Wu wei
‘Making Tea’, detail of scroll by Tang Yin, courtesy Palace Museum, Beijing
A classical Chinese hand scroll was stored in a box, unrolled and read, a section at a time, from right to left; the painting, poetry, and calligraphy were all attentively considered. An artist may have worked on the scroll alone, or it might have been a collaboration, with someone creating the landscape, another composing the poetry, and a third contributing the calligraphy. In time, connoisseurs and later owners of the scroll may have added their own poetry or a signature seal to show their appreciation and admiration. It was an intimate and élitist form of cultural engagement, very far from the ways in which we are encouraged to approach art today.
In 1485, at the age of fifteen, Tang Yin, considered one of China’s finest painters, excelled in the exams that were the first step towards a successful career as an official in the emperor’s government. When he was twenty-eight, Tang took more exams in Nanjing, the provincial capital of the Ming dynasty, did well again, but was accused of cheating. Although later found to be innocent, he lost the chance of a respectable government position, so he began to earn a living by selling his paintings. He adopted an extravagant lifestyle, which also met with disapproval; it was generally believed that serious artists should be financially independent and take on a scholar’s reflective ways. Tang Yin, however, seems to have been a complex character, and stories about him turn up occasionally in Chinese folklore; he embodied contradictions, and although many of his landscapes are often expressive of a pleasure-loving existence, others suggest struggle, sadness, and melancholic solitude. His poetry is frequently about loss of innocence or love that is spoiled by failure, and even poems that begin with happiness tend to end sadly.
The traditional Chinese response to worldly disillusion is the ideal of quiet retirement in nature, which was frequently depicted in classical paintings, including those of Tang Yin. In turn, this is related to the idea of wu wei, a concept found in two of the most famous ancient Chinese texts, the Tao Te Ching and the Chuang Tzu. Wu wei comes into being when a person’s actions align with the Tao, the underlying natural order of the Universe. The essence of the Tao is impossible to define but omnipresent; as the ‘eternally nameless’, it is the fullness of life before anything is manifested or expressed. Wu wei, in the context of human behaviour, is a state of effortless and spontaneous harmony; a person attuned to wu wei possesses the almost magical skill of being able to move serenely and effectively through the world and its challenges. In ethics, wu wei reveals how people ought to behave with each other; in government, the ideal ruler will not pursue a personal agenda, but will follow the natural way; in aesthetics, wu wei suggests that the significance and value of a work of art do not lie in the artist’s skill or individuality but in its reflection of the subject’s Tao. Opinions and desires interfere with the appropriate and felicitous way of doing things, causing blunders and imbalances.
Wu wei has conventionally been described as a form of ‘non-doing’ or ‘doing nothing’, a kind of passivity, but it can also be considered in its active aspect. In that light, far from being a dreamy escape from the harshness of everyday life, wu wei must be carefully cultivated; the self has to be brought to serenity, to acceptance of the Tao, and an effort must be made to follow it. This particular shift in emphasis is not referred to in Michael Puett’s best-selling The Path, which is based on his popular course at Harvard, but it could have been. Puett reinterprets many other received ideas about Chinese culture and philosophy, deftly overturning longstanding assumptions and representing them in ways that are relevant to contemporary life. He looks at the ideas of Confucius, Mencius, Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, and others, drawing unexpected lessons from their teachings. Don’t withdraw from the world, don’t regard all forms of ritual as meaningless and outdated, don’t try to find your ‘authentic self’, he proposes; don’t be ‘mindful’, don’t play to your strengths, and, above all, treat the world as capricious and inconstant. Puett’s tone is gentle, but his approach is firm; he strips away the Romanticism and exoticism that have for centuries cloaked Western perceptions of Chinese culture. Are his thoughts correct and enlightening? It is hard to say, but they’re certainly intriguing.
For further exploration:
On Tang Yin: https://www.comuseum.com/painting/masters/tang-yin/
On ‘The Path’: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/apr/09/forget-mindfulness-stop-trying-to-find-yourself-start-faking-it-confucius
Michael Puett’s online Harvard course: https://pll.harvard.edu/course/path-happiness-what-chinese-philosophy-teaches-us-about-good-life?delta=1
Time Out Of Mind (re-imagined): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP-FPPUEio8
Drunken Fisherman by Tang Yin, courtesy Metropolitan Museum, New York
Punting pole stuck in the reeds, he ties up his skiff;
Late at night, the moon climbs to the top of the pole.
The old fisherman is dead drunk, call him, he won't wake up,
In the morning he rises, frost-prints on the shadow of his raincoat.