A THEORY OF ORIENTAL AESTHETICS: A PROLEGOMENON

·期刊原文
A THEORY OF ORIENTAL AESTHETICS: A PROLEGOMENON

By Kenneth K. Inada

Philosophy East and West

Volume 47, Number 2(April 1997)

P.117-131

(C) by University of Hawai'i Press

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P.117

Different traditions, East and West, have come up
with different ways to treat the subject or nature
of aesthetics, from the bare perceptual data to the
sophisticated logical forms, from the emotional, to
the psychological, and from the imitative to the
highly abstract quality of things. All of the
theories have presented us with some sense of what
aesthetics is all about, but at the same time none
has captured that sense with absolute certainty and
universality. At this moment, to be sure, we are
unable seriously to engage aesthetic elements that
are absolutely certain or universal in either the
East or the West, but here I would like to narrow
the field by concentrating on the East, especially
aesthetics as it has evolved in the unique fusion of
Buddhist and Taoist principles of experience. Once
the task is done, the discussion of aesthetics could
move on to the more lucrative and interesting realm
of comparative aesthetics, a discussion worthy of
another essay. Suffice it to say here that it is
time to take stock of things and correct misguided
views on aesthetics, especially where it is
relegated to a secondary status in Western
philosophy. My essay, in a way, is a critical
examination of aesthetics as a legitimate field of
philosophy, indeed as a most basic part of it,
especially as seen in Eastern thought and culture.
The heights of cultural achievement in many respects
reflect directly on the profundity of a philosophy
of life based on the aesthetic nature of things. I
shall attempt to justify this statement.

Eastern Metaphysics

If there is one word that characterizes Buddhist
and Taoist metaphysics it would be "dynamism," a
word that, so far, is hardly germane to Western
metaphysics. The nature of things for both systems
functions on the basis of impermanence (anitya) or
constant transformation or change (yi, hua),(1)
which poses a most challenging orientation in the
seeking for an understanding of a philosophy of
life.

The historical Buddha's famous Fourfold Noble
Truths focus on the universal nature of suffering
(du.hkha), which begins at the very inception of
life and continues until death is rooted in the
subtle nature of experiential dynamics. The flip
side of experiential dynamics is, of course, stasis
or permanence (nitya). It is precisely here that the
Buddha's singular contribution lies. That is to say,
he revealed how normal minds are deluded by falsely
adhering to permanent characteristics in the
experiential dynamics and that the presence of these
characteristics not only impedes but drastically
distorts the natural holistic flow of experience.
Moreover, he revealed that we tend to be empirically
and rationally bounded, and

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this results in dichotomous acts, though they may be
unconscious for the most part.(2)

Indeed, to a Buddhist the very terms empirical
and rational are suspect and come under strong
indictment. To elaborate, the Buddha's insightful
perception told him that the initial passionate
nature (t.r.s.naa) relies on the dichotomy created
between the perceiver and the perceived, and
consequently attaches (upaadaana) to the
dichotomized elements of the passions themselves. To
use a popular metaphor, the empirical and rational
functions are locked in a "catch-22" situation
wherein the dichotomy renders any resolution
impossible. As the saying goes, "You can't have your
cake and eat it, too"-and thus, in the experiential
dynamics, there is constantly a desire-attachment
(t.r.s.naa-upaadaana) phenomenon inherent in each
ordinary perception, which in turn becomes the basis
for the incipient rise of stasis or permanence in
our experience. The epistemic consequence of this
phenomenon is the alleged postulation of the concept
of a self (aatman) in perception, which in turn is
the basis for continued suffering. The profound
instruction of the Buddha, however, turned our
attention to the fluid, unimpeded, non-static nature
of experience, pointing to the pure, unclouded
nature of existence (Dharma), otherwise known as
nirvaa.na.

Taoist philosophy also developed along similar
lines. It, too, promoted long and auspicious life
based on the fluency, resiliency, and
transmutability of ordinary experiences. Ordinary
passions or desires relative to life are quite
natural, but those that are strained or forced are
not. The enlightened or illumined (ming) life knows
nothing positive or negative as such but everything
in terms of fluid naturalness (tzu-jan). The Tao is
ubiquitous, exists everywhere (which is at once
nowhere), and yet it is actuated at any time. It
cannot be manipulated, especially in empirical and
rational terms, but nevertheless it leaves its mark
everywhere in subtle ways.(3) It is change itself
exhibiting neither the yin nor the yang aspect
separately since these two aspects of the Tao are
dynamic conjunctives in a mutual and correlative
bond at all times.

