Studies in the History of Gardens & Designed Landscapes

An International Quarterly

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The Confucian role of names in traditional Chinese

gardens

John Makeham

To cite this article: John Makeham (1998) The Confucian role of names in traditional Chinese
gardens, Studies in the History of Gardens & Designed Landscapes, 18:3, 187-210, DOI:
10.1080/14601176.1998.10435546

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/14601176.1998.10435546

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 The Confucian role of names ln.
JOHN MAKE HAM
Introduction
The Master said, 'Fix one's intention on the Way, base yourself on potency, rely
on humaneness, and seek recreation in the arts'. (Analects 7.6)
Although the arts that Confucius referred to in this passage were not the same
art forms cultivated by Confucian gendemen of later ages, Confucius'
injunction is significant in that it has been understood to confirm that, already
in the earliest Confucian teachings, an intimate association was posited
between moral cultivation and the enjoyment of artistic pursuits. In his
masterly study of the rock in Chinese art, I believe John Hay provides us with
an important clue as to how this relationship worked:
The Chinese were ... interested in generic structural qualities, such as hardness
or softness, permeability or impermeability, and often delighted in exploring
these qualities by deliberately transgressing the borders between objects, by
reproducing one material in another. Thus in rocks these generic qualities were
explored ... not only through manipulation within the mineralogical medium,
such as the artificial creation of rocks in the potter's kiln, but also through
translation between materials, such as the natural creation of rocks by trees and
the artificial carving of rocks out of wood. I
Analogously, in this study I am starting from the premise that the border
between philosophy and art in China has been a permeable one, allowing an
unusually high degree of translatability between the two. Given this, to what
extent then is the distinction between the art and philosophy of traditional
China a misleading one? Is it the case that certain Chinese art forms functioned
not only as media in which aesthetic values were given expression, but also
1460-I176/98$I2·00©I998 TAYLOR & FRANCIS LTD
traditional Chinese gardens
moral values? My purpose in this study is to show that Chinese gardens, at
least, affirm this thesis.
The garden as play
I will pattern my interpretation somewhat loosely around the notion of playas
an appropriate model for Chinese gardens. 2 In simple terms, this model is
premised on the view that just as a chess-board and chess-pieces do not
constitute a chess game, nor a pack of cards a card game, so too a collection of
rocks, buildings, ponds and vegetation, does not constitute a garden; only in
the act if playing can the garden can be said to exist. Take the example of a
dramatic play. Only in performance does the play come alive, and only in the
repetition and continuity of its performance does it truly exist. Crucial to
this performance is the participation of players. With the Chinese garden it
is the same: without players there would be no garden because there would be
no performance, no play.
In order for there to be play there must be rules; all games have rules by
which they are played. A game without rules is not a game, it is chaos. One
accepts rules in order to be able to play the game. In the play of art it is the
same because without limits form cannot be established. Imagine calligraphy
without rules - the very word for calligraphy, shu fa, literally means the
rules or methods for writing. With poetry the need and role for rules is even
more evident. It is through this creative tension between free-play and the
observance of limits that games are played and art is created. In gardens
the same principle applies. Curiously, however, unlike many other traditional
Chinese arts, these limits are minimal.
I87
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
Thus Ji Cheng (b. 1582-?), the author of a seventeenth-century manual on
gardens, Yuan Ye [The Fashioning of Gardens] (dated 1635), states that
'In constructing a garden, there is no set of fixed rules'. 3 The preface to this
work, by Ji Cheng's contemporary, Zheng Yuanxun (1603-1645), gives us a
clue as why this should be particularly so for gardens, when it is certainly
less obviously so for Chinese poetry, painting and calligraphy. Zheng writes,
'The hundred arts of the ancients have all been transmitted in books. Why is
garden-making the sole exception? It is said that "There are many different
factors which determine a garden's appropriateness and yet there are no fixed
rules. This being so, there is nothing transmittable". '4 This view is certainly
supported by the fact that traditional China produced only one manual for
constructing gardens and even it is more concerned with composition than
'how to do' construction.
Composition is characterized by creativity rather than determination. Take
the practice of jie jing or scene borrowing. Ji Cheng defines scene borrowing
as follows:
Although gardens have borders which demarcate what is inside the garden from
what is outside, when it comes to identifying scenes there is no need to be
restricted by considerations of what lies close at hand and what is distant. [In this
way the garden may embrace] bright-hued mountains towering in splendour
and weathered-red temple roofs soaring into the sky. For as far as the eye can
see, anything may be embraced. If it is common then disregard it; if it is fine
then incorporate it. 5
Upon what, then, does creativity depend? What keeps chaos or unbounded
free-play at bay? While there may be no set of fixed rules there are
nevertheless the constraints of taste and judgement. The unique role that the
individual has in exercising taste and judgement may in part explain why there
is such a paucity of guidelines in the traditional literature prescribing the range
and application of 'rules' in relation to gardens. 6 Yet despite this, it is possible
to posit a hypothetical continuum on which taste and judgement may be
plotted by virtue of the fact that in their exercise certain conceptual categories
were invoked which were identified and accepted by groups of individuals.
Thus at one pole of this continuum, taste and judgement tend to be con-
cerned with a garden's physical dimensions while at the other pole they relate
to its non-physical dimensions. In what follows my main concern is with one
specific conceptual category - names - that can be plotted near the pole
188
MAKEHAM
that relates to a garden's non-physical dimensions. I will, however, approach
this pole by way of its opposite pole.
The physical dintension
As one would expect, the physical dimension meant exerCIsmg taste and
judgement in accord with the size of the garden and the functions it served.
For example, hunting and food production were important functions of the
large Qin (221-206 BC) and Han (206 BC-220 AD) imperial gardens. These
factors necessitated particular conditions, not least being large tracts ofland. By
the Six Dynasties period (220-589), however, these functions had disappeared
or become largely symbolic, resulting in much smaller imperial gardens.
Another limiting factor is the nature and range of materials one is working
with. Consider, for example, rocks and artificial mountains (jia shan). Writing
about Northern Song (960-II27) gardens, the modem scholar Zhang Jiaji has
argued that while piles of stones were still used in imperial gardens to
construct artificial mountains, the practice had long ceased to be fashionable in
private gardens. Instead, rammed earth was used to make small scale terraces
(tat). Mountains were also made using single stones. He further argues that the
lack of reference to artificial mountains evidences a move away from having
artificial mountains as the central motif of garden design in the Northern
Dynasties (386-581) to ponds, bamboo and trees in the Tang (618-907) and
Song (960-1279).7 The choice of different physical materials, each with its
own limitations, clearly affected the character and style of gardens and hence
the relationship between owner and garden.
A particularly important concept invoked in mediating the relationship
between owner/designer and the physical dimension is yin, 'accommodation'.
Ji Cheng describes the practice of yin as follows: 'Follow the lie of the land,
taking measure of where it lies straight and upright. If there are branches
interfering with the scene, remove them;8 and if there is a spring, use stones
and rocks to direct the course of the water. In this way each borrows from the
other? Trimming the tree allows it to contribute to the aesthetic composition
of the whole garden by opening or revealing a particular scene; in the process
the tree has its unique qualities accentuated. Similarly, by piling rocks to direct
the course of a stream, the garden as a whole is enriched: that which before
was only a spring, is now transformed into a moving stream, coursing its way
though the garden.
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
The tenn yin has a long and rich history in Chinese thought, being
developed by Confucian, Legalist, Militarist, Syncretic and Daoist thinkers
and is closely related to the notion of wu wei, 'taking no action that cuts against
the grain of things'. The reason one should not take such action is because it is
hannful both to oneself and to the environment in which one acts, the one
affecting the other. This does not, however, mean that one does nothing or is
passive. Like wu wei, yin entails 'the particular deferring to the integrity of
the environment while at the same time demanding that the environing
conditions defer to [the particular's] integrity'. 10 In the context of gardens, this
means working with the lie of the land rather than against it, accommodating
oneself to the conditions it provides while at the same time creatively
modifying the environment to accord with one's sense of appropriateness.
Examples of this principle as applied to gardens are already explicitly enunciated
in Tang poems on gardens. Yao He (c. 779-846), for example, writes:
The important thing is the shape of the land.
Any physical work should be undertaken as an act of casual leisure.
Only in this way will the construction be unique
And the high and low places be all that much more appropriate. I I
Similarly, Zhou Yue writes in his prose-poem on building terraces:
Make use of the lie of the land (di Shl) in constructing earthen structures '2
Then even if the structure is small one will not tire of it. '3
Yin is also closely related to the concept of shi, 'positional advantage', '4
which in the above passages I have translated as 'lie' ('lie of the land'). I 5
In accommodating oneself to the conditions of a plot of land, one aims to
take advantage of the natural features of the land: hills for pavilions, trees
for natural boundaries, a marsh for a pond, or rocky outcrops for artificial
mountains. The following passage by the Ming writer, Wang Ao (1450-1524),
is a good illustration of this practice. In the passage Wang quotes the account
that a certain Xiao Jiucheng gives of his garden, Tian Qu Yuan [Garden of
Natural Flavour]:
Of the famous scenic spots I have visited, those which have been constructed by
human effort are the product of waste and hard work, while those that have
accommodated (yin) what was formerly there are the product of frugality and
leisure. I did nothing to have this garden of mine. It has ten scenes. All of them
have accommodated what was formerly there. On the eastern side the garden is
blocked-off by high mountains. On the sides of these mountains are walls of
brilliant green rock some twenty or thirty feet high, towering precipitously and
exuding an aura of cavernous mystery. I took these as the garden's stone wall.
Below these walls there is a huge rock with an uneven surface that can seat
several people. I call it Dish Rock. A spring issues from below the mountain,
flowing northwards in both drought and floods, neither overflowing nor
drying-up. I call it Spring Source." 6
Xiao Jiucheng proceeds to describe how the other scenes in his garden were
similarly created using the principle of accommodation to take advantage of
the natural features of the land.
A term effectively synonymous with yin is sui which may also be rendered
as 'accommodation'. So central was this principle in the composition of his
garden that the famous Qing literary figure, Yuan Mei (1716-1797), named
his garden Sui Yuan [Garden of Accommodation]:
Accommodating the elevated part of the garden I erected a tower overlooking
the river; accommodating the lower area I erected a pavilion; accommodating
the space formed by a gully I built a bridge; accommodating the turbulent
waters I built a boat; accommodating sudden outcrops of land, I transformed
them into mountains and hills; accommodating verdant and open spaces I
placed assorted buildings. Some plants and trees I raised and supported, others I
restricted and stopped their growth; in all cases I accommodated whether or not
the plants were growing in abundance and profusion. I created scenes by taking
advantage of what was already there, without suppressing and constraining. For
these reasons I called my garden 'Garden of Accommodation'. 17
Yin, shi and sui are but some of the more common principles employed in
'accommodating' the physical dimensions of the garden. More specialized
criteria come into play when considering the elements that are contained
within the garden such as rocks, waterways, trees and plants and architectural
structures, all fitting subjects for more specialist studies. Yet from this cursory
treatment, it should already be apparent that even at the level of determining
which features of the physical garden are to be identified and incorporated as
signal elements on the strength of their 'positional advantage', the interplay
between owner/designer and environment is paramount.
The non-physical dimension
Even more than with the physical dimension, there is a lack of 'theoretical'
material in the traditional literature on the rules guiding the interrelationship
189
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
between the physical and the non-physical dimensions of the garden. Despite
this, it is apparent that a particularly common feature of garden composition
which bears direcdy on this interrelationship is the embodiment and expression
of polar concepts.
Polar concepts are those such as yin and yang or Heaven and Earth, which
rely on each other for adequate articulation. An important distinction needs to
be made between polar concepts and dualistic concepts. Unlike the latter,
polar concepts are two aspects of a whole. This distinction has its roots in the
ontology that has typically informed Chinese thinking. Whereas in classical
Western thought the characteristic ontology is one grounded in a fundamental
dualism where the world is regarded as being constituted from particular
entities that are instantiations of transcendent qualities or principles, in classical
Chinese thought the characteristic ontology is one of part to wholes. Hand in
hand with this ontology is the belief that while there are creative forces, such
as certain Daoist conceptions of dao, 'Way', IS or zao wu zhe, 'creator', these
forces were not discontiituous with their creations. In the words of Doctrine d
the Mean, 'The Way cannot be separated from one for a moment; if it could
be separated it would not be the Way'. I9 This type of thinking has been called
'radical immanence', where 'laws, principles, and norms have their source in
the human, social contexts which they serve'.20 Thus Analects 15.29 says, 'It
is the human being who is able to extend the Way, not the Way that is able to
extend the human being'. This is to be contrasted to the 'transcendent' quality
of classical Western thought. According to this latter way of thinking, A is
transcendent in the sense that you can have A without B but not vice versa. It
is thus not too hard to see how the characteristic dualisms that have dominated
Western thought (truth/belief; essence/appearance; mind/body, universal/
particular; valuelfact) simply did not gain a foothold in traditional Chinese
thought. Thus the celebrated yin-yang polarity is not an opposition but a
whole consisting of two complementary parts. According to this conceptual
scheme, ultimately all things may be seen to consist in a harmonious balance
of yin and yang qualities. While changing circumstances may bring about a
re-alignment of the balance - for example, at the height of summer yang
qualities are in greater evidence than yin qualities, but closer to winter the
balance will shift the other way - neither one is 'better' than the other; nor
are they, by nature, in conflict and contradiction.
Some of the common polarities found in Chinese garden composition
include emptiness and fullness, movement and quiescence, curvature and
190
MAKEHAM
straightness, high and low, large and small, feelings and scenes, persistence
over time and temporality, and the artificial and the natural. Even mountains
and water, shan shui, the very term for landscape in Chinese, may be regarded
as a pair of polar concepts in the context of Chinese gardens. As polar pairs,
each pole may be likened to a focus in a bipolar field. As such, each is part
of a continuum, not an independent quality. And because gardens reflect
the process view of Chinese cosmology, there is a constant interplay between
each pole, such that one can talk of movement in quiescence (for example,
the patterns such as clouds or rivers of qi energy seen in rocks), quiescence
in movement (for example, the reflections of buildings in a moving stream),
fullness in emptiness (for example, a scene viewed through a lattice-work
2I
window or rocks filling a space 22) and emptiness in fullness (for example, an
open window or gate in a wall). The following passage from Shen Fu's
(b. 173 6) Fu sheng liu ji (Six Chapters From a Floating Life), provides an
example of how several polar pairs contribute to the composition of a garden:
In composing garden pavilions and towers, suites of rooms and covered
walkways, piling rocks into mountains, or planting flowers to achieve an
appropriate configuration, the aim is to see the small in the large and the large in
the small, to have fullness in emptiness and emptiness in fullness. Sometimes
concealing and at other times revealing, sometimes the effect is sought on the
surface while sometimes it is sought in the depths.23 (figures 1-4).
Andrew Plaks prefaces his discussion of this passage with the following
observations on Chinese allegorical structure:
[T]he enclosed landscape ... is related to the given universe as the part to a
whole, rather than as a figure to truth. In other words, the bipolar and cyclical
coordinates according to which the phenomena of the garden are presented do
not refer obliquely to analogous configurations of truth, but simply partake of a
totality of existence within which the coordinates actually presented in the text
- and all other possible coordinates - are simultaneously contained within the
whole. 24
In other words, the elements constituting the garden were not simply
representations of parts of a larger macrocosm; rather, they functioned in their
own right. Take the example of rocks in a garden. As John Hay observes,
'Where we might say that a small rock [or group of rocks] can "represent" or
"symbolize" a mountain, the situation in traditional Chinese thought is much
more complex'. In the Chinese scheme of things, both a miniature rock
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS

