The four animals
The dragon, the bird, the tiger and the tortoise are the oldest thing in feng shui and the most misread. Where the four came from, in the Han sky and a Neolithic grave; how the Book of Burial brought them down to the hills round a site, and what shape it wanted each to take; the site seen from the side; what the practitioners made of them indoors, and which left is the dragon’s; and what the research on prospect and refuge says about the armchair they describe.
Oriented E 090°
Wood
Ask a Form school practitioner to read a site and the first words will be the names of animals: the tortoise behind, the dragon on the left, the tiger on the right, the bird in front. The four are the oldest layer of feng shui, older than the compass and older than the word, and they are the layer the paperbacks get most wrong, because they take the animals for creatures and the practitioners for people who see dragons in hills. The four are directions. They were the four quarters of the sky before they were hills, and they are the four sides of a chair now. This essay draws them at each of the three scales and says what the texts wanted each to look like.
Four animals in the sky
The four begin as astronomy. The Chinese sky was divided early into twenty-eight lunar mansions, the stations the moon passes through in a month, and the mansions into four groups of seven, one to each quarter of the horizon; each quarter was drawn as an animal, and by the Han the animals were fixed. The Azure Dragon held the east and the spring, the Vermilion Bird the south and the summer, the White Tiger the west and the autumn, and the north and the winter belonged to the Black Tortoise, which the texts call the Dark Warrior, Xuanwu, and draw as a tortoise with a snake wound round it. Sun and Kistemaker reconstruct the Han sky from the texts and the tombs and find the four already in place on a lacquer box from the grave of the Marquis Yi of Zeng, buried in 433 BC, with the dragon and the tiger painted either side of the Dipper and the mansions’ names written round them. Older still is a grave at Xishuipo in Henan, some six thousand years old, in which a man was buried with a dragon laid out in river shells on his east side and a tiger on his west, the two animals in the two places the Book of Burial would give them four thousand years later.
By the Han the four were a table. Needham sets out the correlative scheme in which each quarter was an animal, a season, a colour and one of the Five Elements, Wood for the dragon’s east, Fire for the bird’s south, Metal for the tiger’s west, Water for the tortoise’s north, with the Earth at the centre taking the fifth; the drawing above is that table as a ring, with the square of the earth inside the circle of heaven, which is the design of the Han bronze mirrors Loewe studied, where the four animals run round the rim and the square sits at the middle. The same four were pressed into the tomb tiles of the Western Han and painted on the walls of its tombs, one to a wall, at the direction that was theirs. The dead were laid out at the centre of the cosmos, and the four animals were its sides.
From the sky to the hills
The Form school took the four down from the sky and set them round a grave. The Book of Burial, the Zangshu, which the texts page dates and Paton translates, gives them their places in one sentence: for a burial, the left is the Azure Dragon, the right the White Tiger, the front the Vermilion Bird, the back the Dark Warrior. It then says what each should look like, and this is the sentence the whole Form school rests on. The tortoise hangs its head: the hill behind should slope gently down to the site, not loom. The bird soars and dances: the ground in front should be open, alive, with water moving across it. The dragon coils: the ridge on the left should be long, winding, and embracing. The tiger crouches tamely: the ridge on the right should be lower, shorter, and still. Then the warning, that if the forms are the reverse, the site is broken and the family dies out, and the faults are named: a tiger that sits up is said to hold the corpse in its mouth, a dragon that squats to envy its master, a tortoise that will not lower its head to refuse the corpse, a bird that will not dance to fly away. Every reading of a hill in the tradition since has been a search for those four shapes and a diagnosis of those four faults.
De Groot, who watched geomancers at work in Fujian in the 1880s, reports that the dragon and the tiger were the first two things a practitioner named on any site and the ones the clients knew to ask about, and Eitel, a decade earlier in Hong Kong, gives the same pair as the alphabet of the practice; Feuchtwang’s analysis of a practitioner’s reading a century later finds it still opening with them. The four are not a decoration on the method. They are the method, at the scale of a landscape: a protected back, a lower and quieter right, a higher and longer left, an open front with water, and the site in the hollow the four make between them.
