role in motivating the expressive act of painters and in reconciling the internal mental world of painters and the external natural world. Having seen in the qiyun-focused context the unification of representation and expression endorsed by pictorial yi, we are back to the comparison with Kant. Since yi is analogous to Kant’s aesthetic idea, this raises the question of whether Kant’s aesthetic idea suggests in beautiful artworks the unification of formal representation based on perception and the expression of the artist’s emotions, feelings, or thinking. Mark L. Johnson (1979, 167–177) argues that Kant’s aesthetics unifies two descriptions of beauty, “one based on the perception of formal relations in an object, and the other focused on the expression of aesthetic ideas.”29 Samantha Matherne (2013, 31–33) further argues that Kant’s aesthetic idea implies the presentation of two kinds of emotions: immediate and sudden emotions and thought-connected or reflective emotions such as envy and love. Even though, as Kantian scholars suggest, Kant’s notion of aesthetic idea may provide theoretical support for art unifying representation and expression, it should be borne in mind that the mindscape of aesthetic ideas (yijing) established by qiyun-focused artists and reanimated by qiyun-focused audiences demonstrates qiyun-focused Chinese art’s unique expressionistic charisma which is embodied in at least these three aspects in landscape painting—the aesthetic flavor of dan (blandness) along with the pursuit of yuan (the far-reaching), and the aesthetic interplay of you (presence) and wu (absence), shi (substance), and xu (emptiness) especially in the dynamic submerging-emerging of landscape, influenced by the synthesis

The Master of Qiyun

119

of Confucianism and Daoism (see Jullien 1999; 2004; 2012).30 These expressive features in qiyun-focused landscape painting as seen in chapter 2 reflect the perception of existence or reality as a process and of polarities as harmonized.31 In addition, one may suggest that unlike Kant who separates noumenal and phenomenal nature, there is no such distinction between two perspectives toward nature in Daoist or Confucian philosophy.32 Even if the Dao may be regarded as something above phenomena, it penetrates phenomena, and qiyun-focused Chinese painters seek to fulfill the Dao through their painting. This is essentially different from Kant’s aesthetic goal of seeking an intermediary between noumena and phenomena through reflection on beauty (see Düsing 1990, 79–92). I will return to this point in detail in chapters 4 and 6. 3.2.2 Significant Differences between Shen Animating Yi and the Kantian Spirit Although, as explained above, the role of the shen (of the classical Chinese painter) seems similar to that of what Kant calls spirit as “the animating principle of the mind,” unlike Kant who understands the spirit as the harmonious union of imagination and understanding, classical texts on qiyun-focused painting claim that the shen of the artist is required to respond to the shen of the object, and the artist seeks spiritual kinship and resonance with the congenial object. In this subsection, we shall see that spiritual communion (shenhui) between subject and object valued under the first criterion of qiyun as explicitly suggested by Guo Ruoxu is not accommodated in Kant’s account of genius. For Kant, the spirit is “to express what is unnameable in the mental state in the case of a certain representation and to make it universally communicable” and this expression “requires a faculty for apprehending the rapidly passing play of the imagination and unifying it into a concept [. . .] which can be communicated without the constraint of rules.” (KU §49, 5: 317) Regarding the role of the spirit as the animating principle of generating aesthetic ideas in the mind, Kant suggests that the free and harmonious cooperation of imagination and understanding gives a determinate role for the “spirit” to work (KU §49, 5: 314, 316–318). For Kant, aesthetic taste, imagination, understanding, and spirit are requisites for genius to create beautiful artworks (KU §50, 5: 320). The focus on the subject rather than the object in his account of genius is consistent with the focus on the subject hinted at in his account of aesthetic judgment, according to which the object supplies no objective standard for the audience to judge its beauty or identify where the beauty locates. For, Kant, the determining ground of aesthetic judgment “cannot be other than subjective.” (KU §1, 5: 203) Disinterested aesthetic pleasure and freedom are

120

Chapter 3

subjective, aroused when imagination and understanding co-play freely and harmoniously (KU §1‒§9, 5: 203‒219). Although the aesthetic judgment has its universal validity, this universality is inter-subjective. It is not based on any independently objective standards or grounds, but rather on the free play of the subject’s imagination and understanding, and the a priori principle of purposiveness (assuming the representation of the object suitably and purposively offers the subject disinterested aesthetic pleasure) (see Wenzel 2005, 33‒34). The emphasis on the harmonious and free co-play of the imagination and understanding in his account of aesthetic judgment is consistent with that in his account of genius creating beautiful art. For Kant, the abundance and originality of aesthetic ideas animated by the spirit is less important than “the suitability of the imagination in its freedom to the lawfulness of the understanding.” (KU §50, 5: 319) For genius creating art, the imagination breaks away from constraints that actual nature gives and creates another nature above any determinate concept (which might be the source of the imagination), although its freedom conforms to the lawfulness of the understanding, and the understanding builds a harmonious association with the imagination (KU §49, 5: 314–318). The essence of “the imagination’s free conformity to law” is a kind of “psychologically felt freedom from any form of constraint [. . .] [,] not just epistemological independence from concepts.” (Guyer 1993, 286–287) In contrast to Kant, classical texts in relation to qiyun aesthetics never talk about the free and harmonious co-play of imagination and understanding in this kind of systematic and analytical way, even though they do talk about the role of the carefree spirit of the artist in imaginative evocation and animating yi. Although Chinese texts lack a transcendental analysis of the productive faculties of the mind, we should not forget the distinctive point endorsed by the Daoist tradition according to which the spirit of the artist engaged in imaginative evocation is supposed to resonate with the spirit of the object. As seen in chapter 1, Soper suggests (and Hay echoes him) that Xie He’s initial notion of qiyun involves the resonance or consonance of vital energy or spirit-energy between artist and object. As seen in chapter 2, perhaps inspired by Li Sizhen and Zhang Yanyuan, Guo Ruoxu explicitly suggests that the resonance between the spirit-energy of the subject and that of the object allows the artist’s innate mental disposition successfully to convey qiyun into the work, and this shenhui between artist and object is also advocated in aesthetic writings by Guo’s contemporary scholar-artists Su Shi, and Huang Tingjian (despite that Su’s and Huang’s discussions do not directly deal with the conveying of qiyun through painting). As mentioned in chapters 1 and 2, this valuing of spiritual resonance between the artist and object depicted can even be found in the early painting texts preceding Xie He’s statement of the first law of qiyun shengdong,

The Master of Qiyun

121

and Guo Ruoxu’s view that qiyun involves a spiritual communion (shuihui) may also be inspired by the Southern Dynasties artist and theorist Zong Bing. For instance, Zong Bing implies this spiritual communion with the object in his praise of “rejoicing in the spirit” (changshen 暢神), in Hua Shanshui Xu where he describes his experience of letting the spirit soar freely through art: I live at leisure, regulating my vital breath, brandishing the wine-cup and sounding the lute. Unrolling paintings in solitude, I sit pondering the ends of the earth. Without resisting the multitude of natural promptings, alone I respond to uninhabited wildernesses where grottoed peaks tower on high and cloudy forests mass in depth. The sage and virtuous men who have shone forth throughout the ages had a myriad charms [of nature] fused into their spirits and thoughts. What then should I do? I rejoice in my spirit, and that is all. What could be placed above that which rejoices the spirit. (Bush and Shih 2012, 38; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 13; see also Bush 1983, 145–146; Munakata 1983, 121)

Even though Zong Bing’s depiction of his experience of rejoicing in the spirit can be read as suggesting an ideal way of contemplation mainly for the appreciators of art (since he explicitly mentions “unrolling paintings”), later artists echo his advocacy of such rejoicing. Here, we can identify that Zong Bing’s rejoicing in the spirit essentially reflects the carefree wandering of the spirit advocated by Zhuangzi and, as we have seen, inherited by later artists and critics such as Guo Ruoxu, Guo Xi, Rao Ziran, and Wang Yuanqi. Although Zong Bing’s rejoicing in the spirit appears similar to Kant’s view of the spirit animating imagination and aesthetic ideas, his claims that the eye’s response and the mind’s accord to nature affect the shen of the artist (or connoisseur), and that the artist’s (or connoisseur’s) shen responds sympathetically to all similar kinds of life, as mentioned in chapter 1, suggest that the shen of the artist is supposed to respond to that of the object, and the shen of the object is the target of the shen of the artist seeking spiritual kinship and resonance. Thirteen centuries after Zong Bing, and more than 600 years after Guo Ruoxu, the Qing scholar-artist and critic Shen Zongqian in Jiezhou Xuehua Bian (Jiezhou’s Study on Painting) echoes the idea of shenhui between artist and object, stating that in creating pictures the artist’s lingqi is like that of the lingqi of tiandi 天地 creating things in the universe: If [the artist’s] spiritual light is not smothered or covered up, it will grow day by day. It should be possible therefore for the human spirit [lingqi 靈氣] to express the spirit of the universe [tiandi lingqi] through the brushwork without difficulty. For painting is only an art, yet it has the power of creation of the universe itself. [. . .] just as the spirit [lingqi] creates living things in the universe, [the artist’s]

122

Chapter 3

spirit [lingqi] creates pictures. [. . .] Proceeding from the [lingqi], [the object depicted, the artist, and the artwork] partake of the whims of the spirit [shen]. (Lin 1967, 203–204; with modifications; see Jiezhou Xuehua Bian, vol. 2 Landscape, huiyi section; Yu 1986, 900; Wang and Ren 2002b, 598)

Lin Yutang translates lingqi as “spirit,” and appears to equate the term lingqi in Shen Zongqian’s text with the term shen in Zong Bing’s writing.33 In praising the painter who performs like the universe and whose lingqi has infinite potential to express the lingqi of the natural object, his suggestion sounds similar to Bu Yantu’s view mentioned above that the artist transmitting pictorial idea (yi) into painting is like the universe endowing everything with the idea. Although a transcendental element may be identified in this account of presenting yi under the play of the artist’s shen, this emphasis on spiritual communion and sympathetic resonance between subject and object is not involved in Kant’s account of the spirit in his philosophy of art. In sum, with regard to the role of shen animating yi, communication and resonance between the artist’s shen and that of the object is required for the mental disposition working on conveying qiyun or shen through painting. That is, unlike Kant’s focus on the subjective, Chinese texts on qiyun-focused painting suggest that aesthetic focus is not merely in either subject or object, since qiyun requires shenhui between the two. INTERIM CONCLUSION In conclusion, focusing on the innate mental talent of idea-giving, I have compared qiyun aesthetics and Kant’s aesthetics by examining the parallels between yi (along with yixiang, and yijing) and Kant’s aesthetic idea, between the artist’s shen and the spirit animating aesthetic ideas. As seen above, the feasibility of projecting Kant’s account of genius’ idea-giving into the qiyun-focused painting context is supported by these parallels: first, image-associated yi is analogous to Kant’s aesthetic idea as intuitive representation of the imagination, which can be perceived rather than thought; second, like the aesthetic idea, pictorial yi as the internalized symbol with evocative power aroused through imagination before its manifestation in the final work, cannot be understood as rational idea (intention, strategy, plan, or conception) or cognitive meaning; third, the painter’s shen which establishes yi in imaginative evocation appears similar to the Kantian spirit animating the aesthetic idea. However, due to asymmetries between two distinctive cultural traditions, aesthetic preoccupations, and philosophical approaches, issues arise especially in relation to these aspects: first, even though yi might accommodate a certain kind of transcendental element,

The Master of Qiyun

123

qiyun aesthetics written on a practical basis does not aim to complete a transcendental aesthetic system in Kant’s sense; second, the advocacy of establishing yi through the carefree wandering of shen reflects the expressionistic pursuit of Chinese artists (led by the first criterion of qiyun) above formal representation on the basis of unifying representation and expression, and the expressive charisma of qiyun-focused painting is markedly different from that of Western art; third, since the artist’s shen is supposed to respond to the object’s shen, the emphasis of qiyun aesthetics on sympathetic resonance between the spirit-energy of subject and that of object is absent in Kant’s account. As mentioned above, artistic spontaneity between youyi and wuyi favored by qiyun-focused artists constitutes a parallel with the Kantian claim that art should appear unintentional even though there is an intention to create. Similarly to Wang Yuanqi’s claim regarding youyi and wuyi mentioned above, Shen Zongqian suggests that the best work of releasing yi was born in artistic spontaneity, enumerating the story of Wang Xizhi who tried to recreate it after creating his best calligraphy Lanting Xu but failed several times. He says “If the artists insist on doing what he did yesterday, he cannot do it. Why? Because, when an artist insists on something, he is already obstructing the free flow of the spirit [lingqu 靈趣].” (Lin 1967, 204; see Jiezhou Xuehua Bian, vol. 2 Landscape, huiyi section; Yu 1986, 900; Wang and Ren 2002b, 598) In chapter 4, I will explain artistic spontaneity as between youyi and wuyi, which was inspired by Daoism and Confucianism (in the Book of Changes), with a comparison to the Kantian account of genius’ spontaneity. NOTES 1. Kao (1991, 85, 88) renders yi in painting as “intent” and “meaning,” but does not link yi in painting with Kant’s aesthetic idea. 2. Yi’s two synonyms yixiang and yijing are key words in modern discussion of classical art (poetry, painting and calligraphy) criticism. Among Chinese scholars in recent years there have been furious debates on the philosophical origin of the theory of yijing 意境 in poetry criticism proposed by Wang Guowei, and further developed by Zhu Guangqian, Zong Baihua, and Li Zehou in Chinese art criticism. As mentioned in the introduction, Luo Gang (2011, 38‒58; 2018, 1‒16) argues that Wang Guowei’s theory of yijing was constructed by adopting the German aesthetics of Kant, Schiller and Schopenhauer, and the modern theory of yijing is another version of German aesthetics (Kantian and Post-Kantian aesthetics). 3. See Debord (2012, 177–90); Guyer (1994, 275–85); Neal (2012, 351–60); Schaper (1992, 367–93); McCloskey (1987, 114–25); Chignell (2007, 415‒33); Chaouli (2011, 55‒77).

124

Chapter 3

4. Su Shi’s suggestion of the “perfect bamboo formed in the breast” has been echoed by his contemporary and later numerous artists and critics. 5. As mentioned in chapter 2, Chao Buzhi suggests “painting depicts a form beyond [the appearance of] the object, and yet the form of the object must not be changed” (Chaves 1991, 434). In his Ba Li Zunyi Huayu Tu (Colophon on Li Zunyi’s Fish Painting), he advocates contemplating the object by discarding (the appearance of) the object (yiwu yi guanwu 遗物以观物), and considering yi instead of xing (form) (quoted in Xu 2001, 234). 6. Here, I am not discussing guyi or xinyi meant by Tang Hou, but rather suggest that the mental image of landscape is linked to pictorial yi discussed by Tang Hou in a general sense. 7. In Bernard’s (1914, 199–200) translation, aesthetic attributes “furnish an aesthetic idea.” 8. Few scholars question the translations of youyi 有意 (with intention or being intentional or conscious) and wuyi 無意 (without intention or being unintentional or unconscious) in classical texts. Zhang Dainian (2002, 409) classifies yi in classical Chinese philosophy into two categories: “voluntative intention” and “cognitive idea.” Zhang suggests that yi as intention or will is found in Xunzi, Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu Guliang Zhuan), and Great Learning (Daxue). 9. Acker (1954, 177), and Bush and Shih (2012, 62) translate “yi” in the phrases “yicun bixian” 意存筆先 and “huajin yizai” 畫盡意在 as “conception.” I will explain soon that the yi in this context cannot be understood as a rational conception. 10. Kant suggests that art should appear unintentional even though an intention is behind genius’ creation. I will discuss in detail the dialectic of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness during artistic spontaneity between youyi and wuyi in comparison with Kantian ideas of the spontaneity of genius in chapter 4. 11. Wenzel (2005, 49‒51, 43) argues that for Kant, unlike cognitive judgment, which requires a determinate harmonious relationship of imagination and understanding through which “the representation of the object is determined by concepts,” the free and harmonious play of imagination and understanding in aesthetic judgment merely involves cognition in general, in that the understanding does not fix the imagination by any determinate concepts, and “the object is not even cognized as an object.” However, “although cognition is not intended in such free play [of imagination in lawfulness with understanding in general], our capacity for cognition is strengthened by it” (62). 12. In poetry/painting criticism, the term yijing is frequently used to refer to a mindscape (or mental scene) made of picture-like images replete with lyric flavor or mood, in a quite similar sense to Kant’s aesthetic idea. 13. See Rickett (1977, 23–24, 26) translates jingjie 境界 (a synonym of yijing, used by Wang Guowei in Chinese poetry criticism) as “realm” or “sphere of reality delineated,” and yijing as “meaning and poetic state.” 14. Peng Feng’s rendering of yijing as mindscape might be inspired by Yu-kung Kao’s (1986, 385) translation of jingjie as inscape, which is “as defined by Jonathan Culler, who suggests it as a ‘moment of epiphany’, . . . ‘a moment of revelation in which form is grasped and surface becomes profundity’,” although Peng expresses

The Master of Qiyun

125

discontent with the psychological implication of the term “inscape.” Yu-kung Kao (1991, 74) also translates yijing as “inscape” or “ideational state.” 15. Jiang (2015, 169‒73) mentions that similarly to yijing and yixiang, another Chinese term guannian 觀念 corresponds to the Western term idea. In his translation of Kant’s Critique of the Power of Judgment, Zong Baihua (1994, 356‒66) translates idea as guannian. Since Kant defines the aesthetic idea as the representation of the imagination as explained above, it is interesting to note that Zong Baihua (1994, 356‒66) translates the representation (of the imagination) as biaoxiang 表象. 16. Gálik (1989, 46‒61) argues that Schopenhauer’s philosophy inspires Wang Guowei’s aesthetic views in A Critique of Dream of the Red Chamber; a similar idea to Nietzsche’s advocacy of artistic writing with the author’s blood is found in Wang’s poetry criticism work Talks on Ci in the Human World; Schiller’s ideas of the play drive and Nietzsche’s will to power resonate in Wang’s A Study of Man’s Pastimes, and Wang’s discussion of the beautiful and sublime in The Place of the Classic in Aesthetics originates in Kant’s aesthetics, while Kant’s account of aesthetic idea exerts a significant inspiration in Wang Guowei’s writings about jingjie in his poetry criticism. 17. Peng (2018, 136‒38) states that he finds no term in Western aesthetics with any similarity to yijing. I only agree with Peng that translating yijing as artistic conception causes confusion for Western readers. 18. Gálik (1989, 56‒61) argues against Hermann Kogelschatz (1986, 241‒329), who suggests that Wang Guowei’s yijing is inspired by Schopenhauer’s philosophy of the world as idea, and the Chinese scholar Fo Chu (1983, 344), who claims that Wang Guowei’s yijing derives from Schopenhauer’s discussion of beauty as the ideal of perfection. The focus of my book is on qiyun-focused painting, not on Wang Guowei’s criticism of classical Chinese poetry. The question whether the main philosophical origin of Wang Guowei’s theory of yijing is from Kant’s account of the aesthetic idea, or he was partially inspired by Kant’s thought to use the term yijing to construct his modern version of classical poetry criticism, is not my concern in this book. 19. In chapter 6, I will explain in detail how the artist cultivates an ideal mental state by resorting to the Daoist or Buddhist approach. 20. As Jullien (2012, 165) notes, Guo Rouxu’s term youxin (the carefree wandering of the spirit) borrows from Zhuangzi. Bush and Shih (2012, 97) translate qiyun benzi youxin thusly: qiyun “originates from pleasing the mind.” 21. The story in Zhuangzi goes as follows: Once, the first Lord of Song commanded several painters to paint pictures, and a painter came late, sauntering in without any haste; after accepting his commands he did not look for a place to stand in line with the other painters but went back to his quarters. The lord felt surprised and asked someone to see what he was doing. When hearing that the painter had loosened his robes, was half-naked, and sat with his legs spread out, the lord identified this painter as a real painter. The untrammeled appearance and behaviour of the painter are the demonstration of his leisurely and untrammeled mental freedom which imaginative evocation and spontaneous creation of art necessarily require. This has been commonly echoed by Chinese artists throughout history, and jieyi panbo

126

Chapter 3

(“loosening clothes and sitting with legs outspread, half-naked”) appears as a key phrase in aesthetic essays (Chan 1969, 210). 22. Also quoted in the later Qing critic Sheng Dashi’s Xishan Woyou Lu (Dream Journey among Rivers and Mountains) (see Wang and Ren 2002b, 659). 23. See also Wai-kam Ho’s (1991, 359–404) discussion of how the literary concepts of picture-like and picture-idea developed in the relationship between poetry and painting from the Han Dynasty, up until Yuan Dynasty. 24. Inspired by Bu Yantu’s idea that pictorial yi is like “an omnipresent idea which existed both temporally and logically before the natural world,” Jianping Gao (1996, 170–1) suggests that yi is analogous to Plato’s Idea. Whether it is appropriate to regard yi in the painter’s mind as analogous to Plato’s Idea is not my concern here. 25. What Kant means by “transcendental” refers to what lies beyond the limitation of knowledge gained through our experience, “with respect to the a priori conditions and elements of our experience” (Wenzel 2005, 155). In chapter 4, I will discuss the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature in Kant’s aesthetics, and explore in more detail the notion and transcendental element of tian as empowering artistic spontaneity in comparison with Kant’s nature giving the rule to art through genius. We will see that despite some similarities the transcendental element of tian in the Chinese artistic context is not quite the same as Kant’s sense. 26. The technical issue of artistic practice relating to yi and qiyun is beyond my concern here. 27. My translation of 畫以意為主，意至而氣韻出焉 (惲向,《跋》). 28. Yu-kung Kao (1991, 66‒67) suggests yi in literature contributes to its lyric feature. 29. Johnson (1979, 175) suggests that for Kant, the artist’s “act of imposing formal purposiveness (through playing with formal relations) is the expression of aesthetic ideas.” 30. For a discussion of ten unique aesthetic features in classical Chinese art, see Zhu Liangzhi (2003). 31. Concerning the dialectic of harmonisation of polarities in Daoism and Confucianism, see Cheng (2006, 26–35). 32. Wenzel (2010, 331) notes that the Dao in Confucian philosophy does not involve a phenomenal-noumenal distinction. Simon Shengjian Xie (2010, 806) claims that the Dao in Laozi’s texts is “what Kant calls noumena.” I think that Wenzel’s view is correct and Xie’s view is inaccurate but have no space to argue that here. 33. Jianping Gao (1996, 171) translates lingqi in Shen Zongqian’s text as “a spiritual force.”

Chapter 4

Spontaneity of Qiyun Genius as the Innate Mental Talent of Rule-Giving

INTRODUCTION We have seen in chapter 2 that Jing Hao advises the landscapist to forget brush and ink to attain the real scene of landscape, and Guo Ruoxu suggests that qiyun originates in an innate mental talent of the gifted painter, and creating a work replete with qiyun is “an unspoken accord, a spiritual communion [shenhui]; ‘something that happens without one’s knowing how,’” and “what it depends on is had from the motive force of heaven [tianji 天機].” (Bush and Shih 2012, 95–96; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 316–317) Their claims, especially Guo Ruoxu’s view regarding artistic spontaneity in creating a painting replete with qiyun, remind one of Kant’s view of genius’ spontaneity. Kant defines fine art thus: “In a product of art one must be aware that it is art, and not nature; yet the purposiveness in its form must still seem to be as free from all constraint by arbitrary rules as if it were a mere product of nature.” (KU §45, 5: 306) For Kant, if there is any rule for genius creating art, only nature endows genius with it (KU §46, 5: 307‒308). Following chapter 3 which discusses the idea-giving of genius, this chapter will deal with the rule-giving of genius in the qiyun-focused context in comparison with Kant’s relevant ideas. Karl-Heinz Pohl (2006, 130) notes that the core value and ideal of Chinese aesthetic traditions (of literature, painting and calligraphy) lies in “achieving a degree of artistic perfection in the work of art which made it seem like a work of nature, and yet conveying a sense of spiritual mastery” and valuing the “unity of rule and no rule.”1 He finds evidence in literary and painting texts: the Northern Song scholar-artist Su Shi draws an analogy between his spontaneous writing and a gushing spring, the Ming scholar Li Mengyang (1475‒1529) echoes the notion of “living rule” proposed by the Song poetry 127

128

Chapter 4

critic Lü Benzhong (1084‒1145), who is later than Su Shi, the Qing poetry critic Ye Xie (1627‒1703) further illustrates the living rule as the rule of nature, and Ye Xie’s contemporary monk-painter Shi Tao advocates the rule of no rule as the ultimate rule.2 For Pohl, the valuing of transcendence of artistic rules suggested in these texts appear to parallel Kant’s account of art being created with purposiveness but appearing free from any rules (129). Again, as Pohl (2006, 135) also recognizes, those Chinese texts on art were written on a practical basis in a suggestive, unsystematic and poetic style, while Kant’s writing is analytical and systematic, contributing to a transcendental philosophical system. Moreover, it is noteworthy that Kant’s transcendental aesthetics is not interested in explaining how genius creates art spontaneously from a practical perspective, but rather engages in explaining what it is and in showing that spontaneity must exist for genius creating art. With regard to artistic spontaneity in painting, Pohl merely points out Shi Tao’s view of the rule of no rule. However, it is worth noting that, as I have mentioned, the valuing of artistic spontaneity appears much earlier in Jing Hao and Guo Ruoxu’s writings. Shi Tao’s advocacy of the rule of no rule appears to echo the notion of tian endowing artistic spontaneity in qiyun aesthetics, as suggested by Guo Ruoxu. In this chapter, we shall see that Guo Ruoxu’s view of artistic spontaneity of genius in creating a painting replete with qiyun may be inspired by earlier Tang critics, and resonates with his contemporary scholar-artists’ and critics’ advocacy of artistic spontaneity; their views are echoed by later Yuan, Ming, and Qing artists and critics, including Shi Tao, Shen Zongqian, and others. In addition, we will see that the notions of tian and Dao formulated in pre-Qin Daoist and Confucian philosophy, and the idea of forgetfulness (wang 忘) in Zhuangzi’s philosophy, underpin this continuous valuing of artistic spontaneity of genius.3 In this chapter, I first argue that (i) regarding artistic spontaneity the basis of comparison between qiyun aesthetics and Kant’s ideas lies in the following two conditions: First, tian 天 empowering artistic spontaneity in texts on painting (including Guo Ruoxu’s Tuhua Jianwen Zhi) is analogous to Kant’s idea of nature giving the rule through genius; Second, the impossibility of defining the Dao (way) illustrated in spontaneous creation is analogous to the impossibility of communicating the Kantian rule with which nature endows art through genius. Although the transcendental element of tian and the Dao penetrating everything appears similar to the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature in Kant’s aesthetics, and the Chinese advocacy of the artist “working like the universe” may help to illuminate the vagueness of Kant’s notion of nature offering the rule to art through genius, the differences between the two philosophical traditions cannot be ignored. (ii) Through examining whether the detached and untrammeled mental state experienced by the qiyun-focused artist in artistic spontaneity appears equivalent to

Spontaneity of Qiyun

129

Kantian aesthetic freedom, we shall see that the former involves the overcoming of self-consciousness. In the next step, when moving to examine the co-play of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness in spontaneity, I suggest that (iii) the dialectic of ningshen 凝神 (concentration) and wang (forgetfulness), inspired by Zhuangzi’s philosophy, valued in Tang and Song artistic texts in relation to qiyun aesthetics and echoed by later Ming and Qing artists and critics, may be interpreted along a similar line to the dialectic of “genius as the chiasm of the conscious and the unconscious” which Tanehisa Otabe (2012, 89–101) thinks is hidden in Kant’s account of genius. However, (iv) the role of unselfconsciousness implied in genius’ creation may constitute a paradox in Kant’s aesthetic theory, and it is difficult to see how the contradiction between genius as chiasm of the unconscious and conscious and genius as the unity of imagination and understanding can be overcome within the strict rationalist confine of Kant’s philosophy. (v) I suggest that in the Chinese context, the fusion of subject (artist) and object (absent in Kant’s philosophy) realized through unselfconscious spontaneity serves or corresponds to shenhui between artist and object in qiyun aesthetics. We shall see that in terms of explaining the co-play of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness, compared with the strict rationalism of Kant’s philosophy, Daoist philosophy of wuhua 物化 (fusion of the self with the object) and wuwei 無為 (acting without conscious intention or effort) offers more flexibility to avoid any potential paradox in artistic practice. (vi) Finally we will see that somatic training of genius allows qiyun-focused artists to follow the Dao of spontaneity and exploit the positive power of unselfconsciousness, but this point is also absent in Kant’s philosophy. Since in classical Chinese philosophical and aesthetic contexts mind/heart-mind is regarded as an essential part of body, and somatic training is valued for cultivating the coordination of mind and hand, I will touch on the mind-body issue and mention scholars’ debates on mind-body holism in Early Chinese ideas, and point out that objectors to mind-body holism, including Edward Slingerland, may have neglected the spiritual weight involved in the notion of qi or qiyun beyond its apparently physical or physiological meaning.4 4.1 THE RULE OF NO RULE OR THE RULE OF NATURE In this section, I suggest that the application of Kant’s account of spontaneity of genius within the qiyun-focused artistic context appears tenable given the notion of tian (heaven) is analogous to Kant’s term “nature” which endows art with the rule, and that the notion of Dao applied in art is analogous to the Kantian rule which nature gives through genius. Second, by examining

130

Chapter 4

Zhuangzi’s stories inspiring artistic spontaneity, we will find that the freedom achieved by qiyun-oriented artists during artistic spontaneity appears consistent with Kantian aesthetic freedom, while the overcoming of selfconsciousness is valued in the former. 4.1.1 Tian vs. Kantian Nature, Dao vs. Kant’s Rule Kant explains the spontaneity of genius thus: [Genius] cannot itself describe or indicate scientifically how it brings its product into being, but rather it gives the rule as nature, and hence the author of a product that he owes to his genius does not know himself how the ideas for it come to him, and also does not have it in his power to think up such things at will or according to plan. (KU §46, 5: 308)

In short, Kant suggests that spontaneous creation cannot be designed beforehand by following any predetermined rules (including rules set by previous masters or school teaching). This is analogous to aesthetic judgment (defined by him) having no recourse to concepts or formulas (see Bruno 2010, 113). Similarly, in the qiyun-focused context, the process through which the painter feels ready to achieve a rapport with the object through spiritual resonance and releases image-associated yi (ideas) established in his mind into the final work is a spontaneous achievement. As mentioned above, Guo Ruoxu suggests that creating works replete with qiyun is “[shenhui], ‘something that happens without one’s knowing how,’” and “what it depends on is had from the motive force of heaven [tianji 天機].” Before Guo Ruoxu, the Tang poet Bai Juyi (772–846) offers a similar view on artistic spontaneity originating in tian in his Huaji (Record on Painting): In sketching an idea or forming a thing, usually what has been turned over in the mind seems like [shenhui]. [. . . .] [Learning] [. . .] is achieved by mental art, and skill matching creation comes from natural harmony [tianhe 天和]. [The painter Zhang Dunjian] merely received from his mind and transmitted to his hand, and it is so without his being conscious of its being so. (Bush and Shih 2012, 71; my emphasis; see Yu 1986, 25)

Although Bai Juyi does not mention the notion of qiyun in his writing, one may suggest that Guo Ruoxu may be inspired by him, regarding the role of tian involved in artistic spontaneity. The counterpart of tian in Kant’s account of genius appears to be nature. For Kant, “by means of genius nature does not prescribe the rule to science, but to art; and even to the latter only insofar as it is to be beautiful art,” while

Spontaneity of Qiyun

131

genius only follows the rule which nature (in the subject) gives to art (KU §46, 5: 307‒308). By reading classical texts on painting such as Bai Juyi’s and Guo Ruoxu’s texts mentioned above and later artists’ and critics’ writings, we can see that a similar idea about the rule of nature is adopted by qiyun-focused painters. For instance, similarly to Bai Juyi’s claim that learning is gained through mental art and artistic skill originates in tianhe (natural harmony) and Guo Ruoxu’s claim that the ability to creating a painting replete with qiyun originates in tianji (the motive force of heaven), in the early Yuan bamboo painting master and critic Li Kan’s (1245–1320) eyes, the Northern Song bamboo painting master Wen Tong’s art exemplifies the unity of rule and no rule in artistic spontaneity by transcending the constraints of the rules of “the dusty world” and “[indulging] in all the desires of his heart without transgressing the rules.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 278)5 In these terms Wen Tong’s art appears to fit in with Kant’s claim that A product of art appears as nature, however, if we find it to agree punctiliously but not painstakingly with rules in accordance with which alone the product can become what it ought to be, that is, without the academic form showing through, i.e., without showing any sign that the rule has hovered before the eyes of the artist and fettered his mental powers. (KU §45, 5: 307)

As seen above, the mysterious origin of artistic spontaneity is suggested in such expressions as “comes from natural harmony” (tianhe 天和) and “from the motive force of heaven” (tianji 天機). Reading more classical texts on painting, one can note similar phrases regarding tian. For instance, Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary Shen Kuo praises a painting by the Tang artist Wang Wei: “The principles of his creation partook of the divine and in a special way he obtained the ideas of nature [tianyi 天意].” (Bush and Shih 2012, 100; my emphasis) We saw in chapter 2, Jing Hao praises Wang Wei’s landscape painting as replete with pure and lofty qiyun. Li Kan praises Wen Tong as “a genius endowed by nature [tianzong 天縱], as well as a sage with innate knowledge,” who “moved his brush as if aided by divinities [shenzhu 神助] to achieve subtleties in harmony with natural creation [tiancheng 天成].” (278; my emphasis; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 682)6 As seen above, in texts on artistic spontaneity tian 天 is translated into English as “nature,” and shen 神 as “divinities” (which appears to point to the ruling deity or divine power of tian). Tian has different meanings in Chinese philosophy. According to the modern historian of Chinese philosophy Fung Yu-lan (1895‒1990) (1952, 31, 284–285), (1) in a material or physical sense, tian (heaven) is opposite to di (earth), and tiandi refers to the physical universe; (2) tian refers to a ruling

132

Chapter 4

power as supersensible anthropomorphic being; (3) in some contexts tian means fate; (4) in what we might call a naturalistic sense, tian is equivalent to the English word nature as that refers to the familiar “natural world” working spontaneously where the sun, the moon, and stars run in their orbits, four seasons rotate, wind, frost, rains, and snows work in their own rhythm, and plants and animals grow and complete their own lives; (5) tian also has an ethical sense in which it refers to the moral principle that is the highest, or most primordial, principle of the universe.7 If we understand tian in the texts on painting mentioned above naturalistically as referring to the natural world with its spontaneous working, a supersensible power appears to play its role behind this natural world.8 However, with regard to artistic spontaneity, one might also claim that tian refers to the inner nature of the gifted artist working in a way analogous to that of the natural universe. Wenzel (2010, 328‒332) suggests that Kant’s a priori principle of purposiveness of nature may be seen as an analogous principle with which to illuminate the roles of tian and of the Dao penetrating everything. I will now suggest a clear way to understand tian’s association with spontaneity in comparison with Kant’s notion of nature’s provision of the rule to art through genius. Kant does not use the term “nature” to refer only to the natural world consisting of plants, animals, and landscapes working spontaneously in Laozi’s, Zhuangzi’s, or Xunzi’s sense. The term “nature” refers variously to different elements of the system Kant sets out across his three Critiques, including nature as a thing-in-itself, nature as appearance in the sense of an epistemic object structured by human reason (or the categories of human understanding), and nature as appearance in the sense of an object of aesthetic judgment (see Pang-White 2009, 63). One might question whether the Kantian “nature” giving the rule through genius refers to the natural world, or to human nature. Wenzel (2005, 99‒100) claims it refers to the latter; to be more specific: the free and harmonious play of imagination and understanding of human beings. If this is true, why does Kant not directly state that the free play of imagination and understanding gives genius the rule to art? Can we interpret “nature” in Kant’s claim that nature gives the rule through genius to art as referring instead to the nature surrounding us and including us, given that the subject works in a way analogous to that of surrounding nature and belongs to the natural world? From the following examination of Shi Tao’s text, which echoes earlier scholars’ views of artistic spontaneity originating in tian, alongside the assumption of formal purposiveness of nature in Kant’s aesthetics, we will see whether the meaning of tian as endowing gifted artists with spontaneity may help us illuminate the Kantian notion of nature endowing genius with the rule.9 As Pohl notes, the rule of no rule implied by Shi Tao in his theory of one-stroke (yihua 一劃) is impressive.10 In Kugua Heshang Huayu Lu (The

Spontaneity of Qiyun

133

Remarks of the Bitter Mellon Monk), Shi Tao regards landscape painting as deriving from the mind of the artist, and claims that “the perfect man” (who appears the best candidate for painting landscape masterpieces) has no fa 法 (may be translated as rule or law) and emphasizes that the rule of no rule (fa of no fa) is the best rule (fa) (Lin 1967, 142; see Yu 1986, 148).11 For him, the rule of no rule is the rule of one-stroke that is analogous to the one-stroke of initiating tiandi (as if there is a creator of tiandi): In the primeval past there was no [rule] [fa]. The primeval chaos was not differentiated. When the primeval chaos was differentiated, [fa] was born. How was this [fa] born? It was born of one-stroke. This one-stroke is that out of which all phenomena are born, applied by the gods and to be applied by man. People of the world do not know this. [. . . .] The establishment of this onestroke [fa] creates a [fa] out of [no-fa], and a [fa] which covers all [fa]s [. . .] For since the primeval chaos become differentiated, the one-stroke [fa] was born. Since the one-stroke [fa] was born, all objects of the universe appeared. Therefore I say, “This one principle covers all” [. . .] Once [the fa of one-stroke] is understood, the obstacles fall away from man’s vision and he can paint freely according to his will; painting according to his will automatically removes the obstacles.” (Lin 1967, 140–142; with modifications; see Yu 1986, 147; Wang and Ren 2002b, 298–299)

Shi Tao’s text suggests that the one-stroke or the first stroke gives birth to the universe from undifferentiated chaos, while the landscapist similarly applies his initial and original one-stroke to release images onto the silk or paper spontaneously. For Shi Tao, the way of the brushwork controlled by the wrist and commanded by the mind is like the way of initiating the universe and life (see Yu 1986, 149; Wang and Ren 2002b, 300). There is no predetermined rule for initiating the universe; if there is, it is the rule of one-stroke, that is the Dao of the universe, from which all rules and things emerge.12 Similarly, there is no predetermined rule or method for the painter’s artistic spontaneity; if there is, it is the rule of one-stroke. Here, we can see that Shi Tao’s one-stroke theory appears to be inspired by Laozi’s philosophy. The so-called rule of one-stroke as the Dao of the universe is born along with the universe, and in a similar way the rule of one-stroke in painting is born with painting during the painter’s spontaneous creation. In Kugua Heshang Huayu Lu Shi Tao advises the landscapist to grasp the one-stroke in applying the brush and ink so as to capture the ling 靈, shen 神, jingling 精靈, qimai 氣脈, and qixiang 氣象 of landscape, and prizes the shenyu 神遇 (which is a synonym of shenhui, and may also be translated as “spiritual communion”) between landscape and himself.13 Considering the analogy of shen and qiyun explained in chapters 1 and 3 and his advocacy of

134

Chapter 4

shenyu, it is worth noting that Shi Tao’s ideas resonate with qiyun aesthetics. In addition, his rule of one-stroke as analogous to the Dao of nature appears to echo Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary Wang Qinchen’s suggestion that being in accord with the Dao is an ideal mental state for the artist to capture the shenjun (spiritual excellence) of depicted objects and convey it in the painting. As mentioned in chapter 2, although Wang Qinchen does not use the term qiyun, he apparently echoes Guo Ruoxu’s emphasis on innate mental disposition, and further suggests that the artist’s mind should comply with the Dao. Following Shi Tao’s advice of applying the one-stroke, the landscapist works in a way similar to the Dao of nature in the operation of tian, and applying the one-stroke is impossible if the artist’s mind is not in accord with the Dao. Ju Hsi Chou (1977, 1–49) suggests that Shi Tao’s theory of one-stroke finds philosophical support from the first hexagram qiangua 乾卦 explained in the Book of Changes in which qian 乾 refers to the creative tian.14 One may think that Shi Tao’s text implies a creator who initiates tiandi. However, although there were some mysterious stories or fables, as François Jullien (2012, 25, 31, 38) points out, the (Confucian and Daoist) Chinese view of the origin is not haunted by a “God” or “Demiurge”; the Chinese (including Shi Tao) do not “invent any great cosmogonic framework for itself or grant any great credence in the story of Creation,” and they understand the foundation-fount of the universe in neither a theological nor a European ontological sense.15 Even though Shi Tao’s writing style is poetic and suggestive, in a way quite opposite to Kant’s systematic and critical style, one might feel that Shi Tao’s views involve a transcendental component, since the way of the artist creating the artwork is analogous to the way of initiating the universe. In the light of Kant’s transcendental philosophy, one might claim that the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature analogously applies to genius (as the mental disposition of the gifted artist), and this illuminates what Kant means by “nature in the subject (and by means of the disposition of its faculties)” giving the rule to art (KU §46, 5: 307). For Kant, the formal purposiveness of nature as aesthetic object does not lie in nature itself, but is in relation to us as the appreciator of its beauty.16 Beauty in nature which suitably (purposively) offers us pleasure as disinterested satisfaction, and the disinterestedness of aesthetic satisfaction means that aesthetic pleasure in the representation of the object involves no purpose (interests and determinate concepts) (see KU §1‒§5, 5: 203‒211; KU §11‒§13, 5: 221‒223; Wenzel 2005, 9‒12). For the aesthetic judgment, nature’s formal purposiveness as an a priori principle suggests no determinate purposes in nature, and thus guarantees subjective aesthetic pleasure is disinterested. Klaus Düsing (1990, 83) explains that, “the concept of purposiveness is based on the concept of final causality as a specific sort of relation.” Although this pleasure is “felt and is therefore something empirical,” it is related to cognition (transcendentally conceived);

Spontaneity of Qiyun

135

“there is also an a priori basis for it, namely the principle of purposiveness,” and we think of the purpose of this pleasure as a purpose in itself since the cause and effect of this pleasure are the same (Wenzel 2005, 56). In the case of artwork, even though Kant thinks that beautiful artworks supply adherent beauty and admits that “art always has a determinate intention of producing something,” he emphasizes that “the purposiveness in the product of beautiful art, although it is certainly intentional, must nevertheless not seem intentional; i.e., beautiful art must be regarded as nature, although of course one is aware of it as art.” (KU §45, 5: 306‒307)17 The purposiveness of the genius creating beautiful work appears analogous to that of nature. In this sense, there is no rule for genius creating art, and if there is, it is the purposiveness of nature in the gifted artist who belongs to the natural world and works in a way analogous to nature (and by means of his mental disposition) that guides him to create the original rule to his work. J. H. Zammito (1992, 132) points out that, “nature is considered (by Kant) beautiful when it looks like art, but we know it is not. It is inadvertent artifice: in what seems to be designed, yet cannot be ascribed to any worldly artist,” while the subjective, or apparent, purposiveness of nature endows nature with its inadvertent artifice. Nature’s “inadvertent artifice” posited by the subjective principle of purposiveness helps us better understand that the supersensible substrate of nature in genius is analogous to that of nature as aesthetic object. The purposiveness without purpose in genius is also subjective, (similarly to that of nature which, as mentioned above, only makes sense for human beings as appreciators of its beauty, including the gifted artist as the first appreciator of his beautiful art). Thus, I agree with Paul W. Bruno (2010, 111) that the a priori principle of the formal purposiveness of nature is “operative with regard to genius.”18 Compared with the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature, the purposiveness without purpose in genius appears to have a more pragmatic and psychological significance for appreciating how genius works, as Otabe illustrates in his view of genius as the “chiasm of the conscious and unconscious,” which I will turn to in section 4.2. Although the analogy of the way which the artist paints with the way of initiating the universe in Shi Tao’s text might help to illuminate the notion of nature offering the rule through genius into the work, it is worth reiterating that whether in Daoist or Confucian philosophy, the Dao penetrates everything, and unlike Kant who separates noumenal and phenomenal nature, there is no such distinction between noumenon and phenomenon in Daoist philosophy or Confucianism. Even if the Dao, as said in chapter 3, may be regarded as something above phenomena, it is believed to be captured or fulfilled by masters in artistic spontaneity. For Kant, noumena (things in themselves) are inaccessible; through reflective judgments of beauty (beautiful appearance), cognitive knowledge of external, mechanical nature, and the moral autonomy

136

Chapter 4

of inner nature find an intermediary rather than standing at two unbridgeable precipices (see Düsing 1990, 79‒92; Guyer 2014, 8; Bruno 2010, 81‒82; Wenzel 2005, 123). This is supported by the a priori principle of subjective purposiveness of nature along with Kant’s account of beauty as the symbol of morality which suggests the form of our reflection on beauty through aesthetic judgment is analogous to that on morality.19 Moreover, it should be noted that even though the supersensible, transcendental element of tian shares some features with Kant’s a priori principle of formal purposiveness of nature, again tian has a more pragmatic significance and phenomenal focus in the qiyun-focused artistic context which gets philosophical support from both Confucianism and Daoism. However, it should be emphasized that, for Kant, the supersensible substrate of nature and the ideality of subjective purposiveness in the beautiful as the basis of aesthetic judgment never allows the assumption of “any realism of an end” or “an objective purposiveness of nature” as the explanatory ground of our aesthetic satisfaction (KU §58, 5: 350). As mentioned above, the notion of fa of no fa imitating the Dao of nature in Shi Tao’s text is inspired by both pre-Qin Confucian and Daoist ideas of the notion of tian and the Dao of nature.20 Guanzi appears to offer a similar view to Zhuangzi’s and Xunzi’s understanding of tian, in the following explanation of the rule of the universe: “That the four seasons do not change, that the stars do not alter in their course, that there is day and night, shadow and light with the shining of sun and moon, that is rule [fa].” (Pohl 2006, 128) Before Guanzi, Laozi tells us that it is hard to use language to convey the Dao (of nature).21 A perfect way to clarify the Dao of nature is to point to examples rather than using language to define it. In the next subsection, we will see that later artists and critics acquire knowledge of the Dao of nature from Zhuangzi’s (2013, 19–20, 152) stories of cook Ding cutting up oxen, who “goes at it by spirit instead of looking with eyes,” and of woodworker Qing making a bell-stand who “matches up tian with tian.” Although I remind the reader that the philosophical basis of the Dao penetrating everything is quite different from Kant’s split of inaccessible noumenon and sensible appearance, it is worth noting that the difficulty of defining the Dao that inspires artistic spontaneity is quite similar to that of defining what Kant calls the rule which genius cannot itself describe but rather gives as nature does (KU §46, 5: 308). 4.1.2 The Aesthetic Freedom of Genius We just saw above that for Kant, nature in the subject and by means of its innate mental disposition gives the rule to art, while genius as the innate mental disposition is the harmonious union of imagination and understanding (KU §46, 5: 307; §49, 5: 316‒317). Is this also the innate mental disposition

Spontaneity of Qiyun

137

for a qiyun-focused gifted artist engaging in artistic spontaneity? As seen in chapter 3, the untrammeled mental state experienced by the qiyun-focused artist in presenting yi reminds us of Kantian aesthetic freedom, although classical texts on qiyun aesthetics do not say anything of the union of imagination and understanding. As we also saw, Guo Ruoxu says that qiyun originates in youxin 游心 (translatable as the carefree wandering of the spirit), and Jullien (2012, 165) notes that Guo Ruoxu borrows the term youxin from Zhuangzi. The untrammeled and harmonious self-pleasing of the spirit [shen] is described by Zhuangzi (2013, 28) in the first chapter Xiaoyao You (Free and Easy Wandering) in Zhuangzi as letting your mind roam freely. For Zhuangzi (2013, 3), free and easy wandering is much better than the flying of the bird named Peng with the power to stir the sea and Liezi’s riding the wind and soaring around with cool and breezy skill for five days, since those two’s traveling still relies on external things such as wind. Free and easy wandering does not merely refer to wandering without any physical constraints or dependence, but suggests the real freedom of getting rid of worldly boundaries such as self-identity, social morality, and fame or reputation.22 Jullien (2012, 165) interprets carefree wandering as an attempt to “express the movements of someone who, free of any aim, no longer submits to any injunction or constraint, and flourishes in that fluidity.” Most people in the secular world could not become recluses and rid themselves completely of the bounds of family responsibilities and social duties. However, inspired by Zhuangzi’s philosophy, the carefree wandering of shen, as we saw in chapter 3, is realized as an ideal mental state for qiyun-focused painters engaging in imaginative evocation and presenting yi. In the following examination of Zhuangzi’s two stories about spontaneity, we will see that both cook Ding and woodworker Qing appear to demonstrate Kantian aesthetic freedom in cutting up oxen and making a bell-stand, respectively, but also that the overcoming of self-consciousness involved in this untrammeled mental freedom appears significant for inspiring later artists to grasp artistic spontaneity. Regarding artistic spontaneity and capturing the Dao, one might wonder why the stories of cook Ding cutting up oxen and woodworker Qing making a bell-stand were frequently discussed by later artists and critics as an exemplary philosophical support and whether Ding and Qing experience the same mental state as Kant’s genius in artistic creation. For instance, Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary Huang Tingjian indicates the common point behind the two stories in his colophon on an ink bamboo painting: “The cook’s cutting up of oxen and the woodworker Qing’s carving of a bell-stand went with their having clarity in themselves and a concentration of vitality like divinities, so closely united that nothing could come between; only then could they achieve

138

Chapter 4

excellence.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 212; Bush 2012, 48) What does his claim mean? Why are the two stories so meaningful? The story of cook Ding cutting up oxen is in the third chapter (The Secret of Caring for Life) of Zhuangzi. Ding cuts the ox as if performing the classical dance Mulberry Groves and keeping time with the classical music piece Jingshou, since “at every touch of his hand, every heave of his shoulder, every move of his feet, every thrust of his knee,” every sound made during the cutting is “in perfect rhythm.”23 Lord Wenhui wonders how he has acquired this skill. Ding replies that what he cares about is the Dao beyond skill. Here, the Dao beyond skill implies that the rule of nature is beyond any predetermined technical rules which could be learned from teachers. Ding then explains what the Dao beyond skill is and how he has been practicing it for nineteen years by telling of his experience of cutting up oxen. At the beginning his eyes focus on the whole ox, then, after three years’ practice, he no longer sees the whole ox and he “[goes] at it by spirit [yi shenyu 以神遇]” instead of looking at it through his eyes.24 When going at it by spirit [shen] instead of looking, his “perception and understanding have come to a stop, and spirit [shen] moves where it wants.” (Zhuangzi 2013, 19) In this state, he just complies with the ox’s natural makeup, chops in the big hollows, and lets the knife go through the big openings, without touching the ligament, tendon, or joint. Thus, the knife having been used in cutting up thousands of oxen for nineteen years still appears brand new as if just bought (19–20). However, one might still wonder why Ding’s story illustrates the Dao (of nature) beyond skill, and has inspired later artists over the ages. Ding explains that, “there are spaces between the joints” of oxen where “the blade of the knife has really no thickness,” and “if you insert what has no thickness into such spaces, then there’s plenty of room—more than enough for the blade to play about in.” (Zhuangzi 2013, 20) This can be regarded as an analogy used by Zhuangzi for later students to imagine the freedom of the mind: in a mind with no sensuous or rational enslavement, shen soars freely without distraction. When going at it by shen instead of looking with the eyes, the faculties of perception and understanding (appear to) stop working, and the mind achieves freedom by escaping the slavery of sensuous constraints and rational compulsion, and thus spontaneity arises. As Xu Fuguan argues, when cook Ding is cutting up oxen, the contradiction and conflict between the cook and the ox is destroyed because he no longer neither uses his eyes to see the whole ox nor applies his reason and cognition to analyze it. That is, the gap between subject and object is eliminated. Additionally, the distance between the cook’s hands handling the knife and his mind has been shortened to a minimum by his “going at it by spirit,” and thus the boundary between technique and mind caused by interests or determinate concepts has also been erased. Due to the vanishing of those conflicts and the emancipation

Spontaneity of Qiyun

139

from sensuous and rational constraints, cook Ding is able to perform his “play” freely and spontaneously, and realize the “free and easy wandering” advocated by Zhuangzi (Xu 2001, 32). This mental freedom experienced by cook Ding in cutting up oxen is similar to the Kantian aesthetic freedom experienced by genius during spontaneous creation. For Kant, the pleasure of appreciating beauty is disinterested, achieved by a free and harmonious play of imagination and understanding in the appreciator’s mind (KU §1‒§9, 5: 203‒219). Kantian aesthetic freedom is the mental freedom enjoyed by the agent in making an aesthetic judgment, as a matter of emancipation from any constraints imposed by sensuous desires, determinate concepts, moral ends, or practical utilities. Kant implies that genius experiences aesthetic freedom during spontaneous creation since the harmonious and free play of imagination and understanding in his account of genius appears identical to that in his account of aesthetic judgment. According to Guyer (1993, 295), genius is “an optimal combination of freedom and taste,” since Kant emphasizes that taste is one of the four necessary conditions for genius creating art.25 In the process of creating art, the aesthetic judgment first occurs in the work’s producer (genius is the innate mental talent of a gifted artist who makes genuine art). If an artwork is regarded as beautiful, this is judged by its first observer, the artist, as beautiful, and the universal validity of taste defined by Kant will guarantee that the beauty of the artwork would also be appreciated by anyone else with taste. Thus, when creating art, genius must experience disinterested aesthetic pleasure and fulfill aesthetic freedom. That is, the disinterested pleasure fulfilled through genius requires the free play of imagination and understanding to be exempted from any constraints of determinate concepts, sensuous interests, or moral or practical utilities. Thus, we may understand why the creation by genius is a process which is “not detrimental to the freedom of the play of the mental powers.” (KU §48, 5: 313) Similarly, the elusive spontaneity of “matching up [tian] with [tian]” belongs to the pure and free mind of gifted artists whose work makes audiences wonder whether it was made by divine power. In Zhuangzi (Mastering Life, chapter 19): Woodworker Qing makes a bell-stand by carving a piece of wood, and everyone who sees the completed bell-stand feels surprised by its striking beauty as if it is made by gods or spirits rather than by human efforts. When the Marquis of Lu sees it and asks Qing how to make it, Qing explains that until his mind became still enough by fasting for several days, he did not even go to the mountain forests in search of wood. Through fasting, he gradually gets rid of the distractions of thinking of possible “congratulations,” “rewards,” “titles,” and “stipends,” and worrying whether his skills are sufficient, and finally he even forgets his limbs and body (Zhuangzi 2013, 152). On the one hand, the final state of forgetting self and everything

140

Chapter 4

else he achieves is without any distraction of sensuous interest, differentiable concept, purpose, or utility, so Qing’s mental state seems to fit the Kantian aesthetic freedom required by the spontaneous creation of genius. However, the Dao of matching up tian (nature) with tian practiced by Qing has more instructional meanings for artists than the Kantian position.26 The former may suggest the artist should match the material’s nature with the artwork’s nature. The modern aesthetician Li Zehou (2010, 77, 108) argues that matching up tian with tian suggests that the artist’s own nature matches that of the object (material/ artwork), and thus the Daoist aesthetics of the “naturalisation of humans” and the unity of one with nature (tian) reflected in this story is consistent with “the Confucian idea of the ‘homologization of heaven [tian] and humans’ or the ‘resonance between heaven and humans.’” On the other hand, it should be noted that the state of forgetting oneself and any distractions gradually experienced by Qing suggests the overcoming of self-consciousness. The overcoming of self-consciousness is also implied in the story of Ding cutting up oxen, since his perception and understanding have come to a stop when he goes with shen instead of looking at the ox with his eyes. The valuing of unselfconsciousness in these two stories seems different to the Kantian view of genius, and I will consider this shortly in the next section. In the eyes of later artists and critics including Huang Tingjian and Shi Tao, these two stories help to explain artistic spontaneity and how to enable the mind to be in accord with the Dao.27 Although Zhuangzi, who gives inspiration to later artists, does not supply as sophisticated an analysis as Kant does in defining genius as the unity of imagination and understanding, his text (about forgetfulness) suggests the overcoming of self-consciousness. As Li Zehou (2010, 110‒115) points out, the unconsciousness or nonconsciousness advocated in Zhuangzi’s texts and manipulated by artists inspired by Zhuangzi refers to the transcendence of self-consciousness, not “‘dormant’ animal instinct,” and the valuing of it is a significant aspect of Chinese aesthetic tradition. The next section will examine in detail the working of unselfconsciousness for a qiyun-focused artist preparing a rapport with the object to convey qiyun through painting. 4.2 THE INTENTION OF NO INTENTION: THE VALUING OF UNSELFCONSCIOUSNESS As Li Zehou (2010, 111) also notes, the role of unselfconsciousness is suggested in Guo Ruoxu’s claim that painting replete with qiyun is created “when tacit comprehension [moqi 默契] and spiritual inspiration [shenghui] come to an artist, he does not know how or why.”28 In this section, we

Spontaneity of Qiyun

141

will see that Guo Ruoxu’s valuing of unselfconsciousness here echoes the Tang connoisseur Zhang Yanyuan’s view and resonates with his contemporary leading scholar-artists’ and critics’ advocacy of the dialectic of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness in artistic spontaneity, a dialectic followed by later Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing artists and critics including Wu Zhen (1280–1354), Ni Zan, Wang Yuanqi, Shi Tao, and Shen Zongqian.29 However, this dialectic may be in tension with Kant’s definition of genius. By examining the Daoist ideas of wuwei and wuhua, I suggest that the Daoist philosophy does a better job than Kant of showing the value of the overcoming of self-consciousness involved in artistic spontaneity. 4.2.1 Between Youyi and Wuyi: Concentration and Forgetfulness In this subsection, we will see that inspired by Zhuangzi’s ideas, both ningshen (concentration, involving intense self-conscious intention and effort) and wang (forgetfulness, which involves the overcoming of self-consciousness in a trance-like state) are valued for qiyun-focused artists for spontaneous creation. However, one may question Otabe’s view of Kantian genius as chiasm of the unconscious and conscious, and insists that it is unclear that the unconscious is an important concept in Kant’s account of genius, let alone bridging the chasm between the unconscious and conscious. The valuing of both self-conscious concentration and unselfconscious forgetfulness appears in Lidai Minghua Ji by Zhang Yanyuan who inherits Xie He’s six laws. In his comment on Wu Daozi’s painting, Zhang Yanyuan says that by commanding his own spirit (zhuanqishen 專其神), and focusing on the object depicted (shouqiyi 守其一), the artist may produce a “real painting [replete with qiyun]” rather than a “dead painting.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 61–62; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 111) Here, Zhang Yanyuan indicates that he is inspired by Zhuangzi. He refers to Zhuangzi’s stories of cook Ding cutting up oxen and Carpenter Shi who whirled his hatchet like the wind and sliced off a speck of mud on the tip of a plasterer’s nose (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 111).30 As mentioned above, Ding’s story also involves the overcoming of self-consciousness. Zhang Yanyuan, who appears fully aware of the second point, suggests that intense concentration is not enough for the artist, and considers unselfconsciousness as necessary for qiyun-targeted artists so as to avoid the image (idea-image) being “stopped in the hand” or “frozen in the mind.”31 He suggests that, “the more one . . . consciously [thinks] of oneself as painting, the less success one will have when painting,” while “if one revolves thought and wields brush without ideas fixed on the act of painting, one will have success. Painting is not stopped in the hand, nor frozen in the mind, but becomes what it is without conscious realization.” (Bush and

142

Chapter 4

Shih 2012, 62; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 111) That is, the work may be more successful when less distracted by conscious intention and rational cognition. Two centuries after Zhang Yanyuan, Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary Su Shi illustrates the dialectic of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness in a poem in praise of Wen Tong painting bamboo: When Wen Tong painted bamboo, He saw bamboo and not himself. Not simply unconscious of himself, Trance-like, he left his body behind. His body was transferred into bamboo, Creating inexhaustible freshness. Zhuang Zhou is no longer in this world, So who can understand such concentration [ningshen]? (Bush and Shih 2012, 212)32

