Unraveling the Threads
Ming Identity in the Forbidden City’s symbolism
MA Asian Studies: History, Arts and Culture Thesis
Student:
Daphne Neven
Student number:
s0938297
Thesis Supervisor:
Dr. M. J. Klokke
Deadline:
15 July 2016
Version:
Final
Fig. 1. Meridian Gate, the main entrance to the Forbidden City.
Introduction
The Forbidden City in Beijing, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was built between 1406 and 1421, and remains to this day an important monument of classical Chinese culture. Its history spans two dynasties, over six hundred years, the rule of twenty-four emperors and was the setting of countless political and historical decisions that changed the course of Chinese history. These days, the site is a major tourist attraction, and the palatial complex and its museum draw in a staggering fifteen million visitors per year1. Both foreign and
domestic visitors flock to the former quarters of the imperial court to get a taste of the life of the Chinese emperor, to visit the mysterious complex that for five hundred years was off limits to the public, a mysterious world beyond closed gates.
The palatial complex itself is portrayed by UNESCO as embodying ‘the traditional characteristic of urban planning and palace construction in ancient China’ and as ‘the exemplar of ancient architectural hierarchy, construction techniques and architectural art.’2
The complex is arguably the paragon of Chinese culture, embodying not only the highpoints of classical techniques and art, but emphasizing strict social hierarchy and political power throughout its entire design. I will argue that it represents the world as it was seen in early Ming dynasty thought.
One research question forms the foundation of this thesis: what does the Forbidden City represent? I will be looking into what is revealed about certain ideas, ideas that were prevalent in the early 15th century China, in the layout and overall design of the Forbidden 1 Visitor count 2013: 15,340,000. Source: www.travelandleisure.com
2 For the full description of the Forbidden City on the UNESCO website, visit: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/439
City complex. Various insights will be offered on what events and social practices influenced the proportions and structuring of the Forbidden City as it was originally built, and to what extent these insights were unique for this complex.
Over the past six hundred years, many alterations have been made to the Forbidden City complex. Structures have been demolished, changed, rebuilt, redecorated, and
renamed over time, either due to damage or a new emperor’s orders, but the essential layout of the palatial complex remains the same. The ideas that underlie certain architectural decisions appear to have remained more or less the same over time. Most of the important buildings follow the same style of architecture, giving the Forbidden City a certain
atmosphere of continuity, of timelessness.
This is not to say that there are no exceptions. For instance, the Palace of Tranquil Longevity built from 1771 onwards is said to resemble the Palace of Heavenly Tranquility, but features spectacular European-style trompe l’oeil wall paintings by Giuseppe Castiglione (1688-1766), a Jesuit missionary whose art was well-loved by the Qianlong Emperor
(1711-1799) (Zhu, 2014) (fig. 2). Throughout the centuries, the Forbidden City has
developed an identity of its own, every emperor adding contemporary touches to a classical, largely unchanging foundation as it was constructed by its original planner: the Yongle Emperor (1360-1424). It is this background, therefore, that I will be looking into.
Fig. 2. The Theatre Room in the Palace of Tranquil Longevity, featuring spectacular trompe l’oeil painting by
Giuseppe Castiglione.
What I am referring to with the term ‘foundation’ encompasses more than simply its literal meaning of load-bearing structures in the ground. In this context it means something along the lines of the Forbidden City’s general setup, the way it was originally laid out on top of the
ruins of the Yuan dynasty palatial complex that came before it (South China Morning Post, 2016). It refers to the general north-south axis of the Ming-dynasty complex and the main buildings that were constructed along this axis, it refers to the proportions of not only the structures themselves, but also the courtyards that separate them. However, I will also be discussing the tiered platforms on which most buildings are built and the steps leading up to them, along with their balustrades and other smaller components.
What separates the architectural features that I will be discussing from those that I will not be discussing is my belief that the mentioned features have remained mostly unchanged, and if they have been changed since the early Ming dynasty, their symbolic meaning has remained the same. These features all refer to the underlying idea of how architecture should represent something bigger than itself, an idea that seems common in classical Chinese architecture and that will be discussed later on. Furthermore, given the massive scale of the palatial complex and the abundance of references to classical Chinese thought in symbols, and given the word count limit of this thesis, it has been necessary to make decisions about what would and what would not be mentioned. Quite simply put, it was decided that looking into large, often-occurring architectural features that shaped the initial look of the Forbidden City would prove more efficient for a thesis of this length than looking into details and separate features of all buildings.
It has been pointed out before that symbol and symbolism are difficult terms to work with, and require sufficient definition. What I mean when I use the word symbol in the context of this thesis is a material object or image that refers to an abstract idea or phenomenon that is not directly derivable from the object or representation itself. The term ‘architectural symbolism’ then, refers to aspects of architecture that are not only functional, but maintain their functionality while also being a reference to an abstract idea. For example, a
double-eaved roof, like the ones found on the Forbidden City’s most important buildings, is not only practical, but also shows which buildings are most important. It is an example of architectural symbolism. A dragon can be seen as a symbol representing the emperor (fig. 3). The dragon and the emperor are not exactly logically linked, but can be connected because classical Chinese culture has made one a symbol for the other. Another example could be the size of a courtyard vis-a-vis another courtyard, symbolically representing the male and female principle. Hopefully, this definition will help keep the reader from becoming entangled in different interpretations of the term. It is a very widely applicable definition, and for the sake of this thesis, that is exactly what it needs to express.
Fig. 3. The emperor’s Dragon Throne. Dragons were often used to symbolically represent the emperor.
Furthermore, I would like to point out to the reader that the story of what lies behind the Forbidden City architectural features in terms of symbolism is an epic, rather than a novel. Looking into the very origins of some of the most commonly occurring symbols has proven to be an adventurous undertaking. These origins entails stories of war, politics, religion, shamanism, and are inspired by the oldest of Chinese classics, ancient forms of divination and classic power struggles. By the time the Forbidden City was being
constructed, the epic of symbolism already spanned several millennia. Hopefully it is understandable then, that not all of these origins and their developments can be discussed in this thesis. An attempt will be made to give an overview of where some of the Forbidden City’s symbols come from, and in what way these origins are relevant to the way the Forbidden City was shaped during its construction, but there is always more research to be done.
The reason that this thesis focuses on symbolism in the Forbidden City in Beijing is, first of all, personal academic interest. Personal acquaintances recounted their visits to the complex with much enthusiasm, having been awed by the sheer scale of the buildings. They spoke about its symbols and the explanations of them that have become all but common
knowledge, and can be found on most tourist websites of the Forbidden City. The 9x9 grids of gilded doornails on the most important gates, expressing the wish for the emperor’s longevity (the Mandarin Chinese pronunciation of nine is the same as long-lasting). The prevalent depictions of dragons, which are representations of the emperor. The red color of the walls, which in a bright hue represents good fortune, but which, according to a Chinese
friend of mine, represents ‘old things’ when of a vermillion shade.
