Confucian Image Politics

Front matter

CONFUCIAN IMAGE POLITICS

Masculine Morality in Seventeenth-Century China

Confucian Image Politics

Part I. The Late Ming

1. Lists, Literature, and the Imagined Community of Factionalists: The Donglin 27 2. Displaying Sincerity: The Fushe 69 3. A Zhongxiao Celebrity: Huang Daozhou (1585-1646) 102

Interlude: A Moral Tale of Two Cities, 1644-1645: Beijing and Nanjing 129

Part II. The Early Oing

4. Moralizing, the Oing Way 157 5. Conguest, Continuity, and the Loyal Turncoat 186 Conclusion 213 Glossary 221 List of Abbreviations 229 Notes 231 Bibliography 273

Index 299

PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In 2009, I was excited to learn that the Changchun Temple still existed in Beijing. Built in the 1590s by the mother of the Ming Wanli emperor, the temple was patronized throughout the seventeenth century by emperors and prominent officials, from the late Ming to the early Qing dynasty. Its famous female donor in the early Qing, a courtesan-turned-concubine named Gu Mei, changed the temple landscape by having a beautiful pavilion built on a hill. I had been studying Gu Mei and her turncoat husband for some time but was struggling with the polarized images of this couple in historical sources and scholarship. To unpack these images as a historian, I felt I needed to build a personal connection with the couple. So I went to visit the temple, accompanied by an old friend who was also fascinated by the deep connection between Beijing temples and imperial political history.

When we got there, the temple complex looked so new and neat that I doubted whether I would find the inspiration I had been looking for. The staff there, mostly government employees, confirmed that much of the complex had been reconstructed recently, although a few objects were originals. My greatest disappointment was that the whole area had been leveled in the past hundred years; the pavilion and the hill where it had stood were long gone. My friend asked the staff whether they had heard of the pavilion. One of them pointed to a high building afar: “Look! That’s the Xuanwu People’s Hospital. It was built where the pavilion used to be.”

As I set my eyes on that hospital, my mind’s eye immediately saw Gu Mei’s Buddhist devotion and philanthropy, her amazing artistic talents, her personal experiences in a time of war and political change, and her generous support for literati friends, many of whom were x Preface and Acknowledgments

Ming loyalists who refused to serve the next dynasty, the Qing. Suddenly, I realized that modern hospital had become the bridge between me and the subjects of my study, or what the great Chinese historian Chen Yinke called the “historical sympathy” (lishi zhi tongqing)—a historian’s delicate connection with the past. Had I been able to see the actual pavilion, I might have focused on its face value as a “real” and “relevant” source. But the sight of the hospital, oddly, worked the magic. It compelled me to reach out, on the emotive level, to the historical subjects and then trust the impressions I received from “feeling” the sources written by and about Gu Mei and her husband, Gong Dingzi.

The process of historical research and writing is full of interesting— and even mysterious—moments like this. This study of the political history of the dynastic change from the Ming to the Qing had been a challenging project. I struggled with the images of seventeenth-century figures, which were greatly polarized as a result of the moral-political division among the elite, whose writings constitute the majority of our sources. Ming loyalism, Confucian historiographical tradition, Qing state literary censorship, and modern Chinese nationalism all left deep marks on seventeenth-century archives. Eventually, I chose to make the competing moral images of officials like Gong Dingzi the focus of this book.

This book is not about political figures’ moral images per se but about the social, cultural, and political conditions that generated and perpetuated them. I relied on my own interpretation of many personal writings to reconstruct these political figures’ experiences at the intersection of their public and private lives. The moral images of political actors were such high-stake matters during this eventful century that I had to constantly debate, in my mind, with my sources and their authors about the meanings and implications of their words, art, and actions. My project was transformed from one about “restoring the truth” to one juxtaposing and making sense of competing claims about one’s performance as official, father, son, husband, and friend.