A vivid representation of this dialectic is illustrated in detail in the story of Wen Tong painting bamboos in an essay by Su Shi’s brother Su Zhe (1039– 1112). Wen Tong lives as if a recluse in a bamboo grove every day, looking and listening without awareness as if nothing affects his mind, regarding bamboos as his intimate friends and companions, drinking and eating, and lying down and resting among the bamboos. While at first he concentrates his shen on observing the shapes and changes of bamboos in different days and moments, later he “[enjoys] them without consciousness of doing so,” and then at an unpredictable moment when he feels ready, as if he has already forgotten the brush in his hand, he paints bamboos instantly and spontaneously (Bush and Shih 2012, 208; see Xu 2001, 226). Spontaneity occurs when the artist gets rid of any distraction of self-consciousness and the external environment, and paints unselfconsciously as if the interference of any conscious intention and effort has been excluded, while self-consciousness simultaneously works through commanding the hand to control the brush to release the perfect idea-image. On the one hand, at the moment of ningshen, the artist proceeds with his conscious intention and effort, which play a significant role during the whole process of contemplating the object depicted, establishing the idea-image in the mind, controlling the hand to respond to this, and finally releasing the image through brush and ink onto silk or paper.33 However, on the other hand, to get rid of all distractions including the object depicted and the painting technique, the artist needs to overcome the distractions of self-consciousness by forgetting self and everything else, as emphasized by Zhang Yanyuan, Guo Ruoxu, Su Shi, and Su Zhe.34 When forgetting everything in a trancelike state of becoming one with the object, the artist appears to discard his

Spontaneity of Qiyun

143

self-consciousness and act unselfconsciously. That is, while intentional selfconsciousness is involved, acting unselfconsciously appears to dominate spontaneity as if self-consciousness was discarded. Slightly after Guo Ruoxu and the Su brothers, Dong You apparently echoes Guo Ruoxu’s suggestion that the impossibility of teaching qiyun is due to the role of unselfconsciousness. He does this in a colophon on the paintings by the tenth-century master Li Cheng (one “leg” of the “tripod,” one of the three best Northern Song masters adept in painting landscape replete with qiyun as advocated by both Guo Ruoxu and later Tang Hou). For Dong You, later imitators who attempt to follow Li Cheng’s style by imitating the traces of his brushwork and exploring the composition of his painting do not realize that Li Cheng’s art owes much to wang (“forgetfulness”) (see Bush and Shih 2012, 210; Gao 1996, 158). On a painting in the style of Li Cheng, he comments that: “the artist suddenly forgets his four limbs and body, and what he sees through such inspiration is all mountains.” (Bush 2012, 53; my emphasis; quoted in Stanley-Baker 1977, 15) As mentioned in chapter 3, in another colophon commenting on the art of Cao Ba and Li Gonglin painting horses, Dong You reaffirms the significance of unselfconscious forgetfulness for attaining the perfect mental images. Although the painter might have become familiar enough with horses through everyday observation, it is only when he is able to “forget” horses (be unconscious of horses), that he will avoid “the hindrance of looking at horses.” At this stage, myriads of forms of horses “disappear abruptly as if extinguished and non-existent,” and the perfect idea-image of a “true horse” will “suddenly emerge” in front of the artist’s eyes, ready to be released onto silk or paper (Bush and Shih 2012, 215). One century after Dong You, the Yuan landscape master Wu Zhen admits in a poem that unconsciousness dominates his artistic creation: When I begin to paint I am not conscious of myself, And suddenly forget about the brush in my hand. If the butcher or wheelwright were to return, Would they not recognise this feeling again? (Bush and Shih 2012, 279; my emphasis; see also Bush 2012, 132)35

Furthermore, in Nelson’s study of the inimitability of Ni Zan mentioned above in chapter 3, the early Qing scholar-artist and critic Wang Yuanqi apparently affirms the dialectic in his comment that Ni Zan’s spontaneity lies between youyi (with conscious intention) and wuyi (without conscious intention). Wang Yuanqi’s contemporary Shi Tao also suggests that during his painting, “his ink seems to be there by itself, and his brush moves as if not doing anything,” while the artist who punctiliously and tensely

144

Chapter 4

strives to paint “destroys” himself and his works (Lin 1967, 152–153; Yu 1986, 157). After Wang Yuanqi and Shi Tao, the eighteenth-century Shen Zongqian continues to advocate that the best state for painting is between youyi and wuyi.” (see Jiezhou Xuehua Bian vol. 1 landscape, shenyun section; Yu 1986, 887; Wang and Ren 2002b, 586)36 We saw in chapter 3 that he refers to Wang Xizhi’s story. In addition, he apparently echoes Dong You in his view that the transcendence of self-consciousness promotes the release of imageassociated yi into the final work: “the brush is to express [yi], and the [yi] is to express the brush. What makes the brush and [yi] express each other is the artist’s lack of self-consciousness.” (Li 2010, 113; with modifications; see Jiezhou Xuehua Bian vol. 2 landscape, qushi section; Wang and Ren 2002b, 605–606)37 As seen above, the modern scholar Li Zehou recognizes that the transcendence of self-consciousness valued in the Chinese aesthetic tradition is inspired by Zhuangzi’s ideas of forgetfulness. He (2010, 110) regards the transcendence of self-consciousness as “a kind of nonconscious condensation or sedimentation achieved through conscious human effort.” He illustrates this with the Yuan landscape master Huang Gongwang’s story of sitting in meditation and attaining a shenhui with natural objects: this spiritual communion is gradually condensed in the painter’s mind as if it goes into the reservoir of his unconscious, and later gains release during artistic spontaneity (112–113).38 If concentration is the starting point, then a trance-like forgetfulness follows. However, the two stages may happen simultaneously. When the perfect idea-image suddenly appears in front of his mind’s eye, the painter needs to immediately and consciously rise to wield the brush to capture it and release it onto paper or silk. As Su Shi describes, “it is like the hare’s leaping up when the falcon swoops; if it hesitates in the slightest, all will be lost.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 207; quoted in Li Kan’s Zhupu [Manual of Bamboo]; see Bush and Shih 2012, 277; Wang and Ren 2002a, 679) When this is interrupted, the painter might feel cognitive pressure or resistance from external influences, and thus might lose his ideal state to paint. This can be seen in the story of the late Ming and early Qing scholar-artist Fu Shan (1607–1684) recorded by Xu Ke (1869–1928): when Fu Shan was wielding his brush in a trance-like state, dancing and jumping as if mad, a friend suddenly embraced his waist from behind, and Fu Shan had to throw down his brush, losing his inspiration and mood for painting (Gao 1996, 83). Having discussed the valuing of unselfconsciousness and its co-play with self-consciousness in texts on qiyun-focused painting, let us now look at the counterpart in Kantian aesthetics. Although Kant himself never explicitly discusses this, as Otabe (2012, 89–101) argues, Schelling’s and Schiller’s

Spontaneity of Qiyun

145

views on the co-play of unconsciousness and consciousness in art are regarded as reverberations of Kantian “genius as the chiasm of the conscious and the unconscious.”39 Otabe suggests that in Kant’s account of beautiful art, genius finds a balance between conscious intentionality and unintentional and unconscious contingency. As mentioned above, for Kant, the difference between beautiful art and mechanical art lies in the fact that “although [beautiful art] is certainly intentional, [it] must nevertheless not seem intentional.” (KU §45, 5: 306‒307) Otabe (2012, 91) notes that, for Kant, art is beautiful only when “art which is essentially grounded on a determinate purpose is not bound by the purpose, and presents itself as contingent.”40 In addition, since the Kantian aesthetic idea as “representation of the imagination” is “free from ‘constraint of the understanding,’” according to Otabe (2012, 96), Kant implies that artistic spontaneity “breaks free from [the artist’s] consciousness.” (see KU §49, 5: 316) However, the view of genius as chiasm of the conscious and the unconscious conflicts with Kant’s emphasis on genius as the harmony between imagination and understanding: “The mental powers . . . whose union (in a certain relation) constitutes genius, are imagination and understanding.” (KU §49, 5: 317) For Kant, when genius creates art, the imagination is in harmony with the understanding, since “all the richness of the [imagination] produces, in its lawless freedom, nothing but nonsense.” (KU §50, 5: 319) The imagination breaks away from constraints, while its free play conforms to the lawfulness of the understanding which builds a harmonious association with the imagination (KU §49, 5: 314‒317; KU §50, 5: 319‒320). That is, although the imagination is not grasped or confined by any determinate concepts, it is in harmonious agreement with the understanding in general. Wenzel (2005, 89‒90) argues that even though imagination is not regulated by any determinate concept in its free co-play with understanding, it animates or creates the mental representation as “something that suits some concept or another and in fact a whole range of possibilities of what the thing perceived might be,” and the subsumption of imagination under understanding is a “quasi-subsumption.” Thus, since the harmony of the imagination and the understanding involves the subjection or quasi-subsumption of the imagination to the lawfulness of the understanding, there is a contradiction or at least a profound tension between genius as “chiasm of the unconscious and conscious” and genius as the unity of the imagination and the understanding.41 It is difficult to see how this can be overcome within the strict rationalist confines of Kant’s transcendental philosophy. In addition, it should be noted that Kant is not much concerned with empirical psychology and practical aesthetics, and those claims of his implying a conception of the unconscious do not aim at analyzing the activities of the mind as studied by empirical psychology. However, subsequent thinkers have been inspired by this to speculate about the unconscious mental processes that perform the synthesis between

146

Chapter 4

conception and intuition in his transcendental philosophy, even though this is not Kant’s own intention.42 As seen above, the strict rationalism of Kant’s philosophy could not handle well the paradox brought by the role of unselfconsciousness in artistic spontaneity conflicting with his genius as the unity of imagination and understanding. Since aesthetic spontaneity between youyi and wuyi shows genius as bridging the conscious and unconscious, we shall see in the following that Daoist ideas provide more resources to explain the co-play of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness. 4.2.2 Fusion of Subject and Object through Acting Unselfconsciously In this subsection, I suggest that the unselfconsciousness involved in artistic spontaneity inspired by Zhuangzi’s notion of wang is explained along two Daoist lines: wuhua and wuwei, and that these two lines are not separate from each other, since wuhua is fulfilled through wuwei. The fusion of subject and object in a poetic and epistemic sense realized through acting unselfconsciously involves shenhui between artist and object, and thus serves qiyun aesthetics. This unification of subject and object is absent in Kant’s philosophy, the subjective focus of which we saw in chapter 3. We shall see that the Daoist ideas of wuhua and wuwei are not only compatible with qiyun aesthetics, but are also flexible enough to accommodate any apparent paradox of the kind mentioned above, since its philosophical preoccupation is not with strict rationalistic-system-building but rather to deal with contradiction through harmony and reciprocity. As explained in chapter 3, the difference between the artist’s shen animating yi and Kantian spirit animating aesthetic ideas lies in the fact that the former involves shenhui between artist and object. The artistic spontaneity between youyi and wuyi valued in aesthetic writings by those mentioned above in the Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, Qing dynasties, and even modern China, also involves shenhui between subject and object. For instance, in Su Shi’s poem depicting Wen Tong painting bamboo, “body [being] transferred into bamboo” suggests the fusion of artist and object, and the “inexhaustible freshness” of the bamboo in the work is the product of this fusion. This fusion is not a literal or physical fusion of artist with object, but rather it refers to the fusion of the shen of the artist with that of the object, that is, spiritual resonance and communion between subject and object in a metaphysical and poetic sense. As mentioned above, Xu Fuguan suggests spontaneity will not occur unless the artist gets rid of conflicts between the self and object by achieving a unification with the object. The erasing of conflicts between the subject and object corresponds to the shenhui between

Spontaneity of Qiyun

147

artist and object (as Guo Ruoxu explicitly points out) required for conveying qiyun through painting. The trance-like state in the fusion of the object and the subject who forgets both self and object, valued by qiyun aesthetics, can be traced back to a poetic dream of Zhuangzi: Zhuangzi once dreamed of a butterfly, and when he woke up he was in a trance-like state, wondering whether he was Zhuangzi “who had dreamed he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was [Zhuangzi].” (see Zhuangzi, chapter 2, Discussion on Making All Things Equal; Zhuangzi 2013, 18)43 Again, this identification does not mean that Zhuangzi becomes physically fused with the butterfly, rather it embodies a poetic metaphor by which spiritual resonance or consonance between the self and object is realized in an experiential or phenomenological epistemic sense.44 As seen above, the fusion of the self and object is fulfilled when the agent is acting unselfconsciously. In Daoist terminology, acting without deliberate intention or conscious effort is called wuwei.45 Wuwei might be literally translated as doing nothing, but this does not get the true meaning across. It is just as if doing nothing. Richard J. Lynn’s (1999) translation of wuwei as acting without conscious effort in Laozi’s Daodejing sounds appropriate. As Danesh Singh (2014, 213) suggests, when “one [does] away with conscious deliberation and purposive activity altogether,” he follows wuwei. In Daodejing, Laozi’s idea centers around wuwei. Laozi (1999, 54; my emphasis) tells us that “the sage tends to matters without conscious effort [wuwei], and practises the teaching that is not expression in word.” The Wei Kingdom Neo-Daoist scholar Wang Bi’s commentary on this is “that which by nature is already sufficient unto itself will only end in defeat if one applies conscious effort [wei] to it.” (54) Laozi (1999, 56, 117) explains the benefit of acting unselfconsciously: “Because [the sage] [wuwei], nothing remains ungoverned . . . . The Dao in its constancy engages in [wuwei], yet nothing remains undone.” Wang Bi suggests that wuwei overlaps with spontaneity by offering the following commentary on Laozi’s (1999, 117‒118) explanation: “It complies with the Natural. In either getting its start or achieving its completion, every one of the myriad things, without exception, stems from what is done in this way.”

Wang Bi’s interpretation has been echoed by later Chinese and modern scholars including Wing-tsit Chan (1969, 791), Chung-ying Cheng (2008, 210), and Slingerland (2003). For instance, Slingerland (2003, 7) suggests that wuwei is “a state of personal harmony in which actions flow freely and instantly from one’s spontaneous inclinations—without the need for extended

148

Chapter 4

deliberation or inner struggle—and yet nonetheless accord perfectly with the dictates of the situation at hand, display an almost supernatural efficacy.” Laozi (1999, 105, 143, 170) points out the defects brought about by wei 為 (acting with specific intention and conscious effort) such as becoming ruined or lost, or unable to take all under tian as one’s charge. To the contrary, the advantages of wuwei such as “[bringing] out the completion of things” and “[galloping] through the hardest things” are repeatedly emphasized by Laozi who also indicates that wuwei is grasped by few people.” (142, 137) Compared with Laozi whose ideas apply to a king ruling his people, Zhuangzi’s explanation of wuwei initially applies to caring for life and appears more vivid since he tells stories and composes dialogues with a message.46 The stories of Ding cutting oxen and Qing carving a bell-stand described above exemplify that when one engages in wuwei, he is in accord with the Dao, and goes well with everything. For Zhuangzi (2013, 192–193), an innocent baby shows wuwei by spontaneously “[acting] without knowing what it is doing” and “[moving] without knowing where it is going,” so he “howls all day, yet its throat never gets hoarse,” “makes fists all day, yet its fingers never get cramped,” and “stares all day without blinking its eyes.”47 This acting unselfconsciously not only includes acting without awareness of the self and internal constraints, but also without awareness of external distractions and appearing indifferent to one’s environment. Moreover, the idea of fusing self and object through acting unselfconsciously exemplifies the philosophical aim to deal with contradiction through harmony and reciprocity. Chung-ying Cheng (2006, 34) claims that, in the Daoist perception of “the world as a harmony or harmonising process,” “all differences and conflicts among things have no ontological ultimacy.”48 Appreciating these, we can see more easily why overcoming self-consciousness is valued in qiyun aesthetics. To exploit the positive power of unselfconsciousness and arouse artistic spontaneity, some artists resort to alcohol so as to access the trance-like state of forgetting self and distractions. For instance, Zhang Yanyuan records that the Tang master Wu Daozi loved drinking wine, and his intoxication stimulated his vital breath when using the brush (see Bush and Shih 2012, 64; Wang and Ren 2002a, 177). The Tang painter Wang Mo, ranked by Zhu Jingxuan (ca. 840) in yipin (untrammeled class), started painting when completely drunk, then he spattered ink onto silk or paper, stamping with feet and smearing with hands, laughing and singing (see Bush and Shih 2012, 65; Wang and Ren 2002a, 89). Su Shi describes the stimulation of his artistic spontaneity by wine in a poem: “When my empty bowels receive wine, angular strokes come forth, And my heart’s criss-crossings give birth to bamboo and rock. What is about to be produced in abundance cannot be retained. And will erupt on your snow-white walls.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 217–218) Three

Spontaneity of Qiyun

149

centuries after Su Shi, the Yuan painter Wu Taisu preferred to sketch plum blossoms in a state of exhilaration when being slightly tipsy (see Bush and Shih 2012, 286; Wang and Ren 2002a, 720). However, this is not a common practice for all artists. Drinking alcohol is one possible way to help the artist enter the trance-like state of forgetfulness, overcome the distraction of selfconsciousness, and achieve spontaneity.49 In the next section, we will see that somatic training or practice for the coordination of mind and hand is regarded as necessary for the Chinese genius to follow the Dao, and this point is also absent in Kant’s account of genius. 4.3 UNTEACHABLE SPONTANEITY AND SOMATIC TRAINING OF GENIUS The idea that artistic spontaneity is ineffable and unteachable can be traced back to the story of wheelwright Bian making wheels recorded in the thirteenth chapter The Way of Heaven in Zhuangzi, where Bian suggests that what the duke Qi reads as “the words of sage” are just “the chaff and dregs” of the ancient people; he cannot teach the skills gained through seventy-year experience of “getting it in [his] hand and feeling it in [his] mind” to his son by language, and his son cannot learn it from him that way (Zhuangzi 2013, 106–107; my emphasis). Here, as Pohl (2006, 133) indicates, the story of the wheelwright corresponds to Kant’s ideas of the unteachability of genius. When explaining the unteachable spontaneity of genius, Kant suggests that a gifted artist could not tell other people how his talent brings about his spontaneous creation: “The author of a product that he owes to his genius [. . .] [could not] communicate to others precepts that would put them in a position to produce similar products.” (KU §46, 5: 308) However, in Bian’s experience of making wheels, the correspondence between hand and mind gained through long-term practice is the key reason for his inability to communicate the knack with words. The long-term practice for the cooperation of mind and hand is also implied in the story of Ding cutting up oxen. Even though this story emphasizes the “Dao beyond skill,” the Dao of “going at it by spirit instead of looking with eyes” is realized by the cooperation of his body and mind gained by practicing it for nineteen years (Zhuangzi 2013, 19–20). In another story, of the hunchback catching cicadas, Zhuangzi conveys the same idea that somatic practice is significant for training the hand (and the whole body) to unselfconsciously cohere with the mind. The hunchback’s skill in catching cicadas with a sticky pole is attained by his somatic practice of balancing balls on a pole and gradually raising the level of difficulty by adding more

150

Chapter 4

balls on the end of the pole. When he finds that he can balance five without any falling off, he feels that he is ready to use his balancing skill to catch cicadas in the high trees. As he explains, when catching cicadas, he is merely aware of cicadas, and his concentration is not distracted by any other external things or by his intention of catching cicadas, he simply holds his body “like a stiff tree trunk” and uses his arm “like an old dry limb.” “Not wavering, not tipping, not letting any of the other ten thousand things take the place of those cicada wings—how can I help but succeed?” (Zhuangzi 2013, 147) Thus, the hand, arm, and the whole body have been trained to be able to unselfconsciously accord with the mind, and this is equally significant as the conscious concentration of the spirit. However, as Joseph Cannon (2011, 116) suggests, since Kant defines genius as an innate predisposition of the mind, the “innate” aspect of it means that “it is not acquired through practice or training, and cannot be improved through practice or training.”50 Even though Kant may not have denied that an artistic genius still needs practice to be polished, for him innate mental talent (as the union of imagination and understanding) determines whether an artist could produce a beautiful artwork, while practice is just an effective way to stimulate the free play of imagination and understanding. One might claim that Kant is not interested in such practical technical matters as improving the coordination of the body and the mind. However, one may still consider the separation of genius (as an innate mental talent) from the practical aspects of how the body is coordinated with the mind in the creative process an obstacle to an adequate understanding of genius. This defect is not shared by the Chinese approach which not only values the coordination of hand and mind (or heart-mind, as an essential part of the body) but also subsumes somatic training within their philosophical approach.51 In this aspect, it is clear that there is another asymmetry between Kant’s account of genius and qiyun aesthetics. As seen in chapter 2, Jing Hao implies the significance of coordinating mind and hand in his six (especially the first two) essentials for painting landscape replete with qi and yun. Later, although Guo Ruoxu points out the impossibility of teaching qiyun, in his comments on different aesthetic flavors in works by Huang Quan (903–965) and Xu Xi (886–975) he emphasizes that what the painter observes in nature is attained by the mind and then responded to by the hand (see Bush and Shih 2012, 125; Yu 1986, 1203; Wang and Ren 2002a, 320). His contemporary Guo Xi echoes that “circumstances must be ripe, and the mind and hand must be mutually responsive,” otherwise the artist will not “freely achieve excellence, taking from all sides and ‘penetrating to the source.’” (Bush and Shih 2012, 158; see Yu 1986, 640–641; Wang and Ren 2002a, 299)

Spontaneity of Qiyun

151

Their contemporary literary leader Su Shi also emphasizes the skill of the hand being in accordance with the mind by claiming that “if one has Dao and not skill, although things have been formed in one’s mind, they will not take shape through one’s hand.” He points out the problem and difficulty which a beginner or an amateur lacking somatic training and practice might face— “one may see things in the mind, but be awkward in executing them,” and “what one sees clearly in everyday life is suddenly lost when it comes to putting it into practice.” If an artist “knows how it should be done and cannot do it, [his] inner and outer are not one, and mind and hand are not in accord,” and this is “a fault stemming from lack of study.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 207) That is, for a painter, awkwardness in releasing the idea-image into the painting is caused by his inability to let his hand (commanding brush) movement conform to his mind, and his lack of skill is due to lack of somatic practice. In Su Shi’s eyes, one who does not practice but attempts to seek the Dao “is like a northerner learning diving.” Artistic spontaneity cannot occur without somatic training and practicing the hand’s responsiveness to mind, even though art seems to be the play of genius and diligent study cannot necessarily guarantee artistic spontaneity. As Su Shi claims, “the Dao can be made to come but cannot be sought.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 208) He reiterates this dialectic in a poem: Why should a high-minded man study painting? The use of the brush comes to him naturally, It is like those good at swimming, Each of whom can handle a boat. (218)

I suggest two reasons why the somatic training of genius is valued so much for qiyun-focused artists to grasp artistic spontaneity. First, this is exactly related to the first criterion of painting. As mentioned in chapter 1, Acker (1954, xxxiii, xlii) claims that qiyun is a quality of a painter. Although his confining qiyun to the quality of painters appears limited, we must see the positive points behind this. As Fong (1992, 5) suggests, the brush used by the Chinese painter appears to be “an extension of [his] own body” and thus Chinese painting as brushwork “projects a painter’s physical movements.” Before painting and during the painting process, a painter should stay vibrant with his own qi and cultivate yun, and there appears a mysterious connection between the painter’s qiyun and his final work. As mentioned in chapter 3, the first step of painting is establishing the idea (yi) or idea-image (yixiang) in the mind of the artist preceding the brush. Next is releasing the idea-image into the final images of the work by applying the brush and ink, which relies on cooperation between the artist’s mind and hand.52 As argued in chapter 3, pictorial yi or yixiang is analogous

152

Chapter 4

to the Kantian aesthetic idea furnished by the aesthetic attribute. Here, we can see that the shortcoming of Kant is that he does not mention the role of the body cooperating with the mind in the process of releasing the aesthetic idea into the work. Even though we realize that Kant’s transcendental approach does not focus on the practical issue, we might question whether the reason why Kant does not mention anything about the role of the body in coordination with the mind in his philosophy of art is that his transcendental system is still in the shadow of the Cartesian view of the mind and body being split?53 Second, modern cognitive science provides reasons for believing that acting unselfconsciously in artistic practice also requires the accord of hand and mind.54 Modern cognitive science classifies human cognition into two systems: hot and cold.55 Actions under tacit, hot cognition appear unselfconscious, fast, intuitive, and improvisational. In contrast, due to the positive involvement of reason, the actions under explicit, cold cognition seem “slow, deliberate, effortful, and conscious, corresponding roughly to our ‘mind,’ that is, our conscious, verbal selves,” while “unconscious ‘knowing how’ seems distinct from conscious ‘knowing that.’” (Slingerland 2014, 28‒29)56 Slingerland (2014) wisely notes that Daoist ideas of spontaneity inspire people, especially artists, to explore the potential benefits of hot cognition, maximize the positive power of unselfconsciousness, go with the flow, and let hot cognition and cold cognition cooperate.57 Slingerland (2014, 27) observes that one may sometimes experience the body knowing how to act “without any input at all from our conscious mind,” when conscious mind and unconscious body appear “split.” He notes that wuwei fits in with this state of shutting down self-consciousness and avoiding distractions from the rational mind—“when conscious mind lets go, the body can take over.” (36) The claim of mind and body appearing split, and even dichotomy of two systems of hot cognition and cold cognition in modern cognitive science may seem to inherit the Cartesian mind/body dualism. However, that this need not be the case is shown by the fact that for qiyun-focused artists, critics and theorists, mind or heartmind is not only commander of the body but also an essential part of the body which is the container or embodiment of qi and yun (through which qi is expressed).58 I remind the reader that as mentioned in chapter 1, qi is the fundamental energy animating the human body, and the spiritual weight carried by qi applied in aesthetic writings in the Six Dynasties and followed by later artists and critics goes far beyond its physical or physiological meaning. In any case, when the painter wields his brush, the harmony of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness is implied in the accord of mind and hand. This helps to understand why scholars including Guo Ruoxu, Guo Xi, Su Shi, and Wu Taisu emphasize the

Spontaneity of Qiyun

153

importance of somatic practice for genius as necessary for the release of the idea-image onto silk or paper and the conveying of qiyun, shen, or li through painting.59 INTERIM CONCLUSION In conclusion, by comparing Kant’s account of the spontaneity of genius with its counterpart in a qiyun-focused artistic context, we have seen the surface similarities and differences between Kantian ideas and qiyun aesthetics. When we accept the notion of tian which endows genius with spontaneity is analogous to Kant’s notion of nature which gives the rule through genius, we see that the rule of tian apparently corresponds to Kant’s rule of nature which genius follows. The Chinese counterpart may help illuminate what Kant means by the nature, which endows the rule to art through genius: the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature in the gifted artist who works in a way analogous to nature (and by means of his mental disposition) in creating the original rule to his work. Although we accept certain comparative premises to make the comparison work, we should bear in mind the differences originating from different philosophical traditions and aesthetic preoccupations. Kant is focused on setting out his systematic transcendental philosophy rather than offering artists specific guidance about spontaneity, and his aesthetics cannot approve the assumption of a realistic or objective purposiveness of nature in aesthetic judgment. In contrast, the view that tian endows the qiyun-focused artist with the rule transcending any predetermined rules finds philosophical origin in both Daoist and Confucian views of tian, and the supersensible substrate of tian has more pragmatic significance and phenomenal focus in this context where the artistic imitation of the Dao of nature is illustrated in Zhuangzi’s inspiring stories. Although the mental freedom experienced by qiyun-focused artists during spontaneous creation apparently corresponds to Kantian aesthetic freedom, the former, inspired by Zhuangzi’s philosophy, involves the overcoming of self-consciousness. The co-play of forgetfulness and concentration between youyi and wuyi illustrated in Chinese texts brings out explicitly the dialectic of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness in artistic spontaneity. However, unselfconsciousness is not explicitly discussed in Kant’s philosophy of art. Genius as the chiasm of consciousness and unconsciousness may sound controversial and difficult to make consistent with Kant’s view of genius as harmonious unity of imagination and understanding in this context. In terms of exploiting unselfconsciousness in spontaneous creation, qiyun-focused artists inspired by Daoist ideas pursue a trance-like state of forgetting self and everything else, reaching fusion of self and object. This fusion (which is absent in Kant’s theory) realized by acting

154

Chapter 4

unselfconsciously corresponds to shenhui between artist and object, which Guo Ruoxu and others believes is involved in conveying qiyun. We have seen that the Daoist ideas of wuhua and wuwei are more flexible in explaining genius’ bridging the conscious and unconscious, since the Daoist position aims at accommodating contradiction through harmony and reciprocity. Moreover, regarding the unteachable spontaneity of genius, although Kant may not exclude the role of practice in stimulating the realization of genius, we have seen that the main difference of qiyun aesthetics from Kant is that the former values the accordance of mind and hand (the whole body) as an element of genius. Somatic training of genius works for following the rule of nature and for the overcoming of self-consciousness required by artistic spontaneity. NOTES 1. With regard to the spontaneity of genius, as Gombrich (1969, 120) notes, “no artistic tradition insists with greater force on the need for inspired spontaneity than that of ancient China.” Gombrich (1969, 120) also notes that this spontaneity in Chinese art is based on “a complete reliance on acquired vocabularies,” while Jianping Gao (2013, 101–17) argues the dialectic of spontaneity and reliance on acquired vocabularies. 2. For Su Shi, see also Bush (2012, 35); for Li Mengyang and Lü Benzhong, see also Lynn (1987, 392; 1975, 232); for Ye Xie, see also Owen (1992, 493‒574); for Shi Tao, see also Lin (1967, 140‒43). 3. Forgetfulness in an artistic context may refer to forgetting the self, the object depicted, the painting action, the work, the technique, and anything else which might constitute internal or external distractions. 4. The Chinese character xin 心 is translated as mind or heart-mind. It literally refers to the physical organ heart, while for scholars it is relatively uncontroversial that xin may also refer to not only the locus of emotions, feeling and desires, but also the centre of perception, intuition, imagination, understanding, reasoning and cognition typically associated with the English word mind (Slingerland 2013, 8). The original Chinese character of the mind (translated) in the writings by philosophers, artists and critics mentioned in this book is “xin.” In their texts I find no exception to the understanding of xin as the locus of not only emotions, feelings, but also thoughts, motivations, free will, and cognition. 5. Wen Tong is listed by Guo Ruoxu in a special category “princes, nobles, and officials” competent in creating paintings replete with qiyun (one of two special categories as mentioned in chapter 2). As seen in chapters 2 and 3, Guo Ruoxu’s contemporaries Su Shi and Chao Buzhi also highly praise Wen Tong’s art. For Li Kan’s life and art, see Arthur Mu-sen Kao (1979). 6. In Yizhou Shuangji, the Qing scholar-calligrapher and critic Bao Shichen (1775–1855) classifies calligraphy into four categories shenpin, miaopin, nengpin, and

Spontaneity of Qiyun

155

yipin, and claims that shenpin achieves aesthetic merits such as harmony, simplicity, tranquillity, and magnificence as if they are natural creation (“tiancheng” 天成). 7. Fung Yu-lan (1952, 31, 129, 284) thinks that tian as spoken of by Confucius mainly refers to a ruling or presiding anthropomorphic tian, and Mencius’ notion of tian was at times consistent with Confucius’ understanding, “at times fatalistic, and at times ethical,” while Xunzi views tian in a naturalistic sense, influenced by Laozi and Zhuangzi. In Zhuangzi’s text, tian (heaven), di (earth), sun and moon follow their own “mechanical arrangement” (284–85). As Fung notes, although Xunzi is classified into the Confucian school, we can see the naturalistic tian developed from Zhuangzi’s account in Xunzi’s Discourse on Heaven chapter in Xunzi that “[Tian] has a constant regularity of activity. [. . .] To make complete without acting [consciously], and to obtain without seeking: this is what is meant by the activities of [tian]. [. . .] all things acquire their harmony and have their lives; each gets its nourishment and develops to its appointed state. We do not see the cause of these occurrences, but we do see their effects: this is what is meant by being spirit-like. The results of all these changes are known, but we do not know the invisible source: this is what is called [tian]” (Fung 1952, 285; see also Hutton 2014, 175‒82). Regarding the distinction and relationship between Xunzi’s tian and human nature, see Cheng (2014, 182–88). 8. What I mean by “supersensible” refers to transcending human beings’ perception and cognition. 9. Concerning the formal purposiveness of Kant’s nature, see KU 20: 217‒18; KU 5: 181‒86, 346–51. 10. One may suggest that for Shi Tao one-stroke refers to a technical method of painting. However, his texts clearly indicate that it cannot be merely regarded as technical method, but rather embodies his ideas of spontaneity and originality which I will explain in this chapter and in chapter 5 respectively. Shi Tao’s onestroke is also not the style of apparently continuously applying the brush without a break during the artistic process, allegedly practised by the Eastern Jin calligrapher Wang Xizhi and the Southern Dynasties painter Lu Tanwei, as recorded by Zhang Yanyuan (Sirén 1956, 26). In Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, Guo Ruoxu points out that what Zhang Yanyuan calls the one-stroke manner or style does not mean “a whole page of writing or the depiction of an entire object can be carried out with a single brushstroke; but rather that from beginning to end the brush is kept responsive, with continuity and interrelationship, and ‘no break in flow of spirit [qi]’” (Soper 1951, 16; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 317). Jianping Gao (1996, 71; my emphasis) echoes Guo Ruoxu’s view that stories of one-stroke in Chinese painting or calligraphy suggest the continuous, unbroken qimai 氣脈 (breathing thread) in brushwork “resulting from a roaming heart [游心 that means the free and easy wandering of the spirit].” As he explains, the one-stroke manner does not mean that the whole painting is literally painted by just one single unbroken line, but rather advocates “a continuation . . . of the sequence of lines . . . linked to a single line in the mind of the painter” and display an aesthetics of painting as an “organic unity” (71–72). The continuous, unbroken qimai in brushwork may be inspired by the valuing of continuous qi in Chinese literary writing. The latter was indicated by the Tang

156

Chapter 4

official-scholar Li Deyu (787–850) in his Discourse on Letters: “Emperor Wen of the Wei [Cao Pi] in his Authoritative Discourses [Dianlun] said: ‘In literature qi is the dominant factor…’ But qi must penetrate through continuously. If it does not penetrate through continuously, then even the most splendid phrases and fine flourishes will be like pearls or pieces of jade on a string: they will not attain the condition of a single, complete jewel” (Owen 1992, 67). 11. Lin Yutang (1967) translates fa in Shi Tao’s text as method or law. For Shi Tao’s landscape paintings, see Fong (1976). 12. See Laozi’s Daodejing. 13. See Kugua Heshang Huayu Lu, chapters 5–8, 13, 18; Yu (1986, 147, 150); Wang and Ren (2002b, 301–3, 306, 309); Lin (1967, 144–48, 151, 154). Lin Yutang (1967, 140, 144–48, 151, 154) suggests that “the distinction between ling and shen are vague,” and translates shen in Shi Tao’s writing as “spirit,” ling as “soul,” jingling as “spirit,” qimai as “pulse beat,” qixiang as “expression,” and shenyu as “meet and comprehend each other in spirit.” 14. For qiangua, see Baynes (1968, 3–10). 15. In Platonic philosophy, “Demiurge” refers to the Creator of the world, an artisan-like deity fashioning and shaping the material world in the light of the Platonic Idea. Demiurge in Gnosticism and other theological systems refers to a subordinate deity controlling the material world and as antagonistic to the will of the Supreme Being. 16. For Kant, this purposiveness of nature is not inherent to nature but posited by our human beings. 17. Kant claims that free beauty “presupposes no concept of what the object ought to be,” while adherent beauty “does presuppose such a concept and the perfection of the object in accordance with it” (KU §16, 5: 229). Regarding free and adherent beauty, see also Guyer (2002, 357‒66); Wenzel (2005, 69‒72); Rueger (2008, 535‒57). 18. Bruno (2010, 103‒7, 111) explains that the purposiveness on its own of fine art or beautiful art (appearing unintentional) defined by Kant is analogous to the formal purposiveness of nature. 19. As Düsing (1990, 87‒88) claims, “the realizability of moral purposes within nature, posited by freedom, can only be made understandable fundamentally by means of a principle that belongs neither to theoretical understanding nor to practical reason, but rather to reflective judgment”; it is the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature in Kant’s aesthetics that endorses the transition from mechanical and phenomenal nature to noumenal and moral nature. In chapter 7, I will discuss in detail the relationship between aesthetic autonomy and moral relevance of qiyun-focused art in the light of Kant’s (KU §59, 5: 351‒54) analogy between the form of reflection on beauty and that on morality. 20. Pohl (2006, 129) mentions that the meaning of fa in Buddhism connotes “the teaching of the Buddha or truth” and “the ultimate reality,” and fa in Buddhism also links with intuitively and spontaneously achieving enlightenment (wu 悟) (see also Lynn 1975, 219). Hay (1983, 81) explains that fa used by Xie He means something as though cast or moulded, in a microcosmic form from a macrocosmic model.

Spontaneity of Qiyun

157

21. Fung Yu-lan (1948, 46) suggests that for Confucius, the Dao is the way or truth “that whereby we can elevate our mind,” and this view may be based on Confucius’ saying that “if a man in the morning hears the right way [Dao], he may die in the evening without regret” (see Analects; Legge 1914, 93). Chung-ying Cheng (2014, 190) suggests that in Confucianism the Dao is more epistemological and moral, and more ontological and cosmological in Daoism; for detailed explanation of the Dao in the Daoist and Confucian texts, see Cheng (2004, 143– 82, 190). 22. Zhuangzi (2013, 3) claims that “the Perfect Man has no self; the Holy Man has no merit; the Sage has no fame.” For Zhuangzi, these three types of people realise the free and easy wandering. 23. The dance Mulberry Groves is a classical dance from the period of King Tang of the Shang Dynasty; the music Jingshou is a part of a classical composition from the time of King Yao before the Xia Dynasty. 24. As mentioned above, shenyu is a synonym of shenhui. As seen in chapters 2–3, the term shenhui appears in the writings of Li Sizhen, Zhang Yanyuan, Guo Ruoxu, Huang Tingjian and Shen Kuo; as mentioned above, Bai Juyi uses the term shenhui, and Shi Tao uses the term shenyu. 25. “Imagination, understanding, spirit and taste are requisite” for genius creating beautiful art (KU §50, 5: 320). 26. Qing says: “If I find one of superlative form and I can see a bell stand there, I put my hand to the job of carving; if not, I let it go. This way I am simply matching up [tian] with [tian]” (see Zhuangzi 2013, 152). 27. Six centuries after Huang Tingjian, Shi Tao’s theory of one-stroke also echoes the Daoist advocacy of aesthetic freedom and spontaneity (illustrated in the two stories above). As he claims, “the one-stroke is not just to establish formal limits to the limitless, nor does it establish the limits by a rule. [The fa of one-stroke] and obstructions do not coexist. [This fa] is created of the painting and obstructions fall away during the creation. [At this moment], the nature of the revolutions of [tiandi] is understood” (Lin 1967, 142; with modifications; see Yu 1986, 148). That is, onestroke giving birth to artistic spontaneity implies absence of obstructions, and this absence refers to the aesthetic freedom experienced by the artist in his creative process of applying the rule of one-stroke as analogous to the Dao of the universe. 28. Li Zehou (2010, 111) misattributes Guo Ruoxu’s text to Guo Si. This translation is slightly different from Bush and Shih’s mentioned above. 29. I use the modern idiom unselfconsciousness to reinterpret the Daoist term “forgetfulness” (wang). “Unconsciousness” can have different meanings, depending on the contexts of its use. The most obvious, of course, concerns “losing” consciousness when entering a coma or falling asleep, for example. However, acting “unconsciously” can be a matter of acting without self-awareness. My use of unselfconsciousness or unconsciousness concerns being without self-awareness, the loss of the sense of self, and being indifferent to distractions. 30. The story of Carpenter Shi is in chapter Xu Wugui in Zhuangzi (see Zhuangzi 2013, 205–6). Xu Fuguan (2001, 74–75) mentions another story in Zhuangzi—that of betting for different prizes—which appears to better illustrate the significance of

158

Chapter 4

ningshen and gives inspiration to later artists. When the prize is more valuable, the shooter’s mind is more distracted, and it is more difficult for him to get the stake. When one bets for tiles, he shoots with skill; when he bets for fancy belt buckles, he “worries about the aim”; when he bets for real gold, he becomes “a nervous wreck.” Although in these three situations, the shooter’s skill stays same, the value of the prize might affect him as he lets “outside considerations weigh on his mind.” “He who looks too hard at the outside gets clumsy on the inside” (Zhuangzi 2013, 148). When the mind is distracted by the external prize, the spirit does not become absorbed, and there is intangible resistance between the shooter and the object (Xu 2001, 74–75). 31. The image being stopped in the hand or frozen in the mind refers to the state in which the painter’s body or mind does not work or cooperate for painting. 32. Zhuang Zhou refers to Zhuangzi. 33. For instance, the Song landscape master Guo Xi claims that the key to painting landscape is “absolute concentration and devotion” and distinguishes four kinds of fault caused by four different types of mind lacking concentration—loss of balance resulting from weakness and hesitance of brushstroke when the spirit is lazy, loss of freedom caused by dismal images when the mood is depressed, loss of proper composition resulting from incompleteness of forms when the attitude is unserious, and loss of rhythm caused by the unevenness and haziness of applying the brush when the mind is casual and light-hearted (see Lin 1967, 73; Wang and Ren 2002a, 293). 34. External distraction, from outside of the self, might include the object depicted, the brush, the ink, the painting place and time, the painting material, weather, and surroundings, etc. Internal distraction is caused by the play of internal faculties such as reason and feelings. As mentioned above, technique is better forgotten for producing art, according to Jing Hao who suggests that artists will be able to achieve a real landscape painting when achieving the state of forgetting brush and ink. 35. In the poem, Wu Zhen refers to Zhuangzi’s stories of cook Ding cutting up oxen and wheelwright Bian making wheels. We will see the story of the wheelwright in section 5.3. Wu Zhen reemphasizes unselfconsciousness in another poem commenting that Wen Tong “did not see bamboo” when painting bamboo and Su Shi “was not aware of poems” when writing poems (Bush and Shih 2012, 279; Bush 2012, 132). 36. Lin Yutang (1967, 187) translates “between youyi and wuyi” as “half intentional and half unintentional.” 37. Samei translates yi as meaning (Li 2010, 113). 38. When the Southern Song connoisseur and critic Zhao Xigu (active ca. 1195– ca. 1242) sat in concentration to contemplate landscape paintings by Li Cheng, a divine transformation of nature appeared to flow out from the painting, bearing myriad shapes—“clouds and mists suddenly appear, a sparkling river flows for a thousand miles,” he “lost all consciousness of [his] physical surroundings and was in the midst of their innumerable cliffs and gorges” (Bush and Shih 2012, 211). The trance-like contemplation of the appreciative spectator is similar to the overcoming of self-consciousness experienced by the painter during creative spontaneity. 39. Schelling (1775‒1854) and Schiller were influenced by Kant but arguably made a better job of making explicit the role of unselfconsciousness involved

Spontaneity of Qiyun

159

in the spontaneity of artistic genius. Inspired by Kant’s view that intentional art should appear unintentional, Schelling (1858, 618) classifies art into two categories: activity which is “practiced with consciousness, deliberation, and reflection” and unconscious activity “inborn by the free gift of nature.” Art without poetry defined by Schelling (1858, 618–19) as the product of the consciousness of the artist is not proper art, but rather seems to be “mechanical art” as defined and despised by Kant (KU §45, 5: 305); in a genuine work of art, the artist releases an infinity of his intentions into the work as if instinctively, and this poetic infinity or “inexhaustible depth” beyond intentions is released into the genuine artwork when the artist’s self or ego “begins with consciousness and ends in the unconscious.” Schiller (1890, 372) agrees with Schelling in terms of artistic creation as the co-play of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness. However, he rejects Schelling’s idea that artistic creation begins with consciousness and ends in unselfconsciousness, arguing from his own experience of writing poetry that the “musical” unconsciousness appears to engross his self at the very beginning of his creation (Schiller 1849, 173; 1890, 372). Goethe (1801, quoted in Schiller 1890, 374) agrees with Schiller in terms of art as the cooperation of unselfconsciousness and self-consciousness, claiming that “everything that is done by genius as genius, is done unconsciously.” Schelling’s and Schiller’s ideas are closer to the Chinese view of the interplay of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness in artistic spontaneity (though no doubt there remain important differences between them). I have no space to discuss this topic further in this book. 40. Guyer (1993, 155) suggests that for Kant in aesthetic judgment the “recognition of the intentionality that is expressed in the artwork must be suppressed in responding to the beauty of an artwork.” 41. Kant’s (1996, 55‒58) view on the role of unselfconscious irrational sensation and fantastic imagination for artistic creation in his Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View appears rather negative. 42. Although the discussion of unselfconsciousness is inexplicit in Kant’s philosophy, in recent years scholars have attempted to reveal Kant’s philosophy of the unconscious (see Pozzo and Sgarbi 2012). Sebastian Gardner (1999, 387–90) suggests that a conception of the unconscious is detectable within Kant’s “transcendental synthesis” and “representations outside self-consciousness.” For Kant, concept and intuition must be synthesised in order for experience to be possible, but this is not something that occurs in the empirical world, rather experience and knowledge of the empirical world presupposes the transcendental synthesis (See Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, 1787, Guyer and Wood 1998, 127‒266; Scruton 1981, 24‒26). 43. Luo Dajing (active ca. 1224) records that the insect painter Wu Yi admits that when painting, “I don’t know whether I am an insect, or whether the insect is me,” so this trance-like spontaneity appears to be “the working of Creation as it produces things” and cannot be taught as “a transmittable method” (Bush and Shih 2012, 220; see Yu 1986, 1030). 44. Fung Yu-lan (1948, 109) suggests that this identification of the self with other things in the universe offers a way for human beings to achieve absolute happiness and freedom.

160

Chapter 4

45. Slingerland (2000, 297, 300–310) argues that wuwei is not exclusively Daoist, but also can be found in the Odes [Shijing] and the Analects as Confucian classics, and it is one of essential themes in Chan Buddhism and Neo-Confucianism. 46. Laozi (1999, 159) claims that “I engage in [wuwei], and the common folk undergo moral transformation spontaneously . . . . I tend to matters without conscious purpose, and the common folk enrich themselves.” 47. Zhuangzi’s idea of “an innocent baby” is consistent with Laozi’s suggestion about behaving as an innocent infant. Laozi (1999, 65, 84, 103) suggests that one should “rely exclusively on your vital force [qi], and become perfectly soft” as an infant; he describes that the sage “alone [is] quiet and indifferent, in an entirely premanifest state, just like an infant who has not yet smile,” and the sage “who is a river valley for all under Heaven, never separates himself from constant virtue and always reverts to the infant.” 48. Regarding the harmonization of conflicts in Daoism, see more in Cheng (2006, 31–35). 49. Intoxication in art as advocated by Nietzsche (1844‒1900) shares a similarity with the trance-like state which Chinese artists seek, in terms of identifying the role of unconsciousness in art and the significance of dismissing the distance between artist and object. Unconsciousness in Apollonian illusionary intoxication and Dionysian ecstatic intoxication not only enables creators to endow art with life spontaneously and enthusiastically, but also hypnotizes appreciators to enjoy an orgiastic transcendence beyond their individual existence (Nietzsche 1999; 2001; 2005, 197; Berrios and Ridley 2005, 98; Ridley 2006, 14‒15). Nietzsche emphasizes the role of unconsciousness in artistic intoxication as the antidote to pessimism about existence. Apollonian and Dionysian intoxications are complementary in constituting a new and beautified, though fundamentally illusionary, existence (Young 1992, 135, 139). In this sense, unconsciousness in Nietzsche’s portrayal of intoxication appears transcendental and idealistic (Gardner 1999, 398‒402). I will not take this comparison between Nietzsche’s view of the role of intoxication and the Chinese view any further because it is beyond the concern of this book. 50. Cannon (2011, 116‒18, 124, 135‒39) identifies genius with spirit as the animating principle of the mind for presenting aesthetic ideas, claiming that to create beautiful art genius (as the productive faculty) is subordinate to taste (as a nonproductive faculty for judging) that can be freely exercised and educated. However, Guyer (2011, 127‒33) argues that taste is internal to genius, and “no more than genius” cannot be taught. I agree with Guyer in this point. 51. Richard Shusterman (2004; 2009; 2015; 2017; 2019) notes a pragmatic aesthetic dimension involved and somatic training valued in Confucianism and Daoism. He (2009, 25) suggests what he means by “body” in his somaesthetics refers to a “body-mind”; regarding his somaesthetics, see more in Shusterman (2000; 2006). It is worth noting that in both Confucian and Daoist philosophy cultivating body does not merely refer to the cultivation of physical or sensuous body, but requires the accord of heart-mind/mind as an essential part of body, other parts of the body, and the Dao. 52. See Han Zhuo’s discussion in Shanshui Chunquan Ji; Bush and Shih (2012, 182); Yu (1986, 671); Wang and Ren (2002a, 615). It is interesting to note that Mathias

Spontaneity of Qiyun

161

Obert (2013, 513) uses the notion of body mimesis to analyse Chinese ink brush calligraphy, even though he indicates that “this inquiry almost exclusively relies on textual evidence related to ink brush writing.” Although, as Jianping Gao’s (1996; 2018, 49–79) suggests, Chinese (ink brush) art requires or involves the artist’s expressive act, one may see in images the traces of the gestures and postures of the painter, and some traditional calligraphers and painters did perform painting and writing as if performing dancing, this art is not dancing or performing art which involves body mimesis. Thus, I think that it would be more accurate to use the term response or execution or release instead of mimesis to describe the role of the hand or body controlling the brush in Chinese painting and calligraphy. Obert’s arguments about body responsiveness in Chinese ink brush writing as heteronomous bodily enactment also does not convince me, since, as Xiongbo Shi (2018, 871–76, 881) argues, Chinese calligraphers also pursue spontaneity between youyi and wuyi through somatic training. As seen above, in the qiyun-focused context of Chinese art, the accord of mind and the Dao requires the coordination of heart-mind (as an essential part of body) and other parts of body (mainly hand). Even though the processual, dynamic essence of qi/qiyun argued in chapters 1–2 can support Obert’s (2009, 131) view that the images of classical Chinese landscape masterpieces may “‘appear performative’ in much the same way as the temporal configurations that the performing arts take their life from,” I disagree with his view of perceiving the images through “a corresponsive mode of body mimesis.” 53. This question goes beyond my current focus in this book. Liu Chengji (2008, 577–94) emphasizes the role of body in traditional Chinese philosophy and aesthetics. It is worth nothing that what he means by body in early Chinese philosophy not only refers to a physical body, but also involves the role of mind or heart-mind. His so-called unity of mind and body or bodination of nature is essentially based on the philosophical stance of mind-body holism. What he means by qi also does not exclude its spiritual dimension. In many places of his article the term body or human body may be replaced by the term human, bodily by human, and his term bodination of nature essentially refers to humanisation of nature originally proposed by the earlier aesthetician Li Zehou. Thus, overly emphasizing the physical or bodily dimension of qiyun may lead one to neglect its spiritual dimension. 54. In Trying Not to Try: The Art of Effortlessness and the Power of Spontaneity, Slingerland (2014) blends the pre-Qin Chinese philosophy of spontaneity with contemporary psychological and cognitive sciences to help guide modern people to live a spontaneous way of life. Slingerland, a philosopher of Chinese thought and embodied cognition, has been involved in cognitive science research and contributed new insights on how the coordination of hot and cold cognition is embodied in preQin Chinese thought. 55. For further references to the dual-processing of cognition and general discussions of explicit (cold) versus implicit (hot) cognition, see Sloman (1996); Stanovich and West (2000); Kahneman (2011); LeDoux (1996); Zajonc (1980); Pessoa (2005). 56. For further discussion of knowing how versus knowing that, see Ryle (1949); LeDoux (1996); Goodale and Milner (2004); Enns and Liu (2009).

162

Chapter 4

57. For further discussion of the power of unconscious awareness or thought, see Wilson (2002); Gladwell (2005); Dijksterhuis et al. (2006); Kahneman (2011); Bargh et al. (2012); Duhigg (2012). Regarding the notion of flow in modern psychology, see Csikszentmihalyi (1990). 58. The mind-body holism of early Chinese philosophy is agreed by many distinguished scholars including G. W. Leibniz (1994), Voltaire, Lucien Lévy-Bruhl (1922), Marcel Granet (1934), Joseph Needham (1974), Roger Ames (1993a; 1993b; 2009), Henry Rosemont, Jr. (2001; 2009), François Jullien (2007), and Roel Sterckx (2002). However, there is a debate about whether early Chinese thought lacks any commitment to mind/body dualism. Goldin (2003, 226–47) questions the mindbody holism in Zhuangzi. In his 2013 article “Body and Mind in Early China: An Integrated Humanities-Science Approach” and his 2019 book Mind and Body in Early China: Beyond Orientalism and the Myth of Holism, Slingerland (2013, 6–55; 2019) argues against the strong holist position, and projects the mind/body dualism into the early Chinese context by examining archaeological and textual evidence from pre-Warring and Warring States periods by using a series of random sampling and statistical analysis approaches. He suggests that a weak “intuitive folk” version of mind/body dualism exists in early Chinese religious beliefs and philosophical ideas. I think that Slingerland has his valuable insights in criticising some scholars for cherry picking texts to support their biased and over-generalised views and pointing out that Descartes’ austere mind–body substance dualism (“an intellectually rigorous working out of a rather ‘sloppy’ folk intuition”) is counterintuitive; cognitive science research provides scientific evidence for the embodied mind, and the early Chinese view of embodied mind provides an alternative for the hard mind/body problem in Anglophone philosophy. Moreover, his application of quantitative analysis methodology and cognitive science within humanities studies deserves more humanities scholars’ attention, although he appears to neglect the spiritual dimension of qi beyond its physiological meaning in pre-Qin philosophical thoughts. I only mention this debate on the controversy over whether mind/body dualism exists in early Chinese thought here; I cannot deal with it any further due to the space limitation. 59. For Wu Taisu’s view, see his comments on the Song plum blossom masters Zhong Ren (active late eleventh–early twelfth century) and Yang Wujiu (1097–1171) in Songzhai Meipu (Manual on Plums from the Pine Studio) (see Bush and Shih 2012, 287; Wang and Ren 2002a, 733).

Chapter 5

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun The Exemplary Originality of Genius in Yipin

INTRODUCTION Pohl (2006, 134) states that Kant’s view of genius’ originality has little correspondence to the Chinese artistic tradition which respects the models of previous masters. However, this is not convincing. As seen in chapter 4, since Shi Tao claims that the one-stroke of the painter is analogous to the one-stroke of initiating the universe, his one-stroke theory also emphasizes artistic originality. Confronting the fashion for imitating ancient masters’ works prevalent among artists in the Ming Dynasty and his contemporaries in the early Qing Dynasty, he criticizes the surfeit of imitation and the death of artistic initiative. In his eyes, the painter who “becomes a slave to a certain known artist” is “only eating the left-overs of his home”; no new school will be established, and no personal influence will be cast in the art world, even though he may successfully have imitated the models and have enhanced his perception and skills through imitation. His announcement aims to shake his contemporaries and later people out of complacent habits of imitation. I am as I am; I exist. I cannot stick the whiskers of the ancients on my face, nor put their entrails in my belly. I have my own entrails and chest, and I prefer to twitch my own whiskers. [. . . .] Why should I model myself upon the ancients and not develop my own forte? (Lin 1967, 143; see Yu 1986, 149; Wang and Ren 2002b, 300)

Even though audiences might find some traces of his learning from previous masters in his work, Shi Tao indicates that this is merely because the ancients’ skills happened to meet his needs (see Yu 1986, 149; Wang and Ren 2002b, 300; Lin 1967, 143). That is, the previous master’s spirit, mood, and the skills 163

164

Chapter 5

to express them happened to fit in with those of his at certain moments of his creation, and it was not that he intentionally and consciously set out to imitate the previous master. Shi Tao was not the first to emphasize originality, which had been advocated by earlier masters, even though the tradition of respecting models and learning through copying throughout Chinese art history might cause some people to misunderstand originality in qiyun-focused art.1 For instance, as seen in chapter 2, Tang Hou values xinyi (original idea, flavor or sense) in paintings by his favorite tenth-to-twelfth-century painters Jing Hao, Guan Tong, Su Shi, Mi Fu, Mi Youren, and Tang Shuya. For Kant, originality is the “primary characteristic” of genius, and genius as the innate mental talent “is entirely opposed to the spirit of imitation.” “Since there can also be original nonsense, its products must at the same time be models, i.e., exemplary, hence, while not themselves the result of imitation, they must yet serve others in that way, i.e., as a standard or rule for judging.” (KU §46, 5: 308) That is, although genius itself does not involve imitation, the originality of genius is exemplary since its work serves others as a model. Kant emphasizes that original works of genius set examples for later people, “not for imitation (for then that which is genius in it and constitutes the spirit of the work would be lost), but for emulation by another genius.” (KU §49, 5: 318) In this chapter, we will see yipin 逸品 (the untrammeled class), which arose in Mid-Tang, flourished in Song Dynasty, and was favored by later Yuan, Ming, and Qing connoisseurs and critics, not only echoes qiyun aesthetics, but also shows genius’ exemplary originality.2 My reading of the originality of genius in yipin in the light of Kant can be summarized in the following four points: (i) the originality of genius is embodied in unorthodox innovation in styles or methods and spontaneous expression of aesthetic ideas; (ii) the originality of genius is not merely against orthodoxy or convention; (iii) the originality of genius is exemplary since its work serves others as a model; and (iv) even though this originality is exemplary, it is inimitable and unteachable. However, we should also note the relationship between the aesthetic merit of yipin and qiyun aesthetics, which involves significant differences from Kant’s account in the following aspects: (v) in the context of yipin the originality of genius more closely relates to the moral dimension of qiyun in relation to the innate mental disposition of yipin masters; (vi) the inimitability of yipin reflects the impossibility of learning or teaching qiyun. In the first section, we will first see the origin and notion of yipin, the reason why yipin cannot be understood as a painting style, and the relationship between yipin and qiyun. After briefly explaining the historical development of yipin, I examine whether Kant’s account of genius’ originality can be projected in the context of yipin. We will see that although yipin’s originality may be illuminated by Kant’s account of genius’ originality, the aesthetic

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

165

merit of yipin is closely related to the qiyun of the high-minded yipin master. This corresponds to Guo Ruoxu’s view that the ability to create a masterpiece replete with qiyun is determined by the artist’s innate mental disposition, and in the context of yipin the mental disposition associated with yi 逸 (untrammeled) explicitly shows the moral dimension of qiyun and genius. In the second section, I first explain what Kant means by genius’ exemplary originality and three types of genius’ successors. Then we shall see that three types of successors of genius explained by the Kantian scholar Guyer can be found in the Chinese context in relation to yipin. The examples of later masters being inspired from earlier yipin masters show that the work of genius as a model awakens another genius’ own originality. In addition, later artists’ failure to imitate yipin shows the unfeasibility of achieving the artistic merit of genius by virtue of imitation. Although these can be understood in the light of Kant’s genius whose exemplary originality is not for imitation, we will see that the inimitability of yipin further verifies the impossibility of teaching or imitating qiyun. 5.1 YIPIN, QIYUN, AND THE MENTAL DISPOSITION OF YI This section examines the origin and notion of yipin and its relationship with qiyun aesthetics, and considers the originality of genius in yipin. The Tang critic Li Sizhen may be the first person to add yipin into the grading system for poetry, painting, and calligraphy.3 However, yipin is not included in the classification of painting in grades by qualities proposed by the later Tang critic Zhang Huaiguan who classifies painters and works into three classes: shenpin 神品 (the divine or inspired class), miaopin 妙品 (the excellent or wonderful class), and nengpin 能品 (the competent or skilled class) and each class includes three grades upper, middle, and lower (see Bush and Shih 2012, 76, 89–90; Nelson 1983, 397).4 When adding yipin into the classification system of calligraphy and painting, Li Sizhen uses the term yi 逸 (untrammeled) to mean “a superlative, innate talent,” transcending the “three classes and nine grades,” and thus Shujiro Shimada (1961, 66) thinks that yipin in the classification of Li Sizhen is close to shenpin in the classification of Zhang Huaiguan. The yi under consideration in this chapter is a different character 逸 than its homophone 意 discussed in chapter 3. Regarding the rendering of yi in yipin or yige, I follow Soper’s (1950; 1958), Cahill’s (1961; 1962; 1964), and Susan Nelson’s (1983) translation of yi as “untrammeled,” although this is not to say that the yi only means “untrammeled,” “free,” “unfettered,” or “unconstrained,” since its semantic range also encompasses the meanings of “independent,” “relaxed,” “nonchalant,”

166

Chapter 5

“improvisational,” and “unconventional”; we will see below some of the versatile implications of yi suggested in later art historians’, connoisseurs’, and critics’ writings.5 After Li Sizhen and Zhang Huaiguan, the late Tang critic Zhu Jingxuan (ca. 840) in his Tangchao Minghua Lu (Record of Famous Painters of the Tang Dynasty) classifies painters into a four-level system shenpin, miaopin, nengpin, and yipin, and states that, unlike those in the other three levels, the painters/paintings in yipin are unconstrained by conventional rules, methods or techniques (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 70; Bush and Shih 2012, 76).6 Sometime after him, the late Tang critic Zhang Yanyuan does not follow Zhu Jingxuan’s classification, but regards ziran 自然 (naturally spontaneous) as the top in the top class, shen 神 (divine) as middle in the top class, miao 妙 (wonderful) as low in the top class, jing 精 (refined) as top in the middle class, and jinxi 謹細 (careful and elaborate) as middle in the middle class, and suggests that these five grades embrace the six laws of Xie He (see Bush and Shih 2012, 78; Wang and Ren 2002a, 112). Zhang makes this claim immediately after his suggestion that the painter should avoid “a meticulous completeness in formal appearance and colouring, and extreme carefulness and detail that display skill and finish” (Bush and Shih 2012, 63; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 112). After Zhang Yanyuan, Jing Hao classifies landscape painting into four categories: shen (divine), miao (sublime), qi 奇 (distinctive), and qiao (skillful) as we saw in chapter 2. For Jing Hao, landscape painting labeled as qi is painted by untrammeled and unconventional brushstrokes, but deviates from real scenes filled with qi and yun, and thus shows the painter’s lack of thinking. His negative view of qi painting is consistent with his advocacy of zhen (internal reality) and six essentials, but this does not mean that he ignores the significance of artistic originality for landscape painting.7 Here, we cannot regard Jing Hao’s qi class as equating to the yipin advocated by Zhu Jingxuan or yige defined by Huang Xiufu, even though for these three scholars qi, yipin, and yige works all adopt untrammeled unconventional brushwork. We will see the reason shortly. The Northern Song critic Huang Xiufu (ca. 1006) follows Zhu Jingxuan’s four-level classification, but places yige 逸格 (untrammeled class) as the first class in his classification of painting.8 Some modern scholars including Xu Fuguan (2001, 186), Ye Lang (1985, 290, 293–94), and Jianping Gao (1996, 167) suggest that Zhang Yanyuan’s jing and jinxi approximately equal nengge (competent or skilled class), while the ziran grade in Zhang Yanyuan’s text approximately equals yige in Huang Xiufu’s classification.9 Similarly, Shimada (1962, 137) also thinks that listing yige as the product of spontaneity in the top class finds its precursor in Zhang Yanyuan’s Lidai Minghua Ji.