The Tao is then the criterion for true natural
existence, though invisible for the most part, and
comparable to the Buddhist Dharma, the true norm of
existence. Both systems are in essence philosophies
of process or becoming. In the West, especially from
the early Greek period, the process thought of such
thinkers as Heraclitus, for example, was
overshadowed in time by the brilliance and dominance
of Plate, who argued cogently for being over
becoming, permanence over impermanence, in
laying the foundation of epistemology. Henceforth,
we have been heirs to this Platonic legacy for over
two millennia. The introduction of Christianity
undoubtedly had a great role in perpetuating this
legacy, for example in sustaining the spirit over
the flesh. By the end of the nineteenth century and
moving into the twentieth, however, our

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perception of things began to change and we even
began to question and challenge the legacy. With
such theories as relativity, quantum mechanics, and
indeterminacy, the notion of permanence had to give
way to impermanence. And with thinkers such as
Bergson, G. H. Mead, Whitehead, Heidegger, and the
postmodernists and poststructuralists, the trend had
now decidedly moved in the direction of impermanence
or becoming over being, although the manner in which
becoming is matched with being differs greatly from
one system to the next. Thus the dynamic nature of
perception became the common ground for any
discourse. In many respects, then, where the Western
perceptual view on things has made a full circle
from becoming to being to becoming, the Eastern view
remarkably has held to its steady course on becoming
at all times.

The Eastern view went further to probe the very
nature of becoming itself. It realized that being
and becoming are not to be treated as equals on the
metaphysical plane, nor are they to be seen as
opposing each other. In other words, the Eastern
view of things prevented any dichotomous treatment
of anything from the outset and in turn fostered
exploration into the fullness of the becoming
process. For, metaphysically speaking, becoming is
the most fundamental concept to which all phases and
elements must harmonize or conform. In this
harmonizing and conforming process, the nature of
being has an important role to perform, that is, to
exhibit becoming in its so-called "visible" or
"objective" nature. Yet this role, however
necessary, is still regarded as secondary or
peripheral to the nature of becoming. All this, to
be sure, poses formidable questions. How does all
this take place? Or, how can being be dynamically
involved in becoming? More precisely, how can an
alleged permanent character of being be accommodated
by the fluidity of becoming? These questions and
many more most certainly must have buzzed through
the minds of the early thinkers.

The profundity of Oriental thought is taxed at
this very crucial point. It is the point where, I
firmly believe, the clearest break occurs between
East and West, a break that exhibits their
differences in issuing forth disverse cultural
forms.

On this point, we may speculate that the Eastern
thinkers came to realize the inadequacy of being
itself to justify and manifest the fullness of
becoming, and this further encouraged them to search
for a fuller accountability for what is intimately
involved in becoming. The answer they came up with
was bizarre, to be sure, since something besides
being lies at the bottom of becoming. The insight
into this "something besides being" has strong
shades of a scientific spirit where, in astronomy
for example, a new star is found in virtue of the
existence of unaccountable forces in the ambiance of
existing stars, thereby providing a complete or
holistic condition and view of that portion of the
firmament.

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With similar exploratory spirit, both Buddhists and
Taoists came to realize that another aspect of
becoming is involved in providing a fuller view.(4)
This view is really an exercise in understanding the
dynamics of complementarity. The coincidence of
arriving at this complementarity by both traditions
is perhaps one of the unmatched wonders of
ideological ventures in the world.

What, then, is the content of this coincidence?
For the Buddhist, to make a long story short, it is
the "discovery" of emptiness (`suunyataa) in the
becomingness of things or emptiness in the
beings-in-becoming. For the Taoist, again to shorten
the story, it is the "discovery" of nothing (wu) in
the Tao of things. For all intents and purposes, we
may group emptiness and nothing together as
depicting nonbeing.(5) Nonbeing of course is not the
opposite of being but functions as a unique
cosmological basis of all experiences. In both
traditions, there is no denial of being and its
place in becoming as a complementary element of
nonbeing. In a sense, there is more than
complementarity because there is also accommodation,
as we will soon discuss. So now, as we return to the
metaphysics of becoming, we have a fuller accounting
by reference to two vital aspects or components at
play, as seen in the following simplified diagram:


Becoming (experiential dynamics)
/ \
/ \
Being Nonbeing
(elements, dharma, yu) (`suunyataa, wu)


The two vital aspects of becoming are discussed
in similar fashion by the two traditions, as both
speak of the conventional or ordinary nature of
things and the nonconventional absolute nature of
things; the former refers to ordinary perception in
the nature of being and the latter to inordinate,
enlightened perception involving the realm of
nonbeing. It should be clear from the outset that
this is not promoting duality of any sort--not, at
least, on the metaphysical level. If any strain of
duality were to occur, it would be strictly in the
epistemic realm, resulting from misguided empirical
and rational functions.

