The Politics and Philosophy of Chinese Power

The Politics and Philosophy of Chinese Power

The Timeless and the Timely

R. James Ferguson and Rosita Dellios

Lexington Books

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Ferguson, R. James, author. | Dellios, Rosita, author.

Title: The politics and philosophy of Chinese power : the timeless and the timely / R. James Ferguson and Rosita Dellios.

Description: Lanham : Lexington Books [2017] | Includes bibliographical references.

Identifiers: LCCN 2016044792 | ISBN 9780739192948 (cloth : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780739192955 (electronic)

Subjects: LCSH: Political science—China—Philosophy. | China—Politics and government. | China—Foreign relations.

Classification: LCC JA84.C6 F47 2017 | DDC 320.95101—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016044792

Infinity The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction: Power with Chinese Characteristics

1 Timeliness: Using the Past to Change the Present

2 Embracing Shi: The Timely Configuration of Power as Skillful Means

3 Imperial Stratagems: The Polycentric Mediation of Power

4 The Use and Abuse of Nationalism: Empowering the Republic?

5 People’s Party, People’s Army: The Dialectics of Revolution

6 From Comprehensive National Power to Competitive Regionalism

7 Unicorns and Dragons: The Search for Chinese Strategic Culture

Conclusion: The Dance of the Giants: Avoiding Conflict in the Twenty-first Century

Appendix: Five Philosophies

Bibliography

Index

About the Authors

Acknowledgments

Thanks are made to all our colleagues, including Dean Raoul Mortley and the International Relations team at Bond University, whose discussions and support have been invaluable. Acknowledgment is made to the Centre for East-West Cultural and Economic Studies (in the Faculty of Society and Design at Bond University) and to the Alan Chan Travelling Fellowship, which helped facilitate regular travel to China. This book would not have been possible without sustained dialogue with partners in China, including colleagues at the China Foreign Affairs University, Beijing Foreign Studies University, the Center for East-West Relations, and the members of the International Confucian Association, whose conferences and symposiums have been extremely informative.

Introduction

Power with Chinese Characteristics

Chinese thinkers, political elites, and China’s increasingly informed society have continually grappled with the problem of power as governance. Whether domestically or internationally, they have been using the past to inform the present but have also mobilized new ideas as the country’s situation changes. China’s intellectual world has a surprisingly pluralist legacy that can be drawn on today, even if one mix of doctrines is emphasized above others by particular governments. Thus, when Chinese thinkers assess the present, they can bring to bear their classical legacy, Marxism and socialism, Western political thought, and the newer formulations of neo-realism, liberal institutionalism, and constructivism. This is both an eclectic and dialectical process, invoking Chinese and Western thought to forge a vision of China’s role in the twenty-first century. This multilayered reality has informed the methodology of this analysis, looking at key periods where attitudes to power evolved, but also showing their later legacies. In many cases ideas drawn from the past run alongside or influence later patterns of thought, even as different ideologies become dominant.

“Power” has become a crucial and even infamous concept in Western political analysis. Seen as the core aspect of politics and societal relations, it is viewed by various schools of realism as the touchstone of international relations. Since Niccolò Machiavelli and Hans Morgenthau it has been touted as the basis of strategic decision-making and the central concept for politics, seen as beyond the restraints of morality, ethics, and religion. “Seeming to be good,” for Machiavelli, was a useful but unnecessary trapping, while for Morgenthau ideological and psychological persuasion were no more than secondary aspects of power.1 With the central role of warfare in European nation-building since the early modern period, the construction of world empires from the seventeenth century onward, the disastrous world wars of the twentieth century and the contest of superpowers in the Cold War, power was regarded as the coinage of global politics.

All this involved complex and dangerous assumptions. The exact measurement, development, and balancing of power were soon recognized as sophisticated tasks, needing to draw in a wide range of economic, demographic, military, and resource factors, as well as the realities of geopolitical location and historical experience. Hence, neorealism (structural realism), as well as related hegemonic theories, needed to use a diverse palate in their portrayal of power transitions, explaining different types of conflict and increasing international cooperation during the late twentieth century. Likewise, new analyses of societal relations suggested an urgent need to reassess the dominant “discourse of power” as itself a cause of conflict and exploitation, rather than a mere description of state behavior. Alternative approaches to “power” and its modalities have been seen as an urgent undertaking for the current period, as suggested by writers Michel Foucault, Alexander Wendt, Joseph Nye, Anna Bennett, and Michael Karlberg, as well as Chinese commentators including Yan Xuetong, Qin Yaqing, Wang Yizhou, Li Shenzhi, Shunji Cui, Yong Deng, Zhang Yunling, Lai-Ha Chan, Sheng Ding, Yuan-kang Wang, and others.2

By the early twenty-first century there has been a growing recognition that power need not be only coercive, but can engage cooperative, persuasive and “attractive” aspects of states, cultures, and ideologies. This has become increasingly important in shaping China’s foreign policy and its wider international relations framework. “Soft power” can be summarized as “the ability to shape the preferences of other states through non-tangible resources such as institutions, culture, and the attractiveness of ideas, regimes and economic performance.”3 For Chinese scholars within the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and beyond, the analysis of soft power soon became a growth industry. This was partly aligned with official efforts to extend Chinese influence regionally and globally. As we shall see, these modalities of power are better placed within the context of an effort by China to shape a “comprehensive national power.” This is an important Chinese concept that “measures” various factors of national power and combines them for international comparison, influencing domestic as well as international policies. Adapting this power-enhancement approach to twenty-first-century conditions and making it acceptable to international audiences remains a major challenge for Chinese decision-makers and leaders (see Chapter 6).

Soon the concept of soft power was joined by newer formulations, including “smart” power as the appropriate application of hard and soft power working together, thereby creating successful strategies during a period of power diffusion. Meanwhile, others would explore the dimensions of “sharp” and “sticky” power as key aspects of US hegemony:

Traditional military power can usefully be called sharp power; those resisting it will feel bayonets pushing and prodding them in the direction they must go. This power is the foundation of the U.S. system. Economic power can be thought of as sticky power, which comprises a set of economic institutions and policies that attracts others toward U.S. influence and then traps them in it. Together with soft power (the values, ideas, habits, and politics inherent in the system), sharp and sticky power sustain U.S. hegemony and make something as artificial and historically arbitrary as the U.S.-led global system appear desirable, inevitable, and permanent.4

In this setting, the role of rising powers in the global system became a highly contested area of debate, ranging across threat perceptions (based on the instability of declining superpowers), expectations of a new multipolar and more inclusive order, and concerns over the possible collapse of the liberal-hegemonic phase of the international system. Even the idea of a problematic nonpolar world (or G-Zero in contrast to a G20) has emerged, suggesting a wider range of emerging states and non-state actors that are not yet willing to cope with shared problems ranging from financial instability to climate change.5 In reality, scholars could not agree as to whether American hegemony was over, whether it was a “unipolar-plus” world (allowing greater space for rising powers such as Russia, Brazil, India, and China), or an emerging multipolar system partly stabilized by multilateral cooperation channeled through international organizations.

Behind this flurry of formulations was one big issue: the impact of a developing China. How will China act once it has become a developed state with the world’s largest economy, and, eventually, Asia’s most capable military (even taking into account the “rebalance” of the United States to engage the Indo-Pacific region)? This question has been answered through several filters: the China threat thesis (sometimes based on hegemonic theories with the PRC as the new “superpower” challenger); via the problematic idea of the PRC as a localized “regional” hegemon (dominating East Asia); as an invited partner in a new “concert of powers” (developed in different ways by Susan Shirk, Coral Bell and Hugh White); or as an acculturated stakeholder in the global system (the preferred Western option).6 Others see China as a struggling giant burdened with unresolved internal tensions, environmental crises, and lack of democratic credentials.

All of these filters derive from Western theories and external perceptions, many of which are now finding their way into Chinese academic and political analysis. Chinese thinkers and politicians have a long history of assessing hegemonic systems, but recent analysis has focused on economic empowerment and on the dimensions of “soft power” as a necessary component of development. However, there may be a return to the analysis of the factors of political power, with effective leadership seen as the key to mobilizing hard and soft power toward greater international influence.7 Furthermore, Chinese foreign policy thinking has focused on the specific content of diverse international relations as such, drawing on a wide range of factors including socialist solidarity with developing countries, institution-building at the regional and financial levels, and an emerging constructivist approach to international order that goes beyond simple power-balancing.8 In contrast, the internalization of Western “realist” assessments may lay the basis for a self-fulfilling prophecy of future conflict if Chinese decisions-makers accept “realist” doctrines of a world shaped by a narrow definition of power.

However, China and its leadership circles have a wider range of analytic tools than current threat perceptions to chart their future. The intellectual legacy of Marxism and communism remains central to Chinese government today, with virtually all domestic policy and much foreign policy situated within Chinese socialism, increasingly anchored to wider notions of social justice and popular solidarity rather than class war. Thus even China’s human rights plans and reviews remain focused on social rights, jobs, food and drug safety, shared development, and reducing poverty, not merely meeting political rights criteria as interpreted by UN agencies.9 Other viewpoints are based on sophisticated models of political interaction (constructivist and liberal institutionalism), embracing a multi-factored conception of “comprehensive national power,” while still others are derived from the long history of China as a culture and civilization.10

Limits to how far liberalism and the notion of a liberal international order can be adopted in China are associated with the fear of creeping Westernization and its impact on the centrality of the Communist Party of China. However, human rights and liberal-institutionalism have a long pattern of development in China, going back as least as far as the early translations of Rousseau’s Social Contract (in 1898 and 1901).11 Recent Chinese thinking on international relations allows a “remarkable coexistence of realism, liberalism, and constructivism.”12 In this way, creative policies that seek “identification with” (Rentong) and “fusing into” regional communities (Rongru) have been suggested by thinkers such as Qin Yaqing, Wang Yizhou, and Zhang Yunling alongside suggestions of a creative participation in the global order—so long as these do not result in direct Westernization.13

Yet all these approaches seek to adapt formulations of international relations to shape the future. How do current and emerging leaders in China view the preferred role of their country in world affairs? In part, this can be answered by assessing how they regard power. Here, we shall see that the concept of power is not readily divorced from core ideas of legitimacy and governance, a positive perspective of the innovative capacity of individuals and society, and responsibility as the main requirement for leadership in forging relationships with the wider world.14

Nor is the construct of “power,” as it evolved in the English language (see below), directly mirrored in historical Chinese patterns of thought and analysis. Instead, a complex web of words reflecting on human nature, political governance and international relations evolved for over three thousand years, providing a nuanced vocabulary in many ways at odds with Western terminology. In modern usage numerous words parallel Western variants of power, including li as in power, force, strength, or ability (thus guo li refers to national power), quan (power as authority or right), and wei (power as impressive strength, might or prestige).15 The complex term shi has a long history of political usage, and can denote power, influence, or potential, but can also be viewed as encapsulating the “strategic configuration of power.”16 On this basis, the use of power, force and influence in the context of given military or political situations laid the basis for the early evolution of Chinese strategic culture (discussed further in Chapter 7).17

Beyond this however, a wider web of concepts, including dao (the Way), de (power or virtue, or the effectiveness a thing has due to its unique properties), he (harmony), qi (as vital force), da tong (as a universal community), tianxia (implying “all-under-Heaven” or an inclusive world order, but with complex implications for Chinese nationalism), tongbian (continuity through change), and cheng (to govern), are essential for any historical analysis of Chinese conceptions of state power.18 Political power, seen as the ability to engage and mobilize other power-resources, is discussed in ancient texts through related ideas such as virtue, benevolence, law, justice, and wise leadership.19 In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, a range of specialized terms, translations, and slogans has begun to evolve as Chinese scholars engaged more heavily in international political analysis, for example, mulin zhengce (good-neighborliness), quanqiu zhili (global governance), quanqiu gongzhi (global co-governance), guojia gongzhi (state co-governance), and hexie shijie (the “harmonious world” policy as it developed in the first decade of the new century under the Hu Jintao administration).20

Historically, China has wielded enormous “power” (whether viewed as coercive or persuasive influence) regionally and globally, engaged in sustained warfare and even punitive expeditions, and in recent years has robustly asserted its territorial claims and security needs. However, extreme patterns of coercive domination and “total war” are neither normative nor preferred in the long history of Chinese thought. Fortunately for the future, Chinese elites have long debated the cost of deploying and projecting power, and carefully assessed the necessary economic and societal foundations for “comprehensive national power.” From the ancient philosopher Confucius to the Chinese president Xi Jinping there has been an effort to mold these concerns into political doctrines that influence both government policy and public awareness. To join constructively in this debate, others beyond China would do well to know the history of “power” and its contemporary dimensions as China conceives them. This is crucial for those who seek to engage China in the quest for a more stable world, but also to encourage China itself to participate in constructing a more just and equitable international system. The alternative of intensified competition and an unmediated power transition could create the conditions for more direct conflict in the coming decades.21

Power, Virtue and Governance

The concept of “power” in English is so pervasive that it is easy to forget the assumptions that are carried by this word across different disciplines. “Power” is a central term in science and engineering, but is also a core idea indicating socio-political capacities and potential. One has “power over” others as a leader or a tyrant (viewed as a type of dominion), a state can accumulate economic and military power, an idea at the right moment may be seen as powerful or influential. “Power against” may be adversarial and competitive, but “power to” involves the idea of empowerment, while “power with” focuses on cooperation and mutuality.22 Power relates to a wide spectrum of important ideas: energy, potential, dynamics, conservation and conversion, dominion and sovereignty. Even in early psychoanalysis “power” played a role in psychodynamic models of the mind, with notions of suppression and repression suggesting a dynamic relationship among super-ego, ego, and id. All these factors gave “power” a central role in describing and explaining relationships, whether between physical objects, entities, persons, political actors, states, or institutions.

Power (in different formulations) includes economic, political, ideological, coercive, and military aspects, all fundamental factors in complex societies. Beyond this, however, a second line of thought running from Francis Bacon to Michel Foucault suggests that “knowledge is power”: that to “name the world is thus to define reality and to establish rules about what can validly be known, controlled, and imagined.”23 For Foucault, the structuring of discourse was a direct route to shaping social power, partly through defining truth, justice and judicial systems, but also through mechanisms of direct control and punishment—for example, via prisons and asylums.24 On the other side of this coin are those who are “silenced” and whose problems are excluded from debate in the public domain, leading to comprehensive disempowerment. This strand of analysis has been taken up in international relations by constructivism. It sees social structures as the basis for identities, while interests that shape states and their behavior are viewed as having a wider impact on norms, institutions, and patterns of conflict and cooperation. From this perspective, knowledge systems, culture, and civilizational factors are key elements alongside the material bases of power.25 Furthermore, from the constructivist vantage point, foreign policy is not engaged solely for the pursuit of national interests, but as an enactment of social and civilizational identity.

In China, liberalism and constructivism have been taken up in a vigorous debate that allows for a wide analysis of international relations. It is one that allows the PRC a more dynamic and engaging role in world affairs, rather than the pursuit of a narrow and adversarial one. Debates in China since 1979 were at first dominated by a realist analysis largely mirroring Western influences, wishing to see China as a “normal” state that should focus on national interests, rather than just Marxist or Maoist values. However, the issues of China’s identity in relationship to an international system shaped by capitalist powers could not be ignored. New ideas began to enter the Chinese scholastic community via translations of key works by Wendt, Keohane, Nye, and Rosenau, but were soon adapted to Chinese conditions.26 Wang Yizhou, for example, emphasized a more active and strategic engagement with the current global system by providing public goods, peacekeeping support and aiding development in Africa, leading to a creative assessment of China’s interests.27 Qin Yaqing, as a key interpreter of constructivism, argued that “continuity through change” promotes continual evolution in China’s international strategies, but still draws on a “mean” of shared background knowledge that underscores a comprehensive and planned engagement with major powers and neighboring states—going well beyond simple confrontation or competition.28

To the strands of realism, idealism, and constructivism, a new integrative view has been suggested, focused on co-relational processes:

The most recent effort is to explore a core Chinese idea of “relationalism”, using it as a signiﬁcant concept in parallel to the Enlightenment concept of “rationalism” and as an essential assumption for building informal networking and for relational governance. It stresses “becoming” in contrast to “being” and argues for a processual construction in which processes, deﬁned as on-going social relations, can be of and by itself, nurture collective emotion and identity, and help build a ﬁduciary community and moral order.29

In large measure, these new approaches seek to avoid the determinism of a China doomed to be contained by the hegemonic power of the United States, or the conflict-laden path of rising to be a new “superpower.” As we shall see, many Chinese thinkers, whether realist or constructivist, regard this as a dangerous dilemma, and seek other options for an empowered PRC.

Contrasts between opposing concepts need not be drawn in the same way across different political systems. In modern Western political thought, a sharp distinction between power and morality often prevails, having evolved from Machiavelli to Morgenthau. It became enshrined in the tension between the International Relations theories of realism and idealism. Realism claimed to focus on what existed in the world, on the dominance of the state, and on its capacities and potential rather than norms or declared intentions. Idealists, in turn, sought to inject values, morality and human rights into the international order, hoping to reduce the brute use of power in a world that had been shocked by the scale of warfare and suffering demonstrated in the twentieth century.

This distinction between power and morality, however, is not always so sharply drawn. Even for Machiavelli, the concept of virtu embraced more than the idea of being “virtuous” in a moral sense: Machiavelli was quite willing to dismiss the usual catalogs of Christian virtues suggested for rulers. Virtu also suggested the characteristic of being capable, skilled, or worthy of leadership. The specific sense of virtu as deployed by Machiavelli included being able to understand and act on the opportunities provided by time and fortune, to simulate different virtues or qualities as needed, and to combine cleverness and charisma.30 The true ruler, through intelligence, effectiveness, and a willingness to take the moment as it is proffered by fortuna (fate), demonstrates fitness to rule. Nor does Machiavelli reject all legitimating claims. In chapter 26 of the The Prince, under the title “Exhortation to Liberate Italy from the Barbarians,” Machiavelli argues that a strong leader is needed to impose order on the entire Italian peninsula, to liberate it from the inroads of the greater European powers, and to heal the wounds of internal conflict. Machiavelli is pleading for a “prudent and capable man to introduce a new order, bringing honour to himself and prosperity to all and every Italian.”31 Machiavelli’s longer book, Discourses on Livy, shows that though he understood the importance of military power, this was not divorced from wider concerns of stability and good republican governance. Machiavelli was neither “Machiavellian” in its current common usage, nor the author of Machiavellianism as the crude doctrine that “any end” will justify “any means.”

In Chinese, too, the classical usage of the word de indicates a complex linkage between power and virtue. De refers not to a narrow moral virtue, but that inner quality or ability, which is derived from the dao, the cosmological concept of the “Way.”32 De can mean virtue, power, and the effectiveness a thing has due to its unique properties. This concept can therefore carry several implications, so that the Daodejing may be translated as the Classic of the Dao and its Power (rather than as the Classic of the Dao and its Virtue). De thus has a rather different meaning to conventional Western understandings of virtue, embracing a felicitous power or capacity. As noted by Alan Watts: “At root, then, the idea of te [de] is power exercised without the use of force and without undue interference with the order of surrounding circumstances.”33 This led to early Daoist debates on the virtues of kingship, suggesting that it was an enduring aspect of the state and the world, imbued with the ability to transform others.34 For the Neo-Daoism of the Eastern Han period (25–220 CE), an individual’s character and ability (caixing) could be valued as contributing to an authentic and autonomous self, supporting independent conduct and cultural creativity, even if based on a shared human nature (xing).35 Although Daoist thinkers remained critical of a narrow Confucian adherence to codes of conduct and etiquette, they all positioned political power as based on an understanding of the universe and its Way.

These concepts would have serious implications for the use of political power, and how the rise and fall of dynasties was explained. The decline of states was directly connected to the loss of virtue, in terms of both morality and power, of the ruling family. The connection between these ideas has been well expressed by Burton Watson:

An integral part of this accepted pattern of the virtuous founder and the evil terminator of a ruling family is the very old concept of te [de] or merit. Te in this case has more than its later meaning of “virtue,” implying rather a kind of mystical store of power set up by the sage ancestor of the family. This power, or achievement, kung, or blessing, tse, flows from the ancestor down through his heirs, bestowing upon them in turn power and good fortune in their rule. But, like all other things of creation, this ancient deposit of merit wears thin and the succeeding rulers sink lower and lower into evil and incompetence. As the Chinese historian describes it, the power or the “way” of the ruling family declines. At this point it is still possible for a ruler, by applying himself to the practise of wise and virtuous government, to restore the waning power of the family. The Chinese describe this act as hsiu-te, literally “to repair the power.” But if no ruler appears who will undertake thus to replenish the original store of power and merit, the reservoir will eventually run dry and the family will be destroyed by other families who are ascending in the cycle of power.36

Indeed, the insufficiency of brute military power to provide secure governance became a central doctrine of Confucian thought through the elaboration of the concept of tianming (the Mandate of Heaven), whereby a dynasty would lose rulership due to its moral failures (discussed in Chapter 1).

These ideas would find further expression in the Han period when conservative scholars would use them to argue (unsuccessfully) against imperial reforms. From The Discourse on Salt and Iron (Yantie lun, first century BCE) we find the following viewpoint:

Confucius observed that “the ruler of a kingdom or the chief of a house is not concerned about his people being few, but about lack of equitable treatment, nor is he concerned about poverty, but over the presence of discontent.” Thus, the Son of Heaven should not speak about “much” and “little,” the feudal lords should not talk about “advantage” and “detriment,” ministers about “gain” and “loss,” but they should cultivate benevolence and righteousness, to set an example to the people and extend wide their virtuous conduct to gain the people’s confidence. Then will nearby folk flock lovingly to them and distant peoples submit joyfully to their authority. Therefore “the master conqueror does not fight; the expert warrior needs no soldiers; the truly great commander requires not to set his troops in battle array.” Cultivate virtue in the temple and the hall, then you need only to show a bold front to the enemy and your troops will return home in victory. The Prince who practises benevolent administration should be matchless in the world; for him, what use is expenditure?37

Nor was this just a Confucian obsession with virtue. Thinkers such as Mozi (Mo Tzu or Master Mo, circa 470–391 BCE) also held that might and power, by themselves, were insufficient to “rule the world”:

Now the rulers and high officials wish to rule the world and become leaders of the feudal lords. Yet if they are without such virtue and righteousness, what means will they have to achieve their aims? Some say that such aims can be accomplished through a display of might and power, but why should the rulers attempt to display might and power? Those who strive to overthrow others simply drive the people to their death. What the people long for most is life, and what they hate most is death. Yet under such rulers they cannot achieve what they long for, but are subjected in case after case to what they hate. From ancient times down to the present there has never been anyone who succeeded in ruling the world and becoming the leader of the feudal lords in this way.38

Furthermore, in both Confucian and Mohist thought there was a strong emphasis on government regulating morals, correlating with a more general desire in traditional Chinese thought for power and virtue to go hand in hand.39 Indeed, the term for politics or government, zheng, was related to the very notion of the regulation of norms and the rectification of social roles. Thus, for Confucius, to govern (zheng) was also to correct by setting a good example for others.40 Related terms such as zhi can imply to correct, to cure, to control, as well as to govern or rule.41 These notions of governance were tightly linked to the idea of education and high culture as transformative elements that would lay the basis of a legitimate government.42

One modern term for culture or civilization (wen hua) implies a transformation by written culture. It is also a criterion for those deserving of political and administrative power, whether kings, Confucian officials, scholar-gentry, intellectuals, or teachers. The necessary arts of government included wen (culture) and the arts of war (wu). The word wen, though originally referring to that which is “decorated or adorned,” came “to signify all kinds of order, elegance, ceremony, and culture.”43 It was precisely this refinement which attempted to establish authority at the ideological level and through the regulation of human relationships. As such, it had a greater economy of means than brute force, and was also the very basis through which military force could be mobilized and directed. The ideal use of culture and morality to unify a state is found in the teachings of Mencius:

Mencius said, “One who uses force while borrowing from benevolence will become leader of the feudal lords, but to do so he must first be the ruler of a state of considerable size. One who puts benevolence into effect through the transforming influence of morality will become a true King, and his success will not depend on the size of his state. T’ang began with only seventy li square, and King Wen with a hundred. When people submit to force they do so not willingly but because they are not strong enough. When people submit to the transforming influence of morality they do so sincerely, with admiration in their hearts.”44

The key point here is that even for very small states (with a li being a Chinese “mile,” perhaps less than a third of an English mile) culture and social ritual were seen as mechanisms that accrued and shaped power. In this context it is not surprising that the “content” of Chinese culture should become the locus of an “intense struggle” in the modern period, particularly as China seeks to embrace nationalism, cultural diversity and globalization (see Chapter 4).45

Likewise, the distinction among sage rulers, hegemons (ba), and mere tyrants was based on their degree of virtuous and inclusive concern for all they ruled (in theory, “all-under-Heaven”). It was upon this basis that the just way of government, wang dao, was established, rather than the use of “force, trickery, punishment and suppression” as found in the short-term successes of ba dao.46 Although at first a relatively neutral term, ideas of hegemony and “hegemonism” came to have negative connotations in Chinese thought, especially in the conduct of political opponents such as the United States, the Soviet Union, and even Vietnam (as the little hegemon that invaded Cambodia) during the Cold War period.47 Until recently, such thinking has meant that China not only rejected any claim to becoming a superpower, but has been extremely cautious in taking the lead in international affairs.48

In the twenty-first century, partly through a reappraisal of ancient works such as The Stratagems of the Warring States and the writings of Xunzi (Hsün Tzu, circa 312–230 BCE), there has been a recognition of the important linkages among hegemony, legitimacy and norms:

The international responsibility, ideology, and power of a hegemon are all able to create legitimacy whereby it can use force externally: (1) When a state is accepted by a good number of other states as hegemon, these states think that that state has the duty to protect its allies militarily, uphold the current international order, and maintain its own hegemonic status; (2) One reason for accepting a hegemon is that a fair number of states accept its ideology. The dominating ideology of the hegemonic state gives rise to conceptual superiority of its civilization, such that the hegemon has the legitimacy to use military force against states of peripheral civilizations; and (3) When a hegemon is accepted by other states, it then has the status to guide the formation of international norms.49

The key enabler of power, for China ancient and modern, has always been the issue of governance. Governance across four domains remains the pressing concern for China today: domestically, the ability to continue balanced development across a large, diverse, multi-ethnic country of over 1.3 billion people; in its ability to shape its international relations with other states (both neighbors and great powers); the ability to choose the future role of China on the world stage; and consequently, guide its engagement in creating any revised or emerging “global order.” Governance engages not only the quest for order and harmony (domestically and internationally), but the option of the calibrated strategic use of political and military force—as distinct from the narrow conduit of warfare.

It is these questions that preoccupy Chinese thinkers and leaders today. The inter-linkage of these issues across different domains, domestic and international, poses particular problems for the PRC’s leadership, but also for nations that engage with China. Thus, criticism of China’s foreign policy and territorial claims in the East China and South China seas, whether from the United States, Japan, Vietnam, or the Philippines, has a direct impact on domestic Chinese audiences. Ironically, one of the problems for contemporary leaders is to moderate ultra-nationalist responses to its own policies. This cannot easily be accomplished through an interpretation of notions such as tianxia (“all-under-Heaven”) whereby China should reform the international system into a just international order for all humans, and not only citizens of the PRC. Nor does the rhetoric of China returning to its “rightful place” within great power politics bode well for reducing international confrontations over disputed maritime boundaries. Increasingly, these issues have become a public and internationalized debate about China’s future role in global affairs.

The Timeless and the Timely

One of the repeated claims for Chinese civilization is its longevity and its continuity down into the modern period. Viewed from the vantage-point of the present, China has “outlived” Egypt. Although dynastic Egyptian civilization—an example to which we will return below—might be almost as long as China’s in total duration, it has not survived into the modern period in a recognizable form. It has been overlaid by Hellenistic, Roman, Byzantine, Arab, Islamic, and modern influences. In spite of massive transformations through the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, China is viewed as retaining the kernel of its language, intellectual legacies, and territory. Thus part of the current argument for respecting China in civilizational terms, as emphasized under former PRC leader Hu Jintao’s policies, rests on a shared national legacy focused on Confucian learning and its moral ethos. Likewise, one aspect of China’s effort to increase its soft power is through the spread of its language, culture, and intellectual legacies, in part via hundreds of overseas Confucius Institutes. This trend has re-emerged in the twenty-first century as one of the main public strategies of the Chinese government:

Not surprisingly, in tandem with this upsurge of interest in “things Chinese”, there has also been an assertion of traditional elements, so that Chinese culture is projected as a unifying and largely static phenomenon with contemporary culture reproducing and modernizing relics of China’s historical past. The choice of the title “Confucius Institute” is indicative of this homogenizing and backward-looking trend. The name itself implies a certain kind of Chinese culture to be promoted. Confucius’ teaching has for some two thousand years been synonymous with the orthodox parts of Chinese culture, and in that time it has been a philosophy that gave the appearance of a unitary way of life in the hugely diverse regions of China.50

However, these commonplace “truths” are complex constructs that hide as much as they reveal. The projection of a unified China back 4,000 years, for example, postulates a Xia dynasty (circa 2070–1600 BCE) for which there is limited evidence, though the claims for the Shang (seventeenth to eleventh BCE) have now been verified archaeologically (see the discussion in Chapter 7).51 Though urban sites began quite early in the territory of modern China, the processes that caused the crucial interaction of the middle Yellow River and the middle-lower Yangtze remain to be fully explored.52 Part of the problem is that later dynasties gain their credibility by pointing to their legitimate succession from earlier kingdoms, thus projecting back a claimed unity onto an extremely complex process. In this light, the Xia dynasty is as much a legitimating creation as the culture heroes of legendary China, including the mythic Yellow Emperor as the ancestor of everyone Chinese. Likewise, Confucius has often been used as a symbol for the entire cultural legacy of early China, whether negatively in the “down with Confucius” campaigns of the May Fourth 1919 movement and later Maoist campaigns, or positively as the locus of a humanizing and moral Chinese tradition. Closer historical analysis shows how complex and diverse teachings attributed to Confucius act as foci for a living tradition of thought that evolved in contrast, opposition, and engagement to other “schools,” for example, the Daoist, Mohist, Legalist and Buddhist traditions (see Appendix: The Five Philosophies).

This problem of a “backward-looking” continuity can be compared with the case of Egypt, where ancient origin and archaic styles were seen as legitimating for later dynasties. Egyptian dynasties of the Late Period (circa 712–332 BCE) would often repeat the styles and adapt forms of much earlier temples, appealing to a timeless past of “origin and power.”53 In reality, there were continuous changes over time: new temples were established, and young cults faded into obscurity or were subsumed. Here we must be cautious of illusions of stability and continuity which were central and reinforcing values in Egyptian culture. As elaborated in Chapter 1, archaizing trends in both Chinese and Egyptian civilizations often hide new uses of old forms. The Ptolemies (332–30 BCE) exemplified this. As a new Hellenistic regime, they mobilized early Egyptian pharaonic styles and hybrid religious images to underpin their vision of divine kingship.

For early China, the claim of continuity with past dynasties reflected not only a search for models of behavior, but also a claim of legitimate inheritance or transfer of the Mandate of Heaven. Aside from the general reverence for early cultural heroes such as the Yellow Emperor and the ancient “sage” kings Yao and Shun, Confucius explicitly praised the earlier ways of the Zhou dynasty, while Mencius lauded various aspects of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou periods.54 We can see this notion of learning from earlier dynasties attributed explicitly to Confucius:

The Master said: “Zhou observes the example set by two dynasties, so how splendid is its culture! And we take Zhou as our model.”55

On this basis, there was a tendency to see an expansive and stable China as justifying the rule of emperors even when they were invaders, as in the early phases of the Mongol and the Manchu dynasties. What this myth of continuity concealed, however, were numerous periods of civil war, peasant rebellions, fragmented dynasties and kingdoms, and the long periods when China was effectively divided between northern and southern zones. Thus, the second half of the Zhou dynasty (from 770 BCE) was in fact a fragmented state system that led to the Warring States period (from circa 350 BCE), the unifying Qin dynasty would collapse into civil war from 209 BCE before the Han could emerge in 206 BCE, and the combative Three Kingdoms period (220–270) gave way to the “Period of Disunion” from 220 to 600 CE. The Tang dynasty (618–907 CE) in turn would yield to the Five Northern Dynasties and the Ten Kingdoms (907–960), followed by regional dynasties (Southern Song, Khitan, Jurchen), and then the initially northern-based Mongol (Yuan, 127–1368) and Manchu (Qing, 1644–1911) dynasties. In this context, it is not surprising that China experienced numerous internal and external wars, in spite of a Confucian trend of thought that disesteemed military adventurism, especially during the Song (960–1279) and later Ming (1368–1644) periods. Although certain key features of the Chinese state were established by the Han, this should not blind us to major social, economic, military, and societal evolution under the Qin, Tang, Song, and Ming dynasties, plus the more reactive demands for reform under the last dynasty, the Qing.

In reality, Chinese thought has often invoked a normative past to support change or reform. The concept of tongbian embraces the idea of continuity through change, plus the insight that states and empires are complex processes. This line of thought is partly compatible with early Daoist ideas and modern interpretations of Chinese dialectics (discussed further in Chapter 5). As explained by Qin Yaqing:

Anything, no matter whether it is an individual or an institution, is in this process of transforming. This process-nurtured transformation is called tongbian, or continuity through change. Change here basically refers to “change through inter-subjectivity” between the two opposites or poles and “change through contextuality”. The poles in Chinese dialectics depend on and correlate with each other, mutually constituting and conditioning. Once one disappears, the other disappears simultaneously. A being continues its life through becoming. The poles in it are in a process of transforming into one another, thus producing continual and continuous dynamics for life and existence. . . . Continuity through change and change with continuity has become the Chinese understanding of the world, and also a practice in life.56

This accords with the idea of processes grounded in the generative interaction of complementary contrasts (originally yin and yang), leading to cyclic periods of transition, but it also accommodates later socialist interpretations such as the interaction of economic base and ideological superstructure in Marxist and Maoist thought.57 This approach also permits the “contradicting” policies of socialism and capitalism to be run together in fulfillment of a long-term mechanism for China’s development.

Thus, the apparent “timelessness” of a long-reaching Chinese civilization conceals periods of evolution, disruption and reinvention, calling upon particular visions of the past to legitimate new regimes and to promote necessary reforms. Power transitions (across dynasties and even invading groups) were smoothed through this image of cultural continuity, sustained by effective governance. By the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, however, the narrative of continuity across time became an increasingly difficult exercise. Qing weaknesses led to a reappraisal of China’s cultural legacy and, indeed, what it was to be Chinese. This has evolved into a profound debate over what China “wants to be,” and what it “should be” on the world stage in the twenty-first century.

Beyond an appropriation of “timelessness,” there was another strand of thought that appreciated the need for a flexible and strategic engagement in affairs, based on the particularities of the time—a “situational awareness,” one might say, of the historical and military moment. This was the idea of “timeliness,” or being “timely.” Indeed, Confucius became known as the “timely sage,” based on the idea that his “ritual responses were always appropriate to the circumstances”; for example, when leaving a state or taking up office, “Confucius was the sage whose actions were timely.”58 Confucianism includes the idea of timeliness or being timely (shi), adapting in a principled way to changing circumstances and historical periods. Modern Confucianism can thereby enter into dialogue with global diversity and positive multiculturalism, using its emphasis on human relationships, building communities, and sustained education as useful starting points (see further Chapter 1).59

Thus for Confucius, the junzi, or morally cultivated person worthy of office, would put “his words into action before allowing his words to follow his action.”60 The irony for Confucius was that the states of his time were not yet ready to put his ideas into practice. Hence we find certain deprecating comments in the Analects admitting that Confucius had a limited role in government, though he remained the preeminent teacher.61 His students and followers would have a continuing impact, with Confucian ideas becoming part of the imperial mainstream from the Han period onward.

In Daoist thought we find an even stronger emphasis on timeliness, based on the idea of only taking an action when it is appropriate. Alongside the pragmatic policy of intervening in a crisis or an emerging development as early as possible, there was also the notion of letting events flow naturally, based on the concept of wu-wei, or “non-action.” This refers to a “kind of unpremeditated, nondeliberative, noncalculating, nonpurposive action . . .”62 Through wu-wei, one acts, or not, according to the dao, rather than being hostage to socially indoctrinated ideas. This “going with the flow” of an existing tendency accords with “second stage” Daoism in which all things, even apparent setbacks, can be turned to advantage. Wu-wei can also have the implication of spontaneous action, directed from the dao or genuine nature. The metaphor often used is that of water: calm, transparent and almost invisible in a clear pond, but powerful and raging in a waterfall, a torrent that can move stones. Daoist thought embraced a wide range of strategies: “non-action” as a spontaneous and complete response, the “use of the useless” (something that turns out to be of benefit from a different viewpoint), the ability to respond realistically to your “ground” or environment without prejudice, and the development of a clear mind which can grasp quickly changing circumstances.

These ideas were developed in detail in the foremost Daoist texts: the Daodejing (Classic of the Dao and its Power) also known as the Laozi (“the old master,” the purported author who may have been a largely legendary figure) and the Zhuangzi, named after the historically known Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu) who lived in the fourth century BCE. Daoist ideas are also evident in the Art of War, traditionally attributed to the military philosopher Sunzi (Sun Tzu) of the fifth century BCE. That Mao Zedong’s theory of “people’s war” in the twentieth century carried discernible Daoist ideas is not surprising as Daoism informed many Chinese military works. They often focused on the idea of flexible and innovative strategies whose main aim was to manipulate the intent and mind of an opponent, using physical force only as required and in the most effective manner. These strategies also focused on eroding the political unity of the opposing state (the links among rulers, generals, soldiers and the wider populace), on strategies of misdirection and deception, and the ability to utilize apparent weaknesses as strengths. Great emphasis was placed on leadership and strategy, less on technology and routine applications of tactical doctrine. This can be seen in the complex idea of shi or disposition (a different but related concept to that of timeliness, see further in Chapter 2). It has also been explained as “power,” but in varied senses:

The most familiar meanings are power, force, or influence. Another common usage refers to a situation’s natural features or a person’s circumstances. Some Chinese use the term to suggest a tendency, trend, or series, or even people’s gestures. The Chinese use Shih [shi] in political theory, military strategy, the Wei-Chi game, and daily life to express a special form of power or influence. In a military context, Shih refers to power or influence.63

As explained in one modern Western analysis:

In fact, it is in this very notion of change that much of traditional Chinese strategic thinking rests. Central to this understanding is the concept of shi (勢). Shi can be translated as “power,” “momentum,” “tendency,” or “state of affairs.” Another Western scholar, attempting to convey all its contextual meanings, translates it as “strategic configuration of power.”64

This emphasis on embracing a wide socio-political approach, rather than a narrow focus on territory or destruction of enemy forces, has been used to explain strategies used during the Warring States period (475–221 BCE), the sustained conflict of the Three Kingdoms era (220–280 CE), and the Communist victory in 1949 over the Nationalists (Guomindang) in the Chinese civil war.65 In the last case, Mao Zedong and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP, also known as the Communist Party of China—CPC) insisted on an early targeting of the invading Japanese. This was done despite the Chinese Red Army, later to be known as the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), having just gone through the Long March—an exhausting military retreat (though a heroic propaganda victory). The decision to fight the Japanese, and the portrayal of the Long March as a “victory” of the human spirit, improved their politico-military prospects. It gained them a popular shi strategy that would give the CCP enormous momentum in the following years. In wanting to delay all-out war with Japan until “domestic consolidation” had been assured by crushing the Communist forces, Chiang Kai-shek lost moral support across much of China. This caused Nationalist military commanders Zhang Xueling and Yang Hucheng to detain Chiang, forcing him to join a “united front” against the external invaders.66 Thereafter, Chiang did commit Nationalist forces into the protracted war with Japan, suffering larger losses than the Red Army. Thus the CCP’s decision for all-out war against Japan cut both ways: against the invading Japanese and the Nationalists. Meanwhile, clashes and operations in preparation for civil war began as early as 1941, since Communist numbers and areas of control had been expanding. Once the Japanese had been defeated, Mao would use the three phases of “people’s war”—strategic retreat, stalemate, and strategic counter-attack—to bring down an apparently stronger adversary. This was a shi strategy: the first phase of strategic retreat entailed peasant support, political mobilization, and guerrilla warfare. It was a form of “active defense” that eroded enemy strength in order to arrive at the strategic stalemate. The final phase was one of conventional counter-attack to destroy Nationalist forces first in northern China, then in operations south of the Yangtze River.67

Here we can put Mao’s dictum, “Every Communist must grasp the truth, ‘Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun’” into proper context.68 The background to this quotation is twofold, one theoretical, and one experiential. Revolution for Mao was an act of insurrection by which one class overthrew another, thereby necessitating violence and warfare. Military power was a key component of revolutionary and state power—the gun was thus a necessary tool to allow the transformation to socialism. Mao stated that the revolutionary classes did not want war (they were the “advocates of the abolition of war”), but the only way to end capitalist wars was through class insurrection.69 Mao emphasized that the Communist Party would need to keep control of the PLA, as enshrined in the dictum that “Our principle is that the Party commands the gun, and the gun must never be allowed to command the Party,” later formalized in the CCP constitution.70 Furthermore, many early PRC leaders had military experience. A pattern emerged for the party general secretary to also become PRC president and chairman of the CCP’s Central Military Commission, which controls the PLA (for these issues, see further Chapter 5).

Experientially, Mao was looking back on the disastrous period of warlords that had almost destroyed the republican aspirations of Sun Yat-sen, had led to the wholesale militarization of early twentieth century China, and then intensified the civil wars that followed. For the CCP, power was never defined through narrow military terms. Rather, winning hearts and minds, mobilizing the population, constructing a socialist society, and developing a modern Chinese state with “comprehensive national power,” proved to be the wider strategy whereby the People’s Republic could “stand up” as a great nation.

In the twenty-first century, the PLA has moved toward a more professional and technologically advanced means of warfare. It has focused on joint operations and enhanced power projection through modernizing its air force and navy, and the introduction of new generations of jet fighters, submarines, missiles, and satellite systems. However, these past strategic experiences have not been lost. Hard military power is seen as one tool among a much wider spectrum of capacities, including diplomatic, economic and cultural strategies designed to sustain a more positive view of China. Even hard power serves soft power purposes, notably “military operations other than war” (MOOTW, including disaster relief, aid and peacekeeping operations).71 The PLA has also prepared asymmetric capacities for dealing with opponents that have superior conventional forces, with the possible use of cyberwar, area-denial and anti-satellite operations. The notion of “unrestricted” or comprehensive war has also been suggested by recent Chinese thinkers: a hybrid approach across socio-political and economic spheres to overcome the hard military power of potential adversaries, though this is still couched within a defensive orientation.72

These changing factors have led to a debate in the last decade as to whether China has a specific strategic culture, and whether this strategic culture is still different to Euro-American patterns. Strategic culture can be seen as the set of orientations and methods through which nations (and other organized groups) choose to achieve their goals. These methods include the cultural factors which affect the way actors seek cooperation, competition or conflict on the international scene, especially in security and defense. In the case of China, this has been linked to wider civilizational claims and long-term historical trends.73 In the view of Harry Harding, Chinese historical experience results in a strong emphasis on stratagems and innovative leadership:

Periods of disunity and division have produced examples of military and civilian leaders skilled at competing with the other states that constituted Greater China. Those leaders—for example Sun Zi of the Warring States period, or Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang of the Three Kingdoms—have produced much of China’s strategic culture. Key to that culture is the premise that the weak can defeat the strong through asymmetrical strategies, especially if their cause is morally just. Equally important is the idea that the key to victory is not offense but initiative, with initiative defined as the ability to define the terms—the arena and the rules—of a competition or conflict.74

Recently, however, there have been disputes about whether China’s strategic culture is primarily offensive or defensive in orientation. Military modernization has forced the PLA into some convergence with Western strategies based on the “revolution in military affairs” (RMA) and net-centric warfare, focused on “informationization” (as PRC translations express it), command-and-control systems, and new technological drivers. However, in this area China retains a “bicultural” approach, well able to learn from Western technology and doctrine, but still framed within a national strategy that sees war, and military affairs, embedded in long-term national development (see further below).75 For Chinese leaders and strategists, “power” remains a flexible concept rather than a realist calculation of coercive capacity (see Chapter 6 and the Conclusion).

Socialist and Capitalist, Authoritarian and Populist?

The People’s Republic of China has been prepared to run national and developmental policies that contain apparent contradictions. Thus Deng Xiaoping—China’s paramount leader after Mao—was willing to promote an open-door policy for trade and a move toward capitalism, famously arguing that: “It did not matter whether the cat is black or white. As long as it catches mice, it is a good cat.” Another memorable Dengist slogan, “to get rich is glorious,” meant allowing people to improve their own standard of living and strengthen a modernizing China. A moderated capitalism was seen as the engine for growth (“productive forces” in Marxist terminology) and a necessary means to achieve a just future socialism: hence the doctrine of “socialism with Chinese characteristics” was developed explicitly from 1979 but had an intellectual lineage traceable to the thought of Sun Yat-sen.76

Since that time, wildcat capitalism, money-hunger, greater exposure to the vicissitudes of the global economy, and the impact of industrial pollution have shown that capitalism can be hard to control. Thus one of the dilemmas for China has been growing inequality between rich and poor, based on differential access to high growth areas in the economy. Partly to counter these problems, plus growing gaps between richer and poor provinces, China has sustained high levels of social spending and targeted regional investment. This includes the “Great Western Development” (GWD) launched from 1999 (and re-incorporated in the five-year plans for 2011–2015 and 2016–2020) to boost development in the western regions, including Xinjiang. Alongside this, the “harmonious society” project (hexie shehui) has been a guiding framework for balanced national development (important in five-year plans from 2006).77 It was designed to overcome a range of emerging social problems including “uneven urban, rural and regional economic development, increasing pressures from human resource conditions; employment, social security, wealth distribution, education, health care, housing, industrial safety, crime prevention and public security which have direct impact on people’s life.”78 Beyond specific policies, the Chinese government tried to articulate a set of values that should be promoted in public life as capitalism became a stronger force socially. This had begun as early as Deng Xiaoping’s emphasis on China as a “socialist spiritual civilization” as a counterbalance to excessive materialism. External commentators remained skeptical of how far these goals could be achieved, and whether they were largely ideological factors mobilized to legitimate the PRC government and its political system.79 More cogently, Beijing understood that governmental intervention would be required to balance these forces of capital production, but became increasingly aware of the need to re-engage the wider Chinese public as part of this “socialist modernization,” as noted in Premier Li Keqiang’s 2016 Report on the Work of Government to the Twelfth National People’s Congress.80

More problematic for China, however, is the tension between its reality as an authoritarian state and the need to provide an opening to internal social forces and modern ideas of globalization and pluralism. Chinese authoritarianism evolved in the context of the desperate struggle for survival of the Chinese Communist Party against the Guomindang, intensified by Marxist-Leninist thought whereby class enemies and counter-revolutionaries had to be ruthlessly suppressed. Although allied and friendly parties are tolerated (mainly peasant, patriotic, or socialist groups), China does not allow for organized opposition parties. The acceptance of a “loyal opposition” is missing in this political landscape, with heightened internal threat perceptions remaining a characteristic feature of contemporary China.81

In the post-Mao period the scope for different influences on public policy increased, as did the diversity of published ideas. There was even a limited role for competition among party leaders, though formally structured under a collective leadership. Democratic centralism had consisted of “the Party and government making policy from the top downward while paying attention to criticism or suggestions from the bottom up,” an adaptation of the long-standing Bolshevik doctrine of “consultation at the base level and decision-making in the top echelon of the party.”82 Once democratic centralism had shaped a policy, it was then propagated throughout society. Despite a decrease in internal conflict over the “mass line,” the party is still highly sensitive to any effort at revisionist accounts of the early Republic and the evolution of the nascent Chinese Communist Party, especially within the context of mass media or visions of a “red renaissance.”83 Essentially, the CCP must continue its efforts to define and interpret its history within certain boundaries. The past continues to serve its useful purpose of interpreting, criticizing and even satirizing the present. Indeed, from 2008, the CCP once again began to emphasize “one-dimensional” (monolithic, yiyuanhua) guiding principles, while in 2012 President Hu Jintao reminded PLA commanders of the need for continued loyalty to the party, perhaps seeking to close down perceived rifts among different political factions.84

In past decades, there has been some political opening, with wider freedom of speech, a greater role for academic viewpoints and input from think tanks, and efforts to create a more efficient, rule-based, “neo-liberal” state.85 There has been a rise of civil society and non-governmental organization (NGO) groups, even if largely clustered around relatively safe areas—for example, positive analysis of China’s foreign affairs, environmentalism and women’s rights. The Chinese government is also more willing to “explain itself” in some areas to domestic and international audiences, such as on human rights and minority-ethnic relations.86 It remains highly reactive, however, to writings that suggest “splitism” or a challenge to Chinese sovereignty. Tibet, Xinjiang, and the future of Taiwan are classed in this category of special concern. A tightening of the range of ideas officially debated within government administration and universities became evident from 2014, perhaps seeking to support Xi Jinping’s transitional agenda for a “new normal” that would embrace economic sustainability and international empowerment (see further Chapters 6).87

Times are changing, however. With the advent of globalized media, a middle-class population with greater access to travel and education overseas, and the proliferation of internet materials, the government elite can no longer dictate “truth” for the wider population. Likewise, continuous protests within China by farmers and workers indicate a volatile mix of legacies:

Restive farmers and workers in China may cloak themselves in the language of defunct revolution, but evidence suggests that rather than the crude categories of class struggle and revolutionary vanguards, their metaphorical landscape is a complex mixture of traditional culture tropes, revolutionary discourse, and an awareness of modern rights and ways to stretch the rules.88

In the more open environment of a globalizing China, with a better educated population and increasing international engagement, Chinese leaders also need to formulate new messages for domestic audiences. Ironically, these leaders can no longer rely only on the iron discipline of the party, nor the “regime maintenance” gains accrued from sustained economic growth and state-stability. From aging revolutionary leaders to the new technocrats, it is not clear that being “red and expert” will be enough to maintain the current core of leadership around a relatively closed group of political cadres. The increased public space allowed for Confucianism is due to its value as a relatively safe value system, both in society at large and as an implicit model for accountable (but not democratic) governance.

Moreover, since the cult of personality of the later Mao years was judged to be dangerous, Chinese leaders since Deng Xiaoping have not been able to engage a true populism which garners them para-institutional popularity. In general terms populism can be defined as “a form of personalistic leadership that mobilized diverse popular constituencies behind statist, nationalistic and redistributive developmental models.”89 Thus leftist leaders in South America such as Evo Morales and the Hugo Chavez had at first gained enormous support for their leadership not just through their socialist reforms, but through their personal place in the popular imagination of national struggle and revolution. This kind of support has largely been debarred for Chinese presidents by the rigidity and dignity expected of party leaders, as well as the theoretically “collective” transition from one leadership group to its designated heirs. Though each generation of leadership soon established their own core of power and their own programs, they were still embedded in the party-speak and ideology of the CCP. Xi Jinping’s emergence as a ‘core leader’ has only recently begun to incrementally change this balance of personal and institutional power through 2015–2016 (see the Conclusion).

It is for this reason that clever slogans can become extremely important in Chinese politics—they distinguish one regime from another, all in theory consistent with earlier government lines. Though recent Chinese leaders are more exposed through mass media, this is not enough to create the emotional connections sought by other national leaders, such as Russia’s Vladimir Putin. The use of the term “Xi Dada” (Uncle Xi) in some state media from 2014 onward was part of the effort to show President Xi as a protector of ordinary people at the same time as he moved to centralize power through anti-corruption campaigns.90 However, this has not emerged as an entrenched personality cult. When Chinese public figures do begin to accrue this type of charisma, it soon becomes highly problematic in the subtle game of Chinese politics.

This is well illustrated by a brief account of two important Chinese public figures who fell from grace, one in the late 1950s and again in the late 1980s, the other in a 2012–2013 scandal that became more convoluted than any Chinese opera. During the intellectual ferment concerning political and economic reform in the 1980s, one of China’s most outspoken writers, Liu Binyan, argued that there were two types of the loyalty to the party. One was straightforward obedience and hard work. The second and nobler loyalty, however, was using individual insights and the ability to criticize and improve society. Some of his most dangerous criticism approached the issue of relations between the people and party, and whether the party was indeed responsive to the needs and interests of the people as a whole.91 His stories At the Bridge Site, Inside Story, In Between Men and A Second Kind of Loyalty became famous both within and outside China for exposing corruption and mismanagement, leading to the writer being expelled twice by the CCP, first in 1957, and again in 1987.92 From 1988 Liu lived in the United States. He died in 2005, still a supporter of a socialism rooted in the peasants and workers. Though his writings have since been revived, his fate showed how popular social criticism could become entangled with the power politics of party policy.

More controversially, the rise and fall of Bo Xilai indicates the danger of popular movements that challenge the preferred government line, especially during a leadership transition period. Bo Xilai emerged as a significant leader, first at Dalian, then as the Chongqing party secretary. From 2008 he became one of the main supporters of a crypto-Maoist “red renaissance” that expanded into an implicit criticism of the policies of Hu Jintao and his premier, Wen Jiabao. In part, this retro-Maoism may have been a rejection of unbalanced development and emerging “class antagonism,” with inner and western regions still lagging behind coastal areas.93 Beyond this, Bo had built a large support base in Chongqing, the thriving megalopolis of western China with a population of 34 million. His sustained campaigns against organized crime (which may have involved suborning judges to give harsh convictions), his policies of affordable housing for the poor within the city, and his support for the “red culture” movement gave him a dangerously high profile from 2009.94 In this context, his influence in the party would have been for a lean-to-the-left, a posture that would have made him unpopular with then leaders Hu Jintao and Wen Jiabao. If it is true that former President Hu would have preferred Li Keqiang rather than Xi Jinping as the next CCP general secretary and president, then there may have been a protracted power struggle behind the scenes, with Xi being viewed as more friendly to Bo.95 Bo Xilai, regardless of accusations of corruption, misuse of power (in his dismissal of “police chief” Wang Lijun), and involvement in his wife’s murderous activities, became of political concern once he began to mobilize mass opinion. For many local supporters, and among young cartoonists and online bloggers, Bo Xilai was regarded as a neo-Maoist “superman” who could right the wrongs of the party.96 For Beijing, however, this was much more than a form of Maoist nostalgia. It was a direct challenge to their ability to chart the future of China. Bo Xilai indicated both the possibilities and dangers of mass populism in the PRC today. His life sentence will not easily end the debates among supporters and detractors, nor subsequent trials as occurred in 2016.97

These factors have shaped the current conditions for the leadership of Xi Jinping and his efforts to capture the public imagination with his “China Dream” slogan. Though not tightly formulated, President Xi in his speeches in 2013 focused on the “earnest expectations of the people for a better life” based on a “great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation,” with targets for national improvement set for the years 2021 and 2049.98 (The first marks the hundredth anniversary of the CCP and the second that of the PRC.) Partly updating the idea of a Chinese renaissance, the slogan is an extension of earlier socialist frameworks reinforced by ambitious books such as China Dream: Great Power Thinking and Strategic Position of China in the Post-American Age, written by retired colonel Liu Mingfu.99 As stated by Xi: “Our system will be improved and the superiority of our socialist system will be fully demonstrated through a brighter future. . . . We should have firm confidence in our path, in our theories and in our system.” Tellingly he added that the selection of the path was “a life-or-death issue for the future of the CPC” and therefore: “We should unswervingly uphold socialism with Chinese characteristics.”100

What remains clear is that the China Dream promises more than wealth. It points to a stronger and more successful China in which all Chinese are offered their share of fulfillment. It also parallels a more assertive foreign policy in which Chinese leaders are less reticent about China’s rise in the international system. As such, the slogan tapped into patriotic and nationalist sentiments of the Chinese public. Ironically, this may limit China’s future policy options, notably in finding compromise solutions with Japan over disputed maritime claims and with the United States over the broader “balance” of power in the Indo-Pacific. Some critics have seen the “China Dream” as a dangerous propaganda ploy designed to shore up an outdated CCP regime at the cost of allowing increased anti-foreign sentiment.101 The “China Dream” slogan exhibits a continued reliance on national expectations, and the linkage between domestic and international power plays.

These brief examples, ranging from dissident critics to outlawed politicians and recent political slogans, indicate that for China the central problem of power is that of governance. It is not simply an accruing of different aspects of power—in its soft, economic, and military dimensions. For China, political power rests on the ability of the elite to lead the wider population, even in a semi-authoritarian state with weak democratic and limited populist credentials. Only secondarily does the Chinese state rely on the coercive and defensive capabilities of the PLA and related security services. Internationally, its power is determined by a capacity to influence the behavior of other states within a global system largely structured in the twentieth century before China had re-emerged as a powerful nation. This experiential reality required a comprehensive and flexible approach to power, one that was attuned to its international ramifications. For China, this is conditioned by historical experience, particular conceptual understandings inherited from the past, and an adaptation to current conditions.

These themes are further explored in the following chapters, each covering a particular historical period by addressing distinctive problems and ideas that shaped the wider Chinese attitude to power and its use. Later usages of these modes of thought, as well as parallel debates and institutions, are addressed in each chapter, showing a layered “archaeology” of strategic and political thinking that has become a diverse resource for shaping Chinese policy to new problems. Chapter 1 looks at foundational elements that established early Chinese culture but also shaped enduring concepts of governance. This timeless “China” concealed the strategic use of history and philosophy to create an evolving knowledge of political power used in different ways by each dynasty. Successive dynasties and governments had to be defended through skillful social and military means that could address the problem of change and plot a path toward a stable future. Even today, the problem of informed and comprehensive planning has fostered the development of a wide range of think tanks and policy centers tied to government needs. The need for “skillful means” is explored further in Chapter 2 through the concept of shi as the strategic configuration of power, a concept that retained political and military utility for over three thousand years. Chapter 3 focuses on a Chinese “imperial order” that also came to recognize its place among a plurality of nearby states and powers. During the Tang dynasty, imperial ritual still mobilized the outlines of an East Asian diplomatic order in which China was relatively dominant. In reality, by the time of the Song period, Chinese governance was bolstered by a range of economic, cultural, ideological, migrational and military dimensions. This is explored by looking at relations with Southeast Asia (including the Srivijayan “empire”) from the Tang period onward, as well as the later power imbalance with the northern dynasties, the Western Xia dynasty (the Tanguts), and the Mongols. In the long run, China could mobilize enormous military, technological and naval power, but only at extremely high economic and social costs. Power projection became a dangerous and difficult strategy for the early Ming and Qing dynasties, and has become a problematic necessity for modern China. In the current period China has had to become both a continental and a maritime power in order to pursue its wider national interests. In doing so, it has become more active in reforming the regional and global order. In Chapter 4, we examine nationalism as a modernizing ideology, but one that evolved as a reactive mechanism against the declining Qing dynasty, leaving open the question of who, and what, it was to be Chinese. In the formulation of the modern Chinese republics, there has been a shift from subject to citizen, leading to a more inclusive but still reactive national identity which has not fully resolved the issue of the balance of rights versus state power. This question has not been fully answered today, even as globalization throws peoples and nations into ever stronger interactions.

Chapter 5 turns to the formation of Communist China, and the way that modern strands of thought have merged to create dynamic patterns of revolution and development. Riding the bow wave of these two phenomena has given China special credentials as both a socialist and “developmentalist” state—that is, one which focuses on state-led development as its political priority—challenging the status quo of Western economic success. The legacies of communism and Marxism have stamped particular modes of operation on the formulation of China’s national interests, foreign policy, and the way they should be conducted. This is based in part on communist institutions that have ensured “stability preservation,” but also by channeling and controlling nationalist tendencies. As a developing state, China has not only sought to strengthen itself internally, but has arrived at benchmarks of “comprehensive national power” that allows it to measure itself against other states and thus begin to transform the international order. As shown in Chapter 6, this is partly framed in competitive terms, but also driven by the imperative to improve living conditions and offer better options for 1.3 billion people. It has also reinforced that idea of cooperation among “rising powers” as the key to protecting China’s development in the short and medium term. Chapter 7 takes us back to the issue of strategic culture, and why this has provoked scholarly dispute among both Chinese and Westerners over the last two decades. As we shall see, Chinese strategic thought is evolving, but retains a flexible, multipolar structure operating at different levels, allowing it to embrace new technologies and adaptive doctrines, retaining an overarching outlook that views war and conflict as processes embedded in long-term historical contexts. Ancient Daoist emperors unwisely sought immortality, modern China (more modestly) seeks to project its future as far forward as possible. In the Conclusion, we turn to Chinese orientations toward power that provide insights on current tensions among the great powers in the Indo-Pacific, based on real differences but also on complex efforts to redefine the role of China on the global stage. This goes beyond earlier models of “great power management” and multipolarity. Chinese quests for “new models of power” are not well understood by wider publics or decision-makers in America, India, Australia, or even Japan. Avoiding intensified conflict in future decades requires that these states and societies, including China, mutually understand their different strengths and needs, desires, and weaknesses.

Notes

1. Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations: the Struggle for Power and Peace (New York: Knopf, 1985), 11.

2. This is now a huge area of trans-disciplinary research. Useful starting points include Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. trans. Alan Sheridan (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1979); Joseph S. Nye, “Soft Power and American Foreign Policy,” Political Science Quarterly 19, no. 2 (Summer 2004): 255–70; Joseph, S. Nye, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics (New York: Public Affairs, 2004); Joseph, S. Nye, Future of Power (New York: Public Affairs, 2011); Yan Xuetong, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, trans. Edmund Ryden (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011); Chan Lai-Ha et al., “Rethinking Global Governance: A China Model in the Making?” Contemporary Politics 14, no. 1 (March 2008): 3–19; Sheng Ding, “Analyzing Rising Power from the Perspective of Soft Power: a New Look at China’s Rise to the Status Quo Power,” Journal of Contemporary China 19, no. 64 (March 2010): 255–72; Michael Karlberg, “The Power of Discourse and the Discourse of Power: Pursuing Peace Through Discourse Intervention.” International Journal of Peace Studies 10, no. 1 (Spring/Summer 2005): 1–23; Wang Yuan-kang, Harmony and War: Confucian Culture and Chinese Power Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010).

3. Benjamin Miller, “Contrasting Explanations for Peace: Realism vs. Liberalism in Europe and the Middle East,” Contemporary Security Policy 31, no. 1 (April 2010): 134–64, following Joseph S. Nye, “Soft Power and American Foreign Policy,” Political Science Quarterly 19, no. 2 (Summer 2004): 255–70; Nye, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics.

4. Walter Russell Mead, “America’s Sticky Power,” Foreign Policy no. 141 (March 1, 2004): 48.

5. Ian Bremmer and Nouriel Roubini, “The G-Zero World: The New Economic Club Will Produce Conflict, Not Cooperation,” Foreign Affairs 90, no. 2 (March 2011): 2–7.

6. See for example Coral Bell, A World Out of Balance: American Power and International Politics in the Twenty-First Century (Sydney: The Diplomat magazine and Longueville Books, 2004); Hugh White, The China Choice: Why America Should Share Power (Collingwood: Black Inc., 2012); Amitav Acharya, “Asia-Pacific Security: Community, Concert or What?” PacNet (Pacific Forum, CSIS, Honolulu), no. 11 (March 12, 2010). [http://csis.org/files/publication/pac1011.pdf].

7. Yan Xuetong, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power.

8. Qin Yaqing, “International Society as a Process: Institutions, Identities, and China’s Peaceful Rise,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics 3, no. 2 (2010): 129–53; Tang Huiyun, “China’s Soft Power Construction Policy,” Journal of US-China Public Administration 9, no. 5 (May 2012): 563–69.

9. Xinhua “China Reviews 2012–2015 Human Rights Progress, Pledges Greater Efforts,” June 14, 2016 [http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2016–06/14/c_135436312.htm]; Xinhuanet “Highlight of Proposals in the 13th Five-Year Plan (2016–2020)”, November 4, 2015 [http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/photo/2015–11/04/c_134783513.htm]; Information Office of the State Council National Human Rights Action Plan of China 2012–2015, PRC, June 11, 2012 [http://www.china.org.cn/government/whitepaper/node_7156850.htm].

10. See for example, Tian Chenshan, Chinese Dialectics: From Yijing to Marxism (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2005); William A. Callahan and Elena Barabantseva (eds.), China Orders the World: Normative Soft Power and Foreign Policy (Baltmore: The John Hopkins Press, 2011); Some of these wider views are now enshrined in PRC white papers, for example, State Council Information Office of the PRC, China’s Peaceful Development Road, White Paper (Beijing: December 2005); State Council Information Office of the PRC, China’s Peaceful Development, White Paper (Beijing, September 2011).

11. Marina Svensson, Debating Human Rights in China: A Conceptual and Political History (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002), 85.

12. Yong Deng, China’s Struggle for Status: The Realignment of International Relations (Cambridge: CUP, 2008), 40.

13. Yong Deng, China’s Struggle for Status: The Realignment of International Relations, 43.

14. Yan Xuetong, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, 141–43. For the importance of the still unresolved debates on how to manage great power relations, for example, China and the United States, see Qi Hao “China Debates the ‘New Type of Great Power Relations’,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics 8, no. 4 (2015): 349–70.

15. For the numerous compound words and phrases using these root elements, see David Crook, A Chinese-English Dictionary (Taiwan: Han Ying Cidian, 1988); Zhang Dainian, Key Concepts in Chinese Philosophy, trans. Edmund Ryden (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 2005).

16. Scott McDonald, Brock Jones, and Jason M. Frazee, “Phase Zero: How China Exploits it, Why the United States Does Not,” Naval War College Review 65, no. 3 (Summer 2012).

17. William H. Mott IV and Jae Chang Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 13–44.

18. Cho-yun Hsu, China: A New Cultural History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006); Benjamin Schwartz, The World of Thought in Ancient China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1985); Tu Wei-Ming, “The Confucian Tradition in Chinese History,” in Heritage of China: Contemporary Perspectives on Chinese Civilization, edited by Paul S. Ropp (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 112–37; Qin Yaqing, “International Society as a Process: Institutions, Identities, and China’s Peaceful Rise,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics 3, no. 2 (2010); Tian Chenshan, Chinese Dialectics: From Yijing to Marxism.

19. Yan Xuetong, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, 115.

20. See Cheng-Chwee Kuik, “Multilaterialism in China’s ASEAN Policy: Its Evolution, Characteristics, and Aspiration,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 27, no. 1 (April 2005): 102–22; Chan Lai-Ha et al., “Rethinking Global Governance: A China Model in the Making?” Contemporary Politics 14, no. 1 (March 2008): 3–19; Rosita Dellios and R. James Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order: From Peaceful Rise to Harmonious World (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013).

21. Indeed, through 2013–2016, a chorus of voices warned of a new Cold War, if not worse, in the near future. See for example Rowan Callick, “Cold War Is Becoming a Looming Reality over South China Sea,” The Australian, June 20, 2016 [http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/world/cold-war-is-becoming-a-looming-reality-over-the-south-china-sea/news-story/c00a419277cb7e017f77db00078f018b]; Michael D. Swaine et al., Conflict and Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific Region (Washington DC, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2015); Prashanth Parameswaran, “War and Peace in Asia’s Future,” The Diplomat, April 2, 2015; John Mearsheimer, “Can China Rise Peacefully?” The National Interest, October 25, 2015); Ninan Koshy, “US Pivot Risks Asia-Pacific Cold War,” Asia Times, July 23, 2013; Clint Work, “Cold War Structures and Tectonic Shifts: Long Standing U.S. Commitments to East Asia Complicate and Already Complex Region”, The Diplomat, February 12, 2014. In turn, Chinese political and educational elites have become seriously concerned that the US pivot demonstrates containment rather than engagement of China, with perceptions that a virtual “alliance of the South” might be formed to restrain Chinese influence. See for example, “U.S. Unwise to Set up Enemies Through Military Drills.” People’s Daily Online, May 29, 2015 [http://en.people.cn/n/2015/0529/c98649–8899653.html].

22. Karlberg, “The Power of Discourse and the Discourse of Power: Pursuing Peace Through Discourse Intervention.”

23. Raymond Williams, New Keywords: A Revised Vocabulary of Culture and Society, Rev. ed., edited by Tony Bennett et al. (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2005). The idea was already implicit in the Judaeo-Christian thought where Adam is asked to name the animals, thereby conferring dominion over them (Genesis 1: 26 and 2:19). This tradition develops in later Gnostic, Islamic and medieval thought whereby knowledge of secret names confers knowledge and power.

24. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1979), 231–56; Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (London: Tavistock Publications, 1967), xii, xiv, 8–10, 38–64; Pamela Major-Poetzl, Michel Foucault’s Archaeology of Western Culture: Toward a New Science of History (Brighton: Harvester Press, 1983), 27–8, 121, 124.

25. Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics. New York: CUP, 1999; Stephen Hill, “Neorealism, Neoliberalism, Constructivism and the Role of Third Parties in the Disarmament of Civil Warring Factions,” Civil Wars 8, no. 1 (March 2006): 6–24; Patrick Thaddeus Jackson and Daniel H. Nexon, “Paradigmatic Faults in International Relations Theory,” International Studies Quarterly 53, no. 4 (December 2009): 907–30.

26. Qin Yaqing, “Development of International Relations Theory in China: Progress Through Debates,” International Relations of the Asia-Pacific 11, no. 2 (2011): 231–57; Qin Yaqing, “Translator’s Foreword to the Chinese Edition of Social Theory of International Politics,” in Alexander Wendt, Guoji Zhengzhi de Shehui Lilun (Social Theory of International Politics) (Shanghai: Shanghai People’s Publishing House, 2000), 1–38.

27. Dong Ying, “China’s Evolving Global Role,” Beijing Review no. 43 (October 24, 2014) [http://www.bjreview.com.cn/print/txt/2013–10/21/content_573397.htm]; Stephanie T. Kleine-Ahlbrandt, Susan Sjirk, Wang Yizhou, “Does Promoting ‘Core Interests’ Do China More Harm Than Good?” Part 2, China File, May 2, 2013 [https://www.chinafile.com/conversation/does-promoting-core-interests-do-china-more-harm-good]; Wang Yizhou, “Transition of China’s Diplomacy and Foreign Relations,” China & World Economy 17, no. 3 (2009): 93–101.

28. Qin Yaqing, “Continuity Through Change: Background Knowledge and China’s International Strategy,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics 7, no. 3 (2014): 285–314.

29. Qin Yaqing, “Development of International Relations Theory in China: Progress Through Debates,” 252; See further Qin Yaqing, “International Society as a Process: Institutions, Identities, and China’s Peaceful Rise”; Liu Qianqian, “China’s Rise and Regional Strategy: Power, Interdependence and Identity,” Journal of Cambridge Studies 5, no. 4 (2010): 76–92.

30. Timothy J. Lukes, “Lionizing Machiavelli,” American Political Science Review 95, no. 3 (September 2001): 568–73.

31. Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince, trans. by George Bull (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961), 134.

32. Tao Te Ching I.37.

33. Alan Watts and Al Chung-Liang Huang, Tao: The Watercourse Way (London: Arkana, 1992), 107.

34. Tao Te Ching I.25; Chuang-Tzu Book VII, Part 1, section 7.4.

35. Cho-yun Hsu, China: A New Cultural History, 203–4; Antonio S. Cua (ed.), Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy (NY: Routledge, 2003), 44.

36. Burton Watson, Ssu-ma Ch’ien: Grand Historian of China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1958), 6–7.

37. In C. P. Fitzgerald, China: A Short Cultural History (London: Cresset Press, 1965), 171. See further E. M. Gale, Discourses on Salt and Iron (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1931).

