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Writing the Landscape

Petroglyphs of Inner Mongolia and Ningxia Province (China)

 

Paola Demattè

Assistant Professor, Chinese Art, Rhode Island School of Design

 

The rock art of China is probably the earliest to have been recorded in historical documents: already by the 6th century AD the geographer Li Daoyuan (472-527) mentioned in the geographical treatise Shuijing Zhu (Commentary on the Classic of Rivers) the rock engraving he saw in various parts of the Chinese territory as he was surveying the land (Chen Zhaofu 1991, 26-36). Notwithstanding this early start, the rock art of China is little known abroad and not a major field of research at home, where archaeologists began its scientific study only in the 1980s. Today there is however considerable growth in rock art research, since these remains offer alternative and suggestive evidence for the understanding of the life and activities of the non-Han populations, which have been active in and around the Chinese world from pre-historic times down to more recent centuries.

Rock art sites in China are in fact quite numerous and concentrated in areas which seem to skirt the agricultural civilizations of the Yellow River and Yangzi River Valleys. These territories were originally inhabited by nomadic or semi-nomadic pastoralists in the north, or fringe agriculturist and horticulturists in the south.  The absence of significant petroglyph concentrations in areas with the highest density of agricultural settlements may be related either to different lifestyles and/or to its obliteration due intensive use of the land and overlapping of different cultural activities (especially writing). Among the Chinese rock art concentrations, those found along the northern and western frontier (Xinjiang, Gansu, Ningxia, Inner Mongolia) play a key role in helping understanding little known aspects of the culture of Northern and Inner Asian populations living in the fluctuating Chinese northern frontier area, and at the same time shed some light on their interactions with the Chinese world.

 

I. Yinshan and Helanshan petroglyphs

The rock art sites of south-central Inner Mongolia and Ningxia Province are among the richest in China, and in addition to being well preserved and documented form a coherent stylistic and cultural whole. In these areas petroglyphs are concentrated on the two main mountain ranges: the Yinshan (Yin Mountains) of Inner Mongolia, and the Helanshan (Helan Mountains) of Ningxia. A huge number of sites are known, many are documented, but many more are still to be discovered and studied.

The present study is based on a preliminary research and survey which examined nine petroglyph sites in three general areas: the Yinshan at Urad Rear Banner (Dishui Gou and Bu’erhan Shan; Figure 1.1-2), the Yinshan at Dengkou county (Ge’er’aobao Gou and Molehetu Gou; Figure 1.3), and the Helanshan area (Heishimao, Shizuishan City; Daxifeng Gou, Pingluo County; Helankou, Helan County; Siyanjin, Qingtongxia City; Gujingou and Damaidi, Zhongwei County; Figure 1.4-8).

The rock art of the Yinshan and Helanshan consists mainly of engraved signs (petroglyphs) and only minimally of painted images. Petroglyphs were created by engraving, chiseling, incising, or grinding. These different techniques, often paired with stylistic variation, are good time markers, and offer one of the few possibilities for the dating the signs. Scholars have suggested that soon after the introduction of metals in the area, petroglyphs were carved with metal tools; some controlled experiment in the area, as well literature for other areas, shows however that a hard stone was sufficient to obtain similar results (Xu and Wei 1993).

The themes with which the petroglyphs of the Yinshan and Helanshan seem to be most concerned relate to the nomad - pastoralist world, and they include a variety of animals (especially ungulates, with a clear preference for cervids and equines; but also felines), as well as elaborate scenes depicting hunting or shepherding activities.

Stylistic and comparative archaeological analysis carried out over a number of years by Professor Gai Shanlin (1986) indicates that petroglyphs production in Inner Mongolia spanned the time from the early Neolithic phases (ca. 9th millennium BC) to the later dynasties (19th century). Gai’s chronology identifies three major periods (in turn divided in phases) of rock art production in the Yinshan: 1) Neolithic - Early Bronze Age (9th millennium BC – 11th century BC); 2) Later Bronze Age - Early Iron Age (11th BC - ca. 3rd/6th century AD); 3) Historic (6th – 19th century AD).  As for the Helanshan, Xu and Wei (1993) identify three phases which they connect with the Chinese dynastic chronology: 1) Shang - Zhou period (ca. 17th - 3 century BC, but mostly Late Zhou ca. 8th - 3 century BC); 2) Qin - Han and Northern and Southern Dynasties (3 century BC -  8th century AD); 3) Sui -Tang, Xixia, Mongol Yuan (7th – 14th century AD).