In the complementarity condition, it can be
asserted that non-being is a more inclusive concept
than being and that, paradoxical as it may seem,
nonbeing includes or absorbs being of all kinds.
Nonbeing is more extensive in this sense. In
addition, it has universal traits, such as
resiliency, malleability, flexibility, and
absorptive and accommodative powers. Being, on the
other hand, is static, limited, isolated, and
non-accommodative of nonbeing. And yet, in the final
analysis, both being and nonbeing function within
the selfsame realm of becoming. On this point, it
was the great Buddhist thinker Naagaarjuna (ca.
150-250) who affirmed the coexistent and coevolving
nature of the conventional and

P.121

nonconventional (ignorant and enlightened or limited
and unlimited) nature of things. He clearly stated:
"Without relying on everyday common practices (i,e.,
relative truths), the absolute truth of existence
cannot be expressed. Without approaching the
absolute truth of existence, nirvana cannot be
attained."(6)

Thus, without the function of the conventional
realm, the nonconventional does not transpire at
all, which is to say, more specifically, that the
empirical and rational functions are quite necessary
for the realization of truth in the penetrating
sense (praj~naa), that is, one that collapses both
functions into the emptiness of things (`suunyataa).

Oriental Dynamics and the Aesthetic Nature

The realization of the truth of existence is, of
course, the final goal in both Buddhism and
Taoism--an elusive goal for ordinary souls, to be
sure, and yet it must be kept in mind as we proceed
to understand the dynamics involved in becoming as
the basis for an aesthetic theory. It has also been
revealed that there is a so-called parity of
existence inherent in becoming in terms of the
coexisting and coevolving natures of the
conventional and nonconventional realms.

As conventional creatures, we are bound by
epistemic functions based on empirical and rational
data; that is, from a tender age we have been
conditioned by these data and have become
unconsciously biased and have even developed some
form of habit toward the perception of the tangible,
substantive, and manipulable nature of things. But
all this is a divisive or dichotomous function, a
mere differentiating scheme from which we may or may
not sense its futility. Should we by chance sense
its futility, however, it would most likely be
because at some point we become aware of the
limitations of the divisiveness or fragmentation
within the ambiance of the fullness of existence.
That is to say, perception involves particular
elements not in isolation but as they are nestled
within the total nature of things; or, in the
language of our discussion, being or beings do not
exist independently but belong to a larger realm of
existence.

To elaborate further on the dynamic tension
involving being and nonbeing, I would like to resort
to two highly technical terms: symmetry and
asymmetry. I use them in special ways, as in process
thought, in order to amplify the dual-faceted nature
of becomingness. Although the terms do not exactly
correspond to being and nonbeing, respectively, they
are close to them and will permit us to have a
better idea of the dynamics at play and open up the
way toward the projected nature of the aesthetic. It
will be allowed that some would find it difficult to
associate with the correspondence of the two sets of
terms, claiming that this correspondence is a bit
strained, if not distorted, in our actual perceptual
process.

P.122

This dynamics, then, refers to the becomingness
or the momentariness of existence. It means
specifically that becomingness or momentariness has
had a being-nonbeing or symmetric-asymmetric
character all along. This dual aspect exhibits at
once the internal linkage in the dynamics wherein
one side is the "seen" (being or symmetric side) and
the other the "unseen" (nonbeing or asymmetric
side); where the former refers to the measurable,
spatial, temporal, causal, and manipulable--in
brief, all of the tangible nature of things--the
latter refers to the opposite--all of the intangible
nature of things.

It was earlier mentioned that nonbeing is
extensive and accommodative of all beings and indeed
gives the latter their raison d'etre. All of this
occurs constantly without either being or nonbeing
dominating the other in the dynamics. If anything,
it shows that our momentary perception of things has
fuller, wider, and deeper dimensions than normally
thought of, dimensions that go beyond mere surface
appearances. It further shows that the symmetric and
asymmetric round out the ongoing momentary
perception. This dynamic perception is similar to
the surging surf at a beach, where its active foamy
appearance belies the constant support and content
it is receiving from the unseen, intangible forces.
With some imagination, I delineate the surging and
rolling nature of perceptual phenomena thus:

