The Power of Relationalism in China 9780815371458, 9781351246781

Citation preview

The Power of Relationalism in China

In the 21st century, China has become impossible to ignore. At the same time, a vast array of perceptions and judgments of China’s actions and future have arisen. The confusion, Leah Zhu postulates, is explained by decades of a traditional modus operandi, which began in the Maoist era and misconceives China as a ‘collectivist’ culture. This book, however, seeks to re-explore thousands of years of China’s history to demonstrate the country’s adherence to an alternative principle: ‘relationalism.’ Tracing the pervasive power of relationalism before and after Maoism, it examines the major aspects of Chinese culture, including politics, sociology, psychology and diplomacy. In doing so, it reveals the power of relationalism as the core frame of reference behind contemporary Chinese beliefs and practices. Furthermore, armed with this newly established framework, this book ultimately provides a helpful analysis of China’s past political, economic and judicial reforms and of how they are faring under the control of the current regime. Featuring extensive evidence and analysis of Chinese culture from ancient rites through to the 21st century, this book will be invaluable to students and scholars of Chinese culture, politics and society. It will also appeal to social scientists and sociologists more broadly. Leah Zhu is a retired psychotherapist and academic at the University of Washington, USA. Her publications include A Comparative Study of Youth Mental Health Education in the United States and China (2015) and Cultivating the World of Self (1997).

Routledge Contemporary China

180 China’s Soviet Dream Propaganda, Culture, and Popular Imagination Yan Li 181 Deng Xiaoping and China’s Foreign Policy Ronald C. Keith 182 Corporate Social Responsibility Reporting in China Evolution, Drivers and Prospects Jieqi Guan and Carlos Noronha 183 China’s Generation Gap Jiaming Sun and Dongmei Cheng 184 China Reclaims World Power Status Putting an End to the World America Made Paolo Urio 185 The Economic Roots of the Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong Globalization and the Rise of China Louis Augustin-Jean and Anthea H.Y. Cheung 186 China’s Hydro-politics in the Mekong Conflict and Cooperation in Light of Securitization Theory Sebastian Biba 187 Economic Policy Making in China (1949–2016) The Role of Economists Pieter Bottelier 188 The Power of Relationalism in China Leah Zhu For our full list of available titles: www.routledge.com/Routledge-Contemporary-China-Series/book-series/SE0768

The Power of Relationalism in China Leah Zhu

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 Leah Zhu The right of Leah Zhu to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-8153-7145-8 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-351-24678-1 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

In memory of my mother, Chen Ying (1924–2001), a teacher and an author

Contents

Foreword by Dr. Charles Burgessix Acknowledgementsxi Introduction1 PART I

The roots of relationalism in Chinese history5   1 Some starting points

7

  2 The “universal order”

10

  3 The traditional Chinese family

16

  4 Relationalism meets foreign challenges

19

  5 Relationalism triumphs

34

PART II

Roots of relationalism in the Chinese belief systems41   6 Some starting points

43

  7 Confucianism: relationalism in human society

48

  8 Daoism: relationalism in the Cosmos

54

  9 Buddhism: relationalism in Zen

65

10 Unification under relationalism

75

PART III

“Guanxi”: the sociological roots of relationalism79 11 Some starting points

81

viii  Contents

12 Qin qing (kinship emotions)

85

13 You qing (friendship emotions)

90

14 Ren qing (generic human emotions) 

96

15 Guanxi opens access to resources

99

16 “Face” and reciprocity

105

17 “The cat-and-mouse game”

110

PART IV

Psychological roots of relationalism113 18 Some starting points

115

19 Relational human nature

119

20 The Chinese “heart”

125

21 Cognition and emotion

131

22 Relational thinking in the Chinese language

136

23 Development of Chinese “selfhood”

140

PART V

Relationalism in 21st-century China151 24 Some starting points

153

25 The CCP in the 21st century

158

26 The CCP-State relationship in the 21st century

166

27 The CCP–Chinese society relationship in the 21st century

170

28 A judicial system with Chinese characteristics?

178

29 On the world stage: China’s relational diplomacy in the 21st century

184

Epilogue: the Chinese family in the 21st century193 Notes199 Selected bibliography210 Index214

Foreword

ForewordForeword

Had my wife and I read Leah Zhu’s The Power of Relationalism in China before we went to that country to teach in 1984, we would have been much more aware as visitors and informed as teachers. But this book was at best only a vague idea at that time. Future visitors to China now have an outstanding opportunity to be rewarded with enriched understandings and experiences by becoming acquainted with Dr. Zhu’s analysis of China as a society firmly unified around relationalistic principles. In 1984–85, my wife Patti and I served in China, she as an English-language teacher and I as a professor in a graduate course on the history of Western thought, among other things. We still look back with a sense of rich satisfaction upon our teaching experiences as “foreign experts” in Guangzhou’s South China Normal University. We foreign teachers, as with many others like us in new worlds far from home, soon found ourselves becoming learners fascinated with our hosts’ ways and especially with the local sense of human relationships. Because we had some foreknowledge about the importance of the “family system,” “guanxi” and “face,” we recognized their evidences most of the time. And, while we remained quite ignorant of that something now called “relationalism,” our Chinese students were in the same situation. Or, I should say, so were the vast majority of them. One of the most gifted students in my graduate class, a young woman whose chosen English name was Leah Zhu, was pondering the matter even then. Out-of-class conversations with Leah Zhu on this theme were sparked by an on-campus showing of American movies that whetted our interests in the worlds of relationships in China. As one of its warming gestures towards China, the United States gave our Chinese English major students complimentary copies of five recent American films: The Turning Point, Kramer vs. Kramer, Star Wars, On Golden Pond and Coal Miner’s Daughter. A week of movie watching on campus followed. When the students were invited to rank the films they had just seen, we foreigners suspected that Star Wars would rate highest among them. But we were surprised to discover that Star Wars was far and away the least liked movie. Said the students about Star Wars, in effect: “Star Wars is not reality; it’s a phony world filled with phony people.”

x  Foreword The movie most liked – nay, admired – was On Golden Pond. It won a heavily lop-sided victory. And what had distinguished On Golden Pond? It had been seen as an honest and important study in family relationships and relations between generations. Kramer vs. Kramer came in a fairly distant second as an instructive study in relationships gone bad and involving divorce. In the wake of all these accolades for On Golden Pond, my graduate students and I temporally abandoned the intellectual duels of the Western world long enough to discuss the Chinese family system and its great force in Chinese lives. Leah Zhu, who seemed to have been taking mental notes on the relational theme even then, looked beyond the family system to seek for some satisfactory explanation of yet other relationships – for instance how it was that the triad of Confucians, Daoists and Buddhists could so gently rub elbows. How did they maintain relationships? And why? Why is there such an absence of proselytizing among them? What are the negative aspects of proselytizing? Why do Christians proselytize? And so on. That was well over 30 years ago. The Power of Relationalism in China was already in gestation. In the autumn of 1985, Leah Zhu began her doctoral program at the University of Washington where she took up studies in the sociological and psychological senses of selfhood. Out of these studies emerged her cross-cultural dissertation, Quests for Self in the 1960s, an examination of the disparate behaviors and mindsets of youth activists in the United States and China. Dr. Zhu’s ensuing career as an adolescent psychotherapist profited from countless additional opportunities for the further study of relationship patterns at work in different cultures. Over the years, she has created an impressive trail of scholarly books and articles examining human relationships, their roots and related themes. Dr. Zhu – who so long ago suspected that there might be a unifying principle, a social cement, even more powerful than that of the family – herewith has produced, in the path-breaking book you are now holding, the evidence of that which she once imagined. Her examination of the power of relationalism in China is a marvel of patient and productive inquiry. I am delighted to welcome you to the banquet she has prepared for us. Charles Burgess Professor Emeritus University of Washington

Acknowledgements

AcknowledgementsAcknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without the invaluable counsel and support given to me by my mentor, Dr. Charles Burgess, Professor Emeritus, University of Washington. Even with his full involvement with life, Dr. Burgess was always ready to listen to my ideas and struggles with each chapter, to discuss the treatments of those ideas, and to be the first critical reader and editor of each draft. His patient and insightful guidance and unwavering confidence in me and in the value of the book encouraged me as I wended my way along the writer’s path with its special delights and unexpected surprises – some complex, others intricate and agonizing. I am dedicating this book to Dr. Burgess. I am deeply indebted to my best friend Barbara Baar, who spent countless hours proofreading the drafts, sharpening my ideas, and critiquing each chapter. I have greatly benefited from her honest and constructive feedback from a reader’s point of view. I profited immeasurably from the many group discussions Barbara arranged for me, giving me splendid forums for testing my ideas with my friends and long-time colleagues. My close friends Vicky Lamoreaux, Dixie Reimer and Tim Marshall regularly compelled me to clarify and refine my ideas and perspectives. Their thoughtful counsel every step of the way invigorated me. I owe my perpetual gratitude to my husband Hungling Fu and sons Jason and Jesse for the support and love given generously day upon day – always unconditional and unannounced and always deeply felt. Hungling willingly shouldered the task of being the family’s sole breadwinner, which allowed me to “retire” and devote my time and energy fully to research and writing. In spite of his busy fulltime position as a program manager, he readily offered his unique general perspectives and rich knowledge of Chinese village life. His attention to details and subtleties is well reflected in his editorial suggestions and critiquing of the drafts. As for Jason and Jesse, who grew up with a full-time working mother, they have always understood and supported my aspirations. To open my mind to different perspectives on the themes of the books, Jason and Jesse purposefully researched for and studied many video programs on China. Their bi-cultural insights and perspectives on China’s past and present are helpful and truly appreciated. Furthermore, Jason has been a careful reader and editor of my drafts as well. In these senses, this book became a “family project.”

xii  Acknowledgements Finally, a special thank you is due to my Routledge publisher Stephanie Rogers. This book was given its life because of Stephanie’s steadfast confidence in its value and her steady guiding hand as the manuscript passed through the preapproval process.

Introduction

IntroductionIntroduction

In the 21st century, China has become impossible to ignore. It pushes into our daily lives through “made in China” products and the insatiable media. Each day, colorful news from that distant country spins around us like a kaleidoscope: summit meetings, educational exchange programs, hosting Olympic Games, accusations of dumping products, government interference in currency exchange rates, government corruption, One Belt One Road projects, counterfeit products, militarizing man-made Pacific Islands, second-largest economy, human rights violations and so on and so forth, endless and perplexing. The more one surveys those media reports, the more one wonders about what is going on in that country of the “new rich.” Furthermore, a vast array of differing opinions and judgments of China’s actions and future add to the bewilderment. This book proposes that if a new lens of “relationalism” is added to stabilize our current kaleidoscopic views of China, the hidden patterns behind those confusing activities will become clear and understandable. What is Chinese relationalism? Where does it come from and how does it exert its power on people’s decisions and actions? I have always been interested in how patterns of conduct reflect cultural core values. That was why the following story piqued my curiosity: In 2011, two scholars reported to the U.S.-China Economic and Security Review Commission that China, in its puzzling approach to diplomacy, “is like a soccer team that can be content with a nil-nil draw. It does not need to put the ball in the back of the net in order to win. It can simply deflect the ball out of bounds, do a lot of passing and take time off the clock.”1 These scholars’ mystification was justifiable from a Westerner’s point of view, which holds that winning can only be determined by the objective and undisputable numbers on the scoring board. But if the Chinese were “content with a nil-nil draw,” what would account for their winning? If winning is not important, why do they even play? To demystify this aspect of Chinese behavior is to understand the pervasive core value of the Chinese culture called “relationalism,” a term that represents a frame of reference that puts relationships above winning scores. It regards the reciprocal interconnectedness of the human network as the most valuable attainment that is worthy of honoring and sustaining, even if, in so believing, some “winning score” must be forfeited.

2  Introduction I spent half of my life in China living, learning and teaching and then spent the other half of my life in America living, learning and teaching, the whole time seeking to understand how the Chinese people’s conduct reflects the hidden core values of their culture. To reach that understanding, one must learn how to brush off the entangled twigs and branches and to develop an eye for the heart of the jungle. This book is made possible by the wisdom and understanding of those experiences that have so greatly enriched my heart and my mind. “Those experiences,” it goes without saying, include the many rounds of discussions with family, friends and colleagues, academic mentors and research fellows, and the shelves of books by such renowned scholars as John Fairbank, Charles Hucker, Richard Nisbett, Yan Guocai, Michael Bonds, Erik Zurcher, Lin Yutang, Ge Zhaoguang and many more. Over time, a notion was consolidated and crystallized from “those experiences,” and the notion is that the central aspect of the conundrum that we call “Chineseness” can be clearly seen through the lens of relationalism. The new lens offers the extraordinary sharpness to penetrate the historic and contemporary mists so as to see the interconnected “workings” of the Chinese culture much as the Chinese – often as if by instinct or habit alone – participate in it. For years, Chinese culture has been routinely and incessantly described as “collectivist” by sinologists who based the use of the “collectivist” descriptor upon evidence drawn from Mao Zedong’s ideology and ruling practices. Maoism indeed represented a collectivist credo that perched, but precariously, over the Chinese scene for a mere 27 years. Before Mao, however, China had a history of thousands of years, a history of shaping, refining and embracing a vastly different set of cultural values, a set of values that Mao detested and vowed to supplant with his brand of collectivism. He failed. But many foreign commentators and sinologists continue to describe China as a collectivist society. The faulty description mattered little at first, because China, “the sleeping giant,” was still largely “a place apart” from the West. Today, however, with China and the world being intimately engaged, that grossly misleading “collectivist” label fuels negative energy from the era of the “Cold War” mentality and undermines efforts to facilitate constructive international cooperation. The goal of this study is to supplant that outdated mislabeling of Chinese “collectivism” with a more accurate descriptor – Chinese “relationalism” – which truthfully explains China’s past, present and future. In the following chapters of this work we will identify and explore the ubiquitous presence of Chinese relationalism in history, in people’s habits of the mind, in political and economic policies, in the distribution of social wealth, in governmental corruption, in Chinese family rituals and daily life, in the respect for the doctrine of reasonableness, in central judiciary principles, in the development of the Chinese selfhood, and beyond. Insights from our discussions will establish that the wisdom and practice of relationalism, so deeply and firmly rooted in the Chinese frame of mind, represents the social cement that has held the Chinese civilization together through good times and bad, glory and shame, and continues to invigorate the country in the face of its 21st-century challenges. The word “relationalism,” although routinely included in Western English dictionaries, represents a way of seeing the condition of all things that is widely

Introduction 3 overlooked in the West. Eastern philosophers, meanwhile, have found it valuable in explaining life and the world as they find it. Joseph Kaipayil, for example, an Indian philosopher and professor of philosophy at Jeevalaya Institute of Philosophy, defines relationalism as both a “method of thought” and a “theory of being” – a system of thought that interprets and defines the nature of existence by its inherent relatedness or relationality. Kaipayil and like-minded philosophers see things in life as never free-standing or isolatable from their relationships. Every physical and mental entity is by nature a “particular” – just like particles in physics – which are inherently related to other particulars. According to Professor Kaipayil, such relational “particulars” are the ultimate constituents of what we call reality.2 The validity of this descriptor, used in defining Chinese culture in this book, is thus nicely supported by Professor Kaipayil’s theory that all life phenomena in the universe are internally connected as well as externally associated with one another and should be treated as such. The Chinese relational mind believes that connections or relationships are an integral and inseparable part of all things in life; therefore, true knowledge of life can only come from investigating these relationships surrounding or inherent in events. By the same token, survival and prosperity in life can reach their fullest potential only in an environment where critical relationships exist in harmony. Thus, the term “relationalism” is used in this book in two related ways: as the relational nature of social and cultural phenomena and as the frame of reference that perceives, acknowledges and performs in a relational manner. It is appropriate to note two things here. First: Chinese relationalism is not a form of relativism which argues against the possibility that absolute truth or validity exists in any particular points of view. And second: Those who study ways of thinking would be in error to assume that the Chinese describe themselves as relationalists. For them, by and large, relationalism comes unnamed and naturally as a general outlook on life, rather than as a consciously held philosophical position. It would be more accurate to say that relationalism is more in their marrow than in their minds. It is when they share words of indebtedness and appreciation that the careful listener might piece together the speaker’s respect for key elements of relationalism – beginning regularly with references to family. Although a collectivist society and a relationalist society might show superficial similarities, relationalism is clearly distinguished from collectivism. Collectivism focuses upon the wellbeing of the collective – the group or the organization such as the motherland or the corporation – at the cost of the individuals therein. Relationalism, meanwhile, focuses on the shared benefits of the individuals in dyad relationships, such as family members or business partners. More importantly, while collectivism is merely a construct to describe a certain type of social ideal or human conduct, relationalism represents a much larger concept or frame of reference towards all matter in the cosmos. People of a relational mind see things holistically. Volcanoes, technological advancements, climate changes, market economics, ideological changes, human desires, all are connected. Thousands of years of wars and peace, hardships and happiness, shame and pride have bestowed

4  Introduction upon the Chinese people the conviction that there is a “universal order” underlying all things in the world and since all things and all people in the universe are related, they should be treated as such. This hard-earned cultural wisdom is the bedrock of the Chinese cultural value system, social institutions, language, economic and diplomatic behaviors. In a nutshell, relationships are what they see, what they value, and what they act upon. To understand the reasoning behind China’s institutions and people’s actions is to comprehend relationalism. To omit relationalism from an analytic study of the Chinese people is to produce an abridged study. Hoping to cast light on Chinese relationalism, The Power of Relationalism in China offers rich and novel evidence from historical, philosophical, sociological, psychological, political and diplomatic fields. Although evidences may be related, they are itemized for convenient reading. Knowing the challenge inherent in communication across cultures and languages, I did most of the Chinese-to-English translations myself. Wherever translations were borrowed from other scholars, sources are duly cited in references. Usage of difficult Chinese words and names is kept to a minimum. When such words are used, their pronunciation is based on the Pin Yin System officially used in Chinese school textbooks and governmental documents. The Power of Relationalism in China extends a sincere invitation to Chinawatchers of every stripe – experts, businessmen and women, professionals, scholars, students of cross-cultural studies, and lay readers of a cosmopolitan bent – to examine China and the Chinese culture through the relationalistic lens. A friendly hand is also reaching out to those millions of Chinese descent living overseas who may also find this book of service in their quest to understand their Chinese legacy. May this study also be helpful to the burgeoning numbers of practitioners in international politics and business for whom a more accurate understanding of the Chinese people may well give them some “aha” insights into their particular questions about those Chinese specialists with whom they are most likely to interact.

Part I

The roots of relationalism in Chinese history

1 Some starting points

The roots of relationalism in Chinese historySome starting points

Twenty millennia ago,1 the first groups of migrant humans – who came to be romantically remembered as “descendants of the Dragon” – happened upon a fertile plain between the Yangzi and the Yellow Rivers in central China. The plain was formed from the rich mud brought down by the Yellow River from the Tibetan Plateau. At that time, the North China Plain had a relatively dry climate and mild winters and summers. The fertile plain offered bountiful wild plants and animals as food sources. The early settlers got fish from the river, picked edible fruits and plants from the lush wetland, and hunted animals from the nearby hills for food and body covering. Compared to the long and frigid winters and barren environment on the northwestern mountains and highland from where these migrants had come, the North China Plain offered a more inviting place to live. But in spite of their comparatively more favorable natural environment, making a living with their bare hands was still not easy. Nature remained harsh for these early settlers. An early written account describes their life this way: “Humans lived among beasts. They moved around to keep warm and stayed in the shade to avoid heat. Even the tribal chief had no house. Everyone lived in mud huts for the winter and under stacked up wood for summer. They hadn’t yet learned to build fire, so they fed themselves with fruits or whole animals’ flesh, fur, skin, and all. They drank animal blood, wore animal feathers and hair.”2 Other accounts noted that, “[h]umans were out-numbered, even haunted by animals and snakes.”3 Living conditions improved but gradually when the settlers learned to make simple knives and picks from bones and rocks; cultivate and conserve vegetables, fruits, fish and animal meat, and the rudiments of simple-forming wheat and millet; domesticated selected species of animals such as dogs, pigs and donkeys; and, eventually, settled in rudimentary huts.4 From their survival struggles, the early Chinese intuitively formulated a simple but important truth – that their present fortunate status as well as their chances for continued survival was largely depended on the blessings of three forces: the sky, the earth and fellow human beings. As far as they could see, the sky held tremendous power over such mysterious forces as thunder, lightning, rain and storm; the earth determined not only supplies of food – plants and animals – but it also had inexplicable powers to destroy mountains or cause destructive floods. When the sky and the earth were “happy,” crop yields were good and hunting efforts gave ample returns. But when the sky or the

8  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history earth was in a bad mood, living became a nightmare imposed by storms, famine, floods and more. To defend their homestead against these dangers, they had to rely on fellow humans as allies and teammates. But just as with earth and sky, the same fellow humans could also be foes or rivals with destructive intentions. One thing became clear: affable relationships with these “Big Three” – the sky, the earth and fellow humans – was the prerequisite for survival and survival took priority in everyone’s mind. Life and death depended upon these relationships. As evidenced in the primitive turtle shell oracles, the early Chinese began to record their interactions with the three forces, intending to pass their hard-earned wisdom on to their descendants. The first seed of a relational culture thus began to germinate. In the subsequent millennia, their relational wisdom was mercilessly tested and diligently enforced. But as long as living had to be made in farming, no one could avoid the cooperative nature of an agricultural culture, especially in ancient China where water was simultaneously a necessary resource and a source of frequent destructions. Irrigation was key to managing water, hence the lifeline of farming. Constant battles with the wild floods of the Yellow Rivers further intensified people’s need for cooperation. The early Chinese had chosen to settle on the North China Plain because of the water source nearby. But the Yellow River was untamed, to say the least. At its more tranquil times, it allowed people to fish, navigate and irrigate. But during rainy seasons, it unleashed raging floodwaters that roared down from the Tibetan Plateau and swelled the river. The violent torrent defied all obstacles in its path. The flooded river changed route unpredictably, wiping out everything in its way. People could only stand by and watch helplessly as their years of labor and life supplies were washed away. Simple irrigation projects were swept away; villages disappeared under raging water; humans were dragged to watery deaths. In spite of such recurrent devastations, the early settlers had determinedly stayed on and endured this periodic horror. Since they had no way to control the temper of the powerful river, draining the land and rebuilding the residential huts after each flood became a way of life for them. As frequent notations in ancient documents and legends indicate, however, some of the Chinese did begin to explore possibilities of a more permanent solution. For example, Yao Dian, an ancient book describing events as far back as 6000 years ago, contains the following discussion between the tribal chief and his aides about restraining the destructive flood as well as the ensuing events: CHIEF YAO:  (sighing)

Swift torrents are destroying everything, rising deluges are washing out lives along the way. Where my eyes can reach there is nothing but water. My people live and die in destitution and despair. Is there any way to manage the flood? OFFICIAL SIYUE:  Yes! Goon can do it! CHIEF YAO:  Pfff! He is stubborn and defiant! He could do nothing but bring trouble to the tribal family! OFFICIAL SIYUE:  Well, at least we should give him a chance to try. CHIEF YAO:  Okay then, tell him to proceed carefully and attentively!5

Some starting points 9 As legend has it, the recommended person Goon relocated all villagers and then surrounded all vacated villages with a gigantic wall designed to keep the river at bay. His gigantic project took nine years to complete. When it was finally finished, those villagers who were willing to gamble on the dam gingerly resettled themselves. But no sooner had they relaxed their guard than the deluge attacked again. This time, the river’s rage swept away both Goon’s wall and the villages! The devastation was thorough. In a fury, Chief Yao condemned Goon to live alone deep in the mountains for the rest of his life.6 Chief Yao further condemned Goon’s adult son, Yu, to continue with his father’s unfinished mission. Yu took Chief Yao’s order as an opportunity, not a punishment. After making a careful study of the river and the geology of the landscape around the villages and with his father’s failure in mind, Yu decided to take his project the opposite way – to open up new conduits for the flood water to drain away from the village rather than to block it. With that new design, Yu hoped to lessen the river’s destructive power and to protect people’s livelihoods. Yu’s new draining system took 13 hard years. But it worked! Yu’s accomplishment came at the cost of enormous collective efforts and personal sacrifice. One much-quoted story told that Yu was so devoted to his mission that during the 13 years, he went by his family home three times without having time to step inside, even when his wife was giving birth to their first child. The story was repeatedly told by word of mouth, each time some new details were added, making these accumulating tales of Yu’s life into a legendary illustration of human efforts mingling with Tian’s blessing to achieve final success and of how people’s admiration for their “hero” became an expression of their yearning for a harmonious relationship with almighty nature. Generations came and went and Chinese society became more sophisticated over time. But the hard-earned wisdom of experience – that to survive and thrive was to maintain an amiable relationship with Tian (the sky God), the earth and fellow human beings – was etched in the Chinese mind and was passed down through generations. This message, carrying the seeds of the idea of relationalism, began to send down deep roots.

2 The “universal order”

The roots of relationalism in Chinese historyThe “universal order”

The desire to form a harmonious relationship with the “Big Three” – Tian, the earth and fellow human beings – is well represented in the written documents of China’s formative years. The modern Chinese written symbol for harmony “和” (pronounced as “her”) was used by ancient Chinese as synonymous with “happiness,” “peace” and “friendliness.”1 The vital importance of harmony to their chance of survival was never far from people’s center of attention even during warring times. Obviously, in spite of improvements in tools and labor division, limited access to life resources still required communal effort for survival. Communities knew that an amiable relationship with nature and fellow humans was the key to survival for all. Community leaders warned of the dangerous consequences that could result if individuals did not diligently refrain from behaviors that could upset the relational balance. The leaders’ mission was to make sure that the community as a whole understood and disciplined itself so as to maintain productive relationships. Indeed, leading themes of early Chinese literature routinely emphasized the importance of relationships and the wisdom to manage them. And almost every ancient thinker spent considerable time and effort in expounding why and how peacemaking was the responsibility of each individual, especially those in leadership roles. As the population grew and the division of labor became more refined, maintaining proper relationships among humans and with Tian and the earth became ritualized. Intuitively, the early Chinese figured that there were mystical powers “out there” that determined and controlled the fate of earthly lives. For survival, earthlings must learn to keep these great forces happy. People named the highest authority “Tian” – modern translation calls it “the sky.” Some Western scholars translated “Tian” to mean the “universe” or “heaven.” But the ancient Chinese thought of Tian as a mystical concept closer to the Western concept of an omnipotent God. When in distress, Westerners would exclaim, “Oh my God!” and the Chinese would moan, “Oh my Tian!” Unlike the anthropomorphic Greek gods and goddesses who, for the most part, lived in their own world, quarreled amongst themselves and co-existed with humans relatively equally, the mission of the Chinese Tian appeared to be asserting the ultimate authority over humans. With its definitive control over every important aspect of life on earth, war and peace,

The “universal order” 11 health and happiness, life and death, Tian left nothing to chance. Feeling Tian’s absolute powers over their fate, ancient Chinese feared and revered Tian’s power and were eager to have Tian’s blessing. Interestingly, however, imperative as Tian was to the ancient Chinese, Tian maintained a mysterious identity. The ancients appeared to be satisfied with a fuzzy knowledge of Tian’s existence and a widespread apprehension about it. Amongst the little effort to define Tian were some intuitive descriptions of Tian. One opinion held that the earth was shaped like an egg while Tian wrapped around the earth just like the egg white wrapping around the yoke. Another held that the earth was round while Tian was square. Tian curved slightly on the outside like the lid of a pan. And like a lid, Tian completely covered the earth from above. Over time, this cosmic view of round-earth-square-Tian prevailed among the ruling class as a legitimate theory of Tian. Throughout China’s imperial history, Tian never gained a clear or scientific identity but everyone took it for granted that Tian represented a universal order which demanded unconditional compliance from everything beneath it. What mattered most to the ancients was how to build the kind of relationship with Tian that would bestow good fortune on themselves and their families and thereby maintain order on earth. To that end, the ancient Chinese endorsed a hierarchical order in the cosmos, a view akin the medieval Western notion of “The Great Chain of Being.” In the Chinese cosmos, all things and all humans had their assigned places in the hierarchical framework. As long as everyone carried out their assigned roles, all would live in harmony. Presiding atop that universal order, Tian was the utmost authority. The kings legitimately came in next to lord over commoners. As evidence of the folly of rejecting this orderly scheme of things, people pointed to the foolishness of peasant uprisings. By trying to change the order of the way things were, such uprisings only led to chaos and suffering. Even the few that seemed to have successfully toppled the old rulers eventually settled into systems virtually indistinguishable from the old order. As tribes grew into kingdoms and kingdoms into empires, the relationships between Tian and man were never challenged. The term “Tian Xia” – everything under the sky – became the ancient Chinese conception of the world. “Tian Xia,” was a three-dimensional model that took in everything between the sky and the earth. In fact, until 220 C.E., China did not have a word to denote the concept of the “world,” or a “nation.” “Tian Xia” was the only expression. Tian Xia meant “all under the sky is the emperor’s land.” The Chinese emperors were said to own Tian Xia – being the only ones entrusted with “everything under the sky.” There was no need to define geographical boundaries. For a very long time, China was such a Tian Xia – a “cultural concept” of a civilization inclusive of other cultures.2 This “cultural concept” was a unity of two aspects. The first aspect was to revere and obey Tian as the highest authority of the cosmic order; the second was the recognition of families as the many small cosmoses within such a universal order. (Further discussion of the family will follow in later chapters.) Such a concept of the universal order defined “Chineseness” for many ensuing centuries. Professor Ge, Z. G. from Fudan University in

12  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history Shanghai even went so far as to say that “in ancient China, nation/civilization/ truth was an overlapping concept, because ‘all under Tian’ was in one big family.”3 In this endlessly extended “family” of open space under the sky, the concepts of “in” and “out” did not apply. Rather, from the center of this “big family,” that is, the kingdom, there were only near and far relationships. Since then, this “near” and “far” relational conception became an essential frame of reference for relationships in many aspects of Chinese life. This “near” and “far” concept became the internal structure of Chinese societal and familial relationships. Based on such reasoning, a system called the “jifu” system gradually took shape to manage social relationships in the kingdom. A priest named Mo Gong in the West Zhou Dynasty (1100 B.C.E. – 771 B.C.E.) described the “jifu” system4 as the way the kingdom operated. According to Mo Gong’s description, the “jifu” system had at least five “fu” or rings, radiating from the kingdom capital as the center outwardly, roughly every 500 miles being one “fu” or ring. 5 The king assigned members of the king’s family or extended family as officials to govern each “fu.” The primary duty of each ring or “fu” was to supply, in the place of taxation, certain living necessities and protective services for the capital city. Each “fu” was obligated to fulfill specific assignments according to a set schedule. Forms of taxation included living necessities, gold and silver and military services. Through this “jifu” system, the kingdom obtained daily vegetables and meat for food; animal skin or woven fabrics for clothing; and wines and other goodies for entertainment and protective services such as taking care of necessary duties in the government, worshipping rituals, policing the kingdom, and military actions to ensure the safety of the city. Mo Gong further named the five rings as “Dian,” “Hou,” “Sui,” “Yao” and “Huang.” “Dian” meant the field. Residents of this ring had the responsibilities of tending the fields and supplying food for the royals. “Hou” meant military guards. People who lived in the ring of “Hou” would go to war for the safety of the kingdom and the territory. “Sui” meant officials or managers. These were people who participated in managerial matters such as worshipping rituals and policing the streets. “Yao” meant discipline. Residents of Yao were ethnic minority groups or criminals to be disciplined. Lastly, “Huang” meant far away and barren. The kings had very little interest in the people who lived in this ring, because in the king’s eyes, the residents of the ring closest to the center were more civilized and therefore deserved respect while people living the farthest ring were simply barbarous and deserving little attention. Based on this judgment, a schedule was set for the rings to come to the kingdom. Representatives from each ring would come to the capital center to pay homage to the royals and to turn in their expected taxes, or provide services. For example, the schedule required residents of the Ring of Dian to pay respect and taxes multiple times every year; the Ring of Hou would see the king every other year, while the farthest ring, the Ring of “Huang” was expected to pay respect only once in their lifetime. Once the pattern of relations between the kingdom and the rings was established, a universal order connecting everything under the sky was completed. On the vertical axis of this universal order, the highest authoritative commands came from Tian to the kings and through the kings to the people; on the horizontal axis

The “universal order” 13 were the commoners who lived in the near and far radiating rings. This universal order established one of the two pillars of the Chinese culture and continues to maintain a hold on the Chinese psyche. (The other pillar is the institution of family, which will be discussed later.) For thousands of years, social and political organizations in China’s imperial dynasties were largely patterned after this presumed universal order. Primitive and misconceived as these notions were, in the ancient Chinese mind they comprised self-evident truths of the structure of the universe and the order of the human relationships. In this power structure, the king held the highest authority over the commoners. No king had ever doubted his status as the “chosen one” and the embodiment of Tian’s authority on earth. Beginning in the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.E.–220 C.E.), ancient documents began to use the title of “Son of Tian” to refer to the emperors. The commoners, in turn, quietly accepted that the emperor was the representative of Tian on earth. The emperor’s commands were wide-ranging. As Professor Charles Hucker described it: It followed that peace and order could not be their sole concern. Indeed, even if the country prospered, their duty was not discharged; morality had to be ensured as well. . . . [T]he ruler was administrator, military leader, judge, manager of the economy, priest, educator, and moral exemplar. His responsibility was total. Accordingly, his authority had to be unlimited, and the Chinese polity came to be organized in such a way that the ruler’s authority was totalitarian in practice, in the sense that no aspect of life was considered immune to his control, should he choose to exert it.6 People’s trepidation regarding Tian’s power on earth and dependence on Tian’s blessing for a good life set the basic tenor of their longing for a friendly connection with authorities. Ancient rituals provided the way to achieve just that. Tian was naturally the first one people thought of praying to for blessings. Solemn rituals were thought to be the most appropriate way to communicate with the mysterious Tian. In imperial China, there were numerous rituals for what seemed like every wish and every event on earth – burial, wedding, ancestor worship, praying for rain to come or to stop, royal inaugurations and so on. But none were more carefully administered than the rituals for worshipping Tian. To accommodate desires to thank Tian for blessings and to atone when things went astray, the ancient Chinese usually held Tian worship services once a year on a set date. The event was typically held outdoors under the open sky. Animals were sacrificed and offered as gratuities to Tian. Tribal chiefs led the people in activities such as bowing, chanting, dancing and praying to Tian for future blessings. Some tribes might ask for more children, especially boys, to be born, for they would grow up to be warriors to win battles for the tribe. The rituals were normally managed by shaman-priests. Over time, Tian worship became more sophisticated as dynasties invested increasing political significance into them. For example, presiding over the worshipping ritual became the privilege of the emperor in his role as the “Son of Tian” while the duties of shaman-priests were reduced to coordinating and administrating the event. Heightened attention was

14  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history given to all elements of the gathering – architectural considerations, timing, location, marching order, decoration, foods and food containers, colors and styles of clothing for the king and officials – all of which enhanced Tian’s significance and strengthened the tie between Tian and his emperor son as well as the subjects. In later dynasties Tian worship grew into multiple-day events with complicated phases, as if the longer the event, the more respect was shown to Tian. Months before the event, a carefully constructed multi-level platform was built upon a square foundation. The basic design of the platform closely followed the traditional conceptual view of the universe with a square Tian and a round earth. The platform had multiple levels that extended outward from high to low and from “near” to “far” which emulated the social order of the “jifu” system. The top level of the platform where the emperor presided over the event signified the position of the emperor as the “Son of Tian.” Each government official and each royal family member was appropriated a standing post by his ranking and relationship to the emperor. A day before the event, the emperor would fast and then thoroughly cleanse his body. Hours before the event, the emperor changed into the appropriate costume for the occasion and his status. He would then solemnly walk up to the top of the platform at the exact moment and announce the start of the ritual. The emperor then would offer a solemn and earnest prayer to Tian. In the midst of deafening cheers from all participants, huge bonfires were lit and sacrifices were offered. Civil and military performers sang, chanted and danced with the designated music accompanied by thunderous drumming and gonging. Just as the bread and wine in Christian worship carry symbolic meanings, the foods offered at Tian worship held solemn significance beyond the value of the food as well. All specificities of the rituals were about relationships – with Tian, and with fellow human beings. The earth had its share of being worshipped with respect and expressions of thankfulness by the earthlings as well for allowing crops to grow and animals to live. In fact, earth worship was often a national worshipping event second only to Tian worship and was also performed regularly each year, usually after the harvesting season. Although earth worship appeared to follow a similar ritual process as Tian worship, somehow the more celebratory atmosphere signified a more jovial relationship between the worshippers and the worshipped. Unlike the outdoor event for Tian, earth worship events were usually performed in a temple with candles, incense, harvested foods and animals as gratuities. People prayed, sang and danced, and enjoyed food together. Legend has it that the Chinese Mother Earth had many subsidiary deities to help her manage different aspects and affairs on earth. There was a River God, a Mountain God, a God of Fire and a God of Five Grains. There was even a God of Big Cats who ate moles and rats that destroyed crops. Rather than having a worshipping ritual for each god, all deities were included as a group at the ritual of earth worship. Such collective events were called “sheji” – worshipping the community of gods. In an agricultural society, crop yields held the key of feeding the kingdom. Having a prosperous year was a central concern for both the governing and governed. For this important reason, all people in the kingdom looked forward to a prosperous harvest and a

The “universal order” 15 festive celebration of all the earth gods each year. In China today, earth worship, while no longer a national event, continues as a celebratory “sheji” in many villages, towns, even big cities. Many centuries of Tian and earth worship repetitively reinforced and eventually etched the concept of the Chinese universal order into the psyche of Chinese culture.

3 The traditional Chinese family The roots of relationalism in Chinese historyThe traditional Chinese family

If China’s universal order served as the first pillar that supported the culture, the second pillar had to be the traditional Chinese family. To this day, the Chinese continue to consider the family to be the smallest operative unit of relationships in a nation which is but the vast network comprised of all of these small units; hence a nation is called “guojia” (nation of families). The family is hence the lynchpin to the wellbeing of the society. In a family, husband-wife, parent-child and sibling relationships were the closest and the most stable. These stable family relationships determined the degree of harmony in the society. If a young man failed to behave appropriately toward his parents to whom he was indebted to for his life, how would he behave in society? Or, if families could not live in harmony, how could the community achieve stability and peace? In contrast, the pro-family and anti-family sentiments and ensuing diverging social practices might have exerted different influence on Westerners’ attitudes towards their families. Aristotle, a staunch pro-family advocate, saw family as the primary breeding ground for the development of virtues, bonds of affection and sense of responsibility to other family members. This point of view held that the extension of “philia,” the love of parents for other humans, was the foundation of a virtuous society. Plato, however, was a critic of Aristotle’s notion of the family. Against the orthodox commitment to family life, Plato considered a family being only a “particularistic” and private group whose primary interest was its own economic gains, not the welfare of the republic. To this date, the Chinese family remains the critical center of each member’s life. Contrary to the Platonic assumption of family as creating a tension between public and private virtues, Chinese culture believes in the inseparability of family virtues and public virtues. In fact, for thousands of years, the Chinese asserted that the private virtues learned in the home were the foundation of the public virtues in society. The family taught children their first lessons in obligations to members of the family – the necessity of compromise, self-discipline, and sense of responsibility – as virtues applicable to the larger society as well. In the Chinese multigenerational familial environment, children were exposed to and prepared for the complexity of a relational society. In such a family setting, the important skills and knowledge of nuances to communicate appropriately and efficiently with members of different age, gender and background were learned from early

The traditional Chinese family 17 experiences. Family members would also remember that the family was their first line of defense and support in matters of financial and emotional needs and during crises. To help out a member in need, a family would pull its resources together and stand by its members. In a society where the law was weak and resources were limited, the family became life’s safety net that connected every member, old and young. Under these circumstances, it is easy to imagine the intensity of Chinese people’s ties to their families. It should be noted that the Chinese family relationships included the ancestors who had passed. For centuries, the traditional Chinese family also served as an indispensable link that connected the living members with the ancestral lineage of past generations. Believing in a critical relationship between the worlds of the living and the dead and that the dead had the inexplicable power to continue to affect the lives of the living, the family was obliged to ensure the satisfaction of the ancestors. Death did not sever the kinship because the living still carries the blood lineage of the dead. People firmly believed that without a well-caredfor ancestry, hopes for prosperity and good fortune for the living members were dimmed. Hence, negligence of the ancestors suffered the same socially condemnable disgrace as if it were disrespectfulness of the living elders. Growing up in such a truly “extensive” family environment, the living members were constantly reminded of the behavioral code that aimed to ensure that they honored their obligations to the family legacy. To that end, no other practice was more effective than the ritual of ancestral worship. Undoubtedly, ancestral worship was where functions of China’s universal order and the traditional family joined. On the one hand, the universal order upheld a hierarchical society and insisted that harmony was only possible when such stratification was respected and practiced; on the other, there was no better place to embody such social order than in the family where individual members were put into a hierarchical order. Just as the king or the “Son of Tian” was the one that carried out Tian’s command over the behavior of the earthlings, the eldest male figure of the patriarchal bloodline served as head of an extended family and was in command of members’ behavior in the family. Just as the “Son of Tian” presided over the Tian worship, the head of the family led the prayers for ancestral worships. While Tian worship was commonly held in an outdoor open space and the earth worship in a temple, ancestral worships usually took place in a family hall or a clan temple where pictures or other symbols of generations of ancestors were present. The room and anything else that was to be used in the ritual were carefully prepared; food and other offerings were carefully selected and prepared according to the legendary likings of the ancestors; incense, candles, and lanterns were set or hung appropriately; wooden boards with ancestors’ names or other representations were arranged on the shrine following strict near/far order. The ritual was hosted either by a professional or an amateur village shaman-like person who could be male or female. A typical ancestral worship began with a round of rhythmic drumming, which was said to be effective in driving away evil spirits. In modern times this part has been replaced by a round of deafening firecrackers. Soon after the devils were

18  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history scared away, the shrine was ready for the ritual. The head of the family would lead the male descendants – sons, grandsons and great grandsons – to the shrine. Each person would be given three lit incense sticks. The family elder would then take the lead to pray aloud to the ancestors so that all could hear. After he finished praying, he would plant his incense in a special sand container. Each male descendant would step forward to say his own prayer. After the male descendants were back in their positions, all participants – men, women and children – would get down on their knees and gently touch the floor three times with their foreheads while quietly pleading to the ancestors for what they wish. After the prayers were all said, the family members would gather around an open fire pit where “hell money” and other items such as real or paper clothes were burned. The burning action was believed to be the way “money” and other items were “sent” to the ancestors. When the fire had died down, the formal part of the ritual for ancestral worship was over. Usually a banquet for the family and relatives would follow as part of the gratitude for all. Ancient rituals for families were many, such as burial rituals, a newborn child’s 100th-day celebrations, longevity celebrations for an elder’s 80th birthday, and so on. Throughout history, these rituals persisted with variations among sub-cultures. To this date, in most parts of China, especially in the rural areas, such rituals continue to be performed regularly on holidays and other special occasions. The main function of these rituals is to ensure and enforce relationships. When members of an extended family come together for the ritual, old relationships are renewed and new ones created. In modern times, as society gains economic and political sophistication, relationships assume even greater significance in people’s lives. Through these ancient rituals, every living Chinese was constantly reminded of his or her relationship to the family network. Such familial connections forever tied the members together, both the living and the dead. These Chinese rituals – Tian worship, earth worship and ancestral worship – helped to connect all elements in one all-encompassing relational net – nature and humans, society and family, the living and the dead. In such a network, individuals were never isolated or lonely persons, but they were also never to be free agents. Well-done rituals eased people’s feelings of helplessness and the intense dread of the awful consequences resulting from negligence or misbehaving. To make mistakes in rituals was to take a risk with important relationships with Tian or the ancestors, without whose blessing, crops might fail and misfortunes might happen. Rituals repeatedly reminded kings and their subjects of the importance of relationships. Societal and familial rituals ensured that individuals knew their positions and the behavioral code they were expected to follow in the relationship networks. With careful and repeated participation in these rituals, the notion of relationalism quietly but deeply seeped into all aspects of Chinese lives.

4 Relationalism meets foreign challenges The roots of relationalism in Chinese historyRelationalism meets foreign challenges

Throughout Chinese history, relationalism, this sense of most elaborate interconnectedness, was not only expounded upon in great depth by Chinese scholars, it was never doubted that as a way of life, relationalism would never cease. In reality, however, relationalism was repeatedly tested throughout China’s history. The first national challenge to relationalism was inflicted by the Mongols, who conquered China in 1297 and again by the Manchus in 1644. These alien rulers came from tribal lands outside of China and brought their distinct cultural values, some of which were completely foreign to the Chinese. Such cultural differences no doubt seriously threatened the continuity of the Chinese relational culture and caused tremendous tensions between the conquerors and the Chinese people. Confronted and finally over-run by the Mongols’ “brute” culture of combative warriors, how did China’s ideal of a relational and harmonious society survive? The Mongols, the pastoral and nomadic tribal people who dwelt north of China between 209 B.C.E. to 490 C.E., were the first foreign conquerors to rule China. The Mongols made their living by herding cattle and horses. Mongolian boys grew up to be superb horsemen and combative warriors. Physical strength, speed, and sophisticated horsemanship skills were highly prized by the tribes. When the growing population demanded more pastoral land, the tribes expanded into China’s territory, causing frequent border disputes. Beginning in the second century C.E., the Chinese emperors had to send troops there repeatedly to enforce border security. To neutralize the Mongols’ constant threats, in the 220s, the Chinese empire began building a defensive palisade along the northern border. This section of the palisade was known as the Han Great Wall. The Han Great Wall might have deterred the Mongols from invading China for a time, but it did not stop them from rapidly rising to be the “vastest land empire of world history.” At the beginning of the 13th century, a tribal prince named Temujin (1155–1227) rose to power. He consolidated the nomad tribes to form a “Universal Sovereignty of the Steppe Peoples” and declared himself to be a “Genghis Khan” – the “universal Chief.” Genghis Khan started expanding his territory almost immediately. In 21 short years, the Mongol territory was enlarged to include many present-day countries and territories in Asia, the Middle East, even Europe.

20  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history The Mongols conquered and ruled by military power. Everywhere the hooves of the horsemen reached, destruction reigned. They terrorized the locals by burning cities and killing every living Chinese person in sight, sparing only the craftsmen because Genghis Khan needed their skills. In one Chinese city, for example, the Mongols massacred the whole population save 106 craftsmen. In what is today known as Sichuan Province, the Mongols reduced the population from 20,000,000 to 800,000 and burned Yanjing (present-day Beijing), a flourishing city center back then, reducing it to ashes.1 In 1271 C.E., the Mongol leader Khubilai became the first alien to become China’s emperor. He founded the Great Yuan Dynasty (1271–1368 C.E.) and rebuilt Beijing to be his capital. Interestingly, instead of naming his newly acquired empire with a Mongol word, he picked the Chinese character Yuan from the ancient Chinese book Yi Jing, according to which Yuan meant “a very large world.” On his way to occupying China, Khubilai had asked himself and his men the question of how to rule China: “Should we rule as Mongols or as Chinese?” Throughout their reign, the Mongols struggled to find an answer to this question. During their occupation, the Mongols came to the painful realization that taking down a country by military force did not insure success in ruling that country. The constant clashes of the warrior culture with the Chinese relational beliefs opened Khubilai’s eyes to the urgent necessity of making managerial adjustments to appease the Chinese. But his warriors had no intention of compromising. In fact, upon entering China, these horseback warriors continued to rule by brutality. Ignorant of agriculture, the horsemen tried to turn Chinese farmlands into Mongolian pasturage. The warriors captured Chinese peasants and gifted them as slaves to one another. These new rulers demanded that Chinese people live under arbitrary and punitive rules. For example, every 20 families were forced to live as a single group, or a “jia.” Each “jia” had to provide everything needed to the Mongols who happened to be stationed nearby, everything including food, clothing, labor and young girls for their sexual pleasure. As a result of farmlands being turned into steppes, crop yields plummeted, resulting in mass starvations. People escaped by the hundreds of thousands to the south, which was not yet in the hands of the Yuan government. Those who remained behind fought for their lives. Violent rebellions against the Mongols broke out daily.2 Fear drove the Mongol rulers to step up their atrocities by issuing senseless regulations such as: one cutting knife was to be shared by dozens of households; no Chinese were allowed outside after dark or to have lights in the house; and Chinese were not allowed to own, buy or sell bamboo, on the grounds that bamboo could be made into bows and arrows. Violations of these rules would lead to, without exception, execution of not only the individual but the whole extended family.3 Under such extreme brutality, the Chinese faced only two options: death or revolt. And revolts there were! Hundreds of thousands of them every year and everywhere in occupied China. The Yuan Dynasty was plunged into inescapable peril from the beginning. Strange as it might seem, however, because of the Yuan rulers’ ignorance and disdainful attitude toward literacy in general and toward the Chinese culture in

Relationalism meets foreign challenges 21 particular, their officials refused to waste their time on intellectual matters. Inadvertently, their negligence gave Chinese scholars the needed opportunity to establish Confucianism as a national curriculum. Confucius (551–479 B.C.E.) was the founder of what we know today as Confucianism. He spent his lifetime professing the importance of harmonious relationships and ways to achieve harmony in the family as well as in the society. In more ways than one, Confucius was regarded as the father of relationalism. (Detailed discussions of Confucius and his teachings come in Part Two). Obviously, Confucius’s teachings on relationships, negotiating and compromising, and social harmony were in stark contrast to the Mongols’ combative and aggressive values. Although Khubilai as the founding father of Yuan had allowed some incorporation of Confucian ideas into his governance, his overall policy insisted on maintaining the supremacy of the Mongolian culture. Without realizing the conflicting nature of his policy, Khubilai mandated the continuation of Mongolian rites and that the schools instructed children in Mongolian language and horseback combative skills; but on the other hand, he gave permission for Chinese scholars to teach and publish Confucius’s ideas. After Khubilai’s death in 1298, his successors showed more sincere inclination towards adopting the Confucian culture. They allowed Confucian schools to reopen nationwide from the capital city to the villages and Confucian temples to be rebuilt. In 1314, the new Yuan emperor finally decreed to reinstate the national mandarin examinations. To that end, he further established that the Chinese Great Classics be used as the main curriculum of the educational system as well as the main themes of the mandarin exams.4 Without truly understanding or embracing the Confucian philosophy, the Yuan ruling class inadvertently facilitated the alignment of the Chinese national learning with Confucianism, which in turn continued to keep relationalism thriving in Chinese households. From that time on, any Chinese man who aspired to have a future in civic service would have to be well versed in Confucianism. The Mongols thus accomplished the feat that generations of Chinese Confucian disciples and enthusiasts had only dreamed of. To be well versed in Confucianism was to embrace Confucius’s belief that the pathway to accomplishing harmony was through every person’s constantly improving his relationships in his family, his community and the country. Venerating militant competition and aggression, the Mongol warriors found it impossible to subscribe to a non-violent and non-combative philosophy because it was no less than to negate their military strengths and accomplishments. Coming from their extraordinary achievements in transcontinental military conquests, the warriors saw no reason or need for harmony. Eventually, the two oppositional belief systems failed to reconcile and as a result, there was hardly any peace during the reign of the Mongols. In the short duration of the Yuan Dynasty, a total of 11 Mongol emperors rolled in and out of the throne in quick succession. In 1328, the 97-year reign of the Yuan Dynasty abruptly ended, cut short by a Chinese general named Zhu Yuanzhang who became the first emperor of the Ming Dynasty. However, challenges to China’s relationalism did not end with the departure of the Yuan rulers. After the 276-year-old Ming Dynasty ended in 1644, China again

22  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history fell into the hands of an alien culture, of the Manchus. Similar to the Mongols, the Manchus were also a nation on horseback and its warriors prided themselves on their extraordinary physique and horseback combat abilities. Fortunately for the Chinese people this time, the Manchus found a different answer to Khubilai’s question of how a foreign power should rule China. Because of their different approach, the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911) successfully ruled China as a legitimate dynasty for almost three centuries, albeit sometimes narrowly missing a perilous meltdown. In actuality, the Manchus were no strangers to the Chinese culture. The forefathers of the Manchus were called the Jurchens. Generations of Jurchen tribes had lived in the Changbai Mountains located in present-day China’s Hei Long Jiang Province. Over the years, the Jurchens expanded their territory into Northern China and began to mingle with the Chinese locals. As the two cultures coexisted, many Jurchens were drawn to the Chinese lifestyles and made an effort to assimilate with the Chinese. They learned the Chinese language, followed the ceremonial rituals, dressed in Chinese-style clothes, cooked their food the Chinese way, and traded with the Chinese merchants. Such peaceful co-existence seemed to please the Chinese government at the time. Between the years of 1368 and 1644, there was a governmental designation of a “commandery” to the Chinese-Jurchen co-inhabiting area, implying that the Jurchens had been incorporated into China’s frontier defense system.5 Peaceful co-existence began to fall apart when a new tribal leader, Nurhaci (1559–1626), emerged. Nurhaci unified the entire Jurchen population, formally changed the tribal name from Jurchen to Manchu, and organized it into eight “banners.” According to Nurhaci’s design, all Manchus were members of the banners. Each banner contained about 1500 households and was decorated with specific color scheme in their uniforms and flags. Functions of the banners were soon extended into a standing population management system. In peacetime, the banners served as administrative and production units, but in times of war the banner system allowed speedy military training and swift maneuvering. Together, the banners formed the formidable “cavalry forces of the Manchus.”6 Obviously, Nurhaci did not build and train the banners merely to defend their limited territory. Nurhaci’s goal was China’s land. By employing Chinese officials and adopting the Chinese bureaucratic methods of government, he quickly transformed his confederation of Jurchen tribes into a Manchu state. Henceforth, small altercations with the Chinese armies soon escalated to threatening conflicts as the Manchu state grew larger and stronger. Before long, Nurhaci’s careful planning and implementation showed its formidable effect – the Manchu military forces quickly became a deadly force against the Ming Dynasty. In 1644, the Manchus conquered China and inaugurated the last imperial dynasty in Chinese history, the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911). Although the transition from the Chinese-ruled Ming Dynasty to the Manchurian Qing Dynasty was not as bloody and destructive as the Mongol conquest, it still took the Manchus half a century of war to secure their control of the entire empire. As historians saw it, the main factor that eased the transitional process

Relationalism meets foreign challenges 23 was the Manchu leaders’ admiration of the Chinese civilization and open-minded attitude towards learning the Chinese way. When the Manchus marched into the Chinese capital, it was their contention that they came not as enemies, but as preservers of the Chinese heritage. The Manchu rulers were keen to realize that to be “preservers of the Chinese heritage,” first and foremost, they had to learn to adapt to China’s relationalism. Manchus’ pre-dynastic acquaintance with the Chinese cultural ways of life took some edge off in their adaptation to the new culture. Their willingness to further learn the relational ways of governance enabled them to manage a vast land of ethnic diversities, especially the Hans, whose civilization had been the mainstay of China for the past centuries. But the road to true assimilation was full of twists and turns. The identity of the empire and the deeply entrenched ethnic conflicts between the Han and the Manchu camps plagued the era of the first Qing emperor, Shunzhi (1638–1661). Shunzhi wanted to show his respect for China’s Confucian culture. In the second month after ascending to the throne, he sent his top diplomats to Confucius’s home village to pay homage. In spite of objections from many Manchurian generals, Shunzhi invited Chinese officials to join his government. Based on their recommendations, Emperor Shunzhi resumed the mandarin examination in the first year of his reign. Through his policies and speeches, he encouraged all people including his countrymen to study Confucian books and follow Confucian morals. But on the other hand, Shunzhi wanted also to maintain his own cultural tradition and to appease his countrymen. To that end, Shunzhi issued orders to permit and protect the Manchu political and economic privileges. For example, he insisted on keeping intact the “Eight Banners” system and to use it as his delegated “special force.” The many privileges that the members of the banners were given tacitly permitted them to feel and act as if they were above the law,7 so much so that the term “descendants of Eight Banners” later became a synonym for reckless abuse of power and laziness. To maintain the purity of the Manchu blood, Shunzhi ordered inter-marriage between Manchurians and Chinese to be banned. Furthermore, Shunzhi required the Manchurian language to be taught in schools and military training for all Manchurian youth. Manchurian clothing and hairstyles8 as well as Manchurian cultural rituals were imposed as well. Besides, for fear of conspiracies against his court, Shunzhi forbade his officials from making personal connections amongst themselves and later he even made such actions a punishable crime. There is no doubt that, as the first emperor by conquest, Shunzhi had created a somewhat friendly atmosphere for the adaptation of the Chinese culture, but his schizophrenic policy also added to the distrust and confusion of both Manchurians and Chinese. In his court, the Manchurian-Chinese struggle never ceased. Although sometimes under a thin cover of mutual respect, the constant bickering told a different story. The animosity was even reflected in the separate standing positions of the Manchu and Chinese officials in top-level meetings. Policy debates often escalated into Manchurian-Chinese power struggles, which rendered Shunzhi’s government ineffective, to say the least.

24  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history Such constant internal strife soon took its toll on Shunzhi’s health. He died a 23-year-old young man. His son Kang Xi (1661–1722), a wiser ruler, succeeded the throne at the age of seven. He lived to hold the reins of China for 60 years, a record unbroken to this date. Emperor Kang Xi was generally admired as conscientious, diligent, inquisitive and indefatigable. His undisguised fondness of the Chinese culture led to a smoother adoption of relationalism. A diligent student of the Chinese culture, Kang Xi quickly understood how deeply entrenched in relationalism the Chinese culture was and he himself became a master of managing relationships in his large and complicated family of many wives and children as well as in his multi-ethnic empire. Of all relationships, none occupied his mind more than the relationship between his countrymen and the Chinese, which Kang Xi believed to be the foundation of harmony in his empire. Born and raised in China, Kang Xi was much more sure-minded with the issues where Shunzhi had vacillated. For example, Kang Xi decided to adopt Confucianism as the national guiding ideology for his dynasty, declaring that all civil officials, Manchu or Chinese, had to be well versed in it. He was not happy with the ineffectual administration of the new mandarin exams in Shunzhi’s hands. Wanting to make sure that the exams were accessible to both Manchurian and Chinese candidates, Kang Xi mandated Confucianism to be the central requirement for the exams. To that end, he also found a creative reconciliation between requiring Manchu children to study the Confucian curriculum and maintaining the Manchurian tradition of horsemanship. He ordered Manchurian candidates for the mandarin exams to first pass the tests in combat skills on horseback before gaining eligibility for the written and oral exams in history, philosophy and literature.9 To help Manchurian candidates prepare for the examinations and to popularize the Confucian culture, Kang Xi also mandated that classic Chinese books of history, arts of governance, literature, philosophy and military strategies be translated into the Manchurian language. Kang Xi honored Chinese scholars, not only by lip service but by actually funding their intellectual work, which included production of dictionaries, encyclopedias, histories, poetry and other important books. During his busy years as an emperor, Kang Xi himself compiled a Chinese dictionary which included many obscure and forgotten Chinese words. Today, The Kang Xi Dictionary continues to be a working reference that is frequently consulted. Kang Xi regularly called upon Chinese intellectuals for ideas and suggestions for issues concerning governance of the state and the people. Before long, developing and managing relationships became central to Kang Xi’s thinking and practice. Among the many political and economic accomplishments that Kang Xi had achieved, the ones that he was most proud of included the genuine cooperation between the Manchu and Chinese officials in his government as well as among the people, to which he owed the decades of peace during his tenure. For good reasons, Emperor Kang Xi became known as “the great Chinese Emperor.” During his long and stable reign, his adoption of Confucianism in his governance, his keen sense and skill in managing relationships, and wise and benevolent political and economic policies led to a prosperous economy and a peaceful society. The public was convinced of Kang Xi’s commitment to China’s

Relationalism meets foreign challenges 25 wellbeing, and as a result, the Manchu-Chinese antagonism largely faded from national focus and the Qing court was accepted as a legitimate Chinese dynasty. Kang Xi set an outstanding personal example as well as the fundamentals of governance for the later Qing emperors to follow. The later Qing emperors might have had their own agendas and leadership styles, but they managed to stay on well-traveled popular paths in at least three aspects that were contributive to China’s relationalism: the universal order, the mandarin exam system, and the Chinese family. When the Manchus took over the throne, they also inherited the deeply rooted Chinese conception of universal order which functioned as a political and social hierarchical network of Tian, the earth, and man. In spite of cultural differences, the Qing court continued to worship Tian as the highest power over man and Tian worship was adopted as the single most important national ritual. The most powerful man on earth was still the “Son of Tian,” whose power was now bestowed on the presiding Qing emperor. The “jifu” system continued to be used in the governance of the country. But no public manifestation earned the Qing rulers more credit than maintaining the mandarin examination system, which sustained the only hope for a commoner to rise in social and economic status. Allowing the exam system to remain open gave the most convincing evidence to the people of the early Qing rulers’ vow that they came to rule China “not as enemies, but as preservers” of the Chinese heritage. Though riddled with nepotism and corruption since 581 C.E., the mandarin examination system had been China’s most viable conduit for aspiring men of talent from any social stratum to enter civil positions or to gain political power. At the individual level, the publicity of the examination process provided hope for commoners to improve their fate. At the national level, the mandarin examination system served as an efficient way to recruit quality personnel for the governance of the nation. What was more, through studying the main curriculum, namely, the Great Classics, the exams proved to be the most efficient way to popularize and enforce Confucianism among intellectuals and commoners. Because Confucianism emphasized social harmony and family relationships, it provided the Qing ruling class with a most helpful ideology to maintain social order in the empire. In addition to enforcing the long-held universal order and maintaining the mandarin exams, the Qing rulers made yet another noteworthy contribution to relationalism by supporting the extended family or the clans. The clans were initiated at the grassroot villages as a hub of families from the same ancestry. Generally speaking, clan members shared the same family name, such as Chen or Wang. Before the Qing Dynasty, the clan association was no more than a blood kinship– based extended family that came together for ancestral worship. Each clan had a leader or a leading group usually comprised of the eldest or the most respected male figures. All the other related families were “associates,” which included families of married children and grandchildren and their in-laws. Usually the clan would meet in the hall of a large family home or a clan temple for their worshipping activities.

