Leisurely pastimes

Author: Chen Pingyuan
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2005-05-01
Features: Most of the essays collected here are leisurely pieces. Beyond being trivial matters unrelated to grand national affairs, they are characterized by an almost omnipresent sense of leisure and refinement. To summarize the art of leisure as "scholarly taste" may not be entirely accurate, but it is true that literati tend to enjoy indulging in literary pursuits and discussing leisure beyond mere indulgence. Those who write about leisure may not truly achieve it, but in an era where discussing leisure was forbidden, the emotional dryness and crudeness, as well as the monotony of life, were inevitable. For thirty years, such leisurely essays almost vanished, and the few that could be found were far from satisfactory. To say that leisurely writing is indeed difficult—first and foremost, one must have a relaxed mindset and a carefree attitude for the essay to possess a certain spirit. While grand essays can sometimes be feigned, prose and sketches are entirely the natural expression of the author's temperament, and their quality or refinement is immediately apparent. Of course, compared to other serious topics, food, clothing, shelter, and transportation, as well as plants, birds, animals, and the arts of music, chess, and calligraphy, are undoubtedly more to the taste of Chinese literati. Even in the turbulent 20th century, it was not difficult to find a number of highly readable essays discussing this "art of life."
"One might say that in China, clothing can be dirty, dwellings can be humble, and roads can be muddy, but there is no room for carelessness when it comes to eating. Among the four necessities of food, clothing, shelter, and transportation, the standard of eating is far higher than the others, which is quite inconsistent. The culture of the Chinese nation can be said to be a 'culture of the mouth.'" This was said by Xia Zun in 1930, and half a century later, it still feels quite fresh. The only thing that needs to be added is that not only do ordinary Chinese people love and excel at eating, but Chinese literati also seem to have a particular fondness for discussing it—in the prose and sketches of the 20th century, there are few excellent works on clothing, shelter, and transportation, but there are plenty of outstanding essays on eating. For culinary experts, the "eating" discussed here cannot truly be called eating. Clearly, the writers are not concerned with the "content" of eating but with its "form." More accurately, it is the human emotions and natural laws embedded in the act of eating. To say that "the ghosts of other nations are satisfied with fragrant flowers, but the Chinese still insist on eating," hence the offering of pig heads or whole sheep and oxen at sacrifices (Xia Zun, "On Eating"); to say that the Chinese are willing to eat anything in the heavens and on earth, but for psychological reasons, people often "bestow auspicious names on peculiar foods" (Wang Yili, "Peculiar Foods"); to say that the ideal method of eating is to deliberately seek the inherent flavor in plain tea and simple meals, and this is something that "would not be understood in the West" (Zhou Zuoren, "On Drinking Tea"). In reality, this is an exploration of the national cultural psychology embodied in eating.
Because of this, articles discussing the "art of eating" in the Chinese people can be broadly divided into two categories based on their attitude toward national culture: those that praise Chinese culture, which focus on showcasing the Chinese people's passion for eating; and those that critique national character, which mainly satirize the negative aspects of Chinese eating habits. The value scales used by the two are different, but they are consistent in acknowledging that the Chinese are good at eating and that eating serves as a means of leisure. Lin Yutang defended smoking Western-style cigarettes for the foreign-minded, but he only spoke of "relaxation" or "subtle inspiration" in terms of practical effects ("My"), which could not compare to Wu Zuxiang's description of waterpipe smoking as a "crystallization of our national culture": when bearded old gentlemen smoked, they "exhibited a certain charm—mild, round, rustic, somewhat like Liu Shian's calligraphy"; when young and beautiful aunts smoked, their "grace and charm had a delicate and enchanting quality, as if you were reading a chapter of Southern Tang poetry"; and when refined and scholarly gentlemen smoked, their demeanor was "ethereal and detached, almost like Ni Yunlin's landscape paintings." You may not appreciate or even dislike this "art of life" filled with decoration, but you cannot deny that it has its own characteristics: its true effect lies not in addiction but in "a pastime and enjoyment of leisurely life" (Wu Zuxiang, "On Smoking"). In fact, many uniquely Chinese foods share this "non-utilitarian" quality, purely for savoring the "pleasure of leisure." Both admirers and critics are aware of this. Xia Zun doubts whether the Chinese nation was reborn from the "path of hungry ghosts," which is why they are so skilled at eating ("On Eating"); Feng Zikai mocks the Chinese people's exceptional talent for eating melon seeds, "perhaps the entire nation could vanish in the sounds of 'Gè, pēi' and 'de, de'" ("On Eating Melon Seeds"), naturally with a touch of satire. However, compared to articles on national character from the same era, it is not difficult to understand the author's predicament. As for Wu Zuxiang's aversion to the "artificially leisurely life" associated with the "ancient agricultural national culture" ("On Smoking"), and Ai Ying's lament that "the constant of the world, both domestic and foreign, did not even break Zhou Zuoren's tea pavilion, tea pot, and tea bowls" ("On Tea Literature"), are closely tied to the specific political atmosphere of that time. In their view, "leisure" was the refined pursuit of mountain hermits and recluses, and had nothing to do with the new generation of intellectuals striving to save the nation and preserve it; its only function was to erode morale. This anti-leisure tendency developed abnormally in the years when class struggle was particularly intense, and even fondness for smoking and tea became grounds for punishment. This is why Shao Yanyang blessed all tea drinkers: "I hope that in the future, people of all ages will not need to hesitate over issues like tea drinking, making 'bad' preparations." ("Ten Years of Tea Age").
