The Everlasting Empire (15 page)

Adoption of the Chinese model of emperorship became one of the most important steps taken by the nomadic regimes on their road toward eventual “Sinicization,” or toward state formation in general, especially if the state was aimed at conquering parts of China.
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Practically, it meant elevating the tribal leader to a new height: no longer would he be the primus inter pares, whose military skills determined his right to rule; rather, he would be a sacrosanct True Monarch, aloof from his subjects, whose position was unassailable in all but truly exceptional conditions. Similarly, according to the new rules of the game, the heir apparent was to be established through a regular procedure, diminishing the potential for violent succession clashes. This radically different pattern of rule was beneficial to the rulers and to political stability in general; but it also represented a cultural break with steppe heritage and potentially undermined the military prowess of the conquest leadership. Hence the adoption of Chinese imperial culture was usually a lengthy and gradual pro

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cess, during which many steppe rulers tried to combine the posture of a Chinese emperor with that of a tribal
khaqan
or
khan
. Those who succeeded in blending the advantages of Chinese and nomadic traits of rulership were renowned as the most magnificent leaders in China’s history, such as the great Qing emperors discussed below. However, this synthesis between the active/military and passive/civilian models of rulership was not sustainable for long. Gradually but inevitably, alien conquerors moved toward the Chinese model of a passive ruler.

A brief glimpse of two major alien dynasties, the Mongol Yuan (12711368) and the Manchu (Manju) Qing (1644–1912), illustrates this process. The leaders of each of these dynasties were well aware of the traps into which some of their predecessors had fallen, having become absorbed into the Chinese mode of life to the extent of losing martial prowess. The Mongols were particularly averse to the enticements of sedentary civilization; hence their full-scale adoption of the Chinese imperial system (even in its “reduced” form) took place only in 1271, a full sixty-five years after the establishment of the Great Mongol State by Chinggis Khan (ca. 1162–1227). Their early leaders were each renowned for military prowess, assertiveness, and activism; their succession system prior to 1271 retained traits of “warrior democracy,” as the supreme leader had to be approved by the
qurlitai
meeting of the tribal chiefs. Inevitably, succession struggles marred every reign after Chinggis Khan’s death. It was partly the quest for internal stability that prompted Khubilai Khan (r. 1260–1294) to adopt the Chinese imperial title in 1271.
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Khubilai himself was a powerful and resolute leader, whose adoption of Chinese ways did not reduce his charisma; but his successors were progressively marginalized by their entourage. While the middle period of the Yuan dynasty is marred by bloody succession struggles that reflect the strong impact of the steppe heritage, court life moved gradually but irreversibly in the “Chinese” direction of decrease in the emperor’s activism. The last emperor of the Yuan, Toghon Temür (r. 1333–1368), ended his lengthy tenure in a very “Chinese” way, as a hapless spectator of his empire’s disintegration, unable to meaningfully influence the course of events.
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It is noteworthy that Zhu Yuanzhang, who overthrew the Yuan, averred that the emperors’ weakness rather than excessive power was one of the major maladies of the nomadic dynasty.
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Thus, despite its relative brevity, the Yuan demonstrates the same pattern of marginalization of individual monarchs as is characteristic of Chinese dynasties.

The Qing dynasty exemplifies this pattern even better. Having crowned China’s lengthy imperial age, this dynasty manifested, during its first century and a half, the best-ever blend of alien and Chinese, of the civilian
{wen
) and the martial (
wu
), of stability and efficiency. The first six Manchu emperors were renowned activists: they closely supervised and at

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times personally led their armies, toured the country, and directly intervened in policy making, if necessary through ruthless oppression of real or imagined opposition. The imperial princes also participated in military campaigns and in civil administration; and while the dynasty did not escape bitter succession struggles, those remained generally manageable, while generating efficient rulers. The dynasty benefited in particular from the combined civilian and military experience of its fifth monarch, the Yongzheng Emperor (r. 1723–1735), arguably the most administratively astute ruler in China’s long history. Having ascended the throne as a mature statesman, this emperor had exceptional understanding of the functioning of the bureaucratic apparatus and was sufficiently self-confident to impose his view on the opposition without sinking into senseless despotism. His reasonable leadership brought about, among other benefits, a tremendous improvement in the dynasty’s financial situation. The Yongzheng Emperor’s father and his son, the Kangxi and Qianlong (r. 17361795) Emperors, also proved to be particularly adept leaders, whose military and diplomatic skills contributed to the unprecedented expansion of the Qing realm. Doubtlessly, the succession of capable monarchs was one of the major reasons for Qing’s overall success.
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The Qing model of assertive emperors adopted from the dynasty’s tribal past was one of its major assets, but it was not a lasting solution to the gradual atrophy of imperial charisma. When we jump to the nineteenth century, the picture becomes dramatically different from the early Qing reigns. Again, we see passive leaders, whose activities are largely confined to the imperial capital in Beijing and the nearby summer capital in Rehe (modern Chengde); leaders who appear to have been entirely unable to influence the adverse course of events that led to the ultimate collapse of the empire. The familiar pattern of the Han, Tang, Song, Yuan, and Ming dynasties (to mention only a few)—namely, a vigorous, if violent, beginning and an inglorious end—is exemplified in the Qing dynasty as well.

These trajectories of rulership atrophy in the most charisma-oriented dynasties in Chinese history suggest that the pattern of the monarchs’ declining ability to influence political processes can indeed be considered one of the basic characteristics of the Chinese imperial system. The same internal logic of the empire, which favored stability above all, was conducive not just to the concentration of all imaginable power in the hands of an emperor as an institution, but also to systematic reduction of the impact of individual emperors on political processes. Invisible as they were, Chinese “checks and balances” effectively reduced the danger of autocratic arbitrariness to a tolerable level. Yet, like every political choice, the one made by Chinese statesmen had its price, both in terms of reduced efficiency and in terms of persistent and sometimes debilitating tensions

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at court. It is time now to assess the advantages and disadvantages of this choice.

