Chapter 12 Religions Discussion
2 Laurel Bossen
12 Religion
Chan Hoiman and Ambrose Y. C. King
Chinese religion is not a subject that can be approached in any straightforward or uncontroversial manner. Chinese society and culture were rarely if at all dominated by any state religion or an associated order of church and priesthood worshiping a supreme godhead. Yet its religious orders have generally been dominated by the state, and the state has been operated in accordance with religious precepts. The social order of the Chinese people has long been permeated by ritual practices with clear su- pernatural overtones, giving propitiatory ritual offerings to ancestors or idols, but Chinese have seldom belonged to organized religious bodies. Scholars can therefore alternatively maintain that the Chinese are not a very religious people at all and that they are permeated with superstition of a magical “prereligious” kind. Chinese scholars of a New Confucian bent retort that Chinese culture is verily “beyond belief,” with spiritual reaches and depths that cannot be contained within the usual institutional or intel- lectual frameworks of religions. Even at the end of the nineteenth century, the missionary scholar Arthur Smith still characterized the religious life of the Chinese people as simultaneously “pantheistic, polytheistic, and athe- istic” (1894:chap. 26).
Scholars have taken many approaches to the study of China’s reli- gions. In the late nineteenth century, the great German sociologist Max Weber (1864–1920) undertook his famous study of China’s religion ([1922] 1964) as part of his much broader examination of capitalism and comparative civilizations, approaching Chinese civilization from the per- spective of two major “homegrown” religions—Confucianism and Dao- ism. He sought to demonstrate that the social structure of China contained components that can contribute to the growth of capitalism. But Confucian
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orthodoxy emphasized above all a “rational adaptation” to secular life, generating in the people a traditionalist and conservative propensity that became the decisive obstacle to the growth of aggressive modern capital- ism. Daoism gave people some outlet from this conformity by promoting personal values, which also did not support capitalism. The so-called Weber thesis on Confucianism and the underdevelopment of capitalism in China has since become the subject of heated scholarly debates.
Dutch sinologist Jan de Groot (1854–1921) conceived the ambitious vi- sion of a comprehensive and detailed study of Chinese religion, which was published three decades earlier ([1892] 1972) than Weber’s work. He was interested in Chinese religion as laid out in textual canons and as actually practiced in the religious life of the people. He richly detailed such topics as “the burial of the dead,” “ancestor worship,” and other ritual practices, and advocated China’s religion as a field of scientific study (Freedman, 1979).
Coming to the field a generation later than either Weber or de Groot and following Emile Durkheim’s quest to unravel the “collective con- sciousness,” Marcel Granet’s seminal work ([1922] 1975) suggested that in China “peasant religion” was the foundation of the religion of the liter- ary class—a point Charles A. Laughlin makes about China’s whole literary tradition in Chapter 13. Granet (1884–1940) looked at archaic history for the “essence” of Chinese religion. Later an urban populace would develop a “feudal religion,” and kings created an “official religion” to support their sovereignty. All this subsequently diversified into specific religious cur- rents or doctrines.
More recently, a US sociologist of Chinese descent, C. K. Yang, has noted the contrast between institutional and diffused religions: “Institu- tional religion functions independently as a separate system, while diffused religion functions as a part of the secular social institutions” (1991:295). This basic distinction may be employed in addressing some of the alterna- tive explanations we mentioned in the opening paragraph. Confucianism, by and large a diffused religion, functions through such secular institutions as the state, the family, and the education system. Only in the cases of Bud- dhism (imported from India) and, to a lesser extent, Daoism, can one speak of proper institutional religion with its monastic order and specialized priesthood. Diffused religion is inevitably a less powerful form of religios- ity, merely providing spiritual rationale to secular institutions. Yang con- cluded that, although Chinese religions were rich and dynamic on the sur- face, they were at heart restricted.
In this chapter, we want to give you an overview of how China’s reli- gions evolved and how they cover both the spiritual and the secular realms of life. We examine the development of China’s religions in terms of the in- terplay between diversity and syncretism—how religious streams alterna-
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tively diversified and converged in China’s history (Sun, 2013). At each stage in the unfolding of the Chinese religious universe, new impetus and horizons were opened up and then reconciled with existing beliefs (Yao and Zhao, 2010). From this perspective, the development of Chinese religion remains an ongoing story, an ebb and flow between diversity and syn- cretism. We are suggesting that China has experienced three great historical periods or configurations of divergence and syncretism, when competing rites and doctrines (some institutional and some diffused, in C. K. Yang’s terminology) were juxtaposed and reconciled. The resulting syncretism, in time, would be broken up by the introduction of yet other beliefs. Those three historical configurations are summarized in Table 12.1. As you can see, the table leaves us with a question. The first coming together of diverse religious streams began to take place in the twelfth century BCE. The sec- ond began in the third century BCE, and the third in the tenth century CE. Is a fourth syncretism emerging in the twenty-first century?
First Configuration: The Rise of Humanistic Religion We begin with the legendary Neolithic origins of Chinese religion. Granet would readily point out that much that is unique about the orientation of China’s religion can be traced to that era. Julia Ching (1993) and Richard von Glahn (2004) maintain that elements of those ancient beliefs and cults persist even to this date, still retaining their archaic primitive mode.
As Table 12.1 indicates, ancient Chinese religious beliefs go back at least to the Neolithic and Bronze Ages and were widely practiced during the first archaic dynasties in classical China (Eliade, 1985:3–6; A. Wang,
Table 12.1 Development of Chinese Religions First Ancient cults (2000–1123 BCE): totemism, animism, configuration occultism. (to 256 BCE) Zhou syncretism (1122–256 BCE): The rise of humanistic
religion. Second Axial diversification (772–481 BCE): Confucianism, Daoism, configuration the Yin-Yang school. (to 220 CE) Han syncretism (206 BCE–220 CE): The canonization of
Confucianism. Third Foreign impetus (1): Indian Buddhism, Near Eastern configuration Nestorianism, Manichaeanism. (to 1279) Song syncretism (906–1279): The rise of neo-Confucianism. Fourth Foreign impetus (2): Christianity. configuration Marxism-Maoism as antireligion. (to present) Toward a new syncretism?
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2000). During the Zhou dynasty, between 1122 and 256 BCE, they merged with some new ideas in a syncretic reconciliation of beliefs (Sommer, 1995). The archaic gestation period of Chinese religion shared traits of primitive religions elsewhere. People became aware of and curious about nature and made crude halting attempts to justify human social life on the basis of larger-than-life forces and ideas; especially relevant for China were aspects of totemism, animism, and occultism.
Totemism Totemism is a familiar elementary form of religious belief, identifying human groups with species of animals, birds, or even plants from which they presumably descended. A group sharing the same totemic ancestor bonded together for community and warfare against groups sharing other totems. Scholars such as Emile Durkheim and Claude Lévi-Strauss point out that this classificatory system based on common descent of a group from the same mythic animal, bird, or imaginary monster helped set people apart in their own minds from other groups sharing a different totem, pro- viding them with a rich sense of prehistoric genesis based on legend. The proliferation of totemic groups generated dynamics of war and alliance. The first step toward a unified Chinese culture was allegedly achieved when the mythical Huang Di (the Yellow Emperor) fostered a federation of totemic groups powerful enough to sustain control over what became the heartland of China (L. S. Chang, Yu, and Ch’un, 1998). Down to the times of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou (see Table 3.1), the ruling dynasties and the kings were mainly the great chiefs who held the totemic alliances together. The passage into history took place at the point when totemic alliances were formalized into government and totemic groups became clans. Even today, Chinese often designate themselves “descendants of dragons,” if not because they actually believe in it, at least because they still want to.
Animism Animism forms the other major strand of ancient Chinese beliefs (von Glahn, 2004:18–44). Again, it is a mentality widely shared among peoples of the ancient world. Animism is belief in the omnipresence of spirits, that other living creatures and even inanimate objects or phenomena also pos- sess spiritual essences that can impact the lives of humans. It is usually re- garded by anthropologists as the most basic form of religious belief, based on the inability to distinguish between objective reality and the fantasy world of spirits. Yet as the case of China demonstrates, animism can far outlive its ancient origins. Animism is well documented in the archaeologi- cal finds of the Shang dynasty, mainly in sacrificial inscriptions on tortoise shells and animal bones (Keightley, 1978). These inscriptions indicate that people believed in and made offerings to spirits of natural phenomena such
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as thunder and rain, of natural objects such as mountains and rivers, of beasts and birds, and especially of deceased humans (Lewis, 2006). Many of these practices were to continue in the folk religions of China in later times (Kieschnick, 2003).
Occultism Occultism is closely connected with animism and concerns how the super- natural influence of spirits can be detected or even changed for human pur- poses. In the mind of believers, spirits were usually given form and charac- ter closely resembling human beings and shared our temperaments as well. It is therefore logical to assume that human beings can communicate with these spirits and in the process perhaps take advantage of their power. This may be achieved by specialized religious personnel obtaining blessings from these spirits and foretelling the future through their power. And in ar- chaic China, these religious personnel often held political roles as well, serving as the foundation of kingship (Ching, 1997). The Shang dynasty in- dulged extensively in occultist practice and also embraced the notion of the supreme lord (di), the personified supernatural overlord of all beings, to- ward whom acts of offerings and divination were ultimately directed (Eli- ade, 1985:7–9). The worship of di can be interpreted in a polytheistic mode, where the all-powerful di presided over the spiritual pantheon of the ani- mistic world and answered to the pleadings and inquiries of the people.
The three themes of totemism, animism, and occultism formed the reli- gious scaffolding of remote archaic China. In the passage from the Xia and Shang dynasties into the Zhou dynasty—and from prehistory into docu- mented history—two important strands of prehistoric beliefs would be as- similated into and continued in the religion of Zhou. These beliefs were the worship of heaven (tian) on the one hand and ancestral worship on the other. Both of these motifs were to exert heavy influences on the religious life of China to come. The worship of tian is essentially the depersonalized version of the former worship of di. In the transition from Shang into Zhou, the personified supreme deity of di was to be gradually metamorphosed into an impersonal transcendental force. Although this ultimate force was no longer cast in a humanized mode, it nonetheless had purpose and direc- tion. Comprehending and abiding by the will and Mandate of Heaven (tian- ming) would be among the key religious principles in Chinese culture—the belief that earthquakes, drought and hunger, and rising poverty are signs that heaven has withdrawn its approval of the ruler and he can be over- thrown, as discussed in Chapter 4 (Loewe, 1986; Shahar and Weller, 1996). And the worship of tian would in later days converge with the imperatives of the dao (the way), whether defined in Confucian, Daoist, or yin-yang terms. As for ancestral worship, this is a heritage from totemism for which China has become particularly famous. It makes little difference that the
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early totemic ancestors were mainly legendary animals or even hybrids; they kindled a religious sentiment that constantly beckoned to the ancestral fountainhead, which would continue to oversee the conduct and welfare of the latter-day descendants. The impersonal and immutable tian and the highly personal and affectionate ancestors (zu) would form the two essen- tial axes of supernatural beliefs, handed down as they were from the prehis- toric past first to the Zhou civilization and in turn to Chinese culture as a whole.
Zhou Syncretism and Humanistic Religion During the Zhou dynasty, these beliefs were assimilated and consolidated, especially in the western Zhou. The individual traditions did not disappear, but society and scholars drew together important elements from all of them to bolster secular institutions along with religious ideas and practices (Eli- ade, 1985:9–13; Fung, 1997). Divination and other animistic magical prac- tices continued (also discussed in Chapter 13). But at the same time, thinkers and religious practitioners combined them with other religious tra- ditions, picking what seemed best from each to form a new body of doc- trines and rituals. It was truly a syncretism—a generally contrived and strained sense of integration that would last for a few centuries and finally begin to fall apart under that strain. Then, new diverse religious strands would unravel, to be brought back together in a second syncretism dis- cussed below. This is how China’s religious traditions have evolved amid the diversity and immensity of the Chinese religious universe—an interplay of unity and difference.
The Zhou syncretism emerged because, after a long prehistoric child- hood, Chinese society had reached a stocktaking threshold requiring a more stable and rational framework of social life. As explained in Chapter 3, the Zhou people of the west toppled the Shang dynasty, which had grown cor- rupt and obsolete. They sought to create the underpinnings of a new social order. Although construction of the Zhou order was generally accredited to the Duke of Zhou, the younger brother of the founding emperor, it must also be seen as a product of its time.
The duke of Zhou presided over construction of a strong program of humanism, centering primarily on humanistic interests and ideals, that was to permeate all subsequent evolution of the Chinese religious world. The personified godhead of di—the closest that China ever came to professing a supreme monotheistic deity—became the abstract ramified force of tian and of nature, no longer intervening directly in the mundane details of so- cial life. Tian was a “hidden god.” Although tian and nature had purpose and will, they were part of bigger cosmic dynamics that had no use for di- vine design or intervention. And if human affairs must nonetheless abide by heavenly principles, they do so mainly for the sake of harmony and felicity
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in social life. In this way, then, the rise of Zhou humanism signified an es- sential new twist in the religious consciousness of the Chinese, in which both the sacred and the profane derived their meanings from within the concrete operation of the secular human world (Nakamura, 1964:chap. 15). This would be the all-important leitmotiv that both Confucianism and Dao- ism took up in later times.
Starting with this basic propensity toward a humanistic religion, Zhou syncretism placed dual emphasis on rites and ethics that (in the absence of divine decrees) together set the standard of proper behavior. The notion of, and the word for, “rite” (li) had its origin in the archaic ritual of making of- ferings to the gods. People were instructed to participate in rites with sin- cerity and care, just as their ancestors had done when worshiping their pan- theon of animistic spirits and di, the mandate of gods and heaven. In addition, practice of rite evolved into social institutions and ideological doctrines. Rites as social institutions defined proper behavior in different social occasions— celebrations, initiations, mourning, interaction, and so on (D. E. Armstrong, 1998). Rites would shape the elementary social structure of the community, visually demonstrating the sovereignty and power of the rulers and the rights and responsibilities of different social roles. Philosoph- ical and ideological frameworks justified and codified the practice of rites, ensuring their continuity even beyond the reign of Zhou. That codification was partly recorded in the canonical Book of Rites, the compilations of an- cient documents broadly related to this movement.
In lieu of divine decrees, the intellectual foundation of li—and of Zhou humanism in general—was primarily ethical in character. At the heart of this ethic was the use of blood ties and kinship dynamics as the foundation of values and standards of social relationship. In the absence of divine ordi- nance, blood ties were to become the most sacred organizing principle of society. The Zhou dynasty presided over a feudal social order, with peas- ants bonded to the estates of noblemen. Feudalism was founded on the lin- eage rule (zhongfa) system, which determined rights and duties on the basis of blood ties. This zhongfa system also prescribed the distribution and in- heritance of family resources from one generation to another. It raised fa- milial and filial values into “social absolutes,” serving as the ethical-sacred foundation of Zhou humanism.
Instead of following a more familiar pattern of religious movement from animism into polytheism and then into monotheistic religion, Zhou syncretism generally sought to break with theistic religion altogether. Henceforth, the “great tradition” of Chinese religion would be character- ized above all by what Weber called “this-worldly religion”—religious be- liefs having little to do with transcendental order and divine godheads (Weber, [1922] 1964:1–3). Already in the time of Zhou, an “enlightened” outlook had developed, affirming the primacy and autonomy of humanity
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as the sole source of both existential enigma and fulfillment and asserting that humanity remains truly autonomous only when ritually bonded to the community and its rulers (Lewis, 2006). Thus, the rise of Zhou syncretism set the distinct temperament of Chinese religious beliefs, marking the mas- ter trend that later stages continued to deepen and enrich but never did abandon or supersede.
Second Configuration: The Axial Age and the Rise of Confucianism During later centuries, the Zhou syncretism broke down and contending schools of thought emerged. This lively stage of development, when such prominent schools as Confucianism and Daoism came into existence, is by far the most celebrated among observers. Beginning around 1000 BCE, India, Greece, Mesopotamia, and China all experienced major advances in their civilizations, independently of one another; scholars think of these civ- ilizations as occupying several parallel lines or planes, each serving as axis to subsequent progress of their civilizations, and call this period the “axial” age (see H. Chang, 1990; Roetz, 1993). In China, these advances occurred during the so-called Spring and Autumn Period and Warring States Period and extended into the short-lived Qin dynasty (see Table 3.1). The Han dy- nasty would then seek a synthesis among these contending schools (Loewe, 2005). This second syncretism, building on but moving beyond the first syn- cretism created earlier in the Zhou dynasty, stands unmistakably at the heart of cultural China. Even to this day, Chinese culture is identified as Han.
First, we focus on three schools among the many contending during the axial age: Confucianism, Daoism, and yin-yang. Then, we examine how the yin-yang cosmological framework was deployed as the scaffolding on which Confucianism and Daoism acquired tenuous syncretic unity during the Han dynasty.
Confucianism Confucius lived from 551 to 479 BCE (see Table 3.1). He sought a return to the humanist emphasis on rites and ethics found in the earlier Zhou syn- cretism (Strathern, 1999; Yao, 2000; Nylan, 2001; Nylan and Wilson, 2010; Goldin, 2011; A. Chin, 2007; Littlejohn, 2011; Gardner, 2014). His, too, is essentially a “secular religion,” founded on beliefs about proprieties of human conduct: social values, social practice, and the image of the ideal person. In society and the individual, the ultimate ends of life coincide with the worldliness of the mundane here and now (see Fingarette, 1998; Strath- ern, 1999; Yao, 2000; Poceski, 2009).
The social values associated with Confucianism center on the cardinal notion of ren, rendered variously by sinologists as “benevolence,” “hu-
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maneness,” and “compassion.” In The Analects—the record of Confucius’s teachings—ren is made the foundation of social life (Brooks and Brooks, 1998; Bo, 2003:99–204; Adler, 2002; Plaks and Yao, 2004; Ames, 1999; Confucius, 1992). Divine authority should be respected, but is generally ir- relevant. Ren literally means “two persons”; it is not just a set of ethical rules but an inalienable inner necessity, a moral imperative for human per- sonal and social existence. It cannot be approached as an individualistic ethic because human nature itself is inherently social; social interaction and relations between humans will take priority over personal interest and expe- rience. We have an innate moral mandate to show affection, sympathy, compassion, and benevolence toward our fellow humans by conforming to specific conventions of social behavior. Instinctive consciousness of that mandate sets humanity apart from other living beings. The value and good- ness of ren is not something that should be validated by reason or logic. Ren is both higher and deeper than the mere exercise of intellect. In the end, mutual affection and sympathy—emotional bonds—best validate and vindicate its primacy. The individuals who exemplify these ideals by prop- erly performing rites and social conventions are literally defining who they are, demonstrating their humanity.
The celebrated Confucian obsession with li (ritual and propriety) can be properly appreciated against this backdrop (Eliade, 1985:22–25; Ivan- hoe, 2000; Kern, 2005; Lai, 2006; Yao, 2006). The elaborate and meticu- lous rituals governing social interaction are the practical articulation of the cherished ideal of ren—personal actors defining their own worth by the col- lective sentiment they show toward social solidarity (Eno, 1990). Art, liter- ature, and moral discourse must help individuals cultivate these social pro- prieties.
The Confucian distinction between gentleman (junzi) and commoner (xi- aoren) also becomes clear in this context. Although achieving the remote ideal of becoming a Confucian sage is beyond the reach of most mortals, true followers of Confucianism can hope to become junzi—someone who desires and is far advanced in the attainment and practical pursuit of ren. A gentle- man is not merely someone generally righteous, honest, and knowledgeable. These well-accepted virtues must be assessed and related in terms of the core value of ren; a true Confucian gentleman is not motivated to attain individual success or precious assets, but rather shows his benevolence to others by practicing the social rituals with propriety (Tu, 1993). In contrast, the xiaoren (literally, “small-minded men”) are imperfect in attaining ren, or humanity. The xiaoren is the direct opposite of the junzi not because he is perhaps evil- minded or dishonest, but mainly because he is only concerned with his own interest and private desire. At their worst, such individuals ignore the cardinal value of ren by expressing frustration and social discontent; at their best, they show their respect for it by giving special deference to junzi. (See Chapter 4
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for more on the concrete interplay of these principles.) Confucianism inter- twines ethics and religion to regulate social behavior (Wilson, 2003). How- ever, it lacks a religious hierarchy to mandate its authority and is not inspired by divine authority from above, but rather by the inner benevolence of human nature itself (Hall and Ames, 1987). Mo Tzu and Mencius, who lived shortly after Confucius, touch on these ideas (de Bary, Bloom, and Adler, 2000; Hansen, 2000:153–196; Huang, 2001; Ivanhoe, 2002; Shun, 2000; Mozi, 2003; Xunzi, 2003; Lowe, 1992).
Daoism The other major indigenous religious tradition in China is Daoism, which (as indicated in Chapter 3) originated during the same period of axial diver- sification. The relation between Confucianism and Daoism is a contrast be- tween orthodoxy and heterodoxy—a distinction made famous by Weber in his study of Chinese religion. Although Confucianism pertains overwhelm- ingly to the social aspects of human life, Daoism pertains more to nature and the individual (Kirkland, 2004; Bo, 2003:205–296; Pas, 2006; Y. Wang, 2004; C.-f. Yu, 2000; Adler, 2002). Confucianism gives primacy to assert- ing and striving for social values, but Daoism gives primacy to tactically avoiding these allegedly superficial pursuits. Daoism rose as a contrasting parameter to assert the values that Confucianism neglected. It was permis- sible and common for people to take on both Confucian and Daoist out- looks, letting each fill the void left by the other. The two together broadly demarcate the field of diversification in the axial age.
Standing at the heart of Daoism is the concept of dao, which can vari- ously be understood as “the principle,” “the way,” and “the word” (Waley, 1988; Ames, Hall, and Bernstein, 2003). Thus, dao can be regarded as a mode of behavioral tactics, specifying the principles that are most closely compati- ble with the dynamics of human and natural affairs (Clarke, 2000; Roth, 2004). Or dao is perceived in more philosophical rubrics as the way, postulat- ing the presence of a universal pattern or law that underlies the conduct of so- cial and natural phenomena. And if dao is seen as the word, it denotes the need for doctrines and codes to be formulated and espoused in words or utter- ances for the articulation of the dao. These three aspects of dao all revolve around the concept of virtue (de), suggesting that dao is by nature virtuous (Eliade, 1985:25–33; Moeller, 2004, 2006). These multiple meanings explain why dao remains so much an enigma in Chinese thought, readily associated both with the crudest kind of magical practices and with philosophical en- lightenment of a lofty order (Birrell, 2000; Pregadio, 2006; Wong, 1997; E. Yang, 2007; D. C. Yu and Fortin, 2000). As a metaphor or concept of truth, dao was commonly evoked even in doctrines outside Daoism. For example, the Confucian classics were replete with the use of the concept when dis- cussing truth and its method, albeit with specific Confucian reference.
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Whether according to Laozi (Anthony, 1998; Balkin, 2002; Cook, 2003; Marshall, 2001; Roth, 2004; Wagner, 2000; Y. Wang, 2004) or Zhuangzi (Ames, 1998; Chuang Tzu, 1997; Cook, 2003; Zhuangzi, 2003; Henricks, 2005; Kjellberg and Ivanhoe, 1996; Mair, 1983, 1998), the two legendary founders of Daoism, the gist of dao lies not in human endeavor but rather in evading the futility of human endeavor. The universe is the to- tality of all being, generated from an unimaginable cosmic void, the om- nipresent dao. Dao is emptiness, mystical and all-pervasive. The world de- rives from that emptiness. Humans can achieve a linkage with that emptiness by refraining from individual ambition and social activity and seeking oneness with dao.
The belief in dao naturally reinforces a passive attitude of retreat. Ex- treme Daoists preached a social doctrine calling for small social units, with minimal government structure, and as little social interaction as possible (Schipper, 1993). They saw the numerous moral values and ethical codes cherished by the Confucians as unwanted baggage; if social ties and inter- action were avoided or minimized to begin with, most problems the Confu- cians set out to confront would not even exist. Submitting oneself to the dao can create a very different kind of individual and social order.
Other Daoist schools believe that moving in accordance with the propensity and force of the dao would make the individual much more compatible and effective in the world, rather than in retreat from it. Cor- rectly perceiving and abiding by the movement of dao actually strengthens one’s potential and power. By this ironic twist, the passivity of Daoist tenets is transformed into tactical endeavor. This tempts one to channel the force of dao—by magical or physical means—to become a source of reli- gious fulfillment. The tremendous hidden power of the dao can be manipu- lated to fulfill other personal needs as well. Practices such as macrobiotic diets and divination can be used to achieve such utilitarian ends. This utili- tarian dimension receives prominence in the later development of Daoism. Its canonical doctrines emphasize a detached spontaneous life attitude com- mensurate with the natural unfolding of the dao, even as one carries out so- cial responsibilities. The institutional religion that came to surround these doctrines could point to utilitarian personal benefits to be gained from ad- hering to the religion—an effective way of persuading worldly believers (A. C. Yu, 2005:53–89).
The Yin-Yang School The axial age in China boasted the blossoming of “nine currents and ten schools” (jiuliu sijia). Among them, the Yin-Yang school is another current standing at the heart of religious formation in China, with important practi- cal implications for both Confucianism and Daoism. The Yin-Yang school systematized some of the magical practices from earlier primitive religion.
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It is generally deemed less important than Confucianism and Daoism be- cause it is less sophisticated, but it helped reconcile these more elaborate doctrines and became responsible for many of the more speculative and magical tenets of both Confucianism and Daoism.
Yin-yang is represented graphically as the oppo- sition and complementarity of light and darkness— expressing their inherent difference while suggest- ing that the essence of each is somehow related to that of the other (Fung, 1983b:7–131). The polarity of yin-yang also underlined part of Confucianism and Daoism. In addition, this polarity may be viewed as an ancient articulation of what later came to be
Yin and yang in harmony.
known as binary thinking. The yin-yang dichotomy is the primordial impulse of classification—the very
first act of intellectual classification that preceded all subsequent acts of in- tellectual operation (Bo, 2003:33–98). Other contrasts such as weak-strong, low-high, feminine-masculine, cold-hot, absorbing-penetrating, passive-ac- tive, darkness-light, earth-heaven, and so on, can be defined by their juxta- position as opposites—the master framework of yin-yang—irrespective of their actual substance or referents.
Yet the Yin-Yang school took this to much greater extremes. The manifestation and transformation in any phenomenon can be charted and even foretold in accordance with the interplay of yin-yang dynamics. The entire universe can become unified and understood under sets of yin- yang– related principles or pseudotheories. There are, for instance, the five elements (wuxin), which referred to the constitutive elements of the material world— fire, water, wood, metal, and earth. Each of these ele- ments has different associations along the spectrum of the yin-yang prin- ciple, forming a unique system of checks and balances, harmony and con- flict, diversity and unity. In addition, the four directions, four seasons, stellar configurations, aspects of human virtues, and so forth, all attain similar cosmological and magical attributes that resonate above and be- yond their natural and human forms. By weaving together a closed cos- mology that attributes order to the world and a teleology that shows its design and ultimate ends, the Yin-Yang school developed immense ap- peal. The yin-yang dynamics became in effect the articulation, perhaps even actualization, of both the elusive tian and dao—of heaven on high and the way of life on earth.
Han Syncretism: The Canonization of Confucianism The Spring and Autumn Period (771–476 BCE), when Confucius, Laozi, and Zhuangzi lived, was the last phase of axial diversification before the breakdown of the Zhou dynasty. The nine currents and ten schools of
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thought flourishing during that era shared some common traits with roots in the earlier Zhou syncretism (R. J. Smith and Kwok, 1993). Such continu- ities led to the famous hypothesis that the diverse schools of the axial age all originated from the former imperial officials of the Zhou government. Like the preceding Zhou syncretism, none of these schools looked to a sin- gle divine being as the ultimate source of religious spirit. Magic, spirit, hy- brids, and a metaphorical heaven were still regarded as normal parts of the world where humans live. And the cornerstone of Zhou humanism stayed in place, whether in the Confucian values of ren and li, the Daoist postulate of the all-pervasive dao, or the yin-yang resonance (ganyin) among humans, world, and cosmos.
In this light, the founding of the Han dynasty in 206 BCE following the Qin unification of China acquired different levels of meaning. In terms of intellectual and religious development, the Han period became the sec- ond major movement of syncretism in Chinese religious thought. Unlike the epochal breakthrough in Zhou humanism, however, Han syncretism can boast of no similar fundamental innovation, at least not in intellectual terms. Han syncretism is significant mainly in its practical consequence for Chinese religion. It was during the consolidation of Han syncretism that Confucianism was first favored above all other competing doctrines, and that the writings of classical Confucianism were canonized as the supreme source of authority. But this process brought into Confucianism important strands from those competing doctrines and provided ways for other religions to coexist with it (Csikscentmihalyi, 2006; Kramers, 1986; Loewe, 2005).
Han syncretism elected an orthodoxy subsequent only to the consolida- tion of a variety of thought currents. The dynasty opened on a Daoist note when the second emperor of Han, Wendi, chose to adopt a more withdrawn noninterventionist approach to state administration, so that the country could recover from the protracted war of unification under the first Han emperor, Gaozu. Yet he did not attempt to privilege Daoism above other doctrines. It was the great Wudi (reigning from 140 to 87 BCE) who insti- tuted the Five Confucian Classics as the official syllabus of education. Dong Zhongshu (179–104 BCE), the intellectual architect of this move- ment, advocated “dismissing the hundred other schools in respect of Confu- cianism alone.” Dong was simultaneously the great advocate of Confucian- ism and its formidable revisionist, drawing into it Daoist and yin-yang themes and traditions of folk religion and magical practices (Dong, 2015).
Dong sought to reconcile heaven (tian) and humanity (ren). His formu- lation for this is tianren ganyin—resonance between heaven and humans. From this perspective, human and transcendental realities are intrinsically linked. A primarily humanistic approach such as classical Confucianism, which focuses solely on humanity, is too simplistic. The Yin-Yang school
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saw tian as essentially unchangeable overpowering forces. Dong sought to revise that passive view by reintroducing the notion of supernatural forces that would oversee the conduct of men. This element, while not entirely ab- sent in classical Confucianism, was greatly amplified by the hand of Dong. Confucius’s humanism was too abstract and impalpable for common indi- viduals. By making tian once again a supreme will accessible to human supplications through the intervention of supernatural forces, Dong gave Confucianism greater popular appeal. Heaven does not intervene directly into human affairs, yet heaven is responsive to human conduct. Misde- meanors and crime, beyond a certain threshold of seriousness and scale, would trigger signs from heaven, usually in the form of natural disasters and mystical omens. So humanity can decipher the way of heaven and build a moral social order on its basis. The purpose of life is not just to attain har- mony and well-being, but ultimately to attain a state of unity with heaven (tianren heyi); this ideal would make orthodox Confucianism more explic- itly religious (Loewe, 2005).
The emperor Wudi accepted not only Dong’s version of Confucianism, but also the proposal that Confucianism should be honored above all other schools of thought and beliefs. In subsequent ages, the Han syncretism came to be known as Hanxue (Han learning). Hanxue represented the first major reworking of Confucianism, not only by Dong but also through ex- tensive exegetical works on the Confucian canon by other Han scholars. The Han syncretism, however, proved problematic for later Confucians; it was revisionist in spirit yet meticulously preserved the classical heritage. The Han dynasty collapsed at the end of the second century CE, but it left behind an established Confucian tradition.
Third Configuration: Foreign Impetus and Neo-Confucianism The two syncretic stages configuring Chinese religion up to this point in- volved ideas and doctrines that may seem somewhat removed from the modern conception of religion. There was little by way of established reli- gious institutions, worship of a specific deity, or the use of sacred texts for transcendental communication. Even magical practice and beliefs were found only among marginalized Daoist and yin-yang cults. Orthodox Con- fucianism never set up a priesthood or houses of worship. In contrast to other major world religions, Chinese religion did not seek immortality, inner ecstasy, or salvation for its adherents. Chinese religious development was to remain heavily intellectual, secular, and humanistic. The purest form of belief was ultimately in humanity as such, for all its virtues, follies, and possibilities. But the adherents of this belief could attain the same fervor, commitment, and faith common to all religious traditions.
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The next two configurations of religious development in China would be more complicated and colorful. Though the humanism persisted, it was subjected to searching challenges, the latest episode of which is still hap- pening today. These challenges came largely from outside, in the form of foreign religious traditions that either sought to take root in China on their own or sought to trigger transformations of the Chinese religions from within (Demieville, 1986). The religions involved are Buddhism from India, the three religions of Abraham from Europe and the Near East, and finally Marxism-Maoism, which figured as yet another thought system of heavy humanistic-religious bent.
Indian Buddhism The great religious event dominating China’s cultural landscape while Eu- rope was experiencing its Dark Ages and medieval period was the introduc- tion and expansion of Buddhism (Adler, 2002; JeeLoo Liu, 2006; Ling, 2004; Lopez, 1996; Williams, 2008; Poceski, 2009). From that time for- ward, the tripartite epithet of Confucianism-Buddhism-Daoism (ru-xi-dao) would become the standard litany describing Chinese religion. In other words, Buddhism was the only foreign religion that has successfully taken root in China and exerted sweeping cultural and intellectual influence on mainstream religious belief. Buddhism is a highly institutionalized religion, with its own elaborate miscellany of sects and monastic orders, specialized personnel, institutional discipline, and theological doctrines. In contrast, Confucianism maintained a much more secular moralistic outlook, pre- cisely in its attempt not to separate social and sacred lives. And Daoism was largely split between its intellectual and institutional facades, with the Daoist institutions catering above all to the more magical witchcraft- inclined aspects of religious life, whereas the loftier side of Daoist philoso- phy remained in the domain of intellectuals (Robinet, 1997). Buddhism was the only all-round religion in traditional China, encompassing the full range of religious sentiment, forms, and levels of thought.