In truth, Xia Zun, Feng Zikai, and others did not truly dislike "leisure" by nature, but they feigned decisive words out of concern for the times and the nation. Only when Feng Zikai discusses the purpose of drinking wine as being for enjoyment and pleasure rather than for profit or quick intoxication do you understand the author's true nature. And this view is actually quite similar to Zhou Zuoren's many insightful remarks on tea and food. In Zhou's opinion, "beyond the daily necessities, we must also have some useless games and pleasures for life to feel meaningful," hence, wine that does not quench thirst and snacks that do not fill hunger are essential 'decorations' in life ("On Tea and Snacks in Beijing"). Of course, one can survive without them, but the dryness and vulgarity of life versus its elegance and refinement lie in these 'useless decorations.' The saying that "to steal a little leisure amidst busyness and find joy in hardship" is not limited to Japan's tea ceremony (Zhou Zuoren, "On Drinking Tea"), and there is also a similar sentiment in the Chinese way of eating. What is emphasized here is the mindset during meals, not the complexity of cooking techniques or the rarity of ingredients. The writers often focus on ordinary local snacks rather than lavish banquets or other imperial delicacies. Besides Jia Pingwa's observation that "local flavors and social customs are more keenly perceived in hometown snacks" ("Record of Shaanxi Snacks"), there is also a sense of identification with the daily lives of ordinary people. Maintaining a high-end diet by spending extravagantly is the "" ( nouveau riche) and the "glutton," not a true gourmand. While gourmands cannot cook without rice, they pursue not luxury but the effort to uncover the true and complete flavors in home-cooked meals. This point is beyond the understanding of the wealthy and gluttonous, and even the former fighters against "leisure" may not fully grasp it. Zhou Zuoren's drinking of plain tea, Feng Zikai's savoring of yellow wine, and Jia Pingwa's quest for hometown snacks are all far from wasteful, but the pleasure and refinement enjoyed by the connoisseurs are indeed beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.
However, when it comes to the past century's tumultuous changes, this leisurely approach to eating has long been absent, and the tastes and sensibilities of most people have become coarse and dull. It is rare to appreciate Zhou Zuoren's thatched houses, paper windows, clear springs, and green tea with elegant porcelain tea sets. Even the proponents of this lifestyle cannot help but feel a touch of melancholy and nostalgia, as well as a fondness for bitterness. Zhou Zuoren explains his love for bitter tea as the lamentable nature of adulthood, but I doubt that the Chinese of the next century will truly understand the weight of these words—if only they do.