26  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history Clan memberships helped to facilitate people’s feelings of belonging and foster a support network for all. Over time, many clans became grassroot organizations responsible for the wellbeing of their members. Operationally, clan leaders or members would meet to discuss important matters or settle disputes. Many clans had their own “constitutions” and gave their leadership the authority to police the village and to deal with its members’ misconducts. For violations of their constitution, punishments could range from public scolding and corporal punishment to financial sanctions. The most shameful of all punishments was the disownment of a family member or an entire family. Those who were disowned would lose all “face” and live in disgrace. Clans of large villages even had their own armed militia to guard against bandits. In many ways, the clans became somewhat like a well-organized cooperative group that protected members’ interests against government exploitation; some even provided financial or emotional assistance for members in need. By the 1600s, some large clans were allowed to collect a portion of the land income from members as tax-free clan income in perpetuity for the purpose of funding necessary clan activities. In many rural areas, the clans were so powerful that they rendered grassroot government almost an empty name. The wise Qing rulers quickly saw the clans as a potential relational network to enforce the dogma of Confucianism at the grassroot level. They were convinced that, as long as Confucius’s philosophy of relationalism was held steadfast at the grassroot level, the network of families would maintain societal stability, which would assure the Qing government of its control. The more families were to connect under a clan’s disciplinary power, the less opportunity for reckless and criminally minded individuals to stir up trouble. With the Qing government’s pro-clan policies, clans grew rapidly in size and in numbers. What used to be groups of a few loosely related families in the same village now reached over hundreds of eligible families in a county or a region. What used to be a simple goal for ancestor worship now expanded into multilevel functions such as setting up Confucian schools, maintaining clan temples, providing welfare for widows and orphans, even issuing financial loans to needy clan members. Now the Qing rulers were able to bypass the traditional aristocratic dominance in the village to communicate their governmental policies directly to the peasantry through the clans. One such policy specified that members of the clans should have regular monthly assemblies during which they attend lectures on Confucian values given by appointed retired officials or low academic degree holders, or listen to the recitation of imperial decrees exhorting them to be filial and obedient to authorities, harmonious with neighbors, and content with his or her lot, and not to do evil.10 In a multigenerational environment like a clan, understanding each other’s needs and managing relationships became necessary skills. Children learned and developed those skills that would help them function as moral and productive adults in a bigger web of relations. Daily interactions with people of different

Relationalism meets foreign challenges 27 ages, personalities and genders taught the younger generation, in a safe environment, the values of humbleness, negotiation, flexibility and compromise. To the Qing rulers, the clan as a communication pathway was uniquely effective for moral education especially among China’s vast population who lived in hard-to-reach rural, village and small town settings. The Qing court readily incorporated the clan system as an integral part of their administrative government. The new relational clan network indeed worked miracles socially – so much so that, during the Qing Dynasty, Western visitors, who witnessed the success of such a system with their own eyes, expressed their astonishment at the “orderliness in life among the countless masses despite the scarcity of policemen and other official representatives of state authority.”11 Seeing how well the clan system worked, the Qing court increasingly looked to the clan leaders for assurance of stability and for leadership in desirable community projects like construction of irrigation facilities. The Qing emperors’ encouragement and support of the grassroot relational culture gave a green light to China’s relationalism. The rulers’ amiable relationships with the commoners lessened domestic conflicts; their lenient taxation policies encouraged people to work hard, cultivate more land and get along. Crops were good, artisans and townships were prosperous, and society was operating smoothly. Professor Hucker described the prosperous Qing Dynasty admiringly: In the eighteenth century, China attained the last golden age of the imperial tradition and very likely was the most awe-inspiring state in the world. It enjoyed a long domestic peace while steadily strengthening its preeminence over neighboring peoples; it grew in population and wealth and was elegantly sophisticated. Its principles of governance and social organization were so extolled by Voltaire and other Western intellectuals that Confucius became virtually (their). . . patron saint. . . . A popular passion for Chinese things and themes (chinoiserie) has lasting influence on European art, literature, architecture, gardens, and décor. Much of the credit for such Chinese prospering belongs to the remarkably able early Manchu rulers, especially two dynasty giants called Kang Xi (1661–1722) and Qing Long (1735–1796).12 Unexpectedly, however, Europe’s fascination with Qing China soon brought yet the most unprecedented challenge from the West. The relentless inroads of Westerners with advanced technology, religious practice, economic demands and military advantages imposed unparalleled ordeals that tested not only the Qing rulers’ capability to protect the Chinese culture and sovereignty, but more importantly the central Chinese value of relationalism. In addition to simple curiosity about the Chinese culture, Europeans came with demands for free trade, free land to call home and free “rights” to propagate their religion. When the Qing rulers did not cooperate, the “friendly” visitors were outraged and threatened war. Soon after, Britain forced its way into Guangzhou, and other European countries and Japan followed. Chinese land, cities and seaports were taken by force to become the invaders’ own.

28  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history Qing China was ill prepared for war. During the two centuries of relatively peaceful and complacent life, the Qing “banner system” had deteriorated, the will to conquer faded and the push for continual weaponry improvement relaxed. In addition, rampant governmental corruption had severely spoiled China’s military leadership, which in turn weakened its combat ability. When the Opium Wars hit in the 1840s, China’s ancient knives and swords met with the European firing arms and the Qing government saw the writing on the wall. The losses China suffered in those wars were far beyond millions of human lives and the horrific destruction of the economy and culture. The ultimate devastation was inflicted from the many unequal treaties that forced China to “permit” the Western countries to take anything they deemed valuable. In addition to seaports, land and cities, the treaties gave the invaders the “right” to rob the country of its national art treasures, gold and silver, railroads, ocean rights and more. These treaties, in effect, robbed China of its sovereignty and forced its people into slavery. The Opium Wars (1836–42) announced the beginning of the endgame for the Qing Dynasty and together, eight Western countries finished it off mercilessly. China was broken, literally and in spirit by those iniquitous treaties. The once proud and prosperous country hung its head in shame for the next century. In 1911, the last light was turned off in the Forbidden City. A Chinese medical doctor turned statesman named Sun Zhongshan (also known to the West as Sun Yatsen (1866–1925)) and his comrades took down the war-torn Qing Dynasty and thus ended China’s millennia-long imperial history. Sun’s comrades established the first Chinese parliamentary political system and called it the Republic of China. The last 100 years of the Qing Dynasty inaugurated China’s long and painful struggle with its relationships with the world. While the Qing court had proven itself capable of political and economic administration and a true patron of Confucianism, it struggled mightily when faced with the Western ideology, religion and advanced technology that threatened to topple China’s long-held beliefs in relationalism and the universal order. In 1583, Jesuits missionaries Michael Pompilio Ruggieri (1543–1607) and Matteo Ricci (1552–1610) entered China and took residence in Zhaoqing, Guang Dong Province. Soon after, they published several Chinese books to propagate Catholicism, among them The Truth of God and God’s Record. Funded by the Catholic Church, these books were passed out, free of charge, to the Chinese. Ruggieri and Ricci also translated, from Greek, Euclid’s Geometry, which eloquently showed the measurability and logic in things, which had nothing to do with Tian. Amongst their accomplishments, however, none carried more profound significance than the publication of Kunyu Wanguo Quantu, literally translated as “A Map of the Myriad Countries of the World.” The map directly challenged China’s time-honored notion of Tian Xia and that “all land under the sky belongs to the emperor.” Soon after, in 1620, a French Jesuit missionary named Nicolas Trigault (1577–1628) arrived in China with 7000 Western books on science, religion, literature and philosophy. The world map, the books and the religious propaganda forced open a window in China’s intellectual mind. But as could be expected, the newly arrived Western knowledge immediately met with tremendous suspicion and resentment amongst the Qing elite. Deeply

Relationalism meets foreign challenges 29 immersed in relational ways of thinking, the traditional Chinese minds instinctively rejected the Western assertions and conclusions as heretical. In the meantime, Western scientific and religious arguments hopelessly fought against China’s highest values of Tian, the sanctified family and the relational mindset. A glimpse at how differently China and Japan responded to Western knowledge illustrates the Qing court’s painful struggle. The same wave of Western intellectual influence that reached the shores of China also landed in Japan at about the same time in the 17th century. Upon receiving the maps and books, the Japanese were immediately drawn to the utilitarian values of such knowledge as medicine, pharmacy and navigation. Japanese doctors wasted no time in taking up study and practice of Western medicine. In the ensuing decades, Western medicine became much welcomed knowledge among Japan’s ruling class, who gave permission for it to be used as complementary to traditional herbal treatments. In navigation, the same map that shocked China was soon translated into Japanese and became an important reference tool in Japan’s navigation and trading activities. The less pragmatic knowledge such as astronomy, sociology, psychology and philosophy had to wait for their time in the 19th century. But they were eventually integrated into Japanese scholars’ scope of thinking as well.13 In China, however, the Western books met a different fate. Unlike their Japanese counterparts, the Chinese elites and scholars did not attend to the utilitarian books or the books about individual development. What caught their immediate attention were the books about Tian, that is, the books on astronomy and astrology, which were among the first ones to be picked out by the royals, because anything that touched the subject of Tian also touched a sensitive nerve of the royal court. By now the cherished concepts of Tian and the Son of Tian had been woven into the fabrics of the daily lives of the ruling elite as well the Chinese populace. Confucian relationalism as the way of thinking and living were equated to life itself. But Western missionaries wanted to convince the Chinese that what they believed as an eternal order of the universe was nothing more than a childish fantasy and should be discarded. The Westerners forcefully propagated the “science” and religion of the universe and tried to refute the mystery of Tian’s authority. They told the Chinese that Tian or the sky was no more than merely a physical entity and its power could be studied and known. Such an assertion met with scorn and rage in Chinese minds, especial in the mind of the Son of Tian. Without the paranormal power bestowed by Tian, the emperor would have no claim for authority, hence no power to control and protect his empire. If Tian had no authority, Tian’s son, the emperor, would be merely the son of a human being just like everybody else. This thought alone could cause earth-shattering panic in the nation, not to mention how horrified the Qing court felt. It was their death sentence! Even to the commoners, if the emperor were somehow removed from his throne, what would happen to all the governing bodies such as the clans, which were shaped after the royal court? What would happen to the nation’s administrative structure that was based on the “near and far” notion of the universal order? What about the

30  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history mandarin examination system that completely relied on Confucianism that the Western books argued against? At the most personal level, what about the family? According to the Western ideology, relationalism was wrong. But without the network of relationships, the Chinese perceived no alternative purpose of life or ways of living. The ruling elites were panic-stricken and so were the people, just like the Catholic Church after Galileo proposed that the earth was not the center of the universe. Naturally and instantly, the Western views of the universe were taken as a vicious attack on the two weight-bearing columns that supported the Chinese society. The Qing court had no other option but to order these books burned. The first attempt of science to show “the Truth” to the Chinese hence met with a wall of rejection and the fate of defeat. As if undermining the Qing Dynasty’s political and economic authority was not enough, Western religion, namely, Christianity, made its fourth effort to plant roots in China. Since the Tang Dynasty (618–907) when the Catholic Church suffered its first failure, Christian clerics had never stopped trying. But the ideology they preached was wrongly rubbing the nerves of Confucianism and family values; their attempts to succeed in China were repeatedly met with disappointment. The Qing emperor Yong Zheng (1678–1735) ordered Christian priests to be banned for 100 years from his empire, which was deemed the biggest setback for Christianity in China. This fourth wave of Christianity, however, riding in with the victories of the Opium Wars finally got a foothold. Armed with free books and public speeches, the priests wasted no time in preaching to the Chinese audience that their only hope of ending their sufferings laid in the hands of God, not their family or their emperor. Heaven was where they wanted to be because in heaven everyone was equal, carefree and happy. To reach heaven, the priests said, people should not give their love and loyalty to their emperor, or parents or their families, but to God. The only truth that mattered, the Christians said, was that the individual, not his family or the clan or the emperor, was to stand alone in front of God to be judged as to whether he would be heaven or hell bound. What mattered to their ultimate happiness was not how well one’s relationships had fared, but in oneself. Therefore, one must cut off the wearisome network of relationships to devote their lives to God. So, the priests advised, happiness would be theirs if they would follow God’s instructions in the Bible, which was translated into Chinese as “shengjing” (The Sacred Book) or “fuyin shu” (The Book of the Sound of Happiness). But to the 19th-century Chinese, there could not have been words more blasphemous and evil-sounding than such “sound of happiness.” This ideological earthquake had not only shaken up the literati, it also frightened the commoners. Thousands of clans had preached and practiced Confucian relationalism to the commoners at their weekly or monthly meetings. Peasants, merchants, craftsmen, street vendors, all had lived by Tian’s rules and relationships. In a backward agricultural society as China, it was inconceivable to live one’s life without the support network of family and the clan friends. Replacing this realistic and reliable system of support with an invisible and unreachable God simply made no sense. Well-attended grassroot entertainments, such as popular standup comedian shows, plays and operas in local dialects, and storytelling in

Relationalism meets foreign challenges 31 the village tea houses all praised heroes or ridiculed villains based on Confucian moral codes on relationships. Indeed, in the Chinese minds, the universal order symbolized by ‘Tian’ and the earth was much larger than philosophical and political concepts. When an ancient Chinese faced the world, this ‘order’ was the framework in which his thinking took place. Regardless of whether it was natural phenomena or social issues, he would automatically use this framework to reference. Behind his framework of reference was none other than ‘Tian’ over his head, and the earth under his feet.14 The battle against the new religion became the fight to preserve the family and the relational way of living. Under the circumstances, helping the Chinese to know God was exhausting to the Christians, to say the least, because the Christian cross and China’s ancient dragon totem were simply not reconcilable. Christian church’s iconoclastic preaching scared and irritated both the Chinese upper echelon and the grassroot. Inability to understand bred unfathomable fear and fear led to irrational actions. Soon, the missionaries were labeled “yangguizi” (foreign devils) and their preaching was termed “xiejiao” (evil teaching).”15 Numerous conflicts took place daily. Churches were burned down and the newly converted few were ostracized for their “foolishness.” The ceaseless tension eventually culminated in the most appalling massacre of missionaries and their families in 1900 in Shanxi Province, where 191 missionaries and their families were killed, 225 churches and Christian hospitals and over 20,000 Chinese homes were reduced to ashes in fire. This cruel massacre shocked the world.16 Although Western theology failed to explain the Chinese relational reality, the Western scientific knowledge of an alternative outlook on the world did stir up Chinese inquisitive minds. The new knowledge opened a window through which curious Chinese were able to sneak a peek at the outside world and what they saw was a world they had never suspected existed before. Their discovery of other civilizations as ancient and splendid as their own made clear to them that China was not the only civilization in the world. This discovery was disorienting but also refreshing and exciting. In the ensuing decades, China was forced into diplomatic relationships with Western nations. As expatriates’ reports streamed in, traditional Chinese perceptions of the world as the emperor’s “Tian Xia” (the land “under the sky”) were gradually replaced by a new conception of the world as “wanguo” (10,000 countries). Other relational concepts such as the “jifu” system were also questioned. Struggling to defend the Chinese core universal order and Confucian tradition, the Qing court dealt with the challenge in a typically relational way – adapting the pragmatic Western technological knowledge into the Chinese value system. The Chinese scholars cleverly brought back some evidence from the distant past to prove that elements of Western knowledge had existed, albeit vaguely, in China’s own knowledge base, therefore these ideas were not alien. Rather, such

32  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history knowledge had belonged to China all along. For example, the Western theory which described the earth as a round globe instead of being a flat chessboard-like entity was finally accepted. It was not because the theory was correct, but because 2000 years earlier, some obscure Chinese thinkers had proposed that “the earth was in the center and was lifted by air.”17 To the educated minds, finding that “evidence” from China’s past somehow legitimized the Western point of view. Such “clever” maneuvering, however, did not work all the time because the Western ownership of advanced knowledge in science and technology was simply undeniable. As a matter of fact, Western instruments and gadgets, such as clocks, binoculars, celestial globes and compasses tickled the Chinese curiosity and won, privately, their admiration. Since the gap between the West and China was too obvious, simply denying or claiming cunningly that the scientific theory and technology were China’s own was too strained to sound convincing. The Qing court had to find a middle ground that would enable them to both maintain their legitimate power and adopt the Western technology. After much agony, the Qing court finally came up with a new policy that allowed Chinese relationalism to coexist with Western technological and scientific advancements. The new policy was called “zhongxue wei ti, xixue wei yong” or “Chinese traditions as foundation and Western knowledge as techniques.” This policy ingeniously preserved the “Tian” tradition but also allowed the adoption of Western knowledge. With the new “foundation-technique” framework, books on pragmatic and intellectual subjects, such as agriculture, navigation, almanac or calendar making, medicine, psychology, mathematics, even philosophy, could finally be legally translated into the Chinese language and hence available to the Chinese readership. Students were allowed to study and practice Western “techniques.” Western manufacturing machinery, such as match-making technology and advanced textile machines, was soon imported to become an integral part of China’s industry. As for astronomy – the most sensitive subject – some contents that were less threatening to the central power were allowed to be used in almanac making, but every effort was still taken to ensure that the emperor’s central authority and Tian were left untouched. What the Qing court failed to see, however, was that the clever “foundationtechnique” policy had cracked their Tian notion, even with all their precautions. What used to be an all-inclusive and encompassing Tian was now split into two parts: the abstract conception and the pragmatic application. The Son of Tian still sat on the high throne but industrial innovation followed its own instructions. Rituals were still held based on hierarchical status, but technology was quietly pulling the younger generation out from under the tight grips of the traditions. Increasing numbers of girls were attending church-affiliated schools free of charge. Peasants who lost their land became assembly-line factory workers. Women gradually became the main workforce in textile and other industries. The rippling effects of a higher literacy rate and rudimentary industrialization began to seep into the social fabric, causing inevitable changes in people’s daily life. Although the cleverly crafted policy of “Chinese tradition as foundation, Western knowledge as

Relationalism meets foreign challenges 33 techniques” sustained the Qing Dynasty through this earth-shaking challenge, the beginning of the end was in sight if anyone dared to look. As constant wars with the West and the uprising peasants pushed the Qing Dynasty into its gradual demise, a widening range of career options for the young diluted society’s focus on the mandarin examination system. After the Opium Wars, the educated youth began to question the validity of the outdated mandarin examination that centered on Confucianism. They demanded that modern science and technology be included. But as long as the mandarin examination system still provided upward mobility, modern curriculum was marginalized. After a few years of tug-of-war struggles, the Qing court compromised. In 1897, along with the traditional content of Confucianism, a new section was added to the mandarin examinations called “Economic Specialties,” which consisted of political science, diplomacy, mathematics, legal studies, mechanics and engineering. Such a bandaid approach quieted the outcries against the “useless” Confucian studies, but only for a few years. Under increasing pressure, in 1905, the Qing court decided to close down the 1300-year-old mandarin examination system. A short six years later, in 1911, China’s last empire, the Qing Dynasty, exhaled its final breath, ending China’s imperial age. But the roots of relationalism that had grown for thousands of years continued to operate in the “new” China.

5 Relationalism triumphs

The roots of relationalism in Chinese historyRelationalism triumphs

The demise of the Qing Dynasty did not end the challenges to Chinese relationalism. The beginning of the 20th century witnessed a continuation of internal struggles between the traditionalists and the modernists. The victory of ending the mandarin examinations in 1905 greatly encouraged the patriotic young leaders, most of whom had received their own education from Western countries or the Westernized Japan. Enraged by the Westerners’ insatiable greed and unchecked bullying in China, they concluded that the reason that the Westerners were able to intimidate China was simply because China was poor and lacked modern weapons. These modernist youth wanted a new China that had the economic and military strengths to stand up to the bullies. In addition to policy and money support for industrialization, they demanded that the newly established government of the Republic of China reform education, especially the archaic old Chinese writing styles, and adopt the modern style so as to make education accessible to the populace. They also wanted equal rights for women, implementation of science and technology curricula in schools and more. But their immediate agenda was the reclamation of China’s sovereignty from the West. The dire reality, however, was revolution. As the youthful energy was pushing on, Japan and other Western countries continued to eat away at China. In 1914, Japan occupied Shang Dong Province. In 1915, it issued a “21 demands” to the Republic government, insisting on China’s recognition of Japan’s ownership of the occupied territories in China as well as many other economic and extraterritorial concessions. Representatives of the Chinese government were forced to meet the Japanese in Paris on May 9, 1915 to sign that humiliating treaty. As soon as the word reached home that the document had been signed, an unprecedented wave of demonstrations took place in major cities. During the demonstrations, conflicts with the police led to scores of demonstrators being killed.1 Government suppression was taken by the patriotic youth as cowardice and a “betrayal to the motherland.” Anti-Japanese and anti-government demonstrations spread. These events led to the famous May 4th Movement. From the beginning, the May 4th Movement leaders blamed China’s weakening economy on Confucianism. Topping the many social ills that the May 4th youth strived to cure was China’s Confucian culture. Demanding to replace relationalism as reflected in the old-fashioned Confucian moral code, the youth of the

Relationalism triumphs 35 May 4th Movement devoted themselves to individualism, equity and freedom, as well as other Western concepts. The demands for free exchange of ideas, the eagerness for China’s sovereignty and independence and the fearless confrontation with the old status quo have since been called “the spirits of the May 4th Movement.” But spirits aside, till the ebbing of the movement in 1926, the May 4th movement largely remained the movement of the educated in big cities, especially university faculties and students. In actuality, Confucian teachings of family relationships and social orders stayed largely untouched in the lives of the majority of the Chinese population. But before long, the anti-tradition undercurrent of the May 4th aspiration surged again, this time led by yet another foreign ideology. Overlapping the waning period of the May 4th Movement was the advent of Marxism, which argued that the proletariat, or the class of the have-nots, should be the masters of society. Many May 4th youths were drawn to Marxism for its theory of class struggle, which explained to the Chinese youth the on-going battles between the old and the new, the rich and the poor, the bourgeois and the proletariats as the only viable pathway to an ideal society of equity and vitality. Marx’s prediction of the triumph of a new social order in the hands of the proletariats flashed hope in the young patriots’ minds at a time when China was suffering hopelessly from poverty, corruption, foreign invasions and social chaos. Recognizing the need for a new leading political power, the Chinese Communist Party (the CCP) was officially formed in 1921, in the wake of the May 4th Movement. Upholding Marxist ideals, the CCP embarked on yet another attack on China’s age-old traditions. The ensuing non-stop warring era helped the cause of the CCP. Beginning in 1937 to the end of World War II, China fought for eight years to push out the Japanese invaders. Immediately after that, came another four years of civil war between Jiang Jieshi (Chiang Kai-shek) and the CCP. The war ended with the CCP taking reign of China in 1949. Mao Zedong (1893–1976) became chairman of the CCP and the president of China for the next 27 years till his death. In his youth, Mao was a “revolutionist” and his May 4th attitudes held strong in his mind even after youth had long left him. Marxism helped Mao climb to the throne and he was determined to rule his party and country with it. But supplanting China’s deeply entrenched relationalism with his struggle-oriented Marxism proved to be an arduous uphill battle. Soon after taking the reins, Mao wasted no time in launching his anti-tradition battles. Although the ideological battles gave Mao tyrannical political power, they threw China into three decades of a spiraling downward plunge politically and economically. Of all Mao’s political maneuvers, none was more malicious and destructive to China’s relational tradition and relational thinking than the one he launched in 1966. Unlike the short-lived May 4th Movement, the Cultural Revolution lasted a long decade, ending with Mao’s death in 1976. Under an impressive name, “The Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution,” Mao’s attack on China’s traditional culture was cruel and thorough. To establish his theory of class struggle, Mao believed that he had to eradicate the Chinese people’s relational habits of mind, which were guided by the

36  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history ages-old tradition of Confucianism. He therefore decided to launch a “people’s war”2 against Confucian traditions. It did not take much to rally the easily excitable youth who were longing for chances to perform heroic deeds to prove their loyalty to Mao. Upon Mao’s call for a “people’s war” against the old traditions, Chinese youth immediately imagined war and called themselves “Mao’s Red Guards.” Almost instantly, wherever eyes turned, red armbands donned by millions of “Mao’s Red Guards” filled the vision. What force could be more deadly to the so-called “social ills” than an army of politically naive and impulsively charged youth instilled with “the spirits of the May 4th Movement”? As soon as Mao’s initial call went out for the Red Guards to destroy the “Four Olds” – old customs, old culture, old habits and old ideas – a “red terror” swelled up in Chinese cities and villages with the energy of a wildfire out of control. The Red Guards’ overly zealous anti-tradition actions destroyed everything that appeared old. Temples of hundreds of years old were leveled; statues of ancient thinkers were decapitated; grave stones were dug up and split; rare ancient books were burned; historians and scholars were tortured in the Red Guards’ makeshift prisons; and writers and poets were beaten to death. In a few short months, symbols and institutions that carried traditional Chinese culture were reduced to ashes, ruins or death. To free the Red Guards from all other responsibilities, all schools were shut down. For the ensuing five years, the Red Guards devoted their lives to being “professional revolutionists,” patrolling streets and alleys and breaking unannounced into private homes to look for imaginary traits of disloyalty to Mao; sections of pedestrians’ pants or shirt or hair were cut because they were too “bourgeois” for the Red Guards’ liking; decades-old street names were altered because they indicated nostalgia for old times; hundreds of thousands of educated people lost their jobs and their basic human dignity because they had been “poisoned” by the traditional belief system. People went to bed at night with the fear that they would meet their death the next day, for little or no reason except that the Red Guard wanted it so. The Cultural Revolution had succeeded in damaging not only the nation’s political and social order but also the economy. Workers, peasants, government staff, teachers and students had to stop what they routinely attended to in order to participate in Mao’s “revolution.” Policies to encourage productivity were struck down as going the “bourgeois way.” Consequently, productivity plummeted and GDP fell to the level of the warring times, and the markets collapsed.3 And that was not all. Family relations and friendships were threatened. Children were pressured to denounce their parents. Friends were encouraged to disclose each other’s anti-Mao remarks and behavior. Ironically, from the ruins of the traditional culture rose Mao Zedong as an almighty modern “Tian,” inspiring trepidation and demanding absolute obedience. From 1966 to 1976, the threat to the traditional culture was real. Mao invested extraordinary efforts to make the Marxist theory of class struggle persuasive to all Chinese people, even those living in the most remote areas. Mao instructed, “Class struggle must be talked about every year, every month and every day,”

Relationalism triumphs 37 and “Class struggle is the key of every aspect of life.” Class struggle was defined as social battles in which “some classes triumph, others are eliminated. Such is history; such is the history of civilization for thousands of years.”4 Based on this belief, Mao tirelessly preached and coerced people to accept the ideology because “in a class society everyone lives as a member of a particular class, and every kind of thinking, without exception, is stamped with the brand of his class.”5 Dismantling the relational grassroot clans as symbols of the rotten Confucianism, Mao propagated that to control a society was to manage the classes and their struggles. To continue on with the Confucian tradition was to side with the bourgeoisie class, which was equated to being Mao’s enemy – and Mao never relented with an enemy. Mao even supplanted the Great Classics with his own books. During that chaotic decade, almost every book or magazine published before 1966 was screened and most were labeled “poisonous weeds” which met the fate of either being locked up or burned. In the meantime, Mao published four volumes of his own works, which were immediately hailed as the “New Classics.” Mao’s government made every Chinese person buy them, read them and display them in their homes and offices. The Red Guards stationed themselves at the corner of the street or at the entrance of the schools to ambush anyone who could not recite a quote from these books. Almost all talking Chinese had to prepare for a Mao quotation in case of being checked on by the Red Guards. For example, workers would stop their bikes for just long enough to shout out a short quote, such as “Serve the people!” as they passed through the factory or school gates with the Red Guard at the checkpoint. In workplaces, reading out quotations from the New Classics was a daily requirement and a two-hour sit-down study of Mao’s books was a weekly routine. “Study and practice Maoism actively!” “Never forget class struggle!” Such slogans were the only decorations allowed on walls and fences in cities and countryside. “Navigation relies on the captain; vegetation relies on sunshine; rain and dew moisturize crops; revolutionists rely on the Communist Party; Maoism is the bright sun forever in our hearts. . . .” Such slogans and songs were blasted from every corner of the country during most of daylight time. No human soul could endure such non-stop bombardment of Maoism without being traumatized. But in the end, was Mao able to supplant people’s relational thinking with “class struggle”? People knew such relentless and violent attack on their belief system and tradition had to end sometime. Finally in June of 1981, the nation was able to breathe in cautious relief when the CCP publicly declared that “The Cultural Revolution was a nation-wide chaos wrongly launched by the party leader. . . . It had brought grave disaster to the Party, the nation, and the people of all ethnicities. . . .”6 The announcement ushered in a new government headed by Deng Xiaoping, who was eager to turn over this disastrous page and rebuild China. The reader might wonder, since the Red Guards seemed to have done such a thorough job of destroying everything symbolic of China’s traditional culture, did they succeed in uprooting relationalism from Chinese minds and practices?

38  The roots of relationalism in Chinese history To measure Mao’s success in his determination to uproot relationalism from the Chinese culture, one needs only to see how quickly Mao’s books disappeared from shelves and old traditional symbols bounced back in the post-Mao era. The fact of the matter was, as soon as the Red Guards were out of sight, their antiConfucian rhetoric was out of most Chinese minds. No sooner had the Cultural Revolution cooled off than Confucian temples were being rebuilt, new statues were re-erected, and rituals of ancestral worship returned in towns and villages. Starting in the 1990s and continuing into the 21st century, there has been a massive effort and investment to rebuild and reopen historical and cultural sites that had been destroyed or damaged during the 1960s. Re-discovering China’s traditional culture quickly became and remains the new passion. More emblematic than the reconstruction, perhaps, is the resurgence of ardor for the Great Classics, the gist of which is nothing other than understanding and managing relationships. In fact, relationalism becomes a topic not only in people’s daily life but also in academic dialogues. The Great Classics are now a major part of the national curriculum which is taught in all levels of schooling, elementary through university. Each level of curriculum has appropriate reading materials incorporating endorsements of relationalism. For example, familiar stories about relationships are returning to elementary school primers. Amongst them was “Kong Rong Shared Pears,” telling the story of a young boy who, when passing out pears to family members, would gave big pears to his grandparents, parents and siblings, leaving the smallest pear for himself. Just as in generations past, today’s children are again being served the message that relationships are hierarchical, showing respect to elders is obligatory, and humbleness is virtuous. Today, relationships occupy people’s minds and their daily lives just as before. Even Western business people find themselves surrounded by “guanxi” (relationship) as soon as they set foot in China. From the capital Beijing to remote villages, traditional rituals are publicly held with large and enthusiastic participation. Moreover, almost immediately after the Cultural Revolution ended, the Chinese family was rejuvenated and members became closer again. People once again share and abide by a bent but never broken common belief in harmonious relationships of close-knit families or relational networks of friends. Such a relational network is as important as ever in an individual’s effort to succeed. Although the Chinese were forced into self-sacrifice “for the good of the Party and the country” during Mao’s reign, the collectivist ideology hardly left any significant stain on China’s cultural fabric. After all, what were three decades of Mao compared to a cultural belief system thousands of years old? The quickly revived traditions point to the fact that Mao’s investment in replacing the tradition of relationalism with a theory advocating class struggle had failed miserably. He had gravely underestimated the strength of the old roots of relationalism in the Chinese culture. During those thousands of years, kings lived and died; dynasties came and went; wars broke out and ended; powerful leaders led the country this way and that way; and different theories tried to take root in the fertile soil of the Chinese culture. Relationalism has been challenged by foreign influences, young radicals and revolutionary leaders. But in the end, Confucius’s teachings on relationships

Relationalism triumphs 39 and harmony remain strong and dominant in the culture as well as in people’s hearts. Social chaos has only validated and strengthened people’s conviction that harmonious relationships are indeed the desirable way to a happy family, a peaceful society and a satisfying personal life. Weathering those storms, concepts of relationalism have only strengthened their roots while the pursuit of harmony continues to be the aspiration of the Chinese soul.

Part II

Roots of relationalism in the Chinese belief systems

6 Some starting points

Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systemsSome starting points

While relationalism was taking shape in ancient China, Chinese thinkers observed, analyzed and contemplated its development. They expressed a range of explanations for the why’s and how’s of relationalism, but no one disputed its central force. The impact of it could be seen everywhere they looked. From the heights of Tian’s blessings or chastisements, down to an individual person’s daily agonies and joys, the active hand of relationalism was at work. Unsurprisingly, relationalism became the unifying basis of China’s intellectual inquiries, also. As the results of these inquiries steadily grew in volume, relationalism gradually emerged from the Chinese sub-consciousness to become the basic and explicit foundation of Chinese beliefs. Long before the dawn of the first millennium, China’s two major schools of thought, namely Confucianism and Daoism, had warmly embraced relationalism. Centuries late, Buddhism came from India and began its own arduous process of adapting to the Chinese culture by assimilating the relational position. Eventually, these three major belief sub-systems – Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism – became the main fibers to be woven into the tapestry of Chinese philosophy. In this chapter, we will see how, in spite of their radically different starting points and markedly diverse focuses, the three doctrines presented viable mental maps and moral guidance for the Chinese people in their endeavors to survive and thrive. Searching for meanings of the cosmos, society and human life, these mental maps firmly embedded relationalism into people’s ideals of social harmony. Together, they formed the core of the Chinese cultural values. The following background knowledge of these beliefs aims to connect the major dots on the relationalism map of the Chinese belief system. The phrase “belief system” is used here as “a set of beliefs about what is right and wrong and what is true and false.”1 Although scientists and some philosophers would dismiss “belief” from the realm of knowledge, its existence is undeniable. Unlike mathematics, sciences or jurisprudence, belief systems do not necessarily develop out of empirical logic. They commonly belong to the world of metaphysics where “truths” are derived from contemplation and acceptance of metaphysical evidence as well as from observation and experimentation. As a statement made popular in America during the turbulence of the 1960s put it, but more

44  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems colloquially, “Truth is not what counts. What counts is what people believe to be true.” A belief system need not spring from scientific or technological discoveries, but it quietly influences the thinking process that accompanies them. Many a “Freudian slip” can be explained by hidden personal belief and many a war is caused by a “collective belief.” During hard times, people’s belief systems help them survive; during good times, their belief systems help them enjoy what they have. Passed down through generations, the three major beliefs rooted in relationalism have grown into an enduring “common sense” that the Chinese no longer question. Like all other ethnic or group belief systems, that of the Chinese helps its people impose sense upon a world otherwise beyond their logical cognition or control. Referencing life with relationalism becomes a natural inclination of the Chinese mind. During China’s formative years, early settlers’ survival experiences placed paramount importance upon relationships. People were convinced that an amiable relationship with the “Big Three” – Tian, the earth and man (living or dead) – would somehow bestow blessings from the unknowable and unpredictable forces. Harmony with the cosmos thus composed the beginning of the Chinese relational belief system. For many centuries, worshipping rituals expounded what was regarded as the most important relational knowledge in areas of history, climate, war tactics, human relations, medicine and statesmanship. Guidebooks of accumulated wisdom in these fields were treasured by later generations. With the rise of a privileged intellectual class came those who became managers of the public rituals. Shamans and ritual masters made their living by studying, recording and propagating sacred relations with the deities and the dead. To justify the privilege of being exempted from hard labor and taxation, the nascent intellectuals provided services by answering people’s questions regarding cosmo-human relationships, or relational factors in life challenges, sufferings and natural disasters, especially during times of famine and war. These intuitive cognitions formed rudimentary conceptions that eventually grew to be shared as communal beliefs by the time of the Zhou Dynasty (c. 1122–256 B.C.E.). How did the Zhou Dynasty go about setting the tone of the Chinese belief systems? The Zhou Dynasty at first was only a decentralized kingdom. Its rulers first had to calm the political chaos among warring states in return for promising military protection all around. With the fearful small states agreeing to pay taxes and providing domestic service, the Zhou Dynasty began a reign of over 700 years. Under their leadership, innovative agricultural and social policies effectively revived the war-torn economy and harmonized the kingdom. Records detailing political and social life in Zhou Dynasty have been lost. But the Confucian Great Classics, particularly The Book of History and The Book of Rites described at least the early centuries of Zhou as peaceful and prosperous. According to these books, Zhou Wen King (1152–1056, B.C.E.) believed that a peaceful society lay in a hierarchically stratified society where differentiated rights and privileges were duly appropriated to match people’s desires and abilities. The hope was that, rather than all competing and conspiring for the top, people, aristocrats and

Some starting points 45 commoners alike, would find their own niches in the hierarchy and be productive and peaceful. Legend has it that Zhou Wen King achieved this dream during his reign. Zhou’s smoothly operating stratified society convinced both the later elite and commoners that intricate morals and rites based on social stratification were necessary for harmony. In short, Zhou was exemplified as the “center of morals and rites.”2 But hundreds of years later, power changed hands and interstate tensions led to wars. The flames of war, once rekindled, hurled Zhou back into chaos, toppling the kingdom in 221 B.C.E. Such political and social turmoil, however, did little to discourage harmony seekers of the later dynasties from seeing viable solutions in Zhou’s early social successes for their current problems. Even the collapse of Zhou stimulated deep philosophical reflection and discussions on ways to recapture those lost golden eras. Professor Hucker, marveling at such optimism, observed that the Chinese philosophical reflections of the Zhou Dynasty had escaped the pitfall of creating grand speculations about the “ultimate truth” or other such abstractions. Rather, these reflections were steadily directed toward very practical considerations of this life in this world, creating analyses of and prescriptions for living in a society that everyone agreed was sick. Hucker admiringly wrote that the Chinese, when facing such unbearable sufferings in social turmoil and war, did not sink into despair. They did not seek consolation in notions that reality lies somewhere beyond this tawdry world, and that all will be set right in the afterlife. Instead, they were uniformly optimistic, believing that this world and this life are all that matter, and that something can be done to improve them.3 Leading such optimism were Confucius and Lao Zi. From different vantage points, the two philosophers made extraordinary attempts to find a feasible way to restore social harmony. Confucius (551–479 B.C.E.) and Lao Zi (c. 604–531 B.C.E.), founders of the belief systems of Confucianism and Daoism, respectively, witnessed how destructive wars wiped out the early Zhou Dynasty’s many accomplishments. Further, they both saw the development and maintenance of harmonious relationships as imperative steps toward eradicating human suffering and rebuilding the country. However, the two great thinkers found divergent paths for that common goal: Confucius believed that the collapse of the glorious Zhou Dynasty was due mainly to the negligence of human morals and codes of proper conduct. Lao Zi, on the other hand, went even further, decrying the present-day loss of a full sense of the life’s meaning. He pointed to the reinstatement of “Dao” in the human mind as the “cure” of social ills. While Confucius devoted his life to teaching morals as a way to attain harmonious relationships within the person, the family and the state, Lao Zi, being truthful to his belief that Dao would take care of the world if it was allowed to be, retired from public life after writing his most influential little book called Dao De Jing.4 Confucianism was to become the mainstay of China’s belief system in the next centuries, while Daoism further complemented the workings of relationalism.

46  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems Although Confucianism aimed at reinstating the early Zhou social orders while Daoism wanted to bring reality way back to the Huang Di Era (c. 2717–2599 B.C.E.), the two truly and entirely “made in China” doctrines shared the same roots of relationalism and their growth was compatibly intertwined. In the next chapters, we will complete what is known today as the Chinese belief system, by adding Buddhism, a late-comer from India, “a God-intoxicated country.”5 Buddhism became known in China in about 200 C.E., before the Chinese were exposed to the Christians’ focus upon the possibility of a posthumous heaven. Buddhist theological ideas presented the Chinese with reincarnation as a novel conception of life after death, challenging the Chinese concepts of death and ancestral worship. The prospects of being reborn in a better or worse situation after death opened the Chinese eye to a true “religion.” While the ideations of reincarnation and salvation were alien to the Chinese, more startling was the Buddhist proposal that people should denounce their present life in order to be saved from reincarnated lives of suffering. In its habitual relational manner, Chinese society eventually assimilated Buddhism. Toward the beginning of the second millennium, with Buddhism added, the foundations of the Chinese belief system were largely set. With diverse starting points and sometimes opposing doctrinal views, the three ways of seeing – Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism – provided the Chinese with optional philosophical or spiritual explanations as to how a virtuous or enlightened life might best be lived. By this time, all three belief systems had – as if by design – become intertwined and overlapped with one another in matters of relationships between individual and state, in their views of spiritual and pragmatic reality, in conflict resolution and the quest for harmony, in matters of life and death, and, ultimately, in visualizing an ideal personhood. To the fascination of Western observers, these three doctrines – all of which were and continue to be non-proselytizing – shared sufficient common grounds to co-exist productively in Chinese culture. Today, in Chinese private homes, it is not unusual to see statuettes of Buddha or GuanYin6 standing side by side with ancestral boards and statuettes of Confucius and Daoist deities. The displaying of symbols of Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism on the same shrine seem commonplace to Chinese worshippers. In fact, many Chinese do not even distinguish a Daoist temple from a Buddhist one, as if the differences were of no significance. What matters to the Chinese is the quality of the blessings from the three to themselves and their families. Accepting attitudes along with relational thinking have contributed significantly to the synchrony of the three major doctrines. While Confucianism focuses on human relationships, Daoism and Chinese Buddhism concentrate on one’s status in the larger cosmic and spiritual spheres. As Professor Hucker sees it, “Confucianism and Daoism are so complementary that it is almost axiomatic to say that traditional Chinese were Daoist in private and Confucian in public.”7 And, some Chinese were also Buddhist in spirituality. It must be mentioned before we start our discussion here, that central to the understanding of the three schools of thought is the notion of the Dao. Dao

Some starting points 47 appears in teachings of all three doctrines, but it holds quite distinctive connotations for each of them. The literal meaning of the Chinese character for Dao is simply “the road” or the “pathway.” But Daoists regards Dao as a permanent and absolute force that permeates everything in the cosmos including the human mind, while the Confucian “Dao” refers to the highest moral code for a human society. Perhaps the Buddhist Dao is the most fascinating. The Buddhist Dao is called the “central way” (madhyamā-mārga). This “central way” points to the unbiased attitude that one should apply to perceptions of conflicts in life. As we shall see in the following chapters, although the term Dao is defined differently by the three doctrines, its nature is relational. Dao seems to carry an obvious overtone in all three belief systems that the nature of Dao is always correct because it is the universal truth of being.

7 Confucianism

Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systemsConfucianism

Relationalism in human society

In significant ways, Confucianism defines “Chineseness” as relational. Confucianstyle relationalism has been recognized as the core value of the Chinese culture, but it has also been blamed for misdirecting the development of the Chinese society. How could a doctrine be simultaneously heroic and villainous? This chapter aims at shedding some new light on the answers. Confucius was born into a minor aristocratic family in the State of Lu (presentday Shan Dong Province) in 551 B.C.E. The Lord that ruled Confucius’s home state was called the Duke of Zhou, who was a close blood kin to the Zhou court. The Duke of Zhou faithfully followed the traditional regulations in rites in his jurisdiction. He made sure that the State of Lu maintained a library of books and records on the moral and relational standards of the early Zhou court at all times, even during wartime, for the reasons that knowledge of the moral standards should always be at hand to guide both officials and subjects. As a result, the State of Lu enjoyed an orderly and civilized atmosphere in which desirable social relationships flourished. Growing up in the environment, Confucius believed that the perpetuation of that social order was realistic by observing the nuances of proper behavior at rituals, which Confucius spent years studying. By 30 years old, his hard work had paid off. Confucius became an erudite ritual master and a respected teacher in town. Before long, Confucius began to take in private students and apprentices. An advocate of “universal education” in a male-dominated era, Confucius’s school was among the first to break the monopoly of literacy by the wealthy and the elite. Confucius accepted all males who wanted to study with him, regardless of their age or family background, as long as they could afford a few strips of salty dry pork as tuition. In addition to literacy, the Confucian curriculum consisted of his teachings on classic readings, music, history, statesmanship, family and social relationships, and desirable gentlemanly morals and propriety. Hoping that the students would practice his teachings, Confucius took them to tour surrounding states and cities. Wherever they stopped, he would send his students out to meet the locals so as to absorb from local scholars their wisdom of society and politics. However, it was during these trips when Confucius discovered in dismay that his political ideal of a moral state ruled by sages was still a distant dream. Disappointed, Confucius decided to return to his hometown where he focused on teaching his philosophy and sharing his wisdom.

Confucianism 49 As time went by, Confucius’s ideas gradually spread and were embraced by both the royals and commoners who found their wisdom helpful in real-life situations and in promoting important relationships. To the benefit of wider audiences, Confucius’s disciples published their recollections of their master’s teachings in a small but influential book called the Analects, the most widely studied and quoted book in China. Many quotes in the Analects have become household sayings that are routinely used to teach the young and to advise family and friends in matters of relationships. Without a doubt, the Analects is the cornerstone of relationalism in the Chinese culture. With the rallying of generations of influential scholarofficials, Confucian teachings grew into a widely embraced doctrine named “ru xue” or “the study of gentlemanliness.” So, what is Confucianism and what has enabled this doctrine to shape the Chinese culture for over 2000 years? It might not be easy for a Western mind to understand the profound influence which Confucianism managed to command over Chinese culture through peace and war through all these centuries. Confucius was not a dazzling star of any sort. He was not an inventor, or a radiant religious prophet, or a national leader. Rather, he was just a down-to-earth teacher, one who sometimes even struggled to make a living. His fame as a great teacher came posthumously. What distinguished Confucius from the guy next door, perhaps, was his penetrating observation of human relationships and unwavering optimism for a coming harmonious human society. A dedicated and indefatigable teacher, he insisted that a harmonious good life was attainable for humans because they were born social and moral beings capable of living on a higher moral plane of civilization. Since the age of the early settlements in the Yellow River Delta, a harmonious society had remained the desire and dream of generations of Chinese; but Confucius was the first to look into the dream analytically and develop a cohesive and clear vision of what a harmonious society should look like and a step-by-step prescription for achieving it. Confucius built his hope for a good society on the virtuous individual – the ethical mind and the cultivated self – and this virtuous person’s relationships first with kin then with the society. In that ideal virtuous person, Confucius saw a respectful son, a loving father, an affectionate husband, a kind brother, a considerate friend and a loyal subject. To Confucius, moral knowledge and self-cultivation were not mere matters of scholarly attainment. They enabled one to live a committed virtuous life. The journey from being a moral man to becoming the head of a loving family was short, but of critical importance. Family was the hub of kinships – the ideal nursery of virtuous adults. Confucius envisioned an ideal society as composed of nothing more or less than an interconnected network of extended families in which each member carried out his or her defined role and in return for which each member would receive care and support from other members of the family. A family managed by a virtuous person was a harmonious state on a small scale and the glue that united the virtuous individual with the peaceful universal order. Confucius emphasized that the ultimate goal of a virtuous individual and a harmonious society was built on diligent daily actions following a set of moral codes.

50  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems He suggested the following five basic virtues for a conscientious ethical person to aspire to: ren (benevolence), yi (justice), li (propriety), zhi (wisdom) and xin (trustworthiness). The five virtues formed the essence of a good person, a good ruler and a good society in Confucius’s vision. First, ren, or benevolence: In the Analects, the character “Ren” appeared 105 times, topping the list of the most frequently cited virtue by Confucius. The Chinese character of Ren has a left part that denotes a person and the right part that means two. Together, it defines virtue as the loving relationship between two people. Hence, benevolence and compassion toward others is the most important virtue of an ethical mind and a moral person. When his student Mencius asked what Ren was, Confucius answered, “A person of ren loves people.” Confucius repeatedly told his students: “Respect other’s elders like your own,” and “caring for other’s young like your own,” or “not to do unto others what you yourself would not like,” and “if you want yourself to gain a foothold then help others gain a foothold; if you want yourself to succeed, then help others succeed.”1 A loving person was one who faithfully practiced respectfulness, understanding, truthfulness and kindness. Confucius saw “ren” not as a learned quality but as part and parcel of human nature, which originated from kinship love. It was in nature’s order that even animals took care of their young; humans were on higher moral ground than animals, so “ren” was innate to humans. Parents, for example, shared an inherent emotional connection with their children. They hurt when their children were in pain and they were happy when their children did well. Universal love was an extension of this unquestionable innate bond between blood kin, which Confucians considered to be the most reliable foundation for a harmonious society. In Confucius’s mind, nurturing such instinctive love in the individual and extending it to others was the ultimate “ren” that would inevitably lead to the achievement of harmony in society. Second, Yi, or righteousness: Yi denotes the courage to stand with one’s best judgment, or, in today’s adage: “doing the right thing rather than the popular thing.” By Yi, Confucius emphasized acting according to one’s moral conviction, not driven by the desire for profit, popularity, or for any other utilitarian goal. Confucius understood that Yi required courage, even sacrifice at times, but he believed that “to see what is right and not to take the right action is cowardice.”2 Yi must be guided by the moral compass to avoid resulting in some reckless and harmful end. Yi was an obligation to do the right thing as a duty all humans owed to one another. Without the courage and ability to do the right thing in the face of adversity, there would be no civilization, let alone harmony. Third, Li, or propriety: Li was obviously very important to Confucius, for the word “Li” made 75 appearances in the Analects, second only to Ren. Li, in Confucius’s mind, connected the innate virtue to practical life by facilitating and regulating human actions and interactions. To Confucius, the essence of harmonious human relationships was differentiation based on the hierarchical stratification. These differentiations were highly elaborated and must be respected by all. Confucius sternly criticized behaviors that violated social rites because such disorderly behavior frayed the moral fibers of a relational society and led directly to its

Confucianism 51 collapse as evidenced in the fall of the Zhou Dynasty. For Confucius, to restore social harmony was to reinstate propriety or Li: Having Li in daily life, kings, officials, and subjects would act according to their respective status; having Li in a family, all members would know their responsibilities to each other; having Li in the Royal Court, officials would follow their roles and behavioral code; having Li in the barracks, military personnel would be well trained; having Li on the battlefield, wars would be won. Even palaces and buildings must follow proper measurements; containers must match the functions in rituals; selections of food must fit with seasons; music must follow rhythms; and carts on the road must observe traffic rules. When all is done according to Li, deities and ghosts would be served; all officials would fulfill their responsibilities; and operations of the nation would proceed peacefully.3 As Confucius saw it, Li connected ideas to actions, morals to deeds, and dreams to reality. If Ren was the essence of a virtuous person, Li was the outer expression of virtue and the lubricant as well as the glue that operated the entire relational society. When Li went well, all was well; when Li failed, all went into chaos. This was why Confucius advocated for everyone to take Li or propriety as the moral compass for their actions. “Do not look at what is contrary to propriety; do not listen to what is contrary to propriety; do not speak what is contrary to propriety; and do not act according to what is contrary to propriety,” Confucius forewarned all. “When Li collapsed and Music failed, the great Zhou Dynasty came to its demise.”4 Fourth, Zhi, or wisdom: Confucius answered his student Yan Yuan’s question about wisdom by saying that it was simply “the understanding of people.” A wise person was one who studied and achieved insights about human relationships and interactions. Today, we describe a person of wisdom as having high EI, “emotional intelligence,” which is exactly what Confucius’s Zhi meant. To Confucius, living was incomprehensible without such wisdom. Said Confucius, “Having the ability to select a virtuous person and put him above those who are not; helping those who are not to become virtuous. That is wisdom.”5 Understanding people enabled one to develop and maintain relationships. Through his teaching, Confucius shared how he acquired his own wisdom: “Whenever you see three people walking together, one of them will have something to teach you. Keep what you learn of their strengths but steer clear of their shortcomings.”6 Without diligent learning, wisdom would be unattainable. Without wisdom, the understanding of people, the important virtues that enabled one to live in a relational society would be impossible. And fifth, Xin, or trustworthiness: According to Confucius, “trustworthiness” had to do with what one said or promised to others. Being trustworthy was regarded as an important virtue by Confucius because “without being trustworthy, how could one live in the world? It would be like a horse cart without the shaft, or a cart missing the cross-member. How could such a cart move forward?”7 Without

52  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems a command of trust from others, one would be condemned in his own community.8 In the Analects, a dialogue between Confucius and Yan Yuan on the value of trust was recorded. “What is the most important way to govern a state?” asked Yan Yuan. Confucius answered, “Provide sufficient food, sufficient armament, and develop sufficient trust among the people for their government.” Yan Yuan asked, “If forced to give up one of these, what would you abandon first?” Confucius said, “I would abandon the armament.” Yan Yuan pushed further, “Forced to give up yet another of the remaining two, which would you give up?” Confucius answered, “I would give up food. There have been starvations from time immemorial, but no state can exist without people’s trust in their government.”9 It is little wonder that five virtues were all geared towards developing and maintaining virtuous relationships. They were the tangible step-by-step directions Confucius offered to the Chinese who strived for a happy family and a peaceful society. Through his teachings and writings, Confucius made relationalism a conscious entity in the Chinese mind. Before Confucius, relationalism happened but haphazardly; after Confucius, relationalism became a social expectation. Although virtuous human beings made good citizens, in a society that relied on top-down administration, the upper echelons were the ones that held the keys to a good society. Since having a virtuous sage-king to rule the state was one of Confucius’s major concerns, his comments and contentions on this issue conspicuously stood out throughout the Analects. It was obvious to Confucius that the sage-king must embody the five virtues. With a wise mind and a benevolent heart, he ruled the country; without the five virtues, he ruined the country. Throughout his life, Confucius steadfastly advocated the thesis of “rule by virtue.” He pointed out that “A ruler who governs his state by virtue is like the North Polar Star, which remains in its place while all the other stars gather around it.” To anybody that contended otherwise, Confucius argued, “Lead the people with governmental measures and regulate them by force and punishment, they will avoid wrong-doings but will have no sense of honor and shame. Lead them with virtues and regulate them by propriety, and they will have a conscience that sets themselves right.” He gave his experience as an example: “While investigating criminal cases, I go through the set procedures, but my goal is to prevent crimes from happening, and the way to achieve that is to educate people about virtue.”10 In virtues lay the magic of truly charismatic leadership. Through the many centuries, Confucius’s conviction for “rule by virtue” served as the cornerstone of China’s ideal polity. It was like a standing landmark to gauge the good, bad and efficiency of each emperor’s governance. With a virtuous ruling class leading the people, Confucius saw the realization of a society where the five critical relationships – ruler-subject, father-son, brother-brother, husbandwife and friend-friend – were properly developed and reciprocated. To Confucius, when these five cardinal relationships went harmoniously, what else could cause chaos in the society? Confucius’s ideas conveyed in The Analects were in the forms of dialogues as if he was talking to people about their everyday living situations. People, ruling or ruled, literate or illiterate, from cities or villages, could readily understand

Confucianism 53 and speak those words. The ruling class learned how to behave to appease their subjects so as to keep their “boat” afloat; the intellectuals gained a solid ground to expound life’s mysteries and miseries, while the commoners absorbed the practical wisdom from the Confucian moral code. The pathways toward which Confucius directed people were nothing spectacular or overwhelmingly complex. They were from everyday common sense but important experience. In times of turmoil and suffering, Confucianism appealed to people’s impulse to take action and to regain control. It gave them something that was within their power to change and the hope that was within their reach. Time and again, when singular persons felt the support of a relational network, hopes were revived. Confucians believed that virtue was intrinsic: “In man’s original constitution as man, and that man therefore can come to understand and recognize that moral code as the obligation to become, in moral character and practice, what he is, in principle, as a human being.”11 Such innate constitution of virtue ensured that virtue would find ways to actualize itself regardless of the external environment. Convinced of that innate virtuous human nature, instead of a grand reform, Confucius simply advised people to go about life a little differently – abide by the hierarchical order, be more considerate of others, be more respectful, be kinder, have courage and self-discipline to do the right thing, and life would be better and dreams would come true. After Confucius passed away, his simple and straightforward teachings were taken far beyond their intent as pragmatic moral guidance for relationships. Just as with so many other great thinkers, his ideas became an “-ism” or an institutionalized, complex doctrine. Much like Karl Marx who claimed, “If anything is certain, it is that I myself am not a Marxist,” Confucius would probably deny ownership of much of what we today know as Confucianism. After being adopted by generations of the ruling class as a stringent moral code, mistakes were no longer a learning process but a punishable violation. The government found Confucianism an efficient tool to control people’s mind and conduct. Even so, generations of Chinese found it true in Confucian relationalism that if they became virtuous, their family would be prosperous and their community would be in harmony. Through relationalism, Confucius convinced millions that in their lifetime, a positive and reciprocated relational network that connected all the individuals and families was the only viable way to a good life on earth. Dynasties came and went, war fires broke out and ceased, family members lived and died, but human nature with the unique propensity for virtuous deeds and relationships prevailed. As long as that propensity persisted, the relational network would continue to hold the society together for all. To many, the fact that Confucianism persisted through thousands of generations bears witness to the eternal validity of Confucius’s wisdom of relationalism.

8 Daoism

Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systemsDaoism

Relationalism in the Cosmos

Lao Zi (c. 604–531 B.C.E.), the founder of Daoism, had written only one small book called Dao De Jing. In merely 5250 words, the profound influence of Dao De Jing on Chinese philosophy and culture spans over 2000 years and remains strong today. From that small book have grown numerous big books that tried to emulate, analyze, interpret and explain Lao Zi’s ideas. In about the 17th century Dao De Jing traveled to the West and a complete version of Dao De Jing was first translated from Latin into English as The Tao Te Ching by the noted Scottish sinologist James Legge in 1891.1 The enduring and insatiable curiosity about Lao Zi and his Dao De Jing probably is due, at least in part, to the mystic and abstruse nature of Lao Zi’s wisdom. But a careful reader would not miss the relational essence at the heart of this esoteric little book. Indeed, the discussions in the next pages will hopefully make clear that, rather than being in opposition to Confucianism as some Western scholars have asserted, Daoism, which was similarly seeded and nursed in the rich soil of the Chinese relational culture, complements and completes the wisdom of relationalism expounded by Confucianism, albeit in Lao Zi’s unique ways. Speculations about the origin of Daoism have long abounded. Most of them pointed to an ancient person named Li Er, or later known as Lao Zi as the author of Dao De Jing and the founding father of Daoism. But until recently all the stories about Lao Zi seem to be largely just that – speculative tales without reliable evidence. That is until the bamboo remnants of Dao De Jing unearthed in recent archeological digs from Jingmen, Hubei Province offered credible evidence that Lao Zi did indeed live and write the book. These bamboo remnants were dated at approximately 400 B.C.E.,2 which banished the doubts about the birth and authorship of Lao Zi. Although Lao Zi was given the honor as creator of Daoism, Daoism as a belief system that we know today has evolved through centuries. It is, in actuality, the collective work of generations of like-minded scholars that spanned across dynasties. In fact, “Daoism” as the name for the school of thought did not come about until sixth century C.E., almost 1000 years after Lao Zi passed away. Over time, Daoism had not only absorbed valuable intellectual nutrients from past intellectual reflections, but also elements of supernatural beliefs from the populace.

