The Everlasting Empire (32 page)

Water Margin
is a complex work, which developed over a few centuries, and which may have incorporated popular narratives about the rebel heroes, while modifying these in accordance with the complex philosophical and ideological agenda of the literati who served as its authors and redactors. It is by no means blindly laudatory of rebellions and insurrections—in fact, the novel reveals their ultimate vanity.
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Nor do the authors necessarily condone their protagonists’ excessive resort

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to violence: at times they seem disgusted with the bloodthirstiness of such men as Li Kui, whose proclivity to kill indiscriminately is only partly whitewashed by his identification as the reincarnation of the “Murderous Star.” However, the novel clearly sympathizes with the rebels, whose righteousness is contrasted with the corruption and machinations of the imperial court; and it largely countenances violent means of righting wrongs. Even Li Kui, whose darker traits are fully exposed in the narrative, is also clearly admired for his righteousness, his straightforwardness, his strongly pronounced antihierarchical mind-set, and, most noteworthy, his rebellious spirit. Lhe reader’s sympathies are clearly with his call to “slaughter our way into the Eastern Capital and seize the friggin throne,”
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and his readiness to rebel even at the very last moment of his life. In the final analysis, it appears that his atrocious behavior attains a certain degree of legitimacy.

If my analysis is correct, the rebels’ brutality was in part quite deliberate and strategic, aimed at showing how much they had been wronged in the past, and how legitimate their case was. Moreover, their violence served the rebellion in yet another, subtler way. By perpetrating mass destruction of life and property, the rebels signaled that the dynasty was no longer able to preserve the essential sociopolitical order, which, in Xunzi’s eyes (and not only in his) was the crucial watershed between a legitimate and an illegitimate rule. Exacerbating bloodshed and turmoil (
luan
) indicated therefore that the ruling house had lost Heaven’s Mandate and should be replaced. Yet to become an appealing alternative, the leader (of the rebels or of one of their foes) had eventually to demonstrate his ability to restore order and put an end to the extremity of violence. Lhus, amid chaos, the new regime had to come into being and begin the process of regenerating imperial rule.

REGENERATION OF ORDER

The destructiveness of rebellions appears at first glance to challenge the very foundations of the sociopolitical order. How, then, can it correlate with Meadows’s assumption, cited at the beginning of this chapter, according to which rebellion was “a chief element of a national stability”? How could rebels of Li Kui’s type contribute anything to stability and order? What—if any—were the constructive aspects of rebellion?

To answer these questions we shall return to a consideration of the dynamics of rebellion. Once launched, a rebellion became indeed an extremely devastating force, but from its earliest stages the leadership was clearly prone to restore political stability rather than destroy it once and for all. Most importantly, this restoration was invariably envisioned in terms of the creation of a new imperial dynasty, rather than an alternative

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political arrangement. The acceptance of the imperial order was clear on the symbolic level: from the very inception of a rebellion, its leaders proclaimed themselves generals, marshals, dukes, and princes, reaffirming thereby that they sought a place within the imperial sociopolitical pyramid rather than outside. This swift and willing adoption of symbolic aspects of the imperial order is indicative of the rebels’ fundamental belonging to the imperial political culture—the belonging that was evident even during the most destructive and violent stages of an insurrection.
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Successful rebellions advanced to the next stage, when a stable territorial base was secured, and it became possible to begin creating a new order. During this stage, steps were taken to develop an administrative apparatus; to reimpose taxation, levies, population registers, and the like; and, in the late imperial period, even to hold examinations. While each of these steps was usually accompanied by certain modifications of the extant institutions (e.g., the Taiping leaders, as mentioned above, simplified the examinations and expanded the number of successful candidates), the essentials of the imperial system were preserved. It was at this stage that the rebel leaders would downgrade or abandon altogether their egalitarian slogans and promises, and try to entice elite members—including erstwhile officials of the reigning dynasty—to their camp. The stabilization was also accompanied by a reduction in plunder and violence and the adoption of more constructive measures in the conquered areas. If uninterrupted, this process would be crowned with the establishment of a new imperial dynasty.