The process of transforming this project was a process of intellectual and personal transformation for me. I hope this book will generate new scholarly conversations. The imperfections are mine, but they should not prevent me from expressing deep gratitude toward my mentors, colleagues, and friends. Without their generous, patient, and kind guidance and support, I would not have been able to build

Preface and Acknowledgments xi those meaningful connections with my historical subjects and publish my findings.

Chun-Shu Chang, my mentor, not only nurtured my intellectual growth at the University of Michigan but also influenced my understanding of a Chinese historian’s mission and a scholar’s lifelong pursuit of self-cultivation. His erudition, kindness, compassion, and tolerance made it possible for me to become a professional historian and complete this ambitious book.

Over the years during my research and writing, I was extremely fortunate to have had these teachers: Wang Zheng, Dorothy Ko, Hitomi Tonomura, and Dena Goodman. Their passion for feminist scholarship, intellectual sharpness and breadth, and insightful answers to my questions shaped my work and provided consistent, invaluable support in many aspects. The best way for me to express my gratitude toward them is to continue on this path and make meaningful contributions to critical gender history.

I am grateful for the generosity of many colleagues who kindly shared with me their scholarly findings and insights. The comments and suggestions I received from these colleagues on the manuscript during its various stages were immensely helpful: Michael Chang, Siyen Fei, Rivi Handler-Spitzer, Susan Hartmann, Clayton Howard, Martin Huang, Ari D. Levine, Weijing Lu, Toby Meyer-Fong, Harry Miller, Geoffrey Parker, Maria Franca Sibau, Janet Theiss, and Jiang Wu. Steven Conn, Yongtao Du, Andrea Goldman, and Julia Strauss read a long early draft patiently and offered great advice on streamlining it. Cynthia Brokaw, Patricia Sieber, Zhange Ni, and Christopher Reed carefully read the last draft of the manuscript. Their insightful questions and words of encouragement made the final revision an extremely rewarding and productive experience for me. I was also fortunate to have received excellent suggestions from the following scholars when I encountered difficult moments in research and writing: Kai-wing Chow, Beverly Bossler, Miaw-fen Lu, Sato Masayuki, Shang Wei, and Yang Haiying.

During the course of research, many institutions and individuals provided generous assistance: the rare book department at the National Library of China (in particular Dr. Cui Hongming), Shanghai Library, Library of Congress, Harvard-Yenching Library, Anhui Provincial Library, UCLA Library, University of Michigan Library, and The Ohio State University Library; Professor Zhou Zhiyuan at Anhui University, Professor Zhang Sheng at Beijing Normal xii Preface and Acknowledgments

University, and Dr. Yang Haiying and Dr. Zhuang Xiaoxia at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences.

I am grateful for the immense support from the Department of History at The Ohio State University (OSU) and my colleagues here. This project would not have come to fruition without the resources made available by the Department of History, Office of International Affairs, and the Coca-Cola Critical Difference for Women Grants for Research on Women, Gender, and Gender Equity at OSU. During 2012-13, a fellowship opportunity at the UCLA Center for 17th- and 18th-Century Studies and William Andrews Clark Memorial Library introduced me to the wonderful colleagues there. Stimulating conversations with Andrea Goldman, R. Bin Wong, Richard von Glahn, and other historians at UCLA gave me important ideas when I was conceptualizing this book.

Various parts of this research have been presented at the “Moralism and the Rhetoric of Decline in Eurasia, 1600-1900” workshop at the UCLA Center for 17th- and 18th-Century Studies (2012 and 2015), “History of Filial Piety” workshop (organized by Ellen Cong Zhang) at the University of Virginia, “Li Zhi and 16th-Century China” workshop at the University of Chicago, Association for Asian Studies, Institute of Chinese Studies at OSU, and the Pre-modernist Workshop at OSU. Feedback from fellow participants and audience at these events helped me improve the project immensely. In particular, Greg Anderson, Phil Brown, John Brooke, and Tina Sessa at the OSU Pre-modernist Workshop made it a wonderful space for my intellectual growth. Part of chapter 3 was published as “The Politics and Practice of Moral Rectitude” in Late Imperial China. I am thankful for Toby Meyer-Fong and Janet Theiss for helping me rethink the piece and revise it for publication.

