Reading and Repudiating Errors in A History of Chinese Architecture by Yue Jiazao
阅读这篇中文文章，请点击这里。To read Yan Wencheng’s introduction to this series, click here. To read Part II, click here.
Translated by Yan Wencheng
I still remember my disappointment at the paltry finds of materials on Chinese architecture, particularly specialized works, from my earliest days of studying Chinese architecture at the University of Pennsylvania’s Department of Architecture in Philadelphia ten years ago. My continued search in major libraries of Europe and America continued to produce scant results on Chinese architecture, let alone those specializing in its “history,” which was virtually non-existent. Published in the last two or three years, Ito Chuta’s study, Shina kenchiku shi (History of Chinese Architecture) 支那建筑史 in his East Asian history lectures, and Osvald Siren’s volume 4 on architecture in his A History of Early Chinese Art 中国古代美术史 may be cited as the earliest works on Chinese architectural history. Ito’s book, a research grown out of indirect materials such as texts and carvings of architecture, and not the study of actual buildings, ends at the Six Dynasties 六朝, and thus stops short of a remarkable study. Osvald Siren on the other hand, does include bits of historical records, and contains points which would broaden the minds of foreigners without any architectural knowledge. However, he is neither an architect nor a sinologist, and thus lacks a fundamental understanding of the structural system and historical evolution of Chinese architecture. Outsiders’ discussion of Chinese architecture, as it now stands, by and large still misses the point.
Figure 1. Title page of Yue Jiazao’s A History of Chinese Architecture, first published in 1933. Photograph by the translator, 2014.
Ten years, ten long years. I have searched every day for a Chinese architectural history written by a Chinese scholar, to no avail. But recently, and rather unexpectedly, a specialized three-volume study entitled A History of Chinese Architecture 中国建筑史 appeared, published by Mr. Yue Jiazao 乐嘉藻 (Figure 1). This is without doubt an unprecedented feat in Chinese scholarship. For someone who has chosen Chinese architecture as his life-long devotion, and who has waited ten long years for such a book, this was as if an elk was presented to a hungry tiger, an ecstatic gluttony. But….
I wish I could politely say that I was disappointed, and save myself the work of this review. But I simply cannot do that—because I feel obligated toward a specialized work, particularly something with such a serious title as A History of Chinese Architecture.
Even when a foreigner, in discussing the subject, misses the point, we should not let it pass. Rather, we should repudiate it, or correct it, or else roll up our sleeves and show them how to do a better job. Now out of nowhere comes this specialized study with such a title, and, from an expert’s point of view it fails to meet the most rudimentary requirements of a specialized study. In light of the glaring gaze of scholars from both East and West, we would have to spend some time critiquing it, or we seriously risk losing face as Chinese scholars.
In the most simplified manner, in a work titled “Chinese” “Architectural” History,” we would expect, at the very least, to read that the author, drawing upon textual sources and extant examples from all over China, treats the continuous architectural activities along the chronology of Chinese history, indicates or analyzes its regional and period characteristics, while at the same time provides us with corresponding historical information about each period, pertaining to its politics, religion, economics, science, such factors that influence the architecture of a given period and form its character. [We would then expect him to] either compare the overall achievements of different periods, or to examine its structural evolution with a modern eye so as to analyze its strength and weakness. Only then can we deem it a work of Chinese architectural history.
Not only is Mr. Yue’s book far from this, but there are a few chapters where even a hint of “history” is lacking, and in its place are his personal opinions on architectural design. A case in point is found in the second half of the first chapter on “gardens,” where he fails to discuss what we know from textual sources or extant examples about the gardens ancient and modern, and instead talks about how old ladies love to plant sunflowers, corn, cucumbers and beans in the garden, …. Whereas young people prefer flowers, and so and so has a goldfish bowl in their garden, …. And he continues with “gardens should… , should have…, can be…, must be…” and then goes on for a full 38 pages. Although the author states repeatedly in the preface that this was “part of history,” isn’t this calling a deer a horse 指鹿为马? The preface professes at the same time that this is “a partial study;” well, it is indeed a “partial” “study.” But how can it be called “history?”