Buddhism seeks to “take flight” from the world, which allegedly only brings human suffering. It adopts a passive posture not unlike that of Dao- ism but seeks to extend this to its logical extreme, renouncing individual consciousness and cravings so as to better perceive the ontological abyss of nothingness (sunya in Sanskrit, kung in Chinese). Buddhism added new di- mensions to indigenous Chinese religions.
Historically, Buddhism is another product of the world axial break- through, established in India around 600 BCE by Siddhartha Gautama of the Sakya clan, who became Sakyamuni—“the sage of the sakyas” (K. Armstrong, 2004; Sakyamuni, 1993). Modern scholarship has come to the broad consensus that the earliest documented arrival in China of Buddhists and their canon was during the early Han dynasty (see Table 3.1). Although
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Some of the Buddhas carved into Feilai Feng (“the peak that flew over from India”) on a hill outside Hangzhou, Zhejiang.
Buddhism had practically no role to play in Han syncretism, it was during the Han dynasty that institutional support for Buddhism was first secured— royal sponsorship, monasteries in the capital city, the beginning of scrip- tural translation, and so forth (Tsai, 1994; Watson, 2000). And into the late Han and the subsequent era of political instability, Buddhism would greatly expand its influence, taking on first Daoism and then Confucianism to be- come a major religio-cultural force by the time of the Song dynasty (960– 1279 CE), the other great era of syncretism in traditional China (Ger- net, [1956] 1998; Tsai, 1994; A. C. Yu, 2005:90–134; Mollier, 2009). Bud- dhism became assimilated as an indigenous part of Chinese religious tradi- tions via a twofold process: the translation of concepts and the search for original texts and developments of sects.
The initial assimilation of Buddhism was greatly facilitated by empha- sizing facile similarity and overlap between Buddhism and the indigenous Daoist doctrine. This strategy was formally known as keyi, “matching of meanings.” The broad application of keyi served two purposes. On the one hand, it secured acceptance and even popularity for Buddhism without sig- nificant resistance from the Chinese populace. On the other hand, and more important, the method also ensured that Buddhism would soon shed its In- dian outlook and become assimilated into the Chinese religious world— truly achieving keyi as a method of cross-cultural communication (Fung, 1983b: 407–532).
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Keyi refers to the practice of translating Indian Buddhist concepts into Daoist categories, a method pioneered by Faya, a fourth-century Chinese monk. Keyi could range from translating particular concepts, such as the
Sanskrit sunya (emptiness) into the Daoist wu (nothingness) or Buddha into the Daoist shensen (deities), all the way to systematically rendering entire sutras (Buddhist classics) into Daoist idiom and analogy, even annotating sutras with Daoist classics. The worth of Buddhism was measured by its
ability to hold its own in debates on Chinese culture and scholarship. During the four divisive centuries of post-Han China, many of the well-known Bud- dhist monks and masters earned their celebrity by demonstrating unexpected
depths and insights in Daoist learning. In outsmarting the Daoist-leaning Confucian scholar-officials of the time—during sessions of idle talk (qing-
tan)—famous monks such as Daoan and Huiyuan gained respect and footing for Buddhism. Keyi would go a long way in transforming the foreign out-
look of Buddhism into one that would soon be regarded as properly Chinese. The height of Buddhist influence came during the influential unified Tang
dynasty (618–907 CE). An imperial census of Buddhist communities counted 260,000 monks and nuns, 4,600 temples, and some 40,000 shrines altogether. Each temple and shrine owned land and other properties donated by believers,
giving them great social and economic prominence (Foltz, 2010; McNair, 2007; Qiang, 2004). Clashes with local authorities and in- digenous beliefs
resulted in repression. This census, in fact, was compiled as a database for the short-lived official suppression of Buddhism in 845 CE. During episodes of
official repression, most temples and shrines were destroyed, their land confiscated, and their monks secularized.
During the Tang dynasty, Chinese Buddhism developed along two fronts—the accelerated assimilation of Indian Buddhism and the growth of native Buddhist sects (Fung, 1983b:293–406; Weinstein, 1987). Famous Buddhist pilgrims went to India to systematically study Buddhist sutras and treatises (lun). Moving beyond keyi, they felt compelled to explore these works at their source, taking on Indian Buddhism in its own terms. The most famous pilgrims were Yijing, Faxian, and especially the towering fig- ure of Xuan Zang, who has become a rich source of inspiration and contri- bution not only to Buddhism but to Chinese culture in general (Wriggins, 2003). Xuan Zang left China for India in 629 CE and did not return until 645. During that time, he also visited Sri Lanka. He brought back a great number of original Sanskrit texts and spent the rest of his life rendering them into Chinese, a task continued by his disciples after his death. His is the best-known example of a Chinese pilgrimage seeking a more authentic understanding of religion in the outside world; Chapter 13 discusses Xuan Zang further. This enterprise of scriptural translation would come to be among the most significant catalytic events in the growth of Chinese Bud- dhism (Tung, 2000).
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As the formation of Chinese Buddhism continued in the Tang dynasty, it divided into two streams: “the three sects under the creed” (jiaoxia sanzong) and the “alternative teaching outside the creed” (jiaowai biequan). The three sects were the more mainstream Tiantai, Huayen, and Faxian (Cleary, 1983; Gimello and Gregory, 1983). The alternative teaching refers to the highly unique and controversial development of Zen Buddhism (Adamek, 2007; Cleary, 2005; Dumoulin, 2005; Faure, 1995, 1997; Ferguson, 2005; Kieschnick, 2003; Welter, 2006). Both streams sought to reconcile Indian Buddhism with Chinese sociocultural conditions and, in the process, con- tributed significant progress to Buddhism at large. The three sects focused especially on doctrines that implored people to treat their fellow humans properly and embark on various stages of enlightenment, by way of com- passionate deeds to help others lead a better earthly life and to start their own paths toward enlightenment (Bocking, 1995). Zen Buddhism, both in its moderate (jian) or radical (dun) version, sought spiritual liberation and enlightenment (wu) not through understanding doctrines and carrying out deeds, but by uncovering and acknowledging one’s innate self (jue), one’s Buddhist nature (foxing), and trying to remove all thoughts and desires and connect with the universal mind during meditation. In thus breaking free from the constraints of culture or even of Buddhist doctrines themselves, this endeavor was the more extreme attempt to abandon the Indian roots of Buddhism altogether. This alternative stream of Buddhism and popular be- liefs such as the pure land (jingtu) sect, which proposed down-to-earth doc- trines and ritual practices for different social occasions, would survive the suppression of Buddhism in the ninth century to become a part of Chinese culture. There was no perceived fundamental schism between such forms of Buddhism and Confucianism or Daoism. It was not unusual, in fact, for in- tellectuals or the lay public to adhere to parts of all these creeds (Li, 1999). In essence and fundamental philosophy, all defied the notions of any ruling supreme deity or heavenly salvation for individual souls.
Near Eastern Manichaeanism and Nestorianism During the Tang dynasty, Manichaeanism (molijiao) and Nestorianism (jingjiao) came to China from the Near East (Foltz, 2010). Manichaeanism was associated with the Zoroastrianism of ancient Persia, whereas Nestorian- ism was a heretical sect of early Christianity. The Tang dynasty maintained close contact with many of the adjacent regions and cultures, and the imperial capital, Ch’angan (Xi’an), housed a sizable community of foreigners, known generally as hu. This general milieu greatly facilitated the introduction of these religions, and their initial spread was somewhat sheltered by the success of Buddhism. Yet being much smaller in scale, they suffered heavily during the occasional crackdowns on Buddhism and other foreign religions during the Tang dynasty and after. The Nestorians were heavily subdued whenever
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nativism surged in China; they were also persecuted and denounced as hereti- cal by the Christian church in the west. The Manichaeans went underground to associate with Chinese popular cults seeking “millennial” uprisings against the state, inducing further suppressions in subsequent dynasties. These in- tensely theistic and otherworldly religions never commanded the same respect and attention as Buddhism. And yet they completed the spectrum of foreign religious impetus that entered China during the medieval time and may be seen as preparatory moments for the next major stage of Chinese religious de- velopment, when Christianity and the Christian civilization would clash with the Chinese world in the most ruthless manner possible.
Song Syncretisim By the time of the Tang dynasty, Confucianism, whether as state belief or moral philosophy, was by and large already part of the invisible taken-for-
granted ground rules of everyday life (Chiu-Duke, 2000). Daoism was some- what in the middle, straddling the gap between superstition and high philoso-
phy (Katz, 2000). Buddhism, too, catered to more down-to-earth religious needs while standing its ground in intellectual terms. Like Daoism, the
schism between its role as folk religion and as moral pillar for society ren- dered its reception among both literati and commoner
often eclectic and superficial. Once again, there was a need to draw together strains of thought and belief.
The dynamic of this development set the back- drop for the new syncretism of the Song (Hymes, 2002; Miller, 2007). This would be a syncretism op- erating at two levels of sophisticated religious ideas and of folk beliefs and practice. Song syncretism rec- onciled both contending thought systems and the eclectic mosaic of folk beliefs and superstition. The Song dynasty saw the maturation of Chinese reli- gious consciousness and its split into contrasting lev- els and aspirations.
At the heart of the new syncretism was neo- Confucianism. This is often referred to as the “second phase” in the development of Confucianism, the “first phase” being Confucianism in the time of Confucius
A diagram of the Supreme Ultimate, depicting the neo-Confucian image of the division and unity of the yin-yang poles.
himself. Neo-Confucianism accommodated the doc- trinal challenge from Daoism and Buddhism in Con- fucian terms, but not without cost. By focusing more on inner religious experience and less on human rela- tions, it may even have weakened the Song dynasty’s defense against encroaching nomadic invaders and hence hastened its demise (James T. C. Liu, 1988).
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There were, broadly, four celebrated schools of neo-Confucianism: the Lian, Lo, Guan, and Min, named after the home territories of their respec- tive founders (Kramers, 1986). These schools were not so much different sects of neo-Confucianism as different steps of development. They devel- oped chronologically in nearly the order given above, and their founders were often intellectual (and actual) kinsmen. The schools all sought to strengthen, if not actually rebuild, the foundation that underlined the Con- fucian faith in morality, benevolence, and humanity (Wyatt, 1996; Bol, 2010; de Bary, 1975, 1981). The rise of Buddhism (Gregory and Getz, 2002; Halperin, 2006; Jia, 2007; Poceski, 2007; Hymes, 2002; de Bary, 1972) and increasing popularity of Daoism rendered the emphasis on com- passion or moral goodness no longer the prerogative of Confucianism alone. The same urge for virtuous conduct and mutual compassion figured prominently in Buddhism and even populist Daoism. The point was then both to reinforce and to rebuild the foundation of the Confucian faith, so that the Confucian way could be demonstrated to be distinctive from and superior to other alleged champions of virtue and humanity. For this pur- pose, two general agendas emerged.
The first agenda, undertaken mainly by the Guan school, sought to reaf- firm the necessity of morality and benevolence by a familial analogy bind- ing humanity with the universe (Lagerwey, 2010). This position was pro- nounced with great persuasiveness and clarity in the manifesto of the Guan school—the Western Inscription (ximing) by Zhang Zhai (Kasoff, 1984). As presented in the ximing, heaven (tian) and earth (kun) were but the benevo- lent universal parents of humans. Within this ultimate parenthood, every re- lationship—social, material, and natural—must accord with prescribed ethi- cal (filial) standards. The recognition of universal parenthood would render an ethical benevolent worldview necessary and inviolable.
The second and eventually the more influential agenda was repre- sented by Chu Hsi and the Min school. Instead of developing yet another set of beliefs such as universal parenthood, Chu Hsi sought to create a more systematic metaphysical foundation for Confucianism (W.-t. Chan, 1986, 1989; Tillman, 1992). His elaborate intellectual construction ex- plored the dichotomy between li (principle) and qi (expression) to demon- strate the unity and universality of principle as opposed to the multifarious- ness of expression. He deepened the rationale and assumptions behind the Confucian world of belief. Influenced by Buddhist and Daoist practices, he sought to relate human needs and feelings to doctrine and ritual behavior, sidestepping Confucian ethics in favor of seeking higher and ultimate meta- physical reality by incessant probing of inner experience. Chu’s approach brought a convergence in form and spirit (if not in doctrine) of the three re- ligions, but risked the danger of retreating into speculative musing and self- diagnosis. The subsequent development of neo-Confucianism into the Ming
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A traditional representation of a Daoist deity.
dynasty would be heavily tainted by the transcendental mood of a “Confucian Zen” (de Bary, 1975:141–217).
At the other end of Song syncretism was the growing pop- ularity of folk beliefs and magi- cal practices borrowing indis- criminately from the systematic religions, whose insight and fine points often eluded the ability and concern of the general pub- lic. These folk beliefs were characterized by an abundance of gods, worshiped either as local deities or as more univer- sal idols. The figures popular among folk worship included
historical figures, deceased local celebrities, animals, and even Confucian sages, all of whom were turned into idols that, after proper sacrificial of- ferings, might bestow blessings and grant requests (Kang, 2006). They might simultaneously worship other deities such as the Amitabe Buddha (milafo), Kanon (guanyin, a Buddhist bodhisattva), the Jade Emperor (yuhuang dadi), Gods of the Five Mountains (wu yue dijun), and the Im- maculate Lady of the Ninth Heaven (jiutian xuannu). Confucianism, Bud- dhism, Daoism, and popular legends all contributed to this pantheon (Gre- gory and Getz, 2002). These deities and idols could be worshiped selectively or collectively, depending on the needs of the worshipers (C.-f. Yu, 2000). They were also worshiped regardless of their religious origins. This is syncretism in the strong sense of the term, with an easy sense of unity gained by simply ignoring gaps and incoherence.
Syncretic folk creeds formed as well. Manichaeanism dressed itself as a kind of higher-order Buddhism. Its spread within the population was among the main contributing factors to millennial revolts against the dy- nasty. The well-known White Lotus sect (bailianjiao) also preached a form of simplified eclectic doctrine advocating social reform (ter Haar, 1999). The White Lotus would lead a sustained underground existence into the early twentieth century.
After the Han dynasty, the development of Chinese religion became more complex. Daoism and Confucianism deepened their grasp on Chinese culture and society (Dean, 1998). At the same time, the outside world began to sink in. By the end of the Song dynasty, Chinese religious systems were generally confident of their own value and truthfulness. However, assaults
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were about to emerge that would call for even more profound and encom- passing standards. After the Mongol kingdom overthrew the Song dynasty at the end of the thirteenth century, outside encroachment became broader and deeper; other exotic modes of faith, of religious sentiment and aspira- tion, asserted powerful new universalist claims (Wallace, 2015).
Fourth Configuration: The Foreign Impetus of Christianity and Communism The next major movement in the development of Chinese religion was the head-on clash with outside religious precepts, especially Christianity (Wu, 2006; Bays, 2011) and Marxism-Leninism. Ironically, the Christian faith would take on a strong and relentless political overtone whereas the politi- cal ideology of Marxism-Leninism would be intensified into religiosity of the most fanatical kind. The resulting nexus of cataclysm and innovation looms over Chinese civilization even to this day.
Christianity As noted above, Christianity was first introduced into China during the Tang dynasty, in the form of Nestorianism (Baum and Winkler, 2007; Mof- fett, 1998). At that time, however, both Nestorianism and Manichaeanism were broadly lumped together with Buddhism and regarded as variations among exotic Buddhist currents (de Bary, 1972). It was not until the six- teenth century, during the Ming dynasty, that the Roman Catholic Church began the full-fledged process of eastward expansion, first into Japan and then China. Many of the first missionaries were Jesuit priests, such as the famous Matteo Ricci (Li Madou), who came to China in 1583, and Niccolo Longobardi (Long Huamin), who arrived in the late sixteenth century (Uhalley and Wu, 2001:117–126; Moffett, 2005; Charbonnier, 2007; Brockey, 2007; F. C. Hsia, 2009; R. P.-C. Hsia, 2010; Wills, 2011:78–182; Fontana, 2011; Laven, 2011; Spence, 1985). From the beginning, both the missionaries and the Roman Catholic hierarchy made numerous blunders; the Christian faith had nowhere near the success of Buddhism in converting the Chinese population. But the broader impact of the Christian civilization on China has been immeasurable. China would be forced literally at gun- point to accept not only the operation of the missionaries in its territory, but also many of the values and principles central to Christian civilization. In his chronicle of these momentous developments, Jacques Gernet (1985) characterizes the situation not so much in terms of religious differences but as whole civilizations clashing. We approach these dynamics in terms of doctrines, politics, and native reaction.
The question of doctrine was a thorny one right from the beginning. Confucians were simply playing out the religious consequences that follow
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Christian churches in Fujian.
from their particular conception and understanding of the world. In con- trast, Christianity was based on a transcendental leap of faith different from any China had confronted before—the unconditional belief in the reality of the biblical God, the Holy Trinity, and eternal life for individual souls. This voluntary surrender of the autonomy of humans to an abstract and unknow- able deity could well be seen by Chinese as a phase of simplistic religious impulse that the Chinese civilization had long since superseded. Although the worship of one god or another was fully permissible, this was usually regarded in China as the less enlightened attitude of the masses. And in any case, none of these deities can claim monopolistic authority. Thus, although Christianity was at first accepted as perhaps one more addition to the pan- theon of the people, much as Nestorianism and Manichaeanism were, the idea that this particular god must replace all others would be difficult to ac- commodate. At risk of oversimplification, one can say that according to the higher humanistic aspiration of the Chinese literati, all deities were equally suspicious, whereas for the Chinese followers of folk religion, all deities were equally real. The Chinese people would be ill-prepared for the kind of “unreasonable” leap of faith adhered to in the West.
Two strategies were adopted by the missionaries to break this bottle- neck, both with little effect. One strategy was to camouflage or soften the tough fabric of Christian doctrines, embracing local tenets and precepts and explaining away doctrinal differences by pointing out common grounds— assimilating with local mentality as Buddhism had done with the use of keyi (Menegon, 2010; Pomplun, 2009; Xi, 2010). This was the strategy of
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Ricci and his Jesuit colleagues and represented a first effort toward indige- nization of Christianity in China. Ricci himself appeared openly to embrace doctrines of Confucianism. He wore Confucian garb, took on a Chinese name (Li Madou), and rendered Christian tenets into Confucian rubrics (Kim, 2005). He stressed his knowledge of science and astronomy to gain respect and admiration. This was a strategy to avoid conflict with local be- liefs on grounds of doctrinal differences, but it was at best facile. The fun- damental opposition in doctrines was put in the background, but was far from resolved: true converts, once baptized, must adhere to the core tenets of Christianity in their entirety. The second strategy, adopted largely as the official position of the Roman Catholic Church, was to insist on the hege- monic truth of Christianity right from the start. The church regarded the po- sition of Ricci and other Jesuits as far too liberal. During the Qing dynasty in the eighteenth century, the Vatican officially denounced the Chinese wor- ship of Confucian sages, ancestors, or local deities (Uhalley and Wu, 2001:81–116; Brockey, 2007). This intolerant and impatient stance effec- tively made the first Chinese Christians into enemies in the eyes of other Chinese. The Qing government answered by expelling Christian missionar- ies (Laamann, 2006).
From the nineteenth century onward, Christianity would be promoted on more than religious grounds. Together with a wide assortment of other values and institutions of Christian civilization as a whole, it would be forced on China by military conflict and unequal treaties. The involvement of Christianity in the process provided a higher-minded alibi for what was clearly colonial exploitation. Backed by the full military strength of Chris- tian nations such as Britain, Germany, France, and, to a lesser extent, the United States, the increasing importance of Christianity was assured. The missionaries were aware of the human cost of colonial-style exploitation (Turbet, 2002; Luo, 2004). The infamous Opium War of 1839 (discussed in Chapters 6 and 7), for example, had no better excuse than stark imperialist and commercial interests. The reaction of Christian churches and missionar- ies to the situation was two-pronged. On the one hand, if political sponsor- ship could ensure the expansion of Christianity in China, so much the better; in fact, many of the Christian missionaries and their colleagues back home were not immune to ideologies of colonialism and racial superiority. Con- vinced of the prerogative of Christian faith, many missionaries were willing accomplices of politics. On the other hand, whatever the causes—or instiga- tors—of China’s social deterioration might be, this was a good opportunity for Christian churches to lend help. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Christian churches in China set up welfare organizations of vari- ous kinds, running schools, hospitals, and even universities. Ironically, the Christian missionaries were determined to demonstrate their goodwill to a society devastated in its encounter with Christian civilization (Rubinstein,
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1996; Sweeten, 2001; C. T. Smith, 2005; Stark and Wang, 2015). They gained converts (Bays, 1997). The intertwining of Christianity with colonial politics reached its high point at the turn of the twentieth century, when the alleged protection of Christian churches served as pretext for a number of military interventions into China, most notably the Tianjin jiaoan, the reli- gious crime of the Boxers in Tianjin, discussed shortly.
As a result, the Chinese people often accepted or rejected the Christian faith for nonreligious reasons: to receive welfare or an education or to achieve the same earthly power as the imperialist invaders. The native re- sponse to Christianity was hence widely divergent and erratic. Two exam- ples can serve to illustrate: the Taiping and Boxer Rebellions. The Taiping Rebellion (also discussed in Chapter 11) took place during the late nine- teenth century; it lasted some fifteen years and laid waste to many of the southern provinces. Although it had all the trappings of Chinese peasant millennial movements of the past, it was also distinguished by its espoused allegiance to Christianity. The founder of the movement, Hong Xiuquan, actually claimed that he was yet another son of God and that Jesus Christ was his elder brother. Hong, as well as other leaders of the rebellion, also claimed to conduct direct communion with God (Spence, 1996; S. Chin, 2000). The movement, however, had little connection with or support from Western Christian churches, and the idea that Jesus could have a Chinese brother was not to be taken seriously by Jesus’s Western followers. One can marvel at the extreme significance accorded Christianity, to become the ideological foundation of the Taiping Tianguo (Heavenly Kingdom of Eter- nal Peace). A different perspective is that perhaps Christianity had no spe- cial claim to supremacy—it was deployed as an expedient vehicle and pre- text for articulating pent-up grievances, much as Manichaeanism and folk cults had been used in past rebellions (Shih, 1967). This mode of Christian fanaticism was clearly not what the Western Christian churches had in mind.
At the other extreme stood what might be seen as anti-Christian fanati- cism, represented above all by the Boxer Rebellion (yihetuan) of 1900 (Pre- ston, 2001; Sweeten, 2001; Bickers and Tiedemann, 2007; Cohen, 1998). The Boxer Rebellion was characterized by its all-out xenophobia. It was a state- sponsored populist cult, in the same folk-religious order as the White Lotus sect, the Mila sect, and other sects that stood behind historical mil- lennial uprisings (Lutz and Lutz, 1998). Strengthened by support of the em- press dowager and her imperial officials, the yihetuan appeared ready to confront the Christian religion and civilization head on. Confident that through magical incantation, spells, and other rituals, the true believers could withstand firearms and other forms of attack, the Boxer sect set out to destroy Christian churches and Western embassies, mostly in Beijing. Al- though the movement was short-lived, at its height it won widespread admi-
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ration from common people. The Boxers’ destruction was disastrous for China. Eight Western countries formed a military alliance to protect their churches and other interests in China, and the Boxers’ magic proved no match against bullets. The Forbidden City soon came under Western con- trol. More unequal treaties (discussed in Chapter 7) would have to be signed before the fiasco of the Boxer Rebellion could be settled. The inci- dent was representative of the nativistic paranoia against Christianity and Christian civilization. The naïveté of the uprising should not hide from view its deep-seated and widely shared objection against the imposition of a foreign faith and the world order that this implied.
The drama of Christian impact continues unabated even now, and the fortune of Chinese Christianity fluctuates with the political climate. It has suffered whenever anti-Western sentiments surge in China. Even under the best of circumstances, Christianity still has a hard time resolving its theolog- ical position with the Chinese religious tradition. This major obstacle may have receded somewhat by the late twentieth century, when the Chinese re- ligious traditions themselves were on the wane after the intrusion of yet an- other foreign system of thought, Marxism-Leninism (Wielander, 2015).
Marxism-Maoism In many respects, Marxism and Confucianism are comparable in the posi- tions they occupied in Chinese religious life. Both are doctrines that con- cern the human order rather than transcendental reality. Both figure as the hegemonic thought system for China as a whole, yet neither can claim to be a religion as such. And both encompass the wide horizon between genuine humanistic sentiment and totalistic authoritarian propensities. These rea- sons help explain why, although the Christian challenge to Chinese culture was always looked on with reservation, Marxism was more readily ac- cepted as a viable alternative for China. Their assumptions and tenets may differ, yet at least Confucianism and Marxism operate on the same plane and address the same cluster of concerns. Of course, there are profound dif- ferences as well.
In contrast to the tangible humanism of Confucianism, Marxism as in- troduced to China by Mao Zedong is sweepingly utopian (Kolakowski, 1982:494–523). Confucianism emphasized the here and now, the “rational adaptation” to the world as the route of self-actualization and fulfillment. Utopian thinking was usually associated with folk cults or peasant move- ments. Marxism-Maoism is, however, forthright in postulating an ideal and inevitable future society, the realization of which is worth present material and human sacrifice. Based on this outlook, since 1949 the development of China has been conducted through a series of social experiments designed to arrive at the ideal social form. Imitating the Soviet experience during the 1950s proved futile, leaving China to grope for its own way into so-
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cialism and thereby the communist utopia. The tremendous havoc and de- struction brought on by the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolu- tion were understandable only in relation to their fundamental utopianism, which is very out of character with Confucianism but generally in keeping with the Taiping Rebellion and other millennial movements outside the mainstream of traditional Chinese culture. As in those movements, cultural and literary elites were marginalized. Instead, the society of socialist China would be founded on the great alliance of the workers-peasants- soldiers (gongnongbing).
The Marxian image of society also differs markedly from the Confucian in its emphasis on conflict and contradiction as forces of history. This is to- tally incompatible with the Confucian vision of a harmonious benevolent so- ciety (Munro, 2001, disagrees). The Marxian conception of social structure is one of change, of differentiation, and of the scramble for social resources. In playing out this dynamic process, individuals join with others of the same social position and interest in a systematic conflict against other social classes. Traditional Chinese culture would have little of this. Conflict and tension were always exceptions to the norm and could be readily redeemed by invoking ethical dogmas. Human nature is, after all, formed of the same benevolent virtuous essence. To claim as Maoism did that revolution is the highest vehicle for individual and societal purification is to be fundamen- tally wrongheaded. The Confucian ideal of harmony (he), whether between two persons, person and society, or even person and cosmos, instead postu- lates a society that is intrinsically virtuous and benevolent, that minimizes the occasions of conflict, and that comes to resolution should conflict occur. And Daoism and Buddhism are by and large passive and withdrawn and cer- tainly have not espoused conflict and destruction. One can see the extreme turnabout that took place in China with the holistic embrace of Marxism- Leninism-Maoism (Goosaert and Palmer, 2011: 139–166).
Should there still be any doubt regarding the religious—or antireli- gious—character of Marxism-Maoism, one need only consider that, what- ever their substance and tenets, they were articulated above all as fanati- cism and cult. The national malaise of the Cultural Revolution and the personality cult of Mao are cases in point. The religious overtone enters be- cause the utopian promises of Maoism can never be sustained or validated by reason and evidence alone; they must be heightened by a state of mass elation.
Toward a New Syncretism? After Mao’s death in 1976, China entered a phase of fundamental recon- struction in all major arenas of society. Socialism is still official ideology, but other competitors are rapidly on the rise—foremost among them, capi-
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talism and nationalism. In the aftermath of disenchantment with Marxism- Leninism-Maoism, China is disoriented. A new mode of faith and belief is being sought to once again provide society with a viable image of social order and with moral and behavioral codes for the social actors (Kleinman et al., 2011; Oxfeld, 2010; Palmer, Shive, and Wickerl, 2011). The post- Mao transformation cannot be resolved simply on pragmatic grounds, as Deng Xiaoping suggested. China’s leaders have always articulated its ethi- cal standards; after a period during which all prior beliefs were stridently attacked, it needs new guidelines. If the elementary belief system in social reconstruction remains vacuous, much of society would be in limbo and ni- hilistic or disintegrate into groups with differing belief systems.
The present Chinese government is recognizing the right to religious belief, both traditional and Western, but such freedom has limits. Specific constitutional articles prohibit and even deem treasonous religious beliefs or activities that run counter to national interest. Members of the Commu- nist Party are still officially forbidden to practice religion. For others, reli- gion must stay within the bounds of politics. Churches and temples—in keeping with long tradition—may function only with the approval of the state; they must be registered. Or more metaphorically, the City of God is subordinated to the City of Man (Kindopp and Hamrin, 2004; Xie, 2006; Lazado, 2001; Harrison, 2013). This is the flip side of the separation be- tween church and state. Based on this principle, the Chinese government is deemed justified in its tightened regulation of, for example, Tibetan Bud- dhism (see Chapter 6) and unregistered Christian worship.
About half of China’s 14 million Catholics remain unregistered. For registered Catholics, in 2006 China ordained several Chinese bishops for the local dioceses. This was done through a de facto administrative arm of the Chinese government, the Tianzhujiao Aiguohui (Chinese Catholic Patri- otic Association [CCPA]), and against strong protest from the new pope, Benedict XVI, and the Vatican. From the Chinese point of view, the ordina- tion was necessitated by the fact that, of the ninety-seven Catholic dioceses in China, forty had been without a bishop. Most of the bishops in existence were getting old. The Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association hence resorted to its own “democratic election” of bishops, as a way out of this situation (K. Yan, 2004). In 2007 after years of stalled negotiations, the Vatican con- sented to the consecration of a bishop by this association. Relations im- proved, but in 2011 the CCPA announced its intent to ordain forty new bishops. The Vatican proceeded to excommunicate those the CCPA in- tended to ordain.
Many of China’s 40 million to 100 million Protestants refuse to regis- ter as well, not wanting to dilute their individual denominational identity within the Three-Self Patriotic Association (Madsen, 1998; Lazado, 2001; K. Yan, 2004; Kindopp and Hamrin, 2004; Peale, 2005; Xin, 2009;
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Wielander, 2009; Cao, 2010; Liao, 2011; Conkling, 2014; Fulton, 2015; Dunch, 2001). Many young people are flocking to unregistered “house churches.” In some areas, they are tolerated by local authorities; in others, they are harassed. Officials in Zhejiang province ordered hundreds of churches to remove the crosses from their roofs and briefly arrested Gu Yuese, pastor of the country’s largest church with over 5,000 members.
The year 2016 seems to signify the easing up of tensions between China and the Vatican, now under Pope Francis, with both sides showing some eagerness in establishing normal diplomatic relationships. Examples such as the Vietnam Model are generally invoked as possible compromise, which denotes that the government and its agent can make nominations for holy offices while the Vatican will make the final selection regarding the candidate(s) deemed most appropriate. In this way, a framework of joint governance can be achieved between the state and the church. Whether models of this sort can be actualized remains to be seen. The Vatican is the most influential of the twenty-two states that have full diplomatic relations with Taiwan. It would have to close off that relationship to partner with mainland China.
As Chapter 6 discusses, the Chinese government is also attempting to choose successors to the Panchen and Dalai Lamas; it is taking a highly po- litical view toward religion. This does not necessarily mean the curtailment of religious freedom, only that the Chinese government will ensure that any such freedom must be enjoyed outside of possible political infiltration and foreign domination. Increasingly, however, the government recognizes that people need beliefs beyond merely acquiring more money and consumer goods as modernization progresses, and that religious institutions can pro- mote social stability (M. Yang, 2008; Ashiwa and Wank, 2009).
At present, a rough estimate is that 200 million to 300 million Chinese embrace religious beliefs of some form; that is, religions with formal insti- tutions—mostly Buddhists, Daoists, Christians, and Muslims, with about 85,000 places of worship (Kindopp and Hamrin, 2004; F. Yang, 2011). Be- yond this, there has been a strong revival of eclectic religious practices. In rural areas, temple and village associations have revived aspects of popular folk religion for millions of people (Chau, 2005, 2010; Overmyer, 2003; Scott, 2007; Goosaert and Palmer, 2011:201–392). The New Confucians, with encouragement from some top party leaders, seek to revive Confucian- ism as the belief system most appropriate for China. Of course, this cannot mean merely the reiteration of outdated tenets. Instead, New Confucianism would incorporate other ideological currents that played a part in the shap- ing of modern China and try to weave these different strands into the new syncretism of a Confucian “Cultural China” (Tu, 1995; de Bary and Tu, 1998; Hall and Ames, 1999; Bell, 2008; Billioud and Thoraval, 2015; J. Chan, 2013). The prospect of this drama is still being played out.