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19 1
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
mountain and a full scale 'natural' mountain were equally genuine mountains.
'The miniature was a microcosmic model of the macrocosm, which is to say
that it worked in exacdy the same way. It was identical in every respect except
its level in the hierarchy of existence'.25 Thus within the boundary of the
garden, borrowed views of natural mountains and so-call 'man made'
mountains co-existed as real mountains in that particular order or hierarchy of
existence. These observations are borne out in descriptions such as the
following by the petromaniac Song emperor, Huizong (ro85-II35), in his
account of the rocks/mountains in his imperial Gen Yue Garden: 'Although
the mountains in this garden are man-made ... they are the same as Mounts
Tai, Hua, Song, Heng and the others. They are unquestionably an equal to
the work of the that-which-is-without-limit (wu jt),.26 Just as Heaven (tian)
or wu ji or tian ran - various names for the combined creative forces that are
given their fullest expression in the natural world - can create mountains, so
too can humans. The term jia shan has a sense close to the idea of 'man-made'
mountains, not imitation mountains. Thus in commenting on the (man-made)
mountains in his garden, the famous Ming garden owner Qi Biaojia writes:
'Ever since there have been Heaven and Earth there have been these
mountains and yet before today they were just piles of earth'. 27 That is, while
the potential for their transformation had always been there, it required him,
in the role of 'creator', to fashion them. 28 Labouring under a set assumptions
about representation that derives ultimately from Platonic and Aristotelian
notions of universals and essences, Jan Stuart concludes to the contrary that 'It
is not the artifice of building a miniature mountain that should be stressed, but
the ability of ajia shan to imitate the essence of a real mountain and, thereby,
substitute for it in a garden setting'. 29 The upshot of this interpretation is that
human creativity is denigrated - precisely the converse of the mountain-
maker's intention. Just as Heaven is creative, so too are humans; making
mountains is no less appropriate for humans than for Heaven. Mountains are
not valued for their 'reality' but for the extent to which they embody
'naturalness' (zi ran) in the frame of the garden. It is thus not surprising to find
accounts of 'artificial' mountains that are appreciated for being just as naturaP O
- and in some cases, more natural 31 - than 'real' mountains.
Indeed, not just rocks and mountains but the whole garden could be seen
to function as a microcosm of the cosmos, correlatively 32 'embodying in itself
the same pattern of activity as the natural cosmos'. 33 Shen Fu makes a similar
comment about the An Lan Garden: 'Although man-made, this garden
19 2
MAKEHAM
belongs to the work ofthat-which-so-of-itself(tian ran).' 34 And by dint of the
correlative nature of the Chinese cosmos, it was possible to realize patterns of
order in the garden that resonated (yun) with patterns of order that extended
well beyond the boundaries of the garden wall. These patterns might be
given physical expression in the layout of the trees, rocks, waterways and
architectural structures just as they might also be given expression in literary or
moral codes. One particularly common way in which to effect these latter
possibilities was by naming.
Names
Names are a key conceptual element in the non-physical dimension of
the garden. I will show how, when exercised by taste and judgement, they
were employed to prescribe very specific patterns of order, including moral
order. The prescriptive function afforded names has a long history in Chinese
culture, traceable to at least the end of the Shang period. 35 Nevertheless
it was in Confucian theories about the 'correction of names' (zheng ming)
that it attained its classical formulation. For Confucius, the correction of
names was very much a political issue: names could and, in the appropriate
circumstances, should be used to prescribe and not simply describe socio-
political distinctions. 36 Confucius did not regard names as labels but rather as
social, and hence political, catalysts which could bring about new states of
affairs. This was a function of the performative role that names were perceived
to play in the networks of human relations and social patterns that constituted
the underlying structure of ritual (It). This view of naming was further
developed by the third-century BC Confucian philosopher, Xun Qing,
in his essay 'On the Correct Use of Names'. Like Confucius, Xun
Qing regarded names to be of primary importance because they demarcate
objects: 'a name has no intrinsically appropriate object; rather its appropriate
object is demarcated by being named'. 37 Xun Qing argued that in ordaining
a particular denomination the ruler establishes boundaries which serve to
demarcate one object from another; only then is a name made a matter of
convention. For both Confucius and Xun Qing, naming was a tool for socio-
political engineering, a tool to prescribe and help realize certain socio-political
goals. By Han times, the marriage of ancient beliefs about the magical efficacy
of names and the new orthodoxy of Confucian thought helped ensure that
names would retain a powerful prescriptive function in Chinese culture.
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
This prescriptive function is already evident in some of the very earliest
gardens. For example, the Western Han emperor, Emperor Wu, ordered the
construction of an artificial lake, Kunming Lake, in his Shanglin Park in
120 Be. It was meant to be a replica of Lake Dian in Kunming in southwest
China. This was a kingdom that had blocked the passage of his envoys on
their way to IndiaY The lake thus served not only as a training ground for
planned boat warfare with Kunming but by building a Kunming Lake 'in his
park beforehand [Emperor Wu] had symbolically anticipated this conquest.
Behind this act of political demonstration one detects an archetypal idea
which is one of the basic reasons for man to create an image at all, the magic
belief that by artificially making a replica of something one wields power over
the real object.'39 In the cosmology of the Western Han (especially the
cosmology associated with the name of the Confucian philosopher-statesman
Dong Zhongshu (c. 179-C. 104) whose teachings had become orthodoxy
under Emperor Wu), however, it was not just the symbolic act of making a
lake to represent the kingdom that Emperor Wu had intended to conquer,
it was also the act of manipulating the actuality (Shl) of that Kingdom by
re-creating or prescribing it by name (ming) and then symbolically conquering
it with his troops.40
By Song times, scope for the expression of this prescriptive function was
greatly enhanced by the ubiquitous practice of naming gardens and scenes
(jing)41 within gardens. This development evidences the vital role that names
had come to assume in the play that constitutes the garden, one that was
seen to present a real aesthetic challenge to the name giver. As Hong Mai
(II23-1202) observed: 'In naming pavilions and gazeboes it is all too easy
simply to follow established precedents: on the one hand, on no account
should one use vulgar names yet, on the other hand, it is equally inappropriate
to attempt employing strange or jarring names'.4 2 By Ming times, the records
of contemporary writers testify to the integral role that names had come to
command in garden aesthetics. Thus, in commenting on the difficulties of
naming, the famous literary figure, Zhang Dai (I 599-C. 1684) even goes so far
as to claim that: 'The most difficult thing about making a garden is naming; it
is even more difficult than the physical construction'.43 In a similar vein, the
equally famous ChenJiru (1558-1639) comments: 'I have once said that there
are four difficulties with gardens: it is difficult to have fine mountains and
waters; it is difficult to have old trees; it is difficult to plan; and it is difficult to
assign names'.44
Wherein did the difficulty lie? In part, it was brought about by the literary
requisites involved in naming. From about the eleventh-century, a trend had
developed whereby the lines or words from poems, classical texts and other
literary works were used to name gardens and scenes within gardens. While
already in earlier times parts of the garden had been named (e.g. in Wang
Wei's [c. 699-c. 761] Wangchuan villa) generally, however, the names were
little other than simple scenic descriptions and demarcations of position and
function. In naming a scene with words from a poem, by contrast, the garden-
owner was able to appropriate themes, emotions and experiences that were
drawn from a complex and fecund literary tradition and re-deploy them as a
vehicle for his own intentions.
Take, for example, the name Zhuo Ying Shui Ting (Washing One's Hat-
strings Water Pavilion) in the famous Suzhou garden, Wang Shi Yuan (Net
Master Garden). The skein of tradition this name draws upon stretches back at
least to Mencius. This pavilion formed part of the garden built by Di Yuancun
in the latter half of the eighteenth-century. 'Wang Shi' was originally the
name given to the former, smaller garden built on the same site by Song
Queting (completed in about 1765). The name 'Wang Shi' signifies the life of
a reclusive fisherman. When Di expanded the garden and built the Zhuo Ying
Shui Ting, he was alluding to a song which forms part of 'The Fisherman'
section of the 'Li sao' (Encountering Sorrow) part of Chu ci (Songs of
the South), an anthology composed between the third-century BC and the
second-century AD but drawing on material some of which dates back to
the fourth-century Be. The fisherman story relates how Qu Yuan, the
upright minister of the King of Chu who had been wrongfully banished from
office, was wandering along a river bank when he met a fisherman who left
him with the following advice:
When the Canglang's waters are clear,
I can wash my hat-strings in them;
When the Canglang's waters are muddy,
I can wash my feet in themY
The hat-strings in the passage are a symbol of office and the gist of the song
is that one should take office when the Way prevails but decline office when it
does not (Analects 8.13; 14.3). The sentiments expressed in the song are
thoroughly Confucian (an identical passage is, in fact, found in Mencius 6A.8).
In commenting on Di Yuancun's reference to 'washing one's hat-strings'
193
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
rather than the more appropriate 'washing one's feet', Liu Tianhua explains
that this was because although the image that Di creates is of a recluse far away
from the capital refusing to serve in office, he did not dare to be so blunt. For
this reason, he simply alludes to the first two lines, leaving the second two to
be inferred. 46
The choice of this name for the pavilion was surely also influenced by the
name of another celebrated garden which lay to the east of Wang Shi Yuan,
the Canglang Pavilion. This garden was first built between 1041 and 104847 by
Su Shunqin (1008-1048) after he was dismissed from office having become
embroiled in a case concerning the misappropriation of public funds. That Su
chose to name his garden 'Canglang' was clearly to protest his integrity to his
contemporaries and to posterity. By the time Di Yuancun named his water
pavilion, the Canglang Pavilion garden had already been in existence for seven
hundred and fifty years,4 8 having thus long acquired a rich tradition of its
own, a tradition contributed to by the various owners and guests who had
become associated with the garden's history. In naming his water pavilion
'Washing One's Hat-strings', because of the shared allusion, Di was thereby
also able to appropriate some of this tradition garnered by the Canglang
Pavilion.
The difficulty involved in naming, however, was not limited to the literary
challenges posed. In addition, the owner's interpretation of the significance
of the garden frequently broached philosophical considerations. Thus
alongside the Confucian renaissance of the Song and post-Song periods
it is not too surprising to find Confucian themes being represented in the
names of gardens. At the simplest level these themes might be manifest in
the garden's architectural structures being named after a Confucian virtue or
virtues. Qualities associated with the jun zi, the Confucian gentleman, were
commonly used as a basis for naming. The bamboo was particularly popular
in this connection. Thus the great Ming Confucian philosopher, Wang
Yangrning (1472-1528), named the pavilion in front of his study Gentleman
Pavilion because it was surrounded by bamboo (which he had planted),
maintaining that the bamboo displayed four qualities associated with the
gentleman: 49 its 'emptiness' (xu, i.e. humility) which matches the gentleman's
capacity for virtue, its unchanging colour which matches the persevering
qualities of the gentleman,5 0 its ability to survive all seasonal conditions which
matches the gentleman's capacity to act appropriately in changed times, and its
upright appearance which matches the gentleman's demeanour. 5I
194
MAKEHAM
Nor was it only bamboo which was used as a metaphor for the gentleman.
The Ming poet, Wang Xing (1331-95), similarly describes how a certain
Mr Hua had named his pavilion, 'Picking Chrysanthemums Pavilion', as a
metaphor for the qualities which make a gentleman:
All flowering plants are a delight to behold, yet some plants come into blossom
from the time they start to grow while others only come into blossom after they
have reached maturity. Only the chrysanthemum comes into blossom after it has
reached maturity. That which is unique to something is an expression of that
which is worth preserving. Hence the gentleman emulates such qualities ....
Moreover, when it is windy and frosty, and all other plants are blown about and
lose their flowers and foliage, the chrysanthemum stands resplendent, it alone in
blossom .... Mr Hua has sought to refer to the gentleman as one who also has
the discipline to withstand the winter. 52
At a literary level, the name alludes to Tao Yuanming's (365-427) famous line
about 'picking chrysanthemums below the eastern fence' ,53 a line that came to
symbolize the garden as an image of reclusive, rustic lifestyle. By making no
reference to Tao Yuanming in his record 54 but instead developing the theme
of uprightness in the face of adversity, Wang appropriated the 'picking
chrysanthemum' allusion and invested it with his own Confucian theme.
This practice of using plants as metaphors for virtuous qualities was
well established in literature and painting; that it should also be applied
to gardens was not only a natural extension but a particularly appropriate
one. Garden owners, of course, did not limit this practice to plants; they also
took advantage of a garden's architectural structures to champion Confucian
themes and values even more explicitly. One extreme example is the Hall
of Intention in Li Yunpu's North Garden: 'It was divided into ten rooms
that were named "Seek Humaneness", "Establish Rightness", "Return to
Propriety",55 "Exalt Humaneness", "Solicit the Beneficial", "Proceed By
the Way Which Nourishes", "Depend on Trustworthiness", "Exhaust the
Principles", "Reflect on Things Close at Hand", and "Diligently Adhere to
One's Intention" .'56
Surrounding oneself with the names of moral precepts and exhortations
clearly had a didactic role to play in Neo-Confucian self-cultivation which
emphasized a constant vigilance over one's inner self, 'vigilant solitariness'
(shen dU).57 In a similar vein, it is not surprising that admonitions were also
used to name parts of gardens. This is particularly evident in the following
passage describing a pavilion and rooms in a garden: 'I constructed a pavilion
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS

to the left of the smaller entrance and named it "Worship the Good". To settle for somewhere that is just big enough. If I had followed my father's
the right I built rooms and named them "Regard Small Transgressions as construction practices I would have been able to house myself quite adequately
Fortunate" and "How Could I Dare be Conceited"? To be conceited about and find happiness and contentment therein; I would also have avoided further
developing the garden.
one's voice and appearance is self-deluding yet his description surely fits me!
Thus by attending to small transgressions I guard against large ones and so At first my garden only had a studio and a hall but later, unable to contain
. , 58
avert calarmty. myself, I expanded and built more. This was yet another factor which has
While by Ming times, particularly, there is litde doubt that a number of led to my failure to be moderate in my actions. The reason I named this
such pious names were employed merely for form's sake, yet unless we are to chamber 'Moderation' was to record my shame. Yet even though it is called
dismiss the Confucian projects of self-realization and moral transformation by 'Moderation', when one enters and looks out from it the view is full of flowing
example to be litde more than a charade, we need to consider further why streams and towering peaks. The scenery could not be more extravagant. To
select such a modest name while the actuality of the garden is an extravagance,
one should so name a garden. Rather than assuming that in naming his garden
is all the more shameful!61 (figure 5)
a man is making a claim about who he is, more often it is a case of him saying
'this is whom I aspire to be'. This would also account for the centrality of
Showing a somewhat perverse delight in the irony, 62 Qi Biaojia confesses that
a concept that is revealed time and again in Song and post-Song garden
the reason for his shame was that not only had his original intention not been
writings: that it is the personal qualities of the man who creates the garden
realized but the name that stood as testimony to that intention remained to prick
which determine the true worth of the garden. If he or a member of the
his sense ofshame as his garden moved further and further away from that original
group which shared common values identified the garden as being expressive
intention. One must, ofcourse, take care not to assume naively that a man's stated
of an intention to 'seek humaneness' or to 'establish rightness', then that is
intention and his genuine motivations were necessarily the same. As Owen warns
what the garden expressed. Returning to our game analogy, when we are
us: '[T]he very act of" explaining oneself" is predicated on a doubleness - a true
considering the garden in the context of the Confucian project of self-
self and a surface role. The surface role may turn out to be a lie.... More
realization, it can be seen to function as a stage on which the owner plays
remarkably, the surface role may be genuine, but still not sufficient to understand
a particular role. His immediate audience is, of course, his own friends
the true self ... Doubleness is inevitable: the surface role must be distinct, to be
and contemporaries; yet if he has played the role well - that is, without
chosen or rejected by the true "self" ,.63 Qi Biaojia's expression of shame
dissemblance - his audience might grow to include posterity itself 59
evidences his identification with a surface role sensitive to Confucian notions of
Here it is useful to consider an understanding of role discussed by Stephen
appropriateness and personal integrity; behind this lies an extravagant 'true self',
Owen's in the context of Chinese poetry, which is not a 'mere typology of
one unable to understand or contain its own extravagance. It was perhaps
personality, a hollow form of definition received from the community ... it is
tensions such as this which contributed to Qi Biaojia's eventually committing
not independent of the self, but an organic dimension of it; role is desire, the
suicide in his garden by drowning. 64
surface of the self as it wishes to be known; role is the entelechy of a process of
self-definition,.60 This should be borne in mind when considering such
accounts as the following by Qi Biaojia about the name of a chamber in his
garden: Intention
Akin to the concept of role is the Chinese concept of 'intention'. Unlike
In naming his gardens, my father used names such as 'Closely knit' and 'Simple'.
Following my father's example, I inscribed the names 'Stillness' and 'role', however, intention is not 'the self as it wishes to be known', but
'Moderation' on several rafters. This had the same significance as the ancients' 'the self as it wishes to become'. Now while the former could function as
inscribing oflow-tables and platters. The most sublime practice a gentleman can a simulacrum of the latter, if we assume the principle of authenticity to be
follow is moderation in all things. Thus in the case of his dwelling, he should the rule, rather than exception, guiding the Confucian's progress, then the

195
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES MAKEHAM

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FIGURE 5. Woodblock illustration showing Qi Biaojia's Yu Shan garden. The Moderation Chamber is depicted on the upper lift corner of the print. From a Ming edition of Yu Shan zhi.