In both areas, style, iconography and associated archaeological evidence indicate that the petroglyphs are to be attributed to various pre-historic and historic northern nationalities whose presence is attested here. Chinese historical sources list among these known nomadic or semi-nomadic populations the Xiongnu, Wuhuan, Xianbei, Tujue Turks, the Xixia Tangut, and eventually the Mongols (Gai Shanlin 1986). Among these, the most productive in terms of rock art production appear to have been the Xiongnu and the Xianbei in the period roughly between the 4th century BC and the 5th century AD.

 

II. Landscape and Place

Aspects of the northwestern Chinese petroglyph tradition which are relevant to its interpretation can be gleaned by observing the environment within which they are found, their spatial distribution and sign relationships, and the iconography.

Petroglyph sites are scattered over large parts of the territory of Inner Mongolia and Ningxia, but they are concentrated in the two main mountain ranges: the Yinshan running east west like an arch above the great Yellow River bend, and the Helanshan running north-south alongside the western side of the Yellow River (Figure 1).  These two mountain chains create a natural barrier protecting from winds and sand the fertile regions to their south and east. The Yinshan and Helanshan are therefore a geographic boundary dividing two lands which offer different kinds of subsistence, but their canyons give multiple possibilities for movements between the two sides. In the early periods (up to 5th – 6th century BC), given the generally low population densities, pastoralists under stress or those with semi-sedentary agricultural inclinations could probably enjoy both sides; in the later period increasing pressure from the settled fully agricultural population reduced these movements.

Given their role in border setting, it is conceivable that these mountains and their canyons were chosen as petroglyph sites, not only because they provided the stone surfaces necessary for carving, but also because their canyons were on the communication routes which connected the steppe with the more fertile lands further south and ultimately with China.  These territories were of the greatest importance to the nomads because they allowed them to maintain a hold on the lands that provided them with resources not available further north (water, lush pastures, some grain) and with the possibility of trading with China. These rugged canyons were therefore crucial to the nomads’ creation and understanding of their own identity and cultural universe, particularly when under an increasing pressure from the expanding agricultural world.

Throughout Inner Mongolia and Ningxia, in connection with petroglyph sites there are often ruins of defensive walls of various dynastic periods, beacon towers, and garrisons cities. These fortifications with their multiple ramifications are, even in our eyes, markers of a defined frontier: symbols of the might of the Chinese empire and of the settled way of life. At the same time it is however clear that they were also places of contact, clash and exchange between people with different mindsets.

In Inner Mongolia and in Ningxia the encounter of agricultural settlers with nomadic or semi-nomadic herders has a long history: early agricultural communities are known in the upper Yellow River Valley and surrounding areas since the middle to late Neolithic, even though early texts generally portray the Western populations as non-agriculturists. Down to the end of the Bronze age (8th - 7th century BC), these areas were characterized by a mixed pastoral-agricultural economy, and as such the agricultural expansionism of large settled communities cannot have had until then a major conflictual role. However around the 5th century (Late Zhou or Warring States period), with the progressive breakdown of central power in China, the major feudal states fighting for supremacy expanded their territories and their agricultural plans, settled mobile tribes, and put up defensive walls (which eventually coalesced in the creation of the so-called “Great Wall”).  These structures were not meant just to defend the state from a variety of military threats coming from inside China, but were also there to help northern territorial expansion and control. Nomads were to be driven out of fertile territories and semi-settled people restrained in their movements so that they would not revert to nomadism. Nomadism was seen as damaging to the agricultural economy because it “destroyed” valuable land and it diverted potential agricultural workers from the land.