If the symmetric nature depicts the so-called
forward thrust in ordinary perception, the
asymmetric nature, contrariwise, depicts a
backward thrust, but here the nature of the
thrust is significantly different in that it is
without an act of dichotomy and consequent
attachment. In this sense, the asymmetric
represents the "pure" content as contrasted with
the "impure" content of the symmetric.... In its
non-attached nature, the asymmetric is not only
pure but also open. And so in its backward
thrust, it absorbs and accommodates everything
including the content of the past as it gives
way to the forward thrust of the symmetric. But
prior to giving way to the symmetric, the open
and pure asymmetric thrust has already
incorporated fresh new grounds which will be
taken over by the symmetric forward thrust. The
asymmetric serves then as the pure potential in
momentariness, i.e., the moment in its full
realization, steps back, so to speak, before
stepping forward. In this way, the
symmetric-asymmetric relationship is a continuum
of cyclic phenomena, a unique pulsation of
interlocked momentariness.(7)

The illustration above has presented a
speculative microscopic view of perceptual dynamics.
We are able to conclude that perception is not
merely a one- or two- or even three-dimensional
phenomenon but has deep grounding in the
being-nonbeing (symmetric-asymmetric) dynamics, thus
revealing its natural fullness and completeness at
all times, however unconscious we may be to the
elements of the process. This is yet another way of
describing the dynamic nature of perceptual
complementarity.

P.123

Oriental dynamics, then, is always full or
holistic, with the "presence" of the unseen nonbeing
or asymmetric component at play in the process. To
ignore this component is to remain with a truncated
vision and understanding. But its "presence" means
the opening up of a whole new realm and vision of
things that is in store for us. In this dynamics,
the initial point of contact between being and
nonbeing or symmetric and asymmetric is most
significant and crucial. It is precisely here that I
wish to make bold to assert that Oriental aesthetics
begins at the very contact point of being and
nonbeing (symmetric and asymmetric), a point where
there is a "balance, " though short-lived and
momentary, within the becomingness of things. Yet it
"exists" in becomingness by virtue of its "presence"
as sensed in subsequent becomingness.

How does one capture its "existence" and
"presence"l Not an easy task, to be sure, but at the
same time not an impossible task. We are already
anticipating much in Oriental aesthetics but the
answer is quite simple--so simple, in fact, that
many would simply brush it aside. The answer is: "Be
the becomingness itself."(8) The answer seems
redundant, and it is. Why? Because we are
becomingness, pure and simple. The story goes that
Ch'an Master Ma-tsu chided a monk for saying that
the wild geese had flown away. He countered: "You
say they have flown away, but all the same they have
been here from the very first."(9) The meaning is
subtle and profound in that the master was
instructing the monk that the flow of becoming has
neither a direction nor elements to be attached to,
and that the truth lies in the immediacy of
becomingness rather than in following the data
presented by the senses.

In a similar vein, Chuang Tzu referred to goblet
words (chih-yen) as indicative of the nature of
becomingness; that is, a conversation using these
words could transpire without a word being spoken,
so to say, and yet, paradoxically enough, it could
be carried on all day long. So where could Chuang
Tzu find someone with whom to convene in goblet
words?(10) Incidentally, a goblet is an instrument
that conveys water when filled and empties itself
only to be filled again. The process is interminable
but the job is done with ease. So should it be with
all dialogues!

So long as we live, we are organic creatures
ceaselessly carving out niches in the total
surroundings every waking (and even every sleeping)
moment. There is no lapse in this carving out
(Buddhist karmic acts) experiential process. The
only lapse is lodged in one's perceptual process
when the empirical and rational faculties take brief
(at times extended) missteps by attaching to the
data themselves. This is of course a diversion from
one's own becomingness, a diversion where mere
phenomena rule and influence the nature of the
perceiver and subsequent becomingness.

Should there be no lapses or diversionary acts,
becomingness would naturally be in order such that
one would be in rhythm with it or at home with one's
own function. This state, however, depicts an ideal
situation,

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most difficult to attain and very rare indeed, and
thus the average person could only hope to strive
for an assimilation of this state of affairs. The
whole Buddhist and Taoist traditions, with their
respective cultural pursuits, have for centuries
been guides and lures for individual assimilation
and emulation. Be that as it may, the initial
contact and balance of being and nonbeing or simply
being-in-nonbeing can be looked upon as the crucial
basis for the rise of aesthetic nature. It is also
the beginning of the rounded, holistic view of
perception where more than the nature of being is
involved, though this perception is largely unsensed
and unobserved. Yet the ordinary perceiver,
surprisingly, retains an unconscious balance in
his/her perception, although the balance may
disappear at any time, in which case the imbalance
points at the polarization toward the mere beingness
of things. However that may be, the sustained
balance is always a goal that is attainable by
serious and dedicated training to fend off any
movement toward the realm of being.