II Compared to "eating," "clothing," "shelter," and "travel" seem trivial. Chinese literati in the 20th century showed a stronger interest in "eating" than in the other three. Is it that writers also believed "everything is fake except what you eat"? Or is China's overly developed "food culture" unnecessarily inhibiting its "brothers"? Looking at history, however, this may not be the case. Perhaps the current "saying" applies here: the more chaotic the times, the more one can eat. During times of war and chaos, the emphasis on clothing and shelter was significantly reduced, and traveling around and sightseeing were not the same thing, but "eating" was never forgotten, and one could always perform at their best. For thirty years, although there was no war, a focus on clothing became a mark of the bourgeoisie, and spending money on travel was considered a "vice of the leisure class," but no one could stop people from eating at home as long as conditions allowed. This is why there are so few excellent essays on clothing, shelter, and travel. Lin Yutang remarked that Western-style suits made the beautiful more beautiful and the ugly more ugly, while "Chinese clothing is more egalitarian, free and equal. While the beautiful cannot fully showcase their bodies in public, the ugly can hide their flaws more easily, so Chinese clothing is very suitable for democratic spirit" ("On Western Suits"). This is a personal view, but the article is witty and interesting. Liang Shiqiu discussed the uniformity of men's clothing, while "women's clothing retains a great deal of individuality and decorative motivation, leaving ample room for creative freedom" ("On Clothing"). The article is well-researched and elegant. However, Lin and Liang, despite their enthusiasm for discussing clothing, were not particularly knowledgeable about it. They emphasized that clothing is a splendid part of culture but did not elaborate on it. The person who was truly interested in and skilled at clothing was Eileen Chang, with her essay "On Changing Clothes," which is full of highlights. Beyond her wit and erudition, what makes it even more brilliant is her attempt to describe the relationship between fashion and the times, as well as the cultural psychology behind fashion changes.
When discussing the characteristics of Qing Dynasty women's clothing, Zhang Ailing said: "This is a collection of countless small interesting details, constantly creating new branches, unrestrained, illogical, and wasting energy on unrelated matters—this is the attitude of the Chinese leisure class. Only in a world of leisure can the idle people truly appreciate the subtlety of these details." In the early years of the Republic of China, fashion showed unprecedented innocence and lightness, and the bell sleeves revealed a large section of jade-like wrists. As warlords came and went, fashion changed rapidly, not to reflect a lively spirit or innovative ideas, but to create a "personal environment" for those who could not change their living conditions. In the 1930s, the cylindrical high collar far separated the goddess-like head from the plump and graceful body, symbolizing the rationalized hedonism of the time. The most significant change in the 1940s was the abolition of sleeves, highlighting the human figure rather than the clothing. As for why the 1940s saw a trend of "subtraction" in fashion—removing all decorative elements, Zhang Ailing did not explain it. In fact, the changes in fashion over the decades are a topic worthy of a major essay, not something that a prose writer can summarize in a few words. Zhang merely sketched its general outline with her wit and deep affection for fashion.
The influence of one's residence on one's character and even one's temporary mood is undoubtedly significant. Therefore, the requirements for one's residence often reflect the potential personality of the owner. In Yu Dafu's and Liang Shiqiu's essays on residence, a clear scholarly taste is evident, emphasizing elegance rather than comfort. Of course, comfort requires more money, while elegance can be achieved even in poverty. Poverty is a product of the times, but it must be poverty with a certain flavor—this is the typical mindset of Chinese literati. Yu Dafu desired a residence that allowed for views from a high place, with trees and grass around it ("On Residence"). Liang Shiqiu admired the "elegant hut" that could not block wind and rain, not because of its high elevation and early moonlight, but because of its simple but personalized furnishings, "and personality is lovable" ("The Elegant Hut"). Liang Shiqiu said, "The Chinese are a nation that fears travel" ("On Travel"), but this is at least inaccurate. A quick look at the numerous eloquent travel essays left by the ancients makes it clear. Only in times of chaos did the Chinese become afraid of travel. Travel is originally a good way to escape mediocrity, ugliness, and to cultivate romantic sentiments, making a gray and monotonous life more tolerable. But if the difficulty of travel is as great as climbing the sky, then it is natural to "stay" at home. Completely enclosed in a siheyuan, without looking up at the ceiling, one still sighs with longing. Thus, there were alternative solutions, such as the "leisurely moments stolen amidst busyness" described by Wang Yili, and the "usual walking" closer to nature than intentional travel, as described by Liang Yuchun ("On the Road"). "Wherever there is a pavilion, there is moonlight," and the beauty discovered by oneself is not inferior to the "scenery" that has been praised to exhaustion by millions. The key is to cultivate a perceptive mindset and a keen eye for aesthetics, rather than anxiously raising funds to travel thousands of miles. Thus, the usual walking necessary for ordinary people to make a living may also have aesthetic significance, of course, with the prerequisite of a leisurely mindset.