The evolution of the rebellion from “going to the extreme” back to the normalcy of the imperial order was an uneven process. Not every rebel movement was able—or willing—to transcend the stage of violence and disorder and begin establishing a stable base. Huang Chao, for instance, took significant steps toward creating a new imperial order only after the occupation of the Tang capital, but he failed then to either discipline his supporters or attract a sufficient number of followers from among the Tang officials, which crucially weakened his regime. The late Ming rebel Zhang Xianzhong (1606–1646), who established a short-lived Great Xi dynasty in Sichuan (1644–1646), proved to be even more inept in transforming himself from a “roving bandit” into a state builder; thus, in one of the most notorious massacres under his rule, he called upon the Sichuan literati to participate in the imperial examinations under his aegis, only to butcher them all.
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But there were other examples, such as Zhu Yuanzhang (and some of his rivals from among the anti-Mongol rebels), who were generally successful in establishing a solid territorial base with a well-run quasi-imperial administration. A more complex pattern is presented by the Taiping rebels, who found it expedient to compromise some of their egalitarian ideals in order to smoothly administer their “Heav

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enly State of Great Evenness/Peace” but also tried to maintain their ideal system at least within their Heavenly Capital at Nanjing.
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These differences notwithstanding, it may be confidently asserted that the common trajectory of most, if not all, rebellions was a shift from war and destruction toward the construction of a renovated imperial order.

What prompted the rebels to move from destructiveness to imperial normalcy? Why did none of them—either sectarians or outlaws—try to establish an alternative political order to supplant that against which they supposedly rebelled? The ultimate answer to this question is found in the realm of political culture: namely, the hegemonic position of the imperial political and ideological system. The rebels simply had no alternative to the extant imperial order. They could try to modify it, to reduce exploitation and corruption, to limit abuses of power—but never did they attempt to replace this order with anything “revolutionarily” new. The system in which the absolute and universal monarch sits on the throne, is surrounded by meritorious officials, cares for the people, and relies, at least to a certain extent, on local elites to collect taxes and preserve local stability: this was the default choice of the rebels, just as it was the default choice of alien conquerors of China. Each newcomer to the political game was willing to improve this system and eliminate major malpractices; but none presented any real alternative.

Another major factor that contributed to the swift incorporation of the rebels into the imperial order was the cooperation of elite members with rebel leaders. The early rebel Chen She, “a servant of peasants, an exile among exiles,”
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succeeded in enlisting in his service several eminent members of the educated elite, including Confucius’s descendant Kong Jia (d. 208 BCE) and the court erudite of the Qin dynasty Shusun Tong (fl. 210–190 BCE). This pattern continued throughout imperial history. Some elite members, especially from the lower elite, joined the rebellion from the very beginning; many others followed as the rebellion progressed. Some were coerced to join, while others did so willingly; some rose prominently in the rebels’ ranks, while others failed to establish a sustainable mode of cooperation with uncouth bandits; but the trend is uniform: it is remarkable how many literati can be found within the rebel ranks—even around the notoriously murderous Zhang Xianzhong!
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Once again, we can speak of a common pattern of rebellion: the incorporation of the literati into the rebel leadership was the rule no less than the rebels’ shift from military struggle to political construction.

This distinctive willingness of elite members to cross class lines, join the ranks of the rebels, and assist even the most disreputable of rebel leaders in establishing the new dynasty is not incidental. It may be understood in the context of the people-oriented discourse discussed above. The ideas that the “people’s will” is the ultimate source of the regime’s

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legitimacy, that rebellion against a vicious tyrant or a notoriously inept ruler is justifiable, and that egalitarian slogans do not undermine the rebels’ legitimacy—all these served as a bridge between the literati and the rebellious commoners and softened “class antagonism.” Also crucial in justifying a shift of allegiances on the part of the literati was the understanding that if a rebellion occurred, it was ipso facto proof of the dynasty’s failure, which, in turn, severed the elite’s obligations to the ruling family. Although the idea of fidelity to the ruling dynasty was powerful enough to prevent massive defection of high-ranking officials, it was much less effective in preventing cooperation between unemployed or retired intellectuals and the rebels.

