The Everlasting Empire (30 page)

Two groups can readily be identified as perennial “agents of disorder.” The most obvious was the so-called bandits. “Banditry” is a pejorative term that was liberally used in imperial historiography to denote a great variety of the dynasty’s enemies, from alien tribesmen and rebels to ordinary brigands. In practice, however, it was not at all easy to draw a clear dividing line between the bandits and respected members of local society. Only some of the bandits were professional outlaws, usually members of purely criminal gangs numbering from a dozen to a few hundred men and women who engaged in extortion, smuggling, robbery, and similar illegal activities. Many others were only part-time bandits: peasants who engaged in robbery during the slack agricultural season and then returned to peaceful life; members of officially sanctioned militias or lineage selfdefense groups, who expanded their activities from purely defensive to

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predatory, intimidating neighboring villages; and even constables and professional soldiers who turned to banditry as an additional source of income. To further complicate matters, professional bandits could be employed by magistrates as auxiliary military forces whenever a greater danger (from rebels, foreign invaders, or particularly powerful gangs) was imminent. Thus it was not always easy to distinguish outlaws from those who were supposed to suppress them.
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Banditry was not only a social but also a cultural phenomenon; some of the brigands observed Robin Hood-like codes of chivalry and enjoyed prestige and close ties with local populations. The bandits’ popularity was particularly disruptive from the establishment’s point of view, because it legitimated an alternative sociopolitical “career ladder” to that maintained by the imperial authorities. Economically and socially, gangs attracted landless peasants and other people at the margins of the rural economy; and their military expertise turned them into latent challengers of the extant order. While as a rule “bandits” refrained from openly rebellious activities, under an ambitious leader they could turn from brigandage to politically motivated antigovernment actions. A large and wellorganized gang always had the potential to become politically threatening and not just socially and economically disruptive, and if the authorities procrastinated in dealing with this potential threat, they could pay a high price for their laxity.

The second major threat to order came from religious organizations, variously labeled as “heterodox sects,” “popular religious movements,” “millenarian rebels,” and the like. Elite writings routinely depict the sectarians in highly negative terms, and it was once fashionable to uncritically accept this propaganda and view the sects as intrinsically politically subversive, and as socially and morally disruptive. Now this view has been superseded by a more balanced approach, which holds that the sectarian label was applied—at times unjustifiably—to a great variety of groups, which were in most cases loosely organized, protean in nature, and quite often indistinguishable from lay associations that existed on the sidelines of such approved religions as Buddhism and Daoism. In terms of their social composition, the sects were heterogeneous as well, at times attracting considerable elite membership; their ideology—as judged from their “precious scriptures”—was not fundamentally defiant of the state and of prevalent social norms; and they were often engaged in a variety of philanthropic activities quite similar to those initiated by local elites. All this suggests the fallacy of a simplistic “orthodox-heterodox” dichotomy with regard to most of the sects. Nonetheless, the latent challenge represented by some of the sects to the dynastic peace was real, and it was intrinsically linked to certain social and ideological peculiarities of the sects.
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Several factors distinguish rebellious sects from other religious or lay congregations that coexisted peacefully with the establishment; of these the sectarians’ millenarian inclinations seem singularly important. Eschatological beliefs were proliferating in religious Daoism by the end of the Han dynasty, and were later reinforced by Buddhist and, possibly, Manichean beliefs. From its inception in China, the millenarian tradition was strongly associated with potential rebelliousness. The expected cosmic cataclysm, sectarians believed, would be accompanied by the violent collapse of the extant political order: and this very tenet was conducive to antidynastic activities. Most significantly, these beliefs were intrinsically linked with expectations of the coming of a redeemer, who was variously identified as Maitreya, the Buddha of the Future, or the Daoist Messiah, Li Hong, or another divine personality. The redeemer would allow the adepts to survive the coming apocalypse and, as the chosen “seed people” (
zhong min
), to establish the future “New Jerusalem.”
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Thus the redeemer was perceived as a future ruler—an identification that put his supporters on a course of inevitable collision with the authorities.

Millenarian beliefs were not inevitably conducive to immediate rebellion, insofar as the expectation of the end of the
kalpa
(i.e., the end of this world) could be directed into the remote future. However, in periods of crisis, a charismatic sectarian leader could argue that the end was imminent and that the pious should prepare themselves for the coming clash. These calls would invigorate his followers and direct them into immediate action against the dynasty. The energetic leader would then turn a sect into a much more coherent community, distinguished by communityoriented social ethics and moral codes, and engaged in active proselytizing. The resultant expansion and strengthening of the congregation would enhance the likelihood that the authorities would spot its activities and persecute it. The fear of persecution would in turn hasten the sectarians’ action against the dynasty.
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The potential of millenarian sects to become politically subversive was well known to the imperial authorities and made them strongly intolerant of any kind of sectarian activities. The precise content of the sectarians’ ideology and their allegedly “immoral” behavior (e.g., licensing a much stronger public role for women than was acceptable in the Confucianized society) mattered little: at times the sectarian label could be attached to what appear to have been ideologically “orthodox” groups.
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Far more important factors impelling persecution were the sect’s proselytizing activism and, most notably, its size. A vigilant official would notice an increase in the number of sectarians, and would act promptly and mercilessly. This inevitability of persecution created, in turn, an impetus for rebellion. The sectarian leaders, fearing execution as “heterodox bandits,” would opt to act rebelliously as a kind of preventive action. Thus

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the reciprocal fear polarizing the sectarians and the establishment was the prime mover of inevitable conflict, pushing many sect leaders to the extreme. To a certain extent, the officials’ fear of sectarian uprising became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Bandits and sectarians were the two most immediate threats to dynastic peace; but there was yet another “agent of disorder.” The third potentially threatening group came from the ranks of those who were supposed to protect the dynasty rather than assault it. These were members of subelites, or minor elites, such as holders of lower examination degrees, clerks, petty military officers, merchants, monks, and the like—all of whom normally were connected to the political establishment, benefited from these connections, and had a stake in the present order. While some of these men might be engaged in illicit activities (including banditry and sectarianism), they usually did not cross the line from criminal or disruptive behavior to political revolt. However, having decided—or having been forced—to cross this line, the elite or subelite rebels became the dynasty’s most formidable enemy.