It should be noted that the well-trained expert
in any field, such as the martial arts, has by and
large mastered this balance in perception and is
thus able to function creatively. The expert is also
at home with whatever techniques are required, but
these are, in the final analysis, secondary and
ancillary to the basic retention of balance in
being-innonbeing. In the creative realm, the
aesthetic quality exhibits itself in terms of the
sustenance of the balance in becomingness. That is
to say, rather than a once-displayed phenomenon of
balance, the expert is able to preserve it in such a
way that his work will issue forth something novel
and unique. The aesthetic quality arises in virtue
of capturing the balanced dynamic becoming or the
fluid complementarity of sustained
being-in-nonbeing. It should be noted that any
polarization in the realm of being and attendant
attachment to its elements will prevent the rise of
any aesthetic quality since becomingness will now be
dominated by a mechanical nature/procedure wherein
elements are repeated in a strained sense. We could
refer to this mechanical and repetitive nature as a
form of ontological lag because such a nature
deviates from and blocks the harmonious function of
becomingness. The lag specifically refers to the
attachment to the diversionary elements and slows
down, so to speak, the natural flow of things.

Oriental Art

We are all too familiar with the remark
"Oriental painting is monochrome"-that is, it
consists of black brush strokes on a white piece of
paper. While the remark seems reasonable and fair,
it is, unfortunately, grossly wrong and misleading.
Basically, it is a dichotomous statement that is, in
terms of black over white. More specifically, the
perception of a monochrome painting arises because
one is merely concerned with the aspect of being,
the visible, tangible, and manipulable nature of
things,

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and thereby judges the painting on the basis of the
black configuration. But the painting is more than
the black brush strokes on a white surface; the
black strokes are not alone for they are the result
of a complementary process that includes/involves
nonblack components or the nonbeing aspect. In our
discussion, the painting is a vital display of
beings-innonbeing, a black-in-nonblack phenomenon.
Consequently, rather than monochrome the painting
should be referred to as nonchromatic or achromatic
in order to preserve the series of holistic
becomingness of the finished painting. In this
sense, the color black happens to be merely a color
without prejudice, for it could have been any other
color used. A Zen story heard years ago illuminates
this point very well.

To a drawing class one day the Zen master
assigned the subject of bamboo. With clean sheets of
rice paper, black India ink, and a brush, the monks
began to draw bamboos. The master observed each monk
and his drawing very carefully but noted a monk
whose work was not particularly on track. He
summoned the monk to his quarters and prepared to
draw the bamboo but this time with red ink. After
the drawing was done with great verve, he handed it
over to the monk saying, "This is the way to draw
bamboos." The monk looked at the drawing with a
puzzled face and responded, "But master, I haven't
seen any red bamboos." To which the master
immediately replied, "You are perfectly correct but
I haven't seen any black bamboos either!"

Now, if any color will do in Oriental painting,
the metaphysical implications are profoundly great.
It means, first and fundamentally, that the spectrum
of colors is limiting as well as inexhaustive.
Second and more importantly, it impels one to go
beyond the spectrum itself, to the realm of
no-realm,(11) that is, to a preconscious realm, if you
will, where discrimination and selectivity have yet
to arise but which is still within the becomingness
of things. In brief, this is the realm of nonbeing.
The nondiscriminative or nonselective nature is not
mere passivity or inaction since there is constant
interpenetration and involvement of being and
nonbeing--in short the beings-in-nonbeing. But what
makes the latter possible? As intimated earlier, the
presence of the nature of emptiness or nothingness
within the becomingness complements and actuates the
total function. For the uninitiated, this function
is the most difficult aspect of Oriental dynamics to
accept and to incorporate into one's thought and
action.

Francois Cheng, in a recent work titled Empty
and Full: The Language of Chinese Painting,(12) has
covered in some detail the nature and function of
emptiness and its flip side, fullness of being. He
says: "Emptiness is not merely a neutral space
serving to defuse the shock without changing the
nature of the opposition. It is the nodal point
where potentiality and becoming interweave, in which
deficiency and plenitude, self-sameness and
otherness, meet."(13)

P.126

Thus, emptiness is quite vital to the fluidity
of beings-in-nonbeing, and without it the movement
and evolvement of the so-called phenomenal-
in-nonphenomenal would not be possible. It is akin
to the lubricant that keeps the flywheel spinning
forever. Cheng goes on to cap his discussion by
asserting that any Chinese work of art consists of
four notions, namely vital breath (ch'i), inner
principle or structure (li), intention or active
consciousness (i), and spirit or divine essence
(shen).(14)