I owe special thanks to Patricia Ebrey. I benefited from her groundbreaking scholarship and her participation in the workshop on the history of filial piety at the University of Virginia. She kindly introduced me to the amazing editorial staff at the University of Washington Press. There, Lorri Hagman’s guidance, advice, and encouragement made this book possible. The two anonymous readers shared extremely helpful comments and suggestions on the manuscript.

I indulged in the love and support of many friends while I was completing the book. Although I cannot mention all of them, I am forever grateful. The Chans embraced me as a family member; the Sieber-Reano family brought me much joy; Theodora Dragostinova

Preface and Acknowledgments xiii took great care of me. Terre Fisher has been my most reliable copy editor. Zhange Ni, an amazing scholar and poet, was always there with her excellent ideas and generous heart. Art, my source of intellectual inspiration and emotional comfort, would not have occupied such an important place in my life without Cindy Davis, my printmaking mentor.

Finally, I hope to thank my parents for supporting my intellectual pursuits with endless love and encouragement. My sister Wei shared my passion as a scholar and commitment to improving this world with our research. To my laoshi Chun-Shu Chang and shimu Shelley Hsueh-lun Chang I dedicate this book. They have influenced and nurtured me no less than my parents.

MING-QING REIGN PERIODS

MING DYNASTY

QING DYNASTY (TO 1850)

KV xvi Ming-Qing Reign Periods

Daoguang/Xuanzong 1821-50

Confucian Image Politics

Introduction

In 1620 (the forty-eighth year of the Ming Wanli reign), the literatus Feng Menglong (1574-1646) published a large collection of amusing stories titled Jokes from History and the Present Day (Gujin xiao).! In the very first chapter, Feng presents an anecdote about an encounter between courtesans and the Cheng brothers, two Neo-Confucian thinkers and officials of the Song dynasty (960-1279): “The Cheng brothers went to a banquet hosted by a literatus. Courtesans were called upon to entertain the guests. Cheng Yi’s face changed and he left in anger, while Cheng Hao stayed on and had a good time. The next day, Cheng Yi visited Cheng Hao’s studio and was still complaining about the banquet. Cheng Hao said: ‘Yesterday there were courtesans at the banquet, but I did not have courtesans on my mind. Today there are no courtesans in my studio, yet you have courtesans on your mind!’ Cheng Yi had to admit his brother was the superior.”” This story had been invented and circulated among the literati in the sixteenth century, when the Yangming school of Neo-Confucianism dominated intellectual circles and its flirtation with Chan Buddhism became a fad.’ It was said that Wang Yangming (1472-1529) himself particularly liked this story and often referred to it.* Feng Menglong, whose intellectual trajectory had been tremendously influenced by the stress on human intuition by Yangming-school followers, in particular the radical thinker Li Zhi (1527-1602), claimed that he did not publish this story to slander or encourage social deviance. Rather, it was meant to question dogmatic understandings of moral cultivation and the images of moral superiority based on such understandings.’

As Feng himself points out in the preface to the collection, reading such anecdotes as amusing allows the reader to “recognize the genuine” (renzhen) instead of “taking things to heart” (the common meaning of renzhen) so excessively that one loses the ability to see the truth.”

This anecdote also appeared in Daily Compilations at the Zuofei Studio (Zuofei’an ri zuan), published by the official Zheng Xuan (jinshi 1631) in the 1630s—4os. Stylistically, Daily Compilations manifested the late-Ming literati passion for xiaopin-style literature, or jottings that engage topics, emotions, and aesthetics outside the realm of classical and political studies.’ In Zheng’s book, the anecdote about the Cheng brothers appears in the chapter on the importance of tolerance and transcendence.’ It exemplifies Zheng’s interest in the philosophy of living a good life shared by many xiaopin authors, who often also shared a belief in the syncretism of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism.