More confusing than the “history” is Mr. Yue’s organization of the chapters. Why are roofs and gardens treated in the same chapter? If the roof is a part of Chinese architecture, why does Mr. Yue study only the roof and not the other parts such as beams, columns, foundations, walls, the dougong 斗栱 (brackets), ornamentation of doors and windows, etc.? And why is the garden/courtyard, which, according to Mr. Yue himself, is “a special kind of architectural decoration” (whatever that means, but we can ignore that for the moment), treated together in the same chapter as the roof, “a part of architecture?”
If the garden/courtyard is a special architectural “decoration,” then palaces and gardens, ordinary residences, imperial offices, temples and monasteries, and indeed cities, according to this principle, are all “special architectural decoration.” What, pray tell, is then architecture itself?
With the names and chapters being as confusing as have been discussed above, we will delve into the nature of the book by taking a few ordinary/random examples for closer examination now.
Figure 2. Yingzao fashi, The Building Standards of Song, first published in 1103, republished Zhongguo shudian, 2006. Photograph by the translator, 2021.
Page 7 of Collection One is on the curvature of the rooftop. Mr. Yue thus writes, “The curvature [of the rooftop] from the Qing 清 dynasty should be covered in the Construction Methods for the Board of Works 工部工程做法, but not currently having the book at hand, I cannot say much about it.” Please tell me if this was serious or was it meant as a joke? In all the ancient textual sources of China’s 4000 years, there are only two, namely the Building Standards 营造法式 of the Song 宋 dynasty and this Construction Methods 工部工程做法 from the Qing 清, that deal specifically with architecture (Figures 2 and 3). It is surprising enough for someone who claims to have studied architecture for nearly forty years, and who has written a book on Chinese architectural history, to “not have the book at hand;” what is more surprising is that he therefore cannot “say much.” Is this the attitude of a scholar? Why not spread a blank piece of paper, and write the title “A History of Chinese Architecture,” right in the middle of the page, stating then that “There is nothing much to say about this since I do not have references at hand?” Wouldn’t that be the most sensible thing to do?
Figure 3. Gongcheng zuofa, The Construction Methods of Qing, what Liang Sicheng calls, together with the Building Standards, “the grammar books of Chinese architecture.” Screenshot of the online edition by the translator, 2022.
As for the history, or what passes for a history of the courtyards/yards, in the second half of Collection One, are such passages as the one on page 10, “according to Zhou practice, inside the Gaomen gate 皋门 and outside the Yingmen gate 应门, are three Chinese scholar trees;” and the story of “Chu Ni killing himself on a Chinese scholar tree” 鉏麑触槐而死, and some two or three similar pieces of material. The three Chinese scholar trees are certainly a Zhou 周 institution, but what is so surprising about such a tree inside Zhao Dun’s 赵盾 yard? What is the fuss about citing it as historical evidence? There are surely more Chinese scholar trees in northern China than there are stray dogs in the streets of Peking. Such a tree in Zhao Dun’s yard does not constitute historical evidence; besides, what is the necessity of citing it, and what is the use? If ink has to be spilled over this, I can inform Mr. Yue that in the household of the Duke Ling of Jin 晋灵公 are women and cooks, and “the cook undercooked the bear’s paw and was killed…. The women moved the cook’s body in a cart across the court …. and Zhao Dun and Shi Ji saw it...” If we go like this, all of Siku quanshu [The Complete Library in Four Sections 四库全书] would become architectural history.
Figure 4. Yue’s illustration of Songyue Monastery Pagoda. Yue, A History of Chinese Architecture. Photograph by the translator, 2014.
If these are examples of Mr. Yue’s selection and application of historical materials, what about his understanding of Chinese architectural structure and construction? Take the example of the roof again. He writes, “…The curvature of the roof was originally a defect in appearance resulting from technological and material constraints. …. Later on, the defect was exploited for aesthetic purposes and thus the curved eaves and corners were naturally formed.” This is the only explanation that Mr. Yue offers for the evolution of the Chinese roof, and if he insists on this, we would like to see a piece of real evidence from him. We would also like to know how the curved eaves and corners are “naturally formed.” -- Whether it is the result of marvelous, coincidental constraints of the structure, or it is the need for aesthetics or practicality that successfully complies with structural principles, it is most definitely not, as Mr. Yue asserts, “the natural result” of a fantastical philosophy of “exploiting existing defects.”