38. Mo Tzu, “Honoring the Worthy,” Part II, section 9, in Burton Watson (trans.), Basic Writings of Mo Tzu, Hsün Tzu and Han Fei Tzu, Part I (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967), 33.

39. Tu Wei-Ming, The Way, Learning and Politics in Classical Confucian Humanism, Singapore, Institute of East Asian Philosophies, Occasional Paper no. 2 (1985), 6–7; Rosita Dellios Chinese Strategic Culture: Part I—the Heritage from the Past, The Centre for East West Cultural and Economic Studies, Research Paper No. 1, Bond University (April 1994); Rosita Dellios Chinese Strategic Culture: Part 2—Virtue and Power, The Centre for East West Cultural and Economic Studies, Research Paper No. 2, Bond University (November 1994); John K. Fairbank, “China’s Foreign Policy in Historical Perspective,” Foreign Affairs 47, no. 3 (1969), 457.

40. Confucius, Analects XII.17.

41. Confucius, Analects XII.17.

42. See Confucius, Analects XVI.1.

43. Burton Watson, Ssu-ma Ch’ien: Grand Historian of China, 13–14.

44. Mencius IIA:3, trans. D. C. Lau (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1970).

45. Kam Louie, “Defining Modern Chinese Culture”, in The Cambridge Companion to Modern Chinese Culture, ed. Kam Louie (Cambridge: CUP, 2008), 14–17.

46. Jiayin Min, “Ideas of Cooperation and Struggle in the Chinese Philosophy, and Its Worldwide Significance”, World Futures 31, nos. 2–4 (1991), 183–84.

47. Rihua Wang, “Political Hegemony in Ancient China: A Review of ‘Hegemony in The Stratagems of the Warring States’,” in Yan Xuetong, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, 181–95.

48. Contrasting with a recent shift towards “striving for achievement,” see Xu Jin and Du Zheyuan, “The Dominant Thinking Sets in Chinese Foreign Policy Research: A Criticism,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics 8, no. 3 (2015): 251–79.

49. Yan Xuetong and Huang Yuxing, “Hegemony in The Stratagems of the Warring States,” in Xuetong Yan, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, 107–44; Hsu Cho-yun, China: A New Cultural History, 140–41.

50. Kam Louie, “Defining Modern Chinese Culture,” 2.

51. Cho-yun Hsu, China: A New Cultural History, 72–83; John Keay, China: A History (London: Harper Press, 2009), 28–29.

52. See further Cho-yun Hsu, China: A New Cultural History.

53. Robert Morkot, “Archaism and Innovation in Art from the New Kingdom to the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty,” in John Tait (ed.), ‘Never Had the Like Occurred’: Egypt’s View of Its Past (London: UCL Press, 2003), 79–100.

54. Confucius Analects VIII.18, 19, 20; Shih Chi, CHSC edition, Chuan 74, “Biographies of Mencius & Hsun Ch’ing (Hun-tzu),” Vol. 7, 2343, in A Chinese Military Strategist of the Warring States, Sun Pin, trans. Edmund Elliot Balmforth, University Microfilms International (New Brunswick, Rutgers University of New Jersey, PhD Thesis, 1979), 16. See also C. P. Fitzgerald China: A Short Cultural History, 69.

55. Confucius, Analects, trans. Raymond Dawson (Oxford: OUP, 1993), III.14. See also Analects VIII.20, XV.11 and XX.1; Cho-yun Hsu, China: A New Cultural History, 83–84.

56. Yaqing Qin, “International Society as a Process: Institutions, Identities, and China’s Peaceful Rise,” 140–41.

57. Chenshan Tian, Chinese Dialectics: From Yijing to Marxism, 25–38, 166–67, 179.

58. Confucius Analects: With Selections from Traditional Commentaries, trans. Edward G. Slingerland (Indianapolis, Hackett Publishing, 2003), 110, following Confucius, Analects X.27 and Mencius 5B:1.

59. The concept of timeliness or being timely (shi, 時) is found in diverse contexts, See Analects 2.13; 2.21; 4.14; 5.2; 7.11; 9.5; Fred R. Dallmayr, “Confucianism and Cosmopolitanism,” The 8th Asian Distinguished Speaker Series, The Asan Institute for Policy Studies (June 5, 2012).

60. Confucius, Analects II.13.

61. See Confucius, Analects II.21; IV.14; V.2, 7, 19, 27; VII.11; VIII.13, 14; IX.5, 7, 9.

62. Benjamin Schwartz, The World of Thought in Ancient China, 188.

63. William H. Mott IV and Jae Chang Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 15.

64. Scott McDonald, Brock Jones, and Jason M. Frazee. “Phase Zero: How China Exploits it, Why the United States Does Not,” Naval War College Review 65, no. 3 (Summer 2012), following Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, in The Seven Military Classics of China, Including the Art of War, trans. Ralph D. Sawyer (New York: Basic Books, 2007), 51.

65. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li.

66. Indeed, it was only through the intervention of Communist leader Zhou Enlai that Chiang was released. See Immanuel C. Y. Hsu, The Rise of Modern China, 4th edn (Oxford: OUP, 1990), 564–65; Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 85–87. However, it is true that Nationalist forces then expended much of their strength in fighting the Japanese, since they at first held more territory contiguous with Japanese forces, then being forced south and west in punishing campaigns of attrition.

67. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 90–102.

68. Mao Zedong “Problems of War and Strategy”, in Selected Works of Mao Tse-Tung, Vol. II (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1965), 224.

69. Mao Zedong, “Problems of War and Strategy,” 225.

70. Mao Zedong, “Problems of War and Strategy” 224. The CCP Constitution, amended and adopted at the 17th CCP National Congress on October 21, 2007, states: “The Communist Party of China persists in its leadership over the People’s Liberation Army . . .”.

71. See Information Office of the State Council, PRC, The Diversified Employment of China’s Armed Forces (Beijing, April 2013).

72. Liang Qiao and Xiangsui Wang, Unrestricted Warfare (Beijing: PLA Literature and Arts. Publishing House, February 1999) [translation at http://www.cryptome.org/cuw.htm]; Paul Latawski, The Inherent Tensions in Military Doctrine, Sandhurst Occasional Papers 5, Sandhurst, Royal Military Academy (2011), 20–23; Ralph D. Sawyer, The Tao of Deception: Unorthodox Warfare in Historic and Modern China (New York: Basic Books 2007), 394–96.

73. Nicola Di Cosmo (ed.) Military Culture in Imperial China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009); Li Li, “China Debates Soft Power,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 2 (2008): 287–308; Kenneth D. Johnson, “China’s Strategic Culture: A Perspective for the United States,” U.S. Army War College, 2009; Jeffrey Lantis, “Strategic Culture: From Clausewitz to Constructivism,” Strategic Insights 4, no. 10 (October 2005); Alastair Iain Johnston, Cultural Realism: Strategic Culture and Grand Strategy in Chinese History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995); John K. Fairbank and Frank A. Kierman Jr., Chinese Ways in Warfare (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1974). See also Chapter 7.

74. Harry Harding, “How the Past Shapes the Present: Five Ways in Which History Affects China’s Contemporary Foreign Relations,” in Past and Present in China’s Foreign Policy, ed. John E. Willis, Jr. (Portland: Mervin Asia, 2009), 111–23. Initiative needs to be distinguished from the mere tactical element of “surprise.”

75. A parallel formulation of the Chinese “Cult of Defence,” relying on a “dualistic strategic culture” can be found in Andrew Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), 15–39.

76. Deng, Xiaoping, Building of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1985); David Bonavia, Deng (Hong Kong: Longman Group Far East Ltd., 1989), 164; Michael R. Godley, “Socialism with Chinese Characteristics: Sun Yatsen and the International Development of China,” in Using the Past to Serve the Present: Historiography and Politics in Contemporary China, ed. Jonathan Ungar (Armomk New York: East Gate, 1993), 239–59.

77. National Development and Reform Commission (NDRC), PRC, “The 11th Five-Year Plan: Targets, Paths and Policy Orientation” (March 19, 2006); Xinhua, trans. Fifth Plenum of the 17th Central Committee of the Communist Party of China (October 15–18, 2010), Beijing.

78. Chinese Communist Party Central Committee’s Resolution on Major Issues of Building a Socialist Harmonious Society, 2006, in Ai Guo Han, “Building a Harmonious Society and Achieving Individual Harmony”, Journal of Chinese Political Science 13, no. 2 (2008).

79. Isabel Hilton, “Cracks in Beijing’s Harmonious Society,” The Age, April 29, 2012.

80. Li Keqiang, Full Text: Report on the Work of the Government (2016), Delivered at the Fourth Session of the 12th National People’s Congress of the People’s Republic of China on March 5, 2016, The State Council, The People’s Republic of China, March 17, 2016 [http://english.gov.cn/premier/news/2016/03/17/content_281475309417987.htm].

81. Andrew J. Nathan, China’s Crisis: Dilemmas of Reform and Prospects for Democracy (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990); Andrew J. Nathan, “Chinese Democracy: The Lessons of Failure,” Journal of Contemporary China no. 4 (Fall 1993): 3–13; Andrew Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), 23–25, 36–38.

82. Bonavia, Deng, 105; Ili Franz, Deng Xiaoping, trans. Tom Artin (Boston: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1988), 303.

83. Geremie R. Barme, “Red Allure and the Crimson Blindfold,” China Perspectives no. 2012/2 (2012): 29–40; Suisheng Zhao, “A History of Tragedy: The Chinese Search for Democracy in the Twentieth Century,” Journal of Contemporary China 2, no. 3 (Summer 1993), 32.

84. Gordon G. Chang, “The Great Leap Backward: China’s Leadership in Crisis,” World Affairs (July/August 2012): 26–27; Willy Lam, “The Maoist Revival and the Conservative Turn in Chinese Politics,” China Perspectives no. 2012/2 (2012): 9–10.

85. Barme, “Red Allure and the Crimson Blindfold,” 29–40; Suisheng Zhao, “Political Liberalization Without Democratization: Pan Wei’s Proposal for Political Reform,” Journal of Contemporary China 12, no. 35 (May 2003): 333–55.

86. Information Office of the State Council, PRC, National Human Rights Action Plan of China 2012–2015 (June 11, 2012).

87. Felix Preston et al., Navigating the New Normal: China and Global Resource Governance, Beijing and London: Development Research Centre of the State Council and Chatham House (January 2016) [https://www.chathamhouse.org/sites/files/chathamhouse/publications/research/2016–01–27-china-global-resource-governance-preston-bailey-bradley-wei-zhao-final.pdf].

88. Barme “Red Allure and the Crimson Blindfold,” China Perspectives 40.

89. Kenneth M. Roberts, “Social Correlates of Party System Demise and Populist Resurgence in Venezuela,” Latin American Politics and Society 45, no. 3 (Fall 2003), 35–59.

90. Alexander Nicoll, ed. Strategic Survey 2015: The Annual Review of World Affairs (London: IISS, 2015), 338–39.

91. Liu Binyan, China’s Crisis, China’s Hope, trans. Howard Goldblatt (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990); Orville Schell, Discos and Democracy: China in the Throes of Reform (New York: Pantheon Books, 1988), 140, 160.

92. Garry Abrams, “An Interlude for an Outcast: China’s Marxist Gadfly Liu Binyan Finds Scholarly Haven from His Nation’s Turmoil,” Los Angeles Times, April 4, 1988); John Gittings, “Liu Binyan: Courageous Chinese Journalist Denounced for Championing Political Reform,” The Guardian, December 7, 2005.

93. Lam, “The Maoist Revival and the Conservative Turn in Chinese Politics,” 8.

94. Lam, “The Maoist Revival and the Conservative Turn in Chinese Politics,” 5–14.

95. For this speculation, see Chang, “The Great Leap Backward: China’s Leadership in Crisis,” 25; Lam, “The Maoist Revival and the Conservative Turn in Chinese Politics”, 13–14.

96. See Political Cartooning in China: Asia Pacific Focus reports on the Rise of Political Cartoons in China, Asia Pacific Focus (ABC1 Melbourne); Time: 11:22; Broadcast Date: May 13, 2012, Video Documentary [TEV20122006436].

97. For continued fall-out from the Bo Xilai case, see Edward Wong, “Chinese Court Upholds Life Sentence for Top Aide to Bo Xilai,” The New York Times, March 1, 2016 [http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/02/world/asia/china-bo-xilai-aide-wu-wenkang.html?_r=0].

98. Xinhua “President Vows to Press Ahead with ‘Chinese Dream’,” Xinhuanet.com, March 17, 2013 [http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/china/2013–03/17/c_132239786.htm].

99. Hannah Beech et al. “How China Sees The World,” Time 181, no. 23, June 17, 2013.

100. Fang Yang (ed.), “Profile: Xi Jinping: Pursuing Dream for 1.3 Billion Chinese”, Xinhua, March 17, 2013 [http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/china/2013–03/17/c_124467411.htm].

101. Yusuke Anami, “Xi Jinping’s ‘Chinese Dream’ and the Unity of the Chinese Nation,” AJISS Commentary (Association of Japanese Institutes of Strategic Studies), no. 180 (August 13, 2013), [http://www2.jiia.or.jp/en_commentary/201308/13–1.html]; He Bin “Xi Jinping’s ‘China Dream’,” Chinascope (March/April 2013), [http://chinascope.org/main/content/view/5336/163/]. Indeed, it has been suggested that some ultra-nationalist demands are deployed as political propaganda to make PRC’s claims seem a more reasonable compromise. For the use of this “imperilment consciousness,” see Peter Mattis, Analyzing the Chinese Military: A Review Essay and Resource Guide on the People’s Liberation Army (Washington: The Jamestown Foundation, 2015), 60–61.

Chapter 1

Timeliness

Using the Past to Change the Present

China is often viewed as much more than a modern, territorially bound state. Rather, it is historically perceived as a transnational civilization with the longest direct pattern of continuity: its origins are projected back to the formative Xia, Shang (seventeenth to eleventh centuries BCE) and Zhou dynasties (circa eleventh to third centuries BCE), if not earlier.1 Although this continuity masks considerable innovation and transformation, its past has also been used as a cultural resource to claim for China a special status within East Asian affairs. For nationalists seeking to transform the international order away from a Western-defined system, it is used to assert an exceptionalism that makes China different to established “Western” states. This uniqueness is then seen as the reason for divergent political systems within China (focused on socialism and collectivism rather than liberalism and democracy), but also as part of a culturally nuanced strategic culture with long-term perspectives (see further Chapters 2 and 7).

The notion of the global system as not just an order of states but as a multi-civilizational forum has been emphasized by former president Hu Jintao, and remains part of an ongoing strand within the current “China Dream” discourse.2 Rather than a system of clashing civilizations, as infamously postulated by Samuel Huntington, this is based on the hope of a dialogue of cultures and “mutual learning” that can contribute to twenty-first century global innovation. This claim of cultural uniqueness has been mobilized by other rising powers: Russia under President Putin has also promoted the idea of “sovereign democracy” as a way of asserting its own alternative political system in face of strong criticisms of its managed “democratic” process.3

In China’s case, this is a claim that is bound up with the very emergence of the Chinese people, their identity formation, and the evolution of a culture that enabled a territorially extensive and integrative state. Without the emergence of key tools of governance, early Chinese states could not have sustained themselves in the face of external conflicts and internal challenges. The list of these tools is well known: a shared written language as distinct from diverse spoken languages and dialects, a fostered societal system based on loyalty to family and recognition of both hierarchy and harmony, and an emerging administrative system using highly educated and morally inculcated officials.4 Alongside these trends we should list other enabling factors: the mastery of hydraulic engineering that helped regulate rivers and irrigation networks, a sophisticated and intensive agricultural base, plus partial or complete state control of strategic resources and manufactures, including bronze, iron, weapons, chariots, ceramics and salt.5

Accounts of Chinese civilization, and its perceived continuity, often focus on sets of texts that informed later Chinese on how to use, promote and retain power. Key ideas concerning their history, how to govern, patterns of conduct, the regulation of emotions, coping with change and mastering the uncertainties of the future were transmitted through these materials, used in both written and oral forms. The first set of “foundational texts” included the Book of History (or Book of Documents, Shujing or Shanghsu), the Book of Rites (or Record of Rites, Liji), the Book of Songs (or Book of Odes, Shijing), and the Book of Changes (Yijing, or I Ching). To these four was added the Spring and Autumn Annals (Zuozhuan), referring to the period (circa 770–476 BCE) when Zhou dynastic power began to wane and the Chinese cultural zone transitioned into a sphere of competing, then warring states.6 Although elements within these books may go back to ideas that emerged in the second millennium BCE, most of the extant material in them was refined in the second half of the first millennium, then edited and retransmitted by later imperial scholars. Traditionally, it was argued that some of these main documents were edited by Confucius himself, though the idea of Confucius as transmitter of these texts, rather than as a transformer or creator of these ideas, has been debated.7 These books were of great interest during Confucius’ lifetime, became the key elements of orthodox study during the Han dynasty, and declined to a somewhat secondary status about a thousand years later when the Four Classics (ethical “Confucian” texts) became more prominent (see further below).8

Taken at face value, this would reinforce the idea of a canonical primacy for Chinese civilization based on early guiding texts that shaped later thought and action. Parallel claims have been made for Western culture as largely based on, or reacting to, canonical Greek, Roman and Christian texts (especially the Bible and discussions of it) as well as the textual bases for Jewish and Islamic cultures (the Torah, Talmud and Mishnah; the Quran, and the diverse collected sayings and deeds of the prophet of Islam, Muhammad, found in the various versions of the Hadith).9 It is important to note that these texts are not just “any” collection of materials preserved in written form, but also a nexus of “knowledge, authority, language, and memory,” often performed or recited in diverse ways, and used as the basis of legal judgment and social interpretation.10 Such textual evolutions were also important in Hindu and Buddhist traditions, though linked to extensive ritual and meditative practices.

Beyond this, however, we need to consider why a certain body of texts emerged, and why at times key texts were added or rejected from the canon. In the case of China, an extra set of texts was added to the early Five Books and later on slated for explicit study at imperial examinations. Thus the Four Classics of the Analects of Confucius, the Mencius, the Great Learning, and the Doctrine of the Mean came to be regarded as defining educational and wisdom texts. To these were sometimes added the main Daoist texts of the Daodejing (Tao Te Ching), the Zhuangzi (Chuang-tze) and to a lesser extent the Huainanzi (ideas collected together in the court of Liu An at Huainan, circa 129 BCE).11 Other central works included the Mozi, Han Feizi, and the Xunzi, and several military classics. For later imperial scholars from the Qin onward, the selection and creation of authorized sets of texts, collected into vast philosophical and historical encyclopedias, became something of an obsession. This scholarship regulated what should be studied as well as providing an authorized set of dynastic histories that could serve as lessons for future rulers. For thinkers of the Han dynasty, for example, the Five Classics laid the groundwork legitimating Han institutions and for a “grand universal and eternal peace.”12 In turn, the Han and the Tang compiled detailed records and annals that would form the basis for official dynastic histories thereafter used as sources of moral edification for officials and rulers.13 Elements drawn from such sources then became popular stories that would be filtered into poetry, opera, novels, and everyday stories that now find reflections in modern Chinese film.

Underlying this evolution, however, was a deeper struggle over the meaning of these texts and how they should be used to govern, control, criticize and mobilize societal resources. In the case of these Chinese “founding” texts, they were also tools of governance that needed active interpretation to meet contemporary needs. In setting “the pattern of what it was to become a fully developed human being,” they also “tied the maintenance of the state and of personal identity to the propagation of this textual tradition.”14 Furthermore, even when used as “alibis or culture cover” for realist, ruthless or selfish acts, they still set limiting parameters of how such acts could be legitimated.15 This demonstrates a continuity-through-change paradigm, and less commonly a radical, dialectical rejection of the past (e.g., early nationalists rejecting Qing institutions or the anti-Confucian campaigns of the Communist period) that nonetheless engaged Chinese thinkers and activists in an intense interaction with their received past.16

We can see this by briefly assessing the societal role played by the Five Books, then by a more detailed assessment of how one of these was used politically and strategically, the Yijing (I-Ching, Book of Changes).

The Lens of the Classics

Claimed historical foundations are often illusive projections back into the remote past. In other cases they are adaptive processes that evolve until they reach a certain level of complexity and then are recorded as cultural touchstones. For early China, several key books were foundational in this sense of being the product of a long process of reiteration, collection and editing, followed by their continual remembrance and interpretation. The Five Books were selected authoritative texts (collections of materials) that were used as practical guides through the “joint exercise” of general principles (jingyi) and the practical management of affairs (zhishi): hence, they could equally lead to reformist as well as conservative policies.17 Competing interpretations of these texts were debated at length during the Han period, for example, and were used to inform legal judgments, establish economic and governance policies, as well as the choice of professors and educational curricula for officials and commoners.18 The use of history and historical texts was an active process of interpretation which was highly creative and political. Thus a late nineteenth-century reformer such as Yang Youwei would use ideas from Confucian texts as a pretext for radical reform toward a more egalitarian, constitutional monarchy, arguing the need for reform of institutions in accord with the times.19

We can readily see why these five main texts (or collections of material) became important in forming a sense of continuity for ancient Chinese. The Book of Documents (or Book of History, Shujing) provided political lessons from the past, as well as links to the practices of early foundational dynasties that were viewed as ancestors whose power had collectively created Chinese civilization. More generally, shu may have evolved as a written, literary form that claimed to be historical records or model speeches written down (sometimes on bamboo slips) to be read or delivered by officials, or thereafter archived.20 As we shall see, the extinction of a dynasty was one of the most fundamental problems for Chinese order, signifying chaos, disorder, famine, and possible external invasion. Therefore the conduct of rulers, ministers, and royal families was of central concern to later generations in shaping an active political culture. These documents were used as “mirrors” of government that made the past intelligible, providing a manual of insights, even if they were slanted by the concerns of later generations or official departments involved in collating and editing these authorized accounts.21

Theoretically covering historical events ranging from 2,500 to 500 BCE, the extant collection of records known as the Book of Documents was edited and added to for over a thousand years through the second century BCE.22 The dating of some of this material back to Xia and Shang periods remains controversial, but the work probably drew on some authentic materials from the first millennium Western Zhou period and emerged as a standardized part of the Han imperial curriculum between 179 and 156 BCE.23 As noted by Michael Nylan, its main themes focused on governance:

Five major topics hold the Documents together: (1) the operation of the Mandate of Heaven; (2) definitions of true kingship; (3) portraits of worthy officials; (4) discussions of the relative merits of rule by punishment versus rule by virtue; and (5) explications of the role of “those below” vis-à-vis the ruler. . . . Yet the Documents do not offer a single ideal model for just and enduring rule. As changing circumstances required changing visions of the good, a range of models was needed to convey the full scope of human potential.24

The Book of Rites (or Record of Rites, Liji), and related texts (called the Ceremonials, Yili, and the Zhou Rites, Zhouli) take this even further in showing the specific and proper rituals used in order to regulate social relations, ensure proper conduct toward the ancestors, balance affairs within the cycles of nature and Heaven (tian) and, to some degree, ensure adequate distribution of prestige and resources.25 The rites were public rituals and codes of conduct that “made it possible to transform oneself, to transform others, and to order the cosmos.”26 Though seeking to harmonize a hierarchy of relations, the principles described in the Liji also emphasize reciprocity in relations and proper conduct for both high and low. It also places limits on selfishness, and in some sections (within the Cycle of the Rites), argues for access to land and economic resources for all subjects.27 The importance of ritual and ritual objects is well testified in the historical and archaeological record; for example, ritual vessels, especially tripods or sets of bells, were used in royal rites and thus came to symbolize their sovereignty and legitimate place in the social and natural order.28

The Book of Songs (or Book of Poetry or Book of Odes, Shijing) is perhaps a more difficult text for the modern mind to grasp. It may have existed at first as recited or sung pieces drawing on early traditions from several states. It was widely known by the fifth century BCE and then later on collected into a fixed anthology.29 In part, it was a collection of songs that showed the sentiment and worries of ordinary people, internal “intelligence” of great concern to Chinese rulers.30 On the basis of the goodwill of the mass of the people the state either thrived or perished; only a state with a unified people could confidently engage in justified conflicts (as reiterated in the Analects, the Art of War and later dynastic writers).31 Sometimes these views are directly expressed, such as by soldiers on campaign who address the Minister of War in the following terms:

Truly you are not wise.

Why should you roll us from misery to misery?

We have mothers who lack food.32

The second major component of the Book of Songs was court poetry, performed by master musicians but on occasion expressing the concerns and criticism of officials during their at times precarious tenures. The Songs were sometimes edited or interpreted to show what would be the appropriate sentiment in a given situation. The passion and humor of some of the songs were later on analogically reinterpreted to provide moral messages. At the wider level, they became the touchstone of educated conversation, passing on a strong cultural legacy that recorded “events and feelings” but also revealed commitments and aspirations.33 The Songs contained elements of persuasion and teaching that were viewed as having a transformative influence, both morally and politically.34 The Book of Songs provided training in proper emotions, a reminder of the ordinary feelings and needs of the people, and a means of passing on shared cultural referents for persuasion and judgment.

The Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) was a chronicle of the state of Lu during the Spring and Autumn period (circa 770–476 BCE) when the power of the Zhou dynasty had begun to decline, as indicated by the need to shift to the new Eastern capital of Chengzhou (Luoyi, modern Luoyang). It was a time of growing conflict whereby local leaders became virtually independent, only nominally recognizing the symbolic role of the Zhou rulers. This was a period of turmoil where rapid change needed special understanding, challenging both ritual norms and creating new conditions that evolved into a fully blown interstate system of conflict, the following Warring States period. The survival of states during this period of conflict depended on increasing state capacity, ranging from maintaining regular crop yields through to the ability to mobilize large armies. Skillful diplomacy and clever military strategies were essential for small and weak states.

Hence, the Spring and Autumn Annals was viewed as an important guide for those navigating political crises by explaining the patterns of history in which humanity helped shape the cycles of culture creation. Traditionally viewed as having been compiled by Confucius (a disputed claim today), it was seen as a central historical text, part of a wider genre of works “illuminating the way of the king” and thus fit for nobles and rules.35 It had a profound influence on later thinkers such as Mencius and the historian Sima Qian.36 This text survives in later commentaries, especially the Zuozhuan (Zuo’s Commentaries), which may have been composed by Zuo Qiumung, a fifth-century court historiographer of the state of Lu.37 The Zuozhuan contains short narrative pieces that provide advice on a range of issues including the limited value of hostages and pledges without mutual understanding, restraint, and loyalty, the correct naming of princes; avoiding rebellions by the proper treatment of ordinary people; how to assess the morale of an enemy army; when to attack enemy forces, plus an early account of how to win the hearts and minds of the people before engaging in sustained combat.38 These commentaries on the Spring and Autumn Annals became especially important sources of doctrine on politics and governance from the Han dynasty onward.39

The Book of Changes, or Book of Transformations, or simply The Changes (Yijing or I Ching)40 is a text that has both perplexed and entranced modern readers. Its earlier origins and latter accretions render it a particularly complex set of documents. It has been viewed variously as a divination manual, a rich philosophical text, a tool for statesmen, or an inspirational guide to the “Great Dao” of the universe and its creation.41 Set in the context of its early evolution and historical use, the Yijing was part of wider social practices for coping with and understanding change, especially under conditions of uncertainty or risk. The power of states, leaders, and dynasties depended precisely on this understanding.

The Yijing as an Early Technology for Understanding Change

The use of diverse types of divination was common in China by at least the Shang period and continued into wider usage through the Zhou. Rulers, officials, and heads of families would seek oracles concerning a range of actions including suitable marriages, whether to go on journeys, whether to go hunting, choice of career or diplomatic decisions, whether to go to war or to launch a punitive expedition.42 One source even suggests that divination was used to select a scholar’s wife to breast feed a young prince as well as to choose the scholars who should carry (and influence) him.43 Divination, the use of portents, and collections of data verifying the outcome of portents was listed in one section of the Book of Documents (“The Great Plan”), where these methods are viewed as one among many tools of government.44 Likewise, the interpretation of dreams and the use of ritual experts to divine their meaning are attested in early sources.45 Indeed, many important official or family events came to involve some form of divination, which was also used to explain unusual events, portents or deaths.46 The aim was not just an understanding of a given fate or heavenly mandate, but how humans should react to improve their options through wise choices. It is not surprising that the Yijing has been one of the most influential books in the Chinese canon and an important force in the development of Chinese culture.

The ritual sources of the Yijing probably go back to early forms of divination, including short omen verses and oracular formulae found on Shang-Yin oracle bones and bronzes.47 The consultation of oracle bones and turtle shells is well attested during the Shang period, with over 100,000 of these artifacts having been found and partly analyzed.48 Milfoil (yarrow) or bamboo sticks were also used, and became a more common method in later periods. Yarrow stalks were cast and counted, with the results referencing a hexagram and its interpretation, either commenting on or confirming a course of action.49 There are numerous cases of the use of these techniques in other texts, for example, Pan Geng (a Shang king) demonstrating the need to move the capital.50 Thus the Book of Documents could suggest: “When you have doubts about any great matter, consult the tortoise shell and divination stalks.”51

What is surprising about this early practice is that it seems to have been used regularly, even daily, by Shang ruling elites, with a precise methodology to generate the cracks, interpret them, and thereafter record the initial queries, the date, the name of the diviner, and the outcome of the oracle on the shell itself.52 The complexity and longevity of this procedure is such that we should think of it as a technology or institutional process rather than merely a superstitious or magical practice.53 Indeed, from this point of view divination was one of the main enabling rituals and political bases for early Chinese culture.54 At the state level, it was a rite aimed at establishing the core of successful governance: navigating the present and future. Official diviners continued these functions through the Zhou dynasty, with a Grand Diviner (T’ai Pu) taking charge of the different “systems of change.”55 A parallel pattern of divination used esoteric interpretations of ancient texts to predict events or confirm that a particular outcome was predicted in the past.

We should not view these procedures, however, as having been seen as infallible. Indeed, in the Book of Songs we find cases where oracles have been overused or exhausted: “Our tortoise shells are exhausted, They do not offer good counsel.”56 Although methods of divination were used before military campaigns, later strategic thinkers sought more systematic intelligence. Thus texts of the Wuzi and Wei Liaozi could suggest certain conditions under which you could fight “without recourse to divination.” This could occur when an enemy’s system of alliances had broken down and allies did not aid them, but the texts also noted that in the past oracles were consulted before battle, perhaps to bring harmony to the army.57 In turn, Sunzi warned that foreknowledge of the enemy came from human sources of intelligence, not from spirits or gods, and that the spreading of omens should be prohibited under battle conditions.58 Other strategists sought to forbid the use of such oracles and magical formulas in case they destroyed morale or undermined a ruler’s leadership.59 For the Han to Tang periods, dynastic histories also give limited prominence to the use of divination before battles, though Li Quan’s Taibai yinjing, a military manual of the mid-eighth century does provides chapters on the topic.60 The Tang strategic text, Questions and Replies between Tang Taizong and Li Weigong, suggests that “yin and yang divinatory practices cannot be abandoned because they could be used to manipulate the greedy and the stupid.”61 Paralleling this evolution was the shift of the Yijing from a tool for prognostication in a narrow sense into a philosophical resource for understanding change.

Likewise, one early source warns against the use of the Yijing to ask about dangerous (or disloyal) paths of action.62 Predicting the future of a dynasty or ruler was a deeply political act. In later periods, doing so without authorization could be seen as treason, a reality known well to astrologers and diviners of the both the Roman and Chinese empires.63 In a very real sense, key texts were viewed as sources of power and authority, and access to them was sometimes restricted. Thus the infamous burning of books by the first Qin emperor was an effort to control unauthorized public texts, not books held by court academicians, with manuals of divination also being exempted from destruction.64 In later periods a new dynasty would seek to control the historical perception of the previous periods by publishing definitive histories, but thereafter restricting access to its collected archives. For imperial China, written records were an “exercise in power” and were either authoritative or potentially subversive.65

However, government control could not restrict the avid interest, official and unofficial, in divination. Thus by 26 BCE the collated imperial catalog (known as the Seven Epitomes) contained a section listing 110 titles in 2,558 volumes concerned with different means of divination including astrology, use of calendars and five phase theory (wuxing), consultation by milfoil and turtle shell, plus other diverse methods such as dream and omen interpretation.66 The Yijing became one of the most commonly referred to and consulted texts in Chinese history, though its popularity may have begun to markedly increase after the second century BCE.67 It attracted a huge set of parallel material, including major commentaries by scholars such as Wang Bi and Zhu Xi. For the Song scholar Su Shi (twelfth century CE), “it illustrates the universal but cumulative process of bringing culture into being, elaborating upon the past, transforming and continuing it.”68 By the seventeenth century an imperial survey of scholarship listed 2,050 works on the Yijing, including 500 full commentaries.69 It was a focus of inspiration for both Confucian and Daoist scholars, and remains a source of interest for modern Chinese whose modes of analysis range from philosophy through psychology and even into the realm of statistics and scientific speculation.70

The core elements of the Yijing developed from an evolving textual tradition from the tenth century BCE for divining the future, but gradually took on new roles as a wisdom text advising on sound strategy and on major moral issues.71 For the ancient Chinese, this collection was created by four central culture heroes: the ruler Fu Xi (also called Bao Xi); King Wen (while in prison in danger of losing his life as a young prince); the Duke of Zhou; and Confucius to whom were attributed the interpretive appendices (wings).72 Modern scholarship suggests its social origins can be traced to at least the Zhou era (early first millennium BCE), with continued editing and evolution down into the Han period.73 It is likely that its core elements were written down in some form at least by the Warring States period, though the moralistic “wings” (interpretive essays) were added and edited by Confucian scholars thereafter.

By the late Warring States period and early Han dynasty (third and second centuries BCE), the Yijing changed from a text for divining the future to one “for structuring thought about the present,”74 and hence helped in planning sound strategies based on present conditions and their likely trends of development. In other words, general guidelines based on historical and theoretical grounds were mobilized for suitable courses of action. Confucian moral commentaries were added to the rather Daoist “eternal laws of change” so that ethical behavior, in accordance with cosmic principles, was advocated. By the Song dynasty (960–1279), the Yijiing flourished in a climate of rich intellectual enquiry into human experience, and hence continued as a source of socio-political judgments.

The emergent philosophy behind the Yijing was based on a correlative mediation between Heaven and Earth. This communication was sometimes viewed as mediated by the gods, by the collective wisdom of the ancestors, by the cultivated human being as interpreter or seer, and later on by the wisdom embedded in the edited text of the Yijing itself. When used sincerely, the reading of an oracle source became “the convergence of two realms” of inner spirit and divine spirits.75 This was not so much a mechanically random pattern of prediction (as in some “lot” oracles that worked by chance), but made use of complex images and tropes found within an evolving holistic interlinkage of patterns. Holistic thinking is also related to synchronistic thinking. According to David Peat:

Synchronicities are characterized by a unity of the universal with the particular that lies within a coincidence of events. This essence of the universal is also discovered in science, where patterns, symmetries and mathematical laws are found to interconnect a multiplicity of individual events.76

It is within this world of synchronistic and correlative thinking that the Yijing operates. In Peat’s words, the Yijing considers “meaningful clusterings”77 in its characterization of the surrounding environment (or context) for the question at issue.

This correlative and holistic approach is reflected in the structure of the Yijing as a closed system of 64 hexagrams, each with six lines, related to primary and extended meanings. However, each hexagram may be interpreted from the most immediate and practical consideration to the moral-cosmological dimension of thought. For example, language such as “the mind of heaven-and-earth” provides a cosmic context, while advice of a moral nature is seen as ethical rectitude paralleling cosmic processes. Part of this correctness was the quest for harmony, centrality, and balance. The traditional division of a hexagram into the lower three and the upper three lines reflects balance. Meanwhile, the middle line of each group—line 2 and line 5—is central and thus conferred with virtue, which translates to auspiciousness. In short, middle-path actions are deemed preferable to extreme actions if one is to survive in a world in flux. This alludes to flexibility as much as to avoidance of rigid ideologies. Furthermore, the Yijing often does not give a direct “yes” or “no” answer, but forces the consultant to engage in a dialectical act of interpretation, often thinking in new ways about a given problem.78

For a profound thinker such as Zhu Xi (twelfth century CE), divination of this sort is a way of learning to “respond” to “incipient” change, both in external events and in the mind:

“Responsiveness,” or “moral responsiveness,” is the ability to respond intuitively, spontaneously, and in a morally correct manner to the changing pattern (li) of situations and events. It is a responsive harmony with the social and natural environment, a way of fitting into the pattern of change, of attaining harmony with the Way (tao).79

Crucially, the Yijing provided both a tool for making proper choices and a philosophy for understanding and coping with change. For those involved in government or military command, these were crucial skills. Thus a sage-ruler needed “a propensity for good timing (shizhong) and precise positioning (weizhong), on the theory that human activity proves efficacious only so long as it adjusts to the Dao’s shifting operations.”80

This concept of acting only when the time is right but also in a prompt fashion is explicitly explained in the Yijing itself:

The sage carefully attends to the very first signs of change, knowing that he must take particular care at the beginning because the manner in which a project is begun affects all subsequent development. . . .

Problems are best dealt with when they first arise, before they have grown to unmanageable proportions: “The noble man acts when he sees the first beginnings of a trend; he does not wait for the final day of reckoning.”

. . . Such a balanced response to any given situation (he) is possible only because the wise person sees all sides of the situation, “the obvious and the unobvious, the hard and the soft.”81

The ideal moral and cosmological domain from which a leader can operate is by having received or by retaining the Mandate of Heaven, thereby becoming a pivot of leadership and a shaper of order (elaborated below). Such persons gain the voluntary support of the people, and can use “insight, perception, and practical wisdom” to alter the course of civilization.82 This is one strand in the wider rule-by-humans orientation of Chinese political culture, along with the emphasis on strategic leadership rather than institutional structures as the keys to successful statecraft. Negative aspects of this orientation, including a trend toward authoritarianism, implicit monarchism and even a cult of personality (as it developed under Mao) have been extensively explored by Western and Chinese writers.83

This emphasis on systematic approaches to navigating the future is not just an ancient pre-occupation. Modern China remains invested in trying to chart its future during the current period of rapid change and turbulent globalization. The government of China has a keen interest in assessing prevailing and future trends, and is well known for sustaining long-term developmental plans; for example, 2049 has been variously targeted as the date for China to become a powerful, prosperous, socialist state (as stated by former leaders) and the chief military power in the Asia-Pacific (as suggested by President Xi Jinping).84 Key think tanks and institutes actively engage in advising government, sometimes as GONGOS (government-oriented non-government organizations), as facilitators of track II diplomatic dialogues, or operating as centers of active academic intellectual exchange.85 Even before President Xi Jinping’s call in 2014 for a “new type of think tank” to improve the country’s governance and soft power, China already had over 426 think tanks—the second largest globally after the United States, with 17 major think tanks clustered in Beijing.86 The Shanghai Academy of Social Science (SASS), the Institute for International and Strategic Studies at Peking University, the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (operating under the State Council), and the Development Research Center of the State Council (DRC) advise on a wide range of strategic, economic, societal and developmental issues.87 Other important organizations include the Chinese Academy of Government, the Chinese Institute of International Studies, and the Unirule Institute of Economics (UIE).88 Likewise, China has a strong role in regional multitrack diplomacy via groups such as NEAT (Network of East Asian Think-Tanks), operational from 2003 with a Secretariat based in the Chinese Academy of Social Science and having held twelve conferences down through 2014. China has hosted the Boao Forum for Asia since 2001, with an initial focus on growth and development but subsequently exploring the linkage between economics and security via the notion of Asia as a “community of shared interests, common destiny and shared responsibility.”89

The roles of these think tanks are becoming more diversified and independent. They increasingly utilize international input, which often finds its way into major developmental agenda and government policy papers. One example of this is the China 2030 report by the World Bank and China’s Development Research Center, which emphasized PRC’s need to build world-class universities, increase innovation, continue land reform, improve the social safety nets, further integrate the country into the global economy, and actively “shape the global governance agenda.”90 However, in line with Xi Jinping’s 2014 statement noted above, think tanks are called upon to have “Chinese characteristics” by charting a unique path toward strengthening the government system and giving policy advice to the party officials. Though research, academic, and civilian think tanks are becoming more numerous, they are still part of the “transmission belt” between government and society and are often linked to the desire to boost China’s influence abroad.91

This forward-looking research is linked to government efforts to sustain comprehensive national strength and to shape China’s future by systematic knowledge-collection and creation. Certainly regime maintenance under the Chinese Communist Party is a beneficiary of such efforts, but this is predicated on the larger goal of seeking to ensure the domestic and international stability within which China can thrive. This is bound up with long-term debates on the nature of power and how it has been retained or expanded by a particular government or dynasty.

Authorized Power: From the Mandate of Heaven to the Art of Government

One of the dominant patterns of thought that has shaped Chinese politics for almost three thousand years is the notion of the Mandate of Heaven (tianming). More than merely a moral injunction for rulers, it evolved as an explanation for how power was held, lost, or gained. It also provided a wide-ranging explanation of Chinese history as revealed in the later usage of the Book of Documents:

Over the centuries, the essential lure of the Documents’ traditions has lain in their romanticized image of China, which appears not only as the oldest continuous civilization on earth, but also as one whose manifest superiority is confirmed by fine traditions of governance and the legitimating sanction of benign Heaven’s Mandate. Turning and returning to the Documents as a guide to principled action, using its evocation of the past as ample justification for present deeds—these activities have lent political culture in China its distinctive dynamic down to the present day.92

This theory, already implicit in accounts of the Shang taking over the Mandate from corrupted Xia rule, and in turn how the Zhou took over from the declining Shang dynasty, did not emerge as a fully developed dynastic-succession model until the late Western Han period, becoming the centerpiece for evolving theories of political legitimacy.93 It was thus projected backward as a key exploration of political change and decision-making by earlier leaders. This can be seen in the dramatic account in Sima Qian’s history where the “Rectifier Scribe” Yi reads aloud a prayer he had written on bamboo, indicating the failings of the last Yin (Shang) ruler, with the conquering King Wu being “charged to change the great mandate, to replace the Yin dynasty and to receive the bright mandate from heaven.”94 Dynastic succession was thus guaranteed by retaining the Mandate, based on moral and virtuous government that harmonized social and cosmological relations. Divergent traditions had existed during the Warring States period. There are accounts, for example, of early rulers (Yao, Shun and Yu) abdicating or resigning, with the next ruler being chosen by merit, found most particularly in the Rong Cheng shi bamboo manuscript (from the Shanghai Museum collection).95 However, these alternative accounts did not survive as active political models into the Qin and Han periods.96

We should note, moreover, that the Mandate of Heaven was not secured or retained just through military means. Virtue and its appropriate display were also essential for successful and sustained governance. As stated in the poem attributed to Duke Wen of Zhou, after the weapons of war have been put way:

We examine ourselves for fine virtue,

Display it in the Hsia states,

And are confident our king will preserve [his mandate].97

The historian Sima Qian in this context provides a list of pragmatic and civil means whereby the government maintains its “awesome power” and is able to expand the state.98

The Mandate of Heaven was neither a simple theory of fate nor just the idea that evil kings would lose power. Indeed, the Book of Songs has several poems noting that the Mandate was hard to keep and that kingship was easily lost.99 Sections in Sima Qian’s account of the late Shang period suggest that Heaven could terminate a ruler’s Mandate, in part by making it impossible to read the omens correctly, with nothing auspicious being learned. Thus one of the vassals of the Emperor Zhou could remonstrate with him thus:

It is not that the former kings did not assist us, their offspring, but that Your Majesty was licentious and tyrannical so as to have severed the ties [with Heaven] yourself. For this reason Heaven deserted us and will not let us enjoy peace and nourishment, will not let us fathom the intentions of Heaven, and will not let us follow its constants.100

The third century BCE text Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals suggested that foreknowledge was held by worthies and those “who possess the Dao,” who would leave if a state was about to perish. However, the implicit moral was that this was due to lawlessness, disorder, failure of standards, misuse of officials, and murder of the innocent. The outcome for a ruler who had not grasped the essentials of governance was loss of allegiance and power.101

This concept was two-edged. In part it could be considered a “guide for righteous rebellion,” a theme in Chinese thought skirted by Confucius in arguing that a true ruler must fulfill his roles as a ruler, but embraced more directly by Mencius.102 This formed a wider pattern of later counterbalances to despotism, including the development of a scholastically well-trained bureaucracy, the emergence of state-sponsored academies, the (dangerous) right of selected officials to criticize or remonstrate with the ruler, and the ideal of a people-centered polity (minben) as the root of successful government.103

Moreover, the Mandate of Heaven was part of an articulated insight into how rulers could make harmony work in society, shifting their rule into a transformative process. One version of this theory (as found in the “Great Plan” of the Documents) argued that “the ruler plays the pivotal role in maximizing the power of his state when he induces his subjects to contribute their individual talents to his service.”104 Using people of talent was one of the great themes of historical explanation, helping account for the rise of the state of Qin during the Warring States period. Not only should kingship be just (gong), it needed to establish proper social relations throughout society, using explicit mechanisms of ritual, music, morality, and exemplary conduct.105 In other words, kings should rule with the public interest at heart, not treating the domain as their private property.

Further, though the Mandate of Heaven might seem to imply a top-down cosmology (as the commands of Heaven), its evolution in Chinese thought reflects an embedded social orientation. The well-being of the people was viewed as the crucial criterion in judging a ruler and his dynasty. “Heaven hears and sees as the people see and hear” (from the Book of Documents) captures this theme, which was present in the Analects and forms a major concern in the writing of Mencius.106 If not rule by the people, this certainly implied the need to consult with and care for them. At the very least, the ruler was the refuge and support of his people.107 Likewise, a ruler should not silence criticism by force; the views of the people need to be expressed and made known to the ruler, who will then put good ideas into practice in order to guard against degenerate ones.108

Several other techniques of governance were repeated in early literary sources: making the borders secure, ensuring adequate storage of food and weapons, surveys of the people, and a royal progress throughout the land to proclaim and confirm his rule.109 Furthermore, holding the Mandate was not simply a matter of following the rules of conduct. It also involved the judicious use of “inward power” in active governance to protect the borders and the people.110 Texts from the Warring States period onward (the Rong Cheng shi, the Analects, Mozi, Xunzi and the Han Feizi) have differing emphases, but often include advice on the appropriate choice of officials and rectification of their roles, the use of legal knowledge, reduction of litigation, use of appropriate ceremonies and music to create harmony (largely rejected by Mozi), methods to improve agricultural production, reduction of government expenditures, and the calibrated use of military force.111 By the Han dynasty, there was already a pragmatic convergence of legalist/coercive and persuasive/moralist methods in government, though rulers would show bias toward individual schools of thought, at times Daoist, but more often Confucian in orientation.112 In subsequent dynasties there was also a practical recognition of the diverse contributions that experts in law, administration, and education might make, alongside military commanders.

Timeliness: According to the Time and Situation

For modern readers there might be a temptation to see ancient Chinese culture as closed, based on unchanging documents with outdated, universalist claims. However, the production, editing, and interpretation of these texts included both a referential and active component. Thus the scholar Dong Zhongshu stated that when Confucius created the Spring and Autumn Annals he “checked it by antiquity; he tested it by current events.”113 Ancient learning was usually interpreted as knowledge that needed to be applied to the present in order to be understood. This was viewed as a central part of active government, with later thinkers projecting this activity back onto the early five emperors who, in legend at least, created the bases of Chinese culture. Speaking of the Emperor Zhuanxu (grandson of the Yellow Emperor or Huangdi), the historian Sima Qian records:

Serene and profound, he had [far-reaching] plans. He only attended to principles yet he was in command of his affairs. By nurturing useful resources he let the land work [for him]. By acting in accord with the times he modelled himself on Heaven. By complying with ghosts and spirits, he prescribed right conduct. By working on the energies [of the five elements], he taught and transformed people. With purity and sincerity, he offered sacrifices.114

As we have seen, governance was based on good timing (shizhong) and a precise understanding of the nature of change. Thus understanding shi (時), variously interpreted by context as “the times,” “timeliness” or “circumstances,” is crucial in allowing one to change with the times in order to follow the dao.115

This was precisely what was needed to retain the Mandate of Heaven. As stated in the verses of a song purportedly written by the one of China’s earliest rulers, the Emperor Shun:

To care for heaven’s mandate

Is to make good use of time and potential.116

Likewise, the first Emperor of the unifying Qin dynasty would note on one of his monumental inscriptions: “To initiate things in accord with the times is what this Emperor does.”117 This concept is made more explicit in a section of the Guanzi, a philosophical text collected and edited in the first century BCE:

A saint must conform to the time no matter whether in action or non-action, in opening or closing, or in advance or withdrawal. He will take actions if it is the time, but he will remain still if it is not.118

Timeliness (shi) is thus an important concept whose original meaning was “season,” but by extension came to mean timeliness: “doing something at the appropriate time, the time or season at which an action can succeed.”119 This concept is mentioned fifty-eight times in the Yijing, emerging as a systematic part of the approach taken to human decision-making and how one could follow or conform to the “Way.”120 Strategic texts of the Warring States such as Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings also emphasized that the confidence to act at the right time was crucial, and that being dilatory could lead to a loss of the dao, the special flow of events that supports a wise ruler.121 Indeed, the Daoist thinker Zhuangzi took this to suggest a radical view of laws, rituals, and righteousness, which should change with the times. This is evident in his report of a mythical encounter between Laozi (Lao Tzu, also known as Lao Tan) and Confucius:

Confucius said to Lao Tan, “I have been studying the Six Classics—the Odes, the Documents, the Ritual, the Music, the Changes, and the Spring and Autumn, for what I would call a long time, and I know their contents through and through. But I have been around to seventy-two different rulers with them, expounding the ways of the former kings and making clear the path trod by the dukes of Chou and Shao, and yet not a single ruler has found anything to excite his interest. How difficult it is to persuade others, how difficult to make clear the Way!”

Lao Tzu [Laozi] said, “It’s lucky you didn’t meet with a ruler who would try to govern the world as you say. The Six Classics are the old worn-out paths of the former kings—they are not the thing which walked the path. What you are expounding are simply these paths. Paths are made by shoes that walk them, they are by no means the shoes themselves!” . . .

Confucius stayed home for three months and then came to see Lao Tan once again. “I’ve got it,” he said. “The magpie hatches its young, the fish spit out their milt, the slim-waisted wasp has its stages of transformation, and when baby brother is born, big brother howls. For a long time now I have not been taking my place as a man along with the process of change. And if I do not take my own place as a man along with the process of change, how can I hope to change other men?”

Lao Tzu said, “Good, Ch’iu—now you’ve got it!”122

Other texts such as Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals (Lushi Chunqiu, completed circa 241 BCE) also take this idea of seasonal timing but extend it to notions of interpersonal relations, choice of officials and good governance. Proper timing is essential to ensure bountiful harvests as well as victory in warfare. This book may have influenced the rise of the expanding Qin state, at least in the emphasis on the need for unified government and the need for timely reform of state regulations and institutions.123 This text states that the “sage seems slow in acting but is in fact quick, seems dilatory but in fact moves with haste, because he awaits the right moment.”124 In relation to governance during the late Warring States period this was a crucial component of success:

As small as Lu and Wey were, both were able to get their way with larger states. This is because the time was right. Accordingly, a worthy ruler or eminent scholar-knight who hopes to rescue the black-haired people must take advantage of the disorder of the present. Heaven will not give him another opportunity, time will not remain right for long, his abilities will not be suited to some other task, and his task consists in taking advantage of the time.125

This idea is taken further in Han texts such as the Debate on Salt and Iron, where sixty Confucian scholars were ridiculed by an Imperial Secretary for not being able to turn their minds to the needs of the time, in this case state revenues needed to maintain “defensive” armies against the Xiongnu tribes to the west.126 This concept of knowledge-in-application was extended by later imperial scholars to include the idea of a “timely mean” (shi zhong), whereby one’s behavior is adapted to the time and specific situation. This was held to be one of the distinguishing characteristics of the junzi (a morally cultivated person worthy of influence) who exercises “a well-timed centrality,” adjusting to fit in with times and thus be able to contribute and participate in affairs.127

Implicit in this is the idea of natural cycles of change, the expectation that after a peak time to act circumstances may decline—much like Shakespeare’s lines that “There is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”128 The Daoist idea of wu-wei comes into play here. This may seem surprising as wu-wei is commonly translated as “non-action.” But it does not mean missing the tide of good fortune by doing nothing. Rather, wu-wei refers to “unpremeditated, nondeliberative, noncalculating, nonpurposive action,” with the attuned mind becoming a mirror that nonetheless responds immediately and successfully.129 By using wu-wei, one acts or not according to one’s real nature, not in keeping with socially indoctrinated ideas. Wu-wei can also have the implication of spontaneous action and natural flexibility, directed from the dao or one’s genuine nature. This is in contrast to wei, which in this context can have the implication of “forcing, meddling and artifice—in other words, trying to act against the grain.”130 The Daoist classic, the Daodejing, spoke of the artificial societal world of the “great hypocrisy” (dawei), sometimes translated as the “great artifice.”131 Such artifice makes a true awareness of the time and situation impossible, blocking the ability to adapt to current cycles.

Taken to its full extent, this ability to embrace timeliness must go beyond merely “taking efforts to closely follow trends, change old situations, and prepare new conditions so that things develop smoothly and benefit mankind”—rather, it entails a new dimension of “self-awareness.”132 This ability was needed by kings, emperors, governors, and generals, but also was viewed as a quality possessed by sages, those who were truly alive, aware, and tuned to their time and situation. Likewise, the use of force and weapons should not be habitual, nor should such weapons be regularly displayed if they are to remain “awesome”:

The former kings manifested their virtue, but did not display their weapons. If weapons are stored away and only used on timely occasions, then when they are used they will be awe-inspiring. But if they are displayed, then they will [tend to] be overused. And if they are overused, then they will hold no terror.133

Timeliness is not only an ancient or classical virtue. Well known to modern Chinese strategic planning is the deliberate use of time, both in terms of long timeframes of reference, “biding one’s time” and “keeping a low profile” (taoguangyanghui), and immediate appropriate action.134 Time in this sense could be viewed as a strategic resource, one that should be used to full effect rather than squandered be it in waiting for the proper moment to act, taking up office, or revealing oneself. Likewise, this idea includes embracing current tendencies but also taking up new opportunities. For example, in a period where the international structure is becoming increasingly multipolar, China has the opportunity to extend its influence. However, its actions may be instigated by forces other than well-timed strategic initiate. Thus it is not clear whether a foreign policy of “striving for achievements” (fengfayouwei) can be viewed as China taking the initiative—for example in pressing its maritime claims since 2009—or whether other states, especially Japan and the United States, have forced China to react by their increasingly assertive policies in the Asia-Pacific region.135

In the political arena the PRC leadership has tried to respond to the times and shape or influence international reactions to China. This has included the adoption of wide-sweeping slogans that act both as tools of public diplomacy and foci for ongoing policy formulation. Thus doctrines such as the “peaceful rise” (softened into the less threatening “peaceful development”), “green GDP,” “harmonious world,” “new great power relations” and an inclusive “China Dream” have all been mobilized by different leaders. They show a growing China that is extremely aware of the need for a permissive international environment for its continued development.

An example of China seeking to retain leadership of complex issues during a period of transition is a blueprint launched by the Eighteenth Central Committee of the CCP in November 2013. It is also an example of timeliness in an age of growing ecological awareness. Dubbed an “eco-civilization system,” it has been presented as a means of linking and guiding large segments of economic, energy, environmental and international relations activity that will allow China to balance its needs in future decades.136 This concept was not new, but implicit in policies developed under the Hu Jintao administration, and gained extended endorsement through 2007–2015. Its aspirations can be summarized in the following way:

An ecological civilization encompasses all material, spiritual and institutional achievements in easing the increasingly intense conflicts between humans and the environment. It includes mitigating ecological crises and disasters, relieving pressures on natural resources, and improving the balance between the environment and economy, and between individuals and society.

Since the concept was put forward at the end of the last century, there has been systematic research on it by experts in relevant disciplines, members of government departments and environmental preservationists. The results show connections with Chinese traditional culture as well as a modern environmental ethic and the sustainable development model. The idea of the harmony of heaven and man in Chinese traditional culture focuses on the unity of human nature and heavenly laws, an important cultural basis for the development of an ecological civilization in China.137

Cutting across a wide range of societal, policy, and governmental reforms to address renewable energy, environmental protection, resource conservation, and economic openness issues, this agenda is now shifting into the center of China’s national development strategy. The intention is to create a clear framework of reform by 2020, including a “natural resources balance sheet,” effective “paid use for resources,” and clear “red lines” to maintain ecosystem functionality.138 Climate finance mechanisms, carbon markets, green urbanization, internationalized “green trading” to improve sustainable global trends, and outward bound green investments are seen as a path to this transition.139 The policy has already gone beyond the declarative and aspirational stage. It has begun to shape China’s laws, with domestic needs allowing a more positive environmental diplomacy.140 Much still needs to done, however, before China can reduce endemic pollution and desertification, develop sustainable production systems, and repair past ecological damage.141 In spite of massive investment in green technologies in recent years, the country may still find it hard to “break even,” let alone remediate environmental damage due to the pressure of sustaining economic growth, energy production, and improved standards of living for its huge population.142

How does this drive toward an ecological civilization reflect on Chinese conceptions of governance, dynastic stability, and strategic decision-making? Each sought to use the legacies of the past to actively understand the present and navigate the future. What makes this somewhat different to other civilizational modalities has been its engagement of a dynamic approach to change whereby “timeliness” was viewed as the means to overcome the uncertainties inherent in complex decision-making. From this perspective, old models and exemplars are important but should not be applied mechanically to meet the needs of the present. The logic of early Confucianism suggested that humans were enmeshed not just in a cultural system but also within a Heaven-Human-Earth triad.143 The creative collaboration and use of these three forces indicated the conditions of good governance, formalized through the Mandate of Heaven doctrine. Although the Heaven-Human-Earth concept has had limited impact on modern ecological reform, it did suggest that governance had to concern itself with more than the societal constructions—cosmological factors shaped the wider human environment.144 For this to be conceived of as a two-way relationship between humankind and nature may still provide a new twenty-first century avenue for stewardship of the environment. The propensity for this to occur is high, given a rapidly rising China, global need, and the meeting of the two “shi’s”—shí (時) as timeliness discussed in this chapter and shì (势) as the strategic configuration of power which the next chapter will address. Together they represent a meeting point between time and geopolitical circumstance.

Notes

1. For the possible but problematic identification of the earlier Xia dynasty with specific second millennium BCE archaeological sites such as Erlitou, see Li Liu and Hong Shu, “Rethinking Erlitou: Legend, History and Chinese Archaeology,” Antiquity 81 (2007): 886–901; John Keay, China: A History (London: Harper Press, 2009), 32–36. These factors lead to complex questions concerning nationalism and national identity in the modern period, see the Introduction and Chapter 4.

2. Jim Yuanpu “The Chinese Dream, the Chinese Spirit and the Chinese Way,” CNTV, 2013, http://english.cntv.cn/special/newleadership/chinesedream05.html; Xinhua, “President Hu Makes Four-Point Proposal for Building Harmonious World,” China View (September 16, 2005); Xinhua, “Chinese President Calls for Building Harmonious World,” People’s Daily Online (September 24, 2009); Permanent Mission of the People’s Republic of China to the United Nations, “Statement by President Hu Jintao at the General Debate of the 64th Session of the UN General Assembly (September 23, 2009).”

3. Russian Federation, “Concept of the Foreign Policy of the Russian Federation,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation (February 12, 2013); Nicolai N. Petro, “Russian Foreign Policy 2000–2011: From National-State to Global Risk Sharing,” Portal on Central Eastern and Balkan Europe, PECOB’s Papers Series (June 2011), http://www.pecob.eu/flex/cm/pages/ServeBLOB.php/L/EN/IDPagina/3132.

4. See for example Shan Chun, Major Aspects of Chinese Religion and Philosophy (London: Springer, 2012); John Keay, China: A History (London: Harper Press, 2009); W. Scott Morton and Charlton M. Lewis, China: Its History and Culture, 4th edn (New York: McGraw-Hill Inc., 2004); Stephen G. Haw, China: A Cultural History (London: Batsford, 1990); Bai Shouyi (ed.) An Outline History of China (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1982).

5. For changing patterns of state monopoly, private or local manufacture, see Yan Wenming et al. (ed.) The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume I, Earliest Times—221 B.C.E. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 88, 104, 270–74, 290, 299. Intense debates on the benefits or problems associated with salt and iron monopolies occurred from the Han dynasty onwards, see “The Debate on Salt on Iron,” in Sources of Chinese Tradition, Volume I: From Earliest Times to 1600, ed. by Wm. Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom, 2nd edn (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 360–63.

6. The Book of Music is sometimes added to this list, but was of less significance and later on largely lost, Michael Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 33.

7. Yu Jiyuan, “Transmitting and Innovating Confucius: Analects 7:1,” Asian Philosophy 22, no. 4 (November 2012): 375–86; Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 8–10.

8. Chen Suzhen, “The Transmission of the Five Classics and Their Schools of Interpretation,” in The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume II, Qin, Han, Wei, Jin and the Northern and Southern Dynasties, ed. by Zhang Chuangxi et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 205–16; Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 58.

9. See for example Northrop Frye, The Great Code: The Bible and Literature (New York: Mariner Books, 2002).

10. J. R. Osborn, “Islamic Traditions of the Book: Calligraphy, Performance and Print,” International Journal of the Book 3, no. 3 (2005/2006): 33–37. See further James S. Baumlin, “Reading Bloom (Or: Lessons Concerning the ‘Reformation’ of the Western Literary Canon),” College Literature 27, no. 3 (Fall 2000): 37; Jonathan Hill, Christianity: The First 400 Years (Oxford, Lion Hudson, 2013), 190.

11. For the rising importance of Taoism for legitimation of the early Tang emperors, see Shan Chun, Major Aspects of Chinese Religion and Philosophy (London: Springer, 2012), 11–12.

12. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 17.

13. Keay, China: A History, 4–5.

14. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 2.

15. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 14. For the occasional invention, manipulation or forgery of texts or legends, plus periods of cynicism toward them, see Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 49, 52.

16. See Qin Yaqing, “Continuity Through Change: Background Knowledge and China’s International Strategy,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 7, no. 3 (2014): 285–314; Tian Chenshan, Chinese Dialectics: From Yijing to Marxism (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2005). This was the case even for modernizers such as Kang Youwei and Liang Qichao, see Peter Zarrow, After Empire: The Conceptual Transformation of the Chinese State, 1885–1924 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012), 24–88.

17. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 59.

18. This was particularly the case for the different editions, transmissions and interpretations of the Spring and Autumn Annals, see Chen Suzhen, “Debates Between the Three Spring and Autumn Annals Traditions and the New Text and Old Text scholars,” The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume II, Qin, Han, Wei, Jin and the Northern and Southern Dynasties, ed. Zhang Chuangxi et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 217–29.

19. Zarrow, After Empire: The Conceptual Transformation of the Chinese State, 1885–1924, 46–49.

20. Tsinghua University has a collection of some 2,000 bamboo slips that date to the Warring States period, with one sample radiocarbon dated to circa 305 BCE, that are historical documents of this type, see Sarah Allan, “On Shu (Documents) and the Origin of the Shang Shu (Ancient Documents) in the Light of Recently Discovered Bamboo Slip Manuscripts,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 75, no. 3 (October 2012): 547–57.

21. David Graff, Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900 (London: Routledge, 2002), 5.

22. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 121–28.

23. Yuri Pines, The Everlasting Empire: The Political Culture of Ancient China and Its Imperial Legacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 137; Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 127–28.

24. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 136. These models include those of cosmic control; bureaucratic control; “royal models of filial duty, sibling concord, and collegial rule”; ruler as rhetorician controlling the people, and a model based on self-abnegation of worthy officials (ibid., 137).

25. See, for example, Book of Songs no. 209 and no. 211 where blessing are assured from the spirits, protectors, and ancestors through properly observed ritual.

26. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 171.

27. Nylan The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 195.

28. This is exemplified in the sending of the Tripods of Zhou to the Qin state circa 255 BCE. “The Chi’in, Basic Annals 5 [218],” translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, ed. William H. Nienhauser Jr., trans. Tsai-fa Cheng et al. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 121.

29. Joseph R. Allen, “Postface: A Literary History of the Shi Jing,” in The Book of Songs: The Ancient Chinese Classic of Poetry, trans. Arthur Waley and Joseph R. Allen (New York: Grove Press, 1996), 336–83.

30. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 79–80. See for example Song number 113 “Big Rat,” which is highly critical of a ruler, or no. 157 praising the Duke of Zhou. The collection of poems from the common people up to the highest nobility is reported in “The Chou, Basic Annals 4 [142],” translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 71.

31. See The Book of Songs no. 173 and no. 192; Confucius Analects VI:30, XII.7; Sun Tzu The Art of War I.4; Jia Yi New Writings (Xinshu), “The Primacy of the People,” translated in Sources of Chinese Tradition, ed. de Bary and Bloom, 291.

32. Book of Songs, No. 185. See also Book of Songs No. 191 and No. 234, translated in The Book of Songs: The Ancient Chinese Classic of Poetry, trans. by Arthur Waley and Joseph. R. Allen (New York: Grove Press, 1996).

33. See Confucius, Analects XVII.9; Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 77.

34. Joseph R. Allen, “Postface: A Literary History of the Shi Jing,” 364.

35. Cai Liang, “Who Said, ‘Confucius composed the Chunqiu’?—The Genealogy of the ‘Chunqiu’ Canon in the Pre-Han and Han Periods,” Frontiers of History in China 5, no. 3 (2010): 363–85.

36. Michael Puett, “Nature and Artifice: Debates in Late Warring States China Concerning the Creation of Culture,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 57, no. 2 (December 1997): 471–518.

37. Zuo Qiuming Zuo’s Commentary on Spring and Autumn Annals (Selections), trans. Li Shibiao, Hu Zhihui and Zheng Aifang (Shandong: Shandong Friendship Press, 2000), 1.

38. Zuo’s Commentary on Spring and Autumn Annals (Selections), no. 2, 8, 9, 10, 16 and 21.

39. Chen, Suzhen “Debates Between the Three Spring and Autumn Annals Traditions and the New Text and Old Text scholars,” 217–28.

40. Besides Yijing and I Ching, alternative transliterations (or spellings) are I Jing, Ijing, Zhouyi and Ye Jing. There are numerous translations of the book, including the famous Richard Wilhelm translation, I Ching Or Book of Changes, 3rd edn (London: Penguin/Arkana, 1989). Other English-language editions include: Richard Butt, trans., The Book of Changes: Zhouyi (London: Routledge, 2002); Henry Wei, The Authentic I-Ching, 2nd edn (London: The Softback Review, 1993); Kerson Huang and Rosemary Huang, trans., I Ching (New York, Workman Publishing, 1987); and Sam Reifler, I Ching (New York: Bantam Books, 1974).

41. Ming Dong Gu, “The ‘Zhouyi’ (Book of Changes) as an Open Classic: A Semiotic Analysis of Its System of Representation,” Philosophy East and West 55, no. 2 (April 2005): 257–82.

42. See for example T’ai Kung’s [Taigong’s] Six Secret Teachings I.1, in The Seven Military Classics of China, Including the Art of War trans. and commentary Ralph D. Sawyer (New York: Basic Books, 2007), 40, and 28–29. See further James D. Sellman, Timing and Rulership in Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals (New York: State of New York Press, 2002), 2–3.

43. Zuo’s Commentary on Spring and Autumn Annals (Selections), no. 8.

44. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 140.

45. See Book of Songs nos. 189–90 for the interpretation of a Lord’s and then a herdsman’s dream.

46. Li Ling, “Occult, Technical and Medical Arts”, The History of Chinese Civilization, Vol 1: Earliest Times—221 B.C.E., ed. by Yan Wenming et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 538–40.

47. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 210.

48. Shen Pei, “The Important Position Occupied by the Oracle Bone Inscriptions from the Yin Ruins in the Development of Chinese Characters,” in The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume I, Earliest Times—221 B.C.E., ed. Yan Wenming et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 427–36.

49. As noted on the Book of Songs no. 58 and no. 169.

50. See also Book of Songs no. 237 for the decision to settle on the plain of Zhou. Other examples include the use of oracles before founding a city, see Book of Songs no. 244.

51. In Lee Hur-Li, “Divination and the State: Classifying Technical Texts in Han China,” Library Resources and Technical Services 54, no. 4 (October 2010): 200–11.

52. Key, China: A History, 44–46.

53. For the significance of magic as a pattern of explanation that also sought to give the user the power over fate, illness and bad luck, see Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London: Penguin, 1971).

54. Kidder Smith Jr. et al. Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 170; David Keightley, “The Religious Commitment: Shang Theology and the Genesis of Chinese Political Culture,” History of Religions 17 (1978): 211–25.

55. Wei, The Authentic I-Ching, 35.

56. Book of Songs no. 195.

57. Tien Chen-Ya, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern (Oakville: Mosaic Press, 1992), 35; Wuzi [Wu-Tzu] 1 and 2; Wei Liaozi [Wei Liao-Tzu] 4 in The Seven Military Classics of China, 207, 212–13, 249.

58. Sunzi, Art of War, 11 and 13. See further Tien Chen-Ya, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 49. This may have been part of a wider trend of “post-divinatory rational consciousness” which from the time of Confucius onward sought understanding from human learning and inner reflection, Chung-Ying Cheng, “The Yi Jing and Yin-Yang Way of Thinking,” in History of Chinese Philosophy, ed. Bo Mou (London: Routledge, 2009), 97.

59. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, I.9 and Three Strategies of of Huang Shigong, II.

60. David Graff, Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900 (London: Routledge, 2002), 8. See further Li Quan, Taibai Yinjing, translated by Zhu Shida (Beijing: Military Science Publishing House, 2007).

61. Questions and Replies between Tang Taizong and Li Weigong III, I The Seven Military Classics of China, 356–57.

62. In the Zhuo Zhuan, “Commentary of Zhuo,” translated in Wang Bo “Religion and Belief in the Shang and Zhou Dynasties,” in The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume I, Earliest Times—221 B.C.E., ed. Yan Wenming et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 458.

63. For the testing of astrologers such as Thrasylus by the then future emperor Tiberius, see Tacitus Annals VI.21. From the Han dynasty onward shamanistic practitioners (wushu) of divination were placed under legal restrictions in case their pronouncements incited rebellions, Li “Occult, Technical and Medical Arts,” 544.

64. See The First Emperor of Ch’in, Basic Annals 6 [255], translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 147–48; Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 29, 42. The ruling against private books was lifted in 191 BCE. The first Qin emperor should not be viewed as entirely anti-Confucian: he seems to have consulted Confucian scholars in the former state of Lu concerning the wording of on one of his monuments, and another monument was inscribed with words noting his emphasis on “education and enlightenment,” The First Emperor of Ch’in, Basic Annals 6, 242–43.

65. For this line of thought, see Mark E. Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999).

66. Lee, “Divination and the State: Classifying Technical Texts in Han China,” 200–11.

67. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 241.

68. Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 231.

69. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 206.

70. See for example Dong Guangbi, “Studies of the Book of Changes (Yi Jing) and Twenty First-Century Science,” Contemporary Chinese Thought 39, no. 3 (Spring 2008), 10–22.

71. Nylan The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 224.

72. Wei, The Authentic I-Ching, 34; Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 202–4.

73. Yan, The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume I, Earliest Times—221 B.C.E., 52.

74. Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 14.

75. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 227.

76. David Peat, Synchronicity: The Bridge Between Matter and Mind (New York: Bantam Books, 1987), 111.

77. Peat, Synchronicity, 93.

78. Jay G. Williams in Wei, The Authentic I-Ching, ix.

79. Smith Jr. et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 190–91.

80. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 243–44.

81. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 244–45.

82. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 250.

83. Liu Zehua, “The Unity of Heaven and Men, and China’s Monarchism,” Contemporary Chinese Thought 45, nos. 2–3 (Winter 2013–2014): 89–116; Liu Zehua, “Monarchism: A Historical Orientation of Chinese Intellectual Culture,” Contemporary Chinese Thought 45, nos. 2–3 (Winter 2013–2014): 21–31; Yuri Pines, “Liu Zehua and Studies of China’s Monarchism,” Contemporary Chinese Thought 45, nos. 2–3 (Winter 2013–2014), 3–20.

84. Hannah Beech, “How China Sees The World,” Time 181, no. 23, June 17, 2013; Voice of Russia, “China to Follow its Path of Socialism and to be Powerful and Prosperous State by 2049,” Xinhuanet, November 8, 2012, http://voiceofrussia.com/2012_11_08/China-to-follow-its-path-of-socialism-and-to-be-powerful-and-prosperous-state-by-2049-Hu-Jintao/.

85. Thomas Bondiguel and Thierry Kellner, “The Impact of China’s Foreign Policy Think Tanks,” Brussels Institute of Contemporary China Studies Asia Paper 5, no. 5 (2010): 1–28.

86. Xinhuanet, “Xi Calls for New Type of Think Tanks,” October 27, 2014, http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/china/2014–10/27/c_133746282.htm; Silva Menegazzi, “Building Think Tanks with Chinese Characteristics: The Current Debates and Changing Trends,” China Brief 14, no. 24 (December 19, 2014): 14.

87. Xu Lin, “Top 10 Most Influential Think Tanks in China,” China.org.cn, February 3, 2014, http://www.china.org.cn/top10/2014–02/03/content_31341799.htm.

88. Menegazzi, “Building Think Tanks with Chinese Characteristics,” 14–15.

89. Shannon Tiezzi, “The Boao Forum and China’s Play for Regional Leadership,” The Diplomat, April 10, 2014, http://thediplomat.com/2014/04/the-boao-forum-and-chinas-play-for-regional-leadership/.

90. World Bank, Development Research Center of the State Council, PRC, China 2030: Building a Modern, Harmonious, and Creative High-Income Society (Washington, DC: World Bank, 2012), xv.

91. Menegazzi, “Building Think Tanks with Chinese Characteristics,” 14–17.

92. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 123.

93. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 157.

94. The Chou [Zhou], Basic Annals 4 [126], translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 62.

95. See the translation and commentary in Yuri Pines, “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng Shi Manuscript,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 73, no. 3 (2010): 503–29. For parallel notions of retirement in another bamboo text, the Tang Yu zhi Dao (strips 25–27), see Kwan Leung Wong, Early Confucianism: A Study of the Guodian Confucian Texts (PhD Dissertation Submitted to the Department of East Asian Studies, University of Arizona, 2006), 79–124, http://arizona.openrepository.com/arizona/bitstream/10150/195186/1/azu_etd_1480_sip1_m.pdf.

96. Pines, “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng Shi Manuscript,” 529.

97. The Chou, Basic Annals 4 [134], translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 67.

98. The Chou, Basic Annals 4 [134], translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 67.

99. Book of Songs no. 235 and no. 236. Likewise, sections of the Rong Cheng shi (Section 3: 23–24) also suggest that Heaven’s help was not given “unconditionally” and even “paradigmatic” rulers such as Shun had to prove themselves, Pines, “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng Shi Manuscript,” 511, 520.

100. The Yin, Basic Annals 3 [107], translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 51.

101. Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals, Book 16, Chapters 1.1–1.4, The Annals of Lu Buwei, trans. John Knoblock and Jeffrey Riegel (Standford: Stanford University Press, 2001), 373–76.

102. Confucius Analects XII:11, XIII:6, XX.1; Mencius IB.8, IIIB.5, IVA.2–3; Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 53. Violent rebellion is implicitly criticized in one Warring States text, with the alternatives of persuasion and displays of “military might” preferred, Rong Cheng shi (Section 6: 49–53), translated in Pines, “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng Shi Manuscript,” 520–24.

103. Pines, “Liu Zehua and Studies of China’s Monarchism,” 15.

104. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 140.

105. This is already outlined in the description of the “earliest rulers” as presiding over a “golden age,” Rong Cheng shi (Section 1:1–3), translated in Pines “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng Shi Manuscript,” 506–7.

106. Confucius Analects XII.22, XX.1; Mencius IA.3–6, IB.13, VIIA.14, VIIA.23.

107. Book of Songs no. 251.

108. The Chou, Basic Annals 4 [142], translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 71.

109. Book of Songs no. 250.

110. Book of Songs nos. 236, 240, 249, 256, 260.

111. Pines, “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng Shi Manuscript,” 503–29.

112. The evolving pattern of thought linked to Confucius, and whether it remained a separate, distinctive “school” is still a debated issue. For this reason some writers prefer the term “Ruists,” scholars devoted to transmitting knowledge from the past, often with a focus on the Six Classics, as well as educational and moral reform; see Wang Bo, “Confucius and the Ruist School,” in The History of Chinese Civilization, Vol 1: Earliest Times—221 B.C.E., ed. Yan Wenming et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 485–86.

113. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 35. The authorship and editing of the Spring and Autumn Annals is today disputed, see Cai Liang, “Who Said, ‘Confucius composed the Chunqiu’?—The Genealogy of the ‘Chunqiu’ Canon in the Pre-Han and Han Periods,” Frontiers of History in China 5, no. 3 (2010): 363–85.

114. Shih Chi, Basic Annals 1.11, translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 5. This parallels part of the three tests suggested by Mohists, which added the idea of seeing how well a concept could be applied in government.

115. Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 161. Note that this “shi” (時) (timeliness) is a different character and concept to “shi” (势) as the strategic configuration of power as discussed in Chapter 2. Their tones also different: shí for timeliness is the second tone; and shì for strategic advantage is the fourth. However, there is a subtle subterranean connection between the two shi’s. One glossary of terms in the Chinese tradition points out that while they are unrelated etymologically “they play parallel conceptual roles in early thought,” explaining that: “Shì/strategic-advantage and shí/timeliness are, in effect, spatial and temporal correlates of a single concept—the shifting circumstances of the experienced world. . . .,” “Glossary of Terms,” n.d., http://www.indiana.edu/~p374/Glossary.html#shi. According Francois Jullien, “shi” (势) which accords more with spatial positioning, is occasionally “used in place of” the temporal notion of “shi” (時). This is because “shi” (势) also has a dynamic sense of time with regard to “opportunity,” Francois Jullien, The Propensity of Things: Towards a History of the Efficacy of Things, translated by Janet Lloyd (New York, Urzone Inc., 1995), 267.

116. Shih Chi, The Hsia, Basic Annals 2 [81], translated in translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 35. Of course, these views may reflect the historian’s perception of the past rather than being an exact transmission from such an early period.

117. The First Emperor of Ch’in, Basic Annals 6 [245], translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, 140.

118. “Zhouhe,” Guanzi, translated in Zheng Wangeng, “Tracing the Source of the Idea of Time in the Yizhuan,” Frontiers of Philosophy in China 5, no. 1 (2010): 58.

119. Allan, The Way of Water and Sprouts of Virtue, 11.

120. Zheng Wangeng, “Tracing the Source of the Idea of Time in the Yizhuan”, Frontiers of Philosophy in China 5, no. 1 (2010): 51.

121. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 45.

122. Zhuangzi, “The Turning of Heaven,” in Chuang Tzu The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, trans. Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), http://terebess.hu/english/chuangtzu1.html#14.

123. James D. Sellman, Timing and Rulership in Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals (NY: State of New York Press, 2002), 1–2, 133–34.

124. Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals, Book 14, Chapter 3.1, translated in John Knoblock and Jeggrey Riegel, trans., The Annals of Lu Buwei (Standford: Stanford University Press, 2001), 314.

125. Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals, Book 14, Chapter 3.1.

126. de Barry and Bloom, ed., Sources of Chinese Tradition, 360–63.

127. Zheng Wangeng, “Tracing the Source of the Idea of Time in the Yizhuan,” Frontiers of Philosophy in China 5, no. 1 (2010): 63–64; Li Chenyang, “Zhongyong as Grand Harmony: An Alternative Reading to Ames and Hall’s Focusing on the Familiar,” Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy 3, no. 2 (June 2004): 182.

128. William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar Act IV, Scene III.

129. Benjamin Schwartz, The World of Thought in Ancient China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1985), 188; Chuang Tzu Book VII, Part 1, section VII.6.

130. Alan Watts and Huang Al Chung-Liang, Tao: The Watercourse Way (London: Arkana, 1992), 76.

131. Tao Te Ching [Daodejing] 18.

132. Zheng, “Tracing the Source of the Idea of Time in the Yizhuan,” 62.

133. Kuo yu [Guoyu] 1.1a, translated in Christopher C. Rand, “Li Ch’uan and Chinese Military Thought,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 39, no. 2 (June 1979): 116.

134. The doctrine of “hide one’s talents, bide one’s time, and seek concrete achievements” has been one aspect of Chinese foreign policy from 1989, but the concept may go back as far as the tenth century as well as reappearing in chapter 21 of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, see Shin Kawashima, “The Development of the Debate Over ‘Hiding One’s Talents and Biding One’s Time’ (taoguan yanghui),” Asia-Pacific Review 18, no. 2 (2011): 14–36.

135. For these debates, see Yan Xuetong, “From Keeping a Low Profile to Striving for Achievement,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics 7, no. 2 (2014): 153–84; Jerden Bjorn, “The Assertive China Narrative: Why It is Wrong and How So Many Still Bought into It,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 7, no. 1 (2014): 47–88; Qin Yaqing, “Continuity Through Change: Background Knowledge and China’s International Strategy,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 7, no. 3 (2014), 285–314.

136. Climate Group, “Eco-Civilization: China’s Blueprint for A New Era,” Insight Briefing (February 2014), http://www.theclimategroup.org/_assets/files/China-Ecocivilisation.pdf. For the Marxist approach to this ambitious agenda, given the need for China to gain increased economic independence as part of its security in a competitive global system, see Arran Gare, “Marxism and the Problem of Creating an Environmentally Sustainable Civilization in China,” Capitalism Nature Socialism 19, no. 1 (March 2008): 5–26; Arran Gare, “China and the Struggle for Ecological Civilization,” Capitalism Nature Socialism 23, no. 4 (2012): 10–26.

137. UNDP and Institute for Urban and Environmental Studies China, National Human Development Report 2013: Sustainable and Liveable Cities—Towards Ecological Civilization (Beijing: China Translation and Publishing Company, August 2013), 11, http://www.cn.undp.org/content/dam/china/docs/Publications/UNDP-CH-HD-Publication-NHDR_2013_EN_final.pdf.

138. Climate Group, “Eco-Civilization: China’s Blueprint for A New Era,” 1–5.

139. Climate Group, “Eco-Civilization: China’s Blueprint for A New Era”, 8–10.

140. Guiyang Municipal Intermediate People’s Court & Qingzhen Municipal People’s Court, “Implementation of Opinions Vigorously Advancing Environmental Public Interest Litigation and Promoting Eco-Civilization Construction,” Chinese Law and Government 43, no. 6 (November–December 2010): 53–55; Lisa Friedman, “Negotiations: UN Summit Takes Shape But Plans for ‘Bold Pledges’ Remain Elusive,” E & E Publishing Climate Wire, May 21, 2014; Angus Grigg, “China Shifts Stance on Climate Change,” Financial Review, September 20, 2014.

141. For political blockages to this civilizational agenda, see Arran Gare, “China and the Struggle for Ecological Civilization,” Capitalism Nature Socialism 23, no. 4 (2012): 10–26.

142. Shannon Tiezzi, “How the Next 5 Years Could Make or Break China’s ‘War on Pollution’,” The Diplomat, June 10, 2015.

143. Chung-Ying Cheng, “The Yi Jing and Yin-Yang Way of Thinking,” in History of Chinese Philosophy, ed. by Bo Mou (London: Routledge, 2009), 80, 92.

144. See Yao Xinzhong, “The Value of the Confucian Eco-Perspective for Environmental Protection,” in Proceedings of the International Conference Commemorating the 2565th Anniversary of Confucius and the 5th Congress of the International Confucian Association, vol. 4 (Beijing: The International Confucian Association et al., September 2014), 2111–20.

Chapter 2

Embracing Shi

The Timely Configuration of Power as Skillful Means

Chinese philosophical thought, at least in its later Confucian, Daoist, and Buddhist orientations, came to be critical of military solutions and soldiering as a career path. Rather, it sought to control the military under a secure civil authority led by the emperor and served by a thoroughly enculturated bureaucracy.1 This trend has been encapsulated under the principle of wen over wu, that is, the civilian arts of culture as having primacy over, and control of, the arts of war.2 In reality, however, any large state in Chinese history needed to manage the arts of governance, diplomacy and war, leading to complex interactions between Confucian and military bureaucracies, as well as sustained debates over the benefits of offensive versus defensive strategies to secure borders to the west and north.3 In response to these needs, a body of military accounts was preserved though historical works and in military and strategic texts. Many were collected or re-edited in the Warring States period.

During the Spring and Autumn and early Warring States period, military commanders would often be officials chosen to command expeditions, and any Confucian “gentleman” who took up government roles might be expected to have at least a minimal understanding of the military arts. Beyond the recognized traditional arts of archery and chariot-riding, this would include some basic knowledge of strategic affairs.4 In this context, even Confucius (in the Analects) discussed the need for punitive expeditions and for the people to have military training—not to do this was equivalent to “throwing them away.”5 Mencius also made some comments on justified punitive expeditions and who was fit to launch them, as well as how to motivate people to have martial courage.6 To stereotype either as pacifists or naïve idealists is to profoundly misread their views. By the time of the Han dynasty a learned man such as Ch’uan Pu-I (who studied the Spring and Autumn Annals), when summoned to a meeting with a senior imperial envoy, could refuse to surrender his sword to the gatekeeper on the grounds that the “sword is the gentleman’s weapon of defense, the means by which he guards his person.”7

These developments led to a certain synthesis of Confucian morality and pragmatic governance, bolstered by Legalist methods of law and order, and enhanced by strategic dictums for warfare. Thus, the concept of wen-wu he yi (civilians and military working together) embraced the idea of unifying literary education and martial skills, and of using both civil leadership and martial training to unify an army.8 In the same vein, the Wei Liaozi, whose ideas date back to the fourth century BCE, regarded state survival as dependent on combining the civil and humanistic with the martial and strategic; as well as recognizing the importance of a strong economic base to support military might. In the somewhat later Three Strategies of Huang Shigong Daoist elements focusing on virtue and preserving life are added, but still recognize that warfare cannot be entirely avoided during ages of relative decline.

Such decline occurred in the Eastern Zhou period (from 770 down to 256 BCE) which saw the extinction of hundreds of small states and territories, leading onto a more complex period of inter-state conflict where seven larger states fought not just for territory or relative advantage, but for their very survival as political entities. By the late Warring States period, moreover, warfare had become more intense, was waged on a huge scale (in some cases with hundreds of thousands of combatants), and engaged more complex weapons, including large chariots (later on superseded by cavalry), complex multi-arrow crossbows, and special equipment for crossing rivers and attacking city walls.9 Eventually, the six other major states would be defeated by the growing power of the Qin, leading to the reunified empire from 221 BCE onward. Looking back to the very foundations of the Zhou dynasty in overthrowing the Shang, these strategic traditions not only embraced details of military strategy, tactics, and technology, but often included an analysis of grand strategy “to develop a substantial material base, undermine the enemy’s strength, and create an administrative organization that could be imposed effectively in both peace and war.”10 Likewise, an active diplomacy, engagement of remote allies against a near enemy, the use of barbarians to control barbarians, and systematic economic inducements combined with marriage-alliances, all point to military thought being embedded in a wider “grand strategy” that embraced current conditions. The context for strategy can be summarized under the concept of shi (sometimes transliterated as shih, 势) engaged at both the national and battlefield levels, something that rulers and generals must understand to ensure victory.11 Shi can be generally rendered as “position,” “circumstances,” “power,” or “potential” but in political and military contexts can be viewed “the strategic configuration of power” or “strategic advantage” based on the “very disposition of things” (see further below).12

Controlling Strategic Power: Historical and Modern Social Contexts

The intensity of these dilemmas can be seen in the case of Wei, a state on the central north edge of the Zhou domains which for a time had become militarily prominent. After 370 BCE it suffered defeats at the hands of the eastern state of Qi, then against the rising power of the Qin, and then at the hands of the powerful southern state of Chu. The crushing defeat at the battle of Maling against Qi in 341 BCE resulted in up to 100,000 casualties for Wei.13 The central position of Wei placed it at the heart of the strategic conflict among strong neighbors, and only a long-term “vertical” (north-south) alliance could have saved it against the dynamic rise of the western kingdom of Qin. These pressures involved the loss of substantial western territories, forced the King of Wei to shift his capital to Daliang, and then eroded Wei’s power to the point that it was finally defeated and extinguished by Qin in 225 BCE.

These overriding concerns connected to state survival meant that Confucian morality could only be partly accommodated in emerging strategic thought and military texts. Although notions of unity in support of a legitimate government, the choice of good leaders and generals, officials serving the well-being of the people, and restraint in the use of force remain in this body of writing, some “immoral” tactics were embraced. Thus the use of spies, deceit, deception, lies, and the suborning and corrupting of foreign leaders and generals, including bribery and sex, was embraced by Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings and by Sun Zi’s Art of War.14 Many of these approaches were summarized under the concept of wenfa (“to attack with non-military methods”) and included aspects of espionage, guerrilla operations and psychological warfare.15 This led to later criticisms by Confucian thinkers such as Mencius, but many of these texts were influenced by both Daoist and Confucian philosophies, thought more pragmatic in orientation than later Han thinkers. Likewise, a strong Legalist aspect remains in many of these writings, focusing on strict punishments for lapses of military discipline (including branding or execution) along with rewards and oaths to increase morale and boost motivation.16 In general, these texts emphasize the existence of stark differences between military and civilian conditions, and that rule by benevolence alone was insufficient during times of war.17

Such realities led to an expanded role for military specialists and professional soldiers, including a class of aristocratic and “wandering knights” who were often experts in warfare but later on evolved into a meritocratic class serving government. The Warring States period saw considerable upward mobility of these military classes and of the advisers who became retainers to rulers, alongside serious structural changes which largely abolished the “semi-feudal” structure of earlier periods based on noble privilege.18 It is true that at first many of these “knights” were often little more than strongmen and local bosses, some of whom survived into the early Han period as disturbers of the peace, but others were viewed as heroes worthy of emulation.19 Figures like Sou Qin, Zhang Yi, and Huang Shi Gong were prominent political strategists who advised governments or acted as diplomats. These “gentlemen” advisers, due to their skills, education, and reputed integrity, came to play pivotal roles as court advisers and ministers.20 It is in this context that the third century BCE political text Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals gives extensive advice on how to win over and understand “scholar-knights.”21

These trends also led to a growing body of over a thousand strategic texts, some of which would be preserved as military classics.22 From this time onward there would be an increasing tendency toward strategic and military specialization, though this should not be exaggerated. The ideal of the scholar-general remained alive. For instance, Liu Ji (fourteenth century CE) was renowned as a military commander, statesman, scholar, and poet, while even in the Ming we find some Confucian scholars adept at swordsmanship.23 Beyond the defensive orientation of Mozi and the Mohist School (experts in defending cities and small states against stronger adversaries), there also emerged texts that demonstrated how to rebel against established (but corrupt) authorities to seize the Mandate of Heaven (Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings), sophisticated politico-military texts such as Sunzi’s Art of War, and somewhat more technical books like that by Sun Bin. Beyond this textual evolution lay one of the deeper problems for China through the Han to the Tang periods—the issue of how to maintain effective civilian control over increasingly professional and large-scale armies. These came to include full-time cavalry forces based on tribal groups drawn in from northern and western regions. This problem intensified patterns of political instability, regime change, and state fragmentation that characterized the period between 200 and 960 CE.24

Nonetheless, the wider philosophical tradition did have some enduring influence on how conflict and war was viewed. War was usually only justified as a defensive measure or last resort to maintain peace and order, and was often seen as a way of avoiding future or wider conflicts.25 It was based on a moral framework focused on supporting the people, removing unjust rulers via punitive or rectifying military campaigns, and could only be carried out by a justified king, successful hegemon, or legitimate emperor. This perspective was exemplified in the thought of Warring States strategist Wuzi, who emphasized that the ruler’s laws should eliminate harm to the people, thus ensuring their support.26 We can sense the reluctance to rely too much on warfare even in a military manual such as the Military Methods, written by Sun Bin (probably born circa 380 and died about 316 BCE),27 reflecting attitudes of the last half of the fourth century BCE. It states:

Victory in war can revive an endangered kingdom and restore a disrupted ruling line. Failure of victory in warfare, therefore, must lead to the cutting up of the realm and endanger the kingdom. Therefore, war must be investigated, but those who delight in warfare will perish, and those who scheme for the benefits of victory will be disgraced.28

As noted by Edmund Balmforth, Sun Bin took war for granted as a social reality, “but did not glorify it.”29 Furthermore, in both the wu and wen dimensions, the ancient Chinese strategists and philosophers tended to emphasize the importance of human relations, human harmony, and of morale, thereby converging on the human dimensions of both war and government.30 For most of the classical Chinese philosophers, warfare might be a necessity, but should not be celebrated.

This dual viewpoint, engaging in a criticism of warfare but noting its necessity, led to certain wider orientations. In general, diplomatic and civil means were mobilized alongside martial ones, with rulers cultivating moral law (xiu dao), a sound agricultural base and economy, as well as a proper system of organization (bao fa) to support their goals.31 A perfect general should seek to “win without fighting,” but if this was unavoidable a short, intense campaign was preferred to wars of attrition.32 In this context we need to distinguish campaigns of attrition from campaigns of “exhaustion,” a valid stratagem where “the resources, military intent and political will” of an opponent needed to be eroded before final victory.33 As noted by Wuzi, a truly benevolent ruler could not ignore military preparations and needed to able to counter enemy forces rather than merely grieve over the dead.34

For a unified empire with extensive frontiers and growing population this was not an easy moral or political equation. Issues of central authority, border stabilization, and dynastic prestige could lead to expansive phases, as occurred during the early parts of the Han and Tang periods. By the same token, the emperor who promoted Confucianism as the state ideology, Wudi, also engaged in extensive military campaigns and territorial expansion that were “the greatest in the annals of Chinese history.”35 Clearly, the wen-wu dynamic was not easily separated. If emperors were judged on the basis of both, then phases of empire-building were to be expected before limits were found, either economically or strategically. As Chang remarks:

empire building and its accompanying military expansion became in Imperial China a permanent part of the dual criteria of historical judgement of an emperor: wen-chih (civil and cultural merit) and wu-kung (martial achievement). Without wu-kung, wen-chih was not enough to make an emperor stand out in history.36

These historical orientations created an evolving strategic culture that shaped how China reacted to conflict, competition and warfare. This was not a simple or unchanging doctrine, but a range of ideas and orientations that influence the political context within which these issues were debated. In the last two decades debates on the nature of Chinese strategic culture, and indeed, whether China has a distinctive strategic culture at all, have intensified (see Chapter 7). Aside from academic differences of interpretation, the reasons for this are largely political. In a world where the United States retains strategic primacy in terms of traditional hard power factors but is viewed in wider terms as going through relative decline, the desire to discount “cultural interpretations” is also a desire to ensure a “narrow playing field” in which China is improving its military power but remains a distant challenger. However, if factors such as cultural resources, asymmetric strategies, unorthodox tactics, and emerging multipolarity in the international order are added to these assessments, the disparity of overt power is reduced. In turn, however, this makes China seem less predictable and also widens the dimensions of competition into non-traditional areas (see below). If a lack of predictability for an opponent is one of the winning strategies of the Art of War,37 it is a less reassuring strategy during peacetime. The leadership of the PRC, moreover, is uncertain as to whether this is a period of genuine peace, even within the Indo-Pacific region. These threat perceptions are outlined in the PRC 2013 white paper on the diverse roles of the People’s Liberation Army:

China’s international competitiveness and influence are steadily increasing. However, China still faces multiple and complicated security threats and challenges. The issues of subsistence and development security and the traditional and non-traditional threats to security are interwoven. Therefore, China has an arduous task to safeguard its national unification, territorial integrity and development interests. Some country has strengthened its Asia-Pacific military alliances, expanded its military presence in the region, and frequently makes the situation there tenser. On the issues concerning China’s territorial sovereignty and maritime rights and interests, some neighboring countries are taking actions that complicate or exacerbate the situation, and Japan is making trouble over the issue of the Diaoyu Islands. The threats posed by “three forces,” namely, terrorism, separatism and extremism, are on the rise. The “Taiwan independence” separatist forces and their activities are still the biggest threat to the peaceful development of cross-Straits relations. Serious natural disasters, security accidents and public health incidents keep occurring. Factors affecting social harmony and stability are growing in number, and the security risks to China’s overseas interests are on the increase. Changes in the form of war from mechanization to informationization are accelerating. Major powers are vigorously developing new and more sophisticated military technologies so as to ensure that they can maintain strategic superiorities in international competition in such areas as outer space and cyber space.38

Understanding the legacies of China’s strategic culture, past and present, is therefore crucial to understanding the bases of Chinese power and their domestic and international aspirations in the twenty-first century. In turn, these strategic preferences and doctrines help shape long-term national planning and the methods China implements to achieve its interests, needs, and security (see further Chapters 6 and 7). We can begin this analysis by exploring the concepts of qi, xing and quan before moving onto the doctrinal implications of shi.

Qi, Xing and Quan: Energy, Form and Authority

Qi (older transliterations include chi or ch’i) is one of the most important concepts within Chinese thought, embracing the idea of vitality, essential force, physical energy, potentiality, natural power, and the spirit or drive of an army.39 All differentiated cosmic processes involve dynamic movements of qi, giving it at times the meaning of breath, substance or activity.40 It has become somewhat known in the West through Chinese medicine and East Asian martial arts, whereby qi is the basis of health as well as the inner force that gives the ability to defeat or redirect a physically stronger opponent. Quan (ch’uan), on the other hand, indicates power as authority or right, and at times the ability to direct the qi possessed by an army or state.41 Xing (hsing) indicates form, appearance, or shape, and in strategic terms can relate to the disposition of battle formations but also the misleading impression of form given to an opponent. As we shall see, these three working together were seen as providing the base elements for the strategic configuration of power (shi) that leads to victory and success.

In cosmological terms qi can be interpreted in different contexts as matter, energy or ether, as can be seen in the Daoist text, the Huainanzi:

The Way first created vacuity. Vacuity created space and time. Space and time created qi. There was a boundary between the clear, subtle qi that rose to become Heaven, and the heavy, turbid qi that congealed to become Earth. Because it was quite easy for the clear, subtle qi to unite, but very difficult for the heavy and turbid qi to congeal, Heaven was completed first and Earth was only fixed afterward. The most refined qi became yin and yang. The most refined yin and yang became the four seasons. The dispersed qi of the four seasons became the myriad things.42

Excessive qi “in the blood” was held to be a problem in that it can cause lust or aggression, while low qi in declining age can lead to weakness or acquisitiveness.43 Qi was also believed to drive the emotions, which correlate with the four seasons, and which a wise ruler only expresses at appropriate times to avoid chaos and disorder.44 It is crucial to note that the amount or level of qi is not the only issue at stake. A skillful martial artist will use an opponent’s abundant qi to throw or disable him, while a general will erode or redirect the enemy’s qi so that their attacks are futile or self-damaging. Likewise, an excessive wave of qi will always fade or weaken, and that which is “too strong will always break.”45

Qi is deemed to have been possessed in abundance by wise men and great leaders. Mencius in particular described a “flood-like” qi linked to a person’s long-term integrity and rightness, not just directed by their will.46 The presence of this qi influences others as well:

Like great reserves of wealth, a great reserve of vital qi represents the potential to influence others. Qi thus provides the basis for the charismatic power of the virtuous man. All Confucians insist that each newborn is credited with sufficient qi to realize the full human potential for sagehood, even though few are wise enough to develop their innate capacities.47

For an army, having strong qi in the sense of energy and spirit is essential to ensure victory, and relates to modern notions of morale and motivation. An army can have its morale eroded by long delays before a battle starts, by surprise attacks or harassing tactics, by lack of food, by having relations among lower and upper ranks eroded, and its qi levels may decline late in the day or at dusk.48 To strike when your own forces have heightened qi and when the enemy’s qi has been eroded or “stolen” was viewed as a core principle in warfare.49

Xing (hsing), generally indicating “material form” or “disposition,” encompasses both deployment and “combat posture” in a military context. Its key significance is to be found “in the transforming of static visible force into dynamic force—Shih.”50 Thus, spirited troops that were deployed in a suitable configuration (xing) could create a favorable balance of power (quan), leading to victory. The suitable use of military planning and a dynamic understanding of military dispositions lead to a situation where the victorious army is “like the sudden release of a pent-up torrent down a thousand-fathom gorge.”51

However, it is important for the enemy not to know an army’s real configuration, and here a clever commander will either give false signs of his military posture or seek to ensure that his own forces have no perceptible form.52 A sophisticated use of xing combines orthodox and unorthodox means in a flexible way that confounds the enemy’s understanding and resistance. As stated in Sunzi’s Art of War:

Now the army’s disposition of force [hsing] is like water. Water’s configuration [hsing] avoids heights and races downward. The army’s disposition of force [hsing] avoids the substantial and strikes the vacuous. Water configures [hsing] its flow in accord with the terrain, the army controls its victory in accord with the enemy. Thus the army does not maintain any constant configuration of power [shih]; water has no constant shape [hsing]. One who is able to change and transform in accord with the enemy and wrest victory is termed spiritual!53

What follows from this is that no predrilled battle formation can meet all circumstances, and that mechanical application of rules or advantages cannot ensure overall victory.54 Rather, general principles need to be carried out in a flexible and dynamic way by an army with an authoritative and insightful commander. The skilled military strategist redeploys his forces into different forms, never using a fixed formation so as to avoid being predicted or pinned down.55

At the broader level, for a strategist such as Wei Liaozi, xing could correlate with prepared human capacities:

Human efforts constitutes the sole means to achievement; therefore the ruler must ensure that the state creates regulations and implements practices appropriate to the contemporary situation and fully exploits human potential. This is attained through the development of surpassing internal strength—both economic and military—in some views synonymous with hsing (shape, form) and its unfolding throughout the empire as necessary as shih (strategic advantage conveyed by the deployment of force).56

Quan (ch’uan) has a complex usage in the strategic classics of the Warring States period. It can mean power or an advantaged position but is used in the sense of the “authority” a general or ruler has over others. This authority can be lost if the “handles of state” are delegated, an idea emphasized by Legalist thinker Han Feizi who argued that the two handles of punishment and favor must be held by the ruler, and not assigned to ministers. To fail to control these handles will lead to the people holding the ruler in contempt and to ministers gaining power.57 A related passage in Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings connects this to control over territory and relations with other states, over the generation of wealth, control of weapons, and respect for the common people and (royal) relatives. Likewise, officials that form cliques or obscure advice from the wise are held to undermine the king’s authority and clarity of judgment.58

In a different context quan can also refer to “balance of power” or creating a “temporary tactical advantage” that will ensure victory.59 Aside from battlefield conditions, quan can also be a factor at the level of grand strategy. Thus the Wuzi outlines a case whereby a smaller, unified army is used to blunt the larger forces of Qin, thereby causing the stronger state to be ridiculed by the feudal lords and “to lose authority [ch’uan] over the world.”60 State prestige was crucial during the Warring States: the reputation and power of particular states could temporarily stabilize affairs through alliances or via the recognized leadership role of a hegemon, though this was viewed as inferior to the leadership of a true sage or emperor.61

Associated with quan was the idea of not letting others “snatch away your awesomeness.”62 Thus for strategic texts such as the Wei Liaozi the general must be respected and feared by his soldiers, who should even be “awestruck” by their commander.63 This seems to go beyond Machiavelli’s dictum that it is better to be feared than loved, so long as one is not hated.64 Strategic thinkers suggested that it was imperative that a commanding general be given complete right of command, expressed through official symbols such as ritual axes, seals and seal chords, as well as the army taking oaths to the commander.65 In theory, the campaign general would then have absolute command on the field, including the right of capital punishment, and even the ability to reject the ruler’s later instructions if not appropriate.

This notion of awesomeness is more than the narrow fear based on the general’s ability to reward or punish. An officer’s conduct on the battlefield could make not only his individual career but establish his family for generations—to fail could lead to the ruin of a family in perpetuity. Even in the Han period, traitors might have their entire family eliminated, along with the families of their supporters. Thus, the fear of failure was much greater than can be imagined for modern soldiers. Beyond this there may have been a genuinely charismatic appeal generated by great rulers and successful commanders. This is based in part on the religious rituals surrounding kings and emperors, but also on their decisive ability to shape the fate of nations. The aura and image of the ruler, his wei or awesomeness, was driven by his righteousness, confirmed authority and distinctive talents; if a ruler lacked awesomeness, he could lose his authority.66

This issue of personal charisma would become a problem for later dynasties. With the exception of dynasty founders, later emperors tended to be cautious about personally leading armies into battle.67 No emperor wanted to fail on the battlefield, as had happened to the Sui dynasty’s Emperor Yang during his disastrous Korean campaigns, but nor could he afford to have a general remain too powerful after a campaign was over.68 Overall, commanders and governors during the later Tang period were rotated in their commands, and there was a tendency for charisma to be channeled through the ritual apparatus of the state, with the emperor at its head. This power was guaranteed by his position mediating between Heaven and Earth and by engaging in rituals to ensure cosmic and social harmony, rather than relying only on individual attributes.69 In later Daoist thought, the emperor (as Son of Heaven) should have a special charisma and a “penetrating insight” into the affairs of the world that went beyond normal talents.70 Even for late nineteenth-century modernizers such as Kang Youwei, sage rulers could manipulate and control people through their transformative powers and their ability to understand “the circumstances and trends (shi)” around them, opening up the possibility of reform “from above.”71

Charismatic power would also become a problem in the twentieth century, leading to Mao Zedong’s cult of personality as a mobilizing force in the Cultural Revolution, a path that no Chinese leader has since sought to emulate.72 As we have seen (see the Introduction), Chinese public figures that begin to accrue too much individual charisma outside of recognized party channels become highly suspect in the subtle game of Chinese politics. For modern Chinese, leadership charisma tends to be linked back to the idea of qi as the person’s “energy flow, vital force, spirit, or dignity” but—as one study shows—may also be patterned on particular character dimensions including “Amenable Charisma, Magnetic Self-Assuredness, and Engaged Obstinacy,” as well as a qi which is “a pleasant and embracing force that can be inviting to people.”73 In the twenty-first century, openness and wisdom in charting the immediate national trajectory are more important that the austere dignity and awesome command that bolstered the image of rulers in the past.

Shi: Using the Dao and the Now

Shi (shih) is simply interpreted as “the strategic configuration of power” or “strategic advantage,” based on timely action and an understanding of the given situation or conflict. Militarily, it includes diverse elements of relative advantage, circumstance, force disposition, morale, troop disciple, and command advantages such that decisive victory can be secured.74 More widely, it is a mode of thought that points not just at a given disposition, but also potential changes in disposition based on an implicit understanding of dynamic mechanisms of interaction through opposition and correlation.75 In its compound forms it leads to conceptions such as: “to shape a situation,” “to build a military posture,” or “to seek a balance of power.”76 In the modern setting the term has been explored as one of the key drivers of China’s foreign policy, alongside more specific strategies focused on national interests. Efforts by China in the 1980s to avoid Soviet encirclement (via engagement in Afghanistan and cooperation with Vietnam and India), and by the counter-strategy of tilting toward the United States, have been interpreted in this light.77 In the contemporary context of international relations, shi involves an assessment of the distinctive features of the current era including the emerging configuration of international power.78

The traditional Chinese use of shi includes specific strategic orientations whereby it may be possible to deter or convince an opponent through manipulation rather than direct use of warfare.79 It has a wider conceptual place in political thought and daily life in China:

The most familiar meanings are power, force, or influence. Another common usage refers to a situation’s natural features or a person’s circumstances. Some Chinese use the term to suggest a tendency, trend, or series, or even people’s gestures. The Chinese use Shih in political theory, military strategy, the Wei-Chi game, and daily life to express a special form of power or influence. In a military context, Shih refers to power or influence. Shih may reside within the army, the general, the people, and the ruler—endogenous Shih—or in the external conditions, terrain, weather, weaponry, and time—exogenous Shih.80

One of the main users of this term was Sunzi himself, who saw it being arrived at by the appropriate mix of unorthodox and orthodox means that manipulates the enemy into a position whereby they suffer a crushing tactical imbalance of power, leading to their defeat.81 These aspects of shi are summarized by David Lai:

First, it is the idea of qi and zheng. Zheng is the regular way of doing things, or in military terms, the regular order of battle. A commander deploys troops in regular (zheng) ways. However, the commander must mobilize his troops to engage the enemy in extraordinary (qi) ways. Zheng is, in essence, a given. It is open knowledge to friends and foes. Yet qi is a variable and its variation inexhaustible. The second aspect of shi is about creating an overwhelming force with irresistible unleashing power (a grindstone against eggs, and the strike of a hawk at its prey). The third aspect of shi is about developing a favorable situation with great potential to achieve the political objectives. Finally, shi is about taking and maintaining the initiative. As Sun Tzu puts it, “those skilled at making the enemy move do so by creating a situation to which he must conform.”82

Concentration of force on weak points, keeping the initiative, having secure knowledge of enemy locations, and keeping the enemy uncertain of your own movements are themes repeated across several of the ancient texts. They are well-known dictums for modern commanders, both eastern and western. Perhaps less well known is the psychological interplay between weak and strong, soft and hard, wen and wu, internal and external, and those great complementary polarities in Chinese cosmology of yin and yang, denoting a preference for maneuver rather than decisive clash, unless the latter is swift and timely. Defense is the preferred position taken rather than attack; but a “counter-attack” becomes part of the martial cycle which converts defense into attack through the use of the opponent’s own strength and opening moves. This is much more than a strategy of counter-attack; it is a cycle of active defense that is readily poised for decisive maneuver.

At one level, victory was viewed as the outcome of the strategic use of orthodox and non-orthodox means of war, with normal and unconventional forces applied in a unified but flexible plan to concentrate overwhelming force on enemy weakpoints. As summarized by Chen-Ya Tien:

Taigong, for example, expounded the principle of “one”. Among other things, “one” means that one’s force should always be concentrated on one point or one front. By doing so, a commander can expect to crush the enemy with the maximum power he has. A similar principle can be found in Weiliaozi. He said that an army could win a battle with its force concentrated properly, but could lose it with troops dispersed and separated.83

These descriptions, however, do not fully uncover the deeper understanding of shi. It is not just “a static power or discrete force” but a dynamic and integrative process that combines material, natural and human factors.84 The main metaphor used to explain its fulfillment is the nature of water, which can be still, reflective, or rush as a torrent to move stones and boulders; for “attacking the hard and strong, nothing can surpass it.”85 This metaphor is reflected in several strategic texts and parallels Daoist concepts related to action and non-action, with water providing the model of both stillness and power.86 The key points here were the invisible, reflective nature and dynamic power of water, plus its sudden changes of state depending on the situation. Thus shi can change direction or even reverse, requiring the ability to detect and rapidly respond to changing political and strategic situations.87

Therefore shi must be actively used and exercised by the ruler, otherwise “enemy states will grow strong.”88 A skilled leader knows how to exploit shi to assure victory even over a superior force, while being cognizant to vulnerabilities on one’s own side to such strategies. This was more than a military assessment, and involved socio-political factors of governance. As noted in Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings:

The T’ai Kung [Taigong] said: “In general, as for the Tao of the military, nothing surpasses unity. The unified can come alone, can depart alone. The Yellow Emperor said: ‘Unification approaches the Tao and touches the spiritual.’ Its employment lies in the subtle; its conspicuous manifestation lies in the strategic configuration of power; its completion lies with the ruler. Thus the Sage Kings termed weapons evil implements, but when they had no alternative, they employed them.”89

How to generate and maintain shi as a long-term strategic advantage remained at the core of Chinese conceptions of inter-state governance. This rested on a wide range of domestic factors: internal harmony; the motivation of society as a whole, officials (the “worthy”) and officers; the creation of a strong economic base (largely through agriculture), and the maintenance of a just society with light burdens on an adequately trained people. In effect, this was the sustaining dao of a ruler whose “right way” had won the hearts and minds of the society he led.90 At the highest level, these factors were held to provide a wise ruler (and his government) with a mysterious insight and transformative ability in managing affairs.91 On this basis, diplomatic and military methods could be effectively deployed to protect the state and its people’s interests.

The complex term shi thus has a long history of political usage from the Warring States period onward. By denoting power in the wider sense—such as influence and potential power—there is the implication that shi can also manifest at different levels of strategy, from the political to the military and often in a mutually reinforcing manner. This orientation toward “grand strategy” within early Chinese strategic thinking is well explained by Ralph D. Sawyer:

The focus of all grand strategy must be the development of a prosperous, contented populace whose willing allegiance to the ruler is unquestioned. Thereafter, diplomatic initiatives can be effected, but military preparations should never be neglected. The primary objective should be to subjugate other states without actually engaging in armed conflict, thereby realizing the ideal of complete victory. Whenever possible, this should be achieved through diplomatic coercion, thwarting the enemy’s plans and alliances, and frustrating its strategy. The government should resort to armed combat only if the enemy threatens the state with military action or refuses to acquiesce without being forced into submission through warfare. Even when exercising this option, every military campaign should focus on achieving maximum results with minimum risk and exposure, limiting as far as possible the destruction that is inflicted and suffered.92

On this basis, the combined use of military philosophy, economic resources, and diplomatic influence in the context of a given conflict laid the basis for the early evolution of Chinese strategic culture (discussed in Chapter 7). Further, it was crucial to preserve the fruits of victory, since many states could exhaust themselves through destructive battles, even when these had been victorious.93 Expressed in modern terms, a state needed not only to win wars, but to secure sustainable conditions of peace.

In the modern period it is not surprising that the concept of shi has been latched onto as one way to gain an insight into the distinctive aspects of contemporary Chinese strategic thought. For example, the US Defense Department’s 2002 Report to Congress on China’s military power states:

China’s grand strategy attempts to balance two often competing objectives: one is developing what it calls the nation’s “comprehensive national power” (CNP). The other is exploiting to maximum advantage the existing “strategic configuration of power” or “shi,” to preserve national independence and enable China to build “momentum” in its effort to increase national power. The relative priority that the national leadership places on these two objectives is subject to adjustment and change, depending on how China assesses the opportunities and challenges in the “strategic configuration of power.”94

Although the term shi is not explicitly deployed in the 2015 Report to Congress, similar goals are outlined in relation to China’s grand strategy:

Since 2002, China’s leaders — including current President Xi Jinping — have characterized the initial two decades of the 21st century as a “period of strategic opportunity.” They assess that during this time, international conditions will be conducive to domestic development and expanding China’s “comprehensive national power,” a term that encapsulates all elements of State power including economic capacity, military might, and diplomacy. China’s leaders anticipate that a successful expansion of comprehensive national power will serve the Chinese Communist Party’s overriding strategic objectives, which include:

• Perpetuating Chinese Communist Party (CCP) rule;

• Sustaining economic growth and development;

• Maintaining domestic political stability;

• Defending national sovereignty and territorial integrity; and

• Securing China’s status as a great power and, ultimately, reacquiring regional preeminence.95

In this context, new issues such as cyber-warfare are viewed as fitting into unorthodox approaches used to establish shi, reducing the traditional military advantages of the United States by asymmetric strategies.96 For external commentators, these notions of “conflict by other means” obscure the boundaries between cooperation and competition, reduce transparency and predictability, and generate new uncertainties in the international order.97 We can see this clearly by a short discussion of the “unrestricted warfare” debate that has portrayed modern China as increasingly willing to use a wide range of assertive methods to achieve its national and strategic interests.

The Unrestricted Warfare Debate

The Legalist legacy within China’s military traditions has been interpreted in two directions. The first is an explicit move toward authoritarian government:

The Legalists were divided in three factions with different emphasis in policy: one emphasized the authority of the rulers; the other stressed schemes, manoeuvres, and/or stratagem played by the rulers; and the third concentrated on law. They were later unified by Han Fei. Under the unified theory, the ruler of the country has the absolute authority not only to make laws, but should also decide whether the law is violated and what punishment should be meted out to a particular person. The emphasis on stratagem and manoeuvre gives the ruler the right to use whatever means he may choose to manipulate his subjects.98

In turn, stratagems and deception were permitted in foreign and military affairs, as deemed useful and necessary. The parallel was a pragmatic and philosophical emphasis on using all means, orthodox and non-orthodox, to achieve strategic and military victories as quickly and efficiently as possible. Thus shi-strategies will employ “all available means” as needed in a conflict situation, operating at the levels of grand strategy as well as the military operational level.99

There has been some tendency to see Chinese strategic behavior as willing to use aggressive and brutal military campaigns with power projection against northern tribal confederations (especially in the Ming period, but also for parts of the Han and Tang dynasties). This has been portrayed as a “cultural realism” in which two sets of “grand strategic preferences” operate: a stronger parabellum paradigm (war is always present and must be won by active defense and “absolute flexibility,” quan bian) only partly moderated by a Confucian-Mencian paradigm.100 Another version of this thought suggests that Chinese leaders engage in offensive operations to pursue national goals, but always rationalize these conflicts as defensive and necessary.101 Although there is some truth in this dual strategic cultures approach, Alastair Johnston’s analysis works most effectively for the Ming period, tends to assume that the widened perspective on conflict mandates the destruction of opponents, and has to introduce the idea of a so-called “operational strategic culture” before being able to dismiss unique Chinese decision-making features.102 The key point about grand strategy in particular is that it functions at a different level to military operations and tactics. As we shall see, the wider goals and parameters of conflict should mandate the choice of tactics and methods available in a given situation, not vice versa.

In this debate the range of tools and tactics recommended to leaders and commanders, including deception, corrupting opponents and bribery, as found for example in Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings and Sunzi’s Art of War, has sometimes led to this being viewed as a “total war” doctrine.103 However, we need to be careful in applying this terminology. The experiences of World War II and the early Cold War generated the conditions of modern total war: the mobilization of the entire economy and its human resources for the purpose of conflict; the use of conscript, citizen, militia, or peasant armies; the willingness to target civilian populations and cities; the application of increasingly destructive weapons; and eventually the use of weapons of mass destruction (WMD). Ironically, in spite of fascist ideologies that directed the Axis Powers toward the valorization of total war, it was Allied states such as Britain and the United States that were most effective in mobilizing comprehensive societal and industrial engagement in the war effort.

However, this pattern was precisely not the implication to be drawn from most early Chinese strategists, who sought to avoid entrenched battles of attrition and annihilation (though “final decisive battles” might be needed against strong opponents). They preferred not to destroy urban centers and civilian populations as these were part of the wealth acquired by victory, and used complex stratagems to avoid wasteful bloodbaths. Thus for Sunzi attacking a country’s fortified cities was the least preferred method in warfare and was to be adopted only when unavoidable.104 Likewise, classical strategists suggested that defeated enemy forces should be spared and treated well, thereby encouraging more defections.105 Civilian populations should be allowed to surrender and be resettled if needed.106

This picture of total war, moreover, does not fit in with the realities of Chinese engagement in the Korean War, and the limited nature of the Sino-India War (1962), Sino-Soviet War (1969), and the Sino-Vietnam War (1979). Nor did the impetus toward world revolution gain more than a limited foothold in the PRC’s main overseas military actions during the Cold War. Support for North Korea and for Vietnam in the early stage of their conflicts with the United States was largely configured within the geopolitical parameters of the extended defense of China itself. The PRC leadership had no desire to see US troops or their allies along its immediate borders, nor have the Soviets gain too much influence in East Asia.107 Rather than “total war” or even “unrestricted warfare,” “war by diverse means” might be a better rendering of the classical strategic mindset.

These views of an assertive, aggressive PRC whose rise is only limited by its relative weakness are rejected by commentators who take a long-term view of Chinese strategic culture. William Mott and Jae Chang Kim summarize this orientation:

Chinese strategic culture has regarded war as an inescapable, unpredictable evil that disturbs universal harmony. When war occurs, rulers must manage it carefully. Whereas European strategists have sought to use maximum force in decisive battle, Chinese commanders have sought victory through minimum force. . . . China’s strategic culture commands rulers and generals to use only the force that is necessary to restore domestic order and universal harmony—to control specific means within explicit ends. Facing periodic military crises along China’s long land borders and coastlines, China’s many neighbours have unsurprising concerns about Beijing’s approaches to using force in managing disputes with them.108

The key point is not that China was generally averse to the use of force, but that many segments of its population approached this through filters that understood the real costs and dangers of high-intensity war. In a nation still modernizing its military in order to acquire regional power projection under conditions of “informationization,” this means that particular attention is given to a wider spectrum of conflict than set battles with conventional weapons.109 The modern People’s Liberation Army has prepared asymmetric capacities for dealing with opponents that have superior conventional forces, with the possible use of cyber-warfare, area-denial, and anti-satellite operations. Of particular concern to some commentators has been the possibility of escalation through these different modalities up to the stage of attacks on civilian infrastructure or even the defensive use of nuclear weapons.110 The notion of unrestricted or comprehensive war has been suggested by recent Chinese thinkers, but this is not total war. Rather, it is a hybrid approach across socio-political and economic domains to overcome the hard military power of potential adversaries, but currently couched within a defensive orientation.111

Another important aspect of traditional Chinese strategic thought was the notion of engaging in war only if victory is possible, based on proper moral concerns (defensive or a justified punitive expedition of rectification), or in order to gain real advantage (li).112 The last point is important: advantage may be relative, or targeted at a particular goal, whether military or political. As in the game of weiqi (go in Japanese and Western usage), victory may be achieved by relative gains of territory, but is often based on initial moves that set up a long-term strategy.113 In both cases, absolute dominance (unconditional victory or complete destruction of opponents) is not required. In Chinese strategic thought there is an option for campaigns of complete annihilation, but this is the last and least preferred option. The application of flexible means does not equate with automatic extermination of opposing forces, or with twentieth-century conceptions of total war.

It is better to view these diverse viewpoints as a spectrum concerning the use of force to resolve conflicts. In general terms, Chinese strategic culture does prefer non-military paths to victory, but where force must be applied this should be carefully calibrated, using a timely mix of non-orthodox and asymmetric means to reduce losses and avoid wars of attrition. Only under the direst of conditions would mass, long-term wars be conducted, mobilizing large parts of the population. It was precisely these desperate conditions, with the fate of modern China in the balance, that led to the emergence of people’s war as the only doctrine that could sustain the communist war effort against an industrialized Japan, and then against Nationalist forces given material support by the United States. Even in this case, the early decision to fight the Japanese and the portrayal of the Long March as a victory of the human spirit emerged as a popular shi strategy that would give the Chinese Communist Party enormous momentum in the following years (see further Chapter 5).

Skillful Means and Relative Gains

For over two thousand years Chinese political culture retained the mythology of imperial primacy in Asian affairs. It focused first of all on the role of the emperor as the “pole star” and the “Son of Heaven.” Besides the singular importance of the emperor was the powerful role of Chinese culture as a source of attraction, transformation and civilization.114 In theory, the empire should not incorporate a tribe or border region into direct administration until it had already been influenced by Chinese moral culture and teaching.115 This allowed China to view itself as directly or indirectly ruling, at least nominally, “all-under-Heaven” (tianxia), a term which can be interpreted either as code for a cosmopolitan inclusiveness or a centralizing state authority seeking to cope with diversity (see further Chapter 4). State rituals formalized diverse relations with recognized states and tribal confederations in later imperial history.

These trends, however, should not be exaggerated. The Qin and Han dynasties emerged from the prior periods of intense inter-state conflict and diplomacy (the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods). Although China went through several expansive phases, it also went through periods of relative weakness and suffered later invasions by Jurchen, Liao, Mongol, and Manchu groups, all of whom set up dynasties that controlled part or all of China. Likewise, during the Southern Song, the Chinese government had to recognize its relative military weakness when confronted with powerful northern Chinese states, meanwhile engaging in extensive interstate relations with much of Asia.

Even Buddhism could be mobilized within new Chinese contexts. Buddhism was a useful ideology for the Northern Wei dynasty (386–534 CE) and for the Sui period (581–618 CE), while the Empresses Wu and Wei would employ Buddhist symbols to support their unorthodox roles as female rulers.116 Buddhism was of particular interest to non-Han Chinese dynasties, as they related more readily to Buddhist universalism compared to Confucian elitism. This also meant that the foreign rulers and the Chinese masses often found common ground in their Buddhist beliefs.117 China’s Mongol emperor Kublai Khan deployed it ceremonially for spiritual empowerment in his military endeavors in the thirteenth century.118 Likewise, the last Qing dynasty used Buddhism as a shared source of norms of rulership that could be understood by Han, Tibetan, and Mongolian populations, sometimes presenting themselves as bodhisattvas.119

As a contributor to Chinese strategic thought, Buddhism blended in well with adaptable Daoism and the defensive mainstream of Chinese Confucianism. Notably, the concept of skillful means (upāya) entails selecting the best strategy for communicating the dharma or teaching, even if the “means” seem at odds with the “ends.” Buddhism’s contribution to Chinese strategic culture has been immortalized in tales of warrior monks who fought for “just causes” or defended others using their martial arts skills. Wars of protection against external invaders, bandits or an oppressive government were therefore condoned by an otherwise non-violent teaching.120 In the Ming period, there was a degree of acceptance in allowing martial arts to be developed by monks in the compassionate context of defending the faith and maintaining law and order. Even if Buddhist ideas were sometimes misused to justify conflict, this attitude of righteous and defensive martiality became entrenched in Chinese defense thinking.121

In reality, Chinese pre-eminence was always based on an active shi, the maintenance of a widely conceived “strategic configuration of power,” not on a permanent preponderance of economic or military might. It was the effort to retain this strategic configuration that shaped its long-term orientations toward the mix of soft and hard power, diplomacy, and conflict. War and the use of force were only respected when directed towards legitimate goals, sanctioned politically, and employing skillful means.

Notes

1. Ralph D. Sawyer, with Mei-Chün Sawyer (trans. & commentary) The Seven Military Classics of China, Including the Art of War (New York: Basic Books, 2007), 1. For the changing images and prestige levels of soldiers and officers at different stages in Chinese history, see Andrew Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), 40–45.

2. For the complex interaction of these concepts as cultural discourses, see Nicola Di Cosmo (ed.), Military Culture in Imperial China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009); David Graff, Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900 (London: Routledge, 2002), 7. Even for modern Communist China, the most senior governmental positions are held by civilian leaders with the Party controlling the People’s Liberation Army, the main exception being the Minister of Defense, Andrew Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), 51–53.

3. See in detail F.W. Mote, Imperial China 900–1800 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003) and Rosita Dellios and R. James Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order: From Peaceful Rise to Harmonious World (Lanham MD: Lexington Books, 2013), 11–66.

4. Confucius Analects III.7; VII.11; IX.2.

5. Confucius, Analects XIII.30 and XVI.2. See also Confucius Analects XII.7, XIII.9, XIII.29; Chen-Ya Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern (Oakville: Mosaic Press, 1992), 34.

6. Mencius I.A.5, I.B.11, II.B.1, II.B.8; Daniel A. Bell, “Just War and Confucianism: Implications for the Contemporary World,” in Confucian Political Ethics, ed. by Daniel A. Bell (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), 234–235; R. S. Gilbert, “Mengzi’s Art of War: The Kangxi Emperor Reforms the Qing Military Examinations,” in Military Culture in Imperial China, ed. by Nicola Di Cosmo (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009), 243.

7. Burton Watson (trans.) Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China: Selections from the History of the Former Han by Pan Ku (New York: Colombia University Press, 1974), 159.

8. Sunzi Art of War 9; Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 30.

9. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, IV.31 (“The Army’s Equipment.”) For wars in the late Warring States period mobilizing huge armies, see Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 11. Though these figures may have been somewhat inflated, they are not out of range for large conscript and militia armies for which officials often kept detailed bureaucratic records, see Graff Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900, 9–10.

10. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 31.

11. William H. Mott IV and Jae Chang Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li (NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 13.

12. Francois Jullien, The Propensity of Things: Towards a History of the Efficacy of Things, translated by Janet Lloyd (New York, Urzone Inc., 1995), 12–13. For a view of shi in the Western strategic sense, that is, “assessing the surprising ways that discipline, morale, terrain, timing, chance, and genius combine in battle,” see Andrew R. Wilson, “The Chinese Way of War,” in Strategy in Asia: The Past, Present and Future of Regional Security, ed. Thomas G. Mahnken and Dan Blumenthal (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2014), 121. Indeed, Wilson regards shi as overrated in scholarly works—notably Jullien, The Propensity of Things and Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, Wilson, “The Chinese Way of War,” 120–21.

13. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 11, 230.

14. Sun Zi Art of War 13; Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 37.

15. Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 52. See in detail Ralph D. Sawyer, The Tao of Deception: Unorthodox Warfare in Historic and Modern China (New York: Basic Books 2007). See Chapter 7 on Strategic Culture for further analysis of the military classics.

16. This Legalist practice may be traced back to Guan Zhong of Qi state, but was adopted more comprehensively by the rising power of Qin state, Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 27–29.

17. See for example Sunzi, Art of War 3.

18. Hsu Cho-Yun, Ancient China in Transition: An Analysis of Social Mobility, 722–222 B.C. (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1965), 37, 38, 52, 89, 177; J. I. Crump, Intrigues: Studies of the Chan-kuo ts’e (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1964), 4. Ancient China, with its noble family lineages, did not engage in the same set of nested responsibilities and oaths of fidelity as found in Europe’s complex hierarchy of feudal submission. For the evolution of a mobile intellectual class in China during this period, see Yuri Pines, Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Era (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009), 115–86.

19. See the rather negative account in Han Shu 92, translated in Watson Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China, 222–46.

20. He Zhaowu and Peng Gang, A Critical History of Classical Chinese Philosophy (Beijing: New World Press, 2009), 161–63; J. I. Crump, Intrigues: Studies of the Chan-kuo ts’e, 2.

21. Master Lu’s Spring and Autumn Annals Book 8, Ch. 5.1, Book 9, Ch. 3.1, Book 12, Ch. 2.1, translated in John Knoblock, and Jeffrey Riegel (trans.) The Annals of Lu Buwei (Standford: Stanford University Press, 2001).

22. Although some 1,340 works on the “art of war” were produced in China, only a few of these emerged as enduring classics, Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 21–22, 30.

23. Thomas Cleary (trans. and ed.) Mastering the Art of War: Zhuge Liang and Liu Ju (Boston: Shambhala Publications, 1989), 67–72; Graff, Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900, 11; Kathleen Ryor, “Wen and Wu in Elite Cultural Practises during the Late Ming”, in Di Cosmo Military Culture in Imperial China, 219–42.

24. Graff, Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900, 12–14.

25. Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 33.

26. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 198–99.

27. Edmund Elliot Balmforth, A Chinese Military Strategist of the Warring States, Sun Pin (PhD Thesis, Rutgers University of New Jersey, 1979), 183.

28. Sun Pin Chapter 2, translated in Balmforth, A Chinese Military Strategist of the Warring States, Sun Pin, Appendix I, 331.

29. Balmforth, A Chinese Military Strategist of the Warring States, Sun Pin, 216.

30. Balmforth, A Chinese Military Strategist of the Warring States, Sun Pin, 241, contrasting the ideas of Sun Pin with Mencius.

31. Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 33–34.

32. Sunzi, Art of War, 2–3.

33. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li., 40.

34. Wuzi 1.

35. Chang Chun-Shu, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007), 67–68.

36. Chang, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8, 68.

37. Sunzi, Art of War, 6.

38. Information Office of the State Council, PRC, The Diversified Employment of China’s Armed Forces, White Paper (Beijing, April 2013), section I, para 2. For modern threat perceptions among Chinese political and military leaders, see Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March, 33–34.

39. Dainian Zhang, Key Concepts in Chinese Philosophy, trans. by Edmund Ryden (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 2005), 45–46; Michael Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 368–69.

40. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 368–69.

41. For the numerous compound words and phrases using these root elements, see David Crook, A Chinese-English Dictionary (Taiwan: Han Ying Cidian, 1988).

42. “Lesson on the Configuration of Heaven,” Huainanzi 3, translated in Justin Tiwald, and Bryan W. Van Norden, Readings in Later Chinese Philosophy: Han to the 20th Century (Indianopolis: Hacket Publishing Inc., 2014), 27.

43. Confucius Analects XVI.7.

44. Dong Zhongshu, “The Way of the King Links Up the Three,” Luxuriant Dew of the Spring and Autumn Annals 44, translated in Tiwald and Van Norden, Readings in Later Chinese Philosophy: Han to the 20th Century, 29–31.

45. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, II.17.

46. Mencius IIA, 2.

47. Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics, 369.

48. Sunzi, Art of War 7 & Wuzi 2 & 4.

49. Questions and Replies between Tang Taizong and Li Weigong III, translated in Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 354; Vincent Shen, “Metaphysics,” in Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy, ed. by Antonio S. Cua (NY: Routledge, 2003), 449–52.

50. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 28.

51. Sunzi, Art of War 1 and 4.

52. Sunzi, Art of War 6.

53. Sunzi, Art of War 6, translated in Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 168.

54. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 201.

55. Jullien, The Propensity of Things, 156.

56. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 237.

57. Han Feizi “The Two Handles,” Section 7.

58. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, I.7–9, “Preserving the State’s Territory.”

59. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 155.

60. Wuzi 6.

61. See Wang Rihua, “Political Hegemony in Ancient China: A Review of ‘Hegemony’ in The Stratagems of the Warring States,” in Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, ed. Yan Xuetong, trans. Edmund Ryden (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011), 181–95.

62. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, I.7, “Preserving the State’s Territory.”

63. See Han Shu 54, translated in Watson, Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China, 17; Wei Liaozi 5.

64. Machiavelli, The Prince, Book XVII, trans. by G. Bull (Harmondsworth:, Penguin, 1988), 99.

65. Watson Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China, 158; Behad Bavarian, Unearthing Technology’s Influence on the Ancient Chinese Dynasties through Metallurgical Investigations (Northridge: California State University, July 2005), 12, http://library.csun.edu/docs/bavarian.pdf.

66. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 290; Three Strategies of Huang Shigong II.

67. Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March, 53.

68. Graff, Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900, 153–55.

69. Peter Zarrow, After Empire: The Conceptual Transformation of the Chinese State, 1885–1924 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012), 11–12.

70. Howard J.Wechsler, Offerings of Jade and Silk: Ritual and Symbol in the Legitimation of the T’ang Dynasty (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 86, 89, 200–2, 204.

71. Zarrow, After Empire, 33–37, 45.

72. For this social dynamic, see Joel Andreas, “The Structure of Charismatic Mobilization: A Case Study of Rebellion During the Chinese Cultural Revolution,” American Sociological Review 72, no. 3 (June 2007): 434–58.

73. Chang Hui-Ching et al. “In Search of a Western Counterpart of Ch’i: Eastern and Western Cognitive Frames in Interpreting Relevant Ch’i Terms,” China Media Research 6, no. 1 (2010): 34.

74. Sawyer, The Tao of Deception, 60–61.

75. Jullien, The Propensity of Things, 11–17.

76. Michael Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon: China’s Secret Strategy to Replace America as the Global Superpower (New York: Henry Holt and Co, 2015), 43.

77. Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon, 78–79.

78. See further Zhu Liqun, China’s Foreign Policy Debates, Chaillot Papers, European Union Institute for Security Studies (September 2010), 17–19, http://www.iss.europa.eu/uploads/media/cp121-China_s_Foreign_Policy_Debates.pdf.

79. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 15.

80. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 15–16.

81. Sun Zi Art of War 5.

82. David Lai, Learning from the Stones: A Go Approach to Mastering China’s Strategic Concept, Shi (Carlisle PA: Strategic Studies Institute Monograph, May 2004), 1–2, http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/ssi/stones_lai.pdf.

83. Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 44.

84. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 18.

85. Laozi Daodejing 78. See further He and Peng, A Critical History of Classical Chinese Philosophy, 236; Alan Watts and Al Huang Chung-Liang, Tao: The Watercourse Way (London: Arkana, 1992).

86. Sunzi, The Art of War 5; Chuangzi Section 15, “Constrained in Will,” in The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, trans. Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), 169 .

87. Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon, 44–45.

88. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, I.9 and 12, “Preserving the State’s Territory.”

89. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings I.12, translated in Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 51.

90. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 11.

91. Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings, II.14.

92. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 154.

93. Wuzi 1.

94. United States Department of Defense, Annual Report to Congress: The Military Power of the People’s Republic of China 2002 (Washington, DC, July 2002), 5–6.

95. United States Office of the Secretary of Defense, Annual Report to Congress: Military and Security Developments Involving the People’s Republic of China 2015 (Washington, DC, 2015), 21.

96. Paulo Shakarian, et al. Introduction to Cyber-Warfare: A Multidisciplinary Approach (Waltham: Syngress, 2013), 117; United States-China Economic and Security Review Commission-Research Report, Occupying the Information High Ground: Chinese Capabilities for Computer Network Operations and Cyber Espionage (Washington, DC: March 7, 2012), 8–9.

97. For example, see Toshi Yoshihara, “War by Other Means: China’s Political Uses of Seapower,” The Diplomat, September 26, 2012; Bill Gertz, “China’s Secret Three-Front War vs the U.S.,” The Washington Times, March 26, 2014.

98. Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 28.

99. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 37.

100. Alastair Iain Johnston, Cultural Realism: Strategic Culture and Grand Strategy in Chinese History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), 248–49.

101. Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March, 15.

102. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 249–59.

103. See the use of this term in Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 33.

104. Sunzi, Art of War, 3.

105. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of China, 35.

106. Wuzi 5.

107. Jonathan Holslag, Trapped Giant: China’s Military Rise, Adelphi 416 (London: IISS, 2010), 24–25.

108. Mott and Kim, The Philosophy of Chinese Military Culture: Shih Vs Li, 1.

109. See further Information Office of the State Council, PRC, The Diversified Employment of China’s Armed Forces (Beijing, April 2013).

110. A sober account of these capacities will be found in Office of the Secretary of Defense, US, Annual Report to Congress: Military and Security Developments Involving the People’s Republic of China 2014 (Washington: Department of Defense, April 2014). Concerns over escalation across domains are found in Benjamin Schreer, Planning the Unthinkable War: ‘AirSea Battle’ and its Implications for Australia (Canberra: Australian Strategic Policy Institute, April 15, 2013), based on documents such as US Department of Defense, Joint Operation Access Concept (JOAC), Version 1.0 (January 17, 2012).

111. Liang Qiao and Xiangsui Wang, Unrestricted Warfare (Beijing: PLA Literature and Arts Publishing House, February 1999), translation at http://www.cryptome.org/cuw.htm; Paul Latawski, The Inherent Tensions in Military Doctrine, Sandhurst Occasional Papers 5 (Sandhurst: Royal Military Academy, 2011), 20–23; Sawyer, The Tao of Deception, 394–96.

112. Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern, 31.

113. Lai, Learning from the Stones: A Go Approach to Mastering China’s Strategic Concept, Shi, 8.

114. Confucius, Analects II.1 and XVI.1.

115. Han Shu 78, translated in Watson, Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China, 213.

116. Kenneth Ch’en, Buddhism in China: A Historical Survey (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1964), 176–79; Stanley Weinstein, Buddhism Under the Tang (Cambridge: CUP, 1987), 4–5, 43–47; Joana Waley-Cohen, The Sextants of Beijing: Global Currents in Chinese History (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1999), 35.

117. See John Keay, China: A History (London: Harper Press, 2009), 198–209.

118. Kublai Khan sought religious affirmation of his prowess by undergoing dedication ceremonies as a Jina (“conquest”) Buddha, a practice which belongs to the Vajrayana Tibetan version of Buddhism, as well as having been declared by the Buddhist clergy a cakravartin—a universal emperor under the Buddhist ideal. See D. G. E. Hall, A History of South-East Asia, 4th edn (London: Macmillan, 1981), 86; Edwin O. Reischauer and John K. Fairbank, East Asia: The Great Tradition, 8th edn (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1970), 278.

119. David M. Farquhar, “Emperor as Bodhisattva in the Governance of the Ch’ing Empire,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 38, no. 1 (June 1978): 5–34; Zarrow, After Empire, 14.

120. See Dellios and Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order, 52–66

121. Meir Shahar, “Ming-Period Evidence of Shaolin Martial Practice,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 61, no. 2 (December 2001): 359–413. See in detail Michael Jerryson and Mark Juergensmeyer (eds), Buddhist Warfare (Oxford: OUP, 2010).

Chapter 3

Imperial Stratagems

The Polycentric Mediation of Power

The Chinese imperial order was established by the Qin and the Han dynasties. It became the authoritative framework for the unified Chinese state and its pre-eminent power in a wider Asian domain that it influenced to secure borders, maintain internal security and ensure its continued survival. Aside from its direct expansion to control large parts of what is now southern China, northern Vietnam, eastern Central Asia, and Siberia, China also acted as a locus of cultural dissemination via state ritual (largely Confucian-related) and later on the spread of Buddhism into northeast Asia. From the Han dynasty onward this evolved into a “tributary” or “tribute system” of international relations with China at the center, though modern scholarship has come to debate the implications of this terminology via alternative notions of asymmetric power relations and asymmetric equilibrium.1

Imperial China came to see itself as the political and spiritual center of “all-under-Heaven” (tianxia).2 Beyond directly administered territory, this entailed tribute-trade relations with “vassal states” along China’s peripheral regions, even if these “vassals” viewed the relationship in more pragmatic terms of trade, regional stability and political kudos that served a domestic constituency. Thus imperial China’s geo-cosmological world order was one in which its identity as Zhongguo, the Middle Kingdom—a name which it retains to this day—was predicated on two kinds of centrality: (1) a politico-territorial one of tribute to the emperor and (2) a moral-cosmological order ensuring harmony. To this end, the Chinese emperor performed rites to ensure China was in a state of equilibrium between potentiality and actuality, between the “yang”-power of Heaven and the “yin”-nourishment of Earth, following the yin-yang polarity of complementary opposites in Chinese philosophy. This was intended to bestow harmony to all-under-Heaven—the Chinese world order. It was an “international relations” system that was to endure as state orthodoxy until the fading years of the Chinese empire (late nineteenth century) when European imperialism dictated its own international rules.3 Even before then, however, there were nested, polycentric tributary relations intersecting Eastern and Southeast Asia, though China saw itself as the ceremonial and symbolic center.

However, China as a unified empire should not be projected back in time as a permanent historical reality. As we have seen, China during the Spring and Autumn period (722–481 BCE) was a conflicted “confederacy” of completing states operating under a declining Zhou leadership (devolving into a multi-state system during the Warring States period). Yet Chinese identity does not begin with political unification but goes back to a founding myth. The Records of the Grand Historian (written 109–91 BCE) of Sima Qian begins Chinese history with the mythical Yellow Emperor at around 2600 BCE.4 There were three progenitor dynasties—those of the Xia, Shang and Zhou—that were based on tribes, then semi-feudal states, that owed allegiance to a central king. When these allegiances wore thin, and the house of Zhou was left with only ceremonial and religious significance, the system began to disintegrate. There followed a protracted era of instability that culminated in the Warring States period (475–221 BCE).