Often, the relation between settled and nomadic populations has been seen as inherently hostile and unbalanced due to the nomads’ “envy” of the wealth of settled people and their lack of understanding of agriculturalism. Some studies indicate however that contacts were productive for both sides, and that the northern frontier of China, even after the Great Wall was built, was not a rigid and insurmountable barrier, but a fluctuating and mobile area, which served to both mediate between different cultures and to favor exchanges (Jagchid 1989; Di Cosmo 1999). The contacts between Inner Asian nomads and populations of the Chinese northern frontier, whether in times of war or in peace, contributed to the economic, technical and cultural development of both cultures. Nomads gained a lot from trading with the Chinese world (grain and silk particularly), but also the settled empire benefited enormously from the introduction of new ideas (for example horsemanship, the chariot, and the stirrup; but also military techniques).

The presence of petroglyphs in these transitional areas, in contact with various portions of defensive walls, the very apparent symbol of the Chinese empire, may indicate that while occupying the area, the nomadic populations were also intentionally creating their own signs and landmarks in the territory.  These signs dotting the landscape in significant positions may have had multiple functions, ranging from religious symbols to geographical marks for traveling groups, but at the same time and perhaps most importantly they would have reiterated these peoples’ attachment to a land with which they identified, and which was clearly claimed also by the settled world.

Even without adopting geographic determinism, it is pretty clear that any human population is heavily influenced by the environment in which it leaves, and that space and landscape (natural or constructed) are of paramount importance for the construction of a person or group identity (cf. Tuan Yifu 1974). Among mobile peoples, like pastoralists and hunter-gatherers, who by necessity are on the move and have a larger activity area than settled groups the role of the natural landscape and its landmarks seems to be extremely important. These may be due to the extensive amount of time spent traveling by these populations, but also to the fact that mobile people rarely set up large architectural structures to reinforce group identity and cohesion, and that therefore natural landmarks (recognized as group icons) supply this need, and at the same time appropriates travel route and necessary resources. Among Inner Asian nomads, most places where important activities were carried out were selected in relation to the landscape. For the Mongols the entire land (baigal) was dotted with sacred places which were the focus of ritual and social activities. Rites related to local animistic cults involving natural spirits took place on the slopes of mountains, at rivers or lake shores, and near prominent trees, even though traditional healing practices were more often held within the ger .

Within the Helanshan and Yinshan, which corresponded to a crucial locale in the world of the makers, the engravings are located in concentrated spots which have very specific qualities: high position or difficult access, good view, appealing landscape or association with water (springs, waterfalls, rivers). At the same time petroglyphs are carved in positions and ways that allow them to be seen from a certain distance, and on surfaces that are well-exposed to the sun (a fact which may enhance their visibility). In addition, in some cases petroglyph sites are found in association with either small shrines (Ge’er’aobao Gou) or burials (Bu’erhan Shan).

These associations indicate that the landscape played a paramount role in the selection of a place in which to carve signs and that in some cases similar choices based on landscape desirability were made also for religious sites. This fact does not automatically make all petroglyph sites into religious sites, but indicates that the two practices were often intertwined. These locations appear then to be desirable places to satisfy both the practical and the spiritual needs of a pastoral and hunting society.

 

III. Religious Meanings and Shamanism

Studies of prehistoric art often support the idea that rock and cave art are manifestations linked with the spiritual activities of our ancestors. As such religion and ritual have inevitably played a large role in rock art interpretations. While this focus on the spiritual is understandable and from a certain point of view even logic (though limiting), one cannot help but wonder why prehistoric religion has to be viewed as an inherently bizarre enterprise involving mysterious practices. But so it is. In the early part of last century, the standard view was that these manifestations were connected with fertility and hunting magic and ultimately with shamanism. During the Structuralist parenthesis of the 1960s and 70s these ideas were rejected, but more recently, shamanistic interpretations of petroglyphs have resurfaced, even though the emphasis has shifted away from fertility and hunting magic, towards an obsession for altered states of consciousness and psychotropic drugs (for a summary of interpretive developments, cf. Bahn and Vertut 1997).