Mr. Yue writes, on page 14 of Collection Two, that “The dou is what is under the eaves of the dougong 斗栱, a documented piece of ornament of the pavilion.” Anyone who knows anything about the science of Chinese architecture knows that the dougong is the most important structural member of Chinese palatial architecture, and not an ornament. Anyone who knows anything about the history of Chinese architecture knows that different characteristics of Chinese architecture throughout the ages are most clearly shown in the structure, size and proportion of the dougong. Such is the importance of the dougong in Chinese architecture, especially in studying its structural evolution over time and its external feature, that Mr. Yue’s book speaks for its own value in treating it in less than one sentence.
As a plastic art, architecture requires its students to be precise and cautious in examining form. A large portion of Collection Two is devoted to the discussion of the pagoda. Mr. Yue categorizes different types of pagodas according to their shape and form, and cites extant structures, which is a very good approach. But his observations seem less than accurate. Take the Songyue Monastery Pagoda 嵩岳寺塔 at the Songshan Mountain 嵩山. Mr. Yue cites it as circular, and the drawing shows it to be circular too. But the photograph of the pagoda in Chinese Architectural History 支那建筑史 by Tadashi Sekino and others clearly shows it to be polygonal, with the text confirming it to be a dodecagon (Figures 4 and 5). This mistake is due to inaccurate observation. Does Mr. Yue need a new pair of eye-glasses?
The ancient pagoda in Jinxian 锦县, according to Mr. Yue, is also circular; if this pagoda refers to the one inside the Guangji Monastery 广济寺 in the city, that one is octagonal in plan. I was there to photograph and draw it myself. But because the top of the pagoda is destroyed together with the corners, it looks indeed like an irregular cone. If this classifies as a circular pagoda, then after a few thousand years, every pagoda in China, whether octagonal, square, pentagonal, or triangular, will all become a circular one. I wish I could blame Mr. Yue’s eye-glasses here.
Figure 5. Songyue Monastery Pagoda. Photograph by Boyi Ding, 2018.
How about Mr. Yue’s ability to date the buildings? Here is an example from the pagodas. The first item:
Built in the Xinghe 兴和 years of the Northern Wei 北魏,[1] the pagoda at Linji Monastery 临济寺 at Zhending 真定 is shaped hexagonally like a tube, with short eaves and multiple stories. Since the Linji School 临济宗 is a later phenomenon, the name of the monastery should have been a later adoption.
These few words betray not only Mr. Yue’s inability to date the architecture, but also two major problems: one, careless reading, and two, careless observation. In other words, impetuousness. Page 4 of Volume 15 of the county gazette thus states:
The Linji Monastery was built in the second year of Xinghe of the Northern Wei, located in the village of Linji about one kilometer southeast of the city. In the eighth year of Xiantong 咸通 during the Tang 唐 dynasty, the monk Yixuan 义元, steeped in the Dao/Way, was buried in a pagoda dedicated to him after his death, and the monastery was thus relocated inside the city. It was rebuilt in the twenty-fifth year of Dading 大定 of the Jin 金 dynasty, and [again] in the third year of Zhizheng 至正 of the Yuan 元 dynasty. [2]
The Northern Wei monastery was outside the city whereas today’s monastery is inside; it is therefore very clear that today’s monastery is not from the Northern Wei period. Besides, since the pagoda was built in the eighth year of Xiantong, what does Northern Wei have to do with it? Even if there was a [Northern] Wei pagoda, it should be outside the city bounds, not within. Apart from the reconstruction records of the Jin and Yuan dynasties in the gazette, the form of the pagoda — its elegant silhouette, and the position of the dougong, the accompanying carvings and their motifs and technique, is extremely similar to other brick pagodas of the Jin dynasty. From what I have carefully studied so far, besides this pagoda at Linji Monastery (see Issue 2, Volume 4 of the Bulletin of the Society for Research in Chinese Architecture 中国营造学社汇刊), there is also the pagoda of the Zhenji Monk 真际禅师 at Bailin Monastery 柏林寺 in Zhaoxian County 赵县, which was likewise built during the Dading years of the Jin dynasty, with an almost identical form, proving beyond doubt that this pagoda was also built in the same period. This error is exposed from the scholar’s point of view. Now from commonsensical knowledge, the pagoda was the burial ground of the Monk Yixuan 义元禅师, the founder of the Linji School; a Yixuan pagoda built in the Northern Wei period; forget about “the name of the monastery should be a later adoption,” one might as well talk about a Kangxi Dictionary of the Song dynasty! [3] And the fact that this pagoda is octagonal in plan instead of hexagonal, is a comparatively minor mistake (Figures 6 and 7).