196
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
potential for deception should not overly concern us. The concept of
'intention' frequendy found in garden records is overwhelmingly employed
with Confucian associations. By 'intention' I am principally referring to the
word zhi, but we also find the word yi (meaning) being used with almost
the same sense; indeed, the two words have often functioned as synonyms in
critical writings for more than two thousand years. 65 In addition to the
common meaning of intention, yi and zhi also share a long history of being
contrasted with yan (spoken words). This is evidenced, on the one hand, by
the old question of whether words can fully exhaust 'meaning' (YI) and, on
the other hand, by the dictum long associated with the hermeneutics of the
Classic if Poetry that one studies this work so as to be able to use the poems to
articulate one's zhi. 66 This common association with words is clearly of
significance in considering the relation of zhi and yi to names in the context
of Chinese gardens. The importance of the relation between names and
yi, for example, is highlighted by the Ming literatus-official, Wang Siren
(1575-1646), in his claim that: 'A good garden is good by virtue of its name
and a good name is good by virtue of its intention (yt)'. 67 In garden records
where the owner's yi is specifically identified, it is evident that it can function
as a synonym of zhi. For example, in his 'Gong chun yuan ji' (Record of the
Sharing Spring Garden),68 the early Yuan writer, Wang Yishan (1214-87)
explains that just as spring is at the root of everything and is thus everywhere,
the intoxicating quality of his garden is there to be shared day after day with
his guests, the gende breeze and the clear moon. It is the sharing of this
intoxication that is his intention (yl) and for which the name 'Sharing Spring'
is a metaphor.
Yet despite the fact that yi and zhi could be used synonymously, ming was
paired far more frequendy with zhi in garden records. This is because there
was also an important difference between zhi and yi. In his study of the
hermeneutics of the Book if Poetry, Van Zoeren observes that:
In many contexts, yi 'intention' seems to cover much the same ground as 'aim'
[zh,].. " At the same time, yi was a more limited concept than zhi [which]
referred to a whole orientation or disposition of a person, an 'ambition' or
'project' that was an ongoing feature of the personality; whereas the yi was
specific to the particular act or statement in which it (potentially) exhausted
itself. ..
[ Z] hi referred at once to an unrealized but desired state of affairs in the world
and to that desire itself as a feature of someone's personality.69
As we see in greater detail later in this study, this 'ongoing feature of the
personality' was also of critical importance in the role played by the garden in
the Confucian project of self-realization and self-perpetuation. Like a seed or a
plan, a garden owner's zhi was something yet to be realized; it was also the
ongoing significance a garden owner sought to invest in his garden. The name
given to an intention served as a record of that intention, thereby both
preserving it and introducing it into a more public domain. Because of the
pivotal role of names in this relationship, appropriate choice was crucial. Thus
in naming his garden 'Sowing Potency Garden', Hao Jing (1223-1275),
sought 'to use the name to bring about the actuality' of realizing his intention
of sowing the seeds of potency.70 Without the name, then the actuality, his
intention, would not be realizable.
Intentions, of course, were as varied as the motivations behind them. Thus
we find that Wang Xianchen (fl. 1513) named his garden, 'Garden of the
Artless Official', to record his frustrated intention of not having achieved high
office and in so doing reveal his new intention: to be judged by posterity as
one who, like Confucius, had been wronged by circumstances, not by his
own wrongdoing. 71 In direct contrast is the following irreverent account by
the Ming literatus, Gu Qiyuan (1565-1628), who upon refusing summonses to
serve in office was asked:
'This garden of yours, what has inspired you to name it "In Hiding" (dun) and
make "hiding" (dun) the intention of the place?'
'So as to avoid serving in office of course (dun)! Does not the name of my
garden say this? In order to hide from any intention to serve in office, there was
only the garden left to tum to, hence its name. It's not that I required a garden
so as to go into reclusion (dun).'7 2
For Gu, the functionality of the garden is located at the level of the
namelintention and not in the practical value of the garden for reclusion.
The happiness theme
While garden records did not always specifically state what the owner's
intention was, nevertheless often that intention could be discerned in the
name of the garden or scene. Where garden records are more detailed, such
as Sima Guang's (1019-86) 'Record of the Garden of Solitary Happiness', it is
197
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
common for them also to include an explanation of the origin and significance
of a particular name and in doing so reveal the owner's intention. It is clear
that in constructing his garden, Sima Guang sought to realise an intention that
is captured and preserved in the name of the garden:
Mencius said, 'Happiness enjoyed by oneself is not as enjoyable as happiness
enjoyed in the company of others.'73 Such is the happiness of kings, dukes and
great men; it is not something to which lowly men can aspire. Confucius said,
'Happiness is to be found in eating course grain, drinking plain water and using
one's elbow as a pillOW.'74 'Even though Yan Zi only had a scoop of rice to eat,
and a ladleful of water to drink, this in no way diminished his happiness.'75 Such
is the happiness of sages and worthies; it is not something a fool could hope to
measure up to. When, however, the tit nests in the forest, it only uses one
branch. And when the mole drinks from the river, it only takes a bellyful.76
Each takes what it needs and is content with that. My happiness consists in
this ...
1 spend most of my days reading in the hall. Taking the sages as my teachers
and the many worthies as my friends, 1 exhaust the source of humaneness and
rightness, and explore the fine threads of music and ritual. The patterns (it) of
affairs and things are all assembled there before me; from before they have yet
begun to take on form right until their extension beyond the extremities of the
four directions. My only concern is that my learning is not up to the task. And
yet, why should one seek things from others? Why rely on external things?
When my mind and body are tired then 1 throw in a line and catch some fish,
take a straw mat and pick some medicinal herbs, flood the irrigation canal and
water the plants, cut some bamboo with an axe, wash my hands in hot water, or
climb up to a high point and take in the view - effortlessly wandering, 1 go
only where my fancy takes me. Moon-lit nights appear when it is their time and
gentle breezes come of their own accord; 1 am not encumbered in any of my
activities. My ears, eyes, lungs and intestines are all part of me. Strolling alone,
content, 1 cannot understand what happiness the world has to offer that could
possibly be a substitute for this happiness. Therefore, 1 have named all of this
'Garden of Solitary Happiness'.
Someone asked me: 'I have heard that a gentleman should share his happiness
with others. Now, sir, you only take what is sufficient for your own needs and
not enough to share with others. How is this acceptable?' 1 replied, 'I am a fool;
how could 1 be compared to a gentleman? If one's own happiness is in doubt,
how could one share it with others? Moreover, my happiness consists in
shallow, simple, common and crass things, things that everyone rejects. Even if!
were to introduce them to others, they would still not accept them. Thus how
could 1 possibly force them onto others? Only if a person is willing to partake of
198
MAKEHAM
my happiness will 1 salute him and respectfully present them to him. How could
1 possibly dare to keep it all for myself?'77
It was a particular moral dimension invested in this garden that most fully
reveals Sima Guang's intention. As in the West, the garden in China had long
been regarded as a locus amoenus, 'a paradise of earthly pleasures'.7s By Song
times, however, a growing number of Confucians had begun to address the
dilemma that this posed: on the one hom, gardens were becoming favoured as
environments in which to pursue the ideals of self-cultivation, yet, on the
other horn, gardens were steeped in associations of extravagance and material
privilege. Like the tit and the mole which only take what they need and no
more, Sima Guang's solution was to build a small and unpretentious garden. 79
That Sima Guang saw this as a solution to the dilemma is further confirmed by
the allusion to Mencius, because in the immediately preceding passage,
Mencius is highly critical of those tyrants in antiquity who had 'pulled down
houses in order to make ponds, so that the people had nowhere to rest. They
turned fields into parks, depriving people of their livelihood. ,So And even
though Sima Guang disclaims any intention to aspire to the ideals of the
Confucian sages and worthies, his intention - as identified in his confession,
'Why should one seek things from others? Why rely on external things?' -
seems to be to aspire to just these ideals.
A number of other attempts to resolve this dilemma also focused on the
question of 'the happiness of Confucius and Yan Zi'. Thus thinkers who were
subsequently regarded as being more 'mainstream' Neo-Confucians than Sima
Guang also paid attention to the two Analects passages to which he alludes, 7.6
and 6.II. Cheng Yi (1033-II07), for example, is quoted as saying, 'Formerly,
when we studied under Zhou Maoshu (Zhou Dunyi, IOI7-I073), he often
instructed us to find out wherein Confucius and Yan Zi found their
happiness', SI and also, 'In the past I studied the Book if Changes under Master
Zhou (i.e. Zhou Dunyi). He had me seek wherein Confucius and Master Yan
(Yan Zi) found happiness. These words are of fundamental importance; please
note them my disciples.'s2 Elsewhere we are given a clue that this happiness
did not consist in leading a simple existence:
'Even though Yan Zi only had a scoop of rice to eat, a ladleful of water to drink
and lived in a humble dwelling, this in no way diminished his happiness'; yet
how could a scoop of rice, a ladleful of water and a humble dwelling suffice to
make one happy? This is because that which made him happy rendered his
poverty insignificant. 83
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
Zhu Xi (II30-I200) went a step further in identifYing wherein this happiness
lay:
Yan Zi had the source of happiness in his own heart-and-mind such that even
though he lived in poverty he did not let this bother him .... 84 This happiness
has nothing whatsoever to do with poverty; it is a happiness of a different kind
entirely. 8 5
For Zhu Xi, at least, this happiness consisted in the realization that ultimately
there is a fundamental unity between the individual and the rest· of the
cosmos: 'Cheng Zi said, "There are no obstacles separating the individual
from the rest of the cosmos; live to the fullest!" It was in this that Yan Zi
found his happiness.'86 The philosophical expression of this for the Cheng-
Zhu school of philosophy was the investigation of things where the mind
seeks to recognise the patterns (It) inherent in all things, the aim being to
realize that all of these patterns are really a manifestation of a single pattern
(Ii yi fen shu). As part of the process of investigating things, Cheng Yi
had proposed that one could start with such simple things as grass and
trees, maintaining that 'every blade of grass and every tree possesses pattern
and should be examined' .87 The connection between this thinking and
gardens is evident already in the writings of Shao Yong (IOII-77), an
older contemporary of the Cheng brothers, who in one passage where
he is instructing Cheng Hao on how to view flowers says: 'The way we
look at flowers is different from ordinary people, for without effort we can
observe the sublime workings of creation and transformation (zao hua)'.88
Similarly Cheng Hao himself, upon being asked why he refused to cut
the grass in front of his window 89 and looked so often at the fish he kept
in a small container, replied that in the former case this was to observe the
life-force of that which creates things (zao wu) while in the latter it was to
observe the principle of 'getting it oneself' (zi de)9 0 in the myriad creatures. 91
With the growth of the Cheng-Zhu school it is thus natural to find pavilions
and other parts of the garden being given names such as 'Observing the
Life-force Pavilion' .92 In a similar vein we find Zhu Xi's fondness for gardens
being cited as the inspiration behind the Ming Confucian Zhou Ying's
decision to build a rock garden, where he was able to have the mountains
and forests come to him without leaving his seat. 93 Even Wang Yangrning's
path of self-cultivation began by contemplating the bamboo in his father's
garden.
Others adopted a less obviously metaphysical94 interpretation to the
significance of 'the happiness of Confucius and Yan Zi' than had Zhu Xi.
The Song Confucian, Yuan Xie, for example, combined a more 'moralistic'
interpretation of this happiness with the notion that gardens do not need to be
large for them to be genuine gardens; one could find genuine happiness in the
tiniest of gardens. Thus in the record of his garden, he explains that he named
it 'This is Also a Garden' because although it was only two mu, it was still a
proper garden. He writes:
I have heard it said that there is the happiness of ordinary people and the
happiness of the gentleman. That which delights the ears and the eyes for a
moment and leaves no lingering flavour is the happiness of ordinary people.
When, on self-reflection, one is without shame and, without any conscious
effort involved, one achieves a state of ongoing daily renewal, then this is the
happiness of the gentleman. Ordinary people find their happiness in external
things while the gentleman finds his happiness in his own heart. When there is
happiness in one's own heart, all within the four directions will be clear and
bright. Everywhere one goes will be the Way, and so t~dfess of wh6:e one
goes one will be happy.
I could not care less if I were given Tao Yuanmiug'~-'lQd Sima Guang's
ponds, terraces and gardens. What is there to admire about them? Yan~/; had
a scoop of rice to eat, a ladleful of water to drink: and lived in a humble
dwelling; he had nothing in which to delight his ears and eyes. Yet even so, he
did not vent his anger on the innocent nor did he make the same mistake
twice. Thus he enjoyed indescribable happiness. Nowadays this is ignored and
instead people are guided in the ways in which ordinary people enjoy
themselves. 95
In support of his claim that genuine happiness is not to be found in the size of
one's garden but in moral cultivation he quotes Fan Zhongyan's response to a
request from some of his younger relatives to build a garden in Luoyang: 'If,
possessing the happiness derived from moral rightness, a man can put aside all
concern for his physical body, then how much less should he be concerned
about where he lives? Even the famous gardens of Luoyang look out upon one
another so who is able to block-off any garden for his solitary enjoyment?' His
implication is that genuine happiness is not to be found in the solitude of a
garden but rather in using land as a resource to benefit others. He continues:
'If I can use my official salary and other rewards to support my clan why
should I construct a garden?' His younger relatives respected his wishes and
never brought the matter up again. When he subsequently accumulated the
199
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
money he proceeded with his plan to purchase land to build a charitable
estate. 96
Fan Zhongyan is best remembered for his aphorism that the Confucian
gentleman is one who should be the 'First to worry about the world's
troubles and last to enjoy its pleasures' .97 Given that his 'public-spirited' style
of Confucianism found little to recommend in gardens per se, it is therefore
surprising that his altruism became a theme championed in the garden
records of Yuan Xie and others. In other examples, however, this apparent
contradiction is avoided by explicitly naming the garden after Fan's altruism,
thereby signalling that the owner's intention was to let the garden serve as
a monument to Fan's ideal and hence exert a moralizing influence. Thus
the garden of the powerful Southern Song statesman, Jia Sidao (1213-1275),
comprised of four smaller gardens, one of which was called 'Put One's
Happiness Last Garden' .9 8 Having established an allusion to Fan Zhongyan,
it was, of course, the owner's prerogative how he chose to appropriate it
for his own ends. In Jia Sidao's case it was to bolster the legitimacy of his
political ambitions: 'Who else but one who puts his own happiness last is
able to bring about a situation where gardens do not fall into ruin, being
in a state of constant thriving, and where there is no chaos, the whole world
being permanently well ordered?'99 And in the following passage from Zhang
Jiamo's (fl. 1502) record of his 'Put One's Happiness Last Garden', Zhang even
uses it to parade some quite Daoist-like notions of relativity:
'To speak of happiness being "put last" is to show that ordinary subjects should
not place themselves first'.
'What, then, is putting oneself first?'
'This is when ordinary subjects become senior numsters, they can reside
in dwellings that make them happy and participate in joyous occasions. Yet
although daily they are happy they fear that this happiness will not suffice'.
'This being so then how different is it from anxiety?'
'Happiness is an emotion that everyone has, while anxiety is the responsibility
of the senior official. If one is happy after one has worried about something,
then one's happiness will be genuine happiness. To be happy first without
worrying, and to be constantly happy, never worrying, are both wrong. How
could one possibly avoid a downfall if one is constantly happy?,IOo
In other accounts, the allusion to Fan's aphorism is less explicit, being
limited to a rejection of the 'solitary happiness' ideal. Thus in Ouyang Xiu's
(1007-72) record of the East Garden in Zhengzhou, he quotes one of the three
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officials who had built the garden as saying: 'Guests come from all over the
country and I share my happiness with them here. How could I possibly make
it the exclusive privilege of the three of US?,IOI Similarly, having explained
that he named his garden 'Record of Happiness Garden' being inspired by
Confucius and Yan Zi, Zhu Changwen (1039b.) concludes his record as
follows:
I look upon all my students as though they were my own children and
grandchildren. They too are able to help look after the garden, taking care that
the buildings do not fall into disrepair and making sure that the trees are not cut
down. They study here and eat here and this is enough to make them happy.
How could I possibly not share the happiness that is here? The sites where
Dai Y ong retired to and Luwang I02 retreated to so long ago still exist today.
Similarly I hope that for a thousand generations hence the people of Wu will
still point here and say to one another, 'This is the fonner garden of Mr.
Zhu'.I03
Names as vehicles for longevity
This last sentence touches upon yet another way in which the names of
gardens served a distinctly Confucian role: as vehicles for longevity. This was
related both to filial piety and to the relative continuity that names have as
compared with the physical garden. I will discuss each matter in tum. In his
'Record of Admonition to My Descendants Concerning the Ping Quan
Mountain Dwelling', Li Deyu (787-849) opens the essay by stating that his
intention was to 'realize his father's intention' of building a garden in the
Luoyang area (hence the name 'Pingquan'). Mter a brief account of how he
built the garden he writes:
Although I now have springs and rocks, if I were to be posted somewhere and
not return, I wish to leave this garden dwelling to my descendants. If anyone of
them should sell Ping Quan Garden, I will disown them. If they should give so
much as a tree or a rock to someone, they will cease to be good sons. If it
should happen that in a hundred years time the garden is forcibly taken by some
powerful person, then, with tears in your eyes, you are to tell him of my
command. This is my intention. I04
For Li Deyu, the garden itself provides an ongoing vehicle for his identity. lOS
Should it, however, change hands or be broken-up, its integrity, as well as that
of its owner, would suffer. This in tum would result in Li's posthumous
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
identity being affected; and if his posthumous identity (ming - name,
,06
reputation) were affected, so too would that of his forebears. Thus insofar
as his continued identity was perceived to be tied to his garden, Li Deyu
thinks it appropriate that filial respect be accorded him by safeguarding the
continued integrity of the garden. I07
Yet as others were later to point out, it was exceedingly difficult for a
garden to be maintained in perpetuity. Thus Qi Biaojia comments:
Although our family has a tradition of specializing in the Book if Changes, I am
unable to explain the pattern by which it operates. Nevertheless, I do have some
modest insights into the ways of fullness and emptiness and waxing and waning.
Ever since there have been Heaven and Earth there have been these mountains
and yet before today they were just piles of earth.'08 So how can one be sure
that after today these rows of belvederes and multi-storied studios will last
longer than cliffs and ravines!? Even Heaven and Earth are not beyond the
control of the numerological principles of integration and disintegration, thus
how strange it is that in leaving his garden to be inherited Li Deyu was so
earnest in his attempts to have Pingquan protected. Yet in doing so he gave no
consideration to where Jin Gu and Hua Lin are now.109 Because I have some
modest insights into these matters, therefore the source of my happiness is the
present garden, not its fate after my death. 110
Unlike the physical garden, however, names were pre-eminently preservable
and transmittable. Thus, at the simplest level, filial respect for one's forebears
could be achieved simply by naming the garden or parts of the garden in such
a way as to incorporate them as part of the garden, and hence as part of
oneself For example, Lu You (1125-1210) records that many of the buildings
in Han Tuozhou's South Garden were named using words and phrases from
poems written by Han's great-grandfather, Han Qi. Having listed the names,
Lu writes, 'This was Han Tuozhuo's intention. In taking all these names from
King [of Wei Commandery] Zhongxian's [posthumous title of Han Qi] poems,
Han Tuozhuo' s intention was the same as King Zhongxian's intention'. II 1
Nevertheless, insofar as a garden was regarded as an extension of the owner
and his intentions, if the name of a garden could be passed on, the name or
reputation of the owner could also be passed on. This was even seen to be part
of the practice of filial piety. In the words of Classic <if Filial Piety:
If one establishes oneself in the world and puts the Way into practice, thereby
passing one's name onto posterity and so glorifying one's parents, then this is the
consummation of fIlial piety. 1 12
As part of this process of perpetuation, it is noteworthy that the word ming,
'name', had as one of its cognates, ming, 'inscriptions'. Inscriptions originated
in the Shang and Zhou bronze vessels where they recorded an individual's
virtues and achievements. And just as an inscription could recall aspects of a
man's self-presentation, so too could the name of a garden, particularly if this
name was seen to be the name of his intention. A rather ingenious example
of how one owner sought to ensure not only his own memory but also
the preservation of his garden was by naming it 'Garden of the Assembled
Worthies'. As explained in his garden record, these worthies were none other
than his own 'worthy descendants'. II3 By already having his own descendants
participate in the garden by naming it after them, he was investing in the
garden's continuity as well as in his own reputation.
Even when a garden passed to another owner and the landscape expanded
and changed, there are numerous examples of where the original name was
kept to preserve a sense of continuity with the past, which of course included
the original owner and his intention. A prime example is the Net Master
Garden already discussed. This name signified the life of a reclusive fisherman
and had rich literary and moral associations. As the garden record explains, the
new owner, Qu Yuancun, decided to keep the original name, 'Net Master',
that had been given to the former, smaller garden built on the same site by
Song Queting thirty years before. Yet even more telling of the extent to
which the name of a garden and the person of the owner were entwined was
the common practice of adopting one and the same name for one's garden and
one's style (hao). This, in fact, is precisely what Qu Yuancun did. That a new
owner should not only preserve the original name but also adopt it as his style
is somewhat exceptional, but it does underscore the high regard in which he
held Song Queting's intention. It might also be added that this garden still
exists in Suzhou under the same name, preserving a memory of the man and
his intention. Similarly, other gardens were named after the surname of the
owner, which could also be seen as an attempt to bind the identity of
the owner and garden.
Sometimes the name of a garden would last for generations while in other
cases the name would change nearly as often as the owner of the garden.
Because of this bond between owner and garden name, however, changing
a garden's name was not always a straightforward matter. Li Yu (16II-1690),
for example, in being forced to sell his beloved Mt. Yi Garden included the
following warning to the new owner in his 'A Deed of Sale for a Hill':
201
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
I have received from you the string of copper coins in payment for the physical
substance of the hill, its rocks and trees. But you will have to wait before you
can obtain the spirit of the place and change its name .... Some day if a visitor
remarks, 'This is Master Li's hill', will you not be angry? Openly receiving
payment for something while covertly retaining possession of its name - that is
sharp practice indeed.' '4
For Li Yu, while the physical garden may change hands, its spirit resided in its
name and until the new owner had demonstrated the personal qualities
necessary to surpass the memory of Li Yu, other people would not accept
a change of garden name, still associating it with Li Yu. In other cases (e.g.
The Garden of the Artless Official) the original name would come to be used
again - after having been given a variety of interim names by subsequent
owners - so completing a cycle of change where the physical garden had
been completely reconstituted, but the associations with the original name,
including the original owner, remained.
Further highlighting the bond between garden name and owner is the
following observation made by Liu Tong and Yu Yizheng in their comments
on Diao Yu Tai Garden:
From antiquity until today, it has been the custom to make a garden at those
places near cities and villages which have spring fed streams .... When a garden
was famous, the ordinary people would transmit it in vulgar circles. This would
be the beginning of its transmission. When the garden owner was famous, the
gentry would transmit his name in refined circles. This would be the height of
its transmission." 5
Other accounts even maintain that while a garden could be perpetuated
through its name alone this depended entirely upon the personal qualities of
the owner. Thus Deng Jiaji (b. 1873) writes of Yu Yuan in Nanjing:
I have observed the processes of waxing and waning, prosperity and decline play
one another out in the Unlimited, and am certain that the most important factor
in the transmission of a name is the person who gave the name. In the Ming
dynasty this garden was a villa belonging to Xu Da. At that time, neighbouring
gardens such as '''Dun Yuan", "Wei Zhai" and "Hai Shi Yuan" were at their
peak, and their wooded pavilions and mansions looked across at one another.
Nowadays, although they have disappeared, having been completely destroyed,
their names still survive. Given this, how could one doubt that the transmission if the
garden relies upon the garden owner?' ,6
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MAKEHAM
This last sentence implies that, for Deng, the continued existence of a 'garden'
did not have to be its ongoing physical presence but could also be a construct
involving the original owner, his intention, and the significance that the name
given to the garden took on after the death of the owner and even the
destruction of the garden.
The French poet, Sinologist and archaeologist, Victor Segalen (1878-I9I9),
made a remarkably similar observation concerning the Chinese realization
that 'nothing immobile can escape the hungry teeth of the ages', resulting in a
kind of in-built obsolescence in Chinese architecture. As related by Pierre
Ryckmans, Segalen drew the following philosophical conclusion from this
observation: '[E]ternity should not inhabit the building, it should inhabit the
builder. The transient nature of the structure is like an offering to the voracity
of time; for the price of such sacrifices, the constructors ensure the ever-
lastingness of their spiritual designs .... Permanence does not negate change,
it informs it. Continuity is not ensured by immobility of inanimate objects, it
is achieved through the fluidity of the successive generations.'"7 In the case
of gardens, this continuity is guaranteed by the names which, while preserving
a memory of the original garden, are abstract enough to allow creative
re-interpretations of their significance. Even when the physical garden had
long since disappeared and its original memory all but gone, the names
associated with the original garden could serve to re-create the garden. For
example, in his 'Ou Yuan ji' [Record of the Corning Together by Chance
Garden], the late Ming literatus, Kang Fansheng, describes a number of scenes
and architectural structures which together he names Coming Together by
Chance Garden. We learn, however, that while these scenes and structures
had existed in the past, they had long been ruined and only their names had
survived. It was on this basis that Kang proceeded to fashion in words his
image of the original garden. IIS
Leaving by the town's North Gate, one comes to a long bridge spanning
the river which we call Phoenix Grove Bridge. If one heads north, crossing the
bridge, and then follows the river westward for several tens of paces, one will
find Coming Together by Chance Garden. One side of the garden borders
the river while the other three sides are enveloped by hills. In the old temple
and neighbouring garden on either side there are many ancient camphor
trees, slender bamboo, tall firmianas and densely clustered willows. Between
the bamboo and willows one can just make out a small tower - Pavilion of
Fragrant Grasses. From the higher part of the pavilion one can see far away so
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
that even the invigorating air of the Western Hills seems to draw closer. Down
by the edge of the Cheng River, sunlight reflects on ponds of water. When
viewed through the shadows of the bamboo or the shade of the willows, it is as
if gold and emeralds had been laid out on the ground in such quantity that one
cannot enjoy every piece. Before long, a boat approaches from the east passing
under the bridge. Brushing against the bank it moves westward. As the ripples
reach the bank, breaking, one becomes aware of water. When the spring rains
fall for ten days or when the river floods in autumn, the river islands beside the
tower become submerged under a body of water. Pleasure boats now moor
right at the threshold and the tall willows by the entrance reveal rudders as they
sway...
North of the Pavilion of Fragrant Grasses is the River Sunset Lodge.
Through the tunnel of open doorways, the Yangtze River takes its place among
the low tables and mats. Severed by the perimeter wall, the glistening light of
the waves floods the lodge. The bamboo in the neighbouring garden soar into
the sky, dancing wildly with the wind and embracing the front of the steps.
Under the weight of snow they prostrate, not rising above the level of the hall.
But when the snow melts then one by one they gradually rise again.
North of the River Sunset Lodge is Orchid Marsh. Well hidden, it is an ideal
place for sitting. Above it there is a small tower from where one can see the
Northern Hills. Below the hills on the flats, there are one hundred mu of fields,
staring back like ten thousand wide-opened eyes.
West of Orchid Marsh is Beholding the Evening Pavilion. Looking eastwards
through the open window, the hibiscus, cypress and chestnut trees seem to
stand right before one, being separated only by the wall of the neighbouring
temple. The sounds of drums in the morning and bells in the evening
encourages deep self-reflection, while euphonious sutra chanting can be heard
from one's bed.
All of these scenes exist only as names, the elements long having effaced the
original garden. Thus in order to re-invest it with a semblance of order, I have
named it Coming Together by Chance Garden.
Others took this a step further, requiring not the memory of a former garden,
or its physical remains, or even its name to create their garden. These were the
imaginary gardens of Chinese literature. These 'imaginary' gardens feature in a
number of Ming garden essays, the best known being Liu Shilong's 'Wu you
yuanji' [Record of the Non-existent Garden]. Prefacing his description of the
garden, Liu writes:
The Non-existent Garden is the name that the Snow-eating Gentleman in
Reclusion, Liu Yuhua, has given to his garden. 'Non existent' means not to
have any characteristics at all. What is it that does not exist yet seems to exist?
Yuhua says: When, formerly, I observed the border between the past and the
present, I came to understand the numerological principles determining Having
and Non-having. Jin Gu, with its sumptuous splendour, Ping Quan, with its
refined beauty, and the celebrated gardens of Luoyang - these were all the best
gardens of their age. Yet, today, not even a semblance of their collapsed walls or
broken tiles remains. They have all returned to the non-existent. Only by virtue
of being gardens on paper have they been transmitted. Even if I had a garden
such as these, in a hundred or a thousand generations it too would return to the
non-existent. Just as oceans transform into mulberry fields, Having eventually
returns to Non-having. II9 Yet if writing is used to prolong its transmission,
then Non-having can become Having. Why should a garden on paper not be
my garden? Scenes issue from the midst of one's sentiments and images are
suspended on the tip of one's pen. It costs me no money or effort and yet is
both enjoyable and practical. It is certainly most suitable for the poor. If I
constructed such a garden in reality, its arrangement would be restricted.
Constructed in the imagination, however, there are no limitations on its
structure. This is what makes my garden superior. 120
For Liu Shilong, his essay was the garden, a garden that can be recreated by
each person who reads his essay. Similarly in a postface to his set of eight essays
on his Yan Shan Garden, Wang Shizhen gives the following advise to his
descendants:
The chrysanthemums in my garden are prolific, yet no sooner has my eye
passed over them than their image is gone. Therefore to be able not to be the
master of a garden would seem to be preferable to Li Wenrao's (Deyu) inability
to be master of his garden. For those of my descendants who understand this, it
will be sufficient if, from time to time, you read these essays. What need then is
there to be in perpetual ownership of this garden?'2'
Given the ephemeral nature of gardens, Wang prefers to preserve his own
garden in essay form rather than to try to maintain ownership in perpetuity. Li
Deyu also comments that Sima Guang's Garden of Solitary Happiness became
an object of admiration not because of the garden's intrinsic qualities but
because of the garden record and the various poems that Sima Guang had
written about his garden. 122
This being so, what is the relationship between garden records and garden
names? Of course not every garden had an accompanying garden record, but
from what we know virtually all seem to have had a name, even if that name
was simply the name of the owner or a simple name denoting the location
or function of the garden. Where in addition a garden record exists, (such
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 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
as most of the gardens discussed so far) it is this record that one draws on to
'fill out' the significance of the garden name. 123 As James Cahill has observed,
this insistence on naming particular things stems from the Chinese 'mistrust
of the simply functional or simply aesthetic' and has 'typically depended
on inscriptions to validate objects and invest them with complex cultural
values'. 124 Both names and garden records fulfilled this purpose with the latter
amplifying the significance of the former. Thus rather than seeing them as
being alternative or unrelated activities, it is more appropriate to regard garden
records as typically being extensions of garden names. As such, records such as
the above by Liu Shilong are but an extreme example of the prescriptive
function afforded names. 125 Nevertheless, the primacy of the name, as
opposed to the record, should not be overlooked. This primacy is attested to
not only by the ubiquitous practice of naming gardens but also the popularity
of inscribing those names in the garden.
Many problematical considerations that might apply in the relation of the
written text to painting or poetry simply do not arise in the case between
written text and garden because there are virtually no theoretical writings
which treat gardens as a class of objects. Garden names/records, by contrast,
are concerned with the disclosure of particularity. This, of course, does not
mean that their relationship with the gardens they name and describe is
without its complexities. For example, to what extent are they mutually
substitutable? In the extreme case of Liu Shilong's imaginary garden, the
question of substitutability, of course, does not arise because that particular
garden had never existed as a physical entity. Yet as gardens are organic
compositions, they are all impermanent, subject to the 'voracity of time'. Thus
unlike the integral 'poem-painting' that originated in the eleventh-century
(about the same time that gardens were being named to denote qualities other
than simple description, function or location), the garden name/record might
be transmitted long after the garden had ceased physically to exist. This might
seem to suggest that the garden name/record was considered to be more
primary than the physical garden. This distinction, however, is a misleading
one for it introduces a dichotomy that is alien to the concept of garden
as continuum. Although this continuum may be polarized such that one
can identify the physical attributes of the garden as well as its non-physical
attributes, the notion of continuity is essential. Underlying this notion of
continuity is that of translatability, a translatability that facilitates the continued
expression of certain ideals from a physical to a non-physical environment.
20 4
MAKEHAM
This translatability relied on the participation of a community of players, be
they garden owners, visitors to the garden or simply those who passed the
garden name on to posterity.
For the Confucian aesthetic sensibility, the physical environment of the
garden was a ritualized setting that from Song times was appropriated to give
expression to a shared body of ethical norms. Importantly, this setting was not
determined by a rigid set of preassigned principles of representation and so
allowed the individual to charge his environment with the particular intention
he sought to invest in it. Like the painting, the garden was mute. While
this was not a problem for the friends and contemporaries an owner would
invite to view his garden and so communicate his intentions directly to
them, when the garden fell into ruin - or even in many cases, when the
owner died - this communication was no longer possible. A second medium
was required to extend and so transmit the owner's intention: that of the
garden name and/or record. As I have argued, this medium was a conceptual
category belonging to the non-physical pole of the continuum that is the
garden. Even when the owner asked someone else to name his garden or
compose the garden record, the task was entrusted to someone who knew
(or purported to know) the owner's intention,126 a fact which underlines the
shared purpose to which the Confucian fiduciary community aspired. The
transmission of this name or record to the wider community in turn served
the other Confucian purpose of moral transformation by example. As such,
there was a sense of duty incumbent upon those who identified with
Confucian values to ensure that the name of the garden and the intention
invested therein were passed on.
Conclusion
As suggested at the outset of this paper, the garden provides us with a more
general example of the reproduction of qualities in different media: the moral-
philosophical in the aesthetic. For Song and post-Song Confucians it was by
understanding the garden to be an expression of the mind of its maker that
Confucians were able to invest moral significance into the garden. Like the
painting or poem, the garden was a medium enabling the owner/artist to
inscribe his own motives and intentions. The name he gave to his garden was
this inscription. Naming a garden gave expression to individual taste while
reaffirming one's participation in a community. Yet even where individual
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS

taste deferred to tradition or to exemplars, this did not diminish its worth
because, for the Confucian especially, taste was not subjective and private but
rather was grounded in and validated by community and tradition. And by
drawing on the Confucian tradition, a name might not only serve to express
good aesthetic taste but also good moral taste. For the Confucian, the garden
was a symbol of this moral taste.
If, however, dissemblance crept in, then there would be little hope that the
good name of the owner - being tied to the name of the garden - would be
passed on. This concern with authenticity allows us to see why many Song
and later Confucians were concerned with the question of happiness, for what
could be a more apparent example of dissemblance than to aspire to the ideals
ofYan Yuan while enjoying the material privileges of a private garden. Some,
such as Sima Guang, responded by building small gardens, others, somewhat
hypocritically, invoked the image of Fan Zhongyan, making their gardens
symbols of selfless idealism, while still others, such as Qi Biaojia, seemed to
have been unable finally to resolve the tension. Yet whatever their response,
all were motivated by Confucian notions of authenticity.
In this essay, while I have examined only one art, the garden - and
even this art was a stage on which one could perform many different
kinds of plays - it is evident that the Confucian appropriation of the
garden as a vehicle for moral expression supports the thesis that the border
between art and philosophy was permeable. Perhaps the single most important
lesson to be drawn from this is Simon Leys' characteristically insightful
observation that 'Chinese civilization has an essentially holistic character that
condemns all narrowly specialized approaches to grope in the dark and miss
their target'. I27 Some art historians seem to have glimpsed the light some time
ago, so perhaps its about time for those engaged in the study of philosophy to
do likewise.
The University oj Adelaide, Australia