The more I heard these examples repeated, the stranger they began to sound. Surely the 9x9 grids of doornails had some function, other than expressing a wish for longevity? Surely there had to be a reason that the emperor was represented by a dragon? And why was it that my friend associated that beautiful deep red with ‘old things’?
Because of these questions and many more like it, the decision to go with this topic for this thesis was an easy one to make. Although I must admit that I have never had the chance to visit the Forbidden City myself, I have tried to make up for that by delving into the topic with reckless abandon, soaking up whatever information was available. Through this approach, I have managed to create a fairly good idea of the kinds of ideas that have inspired classical Chinese architectural symbolism, although it is likely only a fraction of the full symbolic vocabulary that was available to architects at the time of its construction in the early fifteenth century.
Before we look into the actual thesis itself, it is important to point out that the topic of symbolism in Chinese architecture is nothing new, and those familiar with Chinese
architecture built in a classical style might consider it self-evident that architectural features are representations of something more abstract. The continuous popularity of feng shui, the theory that buildings should be built and decorated to streamline qi, is a clear testimony to the importance of architectural design as being auspicious, as well as functional. This theory is still applied today. A Chinese CEO was persuaded to buy an old monastery in the south of the Netherlands after it was pointed out as being particularly auspicious by a feng shui expert (Sittard-Geleen Nieuws), and my professor at National Chengchi University in Taiwan, who was sceptical about the theory, started to believe in the benefits of feng shui when a series of suicides on the university campus came to an immediate halt after the campus had been redesigned along feng shui guidelines.
So the theory of constructing buildings to bring prosperity and health to its inhabitants is one that is still relevant today. And it is not only in China, or countries that have long been influenced by Chinese culture, that such a theory exists. Some articles compare feng shui theory to Vastu-Shastra, an Indian architectural tradition that seems to show remarkable resemblance to feng shui theory3. Considering these long-standing traditions and the amount
of cross-cultural interactions throughout history, it is likely that many cultures have or have had similar theories at some point in time.
If we take into consideration then, that Chinese architecture has a long tradition of being designed to be beneficial in ways that are not immediately visible (the direct link 3 For instance, Huang En-Yu’s Comparing the do’s & taboos in Chinese feng-shui and Indian
between health and interior design being somewhat unclear, at least to the eye of an outsider like me), it might be this very self-evident nature of architectural symbolism in the Forbidden City that makes it a surprisingly unpopular topic of research. While I was amazed to find symbolism at truly every level of the Forbidden City, from its layout to the tiniest details, this did not at all seem to surprise my Chinese classmates. After all, the Forbidden City does not seem to be unique in its symbolism. Many classical Chinese buildings seem to follow roughly the same guidelines. The Forbidden City is, however, unique in its scale, age, and popularity among tourists.
Perhaps that is the reason that finding relevant information on the topic posed a challenge. Research for this thesis sometimes felt like sorting through a thousand puzzle pieces to make a hundred piece puzzle, and much of the gathered information could be discarded after finding looking into it further. It felt like unraveling a three-thousand year carpet that was woven so tightly it was nearly impossible to lift out one or two pieces of information without pulling about fifty other strands that required separate research. Sources in English often spoke of the Forbidden City as if it had been unchanged over the past six hundred years, or focused on its architecture without explaining its symbolism. Some focused on one particular emperor’s influences on the complex, but it was rarely, if ever, the Yongle Emperor, who had it built to begin with. In fact, if an emperor was mentioned, it was usually the Qianlong Emperor, whose artistic interests have become the stuff of legends. But even if there were few sources directly tied to the topic at hand, almost all of them had pieces of information that fit the puzzle in some way.
Chinese sources proved more directly suited to answer my questions, although they too were sometimes inconvenient to work with. Sometimes it was their availability: from malfunctioning databases and search engines to mistranslated Chinese titles that made sources impossible to find, it proved difficult to find the information necessary. The fact that I have little experience in navigating Chinese websites did not make it any easier. Two
Chinese sources proved to be most valuable to my research, even if both spoke of the Forbidden City as largely unchanged through the Ming and Qing dynasties. The first is an online course about Chinese relics that I happened to follow, offered by Tsinghua University and taught by Prof. Peng Lin, with one week’s lecture dedicated to the Forbidden City and its symbols (Peng, 2016). The second major source was an article written by Dong Rui and Li Ze-Chen about the influences of the Book of Changes on the architecture of the Forbidden City. This article was a tremendous help in understanding the different layers of symbolism, and provided a link between numerological symbols and yin-yang symbolism in the
complex’s architecture (Dong and Li, 2005).
that could have been of more help. If more accurate sources have not been named in this thesis’ bibliography, it is quite simply because I am or was unaware of them during the time of writing. I ask the reader’s understanding if this proves to be the case.
This thesis is divided into seven chapters, the first of which is this introduction. Then follows an introductory chapter on the Forbidden City itself: when it was built, how it was built, where it was built. This in order to give the reader an idea of the architecture we will be working with, and to make it easier to understand the topics which will be discussed in the following chapters.
The third chapter will focus on the balance between yin and yang in the Forbidden City. The theory behind yin and yang is that the universe, the world and everything in it, whether tangible or intangible, are comprised of two opposing but complementary forces. The interaction between these two forces produces a flow of life force, qi. By balancing yin and yang in every aspect of life, qi can flow freely, and this is highly advantageous. This theory, I will argue, has inspired some of the most important concepts in classical Chinese architecture, and we will look into some examples I believe to express attempts at finding the ultimate balance between yin, yang, and all they stand for, in order to streamline qi so that the state may prosper, and the emperor with it.
The fourth chapter will focus on the Forbidden City as an expression of social
hierarchy in classical Chinese society. I will argue that the buildings of the Forbidden City are laid out in a way that shows not only yin and yang principles, but also that of a very strict social hierarchy. The very way buildings are named and placed along the rectangular map of the Forbidden City show that the ministers are ranked below the emperor, that the empress is ranked below the emperor, that women are ranked below men, and that concubines are ranked below the empress. By building social hierarchy into the imperial complex,
everyone’s roles and ranks were quite literally set in stone.
The fifth chapter will delve into the relationship between the Forbidden City and Heaven, taking a more religious approach to architectural symbolism. In it, I will discuss a variety of topics concerning the idea of Heaven in classical Chinese philosophy and religion, and their impacts on architectural symbolism.
The sixth chapter will look more into specific examples of personal influences in the Forbidden City, focusing on the Yongle Emperor himself. The Yongle Emperor moved the imperial capital from Nanjing a thousand kilometers to the north, and while I will argue that the Forbidden City was built mostly in accordance with old architectural guidelines, the emperor himself left his mark as well, turning the Forbidden City into a narrative of his life as an emperor fearful of Heaven, and whose title was prised with military force from his
nephew’s fingers.
The seventh chapter will be the conclusion to this thesis.