Daoism 55

Figure 8.1  The symbol of the yin/yang fish

While Confucius looked to the early Zhou Dynasty as an ideal society whose culture he campaigned to reinstate, Daoism incorporated ideas from the even earlier tradition of the lesser-known Huang Di era. Legend has it that Huang Di was a tribal chief of the early settlers in the Yellow River Delta 5000 years ago. Huang Di was a resourceful and creative tribal chief. He and his people invented farming tools, grew millet, domesticated dogs, pigs and donkeys, and built huts with mud and straw.3 With pages of writings on silk fabric from his ancient grave, Ma Wang Dui offered evidence of Huang Di’s intellectual musings in a wide range of areas including astrology, weather prediction, geology, war strategy, medicine and social harmony.4 By imposing the observable universal order on social institutions and expressing it in simple but mysterious numbers, the Huang Di school of thought led people to believe that political and economic events in human society were operated by mystical forces, which were said to be “Dao.” Such ideas might have inspired Lao Zi and were developed into Dao De Jing. But a thorough understanding of Daoism would be seriously amiss without acknowledging its intellectual connections to Yi Jing, in English translation, The Classic of Changes or I Ching. Without a confirmed author, Yi Jing is said to be a product of collective wisdom based on intuitive observations and relational thinking. No other book in the Chinese classics received greater accolades than the Yi Jing in explaining the principle of relationalism as the workings of the cosmos. From the observations of astronomical phenomena to the topographical features on earth, Yi Jing thinkers analyzed the observable phenomena and their inherent relationships. These thinkers were compelled to think that the constant relational changes were the impetus behind life’s continuous process of transformation. More importantly,

56  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems they found that, when changes pushed a natural or social condition to its extreme, the movement reverted to its opposite. Hence the tenet of Yi Jing concluded that relationalism was the intrinsic nature in and the motive force behind everything in the cosmos. Causes of this intrinsic nature are succinctly expressed in the elements of yin and yang. According to Yi Jing, the yin/yang pair interacts with the five earthly environmental elements – metal, wood, water, fire and earth – to produce the variations of all other entities in nature and society. Yi Jing does not impose value judgments on seemingly dichotomized word pairs such as good and bad, rough and smooth, hot and cold, weak and strong, and so forth. The yin/yang pair represents the two simultaneously opposing but also affirming dynamics in all things. Yang represents the part of the matter that is active and expressive while yin represents the passive and recessive. By nature, nothing can be completely yang or completely yin because each part of the duality contains the beginning point for the opposite element. In other words, yin and yang are the duality that completes the whole. Volcanic eruptions, for example, according to Yi Jing, are due to the suppression of yang by an overpowering yin. When the activities of yang reach the explosive point, eruption takes place to bring yin and yang into a new balance. From this relational theory, important aspects of life such as health, political power, marriage and business success are all matters of yin/yang equilibrium. Imbalance of the yin and yang forces would similarly lead to collapse of the kingdom or other calamities in personal lives. Throughout history, Yi Jing was used “on the simplest folk-culture level for fortune-telling and on the highest intellectual level for gaining somewhat mystical insights into the nature and workings of the cosmos.”5 The knowledge of movements of yin and yang gives people the control, or illusion thereof, to predict future events or to ride out the progression. The relational perceptions evidenced in Huang Di, Yi Jing and yin/yang are resonant throughout Dao De Jing and Daoism. But Lao Zi ingeniously created his own cohesive and pragmatic theory. Let’s start with a discussion of a few key Daoist concepts, namely, Dao, de, wu, you, yin, yang and wu wei. The importance of the concepts of “Dao” and “De” which appear in the book title of Dao De Jing is self-evident. Almost all English translations call Dao De Jing “The Book of Morals.” But morals, especially the Confucian moral code, are exactly what Lao Zi did not want to be concerned with. In Dao De Jing, Lao Zi used the word pair Dao and De as the two sides of the concept of Dao, just like the head and tail of a coin. Dao is the essence of the universe while “De” is the manifestation of Dao in actual matters of the world. Dao can be understood as representing the thought and De is the acting out of that thought. A more accurate translation of Lao Zi’s book title might be “The Book of Dao and Its Manifestations.” For Lao Zi, Dao is first and foremost a substance that leads to the cosmos. As pre-cosmos, the physical being of Dao cannot be seen in shape, color or material form, but it has enormous creative potential. There is not a human word for the existence of such substance, so Lao Zi uses the word “wu” to describe Dao. Wu

Daoism 57 means “without” – without a solid shape or intention. “Without” should not be taken as to mean “nothingness,” because Dao cannot have been “nothing” when it leads to “you” – the existence of all things. Dao and its quality of “wu” are confusing concepts so much so that even Lao Zi appeared struggling to set the definitions. The opening chapter of Dao De Jing tries to explain the key concept of Dao this way: The Dao that can be described is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name. ‘Without’ leads to the beginning of the Cosmos which manifested in physical beings of ‘you.’ ‘You’ (the Cosmos) gives birth to everything else in the world.6 Although Dao creates the world, it is not an anthropomorphic figure like God or Buddha. Dao cannot be classified by scientific concepts or forms and shapes or sizes of matter because Dao has no matter. As to the question of how Dao creates the world, Lao Zi says, “Dao created the One. The One created the Two and the Two led to the Three. The Three created everything else in the world. The world carried yin and yang whose interactions brought about harmony.”7 This esoteric and cryptic paragraph challenges generations of thinkers to decode. Daoist scholars generally agree that what Lao Zi meant is that Dao, the formless and purposeless substance starts the cosmos – “the One.” The cosmos consists of “the Two,” which are the elements of Yin and Yang. Yin and Yang are constantly interacting with the third element, Qi (or chi) – energy. Together, the three are responsible for creating everything else in the complex physical world of shapes, forms, colors, textures, sizes, masses, smells and things with numerous other characteristics. Because all things in the world carry the antithetical but complementary elements of yin and yang, which are in constant movement to achieve equilibrium, harmony or balance is thus the idyllic state of every existence. To put it differently, yin and yang always strive for balance and harmony and such a propensity ensures that everything in the cosmos would either stay in or return to balance and equilibrium. For that very reason, Lao Zi advocates a general attitude toward nature and life called non-action – wu wei, or to be more exact, non-interference. In contrast to Confucius’s push for people to be their best – the best king, the best official, the best father, and so on, Lao Zi advises people to refrain from such straining efforts because Dao would make sure that the end result of conflicts or movements would be where they need to be. Efforts to steer matters this way or that way would only upset the yin/yang process and are destined to an inevitably futile or detrimental end. To understand the yin/yang concept, one needs only to appreciate the Daoist symbol , which visually portrays the concept concisely and beautifully. This symbol is called the “symbol of the yin/yang fish.” The perfect circle that houses the yin/yang fish symbolizes the cosmos or life. The yin/yang elements are depicted with smooth lines in the shape of a fish. The white fish is yang and the

58  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems black fish is yin. Together they represent two separate forces in nature. The two fish are exactly the same in shape and size, which signals their equal capacity and importance. The shape of the two fish, with their large heads and smaller tails, represents the waxing and waning of the internal energy within the cosmos or any situation. The two fish appear contrasting in color but complementary in shape. Each fish has an eye of a different color, which indicates that the seed of change or the potential for change is embedded in any situations and it is always ready to transform from one to the other, viz. from favorable to the opposite or vise versa. The constantly adjusting interconnectedness between yin and yang is expressed in the fluid line between them and the circumference line surrounding them. The fluid line between them signifies that the nature of any distinctions in the world is relative and shifting. Since yin and yang share the space of the Oneness, they must constantly adjust to each other’s needs or strengths in order to stay within the boundaries. Where the head of one fish takes up more space, the other fish shrinks itself to a tail. The outer circumference line signifies the Oneness or the Wholeness of all things in the world. The circle itself also symbolizes the movements of the Dao: everything in the cosmos starts from Dao and ends in Dao. This beautiful symbol of yin/yang fish thus visually and concisely illustrates the key Daoist concepts of relationalism that are imbedded in all lives. Take away relationalism and there would be no life and no world. Lao Zi then shows us how and why human lives and their societies could only be inherently relational. Although a popular view of Lao Zi holds him to be one who was largely unconcerned with Confucius’s theories about a virtuous government or being a moral person, a simple reading of Dao De Jing tells us otherwise. Out of a total of 81 chapters in Dao De Jing, 24 have to do with nature and functions of the Dao and 15 with leading a virtuous life, while a staggering 45 are concerned with statesmanship and the art of governance!8 The fact of the matter is that Lao Zi was just as concerned as Confucius about the making of a virtuous person and a good society. The difference only laid in how Confucius and Lao Zi defined virtue or the ideal society. For Confucius, a virtuous person sought every opportunity to be an active contributor to the wellbeing of the society, while Lao Zi portrayed his virtuous person as one who would let Dao take the lead by wisely refraining from seeking active participation in social reform. To Lao Zi, because Dao was imbedded in everything, everything naturally followed Dao. In other words, in spite of the fact that Dao was not controlling how things operated, whether or not things survived or thrived depended on how well they followed Dao. Where Confucius taught actions for a harmonious society, Daoists witnessed it naturally existing with Dao. Where Confucius grieved the loss of moral code leading to war, Lao Zi knew war was Dao’s way to restore balance. Daoists recognized such constant transformations in life: day and night, haves and have-nots, positive and negative, life and death, silence and sound. Lao Zi described such profound relationalism clearly in his Dao De Jing, albeit in an unusual fashion. Take the pairs of such contrasting concepts as beauty and ugliness, good and evil, and so on, for example: “When people see things as beautiful, ugliness is created; when people see things as good, evil is aroused. Being and

Daoism 59 non-being produce each other; difficult and easy complement each other; long and short define each other; high and low oppose each other; fore and aft follow each other.”9 Dao De Jing expounds many sentences and couplets similar to these. At first blush, they might appear to be contradictory and illogical. But a moment of contemplation leads to an “aha” moment when we see the hidden wisdom. Take ugliness and beauty for example. Ugliness and beauty appear to be opposites; how could they be mutually affirming? A common sense way to look at it is that without knowing beauty, one would not be able to recognize ugliness, and vice versa. Or, beauty could lose its perfection over time, just as the beautiful ocean could turn into heaving mountains. Lao Zi even took it a step further: if everyone coveted beauty and competed for it, the competition could turn ugly because some would employ ugly strategies in order to become the winner of the beauty contest and ugly conflicts would rise. But the opposites could also be mutually affirming just as silence and sound. Lao Zi pointed out that silence and sound must come together to make melody.10 Without the combination of the two opposite elements, there could be no music. Based on Lao Zi’s reasoning, since the two antithetical aspects of any entities are actually complementary to one another, accepting only one side of the matter and rejecting the other would cripple them both and result in harmful imbalance. So, in addition to seeing the appearance, one should know the intrinsic connection between the two opposing elements. Lao Zi offered his wisdom that “Upon calamity happiness depends and happiness is where calamity is latent. Who knows when the limit will be reached?”11 The time when things reached their limits was the moment when the transformation took place. Lao Zi believed that transformation always leads to new balance, because everything starts from Dao and would return to Dao, which is the ideal state of the balance between the opposites. To this date, Dao or the law of relational balance remains a guide in the activities of the Chinese people. Take the practice of fengshui for an example. Fengshui is all about the balance of the yin/yang energy, which has become a standard consideration of the Chinese real estate industry. When designing buildings, Chinese architects often incorporate the yin/yang theory in balancing relational elements in the environment – hills, water, forests and so on; interior designers make good use of the yin/yang theory in energy flows in buildings; and real estate agents call buyers’ attention to the yin/yang presentations throughout the house. Other Chinese businesses take the ebb and flow movements of their productivity, or the in and out movements of cash circulation as manifestations of the yin/yang changes. But the yin/yang theory about relational functions is not limited to just business. Traditional Chinese medicine has been and is still guided by the theory of the complementary yin/yang relationships. A healthy person is one whose internal yin/yang energy is balanced. An extreme example of imbalance with too much yang energy is paranoid schizophrenia, with the patient raving and screaming with what seems to be excessive energy. Depression may be said to be owing to an imbalance of too much yin. Based on that view, traditional Chinese medicine believes that the most skillful doctor is capable of

60  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems “treating illnesses before symptoms show up,” or in today’s terminology, practice preventative medicine. When diagnosing, a relational-minded doctor pays attention to the balance or lack thereof that causes the illness. In treatment, rather than simply eradicating the symptoms, the relational doctor aims at bringing the conflicting elements back to balance. Mental health tells the same story. Implicitly, the yin/yang concept is at work when psychotherapists try to help a dysfunctional family. While Western psychology emphasizes healthy communication between husband and wife or parent and child, Chinese relational wisdom teaches that in a family, the husband and wife should take turns at being yang and being yin. Nobody should be always dominant and in command while the other is always submissive. A healthy marital relationship is just like the yin/yang fish sharing a common space – they differentiate but complement each other. The yin and yang dual forces that permeated Lao Zi’s cosmos were similarly imbedded in human nature; therefore, they inherently guided humans. Lao Zi summed up his observation and advice on human life into one word: wu wei (无为) – spontaneity and non-interference. Let your natural Dao take care of your life. But what does that mean? Lao Zi explained that Dao was completely natural just like human infants whose actions were spontaneous. Infants practice neither kindness nor unkindness and they have no other pursuit beyond their natural instincts. This natural and spontaneous infant-like being is what Lao Zi advocated as virtuous being. To achieve that, people should “manifest plainness, embrace simplicity, minimize selfishness, and possess few desires.”12 Lao Zi understood that there were many distractions in reality which lured people away from their innate Dao and caused them to spend their lives chasing after material wealth or intellectual achievements. Lao Zi asked these people to ponder such basic questions as, “Which is more important, fame or being alive? Which carries more weight, life or wealth?” Lao Zi lamented that most people arrived at the wrong answers and often at the expense of fulfillment of their natural lives. Endeavors might achieve for the time being but Dao always prevails in the end, just as many people who spend all their time and energy in pursuit of successes in their career would long to return to their simple and basic life in nature and with family. Dao always got the final say, so it was foolish to risk one’s life in competition with Dao. When people were at one with Dao, spontaneity and non-interference would lead them to the realization of their innate goodness and freedom from the desires to win the rat race. Running in the rat race was struggling with Dao, which would lead to futility at best and calamity at worst. A greedy person died for wealth and the martyrs died for fame. Lao Zi believed that “he who had lavish desires would lose heavily; he who knows contentment suffers no disgrace; and he who stops in a timely manner puts himself outside harm’s way.”13 Although Daoism held life as more valuable than material possessions, it held that one should not go to excess with life’s necessities either. Lao Zi advised, Too many colors blind one’s eyes; too many noises deafen one’s hearing; too many flavors spoil one’s palate, too much excitement maddens one’s mind; and chasing after the precious objects causes one to inflict harm. Eat to

Daoism 61 eliminate hunger and drink to quench thirst. One should satisfy life’s natural needs and nothing more.14 To Lao Zi, greed was not only reflected in desires for material wealth, but also for intellectual achievements. He understood that people craved success and wanted recognition for their intellectual achievements, but relentless competition would only lead to destruction. Lao Zi admired the easygoing nature of water. He observed that water was valuable to all lives on earth, but water did not compete or show off. Instead, water settled in low places where others would not go.15 Lao Zi himself lived his own life by three principles: deeply loving like a mother towards her baby, practicing prudence against overusing resources, and abstaining from competition with others. He understood that when one did not compete, he would have no rivals; when one did not collect wealth, he could not be stolen from; when one did not show off his achievements, others would see them; and when one was spontaneous, others were allowed to do the same.16 In other words, when one let his nature be, he would enjoy life more, accomplish more, and be recognized more. Lao Zi advised especially against show-off behaviors because showing off one’s wealth, smarts or any other achievements was to follow anything but Dao. “He who exhibits himself is not luminous; he who justifies himself is not prominent; he who boasts of himself gains no credit; he who brags does not last.”17 The ignorance of the workings of Dao explained the mistakes that governments made. According to Dao De Jing, Dao should be the purpose and the natural process of politics in governing. Since Dao was imbedded in the nature of man, the most appropriate governance must be one that asserted little control over that innate Dao. If Dao were allowed to truly prevail in government, the ideal kingdom would look like this: a small state with a small population where there were weapons but no needs to use them or display them; there was nothing from which people would risk death to obtain or to escape from; there were boats and carts, but no need to ride them. People would live in the times when they tied knots on ropes to record events. Food was satisfying; clothing was comfortable; living quarters were sufficient; and culture was enjoyable. They could see the neighboring villages and hear the noises made by their chickens and dogs, but they never needed to interact with them.18 How to achieve this Daoist utopia? Using military forces should never be the option because “the use of force usually brings requital; wherever armies are stationed, briers and thorns grow; great wars are always followed by famines.”19 It was clear to Lao Zi that when the king was keeping to his own Dao and was able to let people follow theirs, there would be no need for the state machine. Lao Zi reasoned, Control a state with integrity, maneuver an army with strategies, but govern the people with non-interference. How do I know that is the way to go? This

62  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems is why: prohibitions create more poverty; advanced weapons lead to more chaos; well-trained skills cause greater temptations; and prominent laws breed thieves and robbers. Therefore, if I (the king) do not make an effort to intervene, my people be peaceful; if I choose peace, my people would behave; if I refrain from asserting control, my people would enjoy wealth; and if I desire little, my people would maintain their integrity.20 Lao Zi described types of rulers: a sage-king who would rule by non-interference, refrain from using his power to coerce, and exert little effort to educate his people. As a result, his people would only know that they had a king but were unaware of what he did. In the end, his people achieved what they would naturally have done. Meanwhile, the less sage-like king would be Confucius’s ideal ruler who would make great efforts to educate his people and would rule with morality and benevolence. His people would love him, want to be around him, and praise him. Taking it a step further, the least sage-like type of king would adopt strict regulations and punishments in the hope of forcing people to follow his will. Consequently his people would obey him out of fear. The worst tactic a king could use was dirty power to rule his people. He would make promises without intentions to deliver. After being cheated repeatedly, his people would no longer trust him but would rebel against him.21 Through the 45 chapters that were full of wisdom and insightful advice for the kings and the governing elite, Lao Zi advocated that people be left free to be who they naturally were. Lao Zi was sure that people were inherently good and desired to do the right thing because they had their innate Dao to guide them. Let them be and the kingdom would be in peace and prosperity; controlling them with force, the kingdom would suffer. Contrary to Confucius’s desire to teach morals, Lao Zi believed that education indoctrinated arbitrary knowledge which would muddle a naturally wise mind. Just follow Dao, and the conflicts, if there were any, would eventually resolve themselves and social harmony would be achieved. Although Daoism stood also on relationalism, its cutting edge was new. In Dao De Jing, Lao Zi argued against making an endeavor to be virtuous. Lao Zi believed that a man of true virtue was not conscious of his virtue because he was naturally virtuous; a man of true benevolence had no ulterior motive to do so because he was genuinely a loving person; a man of true propriety was by nature respectful toward others without obligating himself to or expecting reciprocity. Lao Zi argued that benevolence and propriety were needed only when the Great Dao had declined; hypocrisy happened because knowledge and wisdom were spread; filial piety and affections needed to be advocated only after family relationships had collapsed; loyalty to the king was in demand because the nation was in rebellion.22 If Confucianism exuded the energy of yang in the Chinese culture, namely, overtly urging people to actively participate in life and to constantly strive to be

Daoism 63 the best, Daoism complemented that with its calmer energy of yin as an anchor and ballast. In centuries, through its unique relational views, Daoism gives Chinese people the insight of the ultimate workings of forces behind their successes or failures, the permission to relax from time to time from their constant drive to be the best, and to escape from excessive social and familial demands. Confucianism, as the official ideology, took on the authority to restrain and coerce human conduct. Commitment to the moral code became a “have to” and one’s conduct was relentlessly judged by society. Against such a backdrop, Daoism was peculiarly benumbing and soothing. It relieved the moral tensions that often gave the Chinese headaches and heartaches. When life became too heavy and wearisome, Daoism gave people permission to not be the best government official, the most responsible father, or the most obedient son. When society was in chaos and governments failed, or when an individual tried to reach high but fell short, Daoism presented convincing “rationalization” for the Chinese to combat the feelings of helplessness and self-blame. Frequently, such retreat was just the break needed by people to regain their equilibrium. In this sense, Daoism is indeed “the balm that soothes the wounded Chinese soul.”23 Without such breathing room, life under the Confucian code of constant decorum could sometimes be unbearable. Additionally, while Confucianism focused almost exclusively on moral obligation to social harmony and human needs to relate and connect, it neglected the other important humane and psychological needs also in human nature, such as curiosity about the cosmos and death, leisure and relaxation, imagination and fantasy, yearnings for nature and art. Daoism rose to fill these gaps with cosmogony, the yin/yang theory, magic, witchcraft, aphrodisiacs and mythical imaginings about life and death. While Confucianism laid down the background color of the Chinese culture, Daoism brushed in the multicolored enrichments. It has been said that Confucianism was the working mood of the Chinese while Daoism was the playing mood. If indeed, “all work and no play make Jack a dull boy,” without Daoism, China would have been a nation full of “dull Jacks.” As a side effect, however, the overgrowth of some of these religious and superstitious sidelines diluted the intellectualism that Dao De Jing had originated, which no doubt, would have made Lao Zi shake his head. Superstition aside, the quasi-religious Daoism which became political and combative in the centuries after Lao Zi’s death stood opposite to his notions of Dao and society. Lao Zi would probably walk away from such hodgepodge and vindictiveness and let Dao handle it. Today, with good reasons, many scholars think that Lao Zi’s Daoism is the antithesis of the moralistic Confucianism; others assume that Daoism is the rare voice of individualism in China. But if we reach beyond the philosophical differences, we will see clearly that Daoism and Confucianism are, in actuality, complementary to each other in what they set out to accomplish. In their own ways, Confucianism and Daoism offered the Chinese people ways to make sense of the turbulent world and their sufferings as well as directions to a better life. Although Confucius and Lao Zi followed different designs, the two men built their doctrines on the common grounds of relationalism. The compatibility of the two doctrines

64  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems of relationalism is just as seen in the Daoist symbol of the yin/yang fish, viz. Confucianism and Daoism complete each other and as one they achieve the perfect circle. The alchemy of the two relational doctrines forms the core of Chinese culture. Today, no one can hope to understand Chinese philosophy, society, government, art and traditional medicine without a true appreciation of these two separate but mutually affirming doctrines, not only of their diverse viewpoints, but also the effect of their intertwined functions.

9 Buddhism

Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systemsBuddhism

Relationalism in Zen

Although Chinese Buddhism enriched the Chinese mind with its esoteric ideas and visions, Buddhism was not “made in China.” It was imported from India centuries after Confucius and Lao Zi had passed away. Its importation to China was carried out by random Silk Road travelers; hence the introduction of early Buddhist messages was quite fortuitous and highly fragmented in form and nature. Such a disorganized beginning predestined Buddhism’s migration to China to be a bumpy ride. From its initial arrival in the second century to its acceptance as a doctrine of China’s own in roughly the tenth century, Buddhism weathered hostile resistance and, at times, violent persecutions. The adversaries Buddhism encountered ranged from fragmented sutras, language barriers, opposition from established Chinese ideologies of relationalism, discrimination from the government and the elite, and, as its own growing pains, conflicting doctrinal mindsets within its own ranks. Among all the challenges, obviously, the most critical for Buddhism to be accepted into the mainstream Chinese belief system was for it to make its peace with relationalism. The required adaptation consisted of not only its relationships to other established beliefs, but more importantly, of reforming the Buddhist tenets to mesh with the relational mindset of the Chinese people. In this chapter, we will examine those milestones that lined the pathway of Chinese Buddhism’s remarkable journey. At the end, we should arrive at an understanding of how relationalism transcended religious boundaries and remained the leading characteristic of the Chinese belief system. Similar to Confucius and Lao Zi, Buddha was a great thinker. After witnessing extreme sufferings in Indian society, Buddha searched long and hard for a way to save his people from their endless pain. When Buddha found it decades later, his way to reduce suffering was a set of principles that came to be called Buddhism. Early Buddhism in India was first a religion “by word of mouth.” For a long time, Buddhist practice was rather informal and the only written records of the sutras were the notes taken by disciples attending lectures given by the Buddhist masters. Unfortunately, these disjointed original sutras were further fragmented on their way to China when a few curious young Buddhist monks entered China hitchhiking with the Silk Road traders around 200 C.E. The individual Buddhists who brought the first scriptures to China traveled mostly on foot and without a complete set of the Buddhist canons. What they brought were likely personally

66  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems selected pieces, or some memorized passages. Dr. Zurcher offered an insightful observation of how the fate of Chinese Buddhism was cast from the very beginning: It must be remarked that even the Chinese monks themselves at this early date were never confronted with Buddhism – of one school or another – as an organic whole, a coherent discipline. The integral transplantation of an Indian school to China (as happened with Yogarcara Buddhism in the 7th century) is a much later phenomenon. The early Chinese monks, forced to be eclectics by the circumstances under which the doctrine was presented to them, had to base their opinions on a bewildering variety of Mahayana and Hinayana sutras, monastic rules, spells and charms, legends and scholastic treatises of different epochs and schools.1 Even though the early Chinese Buddhists studied only the available fragments of Buddhist messages, the fragments offered a glimpse of the possibility of an afterlife to a people who had known only Confucianism and Daoism. The blurry understanding of the Buddhist fragments whetted their appetite for a different view on life, but the early believers had to fill in the gaps with their own beliefs and assumptions. As an inevitable result, the early Chinese Buddhist apocrypha formed a rather heterogeneous literature. Several were said to have been written in trance under divine inspiration; other ‘sutras’ contained a kind of pseudo-Buddhist hodge-podge, in which fundamental notions of the Buddhist doctrine (such as the five prohibitive rules) were associated with the five elements and the five directions and other elements extracted from Chinese philosophy; another class is again formed by ‘messianic’ scriptures which seem to have been modeled upon the Chinese ‘prognostication texts.’2 More incredible yet, the linguistic media conveying the fragmented content of the pseudo-Buddhist hodgepodge was in Sanskrit, a language unheard of in China at the time. The first daunting challenge facing the early Chinese Buddhists was to translate those fragments into the Chinese language. Professor Zurcher was in awe of the scope of this challenge: One of the most serious problems was of a linguistic nature: only a few foreign Acaryas (from Sanskrit, literally: teachers) could freely express themselves in Chinese, whereas before the late fourth century no Chinese seems to have had any knowledge of Sanskrit. Thus the doctrine was only accessible to the Chinese clergy through the distorting medium of free, lacunose and often hardly understandable translations, the misleading effect of which was enhanced by the use of Chinese terms which already had a definite philosophical value and which consequently possessed a wide range of non-Buddhist associations. All these factors must have contributed to the thorough sinicization of Buddhism even in clerical circles, to the formation of Buddhism in

Buddhism 67 Chinese guise, digested by Chinese minds, translated into Chinese patterns of thought.3 A careful reader would see that the “Chinese terms” mentioned in Zurcher’s quote were mostly Daoism and the “Chinese patterns of thought” were none other than relationalism. Take the key Buddhist concept of “sunya” for an example. To preach the Buddhist fundamental concept of “sunya”4 in Chinese, the monks had to make use of the Daoist term “wu.” But the Buddhist concept of “sunya” holds that the world of materials or emotions exists due to sensory consciousness, yet the ever-changing nature of such consciousness makes the existence of the “objective” world disappear in a flicker of time; therefore, any materials or emotions that people take for reality is nothing more than illusory. In short, “sunya” is that illusory existence that we call “reality.” In stark contrast, the Daoist concept of “wu” denotes a nameless and formless state of Dao that exists before the onset of the material world, which later leads to all other objective physical existences in the cosmos. Obviously, the borrowed Daoist concept of “wu” directs the audience to an understanding entirely different from the one intended in the original Buddhist concept of “sunya.” This mismatch illustrates but only one departure from the basic Buddhist concepts. When explanations of new Buddhist ideas were regularly communicated through pre-existing Daoist concepts, one could easily imagine the scope of unavoidable misconstructions of the original Buddhist scriptures. One direct result from these mismatching “loan-words” was to give the audience the opinion that this new ideology called Buddhism was merely a different way to speak of Daoism. Naturally, Daoists resented the perverse “plagiarism” and wanted it to stop because “another form of Daoism,” or “Daoist-style Buddhism” confused the message of Daoism. This unfortunate and unintended misstep unveiled the “Buddho-Daoist controversy”5 that lasted for centuries, sometimes with serious consequences. The Buddhists’ efforts to gain acceptance by mainstream Chinese thus met with countless setbacks, so much so that the progress of Buddhism appeared at times to be making one step forward and two steps back. The vacillation was largely caused by the attitudes of the sitting emperors toward Buddhism. When the emperor was warm toward Buddhist ideas, the religion gained room to survive and grow. But the favorable policy could change to the opposite overnight with the change of the emperor’s mind or of the throne. The most devastating destruction to the Chinese Buddhism took place in the 840s when the sitting royal court became increasingly irritated by the threat posed by the fact that the Buddhist temples had simply grown too rich and its tax-exempt, non-productive devotees too numerous. Over time, the royal court reached its limit of tolerance and allowed the anti-Buddhism outcries to finally culminate into the event known by historians as the “Hui Chang Buddhism Suppression.” Professor Hucker gave a a succinct description of this horrifying historical event: The persecution was cumulative, progressing through a series of restrictions from 841 to 845, when it culminated in an almost total suppression. The Court offered only one temple to be spared in each prefecture, except the

68  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems four temples, each with a caretaker staff of 30 monks, were to be retained in each of the two principal cities, Changan and the auxiliary capital Loyang. It was reported that 4600 monasteries and 40,000 temples and shrines were destroyed, 260,500 monks and nuns and 150,000 bondsmen were returned to the laity; and millions of acres of tax-exempt farmland were confiscated and returned to tax registers.6 The Hui Chang Suppression wiped out most of Buddhism’s accomplishments from the past 500 years and afterwards the Buddhists had to persevere with great difficulties. It was only fortunate for Chinese Buddhism that such deliberate and violent subjugation against Buddhism as seen in the Hui Chang Suppression was not frequent and its devastation was mitigated by the more tolerant attitudes of later dynasties. Generally speaking, Buddhists were well-meaning about their idea of saving each individual from their miseries. They denounced the present life as illusive and encouraged each individual to adhere to a strict Buddhist code of behavior in order to free themselves from the burdens and sorrows of this life. To convert to Buddhism, for example, the individual would have to leave his “illusory” life and family behind to go into the monastery where he was taught to sever all earthly desires and connections and learn the ultimate truths about life. This denunciation of one’s present life, celibacy and monasticism conflicted with the deeply entrenched Chinese familialism and responsibilities for social harmony.7 All Buddhist exotic concepts, such as reincarnation, rejection of family, denunciation of the present life in order to reach enlightenment after death, proved to be too non-sensible and anti-relationalist for the pragmatic and relational Chinese mind. Chinese people were too busy trying to attend to the many demands and rewards of this life in this world to entertain the dreams of the next world. The most offensive Buddhist practice, perhaps, was the blatant defiance of the propriety rule for hierarchical society. Buddhist masters insisted that Buddhists were pursuers of enlightenment outside of this worldly life; therefore they would not bow to the emperor or any political and parental authorities in this world. These conflicting ideas challenged not only the integrity of the traditional concept of family but also China’s basic political and social order reflected in the hierarchical control. It was no wonder that the dynastic government viewed monasticism as an attempt to destroy the established social order, while Confucian intellectuals took it as a potential threat to the time-honored relational traditions. Buddhism’s “outlandish” ideology raised not only doubts, it quickly brought up people’s xenophobic resentments and gained itself the label of “heresy.” Daoists, sometimes joined by Confucians, bashed Buddhism as “acme of blasphemy” against traditional Chinese core values. To gain an audience, Buddhists had to reconcile with the Chinese relational culture. However, that was easier said than done. If a clear severance from the present world was pre-requisite of Buddhist enlightenment, relationalism was the biggest barrier to the revered enlightenment that the Buddhist monks preached. Relationships were lifelines of the Chinese while Buddhists tried to sever the

Buddhism 69 emotional connections to all relationships in this illusive world. This and many other impasses made it easy to humble the rootless Buddhism in its infancy. A typical argument against Buddhism goes like this: Daoism is primarily concerned with life, Buddhism with death. Daoism eschews what is dirty, Buddhism does not. Daoism belongs to yang, to life, to the avoidance of what is dirty, Buddhism does the opposite. In this way pure and impure are as wide apart as Heaven (is from Earth), and (the doctrines pertaining to) life and to death are widely separated. Why then do you not observe the great Way of purity and emptiness instead of wishing to (follow) Buddhism, the dirty and evil doctrine of birth-and-death?8 In alliance, Daoists and Confucians reported to the emperor that Buddhism was merely a diluted and debased form of Daoism, adapted to the needs of an uncivilized people or even aiming at their destruction, and consequently quite unfit to be introduced into China where the doctrine of the Old Masters (Confucius and Lao Zi) had been preserved in their original purity.9 While the early Chinese Buddhists knew little about the Indian culture, they knew well that for Buddhism to take root in Chinese soil, approval from the intellectual elite was vital. Cleverly, Chinese Buddhists learned to “play” the relationship game. They “abducted” the venerable sages from Chinese history into Buddhism as “avatrras of Bodhisattvas.”10 Confucius was crowned “Bodhisattva Guang-Jing” or “Sumedha”; his favorite student Yan Hui became a “Candraprabha” while Lao Zi was made a “disciple of Sarkyamuni” who was supposedly sent by the Buddhist Lord to the East in order to propagate the Buddhist doctrine. In some cases, even the rulers of the Chinese legendary eras were given titles of Bodhisattvas.11 Such clever maneuvers, however, had little effect on the minds of the Chinese intellectual-official elite. In the first 200 years after Buddhism arrived in China, there was little evidence of any significant contacts made between Buddhists and the political elite. On rare occasions a Buddhist might be given a chance to deliver a speech at an aristocratic memorial, but the ceremony often ended up being a basically “Daoist ritual tinged with some Buddhist elements.”12 These humbling activities, however, enabled Buddhist ideas to gradually spread. Contacts with political elite gradually increased. By the mid 400s, Buddhism had slowly stretched out from primarily regions near the Silk Road in Western China to the cultural centers between the Yang Zi River Delta and the Silk Road regions. Monks began to take part in purely conceptual and cerebral discussions held by local intellectual elite, or occasionally be introduced to members of the imperial court or the aristocratic families as preachers, chaplains, advisors and personal friends. Whenever possible, Buddhist masters, who had made themselves “quasi-experts” of Confucianism and Daoism, expounded the symbolic meaning of Confucian rites; wrote commentaries on Daoist documents; answered questions about literary composition,

70  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems politics and antiquities; and maintained a regular correspondence with influential intellectuals to discuss issues on doctrines and other subjects. Taking the long route, Buddhists patiently worked to merge into China’s relational culture. When the leaders of Chinese Buddhism proved that they had acquired qualities of the “Chinese literary class of the purest alloy, able to defend and preach the doctrine in an adapted version with universally understood and acknowledged arguments,” the intellectuals began to warm up to Buddhist ideas.13 In the then capital cities of Changan (present-day Xian) and Luoyang (present-day city in Henan Province), the educated elite not only showed interest in discussions of Buddhist ideas, some even personally patronized Buddhist lectures in the temples. Among members of this circle, it gradually became acceptable to make monetary donations to monasteries and temples or to supply food, building materials and Buddha statuettes for the Buddhist temples. Conflicts with China’s entrenched relational traditions aside, Buddhism suffered its own “growing pains.” Adaptation to the mainstream Chinese society became divisive within the religion because the fragmented content of Buddhist sutras left plenty of possibilities for interpretations. Inevitably, Chinese Buddhism soon became a multi-denominational religion. Among the many sects, Chinese Buddhist scholars commonly agreed that 13 were the most significant and influential. It is beyond the scope of this book to make a detailed study of the extremely complex ideology of all 13 sects, but it may help our understanding to take a brief look at how the leading sects smoothed the way for Buddhism to assimilate with China’s relational culture. Along the journey, perhaps the most significant milestones are: weishi zong (the Sect of Pure Consciousness), which represents the most complete tenet of Indian Buddhism; the tiantai zong (the Sect of Tian Tai), which was the first sect of Buddhism developed by a Chinese Buddhist master and was the first to blaze the trail for Buddhism to adapt to China’s core value of relationalism; and chan zong (the Sect of Zen), which completed Buddhism’s journey from the Buddhism of India to the Buddhism of China. The Indian name for the Sect of Pure Consciousness is Yogācāra (way of yoga). It was created around 400 B.C.E. by an Indian monk named Asanga who designated his theory as “Pure Consciousness” because he firmly believed that “pure” – the unsubstantiated – consciousness was what caused people to cling to their illusory life, which was the culprit of all human sufferings. A Chinese Buddhist named Xuan Zang (602–664 C.E.) was the first Chinese Buddhist to travel to India to study Buddhism. After 15 years of learning and practicing Yogācāra in India, he returned to China in the year of 645 C.E. with 657 Buddhist canons of Yogācāra subscripts. Based on the tenet, Xuan Zang created the Chinese Sect of Pure Consciousness. According to this sect, our most desirable “original nature” existed independently without connections to anything else – no past, no present and no future. When we were in touch with our original nature, we were enlightened and enlightenment was the ultimate state of freedom from desires and agonies of life in this world. Humans were miserable because their “original nature” was corrupted by the so-called “reality” erected by “pure consciousness.”

Buddhism 71 The Sect of Pure Consciousness believed that consciousness alone was the creator of our reality of pain and agony. When one saw a tree and thought of that as real, all one needed to do was to close one’s eyes and that “reality” disappeared. That proved that the tree did not really exist. It was only created by our eyes. Our sensory organs – sight, hearing, taste, touch and smell – fooled our minds by creating all kinds of “reality” and the belief in the illusory “reality” caused our emotional reactions. Since human sufferings were the results of obsession with earthly enjoyments such as food, sex and family relationships, ending life sufferings could only be achieved by eradicating our obsession with these illusory enjoyments. Once that was achieved, our “original nature” would return and lead us to enlightenment. Here, the focus was the individual mind and the Sect’s singular orientation was the severance of the mind from its fixation on earthly desires. To that end, the monks from this sect requested people to physically remove themselves from their illusory life and to commit themselves to the guided meditation in a Buddhist monastery. The necessary guidance in the monastery was based on a collection of canons carefully selected by the Sect’s guru, Xuan Zang, which was entitled Cheng Wei Yishi Lun or the Treatise on the Doctrine of Pure Consciousness (referred to as The Treatise henceforward). The Treatise carefully dissected the human mind and sorted it into layers of consciousnesses according to the Buddhist scripture, only for the purpose of denying all its functions. The Treatise ascertained that what we held onto as “reality” came from illusory relationships with our family or friends and other sensory consciousness. Because such consciousness had no substance, the so-called “reality” was merely a groundless “mirage” in our minds. Believers were helped to accept that our relationships with family and friends were either non-existent or simply a void and not worthy of pursuing. Thoroughly disregarding the Chinese world of relatedness, the Sect of Pure Consciousness was convinced that only disciplined meditation in a monastery setting away from any connections to the present world would help us gradually chip away at long-held dreams of secular successes. Nonetheless, for the majority of the down-to-earth Chinese who, since birth, had been immersed in the relational way of living and entrenched in the beliefs of here-and-now Confucianism and Daoism, the Buddhist assertions that their relational world was nothing but an illusion were too far-fetched. After all, how could one believe that the cherished love of one’s parents was only an illusion? Without the hierarchical and relational networks, the Chinese would be completely lost and the esoteric Buddhist enlightenment could hardly convince them otherwise. Such absolute departure from the established relationalism destined the Sect of Pure Consciousness to be the least followed sect in China.14 Realizing that the ideas of the Sect of Pure Consciousness were too alien to the relational Chinese mind, the Sect of Tian Tai rose to serve as a bridge between Buddhism and relationalism. Founded by a Chinese monk named Zhi Yi (538–597), the Sect of Tian Tai Buddhism was initiated in a Buddhist Temple on Mt. Tian Tai (in present-day Zhejiang Province), hence the name Tian Tai for the sect. The Tian Tai Sect was said to be the first Chinese school of Buddhism which blazed a trail

72  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems of adaptation toward the Chinese core value of relationalism. Although the Sect of Tian Tai still spoke of the Indian Saddharma Puṇḍarīka Sūtra (known as Lotus Scripture in China), its sermons began to take into consideration the traditional Chinese relational frame of mind. For example, recognizing that all humans in the world were related and nobody could survive in isolation, Tian Tai masters encouraged their believers to reciprocate the kindness that each had received from their parents, the community, the land and religious teachers and elders. Rather than forcing them to sever their relationships to their family and hierarchical relationalism, Tian Tai Buddhists allowed believers to practice Buddhism while living a family life at home. These home-staying Buddhists were called Jushi. Tian Tai’s most significant change, perhaps, was its cautious recognition of the relatedness of things at work. A central theme of the Tian Tai Tenet which the Tian Tai monks preached was that all existence in the cosmos was divisibly gathered in what the Tian Tai Sect called “Three Levels of Truth” and “the Ten Realms,” which were ranged from Buddhas (the Enlightened Ones) to beasts and the depraved men, and with everything in between. The Three Levels of Truth which described the “right ways to a living” and the Ten Realms indicated inner- as well as interconnected matters on a continuum rather than in isolated categories. All these were organized into a matrix where their relationships were made obvious. In the monk’s effort to explain the matrix to the Chinese believers or to help them make sense of the complicated tenet, the Tian Tai Buddhists did not hesitate to use the wisdom of relationalism, such as human or family relationships. Through these new moves, Chinese people began to see the association between the scripture and their life situations. As a result, membership in the Tian Tai Sect prospered and in the 900s it became the most influential sect of Buddhism in China. Although the Tian Tai Sect acknowledged the importance of human relationships, its ideological break from mainstream Buddhism was inevitably entangled with ambiguities which eventually brought the sect down. The most evident ambiguity was the duality of the pure mind and the contaminated mind. Tian Tai monks declared that every individual possessed a pure mind or the Buddha mind; therefore, everyone was capable of understanding the dharma, or the truth of life. But the Buddha mind somehow had to live with the contaminated mind. While living their life on earth, the believers would have to constantly fight off the contaminated mind in order for the Buddha mind to dominate. Tian Tai Buddhists were quick to remind the audience that the struggle between our pure mind and the contaminated mind was constant and at times arduous.15 Tian Tai’s failure to decipher the relationship between the pure mind and the contaminated mind proved to be of critical significance to its fall. The audience was utterly confused when in one minute, they learned that the contaminated mind and the Buddha mind co-existed in the same human mind, but in the next minute, they were told to thoroughly eradicate the unwanted mind from the mix whereby to achieve the pure Buddha mind. Their confusion reached a new height when the monks pointed out that their minds actually recycled between the two “minds” in their daily living. When Tian Tai tried to fit its Buddha mind theory back with the mainstream Buddhism, the new canon became too complex and abstract and the

Buddhism 73 language too elusive for the common mind. As a result, membership dwindled and finding successors to the sect leadership met with frustration. The Tian Tai Sect gradually lost its vitality and popularity. Yet, Tian Tai’s effort to integrate Buddhism with the traditional Chinese beliefs had not gone unnoticed. Another sect of Chinese Buddhism picked up the baton. The sect is called Chan (known in the West as Zen and will be referred to as Zen henceforward). Zen managed to achieve where Tian Tai had failed. With the new concept of the Buddha mind, Zen revolutionized Buddhism much as Martin Luther revolutionized Christianity. Rather than finding Buddha only after long and arduous meditations and chanting, Zen masters taught people that because all persons had Buddha in their own minds, the enlightening moments could suddenly take place as one was living one’s normal life – attending to a child, working in the wheat field, teaching a student, or having a drink with friends. For such “sudden enlightenment,” monastery residency was no longer necessary; neither was long-sitting home meditation. Scripture reading or Buddha name chanting was also outmoded. Successfully avoiding the duality of the Tian Tai Sect’s concept of the pure mind and contaminated mind, the Zen masters bravely declared that there was one single mind in us and that mind alone was Buddha. These Zen masters contended that if Buddha could not be divided in parts, neither should the human mind. Therefore, in Zen Buddhism, there was no true mind or false mind, or separation of the mind and the senses, or any other dualities. Since Buddha was the mind, ultimate enlightenment and the mind were now in unity. From there, Zen Buddhists made another brave leap toward relationalism by further asserting that such connection was true not only of the mind, but also of dharmas, or the laws that governed the cosmos. Buddha was in all the things surrounding us – the noises, the lights, the fragrances, the delicious tastes, the flowers, even in the things that were ugly and repelling.16 “Sudden enlightenment” could happen in the raising of the eyebrows, a wave of the hand, or a waking moment of a dream, or when managing family relationships. Although Zen Buddhism still regarded the undisturbed mind as the inspiration, it acknowledged that the Buddha mind noticed all the complex connections through sensory inputs.17 The Buddha mind was capable of observing, interpreting and enlightening itself. With the revolutionary concept of “sudden enlightenment,” Zen Buddhism departed not only from the traditional Buddhist “mind of duality,” but also the “illusory” human sensory organs – the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, touch and mind. These “six roots” of desires were no longer blockages to be severed, but helpful bridges connecting the human mind with the environment and the enlightenment. They argued that the connections to the sensory world enabled the Buddha mind to keep Buddha within us and for sudden enlightenment to take place at anytime and anywhere as long as the Buddha mind was open to it. Typical Zen teachings included: “Point directly to the human mind”; “See your own nature and you become a Buddha”; and “Let your mind take its own course.”18 Kinship and friendship were no longer “illusory” or to be left behind. They are now conduits to the enlightening moments.19

74  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems That is to say that enlightenment was not to wipe out the earthly connections but to be aware of them and their movements while seeking moments of illumination. Here the earthly connections were no longer objects to be eliminated but were made instrumental for the wisdom in Zen’s Buddha mind. In its characteristic simplicity, Zen Buddhism paid close attention to the Chinese people’s realistic experiences. Wisdom no longer came just from meditation but also from living a normal life. As a matter of fact, contrary to the traditional Buddhist practice that aimed to lead a person “from a common life to Buddhahood,” Zen Buddhists encouraged followers to go “from Buddhahood to common life,” meaning to apply their Buddha mind to their experiences in this life. To put it in a different way, the Buddha mind and the “clouds (or contaminations)” were in a waxing and waning relationship. When the Buddha mind was in control, “clouds” receded; but when clouds took over, the Buddha mind contracted. Listening to such preaching, one would hear the echoes of Lao Zi and see the image of the yin/yang fish. Indeed, as time went by, it became increasingly harder to distinguish the Zen Buddha mind from Daoism. If relationalism was the essence of Daoism, Chinese Zen Buddhism could not avoid being influenced by it. In fact, those obvious similarities were frequently noted in books, poetry and popular entertainments. Both Lao Zi and Zen masters would happily nod to the poem by Lu Wen (772–811) wherein images of Zen and Daoism were mingled: “Water stays at no permanent spot and clouds float without a plan; wherever one passes is his previous life and wherever one stop is the world of enlightenment.”20 The user-friendly concepts of the Buddha mind and sudden enlightenment, in essence, were Chinese Buddhism’s beginning of true integration with the Chinese culture. While enlightenment was no longer the ultimate reality in another world, life on earth was to be embraced rather than rejected. Buddhism’s promise to Chinese believers was also quietly changing. The Zen Buddhists promised their followers no God, no heaven, not even the enlightenment in “Buddhist clean land.” Rather, the ultimate reward now was a peaceful mind amidst the present life in a hectic world. To a typical Chinese, a peaceful mind could only be achieved amongst a peaceful family and harmonious society. To that end, Zen Buddhists’ advice began to resonate with the relationalism that the Chinese people had practiced for centuries, namely, the Confucian virtue of filial piety toward parents and elders, brotherly love to siblings, and so on. After many centuries of internal and external changes, Zen masters came to agree with Confucius and Lao Zi that a peaceful and happy life could be attained, not after people toiled or died, but in this life and this world. By aligning with the frame of reference of the Chinese relational mind, the Zen Buddha mind finally merged into the deeply rooted Chinese relationalism. With the barriers gone and doors wide open, Zen became the most popular and enduring sect of Chinese Buddhism and its membership proliferated all over China. Today, although Zen Buddhism has gone international and there are countless versions of Zen in different countries, its core doctrine remains relational and Chinese.

10 Unification under relationalism Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systemsUnification under relationalism

Historians honored the sect of Zen as being Chinese Buddhism that completed Buddhism’s journey to the mainstream Chinese belief system. Although no one could pinpoint exactly when that took place, by the 12th century, nobody, whether a member of the elite or a commoner, would be surprised at the fundamental merger of Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism. Buddhist statuettes were set alongside those of Confucius or Daoist deities in traditional temples and private family shrines and were prayed to on equal footings for blessings. Entertainment halls and stages were livened by stories of magical powers of the legendary figures in all three doctrines. Popular culture aside, by the end of the first millennium, Chinese intellectuals were attracted to what Zen Buddhists described as “the other world,” not the world after death, but the world where they could choose to temporarily indulge in the “Buddha mind” of their own interpretation and to ignore their secular responsibilities or relationship troubles. When the door to the praying room closed behind them, they were free to enter that “other world” and opened their minds and hearts to the mesmerizing sound of the “wooden fish,” the smell of the incense, and the rare solitude. An emperor could put aside all urgent issues awaiting his decisions. A father could freely let out the suppressed sadness over the death or failure of his son. An artist could forget his empty stomach because he had not sold a painting for months. They were not Buddhists in the true sense. They only needed to be in “Zen” for a day or two to rest their tired bodies and exhausted minds and replenish their stamina just so that they could return again to face their “real world.” Since Zen Buddhism became part of their lives, these intellectuals had to find a way to integrate it. Confucian scholars began to write with Daoist ideas of metaphysics while Daoism-minded thinkers adopted some Buddhist cosmological theories and patterned their worshipping activities after how it was done in the Buddhist temples. Zen Buddhists incorporated not only Daoist terminologies but also Confucian concepts of man’s virtue and responsibilities to the family and the community. Scholars from the three doctrines co-authored treatises that advocated hygiene of the mind, neighborly cooperation and personal morality.1 Worshippers comfortably shared the belief that all existences in the world were connected and inevitably influenced by each other.

76  Roots of relationalism in Chinese belief systems By the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644 C.E.) Chinese worshippers appeared to follow the basic paradigm of “Buddha-Daoist messianism.” Ritual guidebooks, curing rites, exorcism, burial procedures, monastic life, historiography and concepts of sacred texts were intermingled with terminologies from the three doctrines.2 Outside the scholarly world and major cities, temples of mixed doctrines began to populate China’s well-known mountains, some being primarily Daoist and some Buddhist, but many had statues of all three doctrines co-existing under the same roof. Statuettes of Confucius, Lao Zi, as well as Gautama Buddha and other Daoist or Buddhist deities were seen sharing the same shrines and enjoying the same worshippers. The common sentiments toward such combined “truth systems” were well expressed in a pair of couplets posted on the front-door frame of a temple in Mt. Gao in Henan Province: “Endowments divided among Tian, the Earth, and Man; all belong to One Truth; Teachings drawn from Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism; all go on One Journey.”3 That strangely insightful couplet evidenced the popular recognition that all three doctrines shared the general intentions of helping the Chinese people design their lives fruitfully. People interpreted and absorbed the gist of three doctrines as complementary, not antagonistic ideas. In the minds of the worshippers, all three doctrines offered pragmatic relevance to their lives: Confucianism clarifies human relationships; Daoism advocates living a spontaneous life; and Buddhism urges enlightening the human mind. From there, the exemplary quality of virtue now became Buddhism by heart, Daoism by physique, and Confucianism by conduct. In more ways than one, the integration of the three doctrines enriched the Chinese selfhood. Historians call the integration sanjiao heyi (the unification of the three beliefs). Philosophically the unification was enabled by uniquely Chinese values. Though embracing their distinctive doctrinal principles, the three beliefs merged on the common ground of relationalism. Their shared views on human nature, optimism about life in this world, and the inherent relatedness of the cosmos are the premises of the unification. In their separate ways, the three doctrines offer their testimony to support and re-enforce the Chinese cultural value of relationalism. Their shared view of human nature is the cornerstone of the unification. All three doctrines build their theories on the belief that human nature is inherently good and that people are capable of becoming moral or wise or enlightened by following the “Dao,” be it the Confucian Dao, or Lao Zi’s Dao or the Buddhist Dao. Confucius repeatedly spoke of human nature as being innately good. This innate potential to be moral is the foundation of Confucius’s dream of a harmonious society. When everyone strives to be a person of the five virtues – benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom and trustworthiness – and when they come together to form a relational network, the only possible outcome is a peaceful and civilized society. Zen Buddhism gives Confucius’s “innate goodness” a new name – the “Buddha mind.” Although the Buddha mind must deal with the “clouds and fog” from time to time, its nature is wisdom and enlightenment. Lao Zi, meanwhile, came at human nature from a different angle. To Lao Zi, the innate Dao of man is a natural being like an infant who has the potential to grow into

Unification under relationalism 77 a loving, wise and peaceful human being. To thinkers of all three doctrines, the hope for an ideal society or a happy life thus rests on the innately moral, wise and enlightened human nature. Having their faith in virtuous human nature, all three doctrines embrace optimistic visions of human efforts and abilities to get out of the misery and despair of this world. Confucius spent his life teaching and advocating for people to become persons of virtue, because virtue is the gateway to avoid painful conflicts and destructive wars. He emphasizes benevolence and propriety as the best ways to ensure healthy relationships in the family as well as the community. Confucianism envisions a realistic harmonious society like the Zhou Dynasty that is formed by a network of many virtuous persons and families. Similarly, Daoism offers a map to a balanced life. Lao Zi taught us that Dao is in the nature of all things and all people through the understanding of interconnections. Balance means to stay clear of excessive temptations, which are the culprits of evil and suffering. Daoism embraces the belief that to live a healthy and happy life, one must be freed from indulgences and single-minded pursuits for material or intellectual achievements.4 Greediness for excessive possessions and obsessions for intellectual fame would offset the balance and cause personal or societal calamities. Buddhism travels alongside the similar path. When Zen Buddhists developed the radical concept of the Buddha mind, they believed that people’s natural instincts to love their families and their sensitivity to their environment would lead to the much sought after enlightenment. Underlying the shared optimistic views on human nature and a fulfilled life in relationalism, China’s three beliefs were eventually braided into a truly Chinese philosophical system. Today, the Chinese practice Confucian worshipping rituals in the same temple where they pray to Daoist and Buddhist deities. Most Chinese have been hard-pressed to call themselves Buddhist, Confucian or Daoist with any meaningful justification before; now they do not have to. The unification of Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism thus becomes the spiritual core of the Chinese culture. Complete with metaphysics, epistemology, life wisdoms and a vision of enlightenment, this three-legged belief system bears evidence of the extraordinary strengths of China’s relationalism to endure and assimilate.

Part III

“Guanxi” The sociological roots of relationalism

11 Some starting points

“Guanxi”Some starting points

No social phenomenon in China is more illustrative of relationalism than “guanxi.” The literal meaning of the Chinese word guanxi is “relationship(s)” or “connection(s).” Guanxi permeates every aspect of China’s political and economic life as well as every facet of common people’s daily experiences. Although guanxi is as old as the Chinese culture, its international “fame” is a recent phenomenon. In the last decade or two, the Chinese word “guanxi” suddenly caught the world’s attention and as a result, spread like wild fire among business circles in Europe and the United States. Simply typing in the word “guanxi” for a Google search yields over 1,000,000 results! Guanxi as a research topic for sociological studies has now made its way into higher learning and research institutions. Besides annual international conferences, there are on-going animated discussions about guanxi on the Internet, at corporate meetings, even in private living rooms. But if guanxi has been in the Chinese culture for thousands of years, why is there suddenly all this excitement? Most Western guanxi writers think that they are writing about a contemporary issue under the control of the Chinese Community Party. Few realize that guanxi as a way of living is actually thousands of years old. The earliest Chinese dictionary, shuowen jie zi (About Words), published in 121 C.E. listed guanxi as one of its collection of 9353 words. The ancient character for “guan” looks like two soldiers guarding a gate while that of “xi” shows a hand holding three strings. The ancient Chinese understood the importance of safeguarding the gate and tying things together. Hence, the most basic meaning of guanxi is just that: holding relations together and keeping them safe. The Chinese hold no copyright on the idea of guanxi. All humans, regardless of race and nationality, are born into “guanxi,” which is understood by practitioners as “the system of relationships that creates a basis for social interactions and of development of trust and co-operation.”1 Although guanxi is part and parcel of human existence, it is expressed differently in different cultures, none more obvious than the difference between an individualistic culture as in the Western countries and a relational culture like in China. Fei Xiaotong, the renowned professor at Beijing University and founder of Chinese sociology in the 1930s, compares Western social relationships to a haystack that consists of bundles of individual straws. Each straw maintains its original shape in the bundles and each bundle

82  “Guanxi” has its own boundaries from one another. When all these individual straws come together in an orderly way, they make the haystack or the Western society. On the other hand, Fei sees the Chinese social relationships as a body of water that ripples as it flows over rocks of different sizes. But in the ripples, although individual droplets exist, it is hard to discern where one drop stops and the others start.2 These different cultural mindsets enable distinct social and economic realities. In an individualistic and law-based society, human relations are products of interactions. In a relational society, however, hidden rules of relationalism drive interactions, even in court. Chinese guanxi puzzles individualistic-thinking Westerners who have not experienced life in a relational culture. These stark differences, based on dissimilar understandings of ideal relationships, often frustrate efforts to understand and operate in cross-cultural interactions. Westerners view with discomfort the Chinese sense of guanxi, while Chinese often tend to find Westerners lacking in the sensibility for building and sustaining proper relationships. Today, the world has become smaller and flatter. To survive and thrive in it, cooperation is a necessity, not an option. The need to understand other cultures and their operating systems has become urgent, especially when major world issues are no longer unilaterally resolvable by a single country and when competition for resources and markets intensifies. Cultural gaps prevent easy success, however. The agonies felt by the Western businesses as they set up operations in China underscore this point: to operate effectively in China, one must understand guanxi, and to understand guanxi, one must be effectively informed about its roots, nature and social functions. The booming interest in guanxi has led to many international conferences, among the first of which was an “International Conference on Guanxi” hosted by UC Berkeley in 1998, which set a direction for guanxi research. While academicians tried to answer the fundamental questions about guanxi, CEOs of Western corporations in China derived their own answers from their practical experiences. CEOs Scott Lane and W. John Hoffmann, for example, found “absolutely nothing idiosyncratic or unusual” about guanxi. “In its simplest forms,” they asserted, “guanxi compares with a bridge one can choose to cross or not.” In their observations, guanxi was simply “the ability to select or reject a friend based on mutual need and interest and complementary time horizons.” They analogized guanxi to “the good old-fashioned gentlemen trust and relationships that have molded Western societies over the centuries, such as in the city of London or between ship dealers in Japan and Norway where deals were done based on verbal contract.”3 On the other hand, Dan Harris, founder of a U.S. international law firm named Harris Moure, thought of Chinese guanxi as a grossly “overrated” marketing shortcut. He strongly advised American CEOs to steer clear of guanxi channels because “When you use guanxi as a shortcut in China commerce, the destination is usually business failure.”4 Although diverging views of guanxi added to the confusion about its roles in Chinese life, some efforts to investigate guanxi have yielded insightful information on aspects of the guanxi phenomena. Compared to the initial puzzlement in the 1990s, recent knowledge of guanxi has grown to remarkable breadth and

Some starting points 83 depth among Westerners who seek to improve their success rate in China. It has now become commonly understood that guanxi bears specific references to: (1) the pre-existence of a connection or relationship, (2) the status or nature of relationships among people who share a particularistic membership or experience, and (3) connections developed intentionally for resource exchange. The complexity built into these three layers of guanxi functions, however, qualifies it to be an inimitable Chinese phenomenon. Fully aware of the long eminence of guanxi in China’s history, some Chinese scholars cited Confucianism as the initiating and the guiding philosophy of guanxi. Others, however, argued that although Confucius was all about relationships, there is no evidence that he talked about guanxi as we know it today. Confucius advocated relationships as way to show “ren” (benevolence) and “li” (propriety) not for utilitarian gains. These scholars thought of the era of Confucius as the age when relationships were still “pure and simple goodness of humanity.” In other words, although relationalism is the essence of Confucianism, guanxi as a means of manipulation to gain advantage is a later development. Some insightful thinkers proposed that, to truly understand Chinese guanxi, one must carefully examine those “particularistic ties”5 that are the impetus behind it. Other scholars are intrigued by the common linguistic character “qing” – feelings or emotions – that label all major ties of guanxi. If language is indeed the “fossil” of history, this shared label of emotions in guanxi relationships may offer us a way to touch a new depth in our understanding. These scholars asked: Does “qing” or feelings determine the nature and future of guanxi? And if so, how? Any aspect of society involving human emotions is bound to be complex but none tops human relationships. Due to the intangible nature of emotional involvements, deciphering types of guanxi accurately is an ambition doomed to fall short. Our hope is only to find a perspective that allows for a more comprehensive understanding of the types of guanxi and their discernible behaviors along the continuum of affective investments. To that end, a three-legged model has been chosen to guide our discussion. The three legs of guanxi are qin qing (kinship), you qing (friendship) and ren qing (generic human relationship). The involvement of emotions in each of the three types is indicated by the same character qing, while the emotive behaviors differ by the types. Here is a brief definition of the three types: Qin qing (kinship) refers to affections for members of familial relationships – parent-child, siblings, husband-wife and extended kinships. As has been discussed in earlier chapters, kinship is at the root of China’s relational culture manifested in the long-held traditions of worshipping rituals. The Chinese culture holds that kinship shares the bloodline, which is designed by nature to be the most fundamental of all human connections. This type of guanxi involves the most profound affection, which sets the parameters for behavior and devotion that sometimes surpass rational reasoning and rules of reciprocity in guanxi. You qing (friendships) refers to affections between friends. But here “you qing” includes not just voluntarily formed friendships. Chinese you qing relationships include those “particularistic memberships” that are based on a shared experience

84  “Guanxi” in specific and memorable times, such as having been schoolmates, having survived a natural disaster together, having grown up in the same village, even having shared a prison cell, and so forth. You qing operates loosely by the rules of guanxi, mutual support of emotions and sharing resources being some of them. Reciprocity is important, but mostly not on a set schedule or with fixed values. Ren qing (generic human relationship) refers to generic feelings toward people that one happens to come in contact with or with a clear utilitarian agenda. Unlike the previous two guanxi ties that contain a mutual affectionate sentiment toward the other person in the relationship, ren qing relations are developed most often intentionally. Business relationships fall into this category. “Paying what I have for what I want” is the goal of ren qing. The feelings involved in ren qing are unlikely to be heart-felt. Rather than affectionate fondness or similarly deep concerns, admiration of the other person’s position, skills or power is the dominant emotion. Ren qing as guanxi is built on the agreement of timed reciprocation and mutual benefit. Once such implied agreement is broken or the goal is met, this type of guanxi fades. With these definitions in mind, the following chapters will take a closer study of kinship, friendship and generic relationships as well as how they overlap and interconnect to create an encompassing relational network that covers all aspects of Chinese life.