One state, the Qin, was eventually victorious over all others. Its ruler, in a bid for spiritual and not only martial legitimacy, claimed to be descended from the progenitor dynasties and hence a new phase in Chinese history began. Thereafter, the dynastic rulers would be emperors, whereas previously they were kings; though in making this simple distinction John Keay, in his history of dynastic China, notes: “No royal dynasties and few imperial dynasties exercised uncontested sway.”5 Its dynastic constancy and imperial uniformity were the ideals esteemed by official historians, to the point where some dynasties were considered legitimate and others not. This reflects on China’s robust and politically charged historical drama. China’s constancy was more a cycle of upheaval and renewal, division and reunification. Even China’s expansive Tang dynasty gave way to civil war and a rapid succession of dynasties before the emergence of the Song—which itself was thereafter divided into southern and northern dynasties.

The emphasis on China as the great central power fails to explore adequately periods of fragmentation and relative weakness when Chinese power was far less dominant. The periods variously described as the Three Kingdoms (220–270 CE), the “Period of Disunion” (circa 220–590), the Five Northern Dynasties and the Ten Kingdoms (circa 907–960), and the time of regional dynasties dividing the country (circa 1000–1279) indicate the fluctuating centers of power within China itself.6 Moreover, there were real costs to the maintenance of empire, including a huge budget for armed forces, building of garrisons, and the provision of trade goods and gifts for tributary missions. Up to one third of imperial budgets were spent in this way, raising concern at court as to the best approach toward threats beyond or along China’s borders.7 Political costs included the dangers of empowering ambitious generals who controlled large armies and enriching barbarian allies to bolster military power. Chinese governments sought to operate within an “economy of force” but this was problematic when dealing with the mobility of steppe nomads or coastal piracy and “smuggling.” Furthermore, the “China-at-the-center” approach historically has tended to under-emphasis the actions and interests of the external confederations, empires, states and tribes with which China interacted within its wider environment, a temptation increased by the fact that Chinese records are usually more complete than other sources.8

Likewise, we should not think of the early Chinese as viewing themselves as the only empire in existence, even if they saw themselves as the foremost center of a civilized moral order (wen). Even before the arrival of European ships, Chinese elites were aware to some degree of Roman, Turkic, Persian, Arabic, and, later on, Russian empires through extended trade networks and military contacts in Central Asia and Siberia. In the late first century CE the Chinese general Ban Chao, while asserting influence in Central Asia, sent diplomatic missions to Parthia, Mesopotamia, and further west. The long-distance silk trade with Rome (via Parthian and Kushan intermediaries) peaked circa 90–130 CE, while the Roman empire was described as the “Great Qin.”9 An early imaginative writer such as Zou Yan (circa 305–240 BCE) might suggest that China was only one of nine adjacent continents, which were part of a larger set of nine regions surrounded by great seas.10 In Buddhist thought China was initially only a sacred periphery, but thereafter sought to turn itself in a new “sacred land of Buddhism” based on learning and scholarship that connected it to temples and educational centers in South and Southeast Asia, a task that was well toward completion by the seventh to eighth centuries.11 These ideas did not entirely displace the notion of China as the Middle Kingdom, but show that Chinese intellectual horizons moved well beyond the simple division of (1) the “people of the Han,” (2) recognized “tributary states,” and (3) “outer barbarians.”

Asia’s Fluctuating Polycentric Order

China came to recognize its place among a group of nearby states and more remote empires, partly due to expansive periods when contact was made with new peoples, but also during periods of relative weakness when it interacted with peer states in a complex balancing of regional powers. During the peak of the Han (from the second century BCE) and the early Tang dynasties (from 618 CE), imperial ritual mobilized the outlines of an East Asian diplomatic order in which China was relatively dominant. However, by the time of the Song period (from 960 CE), China was one strong state among “equals,” a dynamic that intensified during its loss of much of northern China in the following centuries.12 Nonetheless, Chinese power was bolstered by a range of economic, cultural, ideological, migrational, and military dimensions whereby it retained strong influence even when unable to control all of Chinese territory, for example, during the southern Song period (1127–1279).

The equation of China’s interaction with other powerful polities can be explored by looking at relations with Southeast Asia from the Tang period onward, as well as the later power imbalance with the northern dynasties including the Khitan Liao dynasty, the Jurchen dynasty and the Tangut Xi Xia kingdom. In earlier periods Chinese regimes had hoped to leverage a bipolar system along China’s northern and western borders, seeking to control steppe empires by punitive expeditions or generous tribute, and in turn being used as a source of plunder or funding for the (eastern) Turkish empires (from the sixth century CE onward) and the following Uighur empire (eighth to ninth centuries).13 In these cases steppe empires competed to control other nomadic contenders and prevent the growth of strong states in Manchuria and the northeast. It was only after the collapse of the Uighur Empire that the Liao state could establish itself in the north, which for a time tolerated the rise of a third power, the Xi Xia kingdom in the northwest.14 The Liao were followed in turn by the powerful Jurchen Chin dynasty (eleventh century) which managed to conquer much of northern China and for a time controlled the politics of the adjacent steppe. In the end, however, the Mongol military machine under Chinggis Khan and his successors would destroy this unstable system by repeatedly invading the Jurchen kingdom, destroying the Xi Xia state, and then progressively eroding the power of the Song dynasty until its demise in 1279.

Even during China’s early flirtation with expansive naval diplomacy during the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries, there were still limits to how far such policies could be sustained. In the long run, China could mobilize enormous military, technological and maritime power, but only at extremely high economic and social costs. Power projection became a dangerous and difficult strategy, even for the Yuan (1206–1368) and Qing (from 1644–1911) dynasties. The Mongol Yuan dynasty was unable to conquer Japan, could not retain their victories in Pagan (Burma), Annam and Champa (modern Vietnam), and failed in their military intervention into the politics of the Singosari kingdom (in Java). The Qing dynasty managed to expand China’s footprint more securely into parts of Tibet and Xinjiang, as well as initially controlling the western steppe and parts of Siberia. However, like the Yuan, conquests did not always lead to stable control of these wider regions and imperial overreach eroded some of these gains. The rise of the Mongol Zunghar (Dzunghar) confederation (from the late seventeenth century), growing Russian influence and territorial gains in Siberia and Central Asia, continued British pressure on Tibet as a buffer zone, and unsuccessful conflicts with Burma and Vietnam (1766–1770 and 1788–1789) resulted in problematic borders for the modern Chinese state.15 This occurred alongside the maritime and economic penetration of European powers through the second half of the nineteenth century. After an early expansive phase, the Qing would find it progressively harder to supply the military, financial, and administrative base needed to maintain their extended empire, and largely failed in their subsequent self-strengthening movement aimed at technological and military modernization.

These examples do not demonstrate a simple case of “China among equals” or even a replication of earlier multistate systems. Rather, the wider Asian region was a fluctuating set of states, kingdoms and tribal confederations with diverse power structures, driven by symbiotic relations between nomadic steppe powers and the wealth of sedentary China. For maritime states, trade with China (whether official or private) alongside formal tribute relations were an important part of local empowerment but were rarely unilaterally decisive in determining local conflicts. Only for short periods (the early power stabilizing periods of the Han, Tang, Ming and Qing dynasties) could China sustain a fully developed tribute system with itself as a paramount state enjoying almost hegemonic status. When not at its peaks of relative power, China participated in a network of interactions that were polycentric and multilevel. At times this verged on a truly multipolar system with substantial power cores outside of China proper, for example, the trading “empires” of Srivijaya and Majapahit (circa 1293–1500) in Southeast Asia, or the military power of Hideyoshi’s Japan (late sixteenth century). It is better to view this emerging Asian international relations system not so much as a fluctuating China-centered tribute system, but as a political “mandala” of fluid relations and varying influences in which China was often (but not always) dominant.

Southeast Asian kingdoms during this period were dynamic centers of influence rather than set territorial domains with sharply defined borders: instead, their control expanded and contracted, with states absorbing their neighbors and being absorbed in turn. O. W. Wolters, followed by I. W. Mabbett and others, referred to early Southeast Asian polities as “mandalas”,16 a Sanskrit political term sometimes adopted by local rulers when they “self-Hinduized.” Besides being a specialist term employed by scholars to denote traditional South and Southeast Asian political formations, the term is commonly employed to describe a cosmogram used for spiritual contemplation, especially in Hinduism and Buddhism. Early political applications may be found in Kautilya’s Arthashastra or The Science of Means, a third century BCE Indian governance text, in which there are designated relationships of power in a “statal circle” (mandala) comprising a dozen polities (sometimes more, sometimes less). Kautilya’s system of inter-mandala relations provides a number of options for action, including the pursuit of peace through treaty or alliances, a posture of neutrality, as well as war.17 According to Reynolds: “From its root meaning of circle and its metaphoric meanings of totality and the perfection of Buddhahood, mandala has come to be a trope for the cluster of features that encode ancestor divinization, territory, and chiefly authority.”18

There were also practical governance implications for these early Southeast Asian states, which can be termed “mandalic calculations.” As Wolters enumerates, these include: (1) intelligence gathering so that the ruler is aware of activities at the mandala fringes to anticipate threats and also to grasp geopolitical developments in the wider trading region; and (2) the use of astute diplomacy and personal relationships as “a successful mandala overlord . . . had to be able to dispossess his rivals of their claims to space in their own right, bring them under his personal influence, and accommodate them within a network of loyalties to himself, even though they often lived in distant areas.”19 This meant he administered through the management of personal relationships and psychological understanding, using inducements of his office, such as investiture as well as economic rewards that accrued from his rule. The same principles applied to small and large mandalas, so that the distinction between internal and external affairs was clouded: “In practice all relations tended to be perceived as personal and therefore internal ones.”20

The use of the mandala concept for Southeast Asian political systems does not imply that they evolved solely due to prior Indian stimuli, since Indian influences were transformed by local elites. The term is useful in pointing out that this was a pre-Westphalian, pre-modern state system in which recognized prestige was a central factor. One advantage of the employment of the term “mandala” is that it provides a greater depth of understanding when issues of “strategic culture”—that is, a people’s distinctive style of dealing with and thinking about the problems of national security—arise. A mandalic strategic culture implies flexibility in terms of changing allegiances. The system, in Stuart-Fox’s words, “was open to any ruler to test his own merit against that of other rulers.”21 Merit meant spiritual and charismatic power, and was derived from the prevailing Hindu-Buddhist religious culture. The maritime trading network of Srivijaya managed, for the most part, to balance flexibility against instability, although it relied on its relations with China to fully leverage its role as the gatekeeper between the South China Sea and Indian Ocean. In the language of today’s systems theory, Srivijaya exhibited “resilience” in an inherently unstable system.22 The mandala concept also permits a region-wide analysis rather than one that is based on Western concepts of the state, or the colonial legacy.

Pre-colonial Southeast Asia, irrespective of whether the court was Hindu, Buddhist, or Islamic, displayed this common characteristic of being organized through royal centers forming a polycentric region. A networked system of political relationships were superimposed over a geopolitical map in which the Malacca Strait represented the center of two of the three “trading circles” that spanned the wider region of the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea. Drawing on documentation of maritime routes during Srivijaya’s heyday, Qin and Xiang have shown these three circles to be “between China and Southeast Asia (mainly Sumatra and Java), between Southeast Asia and Arabia and the Persian Gulf, and between the Arabian area and east Africa . . . Sri Vijaya and Basra were the two key points of trading interchange that connected the three circles.”23

From the broader vantage-point of interacting Asian national identities, the Srivijayan experience suggests a mandalic region of interacting power centers in which dominance is maintained through an astute handling of relations and the exercise of both hard and soft power. In this, Srivijaya had performed particularly well, not only by its own efforts but also through ensuring Chinese recognition of its legitimacy. These factors of fluid interaction among different cores of power can best be demonstrated by studying the relationships between the China and the Srivijayan “empire,” followed by a brief outline of China’s ongoing maritime dilemma.

China and the Srivijayan Nexus

Srivijaya, a dynamic polity in early Southeast Asia, has been called many things—a maritime empire, a generic term for a series of such “empires,” a confederation, a statal circle or mandala of Indic political origin, a multi-port state, and a formalized idea of civilizational linkages. Thought to have begun in Sumatra just before 680 CE, Srivijaya constructed social, economic and political networks that were polycentric, fluid, and lasting (at least down into the eleventh century, but possibly in some form into the early fourteenth century).24 These gave rise to an early maritime regionalism that was cooperative and largely unappreciated in light of the later glories of Majapahit with its land-based and not only sea-based power. Srivijaya provides an historic example of the possibility of regional governance through trade, common norms, and a polycentric power distribution. Indeed, Srivijaya was not only a regional maritime construct connecting with other civilizations (primarily Chinese and Indian) but can also be considered the first of its kind in island Southeast Asia. By exploring Srivijayan-based regionalism, it is possible to generate fresh perspectives that reflect on the projection of Chinese influence historically and current issues such as China’s “Malacca dilemma” and its Twenty-First Century Maritime Silk Road project (see further below).

Srivijaya’s power was based on access to natural resources and trade networks supported by hard naval power. Beyond these factors, there was a preoccupation with spiritual power, ritual competence, prestige, royal lineage, oaths of loyalty and deterrent curses as part of its regional influence.25 These coexisted with a cosmopolitism born of trade and an associated diplomatic awareness of the wider world. Based on inscriptions, Chinese sources and some archaeological evidence, we know that Srivijaya adopted Hindu-Buddhist cultural systems alongside evolving Malay and Chinese influences.26 From inscriptions starting around 683 CE, written in the Old Malay language with Sanskrit loan-words, we have the name “Srivijaya” itself. Sri means “radiant” but is also a royal honorific, while vijaya translates as victory or excellence.27

Tang dynasty (618–907) records called this southern source of much valued resins and spices Shilifoshi. Later, under the Song dynasty (960–1279), Srivijaya was known as the tribute-bearing kingdom of Sanfoqi, while in Arabic it was often called Sribuza or Zabaj when Srivijaya was viewed as a region inclusive of Java.28 For Indian traders it was identified with Sumatra and its gold; hence the name Suvaranadvipa (The Golden Isle). The “san,” meaning “three” in Sanfoqi suggests that there were Three Vijayas.29 This would indicate that Srivijaya/Sanfoqi was not necessarily a single entity represented by one royal court but would have comprised at least three strong centers. Possible candidates for these “champion centers” were the Sumatran kingdom of Melayu with its capital at Jambi, Kedah on the Malay Peninsula and Chaiya on the eastern side of the Isthmus of Kra,30 each of which would have their attendant dependencies; or perhaps the three were the Sumatran-based centers of Palembang, Jambi, and Minangkabau (based on a fourteenth-century document from Sumatra, the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript).31 Srivijaya may have been nothing more than “a shifting riverine zone of entrepôts that could coalesce for mutual interest.”32

It is indeed feasible that the Srivijayan “empire” was a collective unit which would have experienced a change in composition and power distribution over the centuries of its existence. The Chinese pilgrim Yijing (I-ching, 635–713), who journeyed to Srivijaya twice, employed the term “guo” (“country”) to describe Srivijaya; it is the same term used for its powerful predecessor (and possible ancestor in terms of royal lineage) further north on mainland Southeast Asia, the Khmer polity of Funan (100–545 CE). Yet Funan, like Srivijaya, was not a straightforward country/state or “guo” in the Western or Chinese sense. One scholar, Fukami Sumio suggests that Srivijaya was a collection of states in the Malacca region that stretched from the Malay Peninsula across to Sumatra and West Java at the very least, before the kingdom of Malacca arose at about 1400.33

However, the dominant narrative holds that Srivijaya was a maritime empire or “thalassocracy” (rule by control of the sea) with a single seat of power. This description works up to a point. While relying on maritime trade for its wealth, Srivijaya limited its control to the straits within its immediate vicinity, rather than the Indian Ocean or the South China Sea. These were plied by traders from many lands. So Srivijaya could function as a maritime power without having to control the seas, only the straits where it imposed tariffs on commercial shipping, and the hinterlands from which valuable forest products were derived. Thalassocracy as a description also fails to account for the equally compelling rule by spiritual charisma, or what Wolters called “men of prowess,” an institution associated with Hindu kingship even under Buddhist rule; but also manifesting in societies outside the Hindu mainstream.34 In reconciling the secular and sacred sources of power, one could say that the sacred aspect of leadership did help in legitimating secular goals—control of trade—and shoring up obedience from rival centers. Those who view Srivijaya as a single kingdom (even if only in the initial phase) tend to agree that it maintained its headquarters in Palembang on the Musi River in south-eastern Sumatra. It is in this vicinity that most of the stone inscriptions were found, as well as other archaeological remains. Besides its reputation at the time as a place of power in Tantric ritual, reasons posited for selection of the lower Musi River for establishing the Srivijayan capital include the river’s rich alluvial plain for the cultivation of surplus rice; its navigability, allowing access to forest products inland as well as the natural harbor some 80 kilometers downstream.35 Such a distance would not have been considered an imposition but was the norm along the east Sumatran coast where the tidal swamplands affected the location of seaports. As Miksic notes, ports could be more than 100 kilometers from estuaries.36 Bearing this in mind, other port-settlements would have also proved serviceable for the role of capital. Notable among these is Jambi, north of Palembang, and located 120 kilometers up Sumatra’s longest river, the Batanghari, representing a better location for accessing gold from the highlands of Minangkabau. Indeed, if there was life for Srivijaya after the 1025 Chola attack, then it was to be found at Jambi, conventionally regarded as Srivijaya’s new capital and which could have been the Srivijayan royalty’s point of origin. Considering its choice of ports along the Malacca Strait, with many being only about 10 kilometers up river,37 there was indeed a noticeable clinging to the Palambang-Jambi axis, around which a vast “empire” pivoted.

Moreover, it was this Sumatran axis that served as the Malacca Strait’s southern gate to the China trade. It was a gate which swung both ways: China could secure access to all that the Malacca region represented, trade with India and beyond, as well as acting as strategic outlet to compensate for periodic overland trade difficulties, as occurred during the Tang dynasty. Thus, China needed a reliable power to police the Strait.

At its peak in the ninth century Srivijaya exercized suzerainty over areas in Sumatra, western Java, possibly western Kalimantan, and certainly the Malay Peninsula right up to the Isthmus of Kra. Srivijayan rulers tried to curtail portage of seaborne trade across this narrow land-bridge in order to divert all trade to their own ports which, after all, were the primary source of their wealth. As a trans-shipment zone, the Malacca area was a “strategic place where ships were forced to congregate,” according to a Chinese source of the time, the Treatise on Foreign Lands (Zhufanzhi, c. 1225).38 Indeed, there is a general consensus, that at its height, Srivijaya was “one of the major emporia of Asia, through which regional produce reached the markets of western Asia, India, and China.”39

Srivijaya treated trade as an expression of its power as well as a secular source of it. This meant that it was better to monopolize than to compete and to trade through authorized government channels (“tribute-trade”) rather than allow an open market. Though not always possible, it remained the preferred position, and a wider regional norm as demonstrated by China’s own “tribute-trade” system. The result was centuries of (sometimes enforced) stability. This was because each dominant center (or confederation), with the allegiance of secondary and tertiary centers, was the overlord of its domain. Thus Srivijaya’s domain was the archipelago but China’s tributaries included Srivijaya—and therefore its dependencies—within the Chinese sphere. Taylor notes that:

Chinese records show tribute missions (trade) in the sixth, seventh, and eighth centuries and again in the tenth and eleventh. Srivijaya’s “tribute” consisted of pepper, resins, rattans, ivory, plumes, birds’ nests, turtles, sea cucumber, and mother-of-pearl; “gifts” from China’s emperors to Srivijaya were industrial dyes, iron, ceramics, and silk. In the Chinese presentation, for seven hundred years a Sumatran state is recognized as a vassal, which acts as intermediary for many barbarian archipelago harbor states, bringing their tribute to China along with Srivijaya’s own. In Chinese presentation, the honor of being a vassal is conferred by China, and it is taken away by China when the vassal proves itself unworthy. In 1380, Srivijaya was stripped of its special relationship to China and the honor of being China’s vassal was transferred to the Javanese kingdom of Majapahit.40

Srivijaya’s dependencies were strung along the coastal and riverine ports of the archipelago, supplying the requisite trade items. By substituting local products of “comparable value” for Middle Eastern goods that were headed for the China market,41 such as Sumatran camphor for Arabian frankincense, Srivijaya distinguished itself as more than a mere middleman or one of the transit-stations along the maritime Silk Road. Together with the tolls charged on transiting ships, this commercial windfall could pay for a navy that was sufficiently powerful to prevent challenges to Srivijaya’s monopoly. In return, the dependencies received a share of the wealth, piracy diminished (thanks to many of the pirates, or sea nomads, being recruited by the Srivijayan navy) and international traders found safe harbors, storage facilities for their goods, an emporium of products from surrounding jungle and seas, and recreation while awaiting a change in the seasonal monsoonal winds for their return journey.

Despite periods of domestic upheaval China maintained contact with Southeast Asia, and not only for state-endorsed reasons. There was another attraction: the pilgrimage trail. For both China and Southeast Asia, Buddhism from India had taken root. Srivijaya had become a center of Buddhist studies and worship, much used by Chinese pilgrim-scholars on their way to India. The most well known are Yijing and Atisha, the latter having assisted in the development of Vajrayana Buddhism in eleventh century Tibet. While traveling to Nalanda in India as a Buddhist pilgrim, Yijing stayed in Srivijaya (Palembang and later Jambi) in 671–72 and again in the 680s to 695. His records are a key surviving source of our knowledge of Srivijaya. Yijing’s writings—he wrote three books, his Record, Memoir and a translation of a Buddhist Sanskrit text—represent an alternative source of knowledge on Srivijaya compared to the records of tribute missions to the emperor of China. Nonetheless, travelers’ records were incorporated in Chinese intelligence-gathering on foreign lands. Srivijaya was a welcoming destination for pilgrims as well as for merchants:

Srivijaya’s rulers indulged in support of international scholars devoted to exploring Buddhist doctrines. Srivijaya’s reputation as a center for the study of Buddhism enticed Chinese scholars bound for India to make the long detour south. In Srivijaya they furthered their knowledge of Sanskrit grammar and of doctrine in preparation for more advanced studies at Buddhist centers in India itself. Within Chinese imperial records there is a direct reference to Srivijaya as site of a community of one thousand students of Buddhism.42

Yijing had spent four years in Palembang translating Buddhist scriptures from Sanskrit to Chinese and had an opportunity to observe Srivijayans on “home ground.” Scholar-pilgrims like him from China opened an intellectual dialogue with Southeast Asian colleagues. Their common quest was for greater and more accurate knowledge of Buddhism and its texts. The temper of the times recognized the legitimacy of the pursuit of spiritual treasures alongside material ones, with the two intertwining when it came to the prestige sought by rulers in both China and Srivijaya.

Besides a certain zeitgeist for intellectual development, there was also a long-standing strategic culture that imbued the leader with “spiritual prowess” across temporal and religious boundaries. In Srivijaya’s case it was the “man of prowess” who also derived merit from the advancement of Buddhist learning. From the Hindu perspective, he had an educative role through his identification with the authority of Shiva who was “the guru of the universe.”43 The founder of the new dynasty of Sriviyaja is said to have engaged in siddhiyatra, defined as “a voyage or a pilgrimage from which one returns endowed with magical powers”44 or in Edward McKinnon’s phrase “mystical prowess.”45 This is stated in the Kedukan Bukit Inscription which begins with the salutation: “Om swasti astu,” meaning “All hail and prosperity.” Then it speaks of a royal journey: “In the year 605 of the [Indian] Saka calendar [683 CE], on the eleventh day at half-moon of Waisaka [Buddha’s anniversary], His Majesty took a boat to obtain siddhayatra.” This was performed in the company of “20,000 troops and 312 people in boats and 1312 foot soldiers” which suggests a more material mission, that of conquest. This quest for spiritual power as the prelude to conquest appears to be an accustomed sequence of events in the region. An example is Srivijaya’s nemesis, Singosari in East Java. Its king, Kertanagara, was a tantric practitioner of the Siva-Buddha cult who underwent a consecration ceremony to make him a Buddha-Bhairava.46 Kertanagara’s goal was the spiritual unification of his kingdom/mandala which was threatened by invasion from the forces of Kublai Khan. Kublai Khan himself had also undergone two dedication ceremonies as a Jina-Buddha, one in 1264 and another in 1269,47 while Reischauer and Fairbank note that he was declared by the Buddhist clergy a cakravartin, the “universal” sovereign under the Buddhist ideal.48 It was only two years after the second consecration that he commenced the Yuan dynasty of China. Clearly there was a vast Buddhist world spanning many parts of Asia and Srivijaya gained international prestige as a leading Buddhist country.

Rivals were bound to arise, as Srivijaya had not conquered all—either by force of arms or the spiritual charisma of its “men of prowess.” Srivijaya’s trade restrictions were challenged by other kingdoms which desired the benefits of its lucrative arrangements: Java invaded Sumatra at the end of the tenth century and would do so again; the Indian maritime kingdom of Chola sacked Palembang in 1025; mainland Southeast Asian kingdoms sought control of the isthmus trade in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and China itself became more active as a maritime power in the twelfth century sidelining Srivijaya.49 Srivijaya subsequently lost dominance over Sumatra to its possible erstwhile ancestor, the kingdom of Melayu centered on Jambi. The decisive blow, it would appear, came from Java when in 1288 Srivijaya’s power was absorbed by Singosari, and later in 1293 by its successor, the illustrious Majapahit. Even so, the vassal ruler of Palembang, Paramesvara (who lived from the mid-fourteenth century to the early fifteenth century), did not forget former glories and tried to gain investiture from China, but the Chinese envoys were prevented from reaching Sumatra. Majapahit itself was finally conquered in the late 1400s by the Malacca Sultanate that claimed its lineage from Srivijaya.

While there were differences in organization between the Chinese and Srivijayan political systems, they were similar in upholding the tribute-trade system of secular power which, in turn, was bolstered by the moral-cosmological order embodied in the monarch. This allowed shared diplomatic understandings to sustain this relationship for almost seven centuries even as their power relative to other Asian states rose or fell.

China’s Maritime Dreams: Beyond South Sea Excursions

Strategists and military historians have generally portrayed China as a continental power that has failed to transform itself into a combined land-and-sea power. Its efforts to undergo a sustained maritime transformation, whether from the Song dynasty down into the early Ming or in the twenty-first century, have been viewed as insufficient or incomplete. Though partly true, this view fails to fully acknowledge imperial China’s naval capabilities which expanded from the tenth century onward and a pattern of private trade and commercial ship-building (often delegated to the local level) that deepened its interactions with Southeast Asia.50 Even when forbidden by central governments, these trade networks remained a significant source of wealth generation for coastal communities. The migration of Chinese traders and seamen overseas began from the tenth century, creating Chinese communities in the Malay Peninsula, Java, Borneo, and the Philippines, with this trend intensifying toward more permanent settlements from the sixteenth century.51 This was a prequel to the later diasporas in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that made Chinese minorities an important component of most Southeast Asian states.

Today, modern China is at the turning point of becoming a truly maritime-capable nation in terms of the emerging capacities of the PLA Navy (PLAN), its development as a leading shipbuilder, its growing merchant marine, its interest in seabed mining for resources, and its huge fishing fleet (the world’s largest for distance fishing).52 China is developing a comprehensive approach to its evolving maritime strategy, including a focus on oceanic resource management as well as security and legal issues. Several agencies other than PLAN are involved in this process including the Maritime Safety Administration (MSA), the Coast Guard of the Border Control Department, the China Maritime Police, the China Marine Surveillance (CMS), Fisheries Law Enforcement Command (FLEC), and Maritime Anti-smuggling Bureau.53

Some Chinese strategists and academics have resisted this emphasis on a sustained PLAN build up (e.g., Ye Zicheng and Xu Qiyu), arguing that it could force a premature confrontation with the United States, lead to unbalanced spending, and that naval forces should have a secondary role in wider strategic considerations.54 Others have argued that China geographically is both a sea and land power and that without maritime capability it will never be able to sustain itself as a rising power or secure its existing economic and energy needs.55 By 2012–2016 these debates had shifted more to the form and character that China’s maritime power should take rather than rejecting this transition. A balanced view puts maritime strategies into the context of wider national goals:

With respect to the relationship between developing sea power and comprehensive national power, China should be calculating not how to decrease the already quite low investment in naval defense but how to increase the contributions of the maritime economy to comprehensive national power. In the relationship between sea-power development and China’s peaceful rise, the former should not conflict with or hinder the latter.56

This trend has come into new focus in the world of globalized trade flows in which China relies on seaborne trade for much of its manufactured exports and primary resource imports. In spite of efforts to boost pipeline-based energy imports (from Russia, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan) and to diversify its own energy production, China still remains highly reliant on oil and gas imports by sea from the Middle East and Africa, as well as primary resource imports from South America and Australia. This has given renewed prominence to Southeast Asian affairs, even beyond the specific territorial disputes in the South China Sea. With 80 percent of its imported oil passing through the Strait of Malacca, a chokepoint over which the PRC has no control, it is understandable that Hu Jintao spoke in 2003 of the “Malacca dilemma.” From 2004 this led to an increased emphasis on the need to improve PLA capabilities to defend what were termed China’s “expanding interests.” This was one of the “New Historic Missions” promulgated by President Hu Jintao 2004. He also said: “We should enhance our capacity for exploiting marine resources . . . resolutely safeguard China’s maritime rights and interests, and build China into a maritime power.”57 In view of China’s vulnerability to having this maritime lifeline severed, Hu Jintao’s successor, Xi Jinping, has refocused on the strategic management of the sea and the Maritime Silk Road as crucial for regional “connectivity,” a process largely compatible with recent APEC and ASEAN agenda.58

Historically, the highpoint of imperial China’s naval power was reached during the 1405–1433 period under the reformist Yongle emperor of the Ming dynasty. The eunuch admiral Zheng He, a Muslim from Yunnan, engaged in seven tribute missions that traversed Southeast and South Asia before reaching the Persian Gulf and east Africa. However, the establishment of advanced naval capacities goes back to the Han dynasty, and reached an advanced stage under the Song, who developed extensive riverine capacities in their conflicts with northern dynasties and then the Mongols. The Southern Song made serious efforts to build a major navy, which by 1237 had grown to twenty squadrons with 52,000 soldiers.59 Such ships could not only suppress local piracy, but could also engage in year-long trips into distant waters: Song taxes on maritime trade became a major revenue base for all imperial activities.60 Subsequent Yuan (the Mongol dynasty) naval capacities, and efforts to use them to project power against islands as far afield as Japan and Java, were based on these prior capacities alongside thriving commercial maritime networks along China’s coast. Indeed, the fleets assembled by Kublai Khan to invade Japan were the largest armadas known till that time.61

The Ming dynasty voyages of Zheng He demonstrated the peak phase of imperial China’s maritime trade. It was conducted as a diplomatically based power projection into regions beyond China’s immediate waters. The scale of these voyages remains a topic of historical fascination and speculation. Such fleets comprised around 250 ships, 27,000 personnel, and included forty to sixty of the huge “treasure ships,” some of which displaced up to 20,000 tons.62 Why China soon turned away from these maritime voyages is not entirely clear, though contributing factors would include their high costs, the need to focus on threats on the inner Asian borders, and the victory of conservative Neo-Confucian factions at court over the palace eunuchs who supported sea power. Repeated restrictions on maritime activities were decreed in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. For our purposes, a few central points need to be kept in mind. First, the motivation of these missions were partly to re-invigorate the tribute system, but had wider diplomatic and strategic goals:

Zheng He’s primary purposes were to advertise the glories of the Ming Dynasty and the power of its new emperor and to smooth, expand, and extend the axes along which Ming China’s gravitational pull could be felt, especially within the parameters of the tribute system. In other words, this was one aspect of a larger agenda to legitimate the new Ming dynasty as well as the usurper Yongle, and to repair Chinese foreign relations that had been damaged during the Yuan and that had collapsed during the late Yuan civil wars and the Ming consolidation.63

Second, though largely diplomatic in nature, these fleets were also a clear demonstration of hard power capacities. Zheng He used force against pirates near Sumatra (first voyage) and against the ruler of Ceylon (third voyage), and the voyages as a whole did ensure that Malacca and Palembang were in “friendly” hands, allowing trade access into the Indian Ocean. Third, coastal anti-piracy and wider mercantile activities, some illicit, continued during these centuries, and increased after bans were lifted in 1567.64

Historically, the failure of the following Qing dynasty to build on or enhance these capacities would pre-set the stage for its “century of humiliation” after the First Opium War of 1839–1842. Without an ocean-going fleet and with limited ability to modernize, China found itself defeated in conflicts with the British (from 1839), the French (1884–1885), and then the Japanese (1894–1895). Subsequent efforts at modernizing the navy proved inadequate and slow. It is not surprising that for a time Chinese nationalists sought to learn from Japan’s modernization during its Meiji Restoration period (1868–1912), but were unable to gain widespread elite support for such sweeping changes.

Today, American geopolitical thinker and naval theorist Alfred Thayer Mahan (1840–1914) is studied seriously as part of the curriculum for PLAN officers.65 Mahan’s analysis of the way commercial maritime trade and sea power go hand in hand to create great nations has been taken to heart by leadership groups within China. Mahan has been interpreted to suggest that a continental power with substantial coastlines can transform itself into a great power by developing maritime capacities.66 This has been augmented by the views of Mahan’s British counterpart, Sir Julian Corbett (1854–1922), who did not believe it necessary to control the oceans (which are uncontrollable), but to ensure access to them for wider strategic and national interests.67 Remembering its own weakness in the face of gunboat diplomacy by European powers in the nineteenth century, China cannot allow its future security and development to hinge upon the goodwill of others. Even for defense, a strong and modern military may not be enough. To support its regional and global interests, a widely based maritime power-base (inclusive of limited sea control but not a hegemonic sea power doctrine) is increasingly seen as essential in the twenty-first century. For China this is more a necessity than an option, and is reflected in official articulations of defense-building:

In line with the strategic requirement of offshore waters defense and open seas protection, the PLA Navy (PLAN) will gradually shift its focus from “offshore waters defense” to the combination of “offshore waters defense” with “open seas protection,” and build a combined, multi-functional and efficient marine combat force structure.68

Rethinking The Continental-Maritime Divide for China’s Future

Today the Chinese navy is undergoing serious modernization for contemporary needs. It has moved from a support role of coastal defense to wider operations. At first this was focused on ensuring strategic superiority over Taiwan’s military forces, and the ability to deter or at least delay US intervention in conflicts over sovereignty, either in the Taiwan Strait or in adjacent seas. Recently PLAN has begun to move past these “green ocean” roles toward greater power projection capacities that come with a “blue water” navy. This goes beyond the debate on PRC’s gradual acquisition of aircraft carriers. It includes a more broadly based maritime surveillance and security system, better managed resources in its exclusive economic zone, improved C4ISR (command and control, communications, computers, intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance), new sea-based missile systems (including anti-ship ballistic missiles such as the DF21D that can target carriers), evasive and sea-skimming cruise missiles, the building of stealth frigates, new air-defense destroyers, and nuclear-powered long-range attack submarines.69 Along with improved airpower, satellite, and cyber capabilities, these roles mean the PLA Navy will be capable of fulfilling the desired missions of “strategic deterrence and counterattack, maritime maneuvers, joint operations at sea, comprehensive defense and comprehensive support.”70 Currently still lacking the requisite power projection to protect its “expanding interests,” the modern PLAN is nonetheless advancing through China’s peacetime diplomacy and soft power enhancement. It is doing this via “military operations other than war” (MOOTW), a 1990s US military term which China adopted in its 2006 defense white paper and subsequently maintained as a mainstay of its military diplomacy.71 MOOTW refers to a wide range of “peacetime” activities including emergency rescue and disaster relief, counter-terrorism, as well as international peacekeeping and humanitarian assistance. MOOTW are a non-threatening means by which the PLA can gain experience, and can improve its capabilities for combat operations. China’s anti-piracy patrols since 2008 in the Gulf of Aden, for example, have allowed the PLAN to deploy beyond its littoral waters without rousing suspicion. Moreover, as Corbett would advise, it enables the navy to accrue experience in strategically vital sea lines of communication (SLOC) through which China’s oil imports traverse.

Though pretexted as anti-piracy and SLOC patrols, diplomatic visits to Indian Ocean states, or humanitarian operations such as the removal of Chinese and other nationals from Yemen in April 2015, MOOTW are a clear demonstration of the PLA Navy’s evolving capabilities. China has actively sought improved port and trade access across the Indian Ocean, including port-upgrade agreements with several states, including Pakistan, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Sri Lanka, the Seychelles Islands, plus proposals to a build $20 billion canal across Thailand’s Kra Isthmus and improved cooperation with Egypt and Kenya.72 The wider Maritime Silk Road agenda with its economic and trade focus would justify a greater Chinese military presence in the Indian Ocean, as well as possible fueling and logistic sites for power projection. Taken as a whole, these developments indicate that China is undergoing a shift toward becoming a “comprehensive maritime power” in a region which is no stranger to China’s historical forays into the India Ocean via the Ming fleets.

This increasing capacity, therefore, should not be viewed in purely military terms. Besides the new Silk Road endeavors that echo past glories, modern China recognizes that the use of force has serious follow-on implications and can resolve few long-term problems. This comes with an awareness of a “common destiny,” as Xi Jinping has expressed the contemporary condition of interdependence and shared problems, leading to the corollary of restraint in the use of force. Even where sovereignty issues are involved, a prime example being the South China Sea, China has remained resolute but has engaged in a carefully calibrated use of military assets. It has avoided escalation beyond transient naval or air clashes into a wider hot conflict or local war. Though viewed as assertive and aggressive by states with alternative claims and interests—notably, Vietnam, the Philippines, Japan, and the United States which has challenged China’s island-building efforts in the South China Sea—this moderated use of hard power has allowed diplomatic and regional dialogue to continue at the same time. A combination of perceived offensive behavior and restraint relates to the Chinese doctrine of “active defense” and “offshore defence” (as distinct from coastal defense) whereby tactical assertiveness helps pre-empt wider or future conflict.73 This can be assessed by looking at the wider regional setting.

The modern “trading circle” spanning China and Southeast Asia sees the countries in this region circumscribed by their geography, but also enticed by the developmental potential of boosted trade and investment. As China rises again to a position of pre-eminence, albeit within a changed international system based on Westphalian sovereignty rather than Chinese suzerainty, it is still the case that its fortunes depend on the maritime geography along the southern seas, especially the Malacca Strait. The term “Malacca dilemma,” as noted above, captures its importance to China’s survival, so much so that China—short of an expensive and diplomatically disastrous arms race—realizes the solution to the “Malacca dilemma” must rest with cooperative regionalism. This depends on trust and norm building through the various multilateral organizations that have taken over from the Buddhist networks of the Srivijayan period. Notable among these is the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), of which China became a dialogue partner in 1996. ASEAN and its extensions—the “ASEAN Plus” system (such as the APT, “ASEAN Plus Three” cooperation mechanism, engaging China, Japan, and South Korea), the ASEAN Regional Forum, the ASEAN-China Free Trade Agreement, and the newer East Asia Summit (EAS)—are where the big powers operate. China has not superimposed itself over ASEAN in any new economic “tribute system” but instead engaged in a flexible “charm offensive” designed to offset threat perceptions. Regional cooperation has tended to start with informal dialogue and then progress to practical projects, for example, new rail networks interlinking southern China with mainland Southeast Asia. The effort by China to play a constructive regional role was partly offset by the United States “rebalancing” back to Asia, but has been re-engaged by Beijing with its pursuit of the Twenty-First Century Maritime Silk Road as well as its overland counterpart, the Silk Road Economic Belt. This is commonly referred to as “One Belt, One Road” or simply the “Belt and Road Initiative.”

Thus discussions of China’s assertiveness in relation to Southeast Asia need to be considered not only from the perspective of aggrieved states, large and small, but from those that deliberately avoid taking sides. Indonesia, which is an emerging power that straddles two oceanic regions, provides an instructive case. It has no direct maritime disputes with China although waters Jakarta claims as part of its exclusive economic zone (EEZ) are no not so exclusive from Beijing’s perspective: in 2016 it noted that “China and Indonesia have overlapping claims for maritime rights and interests.”74 This is in the vicinity of Indonesia’s Natuna islands, where gas fields and related fisheries are at stake. Jakarta’s “free and active” foreign policy means it does not wish to be caught between a growing China and a strategically dominant United States. It prefers to retain strategic flexibility and non-alignment, and has been a main supporter of negotiations for a stronger Code of Conduct in the South China Sea that would reduce regional territorial tensions with China.

Jakarta’s deeper interests are focused on development and a comprehensive assessment of its security needs. Within its immediate “trading circle,” Indonesia has cultivated regional ties through ASEAN. In recent years—through to its two-year term (from October 2015) as chair of the Indian Ocean Rim Association (IORA)—Indonesia has been seeking wider patterns of engagement, including strengthened trade with the Indian Ocean littoral, the Gulf region and east Africa. Indonesia’s president, Joko Widodo, has expressed the view that Indonesia’s role should be that of a “global maritime fulcrum.” He has talked about this during his visits to various summits, including APEC, ASEAN, EAS, and G20 meetings. Speaking at the East Asia Summit in Naypyidaw, Myanmar, in November 2014, he outlined a five-pronged approach to achieve this goal:

1. A revival of Indonesia’s maritime culture, recognizing the link between the country’s archipelagic geography, identity, and livelihood;

2. Improved management of Indonesia’s oceans and fisheries through the development of the country’s fishing industry and building maritime “food sovereignty” and security;

3. Boosting Indonesia’s maritime economy by improving the country’s port infrastructure, shipping industry, and maritime tourism;

4. Maritime diplomacy that encourages Indonesia’s partners to work together to eliminate conflict arising over illegal fishing, breaches of sovereignty, territorial disputes, piracy, and environmental concerns like marine pollution; and

5. Bolstering Indonesia’s maritime defenses, both to support the country’s maritime sovereignty and wealth, and to fulfill its role in maintaining safety of navigation and maritime security.75

The parallels with China’s maritime agenda are strong, and could function in complementary, mediating or deterrence roles. If these Indonesian goals were to be realized, then there would be more than economic and security benefits. The commitment to Indonesia becoming a “global maritime fulcrum” is suggestive of the “Srivijaya idea” where polycentric networks had linked trade, political prestige and religious culture in traditional Southeast Asia based on maritime regionalism. Potentially, such trends point toward a more cohesive Indo-Pacific. Indeed, the Ming relied on Srivijawa and Malacca as staging points for travels into the Indian Ocean, while both centers in turn benefited from enhanced trade and status. New patterns of open regionalism built on common interests between China and Southeast Asia are part of long-term ASEAN aspirations. In this regard, territorial disputes in the South China Sea and a looming sense of “China as threat” might be balanced by wider prospects of a vibrant trade nexus linking new maritime powers, including China, India and in the future Indonesia.

If this process is to be mainly cooperative rather than conflict-riven, then restraint is needed in several areas. Emerging powers like China and India would need to avoid the question of even local hegemony over adjacent seas. Srivijaya as a polycentric empire controlled not the oceans but policed the sea passages (notably the Malacca Strait) and riverine ports with a strong navy. It also gained the cooperation of those who ruled on land to access valuable forest products for trade. If there is a strategic equivalent in modern naval theory, the Srivijayan model has more in common with Corbett’s advice that “the normal position is not a commanded sea, but an uncommanded sea,” where sea lines of communication had to be kept open.76 If extended strategic partnerships can be better formatted within the context of cooperative security, a key idea already being developed within the ASEAN core, then a new phase of preventive diplomacy may provide for a wider Indo-Pacific footprint of cooperation.

China has begun one phase of this process through the maritime element of its Belt and Road Initiative. Economic engagement of Southeast Asia and many Indian Ocean states may provide the basis for future political engagement unless derailed by the limited gains derived from pre-emptive territorial claims, uncertain resource access, or uneven distribution of benefits. In terms of present-day developments, it is fitting that the Twenty-First Century Maritime Silk Road initiative began in Indonesia when President Xi Jinping announced it there in a speech in October 2013. As one analyst expressed it:

The fact that Indonesia is ASEAN’s biggest economy, one of ASEAN’s founding members, and widely seen as a regional leader demonstrates the importance of ASEAN in China’s calculus. Support for AMPC [ASEAN Master Plan for Connectivity] as a whole . . . will enable China to win not only investments, but also the goodwill of its neighbors. It may even show that principled disagreement on political issues do not constitute a hurdle to pursuing practical cooperation in infrastructure development.77

China has since reached out with the Twenty-First Century Maritime Silk Road to a range of partners across the Indo-Pacific, including an invitation to India to engage in this shared project. In the future, it remains to be seen how many countries with a strong interest in stabilized ocean networks will interact with this vision, which for geopolitical reasons may be problematic for India, Japan, Australia, and the United States.

Trade by itself will not be enough to end frictions among these regional powers. Inter-civilizational Southeast Asia would be well served by a networked trans-regionalism—from Asia to Africa—that acknowledges difference and productive diversity. This approach is already well embedded in Indonesia as a multicultural and multi-religious state, and remains a key element in China’s support for inter-civilization dialogue, promoted under Hu Jintao’s concept of a “harmonious world” order and Xi Jinping’s “Chinese Dream.” It is noteworthy that Xi Jinping chose the headquarters of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) in Paris in March 2014 to articulate the Chinese Dream that included a diversity of culture in the global order.78 A year later, in March 2015, the economic and financial underpinnings of the Chinese Dream were established as the Belt and Road Initiative, thereby linking the overland Silk Road Economic Belt and the Twenty-First Century Maritime Silk Road, with the Chinese-initiated Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB) as an initial funding mechanism. Hu Jintao and Xi Jinping have both emphasized inter-civilization dialogue as essential alongside economic and infrastructure development. Xi stressed all countries involved would prosper beyond narrow economic benefits.79

We can see then, that China’s efforts to complete its maritime transition should not be viewed as merely based on the enhanced power projection of the PLA Navy. China’s reliance on oceanic trade, its improved shipbuilding capacity, expanding merchant marine, and extensive fishing fleets augment these processes. Political considerations in the form of retaining CCP legitimacy and, relatedly, catering to popular nationalism mean that there is also a domestic dimension to how threats to China’s coastal frontiers or global trade networks are handled.

The Maritime Silk Road is an extension of the process that seeks to engage other states in win-win projects embracing much of the Indo-Pacific. This goes beyond the once-popular “string of pearls” concept,80 whereby China has access to commercial ports and prospects for refueling of its naval vessels across the Indian Ocean. It suggests a new “age of trade-based prosperity” that mirrors the trends of regional commerce through 900–1300 CE and which for China continued down into the sixteenth century, based on significant maritime engagement of East Asia and the Indian Ocean.81 Even India, highly critical of China’s penetration into the Indian Ocean, has begun to consider engaging in this strategy focused on investment into infrastructure to boost regional and sub-regional development. If completed, this project would be a grand strategy that outmaneuvers local territorial disputes in the South and East China Seas. This widely based maritime dynamism, driven by economic forces and security needs, could transform relations of power in the Indo-Pacific region.

The One Belt, One Road vision is in fact a greater trading circle linking three continents, two seas and two oceans—with the continental side formed by Asia, Europe and Africa (the Middle East connects all three); and the maritime sphere comprising the South China and Mediterranean seas, as well as the Indian Ocean and western Pacific oceans. The Belt and Road Initiative may also be seen closer-up as the joining of two projects via rail, road and pipeline connectivity. Thus Eurasian and Central Asian networks are being connected onto ports in Myanmar, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and possibly Iran, with extensions into Africa and Europe.82 Progress on these goals would ensure a supportive international environment for China into the middle of the century, and could establish the groundwork for a more stable and sustainable economy. This larger conception may parallel the historical peaks of Chinese power when for short times strong dynasties were able to control the steppe, inner China and East Asian maritime networks; but in today’s globalized world China is more likely to engage in a polycentric mediation of power. The great trading circle, with its inter-civilizational character, has more in common with a mandala than a new “great game” of great power rivalry.

Depending on how well they are implemented, the cooperative projects spanning the Belt and Road Initiative could help transform twenty-first-century China into a balanced maritime-continental power operating—and cooperating—at the global level. But what about its internal balance? What is China’s sense of identity in the context of its rise and transformation? The next chapter looks inside the civilizational state.

Notes

1. Brantly Womack, “Recognition, Deference, and Respect: Generalising the Lessons of an Asymmetric Asian Order,” in Past and Present in China’s Foreign Policy: From “Tribute System” to “Peaceful Rise”, ed. John E. Willis (Portland: Merwin Asia, 2009), 97–110; Brantly Womack “Asymmetry and China’s Tribute System,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics 5, no. 1 (2012): 37–54; Zhou Fangyin, “Equilibrium Analysis of the Tributary System,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 4, no. 2 (2011): 147–78; Zhang Feng “Rethinking the ‘Tribute System’: Broadening the Conceptual Horizon of Historical East Asian Politics,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 2 (2009): 545–74.

2. For the implications of this term in relation to the evolution of modern nationalism, see Chapter 4.

3. See Takeshi Hamashita, “Tribute and Treaties,” Chapter 1 in The Resurgence of East Asia: 500, 150 and 50 Year Perspectives (London: Routledge 2003), ed. by Giovanni Arrighi.

4. Sima Qian Basic Annals 1.1–11, translated in Ssu-Ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume I, The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China, ed. William H. Nienhauser Jr., trans. By Tsai-fa Cheng et al. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994).

5. John Keay, China: A History (London: Harper Press, 2009), 15.

6. See Keay, China: A History.

7. Thomas J. Barfield, The Perilous Frontier: Nomadic Empires and China, 221 B.C. to A.D. 1757 (Cambridge: Blackwell Publishers, 1989), 78; W. Scott Morton and Charlton M. Lewis, China: Its History and Culture, 4th ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2004), 62, 101.

8. Zhou, “Equilibrium Analysis of the Tributary System,” 151; Ja Ian Chong, “Popular Narratives Versus Chinese History: Implications for Understanding an Emergent China,” European Journal of International Relations 20, no. 4 (2013): 939–964.

9. J. Thorley, “The Silk Trade between China and the Roman Empire at Its Height, ‘Circa’ A. D. 90–130,” Greece & Rome 18, no. 1 (April 1971): 71–80; Joana Waley-Cohen, The Sextants of Beijing: Global Currents in Chinese History (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1999), 15; Morton and Lewis, China: Its History and Culture, 59.

10. He Zhaowu and Peng Gang, A Critical History of Classical Chinese Philosophy (Beijing: New World Press, 2009), 159.

11. Sen Tansen, Buddhism, Diplomacy, and Trade: The Realignment of Sino-Indian Relations, 600–1400 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2003), 8–9.

12. See the diverse arguments in Morris Rossabi (ed.), China Among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and its Neighbors, 10th–14th Centuries (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983).

13. Barfield, The Perilous Frontier: Nomadic Empires and China, 221 B.C. to A.D. 1757, 131.

14. Barfield, The Perilous Frontier: Nomadic Empires and China, 221 B.C. to A.D. 1757, 164–75.

15. Bruce A. Elleman, “The Neglect and Nadir of Chinese Maritime Policy under the Qing,” in China Goes to Sea: Maritime Transformation in Comparative Historical Perspective, ed. Andrew Erikson, Lyle J. Goldstein, and Carnes Lord (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2009), 293, 303, 306. For some of the contemporary implications, see Colin Mackerras, “Xinjiang in China’s Foreign Relations: Part of a New Silk Road or Central Asia Zone of Conflict?,” East Asia 32, no. 1 (2015): 25–42.

16. O. W. Wolters,”Ayudhya and the Rearward Part of the World.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, nos. 3 and 4 (1968): 166–78; O.W. Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1982); I. W. Mabbett, “Kingship at Angkor,” Journal of the Siam Society 66 (1978): 1–58; Martin Stuart-Fox, “Political Patterns in Southeast Asia,” in Eastern Asia: An Introductory History, ed. Colin Mackerras (Melbourne: Longman Cheshire, 2000), 3rd edn, 83–92; Rosita Dellios, “Mandala: From Sacred Origins to Sovereign Affairs in Traditional Southeast Asia,” Bond University, CEWCES Research Papers, no. 8, 2003, http://epublications.bond.edu.au/cewces_papers/8.

17. Dellios, “Mandala: From Sacred Origins to Sovereign Affairs in Traditional Southeast Asia”; See further Kautilya, Kautilya’s Arthasastra, 8th edn, trans. R. Shamasastry (Mysore: Mysore Printing and Publishing House, 1967).

18. Craig J. Reynolds, “A New Look at Old Southeast Asia,” The Journal of Asian Studies 54 (May 1995): 427.

19. O. W. Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives. Ithaca, New York: Southeast Asia Program Publications (SEAP), Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, in cooperation with the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies (Singapore, 1999), revised edn, 28–29.

20. Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, 29.

21. Martin Stuart-Fox, “Political Patterns in Southeast Asia,” in Eastern Asia: An Introductory History, 3rd edn, ed. Colin Mackerras (Melbourne: Longman Cheshire, 2000), 4.

22. See Rosita Dellios, “Global Governance: New Organizational Concepts in a Culturally Diverse System,” Journal of Global Business Administration 2 (October 2010): 96–107.

23. Qin Dashu and Xiang Kunpeng, “Sri Vijaya as the Entrepôt for Circum-Indian Ocean Trade,” Études Océan indien [En ligne] (2011): 19, http://oceanindien.revues.org/1379.

24. For dates a little before the standard 680 CE, see John N. Miksic, “The Srivijaya Empire,” in The Oxford World History of Empire, ed. Peter Bang, C. A. Bayly, and Walter Scheidel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). Srivijaya was commonly referred to by other names, depending on the identity of the external observer, there are further possibilities as to the dates of its demise. Thus one of the Chinese dynastic histories, the Mingshi, reported the decline and disappearance of Sanfoqi in the forteenth century, Fukami Sumio, “The Rise of Tambralinga and the Southeast Asian Commercial Boom in the Thirteenth Century,” XIV International Economic History Congress, Helsinki, Session 72 (2006): 1–2.

25. See E. Edwards McKinnon, “Early Polities in Southern Sumatra: Some Preliminary Observations Based on Archaeological Evidence.” Indonesia 40 (October 1985): 1–36.

26. Kenneth R. Hall, “Small Asian Nations in the Shadow of the Large: Early Asian History through the Eyes of Southeast Asia,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 27 (1984): 68; Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, 108–11.

27. Anton O. Zakharov, The Śailendras Reconsidered, Nalanda-Sriwijaya Centre, Working Paper, no. 12 (August 2012): 8; J. C. De Casparis, Prasasti Indonesia: Selected Inscriptions from the 7th to the 9th century A.D., Vol. II (Bandung: Masa Baru 1956).

28. So Kee-Long, “Dissolving Hegemony or Changing Trade Pattern? Images of Srivijaya in the Chinese Sources of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 29 (1998): 295; Jean Gelman Taylor, Indonesia: Peoples and Histories (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003); Michael Laffan, “Finding Java: Muslim nomenclature of insular Southeast Asia from Śrîvijaya to Snouk Hurgronje,” Asia Research Institute Working Paper Series, no. 52 (November 2005), 67.

29. Michael Laffan, “Finding Java: Muslim nomenclature of insular Southeast Asia from Śrîvijaya to Snouk Hurgronje,” 18; Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, 27; Takashi Suzuki, “Śrīvijaya—towards Chaiya—The History of Srivijaya” (Revised November 10, 2014), http://www7.plala.or.jp/seareview/newpage6Sri2011Chaiya.html.

30. Suzuki, “Śrīvijaya—towards Chaiya—The History of Srivijaya.”

31. Uli Kozok, “A 14th Century Malay Manuscript from Kerinci,” Archipel 67 (2004): 37–55.

32. Laffan, “Finding Java: Muslim nomenclature of insular Southeast Asia from Śrîvijaya to Snouk Hurgronje,” 14.

33. Sumio, “The Rise of Tambralinga and the Southeast Asian Commercial Boom in the Thirteenth Century,” 1–2.

34. Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, 112–13.

35. Kenneth R. Hall, 2011. A History of Early Southeast Asia: Maritime Trade and Societal Development, 100—1500 (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 2011), 113–116; Laura Lee Junker, “Population Dynamics and Urbanism in Premodern Island Southeast Asia,” in Urbanism in the Preindustrial World: Cross-Cultural Approaches, ed. Glenn R. Storey (Tuscaloosa, Alabama: University of Alabama Press, 2006), 220.

36. John N. Miksic, “Recent Research in the Southeast Sumatran Region,” The MUA Collection (2011), http://www.themua.org/collections/items/show/1256.

37. Miksic, “Recent Research in the Southeast Sumatran Region”.

38. Sumio, “The Rise of Tambralinga and the Southeast Asian Commercial Boom in the Thirteenth Century”.

39. Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, 32.

40. Taylor, Indonesia: Peoples and Histories, 24.

41. Craig J. Reynolds, “A New Look at Old Southeast Asia.” The Journal of Asian Studies 54 (May 1995): 433; O. W. Wolters, Early Indonesian Commerce: A Study of the Origins of Srivijaya (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1974), reprint edn, 1974, Ch. 9–10.

42. Taylor, Indonesia: Peoples and Histories, 35.

43. Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, 31.

44. Leonard Y. Andaya, Leaves of the Same Tree: Trade and Ethnicity in the Straits of Melaka (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2008), 55.

45. E. Edward McKinnon, “Early Politics in Southern Sumatra: Some Preliminary Observations Based on Archaeological Evidence.” Indonesia no. 40 (October 1985): 9.

46. D. G. E. Hall, A History of South-East Asia (London: Macmillan, 1981), 84.

47. Hall, A History of South-East Asia, 86.

48. Edwin O. Reischauer and John K. Fairbank, East Asia: The Great Tradition (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1970), 278.

49. Victor Lieberman, Strange Parallels: Southeast Asia in Global Context, c.800–1830. Volume 2: Mainland Mirrors: Europe, Japan, China, South Asia, and the Islands (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 775: Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, 32.

50. Andrew S. Erickson and Lyle J. Goldstein, “Introduction: Chinese Perspectives on Maritime Transformation”, in China Goes to Sea, xiii.

51. See Wang Gungwi, “Sojourning: The Chinese Experience in Southeast Asia.” in Sojourners and Settlers: Histories of Southeast Asia and the Chinese, ed. Anthony Reid (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1997), 1–2; J. A. C. Mackie, “Introduction,” in Sojourners and Settlers, xiv–xv.

52. See Gabriel Collins and Michael Grubb, “Strong Foundation: Contemporary Chinese Shipbuilding Prowess,” in China Goes to Sea, 344–72; Kyunghee Park, “China Loses Shipbuilding Crown to South Korea: Chart of the Day”, Bloomberg Business, December 10, 2014; Shannon Van Sant, “China Expands Global Fishing Fleet,” VOA News, June 10, 2015; Jonathan Holslag, Trapped Giant: China’s Military Rise, Adelphi 416 (London: IISS, 2010), 133; Carnes Lord, “China and Maritime Transformations,” in China Goes to Sea, 450–51. For efforts to draw in foreign capital to support military shipbuilding, see Gabriel Collins, “Foreign Investors and China’s Naval Buildup,” The Diplomat, September 9, 2015.

53. Zhang Wei, “A General Review of the History of China’s Sea-Power Theory Development,” Naval War College Review 68, no. 4 (Autumn 2015): 90–91; Linda Jakobson, “The PLA and Maritime Security Actors,” in PLA Influence on China’s National Security Policymaking, ed. Phillip Saunders and Andrew Scobell (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2015), 305.

54. Daniel M. Hartnett and Frederic Vellucci, “Towards a Maritime Security Strategy: An Analysis of Chinese Views Since the Early 1990s,” in The Chinese Navy: Expanding Capabilities, Evolving Roles, ed. Phillip Saunders et al. (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 2011), 81–108.

55. See Zhang Wei, “A General Review of the History of China’s Sea-Power Theory Development,” 80–93; Holslag, Trapped Giant: China’s Military Rise, 40, 61; Andrew S. Erickson and Lyle J. Goldstein, “Introduction: Chinese Perspectives on Maritime Transformation”, in China Goes to Sea, xx–xxvii.

56. The position of scholar Liu Zhongmin, summarised in Zhang Wei, “A General Review of the History of China’s Sea-Power Theory Development,” 87.

57. ONI, The PLA Navy: New Capabilities and Missions for the 21st Century (Washington, DC: Office of Naval Intelligence, 2015), 5, http://fas.org/irp/agency/oni/pla-navy-2015.pdf).

58. ONI, The PLA Navy, 43; APEC, “Xi to APEC Leaders: Inject New Vitality into Asia-Pacific Development,” News release issued by the 22nd APEC Economic Leaders’ Meeting, November 11, 2014; Wu Jiao and Zhang Yunbi, “Xi in call for building of new ‘maritime silk road’,” China Daily, October 4, 2013; Lucio Blacno Pitlo III, “ASEAN Connectivity and China’s ‘One Belt, One Road’,” The Diplomat, March 26, 2015. “APEC leaders approved the ‘APEC Connectivity Blueprint 2015–2025’ to lay the foundation for all-round connectivity in the Asia-Pacific region, involving the construction of new roads, railways and shipping lanes; the slashing of regulatory constraints; and the easing of barriers to people-to-people interaction and mobility,” Xinhuanet, “Highlights: Hallmarks of APEC Beijing meetings A-Z,” November 12, 2014.

59. C. G. F. Simkin, The Traditional Trade of Asia (London: Oxford University Press, 1968), 97.

60. Simkin, The Traditional Trade of Asia, 98–99.

61. James Delgado Khubilai Khan’s Lost Fleet: History’s Greatest Naval Disaster (London: The Bodley Head, 2009).

62. Andrew R. Wilson, “The Maritime Transformations of Ming China,” in China Goes to Sea, 250.

63. Wilson “The Maritime Transformations of Ming China”, in China Goes to Sea, 252.

64. Wilson “The Maritime Transformations of Ming China”, in China Goes to Sea.

65. Eric A. McVadon, “China’s Navy Today: Looking Toward Blue Water,” in China Goes to Sea, 397; Lord, “China and Maritime Transformations,” in China Goes to Sea, 439.

66. Holslag, Trapped Giant: China’s Military Rise, 29; A.T. Mahan, The Problem of Asia and Its Effect Upon International Policies (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1905), 8, 31–42, 131, 181, 194.

67. See Julian S. Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, Introduction by Eric Grove (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press 1989, first published, 1911).

68. The State Council Information Office of the PRC, China’s Military Strategy, White Paper (Beijing, May 2015), section IV, para 3.

69. ONI, The PLA Navy: New Capabilities and Missions for the 21st Century (Suitland MD: Office of Naval Intelligence, n.d.), 10–22, http://fas.org/irp/agency/oni/pla-navy-2015.pdf; International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance 2015 (Abingdon: Routledge for IISS, 2015), 237–41; Peter Mattis, Analyzing the Chinese Military: A Review Essay and Resource Guide on the People’s Liberation Army (Washington: The Jamestown Foundation, 2015), 28; Holslag, Trapped Giant: China’s Military Rise, 47–55; Erickson and Goldstein, “Introduction: Chinese Perspectives on Maritime Transformation”, in China Goes to Sea, xxvii–xxix; Gabriel Collins and Michael Grubb, “Strong Foundation: Contemporary Chinese Shipbuilding Prowess,” in China Goes to Sea, 362; McVadon, “China’s Navy Today: Looking Toward Blue Water,” in China Goes to Sea, 382. A detailed baseline assessment will be found in Bernard D. Cole, The Great Wall at Sea: China’s Navy in the 21st Century, 2nd edn (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2010).

70. The State Council Information Office of the PRC, China’s Military Strategy, White Paper (Beijing, May 2015), section IV, para 3.

71. See Ministry of National Defense, PRC, website: http://eng.mod.gov.cn/Database/MOOTW/index.htm.

72. Nina Lebedeva, “Second Wind for China’s String of Pearls Strategy: Part 2,” Neo: New Eastern Outlook 16 (April 2014).

73. Holslag, Trapped Giant: China’s Military Rise, 26, 40–41.

74. Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Hua Chunying quoted in Ankit Panda, “A Third 2016 Natuna Stand-Off Highlights Growing Indonesia-China Tensions,” The Diplomat, June 21, 2016, http://thediplomat.com/2016/06/a-third-2016-natuna-stand-off-highlights-growing-indonesia-china-tensions/.

75. Adelle Neary, “Jokowi Spells Out Vision for Indonesia’s ‘Global Maritime Nexus’,” Center for Strategic and International Studies 5, no. 24 (November 2014).

76. Julian S. Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, 91.

77. Lucio Blacno Pitlo III, “ASEAN Connectivity and China’s ‘One Belt, One Road’,” The Diplomat, March 26, 2015, http://thediplomat.com/2015/03/asean-connectivity-and-chinas-one-belt-one-road/. As Pitlo notes: “The ASEAN Master Plan for Connectivity (AMPC) and China’s “One Belt, One Road” initiative share striking similarities and parallels. Both envisage transport connectivity as a way to bring member or participating countries closer to one another, facilitating better access for trade, investment, tourism and people-to-people exchanges.”

78. CCTV, “Xi Talks about Peace, Diversity, Chinese Dream at UNESCO,” China Central Television, March 27, 2014.

79. South China Morning Post, “‘One belt, one road’ Initiative will Define China’s Role as a World Leader,” Editorial, April 2, 2015.

80. Christopher J. Pehrson, String of Pearls: Meeting the Challenge of China’s Rising Power Across the Asian Littoral (Carlisle, PA: US Army War College, 2006).

81. Geoff Wade, “An Early Age of Commerce in Southeast Asia, 900–1300 CE”, Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 40, no. 2 (June 2009): 221–65; Wilson “The Maritime Transformations of Ming China”, in China Goes to Sea, 242, 273.

82. The partners and exact components of the One Belt, One Road are still evolving, see The Economist Intelligence Unit, “One Belt, One Road.” January 20, 2015; and Francis Fukuyama, “One Belt, One Road: Exporting the Chinese model to Eurasia,” The Australian, January 4, 2016.

Chapter 4

The Use and Abuse of Nationalism

Empowering the Republic?

In common usage we use the name of states and nationalities loosely, accepting the modern correlation between a territorially bounded state and its main nationality or perceived national identity—for example, the French in France, all Australian citizens are Australians, and that the people of Japan are of course Japanese. The modern nation-state seems an obvious unit of political action and group identity. These assumptions mask complex realities that include the thousand years needed to forge the French state as a centralizing cultural force, the complex divisions among indigenous and diverse migrant groups in Australia, and the role of old and new resident “minorities” in modern Japan: the Ainu indigenous group in the north, the Ryukyuan peoples in the south, resident Koreans, Chinese, and Brazilians with some Japanese ancestry, plus diverse guest workers.

For modern China, the issue of what exactly comprises China as a state and nation (versus the more general designation of guo as country or kingdom) has engaged the Chinese in fierce political controversies for over 150 years. Indeed, the adoption of the view of China as a nation (minzu), as distinct from a dynastic polity, was based on modernizing conceptions imported from the West, at first filtered through reformist Japanese ideas during the second half of the nineteenth century.1 If “saving the nation” gave birth to modern China in 1911, a reworked nationalism has also been one of the main tools for enhancing the power of the state, and been used to support the continued leadership of the CCP over the last three decades. The related issues of nationalism and national identity are central to China’s rise as a great power, but also influence expectations of the PRC today and in the future. China has been seen as a civilization and not just a state, and has recently been viewed as one source for alternative visions of global order (see further below). It is important to consider what constitutes China as a state, a nation and a culture, since these factors shape domestic political legitimation and power projection into the international arena. China has been variously defined via its history as an expanding cultural sphere, an empire linked to its Han or Tang identity, as a modernizing multiethnic state, and in the twenty-first century as an inclusive shaper of civilizational order.

An Expanding Politico-Cultural Sphere: Upsizing the Middle Kingdom

The historical explanation for the parameters of modern China tends to focus on two main themes: first an expanding acculturative sphere based on the early “Three Dynasties” (the Xia, Shang, and Zhou), followed by the entrenchment of Chinese imperial institutions within a territory overlapping that of modern China during the Qin (221–206 BCE) and Han (206–220 BCE) dynasties, somewhat expanded under the subsequent Tang (618–906 CE) and Qing (1644–1911) periods. Chinese came to view themselves as descendants of the Yellow Emperor (an ancestral hero as a source of culture and institutions) and as “the people of the Han,” that is, directly affiliated with the historical achievements and culture of the Han dynasty.2 A second tier of identity could be linked to any particular dynasty, but in later periods was also associated with the expansive Tang, especially for southern Chinese who became part of the diaspora into Southeast Asia and other parts of the world.3 As we shall see, these partial truths hid integrative trends that had to be reformulated in the twentieth century.

The region of northern China at first comprised many ethnic, linguistic, and “national” groups. From the third millennium BCE a growing core of Chinese culture began to shape a shared civilisation through the first unified kingdoms, the Xia and Shang dynasties (circa 2070–1600 BCE and 1600–1046 BCE). This acculturative and political zone expanded out from the core areas near the Yellow and Wei Rivers to include adjacent nations and tribes. Modern archaeological scholarship has extended this picture, suggesting stronger and earlier interactions with the Yangtze River basin (including early contacts with Sichuan), as well as allowing for the emergence of diverse cultural zones across northern China.4 This trend of political assimilation continued with the southward expansion of Chinese governance beyond the Yangtze River, along with the later incorporation of Yunnan, Xinjiang, Tibetan territories, and parts of Manchuria.5 This was not a smooth or continuous process. Especially during periods of dynastic weakness or fragmentation, even partly “sinicized” groups would assert their own political and religious identity. In the fourth century, for example, the Ba group in eastern Sichuan established their own kingdom, called Cheng-Han (304–349 CE), which was strongly influenced by Daoist ethics and religion.6

China emerged as the Middle Kingdom through the institutional unity of the third dynasty, the Zhou, though this progressively declined as an integrated kingdom from the eighth century BCE onwards. The Zhou “empire” then became a system of contending states (during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods) within a shared ritual and diplomatic system. Nonetheless, it was the Zhou dynasty that laid down many of the foundations from which a distinctive Chinese culture and identity were formed.7 These legacies were then filtered and refined through the successes of the Han dynasty (from 206 BCE) in maintaining and governing an empire beyond the mere military successes of the preceding Qin regime. As explained by Chun-Shu Chang:

Thus, a new idea about cultural and national identity came into being. The empire was unified by the large and all-inclusive Confucian cultural label and the Han state system, not by individual racial, ethnic, religious, or other national or cultural symbols and labels. Within the empire, there was only one Han nation, a nation that was defined only by its territorial boundaries under the rule of its Han Court. All of the people in the empire were in theory the subjects of the T’ien-tzu, the “Son of Heaven.” China was identified by the name of the dynasty in power, and hence the Han empire was referred to as Han-chia, the “House of the Han.” Referring to the empire as the “house” of a ruling dynasty or regime was a new practice. The specific boundary lines of culture and race all disappeared within this new, informal definition of the dynastic unity of nation, culture, and state.8

What we would now call “nationalism” or “patriotism” in early Chinese history was an affiliation with one dynasty as opposed to external or conquest groups: for example, the Song dynasty (960–1279 CE) versus the Jin and Mongol dynasties, or the Ming (1368–1644 CE) versus the invading “Manchus.” This was reinforced by the ritual, customary and ethical standards of the Chinese as the carriers of civilized norms (wen) and ancestral claims that set them apart from others. Even modern nationalism was at first focused on Han rejection of Manchu leadership (see further below).9 In this sense “Chineseness” (inclusive of PRC, Taiwan and overseas Chinese) was largely a cultural definition, though this has become increasingly challenged today.10 Culture rather than spoken dialect or ethnicity remained central to this identification, with the rituals and rites of Chinese society serving to express a sense of shared moral and social order.11 As noted by Ho Hsiu, a Later Han writer, “What distinguishes the people of the Middle Kingdom from the barbarian tribes is that they are capable of honoring that which should be honoured.”12 In an inverted sense, to be Chinese was not to be a barbarian. Thus Chinese could describe themselves as hua, beautiful, splendid, or adorned, in contrast to the yi, outsiders, or barbarians.13

The implications of this expanding cultural zone were significant:

The frontiers of the political state have fluctuated through the centuries, but the area of Chinese civilisation has steadily increased. No territory once fully subjected to this civilisation has ever been wholly lost, and no territory permanently incorporated in the Chinese area has withstood the penetration of Chinese culture. The process of absorption has sometimes been slow, but always complete and final. The fluidity of frontiers is explained by the fact that the Chinese are less a nation than a fusion of peoples united by a common culture, and the history of China is the record of an expanding culture, more than that of a conquering empire.14

This Chinese sense of culture goes well beyond language continuities, since China then and now has a wide range of dialects and sub-dialects, though written scripts came to be shared across them. The Chinese script—like measurements—was standardized across China as early as the Qin dynasty which unified China and then sought to unify its culture. Today, there remain differences between mainland China’s simplified characters, Taiwan’s traditional usage and recent efforts to capture dialects in written form (partly as a form of youth and local protest against the dominant institutions of Putonghua Mandarin).15 This administrative and cultural unity became a centralizing feature of Chinese history since the Han period, giving it the power to influence invading groups through reiteration of its literature, philosophy, aesthetics, and doctrines of governance.16

This “culturalism” and its associated “acculturation” would have a direct impact on later dynastic regimes, especially those of non-Han origin, such as the Jurchen (Jin) dynasty and the following Mongol regime:

The Jurchens’ legitimate status, moreover, was solidified in recent centuries with the growth in the belief of the Chinese state as a great multinational organism, usually dominated by the Han, but at times also by non-Han minorities. This belief was rooted in the continuous assimilation of the frontier tribal minorities by the indigenous Chinese, and their gradual integration with the non-Han peoples, which broadened the ethnic basis of the Chinese and provided the unbroken chain of Chinese dynastic history.17

One perspective—well captured by Lucian Pye’s apt observation that “China is a civilization pretending to be a state”18—holds that China has only recently made the transition from culturalism to nationalism. These speculations on China’s identity would evolve into modern questions of whether China was “a world order entire unto itself or a state like others that was part of a wider international system.”19

The modern turn to nationalism was to a large extent a response to the massive military and political challenge of the West (and then Japan) during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It was a period when traditional Chinese culture was found deficient when it came to coping with new modalities of state power.20 This problem was not adequately solved through the suggested ti-yong (essence-function) formula of retaining Chinese learning as “essence,” while applying Western knowledge as “function.” It was still not clear what the “essence” should really be to constitute a new China, or how far modern science would begin to shape Chinese thinking itself. This notion of Western function as a borrowed add-on to a distinctive Chinese essence has been persistent. China’s defense modernization, for example, is typically based on having to “borrow from the experience of new military developments in the world.”21 As a continuation of the late nineteenth-century self-strengthening philosophy of “making foreign things serve China,” this borrowing implies Chinese “essence” persists rather than being permeated by the effects of the values of the “borrowed.” Even attaching the phrase “Chinese characteristics” to so-called borrowed concepts suggests that an essence not only exists but has survived. Moreover, as we will see, the Chinese “essence” has a transformative power, which makes it potentially stronger than the “borrowed” or “functional” (see further Chapter 7).