The Forbidden City
While the Forbidden City and its museum may enjoy vast popularity among tourists and lovers of Chinese art, it may need some introduction for readers who are not immediately familiar with it4. It is also important to explain what exactly is meant when discussing the
Forbidden City in this thesis and which sections will be discussed, as the buildings
associated with it have changed throughout history. It may also prove valuable to explain for what reason and under what circumstances the Forbidden City has been constructed, as I believe these reasons have thoroughly influenced its final shape when construction was finished.
The Forbidden City is the palatial complex the construction of which was ordered by the Yongle Emperor (1360-1424) during the early Ming dynasty. It was an enormous undertaking that required the coordination of craftsmen throughout the entire state, from the lumberjacks chopping down nanmu trees in the high Sichuan mountains, to the collection of massive stone slates from the east of Beijing, which could only be moved in winter when the roads were iced over, making movement of these heavy stones much easier (Tsai, 2001, p. 125).
Thousands of artisans and farmers were moved to Beiping, as Beijing was called before 1403, and tremendous efforts were undertaken to establish a modern, highly cultured city in a place that had essentially been ruined by famines and epidemics in the 14th century (Tsai, 2001, p. 32) and reduced to rubble in the civil war that ended in the Yongle Emperor’s ascension of the throne (Tsai, 2001, p. 104). An estimated two to three hundred thousand workers were involved in the Forbidden City’s build, an astonishing number that would have required tremendous planning and logistical skills (Tsai, 1996, p. 34).
It seems that at the time, there was little understanding for the emperor’s interest in the northern city. After all, the Ming dynasty capital had always been in Nanjing, which was a thousand kilometers to the south. That was where high court culture took place, it was where all important artists, writers, politicians and bureaucrats had gathered ever since the first Ming ruler, the Hongwu Emperor (1328-1398), proclaimed himself emperor there in 1368. So why decide to move the capital north, into a region that was considered inhospitable, and was so much closer to the dangerous border of the Mongol threat from the north?
Although various authors have given various answers to this question, the general consensus appears to be that whatever the reasons, the move to Beiping was an inevitable one when the Yongle Emperor ascended the dragon throne in 1402. There seem to be two major opposing explanations for the move. One focuses on the Yongle Emperor’s
motivations to move north, emphasizing a military advantage in the move. Although the Yuan dynasty had officially ended and Mongol military power seemed to be declining, there was a continuous risk of assaults from the northern border. By moving the Ming court closer to the border, it would be easier to keep tabs on what was going on, and action could be
undertaken more swiftly. Shih-Shan Tsai, for instance, states that this was was likely the most important reason for the move (Tsai, 2001, p. 148).
A second explanation suggests that the move was away from Nanjing, rather than towards Beijing. The Prince of Yan, as he was known before ascending the throne as the Yongle Emperor, was uncle to the Jianwen Emperor, the second emperor of the Ming dynasty. The Jianwen Emperor was successor to the Hongwu emperor, the Yongle
Emperor’s father, and son of the late crown prince, the Yongle Emperor’s brother. Tensions rose between the Jianwen Emperor and the slighted Prince of Yan until a civil war broke out that nearly ruined the country. It ended when Nanjing was taken by the Prince of Yan’s forces, and the Prince of Yan became the Yongle Emperor. The Jianwen Emperor
disappeared. He and his family most likely perished in the fires that consumed his quarters (Li, 2005).
After the Prince of Yan became the Yongle Emperor in 1402, he remained in
Nanjing. Many of his nephew’s advisors and ministers were executed. However, according to some, it is the fear of remaining Jianwen loyalists that drove the emperor north, away from his nephew’s field of influence (Li, 2005).
A more dramatic interpretation of this can be found in a documentary that describes the construction of the Forbidden City. According to this documentary, after the
disappearance of his nephew, the Yongle Emperor began to have horrible nightmares. He hated Nanjing, not because of loyalists, but because it was haunted by his nephew’s ghost that would never stop tormenting him (Li, 2005). He initiated the move to Beijing not because of military advantages, but because he had lived there with his family long before the
struggles of succession, and it felt like his home.
Personally, I believe the last explanation to be a little too dramatic. While written accounts of the Yongle Emperor’s speeches suggest that he may have been a true believer in Heaven and the retribution of deceased ancestors (Tsai, 2012, p. 81), he was also a man unafraid of confrontations (Maitra, 1970, p. 102), and considering his military undertakings in the past he was most likely well-equipped to deal with traumatic experiences.
Yongle Emperor did long back to Beijing, where he had been a fairly autonomous prince before he became emperor in his nephew’s and father’s city. However, he was also a military man, and the advantages of moving to the north would have appealed to him as well. Besides, there were already major renovations taking place in the north, and lots of food and materials were being sent that way. By moving to Beijing, it would probably be easier to keep a close eye on what was happening with those materials. Nanjing was far removed from areas of military interest, it was a city where he was most likely still regarded with some suspicion, and it was far from where his interests lay. I agree that the move to Beijing was one that would have been inevitable from the moment the Prince of Yan ascended the throne. After all, it seems that there was little reason for the him to remain in Nanjing. Construction on the Forbidden City was started in 1406, with the emperor, and the entire court with him, moving into the finished complex in 1421. During construction funds, grain, materials and manpower were pumped into Beijing, and with the permanent relocation of the court, Beijing was to be assigned a new and vastly important role in Chinese history. While the city had been capital to the Yuan dynasty and the Jin dynasty before that, and had been an important military settlement since the Tang dynasty (Peng, 2016), the Yongle Emperor’s move is likely the reason that Beijing is still China’s capital to this day. Furthermore, the palatial complex that was constructed by his order has been the home to all emperors after him up until the end of the Qing dynasty in 1911. Countless works of art have been collected within its walls, and the revenue that is currently generated by the Forbidden City and its museum speak for themselves: even six hundred years later, the Forbidden City is a beating heart in Chinese culture.
Recent archaeological digs within the walls of the Forbidden City have shown that the complex was most likely built immediately on top of the destroyed Yuan dynasty complex that the Yongle Emperor himself had lived in as the Prince of Yan (South China Morning Post, 2016). This may have been done for a variety of reasons, although it seems likely that the location was simply used again because both the architect behind the blueprint of the Yuan dynasty complex, Liu Bingzhong (1216-1274), and the one behind the Ming dynasty complex, Nguyen An (1381-1453), appeared to be working off the same architectural guidelines for an imperial capital as described in the Rites of Zhou (Peng, 2016).
Fig. 4. Qing dynasty map of Beijing. The central rectangle in the northern part, described as 大大, Great Interior, represents the Forbidden City.
The Forbidden City itself is laid out in a very clear-cut rectangular shape. Old maps of Beijing show the Forbidden City in its centre as a mysterious, empty rectangle named danei, the Great Interior (fig. 4). It is longer than it is wide, the ‘long’ walls being those that run parallel to the central north-south axis. The most important buildings, for instance the main gateways and residential buildings of the emperor and empress, are built along the central axis, with large courtyards between them. Seen from above, the central courtyards and buildings appear to be sectioned off, forming a large, spacious rectangle in the southern part of the complex, and a smaller, slightly denser rectangle in the northern part (fig. 5, areas marked red). The most important buildings in the southern rectangle are the Meridian Gate, the Gate of Supreme Harmony, the Hall of Supreme Harmony, The Hall of Middle Harmony, and the Hall of Preserving Harmony (see map on page 38). The most important buildings in
the northern rectangle are the Gate of Heavenly Purity, the Palace of Heavenly Purity, and the Palace of Earthly Tranquility. Those familiar with the Forbidden City may notice that the Hall of Union is not included: that is because this building was a later addition by the Jiajing Emperor (1507-1567).