12 Qin qing (kinship emotions)

“Guanxi”Qin qing (kinship emotions)

As noted earlier, the word “qin qing” represents deeply felt affections towards kinship members. Kinship is commonly defined as relationships that humans are born or married into. All humans are born into a kinship network of parents, grandparents, possibly aunts and uncles, and/or nieces and nephews. Because of such inherent blood ties, kinships are often used in many societies as a gauge in settling legal matters. But a closer examination of kinship may quickly reveal the hidden cultural influences not only in how the family is defined and terms used to describe the kinships, but also the socially acceptable behaviors amongst kin. In this chapter, kinship in China is used synonymously with “extended family” or “clan.” One of China’s oldest books, published in 239 B.C.E.,1 described Chinese kinship guanxi this way: Kinship is an instinctive relationship between humans, as flesh is to bones. Parents and children are like one body that is seen as two; or one inhalation of breath that is exhaled by two. They could be physically separated but still emotionally linked. Their inner feelings are enmeshed. When one is in illness and pain, the other also feels sick and will do anything to help. Worries are shared, so are elations. While both live, they celebrate their lives and happiness together; when one dies, the other hurts to the core. That is kinship – the relationships between flesh and bones. By the same logic, sibling relationship was commonly described as “shouzu qing,” meaning “connected like arms and legs, even if the bones are broken, the nerves remain connected.” Confucianism sees an individual life as a continuity of the lives of the parents, who in turn succeeded their ancestors. Many such intrinsic guanxi – all deemed to be sacred and unbreakable – thus sprang from kinship. As a Confucian culture, Chinese society regards kinship as the most natural and stable human relationship. From the vantage point of the ancient Chinese, communities and the state were simply larger and more complex family networks; hence anyone who wanted to manage the society must first know how to manage his own family. The assertion was that through provisions to their members with stability, education, protection and needed resources, the harmonized families

86  “Guanxi” would then bring about an orderly society. Confucius, for one, built his entire theory of relationalism on his observations of such powerful innate and unbreakable kin emotions. Practically, the Chinese family carried yet another important social function viz. maintaining the continuity of the culture by passing down its wisdom and traditions to the younger generation. For centuries, the family was the first place where the young learned self-discipline, respect and obedience toward the family elders as authorities. During the long period of socialization within the family or domestic group, the children were regularly taught the proper attitudes and behavioral patterns toward their various relatives. These patterns were in essence cultural ideals and behavioral norms, the observance of which was reinforced in a variety of ways. Professor Benjamin Schwartz made an insightful observation of a Confucian family: To Confucius, it is precisely in the family that humans learn those virtues which redeem the society, for the family is precisely the domain within which authority comes to be accepted and exercised not through reliance on physical coercion but through the binding power of religious and moral sentiments based on kinship ties. It is within the family that we find the root of public virtue.2 The eminence of family as a social institution in China is well evidenced in the Chinese language. The character 家 (jia, family) serves as the building block of vocabulary for many kinship activities. A family home is “jia ting” (家庭) – a courtyard of a home where family activities take place. When a woman gets married, she is said to “嫁” (jia), or be taken to her husband’s family – the left side of the character means female and the right side means family. To be productive and harmonious, family activities need to be administered; hence the head of the family is called jia zhang (家长). The out-branched families form a clan called jia zu (家族). Many families made up a nation, which is called guo jia (国家) or nation of families. Seeing the world from this perspective, the Chinese took to heart Confucius’s counsel that one must be a virtuous person first before he could have a healthy family, which would then lead to a harmonious state. Since public relations were built on the foundation of kinship, maintaining a strong kinship network was a constant concern in dynastic China. This concern is well reflected in the careful discerning of relationships in the family because each relationship functions with a different set of rules. Chinese kinship was differentiated along the patriarchal line. If the ways members address each other appear confusing to a Western ear, it is. The complexity arose from the important nuances of ritual ceremonies, especially for ancestor worship, where seating was determined by each member’s relationship to the ancestors being worshiped. According to the paternal bloodline, relatives and marital associates on the father’s side were inside the memorial hall for the event, while those on the mother side might have to stand outside. Such family order was called Tian lun,

Qin qing (kinship emotions) 87 the basic order of the universe. Violation of the order was called “luan lun,” messing up the order, which would incur serious punishment from Tian and the society. To maintain that order, just like the many descriptors for snow in the Eskimo language, the Chinese relied on painstakingly differentiating terms for Chinese family relationships. For example, paternal grandparents are called “yeye” and “nainai” while maternal grandparents are “gonggong” and “popo.” There are five distinct ways in which “I” would be expected to address the aunts and uncles based on if they are on my father’s side or my mother’s side as well as their birth order. For instance, “I” would call father’s younger brother “Shufu” but call his older brother “Bofu,” but call mother’s brothers “jiujiu” and so on. Similar delineation is also applied to what Americans would simply call “cousins” – on my father side, they are “tang” brothers and sisters, while those related maternally are “biao” brothers and sisters. Since family denotes the closest relationships, family titles are often used to label other critical social relationships. For example, government officials were called “fumuguan” (parent officials); people apprenticed with the same master were “shixiongdi” (older/younger brothers with the same teacher); and the master was “shifu” (father teacher), and so on. Whenever a relationship adopts a familial title, that relationship would then take on some kinship connotations. One would be fully expected to respect and obey “parental officials” or “father teachers” in similar ways as one would toward birth parents or elderly family members. It should be duly noted here that, even though women were regarded as subordinate to men in society, in the family, children were expected to respect their mothers and grandmothers. Many a well known story in Chinese classic literature told of such respect. Over thousands of years, the traditional Chinese family was made stable by various social and environmental factors, one of which was geographical isolation due to lack of roads. In the rural areas, for generations upon generations, people tended to be born and to die in the same village. As a result, families proliferated but naturally stayed nearby and remained reliant on each other for survival. Over time, it became common for almost all residents in a village to be members of the same extended family. It was not unusual for villages to simply name their village with the family name. Opening a detailed map of China, one would notice numerous such place names as the Chen Village, the Zhang Family’s Hill, or the Tang Family’s Bay. The more isolated the area, the greater likelihood of such names. Physical immobility resulted in more convoluted relationships. Relatives were not only kin to one another; they might be neighbors and workmates, even marital candidates. But as in all closely inhabited group dwellings, human conflicts were frequent occurrences. The tortuous affiliations made a courteous guanxi all the more important for everyone’s sanity and survival. For that purpose, reciprocity was carefully enforced. Every household was expected to follow the wisdom in the sayings, “Return in ten times for every indication of respect I receive” and “For every drop of water given to me, I will repay the kindness with a spring.” Inadvertently, the lack of mobility coupled with the conscientious efforts to enforce relational harmony permanently solidified the Chinese kinship system, giving it

88  “Guanxi” purpose of existence, lasting stability and functionality – so much so that when travel became possible, people who migrated carried the village kinship culture with them to their new urban destinations where they developed quasi-kinships with new close friends and their families. As described in Part I, in addition to the daily help-and-be-helped interactions, kinship-based clans also played the roles of redistributing resources to the member families, offering welfare to help the needy, enforcing disciplinary actions to maintain order in the village, providing legal or financial consultation during times of trouble, and even organizing military protection when the village was threatened by bandits. In agrarian China where work depended primarily on manpower, able bodies were valuable resources. Kinship clans regularly offered labor sharing. During busy seasons such as spring planting or autumn harvesting, the clan/village leaders would organize able-bodied members to assist the feeble or widowed members to get the crops planted or harvested. The cliché of “it takes a village to raise a child” described the real effort amongst kinship since every woman was a granny or aunty to a child. Such communal childcare effort was the norm, not the exception. Moreover, the dynastic government’s reliance on the family for support and assistance had in effect institutionalized the status of the Chinese kinship guanxi. Throughout China’s imperial era, dynastic rulers recognized the importance of maintaining and supporting the kinship systems for social stability. In a vast country like China, the central government had to depend upon a guanxi network to disseminate information and collect feedbacks from millions of people at the grassroot level. Mediating between the demands of the ruling class and the needs of the local people, clans were developed into an effectual governance arm. As long as the kinship systems continued to fulfill such quasi-governmental functions as policing, peace-keeping and redistribution of resources to the needy families, the government would maintain connection with the clans and support the kinship guanxi network to be a legitimate grassroots institution. Over China’s long past to the present, kinship guanxi continues to carry the complex elements of deep affections, high trust and expectations. Among family expectations, the most emphasized of all is the obliged reciprocity of love and care that is unique to kinship. The intricacies of kinship guanxi are brilliantly portrayed in China’s classic literature, among which is an all-time favored novel entitled A Dream of the Red Mansion.3 The novel was written in the 17th century but is still considered highly relevant to today’s family relationships. It is still regarded by critics and readers today as the “encyclopedia of traditional Chinese family relationships.” In its 120 chapters, A Dream of the Red Mansion presents, in great detail and depth, the complex family guanxi in the numerous dyads in an upper-class clan. Especially poignant are the accounts of the agonies and perplexities of the life struggles experienced by dyad relationships: individual desires and demands from their relationships, love and pain, give and take, compromises, sacrifices and conflicts, even betrayal under the name of “best intentions.” The many intricacies and surprises, twists and tangles add color to family life while emotions gel all together. For the extended kinship relationships, returning affections

Qin qing (kinship emotions) 89 or generosity is an unwritten but expected obligation. Although Chinese parents are generous in giving to their children, their children are expected to reciprocate in some ways, such as obeying parental wills or bringing a good name to the family. The main character of the book, Jia Baoyu refused the future and the marriage that his family had expected of him. In the eyes of the traditional society, Baoyu had disgraced his family and himself. Such was Chinese kinship guanxi. Love and support were given generously but obedience and sacrifice were expected as returns. These family dynamics remain largely true in today’s China even though the urban family is undergoing unprecedented changes in the 21st-century industrialized market economy. As long as the family remains the main source of financial and emotional support, the kinship guanxi continues to play an important role in China’s social network. Family members continue to maintain kinship relationships by going to great lengths to satisfy the needs and wants of another family member, even risking crossing the legal line. Many a fallen official has confessed that to repay the love and care they have received from their families, they had no choice but to fulfill the obligations even if that involves abuse of government power.

13 You qing (friendship emotions) “Guanxi”You Qing (friendship emotions)

The guanxi tie called “you qing” (friendship) carries a complexity unmatched by kinship. Some Chinese use the words “sweet, sour, bitter and spicy” to describe their friendship experiences; others moan that friendship is something which one can neither live with nor live without. Although all humans experience this type of relationship, when mixed with a dash of unique “Chinese-ness” such a friendship may bear different traits. Ever since Confucius made friendship one of the five cardinal human relationships, many other Chinese authors have further elaborated on what makes an ideal friend or friendship. In the classic The Book of Rites, an anonymous author elucidated the Confucian view on friendship: The friendship of a Confucian must share similar interests and life outlooks. The friends have the same goals and share their efforts in perfecting themselves. They consider themselves as equals to each other and take pleasure in their companionship. Gaps in their family backgrounds never even cross their minds. They trust each other firmly and would not entertain any rumor about the other even after they have departed. Their friendship is built on honesty, loyalty, and love.1 Some Western philosophers nodded their agreement. To decipher the important human phenomenon called friendship, Aristotle postulated that there must be something that motivated people to desire a relationship with the other. He famously pointed to three primary reasons which he believed would inspire people to form a friendship: utility, pleasure and virtue. Based on his taxonomy, Aristotle categorized non-familial human relations into friendships of pleasure, of the good or virtue, and of utility.2 Many later Western thinkers agree that there indeed exists a common sentiment that catches the gist of Aristotle’s friendship, namely, the voluntary and lasting interdependence between two persons which is intended to facilitate socio-emotional goals of the participants and may involve varying types and degrees of companionship, intimacy, affection and mutual assistance.3 Aristotle’s friendships of the good and friendships of pleasure align with what the Chinese would call friendship, or you qing, while friendship of utility fits better in the last guanxi type called “ren qing,” or generic human relationships. In China,

You qing (friendship emotions) 91 friendships of the good are the most valued human connections outside kinship. In fact, the Aristotelian word “philia,” which normally describes the affectionate and respectful way a person treats parents or family elders, describes the emotive connection between Chinese friends of the good. Conspicuous amongst friends of the good is not only what Aristotle would call a reciprocal “goodwill,” but there is also a mutual commitment as if between family members. Some people therefore argue that friendship carries more significance in human life than kinship, for the reason that kinship is a given while friends of the good are voluntarily chosen. Just as Aristotle said, “Those who wish good things to their friends for the sake of the latter are friends most of all, they do so because they are friends themselves, and not coincidentally.”4 Ancient Chinese thinkers implicitly agreed. At the time of the early settlements, resources and support for survival came primarily from the clan. As improved roads began to take people away from home to areas where opportunities were more readily available for a better life and when moving beyond the reach of kin, one’s survival and support had to be entrusted to non-kin people. The shared survival needs and personal qualities naturally forged a relationship among nonfamily members who took care of each other like a surrogate kin. Unlike friendship of pleasure, where pleasure was the binding agent, true friends were expected to stick together through “thick and thin,” or as in the Chinese saying, “sharing the sweet as well as the bitter.” Withstanding the ordeals of hard times and life challenges, such friendships were considered to carry life-and-death significance. “At home relying on family and away relying on friends” was a bit of Chinese household wisdom. As a matter of fact, it was a common practice for entrusted friends to “adopt” each other as brothers or sisters through some ritual. In one ritual, the adopted brothers or sisters exchanged vows to inform Tian of their wish to become kin, and asked for Tian’s blessing for the newly adopted siblings. As part of the ritual, the new “brothers” or “sisters” would pray “to die on the same day in the same month of the same year.” Some would go so far as to literally exchange blood – each making a cut on the wrist or palm and putting the bleeding cuts together. Or they would drink a bowl of alcohol with their blood mixed in it. Such acts symbolized the newly established “blood relationship,” or kinship. Once such quasi-kinship was formed, their friendship became kin-like and could not be easily terminated. Of course, true friendships of that sort were fairly rare, as reflected in sayings such as “Spring breezes join friends everywhere, but finding a true zhiyin is extremely difficult.” The literal translation for “zhiyin” is a true friend who understands one’s music or feelings. The word came from a popular but true story that made “zhiyin” a symbol of true friendship. Here, the story of zhiyin may enable us to better understand the Chinese version of friendships of the good: Toward the end of the Warring Era (circa. 770–221 B.C.E.), in the State of Jin, there was a diplomat named Yu Boya, a gifted musician who played the ancient instrument called yao qin, or the heptachord.5 Yu was assigned to a mission in the State of Chu and his journey to Chu took several days by riverboat. One night, Yu had his boat anchored at a bay by a remote mountain. The surreal beauty of

92  “Guanxi” nature – the bright full moon, the river’s smooth flow, the absolute quietude and the seclusion of the mountain – deeply touched Yu. He brought his heptachord out on the deck and began to play. Yu was emotionally immersed in the music when he was suddenly startled by a dark shadow under a tree on the riverbank. Yu stopped playing and asked, “Who is there? Are you a ghost or a human? What do you want from me?” The shadow said, “No need to be alarmed, sir. My name is Zhong Ziqi. I make my living by cutting and selling firewood. I was late coming home tonight and was attracted by your heart-touching music that fills the air, so I stopped by just to listen. I am very moved by your feelings flowing out of the music.” Yu was pleasantly surprised that in this deep mountain he would find a perfect stranger who could understand his music. He invited Zhong to come on board. Yu played more music for Zhong and they carried on a deep discussion about music and feelings, their life stories, their hopes and dreams, yearnings and agonies and families and friendships. Their conversations flowed about as freely as the night breeze and as deep as the river. Their hearts sparkled and they felt in one another the connection of a long-lost brother. When the sun rose, Yu had to continue on his journey. They said goodbye but promised one another that they would meet again the following year on the same day and at the same spot when Yu returned from his mission. A year soon passed and Yu had completed his assignment. On his way home, Yu stopped at the same bay on the day as they had promised each other. He waited and waited, but his friend Zhong did not show. Yu became worried and went on shore to look for Zhong. After much trouble, he found an old man who knew Zhong. The old man told Yu that Zhong had died of a sudden illness two months earlier. Before he took his final breath, said the old man, Zhong requested that he be buried on the spot by the river where he first heard Yu’s music, because when Yu came by again he wanted to be there to enjoy the music with Yu. Yu was heartbroken. He went back to the boat and took his heptachord to Zhong’s grave where all day he played his old and new music for Zhong as tears streamed down his face. When night came, Yu stopped playing. He stood up and bowed to Zhong’s grave. Then, before anyone could stop him, he smashed his heptachord on a rock! He said, “Ziqi, the only person who knew the music of my heart is you and with you gone, there is no more point of playing.” The villagers were very touched by their friendship. To commemorate their story, the villagers built a monument by the rock and named it the “Heptachord Platform.” This rock is still there today and the story added a new word “zhiyin” to the Chinese dictionary for true friendship, or “friendship of the good.” Stories of true friendships abound in Chinese literature. In addition to historical records and legends, Chinese classic literature portrays many memorable friends of virtue. Amongst the best known is The Three Kingdoms. Set in the warring era of 220 B.C.E. The Three Kingdoms tells a deeply moving story of friendships that united three good friends for life. Outlaws of the Marsh portrays the friendships of 108 outlaws who supported each other in their mission of righting the wrong for the oppressed people. Journey to the West tells an imaginary journey of a Buddhist and his disciples to study in India. The five friends traveled on foot over hundreds

You qing (friendship emotions) 93 of dangerous miles, overcoming life-and-death perils and remaining loyal to each other. These and many other classic stories describe extraordinary selfless sacrifice for one another and the triumph of friendship. Such stories have been made into numerous local operas, songs, stories to be told in tea houses, and in today’s movies. The enduring popularity of these stories reflects a culture where virtuous relationships are desired and cherished. These are what Aristotle described as “the complete sorts of friendship between people who are good and alike in virtue . . . .”6 If it is indeed possible for “a single soul to dwell in two bodies,” friendship of virtue comes closest to it. Between friends of virtue, sharing is voluntary, generous and sincere. Similar to kinship, reciprocation occurs naturally across many aspects in such friendships, but the most valued is a deep emotional understanding and unconditional support. Boundaries between these friends are present but flexible because the friend is just like another “me,” as Aristotle would say. Guanxi corruptions have little chance of going near such friendship because just as a virtuous person would not allow oneself to act against one’s moral principles, neither would friends of virtue ask or prompt one another to fall onto the wrong track. It is easy to understand that losing such a friend sometimes feels even more devastating than losing a kin, for it would be just like losing a part of oneself. The love, kindness, generosity, loyalty, self-sacrifice and devotion in a true friendship of virtue make life worth living in an otherwise increasingly impersonal world. But virtuous friends are not easy to find, so many Chinese settle for what they would call “friendship of shared experience.” The Chinese “friendship of shared experience” refers to relationships formed based on common experiences in memorable events, whether pleasurable or the opposite. Some of the shared experiences are voluntarily chosen and preferred, but some happen due to mere circumstance. Other than pleasurable experiences, the “shared experiences” might result from being co-survivors of some natural disaster or of some political turmoil. People who meet in those unforgettable experiences become sharers of that special memory, and hence become connected. Even though this type of connection is not as deep, there is that feeling of being special to each other that qualifies it as friendship. To qualify for “friendship of shared experience,” the shared experience has to have left such a strong emotional impact that the mention of it naturally conjures up a resonant feeling toward the other person. The emotion that the experience arouses makes them “insiders” of the experience. Fellow “insiders” often share insider stories, insider information, insider jokes and shared insider feelings of that particular memory; and “outsiders” have no way of entering. Many American combat veterans live in such a shared insider’s world even decades after their war experiences ended. These powerful memories build an exclusive world where the friends of shared experience reside. Perhaps, to describe relationships of shared experiences, the Chinese character of “you” (friend) is better translated as “mate.” People who have attended the same school are called “xiao you” schoolmates; those who have served in the same military unit are “zhan you” – battle-mates; those who enjoy drinking

94  “Guanxi” together are “jiu you” – drinking mates; those who belong to the same club or organization are “hui you” – club-mates; those who play on the same sports team are “dui you” – teammates; those who work together are “gong you” – workmates; and those who share the same prison cell are “nan you” – suffering-mates. In modern days, those who take road trips together in a motor vehicle jokingly name themselves “lu you” – “mule-mates” from the nickname of motor vehicles as “gas-guzzling mules.” Out of all these shared experiences may grow that unique emotional connection that qualifies the “mates” to be what are generally called friends in the Chinese culture. Among the diverse common experiences that formed friendships, two hold special significance today in the guanxi culture: the teacher-student relationship and the geo-linear relationship. Compared to other common experiences, these two types of guanxi stand out because of their association with kinship. Throughout history, the teacher-student relationship has been analogous to the parent-child relationship in that parents give a child life education by word and example, while the teacher leads the child to the wider wisdom of the human world. In such a relationship in China, the student acts like a member of the teacher’s family, addressing the teacher as “shifu” (teacher father) and his wife as “shimu” (teacher mother). The common belief about such a relationship is that “Once a teacher, forever a father (or mother).” It should be noted here that the term “teacher” has a more inclusive connotation than just a schoolteacher. It refers also to someone who teaches specific trades such as carpentry, acrobatics, herbal medicine or martial arts. Such special relationship obliges respects and obedience from the student just like a child’s sense of obligation toward their parents. The shared memories of youthful years establish a special connection that lasts for life. The other distinctive guanxi has to do with relationships among people of a shared geographical vicinity – the village or city where they were born or where their family lives. The family undertone in this relationship is easy to detect. In a rural setting – which is still most of China today – villages are the likely place where generations of an extended family or a clan live. In such cases, people usually have rich genealogical connections with each other. When meeting away from home, a kinship-like feeling swells up. That emotional connection often triggers a strong guanxi relationship, which obligates the fellow sojourners to take care of each other and reciprocate kindnesses. Even after long separations, friendships of shared experience tend to remain intact. Thus, when the time is right, the friendship can be easily rekindled. Perceivably, some of these relationships may grow into friendships of virtue when a deep trust develops from the mutual recognition of the quality, personality or ability in the other person. Due to the fact that many shared experiences are temporal and fortuitous, these friendships commonly lack the necessary ethical and emotional foundations for further development. This lack, along with the social pressures and expectations of reciprocity and altruism, too often make such a friendship fall prey to a nefarious form of guanxi. When a friend of shared experience asks for help – even if it is for gaining some unmerited privilege or advantage, or some similarly brash special favor – the

You qing (friendship emotions) 95 request has to be taken seriously. The consequence of refusing to lend, or appearing to lend the desired aid could well tarnish one’s reputation as a friend or, even worse, cause the friendship to be terminated. The next time around it might well be the favor-giver who is seeking a favor and without proper response, a friend offended today could turn into an enemy tomorrow. It is common practice, therefore, to succumb, if at all possible, to the pressure of being a “good” friend, and to be obliging – even if being obliging requires one to step beyond the line of legality. An official 2014 survey on the causes of corruption among top cadres of government workers found that the bulk of the crimes in high places were laid at the feet of the nefarious extremes of guanxi – social pressure to fulfill friends’ requests. The underbelly of the “acquaintance or friendship culture” was top-listed as the compelling explanation by the fallen government officials as a significant cause of their having crossed the legal line with their power and money.7 All Chinese have friends of shared experience; hence no one is exempt from the social pressure to help friends out in times of need. In a society that practices relationalism, everyone’s needs, sooner or later, are met by someone else, and millions of such interactions form a vast social network of guanxi. In more ways than one, being connected to this guanxi network gives life both a sense of belonging and potentially hazardous challenges. Sun Longji from Taiwan even went so far as to say that if friendship of shared experience were taken out of the life of a Chinese person, there would be little left.8 Indeed, one goes to work with work-mates, comes home to interact with neighbors or housemates, enjoys a beer with a drinkmate, goes to a weekend club of some sort with a club-mate, laughs or cries with a classmate or army mate, and shares information with a village mate. To maintain these friendships, one has to behave according to the unwritten reciprocal cues: to help out when you can or are called upon and to feel free to solicit help from others when you need or want it. Managing friendship needs and wants is a fine line Chinese people have to walk. Friendships of shared experience seldom endure when tested. They are more likely to become enriched and rise to the level of friendships of virtue – or to fall into what Aristotle called “friendships of utility” – friendships formed principally for the purpose of exchanging resources. At best, “friendship of utility” is commonly formed merely to make a deal. The relationship of utility usually fades away after the deal is struck or the requester’s needs are met. The Chinese labeled it “ren qing.”

14 Ren qing (generic human emotions) “Guanxi”Ren Qing (generic human emotions

The guanxi practices that have been equated to cronyism by the Western media and business circles mostly fall into the category of ren qing guanxi or friendship of utility. Western depictions of ren qing guanxi are commonly negative for good reasons. This type of relationship is not anchored in virtue or concerns for the other person, or even in law. Its anchor is mostly in the value of the exchange. But, if this is indeed a behavior found commonly in human relationships everywhere, can ren qing be exclusive to Chinese culture? Or is it the “dark matter” in human nature? Ren qing can be literally translated as human (ren) emotions (qing) – generic and basic. In the largest sense, ren qing describes the broad spectrum of human emotions involved in general social interactions. The ancient Book of Rites defined ren qing as follows: “What is so called ren qing? Ren qing consists of happiness, anger, sadness, fear, hatred, and desire; all of them are emotions acquired at birth.” An individual who is capable of understanding these sentiments in others and properly acting with these emotions is said to have ren qing. As such, there exists a humanistic ren qing, namely, the acquaintances nearby us by physical vicinity or work association, who are able to lend a timely helping hand in an emergency. In parts of China where geographical distance is an isolating barrier, neighbors provide important and convenient support to one another. This is especially true in towns and cities where, unlike village dwelling, family is too far to reach for emergency or sudden needs. During war times, for example, while men were out fighting, women had to take care of the elderly, the young as well as the crops, the cattle, pigs or businesses. Neighbors would pool their resources to take care of these needs. Some would attend to the fields or the shops; others prepared food and took care of children and the elderly. At such times, neighbors were obviously more helpful than kin who lived a distance away. Similar instances of goodwill can be seen in charitable fundraising, exchanged babysitting and many other purposeful and mutually benefiting exchanges. Focused on such mutual needs, the relationship of utilitarian tends to be pragmatic and circumstantial. Although occasionally a utilitarian guanxi may develop into a true friendship, most stay with need-helping or sharing at hand. After the needs are fulfilled, the grounds for the relationship dissolve and people go back to their separate lives. There is little opportunity or need for higher-level trust to

Ren qing (generic human emotions) 97 form; hence deep emotional connection or intimacy seldom develops. As more and more people move into compartmentalized apartment buildings, family life goes on behind closed doors. Traditional neighborly relationships become relics of a fading past. In more ways than one, modernization has gradually nudged humanitarian ren qing toward the utilitarian end. In his book, Foundations of Chinese Psychology, Professor Hwang from the University of Taiwan offers his observation that, in a relational setting, ren qing must function at two levels. The first is that ren qing must have exchange-values that are desirable to the other party; and the second is that, to maintain the relationship the individuals in ren qing must abide by the social norm of reciprocation.1 As such, ren qing is often talked about as a “thing” – a gift, an opportunity, a debt and so forth. For example, when one is invited to a wedding banquet, the invitation is regarded as a ren qing, or a way to show respect. Accepting the invitation and attending the banquet is also a ren qing, or a way to return the respect. In business circles, the reciprocity of helping and being helped is based on ren qing. When a businessman asks for and receives a helping hand, he owes the helper a ren qing and if he fails to reciprocate with a proper ren qing within a reasonable timeframe, he loses something valuable – his credibility in the business circle because his behavior shows no ren qing. Indeed, in the modern guanxi culture, the relationships built on giving and receiving have gone beyond simple expressions of goodwill. ren qing guanxi has become a tradable resource in and of itself. From this perspective, ren qing comes closest to what Aristotle termed “friendship of utility.” Although Aristotle was wary of declaring that a utilitarian relationship qualified as a “friendship,” the term definitely describes the ren qing guanxi. The focus of ren qing guanxi is the resource and the other person’s ability to afford that resource for trading. Unlike kinship and virtuous friendships, in which affective connections and true caring anchor the relationships, ren qing invokes a sense of admiration of the other person’s position, credibility, power and possession of resources, with a noticeable absence of any investment of deep personal affection.2 Actions to develop that relationship are purposeful and utilitarian. Reciprocity is expected. In fact, it is the most important principle in building and maintaining a friendship of utility. As a means to satisfy one’s needs for resources, utilitarian guanxi resonates with the concept of “social capital” proposed by sociologist Pierre Bourdieu. Bourdieu defined “social capital” as the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to possession of a durable network of more or less institutionalized relationships of mutual acquaintance and recognition – or in other words, to membership in a group – which provides each of its members with the backing of the collectively-owned capital, a ‘credential’ which entitles them to credit, in the various senses of the word. Though some believed that social capital in its original form was a neutral resource, Bourdieu argued that the use or abuse of such social connections could

98  “Guanxi” lead to inequality by gaining access to powerful positions or resources that otherwise would not have been available.3 In other words, “social capital” is like many other things in human society that are not malevolent in and of themselves, but could perform malevolence in the wrong hands. Bourdieu could not have described the Chinese ren qing guanxi better than that. When ren qing guanxi functions as a form of “social capital,” it can be invested and withdrawn, or accumulated and spent. It can be helpful and handy in a positive way but it is a slippery slope when mixed with greed and selfishness, especially when compelled by the rule of reciprocity. Reciprocity is an important judgment of trustworthiness in social capital, and so is it in ren qing guanxi. In China today, values for exchange and reciprocation can be such mundane things as admission to a preferable daycare for a child or a front seat to a popular ball game. But what gains public notoriety are the large-scale abuses that show up as unfair advantage for a desired promotion, or for hard-to-obtain bank loans, or under-the-table promises of a favored bid on a lucrative government project, or in simply being silently compliant in an illegal deal. In recent years, ren qing guanxi corruptions have escalated to new heights. Many have involved extravagant banquets with expensive liquors and wines. At these lavish drinking events, ren qing is seen in abundance. With round after round of “Gan bei” (“bottoms-up!”) toasts – out of which has grown the saying that “To leave a social meal sober is to leave without having enjoyed yourself” – costly “gifts” change hands and illegal deals are completed. Drinking to make deals has been a serious problem. CEOs, party and government leaders, court judges, promotion seekers, even college professors, all complain about their health being ruined by such out-of-control ren qing drinking, but few dare to reject the invitation. They know too well that they have been caught in a vicious cycle, which starts with one person hosting a drinking banquet in exchange for something, followed by others reciprocating the “generosity” with more drinking banquets, during which even bigger deals are struck. So the dangerous ball keeps rolling and the corruptive cycle swirls in more and more people.

15 Guanxi opens access to resources “Guanxi”Guanxi opens access to resources

The three types of guanxi – kinship, friendship and generic human relationship – all contain affective ties of different degrees. But just like many human activities, relationships also have an economic underbelly. Sometimes it is insidiously at work even when people try to ignore it. The ages-old Confucianism has engrained in the Chinese mind that religiously following the moral code alone will dissolve social conflicts and lead to social harmony. But in actuality, the Confucian dream of a harmonious society has never been completely achieved, because of the simple reason that social harmony also hinges upon the inequities built into the economic distribution system of the day. In the hierarchically stratified imperial society that Confucius knew so well, resources were concentrated in the possession of the powerful few. The lowly ranked commoners had no choice but to try to secure their survival resources through some unofficial pathways or personal connections, called guanxi – a relational network consisting of extended family and friends. Widespread and effective, this guanxi network served as an underground redistributive mechanism that helped to ease the stark inequities. Some scholars have called this form of guanxi the “lubricant” of the Chinese society. Forms of rapacious behavior are seen in stressful situations in the worlds of flora and fauna as well as in human society. Darwinian studies tell us that those who fail to compete successfully when life resources – sunshine, water or other proper nutrients – are in short supply face extinction. That limited survival resources and their unfair distribution had been a chronic element in Chinese history helps to explain how reliance on guanxi became a pervasive way of life in the Chinese culture. Understanding of such a crooked economic system also helps to reveal how the “guanxi lubricant” oiled a slippery slope for the criminally corrupt. To understand how guanxi became a deeply entrenched social behavior in the Chinese culture, let us take a brief overview of how economic resources were distributed historically in Chinese society. While the term “resources” conjures up ideas of finances such as real estate, sources of energy, or cold cash, here “resources” denotes a much broader meaning. In addition to material assets, “resources” includes services or opportunities that are needed for a person or organization to function normally. In the stratified Chinese society, “resources” include such uncommonly thought-of things as social privileges, physical

100  “Guanxi” strengths, opportunities, education and even emotional support. Although seemingly far-fetched, emotional resources provide the necessary motivation and stamina to strive for a better life. A lonely person without emotional support finds it hard to gear up enough energy to initiate action or to persist when facing setbacks. For hundreds of years, for example, studying for and passing the mandarin exams held almost the only chance for male commoners to gain upward mobility in imperial China. In a country where the number of people was always greater than available opportunities and where many lacked the necessary financial and emotional resources, opportunity was limited to a minority of the general population. At a basic level, access to elemental agricultural supplies such as land and water was critical to life in an agricultural society. In fact, during China’s imperial times, peasants accounted for over 90% of the population but land was concentrated in the hands of the elite. The life dream of the peasants was simply to have a fair share of arable land and production resources. Struggles to gain access to those resources repeatedly triggered peasant uprisings in China’s long history. Victories in those wars did result in a fairer distribution of resources – but only for a brief time. Realizing that uprisings caused more chaos and damage than solutions to their problems, peasants turned to guanxi, or relationships with the right person in the right position for help. They might obtain the needed help. But developing such relationships was a costly undertaking. Economists know that resources can be seen as commodities which contain use-value and exchange-value. The use-value refers to the inherent usefulness of the resource, be it a product, a service or an opportunity. Whether or not the resource is being traded, its use-value exists just the same. The exchange-value of a resource, meanwhile, refers to the quality or quantity of a resource that is tradable for something else. Having use-value does not necessarily give a resource an exchange-value, but a resource would not have an exchange-value without its inherent use-value. In other words, regardless of demands, a useful resource has intrinsic use-values; but however useful, if that resource is not tradable, it has no exchange-value. Take air for example. We all depend on air for life, therefore air has very high use-value; but air is free to all, so it is not tradable and has no exchange-value. Water tells a different story. Water has intrinsic use-value in people’s daily use and irrigation; but with the demand, water can be controlled and allocated for money, maybe in the forms of water tax or market price. Water hence gains an exchange-value. While economists are still exploring the nuances of such values, the Chinese “guanxi economists” appear to have a thorough understanding of them, especially after guanxi takes on the attributes of “social capital.” During China’s early settlements millennia ago, living was hand to mouth and privation was the norm. The use-value of the scarce obtainable resources was all that people knew, especially when life and death depended on communal efforts. A tiger was meat for all members just like wild berries. But hunting down a tiger was unlikely to be a single-handed deed and bringing the beast down the mountain or butchering it definitely took more than two hands. All the helping hands in the hunting event and the meat were resources of high use-value. Similar examples

Guanxi opens access to resources 101 abound. Taking care of the sick, repairing a hut, or escaping from a forest fire – all obliged assistance from others, not to mention bigger projects such as constructing and managing irrigation canals. At that time, giving and receiving assistance was voluntary and free while reciprocating behaviors happened naturally and freely just like the sharing of food and shelter. Such natural and free giving marked the beginnings of guanxi. But in this primitive guanxi, the affective and the utilitarian elements were not separable and reciprocation needed no accounting of time or value. Under the circumstances, the use-value of those resources was well realized but the exchange-values were still unknown to the settlers. Adaptation of plows and other farming tools led to the possibility of large-scale agricultural production and as a result, food surpluses became the basis of a primitive bartering exchange. A woodcutter exchanged wood for bread, for example. As tribal chiefdom developed into imperial empire, society grew wealthier, but distribution of resources became stratified and as a result, they were increasingly consolidated in the hands of the elite at the top of the social pyramid and free or fair access became a thing of the past. Peasants soon learned that they had to think of other ways to survive and thrive in a society where resources and opportunities were based on social and economic stratum. Guanxi, as a way to access basic resources, rose to meet that need. Knowing the right person might lead to gaining the right resource. For example, peasants had little materialistic possessions but they had much in man-power, which they traded with landlords for production resources such as water and land. If they had guanxi with the right landlord, they might be allowed a plot in exchange for the labor they spent on taking care of the landlord’s plot. Such exchange gave the peasants some access to needed resources. As a result, having the right guanxi enabled some peasant-outliers to fare better than their fellow peasants. Their successes convincingly advertised the efficacy of guanxi, which quickly became incentive and inspiration for others to follow. Throughout Chinese history, guanxi behavior enabled people to “make deals” for what they needed or wanted. When guanxi becomes part and parcel of market activity, it is unstoppable just like the out-of-control “rhizome” root. Borrowed from botany, the rapid growth of a rhizomatic plant vividly illustrates the rigor of a guanxi network. The rhizomatic tubers are “non-hierarchical, horizontal multiplicities which cannot be subsumed within a unified structure, whose components form random, unregulated networks in which any element may be connected with any other element.”1 With such “rhizomatic” rigor, guanxi quickly and easily grows into a subsidiary political and economic underground structure under the nose of the government. With its own unwritten ethics, regulations and exchange-values, the guanxi network parallels the above-ground state economic systems. Growing ad hoc, guanxi networks are capable of undercutting, even threatening to topple, the official system. Fearing guanxi’s destructive power, the dynastic governments tried hard to eradicate guanxi-driven corruption with cruel punishments, but to little avail. As long as inequitable resource distribution was sustained, the need for guanxi mediation would continue and so would the rhizomatic guanxi network.

102  “Guanxi” Guanxi transactions rely on the exchange-values of the resources. The fact of the matter is that, most resources, unlike the air we breathe, are not free; production materials, services, opportunities – all come with a price tag. Similar to business dealings, the transactions of resources follow the law of supply and demand. In other words, the more rare the resource, the greater the demand, or the greater the investment of labor and time, the higher the price, and so forth. In imperial China, the emperors and their royal court, the aristocrats and the official elite held absolute power over the resource supplies, which bred absolute materialistic greed that inevitably led to absolute corruption. When the governing powers were corrupt economically, their political power became fraudulent. Water as a critical resource is a case in point. In an agricultural society like China, water was perhaps a valuable resource second only to land. Water disputes and conflict solutions were among the priorities of governmental management. The earliest records showed that after China’s first unified empire was established in 221 B.C.E., Qin Emperor Qin Shi Huang centralized the ownership of water resources. The Qin court alone owned all the major rivers and lakes in the empire, only allowing the regional lords and other lower aristocrats to claim the usage of smaller waterways or bodies of water. These local aristocrats, in turn, sub-let water rights to the area’s landlords for irrigation, for a fee. By the time water resources reached the peasants, water fees had more than doubled. In some dynasties, access to irrigation was further restricted by the water law that water rights and taxes must be tied to land ownership and participation in assignments of hard labor in maintaining and repairing of the irrigation structures.2 There were severe punishments awaiting daring violators, which ranged from public whipping to a 3000mile exile from home.3 When unexpected situations occurred and extra water was needed or when water was shut down by violent conflicts between villages due to perceived unfair usage of watering, people had to look to other channels for water access. At such times, having the right guanxi with the right authority might get one’s family out of the plight and save its members from starvation. Another life-changing but tightly controlled resource was education. In China’s long imperial history, education provided the only pathway to white-collar careers such as ritual master, teaching and civic services. It was no wonder commoners looked upon the mandarin exam process as the only hope for social and financial betterment. Each year, major city centers saw tens of thousands of young men making their journey to the examination halls. One estimate reported that, in each of the years during 1400 to 1900, “the exam process involved 1,300 counties, 140 prefectures, 17 provinces, as well as the capital region, where they (the tests) were administered.”4 But such a large-scale involvement should not be translated to mean plenty of opportunities for all who were confident in their knowledge and ability. The formidable odds of 1:4,000,0005 of making it to the top told the true story. One could easily assume that even a smaller fraction of the odds were commoners. As a result, competition was cut-throat and corrupt behaviors rampant in such high-stakes events. In effect, guanxi became a highly tradable commodity in the process. Lavish “gifts” were offered by the wealthy to those who could sneak out

Guanxi opens access to resources 103 the exam questions for early review or those who scored the exams. Even though punishments for such a breach had been so severe that many a responsible official was exiled or beheaded for being implicated in such crime, guanxi still won. During the Qing Dynasty (1636–1912), for example, bribery and plagiarism became so out of control that they threatened to unravel the whole mandarin tradition. To appease the rage of the commoners, the sitting emperor had to add a special session to separate the children of the elites from the main course of the exams. Although the emperors hoped that the new policy would keep the pathway open and fair for all, its success was inconsequential at best. After all, although it was, taken as a whole, a well-oiled screening machine, the mandarin examination system was definitely not a resource equally accessible to every Chinese aspirant. Even more revealing of the unfairness in the allocation of educational opportunities was its complete exclusion of women. In fact, up to the end of China’s imperial era in the early 1900s, women were largely blocked out of the entire process of education. From village schools to the mandarin examinations, the doors were closed to girls. In the 2000 years of China’s imperial history, there were a few women who somehow succeeded in holding powerful political positions or gaining literary fame; but not a single woman succeeded in setting foot in the mandarin examination halls. While access to the mandarin examinations was confined to only the rich or literate males, one might expect access to the market to be open to all because it was critical for making a living. But in China’s imperial history, where “all under Tian belongs to the emperor,” the market was no exception. The royal court controlled the major markets of all basic materials such as salt, tea, herbal medicine and grains. But where the emperor’s supervision could not reach, laws and policies were left for local interpretation, even fabrication. Take the distribution market centers for an example. To manage the major distribution centers for such critical commodities as grain, cotton, silk, tea or herbal medicine, the local elite generally assumed the gatekeeping responsibilities such as determining where and when the market could open, who could sell and in what order, and sales taxes. To gain timely information about the market and the best opportunity for their products, merchants and vendors had to ingratiate themselves with the right gatekeeper. Permission for or blockage of favorable market access depended entirely on the whims of the gatekeepers, who would routinely bestow access to the persons who had bribed most handsomely or had some close relationship with them. As always, people with “smarts” were able to find “short-cuts” viz. guanxi with the influential gatekeepers. Being able to sell their products at the right time could mean making or breaking one’s fortune. With the expectation of reciprocity, guanxi as resources was regularly sought by all, not just the powerless. Businessmen routinely gifted officials to gain access to loans, market information and opportunities; government officials ingratiated their supervisors for promotion or covering up wrongdoings; even the emperors used special funding or assignments in exchange for loyalty. Observing the formidable power of the relational network, many ancient authors wrote to disclose the dark side of guanxi among the rich and powerful. Zuhou chengbaji (Records of

104  “Guanxi” State Conflicts) revealed the top state officials using guanxi to cut down dissidents in government; Laocan youji (The Journey of Lao Can) divulged the commoners’ pain inflicted by fraudulent behaviors of those in power; and Guanchang xianxingji (Revelation of Absurd Happenings among Officials) aimed to disparage the absurdity of official corruption and greed that were enabled by guanxi – to name just a few. As an effort to justify the use of guanxi for their greed, the elite would cite Confucian Great Classics. For example, The Book of Rites was cited as advocating that “Ancients focused only on moral interaction, now we also value giving in return. Propriety is based on reciprocation. Only giving but not taking is not good manners; neither is simply taking but not giving.”6 But this is hardly a justification for corruptive guanxi or greediness. Rather, it is about the importance of reciprocation. To Confucius, imperative in propriety was reciprocity. As long as a favor was returned and propriety was maintained, the gift exchange would be justifiable because it had benefited a worthy relationship. To Confucius, getting one’s desires met through a mutually benefiting guanxi was thus not something to be condemned but a relational practice to be encouraged for the making of a harmonious society. But top cadres in 21st-century China practice guanxi without seeming to remember that Confucius’s guanxi exchange was anchored in the moral codes, not in greed. Without that moral code, every resource with exchange-value is fair game in guanxi. Compounded by the lack of a disinterested legal practice, guanxi is given ample room for misinterpretation and manipulation for selfish gains, even cronyism. Under the circumstances, an unfair system of resource distribution gives license for reckless guanxi to become a life necessity. In other words, as long as resources are controlled in the hands of a few, guanxi will maintain its usefulness as well as its potent power of corruption. After looking back to the long past of the Chinese culture, it is obvious that in a relational culture, guanxi with its positive and negative values will never completely go away. The hope to minimize the potential of guanxi cronyism lies in the establishment of a disinterested legal system and the effective management of the unwritten expectation of reciprocity. But ultimately, the exchange-value of guanxi will decrease only when the desirable resources – not just material or financial but also opportunities and access – become fairly or legally obtainable.

16 “Face” and reciprocity

“Guanxi”“Face” and reciprocity

Without reciprocal behavior – in communication, general business, moneycommodity trading and the like – societies could not have developed. Undeniably, without reciprocity, even personal relationships would be unfulfilled. Needless to say, reciprocity also underlies the three relational ties in guanxi which have been discussed in previous chapters. But what exactly is reciprocation? What are the essential elements in an act of reciprocity? And, crucial to understanding the roots of Chinese relationalism, how does reciprocation become a driving force in guanxi? The English word “reciprocate” is derived from the Latin word “recipricus,” which means “returning the same way; alternating.” Anthropologists have long been intrigued by such “returning” and “alternating” behaviors and their functions in society. After much observation and study, some scholars identified a set of three types of behavior that helped to characterize reciprocity: generalized reciprocity, balanced reciprocity and negative reciprocity. Marshall Sahlins, Professor Emeritus and anthropologist of the University of Chicago, described generalized reciprocity as the least restricted form of reciprocation, which is most often seen among family and close kinships. In this type of reciprocation, there is no set return value or timeline. As in a parent-child relationship, a child receives love and care as expressed in affection and material support, but there is no formal accounting ever kept and no expectation of formal balance is ever expressed in return for the parental giving. In China, there is, however, an unspoken expectation of reciprocity of love and care to the parents, especially when they are in need. The second type of reciprocation, balanced reciprocity, is found in normal trades where there is an expected balance between what is given and what is received in the trade. In other words, the amount one party gives to another party is expected to be repaid or “reciprocated” within the quantity and timeline as has been articulated in an agreement. In the modern era, reciprocation in business or political transactions is obliged and enforced by legal or financial regulations. Legally binding contracts in regular commercial trades are an example, in which the exchange is carried out according to a contract that has been negotiated by the trading parties and violation is punishable by legal procedures. Reciprocity amongst friends is expected as well, albeit in a less formal fashion than a business

106  “Guanxi” contract. Friendships are reciprocal by nature. Balanced reciprocation in true friendship is reflected not in an exact retribution but in the expression of affection and understanding. Friendships will die when kindness, caring and generosity are not reciprocated. The last type of reciprocity, according to Sahlins, is called the negative reciprocity. Negative reciprocity incurs when one or both parties act selfishly with only their own interest in mind and are focused on profiting from the exchange for themselves, even at the expense of the other party. Not all negative reciprocity is negative at the outset of the relationship, but may end sourly from a well-meaning start. Negative reciprocity is a relationship killer.1 Naturally, when guanxi is motivated by human emotions, reciprocity also absorbs human feelings. In China as in other ancient cultures, reciprocal actions started as survival necessity in early communal living. From those first early settlements to the Confucian era, relationalism thrived in China, shaping and reenforcing reciprocal behaviors among family members, neighbors and friends as well as in trading situations. Those who challenged or violated such a norm suffered social disparagement and were ostracized by their relatives because they were deemed “without human feelings,” thus not qualified to be human. In this sense, giving is imparting feelings and receiving is accepting those feelings. In guanxi relationships, gifts and favors thus become the carriers or expressions of feelings; hence, refusing a gift is rejecting the imbedded feelings, which is equated with the rejection of the relationship. What sustain the important emotional exchange are the back-and-forth goodwill expressions between the two parties. Emotions, however, are not always positive. Anger, frustration, hurt and fear are also normal human emotions, hence part and parcel of reciprocation. Perhaps those were the emotions that Sahlins had in mind when he spoke of “negative reciprocity.” The more inclusive conception of reciprocation is crystallized in the Chinese concept of “bao” or repayment. Incorporated in “bao” is not only repaying the kindness and generosity as in “bao en” (repay kindness), it also involves revenges of injury or injustice as in “bao chou” (revenge) or “bao fu” (vengeance). Both positive and negative reciprocations are acceptable behaviors in Chinese culture. When done appropriately, both are regarded as meeting the social expectations of a virtuous person. A Confucian gentleman, when receiving kindness, should follow the social norms of “li” – propriety in repaying the kindness. But if he ignored the injustice done to him or his family, he would lose the honor or respect due to him by society, because he proved himself to be a coward who had committed a breach of the Confucian moral code of “yi” – the courage to stand up for justice. In front of his family and friends, he would have lost “face” – his respectability in public. “Face” is not inherently a bad thing. “Face,” or the desire to appear respectable in the public eye, precipitates self-disciplining behaviors to follow social conventions. In this sense, “face” can even be regarded as necessary in a normally functioning human society. Just imagine a society where nobody cares about maintaining an appearance of basic decency in public! The desire to earn and maintain “face” keeps most people behaving in ways that are acceptable in the

“Face” and reciprocity 107 Chinese society. Children’s hard-earned academic or career success brings face to their parents; wealth built from hard work and smart operation of business gives face to the entrepreneurs; public acknowledgement of heroic deeds makes those who have served feel honored. The pressure to maintain face is thus an enforcing factor in honorable efforts to better one’s name and to follow proper reciprocal behavior. Even though “face” is often regarded as a uniquely Chinese phenomenon by many Westerners, wanting to appear respectable and honorable is a universal feature of human nature. Western cultures use different terms to describe what is similar to the Chinese “face,” such as “male ego,” or “pride.” “Face” means exactly that – the effort to maintain one’s respectable appearance and reputation in public, or to create a public image for applause.2 It is “reputation” and “one’s good name” – in spades. By the Chinese conventions, repaying what one is given is closely tied to one’s “face.” Confucius’s moral code obliged everyone to repay gifts, favors or injustice in a culturally acceptable way. But when reciprocity is entangled with the powerful notion of “face,” the respectable and honorable appearance in society, things begin to go astray. In modern times as in ancient China, actions that earn “face” must reflect socially acceptable moral codes. When actions are criticized or condemned as violations of those codes, face is lost. Since a person’s face is given by society, society can take it away as well. Damage to one’s physical face may make public appearances an embarrassment; but damage to one’s social face makes it wearisome for the person to even function in society. Therefore, just as most people carefully protect their physical faces from damage, the Chinese also go to considerable lengths to protect their social “face” from harm. To earn and maintain face, members of Chinese society monitor their behavior, making sure no moral code is broken or neglected. As such, face-pressure functions as a moral and ethical policeman in traditional Chinese society. Lin Yutang, a Chinese scholar, offered this insightful observation of “face”: Face cannot be purchased or defined. It is like honor and is not honor. It cannot be purchased with money, and gives a man or a woman a material pride. It is hollow and is what men fight for and what many women die for. It is invisible and yet by definition exists by being shown to the public. It exists in the ether and yet can be heard, and sounds eminently respectable and solid. It is amenable, not to reason but to social convention. It protracts lawsuits, breaks up family fortunes, causes murders and suicides, and yet it often makes a man out of a renegade who has been insulted by his fellow townsmen, and it is prized above all earthly possessions. It is more powerful than fate and favor, and more respected than the constitution. It often decides a military victory or defeat and can demolish a whole government ministry. It is that hollow thing which men in China live by.3 What Lin Yutang tried to catch was the illusive nature of “face.” His remarks, made in 1935, continue to ring true. The motive to obtain or maintain one’s social

108  “Guanxi” face still drives guanxi behavior in today’s guanxi society. Although every normal individual has “face,” the higher up a person’s social status, the bigger one’s face becomes. A person who has a “bigger face” carries greater honor and respect as well as the greater burden in the maintenance of his “face.” Accordingly, his gifts or favors must meet higher expectations in reciprocity – in cold cash, or in such ways as hosting a drinking event, ownership of a vacation home, sponsoring some extravagant celebration, or gifting lavish presents. How did the kindness and generosity typical of the early practice of reciprocity become corrupted? Researchers point their fingers at the alchemy of reciprocation and functions of “face” as the two mutually re-enforcing factors that lubricate the slippery slope to corruption. But one must not forget the sword of justice, the function of which is to sever that connection. With the sword of justice inactive, China’s relational culture acted as fertile ground for the corruptive guanxi to proliferate. Laws such as the U.S. Foreign Corrupt Practices Act (1988) do not exist in China. This void of legal restrictions frees fraudulent guanxi to develop and spread. In the three decades from 1980 to 2010, despite the governmental efforts to curb it, the rhizomatic guanxi network grew out of control. Every node on the root has now grown a shoot which “nets” with other nodes on another guanxi root. Nothing is more damaging than the many such “guanxi nodes” that thrive throughout the ranks of the government, where the very officials charged with eradicating those rhizomatic guanxi nodes now make unreported gains. If the watchdogs themselves are so simply silenced by corruption, there is little wonder that guanxi networks flagrantly defy governmental and Party policies. Instead, the powerful rules of reciprocity and face govern in the economic world today: “You grease my palm and I grease yours.” Those who abide by the unwritten rules of guanxi flourish while those who refuse to follow these rules face ruin. To give or maintain “face” under the guanxi rules, a favor bestowed must be reciprocated with equal or larger value. After a few subsequent transactions, those values spiral beyond a normal governmental salary. But to maintain “face,” some officials begin to take risks by reaching into accounts that do not belong to them or trading their powers for bribes. The ever-increasing demands for bigger face lead to more daringly corrupt actions. Bribes escalate from small items of jewelry to big bank accounts. All resources in high demand can be bought and sold in this underground guanxi market. Bank loans, real estate, insider bidding information for state projects, admissions to the best universities, coal mines and jewelries, all are subjected to their exchange-values on the guanxi network. There is no limit to where guanxi can go and what it can poison. If this cancerous growth continues unrestrained, it has the power not only to topple the above-board social institutions, but to destroy people’s trust in the government. One such shocking example of how the need for “big face” led to “generous” bribery corruption was the 1999 “Yuan Hua Case.” At the time, the media called it the biggest corruption case in the tenure of the Communist reign. Yuan Hua was an import and export company registered in 1994 by a CEO named Lai Changxing. In the next five years, Yuan Hua succeeded in smuggling over 50 billion yuan (equal to about $800 million in today’s U.S. dollars) of commodities

“Face” and reciprocity 109 and evaded 20 billion yuan (about $300 million American) in taxation. To insure that his scheme would work, CEO Lai Changxing successfully bribed over 600 government officials with subornments ranging from irresistible bank accounts to pretty girls to extravagant estates in Hong Kong and other countries. The indicted recipients of Lai’s briberies reciprocated him with illegal access to classified information, unlawful import and export opportunities, and conveniences to evade customs’ inspection and taxes. The 600 government officials were from the offices of The National Customs Office, holders of top governance positions in import and export offices, top Party and military leaders, and more. When the case was exposed, Lai Changxing himself took refuge in Canada for 12 years and was finally deported to China in 2011 after years of negotiation. The other 600 government officials are still struggling to finish their own jail time or to make a living without their lucrative government jobs. Making a living is most difficult for these ex-officials because their “face” has been shredded and trustworthiness obliterated. Most Chinese would agree that guanxi and “face” pave the way for such unbridled corruption. When Yuan Hua CEO Lai Changxing bribed his way through the official web of regulations and safeguards, he was said to have “big face” because even highly ranked officials and strict government regulations bowed to his call. The power of his almighty bribes, in turn, bought big “face” for the 600 government officials. Ironically, the corruptions gilded the “face” of these fallen officials, but only to have that “face” shredded to pieces when their cases were exposed. Many CCP and central government leaders, seeing the danger for what it was, have called for serious surgery to eliminate the cancer. They understood the unavoidable pain the Party and government systems would suffer in a nation-wide anti-corruption campaign but they also knew that doing nothing could allow the cancer to completely destroy the Party. In 2013, the newly elected party chairman, Xi Jinping, and his cabinet members launched an “anti-corruption storm” aiming to tear apart the gigantic underground corruptive guanxi network that had permeated all levels of the government. The “storm” caught many “tigers and flies” – corrupted officials, both big and small. According to the 2013 summary report from the Chinese Department of Justice, 51,306 government officials were indicted and 31,000 were found guilty.4 These figures prompted the United Nations to label China the country with the “most indictments” among the 27 countries where corruptive crimes were most rampant.5 In 2017, five years after Xi Jinping’s inauguration, these thousands of indictments and imprisonments appear to have worked the fear factor into many Party and government officials, who now seem to be more mindful of the corruptive power of face and guanxi. But without the sword of justice fully functioning, although the nodes of this rhizomatic guanxi network have been reduced, the roots are still alive and well.