During communist rule, nationalism has come to the fore whenever the legitimacy of the CCP or the PRC has been questioned. Defining the language and bases of this nationalism has remained a core means of mass political mobilization and a way of channeling both fear and patriotism (ai guo).22 Contemporary China remains especially sensitive about issues pertaining to sovereignty and the recognition of its national claims because these are not only resource issues. They are challenges to the vision of China as a unified nation-state inheriting traditional imperial borders. At the same time, most Chinese, whether in the PRC mainland, Hong Kong, Southeast Asia, or in the diaspora to the West, still identify themselves as Chinese in a cultural, linguistic, and familial sense. Identity, however, has many layers and different components can be emphasized at different times. Thus, new groups beyond the early indigenous settlers in Taiwan have sought to identify themselves as Taiwanese and not Chinese, thereby rejecting control of the island’s future by the PRC.23 Likewise, some groups may accept Chinese citizenship, but differentially display other identities, for example, Tibetan, “Uyghur” (itself a complex umbrella term)24 or Mongolian.

A more complex “culturalism” remains central to the notion of China today. It allows an individual to identify and operate through the linguistic and cultural fusion of an enduring civilizational system, inclusive of its wealth of ideas, literature, religions, customs, and historical understandings—that is, what in shorthand is labelled “Chinese culture.” John Fairbank argued that this is virtually a kind of “national-culturalism” which in its inclusiveness and depth is “roughly equivalent to an amalgam of modern Europe’s notions of Christianity, the classical tradition, individualism and nationalism, all combined.”25 For Fairbank, this was a powerful “package of Sinocentrism—of society-and-state, learning-and-politics, culture-and-power, integrated in the Chinese Way.”26 It is also on this basis that the PRC can claim to support a multiethnic and multinational society based on Chinese inclusiveness, and at the same time reconceptualize its place in the changing global system.27

However, views of “sinicization” as a singular, acculturative process have come under challenge in the twenty-first century:

Sinicization is a concept that incites the imagination of many Chinese. They feel perfectly comfortable with a conceptual vocabulary that corresponds closely to their shared beliefs in the unity of the Chinese people and to a shared sense of the inevitability of the rise of China after a long period of unjust and unjustified humiliation. Not so in America. Among historians and social scientists in particular, the concept of Sinicization receives a bad press. It connotes flatness in a world full of nooks and crannies. . . . Rather than talking about Sinic civilization in the singular and Sinicization as a simple, uniform, and unidirectional process, I conceive of Sinic civilization as constituted by multiple and often conflicting traditions and Sinicization as a complex set of processes.28

Nor was sinicization just a one-way street: the huge diversity of ethnic and cultural groups interacted to form a modern China influenced by their diverse histories, music, technology and military practices. The use of cavalry and trousers came from the north and western frontiers, while distinct musical styles and instruments such as the pipa (a kind of lute), cotton, and grape-wine came from Central Asia.29 Buddhism was in large part carried into China by western groups from the Silk Road oases, including Kushans and Sogdians.30 Likewise, many Chinese carried different layers of national and local identity, some of which interacted with Han groups for hundreds of years, retaining a distinct ethnic identity even as the world around them was transformed by Chinese administrative, agricultural, and economic practices (see further below).31

To understand the multi-threaded nature of Chinese cultures and nationalisms, we need to look briefly at the complexity of the early Republic as it moved from an anti-Manchu nationalism toward a more inclusive identity focused on the Chinese state as the home for many nationalities. This came to involve major debates on the linkages across modernization, citizenship, human rights, and the role of the state itself.

Transitions Toward the Modern State

A commonplace among general histories of China is the idea that though China was often invaded, these invaders were in turn conquered by Chinese culture and its system of governance. In whole or part, invading groups such as the Khitan, Jurchen, and Mongols adopted elite Chinese culture, writing, legal, and administrative systems. While true in general terms, this process was complex and did not easily fit one single process of “sinicization” or a direct pattern of acculturation. All foundational Chinese dynasties can be viewed as conquering regimes, building new mandates while claiming continuity with a constructed past.32 This description of an invading group assimilated and sinicized is especially problematic for the last conquering dynasty, known to us as the “Manchus.”

The term “Manchu” was originally a political and military marker, not an ethnic one. It was only officially adopted by Hong Taiji (heir to Nurgaci), leader of the Jianzhou Jurchen federation, in 1635 for all those under his command. These forces included not only Jurchen but also Mongolian, Chinese, and other elements from the northeast.33 Manchu identity was created along with the establishment of the Qing empire, providing mechanisms for governance and administration. However:

This does not mean that Manchu identity was inauthentic or illusory. It means that, like many peoples, Manchus’ sense of themselves as a distinct nationality, with a history, language and culture, could not be separated from the growth of the state which institutionalized the components of that identity. The primary institutional component in this case was what in English are normally called the “Eight Banners.” The banners in some form were organized long before the Qing state—certainly as early as 1601, and possibly earlier—and persisted, in some form, until 1924. They allowed registration of the early followers of the putative Qing founder, Nurgaci, to be categorized as “Manchu,”, “Mongol,” and “Han” (“Chinese”), recorded all members of their households and what could be known of their ancestors, organized them into command hierarchies, granted educational opportunities, and allowed the distribution of wages, supplies, and land to the armies.34

Politically distinct from the Han, the Qing ruling elite had to manage complex Jurchen, Mongolian, Turkic, Uyghur, and Tibetan groups in an empire that expanded out from its early Ming framework. Immediately after the conquest, the Qing dynasty was willing to identify themselves with “China” in their official documents, but from the late seventeenth century they began to reconceptualize China as a multiethnic and multilingual state.35 Imperial edits came to be regularly published in at least two (Manchu and Chinese) and up to five languages (adding Mongolian, Tibetan, and Uyghur). Qing emperors drew on Manchu, Chinese imperial, and Mongol patterns of leadership (the Khanate) as well as Confucian and Buddhist doctrines to support their rule.36 From the nineteenth century Western thought was also incorporated. Partial modernization and a short-lived effort at constitutional reform were triggered by fear of social chaos (luan) if Western powers were allowed to undermine the dynasty. These adaptations were needed to reduce anti-Manchu feeling, as well as manage border zones that stretched across diverse Mongolian, Muslim and Tibetan groups. In large measure, the “monolithic identities” of Manchu, Mongol, and Han had been the “ideological products” of a centralizing imperial state.37 This transformed multiethnic vision became part of new educational curricula from 1900 onward, and was emphasized by textbooks and geographical works between 1905 and 1913.38

Such a legacy would influence both the early Republic and later PRC policies:

after replacing the Ming, the Qing rulers identified themselves with China, expanding its scope to include various parts of Inner Asia and to refer to a multiethnic entity. In the final years of the Qing dynasty, because this imperial interpretation was embraced by Han literati and officially disseminated through the educational system, it reached a wide audience and strongly influenced the Han Chinese perception of their own state. More important, it eventually constituted the source of the “greater Chinese nationalism” adopted by the new Republican government as its national identity.39

Debate on these ethnic (or “nationalities”) issues became a driving factor in the identity formation of the modern Republic. At first focused on rejection of the Manchu and ideas such as “Han revenge,” a unitary Chinese nationalism was used to support revolutionary movements. This identity-structure was eventually recognized by leaders such as Sun Yat-sen and Liang Qichao as too narrow for a modern state, whereas a “greater Chinese nationalism” could become a unifying mechanism.40 At its most radical, this early inclusiveness could be viewed as a “cosmopolitan nationalism” aimed at reforming and saving the nation.41 However, this came to include highly assimilative features based on the presumption that the Han people would help the others to become part of one nation, free from foreign imperialism and backwardness.42 One rebound effect of this was that the modernizing state and its institutions, rather than national identity itself, would become the focus for reform and revolution. “Statism” as the vehicle for citizenship was one way to avoid the tension between Chinese as one “nation” and China as a diversity of peoples coming together to create a modern state that could “stand up” in the world.43

If a multiethnic citizenship became possible in the early twentieth century, this did not exclude other forms of “rebound” nationalism within China. The Unequal Treaties imposed on China from the 1840s onward, the use of military and economic power to control ports and key economic resources, and the increasing infringements of Chinese sovereignty led to a demand for a China that was strong and truly independent (see further below). This “century of shame” was extended with the Japanese penetration of Manchuria and the following war that for China began in earnest as early as 1931, with up to 35 million casualties in that conflict alone.44 The demand for a modernizing, powerful China went hand in hand with a deepening suspicion of Western motives and the need to find an identity for China that was not simply a pale imitation of European or American democracies. As we will see in the next chapter, the period of “national humiliation” would be mobilized again in the 1990s to shape a new phase of nationalism designed to support a strong Chinese state able to influence the international order.

China as a Multiethnic, Multinational and Multi-Religious State

Even as the core domain of a unified Chinese culture emerged, compelled by a shared written language, dynastic political unification, and overlapping moral and cultural traditions (Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism), it soon began to engage with border nationalities that remained diverse. Over the last thousand years this included Jurchen, Mongol, Manchurian, Kazak, Uyghur, Tibetan, Muslim (Hui), Dong, Zhuang, and dozens of other peoples. It was an intricate affair that gave rise to engagement with varied groups in the southeast and southwest of the country, for example, the Achang, Deang, Wa, and Dai, as well as differentiated matriarchal societies such as the Mosu in the Southwest near Yunnan.45

A simple model of a “core” Han nationalism interacting with “minorities” is insufficient to explain the disparate identity equations of the twenty-first century. The first of these is the issue of “bilculturalism” whereby many educated Chinese have not only been educated to a high level in another language (at first Russian, now English), but have traveled and studied overseas, leading to an embedded layer of secondary identity. Beyond this, of course, many Chinese not only speak the national language, Putonghua (based on northern dialects), but at least one other local dialect, such as Jin, Wu, Xiang, Gan, Hakka, Minbei, Minnan, Yue, and Pinghua. A Chinese citizen’s identity may operate at many levels: “Thus, within the Hui Tibetan group, at least five levels of identity can be observed: Chinese, Tibetan, Muslim, Hui and Lhasan.”46 Alongside this, there has been a partial revival in the last two decades of some level of religious affiliation, whether to a Confucian morality focused on family, Buddhism, or to smaller numbers following Islam or Christianity. These engagements at times facilitate the trajectory of the modern Chinese state, but at other times challenge its authority and values.

Racial identity was never an easy fit for an inclusive Chinese polity: early twentieth-century arguments ranged across politico-cultural formations (“all-under-heaven,” tianxia), citizen-based conceptions (the state rather than the nation being emphasized), and proto-democratic formulations to arrive at an inclusive China that could encompass diverse ethnicities. Early Nationalist governments supported a policy encouraging the assimilation of minority groups, viewing these at first as subvarieties of the Chinese people.47 Communists, initially, rejected nationalities in favor of class as the key political marker: peasants and workers were to be the basis of the PRC, with antagonism between nationalities to be reduced via “amalgamation” rather than assimilation.48 Many nationalities within one state, however, required fair and egalitarian treatment by a modernizing socialist state. This dilemma was publicly understood within the CCP. Thus the 1982 Constitution, as one of the first “open” and reforming templates of modern China, was keen to emphasize the importance of these nationalities and cautioned against “Han-chauvinism,” “big-nation chauvinism,” and “local-nation chauvinism.”49 It guaranteed the equality of all nationalities and their languages within a multiethnic, socialist state.

This is easier said than done. Not only are such cultural groups different from any putative “core” Chinese culture, but many sit along strategic borders, have at times developed their own political systems (as in Tibet historically and to a more limited degree in East Turkestan, which had partial independence through 1864–1877, and 1933–1949), as well as retaining linkages to transnational communities. China has been subject to past efforts by external powers to influence, infiltrate, or use these border groups. Russian, British, and Japanese interests were involved in such activities down into the early twentieth century. Today, although the fifty-five ethnic minorities (more than 106 million people) are only 8.4% of the population, they remain an important developmental, security, and human rights challenge for China.50 The fact that many of these ethnic groups are on the borders of modern China (in Xinjiang, Yunnan, or Tibet, for example) and have cross-border links has tied them into Chinese security concerns, sometimes with an intensified PLA and People’s Armed Police (PAP) presence in these areas. The PRC has resisted internationalization of autonomy issues, and has suppressed Uyghur (East Turkestan) and Tibetan independence movements, with special focus on violent separatist groups, leading to various “strike hard” campaigns. In the foreseeable future, neither East Turkestan nor Tibet is a possible contender for independence due to an absence of international support, and a strong Chinese security and economic presence. These concerns are reinforced by the desire to regulate border trade or regional flows with neighbors—including with Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Nepal, Bhutan, and India. Likewise, the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) links China’s interests to Russia and Central Asian nations as a state-based network opposed not only to terrorism, but to any redesign of state borders in the name of self-determination or separatism.

Southeast China shows a somewhat more successful track toward “multiculturalism” in Guangxi, with some thirty ethnic groups, including a sizable Zhuang population, having access to the “tourism and culture” sectors of the economy. Likewise, Yunnan, in southwest China, exhibits high levels of cultural diversity, with Dai (related to similar groups in Myanmar and the Thai of Thailand), Wu, Muslim minorities, Tibeto-Burmans, and a range of peoples also found in Southeast Asia, totaling some thirty-four nationalities. Deliberations about pluralism, prejudice, and managing conflict have been important in Yunnan, with concerns about the survival of local cultural systems in the face of Chinese economic transformation and globalization.51

China remains wisely concerned about the fate of its numerous ethnicities and nationalities. From 1952 it has pursued partial decentralization, affirmative action and local education policies with many of these groups, but with self-determination reserved for the Chinese nation as a whole.52 There are five autonomous regions equivalent to provincial level: the Tibet Autonomous Region, the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region, the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region, and the Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region. These are structured to allow a stronger administrative role for minorities, including preferential education policies, but do not allow for political independence or the “high autonomy” which would imply some level of local sovereignty. A failure to meet the needs of these ethnic groups, however, would open China to continued international criticism and erode the credibility of Beijing seeking to exercise its soft power. It would also indicate a failure of the Chinese “Harmonious Society” approach to development and would undermine Chinese claims of a progressive mix of socialism and capitalism. China’s current leadership is aware of these issues. The PRC National Human Rights Action Plan 2012–2015 asserts that “China is a unified multi-ethnic country, where all ethnic groups are equal, and the state protects the lawful rights and interests of ethnic minorities.”53 It then further outlines rights to economic development, as well as access to education and cultural rights, including use of local languages. Claims of developmental progress in Tibet, Xinjiang, and other ethnic border areas were reiterated in Premier Li Keqiang’s Report on the Work of Government to the Twelfth National People’s Congress in March 2016.54

This has not been an easy process, and outcomes vary for different regions and ethnic groups. For example, in spite of sustained efforts to integrate, assimilate, and buffer Uyghur groups via affirmative action programs, most Uyghurs have found it hard to “acculturate comfortably” in the Chinese mainstream.55 Inter-communal tensions within Xinjiang remained high through 2009–2016, driven by both religious and economic cleavages. For most Uyghurs, concerns have focused on preservation of their modern identity and finding a place in China’s economic miracle. The mobilization of alternative historical accounts of the region can be seen as a form of non-violent resistance. Politically motived violence, however, continues. This comes from the rise of eight separatist groups, such as the East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM) and the related Turkestan Islamic Party (TIP), which have launched terrorist attacks in several Chinese cities since 2006. Even with problematic security concerns in Tibet and Xinjiang, the national level approach has been a functional trade-off of interests: “the underlying logic is that the central government is willing to acknowledge the cultural identities of ethnic minorities and makes provisions for limited decision-making power to them in exchange for their recognition of Beijing’s sovereignty and preservation of the country’s overall identity.”56 With these ongoing challenges, it is not surprising that the PRC has had to mobilize both inclusive and reactive patterns of nationalism and “Chineseness” (Zhonghua minzu) in its modern narratives.57

Reworking the Inclusive: Tianxia and its Limitations

Civilizational debates and definitions are bound up with legitimating political power. Peter Katzenstein reminds us that “the broad social context that civilizations provide shapes how political actors, not civilizations, mobilize power.”58 Nationalism and national identity are therefore deeply politicized since they are instrumental in mobilizing power domestically and form a complex “filter” for foreign policy debates. Given China’s civilizational legacies, it is not surprising that past formulations have often been deployed to generate a more inclusive national identity. Tianxia (“all-under-Heaven”) is one such concept, seen as suggesting an inclusive identity created by a political authority dedicated to the well-being of the people. As summarized by Jiajie He:

Literally, tianxia incorporates three levels of meaning: (1) Geographically, it refers to all lands under the sky; (2) psychologically, it forms a universal consensus in the ‘hearts’ of all people; and (3) institutionally, it is a political system for the world with a global institution to ensure universal order.59

The core meaning of tianxia can also be translated as “world,” indicating the “human world” under Heaven. This concept, infused with Confucian morality, was one of the bases for viewing imperial China as a justified, universal empire. But it did not sit well with the Middle Kingdom’s twentieth century ambitions. To become a republic, China needed nationalism more than culturalism, statehood instead of all-under-Heaven. But tianxia has not been banished entirely. In the twenty-first century it has been reworked as a vision of a shared international order in which all benefit from just global governance driven by the moral leadership of great powers (see further below).

Traditionally, Confucian thinking claimed that its ideas applied to all humans and benefited all-under-Heaven, laying down the basis for a universal and assimilative ideology. This moral order suggested that even the barbarian would “come and be transformed” (lai-hua) by a superior and attractive culture (wen), enacted by classical Chinese culture, shared rituals, and the benevolent governance of the emperor. Tianxia as a shared human world denotes the beginnings of a necessary Chinese cosmopolitanism as China’s geographical and cultural horizons expanded.60

However, the concept of tianxia was based on a shared culture and accepted universal (Chinese) norms as the foundation of the Chinese polity. Furthermore, there were real differences among classical Chinese thinkers as to whether the right to rule “all-under-Heaven” was based on “humane authority” versus a “hegemonic authority,” while Daoist thinkers such as Laozi would see true rulership as based on “a form of prestige that makes all-under-heaven submit and obey.”61 These factors would lead to a wider role for tianxia in philosophers such as Xunzi, who thought that “‘all under heaven’ is the whole world and that ‘possessing all under heaven’ amounts to having world leadership.”62 Tianxia as a focus of moral concern (developed in Confucian texts such as the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean) did not go down the Legalist path of all loyalties becoming subservient to the state. Rather, the empire’s moral standing would be such as to transcend localized interests. Moreover, from this point of view a state and its power can be seized, but world leadership cannot; it can only accrue to a humane authority based on appropriate norms and principles.63 This suggests one path from the traditional notion of the transformative power of culture (wen) towards modern conceptions of soft power influence (see further Chapter 6).

This understanding of tianxia is being pursued as a reforming path of China’s future foreign policy. A group of modern Chinese thinkers is hoping to create a distinctive body of Chinese international relations theory to help shape a new global order.64 Tianxia, in this developed form, is a path toward a more cosmopolitan domestic environment and an invitation to a genuine dialogue of civilizations. It outlines an “institutionally ordered world” and a world-theory, rather than merely providing the basis for a territorial empire or pattern of international relations.65 In theory, this could lead to a more inclusive and harmonious world focused on “cooperation without hegemony,” using mutual gain mechanisms and dialogue on shared values to ensure that globally “all persons are of concern.”66

Tianxia, however, suffers some of the same problems as universalizing Western traditions. Originally, the concept of tianxia was focused on the issue of governance across a multinational empire, rather than a modern inter-state or inter-civilizational order. It assumed an extension of values from family, to the state, then outward as circles of humane engagement and governance.67 Appealing to a shared, human nature focused on a superior civilization (inclusive Chinese culture) or universal rights (liberal Euro-American values) leaves open the problem of how to accommodate radically different perceptions of humanity and society. Indeed, tianxia might represent a new normative claim that “encourages a conversion of difference” rather than allow for a genuine tolerance of pluralism.68 Tianxia remains a hierarchical concept, even as it is newly mobilized in international relations as a soft-power tool focused on “culture, morality and harmony,” thereby downplaying economic and military coercion in realist analyses of the global system.69 Insofar as both traditions claim to be universal they are also assimilative and potentially hegemonic. This means that tianxia does not by itself supply an adequate basis for political pluralism or democratic values such as egalitarianism.

From Subject to Citizen: The Third Modernization

Nationalism is often reactive, identifying one group as against another, including some but rejecting others as counter-images, threats and even enemies. Driven by national myths, embedded cultural attitudes, and historical memory, national identity often engages a master narrative to assert claims to a particular territory, a special role or “rightful place under Heaven,” and in extreme cases, a “manifest” national destiny that promises future empowerment on the world stage.70

In the case of China, its modern identity was being forged at the same time as the idea that the Chinese were not just subjects of an emperor, but citizens whose place in the state gave them rights as well as duties. These formulations was explored not just to reform or limit the power of a declining Qing dynasty and following warlords, but to empower the population of China as the basis of a modernizing state that could resist foreign oppression. The roots of this thinking were not entirely derived from the West: the ethical focus of Confucianism relied on self-aware persons concerned with humanity and benevolence, the proper conduct of social relations, and a disposition to do good utilizing a moral wisdom honed by reflection, reasoning and experience (see further Chapter 1). The choice of talented and courageous officials was traditionally seen as the foundation of secure government. However, the re-formulation of these abilities as political rights, rather than as human properties imbued by Heaven or the Way, was a central component of social modernization.

This was not merely a theoretical or ideological issue for nineteenth-century China. Who should rule, along with the related questions of “whom” and “what” were ruled, would result in two centuries of revolts and civil wars. Nineteenth-century China was plagued with turmoil: floods, drought, and famine, repeated insurrections and revolts, and increasing incursions by Western powers and then the Japanese. The Nien rebellion, numerous Red Turban revolts, uprisings by the Heaven and Earth Society and the White Lotus sect, Muslim rebellions in Yunnan and Xinjiang were all dwarfed by over thirteen years and twenty million lives claimed by the Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864), with remnant groups operating down till 1871.71 In the early twentieth century the Boxer Uprising (against the growing foreign presence in China) was followed by numerous local rebellions and demonstrations down to the 1919 mass student protests in Beijing that became known as the May Fourth Movement. By one calculation some 653 uprisings of varying size occurred between 1896 and 1911, many of them with egalitarian or nationalist tendencies, including attacks on landlords, corrupt government officials, money lenders, unfair taxes, high rents, and the price of rice.72

It was in this same period that China was undergoing a fitful transition whereby it sought to empower itself as a state and a society. These modernizations took place across three areas: an expansion of the economy and its partial industrialization; a self-strengthening movement hoping to improve the navy, army, and government capacities to resist growing foreign incursions; and a shift in thinking and education toward the notion of an empowered citizenship that might mobilize the potentials of the huge Chinese population.

The transformation of the Chinese economy was already evident in the mid-nineteenth century. Tea, silk, and textile production had begun to expand rapidly, partly triggered by increased exports from the lower Yangzi and Shanghai. Later in the century, industrialization proceeded with the creation of cotton mills in Shanghai, railways linking mines to coastal ports, steamship lines becoming more efficient than canal transport, the creation of post offices and telegraph lines, and eventually the building of arsenals and shipyards. The slow development of Chinese-owned banks and domestic funding at first limited such projects; they still needed Western capital.73

Alongside this, key advisers and officials pushed for a self-strengthening movement that might rapidly modernize China’s navy and army, giving it the chance to resist foreign demands and incursion, especially from the rising power of Japan from the 1870s onward. This was a form of “defensive modernization” and would remain suspect so long as it was linked to foreign innovations, a problem only partly solved by viewing technology as a functional addition to “essential” Chinese spirit.74 Military modernization, however, required much more than the purchase of new guns, cannons and ships. It required a shift in the disciple and education of officers and troops, stronger scientific and engineering foundations, and the ability to provide systematic financial and logistic support that could operate at the national rather than the local or provincial level. All these were in short supply as the Qing dynasty struggled to deal with one crisis after another through the late nineteenth century.

A related trend was a shift in public thinking, wanting to root out corruption and to make government not only humane but accountable and efficient. The key to doing this was in part through improving education to include modern and foreign learning, but also to free public expression and rational debate on national issues. In part this was channeled through the idea of a parliament, at first viewed as an advisory organ but from the 1880s leading on to debates about the reform of the dynasty into a constitutional monarchy. Broached cautiously by thinkers such as Xue Fucheng, this would shift into a deeper discussion about rights and representation, eventually suggesting legal limits to monarchical power.75 More detailed ideas of a constitutional monarchy, with “a parliament acting as a bonding bridge between ruler and citizens,” were formulated by Liang Qichao and Kang Youwei.76

Liang Qichao, in particular, saw the nation as the highest level of evolutionary human organization, operating above the level of family or tribe within a competitive world system. He was deeply concerned that China had lost its sense of nationalism, and that a conscious sense of the nation was needed:

The evolution from tribal people to national citizens divides barbarism from civilization. How different are tribal peoples and national citizens from one another! Groups of people who form clans to live together and naturally create their own customs are called tribal peoples. People who have a concept of the nation and can participate in politics themselves are termed “citizens.” Nowhere on earth can nations be established without citizens.77

For a short time reform efforts, even the creation of a parliament, were supported by the Emperor Guangxi, but his “Hundred Days” of reform in 1898 were soon blocked by the Grand Council and the cautious approach of the Dowager Empress Cixi. After the forced retirement of Guangxi and a purge of reformers, Empress Cixi returned to a leadership role in government. A “top-down” effort at reform by decree, the Hundred Days with its 230 edicts was “too much” and too late, with limited popular or institutional support for its otherwise sweeping agenda.78 Provincial assemblies had indeed been formed at the end of the nineteenth century, the publication of an “Outline of Constitution” occurred in 1908, and the growing Friends of the Constitution movement pushed this agenda forward, but were soon overtaken by the armed revolts of 1911 that led to the abdication of the last Qing Emperor in February 1912.79 Elections were eventually held in early 1913, with the nationalist Kuomintang gaining strong representation in both the upper and lower houses of the new parliament. However, after the assassination of one of its main leaders, Song Jiaoren, effective leadership of the country was soon seized by General Yuan Shikai, perhaps closing the door on the gradual evolution toward a democratic China.80

These political forces had begun to organize society in radically new ways. Trade unions formed around the iron works and factories, leading to patterns of worker mobilization that would be of important in the early Republic, with strikes, stoppages and machine breaking becoming more common through 1904–1911. By the 1920s Canton had a strong labor movement, with the First National Labour Conference being held in 1922.81 Student movements in the 1890s came to argue that they had the right, even the obligation, to hold rulers accountable for their actions, reacting to the humiliating treaty with Japan in 1895 and again after the 1919 Versailles Conference awarded German territories in Shandong to Japan. Another major area of reform was in the modernizing New Army, leading to a heightened military and political awareness among young officers, but also giving Yuan Shikai and later warlords a platform for moving against both the Qing and new Republic as it struggled for existence.82

Educational reform, likewise, went well beyond merely learning from, and translating, Western knowledge. By the late nineteenth century the Modernization Movement (weixin yundong) argued that it was necessary to awaken and enlighten the people in order to rescue the country: this was the driving force for translators such as Yan Fu who wrote essays and translated political works such J. S. Mill’s On Liberty .83 At the same time popular Chinese newspapers began to appear across the country, with over sixty new periodicals appearing between 1895 and 1898, paralleling an upswing in poetry, essays, and novels written in colloquial Chinese.84 By 1903 even the Qing government was mandating a modernized curriculum that would include the “new learning” and subjects drawn from Western knowledge.85

Chinese debates in the early twentieth century on human rights (renquan) and natural human rights (tianfu renquan) were indeed invoked in the struggle for individual dignity against despotic governments, but were broached in the context of national survival.86 Early writers such as He Qi, Hu Linyuan and Liang Qichao stressed the equality of men imbued with autonomy and intelligence, and thus freedom of thought and speech.87 Such thought included a sweeping reject of Confucian hierarchy and political subservience, seen as a form of slavery which undermined a person’s dignity to the point of destroying the personality itself.88 It was only when these arguments were extended to women, and eventually workers and peasants, that revolutionary leaders could build a new China.

In sum, a new language of rights, accountability, and political identity was emerging in China as it grappled with a profound existential challenge. There was a real sense that unless China changed it might be cut apart (not just milked like a cow), and could end up fully colonized (directly and indirectly) as had India.89 In this setting piecemeal reform of the dynasty was not enough. In large measure it was the inability of the Qing regime to accommodate and benefit from these “modernizations” that led to its downfall. The introduction of Mr Democracy and Mr Science, as they were termed by Chinese thinkers such as Chen Duxiu, was not enough to transform Chinese society.90 However, invaluable lessons would be learned by revolutionary leaders including Sun Yat-sen and Mao Zedong. This leads to the next chapter’s consideration of the relationship between soaring dreams and armed power: the dialectics of revolution.

Notes

1. He Jaijie, “Foreign Models and Native Mold: The Making of China’s Nationalities Policy,” paper presented at the ISA Global South Caucus Conference, Singapore, January 8–10, 2015, 8–9, 17–21. http://web.isanet.org/Web/Conferences/GSCIS%20Singapore%202015/Archive/14c18d9b-ad82–42e8–90c2-dd75644ede77.pdf.

2. Chang Chun-Shu, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007), 10; Zhang Chuangxi et al. (eds) The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume II, Qin, Han, Wei, Jin and the Northern and Southern Dynasties (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 173–76.

3. For Tang-ren as one identifier for Chinese in Southeast Asia, see M. Jocelyn Armstrong and R. Warwick Armstrong, Chinese Populations in Contemporary Southeast Asian Societies: Identities, Interdependence and International Influence (London: Routledge, 2012), 216, 233; Hing Ming Hung, Li Shi Min, Founding the Tang Dynasty: Strategies that Made China the Greatest Empire in Asia (New York: Algora Publishing, 2013), 3.

4. See Yan Wenming et al. (ed.) The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume I, Earliest Times—221 B.C.E. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012); Terry F. Kleeman, Great Perfection: Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Millennial Kingdom (Honolulu: Hawai’i Press, 1998), 17–26.

5. See C. P. Fitzgerald, The Southern Expansion of the Chinese People (Bangkok: White Lotus, 1972); Richard H. Yang, Chinese Regionalism: The Security Dimension (Boulder: Westview Press, 1994). The cultural vitality of Tibetan culture and religion, however, suggests that any such cultural absorption would not be sustained easily in the Tibet Autonomous Region.

6. See in detail Kleeman Great Perfection: Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Millennial Kingdom.

7. See Chang, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8, 26–39.

8. Chang, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8, 254.

9. Pater Zarrow, After Empire: The Conceptual Transformation of the Chinese State, 1885–1924 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012) ; Chang, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8, 254.

10. Mohamed Norman Galal, “Tradition, Culture and Political Change in China,” Man and Development 10, no. 2 (1988): 16–25; Andrew J. Nathan, “Is Chinese Culture Distinctive?” Journal of Asian Studies 52, no. 4 (November 1993): 923–36; Martin Lu and Rosita Dellios, “One Culture Two Systems: A Cultural Approach to Inter-Chinese Politics,” The Culture Mandala 3, no. 1 (January 1998), http://epublications.bond.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1040&context=cm.

11. Burton Watson, Ssu-ma Ch’ien: Grand Historian of China (NY: Columbia University Press, 1958), 10–11.

12. In Watson Ssu-ma Ch’ien: Grand Historian of China, 11.

13. Wang Zheng, Never Forget National Humiliation: Historical Memory in Chinese Politics and Foreign Relations (New York: Colombia University Press, 2012), 42.

14. C. P. Fitzgerald, China: A Short Cultural History (London: Cresset Press, 1965), 1.

15. Jin Liu, “Deviant Writing and Youth Identity: Representation of Dialects with Chinese Characters on the Internet,” Chinese Language and Discourse 2, no. 1 (2011): 58–79; Fitzgerald, China: A Short Cultural History, 139.

16. Fitzgerald, China: A Short Cultural History, 229. For this as a complex series of engagement processes, see Peter J. Katzenstein (ed.) Sinicization and the Rise of China: Civilizational Processes Beyond East and West (Abingdon: Routledge 2012).

17. Chan Hok-Lam, Legitimation in Imperial China: Discussions Under the Jurchen-Chin Dynasty (1115–1234) (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1984), x.

18. Lucian W. Pye, “China: Erratic State, Frustrated Society,” Foreign Affairs 69, no. 4 (Fall 1990). See also Gerald Segal, China Changes Shape: Regionalism and Foreign Policy, Adelphi Paper 287 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, March 1994), 6.

19. Henry Kissinger, World Order: Reflections on the Character of Nations and the Course of History (London: Allen Lane, 2014), 219.

20. J. R. Levenson, “ ‘History’ and ‘Value’: The Tensions of Intellectual Choice in Modern China,” in Studies in Chinese Thought, ed. Arthur F. Wright (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953), 170.

21. A statement made in the official Xinhua news agency, referring to a Politiburo decision to improve PLA effectiveness, quoted in Willy Lam, “PLA Seeks a New Leap Forward,” The Jamestown Foundation (www.jamestown.org), China Brief 3, no. 11, June 3, 2003.

22. Christopher R. Hughes, “The Enduring Function of the Substance/Essence (Ti/Yong) Dichotomy in Chinese Nationalism,” in China Orders the World: Normative Soft Power and Foreign Policy, edited William A. Callahan and Elena Barabantseva (Baltimore: The John Hopkins Press, 2011), 128–29.

23. Fu-Lai Tony Yu and Diana Sze Man Kwan, “Social Construction and National Identity: Taiwanese versus Chinese Consciousness,” Social Identities 14, no. 1 (January 2008): 33–52.

24. For the complex and indirect links between the historical Uyghur khanate and empire to the eight modern subgroups identified as Uyghurs, see James A. Millward and Peter C. Perdue, “Political and Cultural History of the Xinjiang Region Through the Late Nineteenth Century,” in Xinjiang: China’s Muslim Borderland, ed. S. Frederick Starr (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe Inc, 2004), 40–42; Justin Rudelson and William Jankowiak, “Acculturation and Resistance: Xinjiang Identities in Flux,” in Xinjiang: China’s Muslim Borderland, ed. Starr, S. Frederick (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe Inc, 2004), 302–3.

25. John K. Fairbank, “China’s Foreign Policy in Historical Perspective,” Foreign Affairs 47, no. 3 (1969): 460.

26. Fairbank, “China’s Foreign Policy in Historical Perspective,” 460–61.

27. Elena Barabantseva, “Change vs. Order: Shijie Meets Tianxia in China’s Interactions with the World,” Alternatives: Global, Local, Political 34, no. 2 (April–June 2009), 129–55.

28. Katzenstein, Sinicization and the Rise of China, 210.

29. Millward and Perdue, “Political and Cultural History of the Xinjiang Region Through the Late Nineteenth Century,” 32.

30. Don Michael Randle, The Harvard Dictionary of Music (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003), 26; Mariko Namba Walter, Sogdians and Buddhism (University of Pennsylvania, Sino-Platonic Papers, 174, November 2006); Millward and Perdue, “Political and Cultural History of the Xinjiang Region Through the Late Nineteenth Century,” 34, 41.

31. Kleeman, Great Perfection: Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Millennial Kingdom, 53–54.

32. Shelley Rigger, “Voice of Manchu Identity, 1635–1935,” Cultural Encounters on China’s Ethnic Frontiers, ed. Stevan Harrell (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995), 186; For problems with simplified “sinification” approaches, see Pamela Kyle Crossley, A Translucent Mirror: History and Identity in Qing Imperial Ideology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 13, 30.

33. Rigger, “Voice of Manchu Identity, 1635–1935”, 187; Crossley, A Translucent Mirror, 3, 30, 47.

34. Pamela Kyle Crossley, The Manchus (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002), 6.

35. See Zhao Gang, “Reinventing China: Imperial Qing Ideology and the Rise of Modern Chinese National Identity in the Early 20th Century,” Modern China 32, no. 1 (January 2006): 7–10.

36. Zhang The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume II, Qin, Han, Wei, Jin and the Northern and Southern Dynasties, 10; Crossley, A Translucent Mirror, 19, 38, 42; Rigger, “Voice of Manchu Identity, 1635–1935,” 192; He, “Foreign Models and Native Mold,” 13.

37. Crossley, A Translucent Mirror, 3, 46.

38. Zhao, “Reinventing China,” 16–17; Zhang, The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume II, Qin, Han, Wei, Jin and the Northern and Southern Dynasties, 150.

39. Zhao, “Reinventing China,” 5.

40. Zhao, “Reinventing China,” 23; Zhang, The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume II, 163; Rigger, “Voice of Manchu Identity, 1635–1935”, in Cultural Encounters on China’s Ethnic Frontiers, ed. Stevan Harrell, 209. For Sun Yat-sen’s legacy in modern PRC, see further Chapter 5 below.

41. Wu Guoguang “From Post-Imperial to Late Communist Nationalism: Historical Change in Chinese Nationalism from May Fourth to the 1990s,” Third World Quarterly 29, no. 3 (2008): 467–82.

42. He, “Foreign Models and Native Mold,” 18–19.

43. Zhang, The History of Chinese Civilization: Volume II, 104.

44. See Wang, Never Forget National Humiliation: Historical Memory in Chinese Politics and Foreign Relations, 9.

45. For further detail see Rongxing Guo et al. Multicultural China: A Statistical Yearbook 2014 (Berlin: Springer, 2015).

46. Bo Chen, “A Multicultural Interpretation of an Ethnic Muslim Minority: The Case of the Hui Tibetan in Lhasa,” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 23, no. 1 (April 2003): 41–62.

47. He, “Foreign Models and Native Mold,” 14.

48. Rigger, “Voice of Manchu Identity, 1635–1935,” 212–13.

49. PRC, “Preamble to Constitution of the People’s Republic of China,” Adopted December 4, 1982, online translation by People’s Daily Online, http://en.people.cn/constitution/constitution.html.

50. State Council Information Office, PRC State Council White Paper, China’s Ethnic Policy and Common Prosperity and Development of All Ethnic Groups (Beijing, September 27, 2009), section 1, http://china.usc.edu/ShowArticle.aspx?articleID=1907&AspxAutoDetectCookieSupport=1; Zhou Yaown, “Bilingualism and Bilingual Education in China,” International Journal of the Sociology of Language 97 (1992): 37–45.

51. Centre Report, “Conference Report: Cultural Heat in Yunnan,” The Culture Mandala 4 no. 2 (November 2001), http://www.international-relations.com/CM4–2/Conferencewb.htm.

52. He, “Foreign Models and Native Mold.”

53. Information Office of the State Council of PRC, National Human Rights Action Plan of China 2012–2015 (Beijing, June 11, 2012), http://www.china.org.cn/government/whitepaper/node_7156850.htm.

54. Li Keqiang, Full Text: Report on the Work of the Government (2016), Delivered at the Fourth Session of the 12th National People’s Congress of the People’s Republic of China on March 5, 2016, The State Council, The People’s Republic of China, March 17, 2016, http://english.gov.cn/premier/news/2016/03/17/content_281475309417987.htm.

55. Justin Rudelson and William Jankowiak, “Acculturation and Resistance: Xinjiang Identities in Flux,” in Xinjiang: China’s Muslim Borderland, ed. Starr, S. Frederick (Armonk, New York: M. E. Sharpe Inc, 2004), 299.

56. He, “Foreign Models and Native Mold,” 28–29.

57. He, “Foreign Models and Native Mold.” For the complex interaction of “Han-ness” and “Chineseness”, along with terms such as Zhongguoren, Xia, Hua, Huaxia, see Agnieszka Joniak-Luthi, The Han: China’s Diverse Majority (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2015), 22–25.

58. Katzenstein, Sinicization and the Rise of China, 211.

59. He, “Foreign Models and Native Mold,” 12. See further Zhao Tingyang, “Rethinking Empire from a Chinese Concept: ‘All-under-Heaven’ (Tian-xia),” Social Identities 12, no. 1 (2006): 29–41.

60. Shan Chun, “On Chinese Cosmopolitanism (Tian Xia),” Culture Mandala: The Bulletin of the Centre for East-West Cultural and Economic Studies 8, no. 2 (2009), http://epublications.bond.edu.au/cm/vol8/iss2/2/. See further Qu Hongmei, “A Comparative Study on Confucius’ and Chrysippus’ Cosmopolitan Theories,” Frontiers of Philosophy in China 8 no. 3 (2013): 397–409.

61. Yan Xuetong, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, trans. Edmund Ryden (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011), 42–51.

62. Yan, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, 85.

63. Yan, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, 86–87.

64. Allen Carlson, “Moving Beyond Sovereignty? A Brief Consideration of Recent Changes in China’s Approach to International Order and the Emergence of the Tianxia Concept,” Journal of Contemporary China 20, no. 68 (January 2011): 89–102; Zhao Tingyang,”Rethinking Empire from a Chinese Concept: ‘All-under-Heaven’ (Tian-xia),” Social Identities 12, no. 1 (2006): 29–41; Barabantseva, “Change vs. Order: Shijie Meets Tianxia in China’s Interactions with the World,” 129–55; Zhang Xudong, “Nationalism, Mass Culture, and Intellectual Strategies in Post-Tiananmen China,” Social Text no. 55 (Summer 1998): 109–40.

65. Zhao, “Rethinking Empire from a Chinese Concept: ‘All-under-Heaven’ (Tian-xia),” 39.

66. Zhang Feng, “The Tianxia System: World Order in a Chinese Utopia,” China Heritage Quarterly no. 21 (March 2010).

67. Chen Yudan, “Stoic Cosmopolitanism and Confucian Cosmopolitanism: A Comparison,” Economic & Social Science Research Council Seminar Series, Normative Challenges to International Society—Rising Powers and Global Responses, 2014, http://www.risingpowersglobalresponses.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Chen.pdf.

68. See William Callahan, “Chinese Visions of World Order: Post-hegemonic or a New Hegemony?” International Studies Review 10, no. 4 (2008): 749–61; Carlson, “Moving Beyond Sovereignty?” 89–102.

69. Wang, Never Forget National Humiliation: Historical Memory in Chinese Politics and Foreign Relations 73.

70. For some of the implications of such narratives, see Millward and Perdue, “Political and Cultural History of the Xinjiang Region Through the Late Nineteenth Century,” 27–62.

71. Jonathan Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present (NY: Harper Collins, 2008), 17–29.

72. Bai Shouyi (ed.), An Outline History of China (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1982), 436–42, 450–53, 483–91; Kamal Sheel, Peasant Society and Marxist Intellectuals: Fang Zhimin and the Origin of a Revolutionary Movement in the Xinjiang Region (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), 116–22; Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 83, 111–12.

73. Ji Zhaojin, A History of Modern Shanghai Banking: The Rise and Decline of China’s Finance Capitalism (NY: M. E. Sharpe, 2003), 59.

74. Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 39, 77.

75. Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 36–37; Guo Weidon, “The Push for Reform: The Birth of Modern Culture,” in The History of Chinese Civilization and Qing Dynasties (1525–1911), ed. by Yuan Xinpei et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 2012), 621–23.

76. Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 69.

77. Liang Qichao, “The Concept of the Nation,” in Wm Theodore De Bary and Richard Lufrano, comp. Sources of Chinese Tradition, Volume 2 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000, 2nd edn), 295.

78. Guo Weidon, “The Push for Reform: The Birth of Modern Culture,” 599–601; Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 26–38, 68–76.

79. Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 113–26.

80. Economist, “The Song of Song: The Death of a Revolutionary,” December 22, 2012, http://www.economist.com/news/christmas/21568587-shot-killed-song-jiaoren-was-not-heard-around-world-it-might-have-changed.

81. Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 37, 104, 151.

82. David A. Graff and Robin Higham, A Military History of China (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2012), 165–70.

83. He Xianbin, “Translation as Manipulation: A Case Study of Yan Fu’s Rendition of On Liberty,” Translatum 5 (2005). http://www.translatum.gr/journal/5/yan-fu-on-liberty.htm; Guo Weidon, “The Push for Reform: The Birth of Modern Culture,” 598, 612.

84. Guo Weidon, “The Push for Reform: The Birth of Modern Culture,” 603.

85. Guo Weidon, “The Push for Reform: The Birth of Modern Culture,” 607.

86. Marina Svensson, Debating Human Rights in China: A Conceptual and Political History (Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2002), 98–99.

87. Svensson, Debating Human Rights in China: A Conceptual and Political History, 85, 99.

88. Svensson, Debating Human Rights in China: A Conceptual and Political History, 100–4.

89. Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 17–34.

90. Fenby, Modern China: The Fall and Rise of a Great Power, 1850 to the Present, 143.

Chapter 5

People’s Party, People’s Army

The Dialectics of Revolution

“A revolution is not a dinner party,” Mao Zedong wrote in 1927, “or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery.” Referring to Confucian virtues, he went further: “It cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained and magnanimous.” Having built the momentum of what a revolution was not, Mao made his point as to what it was: “A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another.”1

A reverse image was conjured by the President Xi Jinping during his visit to France in 2014, but with an equally targeted message. “Napoleon Bonaparte once said that China ‘is a sleeping lion and when China wakes up, the world will shake’,” Xi recounted the oft-quoted depiction of China’s dormant power. He then added: “In fact, the lion of China has awoken, but it’s a peaceful, amiable, civilized lion.”2 Who would have thought a lion to be civilized, except perhaps those for whom lion statuary—commonly positioned at the front gates of temples and official buildings—symbolizes a guardian role of protective strength? It may be difficult to reconcile the two images: violent revolution versus a civilized lion. Yet these are part of a larger dialectic of China’s pursuit of an ideology that was thought to have become a relic of twentieth-century history but to which China adheres in unexpected ways. Indeed, Xi Jinping’s speech did pause to reflect on the role of revolution: “I was fascinated in French history, philosophy, art and literature, especially the French Revolution. It made me really think about the political evolution of human society.”3

Xi’s thoughts on China’s own political development did not stray far from Mao’s when considering the practicalities of power. Upon ascending to power as General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party and Chairman of the Central Military Commission (CMC) in November 2012, Xi Jinping was quick to call for an improved military capability. This he deemed vital for realising the “China Dream” (or “Chinese Dream”)—his leadership’s signature slogan—of national rejuvenation: “To achieve the great revival of the Chinese nation, we must ensure there is unison between a prosperous country and strong military.”4 But a strong military, in itself, may not be enough. It could pose a danger if its loyalty to the party is in doubt. This son of Mao’s revolutionary comrade Xi Zhongxun was keenly aware of the consequences of a decoupling: Xi had spoken of his belief that the fatal error of the Soviet Communist Party was to waver in its ideological convictions and lose command of the military forces.5 Mao, who famously proclaimed that “political power grows out of the barrel of a gun” but warned that “the Party commands the gun, and the gun must never be allowed to command the Party,”6 would certainly have concurred. Yet Xi rules in a dramatically different world to that of Chairman Mao. China is not at war, but it is also not as secure as it might wish.

Today China’s survival as a socialist state is dependent on a politicized but no less professional army. It must ensure the Chinese Communist Party continues to rule unimpeded and untroubled by any prospect of a “colored” democratic revolution, all the while sharpening its skills in protecting China’s sovereignty and territorial integrity. These missions are not the only ones with which the Chinese armed forces are charged (others are discussed below), but they capture the mutually regarding polarities of their duties. Like yin and yang, the political and the professional are meant to cohere as one, but being dynamic the balance is not easy to maintain.

This chapter examines China as a socialist state, the People’s Republic of China, whose military forces, the People’s Liberation Army, are dedicated first and foremost to the defense of the party that they brought to power in 1949: the Chinese Communist Party. A people’s party and a people’s army, to all appearances, remain faithful to a relationship that seeks to advance the cause of a revolution undertaken almost a century ago. It was conducted in the name of the laboring people. To emphasize this point, the PLA—which dates its origins to August 1, 1927—was originally called the Chinese Workers’ and Peasants’ Red Army, following the Soviet example (“Chinese Red Army” became the shortened form, like the USSR’s “Red Army”). However, as we will see, it was not the workers who displayed revolutionary prowess but the peasants. More precisely, it was the peasant-based army under Mao’s strategic doctrine of “people’s war” that won the day and allowed him to proclaim a “people’s republic.” This historical circumstance left the new socialist state with an in-built paradox. It was one that intensified with the passing of time: the political party needs the “gun” to survive—as demonstrated in 1989 when tanks “cleared” Tiananmen Square of demonstrators—but the “gun” does not need the party if it continues on the path of professionalism and away from its peasant class roots—or the “people” it “liberated.” It is to this changed and delicately balanced relationship that the chapter will return in its conclusion.

The lessons arising from China’s republican period are worth pondering, for they set the stage for an appreciation of party-army unity—or, alternatively, the dangers of one seeking ascendency without the other. The two most memorable protagonists in this drama were Dr Sun Yat-sen, known as the father of modern China, and General Yuan Shikai, dubbed the father of the warlords. The first lacked military capability but brimmed with ideology; the second saw military modernization—not ideology—as the path to power.

One Republic, Two Fathers

Sun Yat-sen, a seasoned anti-Manchu revolutionary, was the first president of the Republic of China, proclaimed in 1912. Based on a Western-style parliamentary democracy, it came after the dissolution of over two millennia of dynastic rule. Sun sought to modernize his country as a dignified, democratic, and socially equitable nation under what he called the “Three Principles of the People.” The first principle was nationalism (minzu—“the clan of the common people”); the second was democracy (minquan—“people’s power” or “people’s rights”); and the third principle of mingsheng—“the life of the people”—has been translated as both people’s livelihood and socialism.7 The Guomindang (GMD) or Chinese Nationalist Party, which Sun co-founded, adopted the Three Principles as its guiding ideology. The Chinese Communist Party also accepted this ideology but with its own interpretation, notably the emphasis on socialism. Both the GMD and the CCP have claimed Sun Yat-sen as their common political ancestor. Sun remains to this day a unifying figure between the two competing parties.

Still, Sun Yat-sen as a leader was less potent than his legacy. He did not last long as president—a mere three months—and had limited territorial control of China. He was only a provisional president who lacked the military power of his successor, General Yuan Shikai, a key player in the Xinhai Revolution that brought down China’s age-old system. Prior to contributing to its demise, Yuan helped the Qing dynasty undergo reforms to survive. These included moves toward a constitutional monarchy, but came too late to be realised. The reform that proved most efficacious for Yan was the modernization of the military. It provided him with a model regional army—the Beiyang Army—in the north of China. This army remained under his command even during the early republican period when Yuan managed to exclude from its ranks GMD members. At the same time he sought to undermine the GMD as a party and diminish the power of the elected government. The GMD had yet to control northern China and Yuan retained Beijing as the capital, as it was close to his own power base. General Yuan did, however, appoint trusted “military governors” to the southern provinces in the Yangtze River region in 1913. This enhanced his control and by January 1914, China’s parliament had been dissolved.

This Qing reformer had not only abandoned any pretense at pursuing the revolutionary dream of “people’s power” but was actively reverting to the old system he helped destroy. In December 1915, Yuan Shikai proclaimed himself as emperor and founder of a new dynasty which was to begin in 1916. His reign title would be “Grand Constitutional Era.” This proved to be a serious error of judgment. With his supporters and eight provinces in the west and south, turning against him,8 Yuan Shikai, disappointed and ailing, canceled his accession ceremony. In June 1916 he died at the age of fifty-six.

Thereafter “warlords” with their private armies vied for power, weakening the republican government that had so recently replaced the monarchy. The intent of these regional commanders, however, was not the creation of new states but—like the Warring States of antiquity—unification of the whole country through conquest by the strongest among them.9 However they were all unsuccessful, having failed to implement an effective formula for unification and, in this, party-army relations should have been uppermost in their strategic considerations. Put another way: “In 1911 the revolutionists, with a party but no army, had failed to gain power. Now the warlords, with armies but no parties, were equally incapable of organizing national government.”10

This unsatisfactory state of internal affairs during the Warlord Era of 1916–1928 was compounded in foreign affairs by the terms of the Versailles Peace Treaty at the end of World War I. China, which sided with the Allies three years after the war began, hoped to have German concessions in eastern China’s Shandong peninsula returned once Germany was defeated. Instead, they were awarded to Japan. Although the Allied powers, and especially the United States as the presiding power at the Paris Peace Conference, were blamed for betraying China’s sovereign interests, the matter was more complicated. China’s internationally recognized Beiyang government had engaged in secret diplomacy with Japan in 1918, signing over rights to Shandong province in return for financial assistance. But China was not the only country to sign secret agreements with Japan. Britain, France, Italy, and Russia had done so too. Japan wanted to ensure its wartime efforts would be rewarded by recognition of its claim to the German territory in Shandong and the Pacific islands.

The Chinese delegation at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919 refused to sign the Treaty of Versailles, saying that Japan applied pressure on China to agree to the 1918 loans (despite the Beiyang government’s need to finance its war effort, ostensibly in support of the Allies, but in reality against the southern Chinese revolutionaries), and that Shandong was the spiritual heart of China as it was the birthplace of Confucius. The delegation made an impassioned plea for Chinese sovereignty to be restored and the local press carried news of national humiliation and the betrayal of China by Woodrow Wilson. In the end, the Republic of China made a separate peace treaty with Germany and, through US mediation in 1922, had its sovereignty over Shandong reinstated. Nonetheless, the “Shandong myth of Woodrow Wilson’s betrayal,” to quote Bruce Elleman’s revised history of the Shandong issue,11 had taken root. The Treaty of Versailles was portrayed as a clear indication that China’s rights were not taken seriously, while Woodrow Wilson’s call for national self-determination as a principle for the post-war peace was deemed hypocritical.

This, together with other grievances related to exploitation by foreign powers, Japan’s earlier attempt to turn China into a virtual protectorate through the 1915 “Twenty-One Demands” (which President Yuan Shikai managed to water down), and the weakness of the Chinese government, sparked student protests in Beijing on May 4, 1919. The May Fourth Movement grew in scope to include a wider spectrum of society, including the poor. It fostered the Chinese communist revolution, as Marxism-Leninism represented a progressive ideology that appealed to the politically engaged intelligentsia; while Soviet Russia—the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR)—itself fresh from the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 acted as a practical role model.

Meanwhile, in 1919, the Third Communist International (Comintern) was founded in Moscow. Based on Vladimir Lenin’s teachings that imperialism needed to be vanquished in order to destroy the capitalist system,12 the mission of the Comintern was to unite Communist movements around the world and foment global revolution. It failed in this mission and survived only for the interwar years, but its impact on China was immense. The Comintern organized the Chinese Communist Party and sent its representative to the CCP’s founding meeting in Shanghai on July 1, 1921. The Comintern was also influential in calling for collaboration between communist and national revolutionary parties to overthrow the “imperialists.” This collaboration—or “united front,” as it was known—occurred on two occasions: the first, in 1923–1927, was aimed against the warlords and imperialists; and the second, in 1937–1945, was formed against the Japanese invaders.

While Sun Yat-sen was no Communist he was certainly a revolutionary who now sought a better way to organize his party and unite the country. Impressed by Soviet success, he accepted Comintern advice on setting up a party army and even sent Chiang Kai-shek, who was later to succeed him as GMD leader, to the USSR to learn more about this. The National Revolutionary Amy was formed and through the Northern Expedition of 1926–1928, led by Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, ended the Warlord Era. This represented the first stage of Sun Yat-sen’s ruling strategy, in which a military government was required to end the warlord chaos. Only then, under the GMD’s “political tutelage,” could a constitutional government emerge. Sun’s attraction to the Soviet authoritarian model—that was also anti-imperialist—was aided by Western intransigence in fully restoring China’s sovereignty. The situation was at a stalemate: “Although Western expansionism was checked, little was done to liquidate the treaty system of foreign privilege. Sun Yat-sen’s repeated but grandiose proposals for Western aid in China’s reconstruction got no response.” Nor was Sun able to use the maritime custom’s surplus as a source of revenue: “The treaty powers in December [1923] concentrated fifteen naval vessels at Canton to prevent him from seizing the Customs.”13 That Sun Yat-sen was based in Canton (Guangzhou) represented a further complication in that the international representative of China was still deemed to be in Beijing.

Moscow, by comparison, was keen to help Sun organize his party along Leninist lines—a pyramid structure of local cells at the base and a ruling politburo with its standing committee at the top—to strengthen his position in a still divided China. While the structure was Leninist, the ideology of the GMD remained wedded to the Three Principles of the People in which class struggle played no role. Still, the Chinese Communist Party, which did believe in class struggle, was urged by the Comintern to join the GMD in the first “united front.” It was not asked to act autonomously as an equal partner, but to be subsumed by the GMD. This is what came to be known as “the block within.” Individual CCP members were to join the GMD and in the process infiltrate it. The Comintern believed the GMD to be stronger and therefore more likely to be effective in thwarting the power of the warlords and the lingering presence of the foreign powers. The Chinese Communist Party became torn between obedience to Moscow (which itself was subjected to intra-party criticism of the strategy) and suspicion of cooperation with the GMD. Equally, the GMD was divided between cooperating with the Communists and worrying about their growing influence. As long as Sun Yat-sen lived, the internal divisions were contained. After his untimely death from cancer in 1925, a power struggle ensued with the new GMD leader, Chiang Kai-shek, turning against the Communists.

The year 1927 marked a grim period for Chinese Communists. Thousands were executed first in Shanghai, then other cities so that Communist Party membership in the GMD fell from 60,000 to under 10,000 in that year.14 While the GMD sought to become the recognized government of a reunified China, the fateful year of 1927 was also the beginning of the Chinese Communist Party’s own army. On August 1, Zhu De and Zhou Enlai led a CCP takeover of the city of Nanchang, known as the Nanchang Uprising, with the formation of the first unit of China’s own Red Army that would eventually defeat Chiang Kai-shek’s forces in 1949, and impose a distinctly Chinese version of Communist Party government on the Chinese mainland.

Modifying Marxism

Classical Marxism along with Leninism served as an ideological means to reconstitute China as a unified nation that would rise above the depredations of the past. It would later provide a distinctive socialist identity, under the ideological banner of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought, which was to be defended at all costs. In 1941 Mao called this European ideology an “arrow” targeting the Chinese revolution: “We Chinese Communists have been seeking this arrow because we want to hit the target of the Chinese revolution . . .”15 But the Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels addressed industrialized societies like Britain and Germany that were deemed ripe for a proletarian revolution. It did not speak to China’s largely peasant population. Within the Marxist theory of historical materialism, they belonged to the feudal stage of class struggle. Feudalism came after the first two stages of primitive communism and a slave society, but before the last three: capitalism, socialism and communism. Mao would not let China wait. He modified the Marxist-Leninist “arrow” to aim directly at Chinese conditions: he encouraged a peasant-based revolution. In this he was not the first. Russia offered a clear example of a “feudal” country becoming a post-capitalist one. Mao took the revolution to the countryside, and proceeded to build the Chinese Communist Party and its army from a peasant base.

Mao adapted Lenin’s view of organizing workers through the party in a vanguard role, and—to continue the arrow metaphor—shaped the CCP as the spearhead of the Chinese revolution. While in this respect the Chinese Communist Party was closer to Lenin than Marx, and China had more in common with the predicament of industrially backward Russia than the advanced economies of the West, Mao persuaded his comrades to make yet another deviation from Marx’s teaching. Not only would the revolutionary spark come from mobilized peasants, but it would be conducted by military means. He used the army to win the revolution by surrounding the cities from the countryside, rather than marching on the cities and allowing Chinese workers to “liberate” the nation. The latter course was prescribed by the Comintern and Mao’s rival, Wang Ming, who was one of the “Twenty-Eight Bolsheviks” or “Returned Students” from Moscow. Their influence in the CCP waned when Russian Marxist theory proved no match for Maoist practice and the intervention of the Japanese in the cities during the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945). In 1935 Mao was elected to lead the CCP and this was even endorsed by the Comintern in 1938.

The party succumbed to Mao’s distinctive approach because it worked under the prevailing conditions. What Mao did was to mobilize the peasants as the primary revolutionary class and the countryside as his theater of “people’s war.” In this there was more than practice. “People’s war” represented a distinctive revolutionary strategy that largely bestowed on Communism its battlefield credentials. Mao, the nationalist, was copied internationally by other revolutionary parties—most notably the Vietnamese who successfully overthrew the French colonial power in 1954.

Mao’s revolutionaries could take advantage of China’s strategic depth and vast population to employ a “people’s war” in which they moved among the people like a fish in water.”16 The Chinese Red Army developed from a guerrilla army of peasants into an infantry-dependent force in which guerrilla tactics served a supplementary role. It fought a civil war against the GMD, engaged in the legendary Long March of 1934–1935 in order to escape the GMD’s “encirclement and suppression” campaigns, joined up again with the GMD in the second united front in 1937 to resist the Japanese invasion, then after Japan’s defeat resumed the civil war with the GMD.17 Mao’s Chinese Communist Party was victorious and the defeated GMD under Chiang Kai-shek fled to Taiwan, vowing to come back and fight another day. The Republic of China, which was founded in 1912, continued in Taiwan unto the present. The mainland was proclaimed the People’s Republic of China on October 1, 1949. Chairman Mao stood at Tiananmen Gate on a balcony in front of the Forbidden City, home to China’s past emperors. Mao’s portrait is still to be seen at this gate of the Forbidden City in Tiananmen Square, the very square where the students demonstrated on May 4, 1919, and again on June 4, 1989. The former marked the emergence of Chinese communism as a progressive force. The latter caused it to appear reactionary, even though it was the student demonstrators who were labeled counter-revolutionary (see further on “stability preservation” below).

The irony was that intellectuals, traditionally more radical than peasants, did not benefit from the communist revolution. If anything they were targeted in China’s infamous 1966–1976 Cultural Revolution, being sent to the countryside to work as farm laborers. The idea of a rolling revolution, with “class enemies” learning from the rural people, and “capitalist roaders” like Deng Xiaoping being denounced, was Mao’s solution to maintaining power. His instrument became the “Gang of Four” but he and the gang only succeeded in unleashing another era of disorder. It was the PLA, under Premier Zhou Enlai’s artful direction, that brought China back from the brink of renewed civil war.

As to the peasants, theirs was a difficult role. “Liberated” from the “feudal” dynastic system, they endured famine under Mao’s misplaced optimism in rapid industrialization and collectivization (people’s communes) during the Great Leap Forward (1958–1961), as well as the disruption of the Cultural Revolution. The introduction of people’s communes in 1958 did not sit well with family-oriented traditional China. This disappointment with revolution was not obvious when communist propaganda promised to change the social structure, not just the identity of the “oppressor” as occurred during dynastic cycles. Moreover, the “people’s army” soldiers were taught to be respectful of the peasantry and their property. Paying for produce and helping the farmers, they revealed a more considerate face to the usual destructive effects of armies on the move. “Do not take a single needle or piece of thread from the masses” was one injunction in the rules of discipline; while the “Eight Points of Attention” included speaking politely, not taking liberties with women and not damaging crops.18 By winning the “hearts and minds” of the “masses,” the Chinese Red Army was able to thwart GMD forces through disinformation and enjoy the benefits of a friendly population with local knowledge.

Peasants, being conservative, were not ideal revolutionaries but they did seek to gain land from the wealthy landlords. As matters turned out, it was not 1949 but 1979 that saw individual benefits from effective land reform. Through the Dengist reforms, farming families were allocated a plot of land on which to grow crops that they could sell for profit. This was yet another deviation from Marxist teaching and was known as “socialism with Chinese characteristics” or “market socialism”. Still, Mao did introduce the notion that “market socialism” could be excused as an “early stage of socialism.” Just as China was not deemed ready for revolution by Marxian criteria, but nonetheless prevailed to win the revolution through the “barrel of a gun,” so too it was not ready for “socialism” in a neoliberal world order but had nonetheless emerged as a great power with a modernizing military.

Persisting with the PLA Prefix

The Chinese Communist Party in its own constitution states that it “persists in its leadership over the People’s Liberation Army and other armed forces of the people”—the others being the paramilitary People’s Armed Police (PAP), the reserves and the militia. This comes from the military’s role in CCP victory. Political power did indeed issue from the gun barrel. Even in an age of net-centric warfare requiring highly specialized professionals the “gun” retains its political name—the People’s Liberation Army or PLA. This name has become the overarching prefix for all the services: the PLA Army (PLAA), the PLA Navy (PLAN), PLA Air Force (PLAAF), and the PLA Second Artillery Force (PLASAF, the strategic missile force). However, these are not simply the “military” side of the “civil-military” equation. They straddle both. An institution responsible for the “management of violence” (see below) that has the prefix “People’s Liberation” cannot be considered devoid of political roles.

In the West, “civil-military relations” refers to the interaction between civil and military authorities in the pursuit of national strategy. The relationship privileges the civil component but respects the military. This finds a parallel in China’s traditional recognition of the superiority of wen (the civil side of the equation) over wu or (the martial—elaborated in Chapters 2 and 7). Carl von Clausewitz, in Vom Kriege (On War, published in 1832), positioned war as a “continuation of policy by other means.”19 The military needed to be subordinate to its political masters, and not the other way round: “Subordinating the political point of view to the military would be absurd, for it is policy that has created war. Policy is the guiding intelligence and war only the instrument, not vice versa.”20 This may seem logical but, as Bernard Brodie, reminds us, the risk is letting “war take over national policy.”21

Not only can war dictate policy when national fervor overtakes prudence, but the military viewpoint can erode civil liberties in democracies if it is without political restraint. The most renowned theorist on civil-military relations, Samuel P. Huntington, was in fact speaking of democracies when applying his theories. In The Soldier and the State, he says that it is necessary to “develop a system of civil-military relations which will maximize military security at the least sacrifice of other social values . . . Nations which develop a properly balanced pattern of civil-military relations have a great advantage in the search for security.”22 Huntington’s approach is one that values the military for its professionalism in the “management of violence.”23 The element of “professionalism” in Huntington’s civil-military relations can be transferred to authoritarian systems. Increased expertise has led China’s military modernization but the political nature of the armed forces remains a strong component. Indeed, the management of violence is not all that the PLA is expected to perform. There are military operations other than war (MOOTW), as we saw in Chapter 3, and broader policy issues such as defending economic security.

Besides Huntington’s paradigm, another popular perspective on civil-military relations concerns the symbiotic model. Perlmutter and LeoGrande explain this as “a system of high dependence more than of mutual benefits . . . Symbiosis also implies modifications of each other’s behavior for purposes of substance and survival.”24 In the twenty-first century this has led to the placing of security at the heart of realist formulations of the state, especially for great or rising powers that need to control interests well beyond their immediate borders.

For China, “civil-military relations” go further than differentiation or symbiosis and enter the realm of integration. On the one hand, there is the larger purpose of society and its politics to consider when thinking about civil-military relations; and on the other, China has a narrower version of “civil-military relations” called “party-army relations.” This means that it is not a case of the military instrument serving the policy goal, or the general taking direction from the statesman, but the civilian expecting the soldier to become involved in politics. Moreover, as a people’s army—that is, a Communist army—the PLA is embedded in the party’s organization. As a consequence, party and military leadership often overlap. Dongmin Lee captures this idea when speaking of “empirical cases of some of the military elites as members of the Central Politburo, which exercises enormous power in Chinese politics. At the same time, many civilians are involved at the highest levels of military oversight.”25 This is reflected in the whole concept of political commissars alongside military commanders, and the requirements for soldiers to engage in political study. Both the GMD and the CCP adopted the commissar system from the Soviet Union. In the CCP’s case, it expanded the influence of commissars so that they appear at all levels from the company upward. That PLA officers are usually CCP members as well shows the extent to which integration occurs and impacts on promotion.

This highlights a basic distinction between China and the West in the area of civil-military relations: in the West it refers to the state and its armed forces, whereas in China’s case the Chinese Communist Party—not the state—controls the military. In the structure of the “revolutionary state,” although the CCP dominates policy in China (the Standing Committee of the Politburo being the highest political authority), there is a parallel national system of government which is often referred to as “the state” by Chinese.

As the parallel state system shows, a loyal army is not the only guarantor of CCP survival. China’s Constitution is also supportive. The CCP’s leadership is clearly stated in the Preamble: “Under the leadership of the Communist Party of China and the guidance of Marxism-Leninism and Mao Zedong Thought, the Chinese people of all nationalities will continue to adhere to the people’s democratic dictatorship and the socialist road . . .”26 Another mechanism at the party’s disposal is the Central Propaganda Department which controls the media. The Central Organisation Department needs to be noted as well. It is responsible for senior personnel appointments in government and throughout the institutions regulating society, including education, justice, and religion. Such pervasive social control should in itself act as a guarantee of the party’s survival. But the armed forces are the protective and coercive means for ensuring this.