The success of Feng’s book of “jokes” and Zheng’s leisurely collection on living a good life reflect the seventeenth century’s “confusions of pleasure.” But these books, their authors, and their enthusiastic readers represent only one side of the story of this period, a time of flourishing print culture, thriving entertainment, and a reconfiguration of the Neo-Confucian moral economy and ontological order as China worked through the upheavals of a dynastic transition from the Ming (1368-1644) to the Qing (1644-1911).'° In some people's eyes, the popularity of this anecdote about the Cheng brothers was symptomatic of serious moral confusion among the literati, many of whom abandoned self-discipline and justified their indulgence in sensual pleasures by invoking the language of “no courtesans on my mind.”"

The anecdote entered didactic texts. Liu Zongzhou (1578-1645), a scholarly giant and accomplished official, included it in his work on literati self-cultivation, Manual for Man (Renpu). Liu had presented the notion of “watchfulness over the solitary self” (shendu) as the correct method of moral self-cultivation, which represented a critical inheritance of the Yangming legacy. In the “Ledgers Recording Transgressions” (Jiguo ge) section of Manual for Man, Liu explicitly lists “mingling with courtesans” as one of the “miscellaneous transgressions” of which one should beware.” In the collection of anecdotes he compiled to further illustrate such transgressions, Liu not only placed the story about the Cheng brothers among “warnings against mingling with courtesans”! but also introduced a section on the harms of jokes and jest.

The intellectual and cultural shift exemplified by Liu’s deployment of this anecdote intersected with the deepening political crisis of the Ming dynasty: factionalism, social unrest, and Manchu threats were cracking the illusion of a “floating world.” The intellectual turn and the emergent factional infighting clearly showed in Random Notes Taken in Retirement (Linju manlu; hereafter Random Notes) by the official Wu Yuancui (jinshi 1577), a collection of stories and thoughts on Ming politics. Wu claims the anecdote about the Cheng brothers to have been a fabrication by Cheng Yi’s political enemies in Song factionalism, a fabrication disseminated by figures of the Yangming school in the Ming and conveniently embraced by morally corrupt literati.'* Wu denounces not only the Chan Buddhist flavor of the anecdote but also the very idea that Cheng Hao ever mingled with courtesans. He urges the reader instead to adhere strictly to male-female separation, a central doctrine of the Confucian gender system.”

Wu invoked the history of Song factionalism to question the authenticity of the anecdote, but he does not seem to have anticipated a factionalist attack on his own publication. After his book came out, his former colleague He Canran (jinshi 1595) published a book-length commentary in which he offered the following words on Wu’s reference to the anecdote: “Pretty courtesans and alluring boys are both uncontrollable. [Wu Yuancui] has confessed that he loves boys. Therefore, if he is seated at a banquet with a courtesan, he might imagine her as a boy and still refrain from getting intimate with her. That would be fine as well.”'® When He Canran published his comments on Wu’s book in Wanli 40 (1612), officials were engrossed in intensifying factional struggles in the government over a host of important policy issues. Bitter sentiments and hostility spilled over into their social world. He’s tactic here is personal but representative: he took revenge for Wu's political attacks by publicly discrediting Wu’s book and questioning his self-presentation as a moral exemplar and his authority as an objective political insider.” In response, Wu published a counter-commentary, accusing He of ignoring “public opinion” (gonglun) and misrepresenting his views."

These intellectual, cultural, and political adventures and tensions were signs of the fundamental transformations and challenges that seventeenth-century Chinese elites were experiencing, a kind of “authenticity crisis” that affected all spheres oflife.!? Before these men could work out a solution to that crisis, rebellions and the Manchu invasions put an end to the Ming dynasty. When the rebels stormed the Ming capital of Beijing in the spring of 1644, the Ming emperor’s suicide prompted the surviving elites to establish a Southern Ming court in Nanjing, the Ming’s secondary capital. Within a year that region was conquered by the Qing, too.

