The Creation of the Orient

Does the Orient exist? At first this may appear as stupid a question as asking if there is such a place as China or Japan. However, whereas countries are undoubtedly specific landmasses, the concept of ‘the Orient’ does not fit nearly so neatly onto one particular place. Indeed, it could even be argued that there is no physical place called the Orient at all; Edward Said, author of controversial 1978 book Orientalism, argued that the Orient was a concept held in the West’s collective imagination that helped to quantify unknown cultures and peoples in the East and, by extension, to subjugate colonial subjects. Whilst I agree the Orient exists in collective consciousness, its value is not in its capacity to subjugate but in its attempt to gain understanding, albeit it sometimes partial or misinformed, of others.

In the 18^th century, ‘the Orient’ was used to refer solely to North Africa and the Middle East; India and the Far East were added later. Well into the 20^th century, those who came to study the Orient did so predominantly from a background of Classics and Biblical studies. It is perhaps, therefore, of little surprise that when these early orientalists quantified, codified and described their oriental topics, they did so with reference to what they already knew. Thus, languages such as Sanskrit and Persian were studied in their most archaic forms, enabling comparison with Latin and Greek, Islamic odes were compared the Odyssey and the Iliad, and the main use of learning Arabic was believed to be in understanding biblical Hebrew.

The West’s preoccupation with Classics impacted on nascent studies of the Orient in a number of ways. Firstly, as the cultures of ancient Greece and Rome were seen to represent Europe’s pinnacles of achievement, similar ‘golden ages’ were sought in the ancient past of the Orient. Egypt of the pharaohs and the Achemenid, Assyrian and Sassanid civilizations were consequently of particular interest to early orientalists.

The problems of this approach were two-fold: firstly, study of ancient civilizations and languages was pursued in preference to study of their modern counterparts. The 19^th century Arabist, Reynold Nicholson, was typical of oriental academics in that he was unable to speak either Arabic or Persian, despite teaching both.[1] Secondly, if the summit of a society’s cultural achievement was in some long-forgotten age, it made sense to orientalists that the subsequent period had been one of stagnation or decline. Since the indigenous population had never regained their former glory, or so the argument went, it was the responsibility of orientalists to educate them about their history so that they might be inspired to strive to achieve such heights once again. The exact nature of this ‘golden age’ was to be defined by western philologists, poets, theologians, archaeologists, numismatists etc., regardless of any flaws in their conclusions and, at times, extreme creative license. Colonial powers could take advantage of the orientalists’ work because, they argued, only westerners held the key to knowledge about the past. The guiding, benevolent hand of the all-knowing West was, therefore, in the best interests of the East.

Europe’s obsession with biblical study simultaneously spurred on and restricted the development of oriental studies. The learning of oriental languages, translation of texts and comparative philology certainly benefited from the financial support of the church and the interest of clergyman as, during the 17^th and early 18^th centuries when orientalism was in its infancy, priests were among the small minority of people who were both educated and able to gain access to manuscripts.  The orientalist ‘projects’ of these individuals were numerous but commonly related to the following topics: proving that Hebrew was the primordial language; establishing the authority of Exodus; discrediting the views of the Eastern Orthodox church; and portraying the rise of Islam as both a punishment for the sins of Christians and the downfall of once great civilizations. Pursuing these themes gave scholars exposure to diverse texts and ideas and sparked in some genuine appreciation of oriental literature and art, curiosity about religious practices and theological concepts, research into manners and customs etc.

The trouble with these orientalists’ work was the context of religious bigotry in which they worked. Reliance on church patronage and the general public’s ideas about what was acceptable both influenced which ideas gained currency; indeed, when the Arabist George Sale translated the Qu’ran into English in 1734, even his slightest praise of Islam was thought too favorable and was derided by his colleagues. Far more popular, and therefore more widely circulated, were tracts that derided Islam and portrayed the Prophet as a fraud. Writings often outlined the dichotomy between the supposedly superior, Christian West and the inferior, Islamic East. Every characteristic of the Occident had an opposite in the Orient: rationality contrasted with spirituality, liberal democracy was compared to despotism, and sexual morality was juxtaposed with the erotic sensualism believed to result from polygamy and a penchant for harems. The need to pigeon-hole ideas into this framework of opposites restricted the scope of orientalist ideas in circulation.

The value in orientalists’ ideas is not their accuracy, for they were often flawed, but the influence that they had on creating the idea of a place called ‘the Orient’ in public imagination. The concept clearly sank deep as, despite the fact that few Europeans even now have personal experience of countries considered ‘oriental’, orientalists’ ideas have been incorporated into today’s popular thinking; an association of the East with exoticism, fascination with figures such as Tamerlane, Genghis Khan and Marco Polo, and even a fear of Islam rising on Europe’s doorstep originated or were developed in orientalist writings. The greatest impact of orientalism, therefore, is the instantaneous way in which ‘the Orient’ conjures up a thousand images without the need for further explanation. Whether or not the Orient exists, or indeed has ever existed, as a physical place is irrelevant; ‘the Orient’ as a concept is ingrained in the minds of people across the world, influencing not only how they see others, but how they understand themselves.