Fig. 5. A small overview of the Forbidden City. Areas of interest have been marked by the author.
I believe that it is these rectangular parts of the Forbidden City, along with the other buildings along the north-south axis, that are most important when discussing the Forbidden City’s architectural symbolism. The rest of the complex is divided into smaller sections, and while these are most certainly important in their own right, for the sake of research
boundaries these will not, or barely, be discussed in this thesis. Most of these areas consist of private gardens, workshops, studios, additional palaces, or halls of worship. It is worth mentioning that while the majority of this thesis will discuss the central buildings mentioned, some exceptions will be made if they support a point being made, and some buildings may be mentioned that fall outside the Forbidden City walls entirely. These exceptions will be pointed out as being so, and reason will be given as to why they are relevant.
Most of the complex’s buildings are made of wood, which is not as remarkable as it might seem. After all, it was, and in some locations still is, the most common building material in China (Peng, 2016). While stone or pounded earth may seem like a more stable material to use, wood had some distinct advantages that make it preferable for construction in China. For one, wood is easy to come by in large amounts, and transportation can be done relatively easily over water. Furthermore, earthquakes are a fairly common occurrence in most of China, and wood as a building material may prove more forgiving in the case of seismic activity than stone or earth. It is more flexible, and by using a special building technique where pillars bear most of the weight and walls bear little to no weight, a building will remain standing even if the walls come crashing down. Interlocking wooden brackets to support the ceiling offer enough space to move in case of an earthquake without the roof immediately collapsing.
Then there is another reason that I have been told of, and that is that wood is traditionally considered a yang, living, material in China. Because of this, it is a building material of preference for most residences of the living. Stone and pounded earth, yin materials, are therefore traditionally used for tombs, the residences of the deceased. However, wooden buildings also pose a fire hazard. With many buildings raised on stone platforms, lightning strikes and subsequent fires were not all too uncommon. Nowadays, around three hundred giant bronze vats that are spread throughout the Forbidden City hold a decorative function, but during imperial times, these vats held hundreds of liters of water as a precaution, to be used in case of fire.
The Forbidden City served many functions and likely housed hundreds. It was home to not only the emperor and the empress, but to princes and princesses, concubines, their children, a multitude of servants, and many more. Maintenance personnel had their workshops there, and while most offices were placed just outside of Meridian Gate, some were found in the southern quarters of the Forbidden City itself. During celebrations for the Chinese New Year, the courtyard in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony could hold a hundred thousand guests, as a Persian ambassador received by the Yongle Emperor pointed out (Maitra, 1970, p. 84). While many religious ceremonies took place at imperial altars located outside of the Forbidden City, some were organized within its walls, and one temple has even been placed along the highly esteemed central north-south axis (Peng, 2016). This temple will be discussed later on.
For five hundred years, the Forbidden City was the hub of imperial Chinese culture. For the past one hundred years, it has become a tribute to Chinese artistic
accomplishments, its museum holding many spectacular pieces, its buildings and their decorations honoring a long-standing architectural tradition. But there is more than meets the eye. Underneath the gilded dragons, through the gates with their gridded doornails,
behind the red walls and across the courtyards lies a more intricate story of symbolism. One that orders the universe, establishes the social hierarchy, makes the emperor the Son of Heaven, and reveals the priorities of the emperor that ordered the palatial complex’s construction.
Yin and Yang
The phenomenon of yin and yang, two opposing but complementary forces that each contain the potential for the other, is one that has gained popularity outside of Asia as a symbol for perfect balance and harmony. Its symbol can be found on clothes, jewelry, tattoo designs, and, if I remember it correctly from my own middle school days, doodled in the notebooks of many teenage girls (fig. 6). And while yin and yang are fairly well-known to the Western world these days, its meaning is often overly simplified, and its symbol stands for much more than the abstract ideal of balance assigned to it.
Fig. 6. The well known symbol for yin and yang, also known as the Taijitu (大大大).
While the idea of yin and yang probably predates it, the Zhou dynasty Book of Changes, the Confucian classic that is usually dated between 1000 and 750 B.C. , is likely one of the first sources to document the world in terms of opposing but complementary forces (Legge and Ch’u, 1969, p. xxxi). The Book of Changes is a manual for a complicated divinatory practice, where the entire universe can be broken down into eight three-lined symbols, called trigrams, or bagua (fig. 7). These trigrams represent certain aspects of the world, and can be combined to form hexagrams, consisting of six lines, which offer more detailed insights.
Two types of horizontal lines are used to make up the trigrams or hexagrams. A line can either be unbroken (yang) or broken into two shorter lines (yin). It is this division that I believe to be the foundation of yin-yang theory. After all, in the Book of Changes every phenomenon in the universe is essentially built up from a combination of these lines, thus representing interactions between yin and yang.
The Book of Changes offers very mystic explanations for every possible hexagram, each accompanied by elaborate descriptions of every single line, almost telling a story by interpreting the interactions between two lines. A hexagram, traditionally generated through an unclear numerological process, can be a promise of success, of struggle, or loss or of reward for hard work (Smith, 2012, p. 27).
Fig. 7. The Eight Trigrams: The Prior Heaven and Later Heaven Arrangements.
Absolutely everything in the universe, whether material or abstract, can be divided into either yin or yang, or an interaction between the two. The broken or unbroken lines are basic representations of the complex idea behind them, where yin and yang are absolutely intangible but all-enveloping forces. Their theory envelops not only architecture, but also spirituality, human relationships, natural phenomena, dietary habits and just about everything else. Although it is most often referred to as yin and yang, it might be more accurate to refer to the phenomenon as yang and yin, as yang is a virile, masculine, powerful force, while yin is docile, feminine and soft. Where yang leads, yin follows, but yang is nothing without the support of yin. For the sake of habit, however, they will be referred to in this thesis as yin and yang.
Yin and yang complement each other, and their interactions form everything in the universe. These two forces are also responsible for the production of qi, life force, and it is the streamlining of this life force that forms the foundation of feng shui theory. Feng shui theory is the theory that aims to streamline the flow of qi within a certain area through interior or architectural design. The benefits attributed to a space with streamlined qi explain why feng shui theory is still so popular: it generally brings prosperity, good health and happiness to anyone around. While I am unsure of the existence of feng shui theory under that name during the Ming dynasty, I am convinced that the same general idea of maximizing abstract benefits through a balanced layout has influenced the Forbidden City’s architecture. One example of feng shui theory being applied within the Forbidden City can be found in the
efforts that were made to dig out a wide moat around the Forbidden City, while to the north of the complex, essentially lying ‘behind’ it, we can find a man-made mountain. The idea of ‘facing the water and leaning against a mountain’ is one that is still important in feng shui theory to this day (Travel China Guide, 2016), and may be a clear pointer towards a Ming dynasty equivalent of this theory.