NOTES

I. JOHN HAY, Kernels of Energy and Bones if Earth: The
Rock in Chinese Art (New York: China Institute in
America, 1985), p. 84.
2. In doing so I am borrowing a concept of
play developed by HANS-GEORG GADAMER as
a key to understanding aesthetic experience.
See his Truth and Method, 2nd, rev. ed., trans.
JOEL WEINSHEIMER and DONALD G. MARSHALL
(London: Sheed and Ward, 1989), pp. 101-131,
passim.
3. 'lie jing', Yuan ye zhu shi, annot. CHEN ZHI
(Beijing: Zhongguo jianzhu gongye chubanshe,
1988), p. 243·
4. Yuan ye zhu shi, p. 37.
5. 'Xing zao lun', Yuan ye zhu shi, pp. 47-48.
6. This should not surprise us too much if we accept
that Chinese gardens are an example of aesthetic
order. One of the distinctions between aesthetic
and logical order developed by DAVID L. HALL
and ROGER T. AMES is that things partaking of an
aesthetic order are not determined by preassigned
principles; they are characterized by creativity, not
determination. See their discussion in Thinking
Through Confucius (Albany: SUNY Press, 1987),
pp. 134-138, and also AMES, 'Putting the Te Back
into Taoism', in J. BAIRD CALLICOTT and ROGER
T. AMES (eds), Nature in Asian Traditions if Thought
(Albany: SUNY Press, 1989), pp. II 6-II 8.
7. ZHANGJIAJI, Zhongguo zaoyuanshi (Harbin: Heilong-
jiang renmin chubanshe, 1986), pp. 147-150.
8. The Tang poet, Bo JUYI (772-864), describes a
similar operation of clearing branches in order to
view the mountain peaks in his two poems 'Zai
shu', Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju,
1960), 430.4748, and 'Ti Cui Shaoyin shang lin
fang xin ju', Quan Tang shi, 458.5211.
9. 'Xing zao lun', Yuan ye zhu shi, p. 47.
ro. AMES, 'Putting the Te Back into Taoism', p. 138.
I I. 'Ti Fengxiang Guoxi xin ting', Quan Tang shi,
499.5 672.
12. For example, artificial mountains or terraces.
13. 'Ji tu cheng shan fu', Qian ding quan Tang wen
(Taipei: Huiwen shuju, 1961), 759.Ia (p. 9963).
14. Following A. C. GRAHAM'S rendering as given in
his essay, 'A Chinese Approach to Philosophy of
Value', in his Unreason Within Reason: Essays on
the Outskirts if Rationality (LaSalle: Open Court,
1992), p. 125·
15. An alternative translation is 'configuration',
suggested by JOHN HAy in his 'Arterial Art',
Stone Lion Review 2 (1983): 71-84, passim. For a
full discussion of shi as a special military term, see
ROGER T. AMEs, The Art if Rulership (Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, 1983), Chapter 3,
who translates it as 'strategic advantage', 'political
purchase'.
16. WANG Ao, 'Tian Qu Yuan ji', in his Zhen ze ji
(ling yin Wen Yuan Ge Si ku quan shu [Taipei:
Shangwu yinshuguan, 1983]), (hereafter SKQS],
17· la-1.
205
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES MAKEHAM