17 “The cat-and-mouse game”

“Guanxi”“The cat-and-mouse game”

In spite of the resolve and efforts invested in anti-corruption by the Party and the government in recent years, curbing governmental corruptions appears to be a never-ending battle as long as the alchemy of face and guanxi continues. Why? The explanation lies in the relationalism-saturated soil of Chinese society. As we have seen in earlier chapters, Chinese relationalism is backed by the many different and profound emotional ties in kinship, friendship and other societal relationships. Since no humans could function normally without emotional connections to one another, guanxi will always have a chance to work its way. Without an impersonal and impartial legal system, relational behavior will easily usurp the will of the government. The cat-and-mouse pattern of the anti-corruption battles speaks volumes about that impasse. Many dynastic governments issued strict moral code and severe punishments for corrupt officials, but no dynasty ever succeeded in having a truly clean government. The pattern was familiar: The incoming new dynasty understood the perils of a corrupt government and issued strict policies to plug up the possibilities for cronyism. These new policies won people’s support for some duration, but corruptions crept back slowly as petty officials began to accept bribery from commoners who needed resources to survive. Bribes grew in size and value as the dynasty matured; corruptions spread to at all ranks and began to run rampant; out of control corruptions accelerated the demise of the dynasty. The vicious cycle repeated itself yet again as each new dynasty was inaugurated. To illustrate the point: During the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644), there was a successful political reformer named Zhang Juzheng (1525–1582). As cabinet minister and a statesman, Zhang was second only to the emperor in political power. With such power, Zhang was determined to steer the dynasty away from the repetitive cycle of corruption. Among his reform efforts, the most challenging was setting up rules to forbid officials to trade their power for bribes. In his investigations, Zhang found that the most outrageous bribery took place when officials were sent out to evaluate performances of local governments. To cover up their dirty tracks or mediocre performance, local officials spent large sums of money to appease the emperor’s inspectors. To put a stop to that practice, Zhang demanded that all officials returning from local assignments must voluntarily report and turn in the bribes that they had received. If unreported bribery was discovered by special task

“The cat-and-mouse game” 111 investigators appointed by Zhang himself, the punishment would raise to a higher level in severity. For example, the guilty official whose crime normally would lead to exile now would receive a death sentence. On the other hand, those who voluntarily disclosed the violation would be given clemency – the death sentence would be downgraded to an exile. The first to be made an example of was a highly ranked official who simply refused to report what he had taken from a lower-ranking official. Zhang arrested him and sent him on a 3000-mile exile. This official died on the way to the exile destination. Such harsh punishment caused an uproar from majority of the officials. Under this pressure, the emperor withdrew his support for Zhang Juzheng’s reform effort, leaving Zhang to face the officials’ hostilities all alone. During the decade when the new policy was implemented, the government became cleaner and more honest but Zhang Juzheng became the most hated official in the dynasty. In two short months after Zhang’s death, the emperor succumbed to political pressures from the dirty officials and terminated Zhang’s reform policy, thus giving corruption a green light again.1 Throughout history, guanxi-instigated corruption in China seems only to ebb and flow, but never to die. The vicious cycle continues on today. Although the Chinese Communist Party proclaimed that China had entered a new era, it did not escape the “traditional pattern” of corruption. Since 1949, the CCP has repeatedly declared anti-corruption to be one of its goals in governing, but guanxi continues to be pivotal in societal functions, especially when allocations of limited resources are unequally distributed in the co-existing state-controlled and market economies today. In this two-track system, guanxi networks seem to have a powerful say in matters of who gets what, when and how much – be it economic resources, political positions, privileges or legal consequences – so much so that when problems arise in private or public lives, the first question one often hears is: “Do you know of any guanxi in this field to help out?” The imprint of the value of guanxi is clear and well in people’s minds. In recent years, President Xi Jinping seems determined not to become yet another failure in his anti-corruption efforts. He repeatedly advocates and publicly demands systematic changes to eradicate the national tremors of corruption in the Party and the government. The Party is trying to prove its determination to comply with Xi’s demands. According to the recent reports from the Chinese government, from 1986 to 2013, 181 top national and provincial government officials were arrested for receiving bribes, committing embezzlement or other corruptive conducts. From these highly positioned officials, the government recovered 337 billion yuan (about $55 billion U.S.). In 2014 alone, over 3000 top Party and government officials were arrested and found guilty by the courts; 331 among them were given a death sentence. The battle continues today.2 As a rippling effect of such large-scale anti-corruption action, the blatant and extravagant gifting with public money has fallen to a dramatic low, if not to a screeching halt. Sales of luxury wines, cigarettes, jewelry and extravagant drinking events have plummeted. The number of stores selling luxury goods has decreased. High-end restaurants, resorts and golf courses have had to switch their target clientele to

112  “Guanxi” the lower-paying population in order to survive. The skeptic might well ask, “But how long will it take for all this guanxi to bounce back?” In a society where guanxi signifies personal emotions which exert tremendous influence on people’s morals as well as distribution of resources, the most likely sword to sever the linkage between guanxi and corruption is an impartial legal system and the disinterested enforcement agencies, such as those active in the United States, Hong Kong, Singapore and some other European nations. Versions of anti-corruption laws may vary in these countries but a common tenet mandates the separation of the private and public domains. Under such a law, guanxi could be ushered onto a healthier pathway. China does not have to look too far for that hope. Nearby Hong Kong and Singapore are two outstanding and hopeful examples for that vision. Although being relational societies themselves, Hong Kong and Singapore are among the least politically and economically corrupt environments in the world. Without that true and impartial legal system, in spite of all the impressive disciplining measures, there is an inherent problem in Xi’s dream of a “Chinese-style legal society.” Reluctant to embrace an impartial legal system that puts all people, in Party or not, on equal footing, the Chinese Communist Party insists that its first and foremost agenda is to maintain its authority of “emperorship,” or its political dominance. “To be or not to be?” The CCP seems to hesitate at that crossroad. The Party’s dilemma has been made obvious by Xi’s speeches that the Party must be the highest authority of the land, and as such, will lead the law, not the other way around. What sort of legal system would it be if it had to fall under the command of Xi and the Party? If the law is not the highest authority of the land, how would the enforcement of it be impartial and truthful? Without a disinterested legal system, in front of which, all entities – Party members and non-members alike – are treated equally, power will continue to corrupt and in China’s case, absolute power will continue to corrupt absolutely. The absence of an independent legal system will render the eradication of the soil of political and economic corruption an empty promise and the reformers destined to become yet another group of failed anti-corruption heroes. It seems reasonable to expect that when Xi’s anti-corruption campaign ends, guanxi corruption will once again rule the society and the cat-and-mouse game will resume.

Part IV

Psychological roots of relationalism

18 Some starting points

Psychological roots of relationalismSome starting points

Cultural values become codes of conduct once they develop into habits of the mind. Through hundreds of generations, relationalism settled, layer by layer, in the psyche of the Chinese people, forming inimitable perspectives about themselves and their relation to the world. These unique habits of the mind, in turn, created a relational reality in which the Chinese experienced and developed their personal identity and values. Familiarity with the Chinese culture would be incomplete without a sense of its psychological dimensions of perception, emotion and relational frame of reference. What does a relational psyche look like? How does a relational mind function in life? Hopefully, after our exploration of the Chinese psyche – its sense of human nature and the Chinese “heart,” its views on human cognition and emotions, its language development, and its definition of the individual or selfhood – the pulse of the Chinese culture will become distinct and palpable. Perception connects the external environment with the internal world through identifying, organizing and interpreting sensory inputs. In China, these processes are performed by habits of the mind which have been molded over thousands of years. Perceptions thus formed lead to habitual reactions to their “reality.” Richard Nisbett, professor and social psychologist from the University of Michigan, explains this culturally loaded process clearly: So long as economic forces operate to maintain different social structures, different social practices and child training will result in people focusing on different things in the environment. Focusing on different things will produce different understandings about the nature of the world. Different world views will in turn reinforce differential attention and social practices. The different worldviews will also prompt differences in perceptions and reasoning processes – which will tend to reinforce world views.1 Over the millennia, the ancient Chinese came to regard the “heart” as the hub where Professor Nisbett’s “perception and reasoning processes” take place. For them, the human organ in charge of the perceiving, thinking and feeling processes was the “heart.” With its power to connect and command, the heart held the key to the physical and mental homeostasis of the human organism. Ancient Chinese

116  Psychological roots of relationalism thinkers recognized the heart’s critical physical functions in human life – when the heart dies, human life stops. But that was not all. To these thinkers, the heart was also at the center of our cognitive and emotional lives – thinking all our thoughts and feeling all our emotions. The linguistic symbol of the heart “xin” (the heart), which is part of hundreds of ideograms in the Chinese language that denote mental activities, bears witness to the recognition of the important functions of the heart in Chinese psychology. For example, the three types of guanxi that form the Chinese society – kinship, friendship and generic human relationship – are all expressed with a character of qing, or function of the emotive “heart.” While emotions are at the core of relationships, the Chinese “heart” is the hub where those emotions originate. Ancient Chinese scholars fully acknowledged the centrality of the “heart” in personal lives as well as in human nature. To better understand this centrality, many great thinkers devoted their lives to studying and writing about the operation, application, possible malfunctions and repairing of this organ. As can be expected, there were debates, some of which lasted for hundreds of years. How does the human heart come to know “reality?” What is intelligence? Is intelligence learned or innate? How do desires come about? Are desires and passions good or bad? Is it possible or necessary to train or control emotions? Inevitably, these and other questions about human nature were studied under the telescope of relationalism. But where did the relational framework of reference lead these thinkers in their inquiries? Most importantly for our study of China’s relational culture, what is the significance of these ancient discussions on modern-day Chinese culture? Since the heart connects the external and internal realms, its activities must manifest through Chinese selfhood. Confucians defined selfhood as “ren” (benevolence); the left side of the character denotes “person” and the right side denotes “two.” The word describes this most important Confucian concept of selfhood as a relational concept in that a selfhood could only be defined in connection to other human beings. As such, the Chinese selfhood differentiates itself from the Western concept of the “individual.” The term “individual” has been saddled with Western connotations, so much so that the mere mention of it would conjure up the image of an independent and autonomous individual person. But such individuality is not perceived as possible or desirable by relationally sensitive Chinese. Is it possible that the difference between the Eastern and Western views on individuality is due only to different expressions? For example, is it possible that Chinese self-identity may be manifested, not in terms of a stance taken independent of the “group,” but in a constantly negotiating or compromising manner within the relationships with others? Having been bound by the needs of survival, has a unique Chinese form of personhood sprung from a keen sensitivity to other persons’ choices and rights as well as one’s own? After all, if humans are by nature gregarious, it is highly questionable whether pure independence and autonomy actually exist in any society. Even in Western cultures, a person who is truly and thoroughly individualistic often bears such negative labels as “non-conformist,” “egocentric,” “asocial” or, even worse, “being on the autistic spectrum” – all communication or personality disorders in need of treatment.

Some starting points 117 To an admirer of Western individualism, the constant urgency of being mindful of relationships may at first blush be indistinguishable from living in a collectivist culture bent on suppressing individuality. A collectivist culture is defined as one in which “the interest of the group prevails over the interest of the individual.” But who is the “group”? Other than the “motherland” and the “state,” individualists point to the family as a significant group. Their reasoning goes like this: The family creates an “in-group” which is “the major source of one’s identity and the only secure protection one has against the hardships of life.” In return, the individual “owes” that group “lifetime loyalty.”2 It has been pointed out that, among the ills of such collectivism, none is more intolerable than the sacrifice of the individual, because with the obligation of lifetime loyalty, individuality must be subjugated to the demands of the group. But the relationally thinking Chinese see a different reality in which the person, rather than the abstract or collective “group” functions as the manager of the relationships. Once again, take the family as an example. Contrary to the “group” thinkers, family relationships are experienced in the dyads of the Confucian cardinal relations – father-son, husband-wife, brother-brother and so forth. There was a good reason why Confucius specified family relationships in dyads. People behave differently in different relationships. For instance, a boy may be a son and a brother, but how he behaves as a son towards the father and as a brother towards a sibling cannot be the same simply because nature of the interactions is different. He might be filial and obedient toward the father, but toward his brothers he might be protective of this one and competitive with another for attention. Here the “group/family” may be the overarching abstract, but each relationship is differentiated by the person. Reaching beyond the superficial “group,” one American philosopher understood the Chinese conception of selfhood this way: Confucian thought recognizes, at the core of each individual, a principle of an essential and spiritual selfhood, constituted through transcendent principles of harmony and reason, characterized by objective and intrinsic worth, subject to the inescapable moral requirement of being itself, and capable of progressively actualizing an ideal of moral virtue.3 In other words, while the Western individualist continuously seeks independent self-actualization, the respectful Chinese selfhood is one whose actualization process endeavors to move beyond moral autonomy towards properly managing familial and social relationships. These essential relationships are identified by Professor Yan Guocai of Beijing University as follows: “Ever since humans broke away from the primate, in order to continue to evolve, they learned to become experts in four relationships: nature and self, others and self, me and myself, and the gods and self.”4 Why do Western and Chinese scholars disagree on the nature of Chinese selfhood? The explanation for the discrepancy may lie either in the different lens through which scholars look for it or simply in where they choose to look. Some researchers may have more difficulty than others using lenses that have not been

118  Psychological roots of relationalism pre-formed with their own unique cultural curves. For some others, it could be that they simply have yet to identify the nexus between the Chinese concept of selfhood and relationalism. At this juncture, it may be helpful to remind ourselves that psychology as a systematic accumulation of knowledge is a product of Western origin and largely remains Western in theoretical assumptions, perspectives, research tools and conclusions. Professor Hwang Guangguo offered some thought-provoking survey evidence in his book Foundations of Chinese Psychology. He found that 96% of the samples of psychological research published in the world’s top journals from 2003 to 2007 were drawn from Western, educated, industrialized, rich and democratic societies, which housed just 12% of the world’s population.5 To avoid falling into the traps of perpetual debate over individualism, the concept of selfhood seems to better suit the purpose of our discussion here in Part IV. The concept of selfhood contains not only personal attributes and social backgrounds, but it also allows for various degrees of individual differences, even egocentricities in personal choices and subsequent behaviors in a relational culture.

19 Relational human nature

Psychological roots of relationalismRelational human nature

At some point in their development, the intellectually inclined members of ancient civilizations such as Egypt, Greece, Babylon, India and China faced the question of who they were in the scheme of the universe and the meaning of their being. How did we humans come into existence? What makes us human? Is there a soul within us? What is the relationship between the body and the soul? Are humans born good or evil? Views on these and related questions, to a significant extent, determine societal expectations and regulations of human conduct and the general life outlooks of any given society, even foundations of social institutions. In Christendom, for instance, it is common to believe that humans are above animals, because God said that, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.”1 Since it was the Old Testament God’s decision that man should dominate all other lives on earth, many Christians emphasize obeying the Church and God’s design as specified in the Bible and that all followers should act as moral and intelligent persons. As the supreme reward for virtuous living, man’s eternal happiness would be in paradise, guaranteed by God. Early learned Chinese, on the other hand, were drawn to the interactive forces that appeared to be in command of the cosmos, which was thought to form the essence of man. The earliest theory about the origin of man is believed to have been written by a thinker named Guan Zhong (725–645 B.C.E.). In his book Guanzi, he wrote, “Tian contributed the essence, and the Earth gave the shape. These two elements combined to make humans.”2 Although lacking elaboration or documentation to detail the creation process, the thinkers of his time liked the proposition. During the next 500 years, that relational idea repeatedly appeared in the Great Classics. In The Book of Rites, for example, man was described as “the product of the spirits from Tian and the earth, of the interactions of yin and yang, of the connections of the ghosts and the divinity, and ultimately, of the essence from the five elements (metal, wood, water, fire and earth) of nature.”3 Lao Zi (571–471 B.C.E.) absorbed the gist of these relational ideas into his own Dao De Jing. Lao Zi believed that just like all things in the cosmos, the origin of man was a result of the interactions between the energy called chi and the yin/yang forces. Inherent in the nature of all things, relationalism must also be the innate nature of

120  Psychological roots of relationalism humans. Generations of Chinese scholars were simply delighted with this mystical and hazy theory of human origin and confidently passed the theory on through the centuries in their scholarly writings. Having determined where humans came from, the ancient Chinese thinkers comfortably assumed, and their colleagues over the ensuing centuries agreed, that humans’ superiority in the world would essentially stayed the same over time. They were quite unimpressed by 19th-century Darwinian notions of human evolution, even when increasing numbers of Western scientists accepted Charles Darwin’s idea that humans were a species in the animal kingdom and that they, like the rest of nature’s flora and fauna, were the products of evolutionary forces. Indeed, when Darwinists openly claimed that humans were not far from their cousin primate species, the apes, the announcement was received in China with mostly amused derision. In spite of the publication of a translated version of Thomas Huxley’s Evolution of Ethics in 1896, the long-held Chinese notion of humans forever being the superior and dominant species on earth did not wavered. To prove that, all the ancient scholars needed to do was to find evidence supportive of that proudly held notion that humans were – and had always been – above the animal kingdom. Rather than going about their mission in a scientific way, which would take into consideration humans’ unique physical appearance, skeletal structure, toolmaking skills and language articulation, the Chinese thinkers typically pondered about man’s distinctive sense of morals that seemed so absent from the animal world. Among the early leading thinkers, only one lone voice by Fang Yizhi (1611–1671) argued that man’s ability to walk upright and to communicate vocally showed the most obvious proofs that humans were above animals. But his voice was easily drowned out by the dominant opinions that listed intelligence, sense of moral responsibility, emotions and ability to work together as the ultimate superior qualities in human nature. Their “empirical evidence” sounds like this: water and fire had energy but no life; trees and grass had life but no knowledge; birds and beasts had life and knowledge but no morals; only humans had it all. Amazingly, such common-sense “evidence” succeeded in dispelling doubts and in convincing people that only humans were able to stand above animals with their energy, life knowledge and morals. In addition, the argument goes, humans were qualified to be human not only because they were able to walk upright and were not covered with fur or feathers, but more importantly they understood responsibility and morality, which gave them the ability to tell right from wrong and to get along with each other. Granted, some animals had knowledge of their environment, but they had no ability to reflect on the morality of their behavior towards each other. Xun Zi (312–238 B.C.E.), for example, noted that cows had more physical power than man and horses ran faster, but cows and horses were controlled by man. “Why? Because humans know how to work together, but cows and horses don’t. How do humans work together? They divide the tasks and cooperate.”4 Generations of Chinese thinkers accepted this folksy argument and reached the conviction that man could not be a species of the animal world. Rather, with his outstanding abilities to connect and cooperate with other humans,

Relational human nature 121 he duly lorded over animals. Thus did they turn the largely abstract components of the evolutionary argument into a strictly empirical inquiry. They sounded, at times, a bit like Aristotle in his infamous denial that the earth was in orbit. “Does a perpetual wind blow across the earth? No. Toss a ball into the air. Does it land behind you? No. The Earth is therefore stationary.” After establishing, to their satisfaction, the status of humans as having always been above animals in the universe, Chinese scholars turned to study the innate nature of man. Was man born virtuous? Or with an element of evil? How should humans live and work together in a civilized society? Opinions were divided roughly into three camps. Led by Confucianism, the prevailing view was that humans were innately good; but the Legalists forcefully argued that humans were born self-centered, pleasure-seeking and greedy. The third camp was small in number but had powerful spokesmen from time to time. They gathered around Daoism and settled on the opinion that human nature was just like nature, neither virtuous nor evil, but susceptible of being influenced by the environment. As regard to what could be done with human nature so as to form a harmonious society, interestingly, thinkers in these different camps all agreed that the most important pathway to a peaceful future was through education. It was only when they debated about the how and the why that their different views on human nature swayed them to dissimilar proposals. Mencius (372–289, B.C.E.), a leading Confucian thinker set the basic tone for the camp of “Humans are born kind.” Further elaborating on Confucius’s teaching that “the original nature of man is kindness,” Mencius proposed a working definition for “kindness.” Mencius saw “kindness” as manifesting in four qualities: having the ability to feel empathy, to feel embarrassment, to be virtuous, and to be sharing. Since humans were born intrinsically kind with these innate qualities, they had a natural tendency to lead a moral life. Anyone without these four qualities, Mencius held, was no better than a beast and should be excluded from the human society. Logically, the most important responsibility of the society was to help develop such innate nature so that people became contributing members of their family and the society. The alternative, Mencius warned, was not tolerable because if such innate qualities were undeveloped, evil and violence would rush in to fill the void.5 To support his argument, Mencius analogized human’s innate potential to planted seeds. Even the same seeds, Mencius argued, would perform differently if planted in different seasons and with different amounts of fertilization and water. According to Mencius, a good education provided the prime impetus to optimize the innate virtue in human beings. Mencius’s concept of education went beyond schooling to include all lifelong learning experiences. Family was the first educational experience for the new-born, he said. Subsequent schooling might develop children’s innate qualities, but to shape the child into a moral adult required the cooperation of the whole village. Mencius cautioned that this task was too important to be deterred by concerns for “individual desires,” for such desires would breed selfishness.6 From the earliest children’s primer to the Great Classics for the mandarin exam preparation, the younger generation was indoctrinated with

122  Psychological roots of relationalism lessons in benevolence, justice, proper rites and manners, as well as with their responsibilities to the king, their family and friends. Through such process, one’s virtuous innate nature continued to grow as one became a responsible adult in society. Mencius’s theory of human nature had lasting influence on a long line of great thinkers in China; some would even go so far as to say there was nothing else in human nature at its best, except kindness.7 However, the assertion that human nature was purely kindness stirred up objections from Xun Zi and his group of theorists. Xun Zi (313–238, B.C.E.) wrote a long article arguing against the view that humans were born with exclusively good qualities. What seemed to be closer to the truth, according to Xun Zi, was that people made choices based on their ignoble, often covetous and envious desires – seeking food when hungry, shelter when cold, and rest when tired. Driven by these physical desires, Xun Zi reasoned, humans were innately self-centered and greedy; the ones that were thin sought thickness, those ugly sought beauty, those narrow sought width, the poor sought wealth, those in low class sought upperclass status. He contended that as a result of such irresistible desires to satisfy one’s egotistic needs, people were capable of acting irresponsibly and irrationally, sometimes even at the cost of the welfare of others. If left unchecked, people are capable of killing, robbing and raping, just to satisfy their own pleasures. But in the end, Xun Zi too saw education – accompanied by merciless punishments for failures – as a way to curb evil human nature. What distinguished good people from bad people came from learning, Xun Zi said. He proposed his own analogy as an argument for the need to educationally reshape human nature. Human nature was like wood, Xunzi said, which had to be heated and bent in order to force it into useful forms. Where education failed, human desires must be confined by socially imposed legal limits. To that end, children must be taught morals and criminals must be punished. To Xun Zi, only such forceful interventions could compel humans to become civilized beings because kindness did not come from the mother’s womb; rather, it was the outcome of learning through positive and negative conditioning that served the purpose. Through his reasoning, Xun Zi came to a conclusion which was worlds apart from Mencius: “Humans were born evil. Their kindness was learned.” To Xun Zi, a merciless legal system to hold people accountable for their unlawful behavior was as critical as schooling if innately evil human nature were to be civilized.8 Xun Zi had his share of followers, who later formed the school of thought that is known to historians as Legalists. In this camp, there were some politically powerful and influential officials who lent their authority to reforming Confucian society. However, although they left an important mark in history, their impact was fleeting at best and their theories failed to gain dominance in the Chinese mind. The third and arguably more fascinating theory, perhaps, was one that held human nature as not evil, or innately virtuous. Gao Zi (420–350 B.C.E.), a philosopher before Mencius’s time, proposed that, without any extrinsic interference, humans were born a natural being with no moral or evil inclinations. They naturally knew to want “food and sex,” which, Gao Zi said, were the only innate

Relational human nature 123 instincts in human nature. In Gao Zi’s mind, human nature was like water that would flow east or west when it was led. But water itself was neither east nor west. His later allies saw the same principle in many other examples such as in silk. The original color of silk was white. But it obtained other colors from dyes.9 Rather than envisioning a human nature having no innate moral inclinations, some thinkers began to wonder if it was possible that human nature contained the potential for both virtue and vice. This theory had a powerful spokesman, Lao Zi. Lao Zi was convinced that the yin/yang force that originated and operated the cosmos was embedded in human nature, therefore both virtue and evil resided in the same human nature. Such a yin/yang paradox in human nature held opposing energies that propelled humans to act this way or that way. Yin/yang in human nature was most often reflected in people’s inner struggles, similar to what Freud would call the “id” and the “superego,” viz. biophysical impulses and social conscience. According to the yin/yang fish symbol, the yin and the yang forces, or the good and evil tendencies in human nature, were constantly in conflicting and compromising movements. The differentiating influence came from proper experience and education. Surrounding people with morally and socially responsible role models would lead them onto similar paths and the opposite would cause destructive behavior. A good education was thus regarded by these thinkers as the way to ensure that people were taught kindness toward others and wisdom to avoid falling into the abyss of evil. The theory that humans possessed the potential for both good and evil was easily extended toward the view that humans could be born with different types of human nature. Since people had innate potentials toward good and evil, it was possible that some people had a natural predisposition toward good and others toward evil. Dong Zhongshu (179–104 B.C.E.), a prominent Confucian, was the first to propose the theory of a tripartite human nature. In Dong’s mind, there were three different types of innate predispositions in human nature. The first and best, Dong claimed, was embodied by the Confucian sages. Their innate moral nature predetermined that they were born kind, respectable and wise. Being born virtuous, these Confucian sages had already achieved the ultimate status as exemplary human beings when born, therefore did not need further education. Meanwhile, the bottom kind of human nature, which Dong called the “dou xiao nature,” was seen in reoffending thefts, robbers, murderers and other criminals. Equipped with only small and evil minds, these people had little capacity to be educated and hence were unfit to live among humans. The bulk of the human population, however, belonged to what Dong would literally call the “zhongmin” (middle persons). Middle persons by nature were between the classes of the nobles and the criminals. Education was the only hope to shape the middle persons and direct them toward virtue. Failing education, they would slip into the abyss of the bottom of society.10 In spite of the fact that Dong’s tripartite theory of human nature appeared to be contrary to Confucius’s idea of universal education, it was well accepted by society and even further enriched by later thinkers. Dong’s tripartite theory of human nature had significant influence in China’s philosophy of education during the imperial times.

124  Psychological roots of relationalism Although the debate on human nature goes on, most Chinese accept the Daoist view that both good and evil are to be found in human nature. Since human nature is the cumulative settlement of genetic and cultural relationalism, the wish for a harmonious society continues to uphold the importance of a good moral education as the indispensable foundation for raising desirable citizens.

20 The Chinese “heart”

Psychological roots of relationalismThe Chinese “heart”

The conception of the “heart” has played a unique role in China’s relational culture. The modern world defines the human heart as a rhythmic blood-pumping organ that manages blood circulation in the human body. The ancients, however, valued the heart as the organ that generated and connected all our bodily functions, not only physical but also mental activities – perceptions, intelligence, thought and moral sense – and synchronized them with the outside world. The “heart” filtered such natural influences as climate changes in the four seasons and adjusted the physical and psychological activities in responses to that environment. These and other activities lifted the Chinese “heart” beyond simply a biological organ – it was the hub of all intrinsic and extrinsic relationships critical to the wellbeing of the organism. For these reasons, perhaps, the Chinese written characters for the major human organs, such as the liver, the kidney, the stomach and the lungs all have in them a symbol that denotes “flesh,” except for the heart. Maybe the exception indicates that the heart was made of something superior to flesh, for mere flesh had no ability to think, command or control. Although there was no specific mention of what the heart was made of, its special functions were fully recognized. When psychology was first introduced to China in the 19th century, it was translated as “xinli xue,” “the study of patterns of the heart.” Along the same line of thinking, psychopathology was “xinbing” (illness of the heart); psychotherapy was “zhi xinbing” (treatment of a sick heart); psycho-pharmaceutical was “xinyao” (medicine for the heart); and mental health was “yangxin” (nurturing of the heart). Evidently, having a “good heart” was the prerequisite of being a physically and mentally sound human being living a harmonious life. A good heart was capable of balancing the yin and yang in the body and the environment. A good heart also, by design, authorized moral thoughts and behavior, thus leading to harmonized relationships. Interestingly, the first empirical study of the heart came not from philosophers but from those who practiced traditional Chinese medicine. In their practice, the doctors noticed that the heart beat faster to enable activities such as running, preparing the body for fight or flight, dealing with illness, nervously facing a lover, and so forth. They also observed that when the heart stopped, all activities ceased. The Internal Medicine of Huang Di,1 one of the earliest Chinese books

126  Psychological roots of relationalism on medicine, identifies the central function of the physical heart as the seat of life and the hub of both internal and external activities. The goal of medicine was to work with the heart on balancing the energy of yin and the yang inside the body and with its environment. At this point the most rationally insistent reader may well object that the brain, not the heart, is the human’s thinking center. Indeed, along with the “heart,” there were ancient Chinese thinkers who argued for “rennao,” or the human brain to be the central thinking organ, but their voices were no match to the cheers for the “thinking heart”; hence were largely ignored until the 14th century. With advanced medical science and technology nowadays, although the “fossils” of “xin” (the heart) remain in the Chinese language, few Chinese question the heartbrain distinctive functions anymore. This blurring of heart-brain functions only amounted to another case of ancient scholars relying on radical empiricism. These ancient relational Chinese thinkers believed that human lives were connected to changes from natural forces through an invisible substance called “chi” (energy). Chi manifested in nature as dryness, wetness, wind, heat and cold. These environmental changes, these thinkers noted, somehow corresponded to bodily functions of the liver, the kidney, the lungs and the stomach, which were all under the control of the heart. Changes of chi caused the environment to change, which in turn caused changes in the human body. To maintain essential equilibrium, the heart made adjustments and readjustments. Only when the conflicting yet complementary yin and yang forces worked in balance would bodily and mental functions be in synchronization. Constant stress placed upon the heart caused imbalances in the other organs, making them malfunction, which the human body experienced as illnesses. Severe malfunctions could cause the patient to lose hair and weight and eventually die.2 With the yin/yang and the chi involved, the ancient medical theory of the heart soon was extended beyond medicine. Philosopher Xun Zi (313–283, B.C.E.) analogized the physical heart to the “king” of human society. The ears, eyes, nose, mouth and body had their distinct functions just like government officials; but the heart, located in the central part of the body, controlled and managed these sensory organs like the king managing the operations of his kingdom. Just like the king, the heart gave orders while accepting none.3 Concurring with Xun Zi, other thinkers further elaborated that if the sensory and internal organs were left with free will to do their own thing, the body would lose its ability to synchronize and such confusion would lead to serious disorders, even death of the organism. Only when the heart was in command would the rest of the body work in harmony. To this date, although many of the critical functions are attributed rightly to the science of the brain, the “heart-king” theory still holds direct influence in Chinese herbal medicine including acupuncture and massage. Since the heart served as the hub of connections between nature and human life, Tian, or Dao, or Buddha would all have to enter an individual’s life through the heart. The process was called “ru xin,” or entering the heart. Leading Confucian thinker, Mencius (372–289, B.C.E.) believed that Confucius’s “ren” or benevolence was located in the human heart, which had four functions that Mencius

The Chinese “heart” 127 called the “four hearts”: to be kind and sympathetic toward the weak and the less fortunate, to know right from wrong, to understand shame, and to share with others when needed. Mencius further concluded that these “four hearts” made us human. Without the four limbs a human body was not complete; without the “four hearts,” the person was not human. Hence a healthy “heart” denoted a psychologically wholesome person. A harmonious society, Mencius said, was an extension of these four functions of the heart. To achieve such extension, one must recognize that these desirable “hearts,” which had come at birth, would have to continue to grow through lifelong learning. In view of such critical functions of the heart, Mencius forewarned that, when growing up, the heart would inevitable sustain wear and tear from impacts of difficult circumstances that could “injure” the heart. An “injured” heart led to grave troubles in personal and social lives. The first signs of a malfunctioning heart were selfish desires that motivated harmful actions. Therefore, one must be constantly watchful of excessive selfish desires that could lead one astray.4 Education, which aimed to continually nurture the heart, would mend these dangerous mental injuries. Interestingly, this notion of the heart is more than a quaint relic from China’s ancient past. In 1920, the noted American psychologist, G. Stanley Hall, published his utopian novel, The Fall of Atlantis, the idea for which allegedly came to him in a dream. It was the tale of the discovery, in the 21st century, of sunken Atlantis and of discovering as well that Atlantis had at its zenith far surpassed humankind’s wildest dreams of societal perfection, a society in which psychologists played a central role. But these experts did not call themselves psychologists. They called themselves “heart formers,” and were entrusted with implanting in the children of Atlantis much the same range of outlooks, values and attitudes as we find attributed by natural means to the heart in ancient China. Interestingly, China was identified prominently in the first paragraph of The Fall of Atlantis as the world’s leading power in the 21st century, having “greatly extended her boundaries, [and] was the most advanced and powerful of all the states of the world.”5 Mencius’s call for his version of “heart formers” was not universally persuasive among all the ancient thinkers. The founder of Daoism, Lao Zi, for one, was doubtful that constant meddling, viz. educating and enforcing the heart with moral codes, would lead to any good. Instead, he argued that arbitrary interventions would lead to moral confusion and the potential ruin of one’s chance to become an ideal being. Indeed, such an education wrongly interfered with a naturally good heart, like that of an infant’s that was unsophisticated, simple and unpretentious. Lao Zi advocated “cleansing one’s heart and lessening one’s desires” so as to live a simple but good life. Too much excitement in sights, sounds, tastes and actions would not only damage sensory organs but would also toss the heart into turmoil. Hence, one’s idealized pure heart – in keeping with the Dao – should be off-limits to meddlers.6 Ancient thinkers appeared to concur that the heart was the center of essential psychological activities, such as motivation, memory and emotions. But what

128  Psychological roots of relationalism prompted these mental activities to begin in the heart and how did the process go? At the end, how did people know if their heart activities were on the right or erroneous track? Just like the great thinkers of the West who tried to understand what human consciousness consisted of and how it functioned, the inquisitive Chinese thinkers looked for their own answers. From their relational perspective, Chinese thinkers debated issues such as “Does my heart establish reality, or, does reality determine thoughts of my heart?” and “How would I know if what I see and hear are real physical reality, not just an illusion of the heart?” Results of their thinking spotlighted the heart’s roles in human consciousness as the primary process of knowing. Some thinkers asserted that the heart existed before consciousness. They queried, where would consciousness reside without the heart and how would we even know consciousness existed? If the blooming flowers were not seen by the eyes and therefore not known by the heart, there would be no awareness of the existence of such flowers. Guan Yin Zi (circa 500 B.C.E.) proposed that the heart, the world and the Dao combined to form consciousness. But among the three, the heart was the fundamental element because it could change into chi, the substance that made the Dao and the universe.7 In other words, the heart made the Dao, not the other way around. This argument quickly lost its foothold because it contradicted the Daoist doctrine that the Dao was the prime initiator of the cosmos. Si Ma Guang (1019–1086), a leading historian of his time, posted a clearer argument. He proposed that in the center of everything was the heart, therefore the heart instigated awareness. Awareness in turn determined the status of things in the world.8 This simple vision was agreed upon by many. Some would go even further. Shao Yong (1011–1077) postulated that the universe came before the human body but after the human heart. In other words, the heart somehow had existed as an independent agent prior to the creation of the universe or the physical being of man. Shao argued that, without the heart, the universe could not enter human consciousness and anything that was not in our consciousness might as well not exist. Shao Yong’s theory gave the heart two characteristic elements: first, a universal element that gave us our awareness of all things in reality and second, then, a personal element that carried our subjective wills.9 This theory was undercut by the inherent trouble that the human body and the human heart were formed separately at different times. Even with its trouble, the idea that the heart was the originating source of consciousness of the universe gathered energy through many followers. Unsurprisingly, still other influential thinkers saw the relationship between the heart and reality in yet other ways. The exchanges began to take on the fruitlessness of trying to find agreement about the matter of how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. Daoists, for example, believed that far from being the spring of awareness, the heart functioned like a mirror, reflecting reality, which independently existed and thereby creating personal awareness. By such argument, even though the heart happened to be where consciousness took place, it did not create or determine reality. Instead, objective reality supplied the heart with the content of consciousness. That is to say that reality was the generator of consciousness

The Chinese “heart” 129 while the heart merely played the role of a receiver and reflector of such consciousness. The heart-reality relationship was like that between the sound and the ears: sound existed independent of the ears while the ears were just the medium that received the sound.10 Today, the modern scientific community continues to explore human consciousness. But the heart is no longer at the center of inquiry on human consciousness. Even before the scholarly conversations made their dramatic shift, the heart’s centrality had been called into question from time to time over the earlier centuries. New and more difficult questions arose about the heart and its functions: who or what was ultimately responsible for the functions of the heart? How does the heart know when to do what in order to manage its responsibilities? In searching for answers, ancient scholars’ ideas began to gather around the possible existence of something else that drove the heart. Some called it the “will,” which was defined as the intentions behind the heart. Others wondered if that “will” was just another “inner heart.” These thinkers imagined that when the heart was busy dealing with daily demands, the intentional “inner heart” would make sure that the heart was doing the right thing and treading in the right direction at the right time. But no one was ever able to offer a clear definition of “the inner heart,” let alone empirical evidence. Obviously, questions of consciousness posed a conundrum for the ancient Chinese thinkers that were quite beyond their ability to resolve. One reason for their bafflement may just be their relational thinking habits. The reader should not be surprised when noticing that in discussions of social issues, the ancient Chinese thinkers were inclined to look for answers in the relationships between the phenomena, or to try to identify the connections among the two or more opposing views. Professor Richard Nisbett of University of Michigan hit the nail on the head when he wrote: “the Chinese saw the world as consisting of continuously interacting substances, so their attempts to understand it caused them to be oriented toward the complexities of the entire ‘field,’ that is, the context of environment as a whole.”11 To a relational mind, any effort to break matters into isolated elements and ignoring their connections was simply silly and wrong. Their thinking “hearts” were naturally drawn to the complex connections among the objects of discussion, rather than seeing the self-standing object. The concept of Tian had to be understood with man; the concept of man only made sense in relation to other humans, and the Chinese heart could only perceive human consciousness as a product of the interactions of the heart and reality. Whether the mode of interaction being mirroring or cause-effect was debatable, but no one would imagine studying the functions of the self-standing heart or the consciousness independent of the heart. Consequently, rather than illuminating the issues, the more they debated, the more these thinkers found themselves hopelessly entangled in their mysteries. Nevertheless, such psychological relationalism served as the sense-making frame of reference for the Chinese over a long history of complex and turbulent times. It has become part and parcel of today’s “Chinese-ness.” Nisbett and his colleagues brought this implicit thinking pattern out into the open through ingeniously designed experiments. From his many years of observation and research,

130  Psychological roots of relationalism Dr. Nisbett suspected that cultural differences actually penetrated much deeper than what appeared in language, cultural customs, even beliefs. He hypothesized that after generations of living in the relational social and cultural environments, the Chinese people had developed a psychologically “self-reinforcing, homeostatic system” with which they made sense of their environment through social interactions. Dr. Nisbett and his graduate students set out to test their hypothesis on perception and thinking patterns, hoping their test results would shed light on this systematic uniqueness. They staged their experiments on the critical elements in the thinking process, such as attention to visual information, causal inference and reasoning in assessment of situations. The team collected data from such psychological instruments as the Memory of Word Test, the Recall and Recognition Test, the Co-Variation Detection Test, the Rod and Frame Test and questionnaire surveys. After analyzing the patterns manifested in the test results, the researchers found that their hypothesis was confirmed consistently. Indeed, the individualistic Westerners and the relational Easterners perceived and coped with reality in their own distinctive ways.12 Dr. Nisbett analogized the difference: “If some people view the world through a wide-angle lens and see objects in contexts, whereas others focus primarily on the objects and its properties, then it seems likely that the two sorts of people will explain events quite differently.”13 From the “wide-angle” world viewer, the Chinese “heart” sees complex relations involved in events. It is understandable that their solutions too would be complex and relational in nature.

21 Cognition and emotion

Psychological roots of relationalismCognition and emotion

Since the Chinese heart managed all psychological activities, it must have also directed things like personalities. But why does “one kind of grain nurse a thousand different kinds of personalities”? Did the differences have to do with nature or with nurture? And a more pragmatic but critical question: What should be done to ensure social stability and peace amongst a people whose personalities – intelligence, ability and emotions varied so widely? To search for answers in a pre-scientific era, ancient thinkers suffered no shortage of ideas, assertions and theories. As to be expected, underlying all proposals were the familiar relational thinking habits. Unlike Western psychological studies of man, which unsurprisingly often began with examinations of human abnormalities – Freud’s study of Anna comes to mind – Chinese thinkers focused their attention on regular human beings in the hope that knowledge and understanding of normal patterns of thinking would lead directly to attaining and maintaining a harmonious society. Holding the heart as the organ of command, Chinese intellectuals were eager to find out how the heart managed the psychological activities of cognition and conduct. While all these are included in what moderns label “cognitive psychology,” ancient Chinese thinkers gathered them into “zhi lu lun” (the theory of knowing, perceiving and contemplation). Here, “zhi” and “lu” pointed to the in-depth thinking process, or contemplation. This perception-to-contemplation model studied the thinking process of the multiple and closely related stages of cognition. Starting with information received from sensory organs, the study went on to include patterns of how sensory information affected perceptions, attitudes and conduct. Several elements in the process of thinking were examined: attention, identification, observation and contemplation. After receiving sensory information, one must “guan” (observe) and “cha” (examine) to verify the nature and functions of this sensory information. The results yielded from careful examination were moved on for further analysis in contemplation. At the end, judgments were made that determined the nature, value and quality of the obtained knowledge. Without contemplation, the cognitive process was not complete and no knowledge was obtained.1 Among these mental activities, contemplation was thought to be the critical step in turning perceptions into true knowledge. Contemplation could penetrate the superficial

132  Psychological roots of relationalism information to reach for insight and wisdom.2 Sensory organs did the observation and data collection, but that information would only become true knowledge through the heart’s contemplation. The modern Chinese word for thinking is “si lu,” a double-character word. But in ancient times, the two characters were used separately to denote different mental activities. A legendary military strategist and wise man, Zhu Geliang (181–234 C.E.) offered a clarification of the mental activities of si and lu as well as their relationship: The difference of si and lu lies in that si is for the present while lu is toward the future . . . Si is thinking straight based on known information while lu is analyzing the information and making a judgment of what to do with the information. “Lu,” the deeper thinking also makes sure that, while looking at the positive, one must also contemplate the hidden negative; while thinking about the possibility for success, one must also contemplate that of failures. A learned leader must understand that danger hidden in security, death in living, chaos in control. If he is able to foresee the large from minute and the end from the beginning, calamities would have no chance of happening. This is the nature of thinking and contemplation.3 In short, thinking was sorting and analyzing the information, but contemplation – known today as critical thinking – integrated the information with existing knowledge, discovered patterns, and predicted future outcomes. Centuries later, an eminent scholar Zhu Xi (1130–1200 C.E.) reiterated Zhu Geliang’s point. He wrote that understanding of the intrinsic patterns of things could only be achieved by studying the hidden details, relying on deep thinking or “lu.”4 Remarkably, as early as the beginning of the first millennium, ancient Chinese thinkers were fully aware that while the heart was capable of perceiving and contemplating activities, it could also be misled or misleading through erroneous thinking. Scholars warned that erroneous thinking could happen in many different ways. Alcohol could hinder one’s thinking ability; disabled sensory organs could transmit invalid information that could lead to flawed perceptions; insufficient light could cause illusions; anxiety and other strong emotional reactions could distort reality; distance could give incorrect reading of sizes; moving objects could lead to misjudgments. One way to avoid falling into erroneous thinking was to learn to focus one’s attention, which was suggested as another important function in human cognition. Ancient Chinese thinkers identified attention as “chang yi,” where “chang” means to collect, while “yi” refers to attentiveness or focusing. Since the best way to protect one’s valuables was to keep them in a safe place, one’s valuable collection of knowledge also had its own safe storage, namely, in the heart. Hence, “chang” and “yi” together signified concentration and memorization. The heart was thought to be the biological base for memorization. Unlike a metal safe, however, the heart was an active processor that was constantly recognizing, memorizing, reviewing and adjusting. In the cycling of these mental activities, knowledge

Cognition and emotion 133 was not only stored but also renewed and replenished. Confucius encouraged his students to see more, hear more, experience more but also regularly review their knowledge, because reviewing old knowledge led to new understanding and expanding one’s knowledge base. In this ancient theory of chang yi resides hints of modern-day cognitive theory of how the mind learns by connecting new knowledge with the existing knowledge network. Knowledge was stored in memory. Effective memorization was thought to depend on two factors: motivation and the ability to concentrate on the material to be memorized. To memorize, one must be of “yixin yiyi” (one heart and one intention) meaning focusing on the task without distraction. Unlike those moderns who stubbornly think of multitasking as a sign of high intelligence or admirable capability, the ancient Chinese thinkers warned that multitasking was to be avoided because it diminished productivity. If one wanted to memorize a piece of music, one must focus on what was coming though one’s ears. If one was trying to study chemical reactions in an experiment while also trying to memorize the music, one would have committed what the ancient Chinese called “sanxin eryi” (three hearts and two intentions), which would render neither task done to satisfaction. Besides cognitive functions, the Chinese heart was also the source of emotions. Called “qing yu” (passions and desires), these ineradicable and potentially dangerous desires and passions needed to be properly harnessed. Undeniably, as part and parcel of human nature, they were susceptible only to limited restraints. Chinese sages cautioned that undisciplined emotions and excessive desires were capable of overwhelming the thinking heart and misleading the person’s judgment and behavior. Accused of being the leading culprits behind a wide range of personal troubles, such as extra-marital affairs, neighborly conflicts and the like, or societal troubles such as insurrections and wars, undisciplined emotions and excessive desires needed to be curbed. To be able to “qingxin guayu” (to clear one’s heart and thin one’s desire) was considered an impressive achievement by Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism. Only after excessive desires and their resultant emotional overindulgences had been brought under control could the heart be responsive to the calls for virtue. Untamed emotions were to be kept under restraints, giving way to the encouragement of rational reasoning and the “will.” Will was manifested in determination, which was considered to be a determining factor in life’s accomplishments. Confucius’s comment that “An army might win its battle without a commander, but a person would go nowhere without personal determination” was to become a parental favorite in teaching their young. One who possessed motivation, confidence and a determined commitment to the perceived goal was bound to succeed. Xun Zi (312–230, B.C.E.) was known to say to his students, “Start and stop, you would not break a rotted log; start and persist, you can carve a solid rock.”5 Similar sayings filled many ancient writings and became commonplace in Chinese households. It was common knowledge that successes in life also required intelligence – a quality of the heart that was highly valued in ancient China. Interestingly, the

134  Psychological roots of relationalism first pictograph for intelligence related only to the arts of war. Intelligence was regarded by some ancient thinkers as the ability underlying the knowing process and by others as the end result of knowing. But in the end, they converged on the definition of intelligence as the ability to think critically whereby to see the obvious in the nascent, to know the future from the past, and to infer the intrinsic relationships of matters from the phenomena. With intelligence, one was able to understand personal moral obligations, tell right from wrong, handle things according to reason, express oneself appropriately, and avoid being misled by superficiality.6 How is such intelligence developed? Like their Western counterparts, the Chinese thinkers explored a wide range of possibilities but also inadvertently fell into the snare of entanglement in the brambles of nature versus nurture. Like many analytical modern Western hereditarians, many ancient Chinese scholars suspected that superior intelligence was innate. Some highly influential Chinese scholars observed that some children seemed to simply know with little effort, and that people who, under similar circumstances, would quickly rise above others with their outstanding ability to think and to solve problems. For lack of a better explanation of these “facts,” ancient scholars accredited it to Tian, who favored these people by gifting them with extraordinary intelligence. Hence giftedness was called “tian-zhi” or intelligence from Tian and the children who received Tian’s gift were “shentong” or the gifted children. Other scholars, however, were not convinced by the idea of such given ability. They held that just like morals, intelligence was not innate but acquired. Confucius was an unwavering believer in acquired intelligence. He told his students, “If others give one push then you should give ten; if others give ten, then you should give a hundred. If you persevere with such effort, you will become sharp even if you begin with dullness and you will become strong even if you begin with weakness.”7 Just so, the debate of nature versus nurture continued. Even though ancient Chinese thinkers had tackled important psychological issues such as human nature, cognition, consciousness and intelligence, their endeavors never escaped the relational track. Operating from the relational frame of reference, they saw all mental activities as related and consequently became hopelessly entangled in those brambles. Unable to discern properties of a selfstanding object, the relational Chinese mind lacked the ability to analyze categorically. To analyze categorically requires two abilities: one is to isolate the individual item from its associations and the other is to form the taxonomy according to the inherent logic and properties of the matter. But a typical Chinese mind, being deeply relational, finds it neither possible nor desirable to recognize independent properties of an individual item, let alone to classify it as a self-standing item in the taxonomy. Such habits of the mind were evidenced in Professor Nisbett’s experiment of “item measuring preference for grouping” where a participant was asked to group two of the three objects that belong together. Easterners tended to group the items by their perceived relationships while Westerners used rules of properties or inductive uses of categorization.8

Cognition and emotion 135 Today, although China has been able to attain international prominence on many fronts, the Chinese mind is still ruled by relationalism. That unchallenged, ubiquitous mode of thinking continues to drive China’s political and social reform efforts as well as its scientific and technological progress. Will learning from their attainments help them guard against the detriments of such pervasive relational thinking habits and eventually lead to a different Chinese “heart”?

22 Relational thinking in the Chinese language Psychological roots of relationalismRelational thinking in the Chinese language

While other mental activities are somewhat abstract and out of sight, the Chinese language divulges the relational mindset at work in people’s daily life. The renowned scholar Lev S. Vygosky (1896–1934) convincingly established a social-linguistic theory which holds human language to be the link between social experience and the mind. As K. K. Hwang expressed it, “Every activity in the life world is mediated by language and symbols. Language is the carrier of cultures.”1 The Chinese language, being the only working ancient language of the early civilizations, served as Vygosky’s prime example. Speech itself may be an innate human ability, but written symbols are creations of the human mind. Every major culture has created or adopted a system of writing symbols that is most suitable for its cultural and social reality – such as the hieroglyphs, ideographs, logographs and alphabets. The Chinese monosyllabic spoken habit easily lent itself to a pictographic representation of the spoken word for the early settlers. Professor Hucker appreciated how the Chinese written language met the needs of the culture: For all its difficulty, the Chinese writing system has been of great service and value to the Chinese. It overcomes all the complexities of homophones, tones, and dialectal variations that characterize spoken Chinese; for the graphs convey the same meanings regardless of how they are pronounced. Thus literate Chinese have been able to communicate in writing even when they could not converse intelligibly, so that the writing system has been the prime culture carrier and a major unifying force in Chinese civilization.2 Originally a member of the Sino-Tibetan linguistic family, the Chinese language system is at least 4000 years old, dating to the time when numerous groups of early settlers – each with its own unique dialect – populated the Yellow River Delta. Considering the number of dialects involved, the gradual development of a system of written pictographic symbols that could be used by the majority of the people regardless of their particular dialect was indeed a crowning unifying achievement. As social interactions became more frequent and complicated for these early settlers and their progeny, the vocabulary and the accompanying written language

Relational thinking in the Chinese language 137 grew as well, especially with many ideographic words added to supplement the pictographic system. Later, to satisfy the increasing demand in communication, logographs joined the written system. These logographs were usually created by linking some novel idea to a familiar linguistic element. For example, cooking methods required fire; therefore part of each symbol for cooking methods indicated fire. People’s observations of relationships between things or actions thus led to propagation of words in the Chinese written system. To advance from the simple scripts on oracle bones3 to a functional written language took a long time. By the 1600s, it reached 40,000 monosyllabic characters according to the Kangxi Dictionary, nine-tenths of the words having been built on the principle of logograph. Today, the mandarin written system is still the nationally used written language in China. The continuity of this written system, having evolved over many dynasties, enables today’s school children and scholars to read and understand the same classics after a time lapse of thousands of years and continues to provide the Chinese people – representing over 50 ethnic groups with their hundreds of spoken tongues – a single, unifying means for efficient communication. This written system has an important bearing on our examination of relationalism in Chinese psyche. According to the oldest Chinese book of analytical linguistics entitled Shuowen Jiezi4 (About Words), Chinese written symbols were constructed in six ways and unsurprisingly, the principle of relationalism underlies all six of them: 1 Pictographs, in which the written symbol or the character is based on the resemblance of the word to the object: for example, 山 (shan) denotes mountain; 木 (mu) denotes tree or wood. 2 Ideographs, in which the characters represent abstract ideas or notions based on their relationships: for example, 上 (shang), meaning up;下 (xia), meaning down; 宝 (bao), meaning treasure (jade under the roof). 3 Logographs, in which logical aggregates are based on relationships of the parts. For example, the earlier-mentioned concept of “contemplation” is expressed as 思想(sixiang); the first word means observation and thinking, while the second word refers to contemplation or critical thinking. 4 Phonographs, in which the written symbol and the speech are blended to form the semantics of the word. For example, in the word for feelings or emotions “情” (qing), the left side is the variant symbol of the heart, while the right side means “youth.” This word of emotions denotes youth as the stage of life that is full of emotions and compassion. The pronunciation of the word is the same as “青” (qing, youth). 5 Transferring, by which process the new and more complex or abstract meanings are added to a well-established basic word. For example, the character for beauty “美” (mei) has a sheep on the upper and the symbol for “big” beneath it. The original meaning says a big sheep tasted delicious. But over time, the character is extended to include anything that gives sensory pleasure: 美食 (meishi) – good food; 美女 (meinu) – pretty girls; 美景 (meijing) – beautiful scenery, and so forth.

138  Psychological roots of relationalism 6

Borrowing, which uses an existing character to denote a completely different meaning based on their interconnections. Take the character “道” (dao) for an example. Dao originally meant the pathway or roads. But later it was used to mean “speaking” – a way to communicate. Today, “道” is used to denote different matters such as “gang” (as in gangster), “rules,” “direction” and so forth, but the interconnection remains “the way” – from the way to go, to the way things happen or should happen.

All six conduits of word creation share one principle, which is the relatedness between the pictograph and the object, or between the parts that form the new ideographic word. Intrinsic relationships help the user to infer and to memorize the new word. For example, when one comes across a word with a part of “口” (kou, mouth), one would instantly know that the word has to do with the mouth, as in “吃” (chi, eat), “叫” (jiao, yell) or “唱” (chang, sing). Understanding the relational principle also helps Chinese-language learners to expand their vocabulary. For example, if they notice that words relating to water have a pictographic symbol of three drops of water, they could easily refer that ocean is 海洋 (haiyang); river is 河流 (heliu); lake is 湖泊 (hupo); wine is 酒 (jiu); flooding is 泛滥 (fanlan), and more. Relational evolution knitted the six types of words together to eventually build the Chinese language as we know it today. To understand the interrelatedness of the Chinese language, one must go deeper into the thinking process behind the words. Since language is an expression of people’s perception of their reality, to describe the perceptions with highly abstract strokes, the sensory information has to be digested and sorted based on the relational framework of reference. The Chinese language “sorts” the physical and mental experiences by relationships rather than the attributes of isolated events. For example, the heart is behind emotions; therefore, many words of emotions have the symbol of the heart (心) in their formation – 忍 (ren, to tolerate), 怒 (nu, rage), 想念 (xiangnian, miss someone or something), 愁 (chou, worried), to name just a few. Another interesting aspect of the Chinese language is how the expression of quantity is imbedded in the words themselves. For example, one tree is 木 (tree), while adding one more木 makes woods (林, lin), and adding yet another 木 makes a forest (森, sen). One水 (shui) is water; three 水 form 淼 (miao), which means a vast body of water. And so forth. Among these words, relations are easy to detect. Even more so than the characters, the Chinese numeric system and measurements conspicuously used the relational way of thinking. In the Chinese numeric system, numbers from one to ten serve as the basic elements upon which the counting system is built. The terms for higher values clearly reveal the relationships between the numbers. Hence, 11 is “ten and one” (十一); 20 is “two tens” (二十); 21 is “two tens and one” (二十一); 50 is “five tens” (五十), while 55 is “five tens and five” (五十五). A hundred is called “bai” (百). Two hundred is then “two bais” (二百); 321 is written as “three bais and two tens and a one” (三百二 十一), and so forth. While a child is learning to count, she is also simultaneously learning the inherent relations between the numbers. In a similar way, words for

Relational thinking in the Chinese language 139 measurements specify relationships as well. Areas are called “big and small” (大 小); amount is “more or less” (多少); length is “long and short” (长短); horizontal distance is “far and near” (远近); and vertical distance is “tall and short” (高矮); and so forth. When asking a friend about the size of a room, a Chinese person would say, “What is the big and small (大小, dasiao) of the room?” When inquiring about a price, a Chinese person would ask, “More or less (多少) money?” The habitual relational thinking has helped to build and enlarge the Chinese written system, which, in turn, facilitates how the Chinese perceive and measure the world. People who grow up with the language develop an understanding of the intrinsic connections of the words, but to unpack the compacted semantics of the Chinese words into a more delineated and grammar-governed spelling language challenges the best translator. It is exactly such compacted semantics and flexible grammatical rules that make learning the Chinese language a daunting undertaking. But the fact that the relational Chinese written system grew in the last 4000 years and is still functioning well today gives it credibility as an effective tool that meets the communication needs of the Chinese population.

23 Development of Chinese “selfhood” Psychological roots of relationalismDevelopment of Chinese “selfhood”

Ancient Chinese views on the relational and psychological elements of human nature, the “heart,” cognition, intelligence and so on culminate in the Chinese selfhood. Here “selfhood” is adopted in this chapter for two purposes: the first is to help us explore the psychological workings of the Chinese people, and the second is to avoid the many ambiguities inherent in the words of “individual” or “individual identity.” Even so, the concept of “selfhood,” much like that of “national character” or “cultural identity,” always risks overgeneralization. But those who have worked in the vanguard of cross-cultural research – such as Michael Bond, Lin Yutang and Richard Nisbett – fully recognize the striking uniqueness of the Chinese selfhood: “The Americans emphasize sociability and prize those attributes that make for easy, cheerful association. The Chinese emphasize deeper attributes, focusing on moral virtue and achievement.”1 Self-concepts are heavily laced with cultural values. With relationalism as the core of Chinese frame of reference, it follows that Chinese selfhood – the sum of one’s perceptions, personality, judgments and personal boundaries – does not exist apart from relationships. Learning from their long traditional past, the Chinese have found in relationalism the most fruitful route to surviving societal chaos and living meaningful lives. Neither the crushing demands of collectivism nor the atomizing ideal individualism could meet those needs in their surviving struggles. Indeed, asks a relationalist, since no person can survive in complete isolation, why would independence and autonomy be encouraged or instilled in any selfhood? Empowered by this perspective, Chinese culture fosters the development of a relationally sensitized selfhood, the mark of a person who gauges each particular situation by the particular nature of the relationship imbedded therein. Today, any study on “Chinese-ness” without a good understanding of how relationalism infuses the Chinese psyche will surely miss the target. Relationalism, while a legitimate word in English-language dictionaries, is rarely considered in the writings of Western philosophers. Eastern philosophers, on the other hand, are regularly inclined to find the term useful when they try to make sense of their life experiences. Joseph Kaipayil, an Indian philosopher, uses relationalism as both a “method of thought” and a “theory of being.” To Kaipayil, relationalism is a system of thought that perceives, interprets and defines the nature of existence based on the inherent relatedness of things in the world.