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Religion and Chinese Society Standing out in the sets of syncretism charted above is the secular this- worldly character of Chinese religion. Each of the three great syncretisms in China’s history—during the Zhou, Han, and Song dynasties—elevated a humanistic and collectivistic outlook above other competing theistic or pan- theistic currents. In the final analysis, it is this strongly practical, societal, and moral commitment to the here and now that distinguishes the spirit of Chinese religion. The answers to ultimate questions of existence and mean- ing are neither unknowable nor hiding in the transcendental beyond. They can be answered only by imputing the secular here and now with sacred au- thority and authenticity—by the clear-minded sacralization of the secular and mundane.
The secret of Chinese religion does not lie in the quest for immortality, salvation, or ecstatic liberation. Rather, it is only in renouncing all of these perhaps mystical ideals that the worldly reality would emerge as the only re- ality there is, and hence the only source of meaning and value to questions both profane and sacred. In brief, the Chinese religious tradition renders the human order (renlun) itself sacred. If the social world is all that there is, then striving for social order and harmony would be the highest ideal that can be hoped for and the most sacred quest that human beings can conduct. Reli- gious sentiment and commitment are defined above all by their focus on the primacy of social relations, as the actual dynamics of the human order; hence, the celebrated Chinese emphasis on guanxi (relation) as the stuff that human order is made of (King, 1995; M. Yang, 1994, 2008). In the present context, this relationship may be taking on added importance.
There are two fundamental categories of guanxi: ascribed and achieved. In Confucian terms, ascribed relationships are the cornerstone of human order and more often than not have primacy over achieved relations. Ascribed relationships are part of the wulun (five orders), denoting the fun- damental ties based on a priori principles such as Mandate of Heaven and blood ties that the individual has no choice but to honor. These five orders include relations between emperor and ministers, father and son, husband and wife, one brother and another, and also between kin and friends. One is born or placed into the first four of these relationships, which are therefore ascribed. They help ensure that one’s family and the country’s leaders will command supreme loyalty. As to the fifth relationship, which is achieved, the relationship between kin and between friends must also be conducted according to predetermined proper principles and codes. These five rela- tionships are the stable building blocks of human society and are the main obligations of every individual. In upholding these relationships, definite values and principles apply. The medium being exchanged in these relations must rise above the mundane concerns of economic or material benefit. It is essentially an exchange of goodwill, of human compassion (renqing). In
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thus exchanging acts of goodwill—in the form of gifts, help, favor, under- standing, kind words, and so forth—mutual compassion among individuals and toward society as a whole can be better consolidated. In this way, Con- fucian ideals such as loyalty, filial piety, honesty, and agnatic ties are artic- ulated into concrete social dynamics.
In addition to ascribed relationships, into which one enters without choice, one can also achieve guanxi with people of one’s own choosing. These are usually classmates, fellow villagers, associates at work, or other people close enough to decide they will exchange renqing favors. In addi- tion to a genuine sense of compassion, strategic calculation can come into play in the give-and-take of these achieved relationships. For example, one might use these exchanges to help get oneself out of debt or to incur debt from others. Such subtle strategies evolve into elaborate power games in Chinese social life. Many of the techniques invoked are Daoist in origin, as clever adoption of cherished moral values or propensities of the situation to favor oneself.
The emphasis on guanxi and renqing is by no means a thing of the past, as Chapters 4, 5, and 13 also attest (Kipnis, 1997; Gold, Guthrie, and Wank, 2002; Y. Yan, 1996). Belief systems may displace one another, yet the same stress on human order persists. During the modern socialist era, the ascribed ethical ties have become weakened. Yet conversely, the obses- sion with achieved social relationships is on the rise as new market oppor- tunities appear. It is well known that, nowadays in China, nothing much can be accomplished—regardless of the sphere of activities concerned— without getting in touch with the right person and setting up the right kind of ties. This network of social ties has in many respects replaced the open institutional channels of social organization. That private network is an adaptation of Confucian ethics that has remained alive in spirit and prac- tice today. Hence, it is not surprising that in 1995 the National People’s Congress announced a new national initiative (also discussed in Chapters 1, 4, 9, and 14)—the achievement of a “harmonious society” bonding man and nature, people and government, law and justice, urban and rural, rich and poor. Once again, China is attempting to synthesize a moral commit- ment that focuses overwhelmingly on the personal affective side of social and cultural dynamics.
Chinese religion is essentially of this world, and it has withstood many of the forces that pull in other directions. Its emphasis on maintaining so- cial order helps restore stability after periods of turmoil, but also generally resists social change. Its emphasis on personal social relations also encour- ages people to tend to their own social circle at the expense of others to whom they do not owe direct obligations. This streak of conservatism can be both a blessing and a curse for China’s enigmatic transition into the modern world and for its search for a new spiritual syncretism.
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In this new millennium, China is still searching for a new spiritual di- rection. Hu Jintao and Wen Jiabao, reviving a term used by Deng Xiaoping, called for a basically well-off xiaokang society, based on the Confucian “Records of Rites,” with a large middle class seeking social and natural order. In this quest, it faces new challenges. One aspect of the picture ap- plies to the separatist movements of Tibet and Xinjiang; both nativistic movements are founded to a large extent on their respective religious tradi- tions, namely Tibetan Buddhism (see Chapter 6; Schmidt-Leukel, 2006:127–138; Thurman, 1996; Powers, 2008; Williams, 2008; Elverskog, 2010; Wedemeyer, 2014) and Islam (Dillon, 1999; Foltz, 2010; You, 2004; Murata, 2000; Ruthven, 2012). The dramatic intertwining of religion and politics in these two regions is a much publicized development that chal- lenges the sovereignty and integration of the Chinese state. The harshly suppressed demonstrations by the Tibetan monks in 2008 show the re- silience of that challenge.
Another aspect of the picture is the confrontation between the govern- ment and the populist qigong movement (Palmer, 2007; Ashiwa and Wank, 2009). Qigong is a form of yoga that emphasizes a variety of breathing exercises, bodily postures, and even meditation (Chen, 2003; Palmer, 2007). Much of the qigong movement is suppressed in the new era, after the most influential among the qigong currents, Falun Gong (M. H. Chang, 2004; Ownby, 2003), moved beyond the simple pursuit of health and stamina to become a stand-in for spiritual guidance and an ac- tive opponent of Chinese government policies. In 1999, 10,000 members of that organization—including a number of high-level members of the party and government—successfully staged a peaceful demonstration out- side the Communist Party headquarters at Tiananmen Square. Calling it an “evil cult” (xie jiao), the Chinese government has since forcefully out- lawed the movement. Falun Gong in turn actively recruits support from Americans (publishing a newspaper, sponsoring a dance troop called Shen Yun that tours nationwide, setting up booths at festivals), asserting that under communism China has lost its spirituality and its cultural integrity. The intriguing trajectory whereby the quest for personal health can be- come transformed into a vehicle of evil goes a long way in underscoring the spiritual confusion of the majority of the Chinese population as the new millennium progresses (Metzger, 2006).
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13 Literature and Popular Culture Charles A. Laughlin
As we approach the end of this book, I want to encourage you to explore Chinese poetry, short stories, and novels, and to take a look at Chinese film, martial arts, and other recreational activities. If you’ve read this far, you have enough knowledge about people, places, events, and tra- ditions to enjoy both current and classic literature and popular forms of en- tertainment from China. The themes are universal—love, bravery, wisdom, murder and intrigue, drunken revelry, jealousy, adultery, war, heroic men and women, moral uprightness, physical prowess. Literature and popular culture also provide a lively and engaging way to learn more about China, now that you have begun. Even the most revered Chinese classics derived from popular culture; Chinese thinkers and writers often challenge an age- old distinction between elite and popular, between the civilized and the “vulgar.” Some of China’s most exciting contemporary writers—such as Hugo Award−winning science fiction novelist Liu Cixin and Mo Yan, who wrote the novel behind the epoch-making film Red Sorghum and won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2012—attract attention precisely because they blur or even demolish this distinction, mixing the sublime with the ridicu- lous until they become almost impossible to distinguish. But this challenge to stuffy elitism is not a modern invention.
Today, we associate popular culture with mass media, advertising, and high technology. To bring Chinese popular culture into focus, though, we must highlight how traditional Chinese folk culture continues to shine through and inspire the contemporary imagination. Popular culture has al- ways been the driving force, stimulus for change, and source of variety for Chinese literature. Fathoming just how much writing has been produced in China over the past 3,000 years is somewhat like imagining the distance to
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the nearest galaxy. That literature embodies seething, wrangling cultural di- versity. Confucianism dominated, but as discussed in Chapter 12, many other moral traditions came into play as well. Over the long course of Chi- nese cultural history, writers and artists have distilled a vast multiplicity of recreational, religious, and everyday social practices.
For an overview of Chinese literature, I recommend Sabina Knight’s Chinese Literature: A Very Short Introduction, but for more in-depth and detailed coverage one should consult the Cambridge History of Chinese Lit- erature and Wilt Idema and Lloyd Haft’s A Guide to Chinese Literature (Knight, 2012; K. S. Chang and Owen, 2010; Idema and Haft, 1997). There are also fine anthologies of traditional Chinese literature that include all genres (Mair, 1996; Owen, 1997). The story is usually told from the point of view of the “literati”—the elite class of intellectuals who mastered the difficult Chinese written language and the ancient historical records and moral tracts to serve society as government officials. It is true that almost all we know about popular culture in ancient and early modern China comes through the prism of the writings and art of the literate elite, who capture only part of the richness of creative popular expression in their times. Nevertheless, looking through this prism, we can reconstruct the rich and diverse cultural panorama lying behind it.
Writing: The Human Pattern It is often thought that the Chinese language is totally different from other languages because of its tonality (often misunderstood as “musicality”) and its pictorial elements. Such notions, though inaccurate, were an important in- spiration for modernism (particularly imagism) in English and French poetry. The Chinese writing system lends itself to such theories because its charac- ters look a bit like pictures but, by the time the earliest Chinese texts were written, the pictures in Chinese characters had long since ceased to be the pri- mary means through which meaning was conveyed (DeFrancis, 1984).
Still, the fact that written Chinese did not develop into a phonetic sys- tem (such as the Greek and Roman alphabets) had far-reaching implications for literacy and literary expression. Because written Chinese involved learning thousands of distinct characters, it was very hard to learn to read and write even in the earliest times—so hard, in fact, that the few who were able to manage it remained a small and closely knit group throughout the centuries. Indeed, the literati can almost be compared to the ruling class since literacy was, apart from the inheritance of titles, the sole avenue to power. The written language was the literati’s stock-in-trade, and it made them socially indispensable.
The practice of divination, or fortune-telling, in the royal courts of the Shang and Zhou dynasties (see Table 3.1) was the foundation for the
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use of images in the Chinese language. As an official ritual with great po- litical significance (see Chapter 12), divination was one of the activities that first required developing and preserving common symbols. Divina- tion, by putting interpretation (and thus symbolic ambiguity) at the center of reading, in a sense produced some of China’s earliest literary texts. In Shang times, divination often involved applying a heated metal pin to a hole drilled in a tortoise shell or the shoulder blade of a sheep, and the cracking pattern determined the cosmic response to the question. The di- viner’s task then, in addition to ensuring the correct technique, was to in- terpret the cracks. The earliest examples of Chinese writing available to us today are the inscriptions on these “oracle bones” indicating the ques- tion asked and the significance of the response. The later (Zhou dynasty) technique of fortune-telling with milfoil or yarrow stalks relied on a stan- dard manual of interpretation; human situations were divided into a finite number of possibilities. A random toss of the stalks indicated the appro- priate situation, which the manual associates with a vivid image. The di- viner would then use the image to answer the question. The Classic of Changes (Yijing, aka I Ching or Book of Changes) is the most famous such manual, and it became a core scripture for Confucians. In it, lan- guage provides indirect access to truth and cosmic forces through the am- biguity of literary images.
To the literate class of officials and diviners, language lay at the heart of relations between humanity and the natural world, the universe as a whole. In an early commentary on the Classic of Changes, for example, the origin of human culture is associated with observation of natural patterns:
When in ancient times Lord Bao Xi ruled the world as sovereign, he looked upward and observed the images in heaven and looked downward and observed the models that the earth provided. He observed the patterns on birds and beasts and what things were suitable for the land Nearby, adopting them from his own person, and afar, adopting them from other things, he thereupon made the eight trigrams in order to become thoroughly conversant with the virtues inherent in the numinous and the bright and to classify the myriad things in terms of their true, innate natures. (Lynn, 1994:77–80)
Later, the literary theorist Liu Xie expanded on this by conceiving of writing as “human markings,” or the “pattern of humanity” in an organic world where everything has its own pattern: “Dragon and phoenix show auspicious events in the brilliance of their design; the tiger by his bright- ness, the leopard by the tended lushness of his spots ever indicate a magnif- icence of manner If such things, unaware, possess the radiance of many colors swelling within, how can this human vessel of mind lack its own aesthetic pattern [wen]?” (Owen, 1985:19).
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Explanations like these show important assumptions that underlie use of language in early China. Writing preserves a symbolic connection be- tween humanity and the universe, revealed through concrete literary images that bring us closer to particular events and situations. Among ancient Chi- nese philosophers (see Chapter 12), the Daoists exploited literary tech- niques and images the most, but early Daoists were both imaginative and skeptical about the role of language. Daoist classics like Laozi’s Dao de jing and the writings of Zhuangzi question the ability of human language to transmit truths. The seemingly paradoxical opening line of Dao de jing (The Classic of the Way and Its Power), for instance, states that “the way that can be spoken of is not the constant Way” (Laozi, 1963:57). Zhuangzi, whose writings are one of the earliest repositories of narrative literature in Chinese, compares language to a “fish trap”: once you have caught the fish (meaning), the trap can be disposed of. The narrator, Zhuangzi, yearns for a companion who, like him, has transcended the limitations of language to discuss the undiscussable (Zhuangzi, 1981:140; Knight, 2012:1–24).
Confucius and his followers, though they had a very different world- view, shared with the Daoists a fondness for using analogy and metaphor. In contrast with Daoists, however, the Confucians’ faith in language (and anxiety over using it properly) made them careful editors, compilers, and interpreters of texts, with huge consequences for the subsequent develop- ment of literature. They used writing to connect humanity with universal truths. Their compilation of the Classic of Poetry (Shi jing), the earliest ex- isting collection of Chinese poetry, gave political and moral interpretations of even the most ordinary-sounding folk songs, whether or not such inter- pretation seems justifiable, creating a tradition of reading and writing that took such interpretive leaps for granted (Watson, 1971). Similarly, the ear- liest historical records and descriptions of archaic rituals and court music became centerpieces of Confucian classical tradition; Confucius declared that their value lay in embodying the morally superior ways of ancient kings. In the Confucian tradition, reading and commenting on these texts centered on identifying and abstracting these moral principles and, through teaching and governing, putting them into practice in the contemporary world. The symbolic and interpretive functions of language also come through in Chinese philosophy of Confucius’s time and the centuries imme- diately following. In the next section, we see how Confucian attitudes to- ward literature and writing helped set the pattern for the relationship be- tween elite and popular cultures.
Singers and Poets Singing has been the most widespread and lasting medium for expressing personal and collective emotions: love, social grievance, and the joys and
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suffering of labor. These experiences, activities, and emotions are the con- stant subjects of song, from ancient millet fields and orchards to royal palaces, aristocratic residences, urban taverns, merchants’ pleasure gardens, and even today’s dance halls and karaoke clubs, and are the sources from which all forms of Chinese poetry emerge. Confucians’ obsessive interest in the moral powers of literature conditioned the selection, preservation, and interpretation of historical, literary, and philosophical texts from the earli- est times. For the moral edification of future literate generations, they pre- served texts embodying the virtues and moral principles they held most sa- cred: humanity, decorum, righteousness, and respect for superiors. Poetry was no exception (Owen, 2006). The literati observed truth and feeling in the songs of the common people and committed some of these songs to writing. But the Confucian filter could never hide the fact that singing, chanting, and telling stories is not always motivated by Confucian virtues. It is said that Confucius compiled the 305 poems of the Classic of Poetry from a pool of over 3,000 folk songs chosen to assess the morale of each state, but even those 305 rarely extol Confucian virtues explicitly. The first of the collection’s four sections, the “Airs of the States” (Guo feng), makes up about half of the entire collection yet consists largely of love songs, har- vest chants, and complaints about government harshness and corruption.
Literati poetry, though, sometimes moved away from popular themes, immersing itself in the exquisite extravagance of palace life or indulging in obscure metaphysical speculation, using complicated formal techniques of rhyme, assonance, alliteration, meter, and tone. After centuries of evolution, poetry was brought to its highest level of artistry in the Tang dynasty by vastly expanding subject matter and themes. Tang poetry was fresh in that it expressed profound insights and powerful emotions from an engaging fa- miliar perspective. The poetry of Wang Wei (699–759), for instance, em- bodies the Buddhist transcendence of the individual self through an imper- sonal immersion into peaceful natural landscapes; the poet literally loses himself in the environment:
Empty hills, no one in sight, only the sound of someone talking; late sunlight enters the deep wood, shining over the green moss again. (Watson, 1984:200)
In this quatrain, the senses of vision and hearing indicate consciousness, but there is no self, no “I.” There is also no sermonizing about the spiritual dangers of attachment to the self and the world.
Li Bai (701–762), whose extravagant romantic poetic personality has made him a favorite among readers around the world, blends the expansive
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imagination of the Songs of the South (Chu ci), a Han dynasty work rich with botanical images and cosmic journeys derived from liturgical shaman chants (Qu Yuan, 1985), the paradoxical Daoist wit of Zhuangzi, and the reclusive wine-soaked nature love of the fourth-century poet Tao Yuanming with an almost effortless command of existing poetic forms and techniques (Tian, 2005). In “A Night with a Friend,” Li exploits the comfortable roominess of the ancient style to subtly bring together the classic themes of friendship, moonlight, landscape, and wine:
Dousing clean a thousand cares, sticking it out through a hundred pots of wine, a good night needing the best of conversation, a brilliant moon that will not let us sleep— drunk we lie down in empty hills, heaven and earth our quilt and pillow. (Watson, 1984:212)
Li Bai’s major competitor in the popular imagination for the title of “China’s greatest poet” is the slightly younger Du Fu (712–770), who has quite a different poetic voice. People generally first notice Du Fu’s gloomy, severe themes and subject matter. But he was also a bold technical innova- tor, aligning formal ingenuity with a highly traditional (Confucian) attitude about the mission of poetry. From sad narratives of abandoned women to critiques of official neglect of the people’s suffering to expression of his personal woes, Du Fu’s poetic vision was deeply committed to social jus- tice. Du’s “Dreaming of Li Bai” provides an alternative image of the latter poet, down to earth and entangled in the tribulations of society and politics:
Parting from the dead, I’ve stifled my sobs, but this parting from the living brings me constant pain. South of the Yangtze is a land of plague and fever; no word comes from the exile. Yet my old friend has entered my dreams, proof of how long I’ve pined for him. He didn’t look the way he used to, the road so far—farther than I can guess. His spirit came from where the maple groves are green, then went back, leaving me in borderland blackness. Now you’re caught in the meshes of the law— how could you have wings to fly with? The sinking moon floods the rafters of my room and still I seem to see it lighting your face.
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Where you go, waters are deep, the waves so wide— don’t let the dragons, the horned dragons harm you! (Watson, 1984:231)
Though their approaches differ considerably, the greatest Tang dynasty poets expanded the thematic scope of poetry, making it more emotional and personal. There are no Chinese, whether literate or not, who do not at least know who Li Bai and Du Fu are and few who have never heard of Wang Wei. Though these poets were basically refining a difficult elite cultural form, their resulting renown also made them almost heroic figures, even in the eyes of ordinary people.
In Tang poetry and fiction, it is hard to confidently draw a distinction between popular and elite culture (Owen, 2007). Some poems of famous Tang poets circulated on all levels of society, even (orally) among illiter- ates. Especially popular was Bai Juyi (772–846), another teller of sad sto- ries but with less of the moral burden found in Du Fu’s work; Bai was in- terested in the emotional effect of a tragic story, particularly of a woman. The simplicity of his language, the ease of its rhythms, and his sensitivity to emotional suffering made him almost like a modern singer-songwriter. By his own observation as well as that of his admirers (and detractors), Bai Juyi’s poetry had penetrated the breadth of China at all social levels. In Bai Juyi’s own words: “In my travels from Changan to Jiangxi, over a distance of three to four thousand li, I have seen my poems written on the walls of village schools, Buddhist monasteries, and wayside inns, as well as on the boards of passenger boats. And I have heard my songs sung by students, monks, widows, maidens, and men in the streets” (S. Ch’en, 1961:314).
More interesting evidence of the popular attitude toward elite literature is provided by the huge collection of books and scrolls that were sealed up in the famous Dunhuang grottoes around the tenth century. Rediscovered by European explorers in 1908, the Dunhuang manuscripts are a repository of Tang Buddhist and secular literature, much of it copied by common people not of the elite literati class. The manuscripts provide an alternative per- spective on official literary history. There are texts in many non-Chinese languages and foreign narrative materials and forms even in the Chinese texts, and the collection gives physical evidence of a thriving popular cul- ture of writing and performance. Alongside copies of works by famous writers were found popularized tales from the Buddha’s life or the lives of Buddhist saints that incorporate Chinese folklore and history and oral sto- rytelling as well as rustic attempts to imitate or parody elite forms. This is the beginning of a little-recognized trend of Chinese cultural history. From the Tang dynasty on, as the ability to read and write slowly slipped out of the literati’s exclusive control, popular, folk, and foreign forms fed back into elite culture. The line dividing “elite” from “common” was blurring.
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By now it should be clear that I am using the term popular culture to refer to the full range of activities from folk singing to religious ritual to secular performing arts, involving performers and spectators from all social classes. From the late Tang dynasty on, different forms of entertainment for city dwellers (including merchants, laborers, and artisans) as well as for literati began to influence elite writing. Storytelling in the marketplace and at temple fairs, with its roots in Buddhist popular evangelism, influenced the emergence of written vernacular tales about ordinary people. And the literate class (including semiliterate merchants with highly cultivated tastes) began to develop its own distinctive forms of culture.
Much of this leisure culture centered on collecting and appreciating ex- quisite objects (vases, tea bowls, ancient bronzes), fashioning carefully landscaped gardens within private estates, and enjoying various entertain- ments provided by sophisticated courtesans. Many poems of the major Tang poets praise famous singing and dancing ladies who no longer are always the royal palace courtesans of previous dynasties, but often are “freelance” talents who might move from palaces to the entourages of rich merchants or officials and back again. Tang poets such as Du Fu, Yuan Zhen (779–831), and Bai Juyi were struck by the sadness of their unstable transient lives in contrast to the joys and opulence of which they sang. It was in this later part of the Tang that the radically new form of poetry called ci began to evolve.
The term ci refers to lyrics of popular songs. The art of ci consisted of writing new lyrics to familiar songs, usually love songs of Central Asian origin that were part of the courtesan’s repertoire and widely known at all levels of society. Because we know poems about professional entertainers began to appear in the high Tang, even though ci itself was not commonly used until a century or so later, it appears that literati officials of the high- est rank were enjoying these performances for some time before becoming artistically interested in the songs being sung. The practice of providing new words was probably widespread long before ci were written and in- cluded in the corpus of major poets. The original lyrics of these songs relat- ing to the song’s title are often forgotten. Some of the most famous ci poems written to a given tune have nothing to do with the song’s title.
Although in the late Tang ci poems were something of a novelty, by the time of the Song dynasty (960–1126) the ci form dominated poetic expres- sion. The shi forms of regulated verse and quatrain, which began during the Han and reached their peak in the high Tang, though still widely used (peo- ple still write shi today), were already then looked on as stodgy, old- fashioned, and lifeless. At this point popular forms successfully invaded the culture of writing, affirming their own style and content; they tolerated less elite distortion, and elite literary forms would never again monopolize writ- ing. Elite writers shifted their emphasis from poetry to fiction and drama.
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Storytellers and Novelists
Classical Tales The roots of Chinese fiction are numerous and complex; although vernacu- lar fiction can be confidently traced to oral storytellers taking over an orig- inally Buddhist tradition of popular evangelism (see Chapter 12), written
fictional narrative had already existed in various forms in all kinds of early texts, including poetry, philosophy, and historical and geographical records. Historical narrative provided the most powerful model for fiction; an- cient works such as the Zhou dynasty Zuo zhuan (Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals) and the Han dynasty Records of the Historian (Shi Ji)
by Sima Qian were revered throughout Chinese history as models of beautiful writing as well as sources of historical and moral knowledge (Zuo Qiuming
1989; Sima Qian 1961). Interestingly, though people doubted the existence of ghosts and other supernatural beings as early as the Han dynasty, fictional and factual narrative were not separate cate- gories, and so stories of the superhuman and supernatural were viewed as a special type of history. In ancient times, whether a story was true was much less important than who
and what it was about. Such unofficial chronicles included legendary stories about historical figures as well as tales of visita- tions by ghosts and deities. However, the good stories were not limited to historical records; some of the most charming and fantastical early stories are retold in the works of Warring
States Period philosophers, especially the Daoists (Zhuangzi, 1981; Liezi, 1990). Though travel narratives are unusual in poetry, Qu Yuan’s
“Encountering Sorrow” from Songs of the South in the Han dynasty is another extended narrative of a cosmic journey (Qu Yuan,
1985). Another narrative genre that stressed creativity was imaginative geog-
raphy. The best-known and perhaps oldest of this category is the Classic of Mountains and Seas (Shanhai jing), from around the fourth century BCE. This work preserves ancient lore about foreign lands organized into a kind of schematic map around the outskirts of the known world (China). The Classic of Mountains and Seas and similar works are more descriptive than narrative, but their vocabulary and imagination set the tone for later narra- tive treatments of fantastical events and journeys. The worldview that un- derlies the Classic of Mountains and Seas clearly reflects China’s self- perception as a core of civilization surrounded by frightening, inscrutable, and barbaric peoples and also projects other fears and anxieties suggested by, for example, the frequent mention of fireproof materials and elixirs of immortality in exotic lands.
Within the written traditions, then, the origins of imaginative narrative can be identified with the ancient practice of chronicling the strange and wondrous (zhiguai). Zhiguai emerged during and after the Han dynasty as
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generally biographical material based on popular accounts considered un- suitable for official histories. Such material included fantastical stories of historical figures, biographies of superhuman beings (especially Daoist im- mortals), and records of miraculous or astonishing events (Campany, 1996). In the context of popular culture, the zhiguai can be viewed along with the Classic of Poetry as being one of the earliest existing adoptions of popular or folk materials in the form of writing. But zhiguai were often ignored and suppressed by historians concerned with the purity of the textual legacy, and it was not until centuries later that such collections were actively un- earthed and reintroduced into the literary corpus.
An interest in the wondrous mixed with a fascination with love themes and human drama led Tang dynasty literati to experiment with writing more self-consciously crafted tales in terse yet evocative classical Chinese. This trend arose not only because of increasing interest in fiction as a form of creative expression, but also as a reaction against the stilted ornamental form of “balanced prose” writing (pianwen) that prevailed until the late Tang in the civil service examinations discussed in Chapter 4 (S. Ch’en, 1961:285–317). This is similar to the shift to ci as a new form of poetry after centuries of overdevelopment of the shi. The classical prose move- ment sought a better medium for the naturalistic expression of emotions and exploration of moral issues than the ornate symmetrical pianwen. Lit- erate gentlemen who converged on cosmopolitan Chang’an (Map 3.1), whether successful in official careers or not, brought with them from their hometowns or from the streets of the capital itself personal experiences and popular tales that helped them produce eerie moving stories (J. Chen, 2011). Despite their elite origins and classicism, many of the stories created or passed along by Tang writers such as Yuan Zhen and Bai Xingjian (Bai Juyi’s brother) became staples of popular literature and performing arts for centuries to come.
Like the zhiguai, these “romance tales” (chuanqi) included elements of the supernatural and the fantastic; more importantly, they embodied the more personal and realistic emphasis of the Tang dynasty poet-officials (Nienhauser, 2010). The exploration of emotional and moral dilemmas— represented perhaps best by Yuan Zhen’s masterpiece, “The Story of Ying- ying” (Yingying zhuan) (Ma and Lau, 1978:139–145)—guaranteed that the chuanqi would continue to be a major resource for both elite and popular literature in centuries to come. “The Story of Yingying” narrates a chance love affair between the ambitious student Zhang and Yingying, a talented and beautiful young woman languishing in her widowed mother’s house. Zhang, however, resolves to leave her and forget about her forever when he goes to the capital for the civil service examinations. The indignant Ying- ying resigns herself to bitterness and eventually marries someone else but never forgives Zhang for his faithlessness, refusing to see him when he vis-
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its her after he has married. “The Story of Yingying” is a classical and emo- tionally raw rendition of the conflict between the demands of social con- vention and emotional power that ends tragically, with social convention winning—a far cry from the amusing allegorical fables of the Warring States philosophers, or the strange supernatural chronicles and far-ranging adventures that were the earliest foundations of Chinese fiction.
Yuan Zhen and other writers of chuanqi accomplished in fiction what writers had been doing with poetry: exploring values that were based not on rigid or abstract moral principles but on emotional sensitivity and integrity, values that hold their own claim to truth but that sometimes come into dra- matic conflict with conventional Confucian moral duties. The artistic explo- ration of an emotion-based value system is central to the Tang dynasty’s contribution to Chinese literature, and it owed as much for material and themes to the thriving cultures of professional entertainment—singing cour- tesans, professional dancers—as to poets’ and writers’ own experiences and imagination.
Vernacular Fiction This new fashion in the Tang dynasty of telling strange, moving, and won- drous stories in terse classical Chinese is only one strand of the develop- ment of Chinese narrative. Even more crucial to the later development of Chinese fiction and drama was the vehicle of oral storytelling with its roots in Buddhist popular evangelism dating back to the pre-Tang period. The contributions of Buddhism to Chinese literature were not limited to philo- sophical and spiritual themes such as karma, reincarnation, and the value of compassion, but included new horizons of fantasy and imagination as well as new techniques and conventions of vernacular storytelling (the inclusion of a moral at the end of a tale, a mixture of poetry and prose, dramatic ten- sion, and an emphasis on stories about anonymous ordinary people). For example, Buddhist source texts such as the Sanskrit Lotus Sutra (406 CE) already possessed all of these features (Watson, 1993:ix).
The venue of such storytelling, widespread by the Tang dynasty, was the urban or suburban marketplace. These were the focal points of Chinese com- munities, the hubs of often multicultural commercial transactions, the meet- ing point of all walks of life—from travelers to merchants, farmers, public officials, courtesans, shopkeepers, and entertainers. The entire cross-section of Chinese society converged on the marketplace or square, from the county seat to the large mercantile centers and the capital. The square is crowded, and the crowd is as diverse as can be—everyone drawn by the center, the marketplace itself, where everything happens, or where at least one can hear of everything. This is where the stories are told, of great sages or heroes, real and imaginary, remote in history or just around the corner, full of ordi- nary people fighting for or running from the law, of great generals annihilat-
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ing their enemies or entangled in political intrigue, and of ghosts, fox- spirits, gods, talking animals, sniveling cowards, and heroic prostitutes. All of this is the stock-in-trade for storytellers competing for his or her street audience with acrobats, magicians, theatrical troupes, blind balladeers with three- stringed lutes, and other storytellers keeping rhythm with bamboo or metal clappers or drums.
The telling of stories as such was not alien to Chinese elite culture. Be- cause of the Confucians’ obsession with significance and cultural value, some of the earliest historical texts preserved are also some of China’s most compelling narratives, and Chinese history was one of the vernacular story- teller’s richest resources of material. But the official histories as well as the more exotic materials already discussed could be read by only the literate minority, which was extremely small in ancient and medieval times, and it is difficult to tell whether the same stories were being told among illiterate people at the time. What Buddhist and Buddhist-influenced storytelling had to offer Chinese narrative then was a form that lent itself to public perform- ance, thus providing a bridge between literati art and a much broader, often illiterate audience. Chinese legends, mythology, and historical records pro- vided the storytellers with material and themes. One of the most attractive aspects of Chinese historical narrative to the storytelling, theatrical, and ul- timately film and television audiences is the combination of moral charac- ter (loyalty in particular), with ingenuity and fighting prowess in the knight-errant (xia). Stories of such exploits abounded in the official histo- ries, legendary biographies, and oral tales in the marketplace. As they mul- tiplied in the repertoire of storytellers, many such legends were grouped to- gether in long series of tales often loosely based on historical events.
One such repository for narrative and lore was the famous story of the Tang dynasty monk Xuan Zang (596–664), whose pilgrimage to India to fetch the complete set of Mahayana Buddhist scriptures is described in Chapter 12. As in the past, the exotic foreign journey was a favorite subject of tale spinners with a taste for the bizarre and supernatural. The Xuan Zang story was gradually embellished by adding various pilgrim assistants to protect the priest from earthly and otherworldly dangers on the road. Somewhere along the line, this set of stories came into contact with the an- cient Indian legends of Hanuman, the monkey king of overweening ambi- tion, and such a monkey became Xuan Zang’s chief disciple.