It would be too lengthy to discuss each of the
four notions, but suffice it to say that these
notions are so fundamental to the artist that he/she
will spend interminable hours perfecting them,
singularly at the beginning but collectively or in a
unified way in the end. In brief, the artist must
capture his/her own vital breath in harmony with the
primordial breath that permeates all of nature. At
the same time, he/she must assimilate his/her inner
principle of life with the principle that extends to
the world at large. Even before the brush is picked
up, he/she must already have developed the earnest
intention that will guide the hand toward broadening
and deepening the principle and vital breath. In
such a way, then, the artist captures the spirit or
divine essence in the very becomingness of things.
All this is not merely an exercise in realizing the
closeness of humanity and nature, nor is it an
imitation of nature. Most significantly, it refers
to the artist's creativity, which exhibits the
aesthetic quality in every brush stroke.(15) A thing of
beauty is always fresh, vital, principled, and
divine; it is the exemplification of a work in
graceful and disciplined motion, as seen, for
example, in the performances of a dancer, an
athlete, or a devotee of t'ai-chi.

I recall a visit to a Japanese professor's home
once when he pointed to a scroll of a tiger emerging
from a bamboo grove and remarked, "What a beautiful
painting! Just observe carefully, the tiger is
looking at you from whatever angle you view the
scroll." In brief, the tiger was alive and its
piercing eyes covered all directions, truthfully
reflecting the disciplined nature of the artist that
extended his vital breath, inner principle, and
intention, including the viewer's realm of
existence, and there by produced a work imbued with
divine essence, a marvelous thing of beauty.

Buddhism and Taoism have naturally influenced
Chinese art forms from the very beginning, but the
influence took on added dimensions with the
prominence of Zen (Ch'an) Buddhism during the T'ang
dynasty (618-906). Zen experience, that is, the
inner content of the enlightened person, has given
great impetus to the development of various cultural
forms that were later brought to Japan.

Daisetz T. Suzuki, in commenting on the most
conspicuous and characteristic features of Japanese
art and culture, lists the following: imbalance,
asymmetry, the "one-corner" (painting), poverty,
sabi or wabi, simplification, aloneness, and other
cognate ideas.(16) The three terms that

P.127


come to our immediate attention are imbalance,
asymmetry, and one-corner painting, which leaves
vast spaces open not without reason. These are, of
course, in line with our discussion in terms of
detaching ourselves from the lutes of the realm of
being where one would be entrapped in the visible,
measurable, and manipulable nature of things. But
cultural pursuits are not to be limited by this
realm and instead should go beyond it to include the
nature of nonbeing. Zen, following basic Buddhist
teachings, teaches us to abide in no fixed natures
or permanent characteristics, for the fluidity of
becomingness will not allow this, although human
beings tend to manipulate the natural flow. A famous
Zen poem shows us the way:

The bamboo-shadows move over the stone steps as
if to sweep them, but no dust is stirred;

The moon is reflected deep in the pool, but the
water shows no trace of its penetration.(17)

Wabi and sabi are two distinct Japanese
contributions to aesthetics. Wabi refers to the
sadness/sorrow attendant with the failure to cope
with the somewhat unkind vicissitudes of life within
the context of the inexorable forces of impermanence
or the transience of things. It is subjective in the
sense that there is something aesthetic about it, a
feeling/mood of poverty; or, as Suzuki says, a life
of wabi is "an inexpressible quiet joy deeply hidden
beneath sheer poverty,"(18)--to which I might add:
when exposed to certain intimations of
beings-in-nonbeing. It is a feeling of inadequacy
arising out of the overwhelming presence of the
macrocosmic nature of things.

Sabi, on the other hand, although close to wabi
on the nature of personal feelings, has an objective
character of its own, as, for example, when we view
art objects such as a teacup or a flower vase. These
objects have beauty in their own imperfection,
accompanied by antiquity or primitive uncouthness,
and contain inexplicable elements that raise a
particular object to the rank of artistic
production.(19) In sum, both wabi and sabi, in
subjective and objective modes, respectively, or to
a degree jointly, stem out of aesthetic nature, the
expression arising out of the capture of the natural
balance and/or seeming imbalance in the becomingness
of things.