EPILOGUE: THE PRICE OF IMPOTENT OMNIPOTENCE

The Chinese concept of emperorship emerges from the above discussion as highly paradoxical from its very inception. As early as the Warring States period a palpable bifurcation existed between the thinkers’ overall commitment to the principle of monarchism and their sober assessment that sagacious “True Monarchs” are a rarity, and that most rulers are prone to prove themselves to be mediocrities. This intrinsic tension between the ideal and the reality became even more pronounced in the aftermath of the imperial unification, when the First Emperor and his successors appropriated the stance of the True Monarch. Instead of unmasking the fallacy of this pretension and possibly damaging thereby the entire monarchic enterprise, thinkers and statesmen of the imperial era preferred to treat the emperors as if they were sagacious True Monarchs on the institutional level, while simultaneously realizing that the throne was more often than not occupied by erring and possibly inept human beings. This resulted in the major paradox of the empire: the monarchs theoretically enjoyed absolute and limitless power, but were actively discouraged from exercising it as individuals. Almost every emperor was both a sage and a mediocrity: a sage in the official parlance; a mediocrity in the hearts of his courtiers, and later in historical writings that mercilessly exposed the errors, transgressions, and general inadequacy of the throne’s occupants. This coexistence of contradictory premises imbued the imperial institution with deep tensions that persisted throughout the two-odd millennia of imperial history.

How can we assess the results of this imperfect compromise between the image and the reality of imperial power? At times it clearly malfunctioned, giving rise to woeful abuses by vicious despots. An emperor who took his sagacity to be real, an ambitious ruler who mistrusted his aides, could utilize the huge power of the throne to impose his will on the entire empire—sometimes in the crudest way. Among these despotic figures we find murderous psychopaths, who rarely reigned for long, as well as exceptionally perspicacious and gifted monarchs, whose activities may have benefited the realm, while extracting a huge human cost from their subjects. Such were, for example, the Ming founder, Zhu Yuanzhang, and the three “sage-monarchs” of the Qing: the Kangxi, Yongzheng, and Qianlong Emperors.

Despotism was a distinct possibility in China’s imperial system, but it was not the rule; usually, the system of invisible “checks and balances” was effective enough in reining in the monarchs. Actually, most emperors

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appear in retrospect to have been overwhelmed by the magnitude of their power. Being responsible in principle for everything in All-underHeaven—from rainfall to school curricula, from the submission of foreign rulers to the proper functioning of the dikes of the Yellow River— they were assigned a position more fitting to Almighty God than to a human being. Few were so ambitious or benighted as to believe that they could really shape the course of events in the subcelestial realm; for the majority it was more expedient to follow bureaucratic routine and enjoy enormous ritual prestige with little if any personal input into the empire’s governance.

The tragedy of China’s rulers was exacerbated owing to the inherent lack of clarity concerning the reasonable limits of the emperor’s actions as an individual. As the embodiment of abstract principles of fairness and impartiality, the emperors found it difficult to act independently in almost any sphere of their public and private lives. Anxious to eliminate any gap between the emperor as, on the one hand, a sacrosanct institution and source of moral inspiration, and, on the other, a flesh-and-blood occupant of the dragon throne, the courtiers tried to limit any potential deviation of the emperor from the ritually prescribed activities. Even relatively innocent decisions, such as bestowing imperial favors on a monastery or promoting a certain concubine, could become a source of friction between the ruler and his entourage. When mishandled, such frictions could develop into debilitating confrontations and result in severe consequences for all the parties involved, including bloody purges or gloomy stalemates at court. Devastating controversies over such issues as the emperor’s mourning obligations under Ming Shizong (r. 1521–1567), or over the naming of an heir apparent under Shizong’s grandson, Shenzong (r. 1572–1620),
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exemplify the imminent danger of collision between the monarch and his aides. The emperors, even those who were capricious and vindictive, can be seen, then, as victims of the system that denied them the right to individuality.
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In broader political terms, the nullification of the emperor’s personality also had clear negative consequences, as it sharply contradicted the declared desideratum of a sagacious and perspicacious monarch on the throne. After all, even a “rubber-stamp” emperor had to make certain fateful decisions, most specifically in nominating chief executives and in resolving intrabureaucratic controversies. These tasks presupposed an intelligent monarch, who would not be duped or manipulated by unscrupulous aides. Yet as the system of submerging the ruler within highly ritualized bureaucratic routines directly led to his depersonalization, it curbed the emperor’s abilities to perform effectively those tasks that demanded personal input. The consequences could be fateful: at times of crisis, when swift and resolute decision making was required, many emperors proved

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completely inadequate, fluctuating between competing court factions, acting erratically, and hastening their dynasty’s demise. The notorious lack of effective leadership aggravated the crises—which should have been quite manageable—that led to the demise of the Northern Song, Ming, and Qing dynasties, among others.
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The very collapse of the imperial enterprise in the early twentieth century can be related to the late Qing emperors’ inability to exercise effective leadership during times of aggravating crisis.

Spectacular collapses naturally attract our attention; but let us look more closely at the interconnection between the mode of emperorship depicted in this chapter and the empire’s longevity. Two observations immediately come to mind. First, the ultimate goal of the imperial architects—eliminating multiple loci of power and creating a unified system of decision making aimed at preventing internal disorder—was realized remarkably well. Although China did not avoid lengthy periods of turmoil and disintegration, those were less damaging and less frequent than in most other polities of comparable size and complexity. The unifying presence of the supreme monarch as an embodiment of the Great Unity of All-under-Heaven contributed toward political stability.