The resulting story, Journey to the West (Xi you ji, 1592), then links dozens of existing tales of the fantastical, of overcoming and outwitting an- imal spirits and supernatural beasts, under the premise of this sacred pil- grimage (Wu Cheng’en, 1958, 1977). This chain of episodes is cemented by a common set of characters centering on the monk and the monkey and other pilgrim-guardians, a gluttonous talking pig, and a dragonlike water spirit. The adventures are placed, in turn, into a cosmic context in which the
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The Tianjin Conservatory of Music performs a modern dance rendition of “Dolan Muqam,” a classic Uyghur musical canon.
monkey’s mission to assist Xuan Zang is understood as penance for his past outrageous acts of mischievous hubris—he tried to overthrow heaven—nar- rated in the novel’s opening chapters. Although the novel maintains a folksy irreverence toward traditional hierarchy, orthodoxy, and morality, the Buddha and his pantheon come out essentially invincible, and the sacred necessity of Xuan Zang’s mission is never questioned.
Similar to Journey to the West’s snowballing of popular legends, stories of gallantry and heroism, particularly ones featuring rebellious unorthodox figures, tended to attach themselves to the Song dynasty rebel uprising of Song Jiang (Hsia, 1996:76). Stories based on these events began to solidify during Southern Song rule, gaining a wide audience for their patriotic ap- peal because of the Southern Song regime’s status as almost a government- in-exile as northern China was overrun by foreign invaders. These legends associated martial prowess, superhuman physical strength, and a brutally straightforward loyalty with China’s integrity and Han race.
These swashbuckling stories coalesced in a sixteenth-century (Ming dynasty) vernacular novel, Outlaws of the Marsh (Shuihu zhuan, also trans- lated as The Water Margin, or All Men Are Brothers), which narrates the gathering of 108 colorful Robin Hood–like heroic outlaws through a variety of adventures, in which they ultimately lead a series of successful battles against the Song imperial troops and then surrender out of patriotism and turn their energies toward assisting the Song in suppressing the evil rebel
Ro be rt E. G am er
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Fang La (Luo, 1981; Gernet, 1962). Outlaws, particularly through its con- tribution of heroic figures such as the leader Song Jiang and the colorful heroes Wu Song and Li Kui, is seminal in its contribution to the tradition of martial arts fiction (wuxia xiaoshuo) and later film, part of the lifeblood of Chinese popular culture to this day, as can be seen in Ang Lee’s Oscar- winning 2000 film Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
For the purposes of the reading audience of vernacular fiction, mere transcriptions and clever rearrangements of popular oral stories were ulti- mately limited in their appeal. The Qing dynasty novel Dream of the Red Chamber (Hong lou meng, 1791; also translated as Story of the Stone), however, is by all accounts the masterpiece of the full-length vernacular Chinese novel (J. Wang, 1992; X. Cao, 1973–1986). What people cannot agree on is what makes it so, and an entire scholarly tradition has been de- voted to this one novel’s study and interpretation. Although Journey to the West and Outlaws of the Marsh string together a vast number of almost un- related episodes drawn from history, myth, and traditional storytelling ma- terial, Dream is almost entirely original, with a series of interlocking plots revolving around the declining fortunes of the wealthy Jia, Xue, Shi, and Wang families who have ties to the imperial court. The novel is said to be largely based on the personal experiences of its author, Cao Xueqin (1715?–1763). The setting is during the eighteenth century in the final glow of China’s last dynasty, the Qing. A grandfather clock in the Jia family’s mansion hints at China’s contact with European powers, whose missionary efforts by late Qing times were a conspicuous aspect of the Chinese coun- tryside and port cities.
Dream of the Red Chamber is remarkable in its time for its lack of physical action, the narrative’s almost complete confinement to the Jia mansion and the surrounding capital suburbs, and its concentration on the relationships among a core group of young men and women. At the center of this group are Baoyu, second son of the Jia family’s youngest generation; Xue Baochai, the charming practical girl to whom he is eventually be- trothed; and Daiyu, an ill-starred, frail, and gloomy beauty to whom Baoyu is more strongly attracted (though the two seem able only to make each other unhappy).
This triangle is nestled in countless other relationships and conflicts among these and other families, amid armies of servants, dozens of vividly realized colorful characters, and lavish descriptions of costume, decora- tions, and genteel entertainments ranging from tea appreciation to poetry games and theatrical performances. The epic family saga is further placed within a cosmic frame constructed of equal parts Buddhism and Daoism, in which Baoyu is cast not only in his earthly form of the effeminate, hyper- sensitive, and eccentric boy with no scholarly (social, political) ambitions who likes to be only among women, but more fundamentally as a superflu-
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ous stone left over from the mythical goddess Nü Wa’s restoration of the damaged masonry of the heavens. This stone is cursed by the gift of con- sciousness with the desire to experience life in the human world, a wish granted to Baoyu by a Buddhist monk and a Daoist priest. Once his fate is sealed, a further adventure on the stone’s part forms the supernatural basis of Baoyu’s relationship with Daiyu: as a Divine Stone Page in the other- worldly Garden of the Goddess of Disillusionment, he is moved by kind- ness to water a parched fairy plant with dew, which thus incurs a “debt of tears” that Daiyu (the human incarnation of the fairy plant) must repay throughout her life in the human world. True to karmic form, most of the other major young women characters are also spirits burdened with debts in heaven or former lives, whereas all the male characters except Baoyu him- self represent the human world and the crassness of society, politics, money, and power.
Despite the development of the novel in late imperial China into in- creasingly unified and complex forms, the vitality of the oral short story was not exhausted by its absorption into novels such as Journey to the West and Outlaws of the Marsh. As late as the end of the Ming and through the Qing dynasties, prominent connoisseurs of popular literature such as Feng Menglong (1574–1646), Ling Mengchu (1580–1644), and Pu Songling (1640–1715) preserved in written form oral storytellers’ (huaben) tales that were by then as many as several hundred years old. They also created many of their own stories. More than any of the forms of fiction discussed so far, these stories feature characters of illiterate classes: merchants, farmers, arti- sans, entertainers, and prostitutes, always placed in unlikely and awkward situations and often in compelling moral predicaments (Feng, 1994; Ma and Lau, 1978; Hanan, 1981). The plots of such stories rely on multiple coinci- dences, often also using physical objects to string events together and dra- matic, even shocking scenes.
Pu Songling’s creations, written in classical Chinese rather than the vernacular, are much more homogeneous than the late Ming huaben stories edited by Feng and Ling. They more generally reflect the experience and imagination of the young scholar on his way to the city or capital to take part in the civil service examinations, revealing a similarity to the Tang chuanqi. In huaben tales, scholars encounter beautiful courtesans or other women who make them forget their wives, harm their reputations, or do poorly on the examinations. Pu Songling’s scholars, however, are beset by all manner of supernatural beings—ghosts, demons, and fox and snake spir- its—who materialize as beautiful women but also somehow get in the way of or complicate the scholar’s career or family life (P’u, 1989).
This consistency of plot and narrative perspective suggests that the very personality traits that likely caused the Chinese novelist to fail the civil service examinations also allowed him to become an influential new
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voice in his own right. It also suggests the commonality of experience among writers and readers of this sort of writing, who were almost exclu- sively young examination candidates themselves. These elements are equally conspicuous in the Chinese drama, which is heavily reliant on the fictional tradition for narrative material. But this brings us to another strand of the story.
Priests and Playwrights Until recent years, discussions of Chinese drama in English have often stressed the “belatedness” of its appearance in comparison with other liter- ary genres and other cultures. However, recent research on Chinese folk rit- ual and drama shows that this view uncritically privileges the written liter- ary canon and disregards folk culture (C. K. Wang, 1995). We now know that the performance practices, modes of representation, and stage conven- tions on which Chinese theatrical performance is based can be traced far back into shamanistic rituals and exorcisms of evil spirits, which continue to be practiced in their primitive form in many parts of China to the present day.
In addition to ritual and folk practices, the performing arts also drew on medieval palace entertainment and urban storytelling. As early as the Song dynasty, both Kaifeng and Hangzhou had bustling theater districts nick- named “tiles” after their jam-packed audiences (W. Liu, 1966:162–163; West and Idema, 2010). Song “variety plays” opened with a medley, fol- lowed by a number of short pieces that may not have been linked together by a single story or group of characters. Some of the differences between the northern and southern theater of the Yuan and Ming dynasties were al- ready established by this time.
The link between oral performance and full-fledged operatic drama is substantiated by the Jin dynasty (1115–1234) work Romance of the Western Chamber (Xi xiang ji zhugong diao), in which Yuan Zhen’s above- mentioned “The Story of Yingying” is presented in “medley” (zhugong diao) format (L. Ch’en, 1994). That is, the story is told in the framework of a musical composition in which successive sections have different musical modes (diao) and each section is made up of poems that share a single mode interspersed with prose narrative passages. The reputed author, Mas- ter Dong, gave Yuan Zhen’s story a happy ending.
Later in the thirteenth century, the Western Chamber story was adapted again, this time by Wang Shifu, to become perhaps the most famous work of Chinese drama, Xi xiang ji (Romance of the Western Chamber), a north- ern zaju. Zaju (also called “northern drama”) inherited from earlier forms such as the previously mentioned medley the alternation of prose and verse passages, the latter of which were sung to musical accompaniment. The
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sung parts were limited to a single actor, providing a unity to northern drama further enhanced by its tight four-act structure. The other major con- tribution of the Yuan dynasty zaju to operatic theater and Chinese literature in general is its unique new form of verse, called sanqu. Like the Song dy- nasty ci, sanqu represented a further innovation in the coordination of verse with music, allowing for a certain amount of variation and the addition of grammatical particles and colloquial expressions (W. Liu, 1966:186; J. Liu, 1972; West and Idema, 2010).
Although the Yuan zaju was associated with the capital of Dadu (mod- ern Beijing), the southern drama that had been in existence at least since Song times was associated with the opulent and culturally sophisticated southern cities of Hangzhou and Suzhou. These southern dramas, also called chuanqi, like the Tang tales on which they were often based, were extraordinarily long (running to thirty or forty scenes). They did not rise to central prominence in the history of Chinese theater until the Ming dynasty (Birch, 1995). There are hundreds of chuanqi plays from the Ming and Qing dynasties, but the best known are The Lute (Pipa ji) by Gao Ming (ca. 1305–ca. 1370) and especially Peony Pavilion (Mudan ting) by Tang Xi- anzu (1550–1617).
Gao Ming’s The Lute is based on an old story of a brilliant scholar who, after achieving glory in the civil service examinations, is induced to marry the daughter of the prime minister, though he had left a wife at home and forgets about his ailing parents. After his parents pass away, the scholar is fi- nally reminded of his neglect of his first wife, who slowly works her way to the capital by performing with her lute on the road. Tang Xianzu’s Peony Pavilion, also known as Return of the Soul (Huan hun ji), is based on a ver- nacular story and incorporates a supernatural theme of love beyond death (Tang Xianzu, 2004). It features the popular formula of a well-born young lady coming across a talented scholar, but with the twist that they meet only in their dreams. Before they can get together, the heroine Du Liniang’s pas- sion overcomes her and she dies. However, when the scholar encounters Liniang’s self-portrait over her grave, the power of his love brings her soul back from the underworld. Now united, they are confronted with the wrath of Du Liniang’s incredulous father, but she persuades him the scholar is in- nocent, emphasizing the importance of feelings over reason. Music, humor, and stirring poetry enhance the potency of a whole series of climactic mo- ments and confrontations. The play is a storehouse of lyrical allusions scour- ing the length of Chinese literary history as well as a showcase for Tang Xi- anzu’s gift for wordplay and symbolism. New modernized productions of Peony Pavilion have been on tour around the world in recent years, delight- ing both audiences and critics (Swatek, 2012).
Although later forms of theater, notably the well-known Beijing opera (Goldstein, 2007), are of less literary interest than these earlier master-
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pieces, they do give us valuable hints as to the unique stagecraft and dram- aturgy of Chinese drama, of which the texts of the earlier plays give us lit- tle idea. For example, although we know that by the Yuan dynasty, dramatic roles had already been reduced into certain stock types—the “old scholar,” the “clown,” the “painted lady”—it is only by watching the Beijing opera that we can get an idea of how costume and makeup are manipulated to sig- nal these roles (e.g., a white spot or spots on the face to indicate a clown). We do not know for sure but it seems safe to assume that, like Beijing opera, earlier forms of theater used few of the props or scenic backdrops of Western theater, relying instead on descriptive dialogue, stock gestures, and symbolic objects to suggest location and movement. Finally, the figure of the devoted opera fan, or piaoyou, still in existence today, indicates the challenge posed by Chinese theater to the traditional literati’s monopoly on literary culture. The visual spectacle of opera along with its acrobatics and musical accompaniment came together to form entertainment of great so- phistication that was entirely accessible to the illiterate. Oral storytelling, vernacular fiction, and the theater all represent the slippage over the cen- turies of elite culture from the hands of the literate minority. Modern tech- nological advances were about to create the potential for even greater cul- tural engagement on the part of the population at large, but new forms of cultural elitism would still maintain a stubborn division between the edu- cated and the masses.
Resisting Modern Orthodoxies
The May Fourth Movement: Modern Cultural Orthodoxy May 4, 1919: the last traditional dynasty, the Qing, had ended eight years before and China was now a modern republic, or trying to be. But at the Versailles Peace Conference after World War I, when the victorious powers transferred German holdings in the Chinese province of Shandong to Japan, the Republic of China’s representatives did not or could not resist the agreement. As a result, a historymaking demonstration of students, profes- sors, and other patriots took place at Tiananmen Square (the Gate of Heav- enly Peace in front of the Forbidden City in Beijing), passionately opposing the weakness of the Chinese government (references to this treaty and movement in Chapters 4, 7, and 11 give a sense of the importance of this date). For students and writers, the demonstration represented the culmina- tion of a groundswell of youthful antitraditionalism represented by Chen Duxiu’s popular magazine New Youth (Xin qingnian) and the literary revo- lution sponsored by Hu Shi, signified by his promotion of writing force- fully and directly in the modern vernacular. China was a republic, but its culture was not yet modern (Laughlin, 2016a).
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As in ancient times, cultural progress was still being measured in terms of writing. However, there was a decidedly modern nationalistic side to the May Fourth Movement as well. After decades of humiliating military and diplomatic defeats at the hands of European countries, the United States, and Japan, both popular and elite cultures in modern times were saturated with a feeling that these indignities were suffered in large part because China’s political and military leaders were too weak and lacked the essen- tial qualities of the “nanzi Han” (loosely translatable as “the manly Chi- nese”), the decisive, physically powerful, and charismatic leader for which Chinese history and literature provide numerous models (Tsu, 2005).
May Fourth intellectuals, equipped with Western learning, knowledge of foreign languages, and an acute sense of historical crisis, were making a revolution through culture by writing in a new vernacular much closer to everyday speech, using quite different techniques borrowed in part from European novelists and thinkers such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Alexandre Dumas, Leo Tolstoy, Charles Dickens, Émile Zola, and Gustave Flaubert. They were also writing fiery essays about what the new literature was for— the destruction of old thinking and the construction of a clean, healthy, and fair new China (Schwarcz, 1990; L. Liu, 1995).
The cultural agenda of the May Fourth Movement is well represented by the work of Lu Xun (1881–1936). Lu Xun’s short stories represented a break from the past, for the most part because they were written in the modern vernacular, a mode of expression until then alien to writing (Laughlin, 2008b). The stories often tell of a young intellectual returning to his home in the countryside after receiving a foreign education and hav- ing been exposed to Western ideas, only to find that he can no longer fit in with the people and landscapes of his youth (Lu Xun, 2010). Unlike most writers who followed him, however, Lu Xun was a master of irony and distortion, and his vision of the world, though stridently politicized, was nightmarish and often bordered on the absurd and sinister (Xiaobing Tang, 2001).
But instead of signaling a triumph for popular literature, the May Fourth Movement set up a New Culture in opposition to traditional ortho- dox culture. Thus, by the 1920s, a clearly defined cultural triangle ap- peared: (1) traditional Chinese culture, the educational foundation of even the most radical cultural revolutionaries and the target of almost universal and incessant attack by modern writers; (2) the modern New Culture ortho- doxy, based on humanism, science, and democracy—all murkily defined— and foreign (largely European) behavior, dress, and thought; and (3) mass media popular culture embodied in newspapers and magazines, radio, and film that began to emerge in the nineteenth century (Laughlin, 2002, 2005, 2008a, 2011). This third leg of the triangle, like the first, has been neglected and disdained by historians who identify with the May Fourth Movement.
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The issue is further complicated by the fact that the modern cultural ac- tivists who wanted to transform art and literature, particularly in the first half of the twentieth century, consciously aligned and identified themselves with “the masses,” “popular culture,” or “folk culture” even as they trans- formed and distorted it for their own artistic and ideological ends. Apart from this new lip service being paid to the “popular,” the phenomenon of elites appropriating and distorting some of the same popular forms they criticize should by now seem familiar; it is very much the traditional stance of the custodians of the written word in China (Laughlin, 2016a).
Not that the May Fourth generation and their leftist successors did not innovate a great deal. The serious side of modern Chinese literature, includ- ing poetry and drama, ushered in phenomena rare or nonexistent elsewhere, including a universally adopted rhetoric of “cultural hygiene” (from the Na- tionalists’ New Life movement of the 1930s to the Communist Party’s 1983 government-led campaign attacking “spiritual pollution” from abroad); the merging of individual subjectivity with national identity (Jameson, 1986); and the idea of art as a dangerous weapon. This last idea not only fueled artists’ and writers’ sense of self-importance but also got them censored,
jailed, and even killed at a higher rate than in most other parts of the world. The importance attributed by historians to the May Fourth Movement tends
to obscure the even more profound changes in China’s cultural activ- ity brought about by the emergence of mass media in the mid-nineteenth century; the literary revolution of the 1920s itself was to a certain extent in- debted to these changes. Newspapers, telegraph, telephone, radio, and even the railroad made it possible for a much broader swath of the population to engage in the same cultural activities. Reading news and illustrated fiction in newspapers and magazines and watching motion pictures made available in Shanghai almost as early as in New York, Paris, and London drastically changed the
cultural and social life of even the most conservative (Y. Zhang, 1996; Yue, 2006; C. Yeh, 2006; W. Yeh, 2008; Des Forges, 2007; Z. Zhang,
2006; Laughlin, 2005). Before elite New Culture authors, editors, and their student readers began to dominate mass media, the commercial print media’s audience consisted largely of urban sophisticates similar to the opera buffs discussed in the previous section. Printed advertisements in mass circulation newspapers, often exploiting graphic images—even accessible to illiter- ates—as much as text, brought larger audiences to theatrical performances and larger markets to books and magazines. These eye-catching pictures (particularly in commercial print media, but also on billboards, shingles, and flyers) broadened the affected market substantially beyond the literate (C. Yeh, 2006; L. Lee and Nathan, 1985).
In the meantime, the higher-technology mass media provided more of what a broader audience demanded: not the epoch-making brooding short stories of writers such as Lu Xun, but traditional-style vernacular fiction
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about love, detectives, fantastic journeys, and the exploits of superhuman martial arts heroes, mixed with accounts of real journeys to Europe and the United States (T. Liu, 1984; Wu Jianren, 1995; D. D. Wang, 1997; Zhang Henshui, 1997; Wong, 2003).
May Fourth thinkers associated mass media popular culture with tradi- tional China; they were largely indifferent to or unaware of what was mod- ern (i.e., nontraditional) about it, and so the rejection of popular fiction be- came one of the cornerstones of the movement. They could not see, for instance, the Western influences on Zeng Pu’s Flower in a Sinful Sea (Niehai hua, 1905), on Xu Zhenya’s Jade Pearl Spirit (Yuli hun, 1912), or on Zhang Henshui’s Fate in Tears and Laughter (Tixiao yinyuan, 1930)— the latter being one of the most popular Chinese novels of the twentieth cen- tury—because they were presented in the form and language of traditional vernacular fiction. However, just like the vernacular novel and oral story- telling in previous centuries, the very popularity of what Perry Link calls the “literature of comfort” (1981:196–235) worked against the self-important authority of the New Culture and thus took on a progressive value.
This is borne out by the mixed feelings modern writers and critics had about popular literature. Although they called for something radically dif- ferent to blow away the cobwebs of a morally bankrupt culture, they were at the same time some of its most avid readers and promoters. Lu Xun was one of popular fiction’s most strident critics, yet by assigning grudging praise to late Qing dynasty satirical works such as Li Boyuan’s Brief His- tory of Enlightenment (Wenming xiaoshi, 1903) and Wu Woyao’s Strange Events Witnessed over Twenty Years (Ershinian mudu zhi guai xianzhuang, 1907) in his Brief History of Chinese Fiction (Zhongguo xiaoshuo shilüe, 1959), he actually guaranteed the continued recognition of these works and others long after the cultural supremacy of the May Fourth Movement had given way to more radical visions (Dolezelova-Velingcrova, 1980; Hanan, 2004). Zheng Zhenduo and Ah Ying (Qian Xingcun), two of modern China’s most prominent leftist cultural activists, were also foremost schol- ars and enthusiasts of premodern popular culture.
The New Culture movement’s attitude toward popular literature was based in part on a confusion of seriousness with progressiveness: the more fun a work of literature or art, the more politically incorrect it was thought to be. Underlying this was the prejudice that the practitioners and audience of popular literature were inferior in character and intelligence to the cul- tural revolutionaries of the May Fourth Movement. Moreover, existing mass media culture was incorrectly identified with an ill-defined idea of “traditional China,” which was overwhelmingly viewed as an evil order to be thoroughly uprooted and eradicated.
Lao She (1899–1966), one of modern China’s most uncommon and prolific novelists, at least implicitly defied the May Fourth generation’s
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disdain for humor and frivolity. In Cat Country (Lao She, 2013b) and Mr. Ma and Son (Lao She, 2013a), Lao She creates a humorous satirical vision of modern Chinese society that nevertheless expresses a yearning for some- thing better. Influenced by Charles Dickens among others, Lao She had a mastery of humor unusual for a modern Chinese writer, making readers laugh without trivializing his subject matter or his characters. He exploits the fine line between comedy and tragedy so that one is constantly aware of the tragic implications of the comic situations he creates (D. D. Wang, 1992). In Mr. Ma and Son, he accomplishes this through the cultural and generational misunderstandings created between a Chinese father and son residing in London in the 1920s when the son falls in love with a British woman. In his most famous novel, Rickshaw Boy (Lao She, 2010), he does so less humorously in the story of a simple forthright laborer in Beijing, who wants nothing more than to make enough money to buy his own rick- shaw but is constantly thwarted by the dishonesty of those around him, the sheer scarcity of wealth, and the military instability of 1930s China. In today’s era of renewed urbanization and unprecedented migrant laborer populations in Beijing and other large Chinese cities, Rickshaw Boy takes on a renewed significance.
Leftist Mass Culture Once the May Fourth Movement had passed its prime and the literary rev- olution gave way to revolutionary literature, leftism and communism in China inherited the movement’s awkward relationship with popular culture (Laughlin, 2002, 2008b, 2008c, 2008d, 2009). By the 1930s, leftist writers and critics occupied important, arguably mainstream, positions in the New Culture industry (e.g., Mao Dun, 1979, 1992). Old-style popular novels and magazines continued to sell and be written, but their audience was dwin- dling due to a new generation of readers with Western-style educations; their teachers had often been May Fourth activists such as Lu Xun and so inherited the May Fourth hatred for old China.
Ding Ling (1904–1985) is representative of the shift from self to soci- ety that characterized the 1930s. Her Miss Sophia’s Diary (Shafei nüshi de riji, 1927; Ding Ling, 1989:49–81), one of the best-known works of mod- ern Chinese literature, narrates through the protagonist’s diary entries of an ailing young Westernized woman’s struggle between desire and reason as she alternately tortures, manipulates, and pursues different male friends. The work can be viewed as taking the innovations of May Fourth literature, already colored by self-obsession, sexuality, and despair, to (or beyond) their logical extremes. But only three or four years after writing this and several similar stories, Ding Ling’s narrative personalities were dissolving into the masses, her febrile self-obsession transforming into enthusiastic en- gagement in social and historical change; she was attempting to align her-
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self with, indeed lose herself among, workers and peasants (Laughlin, 2002; 2016b).
This shift need not be viewed as paradoxical. The writer’s attempt to become one with the people saturates the fiction, poetry, drama and re- portage, and even films of the 1930s. Chinese leftists were much more keenly aware than the May Fourth generation of the power of mass media and better acquainted with its mechanics as well, and this is particularly ev- ident in 1930s Chinese cinema (Zhang Yingjin, 1999; Zhang Zhen, 2006). In Street Angels (Malu tianshi, 1937), for example, the familiar entertain- ment, fun, romance, and sensationalism of Hollywood are all exploited to advance themes of social injustice, class friction, and economic crisis, call- ing to mind the efforts of Charlie Chaplin. But although leftists seemed at home in the modern mass media, like their predecessors and teachers from the May Fourth Movement, they were ambivalent about traditional popular and folk culture.
Leftists, particularly in rural base areas such as Mao Zedong’s Jiangxi Soviet (1931–1934), in a desire to unleash the revolutionary potential of the masses, went beyond the limits of literacy and explored traditional perform- ing arts forms as potential vehicles for political propaganda. Viewing Western-style spoken dramas (the legacy of May Fourth) as boring, they turned toward traditional dramatic forms such as the yangge, a New Year’s variety show (largely song and dance) with roots in ritual performance. But in their efforts to remold these forms and inject them with new moralistic content, communists failed to preserve many of the features that made them work, from their coordination with the lunar calendar and carnivalesque bawdiness to the formal aspects of performance and relationship between form and content. The “new yangge,” by displacing the old and having little appeal in itself (being an incongruous patchwork quilt of the traditional and the modern), effectively wiped out yangge from the areas in which it was promoted (Holm, 1991; Hung, 1994). This is characteristic of the Commu- nist Party’s kiss of death to all kinds of traditional forms clear through the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976): from storytelling to comedic dialogue, from music to drum singing to dance, the Communist Party had a tendency to ruin popular traditional art forms in the attempt to make them modern and useful. Fortunately, popular performing arts are experiencing a revival in re- cent years due to a trend toward regionalism in contemporary culture.
Alternative Voices There were also modern Chinese writers less obsessed with the social func- tions of literature. Shen Congwen and Xiao Hong, for example, brought to modern literature a lyrical vision of the rural countryside in which the fa- miliar questions of national identity, ethnic outrage, and indignation at the Japanese invasions took a backseat to vivid re-creations of the rhythms and
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emotional structure of rural life (Xiao, 1979; Shen, 1995, 2009). Both of these writers discovered and reconstructed the beauty in the life of the Chi- nese countryside that had never existed in Chinese narrative literature be- fore, but that also bore no close resemblance or debt to Western literary forms.
Meanwhile, particularly during World War II, popular fiction was mak- ing a comeback and achieved unprecedented success in the novels of Eileen Chang (Gunn, 1980; Chow, 1991; Huang, 2005). In a way, Chang was the first truly modern Chinese writer in her open defiance of one of the most sa- cred credos of Chinese literary culture—that literature must have a positive social function. Chang’s “modern chuanqi” take elements of traditional ro- mantic tales—conflicts between emotional fulfillment, social obligations, and material gain, and the jealousy, manipulation, and open struggle among wives and concubines—and bring them into the multicultural soup of mod- ern China, expanding them into a psychological dimension replete with dark and unpredictable personalities and even insanity (E. Chang, 2006, 2007a, 2007b). One of Chang’s most innovative contributions to modern literature is dispassionate narration of the experience of revolution and agricultural re- form (which would have been an unthinkable sacrilege for a leftist writer) in such works as Love in a Barren Land (1954) and Rice-Sprout Song (1953). Chang’s importance, ignored by communist literary historians, has been vin- dicated not only through the influential assessment of C. T. Hsia (Hsia, 1996; see also Gunn, 1980; Huang, 2005), but also through her inspiration of a whole generation of contemporary writers throughout the Chinese- speaking world, from Wang Anyi in Shanghai and Lillian Lee in Hong Kong to Li Ang and Zhu Tianwen in Taiwan (Wang Anyi, 1989; 2010). The 2007 Ang Lee film Lust, Caution, though based only on a short story by Chang, can also be seen as a tribute to her entire fictional world. Eileen Chang’s unique contribution included raising the profile of the long story or novella. Her influence on both male and female authors is evident in the propagation of this form throughout greater China; these novellas often involve compli- cated webs of relationships, laying bare the fragility of romantic love and idealism (H. Lee, 2010; Laughlin, Liu, and Stalling, 2016).
Contemporary Literature and Culture in Greater China Eileen Chang’s predicament in 1949—whether to stay in China after the communist takeover and years of bitter civil war or go abroad and continue her career free of pressure from political persecution—was probably diffi- cult only for personal reasons, but it was emblematic of the path of modern Chinese elite and popular cultures. Many gifted writers decided to stay; some, such as Shen Congwen, never wrote again whereas others, such as
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Lao She, adopted, willingly or not, a rhetoric and mentality vastly different from those of the works that established their reputations (X. Wang, 2013; D. D. Wang, 2015). In the 1950s and 1960s, writers on both sides of the Strait of Taiwan were largely compelled to extol the new society, and even courageous criticisms were deeply entangled in the ideology of literature in the service of politics alone.
Modern Chinese literary history is generally marked out by Chinese scholars in terms of cataclysmic political or historical events. The impor- tance of the May Fourth Movement to modern Chinese literature has al- ready been noted, but there were to be many more such dates, including the anticommunist purge of 1927, the Japanese invasion of Manchuria on Sep- tember 18, 1931, the outbreak of war with Japan in July 1937, the rape of Nanjing in January 1938, and the communist victory in 1949. When we get to 1949, we tend to think of things in more geographical terms, imagining completely separate cultures in contemporary mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong.
This view, however, is becoming problematic. Though still different in many ways from the mainland, Hong Kong reverted to mainland Chinese sovereignty in 1997. Transformation within the cultural scenes on each side of the Taiwan Strait complicates the issue, as does the give-and-take be- tween both Taiwan and mainland China on the one hand and Hong Kong on the other. This is particularly evident in the area of cinema since the 1980s. Moreover, both mainland China and Taiwan after 1949 had their own cata- clysmic political events that are comparable to those in the period before the civil war.
Taiwan’s cultural scene throughout the 1950s, though perhaps less op- pressive than that of mainland China, was still under tight political control. The Nationalist Party allowed and encouraged literary and artistic visions tied to the conviction that the civil war was not over and that those who fled to Taiwan and other places after 1949 would eventually return home (Lau, 1983:x–xi). But as the possibility of a restoration of Nationalist control over the mainland dissolved and the Republic of China became coextensive in practice with the island of Taiwan, a new generation of writers too young to remember the war grew up in the 1960s. They experienced a society ori- ented more toward economic development than military goals or political purity, a society much more saturated with mass media and popular culture, including television and a burgeoning film industry. The educational back- ground of the younger generation of Taiwan writers (many of whom studied at the University of Washington or the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa) also led to a remarkable upsurge in the late 1950s through the early 1970s of modernist poetry and fiction in Taiwan.
The works of Ch’en Ying-chen, Huang Ch’un-ming, and Wang Chen- ho, all writers who in one way or another resisted the current of pro-US
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sentiment and feverish economic development, best represent this period in Taiwanese literature. These writers, whether consciously or not, pre- serve the modern Chinese tradition established by Lu Xun of literature as the voice of opposition to authority. They were against the status quo in Taiwan without being pro-Beijing—no small achievement under the near- totalitarian political atmosphere of Taiwan in the 1960s (Faurot, 1979; Y. Chang, 1993).
Li Yongping, a Malaysian writer of Chinese descent who was educated in Taiwan, is often described as a conduit of “nativist literature” (xiangtu wenxue), which focused on themes of home, belonging, cultural identity, and the rural Chinese experience; Shen Congwen is the spiritual ancestor of na- tivist literature in both the PRC and Taiwan, but these two “nativisms” dif- fered considerably. Nativist writers in Taiwan resisted both the sometimes affected modernism of the previous generation and the more commercialized movie- and television-drama script phase that many writers experienced in Taiwan in the late 1970s and early 1980s. They attempted to create or pre- serve a culture that belonged to Taiwan above all as well as the ideal of a so- cially engaged literature that seemed to be fading from the modern Chinese cultural horizon in the face of feverish economic expansion. Taiwan na- tivists’ concern was with income inequality particularly between the military and administrative elites, mostly Han Chinese who had come from the main- land after the Nationalist defeat in the civil war, and local populations that included not only Han Chinese who had been there for generations but also many non-Chinese indigenous peoples. The struggles of this diverse collec- tion of nonelites had a long history, including the fifty-year colonization of Taiwan by Japan between 1895 and 1945, and the deep historical resonance of these struggles informed nativist fiction and the films of a new generation of filmmakers such as Hou Hsiao-hsien, who emerged in the 1980s.
The lifting of martial law by Chiang Ching-kuo in 1987, and the ensu- ing liberalization of the media and dramatic democratization of politics, led to a slackening of political intensity in Taiwanese literature and culture— and its displacement by the popular literary marketplace as an important factor in literary success. But this liberalization also led to the emergence of the Democratic Progressive Party, many members of which were ideo- logically close to the nativist writers, and which as a result was more open to the idea of asserting Taiwan’s independence from the People’s Republic of China. Although the Nationalist KMT party had been mortal enemies of the Chinese Communist Party, it now became clear that the two had in com- mon the desire to reunify mainland China and Taiwan, and they faced a new adversary in the DPP. The alignment of the poor and marginalized in- digenous groups with the independence movement and with many in the cultural community can also be seen in cultural expression, particularly in the emergence of documentary film since the lifting of martial law, as well
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as the narrative films of Hou Hsiao-hsien and Wei Te-sheng. Documentary film, particularly with historical and political themes, has become unusually popular in Taiwan, sometimes rivaling commercial films in the box office (Lin and Sang, 2012).