It is relatively simple to find examples of yin and yang in the Forbidden City if one knows what to look out for. Because the two forces have no direct material manifestations,
familiarity with their symbols is the only way to understand the balance that is being struck. Yang is a masculine force. It is powerful, light, associated with the south, the east and with Heaven. In the Book of Changes, it is represented by the qian trigram (☰) and the qian hexagram that consists of six yang lines, and its explanation tells a cryptic story of a fierce dragon that, if it is strong enough, will bring good fortune. With such a description, it is not surprising that this hexagram is associated with the ‘superior man’, ‘exhibiting the attributes characteristic of heaven’ (Legge & Ch’u, p. 59). It is associated with the emperor himself. It is also not surprising then, that dragon symbols abound in the Forbidden City, with a general estimate of about 12,000 depictions5.
While many of these dragons were later additions, it is safe to assume that dragons have been prevalent from the moment the Forbidden City was constructed. By the time the Ming dynasty dawned, dragons had been a powerful symbol in China for several millennia, as is suggested by an excavated grave dating back to the Yangshao period (5000-3000 B.C.), depicting an astrological map where one half of the night sky is represented by a dragon (fig. 8)(Peng, 2016a).
Many visitors of the Forbidden City are familiar with the Nine Dragon Wall, and this would have been a beautiful example of yang symbolism, had it not been constructed long after the Yongle Emperor’s reign. The reason this would have been such a beautiful example is because along with having dragons to represent yang, nine is the highest yang number (Smith, 2008, p. 27). Because of this, the number nine (and to a lesser extent, other odd numbers) is well represented throughout the complex, such as in the 9x9 grids of doornails on the main gates.
Fig. 8. Yangshao period grave. To the left of the remains a dragon is laid out in shells. To the right, a tiger.
While the Nine Dragon Wall was not present in the original Forbidden City’s architecture, another example fortunately was. The Hall of Supreme Harmony, built on a three-tiered platform (three being another important yang number), is reached by three tiers of stairs, each with an odd number of steps and flanked by balustrades with an odd number of pillars. In the centre of these stairs are three enormous stone slabs, each depicting three dragons surrounded by clouds, representing Heaven. A similarly decorated slab can be found behind the Hall of Preserving Harmony, which was carved from a single piece (fig. 9). While the slab currently in place there is a Qing dynasty replacement, it is said to be an exact copy of the Ming dynasty original (Travel China Guide, 2016). These slabs in the center of the stairs are said to have been meant for the emperor only, who was carried over them in a sedan chair. Some sources even say that touching them was punishable by death. The path for the emperor was marked in a straight north-south line along ground level, although the light stones used for this were generally undecorated.
Fig. 9. Decorated stone slab in the center of the stairs leading up to the Hall of Preserving Harmony.
Yin is a feminine force. It is docile, dark, and associated with the north, west and Earth. In the Book of Changes, it is represented by the kun trigram (☷) and hexagram, which tells the story of a superior man that will go astray when he attempts to lead, while he will be his best self when following orders. With the dragon being a yang symbol, it would make sense for there to be a yin equivalent within the Forbidden City.. And there is: it is the phoenix. But it is a symbol that is not as easy to find on its own. In fact, it appears almost exclusively in combination with a dragon. The Palace of Earthly Tranquility, for instance, is decorated with an enormous carpet depicting a phoenix and a dragon, along with a shuangxi symbol to wish the imperial couple good fortune. Its friezes are also decorated with both dragons and phoenixes, rather than phoenixes exclusively (fig. 10). Some of the concubines’ palaces sport the same decorated friezes (such as the Jingren Gong). Despite these
examples, it is fair to say that yin in its own right is underrepresented within the Forbidden City, and the next chapter will explain just why that is, and how yin-yang balance is achieved despite it.
Fig. 10. Frieze detail on the Palace of Earthly Tranquility, depicting dragons and phoenixes.
The qian hexagram, consisting of six yang lines and representing the superior man and by extension the emperor, can also be found within the Forbidden City. For one, it can be found in the names of several palaces. The Chinese name for the Palace of Heavenly Purity is the Qianqing Gong, the first character the same character used for the hexagram. In fact, the English translation is not a direct translation of the Chinese name: because there is no suitable translation for the concept of qian as a hexagram, the translation is a reference to one of the many things qian stands for: Heaven. During the Yongle reign (1402-1424), the Palace of Heavenly Purity was the residence of the emperor. The empress, however, lived in
the Palace of Earthly Tranquility, the Kunning Gong, where kun is a reference to the kun hexagram, which consists of six yin lines. Just as qian was loosely translated as Heavenly, kun is translated as Earthly, if only to emphasize the fact that the palaces are each other’s counterparts.
The phenomenon of yin and yang occurs a few more times in the shape of trigrams or hexagrams within the Forbidden City. One example, and one that is frequently pointed out to visitors, is the shape in which the smaller palaces for the emperor’s concubines are arranged to the east and west of the empress’s palace (fig. 5, areas marked in blue). These palaces, six to the east and six to the west, are constructed within small courtyards, and from an aerial point of view they resemble two kun trigrams (☷), one on either side of the Palace of Earthly Tranquility. While some might argue that this might not have been intentional, I believe that the fact that these buildings resemble two kun trigrams, with the Palace of Earthly Tranquility directly lined up with the central line of these trigrams, must have been built this way on purpose. After all, the very name of the central palace is a reference to the kun trigram, and taking into consideration the attention paid to detailed symbolism, I believe the concubines’ palaces have been placed in a way that is most appropriate.
Another example may appear a little more far-fetched, but I do believe it is more than worth mentioning in this context. A Ming dynasty painting depicts the Forbidden City and what appears to be an unnamed official standing before it (fig. 11). Six major structures are depicted in a way that emphasizes their wide shape, and between them are some points of reference: a bridge, beautifully carved pillars, trees…The official, clad in red and blue, stands next to one of the carved pillars, while at the bottom of the painting four other officials in blue are interacting, surrounded by people in what appear to be regular clothes, some mounted on horses. Between the wide buildings, other rooftops are depicted, but they appear almost as an afterthought, most of them small and square, placed around the large structures in a way that does not draw attention away from them.
What struck me about this particular painting is that these six buildings appear to have very deliberately been placed in three groups of two, and from a distance they show a remarkable resemblance to the qian hexagram. I will admit that this may have been a coincidence, and that the artist may have simply chosen this distribution to make the buildings recognizable in the order in which they are passed by visitors. However, after the example that has shown the importance of the kun trigram in the arrangement of the concubines’ palaces, I believe that this distribution may have been done purposefully. Furthermore, it would strike me as odd that the other buildings have been added in a way to
draw as little attention as possible, while these buildings would likely have been points of interest as well.