According to presently fashionable shamanistic interpretations, petroglyphs are the production of shamans who after the trance (induced by ingestion of hallucinogenic drugs) depict their visions on stone (Lewis-Williams and Dowson 1983). Even though there are a number of variants, an accepted view holds that the marks of the trance are abstract signs (in the shape of grids, coils, or stars) in proximity of or embedded in the petroglyphs. These are interpreted as phosphenes, i.e. visual by-products of hallucination created by the human brain under duress. Based on the presence of these very simple signs, most rock art is said to have been produced by people who have experienced trance and hallucinations. Other signs of shamanistic trance are reported to be the presence of half human half animals creatures (interpreted as the shaman dressed with the skin of animal helpers) or simply of animals (interpreted as animal helpers). From this description, it is clear that given the low threshold for the identification of shamanistic iconography, a large number of petroglyphs can be interpreted as products of shamanistic activities, and that any fanciful story can be attached to these images. This interpretation also shortchanges the discussion on the important topic of “shamanism”, by reducing this complex phenomenon to a catch-all term referring to the religion of the good savage.

The shamanistic interpretive framework is today subject to an increasing critique, which has exposed its theoretical and methodological weaknesses, the lack of scientific data for the neurological claims, as well as its dogmatic approach (Francfort and Hamayon eds. 2001).  So even though Inner Mongolia and Ningxia are in a legitimate cultural and geographic context for shamanism, it appears that a shamanistic interpretation of this sort is not useful for understanding the variety of processes which induced these people to create rock art.  In fact, even though shamanistic practice may have been part of the religious system of the populations which made the rock carvings, and it is feasible that some carvings were made in a context which had religious implications, this does not mean that the images bore any direct relationship to the practice or representation of “shamanism”, or that the “shamans” were the producers. As a matter of fact, in the few cases in which a religious meaning is clearly present, the religion involved is Buddhism. On the other end, it is very likely that alongside or beyond a religious content, there existed other (perhaps somewhat hidden) meanings which have more potential for an understanding of the phenomenon.

 

IV. Iconography and Communication

An analysis of representational themes and internal spatial organization of signs can help understand what may have been the meaning of these images and how they worked within the societies that produced them.  The motives represented in the carvings include for the mostly single animals or hunting and shepherding scenes, but also (though in more limited number) face or mask motives, abstract symbols, hand- or foot-prints, and animal tracks (Figure 2).

This focus on hunting and shepherding (activities clearly central to the life, landscape, and subsistence of these peoples) indicates that petroglyph-makers paid particular attention to daily life events and mundane activities, even though these may have been representations of events played out in a ritual context. Indeed, in terms of structure and organization, some of the compositions are arranged as if they had a narrative intention sometimes with an the effect so compelling that the pictures appear as efforts at either communication or long term recording of significant ritual/historical events. This does not mean that rock art was simply a ‘portrayal’ of life on the steppe or a passive recording of myths and legends, but that the subjects and objects of hunting and shepherding, in their different forms and styles, were the symbols by which these people defined themselves. Narrative recording of this kind is visible in a rock panel at Siyanjin.  Here, animals and people are composed to create a scene: a camel rider, trotting goats, and a hunter wounding a large beast on whose inside are two goats (Figure 2b). We cannot be sure (since it is possible that the images were not all carved at the same time as a scene), but perhaps this panel may record a mythical or actual event which involved the killing of a wolf that ate the goats of the herders. An event which in any case was of great significance to the makers and their social group.

The iconography of the face or mask which is concentrated in certain areas only (Helankou in the Helanshan and at Molehetu Gou in the Yinshan), could indicate a stronger concern with ritual activities and/or figures associated with worship (Figure 2c). Still, it seems hard to prove that these faces or masks could be representations of shamans or other religious specialists. Perhaps some of these images may represent deities or spirits associated with nature cults, but given the importance in local religion of ancestors worship they are more likely to be connected with ancestral representations. The use of the human form or face to identify the ancestor is attested by archaeological and historical evidence as being a long lasting tradition among the pastoral nomads of the Chinese northern frontier. For example the ancient Xiongnu were known for their wooden figurines representing their ancestors, the Tujue Turks for their anthropomorphic tomb stones, and the Mongolians for the ongghot figures (Heissig 1970; Ishjamts 1992). This evidence may then to indicate that the faces or masks, while different from the more widespread images of animals and hunting scenes, were always concerned with the representation elements that helped define the identity and legacy of the makers.