Figure 6. Plan of the Linji Monastery Pagoda (upper right). Liang, “A brief account of our investigation at Zhengding,” Bulletin of the Society for Research in Chinese Architecture, 4.2 (1933): 2-41.
Figure 7. Linji Monastery Pagoda. Photograph by Jiaqi Chen, 2018.
I have not checked the construction date of every other pagoda in the book, but as far as I can tell, more than one third are indeed incorrect. Had Mr. Yue had a tiny bit of knowledge of architectural periodization, he would not have made such mistakes even though he couldn’t be a more careless reader.
The history of bridges is not yet well studied; but to claim as hastily as Mr. Yue does on page 27 of Collection Two that “There were no arched bridges on the great rivers of the Tang dynasty,” begs the question of evidence. The famous Great Stone Bridge 大石桥 of Zhao 赵 county was built by the Sui 隋 dynasty master mason Li Chun 李春. One single arch measures 40 meters (about 12 zhang), which proves that Mr. Yue’s proclamation here, as his many other statements, is groundless and irresponsible.
As for “the Diecui Bridge 叠翠桥 of Beihai 北海 was built during Liao 辽, the Marco Polo Bridge 卢沟桥 during Jin, and the Yudong Bridge 玉𬟽桥 during Yuan,” the dates of their initial construction are certainly correct. But to say that those are “the ancient bridges that can be seen today,” is, however, completely wrong. Take the two bridges at Beihai. Other than the detailed record of modifications and repairs of the Ming 明 and Qing 清 dynasties, their shape and form alone, from the masonry construction of the voussoirs to the carving technique of the mascaron, the cyma of the bridge cornice, and the engravings of the balustrades, are all standard “official” methods of construction after the Ming dynasty. How can someone who writes a history of Chinese architecture be ignorant of such knowledge? When it comes to the famous Marco Polo bridge, we have:
In the first year of the Kangxi Emperor’s 康熙 reign, the bridge was rebuilt east to west over 12 zhang [4]…. The tenth year of the Yongzheng 雍正 Emperor saw the reconstruction of the bridge deck. In the seventeenth year of Qianlong’s 乾隆 reign, the voussoirs, the lion pillars and stone panels were all reconstructed. In the fiftieth year the east and west ends of the bridge deck were reconstructed and the stone walkway was lengthened.[5]
Pardon me, after all this reconstruction, how much of the “ancient bridges that can be seen today” is left?
The second half of Collection Two contains examples of “the categories that the Europeans use:” cities, palaces, mingtang 明堂 (bright halls), gardens, temples and monasteries, according to Mr. Yue. This so-called “European,” who exactly is he? What is a “city?” A city is composed of groups of “palaces, mingtang, gardens, temples and monasteries,” etc. Mr. Yue writes, “Architecture throughout the world all refers to an individual building, but when it comes to Chinese architecture, we sometimes ought to discuss it with the city….” So whose world is this “world?” Is there an architect in the “world,” and are there architecture schools today that discuss architecture in terms of an “individual building,” and not “with the city?” Ancient cities such as Athens, Rome, Palmyra, Sabratha and so on and so forth, London after the great fire, parts of Paris, whole metropolises of the New World such as Washington D.C., New York, Philadelphia, and others, were all “realized according to grand-scale urban plans of palaces and buildings in designated areas.” If one has to talk about the “world,” then one needs to be at least familiar with the general situation of the world. Otherwise this world is nothing but a world of one’s own.