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

167

As mentioned above, Zhu Jingxuan does not list yipin as the highest level. Shimada (1961, 67) considers Zhu Jingxuan’s writing on yipin and suggests that Zhu’s notion of yi mainly refers to unconventional and unorthodox painting style or method, that is, “an expedient which releases one from orthodoxy, a permissible exception” and “an aberrant method not bound to the usual rules, a novelty.” The notion of yi put forward by Huang Xiufu seems to echo Zhu Jingxuan in terms of advocating unconventional abbreviated images and rough brushstrokes. Huang Xiufu explains yige thus: [Yige] is clumsy in the regulated drawing of squares and circles, and disdains minute thoroughness in colouring. Its brushwork is abbreviated yet its forms are complete, and attain naturalness. None can take it as a model for it goes beyond expectation [chuyu yibiao 出於意表]. (Bush and Shih 2012, 100–101; see Yu 1986, 405; Wang and Ren 2002a, 202)10

Below yige, Huang Xiufu defines shenge as: “when inspiration soars on high, thought is joined with spirit. Then creative insights establish form, and the paintings’ subtleties echo natural transformations” (Bush and Shih 2012, 101; see Yu 1986, 405; Wang and Ren 2002a, 202). It is undeniable that shenge or shenpin in the three-level grading system implies the work listed in this level is regarded as the art of genius, since the adjective shen (divine or inspired) suggests that such work appears to be made or inspired by divine power originating in tian.11 We can see the similarity between shenge and yige lies in both valuing “naturalness,” which may refer to two things: the sense of life engendered through conveying qiyun, and the spontaneity of artistic creation. Comparing Huang Xiufu’s definitions of yige and shenge, we can see that for him the following two aspects of yige are distinctive: First, occasional neglect of formal imitation is allowed in the yi class. The sketched formal representation is realized by abbreviated and less complete brushstrokes and further surrenders to expressionism, although formal likeness is not completely discarded. This point echoes Zhu Jingxuan’s notion of yipin mentioned above. Second, the aesthetic merit of the work in this class is beyond the expectation of connoisseurs who are familiar with previous masters’ art, and this attracts later students to take it as a model, but they find it difficult to follow it. Huang Xiufu’s first point may help in understanding Shimada’s (1961, 67, 73) view that yipin/yige appears to go further in disregarding formal likeness than shenpin/shenge, and one difference between yipin and shenpin lies in the fact that the former uses more abbreviated brushstrokes, and depicts images in a simplified and unorthodox style. Following Huang Xiufu’s second point, one may see that originality beyond conventional expectation determines the impossibility of imitating yipin and the difficulty

168

Chapter 5

and challenge of following yipin. The second point is also involved in Zhu Jingxuan’s earlier account of three yipin painters Wang Mo (ca. 734‒805), Li Lingsheng (active ca. 806‒820), and Zhang Zhihe (734‒774?), although he did not explicitly mention the impossibility of imitating yipin or difficulty of following yipin. Looking at Zhu Jingxuan’s account of the three painters listed in yipin, and Huang Xiufu’s record of the only master ranked in yige, Sun Wei (active the late ninth century), one may see that Zhu’s and Huang’s depictions of them fit in with the modern art historian Nelson’s (1983, 397) view that the Tang yipin masters painted impulsively, rebelliously, and aggressively against the orthodoxy and convention by immoderate and spontaneous “experimentalism.”12 For instance, in Zhu Jingxuan’s account, laughing and singing, stamping (on the painting surface) and smearing with his hands, sweeping his brush and splashing the ink (onto the painting surface), Wang Mo followed the traces of the brushstrokes and shapes of the ink, and painted mountains, rocks, clouds, or water, which appear to fit a natural transformation without any artificial trace, as if created with a divine dexterity; viewers felt astonished when seeing no traces of spare ink blots on the finished work (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 89; Bush and Shih 2012, 65). As Shimada (1961, 68) also notes, formal representation in his works is abbreviated, ambiguous, and even abstract. Zhu Jingxuan’s and Huang Xiufu’s texts suggest that Li Lingsheng, Zhang Zhihe, and Sun Wei also depicted abbreviated and vivid images in an unconventional and spontaneous way.13 However, it is worth noting that the experimental method of painting is just a means to release artistic spontaneity, and yipin’s original merit cannot be understood simply as abbreviated and rebellious formal elements, simplified and unconventional style, or experimental approach, but derives from the mental disposition associated with yi. I disagree with Shimada’s (1961; 1962; 1964) view that yipin is a kind of style, characterized by abbreviated images and rough brushwork, since he simply and mistakenly regards works painted by unorthodox yibi 逸筆 (untrammeled brushwork) as yipin. Despite not adopting the term qiyun to evaluate paintings, Zhu Jingxuan claims in his preface to Tangchao Minghua Lu that with regard to transmit shen and form zhi (yishen dingzhi 移神定質), by virtue of the ink the with-form (youxiang 有象) is established in painting and the without-form (wuxing 无形) gives birth (Wang and Ren 2002a, 71). Here, the with-form refers to the formal elements; one may understand that shen or qiyun refers to the without-form. In his preface to Huang Xiufu’s Yizhou Minghua Lu, Li Tian (ca. 1006) advises spectators to appreciate qiyun in painting, forget the concrete image, and seek shenhui with the object depicted and the artist (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 201; Bush and Shih 2012, 98).14 Huang Xiufu praises Zhao Gongyou for conveying fengshen guqi 風神骨氣 through painting, and

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

169

comments that Zhao Gongyou, Fan Qiong (both listed in shenge), Chen Hao, and Peng Jian (both ranked in the top level of miaoge) master all six laws (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 205–206).15 He quotes the late Tang critic Ouyang Jiong’s (896–971) view on the dichotomy of qiyun and xingsi 形似 (formal likeness): “If a painting has qiyun, but not formal likeness, then its substance will dominate over its pattern, if it has formal likeness, but not qiyun, then it will be beautiful but not substantial” (Bush and Shih 2012, 224; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 217). Since Huang Xiufu regards yige above shenge and miaoge, one may reasonably assume that for Huang Xiufu paintings ranked in yige must fit in with the first criterion of qiyun, even though, compared with the other three classes, yige appears to disregard the second law gufa yongbi, the third law yingwu xiangxing, and the fourth law suilei fucai.16 Moreover, we can see that from Zhu Jingxuan’s and Huang Xiufu’s writings the masters listed in yipin/yige demonstrate their high-minded dispositions, and uncorrupted independence from power and wealth. That is, the qiyun in the works appears to closely relate to the artist’s qiyun (or is determined by the latter as Guo Ruoxu suggests later). For instance, Zhu Jingxuan records that Li Lingsheng lived a self-sufficient and independent life, refusing to defer to the powerful class, and Zhang Zhihe was a Daoist recluse inhabiting the natural landscape. Huang Xiufu records that Sun Wei refused to paint for the wealthy or powerful class who showed disrespect in their manner, regardless of the great fortune he could get, so only people who appreciate painting can commission his works (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 204; Bush and Shih 2012, 101). One may see that the four Tang masters listed in yipin/yige can be classified into yishi gaoren held by Zhang Yanyuan or yanxue shangshi used by Gu Ruoxu to classify one of two types of people good at creating paintings replete with qiyun. Guo Ruoxu mentions Zhu Jingxuan’s Tangchao Minghua Lu, and Huang Xiufu’s work Zonghua Ji in his Tuhua Jianwen Zhi, but, as we saw in chapter 2, attributes Yizhou Minghua Lu to another author, Xin Xian (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 310). However, Guo Ruoxu neither follows the four-level classification which places yipin above shenpin, nor adopts the earlier three-level grading system. Although the Southern Song art historian and critic Deng Chun (ca. 1171), who follows Guo Ruoxu’s view of the impossibility of teaching qiyun, does not employ a four-level classification in his Hua Ji, he remarks that Huang Xiufu’s placing of yige above shenge is more appropriate than Zhu Jingxuan’s adding yipin after nengpin (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 667; Bush and Shih 2012, 102).17 Although I disagree with Shimada’s (1962, 136‒137) view of yipin as a kind of style, I agree with his observation that when the strict depiction of formal likeness is despised by more artists and connoisseurs in the Song Dynasty, yipin (or yige), “as a product of spontaneity,” which embodies qiyun

170

Chapter 5

in abbreviated images and uses less effort, takes its place in the top level of the grading classification system. Deng Chun’s agreement with Huang Xiufu’s placing yige as the top level reflects his sensitivity to the change of the aesthetic taste. Here, it is also worth noting Deng Chun’s comment that after Sun Wei, most of the later painters, including Shi Ke, Sun Zhiwei, Guan Xiu, and Zhao Yunzi, who imitated the rebellious and unconventional style of the Tang yipin masters, cannot be ranked as yipin, since their works demonstrated increasingly reckless unruliness and intolerable eccentricity. In Deng Chun’s eyes, [Yipin] reached its zenith in Sun Wei [late ninth century]. Later men were often increasingly wild and reckless. Shi Ke [tenth century] and Sun Zhiwei [eleventh century] may still be tolerated, although they did not escape being coarse and vulgar. Finally, as for types like Guan Xiu [832‒912] and Zhao Yunzi [late tenth century], there is nothing about which they had scruples. In their thoughts they wished to be lofty, yet they were never anything but uncouth. (Bush and Shih 2012, 102; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 669; Yu 1986, 78; Nelson 1983, 398)18

As mentioned above, the earlier Tang yipin masters demonstrated their unruly and untrammeled expression by rebelling from orthodoxy, but their going against conventions is only an artistic means not an end. Thus, later artists who attempted to achieve the artistic level of earlier masters by simply copying the style of unorthodoxy and unruliness were doomed to fail to attain the same aesthetic level as previous masters. Deng Chun’s words also verify that yipin does not simply refer to a style, but rather is an assessment level in a classification system that grades by qualities. After Guo Ruoxu and Deng Chun, the early Yuan connoisseur Tang Hou does not follow three-level or four-level classification to classify painters in his Huajian, although he highly praises the paintings by Sun Wei (see Chou 2001, 115–116; Wang and Ren 2002a, 696). Shimada, as mentioned above, wrongly interprets yipin as a style of painting abbreviated images through rough or sketched brushwork, and thus classifies works by the Southern Song monk-artists Muxi (ca. 1200–after 1279) and Yujian (active mid-thirteenth century) into yipin. However, in Huajian Tang Hou criticizes Muxi’s “ink play” is sloppy and ugly, and has no sense of antiquity (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 707; Chou 2005, 147). Nelson (1983, 398, 416) suggests that compared with the earlier Tang yipin masters, who demonstrated their mental independence and freedom by expressing “an aggressive or impulsive spirit” and releasing “the inner impulses from outer restraints,” later Song and Yuan yipin painters represented by Mi Fu and Ni Zan appear less aggressive in expression but more “demure,” “discreet,” self-constrained, and understated, showing “the

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

171

disengagement of the inner sensibilities from outer compulsions,” and a “detached, aloof, unconcerned” disposition. I think that this observation exactly shows yipin cannot be regarded simply as equating to a style of painting abbreviated images and applying sketched and rough brushwork in an unconventional and unorthodox way. Later influential Ming and Qing art historians and critics including Dong Qichang, Tang Zhiqi, Yun Ge, and Wang Yuanqi place yipin as the highest level.19 These connoisseurs and critics might differ when ranking their favorite artists as yipin, but there is little controversy in so ranking the Northern Song master Mi Fu and the Yuan master Ni Zan.20 For instance, the influential late Ming scholar-artist and critic Dong Qichang thinks that among Song and Yuan painters only they can be ranked in yipin due to the originality of their works untainted by previous masters. In his Huachanshi Suibi (Essays from the Painting-Meditation Studio), he says that: [Ni Zan’s] painting at the time of the last dynasty can be called of the untrammelled class . . . . Among [Song] men, [Mi Fu] was beyond the beaten path; the others all came out of a mold. . . . [Among Yuan masters] [Ni Zan] alone was old-fashioned, unassertive, and natural. He was the only one after Mad Mi. (Nelson 1983, 399; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 220)

As mentioned in chapter 2, Mi Fu is famous for abandoning texturestrokes (manipulated by previous and later orthodox masters) and using wet and overlapping ink-dots to paint images of mountains enveloped by clouds and mists. His ink-dots, called Mi-dot by connoisseurs, were applied denser or paler where the mists are to be thicker or thinner.21 Unlike Mi Fu who is good at exploiting the potential of ink by virtue of applying his ink-dots, three centuries later, Ni Zan’s brushwork is distinctive for sparing ink as if it is gold. In Ni Zan’s works, images are usually depicted by thin and bony lines drawn with dry and scratchy brushstrokes.22 As Nelson (1983, 400–404) indicates, however, there are not only “remarkable correspondences in temperament and personal habits” between Mi Fu and Ni Zan, such as having an obsessive passion for cleanliness and creating paintings in a small size and in a unconventional, simplistic, and natural style, but also a spiritual kinship between them which has been recognized by Ni Zan’s contemporaries including Zhang Yu, Yuan Hua (1316–after 1376), and Gu Meng, and later by Dong Qichang. Mi Fu’s and Ni Zan’s masterpieces exemplify sketched formal representation realised through unconventional spontaneous brushwork and an aesthetic merit beyond the ability of connoisseurs to predict and learners to imitate. This fits in with Huang Xiufu’s definition of yige mentioned above. Moreover, the spiritual kinship can be traced back to such earlier

172

Chapter 5

Tang yipin masters as Li Lingxing, Zhang Zhihe, and Sun Wei. Similarly to these previous high-minded yipin masters, Mi Fu and Ni Zan are well known for their obsessive cleanliness and uncorrupted independence. For instance, Ni Zan lived at the turbulent end of the Yuan Dynasty when the cruel rule of the Mongols was challenged by rebellion in many places, but he refused to cooperate with the rebel cause and accept valuable gifts from the rebel leaders. Although rebelling meant attempting to overthrow Mongolian rule, the Yuan Dynasty had united China and had been established as a legitimate regime for several years. Confronting this moral dilemma, Ni Zan chose to withdraw from the secular world and lived as a recluse. In Biographies of Worthies of Chin-ling, Ni Zan’s loftiness was praised thus: The recluse, in abandoning his fortune, showed heroism; in tearing up a gift of silk, he showed integrity; in safely preserving himself, he showed wisdom; and in refusing to serve in either war or peace, he showed singularity of conduct . . . . This he did not because he wanted to show his heroism, integrity, wisdom, or exceptional conduct, but because he was by nature independent and forthright. (Fong 1992, 487)

One may see that although, compared with the earlier Tang yipin masters’ aggressiveness, Mi Fu and Ni Zan appear “demure,” the pursuit of yi as a reflection of the lofty mental disposition constitutes a continuity of the spirit of yi between them, expressed through spontaneous and experimental painting. Nelson (1983, 415–416) observes that the common point between both earlier Tang and later Song and Yuan yipin artists regarding the “freedom” (yi) associated with loftiness is “the condition that freed them of convention and allowed them to develop styles uncannily free of the hackneyed, the timeworn, the predictable,” and involves the “sense of ‘retirement’ from the exigencies and proprieties of workaday world.” Their different styles all manifest yi. As mentioned above, I follow Cahill’s, Soper’s and Nelson’s translation of yi as untrammeled, but do not think that the English word “untrammeled” captures the meaning of yi. As Nelson also notes, yi is a term with a wide semantic range encompassing such meanings as free, unfettered, relaxed or having relaxed pleasure, wilfully released from duties or obligations, retiring from routine work or official life, showing a kind of improvisational unpredictability and uniqueness, nonchalance or imperviousness to worldly lures, and lofty independence (398–424). All these possible meanings of yi relate to a high-minded mental disposition. Here, the late Ming critic Tang Zhiqi’s identification of several kinds of yi may help us understand the profundity of yi in relation to a high-minded mental disposition. As Tang Zhiqi identifies, these adjectives add differences to the meaning of yi: yi may be pure 清逸, elegant 雅逸, refined 俊逸, subtle or

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

173

reclusive 隱逸, or profound 沉逸. Yi can also be lofty 高逸, nonchalant 冷逸, relaxed 放逸, detached 孤逸, or far-reaching 遠逸. All the adjectives relate to some kind of highly praised mental disposition. “Granted that there may be different kinds of yi, nothing has ever been yi and murky, yi and vulgar, yi and indecisive or base [. . .]. Although yi verges on the bizarre [qi 奇], really it is without any intention of being bizarre. Although it never departs from harmoniousness [yun 韻], still it goes far beyond harmoniousness.” (Nelson 1983, 415; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 261) Here, we see in Tang Zhiqi’s interpretation of yi that again the untrammeled unconventionality of style or technique is not the most significant feature of yipin, especially when the untrammeled unconventionality departs from harmony and elegance to become intolerably bizarre and vulgar rather than yi. Tang Zhiqi’s contemporary Li Rihua emphasizes the yiqi 逸氣 (untrammeled spirit) successfully conveyed through Ni Zan’s simply sketching, as he himself alleged, in his comments on Ni Zan’s originality, thus: As a lofty man Ni Zan was not worried about blunt strokes in his works, but rather sketched his yiqi (see Yu 1986, 130).23 In his Zhulan Huaying 竹嬾畫媵 (Li Rihua’s Colophons on Painting), he also says that “Ni Zan is solitary and mild, but his [qi] is naturally great and vast.” (Nelson 1983, 407) Slightly after Tang Zhiqi and Li Rihua, the early Qing painter Yun Ge writes yige 逸格 and shiqi 士氣 (scholar spirit) as if the two terms are “interchangeable,” since he claims that “not to follow the trodden path” (buluo qijing 不落畦徑) is called shiqi, while “not to go in for the taste of the time” (buru shiqu 不入時趨) is called yige (418).24 What he means by shiqi here approximately equates to what Ni Zan and Li Rihua mean by yiqi. As seen above, even though the styles or experimental methods of earlier and later masters in yipin appear different, their works share a similarity not merely in unconventional and improvisational innovation, but also in the spontaneous expression of lofty and independent yiqi or shiqi. Although the valuing of the yipin artist’s mental disposition reminds one of Kant’s view of genius as an innate mental talent and its original nature, in the context of yipin, as seen above, high-mindedness, mental purity, loftiness, spiritual independence, nonchalance, or detachment from ordinary affairs implied by the notion of yi embody explicitly the moral dimension of genius. Modern Scholars appear to echo the view of yipin painting as the print of yipin master’s mental disposition associated with yi. For instance, Xu Fuguan (2001, 191–195) echoes Yun Ge’s view mentioned above in his claim that the original nature of yipin derives from the mental disposition associated with yi. Xu Fuguan thinks that the philosophical origin of the pursuit of yi through painting is Zhuangzi’s advocacy of the carefree wandering of the spirit (mentioned in chapter 4). His view also resonates with the point made earlier that it would be superficial merely to note unconventional representation realized

174

Chapter 5

by the abbreviated forms, and unorthodox brushstrokes in yipin paintings. Although some earlier Tang masters of this class appear more impulsive in their experimental use of brush or ink, and some later Song and Yuan masters seem more prudent or self-constrained in applying brushstrokes, they share the merit of originality and spontaneity, and their different styles of or approaches to originality arise from their mental disposition of yi. Although Shimada’s (1964, 22‒24) view of yipin as a style of abbreviated image and rough brushwork (yibi) is inaccurate and his understanding of qiyun as merely the quality of the painter seems limited, he insightfully suggests that the recognition of yipin as the highest level by such Song critics as Huang Xiufu shows the aesthetic pursuit of qiyun and that the depreciation of formal representation (which arose in the Mid-Tang) flourished in the Song Dynasty.25 It is clear that Shimada echoes Guo Ruoxu’s view in his claim that “the basis of qiyun is to be sought in the human mind.” (22) As seen in chapters 2–4, Guo Ruoxu’s view that painting is mind-print and the ability to create a painting replete with qiyun (expressive quality of the work) is determined by the painter’s qiyun (innate mental disposition) appears to be prefigured by Jing Hao’s suggestion regarding the role of the mind in conveying qi and yun in landscape painting, resonates with eleventh-century aesthetic tendency to valuing individual intellectual expression, and is echoed by later connoisseurs and critics. The role of the artist’s qiyun and innate mental disposition helps us understand why Yun Ge suggests yige and shiqi are interchangeable, why yipin/yige requires a painter to have the mental dispositions which the adjective yi implies, and how the moral dimension of qiyun features in yipin masters and their masterpieces. When projecting Kant’s definition of genius’ originality into the context of yipin, we have seen that in terms of going against orthodoxy as a necessary but not sufficient condition of genius, the criteria of yipin, as suggested in the accounts of Huang Xiufu and Deng Chun, and echoed in later criticism, appear to fit in with genius’ originality defined in Kant’s account: Since the originality of his talent constitutes one (but not the only) essential element of the character of genius, superficial minds believe that they cannot show that they are blossoming geniuses any better than by pronouncing themselves free of the academic constraint of all rules. (KU §47, 5: 310)

For Kant, the key point with regard to genius’ originality appears to lie in the original expression of the aesthetic idea that is successfully released through the work and that aesthetically pleases the audiences (KU §49, 5: 314–518). Considering the parallels between pictorial yi and Kant’s aesthetic idea discussed in chapter 3, one may suggest that this is also true for paintings ranked in yipin.

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

175

As seen above, in the context of yipin, the mental disposition of yi is regarded as relating to the artist’s moral sentiments and temperament. This fits in with Guo Ruoxu’s view that the artist’s mental disposition determining the competency to create a painting replete with qiyun has a moral dimension and his observation that the two types of master adept at producing masterpieces demonstrate lofty moral character and temperament. Regarding the moral dimension of genius, one may note that Kant also gives a clue: Yet in all beautiful art what is essential consists in the form, which is purposive for observation and judging, where the pleasure is at the same time culture and disposes the spirit to ideas, hence makes it receptive to several sorts of pleasure and entertainment—not in the matter of the sensation (the charm or the emotion), where it is aimed merely at enjoyment, which leaves behind it nothing in the idea, and makes the spirit dull, the object by and by loathsome, and the mind, because it is aware that its disposition is contrapurposive in the judgment of reason, dissatisfied with itself and moody. (KU §52, 5: 326; my emphasis)

As seen in previous chapters, Kant says that only genius can create beautiful art and defines genius as an innate mental disposition through which nature gives the rule to (beautiful) art. Even though Kant does not speak of genius here, what he means by “disposition” refers to genius. Although Kant classifies theoretical or pure reason and practical reason in his first and second Critiques, respectively, it appears more likely that what Kant is referring here to the judgment of practical reason instead of theoretical reason, that is, moral judgment.26 However, despite the passing point, mentioned above, that genius cannot be contrapurposive in moral judgment, Kant does not directly link genius to moral disposition and temperament, but rather suggests that beauty (including beautiful nature and beautiful art produced by genius) is the symbol of the morally good. Regarding the moral dimension of genius in the qiyunfocused context in comparison with Kant, we will see in detail in chapter 7 that significant differences exist between the two philosophical traditions. The fact that the originality of genius manifested in works ranked in yipin has attracted numerous followers shows such originality is exemplary. In the next section, we will see that the aesthetic merit of yi manifested in works ranked in yipin is not for imitation but the inspiration of other masters. To better understand this, we should see the impossibility of imitating qiyun. 5.2 THE CRAZE OF YIPIN, AND THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF IMITATING QIYUN In this section, I consider the exemplary originality of genius in yipin through the lens of Kant. We will also see that unlike Kant’s account, the Chinese

176

Chapter 5

texts regarding the inimitability of yipin verify Guo Ruoxu’s view of the impossibility of teaching qiyun. As mentioned above, for Kant, the originality of genius is exemplary: the work of genius serves as a model, for inspiring another genius to awaken his own originality to set new models (KU §47, 5: 310; §49, 5: 318). Thus, while any attempt to achieve the artistic level of genius either by simply rebelling against previous conventions or by punctiliously codifying and copying previous masters’ styles or methods, is doomed to fail to attain the artistic level of the master, “another genius” only allows the product of genius to inspire original ideas in him (KU §46, §49, 5: 308, 318).27 Kant claims that the product of genius serves others “as a model not for copying but for imitation.” This may cause one to question whether he is inconsistent in his ideas of the exemplary originality of genius. Here, imitation is not meant to be the familiar notion of imitation. Kant explains what he means by “imitation” there by claiming that “the ideas of the artist arouse similar ideas in his apprentice if nature has equipped him with a similar proportion of mental powers.” (KU §47, 5: 309) That is, he emphasizes the inspiration of aesthetic ideas. In addition, the arousal of similar ideas does not mean that the later artist equipped by nature with genius (a similar mental talent to the previous master) will establish himself by imitating the previous master in a slavish way. In sections 47 and 49 of the Third Critique, Kant clearly is consistent in suggesting that the exemplary originality of genius is for inspiring another genius to produce his original idea, establish his own style and develop his school, not for imitation (in the literal or commonly understood sense). He distinguishes the imitator and follower of genius: “the former is ‘slavish,’ while the latter involves a follower putting ‘their own talent to the test,’ allowing the product of genius to provoke ‘original ideas’ in them.” (Caygill 1995, 213) Genius’ exemplary originality fits in with Kant’s account of the difference between mechanical art and beautiful art. For Kant, the art of diligence and learning is mechanical art, not beautiful art, and “something academically correct, does not constitute the essential condition of art,” while beautiful art created by genius does not and cannot show “any sign that the [artistic] rule has hovered before the eyes of the artist and fettered his mental powers.” (KU §46, 47, 5: 307, 310) The former is comprehended by rules and inherited by teaching and learning, but the latter is only grasped as a product by genius, and is set as an original example (KU §47, 5: 310). For Kant, genius is “apportioned to each immediately from the hand of nature, and thus dies with him, until nature one day similarly endows another, who needs nothing more than an example in order to let the talent of which he is aware operate in a similar way.” (KU §47, 5: 309) This is due to genius’ spontaneity regarding which only nature gives the rule, as seen in

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

177

chapter 4. We saw there that the rule of nature cannot be attained through communication. This explains why later artists cannot produce a masterpiece by studying genius’ models unless they have been endowed with “a similar proportion of mental powers.” Thus, Guyer (2003, 131) suggests that for Kant genius provokes three types of successors: “a school of copiers, for whom the work will be exemplary in everything except its originality,” “mannerists, who will be provoked to originality without producing anything exemplary,” and genius, “whose work must necessarily depart from that of their predecessors in some essential respects.” Even though works by a school of copiers show exemplarity without originality and works by mannerists show originality without exemplarity, for Kant originality and exemplarity cannot be separated in the context of genius. In Kant’s eyes, “mannerists” attempt to capture genius’ originality in a naïve and superficial way, and their originality is just original nonsense, since their works cannot be appreciated as models for inspiring other geniuses, but rather apparently show their superficial understanding and pursuit of genius’ originality. As shown above in Deng Chun’s text, the type of painters whom Deng Chun despises as showing the reckless unruliness and intolerable eccentricity by simply imitating earlier yipin masters’ experimentalism and rebelling against conventions may be classified as the type of genius’ successors whom Kant calls “mannerists.” The absence of exemplarity of genius explains why their eccentricity is destined to be despised by such connoisseurs as Deng Chun. That later yipin masters such as Mi Fu gain inspiration from earlier yipin and shenpin masters illustrates the exemplary originality of genius. The Southern Song connoisseur Zhao Xigu records that Mi Fu used squeezedout sugar canes and lotus stalks as painting tools (see Bush and Shih 2012, 217; Bush 2012, 116; Yu 1986, 1235). Shimada (1964, 20) suggests that his use of such unique painting tools might be inspired by Wang Mo using his hair dipped in ink. As mentioned in chapter 2, Tang Hou points out that in terms of creating the emerging-submerging effect of cloudy mountains Mi Fu learned from the shenpin master Dong Yuan, although Mi Fu’s ink-dot technique is very special and original. The late Ming and following Qing critics including Li Rihua, Dong Qichang, Tang Zhiqi, and Shen Zongqian agree that Mi Fu learned from Dong Yuan (see Zhulan Huaying; Wang and Ren 2002b, 227, 261, 593).28 However, Dong Qichang, Li Rihua, and Xie Zhaozhe (1567–1624) also think that Mi Fu’s ink-dot style is inspired by the splashed-ink landscape of Wang Mo.29 Mi Fu’s success shows that a genius merely lets the earlier geniuses’ works stimulate his own original ideas and talent, avoids the limitation of being a follower by initiating his own style and establishing his own school, and creates original models for later followers rather than degrading into mannerism.30

178

Chapter 5

The school of copiers includes two types: forgers who aim to deceive and diligent imitators whose aim is not to deceive.31 There are many Chinese cases where a fake alleged to be the work of a master deceived experienced connoisseurs for a certain period of time.32 Unlike forgers who deliberately aim to deceive, some imitators of genius show a diligent and painstaking respect and study of the styles or methods of previous masters in terms of attempting to extract the rules from the models and applying the shortcuts to their works. Even though their efforts are unlike the so-called mannerists’ superficial and complacent rebellious rejection of convention and orthodoxy, they are also doomed to fail to attain genius’ success by imitation. As Kant suggests, “since learning is nothing but imitation, even the greatest aptitude for learning, facility for learning (capacity) as such, still does not count as genius.” (KU §47, 5: 308) Working diligently and painfully on copying a previous master’s method and technique unavoidably goes against the spontaneity and originality of genius and the definition of beautiful art. Consider the case of the Ming and Qing craze of imitating yipin. The aesthetic merits of simplicity and spontaneity in works by Mi Fu and Ni Zan attracted many later artists in the Ming and Qing Dynasties who spent much time and energy on copying and imitating Mi Fu’s and Ni Zan’s works. Dong Qichang criticizes this craze for imitating Mi Fu thus: In recent times, common artists make some brush dots and this is immediately acclaimed as Mi-style mountains. How ridiculous! [Mi Fu] looked with disdain upon the ages past and did not yield place to [Wang Wei]; could he have casually and indulgently opened a comfortable shortcut for later men? (Nelson 1983, 407; see Yu 1986, 728; Wang and Ren 2002b, 222)

Dong Qichang’s contemporary Li Rihua in Zhulan Huaying claims that “[Mi Fu’s] [painting] has a rainy, misty look, but the bone [structure] is naturally spare and elegant.” (Nelson 1983, 407) The hidden bone (structure) in the images painted through Mi Fu’s application of clear layers of overlapping ink-dots, which is often neglected by imitators, may explain their failure of imitating Mi Fu. However, such codification does not provide a comfortable shortcut for subsequent imitators, even though Li Rihua’s view is echoed by subsequent Qing scholar-artists and critics including Shen Zongqian, Qian Du (1763‒1844), and Sheng Dashi (1771–?) who continue to emphasize the layers of ink-dots and hidden bone in Mi Fu’s paintings and criticize ignorant imitators (see Jiezhou Xuehua Bian, vol. 1 landscape, yongmo section; Songhu Huayi; Xishan Woyou Lu; Wang and Ren 2002b, 574, 649, 673). Ni Zan’s imitators also failed in their attempts, even though Ni Zan’s brushstrokes appear simplistic as well. As Nelson (1983, 409) notes, the impossibility of imitating Ni Zan was commonly confronted by Ming and

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

179

Qing artists including Wang Fu, Shen Zhou (1427‒1509), Wen Zhengming (1470‒1559), Lu Zhi (1496‒1576), Yun Xiang, and Yun Ge.33 As mentioned above, Li Rihua emphasizes that yiqi (which cannot be easily imitated) is successfully conveyed through Ni Zan’s simply sketching as he himself alleged. However, this reminder does not help subsequent imitators. Later than Li Rihua, Shi Tao points out that the imitators of Ni Zan “have imitated only the dry and desolate or the thinnest parts and consequently their copies have no far-reaching spirit [shen].” (Nelson 1983, 408; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 315) As mentioned in chapters 3 and 4, Shi Tao’s contemporary Wang Yuanqi comments that Ni Zan’s art is between youyi (having a conscious intention or effort) and wuyi (not having one). He points out that Ni Zan’s original merits are achieved by spontaneous effortlessness: The various masters of Song and Yuan each came out of a set pattern. Only the lofty scholar [Ni Zan] washes away in one-stroke the accumulations of tradition, and emptied out everything. He was the first in the untrammelled class. This was not a created method. By not using effort, he did that which those who are good at using effort cannot achieve. (Nelson 1983, 410; with modification; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 413)

His contemporary Yun Ge, who, as seen above, equates yige with shiqi, admits his and his relative Yun Xiang’s inability to imitate Ni Zan after years of preoccupied practice, and poses a similar view on Ni Zan’s inimitability: [We] [do not and could not] [attain] [Ni Zan’s] spontaneous and relaxed quality . . . . Naivete is the one thing that cannot be achieved by deliberate intention; this is yipin. . . . It is just this that Ni Zan called “sketching [yiqi] in my breast.” (Nelson 1983, 409; with modifications; see Ouxiangguan Huaba, in Qin 1918, vols. 5, 6)

Yun Ge also claims that learning Ni Zan is like the man going to Handan to learn walking (see Ouxiangguan Huaba, in Qin 1918, vol. 5).34 As Yun Ge realizes, his and Yun Xiang’s diligent study of Ni Zan over several years is in contradistinction to the effortless spontaneity in Ni Zan’s works. Here, Kant’s account of the spontaneity and originality of genius may explain Ni Zan’s success and later imitators’ failure. Regarding the inimitability of yipin masters Mi Fu and Ni Zan, Nelson’s (1983, 406‒407) comment that “imitation necessarily involved acts of study and discipline that were directly at odds with the process of marking a ‘free’ painting” appears to echo Kant’s account of genius. However, we should still bear in mind the serious issues with projecting Kant’s account of genius’ idea-giving and rule-giving into

180

Chapter 5

the qiyun-focused context due to significant differences between the aesthetic traditions as we saw in chapters 3 and 4. Unlike in Kant’s account, in the Chinese context the serious mistake made by imitators of yipin is neglecting or ignoring qiyun. As mentioned above, both Li Rihua and Yun Ge realize that the inimitability of Ni Zan’s works lies in his spontaneous expression of yiqi/shiqi. Li Rihua claims that if one did not have any spirit of yi but attempted to copy Ni Zan’s brush-traces, one would fail as if aiming at painting a tiger one finally painted a dog (see Yu 1986, 130).35 That is, without yiqi one could not produce yipin by just imitating previous yipin masters’ styles of formal representation and technical methods. The valuation of yiqi in the work as a reflection and expression of the artist’s yiqi may give the impression that the critics values qi but neglect yun. This would be a false impression. As mentioned in the last section, Li Rihua’s contemporary Tang Zhiqi emphasizes that yipin does not depart from yun. The work’s yun, the harmonious executive manner, through which qi is expressed, reflects the artist’s yun, through which his qi is embodied. That is, the yiqi or shiqi valued in yipin does not depart from yun. Considering that painting replete with qiyun is regarded by Guo Ruoxu and others as mind-print, we are aware that even though style or methods may be imitated, the mental disposition associated with yi cannot be copied or learned. Formal imitation might be inculcated easily, but a work’s qiyun is inimitable since qiyun expressed through images is determined by the artist’s innate mental disposition associated with yi. In the qiyun-focused context, genius establishes idea-images preceding the brush and follows the rule of tian, and the overcoming of self-consciousness involves genius’ spontaneity in releasing perfect idea-images into final images as explained in chapters 3 and 4. Although the spontaneity and inimitability of yipin can be illuminated in the light of Kant’s account of genius as an innate mental disposition following the rule of nature, whose works serve as models to exemplify the original expression of aesthetic ideas, what I aim to emphasize here is that in the Chinese context the fundamental point is the impossibility of imitating the artist’s qiyun. Since qiyun cannot be taught or communicated in a determinate formula, even though later artists worked hard to study the style and brushwork and even attempted to cultivate themselves to have a similar mental disposition, they were doomed to be different from previous masters. As seen above, Ming and Qing artists’ failure to imitate yipin exemplifies Guo Ruoxu’s claim that qiyun cannot be taught, and Li Rihua’s and Yun Ge’s reflections on the inimitability of Ni Zan also appear to echo Guo Ruoxu’s view. Katharine P. Burnett (2000, 522–558) argues that a discourse of originality led by influential critics such as Yuan Hongdao (1568–1610) and Dong Qichang is popular in late Ming painting criticism. From relevant writings

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

181

by Yuan Hongdao and Gu Ningyuan, we can see that although they do not directly comment on yipin masters and paintings, their views may be seen as a reflection on the craze of imitating yipin, that resonates with traditional qiyun aesthetics and their contemporary valuation of artistic originality, and demonstrate a dialectic of learning from previous masters and creating original works. Yuan Hongdao describes a dialogue between him, his older brother Yuan Zongdao (1560–1600), and Dong Qichang regarding whether artistic originality exists in works by their earlier influential mid-Ming artists Wen Zhengming, Tang Yin (1470–1524), and Shen Zhou: Once, when [Yuan Zongdao] and I were visiting [Dong Qichang], [Yuan Zongdao] asked, “Of the major figures in the recent world of painting, such as Wen Zhengming, Tang Yin, and Shenzhou, can it be said that they possess something of the [biyi] of the old masters?” To this, Dong Qichang replied, “There are recent painters in whom not a single brush stroke differs from the old masters—now, actually, they are unlike the old masters, and one might even say this is not painting.” I was amazed to hear this, and exclaimed, “These are the words of one who has perceived the [Dao]!” For the good painter learns from things, not from other painters. The good philosopher learns from his mind, not from some doctrine. The good poet learns from the panoply of images, not from writers of the past. When one models oneself on the [poets of the] Tang Dynasty, it is not a question of modelling one technique, lines and words on theirs. One models oneself on the spirit of their not being the Han [poets], or the Wei [poets], or the Six Dynasties [poets]. This is the true “modelling.” (Chaves 1983, 352; with modifications; quoted in Burnett 2000, 540; see also Lin 1967, 126; Yu 1986, 129)

As seen above, Yuan Hongdao suggests that one should follow things in nature rather than learn from any person, and learn the spirit of previous masters instead of their doctrines or rules. He also makes an analogy between “burning one’s bridges” and disobeying the rules of previous masters, the former may lead one to win a victory in a battle, while the latter might guide an artist to initiate his own art (Lin 1967, 126; see Yu 1986, 129). These ideas echo the rule of tian discussed by earlier artists and critics as we saw in chapter 4. Slightly after Yuan Hongdao, Gu Ningyuan suggests that artistic spontaneity may leave fresh but blunt traces of strokes; bluntness as well as freshness are valued as aesthetic merits. Freshness (sheng 生) “prevents pomposity and makes for the so-called literati style,” while bluntness or naivety (zhuo 拙) “prevents laboriousness and therefore has elegance” and “gives the so-called deep flavour of the poet” (Lin 1967, 123; see Yu 1986, 119; Wang and Ren

182

Chapter 5

2002b, 288). He suggests that although it is hard for a skilled painter to draw fresh or blunt strokes, the goal of painting should be freshness and bluntness after “mastery” (shu 熟) and “skillfulness” (gong 工), and freshness and bluntness can be attained by effortless spontaneity (Lin 1967, 122; see Yu 1986, 119; Wang and Ren 2002b, 288). As mentioned above, Li Rihua notes yiqi conveyed through Ni Zan’s blunt (zhuo) brushstrokes. As mentioned in chapter 1, Gu Ningyuan values the criterion of qiyun and claims that shengdong necessarily follows qiyun. One may say that his dialectic of sheng and shu, zhuo and gong serves qiyun aesthetics. On the one hand, Gu Ningyuan’s discussion regarding the significance of sheng and zhuo may help to understand the inimitability of yipin in its technical and practical aspect; on the other hand, we should not ignore that connoisseurs’ essential concern is the qiyun conveyed through sheng and zhuo in Ni Zan’s and Mi Fu’s works, which cannot be learned by diligent imitation. None of this is to deny the importance for the Chinese artist of learning ancient masters’ works through copying or imitation, and this is also a path for study in art historiography. As seen in chapter 1, the sixth law of Xie He, chuanyi moxie, means transmitting and conveying earlier models in making copies. One century after Gu Ningyuan, the Qing artist and critic Shen Zongqian does not deny the necessity of learning through copying, but suggests that it is exactly jingqi 精氣 (spirit) in the works of the previous masters that makes people value them. He warns learners that “to occupy oneself with the superficial traces and miss the spirit [jingqi] in painting would be like seeking life and movement in a clay doll,” and this slavish imitation will not awaken one’s own talent but rather bury it (Lin 1967, 201; see Jiezhou Xuehua Bian, vol. 2 landscape, mogu section; Wang and Ren 2002b, 595). With regard to establishing one’s own style (that is “why I am I”), one may see that Shen Zongqian echoes Shi Tao’s view mentioned above. To illustrate this point, Shen Zongqian enumerates such yipin and shenpin masters as Ju Ran (active ca. 950–975), Mi Fu and his son Mi Youren, Huang Gongwang, Wang Meng (ca. 1308–1385), Ni Zan and Wu Zhen who all learned from the shenpin master Dong Yuan, but initiated their own styles and established different schools (Lin 1967, 198–199; see Yu 1986, 894; Wang and Ren 2002b, 593). As mentioned in chapter 4, he also values the role of unselfconsciousness in artistic spontaneity. He further indicates that even though an artist needs to learn from pervious (yipin and shenpin) maters by imitating the models, he should not forget that “I have my own temperament [xingqing 性情],” since the technique or method used by previous masters is “a means of expressing [xingqing] and [xingqing] is the basis of technique.” (Lin 1967, 200; see Yu 1986, 895; Wang and Ren 2002b, 594) This emphasis on temperament echoes Guo Ruoxu’s view of the painter’s innate mental disposition determining his competency of painting a masterpiece replete with qiyun.

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

183

Although Nelson (1983, 406) asserts that at the technical level the expressive effect brought by “subtle undertones” in yipin works is hard to imitate, she points out that theoretically “freedom” as “the real content of each [yipin master’s] style” explains the inimitability of yipin. This view seems to be based on her observation of the emphasis of shiqi and yiqi in Ming and Qing criticism of yipin and what Nelson means by freedom here refers to the notion of yi. As seen above, this “freedom” manifested in yipin painting, as the unconventional and spontaneous expression of yiqi, is manifested not only in earlier Tang yipin in Zhu Jingxuan’s and Huang Xiufu’s accounts, but also in Song and Yuan yipin and in later Ming and Qing criticism. INTERIM CONCLUSION In conclusion, we have seen that yipin exemplifies the exemplary originality of genius. Although yipin masters demonstrate distinctive styles, the key feature of yipin lies in the originality of the spontaneous expression of yiqi or shiqi rather than merely rebelling against previous convention and orthodoxy, and yipin painting as the mind-print of yipin masters echoes qiyun aesthetics. Both earlier and later criticism of yipin emphasize the master’s lofty mental disposition, which, as seen above, includes such things as spiritual independence, detachment from ordinary affairs and social obligations, improvisational unpredictability, and imperviousness to worldly lures. This resonates with Guo Ruoxu’s view of the moral dimension of qiyun in relation to the artist’s mental disposition mentioned in chapter 2. We have seen a similar passing point regarding genius’ moral dimension in Kant’s account, although he takes a different philosophical approach which will be seen in more detail in chapter 7. Regarding the exemplary originality of genius, three successors of genius (genius, mannerist and copier) can be found in relation to yipin. We have seen that yipin attracted numerous learners, later yipin masters were inspired by earlier yipin or shenpin masters to create their own masterpieces and establish their own schools, while Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing critical texts record how “mannerists” and “imitators” (whom Kant identifies as slavish successors of genius) fail to attain the aesthetic merit of yipin. Both the positive and negative cases not only demonstrate the exemplary originality of genius, but also verify the inimitability of qiyun and impossibility of teaching or learning qiyun. Although it appears plausible to read yipin in the light of Kant’s account of genius’ originality and exemplarity, we should bear in mind the issues with projecting Kant’s account of genius’ idea-giving and rule-giving into a qiyun-focused context as explained in chapters 3 and 4. As seen above, yipin shows the optimal combination of aesthetic autonomy and moral relevance. In chapters 6 and 7, I will discuss how qiyun-focused

184

Chapter 5

Figure 5.1  Ni Zan (1301–1374), Rongxi Studio, 1372. Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 74.7 x 35.5 cm. National Palace Museum, Taipei. 2021. National Palace Museum, Taipei. 2021. The Open Data is made available to the public under the Open Government Data License, User can make use of it when complying to the condition and obligation of its terms. Open Government Data License: https://data​.gov​.tw​/license.

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

185

landscape painting requires (and realizes) genius’ aesthetic autonomy and moral cultivation in comparison with relevant Kantian ideas.

NOTES 1. For the significance of learning through copying in Chinese art, see Hsü (2016, 293–311). 2. We often see in classical texts that painters’ names were classified into categories, and the painting style and quality, works, and collections were discussed under the painter’s name. For instance, Richard Vinograd (2016, 256) notes that yipin was initially used as a category in artist ranking systems rather than in the evaluation of artworks and suggests that Huang Xiufu’s valorization of this class “may have been influenced by regional tastes, by personal preference for unconventional qualities, or by changes in the social status of painters.” Why may one be listed in yipin, not in shenpin, or miaopin, or another class? Is it due to his works? In the following examination we will see that yipin, shenpin, miaopin, and nengpin do not just categorize four groups of painters. Huang Xiufu’s definitions of yige, shenge, miaoge, and nengge in Yizhou Minghua Lu, developed from Zhu Jingxuan’s classification, clearly distinguish four kinds of painting (see Bush and Shih 2012, 100‒1; Wang and Ren 2002a, 202–3). 3. Li Sizhen’s preface to his Shu Houpin (Later Classification of Calligraphers) indicates that he classifies four painters into yipin, but due to the loss of his original writings on painting we cannot know who the four painters are (see Bush and Shih 2012, 47; Shimada 1961, 66). 4. The traditional system of “three classes and nine grades” classifies painters and their paintings into three classes: upper, middle, and lower, and each class is subdivided into three grades, upper, middle, and lower. 5. Vinograd (2016, 256) translates yi as “unconstrained.” Nelson (1983, 397– 424) notes that the notion of yi 逸 in later criticism (in the Ming and Qing dynasties) more or less differs from earlier criticism. In this chapter, although I draw on Nelson’s research on yipin, I attempt to abstract the common grounds regarding the notion of yi cross different periods. 6. For English translation of Tangchao Minghua Lu, see Soper (1950, 5–28; 1958, 204–30). 7. Jing Hao’s comment on Zhang Zao suggests he values artistic originality (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 193; Bush and Shih 2012, 159). 8. As mentioned in chapter 2, pin refers to ranking or classification such as in state official grading system by ranks, or classification in grades by characters and qualities of literati as seen in Shishuo Xinyu. Both ge and pin in the grading system of art mean class or level. 9. Jianping Gao (1996, 167) thinks that for Zhang Yanyuan ziran painting “is not made intentionally, but is in accord with painter’s essential intention, while [jinxi] painting is indeed made intentionally, but is contrary to his intention.” Following Gao’s view, one may thus identify a parallel between ziran painting

186

Chapter 5

and beautiful art defined by Kant as appearing unintentional despite an intention behind it. 10. Nelson (1983, 398) translates chuyu yibiao as “for its source is the expression of ideas,” and suggests that the abbreviated but complete formal depiction of yige is a projection of the artist’s disposition (“inner life”). 11. The Southern Song critic Zhao Mengrong (ca. 1270) comments that painters in shenpin have an innate talent, while painters in nengpin achieve the painting skills by learning from the former masters (see Yu 1986, 90). 12. No reliable extant work by the painters mentioned above or reliable copy can testify Zhu Jingxuan’s and Huang Xiufu’s records. 13. For Zhu Jingxuan’s and Huang Xiufu’s accounts of these masters’ painting styles, see Wang and Ren (2002a, 89–90, 204); Bush and Shih (2012, 85–86, 101–2). 14. Bush and Shih (2012, 98) translate shenhui in this preface as “intuitively apprehend.” 15. The phrase fengshen guqi used by Huang Xiufu here can be understood as analogous to qiyun and refers to the essential character of the object depicted or the expressive quality of the work. 16. I have mentioned Xie He’s six laws in chapter 1. 17. For a translation of volumes 9–10 in Hua Ji, see Maeda (1978, 85–132). 18. Huang Xiufu lists Shi Ke in nengge (competent class), top grade, and Guan Xiu in nengge, bottom grade (see Wang and Ren 2002a, 213, 226, 233). 19. Some later art historians and critics think yipin may be merged into shenpin by insisting on the traditional three grading system. For instance, in Tuhui Baojian (Precious Mirror for Examining Painting), the Yuan art historian and critic Xia Wenyan (active later 14th century) redefines the three classes of painting according to the first law of qiyun shengdong and excludes yipin in his classification system. For him, shenpin refers to painting in which “[qiyun shengdong] comes from natural accomplishment, and one whose skill cannot be discovered by others”; miaopin means that the brush and ink are wonderful, the colouring is appropriate, and pictorial yi (idea) and qu (flavor) are more than adequate; painting which achieves formal likeness and does not neglect rules is nengpin (Bush and Shih 2012, 246). Some critics including the Qing scholar Fang Xianheng (active 17th century) do not think that yipin could be placed above shenpin (see Yu 1986, 145). 20. Shimada (1961; 1962; 1964) discusses several painters who adopted the styles and methods of yi but were not qualified for this class. 21. For Mi Fu’s painting style, attributed works, and life experience, see Sirén (1973a, 26–38); Cahill (1972, 91); Loehr (1980, 158–61); Fong (1987, 84–91; 1992, 162–68); Vanderstappen (2004, 77–78). 22. See Ni Zan’s Rongxi Studio (figure 5.1), dated 1372, in National Palace Museum, Taipei. For Ni Zan’s painting style, extant works, and life experience, see Sirén (1973b, 79–84); Cahill (1972, 112–13; 1976, 114–20); Loehr (1980, 246–48); Nelson (1980, 65–88); Fong (1987, 105–27; 1992, 475–96); Vanderstappen (2004, 180–85); Hearn (1996, 311–19; 2008, 98–105).

The Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun

187

23. Ni Zan admits his pleasure in painting lies in the expression and emancipation of yiqi in his breast by virtue of careless sketching rather than carefully seeking formal likeness (see Bush and Shih 2012, 270, 280; Yu 1986, 702). 24. See Ouxiangguan Huaba, in Qin (1918, vol. 5); quoted in Xu (2001, 189). Nelson (1983, 418) claims that Song and Yuan paintings ranked in yipin as “the birth of scholar’s panting” demonstrated the progressive separation of the bold and aggressive brushwork of Tang masters from the notion of loftiness, and thus ended the old yipin. However, as seen above, in their lives and through their painting both the earlier Tang yipin masters and later Song and Yuan yipin masters show lofty mental disposition associated with the adjective yi, so I cannot endorse Nelson’s view that the old yipin does not associate with shiqi. 25. It is true that artworks labelled as shen or even miao also demonstrate the aesthetic pursuit of qiyun, and reflect the artist’s innate mental disposition; however, my focus in this chapter is not whether yipin is more prone to express qiyun than shenpin or miaopin, nor whether the originality of yipin more fits in with Kant’s account of genius than that of shenpin or miaopin. 26. Guyer (1993, 174–79) argues that for Kant it seems obligatory for genius to express an idea of morality through art. 27. In Kant’s philosophy of art in his Third Critique, his notion of genius mainly refers to the innate mental talent through which nature endows the rule to art, as explained in chapters 3 and 4. However, sometimes Kant seems to use “genius” to refer to the gifted artist who has genius (the innate mental talent for creating art), as shown in the statement just quoted. Bradley Murray (2007, 199‒200) discusses the two meanings involved in Kant’s writings on genius: one is the “productive faculty of the mind,” the innate talent or faculty of producing aesthetic ideas and creating original and exemplary works by idea-giving and rule-giving; another is the “uniquely gifted individual whose work may exert an influence upon lesser artists.” I think that the former is what Kant aims at emphasizing, since the former instructs the latter and it is the former that plays an essential role in the latter’s artistic practice. 28. Nelson (1983, 417) notes Dong Qichang’s echo to Tang Hou’s view. 29. For Dong Qichang’s view, see Wang and Ren (2002b, 227). For Li Rihua’s view, see Zhulan Huaying. Shimada (1964, 19) notes the view of Dong Qichang and Li Rihua. Nelson (1983, 405, 416) quotes Xie Zhaozhe’s view; see Xie Zhaozhe’s Wu Zazu (Five Jars of Pot-pourri), vol. 7, chapter 3 Human; Lin (1967, 134). 30. Some critics rank Zhao Lingrang (active ca. 1080–1100), Ma Hezhi (ca. 1130– ca. 1170), Gao Kegong and Fang Congyi as yipin. The four artists were inspired by Mi Fu but created their own original artistic distinctiveness. As mentioned in chapter 2, inspired by Mi Fu’s ink-play of cloudy mountains, several excellent works of cloudy mountains such as Cloudy Mountains by Fang Congyi sprang up. Due to their own originality inspired by genius, they secured their positions in art history. 31. As for the former type of copier, one may raise the case of Han van Meegeren who forged paintings in the style of Vermeer and successfully deceived experts into believing that the works were genuine. In this case, Meegeren’s forgeries were initially alleged to be the works of Vermeer. The former’s work is the successful imitation of the latter’s style or method, so we call Meegeren a successful copier of

188

Chapter 5

Vermeer, but never regard him as a gifted artist who has established his own style and thus secured his position in art history. In this sense, Meegeren’s talent does not fit in with Kant’s notion of the originality of genius. 32. In spite of the quality of the copy or the fake which might have deceived the connoisseur’s eyes, the copier is just a copier, since the copy or the fake is under the name of the previous master rather than the painter himself. The issue of forgery is not my concern in this book, since it is obviously against the spirit of genius. Regarding the issue of forgery in ancient Chinese painting, see Zürcher (1955, 141–46); Fong (1962, 95–119, 121–40). 33. Tang Zhiqi cites Tu Long’s (1542‒1605) record that Shen Zhou can imitate all the masters in the Yuan Dynasty excepting Ni Zan (see Yu 1986, 1277; Wang and Ren 2002b, 250–51). 34. The story of the man going to Handan to learn walk is initially recorded in Zhuangzi (chapter 17 Autumn Floods): A young boy from Shouling in the kingdom Yan heard that people in Handan in the kingdom Zhao walk beautifully, so he went to Handan to learn the Handan walk. He did not master the Handan walk through learning but forgot his old way of walking, and had to crawl back home (see Zhuangzi 2013, 136). 35. My translation of 畫虎不成反類狗.