Development of Chinese “selfhood” 141 Philosophers of relationalism believe that things in life are never separable or isolatable from their relationships, because life is comprised solely of “natural particulars” – physical and mental entities – that are inherently connected to one another.2 From this perspective, therefore, to understand the concept of selfhood is to understand the ubiquitous presence and potency of relationships. Chinese psychologists postulate that the concept of relational selfhood consists of four basic relationships. Those four basic relationships, which a person must learn to develop, understand and manage, are: (1) between nature and self, (2) between others and self, (3) between me and myself, and (4) between the gods and self. In these relationships, “self” is the central base of control. In other words, a fully developed Chinese selfhood, shaped by relationalism, acts as the agent of one’s own mind and brings his or her unique personal marks in those critical relationships with nature, society and spiritual matters. In the early Chinese experience – which was rooted deeply in the desire to have an amiable relationship with the “Big Three”: Tian, the earth and fellow humans – these relationships were matters of life and death. Twenty-five hundred years ago, a Confucian gentleman was one who had virtuous relationships with his family and friends, and was able to contribute to a harmonious state. Today, those values still hold true for a well-developed Chinese selfhood in the forms of healthy moral standards, wellmanaged relationships with others, and the ability to contribute to the wellbeing of society. How well a person manages relationships thus gauges the degree of that person’s self-actualization. While Western self-actualization is commonly associated with attainment of a worthy independence and autonomy, Chinese self-actualization requires that individuals develop their “selfhood” not as isolated beings but as persons who bring unique personal characteristics into their relations with other persons and nature. Just as no two leaves are exactly alike, so too each relationship, even in the parentchild dyad or between friends, tells a distinctive story. A mother’s relationship with her first-born daughter may be substantially different from her relationship with the second-born, simply because each child has its own unique selfhoods. Relational selfhood also signifies that in each dyad, decisions are made with the other person in mind. Each relationship is a “you and me” situation, not simply a “me.” Properly gauging and refining one’s relationships involve lifetime learning. It is through trial and error and with the support of family and community that a healthy selfhood grows and actualizes. Herein lies the challenge to the Chinese self-concept: What will enable a person to maintain a consistent sense of selfhood yet simultaneously play different roles in different relationships without losing that self-identity? In other words, if the meaning of selfhood is embedded in relationships, how do the Chinese reconcile the inevitable conflicts between their self-actualization and the demands from different relationships? From the outside looking in, one might think that Chinese selfhood is in constant danger of being “drowned” by relationships. In this chapter, we will lay such concerns to rest and examine the mechanisms by which the Chinese manage to develop their selfhood amongst the array of demands and benefits of relationships.

142  Psychological roots of relationalism So, what is Chinese selfhood? How does it develop and how does it reconcile its existence and boundaries with the demands of relationships? Confucius set the establishment of a moral self as the most important step to a harmonious society. To that end, he directed that one must set a moral goal of life, toward which to regulate one’s “heart.” Confucius reiterated throughout his life that only after the self was well established could the person successfully manage the family or the kingdom. As much as Confucius spoke of the importance of relationships, the “me” – the selfhood – was always the central element to ensure the operation of the five cardinal human relationships. Just like spokes must solidly connect to the hub of a wheel to enable the whole wheel to function, all relationships are bonded to “me” in the center. Evidently, without the hub of “me,” the spokes – the relationships – will fall apart. Since Confucius, a stable and moral Chinese selfhood has been regarded as the cornerstone of personal and societal accomplishments. Using psychological measurements which focus on developments of independence and autonomy, it may be difficult to see a Chinese selfhood. But Chinese selfhood continues to quietly exist and operate, in the past as in 21st century. Since a solid sense of “me” is vital in personal and social life, how does the Chinese culture nurture it and enable it to take hold? Many curious scholars have looked into the process of how children are bought up, and offered their findings. Michael Bond, for example, pointed to indulgent, permissive and protective parenting during the formative years of the Chinese children.3 Bond summed up his findings through surveying parents and grandparents, and found that before reaching six years old, Chinese children were thought to have no ability to “understand things”; but the indulgence in parenting practice during the child’s formative years signifies to the children that they are special and important to their family. This foundational sense of self-importance, constantly reinforced throughout the early childhood years, leads to the development of a strong sense of “me,” along with trust in oneself and the surrounding world. When children started school, according to Bond’s studies, they experienced an abrupt change in their parents’ expectations towards them. Now a strict and demanding father entered the scene, replacing the tender mother. The demanding father began, steadily and firmly, to push his offspring out of their comfort zone of freedom and leniency into the world of responsibility and hard work – where children are expected to make themselves as well as their parents proud.4 Harsh as it might sound to some ears, such demands actually sharpen the children’s sense of self-importance as well as dawning sense of their responsibilities to themselves and to the family. Here, in this latter childhood, children learn about their own desires and abilities, and come to appreciate their parents’ personal sacrifices and expectations for them. A selfhood thus formed possesses a strong sense of both self-importance and obligations owed to others who have given and have sacrificed for “me.” Such a selfhood knows well that “I have drunk from wells that I have not dug and been warmed by fires that I did not build.” Through their daily interactions with members of the multigenerational family, the Chinese youth come to understand that when they grow up, it will be their turn to reciprocate the kindnesses they had

Development of Chinese “selfhood” 143 been given by supporting the family and bringing pride to their parents. For generations upon generations, Chinese children are indoctrinated in the importance of relationalism, not by force or rote, but through their very daily living experience. This strong sense of self-importance and responsibility to reciprocate the kindnesses one has been given becomes the backbone of Chinese selfhood. For the Chinese, the maturation of a functional selfhood is attained through lifetime negotiations between the needs of self and the wants of others. Like the Western individuation process, of course, the Chinese also have to wrestle with their own Freudian struggles between the “id” and the “superego.” While acting in concert with the relational concept of “I for others and others for me” does facilitate social harmony by diminishing interpersonal conflicts, we humans remain imperfect. We have not yet evolved beyond the point where we still want to do battle with the rise of those unexpected, insidious temptations to get ahead by bettering ourselves. A harmonious society wants stability and peace, but the individual “heart” often longs for opportunities for self-advancement and glory. As expressed exquisitely in China’s classic literature, this eternal agony causes restlessness in the Chinese quests for self-actualization. Besides, social expectations are not always consistent. The mandarin examinations, for example, were in fact an intense competition for the scarce opportunity of personal upward mobility. Even the impetus behind a guanxi network might be that relentless pursuit for limited resources. Here, a growing Chinese selfhood would have to come to grips with innate urges, society’s inconsistent demands, and at times opposing expectations. One with a mature sense of self-identity is expected to successfully find a fulcrum to balance such jarring contradictions in life. Finding that fulcrum is challenging, to say the least. Successes and failures are the results of one’s own judgments and behaviors, and sometimes of luck or answers to prayers. Failure to understand the moment or to contribute properly to an interaction sometimes brings unpleasant surprises. But even those failures provide learning opportunities. The person grows and the environment changes, precipitating constant refinements in one’s wisdom and self-knowledge. A  person’s social roles evolve from childhood to adulthood, then to parenthood and beyond, and changes in relationships follow. But through all the changes there is one constant: one’s sense of self-importance and responsibility to others. It is an immutable consistency. According to the Confucian moral code in human interactions, as long as each person practices benevolence toward others, each person will, in turn, be treated with kindness by others. In the end, all people would have their needs met in the go-around, hence the common Chinese saying, “I for others and others for me.” Since an individual without relationships does not exist and the individual who fails to understand and manage the four basic relationships is not a desirable human being, successfully recognizing and managing relationship is imprinted as the most important mission in a developing selfhood. Since changes and conflicts are constants in life, the point of balance has to be readjusted regularly. In the ancient times when law was little more than the emperor’s will, people had to rely on themselves to find a gauge that was recognized and accepted by society. The gauge that finally made such balancing acts

144  Psychological roots of relationalism possible came to be seen as the concept of “reasonableness.” Being “reasonable” means negotiating a balancing point that both conflicting parties can accept. Just as the fulcrum can be reset to fit different demands, the gauge of “reasonableness” allows readjustments to suit different situations as long as the players agree to it. Over the years, this “doctrine of reasonableness” has successfully played its part in circumstances such as family conflicts, business negotiations, neighborhood quarries, political deals, even diplomatic strategies. The doctrine of reasonableness, as a gauge of the balancing act in conflicting situations, has been carefully taught to generations of Chinese youth as a welltested and useful measurement in a person’s decision-making process. In adulthood, reasonableness is the compass of social interactions, so much so that, today when confronting a questionable choice, where a Westerner might ask, “Is this legal?” a Chinese person would be expected to ask, “Is this reasonable?” Growing up in a multigenerational household, reasonableness is the essence of childhood learning. Watching how family conflicts are resolved, children learn to find solutions that both parties can accept and that enable important relationships to continue. Reasonableness teaches people to refrain from seeking the absolute distinction of right and wrong, which sometimes ends up costing dearly when valuable relationships are severed. Being reasonable instead leaves room for negotiation, compromise, preservation of face, and fairness in the eye of relationships. In the long run, what is most valuable in one’s tomorrow is not the absolute truth so much as relationships. After all, it is better to make and keep a friend than to lose one. Besides, absolute truth may well prevail someday – perhaps when the circumstances are totally void of ambiguity. Being reasonable invokes the use of common sense and a willingness to make allowances for human nature rather than a harsh judgmental attitude. In a conflicting situation involving two incompatible choices, a Westerner may automatically use reason and legal knowledge to find the truth of the murky matter, while a Chinese person may just as automatically rely on the doctrine of reasonableness to find a balance between the incompatible factors. The relationally thinking Chinese selfhood places higher value on reasonableness than on logic, for while logic is abstract, analytical, idealistic and inclined towards absolutes, the spirit of reasonableness is always more realistic, pragmatic, in closer touch with human emotions and relationships, and more understanding and appreciative of the sticky situation at hand.5 Such a doctrine has been regularly enforced by the Chinese government as a viable way to handle conflict situations. A typical example is found in Chinese traffic laws. In the case of a pedestrian being hit by a car while jay-walking, the fault and restitution such as medical cost is shared 50/50 between the pedestrian and the driver, who is not at fault, because the reasonableness rule says that the pedestrian is the less fortunate and more vulnerable party while the car driver holds the advantage of the power and protection of the car. Therefore the law sees the 50/50 rule as reasonable in balancing the discrepancy. In this case, absolute legality simply does not apply. To the seekers of absolute right and wrong, this relational rule seems wrong. Indeed, such doctrine of reasonableness has proven

Development of Chinese “selfhood” 145 to be one of the biggest challenges to those Chinese lawmakers who are trying to create and implement impersonal and impartial laws. On the personal level, meanwhile, it is through reasonableness that a Chinese person develops the capacity to compromise and a gauge to balance grating differences. Historically, a traditional Confucian education can be seen as the process of indoctrinating reasonableness – as an attribute of relationalism – into each selfhood. The end result intended by such classic education is a selfhood that possesses a set of calm and passive strengths rather than youthful vigor and idealism. By the same measure, an educated man is a reasonable being “who is always characterized by his common sense, his love of moderation and restraint, and his dislike of abstract theories and logical extremes.”6 What these educated people embrace is a relational culture that upholds the principle of reasonableness and encourages simplicity, love of nature, patience, love of family life, pacifism, contentment and humor – all personal qualities of a nonchalant and skeptical attitude toward extremist, social upheavals or any passionate pursuit of idealism.7 Extremes are opposite to reasonableness. Being reasonable and realistic is regarded by the Chinese as the “wisdom” of maturity. Idealism, on the other hand, is characterized as immature childishness. The traditional Chinese mind is deeply appreciative of the acumen found in the Greek mythological story of young Icarus. Icarus daringly and tauntingly soared with his waxen wings, ever closer to the sun. Too close! His wings melted away and he fell to his death. His old father, Daedalus, who kept his own waxen wings a safe distance from the blazing sun, flew safely home. In a Chinese mind, Icarus, whose juvenile idealism and unrestrained zeal excited him to attempt the unrealistic, is a sterling example of foolish youthfulness. Obviously, reasonableness is the virtue of an old people “whose eyes have seen much of life, who are prepared to accept life for what it is worth, but who insist nevertheless that this life shall be lived decently and happily within one’s lot.”8 Happiness, for a typical Chinese person, means the satisfaction from a secure, predictable and orderly life lived amongst harmonious relationships. To make the best of life, the Chinese know they must work diligently, endure nobly, and live reasonably. The ancients would pray to Tian and the deputy deities for the things they needed, but they also prayed for the ability to endure and to let go of the wants that were out of their reach. A typical reasonable selfhood would regard anything that is out of reach as unrealistic and unworthy of attempting. Accordingly, a Chinese realist is resolved to get the best out of life, but also ready to accept the futility of his efforts; he has a keen desire to enjoy what he has but is also ready to laugh at his own follies and foibles; he would do anything to avoid misfortunes and devastations, but when they befall him, he would resolve to take them with a realistic “such is life” attitude. This down-to-earth reasonableness in a selfhood gives the powerless Chinese commoners the psychological equanimity with which they have survived centuries of poverty and sorrow, disasters and devastations, tyrannical rulers and unjust treatments. Here reasonableness is almost synonymous to being realistic. Unless action in a social upheaval is taken out of sheer desperation for survival, the general Chinese

146  Psychological roots of relationalism attitude toward such impulses is that of an unruffled onlooker. While watching the seemingly inescapable failing efforts of social upheavals, this “realistic” onlooker is easily persuaded by the saying that “the more things change, the more they stay the same,” and shrugs off the call to participate. From the Chinese relational frame of reference, history does not progress from point A to point B; rather, it starts from point A and ends up back at point A after making a full circle through point B. Human efforts to interfere with that course have been repeatedly proven futile. Hence the responsibility and wisdom of a mature person, under the circumstance, is not to chase after some abstract and idealistic freedom, justice and rights, but to recognize the futility of political reforms and preserve oneself and his family. Generations of Chinese youth are taught by elders to take the compromised way rather than to stand up confrontationally for some absolute truth or justice. A mature Chinese selfhood would regard restless idealism and passionate rebellions as unreasonable urges to resist. Realistically, the long history of the hectic rotations of dynasties has taught the Chinese that political problems are less a debate over what is true and untrue or right and wrong, but more over the ultimate problem of feeding empty stomachs. Sadly, such survivor’s reasonableness straightforwardly reduces high-spirited and idealistic impulses and activities to the level of the alimentary canal and other basic biologic needs. Perhaps it is such an overly cautious attitude toward social changes that gives many foreigners the impression that the Chinese selfhood is of an inscrutable personality. To be reasonable also means to stay within the guidelines of propriety. Relationalism might have helped the Chinese survive in a tumultuous sociopolitical environment, but anyone wanting to go beyond simple surviving must master the most important social rules of propriety founded as the culminating point of Confucius’s moral code. A modern mind could probably make a long list of personal qualities considered more critical than propriety. But for centuries Confucius and his followers spared no effort in their emphasis on appropriate decorum. Earlier, we have discussed the two dimensions of Confucian propriety: the behavioral dimension of socially respectable actions and a psychological dimension of a matured selfhood that fully understands the influence of one’s actions in the lives of oneself and others. In the Chinese psyche, propriety involves a person’s capacity to internalize appropriate behavioral rules pertaining to his or her status. In Confucius’s time, regulations regarding rituals and other social behavior were numerous, complicated and encompassing all aspects of life. To be a person of propriety was to know these rules by heart. Knowing them meant not only to be able to regurgitate them on demand, but more importantly to internalize them so as to appropriately adjust one’s perceptions, desires and ambitions for life and to gauge one’s interactions with other people. All of this can be boiled down to a phrase known to be a compliment for a mature selfhood in China: “nafen shouji” (Be content with one’s share and contain oneself within the bounds of propriety). It is easy to see the social functions of such a “compliment” – a content and proper selfhood knows how to stay within the prescribed bounds and not cause trouble. In addition to fulfilling the moral requirements of one’s social stratus, a mature selfhood would be concerned for the welfare of kinship, friendship and

Development of Chinese “selfhood” 147 other social relationships.9 The five cardinal human relationships categorized by Confucius are all anchored on “me” – the selfhood – to ensure their healthy existence. Throughout life, each personhood is involved in numerous relationships of different natures. For example, when a girl is young, she is a daughter to her parents, a sister to siblings, a classmate and friend to her playmates; when she gets married, she adds the relationships with her husband, mother with her child, not to mention her varied relations with neighbors, workmates and relatives such as the in-laws. Behaving properly in one’s relationships is a sign of a well-developed selfhood. Confucians even specified the right steps toward true maturity: having a correct “heart,” or a solid knowledge of the world order and inherent connectedness; maintaining a healthy family; and contributing to a harmonious community (or state). Rather than becoming an autonomous individual searching for independence, the ultimate seal of approval for a healthy Chinese selfhood is given to the one who successfully navigates a personal relationship network with propriety while developing one’s means of making a living. Part of behaving with propriety is to reciprocate properly. Repaying the kindness one has received is an important virtue embedded in the Confucian concept of selfhood. Reciprocity is an important connector in relationalism because it obliges everyone to appreciate the benevolence given by family and others, and as such, contributes to the permeation of compassion in society. Propriety compels a well-intentioned action to be reciprocated with similar actions and urges people to develop or to continue relationships with others. All adults remember being taught by parents to address kinships by the correct terms; to engage in such reciprocating activities as gifting, hosting dinner parties for family and friends; and helping neighbors when they are in need. Because no two family dyad relationships are the same and friend-friend relationships numerate as many as the number of friends that are involved, children learn appropriate reciprocity by the nature of the particular relationship and the mutual personal emotions. For a relational Chinese selfhood, one of the most important accomplishments in selfhood is undoubtedly found in the development and maintenance of relationships, to which reciprocation holds the key.10 Although relationalism underlies all selfhoods, it manifests itself differently in behavioral expectations and psychological developments for men and women. During the pre-Confucian centuries, Chinese women were regarded as the yin force in the world. According the Yi Jing, the Book of Changes, men were yang and women were yin. But the yin/yang theory held the two natural forces to be complementary to one other and equally indispensible in matters ranging from personal needs to a harmonious social environment. Confucianism changed that. Based on the Confucian interpretation of the gender relationships, yang somehow became the dominant and yin the subordinate. This new gender theory subjugated women to a status inferior to men. For generations, this discriminatory attitude “stood for a society with emphasis on distinction between superiority and inferiority. It stood for obedience, for recognition of authority in a family as in a state, and for the division of labor between man’s duties outside and women’s duties in the

148  Psychological roots of relationalism home.”11 In other words, the yang-male was superior and commanding while the yin-female was inferior and submissive. Based on such Confucian gender prejudice, a female scholar named Ban Zhao (circa. 110 C.E.) wrote the first guide book for women, Women’s Guide, calling for “sancong side” or “three obediences and four virtues” as the marks of desirable female behavior. The three obediences were: “when a woman is in her maiden home she obeys her father; when married she obeys her husband; and after her husband dies she obeys her son.”12 As if submissions to men were not enough, women were commanded to practice additional four virtues – female morals: humble and obeying the men in her life; female speech – never raising her voice to men even when she was wronged; female skills – cooking, sewing, serving her husband and raising their children; and female appearance – conservative but pleasing to her husband. In all, there was one single theme in Ban’s book: women should live their lives as servants to men. That supposition was gladly enforced by the male-centered imperial society. Once that standard was set, the seal of approval was rewarded to the “womanly woman” who displayed behaviors that matched the “three obediences and four virtues.” To that end, young girls were taught such “respectable feminine virtues” as: quietness, obedience, good manners, personal neatness, industry, skills in cooking and sewing, respect for the husband’s parents, kindness to husband’s brothers, courtesy to husband’s friends, and so forth.13 In later centuries, many more guidebooks were published, but the theme never changed in that women must learn to be a submissive person in the shadow of men. After hundreds of years of enforcement, in spite of a small number of exceptional women who were able to prove their equity to men, the discriminatory rules were internalized and consequently Chinese women began to wear the badge of inferiority. In 1954, gender equity was finally entered into the first Chinese constitution, which specified that women were equal to men and they should be treated as such in terms of personal rights, education and employment. Today, Chinese women have stopped “walking three steps behind men.” The younger generations of women have largely achieved “same work, same pay” as men, but remnants of the old ideology still linger in the selfhood of women, even in the more liberal generations of the 1990s. For example, even today, few Chinese of either gender would challenge the assumption that women are both physically weaker and mathematically inferior and that they should avoid careers that require those strengths. Or, as another example, no one seems bothered by the fact that the top Chinese ruling power – the Politburo of the CCP – is comprised exclusively of men. How could it be true that no woman – out of hundreds of millions of them – is capable of being a national leader? Even today, nuances such as the preferences for a “girly girl” are still alive among men. Unlike in America where “tomboy” is an affectionate, even admiring, description for a girl, in China it is a put-down. At this rate, it might require a few more decades for Chinese women to see their potentials of becoming the Lady of Liberty, Victory, Justice and Peace. The Chinese culture continues to hold a skeptical attitude towards those idealistic terms. Take another idealistic term, “equity” for example. While equity is

Development of Chinese “selfhood” 149 commonly declared a birthright in the West, the Chinese accept it as fact that it is impossible for humans to be born equal. Professor Hwang of Taiwan University made an interesting comparison between the Confucian culture and the Christian culture to illustrate this point. He observed that Christianity postulates that each person is an independent entity created by God; hence each individual should strive to defend that territory of self as God’s given. Christian children are taught to be kind toward others because all humans are inherently equal to each other and before God. Equity is thus a birthright to Christian Westerners. Professor Hwang went on to say that the Chinese believe that they are birthed by their parents, not by God. Each individual life is a continuation of its ancestors’ lives and their inherited genetic make-up.14 Ancestors are not equal beings; consequently their descendants cannot be equal beings. The sexes are not equal. Parents and children are not equal in rights or responsibilities. A parent must be a provider and a child must be obedient. Father and mother have different attributes – father is strict and mother is affectionate. Some men are born masters while others servants, and so forth. A relational Chinese person accepts the notion that, while female and male selfhoods are becoming more similar today, they are still expected to fulfill different societal roles and to manage relationships accordingly. All these historical and cultural factors have shaped a unique Chinese selfhood that sees, feels, understands, accepts and grows in a relational environment. Instead of being passionate for new adventures and innovations or insatiable desires to compete and conquer, a well-grounded Chinese selfhood is one that possesses a mellow temperament and the ability to retain equanimity of the mind even under extreme circumstances. Rather than an autonomous being who takes pride in being a non-conformist, the Chinese mature selfhood strives to understand not only the self but also fellow human beings for the purpose of best living and functioning as a member of the ubiquitous relational network. Having said all that, it would be amiss to conclude that Chinese selfhood is collectively controlled or overrun by relationships. Each Chinese personhood is usually in command of their relationships – selecting which relationship to hold close and how to manage them. Those foreign business companies and researchers who come to China with the assumption that the Chinese are a “selfless” group often find themselves unprepared for the reality where personal inclinations can make or break deals. Many businesses reportedly have found it necessary to readjust their strategies in order to work with each Chinese selfhood as the decision-maker of the relationships. As China rushes into the 21st century, large-scale industrialization and urbanization have begun to bring inevitable changes to Chinese self-concepts and their supporting foundations. Large-scale changes are not new to the Chinese people, whose experiences of coping with them laid the groundwork for Yi Jing, for example. Nonetheless, Yi Jing’s authors never foresaw the waves of changes now pushing China out to meet global forces and viewpoints. The sparks from contacts and clashes with different cultures inexorably illuminate, challenge and change how the 21st-century Chinese people evaluate their millennia-old traditions and their self-perception. How far and in what directions the thinking “heart” can

150  Psychological roots of relationalism stretch are all new issues, which include economic development, political reform, environmental protection, intellectual property protection, the Gini Index, human rights, gender equity and yet others. With unprecedented options to choose from and freedom to do so, will China’s relational selfhood become more autonomous and independent? Amongst all the changes, will they hold on to the East or shift to the West? Or, with the world shrinking, will East and West selfhoods merge to create a new generation altogether?15

Part V

Relationalism in 21st-century China

24 Some starting points

Relationalism in 21st-century ChinaSome starting points

Predictions about China’s fate in the 21st century have ranged from prophecies of China’s total collapse to forecasts that “the century of China” has just begun. The key approach to guessing how China is likely to fare in the 21st century, meanwhile, is to follow how well the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) is faring in its intraparty relationships, its relationships with the State, and most critically, in its relationship with the Chinese people. The failure of any of these relationships could well throw China into a state of domestic political mayhem and economic devastation. In the next chapters, we will “follow the relationships” and look closely at the CCP’s policies and actions as they work to manage those important relationships in the 21st century. Before considering how relationalism continues to drive China’s domestic and diplomatic institutions in the 21st century, we need to take a brief look at the power structure in China. Theoretically, there is a pyramid-shape power structure where presiding on the top is the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) over the Chinese government (the State) and the National People’s Congress (NPC). Together, the big three carry out different functions in the governance of the nation. The State carries out the executive governing functions while the NPC is the constitutionally designated law-making body in the land. The CCP, as an autocratic authority, maintains dominance over the other two political entities. In the first half-century of its leadership as a governing party, the CCP was remarkably consistent in its efforts to legitimize its status as a sole leading power of China. When the CCP took reign in 1949, it trumpeted its “revolutionary” departure from China’s old “consistencies,” declaring that the Party was a revolutionary leader of a new epoch and as such was naturally different from the previous “feudalistic” ruling powers. They proclaimed to be the party to uphold “people’s democracy,” wherein people were the master of their own nation. But for all the modern rhetoric in its propaganda, the Party’s behavioral patterns revealed little substantial differences from the imperial tradition. Not only have the core political and cultural values remained largely unchanged, even the nature of the relationships between the central authority and the people has remained much the same. Professor Zheng Yongnian has insightfully called the autocratic CCP an “organizational emperor,” on the grounds that the CCP retains the mentality of the emperorship – “I own the empire that I founded. No questions asked.” For

154  Relationalism in 21st-century China half a century, the CCP has fit squarely into that description. The Chinese people, instead of being the master, now found themselves familiarly under yet another dictatorship much like the imperial dynasties, except now on that throne sat Mao and his long time comrade-in-arms. In fact, other than the CCP’s propagandistic rhetoric, it was hard to spot any real change, even the organizational structure of Mao’s government showed little difference from that of an imperial empire. China continued to be ruled by power not law; production and life resources continued to be controlled by the government and the elite; and people continued to be politically powerless and economically poor. One exception, perhaps, was in how government officials were selected. For hundreds of years, positions and privileges of civil services were given to the educated men who, regardless of their family backgrounds, emerged on top after successfully passing levels of the mandarin examinations. Even muddled by corruption, such a system was relatively open and seemingly fair in allowing able men to move up the power ladder. But the system was abandoned in 1905. Unlike the many previous emperors who had resumed the mandarin system soon after their power was consolidated, Mao had no need for that system. To build his own civic government, Mao relied on the imported Marxist theory of “class struggle” – a convenient way to fill the government with people loyal to Mao and his CCP. The Maoist theory of class struggle classified people by their family origins. Only descendants from families that had suffered from generational poverty were to be entrusted with jobs in the governments, the reason being that these families were indebted to Mao and the Red Army for saving them from miseries or the brink of death. Those who came from traditionally well-to-do families before Mao’s reign were required to cleanse their minds of the “bourgeois influence,” or else be treated as enemies of Mao. Those from an educated or middle-class background would be required to prove their loyalty and commitment to the ruling party and Mao if they wanted to be included in Mao’s cause. Mao demanded loyalty from his officials as well as the people. He had won the wars relying on the people, a war strategy he termed “the people’s war.” But a closer look into “the people’s war” revealed nothing more than a clever maneuvering of relationships. Mao grew up as a peasant with thorough understanding of relationalism and he put that knowledge to good use in his leadership. He emphasized that all revolutionists working for the CCP be trained in how to relate, motivate and convince people that the communist cause was worthy of their support. With that support, Mao succeeded in taking the reins. But during his reign, still counting on that support, Mao was peculiarly “blinded” to the fact that it was with his own hands that he destroyed all his relationships with his supporters when he made them the new targets of his “revolutionary cause.” Mao started on the owners of private industries by nationalizing all railroads, banks, mines and airlines. From there, Mao proceeded to “reform” private ownerships of everything including that of land, factories and shops. By 1958, Mao’s “people’s communes” became the true land owners in China and peasants were landless again. The monopoly of resources was so absolute that it began to smother the nation’s economic development. Criticisms and complaints began to mount inside and outside

Some starting points 155 the Party. Mao took these criticisms personally and anxieties began to overwhelm his rational thinking. After results of several purging campaigns – including the 1958 Anti-Rightist Movement and the 1962 “Four Purges Movement” – failed to calm his nerves, in 1966, Mao launched the most widely spread and violently destructive political elimination rampage. This was Mao’s last and most vicious political campaign and he gave it a grandiose title, “The Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution.” The destructive impacts of this revolution were no less than those of a prolonged civil war. Damages on all personal, cultural and economic fronts were thorough and extreme. Estimations of deaths and unlawful persecutions reached 30 million people.1 During the two most chaotic years of 1967 and 1968, China’s “real annual GDP growth rate” fell to the negative numbers of -5.7% and -4.1%, respectively.2 That was not all. For 11 years, the K-12 basic education system and all higher education and research institutions were paralyzed. Factories were operated sporadically and crops were deserted. Markets were almost non-existent and shoppers saw little but empty shelves. Psychologically, the oppression and persecution of a quarter of the population, who had committed no crime except being born in the “wrong” family or expressing their own thoughts, led to charges of disloyalty and deepened people’s fearfulness of the CCP. Hopelessness permeated not only circles of science, technology, medicine and education but undermined the larger society as well. In spite of the loud propaganda aiming to stimulate, the nation was deeply depressed. China was on the brink of total collapse politically, economically and culturally. By the time Mao died, he had alienated almost all segments of the populace including government officials, the educated, private property owners, workers and peasants. Mao’s death in 1976 left a destitute economy and ruined relationships for the new national leader Deng Xiaoping (1904–1997). Deng Xiaoping and his leadership team knew that among the many issues waiting for resolutions, none was more urgent than the CCP’s relationships with the people, and to that end, nothing was more effective than meeting their pressing needs for life’s necessities. Deng quickly and sure-handedly dismantled Marxism and in its place inserted a welcomed pragmatism. The Deng-style pragmatism famously declared that regardless whether it was a “black cat or white cat,” as long as it caught mice, it was a good cat. To encourage those capable “cats,” Deng pushed for competition in the nation’s economy and education. Of all the changes that Deng initiated, none was more important than his decision to introduce a market economy, albeit on a limited basis at the time. Once the Marxist shackles were taken off, the nation was activated to pursue economic development. Over the next three decades, China’s economic leap-forward astonished the world with, in some years, exceptional double-digit GDP growth. As soon as peasants had permission to market their produce and artisans their products, the wheels of economy began rolling once again. The nation picked itself up from the dirt and people were alive with hope again. Although three decades late, the “new China” that the CCP had promised its people when it took power in 1949 finally began to take shape. By the dawn of the 21st century, the Chinese economy was developing at a dazzling pace and the Party and the people had to run to keep up. All things felt

156  Relationalism in 21st-century China new. Top-listed among all the new developments was the power of the Internet. In recent years, in addition to aiding manufacturing industries and agricultural marketing, the Internet has become an awesome forum for an increasing number of Chinese to air their opinions, protests and outcries publicly, so much so that the government can no longer operate in complete opacity. The speed of the Internet shortens distance and time for a story or a protest to travel. Stories, both good and bad, spread to even the remotest parts of China almost instantly, making the Internet the most powerful way to influence public sentiments and the biggest challenge to the government. Moreover, China found it had its own “deep throats” who have taken it upon themselves to watch and disclose “classified operations” of corruptive guanxi in both public and private sectors. The old cultural relationalism now takes on new context, new speed, and raises new challenges. Inevitably, China’s economic reform, which had brought about Chinese-scale progress, had also created Chinese-scale challenges to cultural traditions. The old reality for the regime – the struggles to feed the people – had now become the struggle to establish new relationships with its internal factions, the State and the people. Problems such as human rights, equity in resources, and environmental protection glared at the national leadership. Take the peasants for example. Large-scale industrialization has brought hundreds of millions of peasants into towns and cities to work on the assembly lines and construction sites. But although their urban earnings tripled or quadrupled the amounts they had earned from the land, these “peasant-workers” still could seldom earn enough in the cities to sustain a household. What was more, per city policy, their children did not have the right papers to attend urban schools. Such constraints and conflicting policies have created millions of “broken-up” families with one or both parents working in the urban factories while their parentless children stay behind either by themselves or under the care of the grandparents in the village. In China, the peasants’ problems – for the sheer number of them, if nothing else – are national problems. This “peasant-worker” phenomenon puts many challenges before the CCP and the government as well as the families. How well the complaints of these peasant-workers are satisfied goes far in determining the stability and harmony of the Chinese society. On a national scale, the 21st century demands of industrialization and urbanization call for a kind of ruler different from the types of the warring era. To meet those new demands, the CCP has had to undergo substantial ideological as well as organizational changes so as to maintain its legitimacy as a national leader. But what has it done to maintain its legitimacy as an autocratic ruler? Did the numerous subsequent protests that burst out all over China at the turn of the new century signify only that the general Chinese public had become more assertive about their rights or could they also be signifying the demands for a different relationship with the Party? In China, it has been said that behind every successful person, both in politics and economy, there is a powerful guanxi network. What have the political and economic reforms done to this network, or to the core values of the Chinese relationalism? The sitting chairman of the CCP urges judicial reform. What does that mean to a culture that has never been ruled by law? Relationalism

Some starting points 157 as a frame of reference has sustained the Chinese culture for thousands of years. Is it capable of sustaining the Chinese experiences of the 21st century? The 21st century has ushered a new China onto the global stage. How will China relate to other members of the global village? Will it become hegemonic or continue to practice its relational diplomacy? In the next chapters, we will examine these questions brought about by China’s political and social “newness,” and where it is taking China in the 21st century.

25 The CCP in the 21st century

Relationalism in 21st-century ChinaThe CCP in the 21st century

China-watchers know that since the CCP is the sole ruling force, China’s destiny hinges on the Party’s visions and actions. Right after the cease of firecrackers heralding the 2014 Chinese New Year, a well-known China watcher and professor of Political Science at George Washington University, David Shambaugh, sensationally declared that “The endgame of communist rule in China has begun, and Xi Jinping’s ruthless measures are only bringing the country closer to a breaking point.”1 Shambaugh’s doomsday prophecy injected new energy into the so far fruitless forecast of the “looming” collapse of the CCP and the Chinese economy. Interestingly, however, little attention has been paid to the Party’s key relationships – Party internal relationships, the Party-State relationship and the Party-people relationship – that would truly boom or doom the CCP and China. The CCP knew it could not afford to take its eyes off those relationships. In the new century, the once-heralded image of the CCP as a war victor and people’s savior has become the thing of the past. New justifications have to be developed for its legitimacy as a ruling party and this time not on its past glory but on its present merit. To that end, the CCP has now faced two formidable challenges: first, how to undo the Marxist ideology upon which the Party was built; and second, how to develop a new vision that will bring the Party and the nation together to meet the needs of the new era. Neither challenge is easy to meet. For decades, Mao ruled his Party with an iron fist, permitting no dissent from his own programs, let alone democracy. Ruling by fear, Mao had succeeded in silencing the dissidents – and alienating most Party members. Now the CCP must bring back the hearts of those Party members while washing out the old ideology from their brains. To understand the workings of the CCP, we need to know the power structure within the Party. Currently, the CCP’s leadership is made up of 2270 Party Congress delegates who are elected by the grassroot Party branches. These delegates are tasked with representing the needs of their constituencies and reporting to the 205 CCP Central Committee members above them. The top-level Party leadership is the seven-member Polibureau of the Standing Committee, which holds the ultimate power on the governance of the Party and the country. The central Party leadership, meanwhile, is in command of the provincial Party committees in terms of making sure the province is following the CCP visions and regulations, selecting provincial government leaders, and evaluating their performances. The provincial

The CCP in the 21st century 159 Party committees command the lower Party committees in cities and towns, counties, military units, state-owned enterprises, down to the villages. These Party committees and branches are like fibers in a network that covers the whole nation, even deep in the remote mountains. In the meantime, the central State government and the National People’s Congress (NPC) have similarly-structured networks of their own that also reach to the grassroots units. In other words, these three separate but interconnected governing bodies oversee and govern the nation through their relationships with one another as well as with the public. Relationships with the other two branches of the government and with the people are of paramount importance to the attainment of all other goals. Deng Xiaoping and his post-Mao CCP regime – although hampered by a declining Party membership and loss of public respect for the Party – took on the daunting mission of rebuilding trusting relationships, while trying to find the pulse of the new era. Remembering the Confucian wisdom that before ruling a state one must first put his family in order, the CCP was determined to first restructure its intraparty relationships. The arduous nature of this challenge is reflected in the two interconnected political “surgeries,” the first to establish a new unifying ideology and the second to find a viable way to work with intraparty factions. To that end, the CCP had to unshackle its members from the ideology of Marxism. Since the CCP’s inception in 1921, Marxism and communism had been the guiding ideology that inspired and sustained the Party through decades of war. But the 21st-century CCP is no longer at war; instead, its mission is to lead all segments of Chinese society – supporters, onlookers, even dissidents – from the Marxist world into the world of authoritarian capitalism without batting an eye. Since economic development became the main justification of the Party’s political dominance, the CCP knew that despite fears and doubts among Party members, there could be no deterrence from the trajectory of the economic reform. To go with this transformation, the Party would survive; but go against it? The Party would die. By the end of the 1980s, with great difficulties and effort, Deng Xiaoping successfully implanted pragmatism and set about building a market economy. But there was hesitation. While Party members cheered for the economic development, they faced a loss of their revolutionary identity. More and more, Deng’s pragmatism appeared to be deviating from the old ideology to which they had sworn loyalty. Although the majority of the membership understood that the old Party ideology had to change to meet the new reality, the question of which ideology to embrace began to haunt them all. Ever since Deng Xiaoping embarked on the “open door” policy to welcome international investments into China’s market economy, there had been puzzlement about the identity of the Chinese Communist Party. In the 1980s and 1990s, troubled Party members equated market economy with capitalism. They asked: With increasing capitalistic elements permitted by the Party, wasn’t China becoming capitalistic? If that were the case, how could the CCP still call itself a “Communist Party” and China a “socialist country”? After all, what did all that mean to us members? These questions twirled in the minds of both Party leaders and members.

160  Relationalism in 21st-century China Unsurprisingly, from the heated debates the top CCP leadership emerged with a typically relational answer. The 1993 CCP Politburo reconciled the internal divide with an explanation that the market economy was not a trademark of capitalism; rather, it was simply a strategy to grow the economy and it had been proven to have worked better than the outmoded Soviet-style “planned economy.” The CCP leadership defined this policy as the “socialist market economy.” As such, the CCP cleverly legitimized “market economy” as a tool to be used by China, a “socialist country,” thus making the change somewhat palatable to its members. With the green light, more “taboo zones” of a market economy were open and China’s GDP took off. The pursuit of GDP as a measure of success diverted Party members’ attention away from the ideological debate, but uncomfortable feelings lingered. But the CCP pushed on. This new tool, namely, the market economy, launched a series of new lessons for the CCP, which in turn instigated a chain of intraparty reforms. Of these lessons, none was more poignant than that a market economy has its own life, which sometimes defied the Party’s penchant for willful control. For example, at the turn of the 21st century and in the midst of China’s unprecedented industrialization, the CCP realized that for the economic reform to continue it must rely on new segments of the population. The first segment that proved to be instrumental for economic development was the technocrats – engineers, technicians, doctors, educators, experts in finance and skilled managers – the educated class that Mao ostracized as “bourgeoisie” and Marx defined as “sympathetic on-lookers” in the pursuit of communism, not a class that the CCP should rely on. But now the Party not only welcomed but valued them as the needed new energy and knowledge to maintain the momentum of the economic development. The second segment of the population that the CCP recruited caused an even greater stir amongst the Party members. In 2011, the roughly 52 million Chinese “capitalists” – entrepreneurs, private business owners, CEOs of international corporates, the rich and the privileged – who provided 160 million jobs in 2012 and contributed more than 60% of China’s GDP2 – were welcomed to join the Party. Many Party members protested. They demanded a justification for offering to these new segments membership into a “Communist Party.” The sitting CCP Chairman, Jiang Zemin (in power 1989–2002), answered the members’ challenge. Jiang urged the CCP members to reconsider how best to represent the population in the new economy. His subsequent theory has since been known as the “three representations”: the representation of the advanced forces of production, the representation of the advanced culture, and the representation of the interests of the majority of the Chinese people. Jiang’s arguments went like this: The newly emerged groups – the technocrats and the capitalists – consisted of the nation’s much needed technological experts, tycoons, the educated top-level economic managers, private business owners and CEOs of the state-owned and internationally invested enterprises. Their knowledge and skills represented “the advanced forces of production” in the market economy. To represent the advanced segments of the Chinese population was to represent these two segments and include them in the CCP. Jiang persuaded most Party members. With the new

The CCP in the 21st century 161 additions, the composition of the Party membership underwent drastic changes from mostly uneducated or undereducated blue-collar laborers and peasants to what is now an expanded membership with a large percentage of the educated and the skilled constituents. According to an official report, by the end of June 2012, amongst the 82.6 million active Party members, 31.9 million or 38.6% have postsecondary education and a staggering 23.3% are from the segment of technocrats and “capitalists.”3 By taking this step, the CCP, in essence, had made a decisive break from the last stronghold of Marxism. The capitalist class, Marx held, was by nature exploitive and oppressive of the working class and should be eradicated. When the CCP adopted a market economy and embraced the technocrat-capitalist coalition as part and parcel of its membership, it stood Maoism on its head and took its members a step further on its reform agenda. One thing led to another. As expected, members of the technocrat-capitalist coalition could not be satisfied with mere acceptance without being assured that their basic rights, namely, private property rights were restored and protected. The achievement of that assurance would secure for them the lynchpin of their legitimacy as rightful members of the Party. Shunted to one side, old Party members still had the fresh memory that such a request was not only impossible in the 20th century, it was outright political suicide to even mention it. But now, to their surprise, these capitalist Party members were granted their wish. The 2004 Chinese Constitutional Amendments clearly obliged the State machine to provide constitutional protection to private ownership of and inheritable rights to private property and enterprises.4 Since that stunning break occurred – although progress in its implementation has zigzagged along the new path – the CCP members finally realized that the party they belonged to had broken away from the original underpinning of its party name, “communist.” Today, although that spurned adjective remains, few members think of the CCP as “communistic” anymore, for every thinking person can see that the CCP’s new ideology and identity have severed the critical connections to the doctrine of Marxist communism. These surgical movements in ideology and in the composition of the membership, however, caused novel factions in the Party. As the Party’s elder leaders died off with their “founder/owner” mentality, intraparty factional competition and conflict became common occurrences. New interest sub-groups within the Party came to attain the strength and courage to argue for the interest of their own constituencies. To appease diverse intraparty groups, rather than crushing them like Mao used to do, the central CCP had to learn how to handle “factional politics.” One way to manage it is through the Party training machine – the Party school where attendants are encouraged to “emancipate” their minds and openly debate Party policies and practicalities of their implementation. Some of the winning ideas are adopted by the Party central committee and put into experimental practice. China’s version of “one person one vote” grassroot democratic election illustrates the point. The idea was first brought up in debates in early 1990s inside the central Party school and was later allowed in small-scale trials. In 1998, the idea was put into general practice. It is now a fairly common practice in China.

162  Relationalism in 21st-century China Regular intraparty dialogues about new ideas prove helpful for the Party to deal with new or potential factional disputes. In some ways, intraparty factional politics, while reflecting the doubts and fears about reforming the CCP, indicate the increasingly tolerant intraparty culture. The CCP must have realized that, with over 40% of the CCP membership being welleducated and well-informed technocrats and capitalists whose interests and information antennae spread nationally and internationally, conflicts of new political ideas and agendas are inevitable. Indeed, ever since Deng Xiaoping shifted CCP’s focus from ideology to economics, intraparty “wars” between the reformists and the conservatives have been waging. The reformists saw the urgency of decentralizing the distribution of resources for a true market economy, for example, while the conservatives, who were small in size but strong in will, saw the economic reform as a sign of betrayal of the Party’s original principle and fought to save the Party and the country from losing the “red color.” The conservatives dug in their heels against everything Western, capitalistic, and of the market economy. Over the last 35 years, every major economic policy change represented a hard-earned reformist victory over the conservatives and every compromise a result of difficult negotiations amongst the factions. These intraparty factions quickly caught the attention of the Western Chinawatchers. They were able to identify several significant splinter groups, each with its own powerful leader. The leading factions were known as the “Shanghai Gang,” with retired Party Chairman Jiang Zemin (in power between 1989 and 2002) as its spokesperson; the “Youth Leaguers,” with another retired Party Chairman Hu Jingtao (in power between 2002 and 2012) as its representative; and the “princelings” who are the descendants of the nation’s “founding fathers,” and the sitting Party Chairman Xi Jinping (2012 to present) is said to be their leader. Many China-watchers closely track the movements of these factions. Some of the watchers wrongly read these intraparty political conflicts and compromises as signs of organizational atrophy signaling the CCP’s “immanent” Soviet-style collapse. But those who took into consideration the power of relationalism in China did not make such dire predictions. In China’s “political ecology” – a term being floated in China’s media nowadays – leaders of the CCP, men and women who were raised to trust in the importance of relationships, unsurprisingly called into play their sophisticated relational skills and somehow managed to work their way through the differences in opinions and visions. Because “all powers are relational and must be exercised in relation to others,” as Zheng Yongnian understood it, the CCP is still finding ways to keep important intraparty relationships in balance.5 To that end, the CCP has adopted some mechanisms – in addition to intraparty dialogues – that would allow it to maintain a close relationship with its members, especially those potential leaders. In addition to channeling dissident ideas and out-of-the-box suggestions through central and local “Party schools,” the CCP holds tightly to one powerful managerial instrument – personnel evaluations. The top Party leaders at each level are tasked with evaluating their subordinates’ skills and abilities for promotion or demotion. The assessment usually consists of two major aspects: first, assessments of the potential candidates’ contributions to the

The CCP in the 21st century 163 local economic development in accordance with the vision of the Party, and second, how well the evaluated personnel manage their relationships with fellow Party members and the people. As an instrument of control, personnel evaluation is highly efficient in keeping factional conflicts under control. In addition, the Party requires regularly monthly or bi-weekly unit meetings of each and every unit where good performances are recognized in a timely manner and unresolved grievances are quickly passed on to higher levels. With these structural arrangements, the central CCP hopes that regular communication throughout the Party network is sustained and all individual members are connected to one another as well as the Party visions. These new practices are leading to a new and relational intraparty power-sharing operation as observed by Professor Wright: in the post-Mao period top Party leaders increasingly have not made decisions in an insulated bubble or by fiat; rather, there has been a great deal of discussion and consultation within the Party, from the highest level to the lowest, such that decisions made at the top typically have reflected wellconsidered judgments based on a substantial amount of evidence and input. Indeed, the preferred method of decision-making had been to allow lower levels sufficient autonomy or experiment with new practices, such that the relative success and failure of various practices can be gauged, and the most successful can be endorsed and presented as national models.6 The CCP appears to be gingerly taking baby steps toward more democratic ways of working with intraparty factions by allowing greater tolerance of intraparty dissidence, as long as the conflicts do not threaten the Party’s overall dominance. In fact, some top Party leaders have come to view conflicts as an opportunity to gauge members’ sentiments and desires as well as potential resolutions. Meanwhile, another potential cause for a political earthquake surfaces to catch top attention: the rampant corruption among government officials – abuses of power and bribery, especially – that have threatened to unravel the Party’s legitimacy. In recent years, the CCP has taken firm steps to clean up the moral mess within the Party. The actions include required training for all Party members, clarifying and strengthening regulations and consequences, closing loopholes that allow members to use public funds for private purposes, forbidding Party members and officials from accepting “well wish money” on social occasions, and publicly pursuing and punishing corrupt Party officials. Literally thousands of Party officials have been openly stripped of their positions and Party membership; and incidents of corrupt behavior appear to have subsided. But everyone – Party members and the public alike – knows that final victory has yet to come. What is giving corruption such undying energy may just be the very relationalism that has also saved the CCP. (For detail analyses please refer back to Part III.) The CCP seems to believe that an internalized moral standard is a selfdisciplining gauge, cautioning individual members to refrain from illegal and immoral temptations. Historically, Chinese governments have always had such a standard: the dynastic governments depended on Confucianism and the early

164  Relationalism in 21st-century China CCP turned to Marxism. Now, the CCP has repeatedly tried to establish a new unifying theme to serve as a rallying moral platform for its members. The concept of a “China Dream,” for example, announced in 2012, has been much touted and publicized. But just as Confucianism took centuries to take root, the CCP’s “China Dream” has not been tested by time. Until something fills the moral void, the absence of a guiding standard will continue to work its mischief. In recent years, the Party leadership began to look to a judicial system as the strong arm to discipline its members. For any judiciary to exist and to function, it must be entrusted with absolute authority over everything and everyone, regardless of political positions or personal relationships. But the CCP is facing two problems with those premises. The first problem lies in that “disinterest” means no relationalism should exist to bias the law. But the Chinese have yet to learn how to function outside relationalism – and Party members are no exception. The second problem is that the CCP does not know how to reconcile its totalitarianism with an impartial judicial system. This agony is reflected in the documents from the CCP’s Eighteenth Plenum on October 29, 2015. The documents state that the CCP leadership is “the biggest advantage of the Chinese style socialist system” as well as “the essential political guarantee” for the continual economic development – not the law. The Party thus tries to justify its totalitarian political authority and under that authority, a Chinese legal system would be the most powerful mechanism for the Party to govern the state and the people. In other words, the judicial system is a tool serving the will of the Party when it rules over the State and the people. That is not to say that individual Party members will not suffer legal penalties when they violate the existing judicial rules. As citizens, Party members, even high-ranking Party officials, will go to jail for their crimes as defined by legal regulations such as murder, embezzlement, bribery or rape. But when it comes to the Party as a collective body of political power, the CCP simply refuses to put itself under the restraints of the law. We shall return to this topic in Chapter 28. For now, however, the CCP’s willingness to reform itself, to discipline its members’ behavior and to adapt to people’s needs is reaping impressive results. According to reports from several international surveys and in-person interviews, the majority (more than 80% of the respondents) of the Chinese people polled were supportive of the current Chinese political system. For example, the 2012 World Values Survey (WVS) reported that more than 93% percent of Chinese respondents expressed “quite a lot” or “a great deal of confidence” in the regime.7 Although these survey reports should be taken with a grain of salt, the international community has noted democratic improvements in the Party’s determination to self-cleanse and self-discipline. Former US Treasury Secretaty Henry Paulson recalled a 2014 conversation when Xi Jinping said to him, “Because we have oneparty rule, we need to be a good party. So we have three tasks: self-improvement, self-purification, and self-regulation.”8 Xi’s “three tasks” have since been written into Party curriculum for its members. After all, with the Party’s “strong men” passing from the scene and the war halo expiring, the CCP’s best available insurance for its “emperorship” is

The CCP in the 21st century 165 relationalism – effective working relationships with intraparty factions, connections with the people, support from the State and the People’s Congress. As the sole ruler of the nation, the CCP is keenly aware of the Chinese adage that “The water can float the boat but it can also sink it.” More than in any other eras in history, the CCP needs the “water” to float its “boat.” How best to manage its members and intraparty factions will continue to absorb a large portion of the CCP’s energy. Only when its internal unity is achieved will it be able to properly handle its relationships with the State and the people.

26 The CCP-State relationship in the 21st century Relationalism in 21st-century ChinaThe CCP-State relationship in the 21st century

Since the CCP took control of China, it has been struggling to define where its authority should end and that of the government should start. In a 21st-century setting, with democratization a global trend and with the new and growing market economy demanding a share of the power, a working relationship between the CCP and the government (i.e., the State) takes on greater urgency than ever before. However, in spite of the dazzling modernization that China has achieved in the post-Mao years, its governance is still caught in a somewhat feudalistic and definitely totalitarian political system. During the old dynastic times, the emperors, as “owners of the land,” had absolute authority over governmental matters ranging from taxation, wars and management of government officials. As long as the CCP remains unwaveringly determined to maintain its political dominance, that emperor-government mode of operation, which had been often unproductive in earlier times, will continue to be a harshly counter-productive anachronism in China. Despite the continuing unresolved and entangled relationships between the Party and the State, many Western China experts tend to lump the two entities together as one and call it the “Party-state.” Other China experts describe the organizational structure of the two governing bodies as “mirroring” one another. But in reality, the organizational structures and functions of the two entities are much too different to be lumped into “mirror images.” Neither notion – that of “Party-state” nor that of mirroring bodies – pays adequate consideration to the unremitting struggle between those two entities. Although similar to the CCP pyramidal organizational structure, the Chinese State as a governing body is comprised of a greater scope of functions which necessitate a broader range of offices and committees, each with authority over their specific responsibilities. The State’s top authority, according to the constitution, is the State Council, which is also known as the central government. The State Council governs complex national affairs through its 28 ministries, which include the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Education, the Ministry of Agriculture, and so forth. In addition to the ministries, there are 18 offices with special assignments which report directly to the State Council. They include the Supreme People’s Procuratorate, the Supreme People’s Court, the State Central Military Committee, the Bureau of Taxation, and the Central Headquarters of Environmental Protection. Together, these ministries and offices perform responsibilities that

The CCP-State relationship in the 21st century 167 cover such realms as diplomatic relationships, national finances and defense, land management, food security, and so forth. The central government, through its many offices and ministries, keeps close contact with the correspondent offices in the provincial governments, which in turn direct the functions of municipals, townships as well as village governments. Close relationships between each level enable the processes of policy implementation and decision flow. If China’s governance is to be carried out according to the constitution, the State should be the executive arm of the legislature, namely, the National People’s Congress (NPC), which makes laws and determines regulations based on people’s wills and needs. Unfortunately, with the Chinese political regime remaining totalitarian, the Chinese State has been required to serve the directives of the CCP, not of the legislature. But the Party knows it does not have what it requires for governance. Over the years of its reign, the CCP has constantly agonized over power sharing with the State – what power, how much and when. Frequently redefining its boundaries with the State, the Party swings the State to the left or to the right. The reason for such struggle seems surprisingly simple, as explained by Zheng Yongnian, author of The Chinese Communist Party as Organizational Emperor. Zheng analogized the current CCP-State relationship to that of owner and manager. The CCP deems itself as founder of the nation and therefore its natural owner; hence governing the nation as its own is a birthright. Meanwhile, the State is ordained by the CCP to oversee and regulate the nation’s economy and security, and doing otherwise is negligence.1 Herein lies the problem: Lacking clearly set laws, local Party and State leaders are left to figure out where one’s jurisdiction stops and the other’s begins. Their agonizing relationships are well reflected in their zigzagging pathways historically.2 During the last six decades of its reign, the CCP has gone through at least four phases of relationships with the State: The first phase happened between the years of 1949 and 1957 during which time the Party-State relationship was characterized as “the Party embedded in the State.” Immediately after the Chinese civil war (1946–1949), almost all government positions were held by the CCP members. Mao himself was simultaneously the Chairman of the CCP Party and the President of the Central Government. Four of the five CCP Party deputy chairmen also held positions in the State Council as premiers. Among the thirteen CCP Politburo members, twelve held responsible positions as top leaders in various ministries. Even so, both the CCP and the State insisted that Party members serving as government officials might see things the Party way, but they must follow the regulations of the State, not the Party. The Party seemed trying not to control the State directly. But how was it possible to avoid the Chinese Communist Party’s dictation on State affairs when almost all leading positions of the government were in the hands of the CCP leaders? The second phase lasted from 1957 to 1978 and is called “the Party being the State.” This phase was marked by Mao’s order at a Central CCP leadership meeting in July 1957 that “Under the current policies and regulations of the Party

168  Relationalism in 21st-century China Central Committee, all local political, legal, cultural and educational departments must function under the local CCP committees.” Soon after, the Party Central Committee established five sub-committees to directly command governmental activities in the areas of economy, legal and foreign affairs, science, culture and education. To accompany the new establishments was Mao’s order: “All these groups represent the CCP Central Committee and will directly report to the Politburo. . . . Big decisions must be made by the Party and there must not be division between the Party and the State. The State may make suggestions but the final decision is up to the Party. The Party Central, the local branches of the Party and the State together implement the Party decisions.”3 Mao’s series of orders set the stage for the Party takeover of almost all authorities and responsibilities of the government. During this stage, all political and economic decisions came directly from CCP Central. As a result, the State Council’s functions were completely usurped by the Party, rendering the State no more than a puppet with all strings in the hands of the CCP. The third phase spanned the next two decades from 1980s to 1990s. This phase is known as the “separation of the Party and the State powers.” The Deng Xiaoping administration understood the market economy’s need for decentralization and did its best to reverse Mao’s totalitarian governance. Deng argued that totalitarian politics was destructive to both the Party and the State. When the Party was inundated with the daily chores of governance, it limited itself to being an executive organization while neglecting such critical aspects of its leadership roles in strategic planning for the nation as well as continual self-betterment as a ruling party. In the meantime, the totalitarian politics tied up the hands of the State, making it dysfunctional. Under Deng’s leadership, the Thirteenth CCP Congress required all levels of the Party committees to relinquish their governing responsibilities and return them to the State. After returning governance authorities to the State, the CCP began to act like a ruling party. It was able to begin learning to set strategic political and economic visions for the nation: making sure that the governing actions would be aligned with the Party’s strategic plans; focusing on maintaining its own ethical standards and integrity as a ruling party; and making sure that its members were exemplary citizens and that the Chinese people were in support of the CCP because its actions were correct, moral and trustworthy.4 During this phase, the State began to govern with some autonomy and the boundaries between the Party and the State appeared to be less enmeshing. The fourth phase, starting in 1989 and continuing to the present, is called “the Party leading the State.” In addition to the three major responsibilities, the Jiang Zemin administration added another important point to the CCP’s own agenda. Jiang proposed that, instead of engaging in power struggles with the State, the Party should shift its focus to its relationship with the legislature or National People’s Congress (the NPC). By the Constitution, Jiang argued, the NPC – not the CCP – was the authority that determines the State’s responsibilities and evaluates the State’s performance. In other words, the CCP and the NPC should actually be the two horses running side by side leading the chariot – the Chinese State.

The CCP-State relationship in the 21st century 169 The CCP sets the visions and the NPC legislates the paths – laws, regulations and funding – for the State to carry out the visions. Therefore, Jiang proposed that CCP’s first and foremost relationship is with the National People’s Congress and the Party-State relationship should be a secondary. In Jiang’s words, “the nature of the CCP’s ruling power is to ensure people’s ownership of the nation.” To that end, Jiang said, the energy of the CCP should be shifted to “strengthen the National People’s Congress, strengthen its legislative leadership and power to enforce legislation, and strengthen the system of political consultation with other parties.”5 In significant ways, this new proposal added an interesting twist to the fourth phase of the Party-State relationship. Although the constitution had said so, the totalitarian CCP had habitually either lorded over the NPC or simply given lip service to it. But if Jiang’s directive was to be followed, the NPC, which represented the will of the people, would truly participate in governing the nation by directing the State functions. The Party, then, could hope to truly shake off its predicament of power struggle with the State. In spite of continual struggles, the 21st century has brought potentially constructive changes in the Party-State relationship. For example, the CCP has shrunk its provincial and local committees from multiple Party secretaries to only two, and all Party committees in charge of governance matters were dismantled, returning those responsibilities to the State. In that spirit, the State now possesses at least a taste of autonomy in matters of governance. Generally speaking, Party and State officials are able to hold on to their respective jurisdictions. Levels of the CCP leadership are also tasked with supporting, not meddling with, the economic development in the local areas, which means they too have to respect the laws of economics and demands of the market, hence the regulations set by the State. Based on the current signs, there are reasons to assume that the CCP will continue to wrestle with its relationship with the State. Although under the present system, it is unrealistic to expect a clearly spelled-out separation of power between the Party and the State, the fact that the CCP “has been relentlessly searching for a feasible solution to rationalize its relations with the State” is encouraging. As Zheng Yongnian observed, much of China’s political reality is that “the overall structure remains intact while its content consistently undergoes changes.” He offered this advice to the world’s China-watchers that they should see China’s new Party-State relationship “in the light of these content changes despite a seemingly unchanged one-party structure.”6 Zheng seems confident that the Party-State relationship is moving, however slowly, toward a more rationalized and hopefully more clearly defined Party and State power-sharing structure. After all, the CCP knows that a government with a freer hand to govern holds the key to efficiency and effectiveness. Even more encouraging is that the CCP seems to be making progress toward shifting its focus from the State onto the Chinese National People’s Congress.