In mainland China, the deaths of Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai in 1976, punctuated with particular severity by the devastating Tangshan earthquake, marked the end of an era of apparently blind faith in communism, with pro- found effects on the cultural scene. In the ensuing years, the rise of Deng Xiaoping and a new vision of the mission of the Communist Party and the trial and imprisonment of the “Gang of Four” for crimes committed during the anarchic Cultural Revolution set the tone for the cultural scene of the 1980s, which ushered in the rehabilitation of cultural figures who had been persecuted since the antirightist campaign of 1958 and had been in and out of prison and reform through labor camps over the ensuing twenty years. Some of the more prominent of these (e.g., Wang Meng) were promoted to important posts whereas others (e.g., Liu Binyan) were, in part through the good graces of such appointees, enthusiastically promoted in the main- stream literary press and experienced a new surge of creative work (Link, 1983, 2000; Link, Madsen, and Pickowicz, 1989). There was an outpouring of “scar” literature, humanist literature, and literature of historical reflec- tion that reaffirmed the importance of intellectuals and artists after decades of persecution and tried to derive meaning and spiritual comfort from the therapeutic act of suku (recounting bitterness).
However, the literature written during this stage (in the early 1980s) did not differ artistically from the familiar conventions of socialist realism. Writers seemed to still accept the premise that literature’s highest aim is the realistic depiction of social reality in progressive transformation, as Mao had himself called for in his 1942 “Talk at the Yan’an Conference on Literature and Art” (Mao Zedong, 1996). These stories and novels of the early 1980s were merely a more genuine and honest way of approaching the task than had been common throughout the 1960s and 1970s, in which the bleak truths of contemporary reality were concealed under a false mask of propaganda.
Around 1985 a new generation of writers emerged, writers who were too young to have witnessed the turbulent and bewildering persecutions of the older writers during the antirightist campaign. These writers, such as Ah Cheng, Han Shaogong, Mo Yan, Zheng Wanlong, and Zhang Chengzhi, were teenagers during the Cultural Revolution (Ah Cheng, 1990; Han Shao- gong 2005; Mo Yan 1994, 2012). Many had lost a good portion of their ed- ucation and held a much different view of contemporary Chinese social and cultural reality than the older generation. This view is reflected in their works, which are much less confident in the literary mission of social re- form taken for granted until then in mainland China.
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One of the most conspicuous trends of these writers’ first departures from socialist realism is a variation of nativist literature referred to as “root- seeking literature” (xungen wenxue). Unlike the more innocently lyri- cal efforts of Shen Congwen and Xiao Hong, searching for roots involves a more pronounced metaphysical mission derived in part from translations of Western philosophy and literature and in part from the rediscovery of as- pects of Chinese culture that had been suppressed in the Chinese commu- nist educational curriculum. These writers also share an interest in rewrit- ing the rural experience without the formulas and heavy hand (with class villains and heroic workers) that were normal within the socialist cultural milieu since the Yan’an days of the early 1940s. This cohort of writers in- spired the resurgence of Chinese cinema in the mid-1980s, most notably with Zhang Yimou’s debut film Red Sorghum, based on the novella of the same title by Mo Yan (1994), and Chen Kaige’s adaptation of Ah Cheng’s The King of Children in 1988 (Ah Cheng, 1990; Chow, 1995; Zhang Yimou and Gateward, 2001; C. J. Berry, 2004; M. Berry, 2005).
The kind of critical retrospection represented by searching-for-roots fiction resonated with the concurrent appearance of Bo Yang’s (1992) The Ugly Chinaman (Choulou de Zhongguoren, 1985) and Sun Longkee’s (1983) The Deep Structure of Chinese Culture (Zhongguo wenhua de shen- ceng jiegou)—Chinese works from Taiwan and the United States, respec- tively—adding up to a general mood of unstinting and even overwrought cultural self-criticism on the part of Chinese intellectuals. One of the last- ing results of this trend was the reemergence of the intellectual as a cultural commentator, even a judge of contemporary cultural phenomena and for- eign intellectual and cultural trends, for the first time after decades of Maoist disdain for intellectuals. Today, although the overall influence of in- tellectuals over the general public is waning, from underpaid university professors to publishing entrepreneurs to up-and-coming voices in North American and European universities, their identity as spokespersons for and interpreters and critics of Chinese culture has become firmly entrenched. Beginning with The Deep Structure of Chinese Culture and the Deathsong of the River television series, one of the primary tasks of the latest genera- tion of Chinese intellectuals has been to explore recent Western theoretical approaches, from feminism to liberal Marxism to cultural studies, to shed new light on Chinese culture—both traditional and modern.
Another ingredient in the cultural brew that had been fermenting throughout the late 1980s was a confidence or hope that ascendancy of the relatively liberal Deng Xiaoping regime could end totalitarianism in China. This hope kept the literature of the mid-1980s pinned under the continuing moral burden of history inherited from previous generations of modern Chi- nese writers (X. Zhang, 1997; J. Wang, 1996). The Tiananmen Square mas- sacre of June 1989 put an end to that hope, at least temporarily, and indi-
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rectly cast doubt on the necessity of the moral burden of culture in main- land China for the first time in the century. Post-1989 writings retained many aspects that had been developing before the suppression of the democracy movement, notably a multifaceted fascination with pre-1949 China, a taste for the exotic, and a burgeoning ethnic nationalism, but now they were scarcely ever concerned with influencing society. Literature be- came more playful, and clear lines between serious literature and art and television, advertising, and entertainment film began to fade.
The evolution from the films of Chen Kaige (Yellow Earth, The King of Children, Farewell My Concubine) to those of Zhang Yimou, who had been Chen’s cinematographer, is emblematic of parallel transformations within the realm of literature. Chen’s pathbreaking vision of modern China is still committed to historical moral themes, while the films of Zhang Yimou (Red Sorghum, Raise the Red Lantern, Ju Dou, To Live—based on recent novels by Mo Yan, Su Tong, Liu Heng, and Yu Hua) wrap engaging stories in ex- travagantly beautiful images, sounds, and colors, while moral concerns be- come just another ingredient in his fragrant cinematic soup (Su Tong, 1993; Yu Hua, 2003; Goldblatt, 1995). Like Chen Kaige, Zhang Yimou makes a special point of adapting the fictional works of contemporary writers, and his choices reflect changes in literary priorities after 1989, even when the works in question were from before that time (X. Zhang, 1997, 2008; C. Berry and Farquhar, 2006; M. Berry, 2005; Chow, 2007; Kuoshu, 2002; Ni, 2002; Clark, 2005; Rojas and Chow, 2013).
It seems likely that the pop culture rediscovery of traditional and inter- war China will continue for some time; there may even be a more genuine resurgence (rather than freeze-dried preservation) of traditional performing arts. However, the temptation to fall into ruts has already proven irresistible to some filmmakers. Take, for example, the formula of building a movie around a family or village who depend for their survival on a traditional craft. The late 1980s and early 1990s were filled with films about liquor brewers, cloth dyers, rice-tofu makers, ginseng growers, sesame oil squeez- ers, and even firecracker makers, not to mention Beijing opera actors. There is also a tendency like that of the traditional theater to consolidate charac- ters into stock roles, particularly in films with rural settings: the ancient vil- lage elder, the often mute and always male village idiot, the sexually awak- ening young woman and her two or three virile suitors. It is not surprising, then, that a village was constructed in barren northern Shaanxi province for the sole purpose of shooting these so-called Chinese westerns. Few people have caught the irony that this locale was the crucible in which the Chinese Communist Party established its political and social order in the 1930s and 1940s.
These developments in mainland Chinese film owe much to the formu- las of Taiwan and, especially, Hong Kong entertainment film, which in turn
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descended from the lively Shanghai film industry of the 1920s–1940s (Davis and Ru-shou, 2007; H. Kong, 2005; F. Lu, 2005; Morris, 2006; Rojas and Chow, 2013). In keeping with the pulse of traditional Chinese popular culture, film in Hong Kong draws heavily on traditional sources such as martial arts fiction or vernacular tales of love and the supernatural. Even when the setting is contemporary, plots often center on fighting prowess, chivalric virtues, and outlaws and police work (Bordwell, 2000; Yau, 2001; Fu and Desser, 2002; Hamm, 2005). This trend came into its own after Ang Lee’s epic Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film in 2001, and mainland directors such as Chen Kaige and Zhang Yimou vied with each other to make their own blockbuster martial arts classics (Silbergeld, 2000; Hunt, 2003; Fu, 2003; G. Xu, 2007; S. Lu, 2004; Curtin, 2007).
These tendencies also strongly influence television throughout greater China, where long serial dramas reenact or completely rewrite familiar fic- tional or historical stories. However, contemporary domestic drama com- mands a much more conspicuous presence on television than in the cinema. In mainland China, such melodramas as Yearning (Kewang, 1991) and Tales from the Editorial Department (Bianjibu de gushi, 1991), though re- freshingly free from the contrived moral teaching of earlier programming, often serve as barometers of sensitive social and cultural issues (Zhong, 2010). Even more so was the ambitious 1986 documentary Deathsong of the River (He shang, 1986), which portrays the Chinese people’s futile at- tempts across millennia to come to terms with the cruel whims of the Yangtze River as suggestive of the people’s helplessness under communist rule (Su and Wang, 1991).
In contrast, Wang Shuo, one of the chief architects of the contemporary Chinese soap opera, reintroduces humor and irreverence with no moral strings attached. Starting out as a screenwriter of television series gave Wang insight into mechanisms of melodrama that let him create outra- geously humorous situations by thwarting audience expectations and em- bedding inconceivable surprises. But he is best known for his characters: cynical Beijing slackers whose moral blankness and black humor are strangely refreshing (Barmé and Minford, 1988; Barmé and Jaivin, 1992:217–247).
Closer to the streets, screenplays and novels by Wang Shuo, lurid de- tective fiction, film magazines, martial arts novels, sex manuals, tales of the paranormal or the superhuman feats by masters of qigong (the art of vital force), and English-language textbooks and CDs all cluttered the most reli- able indicator of mainland Chinese consumers’ cultural tastes—streetside bookstalls. Whether just a tarp laid out on the sidewalk, a folding table, or a full-fledged shop with yards of shelving in a subway station or under- ground bazaar, bookstalls were in the early years of the post-Mao period
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before the introduction of the Internet, the richest source of information on contemporary popular literature. State-run bookstores, whose inventory was determined by the government’s cultural policies, tell one little about what Chinese people want to read, but the bookstall’s very survival depends on its responsiveness to the market. More recently, massive book supermarkets (often called “Book Cities”) have largely displaced the state-run Xinhua op- eration, and their display arrangements and inventory dramatically demon- strate the triumph of the market in contemporary Chinese publishing. Out on the street, the old bookstalls have been largely replaced by pushcarts whose shrink-wrapped contents reveal a supplier’s preference for profitabil- ity over social relevance or controversy.
Even though it was illegal to do so, independent book peddlers sold banned books such as the anonymous Ming dynasty novel Plum in the Golden Vase (Jin ping mei), collections of literary works such as the 1930s essays of Liang Shiqiu and Lin Yutang, or books smuggled from Taiwan and Hong Kong (Xiaoxiaosheng, 1993–2013). Biographies of famous historical figures sell very well, whether written by Chinese authors or translated from foreign languages. Certain books by Western authors about China, such as Robert van Gulik’s Sexual Life in Ancient China and Ross Terrill’s biogra- phies of Mao Zedong and Jiang Qing, appear in usually unauthorized trans- lations, selling many times better than the most popular books distributed through normal channels. Western literature, previously represented in Chi- nese almost exclusively by nineteenth-century classics and a handful of award-winning twentieth-century works, took on a more popular guise in the 1980s with the appearance of books by authors such as Sidney Sheldon at about the same time that series such as Dynasty, Dallas, and Falcon Crest appeared on television. This, of course, strongly influenced Chinese people’s perception of life in the United States (S. Kong, 2005).
Teahouses are still fixtures in the cities and towns of southwestern China, set up with bamboo furniture in old pavilions or makeshift bamboo shacks with thatched roofs. In such places in the past, one would have en- joyed the entertainments of a storyteller or Chinese opera arias while chat- ting with friends, sipping a bowl of tea, and eating melon seeds and other snacks (Heiss and Heiss, 2007). Now, teahouses are more often venues for endless rounds of mahjong or the enjoyment of soccer matches from around China and the world on large flat-screen monitors, but the outdoor versions in cities such as Chengdu still preserve much of the traditional tranquillity. Another favorite entertainment is karaoke, a Japanese invention for singing along with music videos of popular recordings. Karaoke clubs are widely popular in urban and rural China. Although it is tempting to deplore the in- vasion of big screens in teahouses and the wildfire spread of karaoke, the vitality of Chinese popular culture is unmistakable even in these new high- tech guises. Though some would like to imagine traditional Chinese enter-
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Zhang Chuang captures the boisterousness of today’s youth culture.
tainments as being refined and genteel, there is no reason to believe that traditional teahouses, theaters, and brothels were any less boisterous and chaotic than modern ones. Boisterousness (renao, literally, “hot and noisy”)—is one of the abiding characteristics and values of Chinese popu- lar culture.
High technology has also helped people pursue concerns peculiar to modern Chinese culture such as the public discussion of serious social and political issues, national identity, and pride. The rapid spread of Internet ac- cess in China, a process that seems irreversible, is undermining the central control of information. While in recent years many Internet cafés have be- come cramped unsafe dens where preteens and teenagers skip school to in- dulge in online gaming and dubious Internet surfing, the Internet is also providing an important window to the world as well as an unprecedented means of free communication with people in other places. Most people have broadband access to the Internet from their homes and handheld de- vices, and the numbers who take advantage of this access have long since surpassed the entire US population.
In keeping with the long tradition of Chinese popular culture is the emergence of creative expression and broad parody in the forms of YouTube- like videos, flash animation, and wry commentary on China’s Twitter-like Weibo platform, which satirize new mainstream films as well as innumerable social problems and government responses to them (Voci, 2010; Gong, 2010; Rea, 2013; H. Li, 2016). This spirit of humor and irrev-
Ro be rt E. G am er
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erence has also spilled into television and film in the form of a resurgence in popularity of “cross talk” (xiangsheng) comedic dialogues, embodied in the superstar Guo Degang, and humorous skits called xiaopin, which have existed at least since the 1970s but have had new life breathed into them by the emergence of multitalented comedians from northeastern China such as Zhao Benshan and “Xiao Shenyang” (“Little Shenyang”). Like comedic di- alogue with its origins in the streets of Beijing and Tianjin, northeastern comedy draws inspiration from its traditional er ren zhuan variety shows that mix outrageous comedy with sexual topics (much like the above- mentioned yangge) and a vivid sense of the daily life of ordinary people in villages and towns. With these media, it has become possible for the voice and interests of the broader populace to find access to powerful commu- nicative platforms with all their traditional humor, irreverence, and exuber- ance for the first time since before 1949 (Link, 2013).
Tencent QQ’s new WeChat application (known in Chinese as Weixin) allows people to text chat and share audiovisual content with individuals and groups of friends from their mobile devices, adding to a sense of pri- vacy and shared understanding. It combines the functions of Internet te- lephony, texting, content sharing, and even financial transactions in a unique way, making it China’s most successful contribution to global social media and digital culture. Combined with an unlimited stable of apps anal- ogous to those used in other countries for travel arrangement, navigation, product and restaurant reviewing, retail, and entertainment, it has shifted a huge amount of daily human activity from the streets to the virtual realm. Of course, as is the case around the world, the explosion of tablets and smartphones has eroded some of the pleasure of social gatherings, at home and at restaurants or teahouses, because people of all ages are constantly checking their small screens, taking selfies, or photographing their meals. Yet these new nonpublic and sometimes anonymous virtual venues for in- teraction have increased the user’s opportunities for self-definition and ex- pression, allowing most Chinese to become producers as well as consumers of information and meaning.
Another development deriving from technological progress is the rise of documentary filmmaking (C. Berry, Xinyu, and Rofel, 2010; Pickowicz and Zhang, 2006; Voci, 2010; Robinson, 2013; Chiu and Zhang, 2015). With the now widespread availability of the digital video camera and so- phisticated editing software for personal computers, a new generation of filmmakers such as Wu Wenguang, Wang Bing, Zhao Liang, Yang Lina, Xu Tong, and Zhao Liang is recording the lives of visual artists and rock musi- cians, as well as (significantly) the traditional performing arts, in addition to ordinary people of all kinds whose voices are rarely heard. These films are “underground” in the sense that they are not produced in film studios or publicly released, but information about them is disseminated through
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social networks and on the Internet. Cultural communities may encounter documentaries in addition to the more familiar activities of poetry reading, art shows, and theatrical performances. For a time these kinds of artistic salon activities, which used to take place in private homes and officially un- available spaces, enjoyed a greater variety of public venues in major cities such as Beijing, Shanghai, Wuhan, Guangzhou, and Chengdu. Private art galleries, live music bars, bookstore-cafés or -teahouses, and theater-restau- rants not only are proving the cultural diversity and vitality of today’s China, but are profitable businesses. Recent cultural policy under the regime of Xi Jinping, however, has cracked down on the public screening of films that have not been officially sanctioned, so viewers following con- temporary visual culture have to resort to more creative and inconspicuous ways to get access to it. These new documentaries have created a new lan- guage of images; they are a “literature” that takes the visuality and accessi- bility of modern Chinese culture to a new level, invigorating online culture as well as mainstream media through their influence.
Though the circuits of production and distribution or consumption of independent films are urban and elite, their content is far from it. The cel- ebrated contemporary filmmaker Jia Zhangke is an excellent case in point. Jia creates both documentaries and narrative films, but his narrative films (including Xiao Wu, The World, Still Life, and A Touch of Sin), un- like those of prominent directors of the older generation such as Zhang Yimou and Chen Kaige, are very documentary-like portraits of the bleak environments of contemporary China—urban, rural, as well as semirural places such as his hometown of Fenyang, Shanxi province (C. Berry, 2004; M. Berry, 2005, 2009; Cui, 2006; Z. Zhang, 2007; McGrath, 2008). This shows both the “Sixth Generation” filmmakers’ resistance to the aes- theticization of Chinese culture and history as well as the burgeoning doc- umentarists’ focus on the depravations of contemporary Chinese society. Jia emerged as an independent filmmaker like the documentarists de- scribed above, but unlike most of them he has achieved a degree of offi- cial recognition and support due in part to extraordinary enthusiasm for his films among film critics and discriminating audiences around the world.
Not all popular culture necessarily reflects a politically liberal view- point; for example, the resurgence of interest and nostalgia in the bygone era of Chinese socialism, which takes a wide variety of forms. The public intellectuals who used to be the liberal vanguard of the 1980s democracy movements are now less conspicuous, being replaced by more nationalistic voices who target the evils of globalization and the disappearance of what they perceive as the moral compass of prereform socialist China. On a more popular level, this can also be seen in large groups of city dwellers gather- ing in parks to joyously sing “Red songs” from the first seventeen years of
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the People’s Republic, and even from the Cultural Revolution. On televi- sion, high-budget serial dramas reenact the tumultuous history of the Com- munist Party and the revolution with young movie stars and singers playing the roles of historical figures they would be too young to remember. Some of these slick productions are loosely based on “Red classics,” epic novels written in the 1950s and 1960s that have also been reissued in deluxe edi- tions found not only in bookstores, in some cases (e.g., Red Crag or Hong yan, 1962) even in supermarkets. “Red tourism,” one of many forms of socialist-themed consumerism, takes record numbers of travelers along the route of the Long March, to the Jiangxi Soviet and the Yan’an wartime Communist base area in northern Shaanxi, to rekindle reverence for the leaders of the Chinese revolution. This trend reached a new height in the policies of Chongqing mayor Bo Xilai (see also Chapter 4), who made ex- traordinary efforts to promote “Red nostalgia” in his city through cultural events, educational policies, and urban planning. Despite Bo’s ignominious fall from power, Xi Jinping, China’s unusually strong new leader, continues to ride the wave of this socialist nostalgia (J. Li and Zhang, 2016). Much of this, as can be imagined, finds itself being parodied in the forms of elec- tronic media mentioned above, but it nevertheless enjoys considerable pop- ular support.
The overwhelming surge of visual culture may seem to have pushed print media into the margins, yet there is growing vitality and popularity in the world of Internet literature and more commercial popular forms. The in- troduction of the Internet in the mid-1990s initially impacted the literary scene by offering a new means of disseminating literary works and com- mentary about them, which was valuable particularly to the poetry scene (Inwood, 2014; Hockx, 2015; Schleep, 2015). But as the Chinese Internet commercialized, there began to emerge new kinds of writing that have be- come popular among young readers. The authors of the new Internet litera- ture are themselves very young, and they are often entirely unknown to the literary establishment, as they usually have no connection to the official Chinese Writer’s Association, nor do many of them aspire to become part of the establishment. One of the biggest differences in literary practice of these new online trends is an unprecedented focus on genre fiction—ghost stories, romance, martial arts, fantasy, detective novels, science fiction—in short, a broad spectrum of popular literature, a good deal of which harks back to traditional popular material such as the Three Kingdoms and Out- laws of the Marsh (Besio and Tung, 2007; X. Tian, 2015). This applies to the culture of online gaming as well. In addition, the interactive platforms through which readers engage in the new popular literary culture have blurred the distinction between author and reader: increasingly authors are writing sequels or bold fan fiction rewrites of works they admire as readers, or they engage collectively in continuing popular stories (Chao, 2013; J.
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Feng, 2009, 2014; Hamm, 2005; Herold and Marolt, 2011; Inwood, 2014; S. Kong, 2014; Nie, 2013; Tian, 2015).
Among these, the return of science fiction to the literary scene after a brief wave of popularity in the 1980s has brought a level of seriousness and broader relevance to the panoply of popular literature, which has otherwise become almost a world unto itself (D. Wu and Murphy, 1989). Recently, there have been many studies devoted to this remarkable outpouring of sci- ence fiction. The first issue of Science Fiction Studies in 2013 was devoted to science fiction in China, with articles by contemporary authors such as Han Song and Liu Cixin and scholars including Mingwei Song (Guo, 2015; Song, 2013; S. Xu, 2016). To date, two Chinese authors have won the inter- nationally prestigious Hugo Award for science fiction: the experienced pio- neer Liu Cixin, whose massive novel The Three Body Problem has become one of the most globally popular Chinese novels ever written, and Hao Jingfang, a brilliant member of the younger generation of science fiction writers and herself a researcher at Tsinghua University, who managed to edge out Stephen King for the novellette category of the Hugo with her Folding Beijing (Liu Cixin, 2016; K. Liu, 2016).
Another popular author who has similarly won international acclaim is the children’s literature author, Cao Wenxuan (2009, 2017). Like Liu Cixin, Cao is also a seasoned author who has worked long and hard at his craft to finally see it result in recognition, when he was the first Chinese author to win the Hans Christian Anderson Award in 2016. Children’s literature had always been valued in China, but always as a niche genre and its authors were generally not afforded the respect given to authors of “serious litera- ture.” Chinese children’s literature also never had global exposure and im- pact until now.
The popularity and financial success of these writers has caused the lit- erary establishment to sit up and take notice, but has also had the effect of taking public attention away from established authors such as Wang Anyi, Yu Hua, and Mo Yan. Some of these writers and the critics who write about them raise questions about the value and depth of popular literature. By now, however, you will recognize that this pattern of cultural elites being challenged and overtaken by popular culture is inherent to the Chinese cul- tural tradition.
Conclusion The apparent triumph of popular culture over the elite in contemporary China makes an apt ending to this account of Chinese literature and popu- lar culture. Perhaps the most significant contribution of popular culture to elite (written) literature throughout the ages is its challenge to orthodox moral values and literary forms with an alternative set of values based on
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sensitivity and emotional response. This is the serious message underlying its comic subversions of or perfunctory nods toward conventional moral- ity— alternative canons that, instead of paying lip service to moral excel- lence (as did the Classic of Poetry for the Confucians), celebrate grace, generosity of spirit, a great capacity for love, and emotional integrity.
These values underlie, for instance, the alternate canon of Jin Sheng- tan, an influential seventeenth-century editor and literary critic who hon- ored, as the “Six Works of Genius,” the masterpieces of their respective genres: Qu Yuan’s Encountering Sorrow, the Zhuangzi, Records of the His- torian, the poems of Du Fu, Outlaws of the Marsh, and Romance of the Western Chamber. The works in Jin’s canon have in common—along with a noticeable self-distancing from the orthodox classics of Confucianism, which were the common denominator of everyone’s literacy—values of emotional integrity, intuition, and the immediacy of experience.
Feng Menglong, a late Ming dramatist and editor of vernacular short stories and an avid transcriber of popular tunes and folk songs as well, was perhaps one of the earliest figures in China to offer vocal defense of the unique values of popular cultural forms:
In this world, the literary minds are few, but the rustic ears are many. Therefore, the short story relies more on the popularizer than on the stylist. Just ask the storyteller to describe a scene on the spot, and it will gladden and startle, sadden and cause you to lament; it will prompt you to draw the sword; at other times to bow deeply in reverence, to break someone’s neck, or to contribute money. The timid will be made brave; the lewd chaste; the nig- gardly liberal; and the stupid and dull, perspiring with shame. Even though you would recite every day the Classic of Filial Piety and the Analects, you would never be moved as swiftly and profoundly as by these storytellers. Alas! Could such results be achieved by anything but popular colloquial writ- ing? (W. Liu, 1966:216; M. Feng, 1994)
By emphasizing the popular underside of traditional Chinese culture on the one hand and the persistent traditional underside of modern Chinese culture on the other, I do not mean to claim that Chinese cultural forms are essentially unchanging, only that a large portion of China’s cultural vitality tends to flourish quite outside the power of cultural elites to control it. Cul- tural orthodoxies are always built on a dazzling profusion of cultural activ- ity, commonly drawing material and techniques from it (Kraus, 2004).
The idea of civil service as the only appropriate goal for the cultivation of literacy and knowledge remains prevalent in the Chinese-speaking world (mainland China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, and the Chinese diaspora throughout the world), only partially displaced by the modern values of professionalism, science, individualism, democracy, and the autonomy of art. This is one reason the tensions between popular and elite, entertainment and edification, common and sophisticated remain at the center of Chinese
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debates on culture to the present day (Zha, 1995), as they have throughout the ages. The current ascendancy of popular culture is cause for celebration only insofar as it can foster those aspects that made traditional Chinese popular culture impossible to ignore and yet impossible for the literati to completely assimilate.
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14 Trends and Prospects
Robert E. Gamer and Lynn T. White III
At Chinese New Year celebrations, parents deliver little red packets filled with coins to children and friends. They light firecrackers to scare away bad ghosts, hang red-and-gold wall signs that call future pros- perity to pour down, and everybody in a family eats long noodles for long life. At this festival to welcome spring, Chinese try to pay all debts and start spring afresh.
We, too, should think about the future of the most populous nation. It is bound to have an enormous impact not just on the lives of the Chinese peo- ple, but on us all. In the United States, discussion of China’s future tends to center on these questions:
• Will China’s economy and trade continue to boom? • Will China become more democratic? Would elections help? • Will its policy toward Taiwan be peaceful, and will Beijing find ways to accommodate Hong Kong’s noncommunists or Tibet’s Buddhists?
• Can the nation serve its patriotic goals, and will other powers let it do so, if it emerges as a Pacific superpower?
We want you to see how our coauthors in this volume, and authors of other volumes, approach these questions. So we are grouping together a number of books and articles here. When we have a large number, we are placing them at the end of this chapter as endnotes. That will make it easier for you to reference them and to read the following paragraphs.
Many scholars focus on factors that transform China and might—or might not—push the traditionally centralist government in a more forbear- ing tolerant direction.1Others focus on prospects for a more united, but less
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democratic China; they point to factors that either sustain political continu- ity or slow economic growth.2 Some guess a “vertical democracy” might emerge to keep the country united as it grows (Naisbitt and Naisbitt, 2010). Some look back to the Maoist system’s knack for adapting to new chal- lenges (Heilman and Perry, 2011). Some wonder whether this will be re- peated in the time of Xi Jinping and his possible successors. Many recent books argue that China’s “economic miracle” has increased demands on the government—and that these pleas will not be satisfied because natural re- sources and civic values remain scarce.3 Others are more optimistic, and various crystal balls offer different visions depending on the viewer’s posi- tion.4 No one can predict China’s future with certainty, but we can make suggestions on ways to look for clues.
China is already a major part of the world economy. By about 2020, it will have the largest gross national product. Yet China will still have many poor people, a shortage of workers (partly because of the previous one- child norm), and many people who are frustrated by scarcities of good jobs, fair local politicians, sufficient water, and clean air. Many urban Chinese have smoldering resentment of perceived national humiliations (guochi) by Western imperialist powers and Japan since the 1840s. Yet leadership fac- tions in Beijing, even those that are culturally and politically most conser- vative, as well as many ordinary citizens get benefits from China’s trade with the outside world. Other countries now rely on China for inexpensive manufactured goods, investment in the bonds of developed countries, infra- structure projects for developing nations, and diplomatic help in settling in- ternational problems.
The chapters in this book that concern families, women, religions, and popular cultures all point to tremendous changes in Chinese expectations resulting from these economic and social changes. Families (jia) provide a basic model for the state family (guojia). Dynasties for two millennia cen- tered on particular imperial families. Many current leaders, including Xi Jinping, are offspring of fathers who for decades were important in the rev- olutionary CCP family, whose head was Mao Zedong. Familism finds mod- ern forms.
Mao was sometimes a forceful centralizer, especially as the socialist state consolidated itself from 1949 to 1956. But he was at other times a de- centralizer, mobilizing provincial and local dictators to help suppress his ri- vals in Beijing—and dividing the CCP family severely. His Great Leap For- ward institutions, along with his decimation of urban bureaucrats in the Cultural Revolution, provided later freedoms for local township and village entrepreneurs. From the early 1970s, these fueled China’s phenomenal eco- nomic advance. Their businesses were successors rather than renouncers of Mao in his decentralist phase.5 Chapter 1 points to “creative tensions” in China’s society. The nation has occasions either to unify or to pluralize
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from each of its tensions: between Confucianism or capitalism, reaching in- ward or outward, popular or formal traditions, decentralized power or Bei- jing centralism.
Today, obvious snapping points for those tensions are in Hong Kong and Taiwan. These rich anticommunist places have aided mainland China’s market economy growth. Yet Beijing centralists want to counter peripheral places’ liberal influences on Chinese politics. Mainland bloggers’ calls for greater openness, together with cultural demands by Tibetans, Uyghurs, and others, allow Beijing conservatives to claim that the country could break apart. That will not actually happen because China’s army remains strong, but paranoias and perceived past insults to China from Westerners and Japanese are used by socialist conservatives to justify stern measures against activists. Beijing’s appeals to nationalism rouse fears among for- eigners in turn, potentially endangering peace.
Prosperity will be threatened if China does not tackle its serious macro- economic, legal, demographic, social, and environmental problems. Promi- nent among these is the growing disparity between urban rich and rural poor people. The melting of the Himalayan glaciers and consequent lower- ing of water tables, fed by the Yellow River in north China, is a specific major issue whose solution is global and difficult to implement. A new gen- eration of Chinese citizens who demand that such problems be solved is growing. They want their nation to be strong, but many have become skep- tical alike of capitalist, democratic, and socialist solutions. They hope for new approaches, but are unsure what these might be. Many writers have of- fered highly readable introductions to this mindset.6
New people are taking important institutional posts and debating ways in which the country can develop a Chinese-style “civil society” to tackle its problems (discussed in Chapter 4). This new generation is connected to the Internet; and well over 500 million Chinese, mostly young, are online. Many are conversant in English, as increasing numbers of Chinese teenagers take the required foreign language exam to enter a university.7 Various blogs crit- icize corruption, greed, mismanagement, the gap between rich and poor, and even a government run by princelings who can choose their own successors. Some lean toward change and liberalization, while others in the “new left” have gained fame in intellectual circles, as Charles A. Laughlin discusses in Chapter 13. These leftists are really conservatives for socialism, wanting a return to the enthusiastic populist style they recall from the Mao era.
Chinese people interviewed for the books referenced above tend not to think as many Westerners do; they do not stress the values of competition and debate. Nor do they think only in terms of centralist organization and control, as Orientalists who write about “Asian values” wish they would.8 Samuel Huntington posited the Orientalist notion that there will be a “clash of civilizations,” pitting the West against Islam and China (Huntington,
492 Robert E. Gamer and Lynn T.White III
1998; see Gamer, 1994). Bo Yang’s Ugly Chinaman and the River Elegy television series discussed in Chapter 13 also view “two worlds.” Occiden- talist approaches adopted by some in China view the West as seeking only profit and material comfort (Buruma and Margalit, 2004; X. Chen and Dai, 2003). But such dichotomous thinking is dubious. Frank Dikötter (1992) finds Chinese applying Western intellectual concepts about race and class to assert superiority over the West. If barbarians look over the fence and see barbarians, who is civilized?