After discussing the general situation of the world, Mr. Yue treats “planning of a capital city,” from “the Eastern Capital of Zhou 周,” to “the Manchus siting their capital city in Beijing after breaking into the hinterland,” all thousands of years of evolution in one fell swoop. The narrative of the palatial system from the Zhou dynasty to Qing is indeed a few paragraphs of rare “history” in the book, but the three thousand or so years stretching from early Zhou 周初 to the present day merit only two or three thousand words in Mr. Yue’s treatment. Although Mr. Yue concedes it is “a brief account,” wouldn’t the reader be justified in considering it “too brief” of an account?
The section on gardens and hunting grounds should have been treated like the palaces and cities through the ages. A paragraph gives names of gardens since the Han 汉 and Tang dynasties, and fails to provide the design/construction activities of different periods, and it suffers especially from its brevity, [therefore] not even as good as the sections on “capital cities” and “palaces.” Mr. Yue is as muffled about the construction dates of the Qing gardens as he is about the dates of pagodas. Take this sentence, “There were the Changchun Garden 畅春园, and the Qinghua Garden 清华园 during Kangxi’s reign.” Could Mr. Yue share his source for such a statement? According to Mr. Liu Dunzhen 刘敦桢 who has devoted himself to the study of the Yuanmingyuan gardens 圆明园 in the past months, Changchun Garden was originally the Qinghua Garden belonging to a Mr. Li Wei 李伟 of the Ming dynasty, and Kangxi did not order the construction of another Qinghua Garden.[6] Mr. Yue further states that “inside the Yuanmingyuan gardens was the Xiaoyoutian 小有天, copied from a Mr. Wang’s garden at the West Lake 西湖.” The Xiaoyoutian is located in the northern part of the Yuanmingyuan gardens, and as Mr. Yue did not cite sources for his statement, this is probably in need of further investigation. These are but a few such examples in the book.
The majority of the extant structures of Chinese architecture over the years are ancestral halls, temples and monasteries. And the best of ancient architecture is preserved in these structures. At a time when fieldwork has barely started and available examples are extremely rare, the few structures from the Liao, Song and Jin dynasties that have been measured, illustrated and studied by scholars each warrant at least half a page, and the whole section on the halls, temples and monasteries should at the very least command dozens of pages, if not more, in a book called A History of Chinese Architecture, in order to do justice to the masters who handcrafted these masterpieces. But Mr. Yue’s book brushes over the section, in a few words, of less than two pages, and ignores 90% of the extant samples. What kind of a Chinese architectural history is this!
“At a time when scholars in the East and the West . . . are devoting themselves to studying Chinese architecture, and when emerging architects in China are fashioning a Chinese “national style” 国式, we are confronted with this thing that claims to be “a ‘history’ of Chinese architecture.”
Collection Three contains “Three essays on architecture,” dealing respectively with the aesthetics/beauty of Chinese architecture, copying the old, and preservation. Debates on the philosophy of architecture, like any such abstract topic, can be endless. But on the issues of “beauty” and “copying the old” I am compelled to say a few words, and, here, they are discussed together.
The three principles of architecture, namely utility, stability, and beauty are but common sense in the modern discipline of architecture today. Among the three, the issue of beauty is the most difficult to define. But utility and stability can be said to be the prerequisites of a beautiful architecture. If in creating a new Chinese architecture, we do not start with utility and stability but instead with copying “the outlines, decoration, and colors,” which is to say slavish copying, [we put] the future of Chinese architecture in dire peril.