The participation of the elite in rebellions provided the rebels with legitimacy and with much-needed manpower for restoring political order. Yet, speaking in class terms, it also “entrapped” the rebels. By joining the rebels’ camp, the elite advisers facilitated swift co-optation of the rebels into the imperial political structure. Since, as argued above, the rebels did not intend to destroy the imperial order but just wanted to improve their position within it, this potential for co-optation was shrewdly utilized by the elite advisers, who served as a bridge between the uncouth rebel leaders and the rules of the imperial polity. Through their participation, the literati might substantially help to ensure that a rebellion indeed served, in Meadows’s words, “to clear and invigorate a political atmosphere” rather than to destroy the imperial political system.

EPILOGUE: REBELLIONS AND THE EMPIRE’S LONGEVITY

From the 1950s to the early 1980s scholars in the People’s Republic of China were engaged in lively debates over the long-term role of “peasants’ rebellions” in Chinese history. Although greatly influenced by the need to validate Mao Zedong’s assertion that the “the peasant uprisings and peasant wars alone formed the real motive force of development in China’s feudal society,”
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the debates yielded many insightful observations with regard to the uprisings’ nature, their short- and long-term social and economic impact, and their place within the general trajectory of imperial history. Thus, while few of us today would pose the question in terms of the uprisings’ impact on the alleged “transformation from slaveownership to feudalism” and “from feudalism to capitalism” in China’s past, we may still echo many eminent Chinese historians and ask: Were the epic struggles of China’s great rebel leaders entirely fruitless? Did lower strata benefit in any way from their sacrifice during the uprisings? Might the constructive (or perhaps reconstructive) elements of the uprisings have compensated for the huge havoc they wreaked in the political and social fabric?
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One cannot expect a simple answer to questions that try to make sense of hundreds of small-scale and dozens of large-scale insurrections and civil wars that spanned more than two millennia. Major uprisings had widely different outcomes. Some, like that of the “Way of Great Evenness/Peace” (Taiping Dao, the so-called Yellow Turbans, 184 CE), or that of the nineteenth-century Taipings, were crushed, leaving behind a greatly weakened imperial state and local elites who were more powerful than ever. Others, like those by Zhu Yuanzhang or his predecessor, Liu Bang (d. 195 BCE), succeeded in establishing a viable imperial regime, which, at least initially, was strongly inclined to protect the peasant economy and minimize the burden on peasant households. Exemplifying another pattern were the late Ming rebellions: these were crushed but paved the way for the reconfiguration of power under the new dynasty (the Qing), which became more powerful vis-à-vis the local elites than the Ming dynasty and was able to reinvigorate the economy. Clearly, such divergent outcomes preclude our summarizing the short-term impact of rebellions as serving either to strengthen or to weaken the imperial regime.

Turning from these immediate issues to broader patterns, I believe the rebellions made three positive contributions to the imperial order and, at least to some extent, to the peasants’ lot. First, the ruling elite’s very awareness of the possibility that “the people could capsize the boat” was a major impetus for much greater concern for the lower strata’s needs than would otherwise be expected in a strictly hierarchical and paternalistic regime. While in the aftermath of the imperial unification the peasants’ military importance diminished and fears of their absconding to neighboring countries decreased, their role as potential rebels encouraged the perpetuation of the “people-oriented” discourse and the adoption of a variety of people-oriented policies. The persistent concern of powerholders with agricultural production, their efforts to disseminate improved techniques, and to promote land reclamation and hydraulic projects—all these can be interpreted as preventive measures against renewed rebellions. This concern is vividly apparent under any important dynasty, most notably under those established in the aftermath of huge uprisings (e.g., the Han, Tang, Ming, and Qing); and it may doubtless be considered the peasants’ major gain from recurrent resurrections.