While the party rules supreme over the military, China’s reforms have left their mark on this sector too. Indeed, national defense was identified from the outset of the reform era as one of the four key modernizations, the others being agriculture, industry, and science and technology. Efforts to create a more professional military were also part of a wider move by Deng Xiaoping to separate the party from government. To this end, a state Central Military Commission was also formed. Curiously, it mirrored the party CMC and even had the same membership. Under such circumstances of duplication rather than differentiation it was difficult to depoliticize the armed forces. Instead, a more capable and better funded PLA emerged. In effect, the military became more “expert” while remaining “red.” It could easily have become more confused. But the gamble paid off when loyalty to the party prevailed on June 4, 1989. This was the tragic date, noted above, when the PLA was called upon to “clear” Tiananmen Square. The crackdown led to an unknown number (perhaps a thousand or more) civilian deaths, as well as international notoriety at a time when the tide had turned against communism in Eastern Europe. Communist China, unlike the soon defunct Soviet Union, had survived. From a strategic perspective, civil-military relations when expressed via party-army relations had rescued the PRC. By comparison, the USSR’s civil-military relations had seen a decline in their party-army character when the Soviet Union’s last president, Mikhail Gorbachev, undermined the military’s prestige by permitting media criticism of the military and introduced economic reforms that diverted resources from the “military-industrial complex.”27

China has gone in the opposite direction, increasing the annual military budget by double-digit figures. The result has been a more professional armed force designed to protect a nation of vast dimensions and far-flung interests without compromising the political system. As the promulgation of the New Historic Missions for the PLA shows, support of CCP rule has remained the number one mission in the twenty-first century: “the army must provide an important force guarantee for the Party to consolidate its governance status.”28 This is followed by three others. The predictable mission of defense of China against traditional and non-traditional threats is listed as second. The third, of protecting China’s expanding interests, and the fourth mission of contributing to world peace and mutual development, reflect the new circumstances of China’s global rise. In this sense, China retains the PLA as a loyal party-affiliated military but also expects it to perform the regular missions of other militaries around the world.

As noted from the New Historic Missions, the military’s mission to keep the party in power means that the PLA prefix remains firmly in place. It signifies a party-army, just as the PRC is often termed the party-state. To highlight this point, it is worth noting that the state’s Ministry of National Defense is less powerful than the party’s Central Military Commission which controls the PLA. The Ministry, instead, occupies itself with such tasks as engaging in diplomacy with foreign militaries, sending defense attaches abroad and publishing the defense white paper to improve understanding and promote transparency of China’s defense policy. Admittedly, a state Central Military Commission was established through the reforms, but as shown above this is identical to the party CMC. The dual CMC in fact allows the PLA to be dual-purpose—both a party and a state army. There is no question, however, that it is the party that pulls the trigger if it comes to war. But what if it does not come to war?

“Stability Preservation” and the Revolution

Since the spring of 1989 when pro-democracy students and supporters occupied Tiananmen Square, the party leadership graphically demonstrated the dialectics of revolution in favor of the status quo. In other words, a revolution is not only an insurrection against the ruling class but an act of violence to preserve the stability of the revolutionary state and its vanguard party. This occurred when PLA troops and tanks forcibly imposed martial law. “Stability preservation” (weiwen) is an abbreviation for the full phrase, weihu wending, which means “to preserve or safeguard stability.”29 This has become the official rhetoric to describe the party’s coercive functions. Their unprecedented centralization under Xi Jinping entails not only the chairmanship of the party and state CMCs but also that of the new National Security Commission (NSC), established to oversee the nation’s security internally and externally, thereby integrating traditional and domestic security issues. Xi Jinping emphasized at the first NSC meeting in 2014 the connections between national security, economic development, and the vanguard party. On the economy and security he said: “Development is the foundation for security, and security is a condition for development. Only a prosperous country can have a strong military, and only a strong military can protect the country.”30 On the vanguard party, Xi maintained allegiance to the socialist cause, saying that national security was needed “to consolidate [the party’s] ruling status, and to rally and lead the people to hold fast to and develop socialism with Chinese characteristics.”31

This shows that it is not only the PLA that needs “to consolidate the ruling status” of the CCP as its first mission, it applies across the board to domestic agencies too. Indeed, the greatest security risk may not come from beyond China’s borders but from within. It is within the domestic arena that continued “consolidation” is called for. This has been reflected in domestic security spending exceeding for the first time the official budget of the PLA: funding for “stability preservation” has reportedly increased in the decade 2002 to 2012 from $16.2 billion to $111 billion.32

The main domestic armed force is the People’s Armed Police. With greater emphasis on professionalism for the PLA, the reintroduction of the PAP in the 1980s for internal security functions made sense. However, the PLA’s political character—in effect, the military arm of the CCP—meant that it could never entirely be removed from internal security functions. Hence both PLA and PAP forces are engaged domestically, and the PAP comes under the dual leadership of the State Council and the Central Military Commission. Its role has been especially highlighted in responding to episodes of unrest in China’s internal strategic theaters, Tibet and Xinjiang. In 2009, legislation was passed mandating the mobilization of PAP to deal with a range of contingencies from riots to natural emergencies. China’s 2013 defense white paper describes the People’s Armed Police as having “guard-duty, emergency-response and counter-terrorism capabilities,” as well as having specialized forces that “include those guarding gold mines, forests, hydroelectric projects and transportation facilities.”33 In general, it is expected that the PAP would play a primary role in internal security and the PLA a secondary role, unlike the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown when the PLA’s role was a primary one.

Besides the PAP there are numerous other police and intelligence agencies, as well as internet censorship, that serve party control. However, the ideological basis of control also contains the seeds of the party’s potential destruction. A future political upheaval could see the security forces supporting the demonstrators or internal factions if the CCP is perceived not only as unduly harsh,34 but also a liability for the country. With a greater emphasis on anti-corruption, awareness of the problem is not only heightened but also entails a more questioning attitude as to the legitimacy of the party. In turn, Chinese elites have become increasingly worried over areas of governance that remain publicly sensitive, including health and environmental issues.

This leads to the quandary of the political party needing the “gun” to survive but the “gun” not needing the party if it continues on the path of professionalism and rule by law. What then is the party-army relationship in China at a time of retention of socialist loyalty but increasing emphasis on the promotion of expertise? It would be naïve to expect a Western-style civil-military relationship without the much-feared colored revolution of the Georgian or Ukrainian type. A more likely scenario is a dialectic process that has been played out in the past in center-provincial relations. Perhaps China’s tumultuous past demonstrates the value of greater decentralization and less coercive stability preservation. Hu Shi, an intellectual debating China’s problems in the 1920s, challenged the ancient Legalist belief that unity could only be forged by force. He advanced the liberal view that it was this approach that caused warlordism and its antidote would be greater provincial autonomy within a federal framework. He was responding to Chen Duxiu, a co-founder of the CCP, who claimed in an essay in 1922 that a strong and centralized party would bring unity and stability to China in the face of warlord militarism.35 While disagreeing on the merit of centralizing or decentralizing power, it seems that both were seeking a Chinese rather than specifically Marxist solution to stability. The role of wen over the wu (the civil over the martial), rather than focusing on class struggle and dialectical materialism, was evident in their emphasis on civil order. As Arthur Waldron explained, in Hu Shi’s case:

he saw military authority as fundamentally weak when compared to the civilian and, furthermore, blamed the lack of strong civil government in China not on ambitious soldiers but on degraded intellectuals. Traditionally the moral arbiters of society, China’s intellectuals had become dependent and opportunistic (zougouhua, literally, “running-dog-ified”).36

If the French Revolution inspired Xi Jinping, as noted at the start of this chapter, then it remains for the Chinese Revolution to reveal if it comes in any color other than red. Like Zhou Enlai who, when asked as to the significance of the French Revolution, replied that it was too early to tell, so too with the Chinese Revolution which is never won but renewed.

The problem with a dialectical system—upon which both Marxism and Daoism are founded—is that nothing is fully preserved, neither stability nor instability. Both are interacting through cycles of change (see further Chapter 7 on strategic culture). Is Xi Jinping a master of dialectical change or a captive of the delusion of stability? Jerome Cohen has called Xi’s style of leadership “legalist Leninism” in its combination of the ancient and modern hardline philosophies.37 It is entirely within President Xi’s agenda, however, to centralize power in order to reposition China not only as a Confucian, Legalist, or Leninist state but a Daoist one in which the Chinese Dream is dialectically posed as an identity transformer. Such a development recalls Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream in which the dreamer cannot be sure if the dream is the dominant reality: “Am I a man dreaming I am a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming I am a man?”38 In other words, Xi Jinping has positioned China to become quite unlike its prevailing self-image of being united and strong externally, even if corrupt and environmentally polluted internally. Instead, the dream of unity is found in loosened controls that foster greater self-reliance beyond the center and hence commitment to improved local governance and managing the environment. In the end, power or strength is by necessity a multifaceted set of social and material relations. This societal mobilization, however, still requires control of dominant national narratives in case they move beyond the limits needed for party-state preservation.

Channeling Nationalism: From Reactive Identities to Hacker Activism

The ongoing revitalization of the CCP’s political power has included its ability to shape the main narrative of China’s re-emergence as a unified state in the international order. Ironically, since early communism disavowed nationalities as primary political affiliations in favor of class-based “soviets,” this has involved the careful use, channeling and control of nationalism. Nationalism can be used by governments for nation-building, domestic political gain for political elites and regime maintenance, or to support assertive foreign policies. Ethnicity and nationality can be mobilized through the conscious use of language and history to create a sense of identity which can be manipulated, used, and abused (see Chapter 4). At the worst, a nation can be defined as a “group of persons united by a common error about their ancestry and a common dislike of their neighbours.”39 Differences between groups may be deemed more important than shared traits. In the current period, it is not surprising that modern democracies are highly sensitive to the nationalist claims made by other states with which they interact, but often remain uncritical of their own assumptions and prejudices. Nations and states are not given, natural objects: they are imagined and created, go through patterns of evolution and change, and sometimes become extinct or are transformed beyond recognition.40

In modern China, the unequal treaties discourse of national humiliation had been resuscitated from the 1990s onward as a tool of social cohesion. One instigating reason was a need to find a new focus for national unity after the shock of the 1989 Tiananmen demonstrations and their bloody aftermath. Another was to fill a vacuum: economic growth was found not to be enough to meet the needs for many young and “middle-class” Chinese. While education, media, and even internal tourism have been used to emphasize a particular version of national identity nurtured by the government, their effectiveness should not be exaggerated. Surveys assessing nationalism and identity in China have suggested that:

While attachment to one’s national identity does tend to produce support for the regime, how effective it is at doing this depends on the substance and meaning of each individual’s national identity. It is apparently most effective among Han Chinese, and among those who believe China’s main priorities are national defense and the preservation of order. We might venture to say that the state gets the most political support ‘bang’ for its nationalism ‘buck’ among those who hold to these conservative social purposes.41

Chinese nationalism from 1990s has also been seen as partly a reaction to heightened tensions with the United States and the continued role of the China threat thesis. Such nationalist anti-US reaction is often moderated by high-level leadership decisions on foreign policy. It is perhaps ironic that the “new nationalism” is partly energized by traditional culture. Elements of neo-traditionalism and conservatism, including China’s cultural heritage and its past pre-eminence in Asia, are used as symbols of national pride, mobilized to bolster CCP rule. In short, Confucianism has become more useful than Marxism. However, “Chinese national sentiment means more than simply supporting the state” or particular governments, indicating limits to how far these deep structures can be controlled.42

China’s rise—often viewed as inexorable—has attracted widespread commentary around the world. Far from the China threat thesis subsiding, it gained a new lease of life. There is the fear that the demands of sections of its nationalist youth have contributed to an increasingly assertive and revisionist government. This is paralleled by fears that the PLA leadership may retain a more assertive nationalism than mandated by China’s foreign policy (2010–2016), as exemplified by periodic statements by “hawkish” commanders as well as the popularity of the “strong China” sentiments expressed by Xi Jinping.43

However, generalizations about the how effective these influences are on Chinese public opinion need to be handled carefully:

Young people belonging to the “post-1990” generation were more likely to see the maritime disputes as matters of national dignity and humiliation, but they were also less likely to approve of (and more likely to oppose) the use of military force. This calls into question the commonly expressed concern that, under the influence of the party state’s “patriotic education” campaign that emphasizes China’s history of humiliation and victimization, China’s young people are a dangerously nationalistic generation. Their worldview may be profoundly shaped by “patriotic education”, but this does not, at this point, lead them to disproportionately favour militaristic foreign policies.44

Threat perceptions have been partly offset by sustained cooperation in security areas, including annual bilateral meetings with the United States, non-traditional security cooperation with ASEAN, engagement in the ARF, EAS, the Shangri-La Dialogue, and by an improved leadership dialogue between China and Japan from late 2014. At the very least, a new “strong China” narrative remains embedded within the “China Dream” slogan of the fifth-generation leadership of Xi Jinping.

What status quo powers see as Chinese nationalism may really be a growing rejection of tutelage at the hands of external powers. China cannot only “say no” but can also reject criticism based on “facts” and “norms” that it disputes. Beijing may wish to be more than a mere stakeholder in the Euro-American international order, its level of responsibility defined by external commentators. If so, the old-fashioned notions of sovereignty and nationalism may no longer serve twenty-first-century purposes. In this context, the PRC needs to support a multiethnic and multinational society based on Chinese inclusiveness, but also needs to reconceptualize its place in the changing global system. New versions of tianxia (“all-under-Heaven”) suggest inventive approaches to these problems (see Chapter 4), but remain insufficient to lay down the basis for the “harmonious world” order hoped for under Hu Jintao’s administration.45

In part, this “new nationalism” is an effort by the current leadership to channel the heightened expectations of a diverse group of young Chinese activists who are no longer content with the PRC’s phase of “speak softly” and “do not confront” diplomacy. These ultra-nationalists, often expressing themselves through the internet and hacker activism, reject US domination of the global order and distain meek responses to regional disputes with Japan, Vietnam, and the Philippines. Although the West is largely concerned about China’s cyberwar and security capacities, this is just one part of the new equation of public debate.46 Within China, as the internet and the information economy expands, there is also an increasing effort by the PRC to govern this domain which can be exploited by a wide range of actors. These vectors of influence are a “nascent public sphere” including political activists, think tanks, academic groups, overseas corporations and information services. It is also a venue for formulations from the so-called “new left,” neo-Maoists, and neo-Marxists that support nationalism to enhance China’s ability to govern its affairs and chart a truly independent foreign policy.47 Chinese hacker groups include a wide spectrum of views, ranging from anti-Western nationalists through to dissidents highly critical of current PRC policies.48

One section of this spectrum includes professional government propagandists who use public signals to manipulate domestic and foreign audiences. It has been suggested that some ultra-nationalist voices are in fact part of the PLA’s external propaganda arm, taking extreme positions to mobilize patriotic nationalism and to make the PRC’s assertive claims seem more reasonable in comparison, notably in reaction to South China Sea disputes or Japanese claims over the Diaoyu/Senkaku islands.49 Likewise, assertive or aggressive views might be intentionally leaked by military officials (either retired or speaking informally) to signal to key audiences in the United States and elsewhere that an issue has reached a critical level of sensitivity for Chinese elites. Although this form of psychological and political warfare is a formal part of PLA doctrine,50 it is one voice among many in contemporary China.

Some of these new constituencies rejoice not just in China’s economic success, but celebrate its technological and military achievements. Pride in the PRC’s space program, its advanced fifth-generation fighter program, and its new navy are displayed openly, rather than smothering these achievements under the slogan of “peaceful development.” Even the PLA has joined in this tide, with web videos celebrating its technological achievement and hard power.51 Likewise, a range of Chinese video games—such as the Glorious Mission (also called Mission of Honour) game created jointly by the PLA and the Wuxi Giant Interactive Group—show a willingness to valorize the PLA’s military capacities, even with the United States as the enemy.52 We should not be surprised at this, nor exaggerate its importance. Logically, due to potential maritime clashes and the undecided fate of Taiwan, Chinese military institutions would need to engage in contingency planning for small to large conflicts with key regional states such as Japan, Vietnam, and Philippines, and by extension their allies, or supporters, especially the United States. Even Brazil, in recent security exercises to defend the Amazon against a “foreign” power, may have chosen the United States as their putative enemy, perhaps in the desire to benchmark itself against the dominant military force in the Western Hemisphere.53

Different strands in this nationalism may be viewed as “soft nationalism,” reclaiming China’s Confucian values and humanitarian orientations, in contrast to the “hard nationalism” focused on economic and military power.54 Moreover, these trends suggest that nationalism in the current information age is not something readily controlled by governments. Though hacker and ultra-nationalists are partly the product of “patriotic education” campaigns that emphasize China’s earlier humiliations, they also express a genuine desire to identify with a state that is successful, powerful, and has an assured future. National pride and patriotism are not solely the products of communist propaganda. Xi Jinping, by tapping into the China Dream narrative, is not simply attempting to use nationalism; he is trying to shape it as well. This could be a dangerous exercise: riding a dragon is hard enough; catching it by the tail is even more perilous.

However, we should not exaggerate these dangers. The regular celebration of the end of the war against Japan in early September is one example of how reactive nationalism has been managed. Each year, this event commemorates Chinese victory against “Japanese Aggression” and world fascism, and is a time of reflection on the atrocities committed by Japan. As such, it provides an effective platform for criticism of any re-emergent Japanese militarism and an implicit invitation for a public apology from Japanese leaders. As in the past, statements by Japan’s Prime Minister Shinzo Abe in 2015 were seen as insufficient and evasive.55 Meanwhile, China showcased its latest weapons in a military parade to mark the seventieth anniversary of Japan’s defeat in World War II. What is interesting, however, was some of the muted commentary even by Chinese reporters. While approving of the event itself, one commentator suggested that a military parade might be a holdover from the past that does present modern China in the best light.56 At the same time China announced a reduction of its troop levels by 300,000 as part of its modernization program, presenting the parade more as a transparency demonstration of confidence rather than aggression. If the tenor of this event was any indication, nationalism in China could not be characterized as a fully compliant tool of the government or a dangerous tiger about to be unleashed.

The reality for the PRC is that its power as a modernizing state has evolved out of the ability to construct a nineteenth- to twentieth-century narrative of Chinese nationalism. China has engaged in a profound transition from a dynastic regime into a troubled Republic and then into the People’s Republic of China. This was done following periods of intense crisis: late nineteenth-century Western interventions and then the war with Japan. The Civil War, the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution, and the turbulence of 1989 are powerful reminders of how painful and costly this process has been. China’s reconstitution as a modern socialist state has been a long and difficult path, involving the balancing of economic development and socialism, as well as reshaping relations among the party, the people and the military. These unifying narratives emphasize a formal place for the PRC as a multinational “people’s” republic led by the CCP. In the twenty-first century this has also involved an implicit “social contract” that has recognized the need to balance capitalism and socialism alongside the demands to “leapfrog” into the information age.57

It is not surprising that contemporary China remains allergic to foreign interventions, direct or indirect, on its sovereignty and statehood. In reaction to these concerns, the PRC has sought to expand its comprehensive national strength (see Chapter 6), channel nationalist tendencies, and engage in sustained multilateral dialogue on regionalism. If China can shape a cooperative, or at least permissive, regionalism in East Asia, followed by a stronger role in the emerging Eurasian and the Indo-Pacific agendas, this would lay the basis for a sustainable role as a global power. Ironically, it is China’s success as a rising power that has complicated this trajectory. The China threat thesis is not based on narrow tensions over territorial claims, but wider fears over the levels of influence, wealth, and multifaceted power that the PRC and the Chinese population now wield but which no single government can fully control or contain. Looking at it from a Chinese perspective, it is more a case of pursuing the “China Dream” than awakening a threatening force. This leads to the next chapter’s investigation of comprehensive national power in a world that can be just as chaotic and competitive as any Legalist—past or present—might expect.

Notes

1. Mao Tse Tung, “Report on an Investigation of the Peasant Movement in Hunan” (March 1927), Selected Works, Vol. I (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1966), 28. Reference to Confucius, note 4, 56.

2. “Xi Jinping Looks Ahead to New Era of China-France Ties,” CCTV.com, March 28, 2014, http://english.cntv.cn/2014/03/28/VIDE1395981962032239.shtml.

3. “Xi Jinping Looks Ahead to New Era of China-France Ties,” CCTV.com.

4. Quoted in Jeremy Page, “For Xi, a ‘China Dream’ of Military Power,” The Wall Street Journal, March 13, 2013.

5. Page, “For Xi, a ‘China Dream’ of Military Power”; Chris Buckley, “Vows of Change in China Belie Private Warning,” The New York Times, February 14, 2013.

6. Mao Tse-tung (1938), “Problems of War and Strategy” (November 6, 1938), Selected Works, Vol. II, 224.

7. Wasana Wongsurawat, “Sun Yat-sen,” in Demystifying China New Understandings of Chinese History, ed. Naomi Standen (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2012), 166–7; Don C. Price, “Three People’s Principles,” in Historical Dictionary of Revolutionary China, 1839–1976, ed. Edwin Pak-wah Leung (New York: Greenwoord Press, 1992), 412–14.

8. John K. Fairbank, Edwin O. Reischauer, and Albert M. Craig, East Asia: The Modern Transformation (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965), 650.

9. Arthur Waldron, “Warlordism,” in Historical Dictionary of Revolutionary China, 1839–1976, ed. Edwin Pak-wah Leung (New York: Greenwoord Press, 1992), 457. See also, Arthur Waldron, “The Warlord: Twentieth-Century Chinese Understandings of Violence, Militarism, and Imperialism,” The American Historical Review 96, no. 4 (October 1991), 1073–100.

10. John K. Fairbank, Edwin O. Reischauer, and Albert M. Craig, East Asia: The Modern Transformation (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965), 652.

11. Bruce A. Elleman, Wilson and China: A Revised History of the Shandong Question (Armonk and London: M. E. Sharpe, 2002), Ch. 5.

12. See Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism, 1963 [1917], http://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1916/imp-hsc/. Lenin originally wrote this essay in 1916; published it in Russia in 1917; and it appeared with a new Preface in the Communist International no. 18, in 1921.

13. Fairbank, Reischauer, and Craig, East Asia: The Modern Transformation, 679.

14. Lyman P. Van Slyke, “The First United Front,” in Historical Dictionary of Revolutionary China, 1839–1976, ed. Edwin Pak-wah Leung (New York: Greenwoord Press, 1992), 119.

15. Mao Tse-tung (1938), “Reform Our Study” (May 1941), Selected Works, Vol. III, 22.

16. Mao wrote in 1937: “Many people think it impossible for guerrillas to exist for long in the enemy’s rear. Such a belief reveals lack of comprehension of the relationship that should exist between the people and the troops. The former may be likened to water the latter to the fish who inhabit it. How may it be said that these two cannot exist together?” “The Political Problems of Guerrilla Warfare,” On Guerrilla Warfare, trans. Samuel B. Griffith III (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2000), Ch. 6.

17. For diverse interpretations of Mao’s strategic balance in gaining advantage over the GMD by the timing his anti-Japanese campaigns, refer back to Ch. 2.

18. Mao Tse-tung, “On the Reissue of the Three Main Rules of Discipline and the Eight Points for Attention—Instruction of the General Headquarters of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army” (October 10, 1947), Selected Military Writings, 2nd edn, 343.

19. Carl von Clausewitz (eds. and trans. Michael Howard and Peter Paret), On War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), Book I, Ch. 1, section 24.

20. Clausewitz, On War, Book 8, Ch. 6B, 607.

21. Bernard Brodie, “A Guide to the Reading of On War,” in Clausewitz, On War, A Commentary, 646.

22. Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State—The Theory and Politics of Civil-Military Relations (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Pres, 1957), 2.

23. Huntington, The Soldier and the State, 11.

24. Amos Perlmutter and William LeoGrande, “The Party in Uniform: Toward a Theory of Civil Military Relations in Communist Political Systems,” The American Political Science Review 76, no. 4 (December 1982): 784.

25. Dongmin Lee, “Chinese Civil-Military Relations: The Divestiture of People’s Liberation Army Business Holdings,” Armed Forces & Society 32, no. 3 (April 2006): 445.

26. Preamble of the 1982 Constitution of the People’s Republic of China, http://www.hkhrm.org.hk/english/law/const01.html.

27. Dale R. Herspring, Civil-Military Relations and Shared Responsibility: A Four-Nation Study, Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 2013, Ch. 8.

28. Hu Juntao, “Historic Missions of the Armed Forces in the New Period of the New Century,” 2004, codified in the CCP Constitution, as a 2007 amendment (see US Department of Defense, Annual Report on the Military Power of the People’s Republic of China. Submitted to Congress [Washington, DC, 2008]).

29. See Qian Gang, “Preserving Stability,” China Media Project, 2012, http://cmp.hku.hk/2012/09/14/27074/.

30. Shannon Tiezzi, “China’s National Security Commission Holds First Meeting,” The Diplomat, April 16, 2014.

31. Tiezzi, “China’s National Security Commission Holds First Meeting.”

32. Tiezzi, “China’s National Security Commission Holds First Meeting.”

33. State Council Information Office, PRC, The Diversified Employment of China’s Armed Forces, White Paper (Beijing, April 2013).

34. See Lynette H. Ong, “Breaking Beijing? The Government’s Harsh Crackdown Could Crack the Regime,” Foreign Affairs, June 2015.

35. Arthur Waldron, “The Warlord: Twentieth-Century Chinese Understandings of Violence, Militarism, and Imperialism,” The American Historical Review 96, no. 4 (October 1991), 1094–96.

36. Arthur Waldron, “The Warlord: Twentieth-Century Chinese Understandings of Violence, Militarism, and Imperialism,” 1095–96.

37. Jerome A. Cohen, “The Insecurity Underpinning Xi Jinping’s Repression,” The Washington Post, September 23, 2015.

38. Zhuangzi, Ch. 2 (trans. Lin Yutang), http://www.religiousworlds.com/dao/cz-text2.html.

39. Hans Kohn in Miron Rezun, Europe and War in the Balkans: Towards a New Yugoslav Identity (London: Praeger, 1995), 21.

40. See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflection on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991).

41. Benjamin Joseph Darr, Nationalism and State Legitimation in Contemporary China (PhD Dissertation, University of Iowa, 2011), 176, http://ir.uiowa.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2771&context=etd.

42. Darr, Nationalism and State Legitimation in Contemporary China, 177.

43. Michael Richardson, “Troubling Signs of the Rise of Chinese Ultra-Nationalists,” The Sydney Morning Herald, February 13, 2013; Willy Lam, “China’s Hawks in Command,” Wall Street Journal, July 1, 2012; Willy Lam, “Fierce Debate Erupts Over the ‘China Dream’,” Asia Times Online, April 29, 2013.

44. Andrew Chubb, “Exploring China’s ‘Maritime Consciousness,’ in Public Opinion on the South and East China Sea Disputes (Perth: US Asia Centre, 2014), 10.

45. Dellios and Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order: From Peaceful Rise to Harmonious World.

46. The 2013 edition of the PLA’s authoritative doctrinal document, The Science of Military Strategy, acknowledges the existence of cyber units within the PLA. They include PLA “specialized military network warfare forces” for network attack and defense; “PLA-authorized forces” that are specialists in civilian organizations (e.g. the ministries of State Security and Public Security); and “non-governmental forces” that can be organized network warfare operations. PLA Research Department of Military Strategy, The Science of Military Strategy (Beijing, Military Science Press, 2013). See also, Joe McReynolds, “China’s Evolving Perspectives on Network Warfare: Lessons from the Science of Military Strategy,” China Brief 15, no. 8 (April 16, 2015).

47. For the early role of a rising mass culture as one aspect of this new nationalism, see Zhang, “Nationalism, Mass Culture, and Intellectual Strategies in Post-Tiananmen China,” 109–40. For diverse leftist intellectual projects, see Li He, “China’s New Left and Its Impact on Political Liberalization,” EAI Background Brief, no. 41, August 26, 2008. Chinese Neo-Marxists remain strongly critical of the capitalist tilt in China since Deng Xiaoping, see Chinaworker.info, “China’s Grassroots Left Resurgence,” May 10, 2014, http://chinaworker.info/en/2014/05/10/7055/.

48. For one example of anti-communist hackers tacking over control of a cable TV station for a short time, see Tom Porter, “Anti-Government Chinese Hackers Hijack TV Station,” International Business News, August 2, 2014, http://www.ibtimes.co.uk/anti-government-chinese-hackers-hijack-tv-station-1459474.

49. See Andrew Chubb, “Propaganda as Policy? Explaining the PLA’s ‘Hawkish Faction’ (Part Two),” China Brief, August 9, 2013; Peter Mattis, Analyzing the Chinese Military: A Review Essay and Resource Guide on the People’s Liberation Army (Washington: The Jamestown Foundation, 2015), 60–61.

50. Mattis, Analyzing the Chinese Military, 58–59.

51. See for example the website China Military Online (http://eng.chinamil.cn), sponsored by the PLA Daily, though this aspect is embedded alongside reports of positive diplomacy and cooperative international projects.

52. Molly McHugh, “Chinese Video Game ‘Glorious Mission’ Chooses US Army for Its Enemy,” Digital Trends, May 18, 2011, http://www.digitaltrends.com/gaming/chinese-video-game-glorious-mission-chooses-us-army-for-its-enemy/.

53. Simon Romero, “Brazil Military Drills to Defend Amazon,” New York Times, November 8, 2014.

54. Daniel A. Bell, “Global Viewpoint: ‘Soft’ Nationalism Is Good for China,” Christian Science Monitor, February 4, 2015.

55. Darryl Lupton, “Viewpoint: Can the ‘Apology Standoff’ Between China and Japan Be Resolved?” Culture Mandala: Bulletin of the Centre for East-West Cultural and Economic Studies 11, no. 2 (September–December 2015): 19–23; “Abe’s Mixed Apology,” The Wall Street Journal, August 16, 2015.

56. See the closing comments by Yang Hui, anchor and producer of CCTV’s Dialogue: “Political work can also be viewed as a legacy of the Soviet Union, so is the use of military parade to show one’s country’s armed forces. Well that involves even more discussions about whether it is time for China to reconsider what we should inherit from the past.” CCTV, “China’s V-day parade,” Dialogue, September 3, 2015 (59:14 mins)—quote at 58 mins, http://english.cntv.cn/2015/09/03/VIDE1441262528468666.shtml (accessed September 20, 2015).

57. Allen Carlson, “What the West Doesn’t Get About China,” The Diplomat, April 21, 2012; For jumping technological generations as an ongoing strategy, see Eric A. McVadon, “China’s Navy Today: Looking Toward Blue Water,” in China Goes to Sea: Maritime Transformation in Comparative Historical Perspective, ed. Andrew Eirkson, Lyle J. Goldstein and Carnes Lord (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2009), 374–400; Jason Fritz, “How China Will Use Cyber Warfare to Leapfrog in Military Competitiveness,” Culture Mandala 8, no. 1 (October 2008): 28–80.

Chapter 6

From Comprehensive National Power to Competitive Regionalism

China and its leadership circles have a wide range of analytic tools to chart their future. Some are based on sophisticated models of political interaction (constructivist and liberal traditions), others have evolved from Marxist and developmentalist modes of analysis, some emphasize a wider conception of “comprehensive national power,” and still others reflect on the long history of China as a culture and civilization but seek revised formulations of international relations.1 How do current and future leaderships in China view the preferred role of their country in world affairs? One way this can be answered is by assessing how they view power. For China, the concept of power is not readily divorced from core ideas of legitimacy and governance, an emerging view of the innovative capacity of individuals and society, and responsibility as the main requirement for leadership.2

As we have seen, power is a complex, multilayered concept with many dimensions. This chapter will explore two main threads in the analysis of modern China’s power. The first comprises the institutionalized and measurable aspects of power. These are codified through notions of military, economic and “soft power” as both influence and attraction in the international system.3 Since the early 1980s when Deng Xiaoping instructed Chinese scholars and institutions to assess China’s power in the context of the evolving security environment, Chinese governments have sought to ensure that they enhanced China’s “comprehensive national power” (CNP, zonghe guoli). CNP, which is assessed across a wide range of dimensions, seeks to measure power potentials and the “balance of dynamic forces” rather than just static resources (see further below).4 Second, there are wider narratives of power operating at the historical, national, and regional levels. These grand narratives contain embedded metaphors, images, fears and aspirations that shape much of the ongoing domestic and international debate on what China is doing, what it should be doing, and its further trajectory through the twenty-first century.

Agreement on levels of comparative and comprehensive power, however, are not consistent across different think tanks due to the diverse indices being used, and do not even provide a secure ranking among nations. Between 1936 and 2010, at least 68 formulas of national power have been made, with 37% being researched by Americans and 16% by Chinese groups.5 China itself has conducted numerous analyses, run by units associated with the PLA, by the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and by universities, thinks tanks and individual scholars. All agree that China is indeed on the rise in CNP terms, even if its ability to sustain economic growth is debated and its soft power levels disputed (see further below). Likewise, there are political differences behind some of these assessments. These reflect the desire to see China as relatively weak or overly strong for particular purposes and for different domestic and external audiences. Or they may be affected by whether coercive or cooperative factors dominate in the analysis. Aside from these issues, the different levels or “echelons” of power and power disparity can be more important than a mere place in a power ranking; thus a second place “great power” with a range of power modalities may still be well behind a developed superpower.6

Beyond these viewpoints, however, there is often a linked, implicit world narrative, indicating how China might shape regional and international orders, influencing billions of people beyond its own borders. Expectations, hopes and fears of China are part of these tangled perceptions. The “China story” is impacted by numerous external actors reacting to China and its projected images and messages, in turn influencing leadership circles and public opinion within China. The complex internal-external debate contains a mixture of hard-headed analysis, strategic signaling, genuine communication, propaganda and politico-psychological operations. In these areas, the United States is at least as active as the PRC. In the middle of this haze of “information,” China has not confined itself to simply reacting to the past, but it is preparing for the future.

The search for a widely based security is implicit across the political behavior of China’s historical dynasties, which sought to ensure the well-being of the people, control borders, choose suitable officials, and sustain a military sufficient for offense and defense (see Chapter 3). In the modern period, early trends ranged from the nineteenth century self-strengthening movement (against the West and then Japan) through to the phased pattern of developmental priorities under Deng Xiaoping, likewise suggesting the need to manage carefully a range of state and societal factors that would lead to a stronger China. It was for this reason that economic, scientific and technological development were at first given higher priority than military modernization. Scientific improvements helped support rapid industrialization, in turn laying the basis for improved defense industries. In the formulation of the previous president, Hu Jintao, China needed to enhance its comprehensive national power to meet its development needs, to play stronger roles in the UN, help shape international affairs, and sustain a civilizational dialogue that would help chart a new “harmonious world” order.7 Xi Jinping’s “China Dream” has taken this active foundation further. It has evolved gradually beyond its origin as a political slogan into a set of policies supporting the vision of a strong state with a capable military, ready to project power regionally and influence the future global order. This includes sustained internal reform designed to bolster the political power of the CCP. Slogans such as “the road to renewal” (fuxing zhi lu) and “strong nation dream” (qiang zhongguo meng) suggest that Xi Jinping has sought to capture, rather than be captured by, emerging forces of domestic nationalism.8 Likewise, Xi Jinping’s deployment of the “four comprehensives” indicates a continued emphasis on internal prosperity and domestic unity, which requires continued administrative reforms, strengthening of rule of law and assurance of the leadership role of the party.9

Embedded in these approaches has been the idea that power need not be only coercive, but can engage cooperative, persuasive and “attractive” aspects of states, cultures and ideologies. “Soft power,” as we have noted in the Introduction, is the ability to shape the preferences of others through attraction and persuasion, largely based on a country’s culture, political values and the perception of its foreign policy. For Chinese scholars, the analysis of soft power has become a growth industry, partly because it had been perceived as an area where China has been weak in terms of regional and public diplomacy. This was largely due to the impact of the persistent China threat thesis in the 1980s and 1990s, resurrected again due to territorial disputes in the South and East China seas through 2013–2015. The effort to boost China’s soft power has been aligned with official efforts to extend Chinese influence regionally and globally, reduce threat perceptions, and take on a new role as shaper, rather than just a receiver, of international values and norms. This has not been an easy process, since soft power mainly relies on vigorous civil society resources working in the long-term rather than top-down government initiatives (see further below).10

Though the effort of the Chinese government to boost its soft power has had some effect, the wider pattern of engagement and influence through transnational networks (multilateral and multitrack diplomacy) has had considerably greater influence. This is where there has also been a rise of new conceptions of cooperative power relationships: that is, a co-relational process engaging different actors and diverse types of power. Beyond the well-known “Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence” (formalized by 1953), these policies were part of the preparation for a world of “structural multipolarity,” which Chinese writers and security advisers had been anticipating since 1986.11 Later formulations involved policies focused on good-neighborliness (mulin zhengce, especially important in relation to Southeast Asia), Hu Jintao’s “harmonious world” policy (hexie shijie), and the “community of shared destiny,” first articulated in 2007 with regard to Taiwan but re-emphasized in Xi Jinping’s presidency for the wider region of East Asia, due to its continued economic integration and related security interests. But Xi Jinping’s proposals did not stop at East Asia. Logically, the “community of shared destiny,” in an interconnected world, had to go global. Likewise, the issue of cyber security needed more than an East Asian community to address its needs. In December 2015, at the second World Internet Conference held Wuzhen in East China, President Xi called on “all countries to jointly build a community of shared destiny in cyberspace.”12 The term has also been used bilaterally when Xi Jinping, on his visit to fellow rising power Brazil, said that China and Brazil had become a “community of shared destiny.”13 Much like the strategic partnerships which China pursued from the early 1990s, communities of shared destiny are multiplying. They are also reflective of global governance concepts. For China these include global co-governance (quanqiu gongzhi) and state co-governance (quanqiu gongzhi). They are related terms that have increasingly informed China’s foreign policy. Global co-governance embraces the idea that “a wide array of actors, not restricted to nation-states, manage issues of common concern in multilateral institutions and international treaties.”14 However:

To achieve this goal, state co-governance is the primary form of governance. Amounting in practice to no more than inter-state multilateral cooperation, state co-governance is to be accomplished by multilateral institutions, which have to be reformed in ‘democratic’ ways, with great powers assuming principal responsibilities for institutional redesign.15

These policies claim to seek multilateral and layered cooperation, promoted via win-win strategies and creating shared interests. The “democratic” element focuses on the idea of many states shaping the global agenda, with an emphasis on the UN General Assembly as well as groups of rising and middle powers that can work with China on particular issues. Moreover, the integration of China as a major exporter and importer across a huge range of production chains, such as food, energy, raw resources, and industrial goods, has led Beijing to see global regimes as a means of ensuring its own security. Progress has been through engagement with the WTO (from 2001), the World Bank, the IMF, the G20, a growing commitment to the UN conferences on the environment and sustainable development, and somewhat limited engagement with the WHO (World Health Organization). China has also been an important founding member of the SCO and a key dialogue partner with ASEAN, though there are still delays in cooperative energy mechanisms, in spite of early framework groupings trying to rationalize energy access and pricing. On this basis, China has moved beyond earlier phases of “maxi-mini” engagement (maximizing rights and benefits but reducing binding responsibilities) or “state-enhancing functionalism” (focusing on trade access rather than limiting agreements) toward the active use of global institutions to augment its influence and engage in soft-balancing in relation to US influence.16

This has evolved into the attempt at framing a pattern of diplomacy based on a “new type of great power relations” with the United States, and the portrayal of China through its Belt and Road Initiative (the Silk Road Economic Belt and the Twenty-first Century Maritime Silk Road), as a “new type of rising power” (xinxing daguo guanxi). In this scenario the PRC would be a rising power that does not seek to threaten others but is providing transnational public goods to help global development. The foreign policy formulation of a “new type of great power relations” has been promoted with limited success from 2012. In character with much of China’s foreign policy formulations, it involves:

1. no conflict or confrontation, through emphasizing dialogue and treating each other’s strategic intentions objectively;

2. mutual respect, including for each other’s core interests and major concerns; and

3. mutually beneficial cooperation, by abandoning the zero-sum game mentality and advancing areas of mutual interest.17

This includes an effort to find areas of mutual cooperation in a positive-sum approach to regional and global affairs. China has begun to provide funding for its regional developmental agendas (through the AIIB, the BRICS Development Bank, the Silk Road Fund and evolving from 2010 the China-ASEAN Interbank Association); it also wants to seed “early harvest” projects to show that the Maritime Silk Road is in ASEAN’s interests.18

Such plans seem benign until they are placed within the competitive context of Asia’s balance of power or are seen as a means of eroding US strategic preponderance. They then become zero-sum strategies, operating at the expense of American, Japanese and Indian influence, in spite of China’s persistent “win-win” diplomatic terminology. PRC leaders, likewise, are sensitive to the “balance of forces” (liliang duibi) in the distribution of power, especially when great powers form poles of differing interests, when alignment among these forces change, and when relative power changes necessitate adjustments in foreign policy.19

Behind the flurry of formulations there is one big issue: the impact of a developing China on the power balance in Asia, the Indo-Pacific, the Eurasian zone, and then globally. How will China act once it has become a developed state with the world’s largest economy and, eventually, Asia’s most capable military (even taking into account the “rebalance” of the United States to engage the Indo-Pacific region)? This question has been answered through several filters: the China threat thesis (based on the PRC as the new “superpower” challenger); via the problematic idea of China as a localized “regional” hegemon (dominating East Asia); as an invited partner into a new “concert of powers” that involves some level of voluntary power sharing (developed in different ways by Susan Shirk, Coral Bell, and Hugh White); or as an acculturated stakeholder in the global system (the preferred Western option).20 Others see China as a struggling giant burdened with unresolved internal tensions, environmental crises, and lack of democratic credentials. This “troubled giant” metaphor suggests caution over China’s multidimensional growth and increasing power.21

Chinese thinkers and politicians have a long history of assessing hegemonic systems, but recent analysis has focused on economic empowerment and on the dimensions of soft power as a necessary component of development. The fifth-generation leadership of Xi Jinping, however, has more in common with the teachings of antiquity that call for a proper mixture hard and soft power (see below), and with the father of modern international relations—Hans Morgenthau—who identified the diverse elements of national power,22 than simply a fascination with soft power. This turn toward mobilizing both hard and soft power toward greater international influence means China may no longer be “biding its time” (Deng Xiaoping’s policy of taoguang yanghui), since it has already widened its power base across a number of dimensions. However, taoguang yanghui at a deeper level suggests a long-term orientation of meticulous planning, comprehensive preparation for the future, and making sober and calm judgments of current trends (shi, see Chapter 2), rather than using short-term diplomatic expedients or aiming at revenge for past wrongs.23 What would constitute “sufficient power” for China’s development and national security through to 2049—the hundredth anniversary of the founding of the PRC when it expects to be modern socialist country—needs careful consideration if Beijing is to avoid confrontation and conflict.

Comprehensive National Power: Description and Aspiration

National power becomes comprehensive when it embraces economic factors, education, science and technology, international influence, plus diplomatic and military indices in calculating the power of a nation-state.24 The concept includes fundamental geographical, resource and population strengths, plus economic, defense and foreign affairs capacities.25 It thereby mirrors one strand in ancient Chinese thought that includes a wide range of factors in strategic calculations: effective governance, political decision-making capability (seen in the modern context as operationalized political and soft power), the wise choice of officials, internal unity, and the well-being of the people.26 Since the early 1980s China has sought to develop metrics of its relative national power as a tool for government policy. What is unique about CNP is the use of diverse indices to generate a single number designed to allow a relative ranking of national power, thereby suggesting areas needing improvement or priority development.27

There have been many Chinese projects along these lines.28 In one assessment of the PRC’s comprehensive power, its overall strength had grown rapidly through the 1980s and 1990s:

China has risen to the second world power. In 1980, CNP of China accounted for 4.76 per cent in the world’s total, lower than that of the former Soviet Union and Japan, ranking fourth in the world. But by 1998, it rose to 7.78 per cent, rising by 3.04 percentage points. The relative gap between China and the United States has been narrowed. CNP of China was only one-fifth (21 per cent) that of the United States in 1980, one-fourth (25.5 per cent) in 1990. But by 1998, it was one third (34 per cent) that of the United States.29

Later assessments using similar data sets indicated that China was fifth in rank for CNP by 1978, rose to third in 1990, and attained second rank by at least 2000 (retaining this rank probably until 2020), with its share of world CNP rising from 8.7% in 2000 to 14.2% in 2010.30 A 2015 study on sustainable national power (SNP) in Asia included CNP components that showed China well ahead of its Asian neighbors, including Japan, Russia, and India, but its relative power was moderated by sustainability issues, where it ranked only twelfth in overall environmental factors.31

The systematic application of comprehensive national power, however, is complicated by a lack of an agreed definition, different methodologies, and limited knowledge of how these power factors interact with geopolitical considerations to yield strategic outcomes. We can see this in the efforts at defining CNP by Hu Angang and Men Honghua:

In a word, CNP may be simply defined as the comprehensive capabilities of a country to pursue its strategic objectives by taking internationally and core factors that contribute to strategic resources, strategic capabilities and strategic outcomes, with the strategic resources as the material base.32

It is notable that these definitions locate qualitative strategic choices alongside quantitative resource and material factors. This combination is also advanced by the PLA’s Academy of Military Science, where basic factors include the “quantitative and qualitative extent of territory, natural resources, economic power, diplomatic inﬂuence, military capabilities and cultural inﬂuence.”33

Most of these calculations for CNP are complex and partly arbitrary in the indices chosen, as well as in their relative weighting and calculative methods. We can gain an important insight into the qualitative thinking behind some Chinese analysis by considering Yan Xuetong approach in his 2008 study. Yan included well-known aspects such as military and economic resources, but saw cultural factors as contributing to both hard power and soft power dimensions.34 Material power, however, remains potential until operationalized in a political context. The important insight from his modified division of military power, economic power, and cultural power is that the multiplying effect of political power operationalizes diverse resources to new levels. This “combined” soft power includes elements of good governance, trust and honesty internationally, but also reserves a special place for strong political leadership.35

Other countries have also engaged in a systematic evaluation of their multidimensional power ranking, especially Japan (whose early researches from 1980 on comprehensive national security may have inspired Chinese thinking) and, more recently, India, which had developed the National Security Index (NSI) to explore not only power at the national level but also human security, thereby informing policy from a broader perspective. Revised on a continuing basis, the NSI had been published from 2002. Through 2002–2007 it showed the United States as ranking first, followed by China, with India rising from tenth place in 2002 and then to fifth place by 2007.36 The ranking was innovative in seeking to include human security, ecological and developmental issues, but was criticized as inconsistent and leading to counter-intuitive outcomes: for example, Norway as the third top ranking country in 2006 and 2007.37 Later national assessments focused on qualitative combinations of traditional indices including GDP, FDI, tax revenue, defense spending, and strategic assets. These approaches remain relevant to current tensions in modern Asia. In 2015, the National Bureau of Asian Research announced a three-year project whereby the national power of major Asian states would be assessed, based on resources, strategic culture, and “how resources and culture come together to affect a country’s ability to achieve certain outcomes, particularly in the context of interstate rivalry in the broad Asia-Pacific region.”38 The project would include an assessment of the benefits and vulnerabilities of innovation as a means to allow a state to “leapfrog” its national power.39

These reassessments of national power were spurred on in part by China’s sustained economic growth in the 1980s and 1990s, and by the application of “purchasing power parity” (PPP) calculations from 1992 onward, which suggested that the PRC had a much larger GDP than was the case using normal currency exchange rates. Growth in the Chinese economy was driven by expanding exports and imports, increasing reserves of foreign currency, and its intensifying pattern of investment in overseas markets, including energy-rich countries in the developing world. Through 2010–2015 China’s real growth rate remained relatively high (ranging from 6.8% to 10.4%), though falling below 8% growth from 2012 onward.40 By estimates made by the World Bank since 2011, using the International Comparison Program and PPP, China’s economy had been seriously underestimated.41 In the near future China may contribute more to global growth than the United States, Japan, or Europe, with China becoming larger than the total US economy by 2020. There still remains uncertainty over exact comparisons:

In terms of purchasing power parity, a measure economists use for cross-country comparisons, China’s GDP surpassed that of the United States in 2010 or 2014, depending on whether one relies on historical statistics from the Maddison Project or data from the World Bank’s International Comparison Program. Yet if one relies on the World Bank Atlas method, China’s economy won’t likely outgrow the United States’ until 2019.42

However, what was at stake in these revised viewpoints was not only the reported past but the projected future. How far China could sustain its growth ahead of other rising powers (such as India or Russia) became of major concern to those observing the balance of power in global and Eurasian terms. Even more important, the point where China would overtake the collective size of the US economy was taken as an essential prognostication for a revised international order. By 2012 commentators began to suggest that based on PPP figures the Chinese economy would pull ahead of the US economy by 2020, with China emerging as a much larger economy by 2030 or earlier. These projections were thereafter revised, based on IMF figures, with some authors saying that China could begin to outstrip the United States in total terms before 2018, even though the US GDP per capita would remain much higher than China’s.43 In one analysis, China’s GDP (adjust for PPP) would exceed that of the United States before 2020 and be sizably larger by 2030, with India coming in as the world’s third largest economy, well ahead of Japan, during the same timeframe. If taken seriously, this analysis suggests that China’s economic capacity would dwarf other Asian and European states, and lead to a sustained power shift in relation to the United States and Russia.44

This is one among many forecasts, with other projections suggesting the rapid rise of India, sustained by higher growth rates than China through 2015–2020.45 However, assessments linking economic power and comprehensive regional influence are complex and such projections of uninterrupted (though slowing) growth have been challenged.46 Concerns over the slowing growth rate, inefficient state-supported enterprises, and whether the country can continue to generate the millions of jobs needed in the coming decade are symptomatic of China’s transition into a new stage of stabilized development. Like Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, before it, the PRC has shifted from relying primarily on the export of manufactures to developing the services sector. In 2015 services accounted for almost half of China’s GDP while manufacturing fell to 41%.47 Policies directed toward a more mature and sustainable economy are evidenced in efforts to improve the banking sector, moves toward an “eco-civilization” whereby the environment’s value is integrated into the economy, and increased emphasis on investment abroad, notably in the Belt and Road Initiative. The new Silk Road projects are part of a wider investment strategy, one which David Shambaugh has called “soft-power ventures with serious money.”48 So China’s economy is set for its next stage of development, but it is doing so in a global context that includes other power factors.

Soft Power Polemics

Great powers leverage comprehensive national power to influence the international environment. Soft power influences wider international audiences, shaping perceptions of legitimacy and influencing the “permissive” environment in which economic and military power is deployed. In other words, soft power cannot be considered in isolation from its hard power counterpart with which it interacts. An effective soft power agenda has to be more than superficial marketing, national branding, or propaganda. As argued by Joseph Nye, strong states that focus on shared public goods and norms that have wide utility for the global commons (stable balances of power, an open international economy, freedom of seas, control of disease transnationally) can sustain their leadership, but will need to provide extra resources (economically, diplomatically or militarily) to achieve these goals.49

This diversified foundation for power is seen as the true currency of a twenty-first century which remains adverse to traditional inter-state wars. This multipronged strategy has reshaped the PRC’s diplomatic agenda since 1984, converging in the 1990s on Western conceptions of soft power and public diplomacy.50 Though as first developed by Joseph Nye as a tool for analyzing the fluctuations of US influence, soft power is now a significant analytical tool applied to many great and middle powers.51 Since soft power was seen as a major advantage for the United States and a gap in China’s potential power, it soon became a dedicated area of research for Chinese scholars and institutes. The concept was sometimes expressed through the idea of “soft strength,” denoting future potential and opportunities for international influence.52 The number of articles by Chinese and international scholars on China’s soft power and related policies has increased markedly, with several hundred already appearing in print between 1994 and 2007.53 To a considerable extent, this was a reaction to the development of soft power as a useful description for a range of behaviors not readily captured by realist depictions, allowing an asymmetric strategy to close the power gap with the United States in terms of regional influence. Likewise, many writers emphasized parallels with China’s earlier strategic thought, including its long civilization legacy and humanist elements (within its Confucian and Daoist traditions) as attractive sources of soft power.54

The PRC government has become increasingly adept at weaving soft power into its wider foreign policy narratives. Recent debates have suggested that military and economic power indirectly provide elements of attraction that add to soft power dimensions; economic growth and an attractive business environment can be attractors for some states.55 In the case of military forces, their indirect, soft power attraction might include recognition of technical capacities (bolstering national and symbolic prestige), their role in UN peacekeeping operations or disaster relief, use of their medical services in developing countries (e.g., the visits of the PLA Navy’s hospital ship Peace Ark to the Indian Ocean, Latin America, and Africa), or diplomatic goodwill visits.56 This linkage of soft power to a calibrated use of military capacity is formalized under the PRC’s “military operations other than war” (MOOTW), discussed in Chapter 3. The ability to maintain an effective and modern military signals the capacity of a nation to support its wider foreign policy objectives, suggesting that they are worthy of attention in regional frameworks, shared training, or as a source of technology transfer. This has been demonstrated in China’s continuing military cooperation with Russia, the Central Asian states, as well as selective dialogues with Latin America, Southeast Asia, and South Asia. It has engaged in joint exercises, foreign officer training in China, as well as the sale of cost-effective armaments.57

Official efforts to boost China’s soft power have been designed to extend Chinese influence regionally and globally, reduce threat perceptions, and take on a new role as shaper, rather than just a receiver, of international values and norms. Soft power strategies can be used to establish influence on the preferences of other states (using policy networks, norm-creation, and narratives of political action), and use cultural and political credentials to create coalitions that legitimate particular nation roles.58 Soft power includes media and research dimensions that create the knowledge-production networks which provide essential information and inform political viewpoints. Divergent US, Japanese, Chinese, Indian, and European media, publishing houses, journals, universities, research centers and government information channels compete for space in global information flows. Different national streams tend to tell different stories—as evidenced in Chinese claims that Western media have dominated and distorted perceptions of China externally. Part of this strategy focuses on multitrack public diplomacy aimed at shaping the opinions of audiences overseas. China has gone through a sustained effort to build alternative media and global networks. Best known are CCTV (China Central TV with diverse language stations), Radio China International, as well as the English language publications of Global Times, China Daily and the Beijing Review. China has also developed its own internet domains and search engines. Perhaps best known are Chinese films, like the award-winning Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, which show how successful at internationalization China can be with its entertainment products. This is not surprising in view of the film industry generally being a prime candidate for soft power attraction: America’s Hollywood and India’s Bollywood being the obvious examples. The desire to influence international audiences has also been supported by numerous friendship associations and societies, plus the funding of Confucius Institutes to spread Chinese culture and language, with over 480 institutes operating in one hundred countries around the world. In spite of emerging criticism (see below), these societies and institutes remain influential, supporting positive views of China in Africa, Latin America and the Middle East.

Serious problems remain in China’s soft power agenda. The first of these are problems of quantification and ranking across different systems, with China receiving low scores in Western analyses. One of the key insights of soft power is that perceptions matter, both domestically and in terms of how other states and populations perceive power, its strategic assessment and legitimate use.59 External assessments of China’s soft power suggest that it may still be relatively limited. A UK-based survey of soft power in 2011 added factors of business/innovation and education to the more traditional areas of culture, diplomacy, and government (political values) as outlined by Joseph Nye. In this global ranking of soft power the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, and Australia ranked as the top five, while China was twentieth, Brazil twenty-first, and India twenty-seventh in rank. Countries may perform comparatively well in some areas but poorly in others; for example, China was seventh on culture and educational indices, but lower across all other indices including business/innovation, government, and diplomacy.60 Populist assessments of soft power, such as those regularly run by Monocle magazine (using fifty factors such as diplomatic strength, media presence, international events, cultural missions, and foreign student numbers), did not even include China or India in the top ten; in 2013 Germany was first, the United Kingdom was second, the United States third, and Japan fifth.61 Another survey conducted in 2015 (using government, culture, education, global engagement, enterprise, and digital factors) showed the United Kingdom, Germany, the United States, France, Canada, and Australia at the top, with China only thirtieth in global scores. This last survey noted that: “Despite significant investment in soft power resources, China’s record on human rights, press freedom, as well as perceptions of Chinese foreign policy, all weigh on its soft power.”62 Likewise, when sustainability issues (including environmental management and biodiversity) are included in power assessments, China’s total sustainable national power (SNP) remains higher than its Asian neighbors, but suffers from serious lags in renewable resources, quality of life and education.63

These accounts suggest that spending in key areas, such as China’s emphasis on public diplomacy, may have only limited impact on its soft power in the short term. Soft power resources are important in projecting influence, but need to be based on clear objectives and strategies on resource usage. Confucius Institutes, for example, have become increasingly criticized as tied to official PRC policy, as lacking intellectual freedom, and as having non-transparent hiring practices (points debated especially in Canada, the United States, and the European Union). The Chinese government may have focused on boosting Chinese language and Confucian culture as relatively safe mechanisms that do not complicate the government’s secular, socialist orientation. Buddhist networks across Asia are another area where China may begin to gain extra influence, but this has only recently begun with some support for major international conferences (the World Buddhist Forum is headquartered in Wuxi, China), plus targeted aid programs or people-to-people diplomacy with neighboring states.

Beyond this, Joseph Nye has noted that soft power is a long-term project based on civil society resources as much as government initiatives. Likewise, mixed signals across different power domains may undermine soft power strategies. Such is the case of the Philippines: opening a Confucius Institute will not offset tensions over territorial and EEZ claims in the South China Sea.64 Fears of covert motives are hard to remove in spite of diplomatic statements emphasizing a win-win outcome. Caution and cynicism concerning PRC’s “deep agenda” hover over major Chinese initiatives—including One Belt, One Road which has attracted US, Australian, and Indian criticisms of its intentions. The fear is that such initiatives are leading to increased dominance of local Central Asian economies, and that Chinese engagement in Africa and Latin America is edging out European and US competitors. Investment and aid directed toward Africa is especially seen as largely aimed at extracting primary resources with limited returns when it comes to transfer of technology, employment or skills. This needs to be weighed against the benefits to the economy as a whole that accrue from the scale of Chinese investment in infrastructure.

A more entrenched problem has been that soft power strategies may not always be seen as equitable “positive-sum” processes. Chinese soft power may give it a competitive edge in the long-run across Asia, since even in win-win scenarios the more powerful state may gain more than its partners. The huge China-sponsored projects will enhance the PRC’s economic and strategic leverage across the Indo-Pacific while restraining opposition from the United States and its main treaty partners. Such concerns have been debated in earnest in South Korea, Australia, and Indonesia, all of whose publics are highly concerned about any deepening of strategic conflict between the United States and China, with negative scenarios ranging from the return of hot wars in Asia through to a new regional cold war.65 Ironically, Beijing’s efforts to increase soft power had increased threat perceptions of China abroad. The issue may not be so much about the rise of China as such but about how it rises, with uncertainty over the speed of change, ideological transition, and leadership predictability impacting the international system.66

It should be remembered that soft power is by definition a process of influence, depending on attraction and cooperation rather than any direct use of “carrot and sticks.” In Joseph Nye’s original formulation soft power does not directly include economic inducements or aid unless these are part of the wider process of attraction based on “non-tangible” resources such as culture, institutions, and values.67 Sheng Ding in particular has argued that China’s efforts to boost its soft power are likely to make it less of a revisionist power and draw it more smoothly toward the existing norms of international order.68 From this point of view, soft power strategies are part of a process in which Chinese elites have much to learn and much to gain.

Soft power is crucial in shaping great power narratives in the long term. Under conditions of globalization and global information flows, it is often the nation “that tells the better story” that can sustain its comprehensive national strength, its foreign policy, and a more supportive international environment.69 Combinations of hard, economic and soft power create a new narrative of “smart power.” As suggested by Joseph Nye: “For a rising power like China whose growing economic and military might frightens its neighbors into counter-balancing coalitions, a smart strategy includes soft power to make China look less frightening and the balancing coalitions less effective.”70 Part of this fresh narrative is a shift from regional confrontation toward an inter-regional dialogue, one that supports a functional multipolarity in which China will be a leading state without the risks of pursuing global hegemony.

From Competitive Regionalism to Functional Multipolarity

Chinese elites have long considered the cost of deploying and projecting power, and carefully assessed the necessary economic and societal foundations for comprehensive national power. Internationally, China’s power is determined by a capacity to influence the behavior of other states within a global system largely structured in the twentieth century, before China had re-emerged as a unified and powerful nation. This experiential reality required a comprehensive and flexible approach to power, one that was attuned to changing international conditions.

The concept of rising powers evolved out of economic assessments. Developing states became sources of global investment and sustained growth. This was especially the case with China, India, and Brazil. There emerged the idea of a select set of “rising powers” with the economic power to sustain greater diplomatic, political and military capacities at the global level. The rising powers phenomenon continued into the twenty-first century and has dramatically changed prevailing and future global power-balances.

Andrew Hart and Bruce Jones have effectively defined the essential features that would make a state a rising power in the global system:

• Strong economic resources with some diversification

• Military and political power resources or potentials

• A fair level of internal cohesion

• Ability “to contribute to the generation of a revised international order”

• Aspire to a more influential role in world affairs.71

Beyond this we can add a set of extra features that would give such states the aspiration and capacities to begin to change the global system: namely, a discernible role as a regional power and involvement in regional organizations; membership in the UN Security Council or aspiration to such a role; strong engagement with the G20 and global financial institutions; possession of nuclear capability/potential capability or other advanced technologies; strong indigenous research and development capacities; high levels of foreign currency reserves; and a robust diplomatic presence globally. China certainly fulfills the main and extended criteria for a rising power, though the degree to which it wishes to revise the international relations system rather than “free ride” on it has been debated.72 These trends have increased under the current conditions of globalization, as noted by Andrey Rozhnov:

What is the most important and challenging process that influences everyone today? Undoubtedly it is globalization. And what is one of the most striking consequences of globalization for world politics? The rising economic and political power of some developing countries in the system. And one cannot deny that China is the best example of this.73

It is precisely from the active roles of these rising powers that a multipolar world might emerge, even if in a more diverse multi-actor system, with power and knowledge diffusion toward non-state actors.74

This trend has been partly channeled through the formation and evolution of the BRIC group, an acronym created by Jim O’Neil at Goldman Sacks that reflected its initial membership of Brazil, Russia, India, and China. It conducted its affairs through informal meetings of foreign ministers from 2006, but evolved into a summit process by 2009. Then in 2011, it became the BRICS with the formal of addition of South Africa. BRICS has been criticized as little more than a loose dialogue among divergent, emerging economies. There are also essential differences among these five states. These include democratic verses authoritarian, disputes over currency-setting aiding Chinese exports, Brazil’s concerns over South African tariffs (such as on chicken imports), and military tensions between China and India: even if they did try to cohere more effectively there are no guarantees of continued long-term economic growth based on past performance.75

However, when it comes to greater coherence as a group, BRICS has performed well. It has intensified its dialogue and agreements, and through 2012–2016 showed a willingness to undergo further institutionalization of its cooperation. Recent developments include the creation of a virtual (online) secretariat, plus a business council and a scientific research center, facilitation of bilateral technological transfer (e.g., nuclear power technology for South Africa), as well as meetings of National Security Advisors from 2013.76 From 2012, via the Delhi Action Plan, the group set a strong agenda that began building a shared platform in relation to enhancing the G20, linking the concept of a “green economy” to wider patterns of sustainable development and poverty eradication, and opened up new areas of energy cooperation dialogue.77 One further key agreement is the Contingency Reserve Arrangement (CRA). Designed to overcome insufficient long-term financing and reduced FDI, it allows BRICS members to draw quickly from an established fund, beginning with $100 billion, $41 billion of which has been provided by China. This has led to the creation of the New Development Bank (NDB). Operational in 2016 and headquartered in Shanghai, NDB will move away from the use of the US dollar and reduce the group’s reliance on the IMF. In this, BRICS does have a strategic dimension, even if not in military-security terms: it could well “challenge Washington’s supremacy over the global economic order.”78 Taken together with the Belt and Road Initiative and its supporting Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB), which also opened for business in 2016, there is—at the very least—a diversification of responsibility for the development of the global economy.

With South African mediation, the BRICS grouping has also sought to engage more deeply and broadly with Africa, inviting its leaders to the 2013 meeting. Likewise, there has been growing cooperation with the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO), with parallel agenda emerging out of the shared summit in July 2015, focused on “counter-terrorism, ensuring stability and enhancing global economic development.”79 There followed an informal meeting of the Russian-led Eurasian Economic Union, suggesting to one commentator that this was a decisive step toward a multipolar world order using coordinated Eurasia-wide policies as a foundation.80 Within the SCO itself, attention has focused on facilitating the overland new Silk Road (within the Belt and Road Initiative) and related projects. Chinese perceptions of the BRICS project remain positive and forward looking, seeing it as “a new model for multilateral cooperation” that will help coordinate members’ engagement in global affairs, ranging from investment in Africa to improved security cooperation.81

Implicit within these debates on an emerging multipolarity is the degree of relative decline of the United States. This is a crucial factor, with several writers suggesting that this decline has been exaggerated, leading to an erosion of primacy but not ending its superpower status.82 Singapore’s Prime Minister, Lee Hsien Loong, during a visit to Central Party School in Beijing, noted that the United States was “not a nation in decline,” and that it “is an enormously resilient and creative society,” which “attracts and absorbs talent from all over the world.”83 From this point of view the United States retains the features of a superpower, but is suffering from a contested and declining hegemonic role in the international system. Others take these arguments further and suggest that we are about to enter a multipolar period, giving the rising powers more scope for independent action, but also greater global responsibilities that they may not be ready to assume—individually or as a group.84 This projection has been complicated by fears of an inherent instability in multipolar power systems (as in the great European powers down to the end of World War II), and the idea that due to globalization and complex interdependence there has been a considerable diffusion of power into other institutions (NGOs and INGOs) rather than individual states in the twenty-first century.

For China, these deliberations are crucial in guiding its current and future trajectory as the foremost rising power. American commentators realise there are implications for their own country’s future. Writers such as John Mearsheimer suggest that the logic of great power relations will force a declining global hegemon and a rising regional power into conflict: he sees this “tragedy” in progress with intensified conflict between China and United States becoming inevitable unless urgent steps are taken to avert this trend.85 This view argues that the principle of power transition will force China into a contest for hegemony. In contrast, China-watcher Michael Pillsbury suggests that hawks within the PRC have been planning for this transition since at least 1949, with a “One Hundred Year Marathon” leading to Chinese dominance of the global system by 2049, thereby “wiping clean” past humiliations.86

These claims are made regardless of China’s ideological criticism of hegemony and hegemons (ba), a term which has a complex history and should not be translated simply as leader or as tyrant.87 Classical Chinese analysis recognized at least three forms of governance: the true sage-king as the best (wang), the hegemon acting as lord-protector (ba) using power to ensure stability and, least preferred, the tyrannical use of superior force or might (qiang).88 Investigations of the Warring States period suggested that a hegemon could at best retain a period of relative stability, sometimes by running peace conferences designed to support the status quo, at other times by building alliances against rising states such as the Qin.89 In modern China the term “hegemon” has been used to criticize the Soviet Union, the United States, and Vietnam when it invaded Cambodia in 1978. For these reasons Chinese official statements completely reject hegemonic, unipolar, or superpower designations for the future role of the PRC, seeing such roles as immoral, imperialistic, and dangerous. Xi Jinping’s speech before the United Nations in September 2015 once again reiterated the need for a “new type of international relations” focused on mutual cooperation and benefit, noting that superpower rivalry in the past had caused the Cold War and global insecurity.90

When viewed from the perspective of the China threat lobby, however, a period of multipolarity would only be a stepping stone to full hegemony, with the PRC already ahead of Japan and Russia and at some stage pulling ahead of the United States. For Michael Pillsbury, this is linked to the logic of the evolution of comprehensive national strength, whereby a multipolar period will yield to a new unipolar order driven by economic trends.91 Commentators such as Larry Wortzel have suggested that the track of enhanced comprehensive national strength leads in the end to the ability to compel other countries (qiang zhi li).92 Early projections by the Chinese Academy of Military Sciences (in contrast to Chinese civilian estimates) had suggested a future rise of China’s comprehensive national power that would allow for the possibility of a real multipolar order. Pillsbury’s extension of this analysis suggested that China might equal the US in CNP by 2020, though these later estimates were apparently confidential policy calculations that were not openly published by the Chinese, and were not accepted by Chinese commentators such as Li Zhongcheng.93

These “great clash” narratives are at best simplistic, importing twentieth-century conditions into the twenty-first century. First, multipolarity is perceived in different ways by Russia and China. China does not see it mainly as a tool to reduce US power in Eurasia, unlike contemporary Russia, but rather as a means to increase its cooperative global influence and take on greater international responsibilities.94 It is for this reason that official Chinese reports often use the term “multilateralism” (duobian zhuyi), focusing on cooperative rather than the power-transition and competition implied by “multipolarization” (duojihua).95 The short-term outcome of this transition toward multipolarity is indeed the reduction US hegemony, but in the long run it would also allow a strong China to transform the currently “unreasonable” (buheli) international order.96 Second, multipolarity today is not confined to great powers. It also allows an increased role for other actors. This includes not only non-state actors (NGOs and civil society) but also IGOs and global organizations that moderate hegemonic tensions at the regional and global levels; for example, the SCO, the EAS, the ARF, the OAS, SAARC, and UNASUR.97 These institutions provide structure and function to multipolar trends, mechanisms that enhance dialogue, cooperation, and socialization within institutional norms. Third, the modalities of soft power and soft-balancing mean that conflicts are channeled through a range of competitive processes that fall short of military brinksmanship or war.

In this context, rising states may gain more by cooperative engagement with regional and global organizations, followed by evolutionary reform rather than destruction of the existing world power system and its institutions.98 Beijing has recognized this development as a sign of the times:

Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi said recently [2010] that the world is witnessing a trend where various international forces are moving toward a relatively balanced state, an inevitable outcome of multipolarization, economic globalization, and rapid scientific and technological revolution. The path to a multipolar world not only involves the rapid development of newly emerging major developing countries, but also the strengthening of many developing countries as regional powers, Yang said. This has occurred not only in Asia, but also in Africa and Latin America, Yang added.99

Several states, including Russia and China, have been preparing for the onset of a multipolar world system. From as early as 1996, Russian foreign minister Yevgeni Primakov was one of the first to see multipolarity as the best tool to reduce the unilateral power of the United States and begin the rise of Russia in tandem with China and India.100 China concurs that it needs to prepare for a multipolar order and is deeply interested in systems of great power transition. We can see this in a major study mandated by the PRC government through 2003–2006, titled The Rise of Great Powers (Daguo Jueqi). It was conducted by leading scholars, including members of the Chinese Academy of Social Science and historians from Beijing University. It resulted in a twelve-part documentary program broadcast on CCTV and a series of eight books. The project studied the rise of modern empires and hegemons from Portugal through to the United States, and concluded that a sustained economy, robust political institutions, vigorous foreign trade and a strong navy were key ingredients.101 It also suggested that a rising power should not contest a hegemon by direct military confrontation, and that internal unity and international peace were essential for China’s continued rise.102

One of the issues here is that at a certain threshold of “integrated state power” a great nation can begin to shape and then dominate the global system. In one analysis of these variables, by 2008 only the United States and China held such levels of power, which meant that any increase of their relative power compared to other nations would reduce multipolarity.103 In theory, this could lead to either a bipolar hegemonic conflict, or the passing to a new unipolar system lead by China. However, this picture is complicated by the fact that the European Union, if taken as a whole, would also be a system-shaping power.104 Nor do these models account for power diffusion to INGOs and non-state actors.