The Qing conquest and its aggressive sociopolitical agenda ushered in the decline of the legendary Nanjing pleasure quarters, a staple of late-Ming literati culture. In the early Qing, the Ming loyalist Yu Huai (1616-1696) published Miscellaneous Records of the Plank Bridge (Banqiao zaji), a work on the Nanjing courtesans and their literati lovers, as an alternative means of recording Ming glory and expressing anti- Qing sentiments.” At his request, one of his non-loyalist friends, the Qing official You Tong (1618-1704), contributed a preface, in which he invoked the anecdote about the Cheng brothers.

Someone said: “When Yu Huai was young he indulged in frequenting courtesans. Now this old man still enjoys writing about them. You have determined to purify your mind and pursue the Way. Why do you bother to read this stuff?” I smiled: “In history, Cheng Hao ‘did not have courtesans on his mind even through there were courtesans in front of him,’ while Cheng Yi ‘had courtesans on his mind even though there were no courtesans around.’ Clearly one is superior to the other. Now, there are courtesans in Yu Huai’s writing; therefore

I do not have courtesans in my work. Why not compose a preface for him?”?!

As Yu’s book, You’s preface, and their literary allusions demonstrate, in the early Qing, writing about officials’ moral performance was a means by which Han elites negotiated between romantic nostalgia and critical self-reflection, between Ming loyalism and the reality of Manchu conquest.

All these print references to the invented anecdote about the Cheng brothers throw light on the various dynamics that pulled the moral image of officials to the center of politics during the Ming- Qing transition (1570s—1680s), when the intersecting issues of intellectual shifts, literary publicity, factionalism, and dynastic change jointly shaped elite men’s political concerns, actions, and experiences in particular gendered ways. These dynamics gave rise to seventeenth-century Chinese image politics, which unfolded in the many stories about officials’ personal lives that circulated in gossip and anecdotes, in print and theater, and in social and political spectacles.** The tales about officials as fathers, sons, and husbands exemplified how political actors employed Confucian ethics as a language of communication in their efforts to negotiate, adapt, and survive.

SEEING THE MING-QING TRANSITION IN THE MIRROR

To explore the multiple, intertwining changes and continuities in this crucial era in Chinese history, “the seventeenth century” and the “Ming-Qing dynastic transition” are used as interchangeable chronological frameworks. This helps us go beyond simplifying binaries, such as “decline and revival” and “conservatism and progress,” that permeate both the sources and the historiography of this time period.

In Confucian historical narrative, the late Ming and early Qing constitute a typical transition in the dynastic cycle, a political change that delivered the empire from a morally defective regime to a new benevolent government that would carry forward the Mandate of Heaven.” Late-Ming literati complained profusely about the deteriorating moral standards in society and in government. Faced with a highly commercialized economy, the rise of the merchant class, tensions between landowners and tenants, and urbanization, elites employed Confucian moral rhetoric to articulate their understanding of changing socioeconomic dynamics and to propose ways of restoring order and maintaining their relative privileges.** After the Ming was overthrown by domestic rebels and then replaced by the Manchu Qing, many argued that the erosion of literati moral standards, partly brought about through the popularity of the Yangming school and the radicalization of some of its number, had contributed to the moral deterioration of officials in general. In the late Ming, they had engaged in chronic factionalism, shamelessly allied themselves with evil eunuchs in the pursuit of their own self-interest, and failed to honorably commit suicide when the Ming fell.”” After the dynastic change, the Qing rulers’ moral condemnation of the fallen Ming and their posturing as a legitimate civilizing force surprisingly struck many of the same notes as had the literati criticisms.*°