What is also remarkable about this painting are the buildings that are represented by it. Initially I found them rather difficult to identify, but a few key pointers have made it easier to at least guess which structures are depicted.
Fig. 11. Ming dynasty painting of the Forbidden City.
I believe that the bottom structure, with blue walls and protective merlons along the top, is one of the old city walls. Old maps, though of a later age than the construction of the Forbidden city, depict similar walls enclosing not only the Forbidden City but a vast area around it. The next structure may be one that has been demolished over time as well, as the next pointer are the bridges accompanied by pillars, and I have not managed to find a significant contemporary structure before that. These bridges and their pillars are very similar to those in front of Tian’an Men, and the building depicted also shows resemblance to this gate, which was originally the first entrance gate to the Forbidden City. However, this may also be Duanmen, which is very similar to Tian’an Men in architectural style and is closer to the core of the Forbidden City. After that likely follows the Meridian Gate, which can
be recognized by its elaborate balustrade and still shows resemblance to the actual structure. Next, more bridges are depicted: these appear to be of the Inner Golden Water Bridge. Then follows the Gate of Supreme Harmony and finally, the Hall of Supreme Harmony.
While these buildings are not the only ones that are worth mentioning along the north-south axis of the Forbidden City, it is important to keep in mind that much of the
imperial complex was, as the name suggests, forbidden. The Hall of Supreme Harmony was where many public matters were decided, what lay beyond it was accessible only to a selection of individuals. Therefore it would make sense for a painting to stop there: the artist likely would not have had access to the areas beyond it, and if he had, he probably would have been forbidden to depict it.
Social Hierarchy
One aspect of the yin-yang theory that I found to be especially difficult to grasp is the fact that yin and yang are apparently only balanced when yang is more prevalent. Or at least, that is how Prof. Peng of Tsinghua University explains it (Peng, 2016), and his theory is backed up by the symbolism found in the Forbidden City. With the symbol for yin and yang displaying the two forces as being perfectly equal in size and shape, it was hard to
understand just why yang needed to be more present in order to reach that delicate balance. I believe that there is a very human explanation for this, not one that relies simply on interpretations on the natural world, but one that is tied to human society as it has been for centuries in most parts of the world. Yang, in human terms, is represented by men. Women are yin. As the Book of Changes has pointed out and eternalized, everything associated to yin (and the kun trigram associated with it) is, by nature, dark, subservient and gentle, whereas yang (and the qian trigram) is light, powerful, and associated with leadership. By their very definition then, yin and yang cannot be equally represented. After all, if these two forces were represented as being equally important, it would imply that they are equally powerful, when the very meaning of yang implies that it is stronger than yin.
So the feminine force, yin, is subservient to the male force, yang. This implies that women, in accordance with the natural order that this theory explains, are subservient to men. This is not a revolutionary idea, nor is it one that is unexpected in a country as patriarchic as China. In fact, I do not believe it is wholly unique in the way it pervades
Chinese architecture either. On a tour through Prague, I was told that the towers of the Church of Our Lady before Týn, located in Old Town Square, are not of equal height, as one is considered to be a ‘male’ tower, and the other a ‘female’ tower, and I think this is likely only one of many examples of the same principle in global architecture (fig. 12).
Fig. 12. The towers, said to represent male and female force, of the Church of Our Lady before Týn in Prague.
What is surprising about the layout of yin and yang within the Forbidden City,
however, is its normative nature and the extent to which the placement of buildings dictated social rank. While I am not sure to what extent its architects made conscious efforts to materialize a very strict social hierarchy in its architecture, I think that this is exactly what happened. With the origins of male supremacy firmly embedded into classics such as the Book of Changes, and with most of classical Chinese philosophy building on the same ideology, it should not be surprising that in the matter of symbolism, male symbols are much more prevalent, and considered much more important, than female symbols. In fact, I suspect that the whole yin-yang issue where yang is deemed more important is either consciously or subconsciously derived from social reality, rather than natural observations.
While there have been a handful of extremely influential women during the dynastic era, Chinese society has pretty much always favored men as those in control. It must also be said that while men are generally considered yang, a minister is also considered the yin counterpart to the emperor. The divisions made between yin and yang changed according to the situation they were applied to. Women were on one end of the yin-yang scale, while the emperor was on the other. Ministers would have fallen somewhere in between, ranking higher than women but lower than the emperor.
Confucius (551-479 B.C.) and the Confucianist philosophy that was inspired by his teachings have also drawn inspiration from the Book of Changes, with quotes attributed to Confucius himself exclaiming that if he had more years to his life, he would dedicate them to
studying the Book of Changes (Legge and Ch’u, 1969, p. 1). In fact, the Book of Changes is considered the oldest of Confucian classics, generally dated back to 1000-750 B.C. The idea of dividing the world into a clear set of roles and attributes assigned to them would have appealed to Confucius, who blamed the chaos of his own time to people essentially not knowing their place in the social hierarchy, with some acting like they were of higher rank than they actually were. He believed that if people would only stick to the rules of the
position they are placed in, and act according to the role they were assigned in life, all would be well (Slingerland, 2015). The ruler should act as a ruler, a minister as a minister and a woman as a woman6. And with a Zhou dynasty7 manual describing that all things yin need to
be submissive, while all things yang need to be leaders in order for the world to be balanced, it is no wonder that the idea caught on.
Confucianism was not the only philosophy that was attracted to the idea of dividing the world into a clear set of forces and their interactions. Daoism, among others, was also inspired by this very idea, and with many influences of folk religions, minor and major philosophies, it is safe to assume that the idea of arranging the world into opposing but complementary forces was widespread in Chinese thought. However, it is Confucianism’s idea of social hierarchy that we see most clearly reflected in the Forbidden City’s
architecture, sometimes through symbols associated with yin and yang, sometimes through other means.
The classical division between men and women is commonly described by the Chinese saying ‘the man’s place is outside, the woman’s place is inside’8. It is not a unique idea. In
fact, its origins likely lay in the different biological roles of both sexes. Women carry children, while men possess more physical strength. The prevalence of the idea of women taking care of children and men going out to work or fight, an idea that is much more commonly
practiced than the other way around, is likely simply a derivative of that. But within the Forbidden City, this idea not only extends to who does what around the complex, but has largely influenced its layout as well. A nice example of this role division and its ties to yin-yang theory can be found in the pairs of bronze guardian lions, sometimes called foo dogs, located in several areas around the Forbidden City (fig. 13).
These guardian lions are always placed by some sort of entrance point, with one lion placed to the east of the entrance, and one to the west. The eastern lion is male, yang, its 6 Confucius had very little faith in women, and believed that only men were capable of ruling. Women were only there to serve their fathers, brothers or husbands (Slingerland, 2015).
7 Confucius claimed not to be an innovator, that he was only following ritual behavior set out in the Zhou dynasty. He considered the Zhou dynasty culture to be the high point of civilization (Slingerland, 2015).
direction associated with sunrise. This lion is usually depicted with its paw on an orb. The western lion is female, yin, the direction associated with sunset, its paw is placed on its cub. These are references to yin’s role and that of yang: the yin lion protecting its cub, while the yang lion protects the orb, the exact meaning of which is unclear. The yin lion is said to protect all those inside, while the yang lion protects those outside.