Furthermore, the PLA has recognized that CNP competition is a risky process which could lead to divergent outcomes: these range from the worst case scenario of mutual destruction (inclusive of nuclear war), to “unequal coexistence” (one country with hegemony), through to coexistence and mutual cooperation.105 We can see that with these factors in mind, China is keen on reform of global-level institutions with the focus on the United Nations as an inclusive organization. China is actualizing a form of cooperative multipolarity via the BRICS process, and is building strong regional and interregional processes. In these agenda it has a major but not dominating role. Chinese leaders have good reasons not to seek global primacy. Managing a peaceful transition into a functional and stable multilateralism is the task of the next two decades. This is part of China’s wider strategic culture which can adapt to changing conditions without losing sight of its own guiding principles. It is to this subject we now turn.

Notes

1. See for example Chenshan Tian, Chinese Dialectics: From Yijing to Marxism (Lanham Md: Lexington Books, 2005); William A. Callahan and Elena Barabantseva, ed., China Order the World: Normative Soft Power and Foreign Policy (Baltmore: The John Hopkins Press, 2011). Some of these wider views are now enshrined in PRC white papers, including State Council Information Office of the PRC, China’s Peaceful Development Road, White Paper (Beijing: December 2005); State Council Information Office of the PRC, China’s Peaceful Development (White Paper: Beijing, China, September 2011).

2. Yan Xeutong, Ancient Chinese Thought, Modern Chinese Power, trans. Edmund Ryden (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011), 141–43.

3. For the distinction between attraction and influence, with the later having stronger impact on the international system, see Karl Hermann Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power (Dissertation zur Erlangung des Doktorgrades an der Fakultät Wirtschafts und Sozialwissenschaften, Hamburg: Fachbereich Sozialwissenschaften der Universität Hamburg, 2011), 222.

4. Karl Hwang, “New Thinking in Measuring National Power,” (Paper for the WISC Second Global International Studies Conference, University of Ljubljana, Slovenia & German Institute of Global and Area Studies, July 23–26, 2008), 3; Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power, 196.

5. Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power, i.

6. Clearly noted in Yan Xuetong, “The Rise of China and Its Power Status,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 1 (2006): 5–33.

7. See in detail Rosita Dellios and R. James Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order: From Peaceful Rise to Harmonious World (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013).

8. Michael Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon: China’s Secret Strategy to Replace America as the Global Superpower (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 2015), 16, 27.

9. D. S. Rajan, “China under Xi Jinping: A New Trend in Foreign Policy?—Analysis,” Eurasia Review (April 11, 2015).

10. Joseph S. Nye, “What China and Russia Don’t Get About Soft Power,” Foreign Policy, April 29, 2013.

11. Michael Pillsbury, China Debates the Future Security Environment (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, January 2000), Ch. 5.

12. Xie Cheng, “President Xi Calls for Community of Shared Destiny in Cyberspace,” China Radio International, December 17, 2015, http://english.cri.cn/12394/2015/12/17/4201s908734.htm.

13. Xinhua, “Xi hails China-Brazil as ‘community of shared destiny’,” Xinhuanet, July 18, 2014, http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/china/2014–07/18/c_126766944.htm.

14. Chan Lai-Ha et al., “Rethinking Global Governance: A China Model in the Making?” Contemporary Politics 14, no. 1 (March 2008): 6.

15. Chan Lai-Ha et al. “Rethinking Global Governance: A China Model in the Making?” 6.

16. Samuel S. Zhao, “Adaptation and Strategic Calculation: China’s Participation in International Regimes and Institutions,” in Taipei, Beijing, and the Overseas/Compatriots in the Context of International/Global Governance, Regimes, and Globalization: Conference Handbook, Taipei (March 14–15, 2009), 61–83; Peter Kien-Hong Yu, “Setting Up International (Adversary) Regimes in the South China Sea: Analyzing the Obstacles from a Chinese Perspective,” Ocean Development & International Law 38 (2007): 147–56.

17. Xi Jinping’s definition, quoted in Cheng Li and Lucy Xu, “Chinese Enthusiasm and American Cynicism Over the ‘New Type of Great Power Relations’,” Brookings, December 4, 2014.

18. Li Zhihui, “Spotlight: Xi’s New Diplomacy : Peaceful Development in a Community of Common Destiny”, Xinhua, September 11, 2015; Rajan, “China under Xi Jinping: A New Trend in Foreign Policy?—Analysis.”

19. Zhao, “Adaptation and Strategic Calculation,” 77.

20. See for example Evelyn Goh, “Power, Inertia and Choices: Advancing the Debate About China’s Rise,” Security Challenges 9, no. 1 (2013), 1–18; Hugh White, The China Choice: Why America Should Share Power (Collingwood: Black Inc., 2012); Coral Bell, A World Out of Balance: American Power and International Politics in the Twenty-First Century (Sydney: The Diplomat magazine and Longueville Books, 2004); Amitav Acharya, “Asia-Pacific Security: Community, Concert or What?” PacNet no. 11 (March 12, 2010). For cautions on the utility and sustainability of a new concert of power in Asia, see Sandy Gordon, “The Quest for a Concert of Powers in Asia,” Security Challenges 8, no. 4 (Autumn 2012): 35–55.

21. Dellios and Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order, 129.

22. Morgenthau’s power elements are: geography, natural resources, industrial capacity, military preparedness, population, national character, national morale, the quality of diplomacy, and the quality of government. Hans Morganthau, Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1948, and subsequent edns).

23. See Yang Wenchang, “My Views About ‘Tao Guang Yang Hui’,” Foreign Affairs Journal no. 102 (Winter 2011), http://cpifa.org/en/q/listQuarterlyArticle.do?articleId=214, contra Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon, 33.

24. Hu Angang and Men Honghua, “The Rising of Modern China: Comprehensive National Power and Grand Strategy,” Strategy & Management no. 3 (2002): 2, translated at http://wenku.baidu.com/view/c10b51b9c77da26925c5b0d7.

25. Li Tianran, “Guanyu zhonghe guoli wenti,” (On the Question of Comprehensive National Strength), Guoji wenti yanjiu no. 2 (April 1990): 56. See also Morgenthau’s power factors, above.

26. Ancient thinkers and texts such as Mo Zi, Xunzi, Lu Buwei, Sun Zi, Wu Zi and Guan Zhong demonstrate some of these concerns, see Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power: 211–12; Pillsbury, China Debates the Future Security Environment, Ch. 5.

27. Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon, 36–37; J. S. Bajwa, “Defining Elements of Comprehensive National Power,” CLAWS Journal (Summer 2008), 151–52.

28. The first one was by Huang Shuofeng in 1984 (followed by continuing projects through 1989 in association with the Chinese Academy of Military Sciences), then by Ding Fengjun in 1987, by Yu Hongyi and Wang Youdi in 1989 (both associated with the Hubei Science Commission), by Li Tianran in 1990, by Zhang Wenkui in 1991, by Wu Chunqiu in 1998, by Yan Xuetong in 1996 (then at the China Institute of Contemporary International Relations, with a later related work in 2008), research and reports through 1996–2003 by the Chinese Academy of Social Science (CASS), by Ou-yang Guo-hua and Wang Qihua in 1997 (followed by an article in 2006), work by Hu Angang and Men Honghua (in 2002 and 2007), and national accounts assessments by Wang Defa in 2006. For these approaches see Li Tianran, “Guanyu zhonghe guoli wenti” (On the Question of Comprehensive National Strength), 52–58; Yan Xuetong Analysis of China’s National Interests (Monterey: James Martin Center for Nonproliferation Studies, 2002), http://cns.miis.edu/books/pdfs/china_national_interests.pdf; Hu and Men, “The Rising of Modern China: Comprehensive National Power and Grand Strategy,” ; Pillsbury, China Debates the Future Security Environment, Chapter 5; Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power, 194–224; For traditional groundings, see Yan, “Xun Zi’s Thoughts on International Politics and Their Implications,” 135–65.

29. Bajwa, “Defining Elements of Comprehensive National Power,” 157–58.

30. Angang Hu, John L. Thorton and Cheng Li, China in 2020: A New Type of Superpower (Washington: Brookings Institution Press, 2012), 151.

31. Hua Liao et al., “Towards Measuring and Visualising Sustainable National Power—A Case Study of China and Neighbouring Countries,” ISPRS International Journal of Geo-Information, 4 (2015), 1672–92.

32. In Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power, 216.

33. Sean Golden, “China’s Perceptions of Risk and the Concept of Comprehensive National Power,” The Copenhagen Journal of Asian Studies 29, no. 2 (2011): 79–109.

34. Yan, “Xun Zi’s Thoughts on International Politics and Their Implications,” 161.

35. Yan, “Xun Zi’s Thoughts on International Politics and Their Implications,” 161–62; Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power, 212.

36. Hwang, “New Thinking in Measuring National Power,” 6–8.

37. Karl Hwang, “Measuring Geopolitical Power in India: A Review of the National Security Index,” German Institute for Global and Area Studies Working Paper, no. 136 (May 2010), https://www.giga-hamburg.de/de/system/files/publications/wp136_hwang.pdf.

38. Liang Xiaodon, “Unpacking National Power: Performance, Institutions, and Innovations: An Interview with Ashley Tellis,” National Bureau of Asian Research: Policy Q & A, November 6, 2015, 1–2. http://www.nbr.org/downloads/pdfs/psa/Tellis_interview_110415.pdf.

39. Liang Xiaodon, “Unpacking National Power,” 4.

40. DFAT, “China Fact Sheet”, Canberra, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (June 2015), http://dfat.gov.au/trade/resources/Documents/chin.pdf.

41. Linda Yueh, “Is China About to Overtake US as the World’s Largest Economy?” BBC Business, April 30, 2014.

42. Hu Angang, “Embracing China’s ‘New Normal’,” Foreign Affairs (May/June 2015), 8–12.

43. Ion Ignat and Gimia-Virginia Bujanca, “Power-Shifts in the Global Economy: Transition Towards a Multipolar Order,” USV Annals of Economics and Public Administration 13, no. 2 (2013): 24–34.

44. Ignat and Bujanca, “Power-Shifts in the Global Economy: Transition Towards a Multipolar Order,” 26, Figure 1.

45. See the projections in Greg Jericho, “Stick in Low Global Growth and India overtaking China—Is This the ‘New Normal’,” The Guardian, April 16, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/business/grogonomics/2015/apr/16/stuck-in-low-global-growth-and-india-overtaking-china-is-this-the-new-normal; based on IMF and WEO data.

46. Paul Dibb and John Lee, “Why China Will Not Become the Dominant Power in Asia,” Security Challenges 10, no. 3 (2014), 1–21.

47. Peter Cai, “Replacing China’s Broken Economic Guage,” China Spectator, 24 November 2015, http://www.businessspectator.com.au/article/2015/11/24/china/replacing-chinas-broken-economic-gauge.

48. He detailed these as: “$50 billion for the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank, $41 billion for the New Development Bank, $40 billion for the Silk Road Economic Belt, and $25 billion for the Maritime Silk Road. Beijing has also pledged to invest $1.25 trillion worldwide by 2025.” David Shambaugh, “China’s Soft-Power Push: The Search for Respect,” Foreign Affairs, July/August 2015, 99–107. See also Summer Zhen, “China’s ‘One Belt One Road’ investment to reach US$200 billion in three years,” South China Morning Post, October 27, 2015.

49. Joseph S. Nye, “Recovering American Leadership,” Survival 50, no. 1 (February 2008), 55–68.

50. Zhang Weihong, “China’s Cultural Future: From Soft Power to Comprehensive National Power,” International Journal of Cultural Policy 16, no. 4 (November 2010), 383–402.

51. Sheng Ding, “Analyzing Rising Power from the Perspective of Soft Power: a New Look at China’s Rise to the Status Quo Power,” Journal of Contemporary China 19, no. 64 (March 2010), 255–72. Seminal works include Joseph S. Nye, “Soft Power and American Foreign Policy,” 255–70; Joseph, S. Nye, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics; Joseph S. Nye, “Recovering American Leadership,” 55–68; Joseph, S. Nye Future of Power (New York: Public Affairs, 2011).

52. Bajwa, “Defining Elements of Comprehensive National Power,” 159.

53. Discussed in Li Mingjiang, “China Debates Soft Power,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 2, no. 2 (2008), 287–308; See for example Guo Xiaolin, “Repackaging Confucius: PRC Public Diplomacy and the Rise of Soft Power,” Asia Paper, Institute for Security and Development Policy (January 2008), http://www.isdp.eu/images/stories/isdp-main-pdf/2008_guo_repackaging-confucius.pdf; Zhang Weihong, “China’s Cultural Future: From Soft Power to Comprehensive National Power,” International Journal of Cultural Policy 16, no. 4 (November 2010), 383–402; Liu Liping, “On the Relationship Between Confucianism and China’s Soft Power,” Management Science & Engineering 6, no. 1 (2012), 93–100; Tang Huiyun, “China’s Soft Power Construction Policy,” Journal of US-China Public Administration 9, no. 5 (May 2012), 563–69.

54. Sheng Ding, “Analyzing Rising Power from the Perspective of Soft Power: a New Look at China’s Rise to the Status Quo Power,” Journal of Contemporary China 19, no. 64 (March 2010), 262; Liu Liping, “On the Relationship Between Confucianism and China’s Soft Power,” 93–100; Guo Xiaolin, “Repackaging Confucius: PRC Public Diplomacy and the Rise of Soft Power.”

55. Denise E. Zheng “China’s Use of Soft Power in the Developing World: Strategic Intentions and Implications for the United States,” in Chinese Soft Power and Its Implications for the United States: Competition and Cooperation in the Developing World, ed. Carola McGiffert (Washington: CSIS, March 2009), 1–10.

56. Zhang Wei, “A General Review of the History of China’s Sea-Power Theory Development,” Naval War College Review 68, no. 4 (Autumn 2015), 91, trans. Shazeda Ahmed.

57. See Kenneth Allen, “The Top Trends in China’s Military Diplomacy,” China Brief 15, no. 9 (May 1, 2015); Pieter D. Wezeman and Siemon T. Wezeman, “SIPRI Trends in International Arms Transfers 2014,” Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, March 2015, 3; Joseph E. Lin, “China’s Weapons of Mass Consumption,” Foreign Policy, March 20, 2015.

58. Jonathan McClory, The New Persuaders II: A 2011 Global Ranking of Soft Power (UK: Institute for Government, 2011), http://www.instituteforgovernment.org.uk/sites/default/files/publications/The%20New%20PersuadersII_0.pdf.

59. Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power, 6.

60. McClory, The New Persuaders II, 19.

61. Henry Albert, “Soft Power Survey”, Monocle, 2013, http://monocle.com/film/affairs/soft-power-survey-2013/.

62. Portland, “UK is Global Leader in Soft Power”, Portland Communications (July 2015), http://www.portland-communications.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/The-Soft-Power-30_press-release.pdf.

63. See the detailed rakings for Asian states including Russia and South Asia in Hua Liao et al., “Towards Measuring and Visualising Sustainable National Power—A Case Study of China and Neighbouring Countries,” ISPRS International Journal of Geo-Information, 4 (2015): 1682–84.

64. Nye, “What China and Russia Don’t Get About Soft Power.”

65. Prashanth Parameswaran, “War and Peace in Asia’s Future,” The Diplomat, April 2, 2015; Michael D. Swaine et al., Conflict and Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific Region (Washington DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2015).

66. See Ding, “Analyzing Rising Power from the Perspective of Soft Power,” 266.

67. Nye, “Soft Power and American Foreign Policy,” 255–70; Nye, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics.

68. Ding, “Analyzing Rising Power from the Perspective of Soft Power,” 255–72.

69. Shashi Tharoor, “The Land of the Better Story: India and Soft Power,” Global Asia, A Journal of the East Asia Foundation 2, no. 1 (Spring 2007), http://globalasia.org/articles/issue2/iss2_9.html; John Lee, Unrealised Potential: India’s ‘Soft Power’ Ambition in Asia.

70. Nye, ”What China and Russia Don’t Get About Soft Power.” See also Joseph S. Nye, “Get Smart: Combing hard and Soft Power,” Foreign Affairs (July/August 2009).

71. Tabulating key ideas from Hart and Jones, “How Do Rising Powers Rise,” 63–88.

72. G. John Ikenberry, “The Future of the Liberal World Order,” Foreign Affairs 90, no. 3 (May/June 2011): 56–68. The strategy of One Belt, One Road can be viewed as going beyond mere “free-riding”. See Francis Fukuyama, “One belt, One Road: Exporting the Chinese Model to Eurasia,” The Australian, January 4, 2016.

73. Andrey Rozhnov, “Review of Harsh V. Pant: China’s Rising Global Profile: The Great Power Tradition,” Perspectives 20, no. 1 (2012): 147.

74. Joseph, S. Nye Future of Power, xv; Steen Fryba Christensen, “Brazil’s Foreign Policy Priorities,” Third World Quarterly 34 no. 2 (April 2013): 271–86.

75. W. Alejandro Sanchez, “Brazil’s Foreign Policy: Putting the B in BRICS,” Council on Hemispheric Affairs, April 25, 2013; Ruchir Sharma, “Why the Rest Stopped Rising,” Foreign Affairs (November/December 2012).

76. Oliver Steunkel, “Brazil’s Top 10 Foreign Policy Challenges in 2014,” Post-Western World (December 23, 2013); Yuri Paniev, “BRICS Countries Seek ‘Virtual Secretariat’,” Russia and India Report (February 18, 2013); W. Alejandro Sanchez, “Brazil’s Foreign Policy: Putting the B in BRICS.”

77. See BRICS, “Fourth BRICS Summit: Delhi Declaration,” BRICS Information Centre, March 29, 2012.

78. Sanchez, “Brazil’s Foreign Policy: Putting the B in BRICS.”

79. Sarah Lain, “Russia Gives Way to China in BRICS and SCO,” The Interpreter, July 17, 2015.

80. Pepe Escobar, “BRICS/SCO Sow Panic in Exceptionalistan,” RT, July 13, 2105, https://www.rt.com/op-edge/273289-brics-summit-putin-russia/.

81. Rising Powers Initiative, “BRICS,” Rising Powers Initiative Policy Alert, no. 49 (April 5, 2013).

82. For related arguments see Charles A. Kupchan, “The Decline of the West: Why America Must Prepare for the End of Dominance,” The Atlantic, March 20, 2012; Dibb and Lee, “Why China Will Not Become the Dominant Power in Asia,” 1–21.

83. Hannah Beech, “How China Sees the World,” Time 181, no. 23 (June 17, 2013).

84. Ignat and Bujanca, “Power-Shifts in the Global Economy: Transition towards a Multipolar Order,” 24–34; Ian Bremmer and Nouriel Roubini, “The G-Zero World: The New Economic Club Will Produce Conflict, Not Cooperation,” Foreign Affairs 90, no. 2 (March 2011), 2–7.

85. John Mearsheimer, “Can China Rise Peacefully?” The National Interest, October 25, 2015).

86. Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon, 12.

87. Contra the false dilemma of leadership versus tyranny suggested by Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon, 59–60.

88. Yan, “Xun Zi’s Thoughts on International Politics and Their Implications,” 136, 152.

89. John K Fairbank, “Introduction. Varieties of the Chinese Military Experience,” in Chinese Ways in Warfare, ed. John K. Fairbank and Frank A. Kierman Jr. (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1974), 4–5.

90. Zhang Yongxing, “Interview: Xi’s Speech at UN Aims to Build a New World—U.S. Academic,” Xinhua, September 30, 2015.

91. Pillsbury, The Hundred-Year Marathon, 39, 47.

92. Höhn, Geopolitics and the Measurement of National Power, 198.

93. Pillsbury, China Debates the Future Security Environment, Ch. 5.

94. M. Millerman, “Theory Talk #66: Alexander Dugin on Eurasianism, the Geopolitics of Land and Sea, and a Russian Theory of Multipolarity,” Theory Talks (December 7, 2014), http://www.theory-talks.org/2014/12/theory-talk-66.html; Rajan, “China Under Xi Jinping: A New Trend in Foreign Policy?—Analysis.”

95. Leif-Eric Easley, “Multilateralism, Not Multipolarity Should be Goal,” The China Post, March 29, 2008; Kevin J. Cooney and Yoichiro Sato, The Rise of China and International Security: America and Asia Respond (London: Routledge, 2008), 28.

96. As suggested by Wang Yizhou from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, in Cooney and Sato, The Rise of China and International Security, 28.

97. These acronyms refer to the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), the East Asia Summit (EAS), the ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF), The Organization of American States (OAS), the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC), and the Union of South American Nations (UNASUR). This is only a small subset of the large number of regional groupings now active.

98. Ding, “Analyzing Rising Power from the Perspective of Soft Power,” 259.

99. Ju Zhongwen, “Moving Toward Multipolar World,” China Daily, December 12, 2010.

100. Rakesh Krishnan Simha, “Primakov: The Man Who Created Multipolarity”, Russia and India Report, June 27, 2015.

101. Andrew S. Erikson and Lyle J. Goldstein, “China Studies the Rise of Great Powers,” in China Goes to Sea: Maritime Transformation in Comparative Historical Perspective, ed. Andrew S. Erikson and Lyle J. Goldstein and Carnes Lord (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2009), 402–14.

102. Erikson and Goldstein, “China Studies the Rise of Great Powers,” 414–17.

103. See Hwang, “New Thinking in Measuring National Power,” 18.

104. Hwang, “New Thinking in Measuring National Power,” 18.

105. Pillsbury, China Debates the Future Security Environment, Ch. 5.

Chapter 7

Unicorns and Dragons

The Search for Chinese Strategic Culture

Culture and strategy have figured prominently in this book. China—which we have seen is a nation-state that identifies as a civilization—is especially prone to a culturally informed investigation of its power. The qualifying phrase “with Chinese characteristics” attests to such a commonly held view. A decidedly Chinese orientation is implied in official slogans like “socialism with Chinese characteristics” to describe Beijing’s policy of encouraging a market economy, the “Revolution in Military Affairs with Chinese characteristics” that refers to defense modernization and, as shown in Chapter 1, think tanks are expected to invest their policy advice with Chinese characteristics. Various commentaries—such as this book’s introductory chapter “Power with Chinese Characteristics”—are similarly disposed to use the term as shorthand for the Sinification of a particular topic or theme.1

While few would deny realism—with its struggle-for-power thesis and rational-actor model—as a prime international relations theory, the same courtesy is not so readily extended for the perspectives afforded by “strategic culture.” This is because it is often deemed not sufficiently “scientific.” How do we know that culture and not another key variable such as the anarchic international system is not responsible for state policy decisions and actions? Strategic culture, with its origins in “national character studies,” is also criticized for perpetuating national stereotypes and invoking cultural determinism.2 The field of strategic culture, for its part, rejects the view that strategy operates without reference to the influence of history and culture. Jack Snyder, who coined the term “strategic culture” in 1977 when discussing Soviet nuclear strategy, warned against viewing Soviet leaders as “generic strategists who happen to be playing for the Red team.”3 Instead, he urged analysts to see them as “politicians and bureaucrats” who were “socialized into a strategic culture that is in many ways unique.”4

This understanding would be endorsed by another international relations theory, that of the sociologically informed constructivism. It pays heed to the impact of ideational sources of policy-making and behavior. The classic constructivist response to structural realists who say the anarchic world order (one without world government or an overarching source of legitimacy) determines state behavior, must surely be Alexander Wendt’s famous essay: “Anarchy is what you make of it.”5 Process is privileged over structure, because even threats are socially constructed. But does this help or hinder cultural explanations of strategic choice? After all, process can lead to many outcomes, not all of them accord with a recognizable strategic culture.

So is strategic culture a mythical beast—fascinating but non-existent? Or is its symbolism a key to unlocking other worldviews and ways of strategizing? (This surely would allow one’s own strategists to tailor strategic doctrine, be it in deterrence or war-fighting.)6 Is Chinese strategic culture even more elusive in view of the different strategic subcultures which sometimes contradict each other? And is this not true of other nations too? Can there be a monolithic strategic culture assigned to each nation? It is possible that one strategic subculture cancels out another, especially when viewed over a number of different administrations. Was Deng Xiaoping’s policy preference for keeping a low profile and Hu Jintao’s peaceful rise platform contradicted by Xi Jinping’s more assertive style of national rejuvenation and island-building in the South China Sea? To the question of strategic culture’s theoretical legitimacy, it is worth quoting strategic studies scholar Colin Gray. He likened strategic culture not to unicorns, dragons or any other mythical creature but to an airplane. “Strategic culture would be denied a certificate of airworthiness if it were a plane,” he writes. “However, it does fly and can take us to places where knowledge might be found.”7

To the question of strategic subcultures, a review of the different schools of thought and how they interacted over time, allows for a more complex and richer rendition of Chinese strategic thought. The presence of strategic subcultures is certainly not unique to China. Rather than seeking ahistorical contradictions, a more fruitful path may be an investigation of the way they interact in the political and historical landscape. Much like the dragon’s potent imagery or the special power of the unicorn—including a Chinese equivalent known as the qilin—strategic culture is best appreciated as a recognizable creature of potent cultural meaning. It is in the presence of such cultural meaning that strategy is crafted. But first, what is “strategic culture” as employed by analysts and scholars?

Alastair Iain Johnston in his seminal work, Cultural Realism: Strategic Culture and Grand Strategy in Chinese History, explains strategic culture as “consistent and persistent historical patterns in the way particular states (or state elites) think about the use of force for political ends.” He adds that: “Ahistorical or ‘objective’ variables such as technology, capabilities, levels of threat, and organizational structures are all of secondary importance: it is the interpretive lens of strategic culture that gives meaning to these variables.”8 Huiyun Feng sees strategic culture as “a cultural construct with operational dimensions that affect the behavior of individuals through the symbols, values or beliefs that it embodies” and could spell the difference between war and peace.9 For example, the result of Snyder’s above-mentioned study was the characterization of Soviet strategic culture as preferring war-fighting doctrines rather than mirror-imaging American deterrence and limited nuclear options.10

Snyder used the cultural approach to strategic studies as a corrective to the analysis of decision-making that was devoid of considerations of history or culture, as found in the realist rational-actor model. He had not pursued it further as a perspective in its own right, but others were inspired to do so—and not only in Soviet studies. But this 1980s generation of scholars was also criticized for lacking precision and being naively deterministic in linking “attitudes and bahaviors” which are known to diverge in reality.11 Strategic culture analysts of the 1990s were more cynical. They pointed to the instrumental use of strategic culture for leaders to achieve political ends. Authors such as Reginald Stuart and Bradley Klein saw strategic culture as an artifice which the ruling elites deployed to achieve their political goals. In Stuart’s case, strategic culture is represented as a “myth,” for example the myth of an American strategic culture dedicated to the pursuit of moral causes in war rather than realist national interests; or in Klein’s view a disjunction between defensive declaratory and offensive operational strategic policy is readily evident.12 Here strategic culture is a deliberate tool of the elite, or of special interests influencing the leadership. This shows that there are various strategic cultures at play, according to interests. One problem with this explanation is that the manipulators may not be as manipulative as they seem. They too are socialized and may come to believe their own symbolic discourse or national myths.13

While the tactical use of strategic culture by leaders may have absorbed the analytical energies of some, others in the 1990s were still seeking the holy grail of scientific rigor. Authors like Elizabeth Kier avoided the determinism of the 1980s generation and used cross-sectional and longitudinal studies to show how strategic culture varied. Jeffrey Legro did not even regard culture as drawn from the deeply historical but pertaining to recent experience. The criticism here is that the nature of the strategic culture beast had changed. Just as Jack Snyder sought to distinguish strategic culture from “mere policy,” so too it cannot be conflated with “belief-systems analysis” which does not treat culture as a long-term factor.14 Rather, strategic culture finds a better fit with grand strategy which privileges the general over the particular but can change with the times or different leadership styles that provide context.

This leads to consideration of a more middle-of-the-road view of strategic culture, one that is neither deterministic nor strictly scientific, but contextual. Colin S. Gray has been a leading influence in this representation of strategic culture, writing in 1999 that “strategic culture provides context for understanding, rather than explanatory causality for behaviour.”15 In other words, the relationship between strategic culture (as with grand strategy) and foreign policy analysis (which is more detailed) is seen as advisory and, if need be, remonstrative. Its predictive value lies in identifying tendencies. As with all predictions in the human world there can be no certainties. Not everyone finds the moderate position on strategic culture convincing or satisfying. Writing in 2013, Antulio J. Echevarria dismisses this “attempted synthesis that re-cast strategic culture as an explanatory ‘context,’ rather than the determinant, of strategic behaviour” because it fails on all fronts: “contextual factors which explain, must also to some degree determine, otherwise they lack explanatory power.”16 From this perspective, it is better to have a full bodied theory of strategic culture than a docile one which remains in the background unless called upon to perform an advisory role.

The evolution of strategic culture in the twenty-first century has been both propagandistic and subtle. In terms of propaganda, the term “strategic culture” can be used to perpetuate stereotypes in the service of criticizing a particular administration. For example, early in the new millennium, when George W. Bush was in power, Robert Kagan wrote that Americans were from Mars (the Roman god of war) and Europeans were from Venus (the goddess of love).17 This affirms the notion of US strategic culture as ready and able to use military might in a Hobbesian world, while Europeans are depicted as more diplomatic. Their strategic culture is one of “soft power” that resonates of Kantian values. Echevarria sees this as problematic in that a slice of history comes to dominate a nation’s profile and becomes its interpretive lens:

The search for distinctly national approaches to strategy often went hand in hand with the politicization of the concept. Perceived differences between American and European political perspectives shaped the concept of strategic culture. Those applications, in turn, influenced what the major differences were perceived to be, and subsequently what American strategic culture was, and was not. As the campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan wore on, the question of what American strategic culture was became increasingly associated and intertwined with identifying what was wrong with it.18

Here the politicized application of strategic culture by particular authors is not unlike the earlier explanation of it as a manipulative device by leaders. The more subtle undercurrents, by comparison, would include the “use” of strategic culture by interest groups but also its ideological penetration of the users. In other words, strategic culture can operate at a much deeper and less clearly instrumentalist level. This suggests that strategic culture is not monolithic, unchanging and unique to countries or regions. Its understanding has come a long way from “national character studies.” There is much that unites and divides the wealth of human experience across time and space, and nowhere is this more evident than at the level of strategic subcultures.

This is why it is important to view strategic culture as comprising a menu of strategic subcultures, some addressing the threat assessed environment better than others. They represent the unit of analysis that offers better understanding of policy choices and their implications. When viewed as a hierarchy of preferred options, the preference list might show greater similarities than differences across cultures: for example, the preference for nonviolent means of conflict resolution in the modern world. Yet the ideal is often at odds with empirical reality. Policy-makers may appear to be upholding an ideal strategic culture of nonviolence but in practice, at the operational level, their solutions become military ones. Alternatively, the ideal at the grand strategic level (soft power) may not be the same as the operational level (hard power), but together they make sense. Theodore Roosevelt’s famous foreign policy advice to “speak softly and carry a big stick” exemplifies this. Yet this composite is not always apparent or convincing. Within the strategic concept of active defense, China permits itself offensive operations and tactics to achieve defensive strategic objectives.19 This is not a convincing argument for those who view China’s activities in the South China Sea as representative of its grand strategy as well.

Strategic culture remains a complex field due to its plurality (strategic subcultures); areas of cross-cultural commonality (such as a preference for peaceful means to security ends); the contrast between the “ideal” of an esteemed strategic culture (such as non-militarism) and the “real” as expressed in, say, provocative behavior; and the contrasts afforded at different strategic levels that could cause confusion. There is still another important factor to consider. It is the question of incorporating change. A new strategic culture could emerge from a changed political culture at home and pressures abroad (international norms and technological change). This accords with how grand strategy changes, despite its big-picture orientation. Change, as we have seen, is China’s forte as it is embedded in its philosophical foundations.

Foundations of Chinese Strategic Culture

To understand the foundations of Chinese strategic culture it is helpful to recapitulate the various branches of Chinese philosophy and their historical context that translate to a menu of strategic subcultures. This is necessary to understand later synchronizations of doctrine that allow for hierarchies of preference in strategic thinking. An appropriate place to start is the changing political order in ancient China, out of which the key Chinese philosophers emerged, followed by a brief assessment of the main military classics. The Warring States period was the golden age of philosophy known for its numerous schools of thought, so many in fact that they were called the Hundred Schools of Thought. Out of these emerged four as the most influential. The first sought socio-political harmony; the second was more naturalistic, following the dao or Way of the cosmic order; the third was so impartial that it advocated concern for everyone and declared war on no one; and the fourth believed in the power of the state and the strict enforcement of law. They became known as Confucianism, Daoism, Mohism, and Legalism.

A fifth tradition associated with Chinese culture came later. Buddhism, which taught non-violence and respect for all sentient beings, was elevated as one of the three great teachings of traditional China (along with Confucianism and Daoism). Buddhism may be viewed as both a philosophy and a religion. Daoism, too, bifurcates into philosophical and religious branches. Even philosophical Daoism has its mystical connotations when considering the unfathomable dao. Confucianism is concerned with ethics but it, too, acquired an ineffable quality when it came to the spiritual fruits of cultivating a moral character—that is, the prize of self-realization. Legalism, while without sentiment or interest in introspection, could not escape its cultural milieu. Serving as the imperial philosophy under the Qin dynasty (221–206 BCE), the Legalist school was enacted within an essentially Daoist tradition that attributed dynastic change to the Five Elements (also called “Phases” or “Powers”)—earth, wood, metal, fire, water. (The productive and destructive interaction of these elements remains a familiar cultural concept in feng shui, the Chinese art of environmental harmony.) The Qin adopted the water element and its correlate color of black. Qin flags, soldiers’ armor and the emperor’s attire were black. Water was seen as extinguishing the fire element of the previous Zhou dynasty. But the water dynasty was itself overcome by the earth-assigned (yellow) dynasty of Han (206 BCE–220 CE). Moreover, the Han dynasty in elevating the Confucian school as its own official ideology, emphasized another prevailing belief system: that of the Mandate of Heaven (tianming). As shown in Chapter 1, this was a ruler’s cosmologically endorsed legitimacy and represented the governance norm par excellence in early Chinese political philosophy. So while each of the more memorable schools of thought was distinguished by its own teachings, in unison they played their roles upon a common cultural arena, one which tended to explain the acquisition of power in terms of nature-based phases and heavenly mandates.

Collectively, the philosophical schools and their derived military classics formed China’s strategic vocabulary and templates of thought. When the founder of the People’s Republic of China, Mao Zedong, theorized on revolutionary warfare in the twentieth century he drew heavily on Chinese strategic tradition. This is not to deny the role of classical European and Marxist military thought in Mao’s deliberations. However, the insights and exploits of past masters were never far from the thoughts of this Chinese Marxist in his quest for victory. When on October 1, 1949, Mao proclaimed the new communist republic, he did so from the balcony of the Gate of Heavenly Peace (Tiananmen) in Beijing. This was the site of imperial proclamations. It was as if Mao had ushered in a new “red” dynasty, the old one having lost its Mandate of Heaven. Under such circumstances, as the Confucian philosopher Mencius pointed out, the overthrow of a ruler can be justified. Mao’s communists could claim legitimacy through the socialist mandate which, like the heavenly one, depended on the well-being of the people. Chinese philosophy, like Chinese history, displays a rich and varied repertoire within which to pursue human affairs.

A Cauldron of Philosophies in Time of War

It comes as no surprise that the foundations of Chinese strategic culture were laid not at a time of order and tranquillity but during an era when war was “a path to survival or extinction.”20 As shown in Chapter 2, during this period over a thousand states or semi-autonomous areas were reduced to seven, and still the fighting continued. Warfare, strategic maneuvering and diplomacy served as the instruments with which to reunify the Chinese domain under the authority of one state, the large states conquering the weak until a single power prevailed. In the process, China’s longest lasting dynasty (from the eleventh to third centuries BCE), the Zhou, died a slow and violent death. This occurred during the Spring and Autumn period (771–475 BCE)—named after the Confucian classic, the Spring and Autumn Annals of the kingdom of Lu—and the Warring States period (475–221 BCE). Prior to the Zhou, China’s first historical dynasty, the Shang (circa seventeenth to eleventh centuries BCE), was known for its oracle-bone inscription and the emergence of an early Chinese script (see further Chapter 1). Traditionally, there existed an even earlier dynasty, the Xia (circa twenty-second to seventeenth centuries BCE). As no written records are available, the Xia dynasty remains largely mythical, though artifacts found at the Bronze Age site of Erlitou in Henan Province could yet prove its existence. The Xia, however, was not the beginning. This honor is traditionally given to the “Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.” The former, known as the Heavenly, Earthly and Human sovereigns, are thought of as god-kings who enabled humans to develop themselves through the provision of vital skills such as agriculture and writing. The latter were designated as sage-emperors who were the model rulers and exemplars of virtue. They included the mythical ancestor of the Chinese people, the Yellow Emperor. This shows a Chinese respect for history and continuity—some 5000 years of civilization. It also reveals governance to be central to the Chinese beginnings. Imperial China, which lasted until 1911 and claimed to draw its dynastic continuity from the Xia, Shang, and Zhou, instituted a centralized government, with a supporting bureaucracy, and a permanent army to defend the empire.21

Discord during the 550 years that spanned by the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods created a demand for ideas on the best strategies to win wars as well as how to achieve lasting peace. So while states fought for power, itinerant philosophers contended for influence among the various rulers. This intellectual flowering was known as the Contention of the Hundred Schools of Thought. It was a time unmatched by any other in the emergence of China’s most renowned philosophers and strategists.22 They reconfigured the traditions of the past, adding their own inflections, debated freely with one another, advised political leaders and laid out the foundations for future thinkers. While flowers are the traditional metaphor for this philosophical blooming in ancient China, the interaction of the various schools of thought may also be represented as being brewed in a Chinese cauldron. This symbol of authority for rulers appears in hexagram fifty (Ding) in the Yijing (Book of Changes) as a symbol of nourishment and rejuvenation—a fitting attribute for the role of philosophy in an era of depletion and state extinction.

In terms of the cauldron’s idealist-realist ingredients or, from the Chinese perspective, the wen-wu mix, only Legalism—the “school of law”—can be considered as a decidedly realist-wu philosophy. It should be noted that Chinese thinkers did not regard wen to be the opposite to wu but as the dominant of the two, so as to imbue the martial spirit with ethical values derived from civilization. Thus even Legalism that believed in a strong state with a powerful army draws its name from the application of the law equally to all classes. Privilege provided no escape from the severity of punishments.

While the various military classics delve more deeply into questions of strategy and war-fighting (see below), all the main philosophies that contributed to China’s political development had lessons for defense policy. Confucianism would support a just war, humane principles, and a properly trained army.23 The Confucian school would be at home with the Geneva Conventions and the humanitarian use of the military: that is, “military operations other than war”—MOOTW. Daoism would operationalize the power of paradox, expanding the horizons of strategic thought. Mao Zedong’s problem during the Chinese civil war of how a weak army may overcome a strong one draws on Daoist insights. Mao’s much-cited instructions on guerrilla warfare are typically Daoist: “The enemy advances, we retreat; the enemy camps, we harass; the enemy tires, we attack; the enemy retreats, we pursue.” These tactical injunctions reflect a worldview which sees no merit in the pursuit of hard power when outmatched, but offers advice on how to use weakness as an asymmetric strength.

Asymmetric warfare has retained its strategic utility: China in the early twenty-first century is still weaker militarily than the United States. American forces are a likely adversary in the event that the People’s Republic seeks through force of arms to prevent a formal independence bid by Taiwan or employs an anti-access strategy to halt hostile forces from turning a potential maritime buffer on China’s eastern seaboard into a warzone. But there is also the matter of strategic aesthetics. As noted in Chapter 2 and developed below, there is a dialectical dynamic between weak and strong, soft and hard, wen and wu, internal and external, as well as more broadly, yin and yang. Maneuver trumps direct clash, defense is favored over attack; but again this leads to a dialectic of “counter-attack” based on the opponent’s opening move.

The Daoist orientation of prevailing by indirect means and through initial “passivity” can be found in the philosophy of Mohism which despises war but recognizes the need to survive. Mohists were skilled at engineering. They helped weak states build strong defenses against aggressors. Buddhists, too, displayed an aversion to violence, though they did cultivate political protection as well as a reputation for the martial arts. Legalism, of all the schools, displays the most militarist disposition. It believes in the efficacy of military power, a strong supporting economy, and an all-powerful government that exercises order through a system of punishments and rewards. China has known the benefits of both ethical primacy and military strength. Finding an effective balance—or fortifying recipe in the cauldron of philosophies—has been, and continues to be, an imperative for its longevity. (See Appendix on the five philosophies for a fuller understanding of the systems of thought that have shaped Chinese conceptions of war and peace, chaos and order.)

Chinese strategic culture had no difficulty aligning Buddhism with Daoism and even defensive Mohism. Mohist practitioners were actively engaged in defensive warfare through construction of fortifications. They shared common ground with Buddhist warrior monks who, though they avoided killing, were well trained in the martial arts and fought for justice and survival. Classical strategists, like Sunzi and Wuzi, derived their strategic values from the main Chinese philosophies, apart from Buddhism which was to come later. As observed by Chen-Ya Tien:

The books of Legalism, Confucianism, Daoism (Taoism), and others have contained some philosophies of war which in turn strongly influenced the theories of military strategists. Generally, all books on the art of war embrace the basic elements of traditional Chinese political philosophy. Sunzi, for example, is often said to be influenced by Daoism, while Wuzi is said to be affected by Confucianism. Both works, however, show that the principle of humanity had primarily dominated the author’s consideration of war.24

The Seven Military Classics

The works of Sunzi and Wuzi form part of the Seven Military Classics which were collected and edited into an anthology in the eleventh century during the Song dynasty. They formed the basis of military education in imperial China, much as the Confucian texts did for the civil bureaucracy.25 What distinguishes these seven texts is their composite coverage of strategically relevant topics. According to Johnston: “together they constitute as extensive a discussion of statecraft, grand strategy, operational strategy, tactics and military organization as any other single work among China’s rich store of military texts.”26

The traditional order of the classics was: (1) the Sunzi, (2) the Wuzi, (3) the Methods of the Minister of War, (4) Questions and Replies between Tang Taizong and Li Weigong, (5) the Wei Liaozi, (6) the Three Strategies of Huang Shigong, and (7) Taigong’s Six Secret Teachings. Despite uncertainties about the origins of these texts, their order was clearly non-chronological. If it were, the Tang dynasty text, Questions and Replies, would have been last on the list. Ralph D. Sawyer and Mei-chün Sawyer, who published an authoritative translation and commentary of the Seven Military Classics, have chosen a different order that reflects historical settings. Even if uncertainty remains as to the dating and authorship of the texts, the Sawyer listing is followed below, as it begins with the Zhou challenge to the Shang dynasty in the eleventh century BCE and concludes with the powerful Tang in the seventh century CE.

The Taigong’s

The father of Chinese strategy was not Sunzi, as might be expected from his much celebrated Art of War, but Grand Duke Jiang Taigong (also known as Jiang Ziya) with his Six Secret Teachings (Liutao)—reputedly China’s first book on military strategy.27 Jiang Taigong’s identity is as much a mystery as Sunzi’s, though the story upon which his reputation rests states that he was a general who helped overthrow the Shang dynasty and establish the Zhou in which he became prime minister. In challenging the ruling dynasty, the Liutao concerns revolutionary warfare, which could also explain why the teachings were deemed “secret.” Tao in the title literally means to “wrap” or “cover” and, therefore, to conceal (as distinct from dao, the Way).28 The six (liu) teachings were: the civil, martial, dragon, tiger, leopard and dog teachings. The first two are considered strategic, a mutually strengthening combination of wen and wu, yin and yang. The remaining four, named after animals, pertain to military practice. The first, the civil, speaks of the need to have an effective and benevolent government that sets a moral example to the people, fosters a strong economic base and adheres to meritocracy in promoting officials. The second teaching, the martial, uses the civil to win the support of the people for what is deemed a just war to overthrow the corrupt ruler (of the Shang dynasty), and to demoralize the enemy population who would then join forces with the “righteous” (the Zhou).

At its best, this political and psychological program will deliver victory without recourse to battle. But should armed force be required, the third secret teaching, that of the dragon, offers this advice: choose your command staff well, maintain secrecy, use unorthodox methods (guerrilla warfare) when advantageous, and act decisively when the time is right. Overall the dragon is concerned with military organization, while the subsequent tiger teaching deals with weapons and methods of escaping difficult situations—including maneuver, use of misdirection, and knowing how to employ different force capabilities. The tiger is followed by the leopard which instructs how to fight in different types of terrain, such as mountains, forests or constricted areas. It also advises on how to deal with invaders and superior adversaries. Finally, the dog secret teaching contains miscellaneous topics but its central theme is how to employ different forces; that is, an operational doctrine for chariots, infantry, and cavalry. Mention of cavalry, along with a number of other historical anachronisms, suggests the text was written in the late Warring States period even if its historical setting is much earlier, or that during its transmission there were accretions that reflected the times in which they were composed.29 The Liutao is considered a foremost example of the “stratagem school” (quan mou) of ancient military thought.

The Methods of the Minister of War

While Jiang Taigong in his Six Secret Teachings preferred to integrate the civilian and military sectors for the cause of revolutionary warfare, this was not the case with the second of the Military Classics, the Methods of the Minister of War (Simafa). Attributed to Tian Rangju who was War Minister to Duke Jing of Qi in the mid-fourth century BCE, this classic reflected the norms of the Warring States period in which the military became a profession that demanded expertise and consumed vast resources, much like Deng Xiaoping’s efforts to professionalize the People’s Liberation Army, which had begun as a guerrilla fighting force under Mao. While the military profession benefited from the attention lavished upon it in the Warring States period, the civilian administration was by no means languishing. It also grew to be more formalized and complex, possibly as a result of the increasing influence of the Confucian school. “Thus the civilian forms of behavior [li] and the military standards [fa] are like left and right,” states the Methods of the Minister of War.30 Likewise, Xi Jinping’s espousal of Confucian values on the one hand and commitment to military modernization on the other, can be seen as rational in terms of Chinese strategic culture, even if hypocritical (or cynically utilitarian) from a Western perspective.

In view of its attitude to the professional aspect of armed force, it is understandable that the Simafa teaches not how to strategize or fight a war but how to administer and manage military campaigns. It regards military preparedness as a necessary condition for peace, and shows an awareness of military power as a foundation of political power.31 This is despite its Confucian orientation in the civilian administrative sphere. Given that much of the original text is lost, and that it was probably written at different times and by more than one author, discrepancies and contradictions are to be expected. However, as noted from the outset, the ability to advance simultaneously the values of both civility (wen) by employing li or rites and martiality (wu) as expressed in fa (a broad term that denotes method or art of war), is not unusual in Chinese strategic thought. Whether combined as a unified whole or maintained as separate spheres, Chinese statecraft typically seeks to coordinate both. This is evident in the remainder of the Military Classics.

Sunzi’s Art of War

Sunzi’s Art of War (Bingfa) is the best known military text issuing from China. “Traditionalist” historians attribute the Art of War to the teachings of Sun Wu, a strategist who lived in the fifth century BCE during the Warring States period and who was referred to as Sunzi (Master Sun). Others suggest that there was no such historical figure. Instead, Sunzi was the name of a number of authors responsible for the Art of War. Whether it was by Sun Wu or a joint-effort, the Art of War—also known as the Sunzi—draws on a pre-existing tradition, just as Confucius also referred back to the wisdom of a bygone era. Yet both Confucius and Sunzi imparted even greater potency to past teachings. For this they are remembered as China’s premier philosopher (Confucius) and strategist (Sunzi). The Art of War in its short, concise but comprehensive coverage became a much revered reference for Chinese strategic philosophy, even unto this day.

One of its key teachings, as with the two Military Classics surveyed above, is to try to win a war before it reached the physical battlefield: “Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.”32 Another feature of the Sunzi that also appears elsewhere is that of unorthodox warfare which, by Mao’s time, was commonly known as guerrilla warfare (from the Spanish, literally “little war”).

Usually Sunzi’s Art of War is associated with Daoist philosophy but there are also resemblances to the teachings of Buddhism that came later. Specifically, these are the three fallibilities of delusion, desire, and aggression, which could be as hazardous to the military enterprise as they are to the spiritual one. Delusion (of easy victory and hence what Sunzi called “recklessness”), desire (for personal glory and avoidance of being labeled a coward) and aggression (as an expression of hatred rather than training or, in Sunzi’s view, an easily provoked temper) had no place in the discipline of command.33 Thus calculations of known capabilities and available options brought cool heads to the ancient Chinese art of war. There was no room for passion at the expense of reason on the part of commanders.

Wu Qi’s Wuzi

Unlike the uncertainty of Sunzi’s identity, Wuzi (Wu Qi) was an historical figure of the early Warring States period. His reputation as a general of the states of Lu and Wei was legendary: he was said to have never suffered defeat or even stalemate. This record was rendered more remarkable in view of having won against the “superior forces of entrenched states.”34 Yet his teachings in the Wuzi were not confined to strategy and tactics, in which he excelled, but extended to concern for a well-ordered state. In this, too, Wu Qi demonstrated his skill, including his time as prime minister of the state of Chu which he strengthened through reforms that included rewarding merit, abolishing hereditary privileges, and building a more professional military force.

That Wu Qi died not in battle but at the hands of his political enemies, the nobility, reveals the perennial importance of internal politics and not only interstate relations in Chinese strategic culture. This works both ways: weakness (or threat) can be found within, but so too strength (or victory) if reforms are instituted. The trick is not to be too draconian when dealing with the perceived internal threat, nor overly zealous in instituting reforms. Virtue when cloaked in righteousness can create divisions.

For Wu Qi, who was well versed in Confucian philosophy, the cultivation of virtuous rule was less ideological than strategic. A Confucian-like emphasis on a benevolent state was derived from the need to ease the burden on the people and ensure their welfare. By winning their hearts and minds, as well as ensuring their economic security, the masses could better serve in the army—which by now was bigger, more complex and drawn from the general populace. In earlier times wars were fought by nobles. To paraphrase the present, a “harmonious society” that diminished the gap between rich and poor was needed to ensure a resilient state. In this way of thinking, and despite 2,500 years that separate them, Wu Qi and the Chinese Communist Party are in agreement.

That they both incurred the wrath of their ideological or “class” enemies is also instructive. In Wu Qi’s case, he died at the funeral of King Tao of Chu, but did so in such a fashion as to ensure the punishment of his assailants. According to the Records of the Grand Historian, when Wu Qi was attacked by arrows he hid beneath the king’s body, so that the arrows also struck the dead king. In desecrating the royal corpse the assailants and their families suffered the penalty of execution.35 As for the CCP, it abandoned class warfare in favor of co-opting the rich through economic reforms. Entrepreneurs, moreover, were permitted to become members of the party. This, too, has proved to be a highly strategic move, one that ensured survival rather than revenge beyond the grave, as in Wu Qi’s case. Yet the problem of an over-controlling state in today’s China has yet to be resolved, especially in view of the demand for greater press freedom in the internet age.

Wei Liaozi

Another of the more authoritarian classics is the Wei Liaozi. The name of this book is possibly also the name of a single author but this cannot be verified. The author, more a theorist than a tactician, nonetheless proffers advice that is highly pragmatic and Legalist. Without a strong economic base, he warns, military power cannot be assured; with agriculture forming the basis of the economy, agricultural output needed to be improved. This, plus an authoritarian outlook, echoes the Book of Lord Shang. A mixture of virtuous rule and Legalist punishments is to be found in this text, though the filial piety of Confucianism is excluded as this would detract from loyalty to the state. Besides Legalist ideas, the Wei Liaozi also shows evidence of knowledge of the Six Secret Teachings, the Sunzi, the Wuzi and other military texts, suggesting that it was composed in the mid to late Warring States period.36 With the preoccupation of the times being survival, it is little wonder that the text emphasizes proper military training and quality rather than quantity of troops. The Wei Liaozi is conventionally regarded as China’s “earliest work to systematically discuss military training.”37 It also elaborates on traditional Chinese military themes of the interaction of orthodox and unorthodox (revolutionary) warfare, the role of deception, and maintaining the initiative. Traditional Chinese strategic culture is well captured in this text.

The Three Strategies of Huang Shigong (the Duke of Yellow Rock)

This “last of the truly ancient works,”38 by an author whose identity is unclear but is associated with a Han dynasty general near the end of the first century BCE, also reinforces the salient lessons of the preceding texts. It does this through its three strategies, termed “superior,” “middle,” and “inferior,” which could refer to strategic levels of importance, from grand strategy to operational and down to decisions about personnel. Thus the first, the “Superior Strategy” addresses the paramount importance of balancing different forms of power. While opening with a Daoist dictum—“The soft can control the hard, the weak can control the strong”—and affirming that the soft is “Virtue,” the text adds that a proper mixture of all four (soft, hard, weak, strong) is needed: “Combine these four and control them appropriately.”39 Furthermore, best results are obtained when there is a “strategic configuration of power” (shi).40 This concept, as shown in Chapter 2, permeates Chinese strategic thought and denotes latent energy as well as strategic advantage or favorable disposition of circumstances. Indeed, the art of war as represented in ancient Chinese texts is striking in its advocacy for the combination of different forms of power—much like the culinary arts—seasoned with circumstances deemed most favorable. This fits in with the second or “Middle Strategy” which states that one must act according to the prevailing circumstances and not “fight the last war” (as today’s strategists also warn). The third, or “Inferior Strategy,” returns to the familiar theme of employing only talented and competent people—a meritocracy.

Questions and Replies between Tang Taizong and Li Weigong

This dialogue between one of the greatest of Chinese emperors, Tang Taizong (ruling from 626 to 649 CE), and a Tang general came much later than the Warning States period, but in doing so served the valuable role of hindsight. Questions and Replies shows lessons from the past being examined in the new context of the Tang dynasty, seeking their accommodation to more advanced technology and associated methods—such as weapons specialization and a focus on speed and mobility. According to the Translator’s Introduction:

The book differs markedly from the earlier classics, being more of a survey of earlier works, combined with a wide-ranging discussion and appreciation of their theories and contradictions. Illustrated by historical examples from their own campaign experiences, these discussions apparently reveal the predominant strategies and tactics of their era.41

Considering that the Tang dynasty represented a renaissance in Chinese civilization, it is not surprising to find a conspicuous interest in the study of ancient strategic wisdom. One may well ponder whether twenty-first-century China under the Communist Party “dynasty” is also mining the past for lessons as it resumes its great power standing. Its new “emperor,” party general secretary and head of state, Xi Jinping, began his 10-year term with a commitment “to realise the great renaissance of the Chinese nation.” To achieve this, he elaborated in a tone reminiscent of the military classics, “we must ensure there is unison between a prosperous country and strong military.”42 Soon after, a new body—a National Security Commission—was established for inter-agency coordination of security policy.

This is indicative of more integrated and centralized control of the country’s defense and security. It differs from Deng Xiaoping’s policy preference for keeping a low profile and Hu Jintao’s emphasis on a peaceful rise without negating either of these. Rather, the emphasis is one of timely applications of strategic subcultures. The Xi Jinping era, despite a more assertive posture in the South China Sea and a Legalist bent in army building, retains a comparatively low profile in international affairs—certainly not as visible as Moscow or as voluble as Washington. While Hu Jintao’s “peaceful rise” lost traction soon after it was announced, mutating into a bland “peaceful development,” the Chinese dragon has yet to show its claws let alone breathe fire into a hot war. The last one was in 1979 against Vietnam across their common land border. There could be a repeat performance, but this time in the South China Sea over rival claims. However, Xi Jinping’s signature policy of One Belt, One Road that seeks to revive “Silk Road” trade and build the associated infrastructure, tilts more to a peaceful rise/development philosophy than a militaristic one.

Believing that “development is the greatest form of security,”43 Beijing has arrived at a way of “resolving difficulties before they arise,” to quote Sunzi.44 Even Taiwan has been embraced via an unprecedented meeting between the two sides in Singapore in November 2015. The meeting between President Xi Jinping and Taiwanese President Ma Ying-jeou marked the first occasion since the conclusion of the Chinese Civil War that the top leaders of PRC and Republic of China (ROC) met. In terms of shì (势) as strategic advantage it came at a time just prior the Taiwanese elections, so that the winner would find that the momentum had been created to continue dialogue with China. The Xi-Ma meeting also occurred when China was experiencing US criticism over island-building in in the South China Sea to bolster Beijing’s claims. Yet Washington’s friend and arms recipient, Taipei, also makes the same claims as Beijing. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the ROC has clearly stated: “Whether from the perspectives of history, geography, or international law, the Nansha (Spratly) Islands, Shisha (Paracel) Islands, Chungsha Islands (Macclesfield Bank), and Tungsha (Pratas) Islands, as well as their surrounding waters, are an inherent part of ROC territory and waters.”45 It was a position which was held firm when on July 12, 2016, the Permanent Court of Arbitration (PCA) in The Hague ruled in favor of the Philippines against China on “the role of historic rights and the source of maritime entitlements in the South China Sea.”46 China might have lost to the Philippines, which had brought the case against China, but it had Taipei (as the ROC) also complaining about The Hague ruling. Taiwan’s new president, Tsai Ing-wen, with whom Beijing was less comfortable compared to Ma Ying-jeou, was now closer to China in her stance against the arbitral award. This complicates the “us/them” dichotomy of US-China competition over influence in the South China Sea. In accordance with the principle of shì as strategic advantage, Beijing benefits from elevating its relationship with Taipei as both support Chinese maritime claims, rejecting international intervention in what they view as their own waters.

Besides the Taiwanese elections, the PCA ruling, and American maritime pressure, the timeliness (shì, 時) of the historic Xi-Ma meeting sits within the wider framework of the above-noted Belt and Road Initiative that sees the region as sharing a “common destiny.” Moreover, by agreeing to address one another as “Mr” rather than by official titles, the two leaders engaged in what amounted to “mutual non-subordination.”47 In other words, neither side was treating the other party as subordinate, without complicating references to Taiwan’s exact status. Xi and Ma judged the time to be right to begin a new phase in cross-strait relations that would generate geopolitical ripples well beyond their immediate zone.

Conclusion: Beyond Geopolitics

Talk of geopolitics, not to mention its classical enactment within the anarchic system, returns discussion to whether strategic culture is a suitable lens for interpreting Chinese policy and behavior. Surely other factors come to dominate when self-interested states compete for influence and resources? While not denying the importance of the system’s structure, “what states make of it” (as the constructivists would say) matters a great deal. The results of such perceptual and relational factors may not be especially predictive, but they do suggest a disposition that allows for probabilistic judgments.

Strategic culture can indeed be likened to a mythical beast, and like all myths it has a message. Its symbolism may be viewed as the key to enter other cultural systems while some myths are universal and so shared by all: for example, in their regard for defensive warfare, deterrent power, justice and humane principles. As for the presence of different and even contradictory strategic subcultures, which in any event are subject to the dialectics of change, what then remains of an authoritative strategic culture? The answer, at least in China’s case, shows that there is no one authoritative strategic culture but a “synchronization”—to borrow from the Yijing or Book of Changes—of several strategic subcultures. As in the Yijing’s symbol of the cauldron, these would both respond to and invoke the environment in which they are given play (or cooked together). The synchronization would also allow for different degrees of influence or a hierarchy of preference in the strategic subcultures.

Chinese strategic subcultures are equated with a wide philosophical spectrum, ranging from Confucian morality and Mohist non-aggression to Daoist fluidity and Legalist order. When viewed within the dialectic of yin-yang and wen-wu (civility-martiality) as their intellectual framework, the elusive aspects of Chinese strategic culture become part of a larger and evolving narrative. This recalls the concept of tongbian as outlined in the Introduction. Buddhism entered Chinese strategic thought from India through a Daoist filter but joined Mohism in its concern for everyone, not just family and friends, and Confucianism in its preference for moderation and avoidance of extremes. Even Legalism’s disdain for personal likes and dislikes (when the law should prevail) finds resonance with Buddhism’s non-attachment, though Buddhist compassion contrasts markedly with Legalism’s strong emphasis on punishment.

We have seen that the historical impetus for China’s distinctive set of strategic values can be traced to over five centuries of an unraveling political order. Known as the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods (771–221 BCE), it was a highly competitive environment that cried out for ways to prevail in warfare and foster peace and stability. The supply side to this demand came in the form of itinerant philosophers whose Hundred Schools of Thought—or cauldron of ideas—vied for political influence. The school of scholars (Confucianism) called for virtue. Daoists, by contrast, did not moralize but appeared to be clever at surviving and manipulating change to their favor. They did this by standing aloof from a situation to see the world from numerous perspectives, including that of the adversary. Rulers were interested in this. Mohists, besides pruning human needs to the essentials and hence conserving resources, were surprisingly idealistic in calling for “universal love” or impartial care for others. Today this would translate as a universal human rights regime. As to the realities of the times, their leader Mozi favored diplomacy to persuade an attacker to desist and defensive engineering to deny him victory. While China today professes “active” rather than “passive” defense, Mozi would no doubt find much to commend its area-denial strategy in what China terms the “near seas.”

So, too, Legalism would approve of the PRC’s authoritarian political system that focuses on developing its material base to increase what it calls “comprehensive national power” or, better still, what the classical strategists called a “strategic configuration of power” (shi). The difference in historical circumstances, of course, is stark. One era was consumed with the problem of war: it was, as Sunzi had said, a question of fighting for survival or facing extinction. In the other era, to quote China’s defense white paper published in 2013, “profound and complex changes have taken place in the world, but peace and development remain the underlying trends of our times.”48 Yet gaining security in time of war as well as building it in peace requires strategic foresight. When one considers the current strategy of active defense, which combines defense and offense, its cultural lineage is not difficult to discern. But how does this approach translate in a world which is neither ancient nor Sinocentric? What of the role of socialism in a capitalist world order or human rights in a Communist Party ruled state? Even environmental concerns have difficulty balancing the hitherto dominant economic imperative.

Fortunately for the world’s largest country whose problems have grown in proportion to its size and influence, China’s rich strategic culture comes well equipped to respond to the demands of the future. The choice of strategic subcultures not only allows for a culturally informed investigation of its power. It is also an examination of which combinations work best for the forthcoming era and what needs to be guarded against. This is how the Yijing would approach the problem, from the perspective of the “auspicious” as well as the dangerous as conditions unfold. Deng’s Daoist-Confucian development policy may have proved to be precisely what China needed in the 1970s—pragmatism and social engineering away from reliance on the command economy—but environmental destruction, social inequality and corruption were not far behind. A new strategic “mix” was needed in the leadership generations after Deng. In Xi Jinping’s case it included a strong dose of Legalism which he termed “the rule of law” but which was clearly punitive when it came to the scale and selection (often Xi’s rivals) of those officials charged with corruption.

Just as particular combinations of philosophies found in the Seven Military Classics addressed the needs of the age for which they were intended, so too they can recombine in a China that has become a global and not merely a regional force. Which combination will work best for the Xi Jinping era and do the components differ in potency (or hierarchy)? Will we see a powerful dragon in Socialist-Confucian-Legalist garb? A Daoist-Confucian-Socialist qilin (unicorn) that presages an era of illustrious governance? Or some other metaphoric rendering of Chinese characteristics, that resemble the various streams of thought that compete and combine in a globalized China? This is explored in the final chapter of this book on the politics and philosophy of Chinese power, seeking a timely confluence of strategic thought in the affairs of state.

Notes

1. Sometimes it has been employed critically. “Hegemony with Chinese Characteristics,” for example, is an article analyzing Sino-American relations in structural realist terms. See Aaron L. Friedberg, “Hegemony with Chinese Characteristics,” National Interest no. 114, July/August 2011, 18–27.

2. Antulio J. Echevarria, “Strategic Culture: More Problems than Prospects,” Infinity Journal 3, no. 2 (Spring 2013): 4–7; Johnston, Cultural Realism, Ch. 1; Jeffrey S. Lantis, “Strategic Culture: From Clausewitz to Constructivism,” Strategic Insights IV, no. 10 (October 2005).

3. Jack Snyder, “The Soviet Strategic Culture: Implications for Limited Nuclear Operations,” Santa Monica, CA: Rand R-2154-AF (September 1977), 4.

4. Snyder, “The Soviet Strategic Culture,” 4.

5. Alexander Wendt, “Anarchy is What States Make of It: The Social Construction of Power Politics,” International Organization no. 46 (Spring 1992): 391–425.

6. See Jeffrey S. Lantis, “Strategic Culture and Tailored Deterrence,” Contemporary Security Policy (December 2009): 30, 467–85.

7. Colin S. Gray, “Strategy and Culture,” 92, in Strategy in Asia: The Past, Present and Future of Regional Security, ed. Thomas G. Mahnken and Dan Blumenthal (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014), 92–107.

8. Alastair Iain Johnston, Cultural Realism: Strategic Culture and Grand Strategy in Chinese History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), 1.

9. Huiyun Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture and Foreign Policy Decision-Making: Confucianism, Leadership and War (New York: Routledge, 2007), 32.

10. Snyder, “The Soviet Strategic Culture,” 39.

11. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 6. Johnston notes Colin Gray, Carnes Lord and David Jones as examples of the first generation (p. 7). On the generations of strategic culture literature, see Johnston, Cultural Realism, Ch. 1; Dima P. Adamsky, American Strategic Culture and the US Revolution in Military Affairs (Oslo: Norwegian Institute for Defence Studies, 2008), 8–12; and Antulio J. Echevarria, “Strategic Culture: More Problems than Prospects,” Infinity Journal 3, no. 2 (Spring 2013): 4–7.

12. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 15–17.

13. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 18.

14. Snyder, “The Soviet Strategic Culture,” v; Johnston, Cultural Realism, 21.

15. Colin S. Gray, “Strategic Culture as Context: The First Generation of Theory Strikes Back,” Review of International Studies 25, no. 1 (1999): 49.

16. Antulio J. Echevarria, “Strategic Culture: More Problems than Prospects,” Infinity Journal 3, no. 2 (2001): 6.

17. This appeared in two publications: Robert Kagan, “Power and Weakness: Why the United States and Europe See the World Differently,” Policy Review no. 113 (June–July 2002); and Robert Kagan, Of Paradise and Power, America and Europe in the New World Order (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2003).

18. Echevarria, “Strategic Culture: More Problems than Prospects,” 6.

19. State Council Information Office, PRC, China’s Military Strategy, White Paper (Beijing, May 2015), Section III: Strategic Guideline of Active Defense.

20. Sun Tzu (trans. Samuel B. Griffith), The Art of War (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), I.1.

21. See Chun-Shu Chang, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007), 9–69.

22. This period has been viewed as part of the wider “Axial Age,” a theory pioneered by Karl Jaspers (1883–1969). He observed that from 800 to 200 BCE was the time that civilizations, both from the East and West, flourished and produced their greatest philosophers. The Axial Age idea also allows for a multicultural view of historical developments, and the consequent “multiple modernities,” that would appeal to China’s policy of honoring civilizational diversity in contemporary international relations. On recent scholarly discussion of the Axial Age, see Robert N. Bellah and Hans Joas (eds.), The Axial Age and Its Consequences (Cambridge and London: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2012).

23. The Master said, “To send the common people to war untrained is to throw them away.” Confucius (trans. D. C. Lau), Analects (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1979), 13.30. See also 12.7 where Confucius states that one of the responsibilities of government to ensure the state is adequately armed for defense.

24. Chen-Ya Tien, Chinese Military Theory: Ancient and Modern (New York: Mosaic Press, 1992), 23.

25. Ralph D. Sawyer with Mei-Chün Sawyer (trans. and commentary), The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China (New York: Basic Books, 2007).

26. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 44.

27. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 23, and note 2, 389.

28. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 35.

29. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 35–37; Johnston, Cultural Realism, 43.

30. “Methods of Ssu-ma [Sima],” Ch. 2, in Sawyer, ‘The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 118.

31. See Sawyer, “Translator’s Introduction,” The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 111–25.

32. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, III.2: Attack by Stratagem (suntzusaid.com). Based on the English translation by Lionel Giles first published in 1910.

33. For approximations to the three fallibilities, see Sunzi’s Art of War, VIII.12: Variation in Tactics. Besides “recklessness, which leads to destruction,” “a delicacy of honor which is sensitive to shame,” and “a hasty temper, which can be provoked by insults,” Sunzi lists another two “faults which may affect a general.” These are: “cowardice, which leads to capture” and “over-solicitude for his men, which exposes him to worry and trouble.” (Sunzi, VIII.12: Variation in Tactics).

34. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 191–92.

35. From a translation used in Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 195.

36. “Translator’s Introduction,” Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 229.

37. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 460, note 3.

38. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 284.

39. Translation of the Three Strategies in Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 292.

40. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 293.

41. “Translator’s Introduction,” Questions and Replies between Tang Taizong and Li Weigong, Sawyer, 313.

42. Xi Jinping, speech, Closing Session of National People’s Congress, March 17, 2013; and Jeremy Page, ‘For Xi, a “China Dream” of Military Power’, The Wall Street Journal (http://online.wsj.com), March 13, 2013.

43. People’s Daily Online, May 21, 2014, quoted in David Cohen, “‘A Clash of Security Concepts’: China’s Effort to Redefine Security,” China Brief 14, no. 11 (June 4, 2014): 1.

44. Sunzi, III.4: Offensive Strategies.

45. Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Republic of China (Taiwan), “Statement on the South China Sea,” July 7, 2015, para 1.

46. Permanent Court of Arbitration, “The South China Sea Arbitration (The Republic of Philippines v. The People’s Republic of China),” Press Release, The Hague, July 12, 2016, https://pca-cpa.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/175/2016/07/PH-CN-20160712-Press-Release-No-11-English.pdf.

47. CNA, “Higher risks for Xi than Ma, say experts,” The China Post, November 7, 2015.

48. State Council Information Office, PRC, The Diversified Employment of China’s Armed Forces, White Paper (Beijing, April 2013), Section I: New Situation, New Challenges and New Missions.

Conclusion

The Dance of the Giants

Avoiding Conflict in the Twenty-first Century

Beijing has long understood that national strength rests on effective governance. By adhering to this fundamental insight, China has been able to maintain its place as a significant world power, even as its relative power and influence fluctuated. Periods of breakdown, revolution and civil war did interrupt this process, but were soon followed by efforts to rebuild a unified state. These efforts were sustained by a grand narrative of legitimate governments grounded in the mandate of ensuring the well-being of the Chinese people. In recent decades, the PRC’s evolving and increasingly systematic approach toward enhancing power across numerous domains has lifted it from a regional Asian power toward a sustained global role. This can be seen in China’s involvement in both Eurasian and Indo-Pacific dynamics, but also its targeted engagement with Latin America and Africa. It is not surprising that this now involves major economic and strategic dialogues with both the United States and the European Union.

Such interchange, at times cooperative and at other times acrimonious, is no longer conducted on the basis of Western tutelage of a developing state. However, the evolution of Chinese power has come with serious costs and critical bridging points: increased tensions with Washington and Tokyo, a level of mutual brinksmanship in the South China and East China seas, and the need for new investment and trade models to diversify and stabilize the Chinese economy. There are grounds, both ideological and practical, to expect that this transition will fall short of sustained superpower or hegemonic roles. At present, the Chinese leadership understands that global power is shared in a complex period of globalization, with rising powers representing one phase of emergent multipolarity. It is a phase that is also fraught with dangers, and requires greater attention to structure and institutions in order to become a functional system of international governance. Likewise, China’s relations with the United States, India, Japan, and even Russia may well constrain its ability to shape the global agenda.

Power does not stop conflict. On the contrary, high or growing levels of state power may engender intensified competition, whether through classic security dilemmas or leadership challenges at the regional and global levels. For the PRC, the “China threat” narrative has been a major challenge to its foreign policy principles and developmental strategies over the last three decades. The answer to these dilemmas for Beijing depends on effective and efficient governance: domestically, in its international relations, and the way it contributes to any revised global order.

This is not simply the accruing of different aspects of power—in its soft, economic, and military dimensions. Chinese power rests on the ability of the elite to lead the wider population, whether in the dynastic period or in a modernizing state with limited democratic and populist credentials. Ancient philosophers approached this problem from different angles, whether via a humanist and inclusive, but hierarchical, system (as preferred in Confucian thought), the option of small states with limited governments (utopian Daoist and Mohist agenda), or the Legalist preference for strong government and harsh laws. In reality, many dynastic governments were hybrids of these formulations, seeking an effective administration empowered by ethics, careful selection of office holders, systematic enforcement of punishments and the use of Daoist strategic insights.