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[1] Irwin, R. For Lust of Knowing: The Orientalists and their Enemies (Penguin: London, 2007) p. 208

An Oriental Obsession: How the tea trade influenced European design

“That excellent, and by all physicians approved, China drink, called by the Chineans Tcha, by other nations Tay, alias Tee, is sold at the Sultaness Head Coffee-House, in Sweeting's Rents… It helpeth the headache, giddiness and heaviness thereof. It removeth the obstructions of the spleen...It prevents and cures agues, surfeits, and fevers by infusing a fit quantity of the leaf; thereby provoking a most gentle vomit and breathing of the pores, and hath been given with wonderful success….It is good for colds, dropsies, and scutvies, and expelleth infection.”                                                     
                                    Advert by Thomas Garraway in the Mercurious Politicus, 1658

When tea arrived in London in the 1650s it was heralded as a miracle cure-all, brought from exotic lands at the far ends of the earth to be the salvation of the English man. What Garraway and his contemporaries could not have anticipated was that their bitter tasting health drink would become an international phenomenon, influencing aspects of life from architecture to technology, dress-making and the decorative arts to theological debate. While a great deal of work has been done on the social impact of tea drinking and its impact on public health, very little has been done on the wider influence of the tea trade on European fashions.

Tea as a commodity is very light so additional cargoes had to be carried as ballast on the ships that brought the tea from Canton and around the Cape of Good Hope to Europe. The most obvious choice was Chinese porcelain which, in the form of tea sets and dinner services, was the perfect accompaniment to shipments of tea. Porcelain was much admired for its strength, fineness and beautiful glazes but the secret of its manufacture was closely guarded by the Chinese. From the time of Marco Polo rumours had abounded of its supposed ingredients – egg shells and bones to name but two – and the techniques required to make it, but it would not be until 1709 that Europeans mastered porcelain making for themselves. In the meantime porcelain, or ‘chinaware’ as it was more commonly called, could only be acquired from direct China.

Chinaware, as with tea, was a great hit amongst society figures in London, Paris and Amsterdam, so much so that in 1659 alone 56,7000 pieces were ordered to be shipped to Holland. European customers had certain expectations for their new Chinese goods: they should be in a supposedly Chinese style but still appealing to European tastes. Chinoiserie was born. Where Chinese factories led the way producing new designs to appeal to the European market, European sprung up in Meissen, Delft, and Stafford, painting their porcelain and similar wares with scenes of an idealised China. The blue and white Willow pattern, inspired by a non-existent Chinese prototype, became an instant hit and made its way into fashionable homes everywhere.

Chinese porcelain and pieces in a Chinese style were considered the height of sophistication and so had to be displayed for all to see. Lacquered cabinets, bamboo dressers and furniture painted with exotic scenes and oriental figures were considered the perfect way to show off chinaware and so, as with the porcelain itself, both the import of Chinese originals and the production of European imitations increased.

Drinking Chinese tea from a Chinese tea set and sat upon supposedly Chinese furniture, it is hardly a surprise that the next step was to be the Chinese room so that one might have the complete, ‘authentic’ Chinese experience. Wallpaper featuring Chinese scenes, not dissimilar to those in the willow pattern, were widely produced, oriental silks hung from the windows and covered furniture, and woodblock prints and watercolours finished off the oriental look. The most famous rooms of this kind still in existence are the Chinese House at Potsdam, and the Brighton Pavilion, the epitome of the Chinoiserie style.

Two factors led the Chinoiserie style to spread outdoors across fashionable parklands and gardens. Firstly, both the wealthy and their garden designers felt an urge to recreate at home the oriental scenes with which they had become so familiar. The pagoda in Kew Gardens is perhaps the most famous example of Chinese buildings being transposed into a very European context although, perhaps more entertaining, is the suggestions of one Sir George Sitwell  that all of the cows on his estate be stencilled with a blue Chinese pattern so that they complement his many garden works and follies. Much to the disappointment of Sir George, the animals in question refused to oblige and he was forced to abandon the scheme. Secondly, unlike coffee, tea was seen to be a drink for all the family. Neither pubs nor coffee houses were fit places for respectable women and children to assemble and so purpose-built tea gardens were built so that tea may be enjoyed in suitable, oriental-themed surroundings. The Vauxhall Tea Garden was opened to the public in the late 17^th century and was one of London’s most popular attractions for nearly 200 years. Guests paid a small entrance fee and were treated to concerts, dances and theatrical performances, as well as the perfect environment to socialise.

Whether hosting a tea party at home or visiting a city tea garden, meeting over tea was the perfect opportunity for a society woman to reveal her affluence and taste to her contemporaries. Tea gowns made of chintz – hand-painted Indian calico – were a popular choice, as were oriental-inspired outfits such as silk kimonos. The latter were inevitably accessorised with fans, gloves and chop sticks to complete the look. These eccentric outfits caught the attention of artists such as Monet, Whistler and Degas, who were inspired by the colours and textures of the clothes but also by the exoticism they represented in the East. Whistler’s 1864 painting La Princess du Pays de Porcelaine reveals how fascination with the Orient had become entrenched in Europe’s fine art as well craftsmanship and flights of fancy.