Fig. 13. A Ming dynasty yin guardian lion by the Gate of Heavenly Purity.
We can see the same idea reflected within the Forbidden City simply by looking at a map of the complex. Taking into consideration that the north is considered a yin direction, while the south is a yang direction, it is easy to see several very clear differences between the two halves of the map. For one, the southern central area is much more spacious, with larger buildings and much larger courtyards. Outside the central area, we can see the same thing: there are fewer buildings and more spaces outdoors. The northern area, however, is much denser in terms of buildings, and they are of a smaller scale, while the central area along the central axis is much smaller than its southern counterpart (fig.5, areas marked in red).
It seems that the functions of buildings have also been divided along these same general guidelines. In the southern half of the Forbidden City we find important areas for ritual, locations for gathering and governing. In the northern quarters, to the east and west of the Palace of Earthly Tranquility, we can find offices and living quarters of servants,
concubines and other members of the imperial family.
We can also find Confucianist influences in other areas. One massive influence that
Confucius’s sayings seem to have had on the Forbidden City is a very basic one: the color of the walls (fig. 14). While the deep red of the imperial complex walls seems to have been an ancient tradition even in Confucius’s days, it was Confucius that prevented any other colors from taking its place. When discussing the ill habits of the social elite in his time, Confucius
was said to have exclaimed that he ‘hate[d] that purple is usurping the place of vermillion’ (Slingerland, 2003 p. 49), among other things. Vermillion, to Confucius, was far more appropriate as a color because it was apparently the traditional color of the Zhou dynasty. Whether it was specifically used for walls is unclear.
Fig. 14. The Meridian Gate, its walls a distinctively traditional shade of red.
The influence of yin-yang theory combined with Confucianism can also be found in the division of governmental departments in the southern quarters of the Forbidden City (and beyond it). Located to the west of the Hall of Supreme Harmony we can find a structure referred to as the Military Tower (fig. 5, areas marked in purple). This is because the west, yin, is considered martial and military. This may seem strange, considering that yin also represents docility, but it makes sense when we compare it to its yang counterpart. While the west was considered martial, the east was considered civil, cultured. And so we find the Literary Tower to the east of the Hall of Supreme Harmony. In a situation where yang is generally described in more positive terms than yin, it would make sense for the yang direction to represent civilization, while the yin direction represents matters of more brute force (Peng, 2016). Furthermore, there might have been a need to emphasize the docility of the military departments to avoid them disobeying the emperor’s orders.
This situation extends beyond these two towers on either end of the Hall of Supreme Harmony. In the southeastern corner of the Forbidden City we find a temple dedicated to Confucius, whereas in the southwestern corner of the Forbidden City we find a temple dedicated to the god of war (Peng, 2016). And outside the walls of the Forbidden City, in the location where Tian’an Men is nowadays located, were the official boards of these
governmental departments. To the southeast of the Meridian Gate were the civil boards, while to the southwest of the gate military boards were located. This division was maintained even when all ministry personnel was gathered before the emperor at the Hall of Supreme Harmony: those from the military boards gathered at the western half of the courtyard, while those from the civil boards gathered at the eastern half (Peng, 2016). In fact, I suspect that one of the reasons why there are no offices in the space between the Hall of Supreme Harmony and the Gate of Supreme Harmony might be that the direct south of the Forbidden City belonged to the emperor, the embodiment of yang force. Ministers were ranked below the emperor, and therefore had their offices to the southeast and southwest of the Forbidden City, rather than in the central, pure yang south.
Besides displaying a social hierarchy, the Forbidden City’s buildings are also divided into architectural ranks. The different ranks are shown in a few important ways. The first of these are the animal statuettes that are lined up on the buildings’ roof ridges, the buildings that rank lowest sporting only a few statues, while the Hall of Supreme Harmony has ten small statues lined up between two larger ones, and is the only building in the Forbidden City with such a high number of statues (fig. 15).
Fig. 15. Statuettes adorning the roof of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, showing its importance.
Forbidden City’s buildings. Most of the buildings with this feature can be found along the complex’s central north-south axis, although there are several exceptions to be found in its eastern and western halves. These buildings do not have a second floor, as one might think, but have a partially elevated roof that is a symbol of the status of the person residing within.
The Hall for Worship of Ancestors, located in the Imperial Ancestral Temple just outside the Forbidden City, also has double eaves, despite not having a living resident (fig. 16). This is because the imperial ancestors who were worshipped there were considered to have the same high status as the living imperial family. The Hall for Worship of Ancestors has another remarkable feature that emphasizes its high status: it is one of only four historical buildings in Beijing that has been built on a three-tiered platform (Peng, 2016).
Fig. 16. The Hall for Worship of Ancestors, located outside of the Forbidden City, built on a three-tiered platform
Heaven and Earth
So far, we have looked into the Forbidden City as a construction representing very
down-to-earth ideas: the division of the world into two opposing forces and the symbolism related to it, and the representation of a strict social hierarchy in the way the buildings were laid out. However, the Forbidden City’s architecture also had a more transcendental
meaning. Professor Peng was particularly interested in this aspect of the Forbidden City, although many of the examples he mentions of the Forbidden City as a representation of Heaven stem from a later date (Peng, 2016).
From the Zhou dynasty (1046-256 B.C.) onwards, the concept of Heaven and a mandate of Heaven have played an important role in matters of dynastic succession. Very simply put, what is done in accordance with Heaven’s will, will last long and bring prosperity and good fortune to those that have done it (Peng, 2016). What goes against Heaven’s will, is quickly eradicated and brings natural disasters and bad fortune to those that have done it. While later interpretations of Heaven portray it as a force, rather than a human being (there seems to be a general agreement that shortly after its inception, Heaven was seen as an anthropomorphic being), it is very much a force to be taken into consideration, and something that should be striven to be pleased (Gao and Woudstra, 2011, p. 232).
During the Ming dynasty, it seems that the concept of Heaven had become mixed with the Daoist idea of the Way. This Way appears to represent the natural order of things, and it does not actively alter the outcome of certain events. The reason I believe these two became slightly blended is because first of all, it is generally agreed upon that by the time of the Ming dynasty, there was a decent amount of religious tolerance, which may have
amounted to one religion or philosophy influencing another (Tsai, 2001, p.83). In fact, I believe that there is a significant overlap between Confucian symbolism, Daoist symbolism and ‘other’ symbolism, by which I mean those symbols that are derived from a large variety of very old sources. Unraveling the threads of each and every one of these sources has proven to be extremely complex, which is why when I write the term Daoist or Confucianist, the reader might want to keep in mind that these are loose terms that share much of their ideological (and therefore symbolic) vocabulary. When a symbol is pointed out as either one or the other, I simply mean that it is most easily explained by using an idea connected to that philosophy.