Richard Madsen (1995) suggests that attempts to explain East and West in such simple terms create myths that reflect no Chinese reality, but only what we Westerners want to believe about ourselves. Actually, Asia’s old civilizations show great respect for authority and concern for social har- mony—often, but not always. They have now become diverse industrial- commercial civilizations. China has been pluralized under pragmatic tech- nocrats, and recently a wider range of professionals including bankers and lawyers (C. Li, 2016). Madsen points out that thinking in terms that con- trast East and West ignores truths such as the 1989 massacre at Tiananmen Square (or the September 11 attacks in the United States). These were led by individuals who were educated in modern technocratic traditions.
Among nations that have more than 10 million people, high per capita wealth correlates with liberal democracy. No regime type has ever been formed peacefully, however, without an elite decision to allow it. Centralist traditions in China inhibit, but do not foreclose, decisions for the demo- cratic type. Economic modernization does not move all people away from traditional habits of politics, and prosperity does not ensure a smooth path to agreement about who should rule. Elite or mass interests in patriotic wars, for example, have often disrupted democratization in large countries. But socioeconomic factors such as modern schools, pluralized media, or re- current protests for fairer government affect the cost-benefit calculations of elites as they decide at specific times how to rule, which causes to priori- tize, or whom to let into government.9
When the Asian Barometer Survey polled popular support for “three key Confucian meritocratic principles” in six countries that have strong Confucian backgrounds (including China) as well as five non-Confucian Asian nations, the pollsters surprisingly found that the non-Confucian countries were “attached to every meritocratic principle to a significantly greater extent” than the Confucian ones. “This finding casts serious doubt on the Confucian Asian Values Thesis” (Shin, 2013:283−284). Popular atti- tudes in East Asia support a mixture of examined meritocrats with elected democrats, as Western countries also have done in practice.
Some scholars argue that Chinese traditional ideas can celebrate indi- vidualism (deBary, 1983; Brindley, 2010). However that may be, Madsen suggests that we explore
Trends and Prospects 493
new moral visions . . . new American and Chinese dreams, drawing sacred power from the most resonant aspirations of their cultural traditions. These new moral visions would enable Americans, Chinese, and other peoples of the world to recognize the limitations as well as the strengths and insights of their various traditions; they would encourage them not only to tolerate but also to learn from each other and give them a realistic hope that they could see a new way forward to a just and prosperous world community. (Madsen, 1995:227)
Popular and elite feelings of national superiority combine with fears of the foreign to create international dangers that more balanced views could forestall in China and elsewhere. Rising powers in international systems have often started wars with established powers, frequently regretting the results later. But some “power transitions” have been pacific.10 Leaders de- termine what happens.
Creative tensions that offer hope for moderates in China and elsewhere nonetheless may also make it difficult to solve some problems. Hill Gates (1996) sees part of China’s strength as deriving from a tension between what she calls Chinese petty capitalism and its centralist fiscal system. China’s Confucian traditions gave families incentives to set up small firms to enrich their members while it also gave officials legitimacy to capture tribute from those enterprises. This kept money flowing, spurring the econ- omy and turning China into the world’s greatest economic powerhouse by the early nineteenth century (Frank, 1998). But Gates (1996) says the ar- rival of Western capitalism upset this delicate balance. Calls for open mar- kets, contract law, and rewards for people on the basis of ability eroded nepotism, interpersonal relations of trust (guanxi), bureaucratic traditions, and state controls on which the old system had been based for centuries. As many chapters in this book show, those Confucian values are still alive and well (see also Senghaas, 2001; R. B. Wong, 2000). Ironically, they are also a strong part of the reason why China’s economy is thriving as part of the world capitalist system. In Gates’s words:
East Asia is becoming Number One not because its social formations are becoming more capitalist but because the dynamic of a tributary mode that has captured a petty-capitalist one is geared up yet further by the capture of [world trade] capitalism The Chinese petty capitalist mode of production does not generate all the organizations and ideology necessary to extricate the Chinese from their persisting problems. But it contains some of them and is in any case the cultural raw material from which their future must inevitably be forged. (Gates, 1996:276, 280)
This view sees a dilemma: the more Chinese use their main political traditions, the less likely they are to accept democratic reforms such as a fair and impartial judicial system, protection of patents and other intellec-
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tual property rights, or removal of government controls on free markets or free speech. Those traditions are linked to the thrift, hard work, and entre- preneurial acumen of tightly knit family businesses that have been power- ing China’s economic resurgence. Gates (1996) may underestimate the ex- tent to which mixed norms allow practical approaches to muddle through problems. Another interpretation by John Fairbank (1953) suggests that Chinese and Western norms can combine in a “synarchy” that provides multiple choices in actual situations. The Chinese have in the past melded traditions of bureaucratic intellectuals with those of violent warriors (espe- cially when non-Han dynasties were in power; Fairbank and Goldman, 1991). They may similarly find ways to mix centralist norms with some pluralist ones.
Chinese family businesses have often been willing to pass decision- making into the hands of professional managers who let companies grow beyond their family roots. Chinese central politicians may yet find ways to deal with their claimed compatriots in Hong Kong and Taiwan, who are mostly anticentralist. In its long history, China’s thinkers have resolved many challenges and are likely to do so again. But Chinese will still want to nationalize their own solutions to problems. Methods are unlikely to be imposed successfully from the outside world. The question is whether free markets and expressive pluralism can be combined with habits of guanxi and devotion to state and family. This is not just a question for the PRC mainland; it extends to the Chinese diaspora too (Redding, 1990).
In Chapter 3, Rhoads Murphey points to traditional technologies, from irrigated paddies to bamboo carrying poles, that endured even after the sci- entific revolution swept in from the West. Likewise in Chapter 12, Chan Hoiman and Ambrose Y. C. King point to the resilience of Confucian guanxi relationships. They say, “This streak of conservatism can be both a blessing and a curse for China’s enigmatic transition into the modern world.” This is highly selective conservatism, stressing habits that best suit the moment. Private networks of social relations may weaken open institu- tional channels of organization, which are also seen in the Confucian tradi- tion, resisting social change and ignoring the needs of those to whom direct obligations are not owed.
Modern mainlanders rush to acquire the latest designer clothes, elec- tronic gear, fast-foods, and jeans to wear in karaoke bars. In Chapter 13, Laughlin notes that “boisterousness” is one of the defining characteristics of Chinese popular culture. He points to the current popularity of sex man- uals, pornography, martial arts, chivalric mythical heroes, outlaws, police work, and action films—none of which focus on social obligations. Laurel Bossen indicates in Chapter 11 that the clearest advances for women have been the chance to earn and spend cash on “frenzied consumer choices” of cosmetics, clothes, and home appliances. In Chapter 10, William Jankowiak
Trends and Prospects 495
and Zang Xiaowei point out that women having their own incomes gives them greater freedom to choose and divorce their mates. Yet Bossen and Jankowiak and Zang say that most Chinese women remain heavily influ- enced by their fathers and husbands; most remain loyal to patriarchal insti- tutions and patrilineages. The trends and continuities surveyed by these au- thors—the technologies, guanxi, consumerism, recreation, and family loyalty—foster small capitalist enterprises as well as the officials who exact tribute from them. The question remains whether China can adapt better to the outside world while taking steps toward the economic openness that Sarah Y. Tong and John Wong describe in Chapter 5.
Taiwan, South Korea, Japan, and to some extent Singapore and other Asian countries have democratized their societies while modernizing their economies (Lim, Siddique, and Feng, 2011; Calder, 2016). These places, however, do not face the task of unifying such a large and diverse popula- tion as China’s. Modernity in Southeast Asian states depends largely on overseas Chinese for reasons that Chapter 6 explains. Some guanxi connec- tions that strengthen the economic power of overseas Chinese are links back to the homeland. A turbulent and divided China not only would dis- turb those networks, but also the stability of Asia’s business climate. If problems of insolvent banks or breaking real estate bubbles brought a downturn to China’s economy, the effects would be felt throughout the re- gion and beyond. (Tong and Wong warn of “policy lending” in Chapter 5.) Other factors that could disturb peace in Asia would be a sharper Chinese challenge to Vietnam or perhaps even the Philippines for control of islands and oil under the sea south of Hainan, or especially a military conflict across the Taiwan Strait. Other Asian governments may wish to see China unified so that its political resentment of past insults subsides—but they want a China committed to peace, not war. That will depend on some con- tinuance of China’s economic growth, on policy decisions in Beijing, and on the (intentionally still ambiguous) Taiwan policies of the United States. Conflict is not inevitable. Chapter 7 notes that Chinese leaders prefer to keep negotiations behind the scenes (the current US president claims such skills too, although it is unclear whether he can have success from them). China’s leaders do not negotiate fruitfully under intense scrutiny by West- ern reporters. They deal best with counterparts who can put other countries’ interests in terms of China’s. If prosperity and peace endure, China pro- vides a vast market and investment target for other countries and will be at the center of a powerful East Asian economy.11
Ma Rong writes in Chapter 8 that “China has never been able to sur- vive with two nations, one rich and one poor.” In Murphey’s review of China’s history, he finds that, when dynasties stopped addressing major social problems, revolts often started. As Tong and Wong explain, the new economy is widening the gap between rich and poor, urban and rural.12
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Considerable civil unrest is already evident. Beijing has partially ad- dressed that problem with massive inland investments and repressions of dissent. But land takeovers have removed people from their homes and have often enriched local officials whom many protesters see as corrupt. Higher costs for food and housing, stagnant incomes for most people, en- demic exploitations of workers, shoddy constructions, rising production costs, and disruptions of communities naturally anger people (Oi, Rozelle, and Zhou, 2010).
Natural resource shortages curb economic growth in this most popu- lous country. China’s recent prosperity has depended on cheap credit, land, and energy. It is unclear whether the country can maintain adequate sup- plies of safe food, clean water, fresh air, and other necessities such as elec- tricity, petroleum, and wood.13 Degradation of China’s environment has long been a problem, as Murphey explains in Chapter 3. China also faces a demographic shortage of working people, compared to the number of re- tired seniors and young students, as Ma Rong shows (Chapter 8). Will the new measures to protect the environment that Robert E. Gamer (Chapter 4), Tong and Wong (Chapter 5), and Richard Louis Edmonds (Chapter 9) dis- cuss be adequate to support the population and bring the ecological degra- dation under control (J. Ma, 2004)?
The water shortage is particularly severe. If this problem is not solved, agricultural yields will decline. This could result in underfed children in poor provinces, a need to divert economic resources away from growth, and lower resistance to diseases (which can spread quickly around the world during flu and pneumonia seasons, as the 2003 SARS outbreak showed). So it is imperative that China work both at home and with international orga- nizations to find answers to such pressing questions, which are unlikely to be solved without global cooperation and without more rights for Chinese citizens to moot solutions.
China’s prospects for national unity, continued economic boom, move- ment toward more popular sovereignty, and peaceful adaptation to the world community depend on policies that China’s and other countries’ lead- ers will craft. Even within this single large nation, a source of China’s strength lies in the interdependence of its regions. Murphey points to the extensive cultural advances that came from the seagoing south while the inward-centered north imposed order. As Ma Rong says, the market econ- omy in which coastal people prospered most has been liveliest when effec- tive rulers held the country together. But long-term prospects for Tibet and Xinjiang are murky even though these areas will continue under Beijing’s rule. Ma Rong, referring to the regions Stanley W. Toops introduces in Chapter 2 as “China Proper” and “the Frontier,” points to the “tie and ten- sion between the interior and the coast.” Although minorities in western areas have reasons to want more cultural autonomy, it would be hard for
Trends and Prospects 497
them to advance economically on their own. Tibet and Xinjiang are now less separate from China in cultural terms than they historically were be- cause of economic development, urbanization, and westward Han migra- tion. Yet Tibet’s religious traditions differ from those of Han China. Islam, the religion of many in the vast west, is even further removed from Chinese culture. Like Christianity, Islam enjoins belief in immortality, ecstasy, and heavenly salvation for individuals by an omnipotent supreme God, with punishment in hell for those who reject the appeal of a prophet. In the words of Chan and King in Chapter 12, “religious institutions can promote stability” so long as they “stay within the bounds of politics.” A suicide bomber seeking immortality through ecstatic self-detonation challenges Han national experience, and milder forms of such ecstasy can also be seen as running counter to Chinese values. If the nation is to develop a worldly syncretism between its norms and those that have come from outside, it will develop more spiritual syncretism as well.
Despite pluralization in the economy and society, it is unlikely that China will adopt Western-style democracy in the foreseeable future. Deng Xiaoping, whose advice Chinese leaders still revere, made fun of “democ- racy for those who have a monopoly on capital, nothing more than multiple parties, elections. How could we possibly do that?” (Pantsov and Levine, 2015:395). Xi Jinping, starting soon after he rose to the top in 2012, has tried to strengthen China’s ideological unity behind the CCP’s structure, which still extols “dictatorship” supposedly for the proletariat.14 The party’s leaders dislike separations of power. They favor rule of law in a form that centralizes rights. Demagogues might find they could win elections on chauvinist-populist platforms, perhaps especially if they called for coercion against Taiwan. If such a patriotic war failed, or if they began to have more frequent voting that stirred mass interests, authoritarians could benefit in the short run while inadvertently developing a more tolerant polity in the long run (as actually occurred in that “lost” Chinese island province).15 If China were to become more democratic, this is the bumpy road that it might travel.
In 1989 at Tiananmen, the CCP was shocked by a challenge from would-be democrats. The best-reported part of its response was coercive re- pression at that time, but the central party has also consolidated support among local leaders (as it actually had been doing for many previous years) by allowing them to privatize for themselves previous state and communal property. “Crony capitalism” has been a problem in many postsocialist states, including Russia and Ukraine. Land seizures, in particular, have led to many “mass incidents”; that is, political protests at local levels (Pei, 2016; White, 1998).
President Xi has led a major campaign against corruption, deposing the party’s chief of state security, senior executives of state-owned companies,
498 Robert E. Gamer and Lynn T.White III
powerful generals of the army, a demagogic mayor of Chongqing, and many others. Biographical work on China’s leaders shows they now include two major coalitions: one associated with CCP general secretary Xi (and Jiang Zemin, who held that post from 1989 to 2002), and the other associ- ated with Premier Li Keqiang (and Hu Jintao, who held this top post from 2002 to 2012). Xi’s camp includes most elite princeling offspring of revo- lutionary leaders in Mao’s time, especially from relatively rich coastal provinces (and Shaanxi, which is not coastal); they tend to be political con- servatives and economic liberals. Premier Li’s camp includes many pop- ulists who grew up inland, led provincial governments, and worked in the Communist Youth League whose main job is to groom new leaders. These two large coalitions currently balance each other. Every major political in- stitution is headed by a member of one camp with a deputy from the alter- native. (This is at present true of the Politburo Standing Committee [PSC], the presidency and vice presidency, the State Council [premier’s Cabinet], the Central Military Commission, the CCP Secretariat, the National Peo- ple’s Congress, the Supreme Court, and the Procurate.)
Xi’s camp currently dominates the most important body, the PSC, and there is some chance that at the autumn 2017 Party Congress Xi might ex- tend this authority. But because the Central Committee that will elect new leaders includes fewer members from Xi’s camp than from the Youth League coalition, Xi might well face constraints (C. Li, 2016). Xi might be able to overturn the institutional rules about retirement ages and leadership succession that have guided China for several decades, but it is unsure whether he can do this.
China’s international policies are linked to domestic politics. It is un- likely that this most populous country will again withdraw from the “world community of nations,” as it did in Mao’s time, even though its leaders re- sent Western powers’ efforts to set the norms of the global community. China and overseas Chinese have become too absorbed in world trade, and global markets have become too dependent on China, to allow for the soon-to-be- largest economy’s defection without great cost to itself. Long- time commentator James Fallows notes that “so many people have so much to lose from any radical change that the country’s own buffering forces would contain a disruption even if the government weren’t cracking down so hard. . . . An uneasy status quo might go on indefinitely” (2011:58). China has the human and natural resources to sustain both eco- nomic growth and political unity, if its leaders use these assets in the peo- ple’s interest.
China’s government still has cause for economic worry. To fuel its dy- namic growth, it has relied on massive housing and infrastructure projects, high domestic savings, and profits from a heavy stream of exports bolstered by low labor costs and an undervalued yuan. That leaves it vulnerable to
Trends and Prospects 499
uncertainties in fluctuating global markets and overextended bank loans. China’s growth is inevitably slowing as total GDP rises, and some capital is fleeing. Now, the nation needs to create more domestic consumers to buy the new products and vacant apartments that its economy produces (World Bank and Development Research Center, 2012; Gerth, 2004). Chinese citi- zens who face unemployment or low wages, poor welfare services, and rap- idly rising prices cannot make big purchases. They may be unhappy about that if they watch their rich neighbors driving around in BMWs and Masaratis.
Environmental degradation threatens water supplies, public health, and the quality of life. Yet if individuals cannot organize and exercise free speech, if the national government cannot control greed among provincial or local officials and businesses, and if entrepreneurs cannot adopt new knowledge-based innovations, it will be increasingly difficult to raise in- comes or provide adequate jobs and health insurance. Aging couples with just one child to help them need better pensions. Youths need curricula that can encourage creativity, not just memorization. Reducing the gap between rural poor and urban rich would provide more social stability. The habit of passing power to party princelings isolates top leaders from direct experi- ences of these realities and makes them look only inward, wary of trying new policies or recruiting new kinds of talent. The young generation of tweeters and bloggers, who talk about these problems, are only slowly de- veloping skills to organize themselves and conceive solutions.
If China is to achieve a civil society that can keep its strengths as its role in the global economy grows, education may be the biggest challenge of all. Can the government in its many layers strengthen ways to seek truth, address social problems, and warn officials when their policies are ineffec- tive? That will not be easy. The Chinese political system is nonetheless the oldest on our planet; it has survived many past problems. With good luck, goodwill from other countries, and good leaders, China’s future could be modern and fair.
Notes 1. He, 2007; He and Guo, 2000; Leib and He, 2010; S. Hu, 2000; Gilley, 2005; C. Li, 2016. 2. Friedman, 1995; Friedman and McCormick, 2000; Lever-Tracy, Ip, and Noel, 1996;
Bell, Jayasuriya, and Jones, and et al., 1995; Pearson, 2000; Gallagher, 2005; Tsai, 2007; Shirk, 2007; Pei, 2008; Dickson, 2008; Gifford, 2007:165–169, 229–258, 275–285; Peeren- boom, 2008; Wright, 2010; C. Li, 2016; Pei, 2016.
3. D. Ma and Adams, 2013; Abrami, Kirby, and McFarlan, 2014; Fenby, 2017; Haft, 2015; Gurtov, 2013; M. Li, 2015; Osborg, 2013; see also Wang, 2011; for theory, Huntington, 1968; and for contrast, Liu, 2015. Pomeranz, 2001; Westad, 2012; Headrick, 2012; and Schell and Delary, 2014, explore Chinese leaders’ past luck and misfortune with regard to resources and the timing of technologies to use them.
4. J. Chen, 2016; C. Li, 2008; J. Wong and Bo, 2010:13–54, 365–400; Keith, 2009; Callahan, 2013; Spence, 1999.
500 Robert E. Gamer and Lynn T.White III
5. A. Chan, Madsen, and Unger, 1984:213ff.; Madsen, 1984; White, 1998; Wei, 1998; K. X. Zhou, 1996; Croll, 1994; D. L. Yang, 1996; Heilman and Perry, 2011.
6. Hansen and Svarverud, 2010; Fallows, 2009; Gifford, 2007; Mexico, 2009; Rofel, 2007; Xinran, 2010; Hessler, 2010; Chang, 2008; Dautcher, 2009; Niederhauser, 2009; Lee, 2008; Li Zhang and Ong, 2008; Li Zhang, 2010; C. Li, 2010; Dutton, Lo, and Wu, 2010; Lijia Zhang, 2008; Carlson and Gallagher, 2010; Fewsmith, 2010.
7. Zheng, 2007; Tai, 2006; Y. Zhou, 2005; G. Yang, 2009. 8. See examples—and criticisms—of Orientalist approaches in Said, 1979; Isaacs, 1958;
Wittfogel, 1981; Tu, 1995; Hodder, 2000; Jesperson, 1999; Munro, 2001; Vukovich, 2011; White, 2015:220ff.; Cohen, 2010; Gamer, 1994.
9. Lipset, 1969; Rustow, 1970; Przeworski and Limongi, 1997; Boix, 2003; Boix and Stokes, 2003; Teorell, 2010; Tarrow, 2011; Shirk, 1993:116−127; C. Li, 2016; Pareto, [1901] 1979.
10. Thucydides, 1954 (c. 431 BCE); Obbema, 2015; S. Chan, 2008. 11. On these diplomatic and economic prospects, see Christensen, 2015; Lardy, 2012; Pet-
tis, 2014; Nye, 2015; Redding, 1990; Seagrave, 1995; Lever-Tracy, Ip, and Noel, 1996; Brown, 2000; Gambe, 2000; Ash, Shambaugh and Takagi, 2006; Chung, 2006; Meredith, 2007:188–216; Dittmer and Liu, 2006; M. Li, 2009; Subramanian, 2011; Paulson, 2015; Bader, 2012; Coker, 2015; Dyer, 2014; Grygiel and Mitchell, 2016; Holslag, 2015; Lynch, 2015; Pillsbury, 2015; A. Hu, 2012; Hung, 2015; King, 2016; Roach, 2014; Rosecrance and Miller, 2014; Schell and Delary, 2014; Shambaugh, 2016; Teinberg and O’Hanlon, 2015; and especially Goldstein, 2015.
12. See also Unger, 2002; Whyte, 2010; Davis, 2009; Huang, 2008; Liao, 2009; Xinran, 2010.
13. Elvin, 2006; Economy, 2005; Duara, 2014, who also cites Asian traditions for sustain- ability.
14. Constitution of the People’s Republic of China: Preamble and Article 1; on restless- ness, Link, Madsen, and Pickowicz, 2013; on Xi, Godemont, 2016.
15. White, 2016:53, 205−229; for comparative precedents, Gandhi and Lust-Okar, 2009; Brownlee, 2009; Levitsky and Way, 2002; White, 2015:100−134; Rigger, 1999.
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Participation in China. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
The Contributors
Laurel Bossen is professor emerita of anthropology at McGill University, Mon- treal, Quebec, and a Radcliffe Institute of Advanced Study Fellow. Her publications include Bound Feet, Young Hands: Tracking the Demise of Footbinding in Village China, and Chinese Women and Rural Development: 60 Years of Change in Lu Vil- lage, Yunnan.
Richard Louis Edmonds is former senior lecturer of geography, King’s College, University of London, and editor of The China Quarterly. His publications include China’s Embedded Activism: Opportunities and Constraints of a Social Movement and Patterns of China’s Lost Harmony: A Survey of the Country’s Environmental Degradation and Protection.
Robert E. Gamer is professor emeritus of political science at the University of Missouri, Kansas City. His publications include The Politics of Urban Development in Singapore, The Developing Nations: A Comparative Perspective, and Govern- ment and Politics in a Changing World.
Chan Hoiman is associate professor of sociology at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. His publications include On Enlightenment: Sociology and Chinese Enlightenment.
William Jankowiak is professor of anthropology at the University of Nevada. His publications include Chinese Family (coauthored with Robert Moore), Sex, Death and Hierarchy in a Chinese City: An Anthropological Account, and Romantic Pas- sion: The Universal Experience?
Ambrose Y. C. King is professor emeritus of sociology at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. His publications include The Idea of University, Chinese Politics and Culture, and Chinese Society and Culture.
507
508 The Contributors
Charles A. Laughlin is professor of Chinese literature and Weeden Chair in East Asian Studies at the University of Virginia. His publications include By the River: Seven Contemporary Chinese Novellas, The Literature of Leisure and Chinese Modernity, Contested Modernities in Chinese Literature, and Chinese Reportage: The Aesthetics of Historical Experience.
Ma Rong is professor of sociology in the Department of Sociology at the Institute of Sociology and Anthropology, Beijing University. His publications include Popu- lation and Society in Contemporary Tibet and Ethnic Relations in Social Transfor- mation.
Rhoads Murphey, who passed away in 2012, retired as professor emeritus of his- tory at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. His publications include East Asia: A New History, A History of Asia, and The Outsiders: Westerners in India and China.
Sarah Y. Tong, an economist, is a researcher with the East Asian Institute at the National University of Singapore. Her publications include China and Global Eco- nomic Crisis and Trade, Investment, and Economic Integration (Vol. 2 of Globaliza- tion, Development, and Security in Asia).
Stanley W. Toops is associate professor of geography and international studies at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. His publications include The Routledge Atlas of Central Eurasian Affairs and International Studies: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Global Issues.
Lynn T. White III is professor emeritus and senior research scholar in the Woodrow Wilson School, Politics Department, and East Asian Studies Program at Princeton University. His publications include Unstately Power, Democratization in Hong Kong—and China?, Philippine Politics, Political Booms, Policies of Chaos, and Careers in Shanghai.
John Wong is professor of economics and research director at the East Asian In- stitute at the National University of Singapore. His publications include APEC and the Rise of China, China’s Reform in Global Perspective, China’s Emerging New Economy, and China’s Economy into the New Century.
Zang Xiaowei is dean of the College of Liberal Arts and Social Sciences at City University of Hong Kong. His publications include Uyghur Conceptions of Family and Society, Understanding Chinese Society, Ethnicity in China: A Critical Intro- duction, and Ethnicity and Urban Life in China.
Index
abortions: sex selective, 286, 350, 354–355. See also child bearing; one-child policy
Africa: and China soft power, 245, 239, 264; Chinese trade with 138, 253, 265, 314, 325; early inhabitants of, 40–41; jasmine revolutions in, 116, 266; recognizing Taiwan, 208; Zheng He’s voyage to, 61–62
Afghanistan, 251–252, 301 aging population, 161, 170, 288, 302, 338,
358–360, 388 agriculture: imperial, 44, 64, 152, 278, 293;
under Mao, 88–96; under Mao’s successors, 33, 110, 113–114, 292, 311, 314, 381; regional crop distribution, 25, 28, 33, 277–278, 282. See also economic reforms; individual crops
agricultural communes, 91–93, 150–152, 219, 283, 290, 296, 318, 341–342. See also agriculture, under Mao
agricultural cooperatives, 87, 90–92, 96–97, 290. See also economic reforms; household responsibility system; mutual aid teams; township and village enterprises
AIDS, 354, 357. See also sexuality airports, 5, 16, 20, 94, 150, 206, 220, 252 Alibaba. See consumer goods Amdo, 212, 214–215. See also Tibet animism, 212, 407–409, 411 artisans: feudal, 68, 80; pre-PRC, 148, 211,
452, 459. See also baojia; guilds; Industrial Revolution; inventions; porcelain; silk; technology
arts: acrobats, 456, 462; balladeer, 456; cinema and television, 11, 119, 142, 194, 221, 391, 456, 467–482, 492; fortune- telling, 60, 377, 447; martial arts, 458, 465, 474, 479, 494; opera, 437, 460–464, 476–475; plays, 460–462; qigong, 115, 436, 474; storytellers, 60, 212, 451–460, 462, 465, 467, 475, 481
atomic bomb, 241; development of, 92–93, 246–247
Australia, 7, 182, 255, 259; compared to China, 182, 255, 320
automobiles: manufacturing of, 110, 142, 320; ownership of, 1, 3, 6, 14–16, 108, 121, 157, 165; in Tibet, 220. See also consumer goods; highways; petroleum
autonomous regions, 215, 219, 251, 299, 301, 356, 393. See alsoMongolia, Inner; Ningxia; Qinghai; Tibet; Xinjiang
banking: in Hong Kong and Macau, 188, 192; post-Mao, 111, 117, 121, 152, 164, 243; before the PRC, 67–68; in Taiwan, 207. See also currency; World Bank
baojia, 88, 110, 148. See also danwei; housing
barbarians, 11, 23, 45, 52, 62, 65–66, 80, 236–239, 492
Beijing (Peking): the arts in, 473–474, 477– 478, 480; as capital, 40, 62, 64, 67, 88; demonstrations in, 14, 97–98; ecology of, 15, 32; economy of, 1–4, 6–7, 14–16, 141; elites in, 490; Richard Nixon’s visit to, 203; University, 97; vehicles in, 14–15.
509
510 Index
See also demonstrations; diplomatic corps; Olympics; Tiananmen Square
bicycles, 2, 294, 391; electric, 3 billionaires, 7, 104, 136–137, 170, 190, 210.
See also rich-poor gap birth control, 277, 284–287, 351, 387; and
contraception, 350, 387. See also abortions; child-bearing; infant mortality; infanticide; one-child policy
birth rate, 162, 284–285, 397. See also population size
Bon, 212–213, 217, 222. See also shamanism; Tibet
bourgeois: as a Marxist concept, 90–95, 101, 339; the new middle class, 112–114
Boxer rebellion, 240–241, 371, 429–430. See also Christianity; missionaries; Tianjin
Brazil, 138, 239, 265; BRICS, 266 Britain. See United Kingdom bronze, 42–44, 46, 49, 407, 452. See also
iron; mining brothers, 356–357, 369, 380; in Confucian
thinking, 80, 112, 341–342. See also children; family; filial piety; sons; youths
Buddhism: historic emergence of, 24, 46–47, 52, 419–420; sacred grottoes, 420; tenets and practices of, 24, 419–427; Tibetan, 212–218, 221. See also arts, storytellers; Bon; Dalai Lama; monasteries; Tibet
bullet trains. See railroads, high speed trains Burma (Myanmar), 138, 237; China’s trade
and relations with, 240, 244–249, 253– 254, 259, 265. See also Southeast Asia
cadres. See Communist Party Cambodia, 138, 181, 245, 247–249, 259 Canada, 183, 192, 287 canals, 50, 57, 69, 81; Panama, 319; Suez,
188. See also Grand Canal; irrigation; transportation
Canton. See Guangzhou Cantonese. See Chinese language, dialects capitalism, Chinese style: before the twentieth
century, 10–12, 83, 110, 405–406, 493–494; during the twentieth and twenty- first centuries, 88–90, 93, 96–97, 110–113, 117, 153–154, 497–498. See also commerce; economic reforms; merchants
cars. See automobiles cell phones, smartphones, tablets, laptops,
Macs and PCs, number of, 11, 151, 221–222, 345, 388, 396. See also consumer goods; demonstrations; Internet
Central Commission for Discipline Inspection, 105, 115, 120. See also corruption; courts
Chen Shui-bian, 205, 207, 257 Chang’an. See Xi’an Chiang Kai-shek, 67, 85–88, 188, 202–204,
225, 241–243. See also Kuomintang child bearing, 283; family structure and,
337–343, 346–347, 350; of minorities 298; the one-child policy and, 286, 350, 386–387; the two-child policy and, 287 388. See also abortions; infant mortality; infanticide; mothers; one-child policy; two-child policy; parents; population size
children: and divorce, 348–349; of low income families, 377; of migrant workers, 293, 297; of minorities, 298; of overseas Chinese, 182–183; sale of, 373–374; support of aging parents 357–359. See also brothers; child bearing; daughters; education; family; health care; sisters; sons; youths
Chinese Dream, 119 Chinese language, dialects: Cantonese, 26, 53,
60; Fujianese, 53–54, 200–202 Chinese language, spoken, 398; explained,
7–8; variations in, 26. See also Chinese language, dialects; Mandarin
Chinese language, written: explained, 7–8, 23, 26; origins of, 43, 446–448; transliteration of, 8–9, or minority languages, 298–299. See also literacy; literati; Mandarin; novels; pinyin; printing
Chinese, overseas: China’s policies toward, 180, 182–184; citizenship of, 184; education of, 182–184; families of, 60, 179–182; as investors in China, 7, 11, 184. See also Hong Kong; merchants; Taiwan
Chongqing, 9, 67, 86, 158; Bo Xilai, 117–118, 263, 326–327; Three Gorges dam, 29–34, 328–330
Christianity, 8, 10–11, 238, 407, 426–440. See also Boxer rebellion; Jesuits; missionaries; religion; Taiping rebellion
civil service. See literati civil society, 117, 491, 499. See also
democracy clans, 12; in the imperial era, 48, 82–83, 149,
279, 375, 408, 419. See also patriarchy climate, 17, 32–34, 54; change, 241, 266–267,
310, 314–315, 330–331. See also desert; desertification; floods; glaciers; precipitation; water
cloth, manufacture of, 25, 57, 84, 147, 190, 370, 374–375. See also artisans; cotton; silk
clothing: production of, 190, 383; trends, 5–7, 15, 64, 101, 108, 111, 141, 238, 300, 390–391, 428, 494
Index 511
coal: mining of, 12, 24, 116, 142, 147, 168–169, 259, 312, 319–320, 327; use of, 25, 33–34, 44, 55, 108. See also fuel; mining; pollution
cohongs, 186, 237. See also Guangzhou commerce: in Hong Kong, 184–194; imperial,
53–61, 64–69, 81–83, 147–149, 181–183; Mao era, 149–151; post-Mao, 1–7, 151–170; in Taiwan, 204, 206, 208, 210; in Tibet, 217–218, 221, 224. See also agriculture; capitalism; Chinese, overseas; currency; economic reforms; gross domestic product; managers; merchants; patriarchy; pirates and smuggling; Silk Roads; treaties
communes. See agriculture, under Mao; agricultural communes
communication. See cell phones; democracy; demonstrations; Internet; radio; television
Communist Party (CCP): birth of, 84; cadres, 101–104, 110, 114, 219, 222, 224; Central Committee, 88, 91, 102–106, 116, 120, 392, 498; conflicts within, 92–96, 117–121; congresses, 103–106, 120, 392–393, 498; membership of, 102, 154; Military Affairs Commission, 102, 104–106, 498; Politburo, 88, 102, 392, 498; Politburo’s Standing Committee, 102–107, 120, 498. See also Cultural Revolution; Deng Xiaoping; economic reforms; Fifth Generation Leaders; Fourth Generation Leaders; Great Leap Forward; Hu Jintao; ideology; Jiang Zemin; Li Keqiang; Long March; Mao Zedong; rectification campaigns; United Front; Wen Jiaobo; Xi Jinping; Zhou Enlai; Zhu Rongji
concubines, 349, 372–373, 468, 473 Confucianism, 412–414, 416–418; basic
tenets, 80–83; and Christianity, 426–430; and communism, 430–432; as current ideology, 10–11, 57, 108–110, 431, 435–436, 493–494; and the Han, 23–24; and literature, 448–449; New Confucianism, 418–419, 423–424, 426, 433; theory of family relations of, 80, 338, 344, 349, 353, 434; theory of rectification of names, 23, 87; theory of social relations of , 50, 435. See also family; guanxi; harmonious society; ideology; literati; Mencius; patriarchy; rectification campaigns
conservation, 323–325, 331. See also environmental degradation; nature reserves; wildlife
consumer goods: in imperial China, 147–148; Mao era, 89; since Mao, 5, 113, 120, 153,
189–190; online, 3–4, 121; in superstores and malls, 221, 292; unsafe, 114, 317– 318. See also automobiles; bicycles; cell phones; clothing; Industrial Revolution; law; radio; shopping malls; television; toys
contracts, business, 12–13, 89, 121, 260, 378, 383, 493. See also commerce; law, civil
cooperative enterprises, 90–93, 96–97, 150, 292. See also economic reforms; household responsibility system; township and village enterprises
corn (maize), 64, 260, 282. See also agriculture; food; grain
corruption, historic, 59–60, 449; Mao era, 94, 97; present day, 12–14, 104–106, 114, 118–121, 166, 260, 263, 265, 310, 491, 497–498; in Taiwan, 202, 204, 207. See also Central Commission for Discipline Inspection; courts; demonstrations; economic growth, reasons for concern; guanxi; illegal; moral crisis; pirates and smuggling; rectification campaigns; secret societies; wives, of leaders; Xi Jinping
cotton: growing 33, 251, 331; stalks, 34; textiles, 64, 147, 371. See also agriculture; cloth
counties, 100–104, 108, 181, 290–291, 296, 298, 392–393, 455; ecology of, 315, 321
courtesans, 452, 455, 459. See also arts courts, 81–82, 111, 114–116, 352, 498; in
Hong Kong, 195, 197, 199; and judges, 115; and marriage law, 374, 378, 385; and procuratorates, 115; Southeast Asian, 181–182. See also contracts; extraterritoriality; law; political reform; prisons; rectification campaigns
Cultural Revolution, 84; foreign policy effects of, 247–249; ideological effects of, 101, 117–118, 430–431; Mao Zedong’s role in, 95, 150–151, 491; political effects of, 95–98, 103, 394; social effects of, 4, 11, 15, 151, 219, 284, 289, 310, 348, 394, 467, 471, 479, 490. See also Communist Party; new left; Red Guards
currency, 88, 113; bolstering, 259–260, 267; as coinage, 49; as paper, 55; in Macau and Hong Kong, 189–190, 193–194, 198. See also banking; gross domestic product; gross national product
Dalai Lama: first through thirteenth, 205, 213–217; fourteenth, 180, 216–218, 220–225; succession to, 223–224. See also Buddhism; Panchen Lama; Tibet
dams, 252; built by China in other countries, 253–254, 259, 312. See also canals; dikes;
512 Index
floods; rivers; Three Gorges Dam; water; waterways
danwei, 88, 92, 102, 104. See also baojia Daoism, 10, 50, 52, 405–407, 411–412,
414–416, 419–420, 423–426, 431, 458. See also Laozi; religion; Zhuangzi
dating, 344–347, 352, 354. See also love; marriage; sexuality
daughters, 350–351, 369–371, 377, 384, 386–387, 395; marriage of, 343, 346, 350, 369, 373, 380, 383; sale or abandonment of, 349, 373; as wives of rulers, 81, 212. See also child bearing; children; family; foot binding; one-child policy; parents; sisters; youths
death rate. See life expectancy debt rising or falling, China’s potential for.
