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GU ZHANG NAN MING

RECENTLY, I read a wonderful example of the current use of this proverb. President Jiang Zemin, the seventy-five-year-old leader of mainland China, was asked about China-US relations. He made a joke in English, saying that there were ‘too many proverbs in China’, but he gave his opinion on prospects between the two countries by quoting ‘Gu zhang nan ming — (it takes two hands to clap or clapping with one hand produces no sound).

This proverb comes from the writing of the brilliant philosopher Han Feizi. The proverb originates from a couplet that says ‘regardless of how fast you do it, clapping with one hand will produce no sound’. The western equivalent would be ‘it takes two to tango’ or ‘one cannot negotiate by oneself’.

After the publication of Falling Leaves, I received many letters from readers. Among them was one from a Chinese psychoanalyst who wrote:

Your book made me angry. The lack of love, security and family in your childhood has made you highly vulnerable and insecure. That is why you hankered after your stepmother’s love. Do you not realise even now that she was a narcissistic woman who was incapable of loving anyone but herself? As for your brother Edgar, he was obviously jealous of you. Sibling rivalry can be vicious and insidious. On top of that, you two were in the same class at medical school! Do you remember how envious Li Si was of his classmate Han Feizi when they were both being taught by Xunzi? The best thing you did for yourself was when you listened to your father and cut yourself off from Edgar. Otherwise you would still be clapping with one hand. Remember that no matter how hard you do it, gu zhang nan ming (clapping with one hand produces no sound). For a relationship to exist between two parties, both have to participate. Many fail to understand this fundamental fact.

Han Feizi was born a prince in Haan. Burdened with a speech impediment, he turned to writing as a means of self-expression. He and Li Si were exactly the same age and both studied under the Confucian philosopher Xunzi. During their time together, Li Si grew increasingly jealous of his classmate. Although both were excellent students, Li Si recognised that his fellow pupil was more talented. Also, Li Si was born poor whereas Han Feizi’s first cousin was the King of Haan.

When they completed their studies, Li Si travelled to Qin to seek employment while Han Feizi went home. After losing a series of wars, Haan had pursued a policy of appeasement towards Qin and was now almost bankrupt. Concerned over the weakness of his home state, Han Feizi repeatedly urged his cousin, the King of Haan, to reform the government, but his ideas were ignored. In his frustration, he wrote a book of essays outlining his programmes.

Han Feizi was a proponent of the Legalist school of philosophy. As such, he disagreed with the Confucian concept of regarding the past as the ideal and using the past to discredit the present. He wrote, ‘In the state of a wise ruler, there is no need for literature of books and bamboo slips. The LAW is the only creed. We do not need the sayings of appointed kings as our guides. The ancient officials are our only models.’

Han Feizi listed three principles that a king should adopt in order to rule effectively. The first was shi (absolute power). The second was shu (method). In this context, it is interesting to note that some of the shu (government method), such as the hukou system, which requires every household in Communist China to be registered with the local government, have been handed down virtually unchanged since the time of the Warring States. The third was fa (law).

Surprisingly modern in some aspects, the Legalist school made the rule of law the foundation of its new philosophy of government. The law was to be universal and was to be obeyed by everyone, regardless of rank or blood. Under feudalism, the king of each state was a law unto himself. He, his family and the nobles they appointed had unlimited powers over those under them. Han Feizi was a fierce opponent of feudal privileges and its hierarchic social structure. He wrote: ‘Let the laws be recorded in the registers, displayed within the government offices and made known to the people.’

He taught that the laws must be kept constant. All affairs could be carried out only within the scope of the law; and the law was to be the highest standard of behaviour in the world. He thought that laws should be established so as to do away with private standards. He stated that:

Private standards and private opinions tend to confuse the laws. If devious scholars should pursue their education while harbouring hidden agendas, then the more intelligent ones will criticise while the lesser ones will cast doubt. What gives good government is law; but what causes chaos is private standards. After establishing the law, no one should be allowed to question the law or to have private opinions.

His writings came into the hands of King Zheng, ruler of Qin and future First Emperor of China. According to Shiji, ‘Someone sent Han Feizi’s writings to the King of Qin. When he read them, he said, “Ah! If I could only meet the man who wrote this and come to know him, I would die without regret.”

‘Li Si replied, “These essays were written by my classmate. His name is Han Feizi.’”

At that time, Li Si had been in Qin for fourteen years and held the high post of Visiting Minister. Fearing that the brilliant Han Feizi would again overshadow him if he were also to work for the King of Qin, Li Si devised a devious plan.

Not long afterwards, at the urging of Li Si, Qin attacked Haan on a pretext. As part of the peace negotiation, Li Si insisted that his classmate Han Feizi be dispatched to Qin as the emissary representing the state of Haan. Therefore, in the year 233 BC, Han Feizi went to Qin and was presented to King Zheng.

Shiji continues: ‘The King of Haan sent Han Feizi as an emissary to Qin. Although the King of Qin was much pleased with the brilliant scholar, he dared not trust him sufficiently yet to use him.’

While in Qin, Han Feizi submitted a petition to King Zheng. In eloquent terms, he asked Qin to desist from continuing its military campaign against Haan, but to attack Zhao instead. Hearing of this, Li Si submitted a counter-petition to the King, urging him not to agree to the suggestions of Han Feizi. He suggested that he be sent as Qin’s emissary to see the King of Haan, and attempt to lure the latter to visit Qin. In one stroke, Li Si hoped to imprison the King of Haan, and place that state at the mercy of Qin.