17. 'Sui Yuan ji', Sui Yuan wen xuan, in Sui Yuan
quan ji (Hong Kong: Guang zhi shuju, 1966),
1:80.
18: For example, Dao de jing, zhang 42, 'The Way
generates one, one generates two, two generates
three, and three generates the myriad things'.
19. Zhang 1.
20. HALL and AMES, pp. 12-14.
21. For example, see LI Yu (16II-1680), Xian qing ou
ji, in Li Yu quan ji (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji
chubanshe, 1991), juan 4,
22. For example, WANG SHIZHEN (1526-1590), 'Yan
Shan Yuan ji', in Yan zhou xu gao (SKQS
edition). Even the practice of scene borrowing
may be seen as an expression of this principle in
so far as it borrows from what is 'full' to fill what
is 'empty'. Thus in the essay on his Sui Garden,
after describing the famous scenes and sites which
can be seen from the mountain on which he had
built his garden, Yuan Mei, 'Sui Yuan ji', 80,
writes paradoxically, 'All those things which the
mountain does not own belong to it.'
23. Fu sheng liuji (Taipei: Dongfang chubanshe, 1960),
p. 27. We find similar prescriptions in Qi Biaojia's
(1602- I 64 5) account of the principles employed in
constructing his famous Yu Shan Yuan [Allegory
Mountain Garden]: 'By and large, I filled that
which was too empty, and emptied that which
was too full, dispersed that which was congested
and tightened up that which was dispersed,
smoothed out the precipitous and built up that
which was too flat.' See 'Yu shan zhu', in Qi
Biaojia ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), p. 151.
24. Archetype and Allegory in the Dream if the Red
Chamber (princeton: Princeton University Press,
1976), p. 167.
25· HAY, Kernels of Energy, Bones if Earth, p. 54.
26. Quoted in WANG MINGQING (II27-post 1214),
Hui zhu lu, Hou lu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju,
1961 ), 2·75·
27. 'Yu Shan zhu', p. 152.
28. Or more probably, commission their creation.
206
29. See her article, 'Ming Dynasty Gardens
Reconstructed in Words and Images', Journal if
Garden History, 10.3 (1990), 171, n. 2.
30. See CHANG MAOLAI'S (1788-1873) description of
Shou Chun Garden, in Meng chun lu, [Zhou Pan ji
di san] (n.p: Henan guan shuju, 1926; reprint of
1852 edition).
3 I. See the description of the jia shan in Li Huangqin's
garden at Haidian in Beijing, recorded by LIU
TONG and Yu YIZHENG, Dijingjing wu We (Taipei:
Guting shuwu, Taipei, 1970; reprint of original
1635 edition), 5.20a-b (pp. 391-2). A similar
account is recorded in WANG SHIZHEN, 'Yan Shan
Yuan ji', where a guest is commenting on a rock
wall in the garden: 'When people see a real
mountain that is cunningly constructed they say
that it looks artificial. When they see an artificial
mountain that integrates unadorned naturalness
they say that it looks real. I don't know which of
these is appropriate in looking at this wall'. See his
Yan zhou xu gao, 59.14b.
32. On this subject, see, for example, MARCEL
GRANET, La pensee chinoise (Paris: Albin Michel,
1934); JOSEPH NEEDHAM, Science and Civilisation in
China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1954), 2, pp. 279-303; A. C. GRAHAM, Yin-Yang
and the Nature if Correlative Thinking (Singapore:
The Institute of East Asian Philosophies, 1986);
and NATHAN SIVIN in his introductory essay to
Traditional Medicine in Contemporary China (Ann
Arbour: University of Michigan Center for
Chinese Studies, 1987).
33. I borrow this felicitous description from ALISON
HARLEY BLACK who uses it to describe what
a poem is for WANG FUZHI (1619-92) in her
Man and Nature in the Philosophical Thought if Wang
Fu-chih (Seattle: University of Washington Press,
1989), p. 262.
34. Fu sheng liu ji, p. 65.
35. With its roots extending back into the Shang
period. See DAVID KEIGHTLEY'S article, 'Shang
Divination and Metaphysics', Philosophy East and
West 38.4 (1988), pp. 367-397. See also his earlier
article, 'Late Shang Divination: The Magico-
Religious Legacy', in HENRY ROSEMONT JR. (ed.),
Explorations in Early Chinese Cosmology, Journal if
the American Academy if Religion Studies, 50.2
(1984), pp. II-33-
36. For a fuller discussion of Confucius' zheng ming
thinking, see chapter 2 of my book, Name and
Actuality in Early Chinese Thought (Albany: SUNY
Press, 1994).
37. Xun Zi (Si bu bei yao edition), 16.4b.
38. Han shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), 6.177.
39. LOTHAR LEDDEROSE, 'The Earthly Paradise:
Religious Elements in Chinese Landscape Art',
in SUSAN BUSH and CHRISTIAN MURCK (eds) ,
Theories if the Arts in China (princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1983), p. 166.
40. Vestiges of this way of thinking are still found
in writings on Chinese gardens today. See CHEN
CONGZHOU, 'Wei yuanlin qu ming', Chun tai
ji (Guangzhou: Hua cheng chubanshe, 1985),
pp. 185-186.
41. For example in Qi Biaojia's Allegory Mountain
garden, there were as many as forty-nine scenes
that were identified with a name. See ZHANG
DAI'S letter, 'Yu Qi Shipei', Lang huan wen ji
(Changsha: Yue Ii shu she, 1985), p. 140.
42. Rong zhai sui bi si bi (SKQS edition), 1.6a-6b,
43. 'Yu Qi Shipei', pp. 139-140.
44. 'Yuan shi xu', in Bing xue xie (also called Wan
Ming bai jia xiao pin), compo WEI YONG, in Guo
xue zhen ben wen ku [di yi ji, di si zhong]
(Shanghai: Zhongyang shudian, 1935), pp. 1-2.
45. 'Li sao' [Encountering Sorrow], in Chu ci
(Hong Kong: Guang zhi shuju, n.d.), juan 7 (108);
trans. DAVID HAWKES, The Songs if the South
(Harrnondsworth: Penguin Books, 1985), p. 207.
This account of the Net Master Garden is based
on QIAN DAXIN (1728-1804), 'Shi wang yuan ji',
in CHEN CONGZHOU, et al. (eds) , Zhongguo /idai
zaoyuan wenxuan (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1992),
pp. 269-271.
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
46. LIU TIANHUA, Shi da ming yuan (Shanghai:
Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1990), pp. 37-38.
47. This site had already served as a garden in the
Five Dynasties period. See GUI YOUGUANG
(1507-1571), 'Canglang ting ji', in HUANG MING,
Cui Youguang sanwen xuan (Hong Kong: Sanlian
shudian, 1991), p. 139.
48. This, of course, does not mean that physically
it remained a garden throughout this period. In
fact, it was destroyed and rebuilt several times,
at one point even becoming a Buddhist temple.
The important point, however, and one to which
we shall return, is that the name of the garden
survived and in doing so guaranteed the garden's
continuity. On the history of Canglang Pavilion,
see annot. CHEN Zm and ZHANG GONGCm,
Zhongguo lidai ming yuan ji xuanzhu (Hefei:
Huangshan shushe, 1983), pp. 17-21.
49. In XUE XI and HE JIE (eds), Ming wen zai, a Qing
collection (Taipei: Taiwan Hua wen shuju, 1967),
2, pp. 1006-7.
50. In another Ming record of a pavilion, 'Shang
jie ting ji' [Record of the Pavilion Honouring
Moral Integrity], in Ming wen heng, compo Cheng
Minzheng (1445-99) (Taipei: Shijie shuju, 1962),
29.1Oa, LIU Jl (13II-I375) makes the same
association:
Huang Zhongli of Guiji loved to plant bamboo,
inspired by them as a symbol of moral integrity.
For this reason, he built a pavilion in a bamboo
grove, naming it Pavilion Honouring Moral
Integrity .... I was very much taken by it when
I saw it. Bamboo are supple plants with their
hollow centres lending them a gracious quality;
yet they neither snap nor break in the wind
and rain. And even though they are exposed
to the extremes of winter and summer and
endure frost and snow their branches remain
unaffected and their leaves do not change
colour. They resemble the gentleman who,
when facing a major event, cannot be dissuaded
from his task.
51. Similarly, the Song scholar-literatus, YUAN XIE
(II44-1224), relates that he named a pavilion in
his garden, 'Upright and Unsullied Pavilion' (Zhi
Qing Ting), after the bamboos that surrounded it,
as a metaphor for the virtues of the gentleman. See
his 'Zhi Qing Tingji', Xie Zhaiji (SKQS edition),
IO.27b- 28b.
52. WANG XING, 'Cai Ju Ting ji', Ban Xuan ji (SKQS
edition), 4.1Oa-IIb.
53. 'Yin jiu er shi wu shou' no. 5, Tao Yuanming ji
(Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1956), p. 63.
54. As the early Neo-Confucian, ZHOU DUNYI
(1017-73), 'Zhou Yuangong ji' (SKQS edition),
2.1b-2a, points out in his famous short essay on
the lotus, it was only after Tao Yuanming that the
chrysanthemum became a favourite flower (at least
in literary records):
There are myriads of attractive flowers among
the different plants and trees that grow on land
and in water. Tao Yuanming (365-427) who
lived in the Jin dynasty, was exclusively fond
of the chrysanthemum, and since the Tang
dynasty, people have been very fond of the
peony. I, however, am exclusively fond of
the lotus. It emerges from the mud yet is not
sullied; it bathes in the clear ripples without
being seductive; it is unobstructed within and
upright without; it grows neither vines nor
branches; and spreading far, its fragrance
intensifies its purity. Standing tall, cleansed
and upright, one may view it from a distance,
but not make mtImate advances. I call
the chrysanthemum the recluse of flowers;
the peony, the patrician of flowers; and the
lotus, the gentleman of flowers. Alas! Since
Tao Yuanming, there have been precious
few who have matched his fondness for the
chrysanthemum. As for the lotus, who is as fond
of it as I? Being fond of the peony is appropriate
for the broad mass of people.
It may also be noted that the Ming scholar
literatus, Ll KAIXIAN (1502-1568), named the hall
beside the pond in his garden after Zhou's essay,
see his 'Ai Lian Lou ji', Xian ju ji (Beijing:
Zhonghua shuju, 1959), p. 664.
55. This is but one of several possible renderings. For a
detailed discussion of the commentarial tradition
on these two words from Analects 12.1, see JOHN
KrESCHNIK, 'Analects 12.1 and the Commentarial
Tradition', Journal of the American Oriental Society,
II2·4 (1992), pp. 367-576.
56. LIU Guo (II 54-1206), Longzhou ji (SKQS
edition), 48.24a.
57. Following Tu WElMING'S rendering as given in the
revised and enlarged edition of his Centrality and
Commonality, An Essay in Confucian Religiousness
(Albany: SUNY Press, 1989), pp. 108-9. Of the
word du he writes: 'In Chung-yung, the term tu,
which may mean being alone, seems to refer to
the self in terms of its singularity, uniqueness and
innermost core.... This quality of personhood
can be better appreciated when one is physically
alone, but the focus of the recommendation is
the essential "solitariness" - the singularity,
uniqueness, and innermost core - of the self'.
58. CUI XIAN (1478-1541), 'Du Changhuan ming ting
shi ji', Huan ci (SKQS edition), 12.52b.
59. Commenting on dissemblance, ROGER T. AMES,
'Reflections on the Confucian Self', in MARy I.
BOCKOVER (ed.), Rules, Rituals and Responsibility:
Essays Dedicated to Herbert Fingarette (LaSalle:
Open Court, 1991), p. IIO, writes: 'Where self
is contextually defined, self-deception involves
a counterfitting of interpersonal transactions,
thereby corrupting and demeaning the character
of the community' . If one had acted with
dissemblance it would be difficult to have one's
self authenticated by one's community and hence
have one's ming, name/reputation, passed on.
60. 'The Self's Perfect Mirror: Poetry as
Autobiography', in SHUEN-FU LIN and STEPHEN
OWEN (eds), The Vitality of the Lyric Voice: Shih
Poetry from the Lote Han to the T' ang (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1982), p. 86.
20 7
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES MAKEHAM