There were many reasons that pushed elite members from the camp of the dynasty’s protectors to that of its foes. Some were fueled by personal ambitions; some were wronged or implicated in criminal cases that left them no room for accommodation within the existing political framework; others were driven to rebellion by adverse political circumstances, as when, during times of political turmoil, imprudent local officials mistook their self-defense forces for rebels in disguise and decided to persecute the alleged ringleaders. Having joined the ranks of the rebels, these elite and subelite men could critically endanger the dynasty, because they were better positioned than ordinary brigands or sectarians to apprehend and take advantage of the government’s vulnerability. Moreover, the very fact that a significant segment of those who were supposed to protect the dynasty began joining the rebels’ camp was in itself the clearest indication of the dynasty’s aggravating weakness. Hence elite members became the most dangerous agent of disorder. However, as we shall see later, these very men who contributed decisively to the old dynasty’s collapse were also instrumental in restoring political order in the rebellion’s aftermath.

The existence of “agents of disorder”—individuals and groups who were under certain circumstances willing to defy the ruling dynasty—was the single most important precondition for the outburst of rebellion. However, as we have seen, most of these “agents of disorder” were normally not prone to rebel, unless pushed to that decision by the government’s action. Indeed, the complaint that “officials force the people to rebel” was frequently voiced by the rebels themselves and by not a few historians.
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It is time now to explore how the rebellions started, and how their dynamic was related to the (mal)functioning of the imperial state.

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TO REBEL IS JUSTIFIED

In the year 209 BCE, shortly after the death of the First Emperor of Qin, a group of conscripts headed to their garrison. They failed to arrive on time owing to heavy rains that made the roads impassable, and faced execution for the delay. One of the squad leaders, Chen She, turned to his fellows: “As things stand, we face death whether we stay or run away, while if we start a revolt we would likewise face death. Since we must die in any case, would it not be better to die fighting for [establishing a new] dynasty?”
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Shortly thereafter, Chen started the rebellion that ended Qin rule.

This story, immortalized in Sima Qian’s
Historical Records
(
Shiji
)— the single best-known historical text in traditional China—offered important lessons for the imperial literati. For most of them the message was clear: a harsh and oppressive regime (and Qin was identified as such) will face popular indignation and ultimately will be ousted. This view may strike a chord in the hearts of many modern readers, hateful of tyrannies; and it can be supported by stories of other “evil rulers,” such as Sui Emperor Yang (r. 605–617), who similarly brought about their own demise through their excessive cruelty.
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Yet even if “politically correct,” this conclusion proves somewhat premature when we seek to identify a broader pattern of popular uprisings in Chinese history. Politics played an important role in facilitating or preventing uprisings—but the connection between the regime’s harshness and the occurrence of uprisings is much less self-evident than the Chen She anecdote suggests.

Of the many factors that facilitated uprisings, the economic one appears to be singularly important. Insofar as the majority of China’s peasants lived only slightly above subsistence level, any major natural or manmade disaster could threaten their survival. A sustained crisis would push many peasant households into perennial indebtedness and eventual loss of their land, causing them to join the army of landless vagabonds, tinder to fuel any future unrest. These desperate men and women were the first to join gangs, urban or rural rioters, and also the rebels’ armies. This economic background to most unrest and many rebellions was clear to the majority of dynastic leaders, who invested considerable effort in preventing the degradation of the peasant economy and in minimizing the phenomenon of propertyless peasants.
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Unfortunately for China’s rulers, there was no long-term remedy to counter the gradual swelling of the ranks of landless peasants. Most fundamentally, population increases during periods of relative peace and orderly rule would decrease the land/man ratio below the subsistence level. Other factors, such as ecological deterioration due to the growing population’s overexploitation of soil and water, landgrabs by local elites,

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and increasing tax burdens, would also accelerate the transformation of landowning peasants into agricultural laborers, or, worse, into vagabonds and bandits.
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The pace and scope of these processes differed considerably from one dynasty to another, but their persistence from Han to Qing is undeniable, and so is their negative impact on the dynasties’ survivability.

The economic degradation of peasant households was singularly important in fueling the unrest, but it did not necessarily bring about the immediate outbreak of massive uprisings. Even under tough conditions, the imperial regime could act prudently and preserve relative stability. Insofar as the government was able to respond adequately to economic crises (e.g., through a variety of assistance measures to the most hard-hit areas); insofar as its bureaucracy and military forces maintained adequate vigilance against potential disturbances; insofar as it commanded the allegiance of the absolute majority of local elites—it could prevent major rebellions. Under these conditions, economic hardships would spur local disturbances, such as food riots, rent and tax resistance, or sporadic attacks against local officials, clerks, wealthy merchants, and local bullies, but not a rebellion.
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Elizabeth Perry notes that most protesters in traditional (and modern) China preferred to “play by the rules,”
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limiting the scope of their protests and steering clear of largescale uprising. This allowed the court, in turn, to keep the situation under control through a combination of suppression and conciliatory moves, including punishment of guilty officials and reform of abusive practices, when appropriate. Insofar as these “rules of the game” were maintained, the crisis—even under the most adverse economic conditions—remained politically manageable.