The Everlasting Empire (28 page)

Finally, for the sake of clarity I must emphasize that I distinguish popular uprisings from other instances of collective violence and massive insubordination against the imperial authority, such as military mutinies (e.g., An Lushan’s rebellion, 755–762) or dynastic rebellions (e.g., the insurrection of the Prince of Yan, the future Yongle Emperor [r. 14021424] in 1400–1402); and I distinguish them also from related smallscale phenomena such as localized mass protests or banditry. The largescale popular rebellions are, first, “popular”—that is, they attract large segments of the population, particularly, but by no means exclusively, the have-nots; and, second, they are “rebellions”—they usually aim at replacing the reigning dynasty, rather than protesting against specific misdeeds of local officials or just trying to reallocate wealth through violent means. Popular rebellions differed considerably from one another in terms of their internal organization, in the importance of underlying religious fac

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tors, in the nature of their leadership, and, most significantly, in the degree of their success. Yet differences aside, they share many important similarities that allow us to discuss them as a well-defined political phenomenon that occupies a prominent place in Chinese history.

“THE PEOPLE AS THE ROOT” AND THE RIGHT TO REBEL

At first glance, China seems an unlikely candidate for the title of the world’s “most rebellious nation.” Traditional China is popularly imagined as a paternalistic society, in which the commoners were objects of the monarch’s and the elite’s munificence but not political players in their own right—a society in which strictly hierarchical and monarchical political culture should have precluded political activities from below. While it is not my intention to contest these observations, I would like to show that Chinese political culture was nonetheless flexible enough to accommodate the ideas that legitimated—at least to a certain extent—mass action by the lower strata. In particular, the concept of the people as the “foundation” or the “root” of the polity (
min ben
), and that of righteous rebellion, both of which were deeply ingrained in traditional political thought, became particularly conducive to the legitimating of popular uprisings throughout the millennia.

Let us begin with the concept of the people as the polity’s “root.” Even a cursory reading of political texts from the earliest stages of Chinese political thought brings to light abundant pronouncements in favor of “the people” as the raison d’être of the polity, whose well-being should be of primary concern to the rulers and the ultimate goal of political action. More surprising, in light of the paternalistic image of Chinese political culture, are manifold pronouncements that identify the people also as a legitimate and important political player in their own right. In particular, the people’s level of satisfaction with the ruler is considered crucial for determining the ruler’s legitimacy and his very survival on the throne. While these views should not be interpreted—as is sometimes erroneously done—as proximate to Western notions of “popular sovereignty” or “democracy” (more on this below), they could at times serve as justification for popular political action and eventually endowed popular rebellions with a certain degree of legitimacy. At the very least, these ideas served as an important corrective to the prevalent paternalistic view of the lower strata.
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Some of the aspects of what may be dubbed “people-oriented thought,” such as the ubiquitous insistence on the ruler’s duty to provide the people with a decent livelihood and personal security, may be considered a common feature of political thought worldwide, and I shall not focus on them here. Instead, I want to explore the notion of the “people” as kingmakers:

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as the ultimate source of the ruler’s authority and as important political actors, whose attitudes might directly influence the survival of a ruler or a dynasty. This view is evident in the earliest Chinese political documents—the Western Zhou-period texts from the canonical
Book of Documents
, many of which deal with the Zhou replacement of the Shang dynasty. Among these earliest-known justifications for dynastic overthrow, the sentiments of the “people” figure prominently. The documents’ authors insist that while only the supreme deity, Heaven, can decide whether to replace an erring ruler, its decision is directly influenced by the people’s sentiments and is reflected in the people’s action. A text attributed to one of the Zhou dynastic founders says: “Heaven sees through the people’s seeing, Heaven hears through the people’s hearing,” and “Heaven inevitably follows the people’s desires.”
⁵
These citations succinctly summarize the gist of many other early Zhou texts.