Chapter 6

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I Aesthetic Autonomy and Balanced Human Nature

INTRODUCTION As discussed in chapter 5, the masters ranked in yipin show the qualities of spiritual loftiness and independence, and their masterpieces exemplify Guo Ruoxu’s claim that the level of the qiyun of an artist influences the level of the qiyun of the work, and qiyun as the expressive content of the work reflects the painter’s mental disposition. As mentioned in chapter 2, Guo Ruoxu’s view on the mental disposition of competent artists may be inspired by the emphasis on the role of the artist’s mind by such previous artists and critics as Wang Wei, Zong Bing, Zhang Zao, Dou Meng, Zhang Yanyuan, and Jing Hao. His view also resonates well with the views of his contemporary scholar-artists and critics including Wang Qinchen, Li Gonglin, Su Shi, Huang Tingjian, and Mi Fu. The artist’s mental disposition is also emphasized by later artists and critics including Dong You, Tang Hou, Dong Qichang, and others. Although the mental disposition which determines the ability to create a work replete with qiyun is regarded as being imparted by tian, some leading artists and theorists believe that they can cultivate an ideal mind for painting by adopting meditative practices. In this chapter, I first show that a Daoist sitting in forgetfulness or Buddhist meditation has been valued for cultivating a pure mind, and that the mental freedom gained through this approach appears consistent with Kantian aesthetic freedom. In the second section, we will then see that art is a way for the qiyun-focused landscapist to realize the carefree wandering of a city-recluse, since a heart-mind in tune with forests and streams prepared through meditation and fulfilled through artistic practice involves an internal spiritual purification. Additionally, the empirical or intellectual interest of the city-recluse-artist does not undermine the disinterestedness of aesthetic pleasure in the Kantian sense. Nevertheless, art is not 189

190

Chapter 6

merely a practical tool for city-recluse-artists pursuing a balance between the realistic materialist world and the idealistic spiritual world of carefree wandering. The detached mental state cultivated through meditation and experienced in artistic practice benefits artists by helping them maintain a balanced nature. In the third section, by projecting Schiller’s account of the play drive, and the account of aesthetic freedom he developed from Kant’s ideas, into the context of qiyun-focused landscape painting, I attempt to explain the balanced human nature realized through artistic play by such artists and point out the differences behind the parallels between these two approaches. One might think that the sentimentalist wing of Neo-Daoism developed in the Six Dynasties had more significant influence on art and thus wonder whether sensibility is emphasized above rationality for qiyun-focused artists, and question whether the mirror image of a Schillerian complete human nature fulfilled through art can be found in a qiyun-focused context. I examine the so-called sentimentalism and refute this suggestion. We will see that Schiller’s account of how a complete and balanced human nature is restored by reconciling the internal conflicts of sensibility and rationality through art can be applied in a qiyun-focused artistic context. However, I also point out problems raised by projecting Schiller’s ideas of completing human nature through art into this context. We will see that the differences between qiyun aesthetics and Schiller’s ideas with regard to the relationship of form and content are rooted in the differences between the two cultural and philosophical traditions. Schiller’s idea of art’s restorative power represents an attempt to bridge the noumenal and phenomenal through art, while qiyun aesthetics rejects this sort of dualism, and thus does not seek to overcome it. 6.1 THE PURIFICATION OF THE MIND THROUGH MEDITATION As we saw in chapters 2 and 4, the ideal mental state for creating a masterpiece is one in which the mind is “in accord with the Dao,” as Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary scholar Wang Qinchen suggests. One might wonder when and how the mind is in accord with the Dao. For Zhuangzi, this is achieved when one’s mind is cultivated as empty, still, limpid, and tranquil as a mirror or water. As he claims in the thirteenth chapter (The Way of Heaven) in Zhuangzi, “emptiness, stillness, limpidity, silence, [and] [wuwei]” are “the level of Heaven and Earth, the substance of Way [Dao] and its Virtue,” and “the root of the ten thousand things [wanwu 萬物].” (Zhuangzi 2013, 98–99)1 That is, when the mind achieves this, the mind follows the level of the universe, the essence of the Dao and its virtue, and the root of everything in nature. At this moment,

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

191

The ten thousand things [wanwu] are insufficient to distract his mind—that is the reason he is still. Water that is still gives back a clear image of beard and eyebrows; reposing in the water level, it offers a measure to the great carpenter. And if water in stillness possesses such clarity, how much more must pure spirit. The sage’s mind in stillness is the mirror of Heaven and earth, the glass of the ten thousand things. (Zhuangzi 2013, 98)

Since the mind’s being in accord with the Dao means that the mind ought to be empty, still, limpid, and tranquil, one might wonder how to achieve this. The recommendation in the fourth chapter (In the World of Men) of Zhuangzi, to engage in the “fasting of the mind” (xinzhai 心齋), influenced qiyun-focused artists and theorists. However, how does one fast the mind so as to let it be in accord with the Dao? Qiyun-focused artists and theorists facing this question found answers in two rounds of dialogue between Confucius and his student Yan Hui in Zhuangzi. One is in the fourth chapter. When Yan Hui asks what the fasting of the mind is, Confucius (actually Zhuangzi) answers that: Don’t listen with your ears, listen with your mind. No, don’t listen with your mind, but listen with your spirit [qi 氣]. Listening stops with the ears, the mind stops with recognition, but [qi] is empty and waits for all things. The Way [Dao] gathers in emptiness alone. Emptiness is the fasting of the mind. (Zhuangzi 2013, 25)

In the sixth chapter (The Great and Venerable Teacher) of Zhuangzi, another dialogue between Yan Hui and Confucius shows Yan Hui has grasped how to fast the mind by “sitting in forgetfulness” (zuowang 坐忘) (Fung 1948, 116). When asked by Confucius what this is, Yan Hui explains that: I smash up my limbs and body [hui zhiti 墮肢體], drive out perception and intellect [chu congming 黜聰明], cast off form [lixing 離形], do away with understanding [quzhi 去智], and make myself identical with the Great Thoroughfare. This is what I mean by sitting down and forgetting everything [zuowang]. (Zhuangzi 2013, 53)

These ideas of Zhuangzi initially aim at the nourishing of life achieved by discarding the negative mental and bodily effects of worldly sensuous desires and rational thought. We have seen in chapter 4 that in Zhuangzi’s story of woodworker Qing making a bell-stand, Qing explains that he kept fasting his mind for a few days and did not start working until he felt his mind was free of all distractions. When he achieves a pure mental state of forgetting himself and all distracting interests or purposes and is ready to go to the forest to find an appropriate wood to make his bell-stand, his mind has reached a state of

192

Chapter 6

maximum freedom and achieved accordance with the Dao, similarly to what Yanhui describes above. Classical texts on painting indicate that Qing’s success inspires qiyunfocused (or shen-focused) artists and theorists. For instance, the Tang critic Zhang Yanyuan adopts Zhuangzi’s thought and comments that the Eastern Jin master Gu Kaizhi’s success lies in forgetting the self and the objects depicted, casting off form (or departing from form) and doing away with understanding (or rejecting discrimination): Concentrating his spirit and taking his thoughts afar, he gained insight into nature. Objects and self alike forgotten, he departed from form [lixing 離形] and rejected discrimination [quzhi 去智]. The body can really be made to be like dried wood, the mind like dead ashes. Is this not also to have attained the subtle principle? It is what may be called the Dao of painting. (Bush and Shih 2012, 72; my emphasis; see Lidai Minghua Ji, vol. 2; Wang and Ren 2002a, 113)

Thus, Zhang Yanyuan describes the master in the right moment as if his body is like dried wood and his mind is like dead ashes. These are metaphors used by Zhuangzi to describe the kind of state involved in casting off form and doing away with understanding. They are illustrated in the nineteenth chapter (Mastering Life) of Zhuangzi by the story of Ji Xingzi training gamecocks. Those trained to appear still like wood are the most powerful warlords, even though their bodies are like dried wood and their minds like dead ashes (Zhuangzi 2013, 151).2 For artists, the body being like dried wood does not mean that it loses vitality or movement, and the mind being like dead ashes does not mean it loses the ability required to create a marvelous artwork. “Departing from form” (casting off form) and “rejecting discrimination” (doing away with understanding) result from escaping the compulsion of sensuous interests and rational concepts. As mentioned in chapter 4, according to Kant, the mind that is free from any compulsion of interests, (determinate) concepts, and purposes or utilities is the mind fitting for aesthetic judgment and creation.3 The modern art historian Wai-kam Ho (1991, 371–373) notes that Daoist or Buddhist meditative contemplation is widely adopted by Tang and Song poets and painters, in the process of establishing poetic or pictorial yi (idea). Ho mentions that the term yanzuo 宴坐 (which may be translated as meditative contemplation or reflective contemplation) is repeated in works by major Tang poets such as Li Bai (701–762, also known as Li Bo, active in high Tang) and Bai Juyi (active in middle Tang) (both are earlier than Zhang Yanyuan), and influential Northern Song scholar-officials, including Wang Anshi and Huang Tingjian. The following couplet is from the poem of Li Bai which depicts the poet’s experience in the Donglin Monastery at Mount

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

193

Lu: “Sitting [yanzuo] in the quietude of immobility, /I observe, in one tiny hair, the whole universe [daqian 大千].” (371–372) Ho (1991, 372) suggests that daqian is a typical Buddhist term, and “that the [daqian] would manifest itself in a state of immobility is an idea widely quoted from the Śūraṅgamasamadhi-sutra [Lengyan Jing].”4 Although Zhang Yanyuan’s discussion seen above clearly shows he gains inspiration only from Zhuangzi’s sitting in forgetfulness (zuowang), one may see that Buddhist meditation (zuochan 坐禪) produces a similar effect to the Daoist practice. As seen above, in Zhuangzi’s text, when one’s mind is in accord with the Dao, it is like a mirror or water. A bright mirror without any stain is also used as a metaphor by the early Tang Chan master Shen Xiu (606–706), one century before Zhang Yanyuan. Shen Xiu, one of the disciples of the fifth Patriarch of Chan Buddhism in China, Hong Ren (601–674), composes a stanza in four lines: This body is the Bodhi-tree; The mind is like the mirror bright; Keep it clean at all times, And let no dust alight upon it.5

Another disciple of Hong Ren, Hui Neng (638–713), composes another stanza: Initially there was no Bodhi-tree; Nor was there any mirror shining: As there is nothing from the first, Where can the dust itself collect?6

Shen Xiu suggests that when one becomes enlightened, one’s mind is “ready to reflect simply and absolutely whatever comes before it” like a bright and pure mirror (Suzuki 1934, 49). Compared with Shen Xiu’s lines, Hui Neng’s stanza does not suggest that mind should be abiding in stillness.7 If the mind aims at abiding in stillness, the stillness consciously pursued might have already become unstill. Dead or punctilious stillness is not favored. The Diamond Sutra suggests that, Fearless bodhisattvas should thus give birth to a thought that is not attached and not give birth to a thought attached to anything. They should not give birth to a thought attached to a sight. Nor should they give birth to a thought attached to a sound, a smell, a taste, a touch, or a dharma. [. . .] a past thought cannot be found. A future thought cannot be found. Nor can a present thought be found. (Pine 2001, 181)

194

Chapter 6

One might be encouraged to pursue the stillness of the mind, but the mind of someone deliberately attempting to capture the stillness is not still at all. In this sense, complete or absolute stillness is impossible, and is also not encouraged. Thus, the best state of the mind is without walls, without attachment to anything, even to emptiness and stillness. It is true that Daoism and Buddhism are different in several certain respects including the understanding of the essence of the mind. However, what I intend here is to signal that in terms of cultivating a pure and free mind required by artistic practice, Daoist sitting in forgetfulness and Buddhist meditation can be (and have been) used interchangeably or complementarily. The ideal mental state in accord with the Dao initially inspired by Zhuangzi and emphasized by Zhang Yanyuan is valued by later Song and Yuan artists including, as we will see shortly, Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary artists Guo Xi, Huang Tingjian, Li Gonglin, Mi Youren (who is sometime later than Guo Ruoxu), and the Yuan master Wu Zhen. Among them, Li Gonglin’s, Huang Tingjian’s, Mi Youren’s, and Wu Zhen’s practice and writings clearly suggest that the artist may also resort to Chan meditation as an alternative to the Daoist approach. As mentioned in chapter 2, both Su Shi and Huang Tingjian believe that Li Gonglin’s success in landscape painting lies in his spiritual communion (shenhui) with the natural object. As we have seen in previous chapters, the idea of shenhui finds its philosophical origin in both Confucianism and Daoism. As the modern scholar Pan An-yi (1997; 2007) suggests, Li Gonglin’s life and art is seriously influenced by Northern Song Buddhist culture. Thus, one may reasonably assume that for Li Gonglin, Buddhist meditation is an alternative to Daoist sitting in forgetfulness to cultivate an ideal state for painting. Although in his comment on the calligrapher Zhang Xu (active first half of eighth century), Huang Tingjian merely uses Zhuangzi’s metaphor of the mind as a mirror to state that Zhang Xu’s artistic success lies in “[being] able to become absorbed spiritually [ningshen],” he admits on his Ti Zhao Gongyou Hua (Inscription to Zhao Gongyou’s Painting) that his appreciation of painting has been improved through understanding “the efficacy of effortlessness” by practicing meditation (chan) and appreciating the simplicity of “perfected” Dao by studying the Dao.8 On the one hand, although Huang Tingjian was not himself a painter, his taste in painting might have improved the quality of his creativity in other fields such as calligraphy and poetry.9 On the other hand, his achievements in calligraphy and poetry might also have benefited from meditation practice. The untrammeled mind without any attachment gained by Chan meditation may offer sudden and intuitive inspiration in aesthetic practice.10 In general, qiyun-focused artists adopted either the Daoist fasting of the mind or Buddhist meditation to cultivate their mind to be as pure and free as possible, and thus the practice of meditation appears to be an important aid

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

195

to art.11 Before starting painting, Mi Youren prepared just like this: “[sitting] in meditation [sengdie 僧跌] in a quiet room, forgetting all the worries of the mind and sharing [his] wandering with the emptiness of the blue void.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 211; see also Bush 2012, 74) Wu Zhen echoes this point in one couplet: “If one knows the principle of the Void, what cares can one harbour in the mind?” (Bush and Shih 2012, 279; see also Bush 2012, 132) The Void might be that of the Daoist, or the Buddhist. The Void (achieved by either Daoist sitting in forgetfulness or Buddhist meditation) helps the artist achieve aesthetic freedom and create the art of genius. This meditative contemplation continues to be valued by later Ming and Qing artists as an essential practice for reaching an ideal mental state for painting. The painting Seated alone at Night by the Ming master Shen Zhou, collected in National Palace Museum, Taipei, describes the meditative contemplation of the painter himself.12 When the mind is like water or a mirror, it perceives the thing not only without being disturbed by the thing itself, but also without adding subjective bias resulting from the application of understanding and reason to it (Xu 2001, 48). In the next section, we will see that the carefree wandering of shen prepared through Daoist or Buddhist meditation and cultivated through artistic practice accompanies an aesthetic satisfaction, but also allows the pursuit of living as a city-recluse. 6.2 A CITY-RECLUSE-ARTIST’S SATISFACTION: HEART IN TUNE WITH FOREST AND STREAM No matter what natural object the artist chooses to depict, the happiness of the carefree wandering of shen in aesthetic contemplation which may be prepared by Daoist or Chan meditation, accompanies the satisfaction of “the heart of the forests and streams,” as the Northern Song landscape master Guo Xi extols: How delightful to enjoy a landscape painting rendered by a skilful hand! Without leaving one’s home, to be transported to streams and ravines in faraway places, the cries of monkeys and birds faintly reaching one’s ears, light dappling the hills, glittering reflections on the water dazzling the eyes. (Fong 1992, 83; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 292)

As Jullien (2012, 166) claims, the heart-mind in tune with forests and streams refers to an internal spiritual purification. The pleasure gained through contemplating the landscape described by Guo Xi fits in with Kantian aesthetic pleasure (satisfaction) which is, according to Kant, different from

196

Chapter 6

sensuous satisfaction in the agreeable and moral or practical satisfaction in the good. For Kant, aesthetic pleasure is disinterested: it is not bound by sensuous interests, determinate rational concepts, moral ends, or practical utilities, and does not depend on the existence of the object or act (see KU §2‒§5, 5: 204‒210; Wenzel 2005, 19, 23‒26). From extant works attributed to Song, Yuan, Ming and Qing landscapists, we can see they love painting the fisherman happily returning home or angling by a bank with a nice view or in a boat and enjoying the tranquillity of nature, instead of struggling in wind, rain, or snow.13 Even though being a fisherman or woodcutter in a rural landscape means to live a tough life, its idealised artistic depiction is favored by painters and connoisseurs throughout Chinese art history.14 Although the idealisation of the life of the fisherman or woodcutter could symbolize carefree wandering, it appears that aesthetic satisfaction with this kind of topic is independent of any concern for achieving the life of a recluse. As the modern scholar Lin Yutang (1998, 108–109) remarks, the ideal life for most Chinese literati is not that of a reclusive woodcutter or fisherman far away from human society, but the carefree life of a “city recluse” remaining within the human world.15 Although the ideas of being a recluse and of carefree wandering are present in the Chinese artistic context, the carefree wandering of the shen (of a city recluse) engaged in aesthetic contemplation does not depend on them. Rather, as mentioned in chapter 4, it is free from any constraints of concepts and purposes. For instance, in the work Awakening Under a Thatched Awning by an unidentified twelfth-century artist in Southern Song Academy, formerly attributed to Southern Song Emperor Gaozong (1107–1187, reign dates: 1127–1162), in National Palace Museum, Taipei, a row of trees and a boat nearby occupy the left corner, blank space refers to the river, and the painter merely used a few simple lines to draw the mountains faraway in the uppermiddle. The lingering flavor of the work must have moved Emperor Gaozong and subsequent Southern Song Emperor Xiaozong (1127–1194; reign dates: 1162–1189) to poetic contemplation. Emperor Xiaozong inscribes a poem composed by Emperor Gaozong on the right-half of the painting to express their aesthetic pleasure: Who says the fisherman is an old fool? Taking a skiff as his home, free of all worries. Breaking waves with ease, riding the light breeze, He awakens late under a thatched awning, the sun at high noon.16

Such agents of aesthetic judgment as the painter of Awakening Under a Thatched Awning (probably Emperor Gaozong or a court painter), and Emperor Xiaozong may through reflective imagination pursue an empirical

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

197

or intellectual interest in the landscape depicted in the painting and living the life of a fisherman in nature and avoiding the constraints of worldly affairs as represented through the work, and this does not undermine the disinterestedness of aesthetic pleasure and judgment. Kant argues that, although “both [empirical interest and intellectual interest in the beautiful] contain a satisfaction in the existence of an object,” this does not negate the disinterested aesthetic pleasure aroused through aesthetic judgment, since from the necessary absence of interest in the determining ground of the judgment it “does not follow that after it has been given as a pure aesthetic judgment no interest can be combined with it.” (KU §41, 5: 296) Let us look at empirical interest in the beautiful first. Kant writes that “[interest] attached to the beautiful indirectly, through an inclination to society, and thus empirical, is of no importance for [. . .] the judgment of taste a priori, even if only indirectly.” (KU §41, 5: 297) He refers “the suitability and the tendency toward [empirical interest in the beautiful]” to “sociability,” through which one empirically communicates his satisfaction to others (KU §41, 5: 296–297). Thus: For himself alone a human being abandoned on a desert island would not adorn either his hut or himself; rather, only in society does it occur to him to be not merely a human being but also, in his own way, a refined human being (the beginning of civilization); for this is how we judge someone who is inclined to communicate his pleasure to others and is skilled at it, and who is not content with an object if he cannot feel his satisfaction in it in community with others. (KU §41, 5: 297)

For Kant, although the communication is empirically confined to a community of refined people, this does not conflict with the a priori universal validity and necessity of aesthetic judgment. When projecting Kant’s view into the qiyun-focused Chinese context, this combination of transcendental deduction and empirical observation appears to make sense. In the context of an artist pursuing the satisfaction of a city-recluse and such a congenial audience as Emperor Xiaozong gaining a similar satisfaction through contemplating the work, both the artist and the audience appear to share an empirical interest, “attached to the beautiful indirectly, through an inclination to society.” (KU §41, 5: 297) The empirical interest in pursuing the carefree wandering of the spirit through art without escaping from society and discarding social duties is associated with sociability and shared in the aesthetic community constituted by scholar-artists, professional artists, and royal connoisseurs. As for an intellectual interest in the beautiful (nature), Kant indicates that when someone who loves some beautiful object in nature is prepared to take

198

Chapter 6

some risk or even bear some harm to himself rather than seeing it destroyed or lost, he takes an immediate intellectual interest in the beauty of nature: “not only the form of the product but also its existence pleases him.” (KU §42, 5: 299) For Kant, “an immediate interest in the beauty of nature (not merely to have taste in order to judge it) is always a mark of good will, and that if this interest is habitual, it at least indicates a disposition of the mind that is favourable to the moral feeling.” (KU §42, 5: 298–299) He explains the intellectual interest in beautiful nature as an indication of aesthetic judgment’s affinity with moral feeling, in the case that “nature should at least show some trace or give a sign that it contains in itself some sort of ground for assuming a lawful correspondence of its products with our satisfaction that is independent of all interest [moral satisfaction].” (KU §42, 5: 300–301) However, not everyone who takes aesthetic pleasure in aesthetic judgment would necessarily have an immediate intellectual interest in the beauty of nature unless his “thinking is either already trained to the good or especially receptive to such training.” (KU §42, 5: 300) For him, an intellectual interest in beautiful nature shows that the agent already has “a predisposition to a good moral disposition.” (KU §42, 5: 301) However, it is disappointing that Kant denies the possibility of an intellectual interest in art, since he thinks of art as an imitation of nature which always involves some deception and intentionally aims to please audiences (KU §42, 5: 301). Regarding this, he relates the story of a hotel guest who, upon realizing that the landlord hires someone to imitate the singing of the nightingale, immediately loses his satisfaction in the singing (KU §42, 5: 302). However, Jane Kneller argues that Kant’ s exclusion of intellectual interest in art in section 42 of his Third Critique is at odds with his discussion of beautiful art created by genius as the innate mental disposition through which nature (in the subject) gives the rule to art. She (2007, 69; with Kneller’s additions) argues that, “that [fine art is the product of a gift from ‘the hand of nature’] practically makes the object of fine art a natural object,” and a beautiful artwork resulting from genius’ natural production may arouse one’s intellectual interest on the Kantian grounds mentioned above that it should show “‘a trace or give a hint that [nature] contains some basis or other for us to assume in its products a lawful harmony with [our moral feeling].’”17 I agree with Kneller that Kant could conclude the possibility of taking an intellectual interest in beautiful art in its own sake, even though she also doubts that Kant would concede it. One may think that in the case of a city-recluse-artist, or his congenial audience, pursuing the carefree wandering of the spirit through art, a Kantian intellectual interest is combined with their disinterested aesthetic satisfaction, when the work, as a masterpiece of genius, manifests some trace or sign that nature contains for assuming a lawful correspondence or harmony with our

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

199

moral satisfaction or feeling. It is clear that in the qiyun-focused context mentioned above, while pursuing disinterested aesthetic satisfaction and meeting the social tendency of the aesthetic community, the city-recluse-artist and the congenial audience have the predisposition to a good moral disposition which Kant assumes is necessary for an intellectual interest in the beautiful. Despite or because of the convenience and materialistic satisfaction of city life, the city-recluse-artist faces more temptation and challenges in his daily life than a recluse far away from society who avoids worldly trammels. Therefore, the former needs to adopt much more balanced, flexible, and sophisticated strategies to fulfil social or official responsibilities, to coordinate himself with the world without violating his own conscience or submitting to any corrupted power, to insist on integrity without suffering from any objection and persecution, and to contribute his own strength to society without exhausting his body but keeping the free and easy wandering of the mind. In general, for Kant, although aesthetic pleasure gained in aesthetic contemplation is a priori disinterested and does not rely on the existence of the object or action, one may take an empirical or intellectual interest in the existence of the beautiful (nature and possibly art as well). We have seen that in the case of the qiyun-focused artist’s and audience’s pursuit of the carefree wandering of the spirit through art, their disinterested aesthetic satisfaction is combined with an empirical interest in sharing an inclination to society and sociability with other people through beauty or an intellectual interest of finding a trace or hint in the beautiful object of its lawful harmony with moral feeling. In the next section, we will see the detached mental state prepared through Daoist or Chan meditation and fulfilled through art also brings an empirical benefit to life by enabling the qiyun-focused artist to maintain a balanced human nature. 6.3 A BALANCED HUMAN NATURE FULFILLED THROUGH ART IN A QIYUNFOCUSED CONTEXT AND IN SCHILLER As mentioned above, by virtue of “casting off form” (lixing) and “doing away with understanding” (quzhi), an untrammeled and detached mental state analogous to Kantian aesthetic freedom is gained by the qiyun-focused artist who has cultivated his mind to be in accord with the Dao. This aesthetic freedom leads to a balanced human nature nourished through art. However, Kant does not offer an explicit account of human nature being completed through art. In this section, we will see that Schiller’s philosophy, although profoundly inspired by Kant, seems to have more in common with classical Chinese views in this respect.

200

Chapter 6

One might wonder whether the artist’s sensibility is emphasized above rationality since the sentimentalist wing of Neo-Daoism developed in the Six Dynasties has a significant influence on contemporary and later Chinese art.18 Thus, one might question whether the completion of human nature through art can be found in the qiyun-focused context. I suggest that it can be found. The return to nature and the emancipation of the mind practiced by the so-called sentimentalist wing of Neo-Daoism in the Six Dynasties was praised as fengliu 風流.19 The stories of several outstanding scholars and statemen (from the end of Eastern Han to late Eastern Jin) who demonstrated fengliu, recorded in Shishuo Xinyu, have an important place and influence in the history of Chinese art.20 Although fengliu’s modern meaning implies an element of romantic love, its original meaning is purely aesthetic rather than sensuous. Fengliu involves the engagement of intense, but aesthetic emotions or feelings, and requires subtle sensitivity and sympathetic response (Fung 1948, 231, 235–239). This is echoed by later artists’ pursuit of fengliu in contemplating nature.21 As Fung Yu-lan points out, because of their subtle sensitivity, the men with the spirit of fengliu “were often impressed by things that would not ordinarily impress others.”22 Although the artist is required to have subtle sensitivity regarding things others may be insensitive to, this does not mean that their sensitivity overcomes rationality. As mentioned above, to capture the qiyun of the object, the artist’s mind needs to be in accord with the Dao. When it is in accord with the Dao, it is empty, still, limpid and detached. That is what Zhuangzi claims the sage’s mind is like. The Wei Kingdom Neo-Daoist scholar Wang Bi states that, “the sage ‘has emotions but no ensnarement’ [youqing wulei 有情無累].” (Fung 1948, 238) We have seen in chapter 4 that Zhuangzi’s idea inspires the artist to fuse himself with the object depicted so as to have shenhui with it, and to cultivate a detached mental state as the right state for the artist to realize this fusion and resonance. Even though one may argue for Zhuangzi’s doctrine of no-emotion (wuqing 無情) that aims at benefiting life and connecting with the Dao, in this artistic context the so-called doctrine of no-emotion is not about negating emotions but offsetting the negative effect of emotions by coordinating with reason.23 As mentioned above, the Daoist forgetfulness prized by later qiyunfocused artists and critics means forgetting whatever enslaves one’s body and mind, that is, forgetting one’s physical and intellectual existence, the compulsion of sensuous desires and interests, and of rational understanding and analysis. “Smashing up limbs and body” (hui zhiti) does not mean literally doing that, but regarding limbs and body as if they did not exist. Similarly, “driving out perception and intellect” (chu congming) involves overcoming distractions brought by self-consciousness, not literally losing self-consciousness, sensibility, and reason. As Xu Fuguan (2001, 43) explains, hui

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

201

zhiti means discarding physical desires, so the mind is rid of the slavery of sensuous desires; chu congming refers to putting aside cognitive knowledge and rational analysis, so that the mind is emancipated from the compulsion of reason and knowledge. On the one hand, “casting off form” (lixing) is the direct expression of hui zhiti; it does not mean that the material form of limbs and body no longer exists. Rather, in the mind of the subject any physical constraints brought by sensuous desires or interests are excluded. On the other hand, “doing away with understanding” (quzhi) is the direct result of chu congming, and it means the mind breaks free from the compulsion of discriminative understanding and rational analysis. This freedom fits in with Kantian aesthetic freedom as seen above, while by applying Schiller’s idea of balancing sensibility and reason through the play drive, we can understand better why artistic practice could enable the aesthetically free, qiyun-focused landscapist to maintain a balanced human nature and prolong his life. In his series of letters on the aesthetic education of man, Schiller (1982) argues that art can help to restore the harmonious “totality of our nature” by unifying sensibility and reason, and the power of art lies in the aesthetic freedom achieved by the artist or appreciator releasing sensuous constraints and rational compulsion in artistic practice.24 For Schiller (1982, letters 19–23: 128‒151, 160–169), beauty stimulates aesthetic freedom by furnishing “aesthetic determinability” and promoting cooperation and reciprocity between sensibility and reason (see also Beiser 2005, 154‒156, 232‒234; Maftei 2013, 172). Aesthetic determinability includes all determination of sensibility and rationality rather than excluding any determination. It is not an “empty infinity” which refers to a completely abstract determinability excluding all determination and thus is absolutely indeterminate, but a concrete and unlimited “infinity filled with content,” as the state of mind reflecting the power of free will, whose determinability leads to freedom (of free choice) instead of producing a specific or definite moral or immoral action (see Schiller 1982, letters 19–21: 128–149).25 Frederick Beiser (2005, 154‒155) points out that the “empty infinity” (abstract determinability) defined by Schiller exists before sensibility receives any sensuous impression, or after reason has abstracted from all impressions supplied by sensibility, while Schillerian aesthetic determinability appears analogous to Kant’s account of aesthetic contemplation when imagination and understanding in general engage in free and indeterminate co-play. For Schiller (1982, letters 19–20: 128–143), the effect of art on human nature is with regard to the conflict within the subject (artist or audience) between sensibility and reason. He argues that when people contemplate the beauty of art, their “perfect [aesthetic] freedom” is maintained by the “play drive” which guarantees that sensibility and rationality exert opposite effects at the same time and cancel any sensuous or rational compulsion.26

202

Chapter 6

There is no freedom in one-sided rational or sensuous compulsion, while under the stimulus of beauty (as the object of the play drive), the play drive reconciles internal conflicts between sensibility and rationality, and in that sense completes, or restores wholeness to, human nature.27 It is through the play drive that aesthetic freedom (lying in aesthetic determinability) is achieved and helps restore complete humanity by including all determination of sensibility and reason rather than excluding any determination (see Schiller 1982, letters 21–22: 144–159). For Schiller, due to the cooperation of reason and sensibility in aesthetic experience, aesthetic freedom as read into the appearance of beautiful objects and the aesthetic freedom in human beings based on aesthetic determinability seem to reach a consensus. Sensibility and reason cooperate in aesthetic experience, since aesthetic experience not only demands that the sensuous faculties provide reason with sensuous impressions, but also requires reason to analyze and judge the characteristics of autonomy and heautonomy.28 Sensibility is responsible for supplying the rational faculties with data regarding appearance, and reason identifies heautonomy as the intensified representation of autonomy and treats the aesthetic object “as if it had a free will.” (see Houlgate 2008, 42–45) When we contemplate a beautiful object which shows its appearance to us, either autonomy or heautonomy decoded as the regulative (as if objective) criterion of beauty by reason is “a momentary appearance” to human sensibility (Beiser 2008, 72‒73). Thus, it is the cooperation of sensibility and reason that enables us to have aesthetic contemplation and read this “appearance of freedom” or “living form” as beauty. Additionally, by virtue of matter melting in form, beauty as the unification of form and content stimulates the equilibrium, reciprocity, and unification between sensibility and reason within human nature (see Schiller 1982, letter 22: 154–159; see also Schiller 2003, 162–178). That is, beauty triggers aesthetic determinability in human beings as sensuous and rational beings at the same time. By using the term “play” to define the drive which enables the faculties of sensibility and reason to cooperate well, Schiller may be emphasizing that when beauty offers pleasure to people who engage in the play of aesthetic appreciation or creation, the play drive is voluntarily executed in artistic practice and its effect involuntarily applies to them. Schiller’s emphasis on artistic play reminds us to note that for qiyun-focused artists, artistic practice is not an overly serious thing but rather a play. Confucius claims that, “set your heart upon the way [Dao], support yourself by its [virtue], lean upon goodness, and seek distraction in the arts [you yu yi 游於藝].” (Waley1956, 123–124)29 Confucius’ view of art which people can wander within or play with was recognized and echoed by Song and Yuan landscapists. For instance, Mi Fu calls the art of calligraphy a game in one poem:

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

203

It must all be a game, One shouldn’t think about clumsiness or skill. If my mind is satisfied then I am content; When I release the brush, the game is over. (Bush and Shih 2012, 219; see also Bush 2012, 71–72)

By this claim, Mi Fu suggests that the artist’s attitude toward artistic creation should not be serious, and the perfection of artistic skills is not the first aim of an artist, who mainly enjoys fulfilling the self-content mind through art as if playing a game. Inscribed on the handscroll Cloudy Mountains attributed to his son Mi Youren, dated 1130, in the Cleveland Museum of Art, is a quatrain composed by the painter. The last couplet is: “As a record that you, Sir, have visited this place, I leave this playful brushwork of mine here inside your home.” (Chaves 1991, 432; my emphasis; see also Hiromitsu 1991, 124–125; Ju Hsi Chou 2015, 50–55) The last verse indicates that Mi Youren follows his father and regards his painting as play. Around two centuries later, Wu Zhen echoes that the pleasure of “ink play” in his bamboo painting is “to amuse oneself” which “is more meaningful than any other activity.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 279) Slightly later than Wu Zhen, the ink plum blossom master and critic Wu Taisu also regards his process of painting plum blossom as “playing with ink.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 287; see Wang and Ren 2002a, 726) It is important to be clear that although Schiller’s inclusion of an explicit account of human nature completed through art (artistic play) brings him closer to qiyun aesthetics on this issue than Kant, the similarity is relatively superficial. First, for Schiller, the power of the play drive is grounded in the distinction and interdependence of person and condition which point to the distinction and interdependence of form and matter (or content). “Person” as defined by Schiller is something which persists in human beings, remaining stable and autonomous from any external interference, unchanged by perception, sensation, feeling, emotion, will, and thought, so it signifies an eternality independent from time and space. “Condition” refers to changes in the phenomenal human being reacting to perception and sensation, and reflects vibrant or passive activities of feeling, emotion, will and thinking, so it is grounded upon time and succession within the phenomenal world (Schiller 1982, letter 11: 72–77). Schiller’s ideas here are influenced by Kant’s views on the noumenal and phenomenal self. However, as Beiser (2005, 138, 228) points out, the independence and opposition of Schiller’s “person” (independence) and “condition” (dependence) are slightly different from Kant’s dualism which appears to involve an absolute conflict or separation, since for Kant a noumenal ego “exists apart from and prior to” its actions in the phenomenal world while for Schiller person as noumenal ego exists in the sensible phenomenal world “through its determinate phenomenal manifestation.”

204

Chapter 6

I agree with Lesley Sharpe’s (2005, 149) view that although Schiller adopts Kantian dualism in his aesthetic writings, “he tends to interpret it experientially as the conflict between the pull of earthly, material existence and the claims of the ideal realm, which includes the moral law,” as a revised dualism which is “symptomatic of the problem of the human condition” but involves “the possibility of harmony between the [phenomenal] material and [noumenal] intelligible worlds.” For Schiller (1982, letter 14: 94–99), the inevitable opposition and co-existence of the “sensuous drive” and the “formal drive” mentioned above originate from the distinction and interdependence of person and condition, and, as mentioned above, the two drives can be balanced by the play drive in artistic experience. Although Schiller (1982, letter 12: 78–81) defines “person” as empty form and as purely indeterminate (empty potential), he suggests that it attains determinate existence in the phenomenal world through receiving content (matter) from “condition” and by giving form to content (see also Beiser 2005, 138‒39). That is, the interdependence of “person” and “condition” means the interdependence of form and matter (or content). It is noteworthy that qiyun-focused artists’ understanding of form and content originates in a pre-Qin Chinese philosophical framework, essentially different from Schiller’s approach. Once the artist successfully captures qiyun as the essence of the object and conveys it through painting, qiyun as the expressive content of the work appears to inhabit or even melt in form (as argued in chapters 1 and 2), which seems to match Schillerian account of the relationship between form and content.30 However, we should not forget the central role played by qiyun instead of formal representation in Chinese art since the sixth century, unlike traditional European art. In addition, as mentioned in chapters 2 and 3, the valuing of qiyun above formal representation reflects a perception of existence as processual so that the object depicted is not fixed in a specific time and space. We should also bear in mind that the Daoism providing significant philosophical endorsement to qiyun aesthetics has a different account of human nature from Schiller’s. As mentioned above, the conflict of person and condition represents the distinction between noumenon and phenomenon, and Schiller attempts to bridge the two and unite spirit and nature by virtue of art (Beiser 2005, 138).31 Zhuangzi’s work suggests that human beings are essentially made of qi, and by pursuing an identification with the universe the nature of human beings polluted by society might be restored.32 It is worth noting that Zhuangzi’s initial advocacy of restoring human nature by returning to nature and getting rid of the corruption of society sounds closer to Rousseau than Schiller, although the similarity and difference between Zhuangzi (2013) and Rousseau (1889) with regard to human nature is beyond my concern in this book.33 It is noteworthy that Schiller’s ideas

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

205

emphasizing the selfish egoism, suffering, and slavery of man in the state of nature and the power of aesthetic education to help human beings restore complete nature are very different from Zhuangzi and Rousseau who both advocate the self-sufficiency of human beings in the state of nature, value humanity’s natural innocence, and criticize its corruption by civilization and artificiality. For Schiller (1982), in the physical state (the state of nature) human beings suffer from the overwhelming dominion and pressure of nature, are tortured by their desires and needs of self-preservation, and unable to recognize the dignity of humanity. Nevertheless, he values the role of aesthetic freedom (as described above) in the transition of human beings from the state of nature into the aesthetic state in which they transcend natural desires by taking pleasure in creating or appreciating beautiful form, and value dignity and appearance beyond physical needs. This prepares them to develop the moral state in which they act according to the moral law (see Schiller 1982, letters 3, 23–24, 26–27: 10–15, 160‒173, 190–219; see also Beiser 2005, 159‒160). As seen above, unless in a radical dangerous political situation most qiyun-focused Chinese artists enjoy the aesthetic satisfaction of being city-recluses instead of complete recluses, even though they may long for the idealised emancipation of being a fisherman or woodcutter. Thus, Zhuangzi’s initial idea with regard to returning to nature and escaping from society does not inhibit the power of art in terms of restoring balanced human nature in the Schillerian light. However, in qiyun aesthetics the identification of the nature of human beings with that of the universe corresponds to the requirement, as argued in chapter 4, that the artist should work in an analogous way to the universe so as to execute the Dao in painting.34 The Dao’s penetration of everything precludes the dualism rooted in the Schillerian account of human nature. We have seen this point also in Shi Tao’s claim of one stroke in chapter 4 in comparison with Kant’s account of the spontaneity of genius. Later than Shi Tao, the Qing critic Shen Zongqian more explicitly points out that “the so-called [tian] [endowing artistic spontaneity] is a human’s [tian],” and suggests that a painter ought to emancipate his mind to let it work in an analogous way to tian (nature): If a human being does not alienate himself from [tian], how can [tian] constantly alienate a human being? In the course of conceiving the use of the brush, when one has a vigorous feeling between the mind and hand and is about to release it, that is the sign of the spirit’s coming. If one can seize the opportunity to channel the spirit, the more one pulls it the longer it will last and he will be wild with joy. (Gao 1996, 172; see Jiezhou Xuehua Bian vol. 2 landscape, qushi section; Wang and Ren 2002b, 605)35

206

Chapter 6

That a balanced human nature is regained through emancipating the mind may offer some explanation of the Qing critic Wang Yu’s (? –1748, earlier than Shen Zongqian) view that learning painting might have the effect of prolonging the painter’s life. Wang Yu describes the benefit of cultivating mental disposition by painting as: By learning painting, people can cultivate a gentle disposition, cleanse the vexed temper, break the eccentric mood, release the restless drive, and admit the calm marrow. People in the past said that landscapists had long lives because they were fostered by vapor and cloud and there was nothing but vigor and vitality before their eyes. Since most of the great landscapists from ancient times down to today have enjoyed long lives, this might be true. (Gao 1996, 168; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 421)

The longevity of several landscape painting masters appears to exemplify this. The influential Ming scholar-artist and critic Dong Qichang cites the examples of the long-lived masters Mi Youren, Huang Gongwang, Shen Zhou, and Wen Zhengming to support his claim that artists delighting in landscape painting usually have a long life. In Dong Qichang’s eyes, those painters grasped (the life-energy or vitality of) the universe in their hands instead of being enslaved by the cosmos. This is how the master’s mind being in accord with the Dao can nourish his nature and affect his life. “[Huang Gongwang] looked like a child in his nineties, and Mi Youren’s mind did not fail in his eighty years. Both died of no illness. They might have been nourished by the landscape.” (Gao 1996, 168; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 232) Establishing whether painting (especially landscape painting) does in fact offer the benefit of a prolonged life requires a lot of empirical and statistical information comparing different painters’ and non-painters’ lifespans and lifestyles (controlling for other factors such as diet, disease, and famine). What I attempt to emphasize here by citing the positive cases is that the longevity of the masters mentioned above allegedly lies in the internal purification of the mind and the balanced human nature gained through identifying oneself with the landscape. As Jullien (2012, 161, 163) states, by comparison, traditional European painters care more about the objectivity of representation delivered by a fixed perspective and gaze, and thus “it was hardly expected that the quality of [a European painter’s] painting would stem from a purification of his conscience.” INTERIM CONCLUSION In conclusion, as we have seen, Daoist or Buddhist meditation is prized by qiyun-focused artists and exercised to cultivate a pure and free mind

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

207

in accord with the Dao ready for artistic practice. Aesthetic pleasure in the Kantian sense accompanied by the carefree wandering of the spirit supplies the ultimate happiness of artists or audiences, and the empirical or intellectual interest of qiyun-focused artists and connoisseurs using art to realize the spiritual ideal of carefree wandering does not undermine the disinterestedness of aesthetic pleasure. We have seen that this can be explained in the light of Kant’s aesthetics. The mind in accord with the Dao is both prepared for art and fulfilled through art, and this also brings practical benefits to the artist’s (especially landscapist’s) life by restoring a balanced human nature. We have seen that although one can refer to Schiller’s modified Kantian ideas to help to illuminate the idea of the balanced nature realized by qiyun-focused artists, qiyun aesthetics not only has a different aesthetic perception regarding the relationship of form and content, but also the Daoist philosophy inspiring this aesthetics has a different understanding of human nature. Regarding the role of art in completing nature, we only see a superficial parallel between Schiller and qiyun-focused artists. For Schiller, the conflict of person and condition closely resembles the distinction between noumenon and phenomenon, and he attempts to offer a transcendental deduction regarding how art can bridge or unite noumenal spirit and phenomenal nature. As seen above, the identification of the nature of human beings with that of the universe corresponds to the requirement that the qiyun-focused artist should work like universal nature to fulfil the Dao of spontaneity which penetrates everything, and so does not embrace dualism, let alone unity within dualism. Unlike Schiller’s transcendental deduction, which seeks human perfection by resorting to beauty and achieving unity within dualism through aesthetic freedom in artistic experience, in qiyun aesthetics the practical significance of (landscape) art lies in helping artists reach a balance between the realistic world and the idealistic world of carefree wandering, and potentially prolonging life through the identification of balanced human nature with universal nature. NOTES 1. Wanwu 萬物 refers to numerous things (everything) in the universe. 2. After training the gamecocks for ten days, when the king asks if the cocks are ready, Ji Xingzi answers: “Not yet. They’re too haughty and rely on their nerve.” After another ten days, when the king asks again, Ji Xingzi replies: “Not yet. They still respond to noises and movements.” When another ten days pass, the king asks again, while Ji Xingzi replies: “Not yet. They still look around fiercely and are full of spirit.” Another ten days pass, the king asks again, and Ji Xingzi answers: “They’re close enough. Another cock can crow, and they show no sign of change. Look at them

208

Chapter 6

from a distance, and you’d think they were made of wood. Their virtue is complete. Other cocks won’t dare face up to them but will turn and run.” 3. In chapter 4, I argued that during spontaneous creation, the mental freedom which the qiyun-focused artists experience appears consistent with Kantian aesthetic freedom, although the overcoming of self-consciousness is more highly valued in the Chinese context. In this chapter, although I reiterate this point, I aim to show how a qiyun-focused artist can achieve this ideal mental state for art and what benefits this state brings to his life rather than explaining that this state is essential for artistic spontaneity. 4. Ho (1991, 371) also quotes Wang Anshi’s poem After Reading the Weimojie Jing (Vimalakirti Sutra) to suggest that the term yanzuo in this poem is “an alternative translation for [the Buddhist term] [zuochan] (meditation).” The Vimalakirti Sutra claims that yanzuo means the detachment of the mind (“心不住內亦不在外，是為宴坐”). 5. My rendering is based on Suzuki’s translation (1934, 29). Shen Xiu advocates that personal enlightenment might be achieved by gradually cultivating the mind over a long period. 6. This rendering draws on two translations by Suzuki (1934, 29) and Fung Yu-lan (1948, 256). 7. Since Hui Neng showed his better understanding of the truth of Chan, Hong Ren appointed him as the six Patriarch. 8. For Huang Tingjian’s comment on Zhang Xu, see Bush and Shih (2012, 219); Bush (2012, 51). For his Inscription to Zhao Gongyou’s Painting, see Bush and Shih (2012, 234–35); Bush (2012, 49); quoted in Fang Xun’s Shanjingju Hualun; Wang and Ren (2002b, 545). 9. As Kant claims, artistic taste is one of the requisites for genius creating art as mentioned in chapters 4 and 5. 10. As seen in chapter 4, the overcoming of self-consciousness is involved in Daoist forgetfulness. Buddhist meditation may also be beneficial for exploiting unselfconsciousness. Eugen Herrigel (1985) relates his experience of learning the art of archery in Japan to Zen (Chan) Buddhism. In the foreword of Herrigel’s (1985, 5) Zen in Art of Archery, D. T. Suzuki points out that “the mind has first to be attuned to the unconscious” to capture the art of archery. As Suzuki (1934, 58, 48) claims, mental freedom means “[breaking] through the antithesis of yes and no,” to minimize the compulsion and limitation of self-consciousness, and by entering a world of no duality or distinctions brought by reason, one might finally reach “a higher form of affirmation.” In the work Zen Buddhism and Psychoanalysis, Suzuki (1974) emphasizes the power of unselfconsciousness brought by Chan meditation. 11. Gombrich (1995, 150) points out that Chinese art can also function “as an aid to the practice of meditation.” 12. Kathlyn Liscomb (1995, 381–403) examines Shen Zhou’s essay inscribed on the painting in the light of Neo-Confucianism and offers a visual analysis of the painting. The Neo-Confucian practice of sitting in composure apparently corresponds to or may be inspired by earlier Daoist sitting in forgetfulness in terms of cultivating a pure and detached mental state.

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

209

13. A few works such as Early Snow on the River by Zhao Gan (active ca. 961–ca. 975) (collected in National Palace Museum, Taipei) realistically depict the tough life of fishermen who struggle in difficult environments and weather, while the image of the fisherman in most works appears idealized. 14. Masterpieces on this topic include Fisherman’s Evening Song attributed to the Northern Song master Xu Daoning (ca. 970–ca. 1052) (collected in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art), and Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains by the Yuan master Huang Gongwang (collected in National Palace Museum, Taipei and Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou). 15. Even though living a reclusive life appears seductive, classical scholar-artists hardly managed to realise it. A city-recluse is not a pseudo-hermit. Rather it involves maintaining spiritual freedom, independence and pureness by getting rid of the trammels of mundane desires, and not allowing the mind to be corrupted by such social pursuits as fame and money. He lives in the city surrounded by other people, maintains social interaction, and contributes his strength to society, but his mind remains detached from possible distractions and the corruption of worldly desires. A cityrecluse may be classified into two types: chaoyin 朝隐 and shiyin 市隐. The former chooses government service, while the latter chooses not to be civil servant but still lives in the city and maintains social connections. Here, we can consider the Yuan master Zhao Mengfu as a good example of a city recluse shifting between chaoyin and shiyin. For Zhao Mengfu’s experience and achievements, see Chu-tsing Li (1965); Cahill (1976, 38–46); Shou-chien Shih (1987, 237–54); McCausland (2000; 2011). 16. My rendering draws on Fong’s (1992, 229) translation. 17. Kneller (2007) follows Werner S. Pluhar’s (1987) translation here. As Kneller (2007, 64) points out, Kant suggests the intellectual interest in the beautiful is akin to, but different from the intellectual interest in the moral (moral interest), since the former is free, but the latter is grounded immediately upon “objective laws” (KU §42, 5: 301). 18. In the Six Dynasties, Neo-Daoism developed two wings: the rationalists and the sentimentalists (Fung 1948, 217–41). 19. Feng 風 is literally translated as wind, liu 流 is literally translated as stream or flow. 20. See Liu Yiqing (2007). Regarding the aesthetic significance of fengliu in East Asian culture, see Shigekazu (1994); Min (1999, 131–39). 21. The advocacy of sensibility and sympathetic response in the pursuit of fengliu may help to understand why qiyun has been valued in art since the Six Dynasties. In chapter 1 we saw that Soper explains yun as “sympathetic response” to the qi of the congenial object; later artists and critics echo the view that qiyun implies sympathetic communion between artist, object depicted, work, and audience. 22. This also lends support to the impossibility of teaching qiyun, since, as seen in chapters 1–2, conveying qiyun through painting requires sympathetic spiritual resonance between artist and object. 23. David Chai (forthcoming) argues for Zhuangzi’s doctrine of no-emotion (wuqing). 24. For Schiller, human nature is not initially incomplete; however, there is a danger of fragmentation or incompleteness when sensibility and reason as two different

210

Chapter 6

elements of human nature are not cultivated appropriately. He finds that the economic structures of modern society (including the private ownership of material possession and the division of labour that had developed by the 18th century) especially exacerbate the fragmentation of human nature (Schiller 1982, letter 6: 32–43; see also Hammermeister 2007, 47; Beiser 2005, 161). Schiller (1982, letter 6: 30–43; Moggach 2008, 22) thinks that ideal complete humanity can be found among the ancient Greeks, while the intensification of human fragmentation in modern society and the impossibility of a return to ancient Greece require modern people to find a feasible way of restoring complete human nature. 25. Schiller (1982, letter 21: 145) thinks that “aesthetic determinability has one single point of contact with mere indetermination—viz., that both exclude any determinate mode of existence.” 26. Schiller (1982, letters 12–15: 78–109) discusses the inevitable opposition and co-existence in human beings of the “sensuous drive” (or “sense-drive”) (which proceeds from the “physical existence” or “sensuous nature” of human beings) and the “formal drive” (or “form-drive” or “rational drive”) (which proceeds from human beings’ “rational nature” or “absolute existence”) “would awaken a new drive”—play drive to let them cooperate and reciprocate. 27. The notion of beauty as the “living form” in Schiller’s letters of aesthetic education appears consistent with his initial definition of beauty as “freedom in appearance” in his letters to Gottfried Körner, although the former is used to emphasize its effect on human nature, and the latter helps to understand the effect better (see Schiller 1982, letter 15: 101–9; 2003, 151–74, 177–83). Although Schiller’s normative, regulative notion of beauty as “freedom in appearance” initially attempts to challenge Kant’s aesthetic focus on the subject in aesthetic judgment, it is not only other scholars who have criticised this, he himself concedes that this effort failed and his “objective principle of beauty” is illusory (Beiser 2005, 47‒76). In his letters on aesthetic education, Schiller (1982, letters 16–17: 113–21) further explains that two kinds of beauty—melting beauty and energizing beauty—stimulate the play drive to restore complete humanity for two kinds of incomplete human nature (either due to undue tension or excessive relaxation). For him, the Greek goddess Juno Ludovisi as the union of grace and dignity exemplifies ideal beauty which stimulates the play drive to work (see Schiller 1982, letter 15: 109; Sharpe 2005, 155). 28. For Schiller (2003, 151, 154–55), regarding beauty, since content melts in form and form appears to be determined by its own nature rather than any external law and the nature of the object appears to be created by the object itself, the freedom lies in the fact that beauty seems to be self-determined-from-within (“autonomy”) and not-being-determined-from-without (“heautonomy”). What Schiller means by autonomy is that the self-determining object follows the law of its own nature (that is nature in artfulness/lawfulness), while heautonomy means the law of the nature of the object is created by the object itself and the law of self-determination derives from its own inner nature, referring to artfulness/technique in freedom, as “an intensification of autonomy” (see Beiser 2005, 66–67, 72, 222‒23). See Schiller’s further explanations in note 30.

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind I

211

29. Quoted in Guo Si’s preface to Linquan Gaozhi (Wang and Ren 2002a, 291) and in Xuanhe Huapu (Bush and Shih 2012, 108). 30. As mentioned in chapter 5, Huang Xiufu suggests that yige offers imitators no clue to learning its simple but marvellous brushwork. In terms of valuing the elimination of any artificial trace in the work which might be brought by the technique of the artist or the material itself, one can see similarities between Chinese views and Schiller’s account. Schiller (2003, 168) argues that Kant must admit “beauty is nothing but nature in technique and freedom in artfulness.” Schiller (2003, 162, 178) suggests that “the ground of the representation of beauty is technique in freedom,” and when the representation of art is immediately brought before the power of imagination (the faculty of intuition) as apparently self-determined, it might look free and beautiful. For Schiller (2003, 164), “technique in freedom” suggests that in art depiction of form must win over matter (content), e.g. a bird in flight is “the happiest depiction of matter dominated by form, of power overcoming weight.” That is, the nature of the object depicted (as apparently determined by the object itself) does not suffer from the nature of the depicting matter (material) and the nature of the artist, and the latter two must lose themselves in the object depicted (Schiller 2003, 179). Technique which carries the task of melting materials and content into form is “something foreign,” external and occasional for art, and it must work to draw attention to freedom, and let the work “appear as determined by the nature of the thing” (Schiller 2003, 165). Thus, technique is better hidden, to get rid of any artificial trace of the nature of the artist and any trace of the nature of the depicting materials. For qiyun-focused artists, the depicting instruments (materials) are brush and ink, and the nature of the artist is reflected in the technique of applying brush and ink. As mentioned in chapter 2, before Huang Xiufu, Jing Hao also suggests the landscapist forget (the technique of) brush and ink to attain the real scene (of landscape). 31. Hegel (1975, 62) praises Schiller’s unity of “universal and particular, freedom and necessity, spirit and nature” as capturing the essence of art and his attempt of realising this unity in actual life through art. 32. Fung Yu-lan (1948, 109) suggests that the happiness resulting from the identification of human beings with the universe is “absolute happiness.” 33. Regarding the contrast between Schiller and Rousseau, see Beiser (2005, 156‒61). 34. As mentioned in chapter 2, qiyun aesthetic reflects a synthesis of Daoism and Confucianism; not only does Daoism advocate the identification of human beings with the universe, but the Neo-Confucianism developed in the Song Dynasty recommends achieving the trinity of individual, Heaven and Earth. 35. Gao (1996, 172) translates tian literally as heaven here.

Chapter 7

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II Moral Cultivation of the Kindred Mind

INTRODUCTION In his preface to Beyond Representation: Chinese Painting and Calligraphy 8th–14th Century, Fong (1992, XIV) points out that “in art as in politics, [. . .] the Chinese scholar was pedagogic and orthodox in his intent though conceptual and intuitive in his approach.” He identifies that beginning in the late Tang and early Song, landscape painting (as advocated in Jing Hao’s theory and exemplified by Li Cheng’s work) reflects the NeoConfucianist view that “To the extent that the ‘mind’ (xin) reflects the perfect ‘principles’ (li) of nature, man can achieve union with the ultimate ‘principle’ of cosmic creativity only by realising the innate moral mind within the self.” (74–79; my emphasis) As seen in chapter 2, Jing Hao’s, Guo Ruoxu’s, and Tang Hou’s texts suggest that qiyun involves a moral dimension, and the development of tenth-to-fourteenth-century landscape painting appears dominated by artists’ conception of nature as usually a synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism. As also seen in chapters 5–6, for those wedded to the qiyun approach aesthetic autonomy accompanies moral significance, even though the approach is intuitive and spontaneous. In this chapter, we will see how moral cultivation is realized by artists’ intuitive artistic approach in a qiyun-focused context. Thus, I attempt to show why in the context of landscape painting qiyun should not be regarded merely as an aesthetic criterion; it also embodies moral cultivation through spiritual communion and resonance between artist and object, audience, and work. By examining the efficacy of projecting Kant’s, and Schiller’s somewhat modified Kantian philosophy regarding the relationship between art and morality, into a qiyun-focused artistic context, we will not only see the parallels and differences between the two 213

214

Chapter 7

aesthetic approaches, but also better understand the moral dimension of qiyun aesthetics. In the first section, I argue that the reconciliation of aesthetic autonomy and moral relevance in the context of qiyun-focused landscape painting is reflected in these two aspects: (i) the way landscapists and audiences have of contemplating the natural world and seeking spiritual communion (shenhui) and (ii) the doctrine of (Confucian) cheng 誠 (sincerity) which allows kindred minds to achieve shenhui during artistic practice or appreciation. In the second section, I examine the efficacy of projecting Kant’s and Schiller’s philosophy of aesthetic autonomy and the moral relevance of art into the qiyun-focused landscape painting context, and show that the differences and parallels between the two traditions help us better understand the moral dimension of qiyun aesthetics, appreciate some problems with earlier Chinese scholars’ adoption of Kantian ideas in their writings on the Chinese aesthetic tradition, and illuminate some limitations of Kantian aesthetics. 7.1 QIYUN, SPIRITUAL KINSHIP, AND SINCERE WILL François Jullien (2018, 65) states in Living off Landscape, for the Chinese that, “landscape itself is instruction, and more effective than any moralizing.” Even if natural objects as subject-matters are regarded as sharing congenial attributes with a virtuous person, one may wonder why and how moral cultivation is involuntarily realized in, or at least accompanies, the practice of creating (and appreciating) a painting replete with qiyun. We have seen Guo Ruoxu’s view that creating a painting replete with qiyun requires shenhui between artist and object. That is, valuing qiyun above formal resemblance requires the artist to seek or experience congeniality and resonance with the object at the level of spirit-energy. As mentioned in chapter 2, Guo Ruoxu’s idea of shenhui may be inspired by the Southern Dynasties artist and theorist Zong Bing, and the Tang art historians and critics Li Sizhen and Zhang Yanyuan, and this idea is also found in writings by his contemporary artists and critics such as Su Shi, Huang Tingjian, and Shen Kuo, even though they do not apply the terminology of qiyun.1 For Guo Ruoxu, shenhui may be regarded as a dimension of qiyun, or at least a necessity for conveying qiyun through painting. For instance, for painting bamboo, a spiritual accord and moral kinship needs to be cultivated between artist and object, so as to capture its internal features of humility, rectitude, uprightness, and chastity. Here, it is noteworthy that (in both Confucian thought and Daoist philosophy) we cannot regard capturing the qiyun of the natural object simply as the imposition or projection of human characteristics onto nature, as this would distort our understanding of the

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

215

equal and harmonious relationship between artist and natural object.2 As Tu Wei-ming says about ganying 感應 as analogous to shenhui: The function of “affect and response” (ganying) characterizes nature as a great harmony and so informs the mind. The mind forms a union with nature by extending itself metonymically. Its aesthetic appreciation of nature is neither an appropriation of the object by the subject nor an imposition of the subject on the object, but the merging of the self into an expanded reality through transformation and participation. (Tu 2004, 37; quoted in Brasovan 2015, 89; my emphasis)

Here, Tu wisely points out the role of the mind in functioning as ganying or shenhui. One may think shenhui is abbreviated from xinshen linghui 心神領會 or xinling shenhui 心領神會, and, as the Chinese character ling means command or lead, the four-character term suggests the commanding role of the mind (xin) in activating shenhui, through which responsive human beings build harmonious connections and communion with natural objects. I think this is a wise observation. In the pre-Qin medical work Huangdi Neijing, xin is described as a monarch (of human body) (xinzhe, junzhu zhiguan 心者君主之官), from which, bright shen shines forth (shenming chuyan 神明出焉), which means that xin commands or leads shen to enable the latter to work wisely.3 The Song scholar Zhang Fangli uses a similar term, xinhui shenrong 心會神融, to suggest that spiritual communion between artist and object is important for the artist to master the essence of the object depicted and produce a painting replete with qiyun (Zheng 2001, 242; quoted in Xu 2001, 220–221).4 Under the command of xin, the spiritual communion (shenhui) with natural objects may occur when the artist paints landscape in a spirit of reverence through an introvertive contemplation. As Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary landscapist and theorist Guo Xi suggests, the appropriate way for either artist or audience to look at landscape is thus: “Look with a heart in tune with forest and stream, then you will value them highly. Approach with the eyes of arrogance and extravagance, then you will value them but little.” (Bush and Shih 2012, 151; see Yu 1986, 632; Wang and Ren 2002a, 292) As mentioned in chapter 6, having heart-mind in tune with forests and streams, as advocated by Guo Xi, means purifying and emancipating the mind as demanded by aesthetic autonomy. This mental purification appears to have moral significance. For Guo Xi, when looking at natural objects without appropriate mental state or sincere attitude, one will not discover the value of the landscape. Although he does not apply the terminology of qiyun, he implies that moral self-cultivation is achieved through intuitive comprehension and absorbed contemplation in either artistic creation or appreciation. As mentioned in chapter 2,

216

Chapter 7

Egan (2016, 285–86) suggests that Guo Xi’s account in Linquan Gaozhi of how to capture the transformation of nature (zaohua 造化) through painting echoes Jing Hao’s call to convey landscape’s zhen (embodied through qi and yun). Here, one may suggest that Guo Xi also echoes Guo Ruoxu’s view that the artist builds an effective sympathetic resonance with the object through intuitive engagement and aesthetic contemplation, and that moral cultivation occurs involuntarily in the process of creating a painting replete with qiyun. About six centuries later, the Qing critic Wang Yu echoes Guo Xi on the significance of contemplative engagement for a landscape painter, When the painter contemplates the true visage of the mountain and forests, showing it [by brushstrokes], how can he not be outstanding? . . . all the [shenyun] of painting come from contemplation of dawn and dusk, the four seasons, the wind, fine, rain, and snow, and the appearing and disappearing of the cloud and mist. (Gao 1996, 138; with modifications; see Wang and Ren 2002b, 422)5

By contemplating a painting, audiences also echo the mood of the painting initially created by the painter, as if they come to nature, locating themselves in mountains, and enjoying the pleasure of traveling forests and waters. As Guo Xi suggests, when the response to natural objects is one of spiritual accord, the aesthetic pleasure of a heart-mind in tune with forests and streams can be gained by sitting in a study and contemplating a landscape painting without leaving the room: [Looking] at a particular [landscape] painting [arouses your] corresponding [yi 意]. You seem in fact to be in those mountains. This is the [yi] of a painting beyond its mere scenery. You see a white path disappearing into the blue and think of travelling on it. You see the glow of setting sun over level waters and dream of gazing on it. You see cliffs by lucid water or streams over rocks, and long to wander there. To look at a particular painting puts you in the corresponding frame of mind. (Bush and Shih 2012, 153; with my emphasis and modifications; see Yu 1986, 635; Wang and Ren 2002a, 295)6

The imaginative evocation of pictorial yi (analogous to Kant’s aesthetic idea as argued in chapter 3) plays a key role in this contemplative process. No matter how long ago the work was created, through contemplative engagement, viewers with similar spiritual interests may have a congenial spiritual accord with the object and feel a sense of affinity or communion with the artist of like mind. Tu Wei-ming (1983, 70–71) says that, “a smile between two resonating hearts or an encounter between two mutually responding spirits cannot be demonstrated to the insensitive eye or the unattuned ear.”