III Unlike discussions of food, clothing, shelter, and travel, 20th-century Chinese writers paid very little attention to plants, birds, animals, music, chess, and calligraphy. Although Lu Li said that raising cranes, Lao She said that raising pigeons, Zhou Zuoren said that playing antiques, and Liang Shiqiu said that playing chess, were all rare good essays, overall, this collection of essays is clearly weak. Compared to the works of Ming and Qing literati on similar topics, there is little that is worth praising in terms of novelty. This is also unavoidable. Writing such essays requires leisurely interest, and although Zhou Zuoren and Lin Yutang promoted the "art of life" in this century, there were not many real opportunities for leisure. This is also the reason why the last part of this book is dedicated to essays on the debate between busyness and leisure. On one hand, traditional Chinese literary taste tends toward "leisure," while on the other hand, the turbulent times and the social responsibility of saving the nation and preserving it demanded a distance from "leisure." It is not uncommon for writers to sometimes praise and sometimes criticize with a serious face, and both are sincere, without any opportunistic motives. Only by understanding this can one grasp the contradictions in the value judgments of the same author's different works. In my opinion, both sides of the debate between busyness and leisure have their own value, but the essays selected for inclusion should be written with a certain refinement. "Big critique articles" with excessive passion are unlikely to appeal to contemporary readers. Those who believe they hold the truth and can put opponents to death often disdain to engage in calm debate, resorting instead to sarcasm or constant ridicule, primarily to express emotional intent rather than reasoning. As time passes, such articles become less readable.
There is also the point that those who advocate "leisure" often do so from a personal perspective, and many practice it themselves; those who oppose "leisure" often focus on social development and mainly ask the world to follow. It is easier to write with ease and lightness when arguing for oneself, but it is rare to write with elegance and grace when preaching to others. Of course, it is not impossible for the editor to favor the former, which may lead to certain theoretical blind spots and the omission of some good essays. Fortunately, critical essays on leisure have always been praised by literary historians, and various anthologies have included them, making it easy for readers to find them. Therefore, even from the perspective of filling gaps, including more essays in defense of leisure seems reasonable. As Wang Yili said, "leisurely" does not necessarily mean "idling." "If you pursue leisure properly, it not only does no harm but also benefits" ("On Leisure"). Working endlessly is like a machine, not a "person"—a person in the true sense. Feng Zikai emphasized "temporarily detaching from the mortal world," giving up desires, not talking about work, "daydreaming," which is very necessary for a healthy life, precisely because it is "pleasant, comfortable, and nourishing" ("Temporarily Detaching from the Mortal World"). In fact, ancient Chinese literati had long understood this point. From Tao Yuanming and Su Dongpo to Zhang Chao and Li Lixiong, they were all "happy geniuses" who could "be idle with what others are busy" and "be busy with what others are idle." The opposition between "busyness" and "leisure" here is primarily the opposition in the content of what one is busy with and what one is idle with, and it is not entirely the same as Zhou Zuoren's "work hard and enjoy life" as introduced from Japan. Only in emphasizing the importance of leisure for the secular, busy life do they share common ground.
Liang Yuchun, deeply influenced by British essays, discussed this issue from another angle. He opposed unnecessary busyness, advocated the art of sleeping in, "sleeping in itself seems very lazy, but it can give us great vitality, making our lives more dynamic and lively" ("A Moment in Spring is Worth a Thousand Gold"). He mocked lifeless humility and peace, admiring a "roaming bum" who indulged in whims, took things as they came, was full of fantasy and optimism, and made the most of life at every moment ("On the Roaming Bum"). Interestingly, when Liang Yuchun discussed the "roaming bum," he chose Su Dongpo as an example of ancient Chinese literati, which perfectly aligns with Lin Yutang, who was renowned for promoting leisure and simplicity. This shows that the two indeed had something in common.
Acknowledging the importance of "leisure" for a meaningful life does not mean advocating a "mountain hermit" lifestyle that is ignorant of the Han and Jin dynasties, nor does it mean admiring the "grand" that decorates the mountains and forests and the "little" that attaches to elegance. A life of constant busyness is not advisable, nor is pride in leisure necessarily admirable. There is an appropriate "degree" in balancing "busyness" and "leisure." Excess and deficiency are both undesirable. The essence of life lies in this delicate "degree."