The most important architectural influence that we can find in this philosophical cum religious theory is the idea that the emperor is the earthly counterpart to Heaven’s Celestial Emperor, a Daoist deity that rules Heaven much in the way the emperor rules the state (Peng, 2016). The emperor was often referred to as the Son of Heaven, which not only
emphasizes his importance, but also his filial duties towards Heaven, and the fact that he was of a lower rank than the Celestial Emperor. It was the emperor’s task to show proper respect to Heaven. If he failed in this, not only could Heaven cause natural disasters, but it could even decide to withdraw support from the Ming dynasty rulers, which would lead to a collapse of the dynasty (Gao and Woudstra, 2011, p. 232) . Therefore, while it was important to show the high status of the emperor and the imperial family, the Forbidden City also needed to be built in a way that expressed submission to the ruler of Heaven.
For one, we can see this reflected in the usage of the earlier mentioned examples of yin and yang symbolism. By making sure that these two opposing forces were balanced, qi could be streamlined, and it seems that this was considered to be in accordance with Heaven’s will. This is an idea that is not only relevant in bringing good fortune and prosperity to the state, but seems to be a recurring theme in Chinese philosophy. The center, the mean, balance was always good. Confucianism and Daoism also teach this (Legge and Ch’u, 1969, p. lxxi). In fact, the importance of the center can hardly be overstated, as the modern Chinese name for China literally translates as the ‘Central Country’. China was the centre of the world. During the Ming, Beijing was its center. The Forbidden City was the center of Beijing. And the emperor was the center of the Forbidden City. The architectural center of the Forbidden City, however, appears to be the Hall of Central Harmony. While this building has been important from the very beginning of the Forbidden City’s construction as the location where the emperor received obeisance from his ministers, a better point could have been made if the Hall of Supreme Harmony, and the Dragon Throne located in its center, had been at the middle point of the Forbidden City.
I have once heard someone describing the role of the emperor as similar to that of the North Star, the central star around which all other stars turn. While it is a good way to describe the emperor’s role in a Chinese context, I think that for this thesis it is more relevant to link North Star to another emperor: the Daoist Celestial Emperor. Where the emperor was the absolute top of the social pyramid in classical Chinese society, the Celestial Emperor is at the top of the social pyramid in the vast Daoist pantheon. He governs Heaven the same way the emperor governs Earth, and he governs from the North Star (Peng, 2016).
Making claims about the importance placed on the role of Daoist deities in the Forbidden City may seem far-fetched, but it is backed up by the original name of the complex: the Purple Forbidden City. With purple being almost completely absent within the Forbidden City as a color, this name must refer to something else. And it does. In fact, it is a reference to the North Star and the stars surrounding it, a group which in traditional Chinese astronomy was referred to as the Purple Enclosure. The Forbidden City, as is argued by Prof. Peng, for instance, was built to resemble this group of stars, because the home of the earthly emperor should resemble that of the Celestial Emperor (Peng, 2016).
The purpose of the Forbidden City was clear. As the night sky revolved around the Pole Star, so should earth revolve around the Forbidden City. It needed to be built in a way that glorified the emperor’s position on earth, but also needed to be built in a way that showed proper respect for the power of Heaven, because it was Heaven that could shift the center of the world away from the Ming dynasty and towards a new emperor in case of disrespectful behavior. Heaven needed to be pleased, and this could be done by working with an extensive visual vocabulary designed to express universal balance.
The Yongle Emperor
At this point in the thesis, the reader might be wondering just why the thesis’ subtitle is ‘Ming Identity in Forbidden City symbolism’, when the examples discussed so far have mostly been about symbolism that is not exclusive to the imperial complex. This is mostly because, as I have mentioned before, I do not believe that the Forbidden City is unique in its
symbolism. The guidelines along which it has been constructed stem from very old sources and contemporary interpretations thereof, and the ideas underlying some of the architectural symbols go back far into not only Chinese history, or Zhou dynasty symbolism, but to the very origins of some of the most influential philosophical schools in China, such as Confucianism and Daoism.
Fig. 17. Early Ming-dynasty portrait of the Yongle Emperor. The emblem on his chest depicts a dragon.
I personally believe that the fact that so much of Chinese thought, classical writings and historical development are incorporated into a structure that could easily have been constructed solely as a fortress, is in fact a part of the early Ming dynasty identity mentioned in the title. I believe that it is the overall equal treatment of symbols from various religions and backgrounds that is a tribute to the relatively open minded nature of the early Ming dynasty, and the Yongle Emperor’s personal aspirations in particular. In this chapter, therefore, I will try to explain in what way the previously discussed examples fit into the dynasty as run by the Yongle Emperor, and in what way the emperor himself has left his mark on the Forbidden City. These personal marks in particular are a testimony to the unique nature of the Forbidden City, and are an example of personal influences despite
traditional architectural guidelines.
Anyone familiar with the architecture of the Forbidden City, upon reading this thesis, might say that there is little to be said about its architectural symbolism in terms of innovative research. Many of the symbols used in its architecture are so familiar to such a large group of people that they seem self-evident, and the rules according to which the Forbidden City has been constructed are so widely applied that singling out one example seems
unnecessary.
However, I believe it is exactly because the material seems so familiar that it is worth looking into. It is this general familiarity with the material that makes it difficult to find
information attached to a certain time period, as most articles speak of the Forbidden City as it stands today, rather than the way it was originally built. And while the Forbidden City’s symbolism may be derived simply from traditional guidelines, rather than consciously being drawn from philosophical or religious sources, the story of these symbols is still there to be researched. I have looked into the Dongguan Kaogong Ji chapter of the Rites of Zhou9, and
although I must admit that my classical Chinese is a little rusty, the text that was supposedly used to design the Forbidden City10 seems to focus on measurements and usage of
materials, rather than symbols and their meanings. I may have misunderstood the text, I will readily admit that, but considering other classical Chinese sources dealing with ritualistic behavior and symbolism, it seems that meanings of symbols and symbolic behaviour were rarely explained. For instance, Confucian writings on proper attire that is to be worn at various occasions focuses almost exclusively on what to wear when, rather than why (Slingerland, 2015). The general message about such writings seems to be that as long as the rules are followed, it does not really matter why they were implemented in the first place. Or these explanations may have been considered so obvious that they were barely
explained.
So the Forbidden City may have been built along traditional guidelines, but the whys are usually glossed over, and those whys are what I have been trying to research. The very reason that these guidelines were followed is, I believe, part of the expression of a renewed Ming dynasty identity under the Yongle Emperor’s rule. Generally speaking, the Yongle Emperor was of a martial background. As a prince, he often went on military expeditions, and he was known for his humble nature and camaraderie with the soldiers (Tsai, 2001, p. 9 The Rites of Zhou is a collection of writings about bureaucratic and governmental guidelines dated back to the second century B.C. In its Dongguan Kaogong Ji chapter it seems to elaborate, among other things, on detailed descriptions of appropriate measurements for buildings. Professor Peng suggests that these writings inspired the shape and size of the Forbidden City (Peng, 2016).