27 The CCP–Chinese society relationship in the 21st century Relationalism in 21st-century ChinaThe CCP–Chinese society relationship

Today the CCP prides itself for having a long tradition of being “the people’s party.” From its days as an underground organization with a membership of mere dozens of people to today’s ruling party of 87.8 million members amongst a population of 1.3 billion, the CCP gained a profound understanding of the power of the masses. Not that such understanding always came easily or correctly. There were critical lapses along the way – especially at Tiananmen Square on that infamous fourth day of June in 1989, a date which marks the nadir of the CCP’s relationship with the people. Especially since that date, the CCP has developed a repertoire of skills and methods – ranging from overt to covert – to manage relationships with the Chinese society. Since 1989, a more relationally sensitive CCP became ever so keenly aware of how critical it is to maintain a smooth relationship with the Chinese people and their organizations. The “workings” of the people were nicely illustrated in a story known by the Chinese people: Once upon a time, there was a wise old king who realized that the end of his life was looming. Thinking it was time to pass on his wisdom to his sons, he called all of them to his bed. But instead of lecturing them, he gave each of them one chopstick and asked them to break it. Bewildered, the sons did what they were told and it was an easy break. When they looked up, the old king then gave them each a bundle of chopsticks and required them again to break them. Seeing that nobody had succeeded, the old king smiled and said to his sons, “Divided, you would be easily conquered. Only when you are bundled together do you have the strength to overcome difficulties and protect your family and our kingdom.” This was the message the “revolutionary” CCP had used when it tried to unite the people against their enemies. At the time, the CCP “bundled up” the people and together they won the wars. Deeply impressed with the power in the bundled up hands, as a ruling party, the CCP now prefers easier dealings with isolated individuals than facing an organized opposition of the “bundled up” people. Hence, an amiable relationship with the people has become top-listed as one of the two most critical extra-party relationships: “Dang-qun guanxi” (the Party’s relationship with the people) and “Dang-zheng guanxi” (the Party’s relationship with the State). While the CCP’s relationship with the State is largely under control, its

The CCP–Chinese society relationship 171 relationship with the people requires constant re-adjusting. To appease the 1.3 billion people, the CCP emphasizes two critical matters for their standing attention: the first is to put food on people’s tables and money in their pockets; the second is to keep unhappy members of the populace from “bundling up.” Relationally speaking, the two aspects are actually one because as long as the Chinese people are satisfied with their life necessities, they will be unlikely to bundle up or take risks for such abstract ideals as human rights. But hunger and anger are volatile and sometimes it takes only a spark to start an uncontrollable wildfire. Evidently, issues around equity of resource distribution and governmental corruption are the most capricious triggers for such wildfire. In fact, gaps in income, opportunities and rights perilously polarized the populace during the first two decades of Deng Xiaoping’s reform. Frustrations, even rage ran high among some segments of the public against abuses of power by the privileged elites and corrupt officials. Amongst all the sensitive issues, none was more volatile than the illegal and sometime even violent action known as “land grab” by local government officials and their greedy business associates. To quickly “grab” the prime land they wanted, land dealers and developers offered bribes and “kickbacks.” Many government officials accepted them. By selling land to urban developers for high profits, the local officials accomplished two purposes: one is to take the illegal “kickbacks” for personal use; and the second is to show their “achievements” for political promotion by paying for unfunded top-down mandates with the illegal money. Corruption ran rampant. Many urban and rural residents and peasants lost their inherited land to such “land grabbers” with little or no compensation, while corrupt officials and developers got rich. Such abuse of power enraged tens of thousands of people and demonstrations by workers and peasants broke out regularly during the 1990s and 2000s. Some protested because the developers grossly underpaid the peasants for their land; some protested because the local government made financial promises to them but never delivered; still others protested because the local government made unilateral decision on “grabbing” the land without the property owners even knowing it. Such publicly expressed grievances represent a last resort for the people, one that is highly damaging to the CCP-people relationship. To manage such public grievances, the CCP typically directs the State to strengthen the “xinfang” system – offices that are run by each level of the governments where people may bring their complaints and anger, by mail or in person, to the attention of the government. But when the “xinfang” system is manned by corrupt or uncaring officials who suppress the grievances rather than improve the situations, the system sometimes works to further aggravate the Party-people relationship and pushes the people to take their grievances to the streets. The CCP calls these protests and demonstrations “massive incidents.” “Massive incidents” are defined broadly as gatherings of over 100 people to publicly express their grievance against a certain official or issue. The majority of the protests in China have to do with local grievances, such as the abridging of people’s

172  Relationalism in 21st-century China rights by local government or Communist Party officials, exploitation by employers who delayed or cheated workers of their wages, and excessive taxation.1 An estimate from the Chinese Academy of Social Science counted over 90,000 “massive incidents” in 2006. Another source estimated that in 2010 the number of protests reached 180,000.2 The negative emotions and rage behind the massive incidents gravely concern the CCP. To defuse these timebombs, the central CCP issued numerous directives demanding local CCP and State offices promptly resolve potential causes of future outbreaks. Investigating causes, resolving issues, and appeasing the angry citizenry became the top priority for all levels of governments. In recent years, the Internet has opened up another powerful communication channel for the public to air their frustration and grievances against governmental wrongdoings. The high speed of the Internet helps to spread public moods faster than ever. Hundreds of millions of Chinese self-proclaimed “netizens” are now taking advantage of this opportunity to share information. This 21st-century technology has empowered the Chinese commoners and created an especially vexing predicament for the CCP. On the one hand, the Internet provides the CCP and the State with an important and immediate medium, through which the upper echelon is able to find out about cases of abuses of power and to gauge public sentiments. Such knowledge leads to timely responses to the problematic situations before they explode into crises. Internet disclosures of corruption or abuse of power have led to thousands of indictments of officials. One such case happened in the summer of 2012 when dozens of sexual photos of a high-ranked official and his mistresses were posted online. His arrest quickly followed. On the other hand, as with all Internet usage, the accuracy of reported public opinions and the massive reactions thereto are sometimes compromised. For one example, the government is accused of paying a troop of government supporters 50 cents for each pro-government post online, hoping to balance the bad news with good news. Without knowing the truth, any positive posting on the Internet was scorned by netizens as the doing of the “50 Cent Party.” Knowing the power of the Internet, government officials take swift actions to put out any threatening sparks. Take for example an event called “Charter 08.” In October 2008, a group of over 300 educated Chinese men and women signed a declarative document calling for democratizing the Chinese political system. Later, they published their documents, entitled “Charter 08,” on the Internet. “Charter 08” immediately alarmed the CCP and the regime reacted swiftly. They arrested the leaders and interrogated the signatories, accusing them of “inciting subversion of state power,” and shut down the activist website “bullog.cn”. Most Chinese did not have a chance to see the document. Some of the many measures that the CCP have taken must have worked, because even with the relentless suppressions of “questionable” postings, most Chinese citizens seem to be satisfied with their ability to air their opinions and grievances online. In one recent survey according to Professor Teresa Wright, 80% of mainland Chinese respondents agreed that “the Internet should be controlled or managed”; and 85% of those respondents believed that the Chinese

The CCP–Chinese society relationship 173 government should be the only entity in charge of doing so.3 Professor Wright aptly sums up this ambiguous attitude: Overall, use of the Internet in China illustrates both the regime’s tolerance of freedom of expression and its limits. The system is neither entirely closed and totalitarian, nor entirely open and free. But on balance, the amount and types of political criticism and discussion that are allowed appear to be perceived as satisfactory in the minds of the majority of Chinese citizens.4 Although the Internet has become widely accessible, millions of the Chinese population still remain isolated from such technology. They are the peasants, constituting over half of the population. The peasants’ issues are obviously national issues and their prosperity is China’s prosperity. At the beginning of Deng Xiaoping’s economic reform, peasants lived in conditions largely unchanged from the imperial past. But the market economy suddenly catapulted the Chinese peasantry into a modern world. To enter that world, the migrating peasants made and continue to make economic progress – but not without great sacrifices. Each year since the 1990s, the number of peasants working in the cities has increased rapidly. According to a 2015 report released by the Chinese central government, 274 million peasants held regular employment in the cities. These peasants may not have the high-paid skills but they have physical strength. Instantly they have filled the market for manual labor jobs that the city folks do not desire to do. Livable wages5 give the peasant-workers better ability to support their families, especially in the more poverty-stricken rural regions. Their situations, reminiscent of the Chinese peasant “sojourners” who once went to “Gold Mountain” America to fulfill similar dreams, usually enable them to send a good portion of their wages back to the village to improve their family life at home. With funding available now, many villagers are able to renovate their once-shabby homes; others are able to build new and better family dwellings in their village. Almost all see overall improvement of their financial conditions. But the opportunities come with a price. The massive migration of people leaving their homesteads and flowing into the cities has raised immense pressures on urban management, similar to the situations during the industrialization eras in countries like England and the United States. Problems are numerous and serious: lack of organizational management, no representation of their voices, substandard living conditions, criminality, lack of health insurance, no schools for their children, and leaving behind aged parents in the villages without care. Beyond this, there is the extreme pressure put on the cities’ housing and nation’s public transportation systems when hundreds of millions of peasant-workers try to go home for the Chinese New Year and come back to the cities afterwards. It is hard to imagine how the railroad system handles a sudden flood of people each carrying many weighty presents and luggage? How can order and security be maintained for the travelers as well as the residents? Each of these issues, when magnified by hundreds of millions, can quickly become a timebomb waiting to explode. Both the CCP and the government worry not only about the potential

174  Relationalism in 21st-century China danger embedded in each such problem but also its potential cascading effects on the whole society. The local governments are earnestly trying to address the peasant-workers’ concerns and ameliorate the peasants’ living conditions. For example, to resolve the long-standing problem of owing peasant-workers’ wages, the Guangdong Provincial government required that all employers must honor the agreement on labor contracts, be it on paper or by word of mouth; the local governments in Anhui Province offered the peasants’ children the same opportunity to be enrolled in city schools; and the Hunan Province was among the first to license only those developers who pre-deposited sufficient funds in the bank to guarantee the peasants’ wages. In the 21st century, the CCP began showing a more productive and effective attitude toward helping these peasant-workers. To take it a step further, the CCP makes the peasant-workers’ welfare a criterion in the annual performance evaluations of local Party and government leaders. This, in effect, ties the personal interest of the government officials with the wellbeing of the peasant-workers. Under this circumstance, the local officials inadvertently become the spokespersons for the peasants because now their personal and professional interests are closely linked to the peasants that they serve. This union has brought positive changes. For example, according to one report, the once enraging situation of withholding wages owed to peasant-workers decreased from more than 5% nationwide in 2008 to a rate of lower than .5% in 2012.6 Other problems such as peasants’ children attending city schools are also being addressed. In the 21st century, through demonstrations and meetings, the peasants made a persuasively clear case to the regime that they had sacrificed for the nation’s economic development and now they wanted their fair share of the profits. The regime responded positively. The National People’s Congress (the NPC) has passed significant legislation to take down barriers for economic development in the rural areas. The most conspicuous new policy was one on agricultural taxation. Beginning from January 1, 2006, for the first time in 2600 years, Chinese peasants are exempted from paying taxes for agricultural incomes (except for tobacco).7 As a result, what used to be the 8.4% agricultural tax is now part of the peasants’ personal income. Levels of governments also provide funds for the villagers to build roads and bridges so their produce can be shipped to the city center markets. Villagers are encouraged to lease their land to private investors who would build and operate facilities for tourism and fisheries and other industries, for which villagers are trained and hired for the wage-paying jobs. Another major policy change that benefits the peasants has to do with reforming the huji system, a residential identification system that used to exclude peasants. The huji system was created in the mid-20th century, for population management. Over time, it became a screening machine, determining such distributions of resources as school attendance, employment, healthcare and social security. For decades, this system favored and protected the privileges of urban residents and set many limits to stop peasants from coming into the cities. For the purpose of

The CCP–Chinese society relationship 175 controlling the urban population, peasants were not allowed to hold city jobs; their children were not permitted to attend city schools; and so forth. That discriminatory system was dismantled in October 2015. Now peasants are free to choose where they want to live and work. These and other governmental policies have substantially improved the relationships between peasants and the government. In the meantime, the world is watching, with great interest, new developments in the CCP’s relationship with non-governmental organizations (NGOs). During Mao’s era, NGOs were not permitted to exist. Pitifully in a nation of the world’s largest population, there were only a handful of NGOs, which were either an extension of the state’s governance arm or allies of the CCP or the State. Take the well-known All-China Federation of Industries and Commerce (ACFIC) for an example. Established in 1953, the leadership of the ACFIC was mostly held in the hands of the central government trustees. Its mission statement closely echoed the CCP party line and its membership waxed and waned with the CCP’s policies toward the private sector. In the 21st century, the ACFIC has been finally given more leeway to function autonomously and as a result, it is able to more truly represent the interests of the Chinese industrialists and entrepreneurs. Currently, the CCP’s somewhat relaxed attitudes have gradually led to a mushrooming of NGOs. The following numbers may help to paint drastically contrasting pictures of NGOs in the past and present: according to the Chinese Ministry of Civil Affairs, before 1978, China had only about 100 NGOs nationwide and by 2005, there were 168,000!8 But worrying about the potential power of these “bundled up” citizens, the CCP is treading carefully in its relationship with them. In the 1990s, the State Council issued strict regulations on the forming and operation of the NGOs, which stipulated that all social organizations must be approved by and registered with the appropriate levels of government. Eligibility requirements include that the applicant obtains a sponsor that is professionally capable of supervising it and the NGO applicant must be the only one of its kind in the chosen area.9 After these two requirements are met, the applicant may proceed to registration with the appropriate government office. In addition, the CCP sets a distinction between NGOs in the fields of economic development and those of political interests. The government policies appear to be more encouraging and welcoming for the NGOs in the fields of science and technology, but in the spheres of religion or human rights, the NGOs are under stricter scrutiny and careful watch. In actuality, these NGOs are small organizations with little legal influence in the nation, especially when compared to the official legislative body, the National People’s Congress. Established in 1953, the National People’s Congress (NPC) is supposed to be China’s parliament with the authority bestowed by the constitution to legislate, to represent the grassroot people’s wishes and needs, to oversee the operations of the government, and to elect the major officers of the State. The Chinese NPC is made up of approximately 3000 delegates elected by each and every province, self-governing regions of ethnic minorities, and municipalities. From the very beginning of the NPC, the Party agonized over how to relate to this giant and potentially powerful “bundle” of people’s representatives. Should

176  Relationalism in 21st-century China the NPC be a partner equal in authority, or should it be a subordinate to CCP dominance? In the first 50 years of its reign, the CCP chose the latter. But the 21st century has ushered in some fresh changes. Currently, over half of the delegates are CCP members. But at least one-third of the seats are now reserved for nonParty delegates including accomplished scientists, technological inventors, representatives of the super-rich, and members of the smaller political parties. The term limit is five years. During those off-years, a NPC Standing Committee exercises its authority on daily issues and tasks. By the Chinese constitution, the NPC is designated to mandate and regulate major functions of the State. But the CCP was never truly allowed that autonomy. Naturally, with the majority of the NPC delegates being CCP members, it was easy for the Party to exert its influence and control over the NPC agenda and decisions. Just as with the State, the CCP dithers over how much control it should exert without suffocating it, for behind it stand the Chinese people. In protest against the CCP’s control, people privately ridiculed the NPC, saying that the organization’s main function was merely to rubber-stamp decisions made by the CCP. In recent years, however, subtle changes in the Party-NPC relationship have quietly taken place. What used to be routinely “unanimous” approval votes for the Party-set agendas now show divergences into more honest patterns of yeas, nays and abstentions. At the Twelfth NPC Convention in 2015, for example, of the seven major bills that were brought in for a vote, none was passed “unanimously.” Hundreds of delegates voted against the government budget for that year.10 Other independent decisions were made when the NPC delegates voted to reject the bills proposed by the CCP and the central government to impose a gasoline tax to fund highway construction and food safety. In fact, it is no longer unusual for the State to withdraw its bills from the NPC forum, especially in the realm of taxation. Among the NPC legislative actions, the most telling of all, perhaps, was its refusal to consider the Central Party Committee’s bill for a constitutional amendment, on the grounds that the CCP as a non-governmental organization had no right to propose such legislation.11 This move spurred a heated and on-going debate on and off the Internet about the legal boundaries of the CCP, the State and the NPC. Those are all encouraging signs that the people, as represented by the NPC, may be gaining greater ability to express their will. Statistics from the 2015 NPC Convention, for example, showed significant changes in the composition of the Congress membership. Of the 3000 delegates, a total of 401 workers and peasants were elected as delegates, many of them peasant-workers; 699 delegates were women, 23.4% of the total. While the grassroot representation had increased, the portion of CCP and government officials decreased from 42% to 34.88%.12 The media has also reported that the NPC appears to have taken on a new function in its relationship to the CCP. Repeatedly, the NPC serves as a forum for a wide range of issues on which the CCP and the State struggle to reach consensus. Some of these results have led to new legislation. The fact that the delegates of the NPC are able to truly debate and discuss issues of national significance may signal

The CCP–Chinese society relationship 177 that a more democratic atmosphere is emerging. These and other changes point to a quiet power transformation in China’s political and economic life. Though the future is never an insured certainty, there is reason to remain hopeful that a movement toward a more trusting relationship between the CCP and the Chinese society will continue. Amongst the reasons given for this optimism, a poignant one is the emergence of a judicial system.

28 A judicial system with Chinese characteristics?

Relationalism in 21st-century ChinaA judicial system with Chinese characteristics?

Recently, circulating among leaders of the regime and the Chinese media, some new buzzwords have been heard, such as “yifa zhiguo (governing the nation by law).” But invoking it is one thing, attaining it is another. The populace is waiting and watching, well aware of how challenging it is to establish a notion of an independent judicial system that is alien to the Chinese experience. China’s long history has been one of being governed by emperors, not law. The nature of traditional governance has ever been subjective, partial, even whimsical and informal – in short, woefully unpredictable. Transitioning from that type of governance to an independent and impartial judicial system – one in which a person has reason to be more confident in his rights and responsibilities – will inevitably be one filled with obstacles. The CCP’s desire to maintain its political dominance has been discussed earlier as the major hurdle in the path of creating a disinterested judicial system. It is not, however, the only obstacle to contend with or the only piece of the puzzle of reform. A successful solution to the puzzle – the establishment of a judicial system of China’s own – requires the proper fitting of many other oddly shaped and ill-fitting pieces, such as the ubiquitous presence of relationalism in Chinese society. Recently, China-watchers noticed that another new and potentially important phrase – “the socialist judicial system with Chinese characteristics” – has also quietly begun to appear in print, side by side with the routine phrases of “the socialist political system with Chinese characteristics” and “the socialist market economy with the Chinese characteristics.” It appears that all these “systems” crowned with “Chinese characteristics” are meant to stop comparisons and criticisms of the Chinese way with the world’s way. After peeling off these layers of “characteristics,” one lays bare the single intended common theme: all systems must be “under the leadership and watchful eye of the Chinese Communist Party.” Logically, therefore, “the socialist judicial system with Chinese characteristics” must also be one under the guidance of the CCP. Indeed, Xi Jinping, the CCP Chairman put it succinctly: “The CCP leads the establishment of the law, ensures the enforcement of the law, and is the first to follow the law.”1 Where does the CCP position itself in relation to the law? Certainly not under its jurisdiction. The CCP leaves no doubt that the first and foremost characteristic of the Chinese judicial system is its political allegiance to the leading power. Laws? Yes.

A judicial system with Chinese characteristics? 179 Laws that might limit CCP options? No. The CCP, unsurprisingly, does not see anything wrong with that affiliation. Its logic is quite simple: if the CCP and the Chinese judicial system both represent the best interest of the Chinese people, then the legal system obviously must be in keeping with the Party’s will and agenda. A legal system is but a tool to be used by the CCP for its purposes. On different occasions, President Xi has expressed the central CCP’s desire to “cage power into systemic regulation,” and the law is the means to that end. Unlike the American judiciary system that is carefully protected from political interference, political affiliation is made inherent to the Chinese laws. Granted: All judicial systems are products of political and ideological realities. Some rulers may use the legal system as a tool to control their people; others may regard it as the highest authority of the land overseeing the nation’s political and economic actions; still others concoct a mixed-nature implementation of the law. Regardless, a functioning legal system requires of the citizenry its unconditional acceptance and submission to the authority of the law. In China, however, the judicial system is under the leadership of a ruling party, where the word “leadership” implies guidance, facilitation, coercion and control. Such an arrangement instantly begs many questions: How would a judicial system function under political leadership? Can a judicial system impartially adjudicate while having to follow a certain political agenda or operate under the authority of a political ruling power? When, or, as is more likely, if conflicts between the court and the Party agenda occur, who would have the final say? The CCP is quick to specify that the Party leadership of the law does not mean that individual party members will not suffer legal penalties when they violate the existing judicial rules. As citizens, Party members, even high-ranking Party officials, do go to jail for their crimes as defined by legal regulations such as murder, embezzlement, bribery or rape. But when it comes to the Party as a collective body of political power, the CCP simply refuses to divorce itself from the control of the law. What it hopes for is to use the law to regulate the behavior of its members. Henry Paulson recalled a 2014 conversation when Xi Jinping said to him, “Because we have one-party rule, we need to be a good party. So we have three tasks: self-improvement, self-purification, and self-regulation.”2 Xi’s “three tasks” have since been written into Party curriculum to educate its members. The documents from the Eighteenth Plenum reiterated Xi’s theory to all Party members: Anti-corruption is always on the way. It will never cease and relent. . . . [We must] consolidate our anti-corruption actions, construct a system that enforces the party members’ fears of, restraint from, and resistance to corruptive temptations, so as to create a political environment where Party officials, the government and politics are clean and self-disciplined.3 And the law would come in handy as needed. But what happens when it is deemed not to be needed? The second “Chinese characteristic” of the “new” judicial system is made clear by the government’s simultaneous promotion of de or morals and li or propriety as

180  Relationalism in 21st-century China critical tools for the citizens to behave legally. Morals and propriety clearly echo Confucianism and thereby bring relationalism into the realm of the law. In fact, in the long absence of a formal judicial system and enforcement structure, morals and proprieties established by local communities (clans in many cases) had long been the living law of the land in China. Under such moral “law,” public condemnation was the most severe sanction for violations. Once the relationships with the community were severed, the wrong-doer was given no less than a life sentence of ostracism and misery, which in the old days was worse than death. But that kind of “court of public opinion” is not what the Chinese regime advocates in its effort to establish the “Chinese judicial system.” What they seek to satisfy is the culture’s need to preserve relationships. The regime supporters point to historical instances of the unity of law and moral standards as a uniquely Chinese characteristic in successful governance. The unity theory proposes that moral standards and propriety should be the foundation for the current judicial system and should be taught to and upheld among the public.4 Are the Chinese lawmakers hoping that popularization of moral standards will help soften the unavoidable strain between the formal law and the living law? Do they realize that relationalism and a truly functional judicial system can undermine each other? If the Chinese lawmakers know the power of relationalism, they should understand that strain between the “law of the State” and the “living law” is unavoidable. With thousands of years of wisdom and enforcement, relationalism is behind factors that are “often not monetizable or reducible to a simple cost/benefit analysis. They include trust, good faith, collaboration, the quality of life of the parties, and other intangible factors that largely escape the science of economics.”5 Easily, the intricate and inexplicable factors of relationalism, such as “the doctrine of reasonableness,” can affect and even offset the court’s adjudication. To ensure the enforceability of the “law of the State,” the Chinese lawmakers somehow find it logical to think that the practice of the traditional moral standard must be brought on board. They reason that, since the “law of the State” and the “living law” share the same goal of maintaining social order, working together would provide the best connection between the formal and living laws. However, they might overlook that the connection may not represent a perfect fit. The measurement for relational propriety is the doctrine of reasonableness, which is by nature informal and flexible, and as such may excuse people from submitting to the necessary rigidity and formality of the authority of the State laws. In more ways than one, impartial sanctions or coercive legal actions are likely in conflict with relationalism. Even Western judicial experts realize that in a relational environment, efficacy of the legal instruments might well be seriously challenged by ongoing relationships. People in many cultural settings are used to having disputes and subsequent resolutions handled through social pressures from third parties outside the court. This is especially true in cultures like China where the general concern is more with maintaining a sustainable relationship than righting the wrong. Litigation is often shunned by the disputing parties because durable relationships are often damaged or permanently severed as a consequence of legal actions. In civil cases,

A judicial system with Chinese characteristics? 181 for example, while the judicial system relies on formally written and impersonal laws to determine sanctions, the “people’s court” adheres to viable intervention by kin and friends who are seeking resolution in keeping with the doctrine of reasonableness: reasonable demand, reasonable compensation or apology, reasonable acceptance and reasonable solution. At the end of that “reasonable” process, goodwill is present and the afflicted relationship still has a future. Compared to costly formal litigation – financially, emotionally and in relationships – the choice is easy for a Chinese person to make. Compounding that with a deep-seated distrust of the court officials, it is no wonder that it will be an uphill battle to transform the relational Chinese population into a law-abiding citizenry. Indeed, if these two characteristics – the political affiliation and the moral/ relational foundation – become the hallmarks of the newly developing Chinese judicial system, what then can be assumed of the legal standards and the impartial enforcement of the law? It is comparatively easy to inscribe the edicts in the law books, but their enforcement requires carefully measuring the offenses and impartially determining the verdicts. Along the way, the doctrine of reasonableness looms as a great probability to bias court actions. In other words, a judicial system with these two Chinese characteristics seems to be setting off on a course teeming with many severe challenges, even impasses. The ultimate question is: Can a disinterested judicial system exist in a society composed of a relational matrix? If the answer is yes, what would it look like? Peculiarly, such ambiguity has found sympathetic listeners among prominent scholars of law in the West. It turns out that in recent decades, Western law scholars have been questioning and studying whether their own legal systems are truly and impartially serving justice to all. Mathias Risse from Harvard analyzed the issues surrounding the nature and connotation of a “global justice” and how relations played a role in the world’s legal systems; others, like Michael Sandel of Harvard and Frank Cunningham of the University of Toronto, have gone straight to the social environments in which the judicial system was founded and is serving. Amongst the many such books and academic journal articles, one school of thought stands out: it is what Professor Gidon Gottlieb of the University of Chicago Law School calls “relationism” in legal theory. To Gottlieb, “relationism” presents a judicial possibility for a relational society. Gottlieb pointed out that such “relational environment” exists in all societies, including the United States, where institutions or “clubs” of interests routinely assert their relational influences on judicial matters. In his paper entitled “Relationism: legal theory for a relational society,” Gottlieb carefully analyzed critical relationships that are capable of impacting the legislation, interpretation and enforcement of the law, whereby the law may lose its “absolute power.” According to Gottlieb, in such relational orders, the State has stopped being the “night watchman” – the arbiter between rival interests. Instead, it has become “an active participant in the struggle for influence.”6 Based on his careful analysis of the interface between a judicial system and a relational environment, Gottlieb identified ten “circumstances” that signify a functioning relational juridical system. All ten circumstances relied heavily on the

182  Relationalism in 21st-century China acceptance and commitment to the legally binding rules, practices and policies by all participants. When that lynchpin – the acceptance and commitment – fails to hold, the system defrays. To that end, Gottlieb saw clearly that the operation of law in a relational order faces serious problems that are inherent in all relational practices – informality, unpredictability and ambiguity. As such, Gottlieb wrote: The ‘living law’ and the ‘informal system’ approaches strain the notion of legality and legitimacy in a manner that can be deeply offensive to the jurist with a judgmental disposition. This is compounded by the frequent avoidance of adjudication in the setting of ongoing relations.7 Concerns over these contradictions between a relational social environment and the legality, legitimacy and enforceability of the formal law must have been on the minds of China’s lawmakers too, but they seem to see the establishment of a law-abiding citizenry as a process that has to follow the Chinese way. Li Lin, a leading Chinese law researcher of the Chinese National Academy of Social Sciences, contended that the Chinese judicial system had to take into consideration the nation’s history and social reality; therefore, it should not be a blind follower of the Western laws nor a clone of the laws in Russia or other “socialist” countries.8 In a typically relational manner, the Chinese State Council sums up the core meaning of the “socialist system of laws with Chinese characteristics” this way: A country’s legal system is normally the reflection of its conditions at a specific historical stage. With the country’s economic and social development, its legal system needs to be enriched and improved, and innovations introduced. Currently China is in the primary stage of socialism, and will remain so for a long time to come. The country is still in the stage of structural reforms and social transformation, and its socialist system calls for constant selfimprovement and development, which determines that the socialist system of laws with Chinese characteristics is bound to have the features of both stability and mobility, both periodical variations and continuity, and both actuality and foresightedness. China’s legal system is dynamic, open, developing, not static, closed or fixed; it will constantly improve with China’s economic and social development and the practice of building a socialist country under the rule of law.9 As such, in the last four decades, Chinese lawmakers not only made amendments to the Constitution in 1988, 1993, 1999 and 2004, respectively, but also thoroughly reviewed the existing laws made in the 1980s and 1990s when the country was just beginning to learn about judiciary systems. The extensive review ended in annulling eight national laws and revising 59 others, thus to bring them up to date. The required alignments with the new national laws led to massive revisions of local government laws and regulations as well. Such a large-scale “clean up” effort brought about the desirable alignment of governmental laws and regulations, making it easier for enforcement actions. The State Council’s White Paper

A judicial system with Chinese characteristics? 183 on the subject asserted that the Chinese judicial system now functioned more smoothly with a clearer inner logic of the system and the more compatible laws and regulations.10 But a perfectly operating judicial system always lies in the future. If sophisticated legal systems like those in Britain and the United States are still being challenged and revised after hundreds of years, the newly launched Chinese judicial system has only begun to shed its “baby fat.” It is obvious that the two “Chinese characteristics” – having one leading Party overhead and a long-standing value system of relationalism underfoot – have led its judicial system onto a pathway quite different from the conventional ideal. Will this pathway lead to truer justice? Or will it prove its durability as time passes? Some would rather simply argue that the ultimate goal of a judicial system is to maintain order in society. If that is true, will the judicial system “with Chinese characteristics” be able to fulfill its responsibility in maintaining social order in the relational Chinese society? The jury is still out.

29 On the world stage

Relationalism in 21st-century ChinaOn the world stage

China’s relational diplomacy in the 21st century

Relationalism as a cultural value underlies not only China’s domestic institutions, policies and social behaviors, but is also a cornerstone in Chinese diplomacy. In the last three decades, shelves upon shelves of international books and articles have been published to describe China’s past and present problems, analyze China’s ambitions in the world, and predict whether China is heading towards boom or doom. But what seems lacking in these writings is the full awareness of the functions of relationalism behind China’s diplomatic actions and decisions. Meanwhile, Chinese diplomacy continues to be propelled and energized by its long-held relational values. Firm in its desire to be an effective global player, China strives to develop and manage its foreign affairs guided by its relational mindset. Interestingly, China’s debut on the world stage was marked not by United Nations membership in 1971 but by its acceptance to the World Trade Organization (WTO) in 2001. Since then, China has acted as a legitimate player on the world stage and Chinese diplomats immediately used this global platform to rehearse their relational diplomacy. Granted, all diplomacy is about relationships, but the typical Chinese mindset of relationalism determines not only its perceptions of global issues but represents its sense of appropriate diplomatic actions. Every country engaging in active diplomacy has its unique needs and interests in mind, but the beliefs as to how these needs should be met tells the distinctive characteristics and the probable future directions for that country. China is no exception. For its continuing development, China needs resources from an open global market. But rather than narrowly aiming at these as finality, Chinese diplomacy seems to be taking the route with long-term and amiable relationships as the pathway to their goals. Careful China-watchers have begun to see a pattern in China’s diplomatic behavior: the Chinese first work to establish and sustain amiable relationships, which take precedence over immediate gains. Once that sense of mutual amiability is secured, they are ready to offer their resources and markets to other countries, while expecting similar reciprocity. The Chinese relational approach to diplomacy is akin to the behavior of the peasant dropping in on his neighbor to borrow a hoe. Like a good neighbor, he does not walk up and abruptly ask, “May I borrow your hoe?” He simply says, “Hello, neighbor!” and asks, “How are you today and how is your family?” He

On the world stage 185 praises his neighbor’s success with his verdant crop and the two men exchange similar pleasantries for a bit. The drop-in visitor might then say, “Well, I’d better go now. Nice to see you!” and turn to leave – only to turn around again and say, “Oh, by the way, could I borrow your hoe?” The visited neighbor, of course, suspected from the onset that his neighbor might want to ask something of him, but he appreciated his visitor’s behaving in a way that treated their relationship as of greater importance than laying hands on a hoe. They both preferred to dance a friendship waltz before getting down to business. In recent years, Chinese leadership has made herculean efforts to propagate mutually beneficial relationships with other nations, emphasizing that shared interests will prove rewarding to both nations. While such a relational mindset works well with other relationally minded cultures, it has clashed with cultures having individualistic conventions, creating unwanted misconceptions and suspicions. Sinologists certainly, if not all the rest of us, are watching to see how China plays its “relational diplomacy” card and if China has the flexibility to participate effectively in the global network according to its relationalism. It will be an arduous journey, no doubt, especially when considering that China will prefer to take an approach that is more garrulous and personable than is common to those other countries – particularly, perhaps, those in the West – that seek closure at a more direct and business-like pace. At this point, a brief visit to China’s diplomatic background may shed some light on its steep learning curve today. Between its early years of Western contacts in the 17th century and the present, its interactions with the world have left enduring memories of shame from its loss of sovereignty and dignity. Such memories have cast shadows on China’s diplomatic interactions ever since. Although what seemed to be a never-ending warring century finally ended in 1949 when the CCP took the reins of the nation, China did not quickly recuperate its self-confidence in dealing with the outside world. During the first 30 years of the CCP’s reign, China struggled with a war-torn country amidst international hostility towards its choice of ideology. With a total GDP of a mere $10 billion and a vast population of 600 million in 1952, China was politically unhinged, economically devastated, militarily enfeebled and diplomatically rejected. The Soviet Union was the first nation to acknowledge the new China and began to play the “big brother” role in their relationships. For more than a decade as the world became “bipolar” in the Cold War, the newly enthroned but inexperienced Chinese regime had to rely on their “big brother” for diplomatic guidance as well as political and economic support. The Chinese relational mind continued to see the world in the “near” and “far” relationalism, except now the “near” and “far” relations were based not on geographical distance but on ideological “comradeship.” Under the circumstances, China’s diplomacy was simple: the “nearest” relationship was with the Soviet Union, leader of the communistic “Eastern Bloc,” through whose lens China tried to understand its own relationship to the world. There was no doubt in the mind of the Chinese regime that, even without gunfire, the Cold War was still a war with a clear partition of “us” and “them,” or “socialist” and “capitalist,” and to win that “war” it had to stand by its allies, and most importantly the Soviet Union.

186  Relationalism in 21st-century China With the fresh memories of the loss of sovereignty and dignity from the previous century, the new Chinese regime was determined to defend the independence and pride of the nation. Thus, China had another criterion to separate foe from friend: friends would recognize the People’s Republic of China (PRC) as the only legal government of China, of which Taiwan was a region. But foes would claim otherwise and their claims would be taken by the PRC as an attempt to split China’s sovereignty. Against that historical backdrop, any suggestion that Taiwan or any other territorial land should be independent of China would irritate that sensitive nerve and cause enraged reactions. As soon as the Maoist CCP felt firm ground under its feet, the new regime attended to its international relationships. Directed by the first Premier Zhou Enlai, Chinese diplomats practiced what is now known as “Five Diplomatic Principles”: mutual respect for each other’s territorial integrity and sovereignty; mutual nonaggressive relationship; mutual non-interference in each other’s internal affairs; equity and cooperation for mutual benefits; and peaceful coexistence. The gist of Premier’s Five Diplomatic Principles was obviously relational and self-protective. China was not drawn to such Western ideals as truth, liberty, freedom and justice; instead, it merely sought mutual respect and peaceful co-existence in order to ensure stability and security of its own. Besides, during Mao’s reign, China was too busy with his “class struggles” and prevention of a total domestic economic collapse to actually participate in world affairs. After three decades of economic reform, China was finally ready to face the world again. The WTO membership provided a new platform on which China began to learn how to act as a legitimate member of the existing global economic order. Should China simply try to be a follower in the existing order led by developed nations, or should it play a more significant role alongside the nations of its size? As a relative newcomer to the global environment, China must earn trust from other nations in order to build its soft power. At the turn of the 21st century, China’s rapid economic growth dazzled the world, but China’s political identity and practice puzzled it. The CCP’s insistence on totalitarian domestic polity indicated that the CCP was holding on to the remnants of the Cold War mentality, but its burgeoning market economy posed a new conundrum internationally. In addition, China’s increasing military power appeared to contradict its pursuit of world peace; and rubbing shoulders with the world’s super powers while selfidentifying as a third-world country raised eyebrows. These and other conflicting images of China left other nations with many questions and uncertainties about what relationships to develop with China. Some nations were encouraged by China’s economic strength while others regarded such strength a threat. To the leading members of the existing world order, China was a rival to be reckoned with; to the smaller neighboring countries, China was a potential conqueror to be worried about. In the meantime, while China was still uncertain about what actions to take in relation to other members of the world, the world became impatient. Many were questioning if China was simply a “shareholder” waiting for dividend hand-outs or a leader pursuing a vision. Against the proposition of the 21st century being

On the world stage 187 the “China century,” influential China experts doubted China’s ability to lead. President Barack Obama publicly called China a “free rider” of the last 30 years and complained that China failed to take on more of its international obligations.1 Moreover, seeing the political and economic struggles China was experiencing, China experts reiterated their prediction that China was entering into its “endgame” and a Soviet-style collapse was looming. Under the shadow of these comments, criticisms, questions and doomsday predictions, China was quietly building a new diplomatic network and readying itself for its self-defined role. China’s president, Xi Jinping, was seen busy shaking hands and making deals with top national leaders on several continents, especially with those under-privileged, smaller and poorer third-world countries that used to be inconspicuous and voiceless. Looking back, this earlier international involvement can be seen as an indication that China is transitioning from bystander to active participant and that Chinese diplomacy is moving from ideology-based to economy-based, for the newly established relationships seemed to overlook differences in ideologies and political systems while focusing instead on mutual economic benefits. Indeed, the 21st century China sorts out its global relationships differently now in order to build its own relational network. China still categorizes its global relationships into “near and far” partnerships, but this time the gauge is not geographical or political but based on levels of mutual economic trust. Partnerships are relationships that China enters into with other nations based on common economic interests, goals, trust and respect. Partners are equal and independent sovereigns who agree to share gains and losses in their endeavors to meet mutual economic goals. To that end, partners agree to fulfill responsibilities that have been mutually agreed upon. By 2014, China had established partnerships with 54 nations. Experiences with these partnerships serve as an important gauge for China to determine the realistic expectations and engagements in a polycentric world. With other friendly nations, China develops mutually respectful relationships with its relational strategies. Now into the second decade of the 21st century, China is either an active member or a leader of a long list of organizations and forums: the BRICS (regular summit meetings with Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa), the G20, the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), the World Bank and the World Health Organization. All of this may well indicate that China is becoming more comfortable and confident on the world stage. China accepts that it need not be in the driver’s seat for these world organizations, but these organizations nonetheless open up opportunities for it to gain a foothold in the international relationship network. For example, while staying active in the World Bank, China launched the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB), which by 2017 has attracted over 80 members worldwide. Today, a curious and cautious world is watching China’s most systematic, ambitious and relationally minded international plan called “One Belt One Road” (1B1R). President Xi Jinping first broke news of this relational concept of 1B1R in 2013 at Nazarbayev University, Kazakhstan, explaining that the project called

188  Relationalism in 21st-century China “One Belt One Road” was a trans-Eurasian network linked by roads, railroads, natural gas pipelines and other infrastructure projects. A month later in October 2013, while speaking to the Indonesian Parliament, Xi added more details of this vision, such as a “maritime silk road.” If the readers could see it in their minds’ eye, the final map of the 1B1R will look like a vast network of grids spanning from the Pacific Ocean to the Baltic Sea. As the 1B1R map indicates, when completed, the “One Belt” will be an economic belt of nations along the overland route that would connect China with central and Northwestern Asia and central Europe. The “One Road” refers to the “Maritime Silk Road,” which will be a seafaring network of seaports with coastal infrastructure projects that connect South and Southeast Asia, East Africa and Europe. When completed, the entire network of the overland and maritime silk pathways will connect 65 countries – most of which are developing nations – and their 4.4 billion people. One Belt One Road thus represents a third of the world’s total economy and more than half of the global population.2 In 2017, the 1B1R connections have reached Asia, Africa, the Middle East and Europe. Needless to say, the 1B1R project is all about relationships with willing nations. But is China up to the challenge of leading such a gigantic international network, one that involves so many diverse political and economic realities? Many Chinawatchers are doubtful. The greatest suspicions, perhaps, are harbored by China’s closest Asian neighbors, who are alarmed by this giant next door, especially those countries who have border disputes with China. Japan and Vietnam, for example, are nervously watching China building what seem to be military facilities on the man-made islands in the South China Sea. What could China do to reassure and calm the nerves of these smaller nations who must live in the shadow of this supersized economy with its supersized population? And, on a global scale, what could China do to assure the world that what China aims for is harmony not hegemony? Publicly, China hopes that the 1B1R project will provide an international platform on which to demonstrate its sincerity in achieving mutual benefits and world peace. Among China’s many diplomatic activities in recent years, those in Africa most visibly exemplify the pattern of its relational diplomacy. In spite of the environmental and political challenges, Sino-Africa relationships have grown much warmer in recent years. The high point, perhaps, came in November 2006 when 48 African top government officials -– many of them presidents – descended on Beijing for a SinoAfrica Summit. During their three-day meeting, talks were held and deals were struck. As a result of this Beijing conference, the total Sino-Africa trade jumped from $50 million in 2007 to $200 million in 2014. Universities from Namibia to Uganda were promoting Chinese language and culture in Chinese-language departments and Confucius institutes on their campuses. School children from Khartoum to Cape Town were learning to say ni hao (which means “hello” in mandarin). But a true success story depends upon more than a grand beginning. In the decade since 2006, warming Sino-Africa relationships were accompanied by mounting suspicions, questions, criticisms and problems. China’s active involvement in Africa began to meet with resistance and resentment from local factions, which

On the world stage 189 led to negative reactions from international powers. Words like “exploitation of natural resources,” “neo-colonialism,” “dumping cheap products” and “trade imbalance” dotted commentaries and articles on and off the Internet. Is China fairly accused? What motivates China to be so heavily invested in this poorest continent? And especially, what does China want in return for its relationships with the African countries? Obviously, the Sino-Africa relationship carries highly significant weight in China’s diplomatic relationships. In the last ten years, every Chinese president in power has visited Africa. The current president, Xi Jinping already made two trips to African countries in the first three years of his tenure. Unquestionably, economic gains, such as oil and other natural resources and markets for Chinese products and commerce, were a major part of the impetus. But rather than grabbing what it wanted with strong-arm tactics, China was going about with its relational strategy. The most recurrent words and pledges in reports of the top-level Sino-Africa meetings and the ensuing agreements and speeches included “harmony,” “co-existence,” “collaboration,” “compatibility,” “friendship” and most frequently of all, the word “mutual” – as in mutual respect, mutual needs, mutual trust, mutual interest, mutual efforts, mutual benefits and so forth. Satisfying “mutual” wants and needs by give-and-take negotiation and compromise is at the heart of relational diplomacy. But because of China’s obvious economic advantages over the smaller and poorer developing nations, there is an inherent gap in the exchange activities. To ease Africans’ worries of “recolonization,” Chinese diplomats repeatedly emphasized China’s principles known as the “three not’s,” by which China: 1 2 3

Will not interfere with the internal affairs of other nations; Will not seek to increase the so-called “sphere of influence”; Will not strive for hegemony or dominance.3

China hopes that its practice of the “three not’s” will help to build trust with other nations. As a new actor on the global stage, China still has much to learn about working with not just Africans or the 65 Silk Road countries, but also the rest of the world. However, while the “three not’s” might appease some nations, they raise many questions by some international leaders. Should a nation deal, as it sees fit, with its internal affairs without publicly endorsing universal human rights? Or should the world refrain from “interference with the internal affairs of sovereigns” even when people in those nations are suffering at the hands of their own government? The debate came to the fore at a recent United Nations meeting when the Chinese UN Ambassador Wang Yi reiterated the spirit of the “three not’s” as honoring a basic respect for a nation’s sovereignty and territorial integrity; while the United States Ambassador to the UN, Samantha Power (served 2013–2017), emphasized the need for a “recommitment to the people in the world” as a priority superior to a state’s sovereignty.4 These and other difficult questions are testing the viability of China’s relational diplomacy. Among them, perhaps, none carries more urgency than the question

190  Relationalism in 21st-century China of how China reconciles the sometimes jarring difference between its relational diplomacy and the established international legal environment. On the one hand, Chinese diplomats recognize the importance of following the hard rules and regulations that aim to stop international crises by penalizing violators; but on the other hand, their frame of reference still adheres to their long-held convictions regarding relationalism. China will, in all probability, adopt and apply the laws in its relational fashion: by supplementing disinterested hard rules with the more relationship-oriented doctrine of reasonableness. The North Korea missile crisis in 2017 serves as a good example of China’s predicament. The goal of the doctrine of reasonableness pursues not the absolute right or wrong, but the conservation of a relationship through sensibleness and mutual benefits for all players. In more ways than one, this doctrine of reasonableness is at the heart of China’s relational diplomacy. Evidence for such a doctrine of reasonableness in China’s diplomacy abounds in frequent international headlines – for example: “Chinese Foreign Ministry: imports of Iran’s crude oil reasonable and legitimate”;5 “Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ response to criticism of China’s construction in the South China Sea reef islands: reasonable and legitimate”;6 “China’s military budget increase is reasonable and legitimate, no need to fuss”;7 and “Sudanese President invited to Chinese parade: reasonable.”8 When Alibaba, China’s largest ecommerce company operating worldwide was accused of counterfeiting brand-name handbags and other luxury products, its CEOs refused to change their operation because the accusers’ demands were “unreasonable and unworkable.”9 Further examples, too numerous to list, are readily available. The doctrine of reasonableness as a gauge of international behavior irritates some world leaders and diplomats who see it as “nonsensical” with its blatant lack of objectivity and impartiality. But the Chinese diplomats would argue that, while it is true that to tell absolute right from wrong or to find the unqualified truth requires objectivity and impartiality, what China pursues is relationships. To them, law is no more than a contract agreed upon by relationships. The doctrine of reasonableness is based on just that – mutual benefits, affordability and tolerability. Seeking a resolution to a conflicting situation, for example, the doctrine of reasonableness would consider such questions as: What would benefit both parties in the situation? Or, what affordable actions should be taken to preserve the relationship? What “gift” or loss can China tolerate? And where is its bottom line of tolerance? Based on these assessments, China will strive to do what is “reasonable” to conserve the relationship – and expect reciprocity from the other party. Armed with this doctrine, Chinese diplomats negotiate and compromise, sometimes even at China’s own expense. But relationalism regards loss and gain as relative occurrences. As seen in the yin/yang fish graph, one may lose this time but next time one may gain. In the end, it is the continuation of a balanced and enduring relationship that matters. The doctrine of reasonableness has long been the gauge for problem solving and conflict resolution in the Chinese culture. It is only natural that Chinese leaders and diplomats think of the doctrine as an expected way to conduct international

On the world stage 191 affairs. As reflected in the aforementioned news headlines, if the decision is “reasonable and legitimate,” then there is no need to question it because reasonableness has been proven an efficient way to handle conflicts and preserve relationships, domestic or diplomatic. The mutuality and flexibility of the doctrine enable China to accommodate itself in many sticky international relationships. But it has also caused much confusion and many complaints about China’s vacillations and unlawfulness. It is easy to understand why reasonableness is criticized as being against the values of integrity and principle. For example, the doctrine of reasonableness plays down the practice of attaching ideological standards such as democracy or human rights to international financial or other aids. China contends that such either-or requirements are not negotiable – rather, they are unreasonable. They believe that the doctrine of reasonableness effectively meliorates the rigidity of the absolute and one-size-fits-all laws and makes allowances for unique cultural and situational circumstances. But the doctrine fails to win widespread – much less unanimous – approval, especially among those world leaders who are dedicated to the ideal of a law-biding international order and whose careers are tied to making or executing those laws. They ask: who determines the nature or scope of such “reasonableness” and when and how is it applied? In the minds that uphold international laws, such doctrine blurs the line between the right and the wrong, hence upsets the moral order in the world. A world that is not ruled by objective laws and consequences is a disorderly world at best and a world of chaos at worst. However, Chinese relational diplomacy holds that agreements built on mutual respect and benefit represent a better way to prevent disorderly actions. In these agreements “there is a you in me and a me in you,” just as in the yin/yang fishes. When hurting others means hurting oneself as well, one will think hard before taking an aggressive or a selfish action. These and other unexpected features that China brings onto the world stage complicate China’s relationships with many nations. Many scholars believe that 21st-century world leadership belongs to the nations that have “soft power.”10 Soft power is especially significant in the 21st century when the world has become increasingly connected and relational. Political or economic turmoil in one country will resonate in other countries even continents away, as evidenced in the 2008 worldwide recession. The real persuasive power now lies in the respect, trust and admiration that a country enjoys. To the Chinese, a nation with soft power is skilled in building relationships, with which it is able to influence other countries into seeing what it sees and wanting what it wants, thus it leads the way and the world follows. The Chinese regime is hoping that its relational diplomacy as exemplified in the 1B1R projects will build that soft power. With the One Belt One Road project come many other cultural exchange activities that China hopes will garner international trust and respect. Regardless of how people feel about relationalism, bountiful evidence has shown that the world of the 21st century will, indeed, likely become increasingly “relational,” not only in terms of the interconnectedness amongst countries, but also in the relational ways that cultures and nations promote their political

192  Relationalism in 21st-century China and economic agendas. As the pressures of global interconnectedness increase, the luxury of doing one’s own thing within one’s borders faces ever-intensifying challenges. The fact that the soft power concept emphasizes relationships rather than hegemony seems to validate China’s relational diplomacy. Numerous situations – such as weather, clean energy, currency markets, war refugees and terrorism – demand mutual understanding and cooperation for resolution. As the world realizes that all nations – rich and poor, powerful and weak, big and small, capitalistic and otherwise – share one fragile earth, more nations may come to see the significant worth of relational diplomacy.

Epilogue

Relationalism in 21st-century ChinaEpilogue

The Chinese family in the 21st century

For generations, the Tan family lived in a small village deep in the mountains. Under the roof of a modest size straw thatched and mud-walled house, Tan Bo lived with his parents, his wife and five grown-up children, attending to a small patch of land. Getting the crops planted, watered and harvested was easier now that the children were able to take on more responsibility. But the children complained that they were tired of living on the verge of survival all the time. The oldest son joined the army and was stationed near a big city. The oldest daughter was admitted to a teachers’ college located just beyond the mountains. They wrote to tell of their exciting new life and hopes. Pretty soon, one by one, the rest of the children all went out of the mountains to pursue their own future, leaving behind the grandchildren to the grandparents and parents. They sent money back home, more money than Tan had ever seen in his life. With the money, Tan built a house of brick and mortar with enough rooms for all his children. But he knew his children would never live at home again. After living in the same family patterns for generations, today hundreds and thousands of Chinese families like Tan Bo’s feel the rumbling of 21st-century changes. The perils are real. While higher incomes and more modern conveniences to improve life conditions are deemed worthy of pursuing, the traditional multigenerational Chinese families find that they have to undergo painful transformation to survive such unprecedented mobility of family members and the merciless competition of the market. These demands not only weaken the power of the family to hold onto its members, but by scattering family members they cut into the bases of the traditional multigenerational hierarchy and the fundamental relationalism that supports the tradition. Industrialization and modernization are thus putting the traditional Chinese family to the most severe survival test. Up to the 1980s, the typical traditional Chinese family was still very recognizable: It was a rural family, first of all; and as with most rural families it housed three or more generations under the same roof or nearby. It was taken for granted that everyone would get married and marriage marked a normal maturation into adulthood. Indeed, middle-aged unwed men or women were looked upon as deviants. Marriage was a “universal” ritual; and no one ever doubted that marriage would last one’s lifetime. Divorce, although technically possible, was a rare occurrence. In such a multigenerational familial environment, there was an uncontested rule

194 Epilogue that maintaining harmonious communal relationship was a paramount necessity. After thousands of years of a pattern of living that seemed so unchangeable as to be carved in stone, there seemed to be no reason to doubt that this way of life would continue without interruption. But recent statistics have planted doubt. According to the latest survey reports released by the Chinese National Commission on Health and Family Planning, currently China has 430 million families, which equal about 20% of the world’s total. Of these families, the average size has decreased from over five members in the 1950s to 4.01 members in the 1980s, and by 2014 the average family size has fallen further to 3.02 nationwide. The number of small families with only one or two members is increasing rapidly from 25% in 2000 to 40% in 2010, and counting. Today marriage is no longer a certainty of adulthood: 43.2% of the rural and 45.4% of the urban population over the age of 30 remain single. One-parent families and childless families are rapidly increasing as well. Smaller families have fewer relationships and urban families show less inclination to network with relatives.1 One alarming statistic was about China’s divorce rate. Although numbers vary from source to source or city to city, the upswing trend is obvious. From 2011 to 2014, for example, the number of divorced couples went from 2.87 million to 3.63 million, nationwide.2 These figures, compounded by the fact that hundreds of millions of peasantworkers leave their village homes behind to find work in the cities, have painted a worrisome picture of the 21st-century Chinese family. This picture is immeasurably different from the multigenerational family as described in earlier chapters. Within just a few decades since the 1980s, traditional family life patterns have quickly yielded to the relentless demands of industrialization and market economy. Among all the changes, none stands out more significantly than familial relationships. Today, with millions of able-bodied men and women leaving their villages to seek work, what remains are empty meeting halls that used to be the gathering places for ancestral worship and clan functions. Clan functions, such as providing financial support, physical protection and disciplining behavior, have been gradually taken over by grassroots village committees, banks, schools and police. Ancestral worship and other rituals, which used to facilitate the sense of belonging to and cementing the family relationships, are few and far between today, simply because members have scattered in different directions and long distances away. Today’s family members tend to live in their separate apartment units and work in scattered towns or regions of cities, often long distances from one another. Even in the same cities, take Beijing for example, family members living at the east end of Beijing wanting to meet with other family members at the west end will have to spend at least three hours on the road in good traffic – plus three more hours to return home. Although there continue to be family reunions and get-togethers, today’s family is no longer the “hub of relationships” that it once was. Instead, most families resemble what sociologist would call the “stem family” with husband, wife and a child, or no child. In 1995, according to one estimate, more than 90% of Chinese children in kindergartens and 60% of the university freshmen

Epilogue 195 were the only child in their families. This younger generation typically has little experience with sibling interactions or complex multigenerational relationships. Without the multigenerational environment and the worshipping rituals to enforce the familial hierarchy and connections, the centuries-old patrilineal family order is quietly dissipating, allowing potential for a more democratic familial atmosphere.3 In a typical Chinese “stem family,” both husband and wife are employed and bring home equal or almost equal incomes. Confucius would have never believed such reality where men and women are enjoying more equity in terms of home chores, parenting and social life. But Confucius could never have expected a Maoist regime, either, one that set about to enforce a one-child-per-family rule across the land – a rule that contributed mightily to reducing the nation’s population size and challenging traditional family ties. Mao applauded the possibilities for both consequences. Elder care is challenging for these stem families. The projection for the segment of population over 65 to increase from 1.19 billion or 8.87% in 2010 to 3.31 billion or 25.1% in 2050 simply means that more families are struggling with caring for their elders. In 2010, every Chinese working person was responsible for only .11 of an elderly family member; in 2030, that number will increase to .24, and by the mid-21st century, to .42 – a 380% increase! 4 For today’s Chinese elders, generally speaking, housing is not a major concern, but medical and mental care and daily assistance gravely worry them. In urban areas, the majority of the elders 65 or older draw an income from sufficient social security to cover their basic life necessities, but in most rural areas, that remains a rare luxury. Furthermore, with the able-bodied generation now working or going to school away from home, the task of attending to the elders’ daily needs presents a serious problem. Elder care is also increasingly an “empty nest” problem in the villages. Not only are millions of the elderly are left behind in the villages without care, many of them still have to shoulder the responsibility of raising their grandchildren while their parents are working in the cities. The one-child policy is no longer in effect. But its damage remains. Perhaps the current depths of the plight is due, in the main, however, to the country’s rapid industrialization and its companion, the market economy. Over the last three decades, the market economy has opened up access to economic opportunities and higher wages. But industrialization demands mobile labor forces as well as a strong mentality of competitiveness, which constantly and relentlessly undermine the Chinese familial-centered traditions and the time-tested value of a harmonious society. To leave home or to stay home? That is the question. People regularly face a horrible dilemma of whether to pursue the career opportunity for a higher living wage or to take care of family and remain in poverty. Like Tan Bo’s children, poverty is hardly an option. As a result, large flows of migration, from villages to cities or from one city to another, stretch family ties and weaken the traditional familial connections. In the name of improving social welfare, governmental provisions are slowly elbowing out family functions as well. Many services, once obtainable only from the family – such as room and board in old age, care when sick, financial assistance when in need, safety protection, even emotional

196 Epilogue support – are now accessible directly from the modern society. Although accessibility to various social services varies in quality by region, the burgeoning effect is undeniable: they lessen people’s reliance on and their allegiance to the family. While the injuries to the Chinese traditional family structure are obvious to the eye, the hidden damages to the fundamental Chinese value of relationalism require a critical mind. Competition has been valued as the backbone of America’s economic strengths so much so that the protection of it has been legalized in such laws as the Sherman Act, which was designed to be a comprehensive charter to preserve free and unfettered competition as the rule of trade. To that end, the U.S. Supreme Court observed that competitiveness was the heart of our national economic policy. But the spirit of competitiveness in China is directly threatening to dismantle the Chinese central value of family and relationships. To embrace that value, generations of Chinese have been taught to be understanding, respectful of the others, ready to negotiate and compromise with reasonableness. But competition, in its full expression, is individualistic and “dog eat dog.” Today, the Chinese family, whose structure has been altered and the power to maintain a hold on its members weakened, seems to be fighting a losing battle with the competitiveness of the market economy. While the Chinese government, by giving a green light to the market economy, encourages competition, family members pursuing success or simply to survive in the market have no choice but to participate. Under the banner of the “China Dream,” the Chinese people aim almost exclusively to increase their personal wealth and contribute to national economic growth, without noticing that they have slipped dangerously close to living in a market society where “instead of the economy being embedded in social relations, social relations are embedded in the economy.”5 In the process, the individualistic and possessive spirit of competitiveness is gaining on the spirit of reasonableness, while fetishism and consumerism are thinning the glue of family as the central place of people’s lives. As the traditional family structure and the traditional web of relationships undergo unparalleled changes, some people begin to argue that breaking down the “outdated” traditional family and encouraging competitiveness are positive signs of the triumph of individualism. They believe that individualism is necessary for industrialization and modernization because it will foster a healthy and independent spirit which is a requisite for the market economy. These scholars point to the European nations’ socialist welfare system as the future of China, where individuals are free from the tyranny of the family. The traditional family, they say, is obsolete and no longer necessary for survival. Its continued existence would only hinder the progress of modernization, and worse yet, defer the realization of the “China Dream.”6 Educators and pro-family scholars disagree. They argue that the Chinese society will have too much to lose if the traditional family completely breaks down. These specialists believe that, through the members’ day-to-day interactions, the multigenerational family provides the young at their impressionable age with the best preparation for later life. Such experiential life lessons included a thorough understanding and knowledge of the proper nuances to managing relationships.