The one-corner painting originated in China and
quickly came to Japan. It utilizes in a harmonious
way what is called in painting empty space but which
in reality depicts the continuum of
beings-in-nonbeing, The seemingly empty nature of
space is the "hidden" potentiality waiting for the
appearance or creation of any and all beings. The
one-corner painting is a plenum from any angle, but
at the same time it evokes in its scantiness of
brush strokes feelings of solitude, quietude, and
serenity.

The grand scenic paintings of nature, especially
in the genre of

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"mountains and waters," remind human beings of the
ecexistent phenomenon of the finite and infinite
realms of existence but, simultaneously, educe a
feeling of aloneness in the vast universe. But the
feeling is merely initial since the viewer will in
time sense the intimacy with nature that will in
turn bring forth joy and pleasure at the wondrous
continuity or relatedness of existence. Thus
aloneness is but a prelude to the complete
understanding of natural phenomena. This is
especially so in our discussion of the dynamics of
beings-in-nonbeing where finite entities find a
welcome home in the ever-present receptacle of
nonbeing.

Hoseki Shin'ichi Hisamatsu, a tea master and Zen
enthusiast, confirms much of what Suzuki has
elaborated. He in turn speaks of his own
Zen-inspired seven characteristics of art forms.(20)
They are asymmetry (fukinsei), simplicity (kanso),
aged beauty in witheredness (koko), naturalness
(shizen), profundity (yugen), otherworldliness or
transcendence (datsuzoku) , and tranquillity
(seijaku).

Once again, the term asymmetry appears at the
top of the list to emphasize the unique feature of
Zen experience. The single underlying concept in all
seven characteristics is the consciousness of the
nature of nonattachment to any form. Culling from
Zen literature, he reiterates the cardinal doctrine
of the form of no-form (muso-no-so). This doctrine
is actually a derivative of the Buddhist concept of
nonself (anaatman) but is now applied specifically
to nature and function in the cultural arts. In
Japan, the doctrine is manifested in every work of
art, such as chanoyu (tea ceremony), ikebana (floral
arrangement) , the noh play, painting, music,
archery, gardening, and haiku. Zen has had the
greatest impact on chanoyu because of the initial
patronage by the shogun, the military ruler, who
quickly saw in Zen-inspired art a vital contribution
to the samurai way of life. After all, the samurai
was constantly in life-or-death situations, which
are but deluded forms of existence, not conducive to
proper battlefield conduct, and therefore concern
for them must be removed by the practice of Zen
meditation and chanoyu.


The four principles of chanoyu are
wa-kei-sei-jaku, popularly translated, respectively,
as harmony, reverence/humbleness, purity, and
serenity/tranquillity. Needless to say, these
principles come directly from Taoist and Buddhist
teachings. Chanoyu is a simple, unadulterated form
of enjoying tea in unadorned surroundings but also
at once with a deep consciousness of
beings-in-nonbeing.

The great tea master Sen Sotan (1578-1658) once
wrote a poem: "if asked the nature of chanoyu, say
it's the sound of windblown pines in a painting.(21)
This statement is enigmatic but profound for its
multilayered imagery. First, there is the painting
itself, second, the sight of tortured and twisted
pines, and third, the sound of windblown pines. In
stark contrast, the movement of the pines reveals
the presence of a strong breeze blowing through
them, and this, in turn, wakes the soul of the
observer to


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the beautiful (divine) sound of the wind. The
observer's deep vision and enjoyment are only broken
temporarily by the soft beckoning voice of the
master, "Have a cup of tea."

NOTES

1 - Tao Te Ching 42, for example, describes
transformation or production from the Tao to
One, One to Two, Two to Three, and Three to Ten
Thousand Things (i.e., the world). This is
normally taken to be in logical and temporal
order, but that would be too simplistic. Rather,
in a very subtle and profound sense, it refers
to a non-logical, nontemporal cosmological
theory wherein the Tao, One, Two, Three, and Ten
Thousand Things are all in dynamic relationship
at all times. See Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book
in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1963), p. 160.

2 - Historically, it is said that the Buddha, after
his supreme enlightenment (nirvaa.na) , was
confronted by his five erstwhile fellow truth

seekers to reveal the reason for his change in
countenance. He refused to respond to their
entreaties because, he told them very plainly,
those who engage in empirical (sensory) matters
have no means of achieving enlightenment. In
modern terms, those who engage solely in
empirical and rational matters are from the very
beginning hampered and blocked in their search
for the truth of existence because they are
victims of attachments to the data reported by
the senses and later entified by the mind.

3 - Tao Te Ching 1 asserts that the Tao has two
facets, the sensory perceivable realm of the
named (yu-ming) and the nonsensory,
non-perceivable realm of the nameless (wu-ming).
The dynamics of both facets opens the doors to
the wondrous (hsuan) realm of existence. See
Wing-Tsit Chan, Source Book, p. 139.