As is common in political parlance, the precise referent of the term “people” in these and other texts varies considerably—it may refer either to all the ruler’s subjects, or only to the commoners, or even to the entire population, the ruler and the ruled alike. It is possible, as I have argued elsewhere, that early pronouncements about the importance of “the people” reflect the clan-oriented mentality of the Zhou founders, and the term “people” refers exclusively to the Zhou clansmen;
⁶
but this is of minor importance for the present discussion. From the Warring States period on, these pronouncements were interpreted as referring to the lower strata in general, and generations of Chinese statesmen absorbed the tenet informing some of the earliest and most revered political texts: “the people” stood at the center of political activities, and there was a direct link between the people and the supreme deity, Heaven.

We know very little about the actual role of “the people” (insofar as the term refers to the lower strata) in the overthrow of the Shang or in early Zhou political life; but for the subsequent Springs-and-Autumns period we have ample evidence of political activism on the part of the lower strata. The so-called capital-dwellers (
guo ren
)—a relatively broad stratum that comprised the lower nobility and commoners (but not slaves)—became extraordinarily active in the political lives of major polities. Strategically located in the immediate vicinity of the ruler, capitaldwellers became important power brokers during domestic feuds, when their intervention could determine the outcome of any major conflict. The rulers and the nobles duly recognized the political importance of armed commoners, and in times of emergency they even assembled capital-dwellers and performed a covenant ceremony with them—the closest Chinese analogue to the popular assemblies of the Greek world.
⁷

It was during the Springs-and-Autumns period, probably under the impact of capital-dwellers’ activism, that the idea that “the people are the

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root of the polity” became an intrinsic part of political discourse; and it remained so in the political thought of the subsequent Warring States period. Although by then new sociopolitical developments had nullified the erstwhile importance of capital-dwellers, and “popular assemblies” were discontinued as well, the importance of the lower strata in political life and political thought had only increased. Two powerful developments required the ruling elites to remain concerned with the people’s mood. First, the advent of new armies based on mass conscription rendered the problem of the conscripts’ morale and willingness to fight exceptionally acute; and many thinkers argued that proper martial spirit would not materialize unless the government satisfactorily addressed the people’s economic concerns. The second problem was that of migration: in the aftermath of the “iron revolution” of the fifth-fourth centuries BCE, massive efforts to turn virgin soil into farmland brought about acute shortages of labor in many states, the rulers of which had to lure immigrants from abroad and prevent emigration of the native population. This, too, prompted many thinkers to propose a variety of “peopleoriented” policies aimed at improving the lot of the population and attracting immigrants from afar. Practical political recommendations varied considerably; but all thinkers—from “people-lovers,” like Mengzi, to “people-bashers,” like Shang Yang (d. 338 BCE)—were unified in their insistence that the people’s compliance was critical for the very survival of the state.
⁸

The consensus among rival thinkers with regard to the people’s political importance is truly remarkable, especially when considered against the immense variety of concrete proposals as to how to deal with the lower strata. Some, like Mengzi, advocated “benevolent government”; others, like Shang Yang, opted for oppression; some called for “enlightening” the people, while others recommended preserving their “simplicity”; yet all agreed that addressing the people’s needs and taking their sentiments into consideration were crucial for political success. Xunzi’s adage cited in this chapter’s epigraph epitomizes this consensus: unless the people’s needs are properly addressed, they will capsize the ruler’s boat.
⁹

This respect for the people’s political role, and repeated calls for the leaders to “attain the people’s heart,” may convey the misconception that preimperial Chinese political thought contained the seeds of democracy. It did not, though. In what appears at first glance as a paradox, not a single thinker from among those who advocated “listening to the people” ever proposed any institutional arrangements that would allow the people to voice their opinions on government affairs. Even the modest tradition of popular assemblies from the Springs-and-Autumns period had been all but forgotten, never becoming a full-fledged participatory mech

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anism. The rulers were urged to address the people’s sentiments without being provided with any institutional means of learning what these were!