The grand narrative of this period produced by modern historians also delineates a picture of decline and revival, though it disputes the validity of the “dynastic cycle” theory. From the mid-sixteenth century, the Ming empire felt the combined effects of novel environmental, socioeconomic, cultural, and political developments. In its last seventy years, it was overwhelmed by poor harvests, natural disasters, social instability, rebellions, and factional infighting in the government. Moral crisis was manifested in, and contributed to, its political decline.” The “seventeenth-century global crisis” framework also describes the Ming-Qing transition as part of a global phenomenon in a time of climate change. Interestingly, the timing of decline and revival posed in this narrative does not deviate much from the one recorded in the Chinese moral-meteorological narrative.”*

Another dominant narrative in the historiography of this period evaluates social, cultural, intellectual, and political developments in the framework of “progress versus conservatism.” Evidence of political “progress” seemingly identical to the early modern European experience is found in the flourishing print culture and a host of related socioeconomic, cultural, and political changes. Lack of institutional control over late-Ming publishers resulted in the proliferation of a wide range of nonorthodox interpretations of the Confucian classics, some of which could even be considered dissenting or outlandish.” Most such publications did not explicitly or fundamentally challenge the imperial court or the Confucian system. Rather, they diffused the authority of the previous or established scholars of the classics. They accomplished this partly by redefining “heterodoxy” (yiduan) and introducing unconventional reference genres in their expository uses. Buddhist texts, unofficial histories, and even novels all entered the expositional vocabulary.” Literary authority shifted from the court to the reading public, and the “literary public sphere” expanded well beyond kinship networks and the official examination system, as seen in the proliferation of literary societies.*! Print culture changed the sociopolitical landscape. Information flew in and between urban centers, weaving an increasingly complex and dense web of media representations. It was an important open domain for literati who could access and participate in it, either as readers or producers of work, from pamphlets and treatises to vernacular novels and plays.” Although literati could not use print to disseminate seditious language, they could employ it to shape public sentiment, promote their own agendas, and take limited but often effective action against their rivals.*

Did this flourishing print culture result in the emergence of a “public sphere” in the Habermasian sense in the late Ming? Scholars have not reached a consensus.** But some see democratic tendencies in the new types of literati associations and some of their political influences.* It has been implied that the joint forces of the Ming-Qing monarchal autocracy, self-destructive factional infighting, and the dogmatic application of moral norms in Confucian society repressed signs of “progress.” For instance, in the late Ming, the literati cultivated more effective and egalitarian networking, some seeing friendship as parallel to the fraternal relationship in the Confucian Five Cardinal Relations (Wulun) and therefore compatible with that order.** But literati interests in friendship, which ranged from intellectual companionship to homosexual love, from idealistic devotion to hard-nosed networking, also faced pushback from conservative Confucians and from the paranoid Manchu court, which saw the elevation of friendship as potentially weakening familial bonds, contributing to factionalism, and fomenting seditious sentiments and actions.” In other words, according to this perspective, Confucian conservatism and the Qing conquest prevented the country from transforming its political system in meaningful ways.

Both of these narratives depict in different ways a system resistant to political change. Can we build a more nuanced analysis of seventeenth-century Chinese political culture based on critical but also sympathetic engagement with these established historical frameworks? Historians have begun to contextualize the narrative of decline and revival, a common self-expression of the literati, to illustrate the specific intellectual, social, and cultural strategies they undertook so as to adapt to and even implement changes.** Recent scholarship has also moved away from “public sphere” to “public spaces” in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century urban history.” Similarly, in the sphere of official politics, paying close attention to the lived experiences and emotions of officials—the most important group of political subjects—helps raise productive questions. This book asks: During this time, when a large amount of moral tales about officials were created in and circulated between the court and literati society, what kinds of political negotiations were taking place, and how did this process reconfigure the political spaces?

To answer these questions, one has to accommodate some particular problems with the primary sources that have long bedeviled scholars of the Ming-Qing transition.*” Rebellions and dynastic change not only eliminated a huge portion of the population but also led to multiple layers of censorship imposed by the state, by literati communities, and even by individuals themselves. Meanwhile, the flourishing print culture and a well-integrated empirewide communication network generated an unprecedented amount of material in and about this period. Hence, the sources are abundant but replete with stereotypical images of the “gentlemen” and “small men.”