See domestic demand; New Normal; nonperforming loans; virtuous circle of growth
democracy: in Chinese ideology, 12, 15, 179, 463, 472–473, 478, 490–492, 497; “Democracy Wall” and, 91; low support for, 225–226, 478, 498; practiced in Taiwan, 204–207; trends in Hong Kong, 194–200. See also cell phones; demonstrations; elections; intellectuals; Internet; Mandate of Heaven; political reform
Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), 205– 209. See also Taiwan; Chen Shui- bian
demonstrations: in Hong Kong, 196, 199; during the Republic, 188–189, 376; Taiwan, 202, 204; Tiananmen, 14, 97–98, 326; Tibet, 4, 222–223, 254, 436; today, 114–115. See also Boxer rebellion; Falun Gong; Hong Kong; Internet; May Fourth Movement; Red Guards; Tiananmen
Deng Xiaoping, 2, 9, 84; as leader, 96–97, 102–105, 120, 136, 151, 219, 249, 432, 436, 471–472, 497. See also Communist Party, economic reforms; Communist Party, Politburo’s Standing Committee; education; four modernizations
desert, 17, 19, 21, 24, 28–29, 31–34, 51, 55, 62, 211, 288
desertification, 314–315, 332. See also water dikes, 30, 86, 148, 282, 326, 328. See also
dams; floods; rivers; waterways diplomatic corps, 463; early years of, 65,
187–188; relations between China and Taiwan, 180, 242–244, 248–249, 256–258; today’s negotiations, 99, 255–256, 259–267, 433; led by Zhou Enlai, 96, 189, 203, 241, 245–248; since Zhou Enlai, 180, 241–244, 248–250,
255–263. See also barbarians; Middle Kingdom; treaties; Zhou Enlai
dissenters. See demonstrations divorce, 119, 337–338, 348–349, 352, 354,
372, 378, 385, 495. See also marriage domestic demand, 138–139, 156–158 Dong minority, 5, 43, 61 dowry, 370, 384, 388. See also marriage Dream of the Red Chamber, 458. See also
novels droughts, 28, 31, 44, 282–283, 310; and the
Mandate of Heaven, 409; increases in, 168, 312, 331; and political strife, 90; and Three Gorges Dam, 329. See also desertification; precipitation; water
dynasties. See individual dynasties
earthquakes, in China, 25, 29, 68, 107, 116, 327–329. See alsoMandate of Heaven
economic growth: reasons for concern, 12–13, 161–170, 498–499; reasons for optimism, 16–17, 151–152, 154, 156–158
economic output. See gross domestic product; gross national product
economic reforms. See commerce; cooperative enterprises; Deng Xiaoping; Hong Kong; household responsibility system; joint ventures; productivity; state- owned enterprises; World Trade Organization
education: imperial and Republican, 58, 67, 148, 181–185, 239, 417, 463; Mao era, 89, 95, 101, 103, 289, 471–472; post- Mao, 107–109, 117, 161–162, 264, 286, 351, 354, 368, 499; for migrant workers’ children, 114, 288, 293, 297, 300–302, 347, 382; of overseas Chinese, 181–184, 243–246; rural, 2–3, 99, 114, 116, 168, 288, 301; in Tibet and minority areas, 29, 216, 221, 223, 298–299, 301; university, 1, 87, 95, 107–108, 182–183, 221, 264, 298, 301, 309, 389, 394, 428; women in, 371, 376, 381, 384–386, 389, 391–397. See also Chinese language, written; Hong Kong, education in; intellectuals; labor force, and human resource development; literati; literacy; students
elections: during the republic, 83; in Hong Kong, 194–200, 207; in the PRC, 97, 103–104, 117, 120–121, 223; in Taiwan, 204, 207, 210
electricity, 3, 34, 99–100, 391, 496; coal generated, 34; hydroelectric, 30, 34, 68, 89, 259, 313, 326–327; to Iran & Africa, 253, 264–265; nuclear generated, 35, 163, 246, 319, 329; thermal generated, 322; in Tibet, 211, 217, 220; wind and solar
Index 513
generated, 321. See also coal; dams; pollution; rivers
empire (dynasties), 23. See individual dynasties; barbarians; kowtow; Middle Kingdom; suzerainty
empress dowager (Cixi), 67, 81, 83, 429–430 entrepreneurship. See capitalism; Chinese,
overseas; commerce; Confucianism, basic tenets; Great Leap Forward, economic effects of; gross domestic product, entrepreneurship and; guanxi; merchants
environmental degradation, 17, 99, 107, 136, 222, 224, 313, 330, 332, 499; in ancient China, 52–53, 309–310; and China’s investment abroad, 311, 330; from Three Gorges Dam, 325–330. See also desertification; glaciers, pollution; trees, water, wildlife
eunuchs, 64, 81 Europe: compared with China, 4, 55, 57,
62–63, 65, 112, 148, 151, 192, 279, 281, 293, 318; in contact with China, 59, 188, 259; and international law, 183, 262–264; invading China, 239–240; trade with China, 65, 181–183, 238; using China’s technology, 58, 68–69. See also individual countries; Industrial Revolution; missionaries; ports; treaties
executions, 116 extraterritoriality, 186, 239. See also treaties
factories. See Industrial Revolution factors affecting rise and fall. See domestic
demand; New Norma; non-performing loans (NPLs); virtuous circle of growth
Falun Gong, 115, 291, 436. See also demonstrations; qigong
family, 5, 10, 110, 337, 351, 360, 367, 369, 371–374, 490; ancestor worship and, 406, 411; in Confucianism, 80, 82, 338, 349, 434; as an economically productive unit, 90, 318, 341, 382, 384, 389, 451, 494–495; extended, 338, 356; nuclear, 338, 340, 342; stem, 338, 340–342; traditions in ethnic minority communities, 211, 220, 342, 355–357. See also baojia; brothers; children; clans; commerce; daughters; divorce; fathers; housing; household responsibility system; husbands; love; marriage; matrilocal residence; mothers; mothers-in-law; parents; patriarchy; patrilocal residence; polygamy; sexuality; sisters; sons; wives
famine, 278, 282, 324, 374; Mandate of Heaven, 64; underMao, 283–284, 310, 380
farming. See agriculture fathers: authority of, 338, 341, 349, 351, 495;
Confucian filial piety and, 80, 82, 434; and inheritance, 50, 338; and one-child policy, 286. See also family; husbands; marriage; parents; patriarchy
fertilizer, 250, 314, 317. See also soil feudal period, 40, 44–49, 81, 147, 411; in
Tibet, 212, 217–218. See also kings; Shang dynasty; Zhou dynasty
Fifth Generation leaders, 102, 109–110, 116–121. See also Communist Party
filial piety. See Confucianism, theory of family relations
fish, 60; and fishing, 254–255; and pollution, 114, 316, 322, 324. See also food; water
floods, 28, 30, 32; climate change and, 315, 331; contemporary, 34, 287, 312–313, 326; historical, 52–53, 149, 282; and Three Gorges Dam, 326, 328–329. See also dams; dikes; precipitation; rivers; soil
food: crops, 25–26; as cuisine, 25–26, 43, 60, 69, 97, 99, 379; and environmental degradation, 13, 114, 168, 290, 311–314, 317–318, 496; fast, 7, 345, 391, 494; marketing of, 7, 111, 215, 496; as nutrition, 109; and population growth, 45, 49, 52–54, 59, 92, 277, 282–288, 302, 309; and poverty, 339; prices of, 87, 89, 107, 496; shortages of, 33, 59, 92, 150, 219, 324; transport of, 53, 55, 59, 278; and urban sprawl, 29. See also agriculture; drought; fish; grain; imports, food; livestock; potatoes
foot binding, 371–373, 375–376. See also women
foreign direct investment, 139–141, 146, 159, 171, 259. See also currency
Formosa. See Taiwan four modernizations, 84, 96, 284. See also
Deng Xiaoping Fourth Generation leaders, 102–110. See also
Communist Party France: as colonialists, 181, 187, 240, 245,
428; GDP, 192; literature of, 446; nuclear power in, 319; revolution in, 47, 112; as traders, 65, 111, 188; weapons from, 257
fuel, 25, 33–34, 55, 169, 252, 310, 318–319, 332. See also coal; mining; petroleum
Fujian, 52–53, 106, 182, 281, 313, 427; dialect of, 52, 181, 200. See also Chinese language dialects; Fuzhou; Xiamen
Fuzhou, 52–53, 106, 186. See also Fujian
Gansu, 9, 28, 158, 222, 253, 324; as a non- Han region, 24, 100, 212, 219
gasoline. See petroleum Genghis Khan, 46, 212. See also Kublai
Khan; Mongolia; Yuan dynasty
514 Index
Germany: as a colonialist, 260–261, 428; comparison with, 111, 137, 188, 192; and Shandong peninsula, 29, 240, 462
glaciers, 13, 17, 31, 33, 168, 172, 212, 314–315, 491. See also climate, change; water
global warming, 33–34, 330–331. See also climate, change; law, on environmental protection; precipitation; water
globalization. See Chinese, overseas, as investors in China; commerce, post-Mao; state-owned enterprises, reform of; World Trade Organization
Gorbachev, Mikhail, 97, 241, 249. See also Soviet Union
grain, 28, 92, 107, 278, 282; and government aid, 149; granaries, 149, 217; sale of, 89, 152. See also agriculture; corn; food; millet; rice; wheat
Grand Canal, 46, 53, 55, 59, 278, 312. See also canals
grasslands, 309, 323, 331 Great Leap Forward, 84; economic/social
effects of, 92–95, 150, 283–284, 288, 296, 379, 431, 490; effect on PRC/USSR relations, 246; environmental impact of, 310, 315; loss of lives in, 11. See also Communist Party; Mao Zedong
Great Wall, 2, 46, 50, 54–55, 59, 62–63, 100, 314. See also Qin dynasty
greenhouse gases. See pollution, air gross domestic product (GDP):
entrepreneurship and, 111; the environment and growth in, 4, 135, 137; and manufacturing, 141; portion to corruption and nonperforming loans, 114; portion to domestic consumer spending, 113, 141; portion to pollution, 108, 168; portion to real estate and land sales, 113; R&D expenditure, 136; reliability of statistics, 142; and the rural sector, 157, 166–168; and savings, 156; in western China, 158–159, 166–168; world ranking, 135. See also commerce
gross national product (GNP), 203–204, 285, 490. See also commerce
Guangdong province, 25–26, 43, 118, 323; ancient history, 51, 181; before the Republic, 186–187, 201, 281; and Hong Kong, 190; and Taiwan, 204. See also Chinese language, dialects; Guangzhou; Pearl River delta
Guangxi province, 43, 159 Guangzhou (Canton), 60, 478; and Hong
Kong, 65–66, 185–190, 236–238; KMT/CCP conflict, 83–86; male titling, 385; a “market town” 53, 143, 281, 292;
megacity, 295; pollution in, 312, 317, 323. See also Chinese language, dialects; Guangdong; Whampoa
guanxi, 9; concept of, 82, 434–435; contemporary practice of, 90, 104, 493–495; corrupted, 111. See also Confucianism, theories of family and social relations; clans; corruption
guilds, 64, 110, 148, 210. See also artisans Guizhou province, 5, 9, 28, 43, 61, 121, 158 gunpowder, 47, 57. See also inventions;
weaponry
Hainan Island, 9, 29, 32, 34, 187, 240, 495 Hakka, 187, 200, 204–205, 207, 210. See also
Chinese language, dialects Han dynasty: creating a people, 42–43, 79–
81, 298–299, 412; language of, 43; literature of, 450–454; reign of, 46–47, 51; religious legacy of, 79–80, 412, 421. See also Chinese language, written
Han, the ethnic majority, 44, 52–56, 286, 355–356. See also Han dynasty, creating a people
Hangzhou, 9, 47; as capital of Song dynasty, 55– 58, 420; present day, 98, 312, 323, 460–461. See also Kaifeng; Song dynasty; Zhejiang province
harmonious society, 1, 15, 80, 109, 310, 338, 431, 435. See also Confucianism; Hu Jintao
health care: in Hong Kong, 191; inequality, 359, 385; insurance, 291; Mao era, 289–290; reform era, 2, 14, 113, 136, 168, 290–291, 302; threats from environmental degradation, 310. See also AIDS; insurance, health; pollution; qigong; SARS bird flu; social welfare programs
Hebei province, 9, 24, 320 Heilongjiang province, 24, 32, 42, 44,
100–101, 288, 313 Henan province, 41, 45. See also Kaifeng;
Song dynasty highways, 2, 3, 13, 20–21, 100, 104, 107–111,
121, 143, 190; in Hong Kong, 190; impact on environment, 294, 313–314, 331; and One Belt, One Road, 159, 217, 252, 259, 264, 311; toll freeways, 3, 5, 13, 104, 107, 278, 294. See also roads
Himalayas, 17, 20, 28–29, 211–212, 315, 491; Mount Everest (Qomolangma), 28. See alsomountains
Hinduism, 217. See also religion Hong Kong: annexation of, 112, 121, 180,
225; as banking and investment center, 7, 139–140, 164–165, 188; as business center, 115, 139, 143–146, 156, 190–193;
Index 515
culture of, 184–187; demonstrations in, 188–189, 198–200; ecology of, 200; education in, 13, 161–162, 188, 191–192, 195, 198; government of, 180, 194–198; industry in, 190; population of, 7, 187–188; rise of, 67–68, 185–187; site of, 31; taxation, 190–193; United States and, 96, 189–190. See also Guangdong; Pearl River delta; Shenzhen
horses, 33, 45, 54, 217; and chariots, 44, 49. See also livestock
household registration hukou, 167, 221, 293, 382. See also migrant workers
household responsibility system, 96, 152, 290–291. See also economic reforms
housing: the big picture, 291–292; bloating prices, 291–292, 347; broken neighborhoods, 1–3, 14–15; capturing minorities, 220–221; investment in, 1–2, 14, 108, 113, 297; lengthened commutes, 1–3, 5; rural, 291–293; shortages, 113; student, 107; for urbanites & migrants, 293, 297. See also baojia; household registration hukou; inheritance
Hu Jintao, 14, 80, 84, 103–110, 119, 167, 219, 436, 498. See also Communist Party, Politburo’s Standing Committee
Hubei, 325, 329 Hui (Sino-Muslim), 24, 211, 222, 299, 356 Hunan, 25, 371 husbands: changing position of, 340, 351,
360, 378–379, 388; and Confucian obligations, 80, 82, 434; control over wives, 349, 351, 353, 369, 372–374; marriage of, 372–373, 383. See also dowry; family; fathers; patriarchy; wives
ideology: communist, 8, 10, 108, 150, 391, 426, 431; Confucian, 338, 349; New Culture, 463–466. See also Confucianism; Cultural Revolution; Marxism-Leninism- Maoism; May Fourth Movement; new left
illegal: abortion, 388, 398; books, 474; casinos, 254; clinics, 291; dumping, 322; fishing, 255; foreign exchange, 193; ivory, 325; logging, 312–313; opium, 66; private schools, 293. See also corruption
illiteracy: historic, 55, 371, 446; under Mao, 8, 89; and popular culture, 467, 481; present, 161–162, 368, 380, 394, 397; in Tibet, 101. See also literacy
imperial exams. See literati, exams imports, 170, 254, 256, 312; food, 309;
historic, 53; petroleum, 35, 168; to Taiwan, 203. See also commerce
India: and Buddhism, 22, 46, 52, 406–407, 412, 419–422, 456; contemporary, 138,
142, 144, 164, 251–253, 281, 287, 397; historical, 54, 56, 62, 64, 66, 188, 212, 246; and Tibet policies, 180, 214–218; trading with China, 251–252, 254; at war with China, 241
Indonesia: contemporary, 185, 191, 210, 259, 281; diplomatic relations with China, 244–246, 248, 250–251, 254; historical, 181, 236. See also Southeast Asia
Industrial Revolution, 11, 57, 65, 68, 112, 148–149, 279; early PRC, 88, 147, 150; and the environment, 169, 310, 316–324, 331–332; exports of, 136, 145–146, 261; industry in China’s history, 147, 239, 242, 278, 376–377, 474; location of, 24–25, 34–35, 143, 190, 203; after Opium Wars, 67, 68; promoted by the Great Leap Forward, 92, 150, 288; under reform, 2, 14, 100, 110–111, 141–142, 151, 153–154, 159, 164; relations with labor, 15, 96; role in the “four modernizations,” 96, 284. See also artisans; banking; commerce; cooperative enterprises; economic reform; Hong Kong; managers; productivity; state-owned enterprises; steel; Taiwan; Tibet; township and village enterprises; World Trade Organization
infant mortality, 162, 192, 217, 287, 339, 387. See also child bearing; life expectancy
infanticide, female, 282, 349, 369, 372, 374–375, 386. See also abortions; child bearing; children; one-child policy
inheritance, 193, 341, 349, 411; matrilineal, 342; patrilineal, 340, 368–369, 385, 388. See also family; sons
insurance, 13, 111, 192, 195, 290–291; health, 107, 290, 499. See also health; social welfare programs
intellectual property rights, 111, 115, 121, 159, 267. See also contracts; law
intellectuals: under Mao, 91, 96–97, 101; pre- PRC, 10, 50, 68, 419, 463; in Taiwan, 202; today, 117, 394, 471–472. See also education; May Fourth Movement; literati; religion; Taiwan
Internet: blogging about public issues, 13–15, 103–104, 118–121, 221–222, 388, 391–392, 396, 475–479, 491, 499; blogging on Sina Weibo, 3, 84, 103, 115, 207, 283, 345; the bullet train crash, 6, 116; crackdown on blogging, 120; hacking, 115, 121; Tencent QQ, 3, 115, 477. See also cell phones
inventions, 57, 60–61, 68, 82, 148. See also gunpowder; irrigation; porcelain; printing; ships; technology
Iran, 251–253, 266
516 Index
Iraq, 251, 257, 266 iron, 35, 44–45, 55, 60; imported, 265. See
also bronze; mining; steel irrigation, 17, 28, 30, 32; contemporary, 107,
211, 312, 315; historic, 44–45, 52, 53, 64, 81, 149; under Mao, 87, 150. See also agriculture; dams; inventions; water; waterways
Islam, 22, 217, 259; beliefs and customs, 24–25, 355–356, 497; in imperial China, 54, 100; in today’s China, 211, 221, 299, 301, 357, 433; and unrest, 251, 436. See also Hui; Xinjiang
IT. See cell phones; Internet
Japan, 19, 21, 79, 84, 250, 281, 495; and culture, 22, 47, 60, 183, 339, 426, 475, 490; current military of, 258, 261–262; diplomatic relations with, 236, 239, 248, 252, 256; and the East China Sea, 254– 255; economy of, 6, 96, 111, 137–138, 142, 144–146, 158–159, 168, 192, 259; as educator, 83, 161–162, 183; and the environment, 35, 287, 319–320; as historic invader, 39, 237, 240; and the Sino-Japanese War, 67, 187, 240, 462; and Taiwan, 181, 200–203; as trader, 192, 208, 250, 256; as twentieth century invader, 67, 85–87, 149, 184, 189, 241, 260, 282, 374, 463, 467–470. See also Nanjing; Shimonoseki, treaty of
Jesuits, 65, 68, 237, 426–428. See also Christianity
Jews, 54, 187, 236 Jiang Zemin, 84, 102, 105–107, 118–119,
154, 257, 498. See also Communist Party, Politburo’s Standing Committee; four modernizations
Jiangsu, 66, 281, 353. See also Nanjing Jiangxi, 451, 467 Jilin, 24, 32, 42, 44, 100–101, 240, 323 joint ventures, 96, 98–99, 290. See also
economic reform Journey to the West, 456–459
Kaifeng, 47, 55–56, 58–59, 460. See also Hangzhou; Silk Roads; Song dynasty
karaoke, 345, 396, 449, 475, 494. See also music
Kazakhstan, 34, 251–252, 265, 320 Kham, 212, 214–218. See alsominorities;
Tibet Khrushchev, Nikita, 90–91, 93, 246–247. See
also Soviet Union kings, 23, 44–46, 65, 200–201, 236, 406,
408–409, 425, 429, 448; Tibetan 212–214.