This apparent lapse of the Warring States-period thinkers is not incidental, of course. It reflects deeply ingrained intellectual elitism, which made the “superior men” disdainful of unmediated political views voiced by the morally and intellectually impaired “petty men.” Thus Confucius claimed, “When the Way prevails in the country, the commoners do not debate [politics]”; while Mengzi explained: “Some toil with their hearts, some toil with their force. Heart-toilers rule men; force-toilers are ruled by men… This is the common propriety of All-under-Heaven.”
¹⁰
It seems, then, that thinkers preferred to speak on the people’s behalf and in their stead. Hence, during the imperial millennia, while the rulers were repeatedly reminded of the importance of listening to the people, any practical means of ascertaining “public opinion”—from collecting popular songs to the complaint system—invariably reinforced the position of the educated elite as representatives of popular sentiments.
¹¹
This shrewd appropriation by the intellectuals of what Tu Wei-ming aptly defines as “the most generalisable social relevance (the sentiments of the people)”
¹²
may have been too important an asset to be yielded to the uneducated masses. It was in the best interests of these self-proclaimed champions of the people to keep the commoners excluded from political processes.

The paradoxical coexistence of declared respect for the people’s sentiments and practical exclusion of the lower strata from political processes inadvertently contributed to the proliferation of what may be called the “protest culture” in China, including the most powerful manifestation of protest—rebellion. A variety of protest activities—from absconding from one’s village or fleeing from the battlefield, to assaulting tax collectors or openly rebelling against the authorities—were the only meaningful outlet through which the commoners could make their sentiments known to the power-holders. These activities were unlawful, to be sure, and their participants faced grave consequences. Yet insofar as “the people” were unanimously treated as the polity’s “root,” and insofar as their mood was considered the primary determinant of the regime’s legitimacy, widespread protest activities were indicative in the eyes of elites and commoners alike of Heaven’s disapproval of local power-holders, or, worse, of the ruling house. Thus protest, and even rebellion, while illegal, were legitimated, politically speaking, by the very fact of their occurrence.

An additional, more direct source of the rebels’ legitimacy was the concept of “righteous rebellion,” yet another paradox in Chinese political thought. In China’s rigidly monarchistic political culture, violent insubordination was not supposed to be an option for the subjects; and yet the right to overthrow a vicious tyrant was firmly incorporated into the the

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ory of monarchism, as noted in chapter 2. Associated with the paradigmatic overthrow of the Shang by the Zhou dynasty, the single most important event in early Chinese history, the concept of righteous rebellion became an inalienable part of China’s political tradition. It provided future rebels with an ideal ideological justification for their action.

Insofar as it was a highly sensitive topic, the concept of righteous rebellion was never elaborated analytically with the degree of sophistication applied to most other issues in traditional Chinese political thought. Hence, while precedent clearly dictated that a heinous monster on the throne should be replaced by a virtuous contender, it was never entirely clear what conditions justified such an act.
¹³
Among the few theoretical discussions on this issue, three are particularly interesting. Mengzi proposed the most sweeping justification for the overthrow of a vicious ruler. He argued that any ruler who violated the norms of “benevolence and righteousness” should be dethroned, and even executed like “an ordinary fellow”
¹⁴
This was the broadest interpretation of the right to rebel, which could allow almost any self-righteous contender to defy the dynasty’s legitimacy. At the opposite extreme, Han Feizi proposed the suppression of all discussion of past rebellions, because such discussion was intrinsically subversive.
¹⁵
The third approach, more moderate and sophisticated, was put forward by Han Feizi’s erstwhile teacher, Xunzi. Xunzi denied the legitimacy of rebellion as such, but averred that when the ruler is unable to ensure fundamental sociopolitical order, his authority is no longer legitimate and replacing him is justifiable.
¹⁶
As we shall see below, Xunzi’s observation foreshadowed the dynamics of future rebellions: it was not the dynasty’s cruelty but rather its loss of authority that turned rebellion into legitimate action.