Io Introduction

The problem with the sources was further complicated in the high Qing. To meet the needs of its particular moral-political agenda, the court sponsored historical projects that combed through the archives and generated new accounts about the Han and Manchus of the seventeenth century. They typically eulogized the narrowly defined moral exemplars.“ Then in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, driven by modern intellectuals’ “national salvation” programs, large-scale efforts to discover, compile, and reprint seventeenth-century materials mushroomed. In these historical processes, Chinese elites, men and women, kept revisiting the Ming-Qing transition and the many metaphors, tales, and images from that eventful era, but especially those that fit into modern, nationalist categories. Albeit with slightly different categories, they nonetheless further consolidated the contrast between the moral and the immoral. Hence, as images of the Ming- Qing transition are continuously multiplied by repeated reflection around familiar moral-political binaries, the lived experiences of our historical subjects grow ever more elusive.

This “image problem” of seventeenth-century sources and historiography reveals the “image trouble” of the most important political actors of the period, the officials, on both individual and collective levels. Late-Ming officials and their literati associates have been conventionally cast in morally contrasting stereotypes: the gentlemen’s camp (the Donglin faction and the Fushe literary society) versus the evil men (the eunuch faction and rivals of the Donglin-Fushe communities). For the early Qing, the moral contrast has been drawn between Han officials who surrendered to the Qing (erchen) and Ming loyalists (yimin). These stereotypes are not merely an invention of modern historians. They were a means and result of political struggles in the seventeenth century. Making images in a large variety of genres and forms significantly transformed the political spaces and political processes of the late Ming and early Qing. Image was politics. The production, circulation, and effects of officials’ competing moral images—as fathers, sons, husbands, and friends—serve as an excellent entry point into this matrix.

POLITICKING WITH CONFUCIAN VIRTUES

Across the dynastic divide, in factional infighting, political organizing, war mobilization, and postwar recovery, officials and their literati associates used fictional and nonfictional writing, art, rituals, and

Introduction Il public spectacles to deliver and repel attacks, express opinions and emotions, and rally support. Changes in the intensity and media of political communication during this period led to not only the reconfiguration of political spaces but also interesting development in the ways Confucian ethics were employed in power struggles.

Mediated and Mediatized Political Spaces

In the seventeenth century, officially sanctioned political spaces were sites of political communication that took the form of court audiences, memorials, and negotiations among officials as well as their interactions with literati communities. Within and around these political spaces, important changes were taking place. Many factors and dynamics contributed to these changes.

In the late Ming, as people, goods, and books became more mobile, the circulation of political information gained extraordinary vigor and unprecedented complexity. The elite became experienced producers and consumers of highly mediated political information. Court politics, literary production, cultural consumption, and literati “public opinion” formed a circuit of mediated—and to a certain degree, mediatized—political realities.*

One of the main sources of political information at the time was the official gazetteer (dibao) published by the government and circulated in both official and private copies. Highly developed networks of transportation and print facilitated wider and faster circulation of the official gazetteer. Catering to the reading public’s thirst for interesting information, writers and publishers often channeled material from the official gazetteer into popular literature, where it was re-presented to local and regional audiences in a more sensational manner.** Politics became a form of cultural consumption. In turn, literary trends also influenced the mode and mood of political communication.

The employment of literary publications for political purposes played an important role in reshaping political spaces. In imperial China, gossip and anecdote were recognized as “unruly” literary-political forces, but they had nonetheless always had a place in official historiography and power negotiations.* If gossip and anecdote embodied “tensions between public and private knowledge, between reliable and unreliable sources of information,” then seventeenth-century print culture and political volatility only enhanced such tensions. Precisely due to readers’ enhanced access to information and the diversification of information channels and genres, spreading myths, rumors, and half-baked assertions about an official’s personal life in the forms of anecdote collections, commentaries, and even vernacular novels could have serious political consequences.