See also feudal period; Shang dynasty; Tibet; Zhou dynasty
Korea, 19, 21, 51, 55; China’s suzerainty over, 236–237; culture of, 22, 60; economy of, 144, 146, 156, 181, 202; Japanese control of, 240; South, 158, 161–162, 168, 255–256, 258, 262, 295; North, 250, 256
Korean War, 88–89, 202, 241–248, 260, 283 kowtow, 236–239, 261–262. See also
diplomatic corps; suzerainty Kublai Khan, 59, 148, 272. See also Genghis
Khan; Mongolia; Yuan dynasty Kuomintang (KMT), 67, 83, 86, 149,
183–184; communists and, 85, 87, 91, 94, 245, 282; in Taiwan, 180, 202, 242. See also Chiang Kai-shek; Sun Yat-sen; Taiwan; United Front
labor force, 11–12, 15, 48, 50, 52, 54, 87, 92, 97, 108, 110, 141, 146–147, 150, 167, 278, 281, 288, 292–293, 296, 302, 318, 466; and human resource development, 158, 161, 165; women in the, 371, 375, 377–380, 382, 385, 389, 395–396
Laos, 245, 247, 249 Laozi, 50, 415–416, 448. See also Daoism law, 12, 260, 414, 435; civil, 109, 111–112,
114, 121; contract, 163, 493; on environmental protection, 310–311, 323; the Fifth Generation and, 117–119; foreign exchange, 193; in Hong Kong, 193–200; international, 183; judges and, 115; lawyers and, 94; legislatures and, 326; on marriage, 348–349, 378–379, 388; martial, 219, 224–225; minorities and, 299; on the security apparatus, 263; in Taiwan, 203–204, 207–210; on women’s land and labor rights, 378–389. See also contracts, business; corruption; courts; extraterritoriality; intellectual property rights; People’s Congress
LGBTQ. See sexuality, homosexual Lhasa, 213–223. See also railroads, sky train,
Lhasa to Beijing; Tibet Li Keqiang, 106, 110, 116, 119–121, 498. See
also Communist Party, Politburo’s Standing Committee; State Council
Liaoning, 24, 32, 42, 100, 106, 201, 240, 318, 320
life expectancy, 191, 220, 285, 289, 301–302, 339, 397. See also health; infant mortality; mortality rates
literacy: historic, 55, 371, 377, 446, 467, 481; promotion of, 8, 89, 101, 161–162, 368, 380, 394, 397. See also Chinese language,
Index 517
written; education; illiteracy; literati; pinyin
literati, 82, 421, 423, 427; exams, 7–8, 81, 84, 446; and popular culture, 449, 451–456, 462, 482
livestock, 33; under Mao, 90, 92; overgrazing, 317. See also horses, pigs, sheep, yaks
loans, 13, 99, 113, 264; by banks to state enterprises, 164; to developing nations, 259, 265; historic, 148; informal to entrepreneurs, 111; overextended, 499; to peasants, 107, 211; west, development in, 301. See also banking; economic growth, reasons for concern
logging. See trees Long March, 84, 86, 91, 149, 479 love, 26, 338; and dating, 344–347, 352; and
marriage, 343, 345, 348; in song, 448–450; tales of, 445, 454, 461, 465, 468, 474. See also dating; family; marriage; music; sexuality; youths
Loyang, 48, 51, 59
Macau: as a money-laundering haven, 184; as a Portuguese colony, 181, 185, 188, 237– 238, 248; as part of the PRC, 194–194, 241, 264
Malacca (Melaka), 181, 236. See also Malaya; Southeast Asia
Malaya, 181–182. See alsoMalacca; Malaysia; Southeast Asia
Malaysia, 144–145, 161–162, 181, 210, 237, 249, 254, 259, 470. See alsoMalacca; Malaya; Southeast Asia
managers, 107; Mao-era, 88–89, 93; reform of, 154, 381, 389, 494. See also commerce; Industrial Revolution; productivity
Manchuria, 42, 242; historic, 51, 56, 59, 85; and Japan, 84–86, 240–241, 469; and Qing, 59, 64; and Russia, 87, 187, 201, 240. See also Qing dynasty
Mandarin, 25–26, 181, 186, 200, 204, 264, 298–299, 301. See also Chinese language, spoken; Chinese language, written; literati; pinyin
Mandate of Heaven, 13, 80, 409, 434. See also earthquakes; famine; rich-poor gap
Manichaeanism, 407, 422, 425–426, 429 Mao Zedong, 8, 28; ascent to power of,
84–87, 149; ideology of, 69, 87, 430–431; policies on the arts, 471–472; population policies, 283; as leader of PRC, 88, 90–97, 150, 219, 241–249, 340–341, 346, 352, 368, 490–491; struggle to succeed, 86, 103, 105. See also Communist Party;
Cultural Revolution; education, Mao era; Great Leap Forward; Long March; Marxism-Leninism-Maoism
Marco Polo, 23, 33, 57–60. See also Yuan dynasty
marriage, 337, 339, 343–348, 350, 396–397; arranged, 60, 338, 369–371, 375–376; and birth control, 284; breakdown, 348–349, 384–385; based on dating, 340; dowries, 388; intermarriage, 43, 355–357; and Marriage Law, 378–379, 385, 395; polygamous, 339; and sexuality, 351, 353–354; and suicide, 379; and the unmarried, 377; weddings, 2, 90, 342, 343, 347. See also dating; divorce; family; inheritance; law, on marriage; love; patrilocal residence; sexuality
martial arts, 445, 458, 465, 474, 479, 494. See also arts
Marxism-Leninism-Maoism, 407, 430–432. See also ideology
mathematics, 58, 67–69. See also science matrilocal residence, 342. See also family;
patrilocal residence May Fourth Movement, 84, 240, 462–467, 469;
and New Culture, 463–466. See also demonstrations; students; Versailles, treaty of
Mencius, 48, 50, 414. See also Confucianism merchants: in cities, 7, 85, 147–148, 236, 238,
278, 449, 452, 455; in Confucian thought, 80–82; under feudalism, 40, 48–49; in overseas trade, 53–54, 56, 65, 85, 181, 185–186. See also artisans; capitalism; Chinese, overseas; commerce; guilds; Silk Roads
methane (biogas), 34, 318–320. See also fuel Miao minority 43, 298–299 middle class. See bourgeois, the new middle
class Middle Kingdom, 23–24, 42, 62, 179, 236 migrant workers, 111, 297, 300–302;
children’s education, 14, 291; health care, 14, 289–292; housing, 292–293; and hukou household registration, 167, 288– 289, 291–293, 382; NGOs and, 119; in Tibet, 221
military: budget, 98, 241, 256–262, 267; imperial, 100, 239; PLA, 100, 102, 250; Red Army, 241–242; during the Republic, 241–242; in Tibet, 219. See also atomic bomb; Kuomintang; militias; missiles; navies; weaponry; Whampoa
Military Affairs Commission of the Communist Party, 102, 104–106, 110, 119. See also Communist Party
518 Index
militias, 92, 94, 217, 378 millet, 32, 40, 60, 92. See also food; grain Ming dynasty: culture of, 292, 424, 457–464,
476, 481; Qing conquest of, 59–65; trade, 237, 282. See also Zheng He
mining, 35, 113; by Chinese abroad, 221, 311; environmental problems with, 318–319. See also bronze; iron; silver
Ministry of Environmental Protection, 108, 168–169, 310, 317, 327
minorities, 5, 28, 61, 100–101, 106, 185, 196, 210–224, 251, 296, 298–302, 342, 355–357, 496. See also Amdo; Dong; Gansu; Hui; Kham; Miao; Mongolia, Mongols as a minority ethnic group; Xinjiang; Yunnan
missiles, 93, 205, 208, 251, 257, 261–262, 266. See also weaponry
missionaries, Christian, 65–66, 183, 186, 238. See also Boxer rebellion; Christianity; Jesuit
monasteries, Buddhist, 55, 101; in Tibet, 212–222. See also Buddhism; Tibet
Mongolia, 29, 32, 39; Inner, 22, 24, 42, 44, 51, 55, 101, 158–159, 300–301, 313, 343, 356; Mongols as invaders, 39, 44, 47, 51, 55, 57–59, 62, 100–102, 138, 148, 237, 250, 425; Mongols as a minority ethnic group, 24, 298–302; Outer, 246–249; and Tibet, 212–215, 220. See also Genghis Khan; Kublai Khan; Manchuria, Yuan dynasty
monsoons, 31, 33, 62. See also precipitation moral crisis: Confucian perspectives on,
430–431; and a harmonious society, 49; and individualism, 492–493;Mao’s perspectives on, 430–431; nationalist perspectives on, 463, 478–479, 491–492; ”new left” perspectives on, 108–109. See also corruption; democracy; economic growth, reasons for concern; harmonious society; ideology; Mandate of Heaven; political reform; productivity; rich–poor gap
mortality rates, 283–284, 287, 289, 301, 397. See also life expectancy
mothers, 1, 81, 198, 282, 338, 346, 351, 372, 374, 391; widowed, 338, 349, 354, 378, 395, 464. See also child bearing; daughters; empress dowager; family; parents; sons; women
mothers-in-law, 342–343, 349, 356, 367, 373, 378. See also family
mountains, 10, 19–20, 22, 24, 28–30, 33, 314; and Chinese culture, 24, 43, 52–55, 60, 62, 425, 453; of Tibet, 212, 408–409. See also Himalayas
movies, 1, 21, 345, 470, 473, 477. See also arts
multinational corporations. See capitalism; intellectual property rights; joint ventures
municipalities: local control by, 100, 103, 117, 297, 322, 326; male dominance, 393
music, 14–15, 101, 300, 337; Beijing opera, 460–462, 475; contemporary, 119, 337, 477; karaoke, 345, 396, 449. See also arts; love
mutual aid teams, 89–92. See also agricultural cooperatives
Nanjing: as capital 47, 59; massacre, 6, 469; sacked by pirates, 237; treaty of, 66, 239, 241
nationalism, 16, 67, 108–109, 149, 219, 431–432, 473, 491
Nationalists. See Kuomintang; Republic nature reserves, 323–324. See also wildlife navies, 66–67, 201, 209, 239, 253–258. See
alsomilitary; pirates and smuggling; ports; ships; Zheng He
Nepal, 28, 212, 214, 216, 218, 249, 252 Nestorianism, 407, 422–423, 427 Netherlands: as a colonial power, 181,
200–201; comparison with, 188, 295 new left, 16, 108, 117–119, 491 New Normal, 154, 156 newspapers, 373, 388, 396, 463–464;
overseas Chinese and, 182, 245–247; and pinyin, 8
Ningxia, 16, 141, 283 Nixon, Richard, 203, 241, 248, 258. See also
United States nonperforming loans (NPLs), 164–165 novels, 345, 445, 452–460, 463–475, 479–480 nuclear weapons, 283; assistance to other
countries, 251; proliferation of, 250. See also atomic bomb; weaponry
nutrition. See food
occultism, 212, 407, 410. See also arts, fortune-telling; religion
Okinawa. See Ryukyu islands Olympics, 2008, 3, 84, 99, 116, 222, 241,
257, 264, 326 One Belt, One Road, 35, 159, 241, 252, 259,
267, 311 one-child policy, 13, 43, 277, 284, 305, 250,
387, 490; effect on population size, 161, 165; effect on sex ratio, 346, 387; exceptions from, 286, 386. See also abortions; birth control; child bearing; infanticide; population size; two-child policy
opium, 66, 83, 187–188, 249, 253, 373 Opium Wars, 11, 40, 69, 84, 183, 185–187,
239, 281, 428. See also treaties, “unequal”; United Kingdom
Index 519
Orientalism, 491 orphanages, 260. See also children
Pakistan, 251–252, 301 palaces, 42, 44–45, 50, 64, 81, 213–214, 221,
449, 452, 460 Panchen Lama, 214–215, 219–220, 433. See
also Buddhism; Dalai Lama; Tibet pandas, 324–325. See also nature reserves;
wildlife pantheism, 405, 434. See also religion paper, 46, 54–55, 319. See also inventions Paracel islands, 254 parents, 302, 338–347, 351, 360, 378;
children’s responsibilities for, 359, 384; in Confucian thought, 338, 424; legacies to their children, 100, 250; selling their children, 349, 373, 377. See also child bearing; family; fathers; mothers
Paris Agreement on Climate Change, 241, 266. See also climate, change
patriarchy, 338, 349, 351, 367–378, 380, 395–397, 495. See also Confucianism; family; fathers; women
patrilocal residence, 342, 369–370, 380, 383. See also family; matrilocal residence
Pearl (Zhu) River delta, 185, 237, 250, 375; ecology of, 316; economic rise of, 143, 190, 198; as mouth of the West (Xi) River, 31. See also Guangdong; Guangzhou; Hong Kong; West River
Peking University. See Beijing, University pensions, 2, 109, 359, 381, 499. See also
social welfare programs people’s communes, 92–93, 150, 152, 219,
283, 290, 296, 318, 341–342. See also agriculture; production teams
People’s Congress: composition of, 102–105, 392–393, 498; powers of, 104, 197, 208, 393; proceedings of, 109, 117, 153, 283, 299, 326, 435
People’s Liberation Army (PLA). See military, PLA
People’s Political Consultative Conference, 104–106, 198
Peru, 239, 247, 260 Pescadores Islands, 201–202, 240. See also
Japan, and the East China Sea; Shimonseki, treaty of; Taiwan
petroleum: companies, 110, 116; exports, 250; imports, 168, 251–252, 254, 262, 264–265, 320; pollution from, 316; production, 25, 259–260, 496; reserves, 24, 44, 254–255; tankers, 254; use of, 6, 34, 163, 320. See also South China Sea
Philippines, 53, 64, 144–145, 162, 181–182, 191, 210, 245, 254–255, 495. See also South China Sea; Southeast Asia
pigs, 42–43, 456. See also livestock pinyin, 8–9. See also Chinese language,
written; Mandarin pirates and smuggling: Chinese, 181–182,
186–187, 200; Japanese, 200, 237; Somali, 253. See also navies; ships
plays, 460–462. See also arts poetry, 54, 326, 371, 446–455, 458, 461, 464,
467, 469, 481 Politburo. See Communist Party, Politburo political reform. See democracy; Deng
Xiaoping; new left; Wen Jiabao; Zhu Rongji
pollution, 266; air and water, 3, 6, 13, 32, 316–330; effect on humans, 13, 114, 119, 168–169, 290, 332; efforts to control, 266, 310, 332. See also environmental degradation; soil; water
polygamy, 339, 372, 378. See also marriage polytheism, 405, 409, 411. See also religion population size: historically, 289–290; of
minorities, 298–299 porcelain, 54, 57, 61–62, 64, 82, 147 pornography, 352–353 ports: historic 53, 56, 61, 65, 69, 185, 187,
189, 200, 237–238, 240, 281; treaty, 66–67, 148, 186, 201, 239; today, 156, 205, 252–253, 258. See also Chongqing; Guangdong; Hong Kong; Macau; navies; Shanghai; Taiwan; Tianjin; treaties, “unequal”; Xiamen
Portugal, 24, 194, 237. See alsoMacau potatoes, 46, 64, 282. See also food poverty: historic, 65, 67, 279, 369, 374–375,
386, 409; in Hong Kong, 193, 198; among migrants, 167, 297; among minorities, 100, 302; today, 13, 107, 109, 136, 168, 170, 264, 267, 279, 301, 330, 359. See also demonstrations; hunger; rich-poor gap; social welfare programs; unemployment; poverty
precipitation, 32–33, 312; as acid rain, 108, 321; and climate change, 331; and environmental degradation, 312. See also climate, change; droughts; floods; monsoons; pollution; water
printing, 47, 55, 58, 466. See also Chinese language, written; inventions; paper
prisons: and the Cultural Revolution, 97, 471; executions, 116; goods made in, 260; sentences for political opposition, 98, 116, 263. See also courts
production teams, 150, 290. See also agricultural communes; agriculture, under Mao
productivity: historic, 17, 48; under Mao, 378; today, 152, 156, 158, 165. See also managers, reform of
520 Index
prostitution, 349, 354–355, 357, 374, 377, 382, 458. See also sexuality
protest. See demonstrations provinces, 25–26, 28; assemblies, 83, 102,
104–105; coastal vs. inland, 10, 55–56, 279–281, 298–301; gap in incomes, 167, 181–182, 496–499; Han male dominance in, 42–44, 392–395; KMT controlled, 85; under Mao, 490; under reform, 96, 99–101, 289–290; Taiping controlled, 66, 395, 429. See also individual provinces
Pudong. See Shanghai, Pudong purchasing power parity (PPP), 4, 144, 170
qigong, 115, 436, 474. See also Falun Gong Qin dynasty: family structure, 370;
intellectual legacy, 50, 412, 417; Qin Shihuang, 51; terra cotta warriors, 51
Qing dynasty, 9, 47, 64–67, 148, 183, 237, 239–240; culture of, 339, 370, 373–374, 428, 458–459, 461, 465; demographics of, 282; and Hong Kong, 185–188; and overseas Chinese, 183; role of eunuchs in, 81; and Taiwan, 182, 200–201; and Tibet, 214. See also empress dowager; Manchuria
Qinghai, 24, 28, 101, 158, 212, 219, 321
radio, 7, 215–216, 388, 463–464. See also communication
railroads: built before the PRC, 12, 44, 67, 83, 87, 187, 240, 464; built by overseas Chinese, 1, 14, 182, 239; high-speed trains, 5–6, 16, 21, 100, 104, 193, 281, 295; in the PRC, 14, 16, 21, 34–35, 67, 107–108, 111, 149, 264, 314; and One Belt, One Road, 35, 252, 254, 259; sky train, Lhasa to Beijing, 220. See also transportation
rainfall. See precipitation rectification campaigns: and the concept of
rectification, 23; in Mao’s PRC, 41, 85, 88, 97, 120; in Tibet, 219–220
Red Guards, 83, 85, 89, 101, 131, 191, 217, 221. See also Cultural Revolution
refugees, 34, 170, 216–217, 221 religion, 14, 89, 184, 189, 209, 264–265,
357–387. See also animism; Bon; Buddhism; Christianity; Confucianism; Daoism; Hinduism; Islam; Manichaeanism; missionaries; Nestorianism; occultism; pantheism; polytheism; shamanism; totemism; Yin- Yang
Republic, 56–57, 72–75, 129, 165–166, 169–170. See also Chiang Kai-shek; Kuomintang; May Fourth Movement; Sun Yat-sen
revenues. See taxation rice: as crop, 17, 42–46, 49, 128;
environmental challenges to, 277, 290, 293; as food, 18, 50, 77, 80, 337, 344, 424; geographic distribution of, 12, 14, 22–23, 31–32, 35, 245, 326; new strains of, 52, 128, 247. See also agriculture; grain
rich-poor gap, 1, 7, 99, 109, 168, 277–278, 491, 495–496; and the Chinese Dream, 119–120; and current public policy, 110– 111, 290–291, 496; in history, 55–56, 58, 82, 147–148, 190, 339; political challenges, 117–121, 130–137; and the “rural problem”, 92–93, 107, 142, 166–169; statistics on, 113, 136–137, 142. See also billionaires; economic growth, reasons for concern; gross domestic product; health care; housing; insurance; moral crisis; poverty; unemployment; Mandate of Heavent
rivers: ecology of, 43, 151, 273–274, 276, 278–279, 285, 288–293; geography of, 9, 11, 19–25, 43, 184, 242; trade on, 56, 59; water diversion project, 151, 274. See also dams; dikes; floods; waterways; West River; Yangtze; Yellow River
roads, 294; blacktop, 5, 20; and environmental problems, 277, 281–282, 288, 294; gravel, 5, 50; historic, 12–13, 34, 41, 242, 258; mud, 4–5, 14, 20, 35, 40, 44, 278; new, 2, 13, 25, 89, 94–95, 125, 141, 171, 259–260; in Tibet, 215, 218, 220. See also automobiles; highways; transportation; trucks
Russia, 11, 13, 34, 57, 168, 207, 209–210, 220–221; comparison with, 180, 245; today, 192, 225, 228, 234; and Tibet, 187. See also Soviet Union
Ryukyu islands, 201, 257
SARS bird flu, 107, 192. See also health care savings, domestic personal: in Mao’s PRC,
77, 335; post-Mao, 100, 136–137, 140, 145–146, 193, 256, 339. See also stock markets
scholar officials. See literati scholars. See intellectuals science, 47, 56, 58, 104, 380, 415, 429. See
also artisans; education; four modernizations; harmonious society; mathematics
secret societies, 73, 76, 99; White Lotus, 377, 381. See also Boxer rebellion; Taiping rebellion
servitude: feudal, 35, 38, 127–129, 189; today, 60, 74, 87, 308, 325–326, 329–332
Index 521
sexuality, 351, 355, 387; and AIDS, 354–355, 357; education, 353–354; extramarital, 198, 348–349; homosexual, 119; marital, 345–346, 353; premarital, 352–354; rape and, 352. See also dating; love; marriage; prostitution; virginity
Shaanxi, 9, 158, 212, 324, 473, 479, 498. See also Xi‘an
shamanism, 212, 299, 450, 464. See also religion
Shandong, 29, 42, 84–85, 188, 240–241, 464 Shang dynasty, 42, 44–46, 53, 62, 279,
409–410, 446–447, 474, 478. See also feudal period; kings
Shanghai: in contemporary governance, 105, 211, 248; cuisine, 25; culture in, 277, 341, 349, 353, 358, 464, 468; demographic trends in, 281, 288, 293–294; ecological problems of, 311–312; economic growth of, 29, 116, 143, 188, 190, 192, 198, 207, 292; in KMT-CCP fighting, 85; Pudong, 295; as a treaty port, 186. See also Jiang Zemin
Shanghai Cooperation Organization, 252 sheep, 33, 212, 220, 343, 447. See also
livestock Shenzhen, 190, 193, 291, 319. See also
Guangdong; Hong Kong Shimonoseki, treaty of, 187, 201, 241 ships: contemporary, 254–255, 257, 259, 328;
European, 68, 185, 187, 189, 235, 237; imperial, 24, 56–57, 61–62, 201, 256; manufacture of, 82; technology of, 58, 62; US, 201. See also navies; pirates and smuggling; waterways; Zheng He
shopping malls, 2–3, 14, 107, 141, 192, 294, 347, 391. See also consumer goods
short stories, 445, 481; of Ding Ling, 466; of Lu Xun, 463–464. See also novels
Sichuan, 9; culture of, 24, 100, 212, 219, 221–223; ecology of, 318, 322, 324, 330; geography of, 24, 28–30, 107, 116, 158, 326; in World War II, 67. See also Chongqing; Three Gorges Dam; Tibet
Sikkim, 216, 218 silk: for calligraphy, 48; production, 377;
trade, 57, 60–61, 64, 147, 185. See also artisans; cloth; cotton
Silk Roads, 22–23, 35, 46, 51, 55, 60, 100, 236, 269. See also commerce; Kaifeng; Xinjiang
silver, 64–66, 182. See also currency, as coinage
Singapore: culture of, 182–184, 188, 210, 249–255, 481; economy of, 144–146, 192; social services of, 163–166. See also Southeast Asia
sisters, 389. See also children; daughters; family; youths
slavery. See servitude social welfare programs. See baojia;
economic reforms; education; health care; housing; insurance; pensions; poverty; state-owned enterprises; subsidies
socialist market economy, 153, 250. See also capitalism
SOEs. See state-owned enterprises soil, 21–25, 32, 35, 42; environmental
problems for, 22, 24, 57, 129, 271–280, 294; erosion, 313–314, 328, 332; Loess Plateau, 29–30, 32, 309, 313–314. See also fertilizer; floods; pollution
Song dynasty. See Hangzhou; Kaifeng sons: education of, 52, 67, 81; of emperors,
80–81; and filial piety, 80; inheritance of, 338; marriage of, 338, 346, 384; and mothers, 349; obligations to parents, 341–342; in one-child policy, 286, 368, 386, 396; preference for, 350, 369; sale of, 374. See also brothers; children; Confucianism; empress dowager; eunuchs; family; inheritance; one-child policy; parents; patriarchy; youths
South China Sea: 31, 235, 241, 317; dispute over, 254–255, 259–260, 262, 264. See also diplomatic corps, today’s negotiations; petroleum, reserves; Paracel islands; Spratly islands
Southeast Asia: China’s disputes with, 246, 249, 251; China’s historic trade with, 52–53, 56, 61, 147, 236–237, 282; China’s investment in, 259, 314; contemporary, 144–146, 155, 162, 246, 259; geography of, 19, 21–22; influence on China, 22, 40, 43, 96; overseas Chinese in, 7, 180–185, 210, 242, 244, 246, 262, 495. See also individual countries
Soviet Union: comparison of China with, 91, 151, 288; relations with KMT/CCP, 84, 188, 241; relations with PRC, 89, 90, 92–93, 97, 202, 241–242, 244–247, 249, 251, 284. See also Russia
Spain, 64, 181–182, 200, 260 Special Economic Zones, 96, 190, 203–204,
389. See also ports; Shanghai, Pudong; Shenzhen; Xiamen
Spratly islands, 254. See also South China Sea
Standing Committee of the Politburo. See Communist Party, Politburo’s Standing Committee; Xi Jinping
starvation. See hunger State Council: policies of, 323, 329; powers
of, 102, 392; units under, 104–105, 108,
522 Index
163, 169. See also Li Keqiang; Wen Jiabao; Zhu Rongji
state-owned enterprises (SOEs): under Mao, 89, 149, 381; before the PRC, 147; reform of, 15, 111, 153, 161, 163–166, 169, 290, 332, 475, 497. See also danwei; economic reforms; managers
steel, 319; and backyard ovens, 92, 150, 310; government control of, 100, 149; output, 142; price of, 120, 135. See also iron; mining
stock markets, 14, 120–121, 164, 259. See also savings
strikes: now, 114, 118, 297; during the Republic, 87, 149, 188. See also demonstrations
students: in Hong Kong, 191, 199; imperial, 183, 239; under Mao, 91, 94–95, 150, 289, 380; post-Mao, 96–99, 107, 254, 264, 301, 353–354, 380, 395, 496; during the Republic, 87, 188, 376, 462, 464; studying abroad, 183–184, 264; in Tibet, 216. See also Chinese, overseas; demonstrations; education; literati; Red Guards; youths
submarines, 253, 255, 257, 474. See also navies
subsidies: to autonomous regions, 299; government, 113, 152, 168; for health care, 14, 290; in Hong Kong, 191; for housing, 293; to peasants, 13, 107, 318. See also social welfare programs
subways, 3, 116, 253, 294. See also transportation
Sui dynasty, 46, 52, 54, 59 Sun Yat-sen, 83, 183, 185, 188. See also
Kuomintang; Republic superhighways. See highways suzerainty, 215–216, 236–237. See also
barbarians; kowtow
Taiping rebellion, 66, 187, 282, 371–372, 429, 431. See also secret societies
Taiwan, 200–210; as part of China, 16, 65, 181, 196, 200, 204, 225, 256, 261; contesting, 90, 185, 189, 202, 208, 210, 254–256; culture in, 8, 468–473, 475; democracy in, 205–208; diplomatic recognition of, 203, 208, 248–249, 256, 433; DPP rule in, 180, 205, 208–209, 262; economic growth of, 7, 13, 146, 156, 203–204, 206, 224; investment in China, 204, 207; under Japan, 201, 204, 241; KMT in, 88, 202, 206–207, 242–243; languages of, 52, 205; and overseas Chinese, 7, 180, 191, 210, 245; policies toward native Formosans, 201; within the
Republic, 67; tourism with China, 143, 207, 264; trade with China, 52, 53, 112, 204, 206, 208, 250, 258; US aid to, 88, 93, 96, 203, 209, 260, 262; weaponry of, 203, 257–258. See also Kuomintang
Tajikistan, 252 Tang dynasty, 47, 52, 54–55; culture, 54, 57,
60, 100, 421–423, 426, 449, 451–452, 454–456, 459, 461; trade, 181, 279; as unifier, 54, 59
taxation: in Hong Kong, 189–190, 193–194, 197–198, 200; imperial, 50, 53, 55, 67, 81, 110, 149, 186, 278, 281; under Mao, 88–90; in Macau, 193; under reform, 96, 100, 104, 111, 114, 143, 152; in Taiwan, 203; and tax reductions, 13–14, 107, 168, 301; in Tibet, 217, 221. See also savings
tea, 25–26, 31, 54, 64–65, 185, 384, 452, 458, 475; and teahouses, 60, 221, 475–478. See also agriculture
technology: foreign, 12, 22, 39–40, 66, 79, 136, 330; historic development of, 44–45, 49, 56–58, 64–65, 68–69, 110, 148, 374, 494; in Hong Kong, 191; modern, 7, 96, 112, 146, 150, 156, 158–159, 261, 267, 284, 340, 360, 386, 445, 462, 464, 476–477, 495; from Russia, 249, 257. See also artisans; consumer goods; four modernizations; Industrial Revolution; inventions; intellectual property rights; irrigation; science; weaponry
television, 11; programs, 456, 469–470, 472–475, 477, 479, 492; sets, 142, 157, 194, 221, 391; stations, 119. See also consumer goods
terra cotta warriors. See Qin dynasty textiles. See cloth Thailand: currency problems of, 259;
diplomatic relations with China, 236–237; economic growth of, 144–145, 161–162, 168, 191; and overseas Chinese, 182, 184, 210, 246; trade with China, 43, 181, 249, 253. See also Southeast Asia
Three Gorges (Sanxia) Dam, 30–31, 104, 259, 312, 325–330. See also Yangtze River
Tiananmen Square, demonstrations at, 15, 84, 97, 117, 194, 250, 326, 436, 462, 472, 492, 497. See also Beijing; demonstrations
Tianjin, 186, 358, 457, 477; and the Boxer uprising, 429; during civil war, 88; earthquake, 29; ecology of, 312, 314, 320, 323; municipality of, 326; treaty of, 201. See also Boxer rebellion; Nanjing, treaty of; ports, treaty; treaties, “unequal”
Tibet, 180, 210–224; autonomous region, 101, 218–219, 251; China’s historic
Index 523
relationship with, 51, 55, 100, 211–216; economic development in, 211, 217, 220, 223, 301; environmental problems in, 315, 321, 330; geography and demography of, 24, 26, 28–29, 33, 42, 158, 211–212, 220–221, 299–300; rail and road connections to, 20–21; tensions in, 90, 101, 218–219, 222–224, 241, 251, 436, 496; religion, 214, 219, 221–224, 432, 480, 491, 497. See also Amdo; autonomous regions; Bon; Buddhism, Tibetan; Dalai Lama; education, in Tibet and minority areas; India; Kham; Lhasa; minorities; Mongolia; Sichuan; students, in Tibet; suzerainty; treaties; villages, Tibetan
tigers, 53, 253, 325, 447; Crouching, 458, 474; economy, 184; mother, 1; paper, 262. See also wildlife
timber. See trees totemism, 212, 407–410. See also religion tourism, 20; Chinese touring inside China, 5,
11, 157, 220–225, 323, 325, 479; Chinese touring outside China, 143, 264; foreign tourists visiting China, 143, 264; through Hong Kong, 192, 193; Taiwanese visiting China, 204, 207, 210
towns: changing definition of, 296; culture of, 382, 475, 477; environmental problems of, 327–328; historic, 48–49, 60, 82, 147, 236, 278–279, 281, 296; rural migration to, 288, 296–297; today, 2–5, 107, 111, 157, 219, 221, 289, 291–292, 295, 297. See also villages
township and village enterprises (TVEs): creation of, 152, 295–296; economic role of, 296, 383; social services of, 290. See also cooperative enterprises; economic reforms
townships, 96, 100–101, 103, 121, 152, 290–291, 296, 393, 490
toys, 111, 114. See also consumer goods; law trade. See commerce; consumer goods;
merchants trains. See railroads transportation, 30, 35, 107, 111, 156, 206,
278, 281, 293, 302, 372, 383, 391. See also airports; automobiles; bicycles; canals; highways; ports; railroads; roads; ships; Silk Roads; subways; technology; trucks; waterways
treaties: after Bandung, 246; of Portsmouth, 240; recent, 250, 266–267, 323; with Russia, 215, 237; in Tibet, 212, 215; “unequal,” 66–67, 83, 148, 183, 185–187, 189, 201, 216, 239, 241, 243, 260, 281, 428, 430; between USA and Taiwan,
202–203; of Versailles, 84, 240–241, 376, 462. See also diplomatic corps; Nanjing, treaty of; ports, treaty; Shimonoseki, treaty of; suzerainty; Tianjin, treaty of; Versailles, treaty of
trees, 52, 310; planting program, 28, 108, 313; as timber, 259
triads. See secret societies tribute. See suzerainty trucks, 3, 111, 222, 319. See also
automobiles; roads Tsai Ing-wen, 207–208 Turkey, 206 TVEs. See cooperative enterprises; township
and village enterprises two-child policy, 13, 287, 386, 388, 396. See
also one-child policy
unemployment, 13, 99, 121, 135, 165, 200, 382, 499; in Taiwan, 206, 210. See also labor force; poverty
United Front, 84–86, 184, 189, 241. See also Communist Party; Kuomintang
United Kingdom: compared to China, 137, 190, 319; contacts with Qing, 186–188, 238–241, 428; foreign policy of, 240; and Hong Kong, 185, 188–190, 192, 194, 197; overseas Chinese and, 181–182; relations with PRC, 189, 194, 216, 242, 257; in Tibet, 214–215. See also Nanjing, treaty of; Opium Wars; treaties, “unequal”
United Nations (UN): conferences, 395; and Korea, 244; and PRC, 203, 241, 243–244, 249–250, 252–253, 255, 265, 267; and Tibet, 216
United States: and China’s military, 256–258; and the Cold War, 244–245, 247; demographic and geographic comparisons with China, 10, 19, 24, 31, 42, 281, 283, 287, 296, 337, 349, 355; diplomatic relations with PRC, 95–96, 179, 241–243, 248–249, 257–258, 261–263, 267; economic and technological comparisons with China, 3–4, 6, 65, 135–138, 142, 159, 256; environmental comparisons with China, 168, 318–320; and Hong Kong, 185, 188–189; and India, 252; and Korea, 244, 250, 256; overseas Chinese in, 183; and Qing, 238–239, 428; and ROC, 189, 242; scholarly exchange with China, 264; and the South China Sea, 254–255; and Taiwan, 93, 202–204, 208–209, 226, 256–258, 261, 495; trade with China, 192, 225, 250, 260, 266, 319; and Vietnam, 255
universities. See education, university urban sprawl, 143, 291–293, 295–297, 345,
384. See also Shanghai, Pudong
524 Index
Venezuela, 265 Versailles, treaty of, 84, 240–241, 376, 462.
See alsoMay Fourth Movement Vietnam: Chinese business relations with,
190–191, 236–237, 249; historic, 240, 254; and the South China Sea, 254–256, 260, 495; War, 241, 244–249. See also Southeast Asia
villages: current life in, 2–5, 288, 290–293, 295–297, 332, 339–347; governance of, 296–297, 371–389, 392–395; historic, 278–279; under Mao, 219, 289; Tibetan, 217, 224. See also cooperative enterprises; elections; household responsibility system; towns
virginity, 351–352. See also dating; marriage; sexuality
virtuous circle of growth, 156
warlords, 66–67, 84–87, 148–149, 188. See also Zhang Xueliang
water, 29, 31; diversion project, 31, 170, 326; in the future, 287, 331–332; pollution, 6, 13, 168–169, 316–318, 321; shortages, now, 13, 17, 32–33, 169, 311–312, 314–315, 490, 496, 499. See also canals; climate, change; droughts; electricity, hydroelectric; flooding; irrigation; pollution; ports; precipitation; Three Gorges Dam; rivers; waterways; wetlands
waterways, 57, 110, 149, 278. See also canals; irrigation; rivers; transportation
weaponry: early, 58; of foreign adversaries, 66, 188, 246; under Mao, 247–248, 283; present-day regional buildup, 256–260; sales of, 111; sold in the Middle East, 251– 252; and Taiwan, 203, 206; in Tibet, 217. See also atomic bomb; gunpowder; inventions; Korea, North; military; navies; nuclear weapons
well field system, 48, 290 Wen Jiabao, 103, 106–107, 110, 117, 119,
121, 199, 436. See also Communist Party, Standing Committee; State Council
West (Xi) River, 25, 29, 31. See also Guangzhou; Hong Kong; Pearl River delta; rivers
wetlands, 13, 85, 314–315, 323–324, 331. See also soil; water
Whampoa, 85, 188. See also Chiang Kai- shek; Kuomintang; military; United Front; Zhou Enlai
wheat, 25, 32, 34, 60, 282, 331. See also agriculture; food; grain
wildlife, 323–324, 329. See also nature reserves; pandas; tigers
wives: and Confucian obligations, 80, 377, 434; of emperors, 80–81; of leaders, 85,
106, 118; and marriage, 343–348; of overseas Chinese, 181, 207; status of, 349–351, 373, 378, 395; widowed, 338, 349, 354, 378. See also Communist Party; dowry; empress dowager; family; marriage; patriarchy; polygamy; women
women, 369–397; and communism, 377–381; and economic reform, 381–392; and family, 337–343; historical status of, 369– 371; life expectancy of, 285; literacy of, 286; and marriage, 343–348; as political leaders, 392–395; and sex ratio, 286, 346, 350, 368, 386–388, 396; and sexuality, 351–355. See also child bearing; concubines; daughters; mothers; patriarchy; prostitution; sexuality; sisters; wives
World Bank, 203, 250 World Trade Organization (WTO), 264;
China’s and Taiwan’s membership in, 99, 137, 206, 241, 257–258, 260. See also commerce; economic reforms
World Wars I and II. See Versailles, treaty of writing. See Chinese language, written
Xi Jinping, 9, 14, 16, 84, 106, 110, 116, 119, 121, 166, 184, 193, 208, 225, 241, 252, 261–262, 266, 277, 313, 395, 478–479, 497. See also Communist Party, Politburo’s Standing Committee
Xi’an, 9, 45, 48, 50, 86, 312; as Chang’an, 51, 54, 279, 422, 454. See also Shaanxi
Xiamen (Amoy), 53, 106, 200–202, 204. See also Fujian; ports, treaty
Xinjiang: culture of, 42, 300, 355, 436; conquest of, 51, 65, 100; development in, 159, 252, 299, 301; location of, 24–25, 28; unrest in, 115, 251–252, 301, 496. See also Hui; Silk Roads
yaks, 33, 212, 217. See also livestock Yangtze (Chang) River: battles along, 58–59,
85, 237, 279; economy along, 35, 49, 53, 55, 143, 186, 190, 278; ecosystem, 31–32; and the environment, 17, 311, 313–314, 321, 325–330; location of, 25–27, 29–30; and the River Elegy, 474. See also Chongqing; Nanjing; rivers; Shanghai; Three Gorges Dam
Yellow (Huang) River: cultures along: 35, 39, 45, 48, 55, 278; ecology of, 53, 169, 312, 491; fighting along, 86; location of, 25, 29–33. See also rivers
Yin-Yang, 407, 409, 412, 415–418, 423 yoga. See qigong youths: under Mao, 91, 94, 97; May Fourth
Movement, 462–463; Tibetan, 222; today’s youth culture, 344–345, 351–352,
Index 525
360, 394, 476, 499. See also children; daughters; education; Internet; May Fourth Movement; military; prostitution; Red Guards; sons; students
Yuan dynasty, 9, 47, 59, 68, 181, 460–462. See also Genghis Khan; Kublai Khan; Mongolia
Yunnan: conquest of, 212, 218, 222; culture of, 43, 100, 212, 342, 350, 357, 367, 376; development in, 291; ecology of, 313, 330; location of, 24, 29, 31
Zhang Xueliang, 9, 83. See also Chiang Kai- shek; warlords
Zhejiang, 9; historically, 66, 186, 281, 319, 375, 420, 433; today, 21, 106, 186, 433.
See also Hangzhou; Song dynasty Zheng He, Admiral, 9, 61–62, 234. See also
commerce, imperial; Ming dynasty; navies; ships
Zhou dynasty, 60, 112; as age of philosophers, 408–412, 416–417, 447, 453. See also feudal period; kings
Zhou Enlai, 9, 84–85, 95, 150, 245–248, 277, 283, 471. See also diplomatic corps; Mao Zedong
Zhou Yongkang, 106, 115–116, 119, 263 Zhu Rongji, 84, 102–103, 107, 114, 119, 121.
See also Communist Party, Standing Committee; State Council
Zhuangzi, 415, 417, 448, 450, 453, 481. See also Daoism.
About the Book
China today bears little resemblance to the country intro- duced in the first edition of Understanding Contemporary China, published nearly two decades ago. Even in just the past five years, dramatic changes have occurred under the leadership of President Xi Jinping.
This new edition of the book reflects those changes, exploring the impact of new domestic policies; China’s role as a behemoth in the world economy; its rapidly modernizing infrastructure; its expanding military presence in the region; the environmental challenges it confronts; and much more. The result is an accessible, well-grounded look at the most crucial issues affecting China today.
Robert E. Gamer is professor emeritus of political science at the University of Missouri–Kansas City. Stanley W. Toops is associate professor of geog- raphy and international studies at Miami University.
526
- 12
- Religion
- Chan Hoiman and Ambrose Y. C. King
- First Configuration:
- Second Configuration: The Axial Age and the Rise o
- Third Configuration: Foreign Impetus and Neo-Confu
- Fourth Configuration: The Foreign Impetus of Chris
- Toward a New Syncretism?
- Religion and Chinese Society
- Bibliography
- 13
- Literature and Popular Culture
- Charles A. Laughlin
- Writing: The Human Pattern
- Singers and Poets
- Storytellers and Novelists
- Priests and Playwrights
- Resisting Modern Orthodoxies
- Contemporary Literature and Culture in Greater Chi
- Conclusion
- Bibliography
- 14
- Trends and Prospects
- Robert E. Gamer and Lynn T. White III
- Notes
- Bibliography
- The Contributors
- Index
- About the Book