4 - I submit that my analysis is purely speculative,
for there are other means, for example yoga
discipline, of realizing that something other
than being is involved in becoming. The point,
however, is that being alone cannot justify the
dynamics of becoming.

5 - I am well aware of those who would not group
emptiness (`suunyataa) and nothing or
nothingness (wu) together as depicting the
nature of nonbeing. There are differences
between the two concepts, especially as they
appear in their respective systems or
traditions. Buddhist emptiness is strictly an
experiential achievement, and Taoist nothingness
is both an experiential achievement and a cosmo-

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logical fact in terms of depicting the ways of
nature or the Tao. My position is that, given
the above two subtle differences and taken
within the general cosmological context, it
would not be wholly wrong to treat them together
in order to have a closer look at the dynamics
of becoming. Moreover, as we will later discuss
under the section on Oriental art, Buddhist and
Taoist artworks seem indistinguishable in terms
of delineating the aesthetic nature and quality.

6 - Muulamadhyamakakaarikaa (Verses on the
Fundamental Middle Doctrine), XXIV.10 (Kenneth
K. Inada, Naagaarjuna: A Translation and an
Introductory Essay [Original publication, Tokyo:
Hokuseido Press, 1970; first Indian edition,
Delhi: Sri Satguru Publications, 1993], p. 146.

To Naagaarjuna's eternal credit, he firmed
up Mahaayaana thought by sifting through the
doctrines developed since the historical Buddha
and enunciated in philosophic terms the true
teachings of the Buddha. The middle way
(madhyamaa-pratipad) was the key doctrine around
which he identified in penetrative ways the
dynamics of emptiness and experiential process
(pratiitya-samutpaada). He insightfully asserted
that the realms (ko.ti) of ordinary perception
(samsaric activity) and inordinate perception
(nirvanic nature) function in tandem and thereby
give justification to the mutuality and passage
from the samsaric to nirvanic realms. This
mutuality and its embodiment or realization in
ordinary experiences have yet to be understood
clearly and appreciated. Hopefully, the
discussion of Oriental aesthetics will further
the understanding.

7 - "The Buddhist Aesthetic Nature: a Challenge to
Rationalism and Empiricism," Asian Philosophy 4
(2) (1994): 145-146.

8 - This type of statement is replete in Zen
literature where, for example, the Zen master
instructs succinctly: "Be the green bamboo!" or
"Be the fresh young willow tree!"

9 - Daisetz T. Suzuki, An Introduction to Zen
Buddhism (New York: Grove Press, 1964), p. 89.

10 - See Burton Watson's translation, The Complete
Works of Chuang Tzu (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1968), chap. 27 on "imputed
Words," pp. 303-308.

11 - The realm of no-realm reminds us poignantly of
Zen and Taoist masters, who harped on this
theme to get to the bottom of experiential
reality. They discoursed on the fact that there
is no permanent persisting nature to rank or
position, even with masters themselves, and in
classic ways they asserted, "I am a man of
no-rank." Thus any dialogue between master and
disciple should be carried

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out on the level of no-rank, a level that is
neither debased nor exalted, but one that makes
direct/immediate contact with the reality of
things.

12 - Francois Cheng, Empty and Full: The Language of
Chinese Painting, trans. Michael H. Kohn
(Boston and London: Shambala, 1994).


13 - Ibid., p. 51. Cheng seems to speak only from
the classical Chinese standpoint, but the quote
already has strains of Buddhism in China.

14 - lbid., pp. 100-101.

15 - Ibid., p. 62. Cheng discusses the fact that
cosmology in terms of the permeation of
microcosm and macrocosm is foremost to the
painter and introduces the famous words of Wang
Wei, "By means of a slim brush, re-create the
immense body of emptiness."

16 - Daisetz T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970),
pp. 27-28.

17 - Daisetz T. Suzuki, Introduction to Zen
Buddhism, p. 132.

18 - Daisetz T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, p.
286.

19 - lbid., p. 24.

20 - Hoseki Shih'ichi Hisamatsu, Zen-to-bijutsu
(Kyoto: Bokubi-sha, 1958), p. 24. This book was
later translated into English by Gishin Tokiwa
as Zen and the Fine Arts (Tokyo: Kodansha
International, 1971).

21 - Dennis Hirota, comp. and ed., Wind in the
Pines: Classic Writings of the Way of Tea as a
Buddhist Path (Fremont, California: Asian
Humanities Press, 1995), pp. 25-26.