Despite his badassery, Liu Pang never slew a dragon. But Washington never killed a tiger either
Here's a story, and it's worth taking a moment to tell.
A very, very long time ago, Liu Pang (or Bang, depending on the translation), was born in a small village in China, a peasant. Generally regarded as a lazy drunk in his youth, Liu Pang was still charismatic enough that bartenders would pour him free drinks just to keep him around. Occupying various village positions from cop to headman, Pang eventually married relatively well and, as a leader of his town, ended up picked to lead a group of draftees to work on the emperor's tomb.
Yes, that Emperor's tomb
In was a dubious honor. China, at the time, suffered under the rule of Qin Shi Huang, who had a love for massive building projects that, whatever their uses, also happened to work large portions of the laborers to death. In fact, he loved these projects almost as much as he adored utterly crushing anything that might contradict him. Life expectancy either way was not good. So, one by one, Pang's drafted labor force slipped away. Heavily influenced by Legalism, perhaps the most cold-blooded political philosophy ever developed by humans, the emperor's laws were heavy on death penalty. Rebellion? Death. Late for duty? Death. Swimming in a thunderstorm? Death. Conscripts escape? Death.
Well hell, at least a death on the run might be quick. Driven by the same combination of insightful ambition and selfishness that had preoccupied his life, Pang ditched the rest of his band and went off to get drunk in the swamp. Some of them followed, and soon Pang was a genuine bandit lord.
When the old tyrant died, his machinery fractured, and the state quickly fell apart. Pang emerged from brigandage and became a minor warlord (same job, better title). Charismatic as ever, he picked capable subordinates, winning cities and former enemies over by the innovative tactic of not looting and burning them to the ground. A Taoist, he simplified laws where he want, reducing taxes on farmers and shaking off the mechanistic oppression of the Qin era. Later historians would marvel at his ability to draw loyalty (and repeated reinforcements) from the peasantry, but a large part of his appeal stemmed from simply not being a raging asshole when everyone else was.
Eventually, he and Hsiang Yu, a dashing and brutally psychopathic warrior, became the two major leaders battling for control of an empire. Unlike Pang, the double-pupiled Yu was a brilliant military commander capable of great feats of physical daring. He also didn't have any compunction about destroying anything: the fires his troops set in the old capital of Xianyang took weeks to die down.
After surviving the tensest dinner party in history by a combination of wits and braggadocio, Pang ended up exiled to the borderlands of Han, a wild place whose main benefit happened to be that Hsiang Yu wasn't there. Due to the whole rampant raping and pillaging approach, Yu was widely hated, and his enemies flocked to become Pang's new friends.
Eventually, they faced off in battle again, with Pang losing army after army to Yu's superior forces. At one point, Yu captured his father and threatened to boil him alive. "Send me a cup of the soup," came Pang's reply (the man was a snarker). He'd called Yu's bluff, and bought time by negotiating a peace treaty that allowed him to gain necessary breathing room. Yu's enemies kept pouring into Pang's territory, until he had overwhelming numbers.
This time, Yu's personal valor and military genius weren't enough. Like many leaders in history, he failed to grasp that even a superb understanding of brute force is not enough to win a war. Pang offered a reward for Yu's head. Cornered and wounded, Yu slit his own throat, and his body was torn to shreds by ambitious soldiers. The reward was split 15 ways.
Seeing a need to end the cycle of tyranny and overthrow, Pang kept the same attitude that gained loyalty in war when he ascended to the throne. The books the Qin had banned (which were almost all of them) were recovered. Scholars were invited to teach again. Taxes stayed low. Royal estates were divided into farms to help a war-weary populace recover their prosperity.
While plenty ruthless throughout his rise to power, Pang forgave most of his enemies that showed a willingness to work within the new regime. In a particularly ironic twist, he even paid for tomb maintenance for the Qin emperors and his old enemy Yu. The nobility got power, but the empire would occasionally strip problematic ones of their titles, to maintain some accountability.
After every twist and turn, the rascal founded the Han dynasty, a state that would last for four centuries and define Chinese government for millennia. He put an end to a period of upheaval in every facet of life that lasted roughly from the beginning of the Warring States period in 475 BCE to the end of his struggles with Yu in 202: one of the most protracted Breaking Times the world has ever seen.
It's also a fascinating tale, and not just for the twists or drama. Liu Pang's story carries revealing lessons about how people and societies finally end periods of tremendous upheaval. His combination of pragmatism, mercy and ruthlessness ended up well-suited to finally laying down the structure for a new order.
The Warring States period birthed a staggering number of philosophies — Confucianism and Taoism most enduring among them. Stripped of the Orientalist distortions Western observers are prone to, these schools of thought are more interesting as insightful human responses to periods of both personal and societal turmoil than paths to bland enlightenment. Legalism too, is revealing (and worth its own future post), in part because of how uncannily it presages fascism, communism and the order-at-all-costs mentality people so often revert to as a psychotic response to difficult problems.
It's not just Liu Pang and his era either. The An Shi Rebellion, the Three Kingdoms, the rise of the Ming dynasty and more all offer important lessons for those looking to better understand cultures' tendency to fracture and re-form.
When we look to historical periods of upheaval, we often see things purely from a Western perspective: Rome analogies are their own damn industry. But humanity is a much, much larger beast than that. China (along with Japan, India, Africa...) has histories filled with instructive stories about the ways we deal — or fail to deal — with periods of tremendous change. In a global culture struggling with its own pressing need for adaptation, we must give them a far closer read.
P.S. I have to give a special shout-out to Cartoon History of the Universe. As a teenager, its amazingly global storytelling first alerted me to the fascinating stories of Liu Pang and Chinese history, among many others. Recommended for all ages.
Comments