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

217

What philosophical ideas underpin the moral relevance of spiritual kinship and resonance between artist, object, audience, and work? As we saw in chapter 2, Peng Lai suggests that Guo Ruoxu’s emphasis on the artist’s mental disposition may be inspired by his contemporary Neo-Confucianists Zhang Zai’s and Cheng Hao’s views on mind, qi, and human nature. Inspired by Cahill’s discussion of painting as a reflection of Neo-Confucian cheng 誠 (sincerity) in Song scholar-artists’ aesthetics, I suggest that cheng, valued as a basic requirement for scholars cultivating the mind in accord with the Dao, may help us understand the moral significance of the spiritual affinity between artist, object, audience, and work under the notion of shenhui. As Guo Ruoxu’s contemporary Neo-Confucian scholar Zhou Dunyi (1017–1073) claims in his Tong Shu (All-Embracing Book or Penetrating the Book of Changes), “sagehood is simply a matter of sincerity, [. . .] sincerity is the foundation of the five virtues, and the source of all virtuous conduct.” In the light of the Confucian philosophy of sincerity, a painting by a pure and lofty mind is “a reflection of his sincerity.” (Cahill 1959, 96) When forming the mental image of the object depicted in his untrammeled imaginative evocation and releasing pictorial yi (idea) or yixiang (idea-image) into the final images replete with qiyun, the artist with Confucian sincerity achieves a mental catharsis and cultivates his moral sentiments along with forgetting the hindrances of all sensuous desires. This mental state is what Zhou Dunyi asserts in Tong Shu, [Wuyu 無慾] [no desire] results in vacuity when in quiescence, and straightforwardness when in movement. Vacuity in quiescence leads to enlightenment, and enlightenment leads to comprehension. [Likewise] straightforwardness in movement leads to impartiality, and impartiality leads to universality. One is almost [a sage when one has] such enlightenment, comprehension, impartiality, and universality. (Fung 1948, 271; with both my and Fung’s additions)7

Here, one may note that although in the qiyun-focused context the mental exercise endorsed by the Confucian doctrine of sincerity itself does not have intrinsic moral value, it may unselfconsciously enhance the agent’s moral sentiments and character. Four centuries later, in Chuanxi Lu (A Record for Teaching and Practicing: Dialogues between Xu Ai and Wang Yangming), which records Wang Shouren’s teaching and ideas, compiled by Wang Shouren’s student Xu Ai (1487–1517), the Ming Neo-Confucian scholar Wang Shouren (also known as Wang Yangming, 1472–1528) further emphasizes the significance of sincerity for the Confucian doctrine of the mean: “‘Only those of the utmost Sincerity in the world are able to fathom their natures,’ and thereby understand the transformations of Heaven and Earth.” (Tiwald and Norden

218

Chapter 7

2014, 270; see also the Doctrine of the Mean, chapter 22; Legge 1914, 51) For him, sincerity of thought is necessarily involved in the process of investigating things and extending knowledge; when thought is of the utmost sincerity, the mind is also rectified (Fung 1948, 314; see also Tiwald and Norden 2014, 265‒266, 270). It is noteworthy that sincerity (cheng) has been cherished as a basis of virtue in East Asia where Confucian moral principles have influenced people’s moral judgment and conduct for more than 2,000 years. A. T. Nuyen’s comparison between the Kantian good will and Confucian sincerity (sincere will) may help Western readers understand the meaning, centrality, and significance of sincerity for classical and contemporary Chinese (and other nationalities practicing Confucian ethics). As Nuyen (2011, 526–537) argues, Confucian sincerity or sincere will “conditions other virtues through will,” and is “equivalent to” Kant’s good will, in terms of acting as an essential condition of other virtues.8 I agree with Nuyen that conduct conforming to the Confucian virtues such as ren, yi, li, zhi, xin 信, zhong 忠 (loyalty or faithfulness), jing 敬 (respect), and yong 勇 (courage), is “good only if [it is] exercised by a person with sincere will.” (352) For instance, if a person does not sincerely will to be benevolent but shows benevolent conduct just for the sake of gaining a good reputation, other’s trust or any other purposes, he is not genuinely benevolent. The spiritual kinship guaranteed by sincere will in engaging in the imaginative evocation of idea-images (yixiang) of the object and the shenhui with the object and the artist is what the Southern Song Neo-Confucian scholar Zhu Xi (1130–1200) means by his comment on Su Shi’s painting: As for [Su Shi], he possessed lofty and enduring qualities and a firm and immovable appearance. One might say that he resembled these “bamboo gentlemen” and “rock friends” which he painted. After a hundred generations, when men look at this painting, they will still be able to see him in their minds. (Bush and Shih 2012, 202; Bush 2012, 103)

Penetrating the strength and momentum of the brushstrokes, the yixiang of the object initially animated in the painter’s mind is evoked in the imagination of the congenial and “sincere” viewer. The congenial and “sincere” viewer appreciates the sincerity of the artist conveying qiyun and his emotions crystalized in every stroke, through contemplating the qiyun of the object and having a sympathetic resonance with it. His poetic reflection evoked by the qiyun of the work enables him to feel a sense of affinity with the kindred spirit (of the object and of the artist) conveyed through the painting. In sum, qiyun-focused landscape art requires the artist to attain spiritual resonance with the object to convey the qiyun, and also enables congenial

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

219

communion between the artist and spectator. Moral cultivation through qiyun-focused landscape art is endorsed by the sincerity (conditioning virtues as explained in Confucian ethics) involved in the imaginative evocation of idea-images of the natural object when the congenial artist is engaging in shenhui with the object depicted, or the congenial audience is sharing the sense of affinity with the artist and the subject-matter of the work through shenhui in aesthetic contemplation. 7.2 THE RECONCILIATION OF AESTHETIC AUTONOMY AND MORAL RELEVANCE As seen above, the Confucian sincerity involved in bringing the artist’s and audience’s mind in accord with the Dao and engaging in shenhui with the object or work in aesthetic contemplation guarantees that the spiritual affinity between artist, object, audience, and work has a moral dimension. We also saw in chapter 6 that the purification of the mind prepared by Daoist or Buddhist meditation and exercised in artistic spontaneity explains aesthetic autonomy. In this section, I point out that although classical texts about qiyun aesthetics written on a more practical basis suggest that the Chinese approach remains focused on the lived experience and practice of artists and appreciators and do not provide a systematic analysis of these issues, the parallels and differences between the Chinese aesthetic tradition and Kantian ideas regarding them may help us better understand the moral dimension of qiyun aesthetics and genius. Although by positing different grounds for beauty and morality Kant suggests that beauty is independent from morality, his accounts of aesthetic autonomy and the relationship between beauty and morality do not rule out the possibility of moral cultivation through art. As seen in chapter 6, he suggests that an intellectual interest in the beautiful does not contradict his insistence on the disinterestedness of aesthetic judgment. Kneller (2007, 60‒71) agrees with Karl Ameriks (1995, 361‒67) that the intellectual interest in the beautiful that Kant (KU §42, 5: 298‒302) also calls love is “at least an attunement favorable to moral feeling” and suggests that for Kant, our intellectual interest in the beautiful (nature and possibly art as well) is akin to our moral interest in the good, even though the former is free, and analogous to intellectual love (which is neither pathological, nor practical), whereas the latter is based on the rational law or categorical imperative. Paul Guyer (1993, 34, 36) argues that for Kant aesthetic experience has both moral psychological and moral epistemological relevance, since aesthetic experience “serves the purpose of morality most directly by improving our propensity for moral feeling,” and “aesthetic phenomena can offer sensible representation of practical

220

Chapter 7

reason, of specific moral conceptions, and finally, of the general relation between moral reason and moral feelings.”9 I agree with Guyer and Kneller that Kant implies the possibility of moral cultivation through art. Since Kant defines the aesthetic idea as the representation of imagination, his notion of beauty as the expression of the aesthetic idea as seen in chapter 3 may leave space for moral relevance, although the aesthetic idea is not necessarily a signifier of morality. Similarly, it is noteworthy that in Chinese landscape art, although landscape or some natural plants are read as having virtues, the natural object itself cannot be simply understood as the symbolic signifier of human moral attributes as mentioned above. In addition, pictorial yi (idea) as analogous to Kant’s aesthetic idea (also explained in chapter 3) is not necessarily required to reflect the moral content. Even if the aesthetic idea in an artwork might not involve a sensible representation of practical reason and moral conviction, Weijia Wang (2018, 853–75) argues that both artist and audience may cultivate their moral sense through reflecting on aesthetic freedom. This is analogous to reflection on moral freedom, and thus moral cultivation is a kind of indirect duty for anyone encountering or creating beauty (of nature and art). We now need to see whether further aspects of Kant’s account of the analogy between the form of our reflection on beauty and that on morality may be projected into the qiyun-focused artistic context. Kant claims that “beauty is the symbol of the morally good.” (KU §59, 5: 353) Before discussing what this means, it may be better to clarify what Kant means by symbol. He says that “all hypotyposis (presentation), as making something sensible,” is either schematic or symbolic. As for the former, “to a concept grasped by the understanding the corresponding intuition is given a priori.” However, in a symbolic hypotyposis, while no sensible intuition can be adequate to a concept which only reason can think (an idea of reason), “an intuition is attributed with which the power of judgment proceeds in a way merely analogous to that which it observes in schematization [. . .] and thus merely the form of the reflection, not the content, [. . .] corresponds to the concept.” (KU §59, 5: 351; my emphasis) Kant thus classifies all intuitions ascribed to concepts a priori into two categories—schema and symbol. The former demonstratively and directly presents the concept by content, while the latter indirectly presents the concept “by means of an analogy, in which the power of judgment performs a double task, first applying the concept to the object of a sensible intuition, and then, second, applying the mere rule of reflection on that intuition to an entirely different object, of which the first is only the symbol.” (KU §59, 5: 352; my emphasis) He uses the example of the analogy of a despotic state (a monarchical state ruled by a single absolute will) with a handmill (mechanically manipulated by its owner) to illustrate what he means by symbolic hypotyposis or symbol. For Kant, although

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

221

there is no direct connection or similarity between the despotic state and the handmill, “there is one [similarity] between the rule for reflecting on both and their causality.” (KU §59, 5: 352) To be more specific, the handmill’s being symbolic of the despotic state depends on the similarity between the rule for reflecting (or the form of our reflection on) the causal connection between the despotic state and the single absolute will of its dictator who rules it mechanically and the connection between the mill and the miller mechanically manipulating it (Wang 2018, 856). For Kant, beauty (i) pleases immediately (“but only in reflecting intuition” rather than in concept), (ii) without the involvement of any interest (sensuous, practical, intellectual, or moral satisfaction dependent on concern for the existence of the object, concept, or action), (iii) as the reflection or result of the freedom of the imagination “in accord with the lawfulness of the understanding” in aesthetic judgment, and (iv) such (subjective) aesthetic pleasure is universally valid for everyone (but not by means of any universal concept). According to Kant, morality acts for the sake of duty, willed through practical reason in conformity with the Categorical Imperative, which requires the maxims of moral action to be universalizable and treat humanity as an end in itself rather than a mere means. The moral good (i) pleases immediately in reflecting on concepts rather than on intuition, (ii) independently of any antecedent interest (but “necessarily connected with an interest [. . .] that is thereby first produced”), (iii) as the reflection or result of the freedom of the will (instead of the imagination) “in accordance with universal laws of reason,” and (iv) with universal validity for everyone “by means of universal concept.” (KU §59, 5: 354) Thus, the symbolic relationship between beauty and morality does not consist in or relate to the content of each. Nevertheless, the parallel between the form of our reflection on beauty and that on morality lies in the analogy between the four aspects of immediacy, disinterestedness, freedom, and universal validity in both aesthetic judgment and moral judgment just mentioned (KU §59, 5: 353‒354).10 Having seen Kant’s analogy, let us move to examine its projection within the qiyun-focused context. There are two aspects to this. First, regarding the immediacy and disinterestedness of aesthetic freedom and moral freedom, it seems that in the qiyun-focused context the aesthetic freedom experienced by landscapists and spectators of landscape painting, and the moral freedom fulfilled through the aesthetic experience of shenhui and endorsed by the Confucian doctrine of sincerity, converge in the pursuit of being in accordance with the Dao. We will see that there are some issues with this projection and it also challenges the Kantian dualism of separating aesthetic freedom and moral freedom. On the one hand, as argued in chapters 4 and 6, the detached mental freedom experienced by qiyun-focused artists in artistic practice appears

222

Chapter 7

consistent with Kant’s aesthetic freedom. However, regarding the free play of the faculties of the mind, Chinese texts on painting do not have as sophisticated and systematic an analysis as Kant, and there are essential differences between their philosophical preoccupations. As mentioned in chapter 3, although the carefree shen of the artist apparently corresponds to Kant’s notion of spirit as the animating principle of genius (the union of imagination and understanding), the first criterion of qiyun requires the shen of the artist to respond to the shen of the object depicted. Harmony (of imagination and understanding) in Kant is intra-subjective, since it is inside the mind of an individual, although it is universally shared by all individuals a priori (see Wenzel 2010, 329). Wenzel (2006, 100; 2010, 329) suggests that seen from the outside the harmony in Confucian li 禮 (ritual or propriety) might correspond to a harmony inside (i.e., internal to the mind of the agent practicing the ritual), and thus may be “the mirror image of the harmony in the free play of our cognitive faculties, imagination and understanding” defined by Kant as the mental state of the agent engaging in aesthetic judgment, although this harmony is inter-subjective and also includes the harmony of human beings with nature.11 Similarly to li (ritual or propriety), the notion of yun (consonance or harmony of qi) is more inter-subjective, and also involves the harmonious sympathetic resonance between subject and object, which is absent in Kant’s philosophy as we have noted in chapters 3–5. Although Kant does discuss the subject/object relation, for example in his account of the a priori principle of purposiveness, he nowhere considers it in terms of the harmonious resonance brought by the fusion of the spirit-energy of subject and object. On the other hand, in the qiyun-focused context, this aesthetic freedom has moral significance, since, as mentioned in the last section, this autonomy is endorsed by or is at least in harmony with the Confucian sincere will, which conditions virtues and is analogous to the Kantian good will endorsing moral freedom.12 That is, for a sincere Chinese landscapist or a sincere and congenial spectator of landscape painting, the moment of enjoying this aesthetic freedom seems to be that of simultaneously realizing or cultivating the “enlightenment,” “comprehension,” “impartiality,” and “universality” of his moral sentiments and getting rid of mundane desires. In the Chinese context, this moral relevance is not based on an analogy between the reflection on aesthetic freedom and that on moral freedom. The Kantian dualism between aesthetic freedom and moral freedom as mentioned above cannot be found in the Chinese context where sincere artists and congenial audiences engage in a detached mental state in accord with the Dao which penetrates everything. This marks a significant difference between Kant’s ideas and Chinese philosophy rather than another continuity. Schiller defends the Kantian view of aesthetic autonomy and has more confidence in the moral significance of art in terms of habitualizing morally

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

223

significant inclinations, so one might ask whether his modified Kantian ideas regarding the reconciliation of aesthetic autonomy and the moral relevance of art have greater similarity to this reconciliation in the qiyun-focused context.13 Guyer (1993, 116) notes that “Schiller understood Kant’s idea that the aesthetic can serve the purposes of morality only by remaining free of constraint, including constraint by morality itself.” (see also Beiser 2005, 155‒56; Maftei 2014, 172, 174–176) For Schiller, when artists pursue morality, the moral purpose will destroy the autonomy or heautonomy of appearance of the object depicted, and thus weaken or even inhibit the beauty of the work, since “the form of this object will be determined by the idea of practical reason, not through itself, and thus will become heteronomous.” Therefore, he (2003, 156) advises artists that a moral end or content is “best hidden” in the form of art, and beauty should “appear to come from the nature of the thing completely freely and without force.” In addition, as seen in chapter 6, Schiller (1982, letters 15, 18: 100–109, 122–127; 2003, 152, 163) suggests that beauty (as living form or appearance of freedom) stimulates the play drive to exclude any sensuous constraints or rational bounds and thus the most vibrant physical power of sensibility (which supplies content) and the mightiest intellectual powers of reason (which offers form) cooperate well. Beiser (2005, 223) points out that in his letters to Körner Schiller initially uses the idea of heautonomy to define the beauty of the object, but applies it to human nature in his letters on the aesthetic education of man. As explained in chapter 6, for Schiller (1982, letters 21–22: 144‒153), aesthetic freedom which furnishes aesthetic determinability in aesthetic experience refers to the freedom of free choice exercised in aesthetic experience when sensibility and reason are in harmonious cooperation and reciprocity, without one overcoming the other (see also Beiser 2005, 154‒156, 232‒234; Maftei 2013, 172). Thus, for Schiller (2005, 145, 154, 158), aesthetic freedom, is significant in guiding human beings to enter the rational realm where they perform duties from cultivated and internalized joyful inclination (in most untragic situations, against inclination merely in rare tragic situations) (see also Maftei 2013, 174‒176; Schellekens 2007, 110‒112).14 As seen in chapter 6, the exercise of aesthetic autonomy can promote the restoration of a whole human nature, and this whole nature is also demanded in moral judgment: When a person does his duty from inclination he will be heautonomous, acting from the necessity of his own nature, though here his nature is not equivalent to only his natural or phenomenal being but also comprises his rational or noumenal being. (Beiser 2005, 223–224)15

Although, as mentioned above, scholars such as Guyer and Kneller argue that Kant’s aesthetics implies the possibility of cultivating moral sentiments

224

Chapter 7

through aesthetic experience, Schiller’s modified Kantian account more explicitly emphasizes that morally significant inclination can be exercised through aesthetic experience.16 Schiller’s view of internalized inclination conforming to moral duty and cultivated and habitualized through art appears to parallel the Chinese view of moral sentiments or virtues conditioned by sincere will that may be fulfilled involuntarily but also actually willed voluntarily through art. However, again, Schillerian unity within dualism cannot be found in the qiyun-focused aesthetic context, where moral sentiments are exercised in aesthetic contemplation through sympathetic resonance and spiritual communion between the artist, object, audience, and work, and endorsed by the sincere will. Even so, the similar emphasis on the cultivation or habituation of moral sentiments or inclination through aesthetic experience also signifies the moral significance of art. In this light, one might better understand why, as we saw in chapter 2, Tang Hou urges people born in good families to learn to appreciate calligraphy and painting. The second aspect of the comparison with Kant’s views on the analogy between art and morality concerns the promotion of moral community through aesthetic community. Here too I find differences behind the parallels between qiyun aesthetics and Kant’s philosophy. For Kant, that aesthetic pleasure and aesthetic freedom originally aroused in artists could be experienced by spectators is based on the universality of the free play of imagination and understanding in aesthetic judgment (KU, §9, 5: 217‒219). In order to arouse a corresponding response in spectators, the artist starts from the universal standpoint, since he not only “wants to submit the object to his own eyes,” but also speaks with “a universal voice and lays claim to the consent of everyone.” (KU, §8, 5: 216) The universal validity and communicability of aesthetic judgment shared by the artist and spectators is based on a “sensus communis” (common sense) shared by human beings, which is “essentially different from the common understanding that is sometimes also called common sense,” since the free play of imagination and understanding along with the a priori principle of purposiveness are the grounds for justifying this universal agreement of aesthetic taste (see Wenzel 2005, 81‒85; KU; §20‒22, §40, 5: 238‒240, 293‒296; see also Vandenabeele 2010, 313‒317). Thus, it may be concluded that Kant’s transcendental idea of the universal validity and communicability of aesthetic judgment explains the sense of aesthetic affinity felt by the artist and audiences. This universal validity and communicability of aesthetic taste works (a priori) to establish an aesthetic community (see Vandenabeele 2010, 308‒320).17 On the other hand, Kant suggests the universal validity of moral autonomy. As mentioned above, Kant’s view of beauty as the symbol of morality suggests the form of reflection on beauty is analogous to that on morality. Everyone in an aesthetic community may have the same potential to achieve moral cultivation through their reflection on

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

225

aesthetic freedom, which is analogous to that on moral freedom. That is, the aesthetic community may indirectly trigger a moral community. However, Zvi Tauber (2006, 26‒28, 36‒39) doubts the feasibility of the Kantian idealistic transition (or leap) from beauty to morality, claiming that since beauty (as the “presentation of existence” or “appearance of reality”) and morality (practiced in “actual existence”), as Kant understands them, are ontologically different, aesthetic experience which is indifferent to real existence cannot have a moral effect unless accompanied by moral education. In the qiyun-focused context, however, an aesthetic community contributes to the establishment of a moral community in a practical sense. This is because, in the process of appreciating the work, viewers of kindred mind are stimulated to echo the painter’s mind, and this may simultaneously enable or encourage their moral elevation. This is different from Kant’s account of the free play of imagination and understanding and the “sensus communis,” since the morally relevant aesthetic communicability is predicated on the spiritual kinship between artist, object, audience, and work, which is united under the notion of qiyun. In addition, it is worth noting that natural objects are part of this aesthetic and moral community of beings. This is absent in Kant’s aesthetics which, consistently with his overall transcendental philosophical system, focuses on the subject. Although, of course Kant does not deny that aesthetic judgments involve objects, as mentioned above, his aesthetics does not endorse a fusion of the spirit-energy of the artist or audience and that of the aesthetic object. Regarding the promotion of moral community through aesthetic community, again one may find more plausible parallels between qiyun aesthetics and Schiller’s ideas, since he advocates aesthetic education as a bottom-up approach to realizing the aesthetic state as his republican ideal. As mentioned in chapter 6, in Schiller’s (Schiller 1982, letters 23–27: 160‒219) aesthetic state, human beings transcend natural desires by taking pleasure in creating or appreciating form, and “the love of form” enables them to value things beyond the satisfaction of physical needs, and through aesthetic practice they exercise their rationality and sensibility together and this helps them achieve a harmony of spirit and nature (see also Beiser 2005, 159–160). In his view, the aesthetic state is much better than either the dynamic state or the ethical state, since only in the aesthetic state can human beings avoid the compulsion of sensuous nature and the rational law and their freedom of will in accordance with complete humanity is respected and realized (see Schiller 1982, letter 27: 204‒219; Beiser 2005, 162‒163).18 Although Guyer (1993, 124) appears optimistic about the aesthetic state and suggests that the aesthetic education advocated by Schiller improves our affective or emotional and epistemological condition and is a “truly effective exercise of either individual morality or political justice,” some critics such as Beiser

226

Chapter 7

(2005, 128‒129, 164), Georg Lukács (1971, 139), and Kai Hammermeister (2002, 59–60) think that the moral cultivation through art Schiller envisages is narrowly confined to an elite class, and his aesthetic state appears to be politically utopian. For instance, Beiser (2005, 128‒129, 164) claims that Schiller’s aesthetic approach to realizing his ideal republic is a kind of idealistic elitism that falls into “resignation to a grim political reality” and “recognition of the idea’s purely regulative status,” since it appears unrealistic when the government is repressive, or most people in society are corrupted and unwilling to accept aesthetic education, or there is no influential artist able to create powerful artwork to inspire people to engage in aesthetic contemplation. The issue of idealism and elitism being worsened by problematic political situations can also be found in the qiyun-focused context where the attempt of scholar-artists to build an aesthetic community free of political corruption sometimes fell into retreat from worldly reality. This was especially the case when the political situation appeared dangerous for scholars serving the government, and the elite adopted art as a way of escaping political corruption and maintaining individual inner-peace. For instance, in the Yuan Dynasty when China was ruled by the Mongolians, many scholar-artists chose to withdraw from the world and live as a recluse or semi-recluse. Even though the individual moral self is purified by lodging lofty emotions and thought within art, and contemporary and later artists and connoisseurs with congenial spirits may have spiritual resonance with those artists when contemplating their works, the aesthetic community did not involuntarily promote the establishment of a politically effective moral community. Despite this charge of idealism and elitism, however, whether in Chinese texts in relation to qiyun aesthetics or in Schiller’s letters, the moral and even political significance of art is affirmatively and optimistically valued. Schiller (1982, letter 27: 219) enthusiastically states that, Where is [the aesthetic state] to be found? As a need, it exists in every finely attuned soul; as a realised fact, we are likely to find it, like the pure Church and the pure Republic, only in some few chosen circles.

As mentioned above, Zhu Xi praises the spirit of Su Shi expressed in his painting and suggests that even though a hundred generations have passed later audiences will be able to see his mind in the painting and feel the sense of spiritual kinship and community. Although this aesthetic, moral and even political community stimulated by art may be criticized for being confined to the life of intellectual elites, it is endorsed by numerous artists and critics and is able to transcend the boundary of time and space and illuminate and unite every “finely attuned soul” throughout the long history of Chinese art.

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

227

INTERIM CONCLUSION In conclusion, we have seen that in the qiyun-focused aesthetic context, the sense of affinity or community aroused between the artist, object, work, and audience is the result of the shenhui of kindred spirits during aesthetic contemplation. The Confucian idea of sincerity involved in bringing the landscapist’s or audience’s mind in accord with the Dao during aesthetic contemplation underpins the moral dimension of shenhui between the artist, the natural object depicted, and the congenial audience stimulated by artworks, that is, establishes the moral dimension of qiyun aesthetics. The moral significance of qiyun-focused art is not merely for individuals but works for an aesthetic and ethical community, since for a congenial spectator with sincere will who experiences an intimate spiritual kinship with the artist when contemplating the qiyun of the work, his moral self is also nourished during the process of viewing the painting and feeling the sense of affinity with like minds. In projecting Kant’s and Schiller’s modified Kantian views of the relationship of art and morality into this context, we have seen two main problems and differences behind the apparent parallels: First, regarding the free and harmonious play of the faculties of the mind in aesthetic contemplation, whereas the Kantian harmony is intra-subjective, the criterion of qiyun requires more inter-subjective harmony and also refers to a harmonious sympathetic resonance between subject and object missing from Kant’s account. Moreover, since the Confucian sincere will, analogous to Kant’s good will endorsing moral freedom, underpins the moral relevance of shenhui between artist, object, work, and audience, sincere aesthetic contemplation cultivates morals sentiments and realizes morally significant autonomy simultaneously. Although Kant thinks that the form of reflection on moral autonomy is analogous to that on aesthetic autonomy, the detached mental state in accord with the Dao experienced by qiyun-focused artists and congenial audiences does not fit within the Kantian dualism between aesthetic autonomy and moral autonomy. The cultivation and habituation of moral sentiments through shenhui appears to better resonate with Schiller’s view of the internalized inclination as conforming to moral duty and exercised by art. However, this apparent parallel is still superficial, since the former does not subscribe to Kantian dualism, let alone unity within dualism. Second, with regard to the establishment of moral community through aesthetic community, the Kantian conception of beauty as the symbol of morality idealistically assumes that everyone with taste may cultivate moral sense through aesthetic experience due to an analogy between the rule of reflection on beauty and that on morality, while qiyun aesthetics of landscape art shows that an aesthetic community may contribute to the establishment of a moral

228

Chapter 7

community. However, Kant’s transcendental philosophy does not guarantee a transformation of aesthetic community into moral community as a practical necessity, while in the qiyun-focused context, the moral significance of aesthetic autonomy is always for an aesthetic and ethical community constituted by the artist engaging with sincere will, the congenial audience, and even the natural object depicted, who share a sense of spiritual affinity. That is, in the Chinese context morally relevant aesthetic communicability is built into a picture based on the spiritual kinship between artist, object, audience, and work. That natural objects are part of this aesthetic and moral community helps explain why for the Chinese “landscape itself is instruction, and more effective than any moralizing.” Although we have seen that Schiller’s account of aesthetic education appears closer to the Chinese ideas regarding the moral and even political significance of aesthetic community, again, unlike Schiller’s transcendental unity within dualism, in the latter context the attuned souls or kindred minds are united under the pursuit of qiyun and in sincere and congenial shenhui in aesthetic contemplation. Even though this aesthetic and moral community may well—as some have claimed—be confined to a class of elite intellectual, qiyun aesthetics nonetheless transcends the boundary of time and space in terms of uniting congenial minds in the past, present, and future. NOTES 1. Cahill (1959, 87) notes that Mencius regards reading their literary works as a means of nourishing feelings of affinity with scholars of antiquity, and this affinity is based on what later people call shenhui (See Mencius, book V, part 2, chapter 8; Lau 2004, 121; see also Tu 1983, 69–71). 2. In explaining how Mencius’ definition of the human way affects aesthetics, Tu Wei-ming (1983, 69) emphasizes that Mencius’ notion of the human is not “anthropocentric,” and the self-realisation of human beings does not aim at conquering or dominating the world but rather the harmony between the self and nature. 3. See Huangdi Neijing, Suwen chapter; Unschuld et al. (2011). 4. The Chinese term hui 會 can be translated as meet or know, and rong 融 as melt or dissolve, which suggests the two melt or dissolve into each other. 5. As mentioned in chapter 1, shenyun and qiyun are often used interchangeably in classical texts on painting. 6. Bush and Shih (2012, 153) translate yi as “mood” here. 7. Five Confucian virtues include ren 仁 (benevolence or humaneness), yi 義 (rightfulness), li 禮 (propriety), zhi 智 (wisdom), xin 信 (trustworthiness or integrity). Here, we can see that the emphasis on impartiality and universality resonates with Kant’s ethics, although for Zhou Dunyi such notions as impartiality and universality refer to qualities of moral sentiment or character. 8. Regarding the notion of cheng in Confucian ethics, see also Sim and Bretzke (1994, 179‒212); Yanming An (2004, 155‒69). For Kant, the person of “good will”

Genius as a Pure and Lofty Mind II

229

is the person who acts for the sake of duty – such a person’s motive for action is determined by reason according to the moral law that binds all rational agents universally rather than by desire for expected consequences or by emotion, feeling, sentiment or inclination. Kant makes duty instead of virtue the fundamental notion: the good will defined in terms of duty is completely good in itself without qualification or limitation, and virtue is “the moral strength of a human being’s will in fulfilling his duty” (6: 394, 405). One may think that, contrary to Kant’s duty-based ethics, Confucian ethics is a virtue-based ethics, and “sincerity” signifies the virtue of such dispositions as telling the truth, although, as mentioned above, Nuyen (2011, 526–37) convincingly argues that there are parallels between Confucian sincerity (sincere will) and Kant’s good will. Chung-ying Cheng (2010, 98) argues that the Confucian ultimate principle of ren is “the perfect virtue for all virtues and also the duty of virtue for all duties of virtues.” Thus, following Chung-ying Cheng’s suggestion of ren as the duty of virtue, the sincere will conditioning ren appears equivalent to Kant’s good will. 9. Joseph Cannon (2011, 113‒26) argues that Kant’s account of artistic beauty expresses a morally significant harmony between nature and freedom, while Guyer (2011, 129) thinks that taste is internal to genius and objects to Cannon’s suggestion that genius is subordinate to taste (as mentioned in chapter 5), and suggests that genius endorses “a harmony between the natural inventiveness of imagination and the ability for successful communication that can be taken as evidence between feeling and reason that is crucial for morality.” 10. Regarding similarities and differences between beauty and morality defined by Kant, see also Tauber (2006, 24‒29). 11. Li (ritual or propriety) along with music have an aesthetic, ethical and political significance in Confucian philosophy. The aesthetic and ethical significance of Confucian ritual and music is not my concern in this book. For a discussion of the aesthetic dimension and moral relevance of Confucian li and how calligraphy embodies aesthetic and ethical appropriateness of Confucian li, see Mullis (2007, 99–107). For a discussion of the aesthetic dimension and moral relevance of (ideal) Confucian li in comparison with Kant’s ideas, see also Wenzel (2019, 59‒71). 12. My point here is not that there is a monolithic classical Chinese notion of “moral freedom,” or if there is then it is more Kantian than, say, Aristotelean. Even if one supposed it possible to abstract a common classical Chinese notion of moral freedom there is little reason to suppose it would fit very clearly within the context of qiyun aesthetics. My aim rather is to point to certain resonances and differences between a notion of morally significant freedom at work specifically in qiyun aesthetics and in the Kantian position. 13. For Schiller (2003, 152‒53, 156), morality as self-determination through practical reason according to the moral law, is “the agreement of an action with the form of pure will,” while beauty as appearance in self-determination through its own nature, is “the analogy of an appearance with the form of pure will or freedom.” In aesthetic contemplation, even though aesthetic freedom in sensuous appearance (read by reason cooperating with sensibility as mentioned in chapter 6) appears analogous to the moral autonomy possessed only by rational beings, Schiller (2003, 148‒74,

230

Chapter 7

177–83) distinguishes aesthetic autonomy/heautonomy and moral autonomy (see also Beiser 2005, 219–23; Houlgate 2008, 42–45; my notes 28, 30 in chapter 6). 14. In his On Grace and Dignity, Schiller (2005, 148‒50) objects that Kant’s understanding of morality may lead to “the path of a sombre and monkish asceticism” by separating duty from inclination, since Kant’s emphasis of rational autonomy of moral freedom appears to portray inclination as an “unreliable companion” and pleasure as a “dubious ingredient for moral determinations.” For Schiller, severe rationalism has as destructive an effect on human beings as hedonism, so in balancing sensibility and reason his notion of aesthetic freedom is supposed to lead human beings to an idealistic and healthy middle path between stoicism and Epicureanism, and the significance of art lies in its function of enabling human beings to be selfconscious in their willing of free choice (Beiser 2005, 144‒45, 211‒12). Regarding the issue whether Schiller thinks aesthetic freedom is the precondition of rational freedom or the better alternative to rational freedom, it seems that there is a tension caused by the two conflicting views coexisting in his writing, but I have no space to discuss this here. 15. Beiser (2005, 176‒79) points out that what Schiller means by inclination in his discussion of performing duty from inclination is not natural inclination, but the cultivated, habitualised, internalized inclination gained through aesthetic education. 16. Contemporary Kantian scholars have argued that Kant’s ethics does not rule out the role of moral sentiments in moral perfection (see Denis 2006, 505–37; Sherman 1977, 121‒86). 17. I agree with Vandenabeele (2010, 312‒13) that disinterested aesthetic pleasure signals that the mental power of the free play of imagination and understanding is universally communicable. 18. For Schiller (1982), the dynamic state, as the state of right, enforces laws to protect individuals’ private interests and legal rights by punishing illegal actions which violate other’s interests and rights; it limits citizens’ actions within a legitimate scope, rather than caring about their internal motives and moral characters. The ethical state cares about internal motives and characters instead of actions and private rights, where citizens as rational beings and co-legislators are treated as ends rather than means, but encounters compulsion from the rational law especially when the rational law is against individual inclination.

Conclusion

Throughout this book I have been concerned with the notion of qiyun initiated by the sixth-century Xie He in the context of figure painting and developed later in tenth-to-fourteenth-century landscape painting, and why and how creating a painting replete with qiyun is the art of genius (an innate mental disposition). I have been concerned with a series of questions and issues: what does qiyun mean in Xie He’s text and in Zhang Yanyuan’s text which follows Xie He’s six laws of painting, and in later texts by such influential critics as Jing Hao, Guo Ruoxu, and Tang Hou in a context dominated by landscape painting; how, as Guo Ruoxu suggests, the level of qiyun of the artist determines the level of qiyun in the artwork; how innate mental disposition plays a significant role in creating paintings replete with qiyun; how this mental disposition is endowed by tian; why following the rule of tian and exploiting self-consciousness are valued in the artistic spontaneity involved in producing a qiyun-focused masterpiece; why somatic practice is still valued despite the impossibility of teaching or learning qiyun; how the notion of qiyun embodies a moral dimension especially in the context of landscape art; and how aesthetic autonomy and moral relevance are reconciled in qiyun-focused landscape painting. Focusing on these questions and issues, an overview of the main points of my argumentation in this book and a reaffirmation of the significance of my project are below: In chapter 1, I examined Xie He’s notion of qiyun in painting by giving a critical analysis of the different understandings and renderings of qiyun shengdong by influential Anglophone artistic historians and aestheticians, and tracing the meanings and renderings of qi and yun in the texts (not merely on painting) in the pre-Han Dynasty, the Han Dynasty, and the Six Dynasties, especially the application of the notions of qi and yun in literature and figure painting in the Six Dynasties period. We saw that in pre-Qin philosophical 231

232

Conclusion

understanding, qi is like a basic universal cosmic energy unit or vital force that exists in animate and inanimate things. Literature criticism in the Han Dynasty and the Six Dynasties suggests that the qi (vital force or moving force) of the artist resonates with the qi (vitality/force-energy) of the object depicted; through the conveying of qi the artist expresses this resonance, and his feelings and emotions aroused by this resonance in the artwork, and the quality of the qi manifested in the work appears to determine the artistic quality of the work. This understanding of the dynamic connection or resonance of the artist’s qi, the qi manifested in the work, the qi of the depicted object in the universe, and even the qi of the audience also makes sense in relation to painting and Xie He’s painting criticism. The initial notion of yun as harmony or consonance originated in music and was later adapted in the criticism of human personalities and manners, literature, and painting in the Six Dynasties. Yun as harmony or consonance can refer to the quality of the object depicted (mainly human figures in Xie He’s context), or that of the painter (lingering resonance or overtone of the painter who commands qi and conveys it into the work, as Acker thinks), or that of the work (the executive manner in which qi is expressed, as Fong points out), or sympathetic vibrancy or consonance between subject and object (sympathetic response to the qi in similar kinds of things, as Soper suggests). We saw the four aspects of yun appear to accompany the four aspects of the application of qi in literature and painting criticism. Although I translate qi and yun as spirit and consonance respectively for the sake of simplicity, we should bear in mind that the former is merely to emphasize its dynamic, spiritual dimension beyond its material, or physiological meaning as air or breath, while the latter aims to involve also the responsive communion between the qi of painter, that of object, that of work, and that of audience rather than confine its meaning to the elegant and harmonious manner (of the object, painter or work) in which qi is expressed. We saw that Cahill’s argument for the traditional punctuation of qiyun shengdong refutes Acker’s punctuation, although the latter is echoed by many other scholars. In order to keep syntactical parallelism in each pair of the six laws in terms of grammatical structure, I agreed with Cahill that qiyun and shengdong could not be regarded as binomial terms sharing the same meaning. I established the rendering of qiyun shengdong as (through) spirit consonance engendering a sense of life. Through examining the context of Xie He’s painting criticism, we saw that he may have based his notion of qiyun upon Gu Kaizhi’s account of chuanshen, and intended it to apply only to figure painting. Through a comparative analysis of influential scholars’ understandings of qiyun, we saw that the meaning of Xie He’s term qiyun which was inherited by the late Tang art historian Zhang Yanyuan may be classified into these four categories: the quintessential quality of the object; the expressive content or quality of the work in the eyes of connoisseurs; the

Conclusion

233

characteristic of the painter; and sympathetic resonance or responsiveness of spirit-energy or vital force between artist, object, work, and audience. These four aspects, especially the first two points can be found in literary criticism in the Six Dynasties. Although Xie He mentions nothing about the significance of the painter cultivating his own qi and yun or about sympathetic resonance between subject and object, his contemporary Liu Xie values the cultivation of qi for an artist to write a beautiful essay, and Zong Bing’s (slightly earlier than Xie He) writing suggests the significance of sympathetic resonance between the painter and object depicted. In chapter 2, we saw how the notion of qiyun initially applied to figure painting in the Six Dynasties was later applied to landscape painting in the Five Dynasties, Song and Yuan. In the first three sections of chapter 2, I examined Jing Hao’s application of qiyun to landscape painting and his advocacy of zhen (internal reality) above si (formal likeness), Guo Ruoxu’s accounts of painting as mind-print and of qiyun as originating from the gifted painter’s innate mental disposition and his resonance with leading eleventh-century scholar-artists’ aesthetic views, and Tang Hou’s view of qiyun in painting connoisseurship. From a synthesis of the ideas of the scholars discussed, we saw the continuity of the legacy of qiyun in tenthto-fourteenth-century landscape painting. Despite the differences in writing purpose and type, target audience and historical context, the notion of qiyun in landscape painting developed by them between the tenth and the fourteenth centuries still involves the four dimensions: the internal, essential reality of the object, the expressive content or quality of the work, the innate mental disposition of the artist, and spiritual communion between object, work, artist, and audience. We saw that qiyun aesthetics in tenth-to-fourteenthcentury landscape painting reflects a processual metaphysics of natural beings (as formulated through a synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism). In addition, there is a moral dimension of qiyun in these scholars’ texts. The comprehensive notion of qiyun initiated by Xie He, echoed by Zhang Yanyuan, and further developed in the tenth-to-fourteenth-century context with respect to landscape painting forms the basis of my comparison with Kantian ideas in the second part of my book. As we saw in chapter 2, Guo Ruoxu explicitly claims that an innate mental disposition determines whether the artist can create a painting replete with qiyun, and this view may get inspired by the emphasis given to the role of the mind by such earlier artists and critics as Wang Wei, Zong Bing, Dou Meng, Zhang Zao, and Zhang Yanyuan. We saw also that it resonates with the aesthetic tendency of contemporary leading scholar-artists, such as Ouyang Xiu, Li Gonglin, Su Shi, Chao Buzhi, and Huang Tingjian, to value poetic flavor and individualistic expression. Jing Hao’s view of the role of the mind may be seen a precursor of Guo Ruoxu’s ideas, since his first four essentials for landscape painting emphasize its role

234

Conclusion

in forming a mental image of landscape, commanding the brush and ink to releasing it onto silk and paper, and conveying zhen in the final image replete with qi and yun. We saw that Tang Hou, whose ideas reflect the aesthetic taste of the early Yuan leading scholar-artists and connoisseurs in the Jiangnan region, echoes the eleventh-century aesthetics and Guo Ruoxu’s view of painting as mind-print. Thus, focusing on the role of the mind in creating a painting (especially a landscape painting) replete with qiyun, from chapter 3 to chapter 7, I explored this important feature of qiyun aesthetics in the light of Kant’s account of genius. My using of Kant’s aesthetics for purposes of comparison is due not only to its popularity in international aesthetic fora, but also its influence (reported by, for example, Luo Gang) on the accounts of the Chinese aesthetic tradition by such influential modern Chinese aestheticians as Wang Guowei, Zhu Guangqian, Zong Baihua, and Li Zehou. We have seen that even though the comparison cannot be perfectly exact, significant parallels between the two aesthetic traditions help not merely to demystify qiyun aesthetics, but also to understand why earlier Chinese scholars adopted Kantian ideas in their writings about the Chinese aesthetic tradition. Despite some illuminating similarities one cannot understand either the Kantian tradition or the Chinese tradition as saying the same in different words. However, while there are problems raised by projecting Kantian ideas into the qiyun-focused artistic context, noting alongside similarities the differences originating in distinctive philosophical preoccupations and cultural traditions enable us to understand and avoid the problematic self-othering Luo Gang points to in the writings of modern Chinese aestheticians. In comparing the aspect of qiyun aesthetics in relation to an innate mental disposition in comparison with Kantian ideas of genius, I also mentioned the relevant ideas of later influential scholar-artists and critics in Yuan, Ming, and Qing Dynasties. I brought those ideas into the comparison, since, even though later contexts and period painting styles were different from the context of tenth-to-fourteenth-century discussed in chapter 2, the legacy of qiyun aesthetics in relation to an innate mental disposition is still visible and continues to make sense in the later contexts. We saw that these relevant ideas include those of genius’ idea-giving, genius’ rule-giving in unteachable spontaneity, genius’ exemplary originality, the empirical and intellectual interests accompanying artistic autonomy, the balanced human nature nourished through art, and the reconciliation of aesthetic autonomy and the moral relevance of art. In chapter 3, focusing on the role of the mind in creating a painting replete with qiyun along similar lines to Kant’s account of genius as an innate mental disposition of idea-giving, I examined parallels and differences between pictorial yi (yixiang and yijing) and Kant’s aesthetic idea, and the shen

Conclusion

235

(spirit) of the artist animating yi and the spirit Kant defines as the animating principle in the mind for the presentation of the aesthetic idea. The notion of yi or yixiang (idea-image) that bears some comparison with Kant’s notion of aesthetic idea are found not only in the context of Chinese literature (as suggested by Yu-kung Kao), the following three aspects of qiyun-focused painting show similarities between pictorial yi and Kant’s aesthetic idea as intuitive representation of the imagination. First, the relationship of yi and xiang (yi is embodied in xiang) is analogous to that of the aesthetic idea and aesthetic attribute (the former furnishes the later). We saw that, although the term yixiang is not adopted in their texts, the image-associated yi (idea) or idea-associated xiang (image) is suggested and valued in Guo Xi’s, Su Shi’s, Chao Buzhi’s, Dong You’s, and Tang Hou’s writings on painting, and four centuries after Tang Hou the Qing critic Fang Xun applies it in his comment on painting. Second, as an internal symbol associated with the mental xiang before its manifestation is released into the work and later aroused in the audience’s mind, yi is not a rational idea or conception. This is similar to the aesthetic idea perceived instead of thought in the artist’s or the audience’s mind, even though both yi and the aesthetic idea may serve a rational idea (such as an intention or strategic plan) by the symbolic, intuitive representation of imagination. Third, the painter’s shen presenting yi is analogous to Kant’s spirit animating the aesthetic idea. Regarding the second point, I have further argued why understanding the image-associated yi formulated in the qiyun-focused painter’s mind as intention, strategy, plan, or meaning is inappropriate. Moreover, I have argued that the analogy between yijing (mindscape of idea-image) and Kant’s aesthetic idea is the same as that between yi or yixiang (idea-image) and the aesthetic idea, even though in modern texts yijing appears to emphasize the mind as container of the mindscape or idea-images. However, we have also seen that issues arise in the process of projecting Kant’s view of genius’ idea-giving into the qiyun-focused context. First, Kant’s aesthetics aims to complete his transcendental philosophical system, and the transcendental element of genius is consistent with his aesthetics and whole philosophical project; although a transcendental element related to tian is also involved in the understanding of pictorial yi, the qiyun aesthetics contributed by artists and critics in a suggestive unsystematic fashion serves more as a pragmatic guide or reference for artists’ practice or connoisseurs’ appreciation. Second, establishing yi or yixiang in the painter’s mind and releasing it into the work is consistent with the expressive pursuit of conveying qiyun above formal representation; although Kant’s aesthetic idea implies the presence of emotions and his emphasis on both form and the aesthetic idea may endorse the unification of expression and representation in works of genius, the charisma of painting replete with qiyun is informed by a processual

236

Conclusion

metaphysics formulated by a synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism, markedly different from Western art and Kant’s philosophy. Third, Kant’s aesthetic focus is on the subject, while in the qiyun-focused context the artist’s shen is required to resonate with the object’s shen, and this double focus on subject and object challenges the compatibility with Kant’s aesthetics. In chapter 4, we saw that in the qiyun-focused context the spontaneity of genius gets philosophical support from Daoist ideas on the rule of nature and the overcoming of self-consciousness, and has parallels with Kant’s account of genius as that through which nature gives the rule to beautiful art. However, although the two aesthetic traditions appear close in some respects with regard to artistic spontaneity, there are issues raised by the differences between them. In the first step of comparing tian endowing the few artists with genius and Kant’s nature giving the rule to beautiful art through genius, we have seen that the transcendental element of tian appears similar to the a priori principle of purposiveness of nature in genius in Kant’s aesthetics. Even though the supersensible substrate of tian appears analogous to that of Kant’s nature, unlike Kant there is no separation of noumenal and phenomenal nature in the qiyun-focused aesthetics and for which the Dao penetrates everything, and tian has a more pragmatic significance and phenomenal focus in the artistic context. Moreover, for Kant, the supersensible substrate of nature and the ideality of the subjective purposiveness in the beautiful as the basis of aesthetic judgment rule out realism regarding ends and the objective purposiveness of nature as the ground of aesthetic satisfaction. Although the impossibility of explaining the Dao that informs artists in conveying qiyun is analogous to that of describing the rule of nature which genius follows in Kant’s account, the former requires the artist’s mind to be in accord with the Dao. In the next step of examining mental freedom engaged during artistic spontaneity, we have seen that the mental emancipation of qiyun-focused artists inspired by Zhuangzi’s stories is similar to the aesthetic freedom experienced by genius that Kant defines as the union of imagination and understanding, although the overcoming of self-consciousness inspired by Zhuangzi’s idea of forgetfulness is emphasized in the former context. Even though Kant’s accounts of genius and beautiful art inspired Schelling’s and Schiller’s ideas of the interplay of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness, we have seen that genius, understood by Otabe as the chiasm of the conscious and unconscious, conflicts or is at least in tension with, Kant’s account of genius as the free play of imagination in accord with the lawfulness of understanding in general.1 In the qiyun-focused context, the dialectic of concentration (self-consciousness) and forgetfulness (unselfconsciousness) is inspired by Daoist ideas regarding the identification of the subject with nature through acting unselfconsciously. Again, the fusion of subject and object—absent in Kant’s account—corresponds to the criterion

Conclusion

237

of qiyun which requires the artist to have spiritual communion (shenhui) with the object. This philosophy offers more flexibility to make sense of any paradox which seems unresolved within Kant’s more strictly rationalist system. Moreover, regarding the unteachable spontaneity of genius, somatic practice is still prized in the qiyun-focused context for at least two reasons. First, a painting replete with qiyun lodges the momentum and elegance of the painter’s physical movements within the work and reflects his qiyun. Second, the overcoming of self-consciousness requires somatic training through which mind and body are in accord. Although both traditions indicate the unteachability of genius, Kant’s transcendental account of genius does not encompass the role of practice, not to mention the practical aspect of how the body is coordinated with the mind.2 In chapter 5, we saw the origin of yipin (untrammeled class) and how yipin, which arose in Mid-Tang, flourished in Song and Yuan, and was favored by later Ming and Qing artists, connoisseurs, and critics, echoes qiyun aesthetics. I examined the feasibility of understanding the Kantian account of genius’ exemplary originality within the terms of yipin, and suggested that although yipin captures the exemplary originality of genius, the inimitability of yipin verifies the impossibility of teaching qiyun. We saw that these two aspects of yipin appear to fit in with Kant’s account of genius’ exemplary originality: first, the originality of genius in yipin is not merely against orthodoxy or convention, but lies in the original and spontaneous expression of pictorial yi (as analogous to Kantian aesthetic idea); second, the inimitability of yipin not only shows that genius’ exemplary originality is not for imitation but serves as a model to awaken another genius. However, yipin echoes qiyun aesthetics and shows the following features which appear unique to the Chinese context: First, yipin reflects the aesthetic tendency to further depreciate formal representation and enhance individualistic, intellectualized, qiyun-focused expression that arose in Mid-Tang and flourished in the Song and Yuan Dynasties; Second, the aesthetic merit of yipin originates in the innate mental disposition of yipin masters which is associated with the adjective yi, and demonstrates the moral dimension of genius and qiyun in painting as mindprint; Third, the inimitability of yipin recorded by influential Ming and Qing artists and critics, including Dong Qichang, Li Rihua, Shi Tao, and Yun Ge, further underlines the impossibility of teaching or learning qiyun. In chapter 6, we saw that Daoist or Buddhist meditation is held to be helpful for preparing an untrammeled mental state for creating a painting replete with qiyun. I suggested that the detached mental state prepared through meditation and fulfilled through art not only apparently fits in with the mental state of genius as understood by Kant, but also is combined with a Kantian empirical or intellectual interest in the beautiful, and even brings a benefit to life by enabling the qiyun-focused artist to maintain a balanced human nature.

238

Conclusion

For Kant, the empirical interest in the beautiful is related to an inclination to sociability, while the intellectual interest in the beautiful is a mark of a good soul. We saw that in the case of pursuing the carefree wandering of the spirit through landscape art, the disinterested aesthetic satisfaction of heart in tune with forests and streams, advocated and practiced by such landscape masters as Guo Xi and Zhao Mengfu, is combined with an empirical interest in sharing an inclination to society and sociability with congenial people through beauty, or an intellectual interest in finding a trace or hint in the beautiful object of its lawful harmony with moral feeling. In the light of Schiller’s modified Kantian view of restoring complete human nature through art, I explained that qiyun-focused landscape painting can also nourish human nature and complete the balance between sensibility and reason, and even prolong the landscapist’s life. However, qiyun aesthetics has a different view of form and content to Schiller’s. Unlike Schiller’s transcendental search for seeking the unity of spirit and nature through art within a dualism (between noumena and phenomena), qiyun aesthetics urges the landscapist to work like nature and achieve the identification of the self with universal nature, and it does not involve any dualism, let alone seek a unity within one. In chapter 7, we saw why qiyun cannot be regarded merely as an aesthetic criterion but also accommodates a moral dimension. Shenhui between artist, object, audience, and work engaged through the Confucian doctrine of sincerity (sincere will) in aesthetic contemplation guarantees the moral relevance of qiyun-focused landscape art. I appreciate Joseph Harroff’s comments on my view on this topic: the qiyun-focused interpretive framework serves “to unsettle the dualistic assumptions undergirding pervasive ideals of aesthetic autonomy and the widely held prejudice that Confucianism (unlike its Daoist and Chan counterparts) as a tradition has been largely responsible for introducing so much heavy-handed didacticism and oppressive moral symbolism into Chinese arts in service of a repressive Family-State apparatus.”3 In comparison with Kant’s and Schiller’s modified Kantian views of the relationship between art and morality, again, we saw differences beyond apparent similarities in two aspects. First, unlike Kant who separates aesthetic freedom and moral freedom, the convergence of aesthetic freedom and moral freedom is united by the mind being in accord with the Dao in the qiyunfocused context. The valuing of moral sentiments cultivated and habituated through shenhui appears to resonate with Schiller’s view of the internalized inclination exercised by art, but we have seen that the apparent similarity is still superficial due to essential differences in philosophical preoccupation. In the second aspect, with regard to the establishment of moral community through aesthetic community, we saw that the Kantian philosophy of beauty as the symbol of morality idealistically assumes that everyone with taste may cultivate moral sense in aesthetic experience due to an analogy between the

Conclusion

239

rule of reflection on beauty and that on morality, while qiyun aesthetics of landscape art appears to show that an aesthetic community may contribute to the establishment of moral community. However, Kant’s transcendental philosophy does not guarantee a transformation of aesthetic community into moral community as a practical necessity, while in the Chinese context morally relevant aesthetic communicability is based on the spiritual kinship between artist, object, audience, and work, and natural objects are part of this aesthetic and moral community of beings. Although Schiller’s account of aesthetic education appears to offer closer parallels with the Chinese view regarding the moral significance of aesthetic community, again, unlike Schiller’s transcendental unity within dualism, in the latter context the attuned souls or kindred minds are united under the pursuit of qiyun and in sincere congenial shenhui. We have explored those features of the qiyun approach in the light of Kant’s account of genius; although taken from different sources, they can be taken as necessary to any systematic framework for qiyun aesthetics. As mentioned above, looking at qiyun aesthetics through the lens of Kant’s aesthetics is not merely about finding parallels between two distinctive philosophical preoccupations, but also about seeing more clearly the uniqueness rooted in two cultural traditions. The parallels and differences may assist reflection on whether earlier Chinese scholars’ adoption of Kantian ideas into their writings of Chinese aesthetics really constitutes the problematic self-othering Luo Gang reports. I hope the reader will find my comparative approach is fruitful in demystifying qiyun aesthetics, illuminating some vagueness in both traditions, and inspiring further aesthetic dialogue between the East and the West. I note that regarding the notion of qiyun in Chinese art, there are still some questions and concerns about it. For instance, one may question: from a contemporary perspective, what are the limits in the traditional understanding of qiyun? In which directions does the current discourse drive the exploration of this concept? As seen above, based on my evaluation of scholars’ views and examination of historical texts, what I have done gives a comprehensive notion of qiyun in the initial context of figure painting as a dominant genre and later in the context of landscape painting as a dominant genre. Regarding the first question, to evaluate the limits of the traditional understanding of qiyun in the contemporary context of artistic creation, I need to consider (emerging and distinguished) contemporary artists’ views. I could not discuss this further in this book due to the time and space limitations. In a way the current book could be thought of as a preliminary to another which deals with the limitations of the traditional understanding of qiyun from the perspective of contemporary aesthetics and art theory: one first needs to be clear about how to understand qiyun in its traditional setting, and the comparison with Kant’s aesthetics which identifies both similarities and differences between qiyun

240

Conclusion

aesthetics and Kantian ideas, without having the understanding distorted by reflecting contemporary ideas back onto it. I think that only once then, can the limitations (from the contemporary perspective) be properly grasped. One may raise the following questions in the contemporary context: “What are the creative transformations in the production and experience of qiyun in contemporary Chinese artistic practice, such as the new ink wash art dedicated by some contemporary Chinese arts? Does qiyun also have crosscultural significance on a practical level?” These may be important in some sense, but, again, I would like to avoid dealing with these or similar questions here, because I focus on the interpretation of the notion of qiyun in its traditional context and the examination of the art of qiyun as the art of genius in the light of Kant’s account of artistic genius. The notion of qiyun later applied in the context of landscape painting is mainly examined in Song and Yuan Dynasties; although sometimes I refer to later Ming and Qing artists’ and critics’ writings which echo Song and Yuan critics’ views of qiyun, I do not touch on Ming and Qing artistic movements, period styles or specific artworks. I must be honest that I do not feel confident in handling too many historical periods throughout the long Chinese artistic history in a single book, and the book length could not allow me to do so. Thus, I avoid analyzing Ming and Qing landscape paintings, not to mention contemporary Chinese art and continuities and shifts between different historical periods, and so on. I even cut the discussion of the historical background and period styles of Song and Yuan landscape paintings, since a detailed account of period styles and specific masterpieces does not assist the theoretical exploration of the notion of qiyun, and the space limitation would make my account too superficial. Some may question whether it is possible to find qiyun in the works of Western artists, such as Caspar David Friedrich, William Turner, and Impressionists or Abstract Expressionists, and if the answer is yes, what is the relationship between qiyun and genius present in the above artists’ works. These are interesting questions. I remember that when doing presentation on the notion of qiyun in the Department of Philosophy at the University of Liverpool in 2016, one of my previous colleagues, Dr. Gregory Miller, told me that the painting Mountain Market in Clearing Mist by a Buddhist monk Yujian (active mid-thirteenth century), in the Idemitsu Museum of Arts, Tokyo, reminds him of the British artist Turner’s landscape paintings. It is interesting that some similar aesthetic merits may be found in their works. However, in academic writing, I personally object to applying the criterion of qiyun to Western artworks including Impressionist and Expressionist paintings, as I also object to applying Western-style terms to classical Chinese painting. In his book Chinese Landscape Painting as Western Art History, James Elkens (2010) criticizes the problems with the projecting of Westernstyle notions onto Chinese artworks in the practice of comparing the styles

Conclusion

241

of Chinese and Western paintings favored by early Western Chinese art historians (including Fong, etc). I appreciate and agree with his critical points. For similar reasons I object to applying the notion of qiyun in the artistic appreciation of Western works. However, Western audiences may feel this qiyun-focused approach is interesting and opens a new fantastic way to look at Western paintings. I have noted that some scholars including Jullien, Brubaker, and Obert analyze traditional Chinese aesthetics through the lens of Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenological aesthetics. As seen above, in chapter 2 I referred to Jullien’s views in relation to qiyun aesthetics, but excluded his borrowing of Merleau-Ponty’s theory to avoid digressing from my focus in this book. I also mentioned Brubaker’s (2016, 118–141) application of Merleau-Ponty’s idea of the “surface of the visible” in explaining zhen as the authentic image of the object rather than the internal reality of the object, without further examining whether this analogy is appropriate or problematic. In chapter 4, I mentioned Obert’s (2013) analysis of Chinese ink brush writing in terms of the phenomenology of embodiment (mainly drawing on Maurice Merleau-Ponty) and his attempt to verify his phenomenology of bodily mimesis and responsiveness in Chinese art. I also note that unlike Kantian aesthetics, which advocates that audiences adopt a contemplative attitude, Arnold Berleant’s (1991) participatory engagement theory examines the ways in which art entices us into intimate participation in it. It is worth noting that the spiritual communion (shenhui) involved in the qiyun-focused aesthetic experience may fit within the “intimate participation” defined by Berleant, but this spiritual communion does not exclude or reject disinterested aesthetic contemplation. The coexistence of intimate participation and disinterested aesthetic contemplation in the qiyun-focused context may lead people to question his objection to Kantian aesthetics, although more detailed examination needs to be conducted. Although qiyun can be felt in one’s own body and the somatic training of genius is valued, we have seen that the related aesthetic experience emphasizes the spiritual and moral dimension of qiyun between artist, object, work, and audience rather than corporeality, and what apparently may be manifested as a “bodily” phenomenology in the qiyun-focused context involves the role of mental disposition in accord with the Dao. Reading qiyun aesthetics in the light of phenomenological aesthetics might be crucial for further reflection on the differences and issues pointed out in this book.