Epilogue 197 But in the millions of “empty nest” households or stem families today, such valuable life lessons are increasingly difficult to pass on. In its void comes in the daycare attendance. More and more three-year-olds are now spending most of their waking hours with teachers and same-age peers, away from their family. In 2014, the number of children attending daycare reached 39 million, more than half of that age group.7 For these children, rather than learning the proper ways of handling the nuances of family relationships, they are learning how to live away from parents. If family life is the basis of how children understand self, others and the environment, what is the basis for today’s early childhood learning? Chinese daycare life teaches children the three “Rs” and how to fend for themselves. For the generations that grow up away from home in the 21st century, what will serve as their moral foundation? If what they learn is to fend for themselves, how would that learning contribute to China’s future harmonious society? At the macro level, the traditional family has been the hub of the relational network that naturally connects, supports and disciplines individual members. It coordinates with other family networks to form functional communities. These family networks are like the “chopsticks” that have been “bundled” by inherent emotional ties and morals. The dissipation of such networks will take away the binding mechanisms and precipitate undesirable consequences. Furthermore, the traditional functions of the family have been the foundation on which many Chinese political and social institutions are based. To break down the traditional family is to dismantle that foundation. In recent years, there seems to be a joined investment by the CCP, the State and the society into helping the family to grow. Suspending the one-child policy to allow more children per family, for example, allows the potential of far-reaching significance for the family. Meanwhile, Chinese families are doing their best to cope. Although family relationships have been put through significant changes, people try to hold onto their family traditions through adaptation. With the help of Internet apps and cell phones, for example, families manage to maintain their important kinship connections. Each year, hundreds of thousands of college graduates find jobs in the cities after receiving their diploma and many of them set up households in the cities. As soon as they are able, they bring their parents to their new home and thus create a new form of family with three generations. This new form of “multigenerational” family has been on a slow upswing in the last few years. In 2000, this new three-generational family represented 21% of the total households, and in 2010 it grew to 23% and counting.8 Other younger people opt to either seek employment nearby or set up their new households in the vicinity of their parents. By one official report, in 2010, 68% of the younger households were in the same city where their parents also lived.9 Villages too are pursuing a new model of production. They lease their land to industries in exchange for waged jobs. These jobs, in turn, attract a reverse flow of able-bodied men and women to come home and stay with their families while making a living compatible to the assembly-line jobs in the city. Regardless of all the contemporary stress on things familial, there is one widely shared enduring confidence about the Chinese family: “jia he wan shi xing” (When the family is in harmony, all things will prosper). Family is thus

198 Epilogue permanently envisioned as the one sure oasis where one enjoys unconditional love. While the tidal wave of change driven by industrialization and the market economy has washed out many family traditions, people keep hoping that this tidal wave – not the family – will subside and the traditional family will have a chance to rebound. The optimistic Chinese insist that family centrality is not up for sale in the market, because should the traditional family – the foundational heart of relationalism in China – fall apart, the long-held dream of a harmonious society will become a nightmare of a “dog eat dog” reality. After all, if the family fails, what is the meaning of individual success?

Notes

NotesNotes

Introduction 1 Steven Olson and Clyde Prestowitz. “The Evolving Role of China in International Institutions.” Available online at: www.uscc.gov/sites/. . ./TheEvolvingRoleofChinain InternationalInstitutions.pdf (Accessed on 6-24-2016) 2 Joseph Kaipayil. Relationalism: A Theory of Being (Bangalore: JIP Publications. 2009). Pp. 69–72.

1  Some starting points 1 According to the stone-chopping tools found near Beijing, the earliest settlement took place about 20,000 years ago. Archeological findings in Yang-shao, Henan Province, discovered about 100 houses nearby each other with millet crop and bones of dogs and pigs as well as bows and arrows. The finding was dated as about 12,000 years old. 2 Ji Li and Yun Li. Encyclopedia of Chinese Classics (Shanghai, China: Shanghai Publishers of Classics. 2009). P. 290. 3 “Hanfeizi” in Collections of 22 Classics (Shanghai, China: Shanghai Publishers of Chinese Classes. 1985). P. 1183. 4 “Economic History of Ancient China.” Available online at: http://zhongguoshi.box ueren.com/channels/1034.html (Accessed 1-27-2014) 5 The conversation was recorded in Yao Dian, in Encyclopedia of Chinese Classics (Shanghai, China: Shanghai Publishers of Classics. 2009). P. 55. 6 Goon’s existence and life story was recorded by in Shangshu: HongFan, in Encyclopedia of Chinese Classics (Shanghai, China: Shanghai Publishers of Classics. 2009). Pp. 69–71.

2  The “universal order” 1 Yao Dian, in The Encyclopedia of China’s Famous Writings (Shanghai: Shanghai Dictionary Publishing House. 2010). P. 58. 2 Zhaoguang Ge. gudai zhongguo wenhua jiangyi [Lectures on Ancient Chinese Culture] (Fudan University Press. 2006). Pp. 5–10. 3 Ibid. P. 11. 4 The “jifu” system roughly covered present-day provinces of He Bei, Shan Dong, Jiangsu, Hu Bei, He Nan, Si Chuan, Shan Xi and Shaan Xi. 5 Historians, to this date, are still debating about the total number of existing rings. Each scholar quoted evidence from ancient documents to indicate the possible existence of three rings, five rings, six rings, even 12 rings at different times in history. 6 Charles Hucker. China’s Imperial Past (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. 1975). P. 57.

200  Notes 4  Relationalism meets foreign challenges 1 Hongjie Zhang. A History of Changes in the Chinese National Characters (China: Hunan People’s Publishers. 2013). P. 104. 2 Ibid. Pp. 106–110. 3 Ibid. 4 The mandarin examination system was designed as a way to select the most learned scholars to fill government positions. It was a series of exams taken place in localities, up to the capital center. Candidates had to pass the lower-level exams before sitting for the higher-level exams. More details are offered in later pages. 5 J.A.G. Roberts. A Concise History of China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 1999). P. 138. 6 Ibid. 7 The Qing rulers did have a strict code of conduct for the Manchus. 8 All Qing men must shave off their hair in the front and wear a long pigtail in the back. 9 G.S. Ye. “Rethinking the Success of Qing Dynasty. Periodical of History.” Taiwan Teachers’ University Journal. Vol. 36 (December 2006). Pp. 153–192. 10 Charles Hucker. China’s Imperial Past (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. 1975). P. 310. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid. Pp. 296–297. 13 Zaoguang Ge. zhongguo sixiangshi: (diyijuan) qishijiqian zhongguode zhishi, sixiang yu xinyang shijie [History of Chinese Thought (Vol. 1): The World of Chinese Knowledge, Ideas, and Beliefs Before the 7th Century] (Shanghai, China: Fudan University Press. 1997). P. 332. 14 Ibid. P. 341. 15 D.X. Chen. “Christianity and the Chinese People.” Available online at: http://blog. sciencenet.cn/blog-315971-859031.html (Accessed on 3-31-2015). 16 C.Z. Wu. “China’s Massacre and Embarrassment in 1900.” Available online at: http:// book.douban.com/review/ (Accessed on 4-10-2015). 17 Ge. 1997. P. 348.

5  Relationalism triumphs 1 This shameful day stays on China’s history as the “Day of National Disgrace.” 2 A trademark in Maoism. Mao believed that the “people’s War” was what helped him win the wars against the Japanese and the Jiang Jieshi (also known as Chiang Kaishek) government. 3 Available online at: www.chinability.com/GDP.htm (Accessed on 6-25-2014). 4 Zedong Mao. “Cast Away Illusions, Prepare for Struggle.” In Selected Works. Vol. IV (Beijing: People’s Publishers. 1960). P. 428. 5 Zedong Mao. “On Practice.” In Selected Works. Vol. I (Beijing: People’s Publishers. 1951). P. 196. 6 “Verdicts on Several Historical Issues Since 1949—Report on the CCP 11th Conference 6th Meeting.” The People’s Daily (June 27, 1981).

6  Some starting points 1 Available online at: http://dictionary.reverso.net/english 2 “The Zhou Dynasty.” Available online at: www.ilshi.cn/html/zhoudai/zhouchaolishiji anjie (Accessed on 4-15-2014). 3 Charles Hucker. China’s Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University. 1975). P. 69.

Notes 201 4 Wing-Tsit Chan. A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 1963). P. 136. 5 Hucker. 1975. P. 207. 6 Bodhisattva Guanyin is an East Asian deity of mercy associated with compassion. 7 Hucker. 1975. P. 69.

7  Confucianism: relationalism in human society 1 Analects (New York: The Penguin Books Publishers. 1979). Chapter 30. 2 Ibid. Chapter 2. 3 Lin Peng. “Propriety and Music of Life.” Available online at: www.360doc.com/con tent/13/0824/10/10825596_309514278.shtml (Accessed on 5-15-2015). 4 Analects. Chapter 12. Translated by W.T. Chan. A Source of Chinese Philosophy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 1963). P. 37. 5 Ibid. Chapter 12. 6 Ibid. Chapter 7. 7 Ibid. Chapter 2. 8 Ibid. Chapter 15. 9 Ibid. Chapter 12. 10 Ibid. Chapter 2. 11 Stuart C. Hacket. Oriental Philosophy: A Westerner’s Guide to Eastern Thought. (Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. 1979). P. 26.

8  Daoism: relationalism in the Cosmos 1 Lao Zi. The Tao Te Ching (Dao De Jing in Today’s Pinyin System). Translated by James Legge, 1891 and with Introduction by James Legge in The Sacred Books of the East. Available online at: http://terebess.hu/english/tao/legge.html (Accessed on 7-24-2015). 2 The Magazine of Chinese Archeological Artifacts (March 19, 1995). P. 1. 3 “Who Is Huang Di?” Available online at: www.lsqn.cn/mingren/age/201005/241442. html (Accessed on 4-18-2014). 4 Archeology dig started in 1972 in Hunan Province and ended in 1974. Details available online at: www.hnmuseum.com/hnmuseum/whatson/. . ./mwd.js (Accessed on 4-18-2014). 5 Charles Hucker. China’s Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University. 1975). P. 72. 6 Guodong Fu and Peilin Yu (eds.). Life’s Great Wisdom: Lao Zi (Hainan: San Hun Publishers. 1992). P. 21. 7 Ibid. P. 188. 8 The numbers do not add up to exactly 81 because some get counted twice for having to do with more than one category. 9 Fu and Yu. 1992. P. 30. 10 Ibid. Pp. 32–35. 11 Ibid. P. 239. Translation from W. T. Chan. A Source of Chinese Philosophy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 1963). P. 167. 12 Ibid. Pp. 93–95. 13 Ibid. P. 195. 14 Ibid. Pp. 66–69. 15 Ibid. P. 337. 16 Ibid. P. 337. 17 Ibid. Pp. 112–113. 18 Ibid. P. 311.

202  Notes 19 20 21 22 23

Ibid. P. 136. Ibid. P. 237. Ibid. Pp. 85–87. Ibid. Pp. 88–91. Y.T. Lin. My Country and My People (New York: Reynal & Hitchcock, 1935). P. 117.

9  Buddhism: relationalism in Zen 1 Guodong Fu and Peilin Yu (eds.). Life’s Great Wisdom: Lao Zi (Hainan: San Hun Publishers. 1992). P. 2. 2 Erik Zurcher. The Buddhist Conquest of China: The Spread and Adaptation of Buddhism in Early Medieval China (The Netherlands, Leiden: Hotei Publishing. 2007). P. 308. 3 Ibid. P. 2. 4 Many Western scholars had a hard time finding an equivalent English word for “sunya.” Some call it “emptiness,” others “nothingness.” The early Chinese Buddhists had the same problem. They eventually settled with the word “wu,” which means different things in Daoism. Later the word Chinese word “kong” was adopted and it has been used since. 5 Zurcher. 2007. P. 306. 6 Charles Hucker. China’s Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University. 1975). Pp. 218–219. 7 Ibid. P. 215. 8 As quoted in Zurcher. 2007. P 306. 9 Ibid. P. 290. 10 Bodhisattvas are enlightened beings who have put off entering paradise in order to help others attain enlightenment. There are many different Bodhisattvas, but the most famous in China is Avalokitesvara, known in Chinese as Guanyin. 11 Zurcher. 2007. P. 312. 12 Ibid. P. 37. 13 Ibid. Pp. 317–318. 14 Zaoguang Ge. The History of Zen: From 6th to 10th Centuries (Shanghai: Classics Publishers. 2008). P. 118. 15 Wing-Tsit Chan. A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 1963). Pp. 396–397. 16 H.N. Yang. Revolution in Buddhism: The Sixth Zen Guru (China: The Three Ring Publishers. 1992). Pp. 197–198. 17 Ge, Zhaoguang. History of the Thought of Buddhist Chan: From Sixth to Tenth Century. (Shanghai: Ancient Documents Publishers. 2008). P. 239. 18 Chan. 1963. P. 428. 19 Ibid. P. 428. 20 Lu Wen: “shuizhi wuhengdi, yunxing bujicheng, daoshi ji bian, guochu ji qianshen.” As quoted in Z.G. Ge. History of Zen: From 6th to 10th Century (Shanghai Classic Publishers. 2006). P. 399.

10  Unification under relationalism 1 Charles Hucker. China’s Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University. 1975). P. 360. 2 Stephen Teiser. “Social History and the Confrontation of Cultures.” Forward to the 3rd edition of The Buddhist Conquest of China by Erick Zurcher. 2007. P. xiiv. 3 “caifen tiandi zongshu yili, jiaoyourushidaozozhongguiyitu.” Available online at: www.fjdh.cn/search/s.aspx?wd (Accessed on 5-25-2014). 4 Ge, Zhaoguang. History of the Thought of Buddhist Chan: From Sixth to Tenth Century. (Shanghai: Ancient Documents Publishers. 2008). P. 114.

Notes 203 11  Some starting points 1 Scott Lane and W. John Hoffmann. “Does the Chinese Practice of Guanxi Lead to Corruption in Business?” Available online at: www.redflaggroup.com (Accessed on 9-29-2014). 2 Professor Fei Xiaotong mentioned the distinctions in various publications, one of which was From the Soil: The Foundation of Chinese Society (China: San Lian Books. 1948). 3 S. Lane and W.J. Hoffmann. “Does the Chinese Practice of Guanxi Lead to Corruption in Business?”Journal of Intercultural Management. Vol. 6 (2010). Available online at: www.degruyter.com/view/j/joim.2014.6.issue (Accessed on 7-10-2015). 4 Dan Harris. “China Guanxi: Overrated.” Forbes (January 2015). Available online at: www.forbes.com/sites/danharris/2015/01/11/china-guanxi-overrated/ (Accessed on 6-4-2015) 5 As quoted in Xiao-Ping Chen and Chao Chen. “On the Intricacies of the Chinese Guanxi: A Process Model of Guanxi Development.” Asian Pacific Journal of Management. Vol. 21 (2004). Pp. 305–324.

12  Qin qing (kinship emotions) 1 Lushi chunqiu (Lu’s Spring and Autumn) (241 B.C.E.) is a collection of 160 articles on politics, history, philosophy and more and is regarded as the first book of its kind. 2 B.I. Schwartz. The World of Thought in Ancient China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 1985). P. 70. 3 A Dream of the Red Mansions was written by Xueqin Cao, who lived and wrote in the 1600s. There are 120 chapters in the novel and over 1,000,000 words. The book was translated into English by Yang Hsien-Yi and Glady Yang in 1978.

13  You qing (friendship emotions) 1 H. Zhou. “The Ideal Nation.” In The Book of Li (Hainan: Three Ring Publishers of China. 1992). P. 269. 2 “Aristotle’s Ethics.” In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Available online at: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/aristotle-ethics (Accessed on 6-10-2015). 3 M. Popova. “The Science and Philosophy of Friendship: Lessons from Aristotle on the Art of Connecting.” Available online at: www.brainpickings.org/2013/09/19/aristotle -friendship (Accessed on 5-30-2015). 4 “Aristotle’s Ethics.” In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.” Available online at: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/aristotle-ethics (Accessed on 6-10-2015). 5 An ancient Chinese seven-stringed musical instrument which was believed to be most expressive of the player’s emotions, hence the word “xin xuan” – the heart string. 6 Aristotle. Ethics. As quoted in Aquileana. “Aristotle´s Nichomachean Ethics: ‘Three Types of Friendship.’ ” Available online at: https://aquileana.wordpress.com (Accessed on 6-12-2015). 7 X.S. Zhao. “Analysis of Strengths of the Anti-Corruption System.” Journal of Lingnan Academics (January 2014). Available online at: www.cctb.net/llyj/xswtyj/zzdyj (Accessed on 6-16-2015). 8 Longji Sun. The Core Structure of the Chinese Culture (Guilin, China: Guangxi Normal University Press. 2011). Pp. 30–32.

14  Ren qing (generic human emotions) 1 K.K. Hwang. Foundations of Chinese Psychology: Confucian Social Relations (London: Springer Science and Business Media. 2012). Pp. 90–91.

204  Notes 2 X. P. Chen and C. Chen. “On the Intricacies of the Chinese Guanxi: A Process Model of Guanxi Development.” Asian Pacific Journal of Management. Vol. 21 (2004). Pp. 305–324. 3 Pierre Bourdieu. “The Forms of Capital.” (1986). Available online at: www.marxists. org/reference/subject/philosophy/works/fr/bourdieu-forms-capital.htm (Accessed on 8-11-2014).

15  Guanxi opens access to resources 1 Ronald Bogue. Deleuze and Guattari (New York: Routledge. 1989), as quoted in Mayfair Yang. Gifts, Favors, & Banquets: The Art of Social Relationships in China (New York: Cornell University Press. 1994). P. 108. 2 X.W. Yang. “The Principles of Water-Land Connection.” Chinese Journal of Hydraulics (March 20, 2014). Available online at: www.chinawater.com.cn/grzl/zwd/ zwd01/201403/t20140320_337368.htm (Accessed on 08-10-2014). 3 Z.H. Yang. “On Investigation of Jing Yang.” Available online at: http://lishisuo.cass. cn/news/ (Accessed on 08-15-2014). 4 B.A. Elman. “Civil Service Examinations.” In Berkshire Encyclopedia of China (Berkshire Publishing Group LL. 2009). Pp. 405–410. Available online at: www.princeton. edu/ (Accessed on 08-15-2014). 5 Ibid. 6 Guoxue mingpian jianshang cidian [Encyclopedia of Chinese Classics]. (Shanghai, China: Encyclopedia Publishers. 2009). Pp. 278–283.

16  “Face” and reciprocity 1 Marshall Sahlins. Stone Age Economics (New York: Walter de Gruyter. 1974). Pp. 188–195. 2 E. Goffman. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (New York: Random House. 1959). As quoted in Michael Bond. Oxford Handbook of Chinese Psychology (New York: Oxford University Press. 2010). P. 480. 3 Y.T. Lin. My Country and My People (New York: The John Day Company. 1935). P. 200. 4 “2013 National Achievements in Anti-Corruption Campaign.” Chinese Youth. Available online at: www.maoyiw.com/tushuo/show/28714/ (Accessed on 6-12-2015). 5 J.H. He. “Report on Current Status of Chinese Corruptive Crimes.” Contemporary Law (June 2014). Available online at: www.cdcriminallaw.com/NewsDetail/2191/22. aspx (Accessed on 8-24-2015).

17  “The cat-and-mouse game” 1 Z.Q. Liu. “On the Success and Failure of Zhang Juzheng’s Political Reform.” Available online at: www.confucius2000.com/poetry/zjzggdcb.htm (Accessed on 09-30-2014). 2 For example, X.K. Yang. “The Present, Trend and Eradication of Corruptions Among Chinese High Ranked Officials (1986–2014).” China News. Available online at: www. chinanews.com/ (Accessed on 6-15-2015); and J.H. He. “Present Situations of Corruption in China: An Estimation.” Beijing University Law School Website. Available online at: http://article.chinalawinfo.com/ArticleFullText.aspx? (Accessed on 6-15-2015).

18  Some starting points 1 Richard E. Nisbett. The Geography of Thought (New York: Free Press. 2003). P. 38. 2 G. Hofstede and G.J. Hofstede. Cultures and Organizations: Software of the Mind (New York: McGraw-Hill Publishers. 2005). Pp. 74–75.

Notes 205 3 S. Hackett. Oriental Philosophy: A Westerner’s Guide to Eastern Thought (Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. 1979). P. 51. 4 G.C. Yan. History of Chinese Psychology (China: Beijing, The Kaiming Publishers. 2012). P. 58. 5 K.K. Hwang. Foundations of Chinese Psychology (New York: Springer. 2012). P. xv.

19  Relational human nature 1 King James Bible, Genesis 1:27. 2 Guan Zhong. Guanzi: Yenei. As quoted in G.C. Yan. History of Chinese Psychology (China: Beijing, The Kaiming Publishers. 2012). P. 22. 3 The Book of Rites. As quoted in Yan. 2012. P. 74. 4 Xunzi. As quoted in Yan. 2012. P. 79. 5 Mencius. Mengzi. In Encyclopedia of Chinese National Classics (China: Shanghai Century Publishers. 2009). Pp. 402–406. 6 Ibid. 7 Shouren Wang. (1472–1529) asserted that “There is no unkindness in human nature.” As quoted in Yan. 2012. P. 201. 8 Xun Zi. “Xun Zi: Evil Human Nature.” In Encyclopedia of Chinese Classics (Shanghai: Century Publishers. 2009). Pp. 537–538. 9 Gao Zi’s original writings are lost. What is known today of his theory is through Mencius’s arguments against Gao Zi. In a long article entitled “Gao Zi,” Mencius carefully took apart each of Gao Zi’s statement and wrote his own criticism of Gao Zi’s ideas. Mencius argued that the idea of humans born to only know food and sex was lowering humans down to the rank of animals. See Encyclopedia of Chinese Classics (Shanghai: Century Publishers. 2009). Pp. 402–407. 10 Fengyan Wang. The New History of Chinese Psychology (Beijing: The People’s Education Publishers. 2013). P. 309.

20  The Chinese “heart” 1 Huangdi neijing [Internal Medicine of Huangdi]. Author unknown. The original book appeared during 500 B.C.E. But it was rendered incomplete in passing from person to person. The book we have today was edited by a scholar and medical doctor named Huang Pumi. (Beijing: The Chinese Book Publishers. 2010). Pp. 215–282. 2 Ibid. Pp. 207–210. 3 Xunzi. On Tian. As quoted in G.C. Yan. History of Chinese Psychology (China: Beijing, The Kaiming Publishers. 2012). P. 26. 4 Mencius. Mengzi gongsuncou. As quoted in F.Y. Wang. The History of Chinese Psychology: A New Look (Beijing: People’s Education Publishers. 2013). P. 90. 5 G. S. Hall. “The Fall of Atlantis.” In Recreations of a Psychologist (New York: D.Appleton and Co. 1920). P. 7. 6 Laozi. 1891. 7 Guan Yin Zi lived around 500 B.C.E. He was a border guard during the late Zhou Dynasty. Legend has it that Lao Zi knew that the Zhou Dynasty was dying and chaos would ensue. So he decided to move to the West. He met Guan Yin Zi on his way and the two found out that they shared many views on life, relationship and the society. Guan tried to persuade Lao Zi to stay. Lao Zi stayed with Guan enough time to write his Dao De Jing. He gave Guan the book and waved goodbye and continued his journey. For more details, go to http://gj.zdic.net/archive.php? (Accessed on 10-26-2014). 8 Si Ma guang. Collection of Si Maguang’s Writings. As quoted in Yan. 2012. P. 51. 9 Y. Shao. Ji Rang Ji [Collection of jirang]. As quoted in Yan. 2012. P. 51. 10 Z. Dai. Yuan Shan Zhong [Amongst the original]. As quoted in Yan. 2012. Pp. 48–49. 11 Richard Nisbett. The Geography of Thought: How Asians and Westerners Think Differently and Why (New York: Free Press. 2003). Pp. 21–22.

206  Notes 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid. P. 109.

21  Cognition and emotion 1 G.C. Yan. History of Chinese Psychology (China: Beijing, The Kaiming Publishers. 2012). Pp. 83–105. 2 Shang Shu. Collected in The Encyclopedia of China’s Greatest Writings (Shanghai: Century Publishers. 2009). P. 70. 3 Zhu Geliang. bianyi shiliuce. silu [Sixteen Strategies from Common Sense], as quoted in Yan. 2012. P. 98. 4 Zhu Xi. zhuzi yulu [Quotations of Zhu Zi]. As quoted in Yan. 2012. P. 98. 5 Xun Zi. Xunzi.quanxue [Encourage Learning]. Available online at: hanyu.iciba.com (Accessed on 10-10-2014). 6 Yan. 2012. P. 170. 7 Confucius. Zhongyong [Doctrine of the Mean], in The Analects. Translated by D.C. Lau (New York: Penguin Books. 1979). 8 Richard Nisbett. The Geography of Thought: How Asians and Westerners Think Differently and Why (New York: Free Press. 2003). Pp. 140–141.

22  Relational thinking in the Chinese language 1 K. K. Hwang. The Foundations of Chinese Psychology. P. 22. 2 Charles Hucker. China’s Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University. 1975). P. 9. 3 In 1928, about 75,000 oracle bones and tortoise shells were excavated in Northern China. While about 3500 characters were identified, only about 1000 had been matched up with modern Chinese words. 4 Shen Xu. shuowen jiezi [Explanation and Analysis of Words]. The book also served for centuries as a dictionary.

23  Development of Chinese “selfhood” 1 Michale H. Bond. As quoted in Susan Cain. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking (New York: Broadway Books. 2012). P. 187. 2 Joseph Kaipayil. Relationalism: A Theory of Being (Bangalore: JIP Publications. 2009). Pp. 69–72. 3 G.C. Yan. History of Chinese Psychology (Beijing, China: The Kaiming Publishers. 2012). P. 58. 4 Michael H. Bond. The Psychology of the Chinese People (Beijing, China: The Chinese University Press. 1986). P. 6. 5 Ibid. P. 15. 6 Y.T. Lin. My Country and My People (New York: The John Day Company. 1935). Pp. 90–91. 7 Ibid. P. 43. 8 Ibid. 9 Ibid. Pp. 57–58. 10 Please refer back to Part III regarding detail discussions of these three categories of relationships. 11 For a detailed discussion of the topic, please refer to Chapter 16 of the book. 12 Lin. 1935. P. 139. 13 Ibid. P. 141. 14 Ibid. P. 139. 15 Hwang, K.K. Foundations of Chinese Psychology (New York: Springer Publishers. 2012). P. 281.

Notes 207 24  Some starting points 1 For example, The Singapore Globe estimated that 30 million people were persecuted and 500,000 died by violent death or suicide. See “Purging Dissidents in the Army, Mao Reclaimed Power.” The Singapore Globe (May 11, 2006). 2 Chinability. “GDP Growth in China 1952–2014.” Available online at: www.china bility.com/GDP.htm. (Retrieved on 9-15-2015).

25  The CCP in the 21st century 1 David Shambaugh. “The Coming Chinese Crackup.” The Wall Street Journal (March 6, 2015). 2 Teresa Wright. Party and State in Post-Mao China (Malden, MA: Polity Press. 2015). P. 84. 3 As compared to only 4% college-educated and 69% junior high school–level education. In Helin Li. “The Trend of the Party Membership Composition Change in the New Era.” The People’s Forum (Issue 26, 2012). Available online at: http://paper. people.com.cn/rmlt/html/201209/11/content_1121357.htm?div=-1 (Accessed on 10-26-2015). 4 The Constitution of the Chinese People’s Republic of China. Item No. 11. Available online at: www.gov.cn/gongbao/content/2004/content_62714.htm (Accessed on 11-26-2015). 5 Yongnian Zheng. The Chinese Communist Party as Organizational Emperor (New York: Routledge. 2010). P. 49. 6 Wright. 2015. P. 28. 7 To assess the possibility that these respondents gave positive answers out of fear of government persecution, various scholars have included in their survey probing questions, but they have found no correlation between a respondent’s stated level of support for China’s political system and his or her fear of the governing regime. 8 Henry M. Paulson. Jr. Dealing with China: An Insider Unmasks the New Economic Superpower (Boston, MA: The Hachette Book Group. 2015). P. 350.

26  The CCP-State relationship in the 21st century 1 Yongnian Zheng. The Chinese Communist Party as Organizational Emperor (London: Routledge Publishers. 2014). P. 99. 2 Hongtai Chen. “Characteristics of Chinese Political Reform from the Historical Perspectives of Party-State Relationships.” The CCP New Network (2013). Available online at: http://theory.people.com.cn/GB/41038/10918056.html (Assessed on 10-25-2015). 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid. 6 Zheng. 2014. Pp. 121–122.

27  The CCP–Chinese society relationship in the 21st century 1 Tao Ran. “China’s Land Grab Is Undermining Grass Roots Democracy.” The Guardian (16 December 2011). Available online at: www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2011/ dec/16/china-land-grab-undermining-democracy (Accessed on 12-2-2015). 2 Will Freeman. “The Accuracy of China’s Mass Incidents.” Financial Times (2 March 2010). 3 As quoted in Teresa Wright. Party and State in Post-Mao China (Malden, MA: Polity Press. 2015). P. 81. 4 Ibid.

208  Notes 5 According to the National Bureau of Statistics of the Chinese People’s Republic of China, the national average in 2014 for the peasants who worked in the cities is 2900 yuan per month, which equals to about $450. This wage is compatible to an entry-level income for a college graduate. Available online at: www.stats.gov.cn/tjsj/zxfb/201504/ t20150429_797821.html (Accessed on 11-20-2015). 6 Jianhong Zhu. “2012 Report on Peasant-Workers.” People’s New (May 28, 2013). Available online at http://politics.people.com.cn/n/2013/0528/c1001-21635235.html (Accessed on 11-30-2015). 7 The State Council of PRC. “Stop Collecting Agricultural Taxes.” (March 6, 2006). Available online at http://english.gov.cn/ (Accessed on 11-30-2015). 8 Yongnian Zheng. The Chinese Communist Party as Organizational Emperor (London: Routledge Publishers. 2014). P. 145. 9 The Chinese State Council. “CPC Central Committee and State Council on Further Strengthening the Management of Civil Society Organizations.” (1999). Available online at: http://law.lawtime.cn/d455288460382.html (Accessed on 11-4-2015). 10 “The NPC Passed the Government Budget Plan.” (3-15-2015). Available online at: http://lianghui.people.com.cn/2015npc/n/2015/0315/c394535-26694768.html (Accessed on 11-29-2015) 11 “China Government.” (September 14, 2008). Available online at: http://sacredclown. blogspot.com/2008/09/national-peoples-congress.html (Accessed on 11-29-2015). 12 “New nat’l Legislature Sees More Diversity.” (February 27, 2015). Available online at: www.npc.gov.cn/englishnpc/news/Focus/2013-02/27/content_1759084.htm (Accessed 11-29-2015).

28  A judicial system with Chinese characteristics? 1 The People’s Daily. “Xi Jinping on Governing the Nation According to Laws.” (August 17, 2016). P. 12. 2 Henry M. Paulson, Jr. Dealing with China: An Insider Unmasks the New Economic Superpower (Boston, MA: The Hachette Book Group. 2015). P. 350. 3 “The Proposal from the CCP Politburo on the Thirteenth Five-Year-Plan for National Economic and Social Development.” The People’s Daily Overseas Edition (November 4, 2015). P. 4. 4 For more details, see “On the Relationships Between Rule of Law, the Rule of Man and Virtue by Miao Yan Bo.” Available online at: www.pkulaw.cn/fulltext_form. aspx?Db=qikan&gid=1510132398 (Accessed on 8-22-2016). Or: Li Lin. “Characteristic and Direction of the Judicial System with Chinese Socialist Characteristics.” Available online at: www.iolaw.org.cn/showArticle.aspx?id=4266 (Accessed 8-22-2016). 5 Giddon A.G. Gottlieb. “Relationism: Legal Theory for a Relational Society.” 50th University of Chicago Law Review (1983). P. 597. 6 Ibid. P. 594. 7 Ibid. Pp. 607–608. 8 Li Lin. “Characteristic and Direction of the Judicial System with Chinese Socialist Characteristics. Available online at: www.iolaw.org.cn/showArticle.aspx?id=4266 (Accessed on 8-22-2016). 9 Information Office of Chinese State Council. White Paper: “The Socialist System of Laws with Chinese Characteristics.” Available online at: www.gov.cn/jrzg/201110/27/content_1979498.htm (Accessed on 8-24-2016) 10 Ibid.

29  On the world stage: China’s relational diplomacy in the 21st century 1 Bree Feng. “Obama’s ‘Free Rider’Comment Draws Chinese Criticism.” The New York Times (August 13, 2014). Available online at: http://sinosphere.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/08/13/ obamas-free-rider-comment-draws-chinese-criticism/ (Accessed on 11-3-2015).

Notes 209 2 Jianmin Wu. “One Belt and One Road, Far-Reaching Initiative.” China and US Focus (March  2015). Available online at: www.chinausfocus.com/finance-economy/onebelt-and-one-road-far-reaching-initiative/ (Accessed on 11-17-2015). 3 Francis Cheung and Alexious Lee. “A Brilliant Plan: One Belt, One Road.” CLSA (2015). Available online at: www.clsa.com/special/onebeltoneroad/ (Accessed on 11-15-2015). 4 Shannon Tiezzi. “China’s Vision for Modernizing the UN.” The Diplomat (February 25, 2015). Available online at: http://thediplomat.com/authors/ShannonTiezzi (Accessed on 11-20-2015). 5 The Wall Street Journal (Chinese version) (March 21, 2012). Available online at: https:// translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=zh-CN&u=http://cn.wsj.com/gb/20120321/ bch181740.asp&prev=search (Accessed on 11-22-2015). 6 The Xinhua News (April 9, 2015). Available online at http://news.xinhuanet.com/ politics/2015-04/09/c_1114920500.htm (Accessed on 11-20-2015) 7 Chinese Foreign Affairs News Agency. Available online at news.cncnews.cn/201403-06/124073936.html (Accessed on 11-22-2015). 8 “Sudanese President Invited Chinese Parade: Reasonable.” The Sing Dao Daily (September 2, 2015). Available online at: www.singtaousa.com/462790/post (Accessed on 11-22-2015). 9 Michael Sherman. “Why Alibaba’s Massive Counterfeit Problem Will Never Be Solved.” Forbes (November 4, 2015). Available online at: www.forbes.com/sites/ michaelschuman/2015/11/04/alibaba-and-the-40000-thieves/5/ (Accessed on 12-272015). 10 The concept of “soft power” was first developed by Joseph Nye of Harvard University. Nye famously defined soft power as the ability of a country to achieve its international goal through appeals rather than simply through military force and money. According to Nye, such appeals include a country’s cultural attractiveness, political ideals and international policies.

Epilogue 1 The Chinese Health and Family Planning Commission. The Report on the Chinese Families (May 2014). Available online at: www.nhfpc.gov.cn/ (Accessed on 11-5-2015). 2 Source: www. Stats.gov.cn (Accessed on 8-8-2017). 3 Hui Gu. “dangqian jiating mianlinde tiaozhan yu xuanze ” [The Challenge and Options Facing Contemporary Chinese Family]. ACADEMICS. No. 9 (September 2011). 4 Yi Zheng, Hua Suai Chen and Zhenglian Wang. “Trend Analysis on Costs of Elder Care in the First Half of 21st Century.” Economic Studies. Vol. 10 (2012). Available online at: www.usc.cuhk.edu.hk/PaperCollection/webmanager/wkfiles/2012/9226_1_ paper.pdf (Accessed on 10-20-2015). 5 Karl Polanyi. The Great Transformation (Boston, MA: Beacon Press. 1944). P. 57. 6 Qingping Yue. “zhongguo chuantong jiating yu xiandaihua” [The Chinese Traditional Family and Modernization]. Available online at: http://w3.pku.edu.cn/academic/wsc/ dongtai/17/3.doc (Accessed on 10-25-2015). 7 Chinese Journal of Education (February 6, 2014). Available online at: www.edu.cn/ xue_qian_news_197/20140226/t20140226_1078497.shtml (Accessed on: 11-01-2015). 8 Gongcheng Zheng. “The Historical Logic in the Development of the Chinese Social Well Fare System.” University Journal of the Chinese People’s University. Vol. 1 (2014). Available online at: www.usc.cuhk.edu.hk/PaperCollection/Details.aspx? id=9502 (Accessed on 11-6-2015). 9 Ibid.

Selected bibliography

Selected bibliographySelected bibliography

Abrami, Regina, William C. Kirby and F. Warren McFarlan. 2014. Can China Lead? Reaching the Limits of Power and Growth. Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Publishing Corporation. An, Zuozhang. 2011. zhongguo libu yanjiu [Studies on the Board of Civil Office in China’s History]. Beijing: Party Building Books Publishing House. Asher, R.E. and J.M. Simpson. 1994. The Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics. New York: Pergamon Press. Bond, Michael Harris. 1986. The Psychology of the Chinese People. Honk Kong: The Chinese University Press. Bond, Michael Harris (ed.). 2010. Oxford Handbook of Chinese Psychology. New York & London: Oxford University Press. Bourdieu, P. 1990. In Other Words: Essays Toward a Reflective Sociology. Standford, CA: Standford University Press. Brodsgaard, Kjeld and Zheng Yongnian (eds.). 2006. Bringing the Party Back In: How China Is Governed. Singapore and London: Eastern University Press. Cain, Susan. 2012. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking. New York: Broadway Books. Cao, Xueqin. 1978. hongloumeng [A Dream of the Red Mansion]. Translated by Yang Hsien Yi and Gladys Yang. Beijing: The People’s Publishers. Chan, Wing-Tsit. 1963. A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Chang, Iris. 2004. The Chinese in America. New York: Penguin Books. Chen, X.P. and C. Chen. 2004. “On the Intricacies of the Chinese Guanxi: A Process Model of Guanxi Development.” Asian Pacific Journal of Management. Vol. 21. Chin, R. and A.S. Chin. 1969. Psychological Research in Communist China 1949–1966. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Confucius. 1979. The Analects. Translated by D.C. Lau. New York: Penguin Books. Creel, Herrlee G. 1970. The Origins of Statecraft in China. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. De Groot, J.J.M. 1964. The Religious System of China. Vol. 1. Taipei, Taiwan: Literature House. Guoxue mingpian jianshang cidian [Encyclopedia of Chinese Classics]. 2009. Shanghai, China: Encyclopedia Publishers. Fairbank, John K. 1983. The United States and China. 4th ed. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Fairbank, John K. 1987. The Great Chinese Revolution 1800–1985. New York: Harper & Row Publishers, Inc.

Selected bibliography 211 Fu, Guodong and Peilin Yu (eds.). 1992. Life’s Great Wisdom: Lao Zi. Hainan, China: San Hun Publishers. Gao, Juemin, Guocai Yan and Jinhui Yang (eds.). 2005. zhongguo xinlixueshi dierban [History of Chinese Psychology. 2nd ed.]. Beijing: People’s Education Publishers. Ge, Zaoguang. 1997a. zhongguo sixiangshi: (diyijuan) qishijiqian zhongguode zhishi, sixiang yu xinyang shijie [History of Chinese Thought: The World of Chinese Knowledge, Ideas, and Beliefs Before the 7th Century. Vol. 1]. Shanghai, China: Fudan University Press. Ge, Zaoguang. 1997b. zhongguo sixiangshi: (dierjuan) cong qishiji zhi shijiu shiji zhongguode zhishi, sixiang yu xinyang shijie [History of Chinese Thought: The World of Chinese Knowledge, Ideas, and Beliefs from 7th Century to 19th Century. Vol. 2]. Shanghai, China: Fudan University Press. Ge, Zaoguang. 2011. zaizi zhongguo: chongjian youguan zhongguode lishi lunshu [On China: Reconstructing Historical Views]. Beijing: Chinese Book House. Ge, Zaoguang. 2006. gudai zhongguo wenhua jiangyi [Lectures on Ancient Chinese Culture]. Shanghai, China: Fudan Univeristy Press. Ge, Zaoguang. 2008. zhongguo chan sixiangshi:cong liushiji dao shishiji [History of Chinese Zen Buddhist Thoughts: From 6th to 10th Century]. Shanghai: Ancient Books Publishing House. Goffman, E. 1959. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Random House. Gold, Thomas, Doug Guthrie and David Wank. 2004. Social Connections in China: Institutions, Culture and the Changing Nature of Guanxi. Cambride, UK: Cambride University Press. Goldman, Merle. 1994. Sowing the Seeds of Democracy in China: Political Reform in the Deng Xiaoping Era. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Goldman, Merle and Roderick MacFarquhar. 1999. The Paradox of China’s Post-Mao Reforms. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gottlieb, Gidden A.G. 1983. “Relationalism: Legal Theory for a Relational Society.” 50th University of Chicago Law Review. Gu, Hui. 2011. dangqian jiating mianlinde tiaozhan yu xuanze [“The Challenge and Options Facing Contemporary Chinese Family”]. ACADEMICS. No. 9. (September). Hackett, Stuart C. 1979. Oriental Philosophy: A Westerner’s Guide to Eastern Thought. Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. Hall, G.S. 1920. “The Fall of Atlantis.” Recreations of a Psychologist. New York: D.Appleton and Co. Hofstede, Geert and Gert Jan Hofstede. 2005. Cultures and Organizations: Software of the Mind. New York: McGraw-Hill. Huang, Alfred. 1998. The Complete I Ching. Rochester, Vermont: Inner Tradition International. Hucker, Charles. 1975. China’s Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University. Hwang, K.K. 2012. Foundations of Chinese Psychology: Confucian Social Relations. London: Springer Science and Business Media. Kaipayil, Joseph. 2009. Relationalism: A Theory of Being. Bangalore: JIP Publications. Lao Zi. 2011. Dao De Jing [The Book of Dao]. Translated by Xuanzong Fu. Shenyang, China: The United Northern Publishers. Lin, Y.T. 1935. My Country and My People. New York: Reynal & Hitchcock. Liu, Alan P.L. 1976. Political Culture and Group Conflict in Communist China. Oxford: Clio Books. Migdal, Joel S. 2001. State in Society: Studying How State and Societies Transform and Constitute One Another. New York: Cambridge University Press.

212  Selected bibliography Nathan, Andrew J. 2001. “Authoritarian Resilience.” Journal of Democracy. Vol. 14, No. 1 (January). Pp. 6–17. Nisbett, Richard E. 2004. The Geography of Thought: How Asians and Westerners Think Differently . . . and Why. New York: Free Press. Nye, Joseph S. Jr. 2004. Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics. New York: Public AffairsTM. Osnos, Evan. 2014. Age of Ambition: Chasing Fortune, Truth, and Faith in the New China. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Pan, Phillip P. 2008. Out of Mao’s Shadow: The Struggle for the Soul of a New China. New York: Simon and Schuster. Paulson, Henry M. Jr. 2015. Dealing with China: An Insider Unmasks the New Economic Superpower. New York: Hachette Book Group. Perry, Elizabeth J. and Mark Selden (eds.). 2000. Chinese Society: Change, Conflict and Resistance. London: Routledge. Plato. 1999. “The Republic.” In The Essential Plato. Translated by Benjamin Jowett and A.J. Kight. New York: Quality Paperback Book Club. Ren, Xin. 1997. Tradition of the Law and Law of the Tradition, State and Social Control in China. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Roberts, J.A.G. 1999. A Concise History of China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Sahlins, Marshall. 1974. Stone Age Economics. New York: Walter de Gruyter. Schwartz, Benjamin I. 1985. The World of Thought in Ancient China. Cambridege, MA: Harvard University Press. Shambaugh, D. 2008. China’s Communist Party: Atrophy and Adaptation. Stanford, CA: University of California Press. Shambaugh, D. 2015. “The Coming Chinese Crackup.” The Wall Street Journal. March 6. Shen, Heyong. 2001. zhongguo wenhua xinlixue xinyao [The Concept of “Heart” in Chinese Psychology]. Beijing: The People’s Publishers. Shi, Nai An and Luo Guanzhong. 1980. shuihu zhuan [Outlaws of the Marsh]. Translated by Sidney Shapiro. Beijing: Foreign Languages Press. Shirk, Susan I. 2007. China: Fragile Superpower, How China’s Internal Politics Could Derail its Peaceful Rising. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shue, Vivienne. 2004. “Legitimacy Crisis in China?” In Peter Hays Gries and Stanley Rosen (eds.), State and Society in 21st Century China: Crisis, Contention and Legitimation. London: Routledge. Spence, Jonathan. 1977. Emperor of China: Self-Portrait of Kang Xi. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Strange, Susan. 1996. The Retreat of the State: The Diffusion of Power in the World Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sun, Longji. 2011. zhongguo wenhua de shenceng jiegou [The Core Structure of Chinese Culture]. Nanning, China: Guangxi Normal University Press. Teng, S. Z. 1989. The Descendants of the Qing “Eight Banners.” Beijing: Chinese Overseas Publishers. Wang, Fengyan, Zheng Hong and Yan Liangshi (eds.). 2013. zhongguo xinlixueshi xinpian [A New History of Chinese Psychology]. Beijing: People’s Education Publishers. Wang, Guiyuan. 2007. hanzi yu lishi wenhua [The Chinese Written Symbols, History and Culture.]. Beijing: The People’s University Press. Wang, Xiuceng, 2009. “The Symbolic Meanings of Rituals and Their Value in Literature.” Northern Scholarly Essays. Vol. 4.

Selected bibliography 213 Worden, Robert L., Andrea M. Savada and Ronald E. Dolan (eds.). 1987. China: A Country Study. Washington, DC: GPO for the Library of Congress. Available online at: http:// countrystudies.us/china/51.htm (Accessed on 11-1-2015). Wright, Arthur F. 1959. Buddhism in Chinese History. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Wright, Teressa. 2015. Party and State in Post-Mao China. Malden, MA: Polity Press. Wu, Cheng En. 1984. xi you ji [Journey to the West]. Translated by W.J.F. Jenner. Beijing: Foreign Languages Press. Xi, Jinping. 2014. The Governance of China. Beijing: Foreign Languages Press. Yan, Guocai. 2012. zhongguo xinlixueshi [History of Chinese Psychology]. Beijing: Kaiming Publishers. Yang, H.N. 1992. Revolution in Buddhism: The Sixth Zen Guru. China: The Three Ring Publishers. Yang, Mayfair Mei-hui. 1994. Gifts, Favors & Banquets: The Art of Social Relationships in China. Ithaca, NY & London: Cornell University Press. Yao Chun Peng. 2010. huangdi neijing [The Yellow Emperor’s Internal Medicine Theory]. Beijing: China Book House. Ye, G. S. 2006. “Rethinking the Success of the Qing Dynasty.” Periodical of History. Taiwan Teachers’ University Journal. Vol. 36 (December). Zhang, Hongjie. 2003. zhongguo guominxing yanbian lichen [The Changing Process of the Chinese National Character]. Changsha, Hunan: People’s Publishers. Zhang, Hongyuan. 1997. qianxian jianyan [Lectures from Ancient Wisdom]. Yunan, China: The People’s Publishers. Zhang, Zhigang. 2007. lunyu tongyi [A Complete Translation of the Analects]. Beijing: Guangming Ribao Press. Zheng, Yongnian. 2010. The Chinese Communist Party as Organizational Emperor: Culture, Reproduction and Transformation. New York: Routledge. Zheng, Yongnian. 2014. bu quedingde weilai [The Uncertain Future]. Beijing: CITIC Publishing Group. Zhou, H. 1992. The Ideal Nation: The Book of Li. Hainan, China: Three Ring Publishers of China. Zurcher, Erik. 2007. The Buddhist Conquest of China: The Spread and Adaptation of Buddhism in Early Medieval China. The Netherlands, Leiden: Hotei Publishing.

Index

1B1R (“One Belt One Road”) project 13, 187 – 188, 191 2004 Chinese Constitutional Amendments 161 2012 World Values Survey (WVS) 164 21st-century Chinese family 194 – 197 agricultural taxation 174 Analects (Confucius) 49 – 52 ancestral worship 13, 17, 18, 25, 38, 46, 194 anticorruption campaign 109, 112 anticorruption laws 112 Aristotle 16, 90 – 93, 95 – 97, 121 Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB) 187 badge of inferiority 148 balanced reciprocity 105 banner system 22 bao chou (revenge) 106 bao en (repay kindness) 106 belief system 36 – 38, 43 – 46, 54, 65, 75 – 77 “Big Three” 8, 10, 44, 141 Bonds, Michael 2 Book of History, The 44 Book of Rites, The 44, 90, 104, 119 Bourdieu, Pierre 97 BRICS 187 Buddha-Daoist messianism 76 Buddha mind 72 – 74, 76 – 77 Buddhism 43, 46, 65 – 69, 71 – 77, 133, 202 Buddhist apocrypha 66 Buddhist doctrine 66 cat-and-mouse game 110 causes of corruption 95 celibacy 68 centrality of the “heart” 116

chang yi 132 – 133 “China Dream” 164 China/Chinese: belief system 46, 65; Buddhism 65, 74; “capitalists” 160; diplomatic background 185; diplomatic relationships 189; divorce rate 194; economic reform 156; family relationships 87 – 88; “heart” 115 – 116, 125; monosyllabic spoken habit 136; psyche 13, 115, 140, 146; relational wisdom 60 Chinese Communist Party (CCP): important relationships of 153 – 156; leading the law 178 – 179; managing NGOs 175 – 176; membership changes 160 – 163; Party-NPC relationship 176 – 177; Party-people relationships 169 – 173; Party-State struggles 166 – 168; political reform 158 – 159; self-improvement 164 – 165; taking reign 35 – 37 “Chineseness” 2, 11, 48 Chinese written system: formation 136 – 138; numeric system 138 – 139 civilization 2, 11 – 12, 23, 31, 37, 49, 50, 136 clans 25 – 27, 29, 88 class struggle 35 – 38, 154 collectivist label 2 Confucianism 21, 24 – 26, 30 – 34, 36 – 37, 45 – 46, 48 – 49, 53 – 54, 62 – 66, 69 – 71, 83, 85, 99 Confucian schools 21, 26 Confucius: Confucian culture 83 – 86; corruptive cycle 98; with Daoism 62 – 65; early life 48 – 49; five basic virtues 50 – 53; on individual 117; institutionalized 123; on moral code 99; on reciprocation 106 – 107 court of public opinion 180 Cunningham, Frank 181

Index  215 Daedalus 145 Dao 46, 57, 58, 127 – 128 Dao De Jing (Lao Zi) 45, 54 – 59, 61 – 63, 119; correct translation 56 Daoism 43, 45 – 46, 54 – 56, 60, 62 – 64, 66 – 69, 71, 74 – 77, 121, 127, 133 Daoist utopia 61 demonstrations 171 Deng Xiaoping: Deng-style pragmatism 155; economic reform 171; on individual 117; institutionalized 123; against Maoism 37; Party-State relationship 159, 162 descendants of Eight Banners 23 desirable female behavior 148 disinterested judicial system 104, 178, 181 Dong Zhongshu 123 Dream of the Red Mansion, A (Xueqin Cao) 88 Duke of Zhou 48 earth worship 14, 15, 17, 18 economic leap-forward 155 economic reform 159 – 160, 162, 173, 186 economic underbelly 99 economy-based diplomacy 187 education 27, 34, 62, 85, 94, 100 – 103, 121 – 127, 145, 148, 155, 161, 168 efficacy of the legal instruments 180 egocentric 116 elder care 195 emotional intelligence 51 emotions 67, 83 – 86, 96, 106, 112, 115 – 116, 120, 127, 131, 133, 137 – 138, 144 Emperor Kang Xi 24, 25 Emperor Qing Long 27 Emperor Shunzhi 23 – 24 empty nest households 197 erroneous thinking 132 Europe’s fascination 27 Evolution of Ethics (Huxley) 120 exchange-value 100, 104 “face” 26, 106 – 107, 108 – 109 factional politics 161 – 162 Fall of Atlantis, The (Hall) 127 familial connections 18, 195 Fang Yizhi 120 Fei Xiaotong 81 fengshui 59 five cardinal (human) relationships 52, 90 Five Diplomatic Principles 186 foreign conquerors 19

“founder/owner” mentality 161 “four hearts” 127 “Four Purges Movement” 155 frame of reference 3, 12 – 13, 74, 115, 129, 134, 140, 146, 157, 190 Freudian struggles 143 friendship culture: friendship of the good 90 – 91; friendship of pleasure 90; friendship of shared experience 93 – 95; friendships of utility 95 G20 187 Gao Zi 122 – 123 Ge Zhaoguang 2 Genghis Khan 19 – 20 God’s Record (Ruggieri and Ricci) 28 Gottlieb, Gidon 181 grassroot democratic election 161 grassroot organizations 26 “Great Chain of Being, The” 11 Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution 34 – 37, 155 Guanchang xianxingji 104 guanxi: 38, 81 – 90, 94 – 100; corruptive network 104, 109; cronyism 104; destructive power 101, 108 – 109; instigated corruptions 111 – 112; network 88, 95, 99, 101; as social lubricant 99; types 102 – 110 guidelines of propriety 146 habits of the mind 2, 115, 134 Hall, G. Stanley 127 Han Great Wall 19 harmonious society 49 – 50, 58, 74, 77, 99, 104, 124, 131, 142 – 143, 195 – 198 harmony 3, 10 – 11, 16 – 17, 21, 24 – 25, 39, 43 – 46, 50 – 53, 55 – 57, 62 – 63, 68 – 87, 188, 197 heart 115 – 116, 125 – 129, 131 – 133, 137 – 138, 190 hegemony 188 – 189, 192 hierarchical order 17, 53 hieroglyphs 136 Hinayana 66 Huang Di 46, 55 – 56, 125 Hucker, Charles 2, 13 “Hui Chang Buddhism Suppression” 67 human’s innate potential 121 human superiority 120 Hwang Guangguo 118 Icarus 145 ideographs 136

216 Index individual 10, 17, 25, 29 – 30, 46, 49, 71 – 72, 81 – 82, 88, 96, 116, 140 industrialization 32, 34, 149, 156, 160, 173, 194 – 198 “in-group” 117 innate moral inclinations 53, 123 intelligence 116, 120, 125, 131, 133 – 134, 140 Internet 81, 156, 172, 176 interrelatedness of the Chinese language 138 intraparty dialogues 162 Jiang Zemin 160, 162, 168 “jifu” system 12, 14, 25, 31 Journey to the West (Wu Cheng En) 92 judicial system 164, 177 – 180, 182 – 183 Jurchens 22 Kaipayil, Joseph 3, 140 Kangxi Dictionary 24, 137 Khubilai 20 – 22 kickbacks 171 kinship: in clans 25; in Confucian harmony 50; in guanxi 99; quasi- 89 – 91; reciprocity 97, 146; in selfhood 116; in universal order 17 Kunyu Wanguo Quantu 28 Lai Changxing 108 – 109 land grab 171 Lao Zi 45, 54 – 65, 69, 74, 76 – 77, 119, 123, 127, 211 Laocan youji 104 Legalists 122 Legge, James 54 lifelong learning experiences 121 Lin Yutang 2, 107, 140 logographs 136 – 137 Mahayana 66 Manchus 19, 22 – 25 mandarin examination 21, 23 – 25, 33, 103 Maoism 2, 37, 161 Mao Zedong 2, 35, 36 Maritime Silk Road 188 Marxism 35, 155, 159, 161, 164 massive incidents 171 memorization 132 – 133 Mencius 50, 121 – 122, 126 – 127 metaphysics 43 migrating peasants 173 monasticism 68 Mongols 19 – 21

moral/relational foundation 181 multidenominational religion 70 multigenerational relationships 195 mutually beneficial relationships 185 National People’s Congress (NPC) 153, 159, 167, 175 nature versus nurture 134 “near and far” concept 12, 185 negative reciprocity 105 – 106 netizens 172 “New Classics” 37 new diplomatic network 187 Nisbett, Richard 2, 129, 140 non-governmental organizations (NGOs) 175 non-interference 57, 60 – 62, 186 Nurhaci 22 obliged reciprocity 88 one-child policy 195 Opium Wars 28, 30 – 33 “organizational emperor” 153 Outlaws of the Marsh (Shi and Luo) 92 Party school 161 Party’s “strong men” 164 passions and desires 133 Paulson, Henry 164, 179 peasant uprisings 11, 100 peasant-workers 194; welfare 174 People’s Republic of China (PRC) 186 “people’s war” 36 perceiving and contemplation 131 perception 115 “philia” 16, 91 phonographs 137 physical immobility 87 pictographic representation 136 poisonous weeds 37 political affiliation 179, 181 post-Mao years 166 power structure within the Party 158 pragmatism 155, 159 protests 156, 171 – 172 psychological equanimity 145 psychology 29, 32, 60, 116, 118, 125, 131 publicly expressed grievances 171 pure consciousness 70 Qi (or chi) 57 qin qing (kinship emotions) 83; emotions 84 – 86; kinship-like relations 86 – 89

Index  217 rat race 60 reasonableness: in diplomacy 190 – 191; in selfhood 144 – 146 reciprocation 84, 93, 98, 101, 104 – 106, 108, 147 reciprocity 62, 83, 87, 94, 97 – 98, 103 – 108, 147, 190 Red Guards 36 “red terror” 36 reforming the huji system 174 relational diplomacy 157, 184 – 185, 188 – 192 relationalism: attacked by Maoism 35 – 39; Buddhism’s reconciliation 65 – 68; in the CCP’s intraparty relations 162 – 165; challenged by foreign ideologies 21 – 27; in China’s diplomatic policies 183 – 190; in China’s judicial system 180 – 182; in Chinese frame of reference 135 – 137; in Chinese psyche 124, 129; in Chinese selfhood 141 – 143; in Chinese written language 138 – 139; vs. collectivism 2 – 4; conflicting with Christianity 29 – 33; in Confucianism 43 – 46, 48 – 49; in Daoism 53 – 56, 58, 62; in the doctrine of reasonableness 144 – 147; driving corruption 115, 118 – 119; in family relationships 86 – 88; in friendships 95; in guanxi culture 70 – 77, 81 – 82; requiring reciprocity 105 – 106; in 21st century Chinese family struggles 191 – 193, 196 – 198 relational network 53 relationships of CCP and the State: first phase 167; fourth phase 168 – 169; second phase 167 – 168; third phase 168 ren qing (generic human relationship) 83 – 84; emotions 96; in guanxi corruptions 98; reciprocity 97 resources: care for clan members 87; in friendship of utility 95; in guanxi corruption 99 – 104, 108; in ren qing guanxi 84; as social capital 96 – 98 restless idealism 146 revolution 34, 36, 153, 155 rhizomatic guanxi 101, 108 – 109 Ricci, Matteo 28 Risse, Mathias 181 Ruggieri, Michael Pompilio 28

sanjiao heyi (the unification of the three beliefs) 76 Sect of Pure Consciousness 70 – 71 Sect of Tian Tai 71 – 73 selfhood 115 – 118, 140 – 150 self-identity 116, 141, 143 sense of self-importance 142 – 143 shaman-priests 13 Shambaugh, David 158 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) 187 Shao Yong 128 Silk Road traders 65 Sino-Africa relationships 188 Sino-Tibetan linguistic family 136 social capital 97 – 100 socialist judicial system 178 socialist market economy 160, 178 social services 196 soft power 186, 191 – 192 sovereignty 27 – 28, 34 – 35, 185 – 186, 189 State Council 166 – 168, 175 State of Lu 48 stem family 194 – 195 stratified society 44 – 45 sudden enlightenment 73 Sun Yatsen 28 “sunya” 67 sword of justice 108 – 109 symbol of the yin/yang fish 57

Saddharma Puṇḍarīka Sūtra 72 sage-king 52 Sahlins, Marshall 105 Sandel, Michael 181

universal education 48, 123 universal order 4, 11 – 13, 16 – 17, 25, 28 – 29, 31, 49, 55 untamed emotions 133

“taboo zones” 160 teacher-student relationship 94 technocrats 160 – 162 theory of knowing 131 Three Kingdoms, The 92 “three not’s”189 “three obediences and four virtues” 148 “three representations” 160 Tian: defining 10 – 11; in human nature 119, 126; the “Son of Tian” 13, 17; surviving science 30 – 32; Tian lun 86; Tian Xia 11 – 12, 28; worship 13 – 14 “tigers and flies” 109 traditional Chinese family 16 – 17, 87, 193 Treatise on the Doctrine of Pure Consciousness 71 Trigault, Nicolas 28 Truth of God, The (Ruggieri and Ricci) 28

218 Index use-value 100 – 101 U.S. Foreign Corrupt Practices Act (1988) 108 virtuous individual 49 Voltaire 27 Vygosky, Lev S. 136 “wanguo” 31 Western: individualism 117; intellectual influence 29; missionaries 29; scientific knowledge 31 women: discriminated against in education 103; in NCP 176; Party membership 162; subordination 147 – 148; Women’s Guide (Ban Zhao) 148 workings of Dao 61 World Trade Organization (WTO) 184 wu wei 56 – 57, 60 Xi Jinping 109, 111, 158, 162, 164, 178 – 179, 187, 189; “three tasks” 164, 179 “xinfang” system 171

Xuan Zang 70 – 71 Xun Zi 120 – 122, 126, 133 Yan Guocai 2, 117 Yao Dian 8 Yi Jing 20, 55 – 56, 147 – 149 yin and yang 56 – 58, 125 – 126; fish symbol 123; theory 59, 63, 147 Yogācāra (way of yoga) 70; Buddhism 66 you qing (friendship emotions) 83; emotions 89 – 90; friendship of shared experience 93 – 95; quasi-kinship 91; Yuan government 20; zhiyin 91 – 92 “Yuan Hua Case” 108 Zen Buddhism 70, 73 – 77 Zhang Juzheng 110 – 111 Zheng Yongnian 153, 162, 167, 169 Zhou Dynasty 44 – 45, 51, 77 Zhou Enlai 186 Zhu Geliang 132 Zhu Xi 132 Zurcher, Erik 2