Furthermore, the approach to governance was never purely mechanical or managerial in its operation. It involved the control of language and titles, rites, ritual, and roles, partly through the “rectification of names”1 but also through a systematic approach to education. This education was designed to enhance the capabilities of the individuals with whom authority resided, whether emperors, kings, generals, or administrative officials. Institutions did evolve to regulate such empowered persons. Improper use of power and exceeding one’s authority, for example, were familiar charges alongside more common forms of corruption such as self-enrichment. Indeed, the “merging of elements of Confucianism, Daoist, and Buddhism established the neo-Confucian vocabulary that was used to legitimate political power until the end of the dynastic system in 1911.”2 Nonetheless, Chinese bureaucracies functioned more as articulators of human judgment than collective conduits of institutional capacity. Today, the shaping of public language forms, promotion of particular political expressions imbued with socialist rhetoric, and regulating internet access and usage are aspects of the educational and soft power functions of the modern state.3

Only secondarily, or during periods of crisis or threat, does twenty-first-century China rely on the coercive and defensive capabilities of the People’s Liberation Army and related security services. Internationally, its power is determined by a capacity to influence the behavior of other states within a global system largely structured in the twentieth century before China had re-emerged as a powerful nation. Once the PRC severed its earlier alignment with the Soviet Union, it had to develop a diplomatic and geopolitical agenda that became largely divorced from long-term revolutionary or communist goals. This experiential reality required a comprehensive and flexible approach to power, one that was increasingly attuned to its international ramifications. For China, this is conditioned by historical experience, particular conceptual understandings inherited from the past, and adaptation to prevailing conditions.

Even for dynastic China, the myths of unity and continuity could not conceal the strategic imperatives of survival. Different dynasties had to be defended through skillful social and military means, and at various strategic levels—from dealing with local insurrections to navigating the inevitable geopolitical upheavals in neighboring regions. For the Tang dynasty (618–907), among China’s most celebrated, Central Asia played a prominent role in view of East-West trade along the routes known as the Silk Road. The political consequence of this commercial activity was that Chinese influence extended well beyond its defensive walls and the Middle Kingdom heartland in the east. It resulted in inter-ethnic royal bloodlines, a cosmopolitan outlook, and pragmatism in maintaining the dynastic institution while not necessarily an indigenous “Chinese” as emperor.

When the Central Asian trade routes were turning into battlefields among rival kingdoms, the Tang dynasty sought southern maritime routes to compensate for overland difficulties. In doing so it contributed to a process that culminated hundreds of years later in what can only be termed a “maritime super-region.” This peaked when the early Ming dynasty’s treasure fleets represented the most advanced navy in the world. Rather than conquest by arms, these impressive fleets plied the waters of Asia and Africa, focused more on tribute-and-trade diplomacy rather than military intervention. By the time of the last dynasty, the Qing (1644–1911), the empire stretched from the Korean border to Tibet, and from the newly acquired Xinjiang in Central Asia to Taiwan in the maritime East. This expansion was the solution to insecurity on its border zones but it also consolidated China in its transnational identity across vast territory. “At the end of it all,” Julia Lovell observed, “Qing emperors could realistically proclaim themselves as the Lord of Lords: the Confucian Son of Heaven, the Khan of the Mongol Khans and the Patron-in-Chief of Tibetan Buddhism.”4

A Mandala-Tianxia Interface

China came to be enriched by its periphery as much as by its core regions,5 while the polycentric nature of regional trade and power meant that mutually articulating centers formed mandalic regions—to use a Hindu-Buddhist metaphor. The example in Chapter 3 of maritime Southeast Asia under Srivijaya’s polycentric mandala was instructive. This was the time of the Tang to Song dynasties when a “mandala-tianxia” interface sustained its influence even as its relative power declined. China’s current return to regions of its wider trading and diplomatic circles via the One Belt and One Road (OBOR) megaproject, also dubbed the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), should not be surprising when taking a longer historical view. The building of infrastructure is not only a matter of engineering but also of cultural connectivity in a way that goes beyond the modern transactional model adopted from the West. The mandala can be thought of as a cross-cultural technology for activating the “map” of this connectivity, one in which global development and cultural dialogue can be constituted without discriminating against the “parts” that make up the “whole.” This is helped by the fact that the mandala, while Indic in name and ritual development, is a universal symbol that can be found in many faiths, including Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam.

In view of Asia’s re-emergence as the geopolitical and economic heartland, the “mandala-tianxia” regional circle holds the potential of realising a Buddhist-Confucian geopolitics for peace. Daoism, too, has a contribution. The impact of large scale economic transformations can be negative in subsuming or destroying local means of livelihood and fragile sub-cultures, as demonstrated by the earlier phases of European imperial expansion. It is crucial, therefore, that a way or dao of complementary development and mutual understanding be generated alongside the ports, bridges and other physical thoroughfares of commerce. Buddhism, with its wide pan-Asian footprint and sophisticated models of human and natural interdependence, can provide an important role in a new mandala of Indo-Eurasia civilisations.6 So, too, Daoism provides “grounded” wisdom which pertains to the small scale and in everyday life. Its attention to local communities retaining their vibrancy in the vastness of the ecological sphere, or simply seeking to provide a spiritual compass in a megacity like Shanghai,7 has much to commend it as a living force in Chinese culture. It can even represent common ground across the Taiwan Strait where so-called “new values and lifestyles for a postindustrial era” are being sought among Taiwan’s younger generation who overwhelmingly voted against the China-friendly ruling party, the Guomindang, at the 2016 national elections.8 Daoism is especially geared to providing a critique to big business, big government and conformist attitudes. It has often played the counter-cultural role to Confucian mainstream culture. Confucianism, for its part, represents a moral order which shares much in common with the world’s major ethical systems and is promoted by Chinese government as a guiding philosophy in its quest for a harmonious world (hexie shijie).

These realities show the great diversity of ideas and values flowing through the wider Chinese population in the current period. Moving from early Communist processes such as “democratic centralism” as a means to arrive at an enforced “party line,” the current leadership knows it has to engage with the wider aspirations of the population, hence the recent emphasis on articulating the China Dream slogan into actual policies. This is no longer an issue of propagating knowledge and ideas to ensure political power, but engaging in partial accommodations to a wider set of societal values, tapping into the resources and abilities of the entire population, rather than over-reliance on state capacities.

For the last three decades, Chinese governments have secured legitimacy as leading both a socialist and “developmentalist” state. State-led development became its political priority, even as the forces of private business and capitalism had been unleashed to boost societal and national wealth, thereby challenging the status quo of Western economic success. This approach has its critics, especially in terms of protecting inefficient state-owned enterprises, poor investment patterns and non-returning loans that may undermine future growth. Nonetheless, China managed to ride out the 2008–2009 global financial crisis as a responsible stakeholder in the global recovery, and has begun to export its own model of development via the One Belt, One Road agenda. This is supported by new multilateral financial institutions, a dedicated Silk Road Fund, and Chinese national banks that fund development—in recent years the PRC has lent more to developing countries than the World Bank.9 Moreover, there are fewer strings attached: “By not insisting on some free market economic policies recommended by the World Bank, the AIIB [Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank, see below] is likely to avoid criticism leveled against its rivals, who some say impose unreasonable demands on borrowers.”10

Still a developing state itself, China has sought to strengthen its overall capacity by targeting benchmarks of “comprehensive national power.” It is only on this basis that it can feel that it no longer needs to “bide its time,” but can begin to transform the international order. This is framed in both cooperative and competitive terms, but driven by the imperative to enhance living conditions for 1.3 billion people. Xi Jinping has come to realize that in order to sustain a “permissive” international environment and to give credibility to China’s “win-win” foreign policy, these benefits need to flow out to other Asian and Eurasian populations. This helps explain the emphasis on “shared dreams,” and the continued expansion of the “community of common destiny” concept over recent years. Though strange to Western political audiences, these are efforts to move beyond state-mobilized nationalism as the basis for domestic support and as alternative means to enhance China’s wider influence. In such a setting, the accountability of government remains a crucial issue for China today, as does its use of soft and hard power in the international arena.

Soft and Hard Power Dynamics

When considering the dialectical relationship between soft and hard power, it is not surprising that Chinese thinkers could readily adapt to warfare under asymmetric conditions, whether by “people’s war” (against the GMD), in subverting US engagement in the Korean War, or by developing satellite and cyber-capacities that while theoretically behind US technologies still radically change the nature of warfare in the twenty-first century. The use of “hearts and minds,” for example, is a soft power component to a hard power decisive victory. Without it, phase three of “people’s war”—strategic counter-attack using conventional forces—could not have matured. This is because the first phase of strategic retreat prepared the ground for the second phase of stalemate through equalizing unequal forces via the moral component of warfare—winning over the local population to one’s cause and setting up a just war narrative.

Mao’s “people’s war” was designed to fight a superior foe. Today, in local conflicts it is more likely that the People’s Republic of China will be acting from a position of advantage in the power calculus, as well as enjoying state legitimacy, if confronted by insurgency movements within and across its borders. The Shanghai Cooperation Organization’s (and China’s) designated security threats of terrorism, separatism and extremism—termed the “three evils”—reveal a renewed application of active defense, the strategic theory that has remained salient despite profound changes since Mao. Instead of retreating in phase one of “people’s war” (trading space for time), or simply defending its borders, China has taken the “war” against the three evils beyond its borders into Central Asia. This has been showcased through military exercises and the conference rooms of SCO summitry. If anything, China has enacted what amounts to “phase zero.” Reminiscent of Sunzi’s advice that the best strategy is to win without war, phase zero (an American term) is the preliminary stage of a campaign at theater level, whose success would not require any other phases to follow.11 In this sense, China’s western and northern strategic policy seeks political outcomes to change conditions that could otherwise degenerate into insurgencies or escalate into transnational conflicts. Thus China’s strong diplomacy with Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan reduces the likelihood of localized tensions with Uyghur groups in Xinjiang becoming an internationalized conflict.

Such thinking has been adapted to the PRC’s southern maritime region. Here China may appear the stronger party compared to its ASEAN neighbors. But it remains the weaker side vis-à-vis long-standing US dominance in a region whose strategic significance has been reinforced by the United States “pivoting” to Asia as of 2012. Unlike phase zero where China has the upper hand in Central Asia, the leadership has retained Mao’s victory-denial strategy that relies on asymmetric warfare in the East and South China seas (or the “near seas”). Another American-coined term, “anti-access, area-denial” (A2/AD), has been widely employed to describe this posture, though the Chinese expressions are “counter-intervention” and “active strategic counter-attacks on exterior lines.” This is deemed to be China’s current operational doctrine and could entail operations well beyond China’s contiguous seas. According to senior PLA strategist, Peng Guangqian: “To the greatest extent possible, the war should be brought to the enemy’s bases, war-fighting platforms and the enemy’s war-fighting places of origin, actively striking all the forces which make up the enemy’s war-fighting system.”12 This suggests an “exterior strategy” of secondary theaters beyond China’s periphery. The authoritative Science of Military Strategy does not regard this as a problem: “There now exist long-range strike capabilities, so we can strike the enemy at a great distance. If we wait at home, it is all over.”13 Gone are the “people’s war” days when strategic retreat was confined to the Chinese mainland. Active defense in today’s anti-access mode does not stop at two island chains, as US defense analysts expect of China’s A2/AD operations.

These island chains have been a staple of US Department of Defense annual reports to Congress on the PRC’s military power. The first island chain encloses the East and South China seas (or the “near seas” which for strategic purposes are “interior lines” or primary theaters because they are so close to “home ground”) and the second island chain extends from Japan to Guam in the Pacific Ocean (“far seas” or secondary theaters of “exterior lines”) down to Darwin in Australia—all important staging areas for the US military. In the new world of warfare with its five-dimensional battlefield—land, sea, air, space and cyberspace—anti-access could occur as far out as space or as intimately close as the enemy’s critical infrastructure through cyber-attacks. It need not be confined to the more traditional “naval and aerial targets” or “the enemy’s overseas military bases,” identified by Peng Guangqian and Yao Youzhi in the Science of Military Strategy.14 Irrespective of scope of operations, the philosophy remains the same: defensive. The trigger for “counter-intervention” (or A2/AD) in the name of active defense depends on what constitutes “firing the first shot at China at the strategic level,” for besides the obvious—that of territorial invasion—there is the phrase, “severely harming China’s interests,” which is also identified as a “first shot.”15 This presents a potential adversary with “a difficult situation when trying to gauge what constitutes an offense to Chinese national interest or Chinese territory.”16 Ambiguity may also serve as a strategic tool that raises the calculus of risk.

Such ambiguity may challenge China’s historical narratives that emphasize that it has always used war and military operations defensively. Furthermore, pre-emptive defense measures, whether in building islands in the South China Sea or enhancing cyber-capacities, seem either assertive or to lay the foundations for the further use of force. This is more than a dispute over specific territorial claims: it involves a clash of perceptions about global order which betrays high levels of distrust among major and well-armed states, especially China, Japan, the United States, and to a lesser degree India. This “dance of giants” holds the potential for direct military clashes and escalation into traditional wars that would undermine much of the regional order-building in East Asia since the late 1960s.

Dance of the Giants

In global politics, much analytical energy has been expended in devising scenarios of war and peace in the Asian region with China as one of the main protagonists. Several lessons, however, can be drawn from the long-term history of the Chinese state within its wider Asian setting. The first of these is that while in terms of identity China has been shaped and enriched by its periphery, as a state China is not peripheral. Its geographical location, complex borders with numerous adjacent states, its nearby seas whether seen as source of threat or opportunity (linking it first into maritime networks with Japan, the Philippines, Southeast Asia and Indonesia, and then the wider Indo-Pacific), and its complex civilizational linkages into South Asia and Eurasia make it indeed a “central” state. It is not the only “Asian” center but it represents a major power node in a re-emerging polycentric order.

This means that any effort to sideline, dislocate or contain China and its interests in the wider region are misdirected and ultimately doomed to fail. Containment strategies, even if only indirectly structured through deepened military cooperation by the United States with Japan, the Philippines, Vietnam, India, and Australia, are mere political tools driven by past Cold War strategies rather than real answers to current problems. China is now beyond containment via classical deterrence using conventional weapons, unless the United States is indeed willing to engage in direct strikes against PLA military bases or naval targets. Such actions could escalate into a large-scale conflict, fought with high-tech and nuclear weapons. This is a “red line” which neither Beijing nor Washington wishes to cross. Mutual restraint, and the calculation of costs, has kept confrontations between these two powers to a low level. However, the repeated scrambling of Japanese and Chinese fighters over the Diaoyu/Senkaku islands, the increased air-surveillance patrols over the South China Sea mandated for US and Australian aircraft from Singapore, and the modernization of Vietnamese air and naval forces are hardly signs of genuine “peace.” Fortunately, there are a number of moderators at play which suggest that there need be no automatic escalation into warfare.

“Shared interests” is the first “moderator” to consider. Ironically, the United States and China need each other. There was a time in the past when Washington felt it “lost China,” notably to the Communists after the Chinese civil war, and another time in history when the “China card” mattered in strategically encircling the Soviet Union, making it vulnerable to a two-front war on its western borders with Europe and its eastern frontier with China. Now the time has come to take careful stock of where this relationship stands. Chinese realist Yan Xuetong has made the pertinent point that the United States and China will work better together if they both acknowledge they do not trust each other:

The worst-case scenario is not that China and the United States will face more strategic conflicts in the coming years, but that they never learn how to develop cooperation based on lack of mutual trust, thus allowing a small conflict to escalate into a major one.

In order to keep unavoidable conflicts manageable, China and the United States should adopt the principle of “peaceful competition” for their strategic relationship . . . States cooperate not because of mutual trust, but because of shared interests that make cooperation safe and productive.17

Yan Xuetong goes on to identify areas of shared interests: denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula, improving maritime security in the South and East China seas, helping to regulate cyber security through international norms, avoiding the militarization of space, and cooperating on non-traditional security such as humanitarian assistance which also helps develop military-to-military relations. To this list we would add that both are economic giants that have become mutually dependent through trade and investment flows, and both have cooperated in the war on terror and will in all probability continue to do so as the threat of politically motivated violence has not abated.

On the other hand, historical Sino-Japanese animosity means that the US-Japan alliance taints China’s relations with the United States. Similarly, the contested South China Sea has gone beyond disputation among the immediate claimants and through 2015–2016 attracted the military attention of Washington and its allies. Nonetheless, China does not need to go to war to achieve its goals. Indeed, to do so would be a grand failure. Though China has been willing to reject international criticism and increase its military and infrastructure presence to secure its territorial claims, there are limits to how far it can extend this approach. Cooperation serves China’s wider interests better than bellicosity.

This leads to the second moderating factor, the power of cooperation. There is an old Chinese saying that “two tigers cannot live on the same mountain,” which equates with the power transition theory predicting conflict between a rising and a prevailing power (also expressed in John Mearsheimer’s The Tragedy of Great Power Politics). However, this can be amended to another form of realism that accepts that the tigers are competitive but that they have a common interest in maintaining their habitat. If preserved, the mountain is big enough for both. This then flows to a more cooperative “new type” relationship. So it does not matter if you share the “same bed,” you still have “different dreams,”18—an American dream and a Chinese dream. Confucius would agree: we can live harmoniously without being the same. Indeed, harmony requires diversity and complementarity.

Just as the United States saw itself as “losing China” in the twentieth century, China today must guard against “losing America” in the twenty-first, or else mutual interests obtained through cooperation will also suffer. The trouble with metaphors is that they not only act as bridges to better understanding but can also lock in particular perspectives. Losing a country or “playing it as a card” speaks a great deal about Sino-American relations as a classical geopolitical ploy. But there are further associations: there is an implication of China being an object to be won or lost, like a lover or a football player, or even played like a card game. The perspective looks American; but China too, made constructive use of its ability to both tilt toward and criticize the states it engaged, first the Soviet Union, then the United States, followed by a partial reconciliation with Moscow. After all, it was Nixon who visited China in the ground-breaking rapprochement of 1972. Therefore, it could equally be said that China was playing the US card against its primary enemy, the Soviet Union—a case of “my enemy’s enemy is my friend.” Today, China does not wish to be forced into seeing the United States as a permanent opponent, nor be locked into a hard-alliance with Russia which goes beyond a loose coordination of mutual interests.

What might be a more productive metaphor? The mandala has structural advantages but the human element is surely more potent. Here is where Washington and Beijing may be viewed as dancing partners. It would be a dance where no one takes the lead, as in the dance of giants it is better to avoid being too close in case there is a collision. Under conditions of globalization, China has sought to break out from these singular and dominant relations with existing or past superpowers. This is evidenced in its wider and proactive engagement of rising and middle powers, along with its increasing involvement with ASEAN, the SCO, and BRICS, plus a sustained emphasis on relations with Latin America, Africa and Europe. This is the basis of its twenty-first-century role as a global power, but not the advent of a traditional superpower.

The Need for a New Model of Power

China inherently brings more to the international table than reassuring slogans. It invokes a whole new metaphysics of the meaning of balance and relationships, grounded in a Confucian-Daoist-Buddhist world order, but structured more formally through the polycentricity of multilateral institutions. By facilitating a cooperative regionalism in East Asia, and creating stronger economic, trade and societal conduits within its Silk Road circles, it is embedding its own enduring role as a global power. This is why the task of managing a peaceful transition into a functional and stable multilateralism is arguably China’s most important undertaking in the next two decades.

This is where the Xi Jinping administration will need to shift its Legalist sights from hunting tigers and swatting flies—a Chinese reference to stamping out corruption by pursuing top party (“tigers”) as well as lower-level officials (“flies”)—to broader Confucian-style campaigns that build transnational norms of best practice. This will become increasingly important as the One Belt, One Road connectivity is built. One of its key enablers, the China-led Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB), a multilateral development bank which came into operation in 2016, provides a model of such aspirations:

Its modus operandi will be lean, clean and green: lean, with a small efficient management team and highly skilled staff; clean, an ethical organization with zero tolerance for corruption; and green, an institution built on respect for the environment. The AIIB will put in place strong policies on governance, accountability, financial, procurement and environmental and social frameworks.19

In its “lean, clean and green” motto it resembles a Daoism for modern times: minimalism (no EU-style bureaucracy here), anti-greed (that so commonly leads to graft and financial crises in so-called mature economies), and a corresponding respect for the environment which, when understood as part of the process of self-realization could result in an ecological civilization (see further the Introduction). Here many paths and aspirations converge, whether Eastern or Western, Arab or African: the hope of a new generation of sustainable economies, ecologies and societies in a phase of cooperative globalization. This “Eurasian pivot” for China, as it has been dubbed, represents an initial step in this wider agenda. China will not be able to achieve these ambitious goals alone, but has tried to shape a new language of power that will allow it not only to survive, but thrive in a global dynamic that remains competitive but less risk-prone.

It is these deeper issues that need to be injected into China’s major international dialogues, especially the regular meetings that have been instituted with the United States and the European Union. Although the specialized sessions, on issues such as cyber security and North Korea, are important, the deeper themes of “strategic trust” and charting a shared future need to be reinvorgated. It will take more than one president or one presidential term to forge these new relations. Relationships among great powers can change, especially under new regional and global conditions. Germany and France were once bitter enemies, Argentina and Brazil fierce competitors for regional influence, a defeated Japan is now a senior ally of the United States, and the presidents of the United States and Cuba shook hands in 2015. States with power and influence need to escape from the narrow confines of past historical tensions and shape the future by preparing the ground for better opportunities. This entails going beyond tactical advantage and spoiler politics.

Leadership today cannot be seized by victory in war, nor can peace be defined negatively as the absence of bloody battlefields. New and serious work is required on an active diplomacy of mutuality. It would have to extend beyond existing Chinese understandings of global co-governance and multilateral state co-governance. Likewise, there is a requirement for sophisticated “Western” processes of peace-building and dispute resolution to be directed toward inclusive preemption of conflict and escalation among the “giants.” China must be considered a crucial part of this transformation, based on its enhanced understanding and usage of power. This power, however, is based on, and enmeshed in, complex societal and international relationships. China does not need allies. It needs partners that are prepared to revise the meaning of national power and global order.

We noted in Chapter 4 that particular combinations of philosophies addressed the needs of the era for which they were intended. The time has come for another combination to support China as a global rather than a merely regional power. When President Xi Jinping gave his New Year address for 2016 he spoke of the domestic need for “green development that is also open and shared by all” and of the importance of getting “the tens of millions of rural population out of poverty.” But he also added an international dimension: “The world is so big, and the problems are so many. The international community expects to hear China’s voice and see China’s plans. China cannot be absent . . . Let our ‘circle of friends’ grow bigger and bigger.”20 Here there is a Daoist respect for the planet, a Confucian concern for people’s welfare and celebration of good relations among friends, but perhaps most significant is a drift away from Legalism. Xi concluded his speech by suggesting that swords be turned into plowshares. In Chinese cultural terms, we could say that the traditional cauldron of Book of Changes fame could nourish the emerging era. By centralizing power and strictly enforcing punishment for corrupt activities, Xi Jinping has given the impression of being a Communist emperor with Legalist leanings. However, in true dialectic fashion, this may not last. Looking back upon history, Reischauer and Fairbank have noted a lesson worth remembering: “The Legalist victory, while seeming to destroy Confucianism, in reality created a stable society in which it could triumph. The Confucian victory, far from destroying Legalism, made the Legalist empire all but indestructible.”21 The transition to a more humane world order is timely at this unprecedented era of global awareness. Its prospects for success are to be found in a timeless preoccupation with this fundamental problem in Chinese civilization. Will Xi Jinping “deliver” from the Chinese side of the “humane world” equation?

Xi Jinping and the Search for a Socialist Synthesis

Legalist thinker Han Feizi would have been proud of Xi Jinping’s ability to grasp the “handles of state” as quickly and as firmly as he did upon becoming general secretary of the Chinese Communist Party in November 2012. So well did he understand the importance of concentrating power under his authority that within three years he was called the “core” leader in press and political speeches alike. It was a lexical change that decoupled him from Premier Li Keqiang. The dual reference had been customary with the previous leadership, the Hu-Wen administration, referring to President Hu Jintao and Premier Wen Jiabao.

Xi Jinping’s “core” status is unsurprising given the array of titles he collected, in addition to the regular ones of CCP general secretary, PRC president, and chairman of the Central Military Commission (CMC). He has become the chairman of “a suite of ‘central leading groups’,” as Rowan Callick puts it, “that co-ordinate and direct policy, over and above Ministerial, State Council, or any other government bodies, in areas ranging from cyber security and the internet, to economic and social reform, to the new domestically focused National Security Commission.”22 The new bodies correspond to the structural dimension of Xi’s reforms, while the more publicized campaigns against corruption, internal enemies who could form their own political base, and crackdowns on dissent via social media reflect Xi’s strongman stance—a charismatic sheen to more profound political shifts. Among the newly created bodies under Xi’s direction is the National Security Commission of the CCP, established in November 2013. In centralizing internal and external security affairs, the NSC is attempting to bring greater coherence to security policy. This reflects not only on Xi’s accumulation of power, but also China’s emergence as a great power on the global stage. It needs the equivalent of a national security council to deal with the diplomatic and security complexities that have evolved with China’s rise. This is further reflected in the importance directed to cyber security. The Central Internet Security and Information Leading Group was announced at the same time as the NSC as the body to oversee online activity. Its members, according to Xi, would be “politically firm, professionally competent and morally upright.”23 If this was not enough, the Strategic Support Force (SSF) emerged two years later as part of a new round of PLA reforms. Designed to control China’s cyber assets, one of its role is to win information-based war, using asymmetric methods. This entails, according to the authoritative Science of Military Strategy, the need to “paralyze enemy operational system of systems” and “sabotage enemy’s war command system of systems.”24 Xi Jinping, as chairman of the Central Military Commission, announced this and other reforms to the PLA to bring them into a more streamlined structure under the CMC’s direct command.

Besides accruing more titles and greater control over the country, Xi may extend his decade as president by five years, hoping perhaps to become, as Willy Lam has remarked, “a Mao Zedong of the twenty-first Century.”25 This is not as far-fetched as it may sound. It is only the presidency that is limited to two five-year terms. Maintaining the position of party general secretary could continue—though in the face of certain opposition—while the top military post of CMC chairman would also be kept as a lever of control.26

Rather than becoming the Mao of the twenty-first century, Xi Jinping could be the Deng Xiaoping of a protracted leadership by not having any titles in the end—just power. Deng had died in 1997 as “paramount” leader but he held no formal position. This would be a fitting Daoist conclusion to a vigorous Legalist march through China’s political landscape, transforming it into a powerful but still socialist state. No doubt, Xi Jinping will himself become a commemorated comrade if his reforms succeed in strengthening Chinese and thence world governance. Future commentators would look back upon Xi as a model party emperor. Alternatively, he might be blamed for lacking a timely response to practical problems and international expectations, thus failing to provide a strategic response to the current configuration of power. His successors, Communist or not, would rise from the accumulated resentments of a restrained society.

The Mandate of Heaven needs to be constantly renewed. This calls for commitment to a socialist polity that is innovative in its approach to solving societal difficulties at this time of China’s transition to fully fledged global power. President Xi’s determination to reinvigorate Marxist thought in China has manifested in numerous ways, including strengthening its intellectual credentials as a philosophy of political relevance. Peking University has become a primary site of Marxism studies. It hosted the inaugural world congress on Marxism in 2015, and its library is building up an extensive Marx collection alongside the Confucian one. Xi Jinping’s search for a socialist synthesis with the “best of the West” and China’s philosophical traditions suggests a strong chance of survival for China’s hybrid socialism. This is contingent upon the “core” leader convincingly performing more like that the “pole star” of Confucian teaching,27 than the tyrants that populate dynastic histories. The pole star is an analogy for attracting others through virtue rather than building walls of futile protection.

China’s approach to domestic and global power configurations is at once deeply historical, learning from traditions that stretch back over three millennia, and primarily political in that it is highly sensitive to the changing dynamics of political power, whether domestic or international. If dynastic China at times blundered in assuming it retained a central role in wider Asian affairs, it soon adapted and sought to regain its relative influence, either by extended trade and diplomatic networks under the Song, or by reintegrating its territorial reach and defensive capabilities (as found in the Ming and early Qing periods). In the twenty-first century, the PRC has sought to comprehensively measure, expand and diversify the dimensions of its power as a modernizing state. This has involved intensive efforts to maintain a centralized, socialist state system, boost its soft power influence, extend its maritime capabilities, and create new networks linking Eurasia and the Indo-Pacific via its Silk Road projects. More controversially, China has sought to reshape its relations with other great powers (including the United States) to prepare the ground for the onset of a period of functional multipolarity. China’s progress in these ambitious projects will shape much of the global order—or disorder—of the twenty-first century.

Notes

1. This Confucian concept “involves both a rigorous assessment of the meaning of roles and the correction of behavior to fit the various roles needed in society. A ruler can be criticized if he does not act in the benevolent and proper way that kings or emperors should.” Rosita Dellios and R. James Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order: From Peaceful Rise to Harmonious World (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013), 24.

2. Christopher R. Hughes, “The Enduring Function of the Substance/Essence (Ti/Yong) Dichotomy in Chinese Nationalism,” in China Orders the World: Normative Soft Power and Foreign Policy, ed. William A. Callahan and Elena Barabantseva (Baltimore: The John Hopkins Press, 2011), 123.

3. Geremie R. Barme, “New China Newspeak,” China Heritage Project, China Heritage Quarterly (ANU), no. 29 (March 2012).

4. Julia Lovell, The Opium War: Drugs, Dreams and the Making of China (London: Picador, 2011), 83.

5. For a contemporary view of how the periphery (comprising the Chinese diaspora and non-Chinese involved with China at various levels such as business and education) help shape the center, see Tu Wei-ming, “Cultural China: The Periphery as Center,” Daedalus 120, no. 2 (1991): 1–32.

6. See Rosita Dellios and R. James Ferguson, “New Buddhist Silk Roads,” conference paper, The Fourth World Buddhist Forum: Common Aspiration, Common Action-Embracing Exchanges and Mutual Learning, October 2015, Wuxi, China, http://works.bepress.com/rosita_dellios/56/.

7. See Rosita Dellios, “The City-God Temple of Shanghai: A Protective Presence,” Culture Mandala 11, no. 2, article 4 (2015), http://epublications.bond.edu.au/cm/vol11/iss2/4.

8. Andrew Brown, “Strawberry Feels Forever for Taiwan Generation Galvanized by China,” The Wall Street Journal, January 17, 2016.

9. Hanns Günther Hilpert and Gudrun Wacker, “Geoeconomics Meets Geopolitics: China’s New Economic and Foreign Policy Initiatives,” SWP Comments 33, German Institute for International and Security Affairs, June 2015, 4.

10. Reuters, “China’s AIIB to offer loans with fewer strings attached,” CNBC, September 1, 2015, http://www.cnbc.com/2015/09/01/chinas-aiib-to-better-world-bank-adb-on-loan-terms.html.

11. Scott D. McDonald, Brock Jones, and Jason M. Frazee, “Phase Zero: How China Exploits It, Why the United States Does Not,” Naval War College Review 65, no. 3 (Summer 2012): 123. See Charles F. Wald, “The Phase Zero Campaign,” Joint Force Quarterly (October 2006): 72–75.

12. Peng Guangqian, Research on China Military Strategy Issues (Beijing: PLA Press, 2006), 234. Cited and translated in Anton Lee Wishik II, “An Anti-Access Approximation: The PLA’s Active Strategic Counterattacks on Exterior Lines,” China Security no. 19 (2011): 42.

13. Peng Guangqian, Research on China Military Strategy Issues.

14. Peng Guangqian and Yao Youzhi, eds, The Science of Military Strategy (Beijing: Military Science Press, 2001), 453–54. Cited and translated in Wishik II, “An Anti-Access Approximation,” 41.

15. Peng Guangqian, Research on China Military Strategy Issues, 248. In Wishik II, “An Anti-Access Approximation,” 41.

16. Leon Whyte, “China’s Elegant, Flawed, Grand Strategy,” The Diplomat, July 25, 2015.

17. Yan Xuetong, “Let’s Not be Friends,” Foreign Policy, June 6, 2013, http://foreignpolicy.com/2013/06/06/lets-not-be-friends/.

18. David M. Lampton, Same Bed, Different Dreams: Managing U.S.- China Relations, 1989–2000 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001).

19. AIIB official website, http://www.aiib.org/html/aboutus/AIIB/.

20. CCTV America, Video and Full Text of President Xi’s New Year Address, December 31, 2015.

21. Edwin O. Reischauer and John K. Fairbank, East Asia: The Great Tradition (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1960), 108.

22. Rowan Callick, “Xi Extending Reform Drive with Tighter Grip on Chinese Military,” The Australian, April 25, 2016, http://www.theaustralian.com.au/opinion/columnists/rowan-callick/xi-extending-reform-drive-with-tighter-grip-on-chinese-military/news-story/c7aab7005245c9038cf833432d9a4c51.

23. Quoted in Rowan Callick, “Xi Adds Cyber-Security to List of Responsibilities,” The Australian, March 1, 2014, http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/world/xi-adds-cybersecurity-to-list-of-responsibilities/story-e6frg6so-1226841173219.

24. PLA Research Department of Military Strategy, The Science of Military Strategy (Beijing: Military Science Press, 2013), 164. Cited in John Costello, “The Strategic Support Force: China’s Information Warfare Service,” China Brief 16, no. 3, February 8, 2016, http://www.jamestown.org/programs/chinabrief/single/?tx_ttnews%5Btt_news%5D=45075&cHash=9758054639ab2cb6bc7868e96736b6cb#.V7BJ-Pl96M8.

25. Willy Lam, “Will ‘Core of the Leadership’ Xi Jinping Rule for 15 Years Or More?” China Brief 16, no. 5 (March 7, 2016), http://www.jamestown.org/single/?tx_ttnews%5Btt_news%5D=45174#.V67hc_l96M8.

26. Hong Soon-do, “Xi Jinping Seeks to Overstay Term with Deng Xiaoping-Style Governance,” Huffington Post, August 11, 2016, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/asiatoday/xi-jinping-seeks-to-overs_b_11448360.html.

27. Confucius, Analects II.1.

Appendix

Five Philosophies

Several well-known strands of thought have shaped the background evolution of Chinese political and strategic thought. These brief descriptions will be of use in showing the wider context of these important traditions for readers not familiar with Chinese philosophy.

1. Confucianism

Outstanding among all of China’s philosophers is Kong Qiu (551–479 BCE), better known to the West as Confucius. This Latinised name is derived from Kong Fuzi, meaning Great Master Kong. In Chinese “zi” (or tzu) is an honorific that means “master.” For Confucius, good government was based on morality, and this came from studying the Zhou dynasty sages. Although Confucius is now regarded as an exemplar in his own right, this was not how the “school of scholars” (rujia)—which we have come to know as “Confucianism” or the Confucian school—identified itself. Confucius himself said: “I transmit but do not innovate; I am truthful in what I say and devoted to [Zhou] antiquity.”1 Emperor Han Wudi (141–86 BCE) was the first officially to adopt the Confucian school and it was to remain influential in imperial China. It did this by responding to rather than confronting changing circumstances, including the introduction of Buddhist ideas. The Confucian emphasis on harmony accords with the harmonious messages of both Buddhism and Daoism, even if the path to such harmony varied. Certainly, the Chinese Communist Party has recognized the need to return to China’s spiritual roots to “humanize” a society stressed by rapid economic development (hence the policy of “harmonious society”).2 This may be viewed as the instrumentalist use of strategic culture, but it also reflects on the choices available to leaders who have been socialized in the Chinese cultural milieu.

The Confucian school was advanced by Mencius (Meng Ke) in the fourth century BCE and later by Xunzi (Xun Kuang or Xun Qing). Both have texts named after them, the Mencius and the Xunxi. The text most associated with Confucius is the Analects (Lunyu), a set of teachings presented as conversations with his disciples. Many of the older texts are also referred to as the Confucian classics. This comes from Confucius’ role as “transmitter” of the classical canon. He played a role in editing, compiling or providing commentaries for the Five Classics of Poetry, History, Rites, Changes, and the Spring and Autumn Annuls (see further Chapter 1). The last of these is a record of his home state, that of Lu (722–481 BCE), though there is no evidence that the records—“spring and autumn” being a metonym for a year—were compiled by Confucius. Its reputation rested as a political text on the interstate relations of the era, providing ethical guidance to dynasties in later times.3 Besides the Five Classics, Confucian thought was propagated via the study of the Four Books for the imperial civil service examination, setting the standards for China’s renowned bureaucracy. The Great Learning, the Doctrine of the Mean, the Analects, and the Mencius made up the Four Books.

That Mencius had his teachings included in the Four Books is indicative of his influence on developing Confucius’ legacy. “It is not an exaggeration to say,” remarks D. C. Lau in his introduction to the Mencius, “that what is called Confucianism in subsequent times contains as much of the thought of Mencius as of Confucius.”4 While Confucianism may appear to occupy the idealist-wen end of the Chinese political spectrum, Xunzi brings to it a realist-wen perspective. Indeed, he was an inspiration to the Legalist scholar Han Feizi, of whom more will be said later. Xunzi thought people’s natural tendencies (or renxing, “human nature”) were self-serving and prone to violence. To overcome this, people needed to be educated on the li or the norms of appropriate behavior. In short, “nature” required taming through “nurture.”

Mencius, by contrast, thought humans to be innately “good.” “Nurture,” however, had a role to play in bringing out this potential. Without proper cultivation, people could become morally corrupt. Mencius illustrated innate goodness through the example of a person naturally wanting to save “a young child about to fall into a well,” not because of ulterior motives such as gaining gratitude from the parents or the desire for praise, but out of compassion.5 For Mencius, the emphasis was on xin rather than li. Xin can be translated as both “heart” and “mind.” It is often translated as both: the heart-mind. If one were to follow one’s xin (“to give full realisation” to one’s heart-mind) then the virtuous self (one’s “perfected character”) would be revealed; everything that is required for “goodness” (shan) is already within us.6 In this way, Mencius is thought to have added a mystical dimension to Confucianism.

In view of his teachings becoming one of the Four Books, alongside the Analects of Confucius, Mencius was clearly judged to be of more consequence in the classical tradition than his realist Confucian counterpart, Xunzi. What did Mencius say besides affirming his belief in humanity’s inborn capacity for good? Two of his teachings are particularly pertinent to the foundations of Chinese strategic culture. The first is the belief that peace could only come through unity. This speaks to the current age of increasing global governance even if not in the form of world government. When asked who could unify the world, Mencius replied: “One who is not fond of killing can unite it.”7 Here the ideals of peace and unity are clearly evident.

Today, a rising China proclaims its adherence to “peaceful development,” while unification with Taiwan remains a core national interest. The dilemma with Taiwan is that the threat of force (and the implication of killing) is used by Beijing to ensure the prospect of unity remains an option. If China were truly engaged in a “peaceful rise,” the threat to take Taiwan by force cannot be made. Indeed, this was an objection to the phrase “peaceful rise” by critics within China. For this and other reasons (such as regional threat perceptions associated with the word “rise”), the slogan was quickly replaced by “peaceful development.”8 Now peaceful development is accompanied not so volubly by threat of reunification but a “common destiny.” Both Beijing and Taipei have been re-affirming “China’s” claims to maritime waters disputed by other parties and both leaders have met in what has been term “mutual non-subordination” (see below).

From a Mencian point of view the concept of a “harmonious world” (hexie shijie), which China officially announced at the United Nations General Assembly in 2005, is not far-fetched. If harmony-inducing qualities such as benevolence and compassion are already within us, then all that remains is the political will to cultivate them through institutions that foster a win-win “harmonious world” outlook.

The second Mencian teaching of interest concerns a ruler’s legitimacy. If those who govern abuse their power then they cannot be considered rulers; they have lost the Mandate of Heaven, that is, the moral right to rule. In such circumstances, according to Mencius, the people have a right to rebel.9 This resonates with Hu Jintao’s admonition at the Eighteenth Chinese Communist Party Congress in 2012 that corruption “could prove fatal to the party and even cause the collapse of the party and the fall of the state.”10 It also helps explain Xi Jinping’s concerted efforts to fight corruption.

2. Daoism

The Mencian call for self-reflection, to become one’s authentic self, strikes a sympathetic chord with another influential Chinese philosophy, that of Daoism—the school of the Way (the dao). There is a difference, though. Daoism saw in Confucian ritual a tendency to pomposity; instead it sought to learn from nature. Its concern with nature rather than the more pressing concerns of society order tended to demote Daoism to a secondary philosophy compared to Confucianism. A more productive way of viewing it, however, is that the two are equal but in a yin-yang mode. Daoism’s yin of strategic yielding to transform and transcend a situation may be compared to a Confucian yang of social order and the transformative power of learning through norms. If the first represents survival, an understandable preoccupation in the Warring States period, followed by strategically induced change; the other concerns ideological change to a more humane order. Moreover Daoism’s focus on the natural world is not without social relevance. It holds lessons for human action, as indicated by the Five Elements of earth, wood, metal, fire, water that are applied to a range of activities from the environmental harmony of feng shui to dynastic overthrow. Today “ecological civilization” has become China’s preferred development strategy, one which recognizes the importance of environmental (and not only economic) factors in the quality of life (for efforts to develop this as a twenty-first century developmental strategy, see Chapter 1). Overall, Confucianism is often linked to government policy, both domestic and foreign; while Daoism is seen to serve the military arts as well as providing strategic advice on a range of issues at the national level. In other words, Confucians are more the diplomats and Daoists the strategists. Any nation needs both.

When they interact well, rather than working at cross-purposes, the results are even more efficacious. They resemble yin and yang in both overall complementarity and in the sense of one containing an element of the other. Appreciated in this light, Confucians and Daoists are capable of giving advice to each other’s sphere of expertise. So while making the expected policy-relevant injunctions like “good government obtains when those who are near are made happy, and those who are far off are attracted,”11 and claiming to “never having studied the matter of military formations,”12 Confucius was not silent on military strategy—the yin sphere of Daoist influence. When the Master was asked, who he would take with him if he were leading the armies of a great state, he replied as follows:

I would not take with me anyone who would try to fight a tiger with his bare hands or to walk across the [Yellow] River and die in the process without regrets. If I took anyone it would have to be a man who, when faced with a task, was fearful of failure and who, while fond of making plans, was capable of successful execution.13

Confucius, in other words, had no qualms about a state being appropriately armed (against the metaphorical tiger) and in possession of the requisite modes of mobility (here, a vessel for crossing a large body of water). His ideal companion in military affairs was a strategist who was serious in his undertaking, competent at planning, but also capable of action beyond the planning stage. An armchair theorist would not do for the business of war.

As to the Daoists, their advice would provide a wider repertoire of engagement for Confucius’ ideal strategist. But first an introduction to their legendary master, and the text that carries his name, is in order. Laozi (or Lao Tzu, meaning Old Master) was Daoism’s foremost teacher and was thought to have lived in the sixth century BCE. Not a great deal is known about Laozi as a historical figure. He may have been purely legendary or not a single person. The major tenets of Daoism are in the Laozi, also called the Daodejing, which is translated as the Book of the Way and Its Power or the Book of the Way and Its Virtue. Like xin, meaning both heart and mind, de is rendered as power or virtue. The title refers to the spiritual power associated with following the dao (the Way) which, in turn, is described as eternal and nameless.14 To follow the dao requires an attitude of wu-wei, which can be thought of as non-action, spontaneous action and non-interference. In other words, do not act unnaturally or try to over-manage things. According to the Daodejing: “The way never acts [wu-wei] yet nothing is left undone.”15

Confucius’ hypothetical companion in military affairs provides a ready illustration. Not only should he not “fight a tiger with his bare hands” or cross a major river without a boat, but he might do well to consider first distracting the tiger (the use of stratagem) and not crossing the river, but luring the adversary to do so instead. This indirect strategy employing wu-wei is conducive to survival and even victory. The deceived tiger and the exposed adversary are within the scope of the dao that “never acts yet nothing is left undone.” By the same token, when Daoists turn their minds to government, though by reputation they would rather be wanderers in wild landscapes, the less done the better. Try not to be meddlesome (a criticism of a perceived Confucian propensity for social engineering): “Do that which consists in taking no action, and order will prevail.”16 Or, put another way, “Governing a large state is like boiling a small fish”17—neither should be overdone. In the same laissez-faire vein:

Whoever takes the empire and wishes to do anything to it I see will have no respite. The empire is a sacred vessel and nothing should be done to it. Whoever does anything to it will ruin it; whoever lays hold of it will lose it. . . . Therefore the sage avoids excess, extravagance, and arrogance.18

Just as Confucianism was advanced by Mencius, so too Daoism took a more transcendent turn with the philosophy of Zhuangzi (Zhuang Zhou) who lived in the fourth century BCE and was a contemporary of Mencius. His teachings, as represented in the Zhuangzi, bring to Daoism the idea of multiple perspectives. Zhuangzi’s parable of dreaming he was a butterfly brings this out: “Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.”19 In another dream scene, Zhuangzi has a conversation with a skull, pitying it for its loss of life. The skull replies: “How do you know it’s bad to be dead?”20 Another key perspective is “the usefulness of the useless”:

Chuang Tzu [Zhuangzi] was walking in the mountains when he saw a huge tree, its branches and leaves thick and lush. A woodcutter paused by its side but made no move to cut it down. When Chuang Tzu asked the reason, he replied, “There’s nothing it could be used for!” Chuang Tzu said, “Because of its worthlessness, this tree is able to live out the years Heaven gave it.”21

As Chad Hansen explains, “Everything is useful from some position or other and there are some positions from which even the most useful thing is useless.”22 Zhuangzi also believed that mastering one thing comes at the cost of not mastering another. There is no completion or excellence without loss. The world is boundless but our lives are limited. An open-minded attitude, which is not pure relativism as one still exercises judgment (and therefore holds a perspective), can help enrich a life and even be of “use,” like the tree that survived being axed: “the motivation for being open to other schemes of knowledge presupposes the potential value of acquiring them.”23 So rather than dismiss Zhuangzi as “useless” to strategists with clear objectives, there is much to be gained from expanding one’s strategic vision and probing different mindsets. Certainly Sunzi, the most renowned of ancient China’s military strategists, advised that if you “know your enemy and know yourself,” victory even in a hundred battles is assured.24 The Buddhists, too, gained insights from Zhuangzi’s warning about the delusion of living in the confines of one’s perspective. This inspired the later emergence of a Chinese form of Buddhism called Zen (Chan).

3. Mohism

A philosophy that also called for stepping out of self-referential concerns and taking on a more impersonal perspective is Mohism. However, this was not just another mystical or moral set of teachings. Far from it, Mohism was methodical in its logical rather than intuitive approach to philosophy. In its use of reflective argumentation the Mohist school would be more familiar to Western-trained philosophers than either the aphorisms of Confucius or Daoist mysticism. So, too, the advocacy of “universal love,” simplicity and frugality hold common cause with Christian beliefs. Despite these elements of familiarity, more Westerners would recognize the name Confucius rather than Micius, which is the Latinised name of the founder of Mohism. Mozi (Mo Di) lived in the fifth century BCE after Confucius. He opposed the Confucian emphasis on rites as a waste of effort and an irrational worship of the aristocratic past. Rather, he recommended utility as the reference point for morality. At a time of incessant warfare it made sense to advocate a better life for the people through economic development and social order. This utilitarian approach was argued to be more practical than Confucian traditionalism, though both schools held a common desire to work toward the betterment of society.

Another Mohist criticism of the Confucian school which relates to utility and hence the common good is a Confucian partiality to family. Three of the five key Confucian relationships—husband-wife, parent-child, elder-younger sibling, friend-friend, and ruler-subject—pertain to family. Mozi advocated concern for all, love without distinction. Indeed, “universal love” became the term most readily associated with Mohism. The logic of “universal love” was that concern would be reciprocated: if filial piety was shown not only to your own but other people’s parents, they will in turn care for your parents. This can be seen as enlightened self-interest. The golden rule of reciprocity (shu) was also important in Confucian teaching. So the two morality schools once again find common ground. The difference is one of gradation. Finding the concept of undifferentiated love implausible, Confucians (via Mencius) argue that the way to a more humane world is through different grades of concern, that is, “graduated love.” Not only do relationships differ in accordance to the parties involved, such as between parent and child, husband and wife, or between friends, but there is an extension of concern that begins with the family, and expands outward like ripples in the pond of humanity. The transformational element here is the ability to transcend nepotism at the family level, parochialism within the community and chauvinism from the national perspective.25 Thus both Confucians and Mohists arrive, in their own fashion, at a point of banishing an exclusionary bias.

Mohism’s impartiality clearly avoids the “us/them,” “self/other” dichotomy that is often used to motivate populations in times of war. For Mozi offensive warfare was another waste of resources, human and material, that did not benefit the people’s general welfare:

Mozi said, “Partiality should be replaced by universality. But how can partiality be replaced by universality? If men were to regard the states of others as they regard their own, then who would raise up his state to attack the state of another? It would be like attacking his own. . . . Now when the states and cities do not attack and make war on each other and families and individuals do not overthrow or injure one another—is this a harm or a benefit to the world? Surely it is a benefit. . . .”26

Mozi was not only an astute philosopher but an engineer for defensive warfare. He gathered a following of paramilitary craftsmen to go to the rescue of weaker states about to be assailed by the stronger ones. These craftsmen would strengthen fortifications and devise means of repelling the attackers. In his stance against warfare, which he regarded as mass murder, Mozi was a pacifist. But his pacifism was a qualified one: he did not oppose all wars, only wars of aggression and conquest. In accepting that defensive warfare was necessary for survival he laid the foundation stone for China’s defensive orientation. Another feature shared with today’s regime is his view that government should be centralized with one dao (or ideology) in order to provide for the greater good and not squander resources. Indeed, the idea of a strong state was resonant with Legalism, despite the otherwise anti-war reputation of Mohists and the emphasis on “universal love”—which also implied the rational possibility of a “harmonious world.”

4. Legalism

When tested in practice, China’s strategic subcultures derived from philosophies of harmony (Confucianism), abiding by nature (Daoism), and universal love (Moism) did not bring an end to half a millennium of warfare. That feat, in 221 BCE, belonged to an administrative mindset that over a century later came to be called Legalism (fajia, school of law).27 It was practiced in the state of Qin, which emerged as the final victor among the seven remaining warring states. Qin was strengthened through reforms that went further than any other state in terms of building a centralized bureaucracy and large army based on the principle of meritocracy. The power of the nobility was thereby diminished, its land reallocated to reward successful farmers and soldiers. The state was also strengthened through standardization of the legal system that included severe punishment to ensure public obedience. Contrary to Confucian teachings, the state—not the family—was now deemed the primary object of people’s loyalty. In turn, the state treated the population as a unified whole, rendering it a powerful human resource in the calculus of state power. These reforms were instituted by Shang Yang, who was prime minister to the Qin king in the mid-fourth century BCE.

The Book of Lord Shang elaborates on these crucial reforms and their guiding principles, especially those of punishment, power and public obedience. The implementation of laws “so as to obtain orderly government”28 included heavy punishments for light offenses. This arrangement was thought to act as such a powerful deterrent that no one would offend and punishments could be dispensed with:

If in the application of punishments, serious offenses are regarded as serious, and light offenses as light, light offenses will not cease . . . So if light offenses are regarded as serious, punishments will be abolished, affairs will succeed, and the state will be strong.29

Moreover, punishment is applied equally across social strata, from “ministers of state” to “ordinary folk,” and may even extend to family members. Thus “officials who do not carry out the king’s law, they are guilty of death and should not be pardoned, but their punishment should be extended to their family for three generations.”30

Another of Lord Shang’s Legalist priorities was securing the state’s prosperity and power through “agriculture and war.”31 This depended on a docile population with the single-minded purpose of “being engaged in farming morning and evening” and defending their homes “for the ruler’s sake”; not being seduced by “glib-tongued, itinerant scholars” or the example set by merchants and artisans in earning a more comfortable living than that afforded by agricultural work. Confucian scholars were especially targeted in this respect: “Sophistry and cleverness are an aid to lawlessness; rites and music are symptoms of dissipation and license; kindness and humaneness are the mother of transgression . . .”32

If Shang Yang was a man of administrative action for the success of Qin, then Han Feizi (circa 280–233 BCE) was its ideological spokesman, having incorporated Lord Shang’s emphasis on law with other intellectual currents to which he was exposed. He was a student of Xunzi—the Confucian with Legalist tendencies, who believed people were born self-seeking rather than “good.” Han Feizi disagreed with Xunzi’s emphasis on improving human morality through the study of li (ritually endorsed proper behavior), replacing it with law as the instrument for correcting human action. This, in turn, was critical to the power of a state: “No country is permanently strong. Nor is any country permanently weak. If conformers to law are strong, the country is strong; if conformers to law are weak, the country is weak . . .”33 Therefore, behaviors conducive to the state are rewarded and those deemed harmful are punished. Han Feizi referred to reward and punishment as the ruler’s “two handles,” over which he must not surrender control, lest the ministers use this power to create their own political base.

Proto-realist thinkers like the Indian Kautilya and the Florentine Machiavelli would have had no difficulty in understanding the advice proffered by this ancient Chinese philosopher of power, even if some of the indigenous strands of thought were unfamiliar. Thus Han Feizi incorporated Daoism, but not for its naturalism. Rather, the dao of Legalism was the Way of the state in which concepts such as wu-wei (actionless action) were used strategically and bureaucratically (with the law in motion the king could observe in a disinterested fashion), as distinct from any transcendent or mystical Daoism. Even advising the ruler to maintain a secretive disposition so that he appears mysterious was a strategy for maintaining power. By hiding his motives, the ruler denied information to those who sought to know his strengths and weaknesses. This “use” of Daoism conforms to Han Feizi’s adoption of Mohist utility, but the limitation here was a lack of scientific curiosity to encourage innovation. In the end, Han Feizi was a political strategist, for whom the dao of the state was ultimately dependent on “law.” Other considerations, including humanity, were secondary. This is the striking difference between Legalism on the one hand and Confucianism and Daoism on the other.

The text named after Han Feizi clearly reveals the authoritarian character of Legalism in which “law” is used to control the population for the sake of the state: “When a sage rules the state, he does not depend on people’s doing good of themselves; he sees to it that they are not allowed to do what is bad.”34 Indeed, as chapter 50 of the Han Feizi concludes, the people’s judgment is not to be trusted: they complain about the arduous task of having to increase agricultural output, of the strict penal code, of the taxes that are needed to “fill the coffers and granaries so that there will be food for the starving and funds for the army,” and of the military service that is required to keep the state strong. “These four types of undertaking,” states the Han Feizi in regard to agricultural productivity, harsh laws, taxes and military service, “all ensure order and safety to the state, and yet the people do not have sense enough to rejoice in them.”35

Far from rejoicing, the people eventually rose up in rebellion, and not only the hard-pressed peasants. The Qin dynasty was notorious for persecuting scholars, having executed some 460 of them, and burned books that were deemed subversive, especially if in private hands.36 This was not a Zhuangist paradise of diverse perspectives, but a nightmare for all schools of thought that appeared contentious. Yet Han Feizi’s observation that “no country is permanently strong” was the flipside to the prize of having conquered all others. With China at peace, Legalism as a governing ideology proved short-lived. A yin-yang dialectic prevailed: the quest for total control, once realized, became the seed of its own undoing. Any legitimacy the Qin dynasty gained through the unification of China—its Mandate of Heaven (to use the Confucian-endorsed term)—was lost. It lasted a little over a decade, from 221 to 206 BCE. Confucianism emerged as the official philosophy in the succeeding Han dynasty which lasted, apart from a short interruption, for four centuries (206 BCE–220 CE).

Legalism, however, was not forgotten. It held lessons for rulers and strategists alike in how to marshal power through the administration of human and material resources. It also incorporated, and was incorporated by, other schools of philosophy, thereby ensuring its longevity in Chinese strategic culture. The Han dynasty could claim the Mandate of Heaven from the cruel Qin but despite its Confucian outlook, the Han retained a Legalist tradition of rule by fear of punishment. This authoritarian streak remained evident throughout Chinese imperial history: for example, comparisons have often been made in China between Qin Shi Huang as the first Qin emperor and Mao as the founder of the PRC. Also in tune with the Legalist Qin, even excelling it, the Han expanded Chinese territory through military expeditions under the rubric of “unification.” Under Emperor Wudi, China’s borders were extended to Vietnam, Korea and the Gobi Desert.37 Wudi’s territorial expansion westward meant that China was now able to trade extensively through Central Asia and beyond in a network of routes that became known as the Silk Road. It was through these that Buddhism travelled from India to China.

5. Buddhism

It is widely thought that Buddhism arrived in China in the first century CE from northwestern India which was under the Kushana empire (first to third centuries CE) and then via Dunhuang on the Silk Road. Dunhuang, in western China, represents a significant Buddhist site noted for its cave frescoes and long-hidden manuscripts. Although Buddhism arrived during the Han dynasty, it was only after the collapse of this centralized empire and China’s reversion to a world of contending states—known as the period of the Three Kingdoms and the Northern and Southern Dynasties (220—589 CE)—that Buddhism made inroads into a less constrained cultural space.

It was difficult at first for a foreign philosophy, deemed “otherworldly,” to make sense to a more pragmatic “this-worldly” people.38 With their commitment to maintaining the family line, honoring ancestors and seeking prosperity, Chinese people could not understand the point of celibacy for monks and nuns, the idea that there is no immortal personal soul (and hence no ancestor to “worship”), or that desire for material wealth is condemned as a cause of suffering. However, Buddhism’s filter through Daoism helped render it more approachable to a culture which was already conversant with the concept of transcending the world’s troubles, and depicting existence as illusionary. Moreover, Buddhist monasteries provided welfare to local communities suffering hardship in these turbulent times. They were especially helpful to women and the destitute. As noted by Waley-Cohen: “. . . women and the lowly, to whom traditional Chinese society offered little in the way of material or spiritual benefit, often found that Buddhism and the monastic life could offer greater opportunities for self-fulfillment than life within a Confucian framework.”39 In this way, Buddhism was seen as filling a gap in Confucian society while it was more committed than Daoism to explaining why existence was an illusion and how to break the cycle of suffering. The formulaic approach of Buddhist teaching—notably the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path (see below)—contrasted with the mysterious side of Daoism. This is illustrated by the opening lines of the Daodejing: “The way that can be spoken of is not the constant way; the name that can be named is not the constant name” or by the following chapter stating that the sage “practises the teaching that uses no words.”40 Still, when the Chinese did first take an interest in Buddhism, the attraction was how to acquire supernatural powers, such as a recipe for immortality.41 Only later did a better understanding of Buddhism emerge, thanks to missionaries and translations of Buddhist texts into Chinese.

Buddhism, like Confucianism and Daoism, has no personal god but a founding teacher. This was the Indian prince, Siddhartha Gautama, who was born near the Indian-Nepalese border in 563 BCE. He became the Buddha—the Enlightened One—after pursuing the “middle path” between self-indulgence and the self-mortification. The former equated with his privileged royal background and latter with the ascetics of Hinduism from which Buddhism derives. Instead Gautama meditated on the problem of suffering or dukkha—a Pali term that also connotes dissatisfaction—until the solution came to him in the form of the Four Noble Truths: first, life is suffering; second, desire or craving causes suffering; third, if craving is stopped, then so too suffering; and fourth, the way to do this is the Eightfold Path of right understanding, thought, speech, action, livelihood, effort, mindfulness and concentration. Daoists would appreciate the Buddha’s psychological insights into the causes of dukkha as the three fallibilities of delusion, desire and aggression. They pertain to ignorance of the inherent impermanence and contingent nature of worldly affairs, a craving for life’s (impermanent) pleasures, and aggression that arises from these conditions. Mahayana Buddhism, which focused on salvation through good works in society, was the main form of Buddhism to take root in China and remains so today—followed by Tibetan and Theravada Buddhism. Tibetan Buddhism, embedded as it is in the Chinese mainland, represents a geopolitical challenge to the dominant Han narrative of Chinese identity. In doing so it also reminds China of its historical multiculturalism. This is should be an asset for any nation that seeks to play a constructive role in a globalized world.

Notes

1. Confucius, Analects, 7.1

2. See Rosita Dellios and R. James Ferguson, China’s Quest for Global Order: From Peaceful Rise to Harmonious World (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013).

3. See Michael Nylan, The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001).

4. D. C. Lau, “Introduction,” Mencius (London: Penguin, 1988), 7.

5. Mencius (trans. D. C. Lau), 2A.6

6. See Mencius, 7A.1, 7A.4.

7. Mencius,1a.6.

8. See Bonnie S. Glaser and Evan S. Medeiros, “The Changing Ecology of Foreign Policy-Making in China: The Ascension and Demise of the Theory of ‘Peaceful Rise’,” The China Quarterly 190 (June 2007): 291–310.

9. Mencius, 1B.8, See also D. C. Lau’s discussion in “Introduction,” 38.

10. Xinhua, “Full Text of Hu Jintao’s Report at 18th Party Congress,” English.news.cn, November 17, 2012.

11. Confucius, Analects, 13.16.

12. Confucius, Analects, 15.1.

13. Confucius, Analects, 7.11.

14. Lao Tzu (trans. D. C. Lau), Tao Te Ching [Daodejing] (London: Penguin, 1963), I.1.

15. Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, I.37.

16. Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, I.3.

17. Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, II.60.

18. Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, I.29.

19. Zhuangzi, Ch. 2 (trans. Lin Yutang), http://www.religiousworlds.com/dao/cz-text2.html.

20. Chuang Tzu [Zhuangzi] (trans. Burton Watson), The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), Ch. 18. The skull went on to explain: “Among the dead there are no rulers above, no subjects below, and no chores of the four seasons. With nothing to do, our springs and autumns are as endless as heaven and earth. A king facing south on his throne could have no more happiness than this!”

21. Chuang Tzu, The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, Ch. 20.

22. Chad Hansen, “Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu),” in Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy, ed. Antonio S. Cua (New York: Routledge, 2003), 912.

23. Chad Hansen, “Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu),” 916.

24. “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.” Sun Tzu, The Art of War (trans. Lionel Giles), III.15.

25. Tu Weiming, “The Ecological Turn in New Confucian Humanism: Implications for China and the World,” in Martin Lu, Rosita Dellios and R. James Ferguson (eds), Toward A Global Community: New Perspectives on Confucian Humanism, Centre for East-West Cultural and Economic Studies (Gold Coast, Australia: Bond University and International Confucian Association, 2004), 19.

26. Mozi, Section 16: Universal Love, Part 3 (trans. Burton Watson), in Sources of Chinese Tradition, eds Wm. Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom, vol. 1, 2nd edn (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 70.

27. The term first appeared in 90 BCE in Records of the Grand Historian. Yuk Wong, “Legalism,” in Antonio S. Cua (ed.), Encyclopedia of Chinese Philopsophy (New York: Routledge, 2003), 361.

28. Book of Lord Shang (trans. adapted from J. J. L. Duyvendak), in Sources of Chinese Tradition, eds. de Bary and Bloom, 193.

29. Book of Lord Shang, 196.

30. Book of Lord Shang, 197.

31. Book of Lord Shang, 194.

32. Book of Lord Shang, 195.

33. The Complete Works of Han Fei Tzu, vol. 1 (trans. W. L. Liano, 1939).

34. Han Feizi (trans. B. Watson), in Sources of Chinese Tradition, eds de Bary and Bloom, 209.

35. Han Feizi, 206.

36. See Han Feizi, 209.

37. Chun-Shu Chang, The Rise of the Chinese Empire, Volume 1: Nation, State, and Imperialism in Early China, ca. 1600 B.C.–A.D. 8. (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007), 67–8.

38. The worldliness, or lack thereof, of these spiritual philosophies is discussed in Arvind Sharma, Religious Studies and Comparative Methodology: The Case for Reciprocal Illumination (Albany: SUNY Press, 2005), 121.

39. Joana Waley-Cohen, The Sextants of Beijing: Global Currents in Chinese History (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1999), 20.

40. Lao Tzu (trans. D. C. Lau), Tao Te Ching (London: Penguin, 1963), I.1, II.6.

41. Mouzi, “Disposing of Error,” in Sources of Chinese Tradition, eds. de Bary and Bloom, 425–26.

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Index

“anti-access, area-denial” (A2/AD), 209, 229

Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), 108, 112–15, 165, 177, 228, 232

Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), 113, 115–17, 177, 182, 226

BRICS, 177, 188–89, 192, 232

Buddhism, 87–88, 130, 133, 206, 251–52;

and Chinese philosophies, 209, 213, 218;

and mandala, 99;

in regional relations, 97, 105;

Zen, 246.

See also Tibetan Buddhism

Chiang Kai-shek, 18, 153–55, 156

“China Dream,” 25, 37, 56, 150, 165, 167, 168, 175, 227

Chinese Communist Party (CCP), 17, 21–22, 49, 83, 87, 150, 151, 153–56;

and classical thought, 214, 235, 241;

leadership of PLA, 157, 159;

Chinese Nationalist Party. See Guomindang

Chinese strategic culture, 5, 74, 85–86, 202, 205, 207, 212;

in ancient texts, 213–14;

in traditional philosophies, 88, 209, 218, 243

Communist Party of China. See Chinese Communist Party

“community of common destiny,” 49, 112, 217, 227;

with Taiwan, 176, 243

“comprehensive national power,” 2, 4, 5, 19, 27, 82–83, 108, 173–79, 190, 227;

and Legalism, 218

Confucianism, 16, 57, 73, 138, 206, 208, 224, 241–43;

political revival of, 23, 165, 226, 235

Confucius Institutes, 13, 184, 185.

See also soft power

constructivism, 1, 4, 6, 7, 202

Daoism, 9, 16–17, 163, 206, 208–9, 226, 243–46

Deng Xiaoping, 20–21, 156, 159, 173, 174, 202, 211, 236

East China Sea, 116, 175, 223, 231

ecological civilization, 56–57, 182, 233, 244

Foucault, Michel, 2, 6

geopolitics, 217;

Buddhist-Confucian, 226

Guomindang (GMD), 17, 21, 151, 154, 156–57, 159, 226

Han dynasty, 38, 39, 43, 52, 69, 95, 109, 126–27, 206, 214, 250–51

Hu Jintao, 13, 22, 24, 37, 56, 108, 116, 202, 216, 235, 243;

and “harmonious world,” 5, 115, 166, 175–76

Japan, 12, 17–18, 25, 27, 56, 74, 98, 109, 165, 166–67, 177, 180, 229–30;

nineteenth century, 110, 125, 139, 174;

twentieth century, 86, 132–34, 141, 152–53, 155–56

Kuomintang. See Guomindang

Legalism, 206, 208, 209, 218, 219, 234–35, 248–51

liberalism, 4, 7, 37;

liberal institutionalism, 1, 4

Machiavelli, Niccolò, 1, 8, 78, 249

mandala, 99–101, 106, 117, 225–26, 232

Mao Tse-tung. See Mao Zedong

Mao Zedong, 17, 79, 149, 155, 207, 208

Marxism, 1, 4, 27, 153, 155, 159, 163, 236

“military operations other than war” (MOOTW), 19, 111, 158, 183, 208

Ming dynasty, 84, 88, 109, 225

Mohism, 209, 218, 246–48

multipolarity, 3, 27, 55, 74, 175, 186, 187–92, 223, 237;

as polycentric regionalism, 99

New Historic Missions, 108, 160

“new type of great power relations,” 177, 232;

“new type of international relations,” 190

OBOR. See Belt and Road Initiative

“One Belt, One Road”. See Belt and Road Initiative

“peaceful development,” 56, 74, 166, 216, 243

“peaceful rise”. See “peaceful development”

People’s Liberation Army, 18, 74, 86, 150, 157–60, 211, 224

people’s war, 17, 18, 86, 150, 156, 228, 229

power concepts, 1–3, 5, 6, 8, 173–75, 178, 180, 190, 201–2, 224, 233–34;

“strategic configuration of power” (shì), 5, 17, 57, 65, 70, 75, 79, 81, 83, 88, 215, 218, 236.

See also “comprehensive national power,” rising powers, and soft power

Qing dynasty, 26, 87, 98, 110, 131–32, 138, 140, 151, 237

Qin Yaqing, 2, 4, 7, 15

realism, 1, 4, 7, 8, 201, 232;

“cultural realism,” 84, 201;

neo-realism, 1

rising powers, 3, 27, 37, 158, 181, 187–89, 223

Russia, 3, 23, 37, 108, 179, 181, 183, 189, 190–91, 224, 232;

empire, 97, 99, 134, 152;

Soviet, 11, 79, 85, 153, 155, 190.

See also BRICS

Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), 132, 228

soft power, 2–4, 13, 19, 48, 101, 111, 138, 173, 175, 178–80, 182–86, 228

Song dynasty, 26, 46, 98, 102, 107, 127, 210,

South China Sea, 12, 108, 112–14, 166, 185, 202, 205, 216–17, 229–31;

historically, 100–101, 103

Sun Tzu. See Sunzi

Sun Yatsen, 19. 20, 132, 142, 151, 153–54

Sunzi, 17, 44, 72, 76–77, 80, 84–85, 209–10, 212–13, 219,

Taiwan, 22, 74, 111, 167, 176, 209, 243;

and Daoism, 226;

history, 156;

identity, 127–29;

Xi-Ma meeting, 216–17

Tang dynasty, 14, 26, 96, 102, 104, 210, 215, 225

Taoism. See Daoism

think tanks, 22, 26, 48–49, 166, 174, 201

tianxia, 5, 12, 87, 95, 133, 136–38, 166, 225–26

Tibet, 22, 129, 135, 136, 162;

history, 87, 98–99, 126, 131–34;

Tibetan Buddhism, 105, 225, 252

United States, 3, 7, 24, 25, 56, 74, 112, 113, 115, 164–65, 166, 234;

decline of, 189;

military, 83, 108, 111, 167, 178, 209, 230;

power comparisons, 179–81, 183–84, 190–92.

See also “comprehensive national power”

twentieth century, 79, 85, 86, 152, 231–32

Warring States period, 14, 17, 42, 46, 50–54, 69–72, 77–78, 82, 96, 127;

and hegemon, 190;

and Legalism, 248;

and the military, 211;

The Stratagems of the Warring States, 11

wu-wei, 16, 55, 245, 250

Xi Jinping, 5, 22–24, 48, 108, 112, 115–16, 149, 161, 163.

See also “China Dream,” “community of common destiny”

Xinjiang, 21, 22, 134, 135–36, 162, 228;

history, 98, 126, 139, 225

Yan Xuetong, 2, 180, 231

Yijing (Book of Changes), 38, 40, 43–47, 53, 208, 217–19

yin-yang, 95, 218, 244, 250

Yuan dynasty, 98, 106, 131

Yuan Shikai, 141, 151, 152, 153

Zhou dynasty, 14, 42, 44, 70, 127, 206, 241

About the Authors

R. James Ferguson, PhD, is Director of Bond University’s Centre for East-West Cultural and Economic Studies, and Assistant Professor of International Relations at the Faculty of Society and Design. His teaching and research areas include East Asia, the Indo-Pacific Region, Eurasia, and Latin America, as well as regionalism and globalization studies. He has an academic background in history, cultural systems, and philosophy. He regularly visits China and attends Asian conferences to assess new trends in international relations and political philosophy.

Rosita Dellios, PhD, is Associate Professor of International Relations at Bond University in Australia. She lectures and writes on the themes of Chinese defense policy and philosophy, concepts for world order and future trends in global politics. She regularly visits Beijing to keep abreast with developments in the fields of China’s foreign and defense policies as well as debates in Confucian philosophy.