“A proposal for preserving the old architecture of Peking” is the last essay of this section, proposing the dismantling of some old structures in Peking. In constructing a new capital, it is sometimes unavoidable to sacrifice certain old buildings. But Mr. Yue goes so far as to say that such urban design masterpieces as Di’an Gate 地安门, Xi’an Gate 西安门, Zhonghua Gate 中华门 and the memorial archways and more, “should be removed for the convenience of traffic.” The city of Peking has wide avenues with generously spaced buildings; the avenues all run north-south or east-west, rarely causing any traffic inconvenience as to require the removal of magnificent grand structures, not to mention that Di’an Gate and Xi’an Gate are themselves integral decorations of the city. If there was an old Frenchman who proposed to remove the Arc de Triomphe, Porte Saint-Denis, Place de la Concorde and so on “for the convenience of traffic,” we would perhaps suspect the sanity of the old man.
The third volume is wholly taken up by drawings. For today’s architectural drawings, T-squares and drafting pens are more convenient than brushes. If one has to use a brush, the drawings still need to be precise, and not freehand, especially when it comes to different parts of the building. One example is found in number 30 of the illustrations: what is crumpled up like a pile of cotton balls is meant to be a dougong under the balcony. Then there is number 31 where the eaves and the roof rest on top of a bird’s nest which is also supposed to be a dougong. In figure 32 the dougong under the eaves becomes wavy and reminds one of a folded fan. Its resemblance to the actual thing is perhaps far less than a most rudimentary jiehua 界画. The plans are at best grids. Modern engineering has a few universally acknowledged methods, symbols and marks with which the illustrator should acquaint himself beforehand. Otherwise traditional carpenters of China have their symbols and marks for use as well.
In summary, the author of this book knows nothing about architecture, or history, and yet titles his unsystematic essays “a history of architecture.” Had he titled his book “architectural notes by so and so,” or “essays on architecture from so and so,” whatever he says would be of no one’s business. But at a time when scholars in the East and the West, such as Ito Chuta, Tadashi Sekino, and Boerschmann are devoting themselves to studying Chinese architecture, and when emerging architects in China are fashioning a Chinese “national style” 国式, we are confronted with this thing that claims to be “a ‘history’ of Chinese architecture,” which as Mr. Yue himself worries, might “cause ridicule among others/foreigners,” I felt compelled to say the above.
February 25, the 23rd year [of the Republic], Peking
Notes
[1] Xinghe was one of the reign names of Eastern Wei’s 东魏 Emperor Xiaojing’s 孝静 rule between 539 and 542 CE.
[2] Liang doesn’t give the full name of the gazette, but it is reasonable to assume that he refers to that of the Zhending county [modern day Zhengding, Hebei Province] where the pagoda and monastery were located. The 8th year of Xiantong of Tang was the year 867 CE, the 25th year of Dading of Jin was 1185 CE, and the 3rd year of Zhizheng of Yuan was 1343 CE.
[3] Here Liang shows his shock at what he perceives as a ridiculous anachronism on Yue’s part; the Kangxi Dictionary, as its name suggests, was compiled during the Kangxi emperor’s reign in the early 18th century, whereas the Song dynasty ruled from 960-1276 CE. One obviously cannot have a Kangxi Dictionary in the Song dynasty, just as one cannot have a Linji Pagoda from the Northern Wei period.
[4] Twelve Zhang is about 40 meters.
[5] All these years refer to the Qing dynasty, 1644-1912. Here Liang seems to be citing from a historical source, which he doesn’t specify, about the repairs and reconstruction done to the bridge.
[6] Here Liang is referring to his colleague at the Society for Research in Chinese Architecture, Mr Liu Dunzhen’s work on the Yuanmingyuan Gardens, which were published, in two installments, in the second and third & fourth issues of volume four of the Society’s bulletin in 1933. See Liu Dunzhen, “Source materials for the historical study of the reconstruction of the Yuanming Yuan during the T’ung-chih period”同治重修圆明园史料, Bulletin of the Society for Research in Chinese Architecture 4.2 (June 1933): 100 - 155, and its sequel in the next issue (the combined 3rd&4th issues of volume 4) in the Bulletin of the Society for Research in Chinese Architecture 4. 3&4 (December 1933): 271 - 339.