NOTES 1. Exploring the line through Kant, Schiller, Schelling, Heinrich von Kleist, Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche regarding unselfconsciousness is an interesting topic

242

Conclusion

for further research and comparison with the qiyun approach. For Kleist ideas, see Kleist (1810); Ray (1979, 521‒46); Rushing (1988, 528‒39); Theisen (2006, 522‒29). 2. I have no space to pursue in this book the somaesthetics of classical Chinese dancing which values cultivating the qi and yun of the body, and the relationship between dancing and painting. 3. Comments given as discussant of my paper “Moral Enlightenment of Classical Chinese Art,” an earlier version of section 7.1, given at the American Society for Aesthetics Eastern Division Meeting (April 2018). The comments were also sent to me by email.

References

WORKS IN ENGLISH OR GERMAN OR FRENCH Acker, William. 1954, 1974. Some T’ang and Pre-T’ang Texts on Chinese Painting. (2 vols). Leiden: E. J. Brill. Ameriks, Karl. 1995. “On Paul Guyer’s Kant and the Experience of Freedom.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 60 (2): 361‒67. Ames, Roger. 1993a. “On Body as Ritual Practice.” In T. Kasulis, Roger Ames, and W. Dissanayake (eds.), 149–56. ———. 1993b. “The Meaning of the Body in Classical Chinese Philosophy.” In T. Kasulis, Roger Ames, and W. Dissanayake (eds.), 157–77. An, Yanming. 2004. “Western ‘Sincerity’ and Confucian ‘Cheng’.” Asian Philosophy, 14 (2): 155‒69. Augustin, Birgitta. 2015. Painting Authenticity: Intersections in the Lives and Art of Zhang Yu, Huang Gongwang, and Ni Zan. PhD Dissertation, New York University. Bargh, J., Kay Schwader, Sarah Hailey, Rebecca Dyer, and Erica Boothby. 2012. “Automaticity in Social-Cognitive Processes.” Topics in Cognitive Science, 16 (12): 593‒605. Barnhart, Richard. 1967. Li Kung-lin’s “Hsiao-ching T’u.” PhD Dissertation, Princeton University. Baxley, Anne Margaret. 2005. “The Practical Significance of Taste in Kant’s Critique of Judgment: Lover of Natural Beauty as a Mark of Moral Character.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 63 (1): 33–45. Beiser, Frederick. 2005. Schiller as Philosopher: A Re-examination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2008. “Schiller as Philosopher: A Reply to My Critics.” Inquiry, 51 (1): 63–78. Berleant, Arnold. 1991. Art and Engagement. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Berrios, Ruben, and Aaron Ridley. 2005 [2001]. “Nietzsche.” In Berys Gaut and Dominic McIver Lopes (eds.), The Routledge Companion to Aesthetics (2nd ed.), 97–108. London: Routledge. 243

244

References

Binyon, Lawrence. 1911. The Flight of the Dragon: An Essay on the Theory and Practice of Art in China and Japan, Based on Original Sources. London: Scholar’s Choice. Böhme, Gernot. 2018. The Aesthetics of Atmospheres. (Jean-Paul Thibaud ed.). London: Routledge. Brasovan, Nicholas S. 2015. “Aesthetics of Qi: Building on the Internalist-Essentialist Philosophy of Art.” Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy, 14 (1): 75–93. Brotherton, Elizabeth Chipman. 1992. Li Kung-lin and Long Handscroll Illustrations of T’ao Ch’ien’s “Returning Home.” (vols I and II). PhD Dissertation, Princeton University. Brubaker, David A. 2016. “Bifa Ji and Qizhi: Interpretations for Muqi and Contemporary Chinese Art.” Contemporary and Applied Philosophy, 8 (2): 118–41. Bruno, Paul. W. 2010. Kant’s Concept of Genius: Its Origin and Function in the Third Critique. New York: Continuum. Burnett, Katharine P. 2000. “A Discourse of Originality in Late Ming Chinese Painting Criticism.” Art History, 23 (4): 522–58. Burton, Watson. (trans.). 1965. Su Tung-p’o. New York: Columbia University Press. Bush, Susan. 1983. “Tsung Ping’s Essay on Painting Landscape and the ‘Landscape Buddhism’ of Mount Lu.” In Susan Bush and Christian Murck (eds.), 132–164. ———. 2012 [1971]. The Chinese Literati on Painting: Su Shih (1037–1101) to Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. ———. 2016. “Poetry and Pictorial Expression in Chinese Painting.” In Martian J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 499–516. Bush, Susan, and Christian Murck. 1983. Theories of the Arts in China. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Bush, Susan, and Hsio-yen Shih. (eds.). 2012. Early Chinese Texts on Painting. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Cahill, James. 1959. “Confucian Elements in the Theory of Painting.” In Arthur Wright (ed.), Confucianism and Chinese Civilization, 77–102. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ———. 1961. “The Six Laws and How to Read Them.” Ars Orientalis, 4: 372–81. ———. 1972 [1960]. Chinese Painting. Lausanne: Albert Skira. ———. 1976. Hills Beyond a River: Chinese Painting of Yuan Dynasty, 1279–1368. New York: Weatherhill. ———. 2007. Good Grief, Not the Six Laws Again! Published in James Cahill’s blog. [http:​/​/jam​​escah​​ill​.i​​nfo​/t​​he​-wr​​iting​​s​-of-​​james​​-cahi​​ll​/ca​​hill-​​lectu​​res​-a​​nd​-pa​​pers/​​1​08​ -c​​lp​-17​​4​-200​​2a200​7]. Cai, Zong-qi (ed.). 2004. Chinese Aesthetics: The Ordering of Literature, the Arts, and the Universe in the Six Dynasties. Honolulu: University of Hawai”i Press. ———. 2004. “The Conceptual Origins and Aesthetic Significance of ‘Shen’ in Six Dynasties Texts on Literature and Painting.” In Zong-qi Cai (ed.), 310–43. Cannon, Joseph. 2011. “The Moral Value of Artistic Beauty in Kant.” Kantian Review, 16 (1): 113–26. ———. 2011. “Reply to Paul Guyer.” Kantian Review, 16 (1): 135–39.

References

245

Cao, Pi. 1992. “A Discourse on Literature.” In Stephen Own (trans and ed.), 57‒72. Caygill, Howard. 1995. A Kant Dictionary. The Blackwell Philosopher Dictionary. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd. Chai, David. Forthcoming. “Zhuangzi’s Doctrine of No-Emotion.” In Kim-Chong Chong and Kai-Yuan Cheng (eds.), Dao Companion to the Zhuangzi. Cham: Springer. Chan, Wing-Tsit. 1969. A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Chaouli, Michel. 2011. “A Surfeit in Thinking Kant’s Aesthetic Ideas.” The Yearbook of Comparative Literature, 57: 55–77. Chaves, Jonathan. 1983. “The Panoply of Images: A Reconsideration of the Literary Theory of the Kung-an School.” In Susan Bush and Christian Murck (eds.), 341–64. ———. 1985. “The Expression of Self in the Kung-an School: Non-Romantic Individualism.” In Robert E. Hegel and Richard C. Hessney (eds.), Expressions of Self in Chinese Literature, 123–50. New York: Columbia University Press. ———. 1991. “‘Meaning Beyond the Painting’: The Chinese Painter as Poet.” In Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (eds.), 431–58. Cheng, Chung-ying. 1986. “On the Environmental Ethics of the Tao and the Ch’I.” Environmental Ethics, 8 (4): 351–70. ———. 2004. “Dimensions of the Dao and Onto-Ethics in Light of the DDJ.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 31 (2): 143–82. ———. 2006. “Toward Constructing a Dialectics of Harmonization: Harmony and Conflict in Chinese Philosophy.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 33 (suppl.): 25–59. ———. 2008. “The Yijing (《易經》) as Creative Inception of Chinese Philosophy.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 35 (2): 201–18. ———. 2010a. “Incorporating Kantian Good Will: On Confucian Ren as Perfect Duty.” In Stephen R. Palmquist (ed.), 74–98. ———. 2010b. “A Study in the Onto-Aesthetics of Beauty and Art: Fullness (chongshi) and Emptiness (kongling) as Two Polarities in Chinese Aesthetics.” In Ken-ichi Sasaki (ed.), Asian Aesthetics, 128–38. Kyoto: Kyoto University Press. ———. 2014. “Xunzi as a Systematic Philosopher: Toward Organic Unity of Nature, Mind, and Reason.” In Vincent Shen (ed.), Dao Companion to Classical Confucian Philosophy, 179–99. Dordrecht: Springer. Chignell, Andrew. 2007. “Kant on the Normativity of Taste: The Role of Aesthetic Ideas.” Australasian Journal of Philosophy, 85 (3): 415–33. Chou, Diana Yeongchau. 2001. Reexamination of Tang Hou and His “Huajian.” PhD Dissertation, University of Kansas. ———. 2004. “Appraising Art in the Early Yuan Dynasty: A Study of Descriptive Criteria and Their Literary Context in Tang Hou’s (1250s–1310s) Huajian (Examination of Painting).” Monumenta Serica, 52: 257–76. ———. 2005. A Study and Translation from the Chinese of Tang Hou’s Huajian (Examination of painting): Cultivating Taste in Yuan China, 1279–1368. New York: The Edwin Mellen Press.

246

References

Chou, Ju Hsi. 1977. The Hua–yü–lu and Tao–Ch’I’s Theory of Painting. Tempe, Arizona: University of Arizona Press. ———. 2015. Silent Poetry: Chinese Paintings from the Collection of the Cleveland Museum of Art (with contributions by Anita Chung.). Cleveland: The Cleveland Museum of Art; New Haven: Yale University Press. Clunas, Craig. 2017. Chinese Painting and Its Audiences. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Cook, Daniel, and Henry Rosemont Jr (eds.). 1994. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Writings on China. La Salle: Open Court. Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. 1990. The Psychology of Optimal Experience. New York: Harper and Row. Culler, Jonathan. 1975. The Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics and the Study of Literature. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Debord, Charles. 2012. “Geist and Communication in Kant’s Theory of Aesthetic Ideas.” Kantian Review, 17 (2): 177–90. Denis, Lara. 2006. “Kant’s Conception of Virtue.” In Paul Guyer (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Kant and Modern Philosophy, 505–37. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dijksterhuis, Ap, Maarten Bos, Loran Nordgren, and Rick van Baaren. 2006. “On Making the Right Choice: The Deliberation-Without-Attention Effect.” Science, 311 (5763): 1005‒7. Dijksterhuis, Ap, and T. Meurs. 2006. “Where Creativity Resides: The Generative Power of Unconscious Thought.” Consciousness and Cognition, 15: 135‒46. Duhigg, Charles. 2012. The Power of Habit: Why We do in Life and Business. New York: Random House. Düsing, Klaus. 1990. “Beauty as the Transition from Nature to Freedom in Kant’s Critique of Judgment.” Noûs, 24 (1): 79–92. Edwards, Richard. 1991. “Painting and Poetry in the Late Sung.” In Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (ed.), 405–30. Egan, Ronald. 1983. “Poems on Paintings: Su Shih and Huang T’ing-chien.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 43 (2): 413–51. ———. 1998. Limited Views: Essays on Ideas and Letters by Qian Zhongshu. Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center. ———. 2016. “Conceptual and Qualitative Terms in Historical Perspective.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 277–292. Elkens, James. 2010. Chinese Landscape Painting as Western Art History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Enns, James, and Geniva Liu. 2009. “Attentional Limits and Freedom in Visually Guided Action.” In N. Srinivasan (ed.), Progress in Brain Research, 183–94. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Fleming, Jesse. 2003. “Comparative Philosophy: Its Aims and Methods.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 30 (2): 259–70. Fong, Wen C. 1962. “The Problem of Forgeries in Chinese Painting. Part One.” Artibus Asiae, 25 (2/3): 95–119, 121–40.

References

247

———. 1966. “Ch’i–yün–sheng–tung: Vitality, Harmonious Manner and Aliveness.” Oriental Art, 12: 159–64. ———. 1973. Sung and Yuan Paintings, with Catalogue by Marilyn Fu. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. ———. 1975. Summer Mountains: The Timeless Landscape. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. ———. 1976. Returning Home: Tao–ch’i’s Album of Landscapes and Flowers. New York: Braziller. ———. 1986. “Review of James Cahill’s The Compelling Image: Nature and Style on seventeenth Century Chinese Painting.” Art Bulletin, 68 (3): 504–9. ———. 1987. Images of the Mind. In Wen C. Fong, et al., 1–212. ———. 1992. Beyond Representation Chinese Painting and Calligraphy 8th–14th Century. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. New Haven: Yale University Press. Fong, Wen C., Alfreda Murck, Shou-chien Shih, Pao-chen Ch’en, and Jan Stuart. 1987. Images of the Mind: Selections from the Edward L. Elliott Family and John B. Elliott Collections of Chinese Calligraphy and Painting at The Art Museum, Princeton University (2nd ed.). Princeton: The Art Museum, Princeton University. Foong, Leong Ping. 2000. “Guo Xi’s Intimate Landscapes and the Case of Old Trees, Level Distance.” Metropolitan Museum Journal, 35: 87–115. ———. 2006. Monumental and Intimate Landscape by Guo Xi. PhD Dissertation, Princeton University. Frankel, Hans. 1957. “Poetry and Painting: Chinese and Western Views of Their Convertibility.” Comparative Literature, 9 (4): 289–307. Fung, Yu-lan. 1948. A Short History of Chinese Philosophy. (Derk Bodde, ed.). New York: The Free Press. ———. 1952. A History of Chinese Philosophy. (vol. i) The Period of the Philosophers (From the Beginnings to Circa 100 B.C.) (Derk Bodde, trans.). Princeton: Princeton University Press. ———. 1953. A History of Chinese Philosophy. (vol. ii) The Period of Classical Learning (From the Second Century B.C. to the Twentieth Century A.D.). (Derk Bodde, trans.). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Gálik, Marián. 1989. “Studies in Modern Chinese Intellectual History: V. Young Wang Guowei (1901‒1911).” Asian and African Studies, 24: 37‒66. Gao, Jianping. 1996. The Expressive Act in Chinese Art: From Calligraphy to Painting. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International. ———. 2013. “The Wheel of Fortune vs. the Mustard Seed: A Comparative Study of European and Chinese Painting.” Diogenes, 59 (1–2): 101–17. ———. 2018. Aesthetics and Art: Traditional and Contemporary China in a Comparative Perspective. Beijing: Foreign Language Teaching and Research Publishing Co., Ltd; Berlin: Springer-Verlag GmbH Germany. Gardner, Sebastian. 1999. “Schopenhauer, Will, and the Unconscious.” In Christopher Janaway (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Schopenhauer, 375–421. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

248

References

Geaney, Jane. 2002. On the Epistemology of the Senses in Early Chinese Thought. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Giles, Herbert. 1918 [1905]. An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art. London: Bernard Quaritch. Gladwell, Malcolm. 2005. Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking. New York: Little, Brown. Goldberg, Stephen J. 1997. “Chinese Aesthetics.” In Eliot Deutsch and Ron Bontekoe (eds.), A Companion to World Philosophies, 225–34. Malden: Blackwell. Goldin, Paul R. 2003. “A Mind–Body Problem in the Zhuangzi?” In S. Cook (ed.), Hiding the World in the World: Uneven Discourses on the Zhuangzi, 226–47. Albany: State University of New York Press. ———. 2018. “Two Notes on Xie He’s 谢赫 ‘Six Criteria’ (liufa 六法), Aided by Digital Databases.” T’oung Pao, 104: 496–510. Gombrich, E. H. 1969 [1960]. Art and Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial Representation. London: Phaidon Press. ———. 1995. The Story of Art (16th ed.). London: Phaidon Press Limited. Goodale, Melvyn, and A. David Milner. 2004. Sight Unseen: An Exploration of Conscious and Unconscious Vision. New York: Oxford University Press. Granet, Marcel. 1934. La pensée chinoise. Paris: La Renaissance du livre. Griffero, Tonino, and Marco Tedeschini (eds.). 2019. Atmosphere and Aesthetics a Plural Perspective. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Gu, Ming Dong. 2006. Chinese Theories of Reading and Writing: A Route to Hermeneutics and Open Poetics. New York: State University of New York Press. ———. 2016. “Patterns of Tao (Dao): The Birth of Chinese Writing and Aesthetics.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 74 (2): 151–63. Guyer, Paul. 1993. Kant and the Experience of Freedom: Essays on Aesthetics and Morality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1994. “Kant’s Conception of Fine Art.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 52 (3): 275–85. ———. 2002. “Free and Adherent Beauty: A Modest Proposal.” British Journal of Aesthetics, 42 (4): 357‒66. ———. 2003. “Exemplary Originality: Genius, Universality, and Individuality.” In Berys Gaut and Paisley Livingston (eds.), The Creation of Art: New Essays in Philosophical Aesthetics, 116–37. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2011. “Genius and Taste: A Response to Joseph Cannon, ‘The Moral Value of Artistic Beauty in Kant’.” Kantian Review, 16 (1): 127–34. ———. 2014. Kant (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge. Hammermeister, Kai. 2002. The German Aesthetic Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Han, Feizi. 1967. Basic writings of Han Fei Tzu (Burton Watson, trans.). New York: Columbia University Press. Harrist, Robert E. Jr. 1989. A Scholar’s Landscape: Shan-chuang T’u by Li Kung-lin. (vol I and II). PhD Dissertation, Princeton University. ———. 1998. Painting and Private Life in 11th Century China: Mountain Villa by Li Gonglin. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

References

249

Harroff, Joseph. 2018 (personal correspondence). Commentary to “Moral Enlightenment of Classical Chinese Art.” Hay, J. 1983. “Values and History in Chinese Painting, I: Hsieh Ho Revisited.” Res: Anthropology and Aesthetics, 6: 72–111. Hearn, Maxwell K. 1996. “The Artist as Hero.” In Wen C. Fong and James C. Y. Watt (eds.), Possessing the Past Treasures from the National Palace Museum, Taipei, with contributions by Chang Lin-sheng, James Cahill, Wai-kam Ho, Maxwell K. Hearn, and Richard M. Barnhart, 299–323. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Taipei: National Palace Museum. ———. 2008. How to Read Chinese Paintings. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art; New Haven: Yale University Press. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. 1975. Hegel’s Aesthetic Lectures on Fine Art. (vol. 1). (T. M. Knox, trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Herrigel, Eugen. 1985. Zen in the Art of Archery. (R. F. C. Hull, trans.). London: Penguin Books. Hiromitsu, Ogawa. 1991. “The Relationship Between Landscape Representations and Self-Inscriptions in the Works of Mi Yu-jen.” (Peter Sturman, trans.). In Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (eds.), 123–40. Hirth, Friedrich. 1905. Scraps from a Collector’s Note Book: Being Notes on Some Chinese Painters of the Present Dynasty, with Appendices on Some Old Masters and Art Historians. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Ho, Wai-kam. 1981. “Li Cheng and Some Guiding Principles in Northern Sung Landscape Painting.” Paper presented at the Cleveland Symposium on Chinese Painting, March, 1981. ———. 1991. “The Literary Concepts of ‘Picture-Like’ (Ju-hua) and ‘Picture-Idea’ (Hua-i) in the Relationship Between Poetry and Painting.” In Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (eds.), 359–404. Houlgate, Stephen. 2008. “Schiller and the Dance of Beauty.” Inquiry, 51 (1): 37–49. Hsü, Ginger Cheng-chi. 2016. “Imitation and Originality, Theory and Practice.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 293–311. Hu, Xiaoyan. 2016a. “The Notion of ‘Qi Yun’ (Spirit Consonance) in Chinese Painting.” In Fabian Dorsch and Dan-Eugen Ratiu (eds.), Proceedings of the European Society for Aesthetics (e-book), 8: 247–68. Fribourg: The European Society for Aesthetics. ———. 2016b. “Beyond Representation: Reconsidering Loehr’s Periodisation of Chinese Painting.” In Proceedings of ICA 2016 “Aesthetics and Mass Culture” (e-book): 892–97. Seoul: The Korean Society of Aesthetics. ———. 2017. “The Dialectic of Consciousness and Unconsciousness in Spontaneity of Genius: A Comparison between Classical Chinese Aesthetics and Kantian Ideas.” In Dan-Eugen Ratiu and Connell Vaughan (eds.), Proceedings of the European Society for Aesthetics (e-book), 9: 246–74. Fribourg: The European Society for Aesthetics. ———. 2019a. “A Kantian Reading of Aesthetic Freedom and Complete Human Nature Nourished through Art in a Classical Chinese Artistic Context.” Asian Philosophy, 29 (2): 128–43.

250

References

———. 2019b. “The Moral Dimension of Qiyun Aesthetics and Some Kantian Resonances.” In Connell Vaughan and Iris Vidmar Jovanović (eds.), Proceedings of the European Society for Aesthetics (e-book), 11: 339–74. Fribourg: The European Society for Aesthetics. ———. 2020. “Genius as an Innate Mental Talent of Idea-Giving in Chinese Painting and Kant.” Philosophy East and West, 70 (2): 354–73. Huivitz, Leon. 1970. “Tsung Ping’s Text on Painting.” Artibus Asiae, 32 (2/3): 146–56. Johnson, Mark L. 1979. “Kant’s Unified Theory of Beauty.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 38 (2): 167–78. Jullien, François. 1999. The Propensity of Things Toward a History of Efficacy in China. (Janet Lloyd, trans.). New York: Zone Books. ———. 2004. In Praise of Blandness: Proceeding from Chinese Thought and Aesthetics. (Paula M. Varsano, trans.). New York: Urzone Inc. ———. 2007. Vital Nourishment: Departing from Happiness. (Arthur Goldhammer, trans.). New York: Zone Books. ———. 2012. The Great Image Has No Form, or On the Nonobject Through Painting. (Jane Marie Todd, trans.). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 2018. Living off Landscape: Or the Unthought-of in Reason. (Pedro Rodriguez, trans.). London: Rowman & International Ltd. Kahneman, Daniel. 2011. Thinking, Fast and Slow. New York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux. Kant, Immanuel. 1914. Kant’s Critique of Judgment (2nd ed.). (J. H. Bernard, trans., introduction, and notes). London: Macmillan. ———. 1987. Critique of Judgment. (Werner S. Pluhar, trans., introduction, Mary J. Gregor, foreword). Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company. ———. 1996. Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View. (Victor Lyle Dowdell, trans., Frederick P. Van De Pitte, introduction, Hans H. Rudnick, ed.). Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. ———. 1998. Critique of Pure Reason. (Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood, trans., eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1999. Practical Philosophy. (Mary J. Gregor, trans., ed., Allen Wood, introduction). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2001. Critique of the Power of Judgment. (Paul Guyer, ed., Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews, trans.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kao, Arthur Mu-sen. 1979. The Life and Art of Li K’an. PhD Dissertation, University of Kansas. Kao, Yu-kung. 1986. “The Aesthetics of Regulated Verse.” In Shuen-Fu Lin and Stephen Owen (eds.), The Vitality of Lyric Voice: Shih Poetry from the Late Han to the T’ang, 332‒85. Princeton: Princeton University Press. ———. 1991. “Chinese Lyric Aesthetics.” In Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (eds.), 47–90. Kasulis, T., Roger Ames, and W. Dissanayake (eds.). 1993. Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice. Albany: State University of New York Press. Kleist, Heinrich von. 1972 [1810]. “On the Marionette Theater.” (Thomas G. Neumiller, trans.). The Drama Review, 16 (3): 22–26.

References

251

Kneller, Jane. 2007. Kant and the Power of Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kogelschatz, Hermann. 1986. Wang Kuo-wei und Schopenhauer, eine philosophische Begegnung: Wandlung des Selbstverständnisses der chinesischen Literatur unter dem Einfluss der klassischen deutschen Ästhetik. Wiesbaden: F. Steiner. Kuo, Jason C. 2016. “Emptiness-Substance: Xushi.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 329–48. Lachman, Charles (trans.). 1989. Evaluations of Sung Dynasty Painters of Renown: Liu-Taoch’un’s “Sung-ch’ao ming-hua p’ing.” Leiden: E. J. Brill. Laozi. 1999. The Classic of the Way and Virtue: A New Translation of the Tao Te Ching of Laozi as Interpreted by Wang Bi. (Richard J. Lynn, trans.). New York: Columbia University Press. Lau, Dim Cheuk (trans.). 1993. The Analects. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——— (trans.). 2004 [1970]. Mencius. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Ledderose, Lothar. 1973. “Subject Matter in Early Chinese Painting Criticism.” Oriental Art, 19: 69–83. ———. 1979. Mi Fu and the Classical Tradition of Chinese Calligraphy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. LeDoux, Joseph. 1996. The Emotional Brain: The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life. New York: Simon & Schuster. Lee, Sherman. 1973. A History of Far Eastern Art. New York: Abrams, Inc. Legge, James (trans.). 1914. The Four Books or the Chinese Classics. Shanghai: The China Book Company. Lévy-Bruhl, Lucien. 1922. La mentalité primitive. Paris: Alcan. Li, Chu-tsing. 1965. The Autumn Colors on the Ch’iao and Hua Mountains: A Landscape by Chao Meng-fu. Ascona: Artibus Asiae. Li, Zehou. 1994. The Path of Beauty: A Study of Chinese Aesthetics. (Gong Lizeng, trans.). Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. ———. 2010. The Chinese Aesthetic Tradition. (Maija Bell Samei, trans.). Honolulu: University of Haiwai”i Press. Li, Zehou, and Jane Cauvel. 2006. Four Essays on Aesthetics: Toward a Global View. Oxford: Lexington Books. Lin, Yutang. 1967. The Chinese Theory of Art: Translations from the Masters of Chinese Art. London: Heinemann. ———. 1998. The Importance of Living (1st ed.). Beijing: Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press. Liscomb, Kathlyn. 1995. “The Power of Quiet Sitting at Night: Shen Zhou’s (1427– 1509) Night Vigil.” Monumenta Serica, 43: 381–403. Liu, Chengji. 2008. “The Body and its Image in Classical Chinese Aesthetics.” Frontiers of Philosophy in China, 3 (4): 577–94. Translated by Lei Yongqiang from Wenyi Yanjiu 文藝研究 (Literature & Art Studies), 2007, (4): 23–31. Liu, James J. Y. 1962. The Art of Chinese Poetry. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 1975. Chinese Theories of Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Liu, Xie. 1992. “Wen-hsin Tiao-lung.” In Stephen Owen (trans., notes), 183‒298.

252

References

———. 2015. “The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons.” (Vincent Yu–chung Shih, trans.). New York: Columbia University Press. Liu, Yiqing. 2007. A New Account of Tales of the World. (Richard B. Mather, trans.). Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company. Loehr, Max. 1970. “Phases and Content in Chinese Painting.” In National Palace Museum (ed.), Proceedings of the International Symposium on Chinese Painting, 285–311. Taipei: National Palace Museum. ———. 1973. “Chinese Landscape Painting and Its Real Content.” The Rice University Studies, 59 (4): 67–96. Houston: Rice University. ———. 1980. The Great Painters of China. New York: Harper & Row, Publishers. Lu, Ji. 1992. “The Poetic Exposition on Literature.” In Stephen Owen (trans., notes), 73‒181. Lukács, Georg. 1971. History and Class Consciousness: Studies in Marxist Dialectics. (Rodney Livingstone, trans.). Cambridge: The MIT Press. Lynn, Richard J. 1975. “Orthodox and Enlightenment: Wang Shih-chen’s Theory of Poetry and its Antecedents.” In Wm Theodore DeBary (ed.), The Unfolding of NeoConfucianism, 217–69. New York: Columbia University Press. ———. 1987. “The Sudden and the Gradual in Chinese Poetry Criticism: An Examination of the Ch”an-Poetry Analogy.” In Peter N. Gregory (ed.), Sudden and Gradual Approaches to Enlightenment in Chinese Thought, 381–428. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Maeda, Robert J. 1978 [1969]. Two Sung Texts on Chinese Painting and the Landscape Styles of the 11th and 12th Centuries. New York: Garland Publishing, Inc. Maftei, Ştefan-Sebastian. 2014. “Schiller’s Aesthetic Freedom and the Challenges of Aesthetic Education.” Procedia: Social and Behavioral Sciences, 163: 169–78. Mair, Victor H. 2004. “Xie He’s ‘Six Laws’ of Painting and their Indian Parallels.” In Zong-qi Cai (ed.), 81–122. Matherne, Samantha. 2013. “The Inclusive Interpretation of Kant’s Aesthetic Ideas.” British Journal of Aesthetics, 53 (1): 21–39. McCausland, Shane. 2000. Zhao Mengfu (1154–1322) & The Revolution of Elite Culture in Mongol China. PhD Dissertation, Princeton University. ———. 2003. Gu Kaizhi and the Admonitions Scroll. London: British Museum Press in association with the Percival David Foundation of Chinese Art. ———. 2011. Zhao Mengfu: Calligraphy and Painting for Khubilai’s China. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. ———. 2016. “Figure Painting: Fragments of the Precious Mirror.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 115–35. McCloskey, Mary A. 1987. Kant’s Aesthetic. London: Macmillan Press. McGhee, Michael. 2000. Transformations of Mind Philosophy as Spiritual Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1964. Le visible et l’invisible. (Claude Lefort, ed.). Paris: Gallimard. ———. 1968. The Visible and the Invisible. (Alphonso Lingis, trans.). Evanston: Northwestern University Press.

References

253

Meyer, Agnes E. 1923. Chinese Painting as Reflected in the Thought and Art of Li Lung-mien. New York: Duffield & Co. Min, Joosik. 1999. “Fengliu, the Aesthetic Way of Life in East Asian Culture.” Filozofski vestnik, 20 (2): 131–39. Moggach, Douglas. 2008. “Schiller, Scots and Germans: Freedom and Diversity in the Aesthetic Education of Man.” Inquiry, 51 (1): 16–36. Muller, Deborah Del Gais. 1981. Li Kung-lin’s Chiu-go T’u: A Study of the Nine Songs Handscrolls in the Sung and Yuan Dynasties. PhD Dissertation, Yale University. Mullervol, F. Max (ed.). 1899. The I Ching, or Book of Changes. (James Legge, trans.) (2nd ed.). New York: Dover Publications, Inc. Mullis, Eric C. 2007. “The Ethics of Confucian Artistry.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 65 (1): 99–107. Munakata, Kiyohiko. 1974. Ching Hao’s Pi-fa-chi: A Note on the Art of Brush. Ascona: Artibus Asiae. ———. 1983. “Concept of Lei and Kan-lei in Early Chinese Art Theory.” In Susan Bush and Christian Murck (eds.), 105‒31. Murck, Alfreda. 2000. Poetry and Painting in Song China: The Subtle Art of Dissent. Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Centre. ———. 2016. “Words in Chinese Painting.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 457–73. Murck, Alfreda, and Wen C. Fong. 1991. Words and Images: Chinese Poetry, Calligraphy, and Painting. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art; Princeton: Princeton University Press. Murray, Bradley. 2007. “Kant on Genius and Art.” British Journal of Aesthetics, 47 (2): 199–214. Neal, Robert J. M. 2012. “Kant’s Ideality of Genius.” Kant-Studien, 103 (3): 351–60. Needham, Joseph. 1974. Science and Civilization in China. (vol. 5.2). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nelson, Susan E. 1980. “Rocks beside a River: Ni Tsan and the Ching-Kuan Style in the Eyes of Seventeenth-Century Critics.” Archives of Asian Art, 33: 65–88. ———. 1983. “I-p’in in Later Painting Criticism.” In Susan Bush and Christian Murck (eds.), 397–424. Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1967. The Will to Power. (Walter Kaufmann and R. J Hollingdale, trans., Walter Kaufmann, ed.). New York: Random House. ———. 1999. The Birth of Tragedy and Other Writings. (Raymond Geuss and Ronald Speirs, eds., Ronald Speirs, trans.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2001. The Gay Science. (Bernald Williams, ed., Josefine Nauckhoff, trans.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2005. The Anti-Christ, Ecce Homo, Twilight of the Idols, and Other Writings. (Judith Norman, trans., Aaron Ridley, ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nuyen, A. T. 2011. “The Kantian Good Will and the Confucian Sincere Will.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 38 (4): 526–37.

254

References

Obert, Mathias. 2009. “Imagination or Response? Some Remarks on the Understanding of Images and Pictures in Premodern China.” In Bernd Huppauf and Christoph Wulf (eds.), Dynamics and Performativity of Imagination: The Image Between the Visible and the Invisible, 116–34. New York: Routledge. ———. 2013. “Chinese Ink Brush Writing, Body Mimesis, and Responsiveness.” Dao, 12: 523–43. Osborne, Harold. 1968. Aesthetics and Art Theory: An Historical Introduction. London: Longmans. Otabe, Tanehisa. 2012. “Genius as a Chiasm of the Conscious and Unconscious: A History of Ideas Concerning Kantian Aesthetics.” In Piero Giordanetti, Riccardo Pozzo, and Marco Sgarbi (eds.), Kant’s Philosophy of the Unconscious, 89–101. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG. Owen, Stephen. (trans., notes). 1992. Readings in Chinese Literary Thought. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. ———. (ed., trans.). 1996. An Anthology of Chinese Literature Beginnings to 1911. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. ———. 2000. “Bi Fa Ji.” In Pauline Yu, et al. (eds.), 213–18. Palmquist, Stephen R. (ed.). 2010. Cultivating Personhood: Kant and Asian Philosophy. Berlin: De Gruyter. Pan, An-yi. 1997. Li Gonglin’s Buddhist Beliefs and His Lotus Society Picture: An Iconographic Diagram of the Bodhisattva Path. PhD Dissertation, University of Kansas. ———. 2007. Painting Faith: Li Gonglin and Northern Song Buddhist Culture. Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers. Pan, Da’an. 1991. The Beauty Beyond: Verbal-Visual Intertextuality in Traditional Chinese Landscape Poetry and Painting. PhD Dissertation, The University of Rochester. Pang-white, Ann. 2009. “Nature, Interthing Intersubjectivity, and the Environment: A Comparative Analysis of Kant and Daoism.” Dao, 8 (1): 61–78. Pessoa, Luiz. 2005. “To What Extent Are Emotional Visual Stimuli Processed Without Attention and Awareness?” Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 15 (2): 188–96. Peterson, Willard. 2000. “Perspective on Readings of the Record of the Method of the Brush.” In Pauline Yu, et al. (eds.), 236–44. Pine, Red (trans.). 2001. The Diamond Sutra: The Perfection of Wisdom. Berkeley: Counterpoint. ——— (ed., trans.). 2003. Poems of the Masters: China’s Classic Anthology of Tang and Sung Dynasty Verse. Port Townsend: Copper Canyon Press. ——— (trans.). 2005. The Heart Sutra. Berkeley: Counterpoint. Pohl, Karl-Heinz. 2006. “Chinese Aesthetics and Kant.” In Mazhar Hussain and Robert Wilkinson (eds.), The Pursuit of Comparative Aesthetics An Interface Between East and West, 127–36. Hampshire: Ashgate Publishing Limited. Powers, Martin J. 1991. “Character (Ch’i) and Gesture (Shih) in Early Chinese Art and Criticism.” Proceedings from the International Colloquium on Chinese

References

255

Art History: Painting and Calligraphy, part 2: 909–31. Taipei: National Palace Museum. ———. 2000. “How to Read a Chinese Painting: Jing Hao’s Bi Fa Ji.” In Pauline Yu, et al. (eds.), 219–36. Powers, Martin J., and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.). 2016. A Companion to Chinese Art. Chichester: Willey Blackwell. Qi, Gong. 1991. “The Relationships Between Poetry, Calligraphy, and Painting.” (Susan Bush and Lucy Altree, trans.). In Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (eds.), 11–20. Ray, William. 1979. “Suspended in the Mirror: Language and the Self in Kleist’s ‘Über das Marionettentheater’.” Studies in Romanticism, 18 (4): 521–46. Ridley, Aaron. 2006. Routledge Philosophy Guidebook to Nietzsche on Art. London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. Rosemont, Henry Jr. 2001. Rationality and Religious Experience: The Continuing Relevance of the World’s Spiritual Traditions. La Salle: Open Court. Rosemont, Henry Jr., and Ames Roger. 2009. The Chinese Classic of Family Reverence: A Philosophical Translation of the Xiaojing. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Rousseau, Jean Jacques. 1889. Emile or Concerning Education. (Eleanor Worthington, trans.). Boston: D. C. Health & Company. Rueger, Alexander. 2008. “Beautiful Surfaces: Kant on Free and Adherent Beauty in Nature and Art.” British Journal for the History of Philosophy, 16 (3): 535–57. Rushing, James A. 1988. “The Limitations of the Fencing Bear: Kleist’s ‘Über das Marionettentheater’ as Ironic Fiction.” The German Quarterly, 61 (4), 528‒39. Ryle, Gilbert. 1949. The Concept of Mind. London: Hutchinson. Sakanishi, Shio. 1939. The Spirit of the Brush: Being the Outlook of Chinese Painters on Nature from Eastern China to Five Dynasties, A.D. 317‒960. London: J. Murray. Sargent, Stuart H. 1992. “Colophons in Countermotion: Poems by Su Shih and Huang T’ing-chien on Paintings.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 52 (1): 263–302. Schaper, Eva. 1992. “Taste, Sublimity and Genius: The Aesthetics of Art and Nature.” In Paul Guyer (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Kant, 367–93. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schellekens, Elisabeth. 2007. Aesthetics and Morality. London: Continuum International Publishing Group. Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph. 1858. Sämtliche Werke. (vol. 3). Stuttgart and Augsburg. Schiller, Friedrich. 1849. Correspondence of Schiller with Körner: Comprising Sketches and Anecdotes of Goethe, the Schlegels, Wielands, and Other Contemporaries. (vol. 2). (Lenard Simpson, notes, trans.). London. ———. 1890. Correspondence Between Schiller and Goethe from 1794 to 1805. (vol. 2). (L. Dora, ed.). Schmitz. London. ———. 1982. On the Aesthetic Education of Man in a Series of Letters. (Elizabeth M. Wilkinson and L. A. Willoughby, trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

256

References

———. 2003. “Kallias or Concerning Beauty: Letters to Gottfried Körner.” (Stefan Bird-Pollan, trans.). In J. M. Bernstein (ed.), Classic and Romantic German Aesthetics, 145‒83. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2005. “On Grace and Dignity.” (Jane V. Curran, trans.). In Jane V. Curran and Christophe Fricker (eds.), Schiller’s “On Grace and Dignity” in Its Cultural Context Essays and a New Translation, 123–70. New York: Camden House. Scruton, Roger. 1982. Kant. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 1983. The Aesthetic Understanding. London: Methuen. Seiichi, Taki. 1910. “Spirit Resonance and Transmitting the Spirit.” Kokka, 244. Sharpe, Lesley. 2005. “Concerning Aesthetic Education.” In Steven D. Martinson (ed.), A Companion to the Works of Friedrich Schiller, 147–67. Rochester: Camden House. Sherman, Nancy. 1997. Making a Necessity of Virtue: Aristotle and Kant on Virtue. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shi, Xiongbo. 2018. “The Aesthetic Concept of Yi in Chinese Calligraphic Creation.” Philosophy East and West, 68 (3): 871–86. Shigekazu, Fujiwara. 1994. The Thoughts of Fengliu. Kyoto. Shih, Hsio–Yen. 1976. “Poetry Illustration and the Works of Ku K’ai–chih.” Renditions, 6: 6–29. Shih, Shou-chien. 1987. “The Mind Landscape of Hsieh Yu-yü by Chao Meng-fu.” In Wen C. Fong, et al., 237–54. Shimada, Shujiro. 1961. “Concerning the I-P’in Style of Painting I.” (James Cahill, trans.) Oriental Art, 7: 66–74. ———. 1962. “Concerning the I-P’in Style of Painting II.” (James Cahill, trans.) Oriental Art, 8: 130–37. ———. 1964. “Concerning the I-P’in Style of Painting III.” (James Cahill, trans.) Oriental Art, 10: 19–26. Shusterman, Richard. 2000. Pragmatist Aesthetics: Living beauty, Rethinking Art (2nd ed.). Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. ———. 2004. “Pragmatism and East-Asian Thought.” Metaphilosophy, 35 (1/2): 13–43. ———. 2006. “Thinking Through the Body, Educating for the Humanities: A Plea for Somaesthetics.” The Journal of Aesthetic Education, 40 (1): 1–21. ———. 2009. “Pragmatist Aesthetics and Confucianism.” The Journal of Aesthetic Education, 43 (1): 18–29. ———. 2015. “Somaesthetics and Chinese Philosophy: Between Unity and Pragmatist Pluralism.” Frontiers of Philosophy in China, 10 (2): 201–11. ———. 2017. “Somaesthetics and Selfcultivation in Chinese Art.” In Erika FischerLichte and Benjamin Wihstutz (eds.), Transformative Aesthetics (1st ed.), 83–109. London: Routledge. ———. 2019. “Spontaneity and Reflection the Dao of Somaesthetics.” In Ming Dong Gu (ed.) Why Traditional Chinese Philosophy Still Matters the Relevance of Ancient Wisdom for the Global Age, 133–44. London: Routledge. Sickman, Laurence. 1980. “Chinese Painting before 1100.” In Eight Dynasties of Chinese Painting: The Collections of the Nelson Gallery-Atkins Museum, Kansas

References

257

City, and the Cleveland Museum of Art (with essays by Wai-kam Ho, Sherman E. Lee, Laurence Sickman, and Marc F. Wilson), xiii–xxiv. Cleveland: The Cleveland Museum of Art in cooperation with Indiana University Press. Sikong, Tu. 1992a. “The Twenty-Four Categories of Poetry.” In Stephen Owen (trans., notes), 299‒351. ———. 1992b. “Letter to Mr. Li Discussing Poetry.” In Stephen Owen (trans., notes), 351‒57. ———. 1992c. “A Letter to Chi Pu on Poetry.” In Stephen Owen (trans., notes), 357. Silbergeld, Jerome. 2016. “On the Origins of Literati Painting in the Song Dynasty.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 474–98. Sim, Luke J., and James T. Bretzke. 1994. “The Notion of Sincerity (Ch’eng) in the Confucian Classics.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 21 (2): 179‒212. Singh, Danesh. 2014. “Zhuangzi, Wuwei, and the Necessity of Living Naturally: A Reply to Xunzi’s Objection.” Asian Philosophy, 24 (3): 212–16. Sirén, Osvald. 1936. The Chinese on the Art of Painting. Peking: Henri Vetch. ———. 1956. Chinese Painting: Leading Masters and Principles. (vol. i). London: The Ronald Press Company. ———. 1973a [1956]. Chinese Painting: Leading Masters and Principles. (vol. ii). New York: Hacker Art Books, Inc. ———. 1973b [1956]. Chinese Painting: Leading Masters and Principles. (vol. iv). New York: Hacker Art Books, Inc. ———. 1973c [1956]. Chinese Painting: Leading Masters and Principles. (vol. v). New York: Hacker Art Books, Inc. Slingerland, Edward. 2000. “Effortless Action: The Chinese Spiritual Ideal of Wu wei.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 68 (2): 293–327. ———. 2003. Effortless Action: Wu-wei as Conceptual Metaphor and Spiritual Ideal in Early China. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——— (trans.). 2006. Confucius the Essential Analects: Selected Passages with Traditional Commentary. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. ———. 2013. “Body and Mind in Early China: An Integrated Humanities-Science Approach.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 81 (1): 6–55. ———. 2014. Try not to Try: The Ancient Art of Effortlessness and the Surprising Power of Spontaneity. Edinburgh: Canongate Books. ———. 2019. Mind and Body in Early China: Beyond Orientalism and the Myth of Holism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sloman, Steven. 1996. “The Empirical Case for Two Systems of Reasoning.” Psychological Bulletin, 119 (1): 3–22. Soper, Alexander. 1949. “The First Two Laws of Hsieh Ho.” The Far Eastern Quarterly, 8 (4): 412–23. ———. 1950. “T’ang Ch’ao Ming Hua Lu: The Famous Painters of the T’ang Dynasty.” Archives of the Chinese Art Society of America, 4: 5–28. ———. 1951. Kuo Jo-hxü’s Experiences in Painting (T’u-Hua Chien-wen Chih): An Eleventh Century History of Chinese Painting Together with the Chinese Text in Facsimile. Washington: American Council of Learned Societies.

258

References

———. 1958. “T’ang Ch’ao Ming Hua Lu. Celebrated Painters of the T’ang Dynasty by Chu Ching-hsüan of T’ang.” Artibus Asiae, 21 (3/4): 204–30. Stanley-Baker, Joan. 1977. “The Development of Brush-Modes in Sung and Yüan.” Artibus Asiae, 39 (1): 13–59. Stanovich, Keith, and Richard West. 2000. “Individual Difference in Reasoning: Implications for the Rationality Debate?” Behavioural and Brain Sciences, 23 (5): 645–726. Sterckx, Roel. 2002. The Animal and the Daemon in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Sturman, Peter C. 1989. Mi Youren and Inherited Literati Tradition. PhD Dissertation, Yale University. ———. 2016. “Landscape.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 177–94. Sullivan, Michael. 1961. An Introduction to Chinese Art. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 1962. The Birth of Landscape Painting in China. Berkeley: University of California Press. Suzuki, Daisetz Teitaro. 1934. An Introduction to Zen Buddhism. Kyoto: Eastern Buddhist Society. Suzuki, Daisetz Teitaro, Eric Fromm, and Eichard De Martino. 1974. Zen Buddhism and Psychoanalysis. London: Souvenir Press. Tauber, Zvi. 2006. “Aesthetic Education for Morality: Schiller and Kant.” Journal of Aesthetic Education, 40 (3): 22–47. Theisen, Bianca. 2006. “Dancing with Words. Kleist’s ‘Marionette Theatre’.” German Issue, 121 (3): 522–29. Tiwald, Justin, and Bryan W. Van. Norden (eds.). 2014. Readings in Later Chinese Philosophy: Han Dynasty to the 20th Century. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. Tu, Wei-ming. 1983. “The Idea of the Human in Mencian Thought: An Approach to Chinese Aesthetics.” In Susan Bush and Christian Murck (eds.), 57–73. ———. 2004. “The Continuity of Being: Chinese Visions of Nature.” In Corinne H. Dale (ed.), Chinese Aesthetics and Literature: A Reader, 27‒40. Albany: State University of New York Press. Unschuld, Paul U., and Hermann Tessenow in Collaboration with Zheng Jinsheng (trans.). 2011. Huangdi Neijing Suwen: An Annotated Translation of Huang Di’s Inner Classic – Basic Questions. (vol. I, Chapters 1 through 52). Berkeley: University of California Press. Vandenabeele, Bart. 2010. “Common Sense and Community in Kant’s Theory of Taste.” In Stephen R. Palmquist (ed.), 308–20. Vanderstappen, Harrie A. 2014. The Landscape Painting of China: Musings of a Journeyman. (Roger E. Covey, ed.). Florida: University Press of Florida. Vinograd, Richard. 2016. “Classification, Canon, and Genre.” In Martin J. Powers and Katherine R. Tsiang (eds.), 254–276. Waley, Arthur. 1923. An Introduction to the Study of Chinese Painting. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

References

259

———. 1956. The Analects of Confucius (4th impression). (Arthur Waley, notes, trans.). London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd. Wang, Eugene Y. 2007. “Response: ‘Picture Idea’ and Its Cultural Dynamics in Northern Song China.” Art Bulletin, 89 (3): 463–81. ———. 2016. “‘The Disarrayed Hills Conceal an Old Monastery’ the Dynamics of Poetry and Painting in the Northern Song.” In Paula M. Varsano (ed.), The Rhetoric of Hiddenness in Traditional Chinese Culture, 279–99. New York: State University of New York Press. ———. 2018. “Chinese Art: The Story of Haze (Part One).” Orientations, 49 (3): 73–85. Wang, Guowei. 1977. Wang Kuo-wei’s Jen-chien Tz’u-hua: A Study in Chinese Literary Criticism. (Adele Austin Rickett, trans., introduction). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Wang, Weijia. 2018. “Beauty as the Symbol of Morality: A Twofold Duty in Kant’s Theory of Taste.” Dialogue, 57 (4): 853–75. Way, Peter. 1997. “How to Read Xie Ho’s Six Laws: A Re-Review.” East and West, 47 (1): 271–91. Wei, Tat. 1977. An Exposition of the I-Ching or Book of Changes. Hong Kong: Dai Nippon Printing Co., (H.K.) Ltd. Wenzel, Christian Helmut. 2005. An Introduction to Kant’s Aesthetics: Core Concepts and Problems. Malden: Blackwell Publishing. ———. 2006. “Beauty in Kant and Confucius. A First Step.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 33 (1): 95–107. ———. 2009. “Kant’s Aesthetics: Overview and Recent Literature.” Philosophy Compass, 4 (3): 380–406. ———. 2010. “Aesthetics and Morality in Kant and Confucius: A Second Step.” In Stephen R. Palmquist (ed.), 321‒32. ———. 2019. “Aesthetic Education in Confucius, Xunzi, and Kant.” In Hans Feger, Xie Dikun, and Wang Ge (eds.), Yearbook for Eastern and Western Philosophy 3/2018, 59‒75. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. West, Stephen H. 2000. “A Record of the Methods of the Brush: A Personal Reading (The Codger and the Painter Wannabe).” In Pauline Yu, et al. (eds.), 202–13. Wilhelm, Richard, and Cary F. Baynes (trans.). 1968. The I Ching: Or Book of Changes (3rd ed.). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd. Wilson, Timothy. 2002. Strangers to Ourselves: Discovering the Adaptive Unconscious. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wixted, J. Timothy. 1983. “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in (Gradings of Poets) by Chung Hung (A.D. 469‒581).” In Susan Bush and Christian Murck (eds.), 225‒64. Wong-Gleysteen, Marilyn. 1991. “Calligraphy and Painting: Some Sung and PostSung Parallels in North and South—A Reassessment of the Chiang-nan Tradition.” In Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (eds.), 141–72. Xie, Simon Shengjian. 2010. “Is Kant a Western Philosopher?” In Stephen R. Palmquist (ed.), 799–807.

260

References

Xunzi. 2014. Xunzi The Complete Text (Eric L. Hutton, trans., introduction). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Yan, Yu. 1992. “Tsang-lang’s Remarks on Poetry.” In Stephen Owen (trans., notes), 391‒420. Young, Julian. 1992. Nietzsche’s Philosophy of Art. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yu, Pauline, Peter Bol, Stephen Owen, and Willard Peterson (eds.). 2010. Ways with Words: Writings About Reading Texts from Early China. Berkeley: University of California Press. Zajonc, Robert. 1980. “Feeling and Thinking: Preferences Need No Inferences.” American Psychologist, 35 (2): 151‒75. Zammito, J. H. 1992. The Genesis of Kant’s Critique of Judgment. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Zhang, Dainian. 2002. Key Concepts in Chinese Philosophy. (Edmund Ryden, trans., ed.). New Haven: Yale University Press. Beijing: Foreign Languages Press. Zhuangzi.2013. The Complete Works of Zhuangzi. (Burton Watson, trans.). New York: Columbia University Press. Zürcher, Erik. 1955. “Imitation and Forgery in Ancient Chinese Painting Calligraphy.” Oriental Art, 1: 141–6.

WORKS IN CHINESE An, Xiaolan 安小蘭 (notes). 2007. Xunzi 荀子 (The Works of Xunzi ). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Bai, Juyi 白居易. Huaji 畫記 (Record on Painting). In Yu 1986, 25. Bao, Shichen 包世臣. 1844. Yizhou Shuangji 藝舟雙楫 (Paired Oars for the Boat of Art). Bu, Yantu 布顏圖. ca. 1740. Huaxue Xinfa Wenda 畫學心法問答 (Replies to the Questions Concerning Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 481‒511; Yu 1986, 192‒222. Cao, Buzhi 晁補之. Jilei Ji 雞肋集 (Chicken Rib Collection). An excerpt in in Xu, 2001, 234–35. Cao, Chuji 曹礎基 (notes). 2000. Zhuangzi Qianzhu 莊子淺注 (Notes on Zhuangzi). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Cao, Pi 曹丕. Dianlun. Lunwen 典論.論文 (Authoritative Discources: A Discource on Literature). In Guo and Wang 2001, vol. 1, 158‒64. Chen, Bingcai 陳秉才 (notes). 2007. Han Feizi 韓非子 (The Works of Han Fei). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Cheng, Hao 程颢 and Cheng Yi 程颐. 1990. Er Cheng Ji 二程集 (The Works of Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Deng, Chun 鄧椿. Hua Ji 畫繼 (Continuation of Painting History), preface of 1167. In Wang and Ren 2002a, 612‒65.

References

261

Dong, Qichang 董其昌. Huachanshi Suibi 畫禪室隨筆 (Essays from the PaintingMeditation Studio). An excerpt in Yu 1986, 720‒30. ———. Huazhi 畫旨 (Painting Ideas). In Wang and Ren 2002, 212‒47. Dong, You 董逌. Guangchuan Huaba 廣川畫跋 (Dong You’s Colophons on Painting), dated to 1365. In Huapin Congshu, 219‒311. Dou, Meng 竇蒙. Hua Shiyi Lu 畫拾遺錄 (Amended Record of Paintings), quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji. Fang, Xianheng 方咸亨. Shaocun Lunhua 邵村論畫 (Fang Xianheng’s Discussion of Painting). In Yu 1986, 145‒46. Fang, Xun 方熏. Shanjingju Hualun 山靜居畫論 (A Discussion of Painting in a Silent Mountain House). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 541‒64; Yu 1986, 229‒44, 540‒41, 912‒16, 1185‒89. Fo, Chu 佛雛. 1983. “Wang Guowei Jingjie Shuo Liangxiang Shenmei Biaozhun 王國維境界說兩項審美標準 (Two Aesthetic Standards of Wang Guowei’s Jingji).” In Wu Ze 吳澤 (ed.), Wang Guowei Xueshu Yanjiu Lunji 王國維學術研究論集 (Wang Guowei’s Intellectual Studies), 344‒70. Shanghai: China East Normal University Press. Fu, Zai 符載. 813. Guan Zhangyuanwai Hua Songshi Xu 觀張員外畫松石序 (Preface on Observing Secretary Zhang Painting Pines and Rocks). In Yu 1986, 20‒21. Gu, Kaizhi 顧愷之. Lun Hua 論畫 (Essay on Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 1‒4. ———. Weijin Shengliu Huazan 魏晉勝流畫贊 (Eulogies on Paintings by Notables of the Wei and Jin Dynasties). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 9‒10. ———. Hua Yuntaishan Ji 畫雲臺山記 (Record on Painting the Cloud Terrace Mountain). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 5–8. Gu, Ningyuan 顧凝遠. Huayin 畫引 (An Introduction to Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 287‒90; Yu 1986, 118‒20. Guo, Ruoxu 郭若虛. Tuhua Jianwen Zhi 圖畫見聞誌 (An Account of My Experiences in Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 306‒86. Guo, Shaoyu 郭紹虞 and Wang Wensheng 王文生 (eds.). 2001. Zhongguo Lidai Wenlun Xuan 中國歷代文論選 (A Compilation of the Literary Criticism of China). (4 vols). Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Guo, Xi 郭熙. Linquan Gaozhi 林泉高致 (The Lofty Message of Forests and Streams), written in ca. 1080, compiled by Guo Xi’s Son Guo Si 郭思, ca. 1110‒1117. In Wang and Ren 2002a, 290‒305. Guo, Yu 郭彧 (annot.). 2001. Zhouyi 周易 (Book of Changes). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Han, Zhuo 韓拙. Shanshui Chunquan Ji 山水純全集 (Complete Essays on Landscape Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 597‒611. Huang, Gongwang 黃公望. Xie Shanshui Jue 寫山水訣 (Secrets of Describing Landscape). In Yu 1986, 696‒99. Huang, Tingjian 黃庭堅. 2001. Huang Tingjian Quanji 黃庭堅全集 (The Complete Works of Huang Tingjian). (Liu Lin 劉琳, Li Yongxian 李勇先 and Wang Ronggui 王蓉貴, notes). Chongqing: Sichuan Daxue Chubanshe. Huang, Xiufu 黃休復. Yizhou Minghua Lu 益州名畫錄 (A Record of the Famous Painters of Yizhou). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 200‒239.

262

References

Jiang, Ronggang 姜榮剛. 2011. “Wang Guowei Yijing Xinyi Yuanchu Xixue Geyi Kao 王國維意境新義源出西學格義考 (The Origin of Yijing of Wang Guowei in the Analogical Translation of Western Terms).” Xueshu Jikan 學術月刊 (Academic Monthly), 43 (7): 107‒15. ———. 2015. “Yijing Shuo Shi Deguo Meixue De Zhongguo Bianti Zhi Shangque: Jianlun Wang Guowei Yijing Lilun Laiyuan Yanjiu De Xianzhuang Wenti Ji Chulu 意境說是德​國美學的中​國變體論之​商榷——兼​論王國維「​意境」理論​ 來源研究的​現狀問題及​出路 (Is the Theory of Yijing a Chinese Version of German Aesthetics? The Current Issues in and Solution to the Theoretical Origin of Wang Guowei’s Yijing).” Zhongguo Wenhua Yanjiu 中國文化研究 (Chinese Culture Research), 1: 162‒74. Jing, Hao 荊浩. Bifa Ji 筆法記 (A Note on the Art of the Brush). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 190‒94. Li, Chengsou 李澄叟. Hua Shanshui Jue 畫山水訣 (Secrets of Painting Landscape), author’s preface of 1221. In Yu 1986, 620‒24. Li, Kan 李衎. Zhupu 竹譜 (Manual of Bamboo), author’s preface of 1299. In Wang and Ren 2002a, 666‒77. Li, Rihua 李日華. Zhulan Huaying 竹嬾畫媵 (Li Rihua’s Colophons on Painting). In Meishu Congshu 美術叢書 (Collected Works on Painting History), comp. Huang Binghuang 黃賓虹 and Deng Shi 鄧實, series. 2. Shanghai: Shenzhou Guoguang Chubanshe, 1911–1936. ———. Zhulan Lunhua 竹嬾論畫 (Li Rihua’s Dicussion of Painting). In Yu 1986, 130‒135. Li, Shan 李山 (notes). 2009. Guanzi 管子 (The Works of Guanzi). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Li, Sizhen 李嗣真. Xu Huapin Lu 續畫品錄 (Classification of Painters Continued). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 55‒62. Li, Zehou 李澤厚. 2001a. Huaxia Meixue 華夏美學 (The Chinese Aesthetic Tradition). Guilin: Guangxi Normal University Press. ———. 2001b. Meide Licheng 美的歷程 (The Path of Beauty). Tianjin: Tianjin Shehui Kexue Chubanshe. ———. 2001c. Meixue Sijiang 美學四講 (The Four Lectures of Aesthetics). Guilin: Guangxi Normal University Press. Liu, Daochun 劉道醇. Shenchao Minghua Ping 聖朝名畫評 (Critique of Famous Painters of the Present Dynasty). ———. Wudai Minghua Buyi 五代名畫補遺遗 (A Supplement on the Famous Painters of the Five Dynasties). Preface by Chen Xunzhi 陳洵直 of 1059. Liu, Xueqi 劉學箕. Fangshixian Jushi Xiaogao Lunhua 方是閒居士小稿論畫 (Liu Xueqi’s Discussion of Painting), quoted in Peiwenzhai Shuhua Pu; for a relevant excerpt, see Yu 1986, 73. Lou, Yulie 樓宇烈. 2008. Laozi Daodejing Jiaoshi 老子道德經註校釋 (Commentaries and Subcommentaries on Laozi’s Classic of the Dao and Virtue). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Lu, Ji 陸機. Wenfu 文賦 (The Poetic Exposition on Literature). In Guo and Wang 2001, vol. 1, 170‒88.