The site from the side
The plan gives the four; the section gives the rest of what the manuals ask. Behind the site the range is followed up to the ancestor mountain, the highest point the practitioner can trace the site’s hills back to, and down through the parent mountain, the last peak before the site, along the ridges the school calls the dragon veins, the long mai, the channels along which qi is read as descending; the choosing a home guide gives the five steps of that search. The veins come to rest at the lair, the xue, the knoll or terrace where the grave or the house is set with its back to the slope. In front of it the bright hall, the ming tang, should be level and wide, the one flat place in the section, and the water should cross at its far edge, slowly, in view. Beyond the water the table hill, the an shan, should sit below the eye of someone standing at the door, a screen that closes the view without blocking it, and beyond the table hill the facing mountain, the chao shan, should rise into view again, handsome and far. The rule is a sentence: higher behind than the site, lower in front than the eye, visible again at the horizon. A site that satisfies it is a seat, and the section is the seat in profile.
The dragon and the tiger, indoors
The practitioners of the yang house brought the four inside, and the translation is the site’s plan at the scale of a chair. The tortoise is the solid wall behind a bed or a seat, which the command position essay makes the first of its three conditions. The bird is the open floor in front and the view it gives of the door. The dragon and the tiger are what flanks the position, and here the Book of Burial’s sentence about the ridges becomes a rule about furniture: the dragon side should carry the taller and more active piece, the tiger side the lower and quieter, because the dragon coils and rises and the tiger crouches. A bookcase on the sitter’s left and a low table on the right is a room with its dragon and tiger in order; a wardrobe on the right of the bed and nothing on the left is the tiger raising its head, and the remedy is to swap them. Bruun records the rule from practitioners in China and the trade repeats it everywhere; it is a genuine piece of the practice, a century old at least, and not in the classics, which speak only of hills.
The one thing the rule needs is the right left. The site’s left is the left of a site that faces south, which is its east; the sitter’s left is the left of someone facing out of the seat, towards the door, and the sleeper’s left is the left of someone lying in the bed, looking at the ceiling. A reader looking at a plan must turn round. The drawing above is laid out so that the site’s left and the sitter’s left are both on the reader’s right, and the bed placement guide keeps the same convention.
Beyond China
The four travelled with the tradition and outran it. The tomb murals of Goguryeo, in what is now North Korea and north-east China, painted the four animals one to a wall in the fifth and sixth centuries, the dragon east and the tiger west, the bird south and the tortoise north, and Yoon’s history of Korean geomancy reads them as the tradition’s arrival in the peninsula; the Japanese tombs of Kitora and Takamatsuzuka, near Nara, have the same four on the same walls two centuries later. The Heian capital, Kyoto, was sited in 794 on the principle the Japanese called the correspondence of the four gods, a mountain to the north, a river to the east, a road to the west and a lake to the south, which is the Book of Burial’s sentence with the animals turned into a map; the beyond China essay follows the tradition through the region. The four are the tradition’s most portable idea because they are its simplest: a back, a front and two sides, told as a story.
Reading a site for the four, in order
- Stand where the door is and face out. The four are read from the site, facing its front; a plan read from above must be turned so that the front is at the bottom.
- The tortoise. Look behind: something higher than the site, sloping down to it, a hill, a wall, a taller building, a hedge. Not a cliff, not a void.
- The dragon, on the left. Something long and a little higher than what is on the right: a ridge, a wing of the house, a bookcase, a row of trees.
- The tiger, on the right. Something lower, shorter and quieter than the left. If the right is higher than the left, that is the fault the manuals name first.
- The bird, in front. Open ground, level, in view: the bright hall, the lawn, the floor. Water crossing the far edge, slowly; then a low screen and, beyond it, something to look at.
- Then the compass. The four are the Form school’s reading and come first; the luopan and the Compass schools refine a site that already has its animals, and cannot supply them.