While land, place, and iconographic content had a paramount symbolic importance in the process of creation of these images, given the emphasis on sign, record and communication inherent in the petroglyphs, it cannot be overlooked that these pictures functioned also in roles which in literate societies are taken up by writing.  Since the producers were mostly non-literate populations, this is not surprising. In times when writing did not exist or literacy was not widespread, the role of pictures and symbols in communicating and recording ritual or social matters was always immense.  It is symptomatic that in the later periods, when writing became more widespread among the nomads (post 6th - 7th century), writing and engravings mixed, and eventually petroglyph production disappeared and writing took over the same surfaces. At Helankou, inscriptions in Xixia script appended next to earlier petroglyphs describe them as “the parents of writing” or “the writing of the spirits of writing”, thus making clear the close connection perceived by literate people between the two sign systems (Figure 3). At other sites, longer and much later inscriptions in either Chinese or Mongol seem to ignore altogether the petroglyphs and simply compete for space on the same piece of stone. It is also significant to notice that while some of these later inscriptions have a religious content (essentially Buddhist), other (particularly those in Chinese) seem to be more concerned with the dissemination of political or moral contents. While this focus towards the non-religious may be a later development imputable to Chinese imperial influence, it is certainly an indication that not all engravings have to have a religious content or function.

If the function of writing and that of petroglyphs may have something in common, there is also a deeper and visual connection between the two, particularly if the single petroglyphs are compared with written signs of the earliest (iconographic and symbolic) types (generally known as pictographs). The stylized and shortened manner used to create early written signs is derivative of many conventions used in rock art. Particularly interesting are figures of horned animals which both in early writing and in rock engravings, while shortened in the body, have very detailed antlers or horns, the very elements which afford sign recognition (Fig. 2a-b).

Similarly, in both media, complex structures are broken down and re-assembled in componental elements shown in their most characteristic view. For example, at Damaidi a chariot pulled by two horses is depicted with this distorted symbolic perspective: the horses are shown sideways, the chariot box is seen from above, while the wheels are depicted as seen frontally; exactly what we find in ancient Chinese writing (Figure 4).

Clearly, there are also remarkable differences between writing and petroglyphs, the most obvious being the arrangement of various signs with respect to each other. A piece of writing, no matter how simple, arranges its signs following a sequential logic which is generally (but not necessarily) linguistic; differently, a pictorial representation places its signs in accordance to a spatial logic, and hierarchies between signs are established by both their size and position.  Still, the systematic way of simplifying images transforming them into easily recognizable symbols and the narrative intent, are indications that petroglyphs had potential and were probably used to record and communicate information, perhaps to later generations, neighboring groups, or even encroaching enemies.

The dissemination of such symbols in space makes the larger landscape a sort of pre-modern bulletin board on which every groups gets its message (of ownership, friendship, or antagonism), and the “owners” get specific information or instruction. This sort of communication is also not unlike that of literate cultures (ancient or modern) which have covered their land with writings: edicts, historical inscriptions or simply “graffiti” marking gang territories. Among them, the Chinese have excelled at it, and have succeeded in marking crucial spots of their landscape with texts (and associated images) relating to their cultural identity, from historical records, to religious texts, to political propaganda.

The northern neighbors of the Chinese empire did probably the same thing, although in a different way. This means that the uncouth barbarians described in Chinese sources were engaged in similar claiming activities even though they used a semiotic system different from fully developed writing. The carving of images in the landscape, far from being a mysterious religious activity, was more likely an effort to inscribe and take possession of the home territory, and thus define the universe of the social group.

 


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