References

263

Luo, Dajing 羅大經. ca. 1250. Helin Yulu 鶴林玉露 (The Wood of Cranes and the Dew of Jade). For a relevant excerpt, see Yu 1986, 1030. Luo, Gang 羅剛. 2011. “Yijing Shuo Shi Deguo Meixue De Zhonguo Bianti 意境說是德國美學的中國變體 (Theory of Yijing: A Chinese Version of German Aesthetics).” Nanjing Daxue Xuebao 南京大學學報 (Journal of Nanjing University), 5: 38‒58. ———. 2018. “Guanyu Yijing Shuo De Ruogan Wenti 關於意境說的若幹問題 (Problems of Theory of Yijing).” Xinhua Daxue Xuebao. Zhexue yu Shehui Kexue 清華大學學報.哲學與社會科學 (Journal of Tsing Hua University [Philosophy and Social Science]), 33 (5): 1‒16. Mi, Fu 米芾. ca. 1103. Huashi 畫史 (Painting History). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 394‒423. Mi, Youren 米友仁. Yuanhui Tiba 元暉題跋 (Mi Youren’s Colophons on Painting). In Yu 1986, 684‒85. Ni, Zan 倪瓚. Yunlin Lun Huashanshui 雲林論画山水 (Ni Zan’s Discussion of Painting). In Yu 1986, 702. Ouyang, Xiu 歐陽修. Liuyi Bahua 六一跋畫 (Ouyang Xiu’s Comments on Painting). In Yu 1986, 42. Pei, Xiaoyuan 裴孝源. Zhenguan Gongsi Hualu 貞觀公私畫錄 (Record of Paintings in Public and Private Collections in the Zhenguan Era, 627–650), preface of 639, quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji. Peiwenzhai Shuhuapu 佩文齋書畫譜 (Encyclopaedia on Calligraphy and Painting in the Peiwen Studio). (Qing Emperor Kangxi 康熙, commission). Shaoye Shanfang, 1919. Beijing: Beijingshi Zhongguo Shudian, 1984. Peng, Feng 彭鋒. 2018. “Xiandai Yijing Shuo Bianxi 現代意境說辨析 (An Analysis of Modern Theory of Yijing).” Beijing Daxue Xuebao 北京大學學報 (Journal of Peking University), 1: 133‒43. Peng, Lai 彭萊. 2016. “Guo Ruoxu Qiyun Feishi Shuo Yu Beisong Wenren Hua Sichao 郭若虚气韵非师说与北宋文人画思潮 (Guo Ruoxu’s Claim of the Impossibility of Teaching Qiyun and Northern Song Literati Painting Ideas).” Wenyi Yanjiu 文艺研究 (The Study of Literature and Art), 3: 133–44. Qian, Du 錢杜. Songhu Huayi 松壺畫憶 (Memory of Paintings). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 644–53. Qian, Wenshi 錢聞詩. Ziyan Lunhua 子言論畫 (Qian Wenshi’s Discussion of Painting). In Yu 1986, 84. Qian, Zhongshu 錢鐘書. 1979. Guanzhui Bian 管錐編 (Collected Reading Notes). (5 vols). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Qin, Zuyong 秦祖永 (ed.). 1918. Huaxue Xinyin 畫學心印 (Painting Studies and Mind-prints). (10 vols). Shanghai. Rao, Ziran 饒自然. Huizong Shier Ji 繪宗十二忌 (The Twelve Faults in Painting Tradition). In Yu 1986, 691‒94; Wang and Ren 2002a, 708‒11. Shao, Hong 邵宏. 2006. “Xie He Liufa Ji Qiyun Xichuan Kaoshi 谢赫六法及气韵 西传考释 (The Six Laws of Xie He and Western Translations).” Wenyi Yanjiu 文藝研究 (The Study of Literature and Art), 6: 112–21.

264

References

Shen, Kuo 沈括. Mengxi Bitan Juanshiqi Shuhua 夢溪筆談卷十七.書畫 (Dream Pool Essays Chapter 17: Calligraphy and Painting), written in 1086‒1093. An excerpt in Yu 1986, 625‒26, 1020. Shen, Zongqian 沈宗騫. Jiezhou Xuehua Bian 芥舟學畫編 (Jiezhou’s Study on Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 565‒640; Yu 1986, 865‒911. Sheng, Dashi 盛大士. Xishan Woyou Lu 溪山臥游錄 (Dream Journey among Rivers and Mountains). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 654–78. Shi, Tao 石濤. Kugua Heshang Huayulu 苦瓜和尚畫語錄 (The Remarks of the Bitter Mellon Monk). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 298‒311; Yu 1986, 147‒62. Sikong, Tu 司空圖. Ershisi Shipin 二十四詩品 (The Twenty-four Categories of Poetry). ———. Yu Lisheng Lun Shishu 與李生論詩書 (Letter to Mr. Li Discussing Poetry). In Guo and Wang 2001, vol. 1, 196‒200. ———. Yu Ji Pu Shu 與極浦書 (A Letter to Ji Pu on Poetry). In Guo and Wang 2001, vol. 1, 201. Su, Shi 蘇軾. Dongpo Lunhua 東坡論畫 (Su Shi’s Discussion on Painting). In Yu 1986, 47‒51. ———. 1986. Su Shi Wenji 蘇軾文集 (The Literary Works of Su Shi). (Kong Fanli 孔繁禮, notes.). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Su, Zhe 蘇轍. Mozhu Fu 墨竹賦 (Essay on Ink Bamboo), quoted in Xu 2001, 226. Tang, Dai 唐岱. Huishi Fawei 繪事發微 (Revealing the Secrets of Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 432‒52. Tang, Hou 湯垕. Gujin Huajian 古今畫鑒 (Criticism of Past and Present Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 682‒707. ———. Hualun 畫論 (A Discussion of Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 682‒707. Tang, Zhiqi 唐志契. Huishi Weiyan 繪事微言 (Subtle Commentary on Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 257‒78. Tu, Long 屠隆. Huajian 畫箋 (Essays on Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 248–56. Wan, Lihua 萬麗華 and Lan Xu 藍旭 (notes). 2010. Mengzi 孟子 (Mencius). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Wang, Bomin 王伯敏, and Ren Daobin 任道斌 (eds.). 2002a. Huaxue Jicheng: Liuchao‒Yuan 畫學集成.六朝—元 (The Compilation of Painting Studies from the Six Dynasties to Yuan). Shijiazhuang: Hebei Meishu Chubanshe. ——— (eds.). 2002b. Huaxue Jicheng: Ming Qing 畫學集成.明清 (The Compilation of Painting Studies in Ming and Qing). Shijiazhuang: Hebei Meishu Chubanshe. Wang, Fu 王紱. Shuhua Chuanxi Lu 書畫傳習錄 (Record of Calligraphy and Painting Studies). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 1–180. Wang, Guowei 王國維. 1998. Renjian Cihua 人間詞話 (Discussion of Ci Poetry in the World). Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Wang, Guoxuan 王國軒 (notes). 2006. Daxue. Zhongyong 大學.中庸 (The Great Learning, and the Doctrine of the Mean). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Wang, Shizhen 王世貞. Wangshi Huayuan 王氏畫苑 (Wang’s Compilation of Texts on Painting). http:​/​/arc​​hive.​​wul​.w​​aseda​​.ac​.j​​p​/kos​​ho​/ch​​i03​/c​​hi03_​​01987​​/chi0​​​3​_019​​ 87​_00​​10/. Wang, Wei 王微. Xu Hua 敘畫 (Discussion of Painting), quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji, vol. 6. In Wang and Ren 2002a, 14‒15; Yu 1986, 584.

References

265

Wang, Yu 王昱. Dongzhuang Lunhua 東莊論畫 (Wang Yu’s Discussion of Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 420‒25. Wang, Yuanqi 王原祁. Yuchuang Manbi 雨窗漫筆 (Random Writings by a Rainy Window). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 394‒97; Yu 1986, 147‒62. ———. Lutai Tihuagao 麓台題畫稿 (Wang Yuanqi’s Colophons on Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 398‒419. Wu, Taisu 吳太素. ca. 1350. Songzhai Meipu 松齋梅譜 (Manual on Plums from the Pine Studio). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 712‒86. Wu, Zhen 吳鎮. Meidaoren Yimo 梅道人遺墨 (Ink Remains from the Plum Daoist). Xia, Wenyan 夏文彥. Tuhui Baojian 圖繪寶鑒 (Precious Mirror for Examining Painting), preface of 1365. In Huashi Congshu. Xie, He 謝赫. Guhua Pinlu 古畫品錄 (Record of the Classification of Old Painters/Paintings), quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji. In Wang and Ren 2002a, 16‒23. Xie, Zhaozhe 謝肇淛. Wu Zazu 五雜俎 (Five Jars of Pot-pourri). An excerpt in Yu 1986, 127‒28; Lin 1967, 127–36. Xu, Fuguan 徐復觀. 2001. Zhongguo Yishu Jingshen 中國藝術精神 (The Spirit of Chinese Art) (1st ed.). Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue Chubanshe. Xu, Ke 徐珂 (ed.). 1986. Qingbai Leichao 清稗類抄 (The Unofficial History of the Qing Dynasty by Categories). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Ye, Lang 葉朗. 1985. Zhonguo Meixueshi Dagang 中國美學史大綱 (An Outline History of Chinese Aesthetics). Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe. Yu, Anlan 于安瀾 (ed.). 1982. Huapin Congshu 畫品叢書 (Compliation of Writings on Painting). Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe. Yu, Jianhua 俞劍華 (ed.) 1986. Zhongguo Gudai Hualun Leibian 中國古代畫論類編 (Classified Compilation of Classical Chinese Texts on Painting) (2nd ed.). Beijing: Renmin Meishu Chubanshe. Yuan, Hongdao 袁宏道. Pinghuazhai Lunhua 瓶花齋論畫 (Discussion of Painting in the Pinghua Studio). In Yu 1986, 129. Yun, Ge 惲格. Nantian Huaba 南田畫跋 (Yun Ge’s Colophons on Painting). In Wang and Ren 2002b, 362‒93. ———. Ouxiangguan Huaba 鷗香館畫跋 (Colophons on Painting at Ouxiang Studio). In Qin 1918, vols. 5, 6. Yun, Xiang 惲向. ca. 1640. Daosheng Lun Hua Shanshui 道生論畫山水 (Yun Xiang’s Comments on Landscape Painting). In Yu 1986, 765‒69. Zhang, Huaiguan 張懷瓘. Hua Duan 畫斷 (Opinions on Painting), quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji. In Yu 1986, 402‒4. Zhang Yanying 張燕嬰 (notes). 2006. Lunyu 論語 (The Analects). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zhang, Yanyuan 張彥遠. 847. Lidai Minghua Ji 歷代名畫記 (Record of Famous Painters of All the Dynasties). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 91‒189. Zhang, Zai 張載. 1978. Zhang Zai Ji 張載集 (The Works of Zhang Zai). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zhao, Mengfu 趙孟頫. Songxue Lunhua 松雪論畫 (Zhao Mengfu’s Discussion of Painting). In Yu 1986, 92.

266

References

Zhao, Mengrong 趙孟濚. Lun Huapin 論畫品 (Discussion of Classification of Painting). In Yu 1986, 90. Zhao, Xigu 趙希鵠. Dongtian Qinglu 洞天清祿 (Compilation of Pure Earnings in the Realm of Immortals). In Yu 1986, 86‒8; 1233‒35. Zheng, Chang 鄭昶. 2001. Zhonguo Huaxue Quanshi 中國畫學全史 (Complete Chinese Painting History). Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Zhong, Rong 鍾嶸. Shipin Xu 詩品序 (Preface to Gradings of Poetry). In Guo and Wang 2001, vol. 1, 308‒20. Zhu, Jingxuan 朱景玄. Tangchao Minghua Lu 唐朝名畫錄 (Record of Famous Painters of the Tang Dynasty). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 69‒90. Zhu, Liangzhi 朱良志. 1995. Zhongguo Yishu De Shengming Jingshen 中國藝術的生命精神 (The Life Spirit of Chinese Art) (1st ed.). Hefei: Anhui Jiaoyu Chubanshe. ———. 2003. Quyuan Fenghe: Zhongguo Yishu Shijiang 曲院風荷：中國藝術論十講 (Lotus in the Breeze at Crooked Courtyard: Ten Lectures on Chinese Art). Hefei: Anhui Jiaoyu Chubanshe. Zhuang, Su 莊肅. Huaji Buyi 畫繼補遺 (A Supplement to Painting Continued). Preface of 1298. A sequel to Deng Chun’s Hua Ji. Zong, Baihua 宗白華. Zong Baihua Quanji 宗白華全集 (Complete Works of Zong Baihua) (1st ed.). (vol. 4). Hefei: Anhui Jiaoyu Chubanshe. Zong, Bing 宗炳. Hua Shanshui Xu 畫山水序 (Introduction to Painting Landscape), quoted in Lidai Minghua Ji. (vol. 6). In Wang and Ren 2002a, 11‒13; Yu 1986, 583‒84. Zhou, Zhenfu 周振甫 (notes). 1986. Wenxin Diaolong Jinyi 文心雕龍今譯 (A Rendering of The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju.

Index

absolute will, 220–21 accordance of mind and hand, 154 Acker, William, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 24–26, 31, 32, 34, 37n22, 37n23, 37n26, 37n28, 38n32, 44, 56, 124n9, 151, 232 Admonitions of the Imperial Instructress 女史箴圖, 28, 38n36. See also Gu Kaizhi; Zhang Hua aesthetic appreciation, 10, 202, 215 aesthetic attribute(s), 17, 105, 107–9, 124n7, 152, 235 aesthetic autonomy, 1, 9, 10, 101, 156n19, 183, 185, 189, 213–15, 219, 222, 223, 227, 228, 230n13, 231, 234, 238 aesthetic communicability, 225, 228, 239 aesthetic community, 197, 199, 224–28, 238, 239 aesthetic contemplation, 9, 195, 196, 199, 201–2, 216, 219, 224, 226–228, 229n13, 238, 241 aesthetic dimension, 160n51, 229n11 aesthetic education, 201, 205, 210n27, 223, 225, 226, 228, 230n15, 239 aesthetic experience, 10, 202, 219, 221, 223–25, 227, 238, 241 aesthetic fora, 234

aesthetic freedom, 7, 9, 129, 130, 136, 137, 139, 140, 153, 157n27, 189, 190, 195, 199, 201–2, 205, 207, 208n3, 220–25, 229n13, 230n14, 236, 238 aesthetic ideal, 52 aesthetic idea(s), 3, 4, 6, 7, 11n2, 19, 65, 68, 103–5, 107–13, 115–122, 123n1, 124n7, 124n12, 125n15, 125n16, 125n18, 126n29, 145, 146, 152, 160n50, 164, 174, 176, 180, 187n27, 216, 220, 234, 235, 237. See also aesthetic attribute(s) aesthetic interplay, 71–73, 118 aesthetic perception, 207 aesthetic pleasure, 9, 10, 119, 120, 134, 139, 189, 195–99, 207, 216, 221, 224, 230n17 aesthetic satisfaction, 9, 134, 136, 195– 96, 198–99, 205, 236, 238 aesthetic state, 112, 205, 225–26 aesthetic system, 116, 123 affinity, 9, 78, 198, 216–19, 224, 227– 28, 228n1 alcohol, 148–49 aliveness, 17, 24, 35n4, 42 a-morphous, 79 Analects (Lunyu 論語), 45, 48, 52, 160n45 267

268

Anglophone academics, 16 Anglophone artistic historians, 231 Anglophone philosophy, 162n58 Anglophone scholars, 2, 16, 46 Anglophone studies, 17 anima, 29 animation, 16, 25–26, 29, 58 antidote to pessimism about existence, 160n49 appearance of freedom, 202, 223 Apollonian illusionary intoxication, 160n49 a priori principle of purposiveness (of nature), 7, 120, 126n25, 128, 132, 134–36, 153, 156n19, 222, 224, 236 art criticism, 36n9, 39n43, 42, 47, 51, 60, 84n13, 112, 123n2 artistic play, 9, 190, 202–3 artistic spontaneity, 7–8, 21, 47, 76, 84n10, 101, 111, 113, 123, 124n10, 126n25, 127–33, 135–37, 140, 141, 144–46, 148–49, 151, 153, 154, 157n27, 168, 181–82, 205, 208n3, 219, 231, 236 art of archery, 208n10 Awakening Under a Thatched Awning, 196 Bai Juyi 白居易 (772–846), 130–31, 157n24, 192 Huaji 畫記 (Record on Painting), 130bamboo gentlemen 竹君, 218 Bao Shichen 包世臣 (1775–1855): Yizhou Shuangji 藝舟雙楫 (Paired Oars for the Boat of Art), 154n6 Baumgarten, 116 beautiful form, 205 beautiful nature, 175, 198 beauty, 9–10, 24, 47–48, 72, 104, 118–19, 125n18, 134–36, 139, 156n17, 156n19, 159n40, 175, 198– 99, 201–2, 207, 210n27, 210n28, 211n30, 219–21, 223–25, 227, 229n9, 229n10, 229n13, 238–39; as the symbol of morality, 136, 224,

Index

227, 238; of yang, 21, 38n37; of yin, 21, 38n37; unadorned, 51–52. See also Kant: and adherent beauty and free beauty; Schiller: and the notions of beauty Beiser, Frederick, 201, 203, 223, 225– 26, 230n15 between youyi and wuyi, 111, 123, 124n10, 141, 144, 146, 153, 158n36, 161n52 bi 筆 (brush or brushstroke), 43, 44, 68, 84n9. See also Jing Hao: six essentials of landscape painting biaoxiang 表象, 125n15 Bifa Ji 筆法記 (A Note on the Art of the Brush), 42–43, 45–46, 53, 59, 70, 73, 83n2, 84n5, 84n10, 86n27, 86n31, 87n38, 113. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930) Binyon, Lawrence, 35n3 biyi 筆意 (the idea of brush), 67–69, 92n87, 181 blandness, 51–52, 86n31, 118. See also dan 淡 bluntness or naivety (zhuo 拙), 181–82 Bodhisattvas, 193 Bodhi-tree, 193 bodination of nature, 161n53 body being like dried wood (身如枯木 shenru kumu), 192 body mimesis, 161n52 body’s yun身韻, 23, 36n18 Book of Changes, 18, 23, 36n19, 50, 54, 85n23, 115, 123, 134, 217. See also Yijing 易經 (Book of Changes) British Museum, 29, 38n36 Brubaker, David A., 46, 50, 85n22, 241 Bruno, Paul. W., 135, 156n18 brushstroke(s), 47, 64, 67–68, 93n90, 109, 158n33, 166–68, 171, 174, 178, 182, 216, 218 Buddhist term, 193, 208n4 buji buli 不即不離 (not sticking, not quitting), 79

Index

buluo qijing 不落畦徑 (not to follow the trodden path), 173 buru shiqu 不入時趨 (not to go in for the taste of the time), 173 Bush, Susan, 37n21, 43, 88n49, 90n59, 90n68, 91n73, 92n81, 92n87, 124n9, 125n20, 157n28, 186n14, 228n6 Bu Yantu 布顏圖 (18th century), 100, 115–16, 122, 126n24 buzhuang qiaoqu 不裝巧趣 (without artificial decoration), 71 Cahill, James, 16–17, 26–28, 35n1, 37n26, 95n115, 165, 172, 217, 228n1, 232 Cai Yong 蔡邕 (132–192), 37n20, 105 Cai, Zong-qi, 17, 24, 29, 30, 36n9, 39n43 Cannon, Joseph, 150, 160n50, 229n9 Cao Ba 曹霸 (ca. 704–ca. 770), 69, 106, 143 Cao Pi 曹丕 (189–226), 20–22, 32, 36n10, 156n10; Lunwen 論文 (A Discourse on Literature), 20, 36n10, 155n10 Cao Zhi 曹植 (192–232), 28, 38n35 carefree wandering of the spirit, 9, 114, 121, 125n20, 137, 173, 197–99, 207, 238. See also shen 神 (spirit): carefree wandering of Cassirer, Ernst, 10, 11n4 categorical imperative, 219, 221 categorical nature, 85n17 causality, 134, 221 Chan Buddhism, 160n45, 193, 208n10 changli 常理 (inner nature), 63–64, 90n70 Chao Buzhi 晁補之 (1053–1110), 60, 62–63, 83, 90n68, 100, 106–8, 117, 124n5, 154n5, 233, 235; Ba Li Zunyi Huayu Tu 跋李遵易畫魚圖 (Colophon on Li Zunyi’s Fish Painting), 124n5; He Su Hanlin Ti Li Jia Huayan 和蘇翰林題李甲畫雁

269

(Rhyming with Su Shi’s Inscription to Li Jia’s Wild Goose Painting), 62 chaoyin 朝隐 (reclusion within the court), 209n15 Chaves, Jonathan, 90n68 cheng 誠 (sincerity or sincere will), 9, 214, 217–18, 228n8 Cheng, Chung-ying, 4, 17, 18, 54, 147, 148, 157n21, 229n8 Cheng Hao 程颢 (1032–1085), 58–59, 89n53, 92n78, 217 chenghuai weixiang 澄懷味象 (to purify the mind so as to comprehend the image of landscape), 57, 88n48. See also yinghui ganshen 應會感神 (the response of the eye and the accord of the mind to nature affecting the spirit of the artist or connoisseur); Zong Bing 宗炳 (375–443) Cheng Yi 程颐 (1033–1107), 89n53, 91n77, 92n78 chengyi 誠意 (sincerity of thought), 95n115 Chen Hao 陳皓, 169 Chen Yuyi 陳與義 (1090–1138), 63, 68, 90n71, 117 chongdan 沖淡 (bland, limpid and calm), 86n31 Chou, Diana Yeongchau, 65, 67, 69, 92n82, 93n89, 93n95, 94n98 Chou, Ju Hsi, 134 chuanshen 傳神 (conveying/transmitting the spirit), 2, 29, 232. See also transmitting shen Chuanxi Lu 傳習錄 (A Record for Teaching and Practicing), 217. See also Xu Ai 徐愛 (1487–1517); Wang Shouren 王守仁 (1472–1528) chuanyi moxie 傳移模寫 (transmitting and conveying earlier models in making copies), 35n1, 182 chu congming 黜聰明 (driving out perception and intellect), 191, 200–201

270

Index

Chunqiu Guliang Zhuan 春秋谷梁傳 (Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn Annals), 124n8 chuyu yibiao 出於意表 (goes beyond expectation), 167, 186n10 city-recluse, 189, 195, 197, 205, 209n15 city-recluse-artist, 189–90, 195, 198–99 Cleveland Museum of Art, 203 cloudy mountains, 74, 177, 187n30. See also emerging-submerging; Fang Congyi 方从义 (ca. 1301–ca. 1393); Mi Fu 米芾 (1052–1107); Mi Youren 米友仁 (1072–1151); submerging-emerging; Tang Hou 湯垕 (ca. 1255–ca. 1317) Clunas, Craig, 92n83 cognitive science(s), 152, 161n54, 162n58 cold cognition (implicit cognition), 152, 161n54 common people (小人 xiaoren), 84n11. See also petty person (小人 xiaoren) completeness, 51, 66, 166 comprehension, 140, 215, 217, 222 concentration, 42, 63, 129, 137, 141–42, 144, 150, 153, 158n33, 158n38, 236. See also ningshen 凝神 (concentration or being absorbed spiritually); self-consciousness conception, 109–12, 122, 124n9, 125n17, 146, 227, 235; brush, 92n87; moral, 220; of (natural) existence (as processual), 3, 74, 78–79; of nature, 69, 75, 80–81, 213; of the unconscious, 145, 159n42 Confucian classics, 54–55, 95n115, 160n45 Confucian doctrine of sincerity, 9, 217, 221, 238. See also cheng 誠 (sincerity or sincere will) Confucian doctrine of the mean, 217 Confucian ethics, 28, 42, 52, 54–55, 218–19, 228n8, 229n8 Confucian ideals, 54

Confucianism, 3, 54, 59, 69, 74, 78, 83, 87n37, 119, 123, 126n31, 135–36, 157n21, 160n51, 194, 211n34, 213, 233, 236, 238. See also Confucian doctrine of the mean; Confucian doctrine of sincerity; Confucian ethics; Confucian virtues; li 禮 (propriety or ritual or courtesy); Neo-Confucianism; Neo-Confucian scholar(s); ren 仁 (benevolence or humaneness); xin 信 (trustworthiness or integrity); yi 義 (rightfulness); zhi 智 (wisdom) Confucian metaphysics, 54 Confucian ritual and music, 229n11 Confucian virtues, 46, 218, 228n7 Confucius (551–479BC), 6, 10, 23, 37n19, 45, 48, 52, 81, 84n11, 155n7, 157n21, 191, 202. See also Analects (Lunyu 論語) congenial audience, 9, 197–99, 219, 222, 227–28 congeniality, 214 congenial spectator, 222, 227 congenial spirit, 226 congenial spiritual accord, 216 connoisseurship, 60, 65–69, 75–78, 92n80, 92n81, 100, 233 contemplative engagement, 216 cooperation of reason and sensibility, 202 coordination of hand and mind, 150 coordination of hot and cold cognition, 161n54 co-play of forgetfulness and concentration, 153 co-play of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness, 8, 129, 146, 159n39 co-play of unconsciousness and consciousness, 145 correspondence between hand and mind, 149 corresponding frame of mind, 216

Index

cosmic energy, 232 Croce, Benedetto, 10, 11n4 cultivating qi 養氣, 32, 34 Daemon, 30, 38n39 Dai Song 戴嵩 (? – ?), 89n57 dan 淡 (blandness), 86n31, 118. See also chongdan 沖淡 (bland, limpid and calm); pingdan 平淡 (bland) Dao, 7–8, 20, 45, 64, 79, 89n55, 119, 128–30, 133–34, 137, 149–51, 153, 157n27, 160n51, 161n52, 181, 202; in accord with the, 9, 46, 59, 134, 140, 148, 190–94, 199–200, 206–7, 217, 219, 221–22, 227, 236, 238, 241; beyond skill, 138, 149; in Confucian philosophy, 126n32, 156n21, 157n21; of going at it by spirit instead of looking with eyes, 149; in Laozi’s text, 52, 72, 94n101, 126n32, 136, 147; of matching up tian (nature) with tian, 140; penetrating everything, 7, 128, 132, 135–36, 205, 222, 236; perfected, 194; in Zhuangzi’s stories, 136, 138, 140, 149 Daodejing 道德經 (The Classic of the Way and Virtue), 18, 79, 147. See also Laozi 老子 Daoism, 3, 54, 59, 69, 74, 78, 83, 87n37, 87n38, 119, 123, 126n31, 136, 157n21, 160n48, 160n51, 194, 204, 211n34, 213, 233, 236. See also Daoist ideas; Daoist philosophy; Laozi 老子; Neo-Daoism; Zhuangzi 庄子 (ca. 369–ca. 286 BC) Daoist ideas, 8, 42, 55, 66, 136, 141, 146, 152–54, 236 Daoist philosophy, 8, 66, 129, 135, 141, 160n51, 207, 214 daqian 大千 (whole universe), 193 Daxue 大學 (Great Learning), 95n115, 124n8 Defu 德符, 60 Deng Chun 鄧椿 (ca. 1107–ca. 1177), 3, 83n1, 88n45, 99, 169–70, 174,

271

177; Hua Ji 畫繼 (Continuation of Painting History), 88n45, 169, 186n17 Descartes, 162n58 despotic state, 220–21 detachment, 173, 183, 208n4 determinate concept(s), 120, 124n11, 134, 138–39, 145, 192 determinate rational concept, 196 dharma, 193 di 地 (earth), 131, 155n7 Diamond Sutra 金剛經, 193 dignity, 205, 210n27, 230n14 disinterestedness, 9, 134, 189, 197, 207, 219, 221 dilettante (好事者 haoshizhe), 77, 95n11 Dionysian ecstatic intoxication, 160n49 Doctrine of the Mean (中庸 zhongyong), 218 Donglin Monastery 東林寺, 192 Dong Qichang (1555–1636) 董其昌, 3, 8, 93n95, 100, 171, 177–78, 180–81, 187n28, 187n29, 189, 206, 237; Huachanshi Suibi 畫禪室隨筆 (Essays from the Painting-Meditation Studio), 171; Huazhi 畫旨 (Painting Ideas), 62 Dong You 董逌, 53, 99, 100, 106–8, 143–44, 189, 235; Guangchuan Huaba 廣川畫跋 (Dong You’s Colophons on Painting), 53 Dong Yuan 董源, 55, 59, 69–71, 74, 77, 80, 86n31, 87n31, 94n99, 177, 182; Grotto Heavens and Mountain Halls 洞天山堂圖, attributed to, 94n99. See also emergingsubmerging; pingdan 平淡 (bland); submerging-emerging; tianzhen 天真 (natural perfection, natural truth, or naturalness) Dou Meng 竇蒙 (8th century), 57, 83, 88n46, 189, 233; Huashi Yilu 畫拾遺錄 (Amended Record of Painting), 57

272

Index

dual-processing of cognition, 161n55 Duan Zanshan 段讚善, 62, 90n66, 105 Düsing, Klaus, 134, 156n19 duty, 220–21, 223–24, 227, 229n8, 230n14, 230n15 duty-based ethics, 229n8 dynamic state, 225, 230n18 Eastern Han, 23, 37n20, 200 Eastern Jin, 2, 15, 23, 27, 35n2, 48, 90n68, 93n92, 109, 155n10, 192, 200 Edwards, Richard, 94n103 Egan, Ronald, 2, 28, 33, 38n38, 42, 51, 94n103, 216 élan vital, 29–30 elite, 1, 73, 75, 92n84, 100, 226, 228; class, 66, 226 elitism, 226 Elkens, James, 240 embodied cognition, 161n54 emerging-submerging, 51, 55, 70–73, 77, 79–80, 94n99, 94n100, 94n104, 177. See also cloudy mountain; fengluan chumo; Jing Hao; submerging-emerging; yanyun bianmie; yanyun chumo; yunwu xianhui Emperor Gaozong（南宋）高宗 (1107– 1187; reign: 1127–1162), 196 Emperor Huizong（北宋）徽宗 (1082– 1135; reign: 1100–1125), 51, 110 Emperor Renzong（北宋）仁宗 (1010– 1063; reign: 1022–1063), 87n40 Emperor Shenzong（北宋）神宗 (1048– 1085; reign: 1067–1085), 65, 88n41, 91n78, 92n78, 92n79 Emperor Taizong（北宋）太宗 (939–997; reign: 976–997), 87n40 Emperor Xiaozong（南宋）孝宗 (1127– 1194; reign: 1162–1189), 196–97 Emperor Yingzong（北宋）英宗 (1032– 1067; reign dates: 1063–1067), 92n79 Emperor Zhenzong（北宋）真宗 (968– 1022; reign: 997–1022), 87n40

Emperor Zhezong（北宋）哲宗 (1077– 1100; reign: 1085–1100), 92n78 empiricism, 116 Empress Zhangmu (975–1007), 87n40 enlightenment, 156n20, 208n5, 217, 222, 242n3 Epicureanism, 230n14 expression, 1, 21, 24, 43, 61, 63, 64, 66, 99, 111, 116–19, 123, 131, 147, 156n13, 170, 180, 186n10, 201, 233, 235, 237; of aesthetic ideas, 104, 118, 126n29, 164, 174, 180, 220; of pictorial yi, 237; of qi, 24, 43; of yiqi/shiqi, 173, 180, 183, 187n23; of yi or qu, 61 expressionism, 167 expressive act, 117–18, 161n52 European metaphysics, 55 fa 法 (rule or law), 34n1, 133, 136, 156n11, 156n20, 157n27 fake, 65, 178, 188n32 Fang Congyi 方从义 (ca. 1301–ca. 1393), 55, 73–74, 187n30; Cloudy Mountains 雲山圖 by, 74 Fang Xianheng方咸亨 (active 17th century), 186n19 Fang Xun 方熏 (1736–1799), 100, 107, 108, 110, 235; Shanjingju Hualun 山靜居畫論 (A Discussion of Painting in a Silent Mountain House), 107 Fanghu vessel, 38n30 Fan Kuan 范宽 (ca. 960–ca. 1030), 60, 70, 106 Fan Qiong 范琼, 169 Fan Zhongyan 范仲淹 (989–1052), 91n77 fa of no fa (rule of no rule), 133, 136 fa of one-stroke, 133, 157n27 fasting of the mind (xinzhai 心齋), 191, 194 fearless bodhisattvas, 193 fengluan chumo 峰巒出沒 (mountains and hills appear and disappear), 71, 73

Index

fengluan xianyin 峰巒顯隱 ([mists and clouds] hide or reveal peaks and mountains), 71–72 fengliu 風流, 200, 209n20, 209n21 fengshen guqi 風神骨氣, 168, 186n15. See also shen 神 (spirit); qiyun 氣韻 (spirit consonance) fengyun 風韻, 36n17, 60, 89n59. See also yun 韻; qiyun 氣韻 (spirit consonance) figure painting, 2, 19, 23, 27–34, 37n27, 37n29, 38n34, 38n38, 47–48, 50, 60, 67, 75, 79, 85n13, 89n57, 231–33, 239 fine art, 127, 156n18, 198 finely attuned soul, 226 fisherman, fishermen, 66, 196–97, 205, 209n13, 209n14 Five Dynasties, 1, 34, 42, 60, 233 flavor beyond flavor (韻外之致/味外之旨 yunwaizhizhi/weiwaizhizhi), 66 Fleming, Jesse, 3 flying white (feibai 飛白), 93n90 Fo, Chu 佛雛, 125n18 Fong, Wen C. 16–17, 20–24, 28, 32–34, 38n30, 39n42, 39n44, 43, 49–50, 56, 74–76, 84n7, 84n9, 85n14, 85n23, 93n90, 93n97, 151, 209n16, 213, 232, 241 forger, 178 forgery, 88n47, 187n31, 188n32 forgetfulness, 128–29, 140–41, 143–44, 149, 153, 154n3, 157n29, 189, 191, 193–95, 200, 208n10, 208n12, 236. See also wang 忘 (forgetfulness) formal purposiveness (of nature as aesthetic object), 126n29, 132, 134– 36, 155n9, 156n18 formal resemblance, 53, 66, 214 form of reflection on beauty, 156n19, 224 free and easy wandering (xiaoyao you 逍遙游), 137, 139, 155n10, 157n22, 199. See also carefree wandering of

273

the spirit; shen: carefree wandering of; Zhuangzi: Free and Easy Wandering free play: of the (cognitive) faculties of the mind, 222; of imagination and understanding, 120, 124n11, 132, 139, 145, 150, 224–25, 230n17, 236; a state of, 108 free will, 154n4, 201–2 freedom of free choice, 223 freshness (sheng 生), 181–82 Friedrich, Caspar David, 240 fugu 復古 (returning to the past), 69 Fung, Yu-lan 馮友蘭 (1895‒1990), 131, 155n7, 157n21, 159n44, 200, 208n6, 211n32 Fu Shan 傅山 (1607–1684), 144 fusion of self and object, 129, 147, 153. See also fusion of (the spirit-energy of) subject and object; wuhua 物化 fusion of (the spirit-energy of) subject and object, 91n73, 129, 146, 222, 236 Fu Zai 符載 (8th century), 100, 110 Gálik, Marián, 112, 125n16, 125n18 ganlei 感類 (stimulates [or responds sympathetically to] all [similar] kinds of life), 30, 39n40 ganying 感應 (affect and response), 215 Gao, Jianping 高建平, 17, 47, 64, 90n70, 115, 117–18, 126n24, 126n33, 154n1, 155n10, 161n52, 166, 185n9 Gao Kegong 高克恭 (1248–1310), 55, 66, 73, 78, 187n30 gaoyuan 高遠 (high distance), 94n101 Ge Lifang 葛立方 (? –1165), 63 genius, 4–6, 10, 30, 62, 83, 100, 137, 159n39, 160n50, 167, 187n25, 187n30, 188n32, 195, 229n9, 239–40; aesthetic autonomy or freedom, 1, 139–40, 185; as chiasm of the unconscious and conscious, 8, 11n5, 129, 141, 145–46, 153, 236;

274

Index

exemplary originality of, 1, 8, 92n86, 101, 163–65, 173–79, 183, 188n31, 234, 237; idea-giving of, 1, 7, 101, 103–4, 108–9, 111–12, 115, 119–20, 122, 127, 179–80, 183, 187n27, 234– 35; as an innate mental disposition or talent, 1, 3, 7–8, 99, 101, 103–4, 136, 150, 164, 173, 175, 180, 187n27, 198, 231, 234; moral dimension of, 9, 101, 165, 173, 175, 183, 187n26, 219, 237 (see also qiyun 氣韻 (spirit consonance): moral dimension of); requisites for, 115, 119, 157n25, 208n9; rule-giving of, 1, 7, 8, 101, 126n25, 127–32, 134–36, 153, 176, 179–80, 183, 187n27, 198, 234, 236; somatic training or practice of, 8, 129, 149, 151, 153–54, 241; three types of successors, 165, 177–78, 183; as the unity of imagination and understanding, 8, 120, 129, 139–40, 145–46, 153, 222, 236; (unteachable) spontaneity, 101, 123, 124n10, 127– 31, 149, 153–54, 154n1, 159n39, 176, 178–80, 205, 234, 236–37 (see also artistic spontaneity) gentleman, gentlemen (君子 junzi), 45, 48, 58–59, 84n11, 92n83, 218 gewu 格物 (investigating things), 95n115 Giles, Herbert, 35n3 Goethe, 159n39 going at it by spirit instead of looking with eyes (yishenyu buyi mushi 以神遇不以目視), 138, 149 Goldin, Paul R., 17, 26, 36n17, 37n20, 37n23, 162n58 Gombrich, E. H., 78, 154n1, 208n11 Guan Zhong 管仲 (720–645 BC), 35n6. See also Guanzi Guan Tong 关仝 (active ca. 907–23), 60, 69–70, 164 Guan Xiu 贯休 (832‒912), 170, 186n18 guannian 觀念, 125n15

Guanzi 管子 (The Works of Guanzi), 18–20, 32, 35n6, 136. See also Guan Zhong; Liu Xiang gufa 骨法 (bone structure), 70 gufa yongbi 骨法用筆 (“bone method” in using the brush), 35n1, 51, 169 Gu Junzhi 顧骏之 (5th century), 32, 39n43 Gu Kaizhi 顧愷之 (ca. 345–ca. 406), 2, 27–31, 37n27, 38n31, 38n33, 38n35, 38n38, 57, 63, 90n70, 117, 192, 232; Hua Yuntaishan Ji 畫雲臺山記 (Record on Painting the Cloud Terrace Mountain), 28 Gu Ningyuan 顧凝遠 (ca. 1580–after 1645), 26, 181–82 Guo Ruoxu 郭若虛 (11th century), 1–3, 6, 9, 28, 32, 34, 39n44, 41, 42, 46, 55–60, 69–70, 74–78, 80–83, 87n31, 88n41, 88n45, 89n57, 89n58, 89n59, 90n63, 91n73, 91n77, 92n79, 93n96, 95n113, 99–101, 103, 105, 110, 111, 114, 117, 119–21, 127–28, 130, 131, 134, 137, 140–43, 147, 150, 152, 154, 154n5, 155n10, 157n24, 157n28, 165, 169–70, 174–76, 180, 182–83, 189–90, 194, 213–17, 231, 233–34; and three legs of a tripod, 60, 70; family background, 55, 87n40; resonance with leading 11th century scholar-artists’ aesthetics, 61–65; and two kinds of people good at creating painting replete with qiyun, 58, 81, 169. See also qiyun feishi 氣韻非師 (the impossibility of teaching qiyun); tian 天 (heaven or nature); xinyin 心印 (mind-print) Guo Shouwen 郭守文 (936–990), 87n40 Guo Si 郭思 (d. ca. 1130), 86n25, 91n75, 157n28, 211n29 Guo Xi 郭熙 (1000–1090), 42, 50–51, 55, 63, 71, 77, 80, 86n25, 91n74, 91n75, 94n104, 95n113, 100–101,

Index

105–8, 110, 114, 117, 121, 150, 152, 158n33, 194–95, 215–16, 235, 238; Early Spring 早春圖 by, 86n28, 96; three distances. See also gaoyuan 高遠 (high distance); shenyuan 深遠 (deep distance); pingyuan 平遠 (level distance), 72, 94n101 Guo Zhongshu 郭忠恕 (d. 977), 59 guyi 古意 (idea or flavor of antiquity), 68–69, 93n93, 93n94, 124n6. See also xinyi 新意 Hammermeister, Kai, 226 Handmill, 220–21 Han Fei 韓非 (280–233 BC), 15 Han Gan 韓幹 (706–783), 69, 89n57 Hangzhou 杭州, 66, 209n14 Han van Meegeren, 187n31 Han Zhuo 韓拙 (active 1095–1125), 24, 42, 53, 55, 83n1, 85n21, 87n34, 87n36, 100, 160n52; Shanshui Chunquan Ji 山水純全集 (Complete Essays on Landscape Painting), 53, 94n101, 94n104; three distances, 94n101. See also kuoyuan 闊遠; miyuan 迷遠; youyuan 幽遠 harmonisation of polarities, 126n31 harmony between nature and freedom, 229n9 harmony of human beings with nature, 222 harmony of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness, 152 harmony of spirit and nature, 225 Hay, J., 17, 27, 31, 120, 156n20 Hearn, Maxwell K., 74 heart (or heart-mind) in tune with forest(s) and stream(s), or heart of the forests and streams (linquan zhixin 林泉之心), 9, 189, 195, 215–16, 238 Heart Sutra 心經, 87n38 hedonism, 230n14 he’er butong 和而不同 (conciliatory but not accommodating), 45

275

Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 10, 11n4, 211n31 high-mindedness, 173 Hirth, Friedrich, 35n3 ho 和 (peace), 23, 36n16 Holy Man, 157n22. See also Zhuangzi 庄子 (ca. 369–ca. 286 BC), Xiaoyao You Hong Ren 弘忍 (601–674), 193, 208n7 hot cognition (explicit cognition), 152, 161n55 Ho, Wai-kam, 37n25, 192–93, 208n4 hua 華 (outward appearance/flowering/ pattern/adornment or outward beauty), 47–49, 53, 85n16, 85n21, 87n35, 87n36. See also Jing Hao; shi 實; shi 勢; si 似; wen 文; zhen 真; zhi 质 Huainanzi 淮南子 (Book of the Prince of Huainan), 18–19, 36n7 huajin yizai 畫盡意在, 124n9 Huangdi Neijing 黃帝內經 (Esoteric Scripture of the Yellow Emperor), 18, 35n5, 215, 228n3 Huang Gongwang 黃公望 (1269–1354), 110, 144, 182, 206; Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains 富春山居圖 by, 209n14; Xie Shanshui Jue 寫山水訣 (Secrets of Describing Landscape), 109 Huang Quan 黃荃 (903–965), 150 Huang Tingjian 黃庭堅 (1045–1105), 24, 60, 63–64, 83, 90n68, 91n77, 91n78, 100, 120, 137, 140, 157n24, 157n27, 189, 192, 194, 214, 233; Daozhenshi Hua Mozhu Xu 道臻師畫墨竹序 (Preface to Daozhen’s Bamboo Painting), 64; Ti Mo Yan Guo Shangfu Tu 題摹燕郭尚父圖 (Inscription to Li Gonglin’s Painting of General Guo Ziyi of Yan), 64; Ti Zhao Gongyou Hua 題趙公佑畫 (Inscription to Zhao Gongyou’s Painting), 194, 208n8

276

Index

Huang Xiufu 黃休復, 39n44, 166–71, 174, 183, 185n2, 186n12, 186n13, 186n15, 186n18, 211n30; Yizhou Minghua Lu 益州名畫錄 (A Record of the Famous Painters of Yizhou), 91n73. See also Li Tian 李畋; yige 逸格 Hua Shanshui Jue 畫山水訣, 59, 70. See also Bifa Ji 筆法記 (A Note on the Art of the Brush) huaxie wuwai xing 畫寫物外形 (Painting renders form beyond [the appearance of] the object), 62 huiming 晦明 (gloom and brightness), 70 Hui Neng 慧能 (638–713), 193, 208n7 huishi housu 繪事後素 (the application of colours comes only after a suitable unadorned background is present), 52 hui zhiti 墮肢體 (smashing up limbs and body), 191, 200–201 human fragmentation, 210n24 humanisation of nature, 161n53 human nature, 9–10, 58, 82, 101, 132, 155n7, 190, 199–207, 209n24, 210n24, 210n27, 217, 223, 234, 237– 38. See also xing 性 (human nature) Hume, 116 Hu Yuan 胡瑗 (993–1059), 91n77 idea-associated image, 104, 113, 118 idea-associated xiang (image), 235. See also aesthetic attribute(s); aesthetic idea(s); image-associated yi 意 (idea); pictorial yi 意 (idea); yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas); yixiang 意象 (idea-image); yicun bixian 意存筆先 idealism, 226 identification of balanced human nature with universal nature, 207 identification of human beings with the universe, 211n32, 211n34 identification of the self with the universe, 59, 159n44

identification of the self with universal nature, 238 image-associated yi 意 (idea), 113, 116– 17, 122, 130, 235. See also aesthetic attribute(s); aesthetic idea(s); ideaassociated xiang; pictorial yi 意 (idea); yixiang 意象 (idea-image); yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas); yicun bixian 意存筆先 image-associated idea, 113. images beyond images (象外之象 xiangwaizhixiang), 66 imagination in lawfulness with understanding in general, 124n11 imaginative evocation, 7, 114, 120, 122, 125n21, 137, 216–19 immediacy, 44, 221 imitation, 15, 84n4, 153, 163–65, 167, 175–80, 182, 187n31, 198, 237 imitator(s), 143, 176, 178–80, 183, 211n30 impartiality, 217, 222, 228n7 imperviousness to worldly lures, 172, 183 imposition of the subject on the object, 215 improvisational unpredictability, 172, 183 inclination, 21, 147, 197, 199, 223–24, 227, 229n8, 230n14, 230n15, 230n18, 238 incompleteness, 66, 158n33, 209n24 infinity filled with content, 201 ink play, 170, 187n30, 203 inner nature, 47, 62–63, 113, 132, 136, 210n28 inner-peace, 226 innocent infant, 160n47. See also Zhuangzi 庄子 (ca. 369–ca. 286 BC), and innocent baby intellectual love, 219 intermediary between noumena and phenomena, 119 intoxication, 148, 160n49 introspective literary culture, 63

Index

intuition, 84n10, 111–12, 146, 154n4, 159n42, 162n58, 211n30, 220–21 intuitive representation, 45, 108–12, 116, 122, 235 Jiangnan region, 66, 69, 73, 75, 80, 100, 234 Jiang, Ronggang 姜榮剛, 112, 125n15 jiede tianzhen 皆得天真 (just with natural flavor), 71 jieyi panbo 解衣盤礡 (loosening his clothes and sitting with his legs spread out), 114, 125n21 jing 敬 (respect), 218 jing 精 (refined), 166. See also Zhang Yanyuan 張彥遠 (815–875) jing 景 (scene), 42–44, 47, 77, 84n9, 111, 113, 127, 166, 211n30. See also Jing Hao: six essentials of landscape painting jing 境 (realm or world of [a fusion of emotion and scene]), 11n2, 112 Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930), 1–3, 6, 9, 24, 33, 37n23, 41–55, 57, 59–60, 68–71, 73–83, 83n3, 83n4, 84nn6–10, 85n13, 85n14, 85n17, 85n18, 85nn21– 24, 86n27, 86n29, 86n30, 86n31, 87n38, 90n70, 94n104, 99–101, 105, 113, 117, 127–28, 131, 158n34, 164, 174, 185n7, 189, 211n30, 213, 216, 231, 233; classification of landscape painting, 47–48, 51, 166; Lushan Mountains, attributed to, 52; six essentials of landscape painting, 42–46, 99, 105, 111, 150, 166. See also blandness; dan 淡; emergingsubmerging; hua 華; naturalness; shi 實; shi 勢; si 似; submergingemerging; wen 文; zhen 真; zhi 质 jingjie 境界 (a synonym of yijing), 112, 124n13, 124n14, 125n16. See also yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas) jingling 精靈 (essence and spirit), 32, 133, 156n13

277

jingshen 精神 (quintessential spirit), 51, 113 jingying weizhi 經營位置 (division and planning in positioning and arranging [the composition]), 35n1 jinxi 謹細 (careful and elaborate), 166, 185n9. See also Zhang Yanyuan 張彥遠 (815–875) Jixia Academy 稷下學派, 35n6 Johnson, Mark L., 118, 126n29 judgment of reason, 175. See also moral judgment Jullien, François, 4, 6, 36n12, 54–55, 72, 74, 78–79, 86n27, 86n31, 95n112, 125n20, 134, 137, 162n58, 195, 206, 214, 241 Juno Ludovisi, 210n27 Ju Ran 巨然 (active ca. 950–75), 182 Kant, Immanuel, 11n4, 83, 123n2, 124n10, 124n11, 126n25, 126n32, 146, 152, 154, 155n9, 156n16, 156n19, 187n26, 195–96, 199, 201, 203, 207, 208n9, 211n30, 213–14, 229n7, 229n11, 230n14, 230n16; and the account of genius, 8, 101, 103–4, 140, 145, 149–50, 153, 163–65, 173–80, 183, 187n25, 187n27, 188n31, 205, 234, 236–37, 239–40; and adherent beauty and free beauty, 135, 156n17, 156n18; and aesthetic idea and aesthetic attribute, 104–5, 107–13, 115–23n1, 124n12, 125n15, 125n16, 125n18, 126n29, 145, 174, 216, 220, 234–35; and aesthetic judgment, 130, 134, 139, 159n40, 192, 224–25; Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, 159n41; and beautiful art and mechanical art, 127, 135, 145, 156n18, 158n39, 175– 76, 186n9; Critique of the Power of Judgment (Third Critique), 101n1, 125n15, 132; Critique of Practical Reason (Second Critique), 101n1, 132, 175; Critique of Theoretical

278

Index

Reason (First Critique), 132, 159n42, 175; and (dualism between) aesthetic freedom and moral freedom, 139, 192, 221–22, 224, 227, 238; and the dualism of noumena and phenomena, 119, 135–36, 203, 236; and empirical or intellectual interest in the beautiful, 197–99, 209n17, 211n30, 219, 237–38; and focus on the subjective, 122, 210n27, 236; and framework of aesthetics, 9; and good will, 218, 228n8, 229n8; and harmony, 222, 229n9; how to compare qiyun aesthetics with, 6–10, 100–101; and hypotyposis and schema, 220; and the idea of nature giving the rule to art through genius, 127–32, 134–36, 153, 236 (see also tian 天); and influence on Schelling and Schiller, 158n39; issues with applying, 7, 104, 115, 179, 183, 227; and relationship between beauty and morality, 219–21, 224–25, 227, 229n10; and the notion of the spirit animating aesthetic ideas, 103, 113, 115, 119–22, 235 (see also shen 神); and the philosophy of the unconscious, 141, 144–45, 153, 159n42, 241n1; and the possibility of moral cultivation through art, 219– 20, 223, 228; and the term nature in his three Critiques, 132; and the rule which nature gives through genius, 130, 136, 153 (see also tian; Dao); and sensus communis, 224–25; strict rationalist confines of, 8, 145, 237; and the transcendental philosophy, 115, 134, 145, 153, 228, 239; and the transcendental synthesis, 145, 159n42; why make comparison with, 3–5, 99. See also a priori principle of purposiveness (of nature); aesthetic attribute(s); aesthetic autonomy; aesthetic contemplation; aesthetic freedom; aesthetic

idea(s); aesthetic pleasure; artistic spontaneity; beauty: as the symbol of morality; duty-based ethics; formal purposiveness (of nature as aesthetic object); free play; genius; judgment of reason; moral freedom; subjective purposiveness; supersensible substrate of nature Kao, Yu-kung, 7, 30, 103, 104, 108, 111, 113, 116–18, 123n1, 124n14, 126n28, 235. Ke Jiusi 柯九思 (1290–1343), 65 kindred mind(s), 214, 225, 228, 239 kindred spirit(s), 78, 218, 227 Kleist, Heinrich von, 241n1 Kneller, Jane, 198, 209n17, 219–20, 223 knowing how, knowing that, 152, 161n56 kong 空 (emptiness), 87n38 Körner, Gottfried, 210n27, 223 kuoyuan 闊遠 (wide distance or broad distance), 94n101 Lacan, 11n3 landscape painting, 2–3, 6, 9–11, 25, 28, 30–31, 33–34, 36n11, 37n23, 37n27, 37n29, 38n30, 38n32, 38n38, 41–42, 45, 47–52, 54–55, 57, 59–60, 63, 68–71, 73–83, 83n1, 85n13, 85n14, 85n17, 85n21, 86n25, 86n31, 93n97, 94n101, 94n102, 99–101, 103–5, 113, 118–19, 131, 133, 156n11, 158n34, 158n38, 166, 174, 185, 190, 194–95, 206, 213–14, 216, 221–22, 231, 233–34, 238–40. See also cloudy mountains; emergingsubmerging; submerging-emerging Lanting Academy, 65 Laozi 老子, 18, 52, 54–55, 66, 72, 79, 87n32, 94n101, 126n32, 132–33, 136, 147–48, 155n7, 160n46, 160n47 li 禮 (propriety or ritual or courtesy), 52, 58, 218, 222, 228n7, 229n11 li 理 (principle or inner nature), 41, 47, 62, 90n72, 91n72, 213. See also

Index

Neo-Confucianism; Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) Liang Qichao 梁啟超 (1873‒1929), 112 Liaoning Provincial Museum, 38n35 Li Bai 李白 (701–762), 192 Li Cheng 李成 (919–967), 55, 59–60, 70–73, 77, 80, 93n96, 93n97, 106, 143, 158n38, 213 Li Chengsou 李澄叟 (1150–after 1221), 55, 71, 93n97 Lidai Minghua Ji 歷代名畫記 (Record of the Famous Painters of Successive Dynasties), 25, 27–28, 30, 37n22, 38n31, 55, 57, 64, 75, 88n46, 88n47, 95n114, 141, 166. See also Zhang Yanyuan 張彥遠 (815–875) Li Deyu 李德裕 (787–850), 156n10; Discourse on Letters 文章論 (Wenzhang Lun), 155n10 Li Gonglin 李公麟 (1049–1105), 60–61, 63–65, 67, 83, 90n64, 106, 143, 189, 194, 233 Li Kan 李衎 (1245–1320), 131, 154n5; Zhupu 竹譜 (Manual of Bamboo), 144 Li Lingsheng 李靈省 (active ca. 806‒820), 168–69 Li Mengyang 李夢陽 (1475‒1529), 127, 154n2 ling 靈 (soul), 133, 156n13 lingqi 靈氣 (spirit), 121–22, 126n33 lingqu 靈趣 (the free flow of the spirit), 123 linquan dianzhui 林泉點綴 (the embellishments of forests and streams), 73 Linquan Gaozhi 林泉高致 (The Lofty Message of Forests and Streams), 51, 71, 86n25, 216. See also Guo Si 郭思 (d. ca. 1130); Guo Xi 郭熙 (1000–1090) Li Rihua 李日華 (1565–1635), 8, 100, 173, 177–80, 182, 187n29, 237; Zhulan Huaying 竹嬾畫媵 (Li Rihua’s Colophons on Painting), 173, 178

279

Li Sixun 李思訓 (651–718), 33, 94n102 Li Sizhen 李嗣真 (d. 696), 30, 57–58, 88n47, 120, 157n24, 165–66, 214; Hou Huapin Lu 後畫品錄 (The Later Record of the Classification of Painters), 57, 88n47; Shu Houpin 書後品 (Later Classification of Calligraphers), 185n3 literati circle, 56 Li Tian 李畋, 91n73, 168 living and dynamic entity, 2, 33 living rule, 127–28 lixing 離形 (casting off form, or departing from form), 191–92, 199, 201 Li Yu 李煜 (937–978), 59 Li Zhaodao 李昭道 (675–758), 33, 94n102 Li Zehou 李澤厚 (1930–), 4, 11n4, 17, 21–22, 36n15, 38n37, 47, 123n2, 140, 144, 157n28, 161n53, 234 Lin Yutang 林语堂 (1895–1976), 35n3, 46, 49, 122, 156n11, 156n13, 158n36, 196 Liscomb, Kathlyn, 208n12 Liu, Chengji 劉成紀, 161n53 Liu Daochun 劉道醇 (mid-eleventh century), 83n1, 83n4; Shenchao Minghua Ping 聖朝名畫評 (Critique of Famous Painters of the Present Dynasty), 83n4 Liu, James J. Y., 112 Liu Xiang 劉向 (77–6 BC), 35n6 Liu Xie 劉勰 (465–522), 21–24, 29–30, 32, 34, 48–49, 103, 233; Wenxin Diaolong 文心雕龍 (The Literary Mind and The Carving of Dragons), 20–21, 23–24, 30, 48 Liu Xueqi (active ca. 1192) 劉學箕, 100 Liu Yiqing 劉義慶 (403–444), 23. See also fengliu 風流; Shishuo Xinyu 世說新語 (A New Account of Tales of the World) Locke, 116 Loehr, Max, 16–17, 26, 32, 35n4, 39n41, 42–43, 45, 52, 56, 75–76

280

Index

love of form, 225 Lü Benzhong 吕本中 (1084–1145), 128, 154n2 Lu Ji 陸機 (261–303), 30, 81, 103; Wenfu 文賦 (The Poetic Exposition on Literature), 30 Lukács, Georg, 226 Luo Dajing 羅大經 (active ca. 1224), 159n43 Luo Gang 羅剛, 3, 5, 10, 112, 123n2, 234, 239 Lu Tanwei 陸探微 (?–ca. 485), 38n33, 155n10 Lu Zhi 陆治 (1496–1576), 179 Lynn, Richard J., 147 Ma Hezhi 馬和之 (ca. 1130–ca. 1170), 187n30 Mair, Victor H., 26, 37n23 mannerism, 177 mannerist(s), 177–78, 183 mastery (shu 熟), 182 matching up tian with tian 以天合天, 140 Matherne, Samantha, 118 McCausland, Shane, 29 McGhee, Michael, 108–9 mechanical nature, 135 meditation, Buddhist, 8–9, 189, 193–95, 206, 208n10, 219, 237 meditation, Chan, 194–95, 199, 208n10 Mei Yaochen 梅堯臣 (1002–1060), 61 Mencius 孟子 (ca. 372–ca. 289 BC), 20, 45, 84n12, 155n7, 228n1, 228n2 mental image(s), 3, 44–46, 64, 68, 75–77, 99, 105–10, 113, 115, 118, 124n6, 143, 217, 234. See also aesthetic attribute(s); aesthetic idea(s); pictorial yi 意 (idea); xiang 象 (image); yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas); yixiang 意象 (idea-image) mental purity, 173 mental state, detached, 9, 190, 199–200, 208n12, 222, 227, 237

mental state, ideal, 114, 125n19, 134, 137, 190, 194–95, 208n3 mental state, pure, 191 mental state, untrammeled, 128, 137, 237 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 85n22, 241 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 38n30, 74, 93n90, 94n107 miao 妙 (sublime or wonderful), 47, 166, 187n25. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930): classification of landscape painting; miaoge 妙格 (the excellent or wonderful class); miaopin 妙品 (the excellent or wonderful class) miaoge 妙格 (the excellent or wonderful class), 169, 185n2 miaopin 妙品 (the excellent or wonderful class), 154n6, 165–66, 185n2, 186n19, 187n25 Mi Fu 米芾 (1052–1107), 55, 63, 71, 73–74, 77, 80, 83, 86n31, 93n92, 93n97, 100, 106, 164, 170–72, 177– 79, 182, 186n21, 187n30, 189, 202– 3; Huashi 畫史 (Painting History), 69, 71, 87n31, 95n111; Spring Mountains and Pines 春山瑞松圖, attributed to, 94n105, 98. See also cloudy mountains; emergingsubmerging; Mi Youren 米友仁 (1072–1151); submerging-emerging mind being like dead ashes (xinru sihui 心如死灰), 192 mind in accord with the Dao (xinyudaohe 心與道合), 9, 207, 217, 219, 227 mind-body holism, 129, 161n53, 162n58 mind/body dualism, 152, 162n58 mind-print, 56, 58, 60, 82, 89n51, 99, 174, 180, 183, 233–34, 237. See also xinyin 心印 (mind-print) mindscape, 11n2, 61, 112–13, 118, 124n12, 124n14, 235. See also pictorial yi 意 (idea); yijing 意境