61. 'Yu Shan zhu', p. 162.
62. JOANNA F. HANDLIN SMITH, 'Gardens in Ch'i
Piao-chia's Social World: Wealth and Values in
Late-Ming Kiangnan', The Journal if Asian Studies
51, I (1992), p. 59, in discussing Qi's 'obsessive
cravings' for garden building, claims that 'The idea
that obsessive desires could not be stopped had
gained currency, even respectability'. JUDITH T.
ZEITLIN'S study, 'The Petrified Heart: Obsession in
Chinese Literature, Art and Medicine', Late
Imperial China, 12.1 (1991), pp. 8-II, especially,
supports this view.
63. 'The Self's Perfect Mirror: Poetry as
Autobiography', p. 79.
64. Joanna Handlin Smith's view that Qi was not
really troubled by the hypocritical predicament in
which he found himself is weakened by her failure
to note this fact. Of course, to attribute his suicide
to this factor alone would be over-simplistic. More
obviously, the threat of the impending chaos
that grew closer and closer in the wake of the
Ming collapse and his powerlessness to prevent its
onslaught perhaps most immediately precipitated
his suicide. See the entries in his diary for the
last few days of his life, 'Qi Zhongrnin gong ri
ji', Qi Biaojia wengao (Beijing: Shumu wenxian
chubanshe, Beijing, 1991), 2, pp. 1446-'7. I am
grateful to Duncan Campbell for pointing this
source out to me.
65. See STEVEN VAN ZOEREN'S discussion of these two
terms in his Poetry and Personality (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1991), Chapters 3, 5
and 6.
66. See VAN ZOEREN, Chapter 3.
67. 'Ming yuan yong xu', Bing xue xie, pp. 3-4.
68. Jia cun lei gao (SKQS edition), 7.Ia-2a.
69. VAN ZOEREN, pp. 162-63, 164, 12.
70. Zhong de yuan ji', Lingchuan ji (SKQS edition),
25·roa.
71. WEN ZHENGMING (1470-1559), 'Wang shi Zhuo
Zheng Yuan ji', in Zhongguo lidai ming yuan ji
xuanzhu, p. 101.
208
72. 'Dun Yuanji', in Zhongguo lidai zaoyuan wenxuan,
p. 336, n. 7.
73. Based on a passage in Mencius, IB.I.
74. Analects 7·16.
75. Paraphrase of Analects 6.11.
76. Paraphrase of a passage from the 'Xiao yao you'
pian of Zhuang Zi. See Zhuang Zi ji shi (Taipei:
Muduo chubanshe, 1982), p. 24.
77. Zhongguo lidai zaoyuan wenxuan, pp. 25-26.
78. See PLAKS, Allegory and Archetype, pp. 146-153.
79. See, for example, LI GEFEI'S (fl. 1095) description
in his 'Luoyang ming yuan ji', (SKQS edition), 9a.
80. Mencius 3B.9; trans. D. C. LAU, Mencius
(Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1970), p. II3,
mod.
81. 'Henan Cheng shi yi shu', Br Cheng ji (Beijing:
Zhonghua shuju, 1981), 1:16. Although the
passage is attributed to both Cheng brothers,
WING TSIT-CHAN, Chu Hsi: New Studies
(Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1989), 295,
argues that it would be more logical to assign it to
Cheng Yi.
82. 'Henan Cheng shi cui yan', Br Chengji, 4, p. 1203.
83. 'Henan Cheng shi wai shu', Br Cheng ji, 2, p. 399
84. Zhu Zi yu lei (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1986),
juan 3 I, 3, p. 795·
85. Zhu Zi yu lei, juan 34, 3, p. 883.
86. Zhu Zi yu lei, juan 31, 3, p. 796.
87. Br Cheng yi shu (Si bu bei yao edition), 18.9a.
88. 'Henan Cheng shi wenji' [yi wen], Br Chengji, 2,
p.674.
89. Zhou Mi (1232-1298), who wrote many
descriptive accounts of gardens, even adopted the
cognomen of 'Grassy window'.
90. For a discussion of some of the Neo-Confucian
interpretations of zi de, see WING-TSIT CHAN, Chu
Hsi: New Studies, pp. 300-302.
91. Quoted in WANG YI, Yuanlin yu Zhongguo wenhua
(Beijing: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1990),
p. 331, n. I.
92. See YANG WANLI (II27-1206), Cheng Zhai ji
(Si bu cong kan edition), 4I.I7b.
93. 'Xiao shan ji', Cui Qu Zhai gao (SKQS edition),
3·15a.
94. I say 'less obviously metaphysical' because as
WILLIAM THEODORE DE BARY has argued, for
Fan Zhongyan (discussed below), 'Anxiety ...
might be a higher state' of mind than the peace
of Nirvana'. See his Introduction to Self and Society
in Ming Thought (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1979), n. 16, and more particularly his
article, 'Buddhism and the Chinese Tradition',
Diogenes 47 (1964), pp. 120-22. Mter the fashion
of Fan Zhongyan, HAO JING writes of his Lin
Yi Pavilion: 'When one is happy one should think
of those ordinary people who are not yet happy.
When one is at ease one should think of those
who are not yet at ease. If one acts accordingly
then one will not tum his back on the tme
significance of this pavilion. If one does not,
then he will have turned his back on the tme
significance of this pavilion'. See his 'Lin Yi Ting
ji', Hao Wenzhong gong ji, in Qian kun zheng qi ji,
compo Pan Sisi (Taipei: Huan qiu shuju, 1966),
juan I I.
95. YUAN XIE, 'Xiu Ye Yuan ji', Jie Zhai ji (SKQS
edition), 32b-33a.
96. Ibid., 33a. See also DENIS TWITCHETT, 'The
Fan Clan's Charitable Estate, 1050-1760', in
DAVID S. NIVISON and ARTHUR F. WRIGHT
(eds), Confucianism in Action, (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 1959), pp. 105, for related
accounts.
97. 'Yue Yang Lou ji', Fan Wenzheng gong ji
(Si bu cong kan edition), 7.4a.
98. Two of the other three were named with
happiness in mind: 'Nourishing Happiness Garden'
and 'Water Happiness Garden'.
99. JIA SIDAO quoted in ZHOU MI (1232-1298), jia shi
yuan chi', Qi dong ye yu (Shanghai: Han fen lou,
n.d.), 19.8a.
roo. 'Hou Le Yuan ji', Jia qing Ningxia xin zhi
(Yinchuan: Ningxia renmin chubanshe, 1982),
p. 160.
 THE CONFUCIAN ROLE OF NAMES IN TRADITIONAL CHINESE GARDENS
101. 'Zhengzhou Dong Yuan ji', Ouyang Wenzhong
gong quan ji (Si bu bei yao edition), 40.3a.
102. Both had retired to gardens in the Wu district. For
Dai's biography, see Nan shi (Beijing: Zhonghua
shuju, 1975), 7S.1866-7 and for Lu Guimeng (cog.
Luwang), see Xin Tang shu (Beijing: Zhonghua
shuju, 1975), 197·S612-3·
103. 'Le Pu ji', Le pu yu gao (SKQS edition), 6.4b.
104. 'Ping Quan ji', in Gu jin tu shu ji cheng, Uing ji hui
bian, kao gong dian] (Taipei: Wen xing shudian,
1964), juan 119, p. 1108.
lOS. Although by Ming times, particularly, often the
name of the garden was seen to have performed
this function.
106. And also his descendants. Yet in leaving his
descendants with such a charge, they were placed
under a considerable burden as Zhao Yu (d. 1747)
noted nine hundred years later: 'While Li Deyu
himself enjoyed a good reputation and lofty
standing, he still worried that his descendants would
destroy that reputation and standing. Yet for those
descendants several generations removed who may
have been reduced to lowly stations and modest
means, would they not have been terrified at the
prospect of having to maintain the garden?' Posrface
to 'Chun Cao Yuan xiao ji', Chun Cao Tang xiao ji,
in Wulin zhang gu cong bian, compo Qian Tang
(Taipei: Tailian guofeng chubanshe and Huawen
shuju, 1967), 4:2140 (9b). A similar statement is
expressed in the closing lines of PAN YUNDUAN'S
'Yu Yuan ji' , in Zhongguo lidai zaoyuan wenxuan, 126,
where he states that because of the expense incurred
in constructing Yu Yuan, it would be best if his
descendants spent no more money on its expansion.
107. There is a connection here with the practice of
observing the mourning period. Consider the
following passage from Mendus 4B.13: 'Mencius
said, "Keeping one's parents when they are alive is
not worth being described as of major importance;
it is treating them decently when they die that is
worth such a description".' Lau, Mendus, 130. Yet,
as Tu WEI-MING comments:
On the surface, Mencius may seem to have
placed too much emphasis on ancestral worship,
as if honouring one's parents after they have
passed away is more of a virtue than serving
them when still alive. Actually 'treating them
decently when they die' indicates that filiality,
as an overall commitment to one's origin of
existence, is a lifelong task. To serve one's
parents for the duration of their lives is only
a part of this overall commitment. Confucius
himself stresses the same point [Analects 2.7]:
'Nowadays a filial son is just a man who
keeps his parents in food. But even dogs
or horses are given food. If there is no feeling
of reverence, wherein lies the difference?'
(Centrality and Commonality: An Essay on Chung-
yung, Monographs for the Society for Asian and
Comparative Philosophy, NO.3. [Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, 1976], pp. 62-63.)
Although Li Deyu is addressing not just his
immediate offspring, the appeal to filial piety is
just as evident. For an account which is closer to
the idea of 'garden as memorial', see Lm JING
(fl. 1073), 'Gou Shi Ci Yin Yuan ji', in Chengdu
wen lei, compo Yuan Shuoyou (II4Q-1204) (SKQS
edition), 43.6a-7a.
108. That is, only when the right combination of 'piles
of earth' arise does the earth actually transform
into a mountain.
109. Two famous gardens of the Northern and
Southern Dynasties periods.
IIO. 'Yu Shan zhu', p. IS2.
III. 'Nan Suan ji', Fang weng yi gao (SKQS edition),
A.12a.
112. Xiao jing (Shi san jing zhu shu edition, Taipei:
Yiwen yinshuguan, 1985), I.3a-3b.
II3. See CHEN ZONGZHI, 'Ji xian pu ji', in Zhongguo
lidai ming yuan ji xuanzhu, p. 213.
II4. Following PATRICK HANNAN'S translation, The
Invention of U Yu (Harvard: Harvard University
Press, 1988), pp. 192.
lIS. Di jing jing wu liie, 5.16b (38S).
II6. 'Yu Yuan ji', in Zhongguo lidai ming yuan ji
xuanzhu, p. 433.
II7. PIERRE RYCKMANS, 'The Chinese Attitude
Towards the Past', Papers on Far Eastern History 39
(19 89), p. 4·
II8. 'Ou Yuan ji', in ZHU JIANXIN (ed.), Wan Ming
xiao pin xuan zhu (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu
yinshuguan, 1987), pp. 190-92.
II9. For an insightful discussion of Having (you) and
Nonhaving (wu), see SIMON LEYS, The Burning
Forest: Essays on Chinese Culture and Politics
(New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1985),
pp.6-7.
120. 'Wu You Yuanji', in Wan Ming xiao pin xuan zhu,
pp. r8s-86. For full translation of Liu's text, see
STANISLAUS FUNG, 'The Imaginary Garden of
Liu Shilong', Terra Nova. (Camb., MA.) 2, 4
(Fall 1997), pp. 14-21.
121. 'Yan Shan Yuan ji', Yanzhou xu gao, 160.16a-b.
In the passage below, 'Zhu shi', inscribed on a
painting by Zheng Banqiao (1693-176S), Zheng
Banqiao quan ji (Taipei: De xing shuju, 1981), 176,
Zheng out did even Liu Shilong and Wang
Shizhen, showing how one could enjoy a garden
without even so much as a literary record of it:
My garden-studio is but a few paces wide. In
the courtyard there are a few slender bamboo,
and a rock that looks like a bamboo-shoot, a
few feet tall. Although they don't take up much
room, they didn't cost much either. Yet, in the
wind and rain they have a voice, and in
the sunlight and moonlight they cast shadows.
When I recite poetry or have a drink they lend
an ambience, and when I'm at leisure or bored
they keep me company. Its not simply that I am
fond of bamboo and rocks; they are also fond of
me.
Some people construct gardens that cost
thousands upon thousands yet, moving from
post to post all over the country, they never
have a chance to return and enjoy their gardens.
Others such as myself who want to go and see
209
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF GARDENS AND DESIGNED LANDSCAPES
the famous mountains and great rivers never
have the chance to do so. Why not then
consider the scenes one can enjoy from one's
own room - they have an ambience and
flavour all their own and, in time, take on
new appearances? Given that when facing this
picture one can re-construct this particular
realm in one's mind, then what is so difficult
about contracting it and secreting it away in a
hidden place or expanding it and filling the six
enclosures (liu he, i.e. Heaven and Earth and the
four directions).
122. Luoyang ming yuan ji' (SKQS edition), 9a.
123. The distincdy personal perspective evident in most
garden records is a characteristic of the xiao pin
('minor piece', 'short version' or 'short piece')
genre generally (which includes ji ['record' ,
'descriptive account'] as a sub-genre). In this
connection, it is interesting to note ANDREW
PLAKS' observation that 'we find a number of
pieces in this mode [xiao pin] that are framed as
2IO
self-eulogies, self-portraits, or autobiographies, a
thematic shift that at a later stage of development
contributes to the rise of autobiographical fiction'.
(The Four Masterworks oj the Ming Novel [Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1987], p. 35.) Given
that is the intention of the owner which is being
'filled out' in Confucian descriptive accounts of
gardens, I take exception to PATRICK HANAN'S
characterisation of the xiao pin: '[The] most
prominent characteristic of the xiao pin is a
refusal to acknowledge any didactic links between
the world of the individual self and the larger
social and moral world'. See his The Invention oj Li
Yu (Harvard: Harvard University Press, 1988),
p.I86.
124. 'Types of Text/Object Relationships in Chinese
Art' , Proceedings oj the Thirty-first International
Congress oj Human Sdences in Asian and North Africa
(Tokyo: The T8h8 Gakkai, 1984), p. 576.
125. Liu's imaginary garden is, of course, a type of
literary garden, such as are found in Ming
MAKEHAM
and Qing plays and novels. They too are
the product of the imagination and literary
prescnptlOn. In this connection, an interesting
example of life imitaiting art, are the various
versions of the Da Guan Yuan [Great Vista
Garden] constructed in recent years in China and
based upon their namesake in the Story of the Stone
(Hong lou meng).
I26. There are, of course, many examples in the
literature where it was lillie other than the social
standing of the individual whom the owner
had asked to perfonn this task that was the
real motivation. Yet one suspects that for
some individuals, at least, even this action was
sanctioned by the imperative to have one's name
passed on to posterity thereby satisfying the
demands of filial piety.
127. The Burning Forest: Essays on Chinese Culture and
Politics, p. 99.