Index

(mindscape of aesthetic ideas); yixiang 意象 (idea-image) Ming Dynasty, 88n47, 163 Mi Youren 米友仁 (1072–1151), 55, 69, 71, 73–74, 77, 80, 89n51, 100, 164, 182, 194–95, 203, 206; Cloudy Mountains 雲山圖 by, 94n107; Cloudy Mountains 雲山圖 attributed to, dated to 1130, 203. See also cloudy mountains; emergingsubmerging; submerging-emerging miyuan 迷遠 (lost distance or hidden distance), 94n101 mo 墨 (ink or ink wash), 43–44, 68, 84n9. See also Jing Hao: six essentials of landscape painting monarchical state, 220. See also despotic state moqi 默契 (tacit comprehension), 140 moral attribute, 220 moral autonomy, 135, 224, 227, 229n13, 230n13. See also morally significant autonomy moral character(s), 64, 82, 101, 175, 228n7, 230n18 moral community, 224–28, 238–39 moral conception, 220 moral content, 220 moral conviction, 64, 220 moral cultivation, 1, 9, 36n11, 58, 64, 78, 81–83, 91n77, 185, 213–14, 216, 219–20, 224, 226 moral determination, 230n14 moral dimension: of genius, 8–9, 101, 165, 173, 175, 183, 237; of qi, 45; of qiyun (aesthetics), 3, 8–9, 45–46, 52, 57, 64, 74, 76, 81–82, 101, 164–65, 174–75, 183, 213–14, 219, 227, 231, 233, 237–38, 241; of shenhui, 9, 227 moral disposition, 175, 198–99 moral duty, 224, 227 moral education, 225 moral elevation, 225 moral end(s), 139, 196, 223 moral feeling(s), 198–99, 219–20, 238

281

moral freedom, 9, 220–22, 225, 227, 229n12, 230n14, 238 moral interest, 209n17, 219 moral law, 204–5, 229n8, 229n13 morally significant autonomy, 227 moral mirror, 28 moral perfection, 230n16 moral psychological and moral epistemological relevance, 219 moral relevance, 9–10, 91n77, 95n114, 101, 156n19, 183, 214, 217, 219–20, 222–23, 227, 229n11, 231, 234, 238 moral reason, 220 moral satisfaction, 198–99, 221 moral sense, 220, 227, 238 moral sentiment(s), 175, 217, 222–24, 227, 228n7, 230n16, 238 moral significance, 9, 213, 215, 217, 222, 224, 227–28, 239 moving force, 20–22, 232. See also vital force Muxi 牧谿 (ca. 1200–after 1279), 170 Munakata, Kiyohiko, 39n40, 43–46, 48– 50, 71, 84n5, 84n6, 85n14, 85n17, 86n26. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930) mundane desire, 209n15, 222 Murray, Bradley, 187n27 National Palace Museum, Taipei, 52, 86n28, 93n93, 94n99, 94n105, 96, 98, 184, 186n22, 195–96, 209n13, 209n14 natural inventiveness, 229n9 naturalness, 52–53, 69, 167 Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, 93n97, 209n14 Nelson, Susan E., 143, 165, 168, 170– 72, 178–79, 183, 185n5, 186n10, 187n24, 187n28, 187n29 nengge 能格 (the competent or skilled class), 166, 185n2, 186n18. See also nengpin 能品 (the competent or skilled class)

282

Index

nengpin 能品 (the competent or skilled class), 154n6, 165–66, 169, 185n2, 186n11, 186n19 Neo-Confucianism, 84n6, 90n72, 160n45, 208n12, 211n34 Neo-Confucian scholar(s), 90n72, 217–18 Neo-Daoism, 190, 200, 209n18 Neo-Daoist scholar(s), 147, 200 New Policies group, 65, 91n78, 92n78. See also Emperor Shenzong （北宋）神宗 (1048–1085; reign: 1067–1085); Emperor Zhezong （北宋）哲宗 (1077–1100; reign: 1085–1100); Old Policies group; Wang Anshi 王安石 (1021–1086) ningshen 凝神 (concentration or being absorbed spiritually), 63, 91n76, 129, 141–42, 158n30, 194 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 125n16, 160n49, 241n1 Ni Zan 倪瓚 (1301–1374), 111, 141, 143, 170–73, 178–80, 182, 187n23, 188n33; Rongxi Studio 容膝齋圖 by, 184, 186n22 nonchalance, 172–73 northerner learning diving, 151 Northern Song, 1, 15, 22, 28, 51, 55, 57, 59–61, 63–64, 80, 83n1, 83n4, 86n31, 87n40, 90n72, 91n77, 94n99, 106, 127, 131, 143, 166, 171, 192, 194–95, 209n14 not seeking outward likeness when having adequate yi (意足不求顏色似 yizu buqiu yanse si), 63 noumena, 119, 126n32, 135, 238 noumenal being, 223 noumenal ego, 203 noumenon, 135–36, 204, 207 Nuyen, A. T., 218, 229n8 Nymph of the Luo River 洛神賦圖, 28, 38n35. See also Cao Zhi 曹植 (192–232); Gu Kaizhi 顧愷之 (ca. 345–ca. 406)

Obert, Mathias, 161n52, 241 objective purposiveness of nature, 136, 153, 236 observing things in terms of things (yiwu guanwu 以物觀物), 91n72 Odes [Shijing 詩經], 160n45 Old Policies group, 65, 91n78, 92n78 one-stroke (一劃 yihua), 132–34, 155n10, 157n27, 163, 179. See also fa of no fa (rule of no rule); Shi Tao Osborne, Harold, 17, 19, 27, 31, 35n3 Otabe, Tanehisa, 11n5, 129, 135, 141, 144–45, 236 othering of the self, 4–5, 11 Ouyang Jiong 歐陽炯 (896–971), 169 Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007–1072), 22, 56, 60–61, 63, 83, 90n70, 91n78, 93n97, 105–6, 117, 233; Jian Hua 鑒畫 (On Looking at Paintings), 61; Panche Tu 盤車圖 (Turning Oxcarts Picture), 61. See also xiaotiao danbo 蕭條淡泊 (loneliness and tranquillity); xianhe yanjing 閑和嚴靜 (relaxed harmony and awesome stillness) overcoming of self-consciousness, 8, 91n76, 129–30, 137, 140–41, 153– 54, 158n38, 180, 208n3, 208n10, 236–37 Owen, Stephen, 20–21, 36n10, 44, 46, 84n10, 85n15, 85n17, 86n31 Palace Museum, Beijing, 38n35 Palmquist, Stephen R., 4 Pan, An-yi, 194 Pei Xiaoyuan 裴孝源, 28; Zhenguan Gongsi Hualu 貞觀公私畫錄 (Record of Paintings in Public and Private Collections in the Zhenguan Era, 627–50), 28 Peng, Feng 彭鋒, 112, 124n14, 125n17 Peng Jian 彭堅, 169 Peng, Lai 彭萊, 58–59, 82, 91n77, 217

Index

perception, 34, 44, 61, 75, 118, 138, 140, 154n4, 155n8, 163, 191, 200, 203, 207; of existence or reality, or the natural world as processual, 36n12, 50, 73, 116, 118, 119, 148, 204 perfect bamboo formed in the breast (胸中成竹 xiongzhong chengzhu), 124n4 Perfect Man, 133, 157n22 phenomena, 9, 90n68, 119, 133, 135, 219, 238 phenomenal being, 219, 223 phenomenal nature/world, 72, 119, 135, 156n19, 203–4, 207, 236 phenomenal self, 203 phenomenon, 6, 31, 135, 204, 207 petty person (小人 xiaoren), 45, 58 pictorial yi 意 (idea), 7, 41, 61, 68, 93n91, 100, 103–6, 109–11, 113, 115, 117–18, 122, 124n6, 126n24, 151, 174, 186n19, 192, 216–17, 220, 234–35, 237. See also aesthetic idea; image-associated yi; idea-associated xiang; yixiang 意象 (idea-image); yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas) pingdan 平淡 (bland), 86n31 pingdan duozi 平淡多姿 (bland but charming), 71, 94n98 pingyuan 平遠 (level distance), 94n101 Plato, 31, 126n24 playful brushwork, 203. See also ink play Pohl, Karl-Heinz, 7–8, 51, 86n29, 103, 112–13, 127–28, 132, 149, 156n20, 163 political community, 226 political corruption, 226 political justice, 225 political rivalry, 65, 92n78 political significance, 226, 228, 229n11 Powers, Martin J., 17, 37n23, 46, 50, 85n15, 85n17, 86n26, 91n74

283

practical reason, 101n1, 156n19, 175, 220–21, 223, 229n13 practical satisfaction, 196 practical utilities, 139, 196 precursory sign, 54 predetermined rule, 130, 133, 153 predisposition, 99, 103, 150, 198–99 Prince Dongping Jun (1008–1069), 87n40 Princess Shuguo (1051–1080), 92n79. See also Wang Shen 王詵 (ca. 1036–1104) processual metaphysics, 78, 117, 233, 235 prolonged life, 206 pseudo-hermit, 209n15 purposiveness without purpose, 135. See also a priori principle of purposiveness (of nature); formal purposiveness; subjective purposiveness pure and free mind, 139, 194, 206 pure reason, 159n42, 175 purification of the mind, 190, 206, 219 qi 氣, 36n11, 36n15, 36n18, 37n21, 38n37, 84n6, 89n59, 95n109, 95n112, 151, 160n47, 191, 204, 209n21, 222, 242n2; as Jing Hao’s first essential of landscape painting, 42–52, 54, 75–80, 84n7, 85n13, 86n27, 113, 150, 166, 174, 216, 234; dynamic, or dynamic essence of, 18, 22, 36n12, 46, 50–51, 54, 73, 77, 79, 83, 86n27, 86n28, 161n52, 232; in Guo Ruoxu’s text, 60, 89n58, 155n10; meanings from pre-Qin up to the Six Dynasties and in Xie He’s text, 16, 18–26, 29–34, 35n5, 36n8, 36n10, 39n42, 39n43, 84n12, 84n13, 156n10, 231–33; psychophysiological dimension of, 18–20, 22, 49–50, 232; renderings of, 16–26, 232; spiritual dimension of, 8, 22,

284

Index

129, 152, 161n53, 162n58, 232; of yipin masters, 173, 180; Zhang Zai’s and Cheng Hao’s understanding of, 58, 89n52, 89n53, 217 qi 奇 (distinctive), 47, 166. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930): classification of landscape painting Qian Du 錢杜 (1763–1844), 178 qiangua 乾卦, 23, 134, 156n14 Qian Wenshi 錢聞詩 (12th century), 55, 72, 94n104 Qian Zhongshu 錢鐘書 (1910–1998), 17, 24, 26 qiao 巧 (skillful), 47, 51, 166. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930): classification of landscape painting qili 氣力 (the strength of qi), 33, 39n43 qimai 氣脈 (breathing thread), 133, 155n10, 156n13 qing 情 (feelings or emotion), 61 Qing Dynasty, 91n72, 112, 116, 146, 163, 178, 185n5, 234 qingrun ke’ai 清潤可愛 (fresh with luminosity and charm), 72 qingxin 清新 (originality), 62, 90n69 Qiu Qingyu 丘慶餘, 89n59 Qiu Shiyuan 丘士元, 61, 90n63, 105 qixiang 氣象 (the image of qi), 60, 67, 90n61, 133, 156n13 qiyun 氣韻 (spirit consonance), 8, 10, 36n9, 36n15, 36n17, 38n37, 39n41, 39n43, 39n44, 61, 83n1, 83n4, 87n34, 90n59, 95n110, 95n112, 126n26, 133, 151, 161n52, 186n15, 186n19, 187n25, 200, 203, 209n21, 222, 228n5, 240, 242n1; aesthetics, 3–7, 9, 11, 41, 78, 80, 95n109, 99, 101, 104, 120, 122–23, 128–29, 134, 137, 146–48, 150, 153–54, 164–65, 181–83, 190, 203–5, 207, 211n34, 214, 219, 224–28, 229n12, 233–41; analogy with shen, 31–32, 116–17, 133; as a reflection of conception of existence as processual, 33, 78–80, 83, 233; bodily dimension of, 8,

161n53, 241; four dimensions in figure painting, 2, 16, 31–32, 34, 116–17, 232–33; four dimensions in landscape painting, 2, 74–78, 82–83, 116–17, 233; Guo Ruoxu’s account of, 3, 32, 34, 39n44, 41, 44, 46, 55–60, 63–64, 76, 80–83, 88n45, 89n57, 89n58, 99–101, 103, 111, 114, 117, 119–21, 125n20, 127–28, 130–31, 134, 137, 140, 143, 146, 150, 153, 154n5, 165, 169, 174–76, 180, 182–83, 189, 213–14, 216, 231, 233; impossibility of teaching or imitating, 3, 8, 88n45, 143, 150, 164–65, 169, 175–76, 180, 183, 209n22, 231, 237 (see also qiyun feishi 氣韻非師); Jing Hao’s application of, 2–3, 33, 41–43, 45–47, 51–53, 57, 59, 68, 70, 75–76, 78–79, 81, 83, 84n10, 101, 117, 131, 213, 231, 233; moral dimension of, 3, 8–9, 45–46, 52, 57–58, 64, 74, 76, 81–82, 101, 164–65, 174–75, 183, 213–19, 227, 231, 233, 237–38, 241; in relation to yipin, 164–65, 167–69, 174, 180, 183, 237; renderings of, 2, 16–17, 25, 27, 88n49, 89n58; spiritual dimension of, 8, 161n53, 241; Tang Hou’s criterion of, 3, 41, 66–70, 73, 75–78, 80, 82, 100–101, 117, 213, 231, 233; Xie He’s term in his first law, 1–2, 15–17, 19, 25–34, 34n1, 35n3, 37n23, 37n26, 37n27, 39n42, 51, 63, 67, 90n70, 91n74, 117, 120, 231–33; Zhang Yanyuan’s adoption of, 2, 25, 27, 33, 55, 66, 81, 85n18, 89n50, 141, 231–33 qiyun feishi 氣韻非師 (the impossibility of teaching qiyun), 3. See also qiyun 氣韻 (spirit consonance): impossibility of teaching or imitating qiyun-focused aesthetics, 1, 116, 236. See also qiyun 氣韻 (spirit consonance): aesthetics

Index

qiyun-focused artist(s), 7–8, 10, 115, 118, 123, 128–29, 137, 140–41, 151–53, 190–91, 194, 199, 202, 204, 206–8n3, 211n30, 221, 227, 236–37 qiyun-focused landscape painting or art, 9, 101, 103, 119, 190, 214, 218–19, 231, 238 qiyun-focused art or painting, 1, 4, 6–7, 78, 119, 122–23, 125n18, 144, 156n19, 164, 227, 235 qiyun-focused (painting or landscape painting or artistic) context, 1, 5–10, 31, 101, 104, 118, 122, 127, 129–30, 136, 153, 161n52, 180, 183, 190, 199–200, 213–14, 217–18, 220–23, 225–26, 228, 234–37, 241 qiyun shuanggao 氣韻雙高, 60, 89n58 qiyun shengdong 氣韻生动 (through spirit consonance engendering a sense of life), 1–2, 15–17, 25–27, 29, 34n1, 35n3, 37n26, 67, 74, 88n45, 120, 186n19, 231–32 quasi-subsumption, 145 qu 趣 (flavor), 41, 61, 186n19 quiescence, 217 quzhi 去智 (doing away with understanding, or rejecting discrimination), 191–92, 199, 201 Rao Ziran 饒自然 (1312–1365), 100, 114, 121; Huizong Shier Ji 繪宗十二忌 (The Twelve Faults in Painting Tradition), 110 rational freedom, 230n14 rational idea, 104–5, 109–11, 122, 235 rationality, 9, 190, 200–202, 225 rationalism, 116, 129, 146, 230n14 reflective judgment, 135, 156n19 ren 仁 (benevolence or humaneness), 58, 218, 228n7, 229n8 renpin 人品 (man’s condition or character), 57, 88n49 representation(s), 1, 15, 24–25, 28, 38n30, 45, 119–20, 124n11, 134, 142, 173, 202, 206, 211n30, 213,

285

220, 235; formal, 2, 32–33, 51, 63, 67, 73, 79, 92n88, 116–18, 123, 167–68, 171, 174, 180, 204, 237; of the imagination, 104, 107–13, 116, 122, 125n15, 145, 220, 235; outside self-consciousness, 159n42 rock friends 石友, 218 Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 204–5, 211n33 rule of nature, 128–29, 131, 138, 153–54, 177, 180, 236. See also rule of no rule rule of no rule, 128–29, 132–33. See also one-stroke (一劃 yihua); Shi Tao sage, 23, 48, 64, 81, 121, 131, 147, 149, 157n22, 160n47, 191, 200, 217 sagehood, 217 scenes beyond scenes (境外之境 jingwaizhijing), 66 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph, 144, 158n39, 159n39, 236, 241n1 Schiller, Friedrich, 4, 10, 11n4, 123n2, 211n31, 211n33; and absolute existence or rational nature, 210n26; and the account of completing human nature through art, 10, 101, 190, 199, 201–5, 207, 223, 238; and aesthetic determinability, 201, 210n25, 223; and autonomy (self-determinedfrom-within) and heautonomy (notbeing-determined-from-without), 202, 210n28, 223, 230n13; and dynamic state and ethical state, 225, 230n18; and empty infinity (abstract determinability), 201; and form and content, 190, 204, 210n28, 211n30, 238; and form-drive, formal drive, or rational drive, 204, 210n26; and incomplete human nature, 205, 209n24; and internalized inclination, 223–24, 227, 230n15, 238; and the interplay of self-consciousness and unselfconsciousness, 144, 158n39, 159n39, 236, 241n1; and nature in

286

Index

artfulness/lawfulness and artfulness/ technique in freedom, 210n28, 211n30; and person and condition, 203–4, 207; and physical existence or sensuous nature, 210n26; and physical state (the state of nature), aesthetic state, and moral state (the state of right), 205, 225–26; and play drive, 9, 125n16, 190, 201–4; and sense-drive, or sensuous drive, 204, 210n26; and the modified Kantian views of the relationship of art and morality, 213–14, 222–28, 229n13, 230n14, 238, 239; and the notions of beauty as living form or freedom in appearance, energizing beauty, ideal beauty, and melting beauty, 202, 210n27, 211n30, 223; and transcendental unity within dualism, 207, 228, 238, 239. See also aesthetic freedom; human nature; Kant: and influence on Schelling and Schiller scholar-artist(s), 1, 30, 41, 54, 57, 60, 63–64, 66, 68, 73, 76, 92n82, 92n88, 93n95, 99–100, 105–6, 111, 114–15, 117, 120–21, 127–28, 141, 143–44, 171, 178, 189, 197, 206, 209, 217, 226, 233–34 Schopenhauer, 4, 10, 11n4, 123n2, 125n16, 125n18, 241n1 Scruton, Roger, 4 se 色 (form), 87n38 Seiichi, Taki, 35n3 self-consciousness, 8, 91n76, 124n10, 129, 137, 140–44, 146, 148, 152–54, 158n38, 159n39, 159n42, 180, 200, 208n3, 208n10, 231, 236–37 self-expression, 117–18 sengdie 僧跌 (sitting in meditation), 195 sensibility, 9, 190, 200–202, 209n21, 209n24, 223, 225, 229n13, 230n14, 238 sensuous impression(s), 201–2 sensuous interest(s), 139–40, 192, 196

sentimentalism, 190 sentimentalist wing of Neo-Daoism, 190, 200 shanshui zhixiang qishi xiangsheng 山水之象氣勢相生, 50, 86n27. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930); qi 氣; shi 勢 Shao Hong 邵宏, 26 Shao Yong 邵雍 (1011–1077), 90n72, 91n72 Sharpe, Lesley, 204 shen 神 (spirit), 19, 38n39, 41, 64, 79, 88n45, 89n59, 95n112, 131, 138, 140, 142, 153, 156n13, 168, 179, 215; analogy with qiyun, 116–17, 133; animating pictorial yi, 7, 103–4, 113–15, 119, 122, 146, 234–35 (see also Kant: and the notion of the spirit animating aesthetic ideas); categories or dimensions of, 29–30, 116–17; carefree wandering of, 32, 114, 123, 137, 195–96; in the classification of Chinese painting, 166–67, 187n25; Gu Kaizhi’s notion of (transmitting), 2, 27, 29–31, 37n27, 38n38, 63, 90n70, 117; in Jing Hao’s classification of landscape painting, 47, 113, 166; in Zong Bing’s text, 31, 38n38, 57, 121–22; of the artist, 7, 103, 113–15, 119, 121–23, 146, 222, 234–36. See also carefree wandering of the spirit; chuanshen or transmitting shen; Zong Bing: rejoicing in the spirit (changshen) shencai 神采 (spiritual character), 76, 89n59, 90n59 Sheng Dashi 盛大士 (1771–?), 178; Xishan Woyou Lu 溪山臥游錄 (Dream Journey among Rivers and Mountains), 126n22 shengdong 生動 (engendering a sense of movement or life), 1–2, 15–17, 25–27, 29, 33, 34n1, 35n3, 37n21, 37n23, 37n26, 67, 74, 88n45, 120, 182, 186n19, 231–32

Index

shenhui 神會 (spiritual communion), 8–9, 30–31, 56–57, 59–60, 63–64, 76–78, 82–83, 88n43, 91n73, 111, 119–22, 127, 129–30, 133, 144, 146, 154, 157n24, 168, 186n14, 194, 200, 214–15, 217–19, 221, 227–28, 228n1, 237–39, 241 shenjun 神俊 (spiritual excellence), 59, 134 Shen Kuo 沈括 (1031–1095), 94n99, 131, 157n24, 214; Mengxi Bitan 夢溪筆談 (Dream Pool Essays), 91n73 shenming chuyan 神明出焉 (The bright spirit shines forth), 215 shenpin 神品 (the divine or inspired class), 67, 154n6, 165–67, 169, 177, 182–83, 185n2, 186n11, 186n19, 187n25 shenqi 神氣 (spirit and breath), 70 shensi 神思 (spiritual thinking), 30, 103 Shen Xiu 神秀 (606–706), 193, 208n5 shenyu 神遇 (spiritual communion), 133–34, 138, 156n13, 157n24. See also shenhui 神會 (spiritual communion) shenyuan 深遠 (deep distance), 94n101 shenyun 神韻, 19, 30, 33, 36n9, 36n17, 39n43, 67, 144, 216, 228n5 shenzhu 神助 (aided by divinities), 131 Shen Yue 沈約 (411–513), 24 shen yu wanwu jiao 神與萬物交 ([The artist’s] shen is in communion with thousands of things), 64 Shen Zhou 沈周 (1427–1509), 179, 181, 188n33, 206, 208n12; Seated alone at Night by, 195 Shen Zongqian 沈宗騫 (1736–1820), 100, 122–23, 126n33, 128, 141, 144, 177–78, 182, 205–6; Jiezhou Xuehua Bian 芥舟學畫編 (Jiezhou’s Study on Painting) by, 121 shi 實 (reality/truth/(essential) substance), 47–49, 53–55, 71–73, 85n21, 87n35, 87n36, 87n38,

287

94n108, 118. See also hua 華; Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930); shi 勢; si 似; wen 文; zhen 真; zhi 质 shi 勢 (force or momentum), 46, 50, 85n24, 86n27. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930) Shih, Hsio-Yen, 37n21, 43, 88n49, 90n59, 92n81, 92n87, 124n9, 125n20, 157n28, 186n14, 228n6 Shih, Vincent Yu-chung, 36n16 Shi Jie 石介 (1005–1045), 91n77 Shimada, Shujiro, 66, 165–70, 174, 177, 186n20, 187n29 shiqi 士氣 (scholar spirit), 173–74, 179–80, 183, 187n24. See also buluo qijing 不落畦徑 (not to follow the trodden path); buru shiqu 不入時趨 (not to go in for the taste of the time) Shishuo Xinyu 世說新語 (A New Account of Tales of the World), 23, 29, 39n42, 185n8, 200. See also Liu Yiqing 劉義慶 (403–444) Shi Tao (1642–ca. 1707) 石濤, 3, 8, 100, 128, 133–36, 140–41, 143–44, 154n2, 155n10, 156n11, 156n13, 157n24, 157n27, 163–64, 179, 182, 205, 237; Kugua Heshang Huayulu 苦瓜和尚畫語錄 (The Remarks of the Bitter Mellon Monk), 132–33. See also fa of no fa (rule of no rule); one-stroke (一劃 yihua); rule of no rule shiyin 市隐 (reclusion in the city), 209n15 shuiyun mozhang 水暈墨章 (watered ink for graded wash), 52 Shusterman, Richard, 160n51 si 似 (likeness/lifelikeness), 47–49, 53–54, 75, 79, 85n18, 85n21, 233. See also hua 華; Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930); shi 實; shi 勢; wen 文; zhen 真; zhi 质 si 思 (thinking), 42–44, 77, 84n9, 113. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca.

288

Index

930): six essentials of landscape painting Sickman, Laurence, 38n35 Silbergeld, Jerome, 90n68 Sikong Tu 司空圖 (837–908), 66; Ershisi Shipin 二十四詩品 (The Twenty-four Categories of Poetry), 86n31 Sima Guang 司马光 (1019–1086), 65, 91n78, 92n78; Zizhi Tongjian 資治通鑒 (Comprehensive Mirror in Aid of Governance), 15 Sima Qian 司马迁 (145 BC – ca. 86 BC); Shi Ji 史记 (Records of the Grand Historian), 37n19 sincerity or sincere will, 9, 53, 82, 95n115, 214, 217–19, 221–22, 224, 227–29n8, 238. See also cheng 誠; Kant: and good will Singh, Danesh, 147 Sirén, Osvald, 26, 35n3, 38n32, 38n33 sitting in forgetfulness (zuowang 坐忘), 189, 191, 193–95, 208n12 Six Dynasties, 1–2, 10, 15–16, 18, 20, 22, 28–30, 33–34, 38n34, 39n43, 42, 47, 50–51, 60, 78, 80, 82–84n13, 89n59, 116, 152, 181, 190, 200, 209n18, 209n21, 231–33 skillfulness (gong 工), 182 Slingerland, Edward, 129, 147, 152, 160n45, 161n54, 162n58 Snow Poem Picture 雪詩圖, 62, 105. See also Duan Zanshan 段讚善; Zheng Gu 鄭谷 (ca. 848–ca. 910) somaesthetics, 160n51, 242n2 somatic practice, 149, 151, 153, 231, 237 somatic training, 8, 129, 149–51, 154, 160n51, 161n52, 237, 241 Song Dao 宋道 (11th century), 59 Song Di 宋迪 (ca. 1015–ca. 1080), 59 Song Dynasty, 34, 38n35, 41, 66–67, 110, 164, 169, 174, 211n34 Song Shu 宋書 (History of Song), 87n40 Song Xie 宋澥, 59

Soper, Alexander, 16, 19–20, 22–23, 25–26, 29–31, 34, 35n1, 35n3, 37n24, 38n32, 59, 70, 88n41, 88n43, 88n49, 89n58, 89n59, 90n61, 90n63, 120, 165, 172, 209n21, 232 Southern Dynasties, 15–16, 21, 57, 100, 121, 155n10, 214 Southern Song, 60, 71–72, 83n1, 91n72, 158n38, 169–70, 177, 186n11, 196, 218 spirit-energy, 20, 22, 24, 31, 120, 123, 214, 222, 225, 233 spiritual communion, 2, 8–9, 30–31, 34, 36n11, 46, 56–57, 75–77, 119, 121– 22, 127, 133, 144, 194, 213–15, 224, 233, 237, 241. See also shenhui spiritual kinship, 9, 119, 121, 171, 214, 217–18, 225–28, 239 spiritual purification, 189, 195 Stanley-Baker, Joan, 63, 78, 91n74, 92n87 Sterckx, Roel, 162n58 stoicism, 230n14 straightforwardness, 217 Sturman, Peter C., 38n30 suilei fucai 隨類敷彩 (conformity to kind [of objects] in applying colours), 35n1, 51, 169 Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101), 22, 56, 60–65, 68–69, 83, 88n41, 90n64, 90n70, 91n76, 91n77, 92n78, 92n79, 100, 105–8, 120, 124n4, 127–28, 142, 144, 146, 148–49, 151–52, 154n2, 154n5, 158n35, 164, 189, 194, 214, 218, 226, 233, 235; Crow Terrace Poetry Trial (烏台詩案 Wutai Shi’an), 91n78; Jingyin Yuan Huaji 淨因院畫記 (Essay on Painting in Jingyin Monastery), 62; Shu Boshi Shanzhuangtu Hou 書伯時山莊圖后 (Written after Li Gonglin’s Mountain Villa Picture), 64; Shu Chao Buzhi Suocang Yuke Huazhu 書晁補之所藏與可畫竹

Index

(Written on Wen Tong’s Bamboo Painting Collected by Chao Buzhi), 63; Shu Mojie Lantian Yanyu Tu 書摩詰藍田煙雨圖 (Written on Wang Wei’s Lantian in Misty Rain Picture), 62; Shu Yanling Wang Zhubu Suohua Zhezhi Er’shou 書鄢陵王主簿所畫折枝二首 (Two Poems Written on Paintings of a Broken Branch by Assistant Magistrate Wang of Yanling), 62; Ti Wang Wei Wu Daozi Hua 題王維吳道子畫 (Comments on Wang Wei’s and Wu Daozi’s Paintings), 90n67; Wen Yuke Hua Mozhu Pingfeng Zan 文與可畫墨竹屏風讚 (Eulogy to Wen Tong’s Ink Bamboo Painting on Screen), 64; written on Wang Shen’s Misty River and Layered Hills, 72. See also changli 常理 (inner nature); tianzhen 天真 (natural perfection, natural truth, or naturalness) subjective purposiveness, 136, 236 submerging-emerging, 53–54, 69–70, 73, 81, 94n108, 118. See also emerging-submerging Sullivan, Michael, 17, 28, 30, 38n30, 38n32, 42, 45 Sun Fu 孫復 (992–1057), 91n77 Sun Wei 孫位 (active the late 9th century), 168–70, 172 Sun Zhiwei 孫知微 (11th century), 170 supernatural being, 29, 38n39 supersensible substrate of nature, 135– 36, 236 Śūraṅgama-samadhi-sutra (Lengyan Jing 楞嚴經), 193 Su Zhe 蘇轍 (1039–1112), 91n78, 142 Suzuki, Daisetz Teitaro, 208n5, 208n6, 208n10 symbol, 104, 108–9, 122, 136, 175, 220, 224, 227, 235, 238 sympathetic resonance, 21, 31, 35n5, 46, 122–23, 216, 218, 222, 224, 227, 233

289

sympathetic response, 23, 26, 34, 200, 209n21, 232 sympathetic responsiveness, 16, 23, 31 synthesis of Confucianism and Daoism, 3, 59, 69, 74, 78, 83, 119, 213, 233, 236 synthesis of Daoism and Confucianism, 54, 211n34 Tang Binglong 湯炳龍 (1242–after 1322 or 1323), 66, 92n82, 92n84 Tangchao Minghua Lu 唐朝名畫錄 (Record of Famous Painters of the Tang Dynasty), 166, 168–69, 185n6. See also Zhu Jingxuan 朱景玄 (active 841–846) Tang Dai 唐岱 (1673–1752), 74 Tang Hou 湯垕 (ca. 1255–ca. 1317), 1, 3, 6, 9, 41–42, 55, 65–78, 80, 82, 90n71, 92n81, 92n82, 92n83, 92n84, 92n87, 92n88, 93n89, 93n95, 93n97, 94n102, 99–101, 106–8, 110, 114, 117, 124n6, 143, 164, 170, 177, 187, 189, 213, 224, 231, 233–35; Gujin Huajian 古今畫鑒 (Criticism of Past and Present Painting), 65; Huajian 畫鑒 (Criticism of Painting), 65, 68, 70, 75, 90n71, 92n80, 92n82, 170; Hualun 畫論 (A Discussion of Painting), 65, 92n80; six criteria of appreciating paintings, 67–69. See also cloudy mountains; emergingsubmerging; guyi 古意 (idea or flavor of antiquity); submergingemerging; xieyi 寫意 (sketching the idea); xinyi 新意 (original idea, flavor or sense) Tang Shuya 汤叔雅 (active ca. 1130s–1140s), 69, 164 Tang Yin 唐寅 (1470–1524), 181 Tang Zhiqi 唐志契 (1579–1651), 74, 100, 171–73, 177, 180, 188n33 Tao Qian 陶潛 (365?–427), 90n68 taste, 1, 10, 11n3, 53–54, 56, 63–64, 66–67, 69, 73, 119, 139, 157n25,

290

Index

160n50, 170, 173, 185n2, 193–94, 197–98, 208n9, 224, 227, 229n9, 234, 238 Tauber, Zvi, 225 theoretical reason, 175 tian 天 (heaven or nature), 56, 99, 134, 139–40, 148, 157n26, 167, 189, 211n35, 231; analogy with Kant’s notion of nature, 129–30, 132, 136, 153, 236; endowing artistic spontaneity, 7, 128, 130–32, 153, 180–81, 205, 231; meanings in Chinese philosophy, 88n44, 131–32, 155n7; rule of, 7–8, 153, 180–81, 231; supersensible substrate of, 153, 236; transcendental element of, 7, 126n25, 128, 136, 235–36. See also matching up tian with tian tiancheng 天成 (natural creation), 131, 155n6 tiandi 天地 (universe), 121, 131, 133– 34, 157n27 tiangong 天工 (natural genius or craft), 62–63, 68, 90n69 tianhe 天和 (natural harmony), 130–31 tianji 天機 (motive force of heaven), 127, 130–31 tianyi 天意 (the ideas of nature), 131 tianzhen 天真 (natural perfection, natural truth, or naturalness), 69, 73, 77, 93n92. See also jiede tianzhen 皆得天真 (just with natural flavor); tianzhen lanman 天真爛漫 (natural and undecorative) tianzhen lanman 天真爛漫 (natural and undecorative), 71, 94n98 tianzong 天縱 (endowed by nature), 131 timao 體貌 (composition and appearance), 70 timu 題目 (motif or theme), 109 tongsheng xiangying 同聲相應 (notes of the same key respond to one another), 23 transcendence of self-consciousness, 140, 144. See also overcoming

of self-consciousness; unselfconsciousness transcendental deduction, 197, 207 transmitting shen, 29–31, 63, 117. See also chuanshen 傳神 (conveying/ transmitting the spirit) trinity of individual, Heaven and Earth, 59, 211n34 Tuhua Jianwen Zhi 圖畫見聞誌 (An Account of My Experiences in Painting), 28, 55, 57, 59, 88n41, 88n42, 88n45, 89n58, 89n59, 90n60, 91n73, 91n75, 114, 128, 155n10, 169. See also Guo Ruoxu 郭若虛 (11th century) Tu Long 屠隆 (1542–1605), 188n33 Turner, William, 240 Tu Wei-ming, 18, 78, 215–16, 228n2 unity of opposites, 54 universality, 11, 120, 217, 222, 224, 228n7 unselfconsciousness, 7–8, 113, 124n10, 129, 140–44, 146, 148, 152–53, 157n29, 158n35, 159n39, 159n42, 182, 208n10, 236, 241n1. See also forgetfulness; overcoming of self-consciousness; transcendence of self-consciousness; wang 忘 (forgetfulness) vacuity, 217 Vandenabeele, Bart, 230n17 Vanderstappen, Harrie A., 46 Vermeer, 187n31 Vinograd, Richard, 185n2, 185n5 virtue-based ethics, 229n8. See also Confucian ethics vital force, 18, 20–22, 24, 31, 43, 46– 47, 49, 160n47, 232–33 vital energy, 17–19, 22, 24, 47, 49, 84n7, 120 Waley, Arthur, 35n3, 38n32, 84n11, 85n20

Index

wang 忘 (forgetfulness), 128–29, 141, 143, 157n29. See also unselfconsciousness Wang Anshi 王安石 (1021–1086), 22, 65, 91n78, 92n78, 192; Du Weimo Jing Yougan 讀維摩經有感 (After Reading the Weimojie Jing), 208n4 Wang Bi 王弼 (226–249), 55, 79, 147, 200 Wang, Eugene Y., 63, 73, 76, 80, 87n39, 93n97 Wang Guowei 王國維 (1877–1927), 3– 4, 7, 11n4, 109, 112, 123n2, 124n13, 125n16, 125n18, 234 Wang Juzheng 王居正, 89n57 Wang Keyu 汪珂玉 (1587–after 1644), 74 Wang Meng 王蒙 (ca. 1308–1385), 182 Wang Mo 王墨 (ca. 734–805), 148, 168, 177 Wang Qinchen 王欽臣 (ca. 1034–1101), 59, 134, 189–90 Wang Shen 王詵 (ca. 1036–1104), 55, 65, 72–74, 77, 80, 91n78, 92n79, 94n102; Misty River and Layered Hills 煙江疊嶂圖, 72 Wang Shiyuan 王士元, 59–60 Wang Shizhen 王世貞 (1526–1590); Wangshi Huayuan 王氏畫苑 (Wang’s Compilation of Texts on Painting), 53 Wang Shouren 王守仁 (1472–1528), 217 Wang Wei 王微 (415–443), 27–28, 37n29, 38n31, 57, 83, 189, 233; Xu Hua 敘畫 (Discussion of Painting), 28 Wang Wei 王維 (699?–761?), 43, 52, 62, 90n67, 131, 178; Lantian in Misty Rain Picture 藍田煙雨圖, 62 Wang, Weijia 王維嘉, 220 Wang Xianzhi 王獻之 (344–386), 48, 93n92 Wang Xizhi 王羲之 (303–361), 48, 64, 109, 123, 144, 155n10 Wang Yu 王昱 (? –1748), 206, 216

291

Wang Yuanqi 王原祁 (1642–1715), 100, 121, 123, 141, 143–44, 171, 179; Lutai Tihuagao 麓台題畫稿 (Wang Yuanqi’s Colophons on Painting), 111; Yuchuang Manbi 雨窗漫筆 (Random Writings by a Rainy Window), 114 wanwu 萬物 (ten thousand things), 64, 190–91, 207n1 Way, Peter, 26 wei 為 (acting with specific intention and conscious effort), 147–48 Wei Kingdom, 20, 147, 200 Weimojie Jing 維摩詰經 (Vimalakirti Sutra), 208n4 Wei Shuo 衛鑠 (272–349), 109 Wei Xie 衛協 (active late 3rd century– early 4th century), 32 wen 文 (pattern or outward appearance), 47–49, 85n20. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930); zhi 质 (substance or essence) wenzhang 文章 (outer appearances), 47 Wen Tong 文同 (1019–1079), 63–64, 92n79, 105–6, 131, 142, 146, 154n5, 158n35. See also ningshen 凝神 (concentration or being absorbed spiritually); perfect bamboo formed in the breast (胸中成竹 xiongzhong chengzhu); Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037– 1101); Su Zhe 蘇轍 (1039–1112) Wenzel, Christian Helmut, 6, 124n11, 126n32, 132, 145, 222 Wen Zhengming 文征明 (1470–1559), 179, 181, 206 Western Han, 35n6, 36n7, 37n19, 38n30 Western Han Emperor Wudi（西）汉武帝 (157–87 BC; reign dates: 141–87 BC), 38n30 Western Jin, 32, 35n2, 38n36 Western Jin Emperor Huidi （西）晋惠帝 (259–307; reign dates: 290–307), 38n36 Western Jin Empress Jia Nanfeng 贾南风 (257–300), 38n36

292

Index

West, Stephen H., 46, 49–50, 84n7, 85n15, 85n16, 85n17, 85n24 without-form, 79, 168. See also wuxing 无形 (without-form) woodcutter, 196, 205. See also fisherman, fishermen wu 無 (absence), 54, 72–73, 118 wu 悟 (enlightenment), 156n20 Wu Daozi 吴道子 (ca. 680–759), 33, 86n30, 90n67, 110, 141, 148 Wu Taisu 吳太素 (active mid-14th century), 92n88, 100, 149, 152, 203; Songzhai Meipu 松齋梅譜 (Manual on Plums from the Pine Studio), 162n59 Wu Zhen 吳鎮 (1280–1354), 141, 143, 158n35, 182, 194–95, 203 wuhua 物化, 8, 129, 141, 146, 154 wuqing 無情 (no-emotion), 200, 209n23 wuwai 物外 (beyond physical phenomena), 62, 90n68 wuwai xing 物外形 (form beyond [the appearance of] the object), 62, 90n68 wuwei 無為, 8, 129, 141, 146–48, 152, 154, 160n45, 160n46, 190 wuxing 无形 (without-form), 168 wuyu 無慾 (no desire), 217 wuyi 無意 (being unintentional), 111, 123, 124n8, 124n10, 141, 143–44, 146, 153, 158n36, 161n52, 179 Xia Wenyan 夏文彥 (active later 14th century), 83n1; Tuhui Baojian 圖繪寶鑒 (Precious Mirror for Examining Painting), 186n19 xiang 象 (image), 46–47, 49–50, 68, 85n17, 85n23, 86n27, 105–9, 113, 117–18, 235 Xiang Rong 項容 (?–?), 86n30 xiangwai 象外 (beyond images), 62 xianhe yanjing 閑和嚴靜 (relaxed harmony and awesome stillness), 61, 93n97 Xianyu Shu 鮮於樞 (1257? –1302), 66

xiaotiao danbo 蕭條淡泊 (loneliness and tranquillity), 61, 93n97 Xiao Zixian 蕭子顯 (489–537), 37n20 Xie He 謝赫 (active 500–535?), 1–2, 11, 15–16, 18–19, 21–34, 34n1, 35n4, 37n20, 37n23, 38n32, 39n42, 39n43, 41–43, 45–47, 51, 55–57, 61, 63–64, 66–67, 69, 74–76, 79, 81–82, 83n4, 89n58, 90n70, 91n74, 93n89, 117, 120, 141, 156n20, 166, 182, 186n16, 231–33; Guhua Pinlu 古畫品錄 (Record of the Classification of Old Painters/Paintings), 27, 42. See also qiyun 氣韻 (spirit consonance); qiyun shengdong 氣韻生动 (through spirit consonance engendering a sense of life) xieyi 寫意 (sketching the idea), 68, 78 Xie Youyu 谢幼輿 (280–322), 93n90, 93n93, 97. See also Zhao Mengfu 趙孟頫 Xie Zhaozhe 謝肇淛 (1567–1624), 177; Wu Zazu 五雜俎 (Five Jars of Potpourri), 187n29 xin 信 (trustworthiness or integrity), 218, 228n7 xin 心 (mind or heart-mind), 58, 154n4, 213, 215 Xin Xian 辛顯, 91n73, 169 xing 形 (form), 47, 49, 51, 62, 85n17, 90n68, 124n5 xing 性 (human nature), 58, 61, 85n19, 89n52, 89n53 xingqing 性情 (temperament), 182 xingsi 形似 (formal likeness), 169 xinhui shenrong 心會神融, 215. See also xinshen linghui 心神領會; xinling shenhui 心領神會 xinshen linghui 心神領會, 215 xinling shenhui 心領神會, 215 xinyi 新意 (original idea, flavor or sense), 68–69, 124n6, 164

Index

xinyin 心印 (mind-print), 58–59 xinzhe, junzhu zhiguan 心者君主之官 (Heart-mind is a monarch [of human body]), 215 Xiongbo Shi 史雄波, 109, 111, 161n52 xu 虚 (emptiness), 54–55, 71–73, 87n38, 95n108, 118 Xu Ai 徐愛 (1487–1517), 217 Xuanhe Huapu 宣和畫譜 (Catalogue of the Imperial Painting Collection during the Xuanhe Era), 51, 90n64 xuanmian caixian 軒冕才賢 (talented worthies of high position), 58, 81. See also yanxue shangshi 岩穴上士 (superior gentlemen in retirement) Xu Daoning 许道宁 (ca. 970–ca. 1052); Fisherman’s Evening Song 漁舟唱晚圖 attributed to, 209n14 Xu Fuguan 徐復觀 (1903–1982), 3, 17, 27–30, 32, 34, 39n42, 42, 48, 62–64, 90n70, 117, 138, 146, 157n30, 166, 173, 200 Xu Ke 徐珂 (1869–1928), 144 Xun Xu 荀勖 (ca. 218–ca. 289), 32 Xunzi 荀子 (ca. 313– ca. 238 BC), 132, 136, 155n7 Xunzi, 124n8, 155n7 Xu Xi 徐熙 (886–975), 150 ya 雅 (elegance), 24 Yan Fu 嚴復 (1854–1921), 112 Yang Wujiu 揚無咎 (1097–1171), 162n59 Yang Xiong 揚雄 (53BC–18AD), 58, 89n51 Yan Hui 颜回 (521–481BC), 191 Yan Liben 閻立本 (600–673), 57 Yan Shi’an 閆士安, 61, 90n63, 105 Yan Su 燕肃 (961–1040), 57, 59 yanxue shangshi 岩穴上士 (superior gentlemen in retirement), 58, 81, 169 yanying 掩映 (seen here and hidden there), 54, 71

293

yanying duanqimai 掩映斷其脈 (hidden sections interrupt the course [of mountains]), 71 yanyun bianmie 煙雲變滅 (appearingdisappearing of clouds and mists), 70, 72–73, 80, 93n97. See also emerging-submerging; fengluan chumo 峰巒出沒 (mountains and hills appear and disappear); submerging-emerging; yanyun chumo 煙云出沒 (shifts or appearingdisappearing of mists and clouds); yunwu xianhui 雲霧顯晦 (mists and haze emerge and submerge) yanyun chumo 煙云出沒 (shifts or appearing-disappearing of mists and clouds), 71–73, 80 yanzuo 宴坐 (meditative or reflective contemplation), 192–93, 208n4. See also zuochan 坐禪 (Buddhist meditation) yayun 雅韻 (elegant yun), 36n17. See also ya 雅 (elegance); yun 韻 Ye Xie 葉燮 (1627–1703), 128, 154n2 yi preceding the brush, 93n91, 104, 107, 109–10, 117–18. See also pictorial yi 意 (idea); xieyi 寫意 (sketching the idea); yixiang 意象 (idea-image); yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas); yi yixie 以意寫 (through sketching the idea); not seeking outward likeness when having adequate yi (意足不求顏色似 yizu buqiu yanse si) yi 義 (rightfulness or righteousness), 58, 218, 228n7 yi 逸 (untrammeled), 8, 92n86, 165–68, 172–75, 180, 183, 185n5, 186n20, 187n24, 237 yibi 逸筆 (untrammeled rough brushwork), 168, 174 yicun bixian 意存筆先, 124n9. See also yi preceding the brush

294

Index

yidu 意度 (ideas and attitudes), 63, 91n74 yige 逸格, 165–71, 173–74, 179, 185n2, 186n10, 211n30. See also yipin 逸品 (untrammeled class) yiguan guizhou 衣冠貴胄 (men robed and capped and of noble descent), 81, 89n50 Yijing 易經 (Book of Changes), 18, 36n19, 37n19, 55, 80 yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas), 4, 7, 10, 11n2, 11n4, 103, 109, 112–13, 115, 118, 122, 123n2, 124n12, 124n13, 124n14, 125n14, 125n15, 125n17, 125n18, 234–35 yinghui ganshen 應會感神 (the response of the eye and the accord of the mind to nature affecting the spirit of the artist or connoisseur), 57, 88n48. See also chenghuai weixiang 澄懷味象; Zong Bing 宗炳 (375–443) yingwu xiangxing 應物象形 (correspondence to the object in depicting forms), 15, 35n1, 169 yipin 逸品 (untrammeled class), 8, 67, 92n86, 101, 148, 155n6, 164–83, 185n2, 185n3, 185n5, 186n19, 187n24, 187n25, 187n30, 189, 237. See also yige 逸格 yiqi 逸氣 (untrammeled spirit), 173, 179–80, 182–83, 187n23 yiqu 意趣 (ideas and flavor), 90n63, 105 yishen dingzhi 移神定質 (transmit the spirit and form the essence), 168. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930); zhi 质 yishi gaoren 逸士高人 (rare scholars and lofty-minded men), 81, 89n50, 169 yiwu yi guanwu 遗物以观物 (contemplating the object by discarding [the appearance of] the object), 124n5

yixiang 意象 (idea-image), 7, 10, 107–9, 111–13, 115, 122, 123n2, 125n15, 151, 217–18, 234–35. See also ideaassociated image; idea-associated xiang; image-associated idea; imageassociated yi 意 (idea); pictorial yi 意 (idea); yijing 意境 (mindscape of aesthetic ideas) yi yixie 以意寫 (through sketching the idea), 68 yong 勇 (courage), 218 you 有 (presence), 54, 72–73, 118 youqing wulei 有情無累 (having emotions but no ensnarement), 200 youxiang 有象 (with-form), 168 youxin 游心 (the carefree wandering of the spirit or the roaming of the heartmind), 114, 125n20, 137 youyi 有意 (being intentional), 111, 123, 124n8, 124n10, 141, 143–44, 146, 153, 158n36, 161n52, 179 youyuan 幽遠 (remote distance or obscure distance), 94n101 you yu yi 游於藝 (seeking distraction in the arts), 202 yuan 遠 (the far-reaching), 118 Yuan Dynasty, 34, 41, 65–66, 73, 78, 82, 83n1, 126n23, 172, 188n33, 226, 237, 240 Yuan Hongdao 袁宏道 (1568–1610), 180–81 Yuan Hua 袁華 (1316 – after 1376), 171 Yuan Zongdao 袁宗道 (1560–1600), 181. See also Yuan Hongdao Yujian 玉涧 (active mid-13th century), 170, 240 yun 韻, 8, 36n15, 36n17, 36n18, 37n20, 37n21, 83, 86n28, 89n59, 95n112, 151–52, 173, 180, 222, 233, 242n2; in Guo Ruoxu’s text, 60, 89n58; as Jing Hao’s second essential of landscape painting, 42–52, 54, 73, 75–80, 84n7, 85n13, 113, 150, 166,

Index

174, 216, 234; meanings in the Six Dynasties art criticism and in Xie He’s text, 16–17, 22–26, 29, 32, 36n16, 39n42, 39n43, 85n13, 209n21, 231–32; renderings of, 16–17, 22–25, 232 Yun Ge 惲格 (1633–1690), 8, 24, 100, 171, 173–74, 179–80, 237 yunwu xianhui 雲霧顯晦 (mists and haze emerge and submerge), 71. See also cloudy mountain; emergingsubmerging; submerging-emerging Yun Xiang 惲向 (1586–1655), 100, 117, 179 Zammito, J. H., 135 zaohua 造化 (transformation of nature), 51, 63, 216 Zen, 208n10. See also Chan Buddhism Zhang Dainian 張岱年, 109, 111, 113, 124n8 Zhang Fangli 張放禮, 215 Zhang Hua 張華 (232–300), 29, 38n36 Zhang Huaiguan 張懷瓘 (active ca. 710–60), 48–49, 165–66 Zhang Mo 張墨 (active in Western Jin), 32 Zhang Xu 張旭 (active first half of 8th century), 194, 208n8 Zhang Xuan 張萱 (active ca. 713–ca. 741), 89n57 Zhang Yanyuan 張彥遠 (815–875), 1–2, 25–28, 30, 33–34, 55, 57–58, 65–66, 69, 75–76, 81–83, 85n18, 87n34, 88n46, 88n50, 89n50, 95n114, 100, 110, 117, 120, 141–42, 148, 155n10, 157n24, 166, 169, 185n9, 189, 192– 94, 214, 231–33 Zhang Yu 張羽 (1277–1348 or 1283– 50), 55, 65, 73, 92n81, 171 Zhang Zai 張載 (1020–1077), 58–59, 89n52, 89n54, 217 Zhang Zao 張藻 (active the late 8th century), 43, 52, 57, 60, 83, 88n46, 89n58, 110, 185n7, 189,

295

233; Huajing 畫境 (The Realm of Painting), 57 Zhang Zhan 張湛, 48, 85n19 Zhang Zhihe 張志和 (734–774?), 168–69, 172 Zhan Ziqian 展子虔 (ca. 545–618), 33 Zhao Gan 趙幹 (active ca. 961–ca. 975); Early Snow on the River 江行初雪圖 by, 209n13 Zhao Gongyou 趙公佑, 168–69, 194, 208n8 Zhao Lingrang 趙令穰 (active ca. 1080–1100), 187n30 Zhao Jun (Prince Jia) 趙頵 (1056– 1088), 59 Zhao Yunzi 趙雲子 (late 10th century), 170 Zhao Mengfu 趙孟頫, 66, 68–69, 73, 93n90, 209n15, 238; Autumn Colours on the Que and Hua Mountains 鵲華秋色圖 by, 93n93; Mindscape of Xie Youyu 謝幼輿丘壑圖 by, 93n90, 97; Record of the Miaoyan Monastery 妙嚴寺記 by, 93n90, 97; Twin Pines, Level Distance 雙松平遠圖 by, 93n90. See also chaoyin; city-recluse-artist; fugu Zhao Mengrong 趙孟濚 (active ca. 1270), 186n11 Zhao Xigu 趙希鵠 (active ca. 1195–ca. 1242), 158n38, 177 Zhao Yuanyan (Prince Gongsu of Yan) 趙元儼 (985–1044), 59 Zhejiang Provincial Museum, 209n14 zhen 真 (internal reality or truth), 41–43, 46–54, 68–70, 75–81, 85n18, 85n21, 85n22, 86n29, 86n31, 90n70, 166, 216, 233–34, 241. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930) Zheng Gu 鄭谷 (ca. 848–ca. 910), 62, 90n66 zhenjing 真景 (real scene), 47 zhengxin 正心 (rectification of the mind), 95n115 zhenzhe qi zhi jusheng 真者氣質俱盛 (Both qi and zhi [substance] are

296

Index

strong), 48–49. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930); zhen 真; zhi 质 zhi 质 (substance or essence), 46–50, 85n19, 85n20, 86n26, 168. See also Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 930) zhi 智 (wisdom), 58, 218, 228n7 zhizhi 致知 (extending knowledge), 95n115 zhong 忠 (loyalty or faithfulness), 218 Zhong Ren 仲仁 (active late 11th–early 12th century), 162n59 Zhong Rong 鍾嶸 (468–518), 21–22; Shipin 詩品 (Gradings of Poetry or Classification of Poets), 20–21 Zhong Yao 鍾繇 (151–230), 64 Zhou Fang 周昉 (active ca. 780–810), 89n57 Zhou Dunyi 周敦頤 (1017–1073), 217, 228n7; Tong Shu 通書 (AllEmbracing Book or Penetrating the Book of Changes), 217 Zhou Yigui 鄒一桂 (1686–1774), 24 Zhuang Su 莊肅 (active 1298), 69 Zhuangzi 庄子 (ca. 369–ca. 286 BC), 10, 66, 114, 121, 125n20, 130, 132, 153, 157n22, 158n32, 173; doctrine of no-emotion (wuqing), 200, 209n23; dreaming of a butterfly, 147; and human nature, 204–5; and innocent baby, 148, 160n47; and mind, 190–94, 200; story of betting for different prizes, 157n30, 158n30; and ningshen (concentration) and wang (forgetfulness), 128–29, 141, 144, 146, 158n30, 236; story of Carpenter Shi, 141, 157n30; story of cook Ding cutting up oxen, 136–41, 149, 158n35; story of hunchback catching cicadas, 149–50; story of Ji Xingzi training gamecocks, 192; story of the man going to Handan to learn walk, 188n34; story of wheelwright Bian making wheels,

149, 158n35; story of woodworker Qing making a bell-stand, 136–37, 139–40, 191; and tian, 136, 155n7; Xiaoyao You 逍遙游 (Free and Easy Wandering), 137 (see also carefree wandering of the spirit; free and easy wandering (xiaoyao you 逍遙游); shen 神 (spirit): carefree wandering of); Zhuangzi, 18, 36n8, 55, 113, 125n21, 137–39, 149, 157n30, 162n58, 188n34, 190–92. See also fasting of the mind (xinzhai 心齋); jieyi panbo 解衣盤礡 (loosening his clothes and sitting with his legs spread out); mind-body holism; sitting in forgetfulness (zuowang 坐忘); wuhua 物化; wuwei 無為; youqing wulei 有情無累 (having emotions but no ensnarement) zhuanqishen shouqiyi 專其神, 守其一 (commanding his own spirit, focusing on the object depicted), 141 Zhu Guangqian 朱光潛 (1897–1986), 3–4, 7, 11n4, 123n2, 234 Zhu Jingxuan 朱景玄 (active 841–846), 148, 166–69, 183, 185n2, 186n12, 186n13 Zhu Liangzhi 朱良志, 27, 86n31, 126n30 Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200), 91n72, 218, 226 Zixia 子夏 (507–400BC), 52 Zong Baihua 宗白華 (1897–1986), 3–4, 11n4, 123n2, 125n15, 234 Zong Bing 宗炳 (375–443), 25, 27–28, 30–31, 37n29, 38n31, 38n38, 46, 57–58, 83, 100, 121–22, 189, 214, 233; Hua Shanshui Xu 畫山水序 (Introduction to Painting Landscape), 28, 39n40, 57; rejoicing in spirit (changshen 暢神), 121. See also chenghuai weixiang 澄懷味象 (to purify the mind so as to comprehend the image of landscape);

Index

ganlei 感類 (stimulates [or responds sympathetically to] all [similar] kinds of life); shenhui 神會 (spiritual communion); spiritual communion; yinghui ganshen 應會感神 (the response of the eye and the accord of

297

the mind to nature affecting the spirit of the artist or connoisseur) Zonghua Ji 總畫集 (General Corpus of Paintings), 91n73, 169 zuochan 坐禪 (Buddhist meditation), 193, 208n4

About the Author

Dr. Xiaoyan Hu gained her PhD in philosophy at the University of Liverpool. Her research articles have appeared in journals including Philosophy East & West, Asian Philosophy, and Proceedings of European Society for Aesthetics. She works as a lecturer in Art Theory in the School of Art at Southeast University in Nanjing, China. She worked for the Confucius Institute at the University of Liverpool from November 2019 to December 2020, being invited to give lectures on Chinese philosophy of art. She worked as a parttime university teacher in Aesthetics and Business Ethics in the Department of Philosophy at the University of Liverpool in 2016‒2017. She won a Young Scholar Award Honourable Mention from the European Association for Chinese Philosophy in 2017, and received a Young Scholar Award from the International Association for Aesthetics in 2016. Prior to her PhD studies, she received her second MA degree in Art Aesthetics and Cultural Institutions at University of Liverpool in 2014, and her first MA degree in Classical Chinese Literature at Qingdao University, China in 2010, and her Bachelor degree of Economics majoring in International Finance at Ocean University of China in 2002. She is trained in classical Chinese dance, Kun opera, and playing the Chinese Zither (Gu Zheng). Before her study in the United Kingdom, she worked as an editor for the Qingdao Evening Newspaper, part of the Qingdao Daily Newspaper Press Group from 2002 to 2006, and as a financial journalist for the journal The Dao of Investment (Touzi Youdao) (Xinhua Finance Media) from 2007 to 2009, and as an auditor for Ruihua Certified Public Accountants, Shanghai Branch in China from 2010 to 2012.

299