King Zheng duly sent Li Si to Haan but the King of Haan would not grant him an interview. At great peril to himself, Li Si submitted a petition to the King of Haan in which he tried to dissuade His Majesty from granting safe passage to the army of Zhao, which was threatening to invade Qin. This was the petition in which Li Si quoted the proverb chun wang chi han (when the lips are gone, the teeth are cold). Li Si claimed that Qin’s war would become Haan’s war because Zhao would eventually invade them both.

Despite his best efforts, Li Si was still not granted an interview and returned to Qin empty handed. Shiji continues:

Soon after returning to Qin, Li Si grievously slandered his fellow student by saying to the King, ‘Han Feizi is one of the princes of the ruling House of Haan. His heart will always be with Haan and not with Qin. Such is the nature of man. If Your Majesty ignores this advice and sends him home after having detained him for such a long time, he will use what he has learned here against us and bring disaster upon us. The wisest course of action is to punish him for breaking the laws.’

King Zheng agreed and put Han Feizi in prison. Shocked and depressed, Han Feizi requested that he be allowed to see the King and plead his case in person. This was denied. At this critical juncture, Li Si sent a messenger who brought the jailed Han Feizi poisonous wine and induced him to commit suicide.

Later, the King regretted his actions and sent a man to release and pardon the scholar, but it was too late. Han Feizi was already dead.

Han Feizi died at the age of forty-seven as a result of his classmate’s envy and treachery, but his thoughts were to exert an enormous influence on the future policies of King Zheng and Li Si himself. There was, at that time, a prevalent belief that a mythical golden age had existed at some indeterminate point in the past. Although nobody had evidence that there ever really was such a ‘Garden of Eden’, all the great philosophers were in agreement that society had degenerated since that time. Indeed, Confucius was always quoting the ancient rulers and exhorting his followers to turn back and learn from that bygone era of ideal government.

Instead of following the Confucian philosophy of ‘using the past to criticise the present’, Han Feizi believed in ‘discounting the past, emphasising the present and adapting to change’. He opposed feudalism and promulgated the unification of China under a single supreme ruler. Although he believed in the rule of law and taught that the law must be constant and obeyed by everyone, he made one fatal exception: he did not include the supreme ruler.

Because the supreme ruler wrote the laws and could arbitrarily change them, the laws were designed not to serve the people, but to suit the supreme ruler himself. Due to this crucial omission, Han Feizi’s ‘rule of law’ became his deeply flawed ‘rule of the emperor’. The welfare of the ruler would always take precedence over the welfare of the people.

Eventually, the people came to regard the emperor’s laws as an instrument of terror, rather than a code of behaviour to benefit the welfare of the people. As such, the system was destined to fail.

There is no doubt that Han Feizi was a brilliant thinker. Why, then, was he not aware that in order for the rule of law to succeed, there could be no exceptions? Perhaps he was aware, but could not say so. Living under a total dictatorship such as the state of Qin during the third century BC, and advocating that the king be placed under the same rule of law as everyone else, would probably have resulted in punishment by death. If he had been the supreme ruler, would he have placed himself under the rule of law like everyone else?

It is interesting to note that more than two thousand years ago, Han Feizi was already suggesting that the law should be universal and be obeyed by everyone alike. It would be the highest method of conduct for ‘all under Heaven’.

Although Han Feizi proposed that the rule of law was for ‘all under Heaven’, everyone in China knew that this rule of law did not include the King. Since ancient times, an alternate name for a Chinese monarch was tian zi (son of Heaven). As such, a special pronoun zhen was created and used only by the king for self-designation, in place of the common pronoun wo (I). The implication was that the king was not like everyone else. Both his title and name indicated that he was special and different, even supernatural.

In the west, there has been a long-standing conviction that ‘laws make the King; the King does not make the laws’. The western Christian belief in an almighty God who was higher than the King has traditionally, by serendipity, subsumed political power under a higher framework of reference. There is no such precedence in China to provide for the sovereignty of a rule-based legal system. In China the ‘son of Heaven’ was always above the law. He was the one mandated by Heaven to rule and was therefore accountable to no one but himself.

To have a leadership that is enlightened and responsive to the wishes of the people, China needs first to adopt a set of laws that are sovereign to the power of the ruling party. Otherwise, gu zhang nan ming (clapping with one hand will produce no sound). Unfortunately, history has taught us that it is only too easy for a supreme ruler to become corrupted by unlimited power and adulation. This was the final legacy of Mao Zedong.

The majority of Chinese would probably agree that the most dominant figure in twentieth-century China was Mao Zedong. They would also draw a clear distinction between the ‘great Mao’ of his prime and the ‘tyrannical Mao’ of his declining years. Before 1949, Mao was the passionate revolutionary whose vision brought about the unification of China and elevated him to become the supreme ruler. Mao’s every word was worshipped and he gradually turned into a despot more powerful than any previous emperor.

As he grew older, Mao became increasingly megalomaniac and paranoid. Seven years after he launched the Cultural Revolution, he said, in a conversation with the Egyptian ambassador: ‘The First Emperor [King Zheng] was the most famous emperor of China. In China, there are always two opposite viewpoints. Some people support the First Emperor, others oppose him. I myself endorse him, but I am against Confucius.’

Three years before he died, Mao encouraged his wife, Jiang Qing, to set up a group of writers to denigrate Confucius and promote the Legalist school as represented by Han Feizi. Mao claimed that he, as well as the First Emperor, were both Legalists who advocated reform and opposed retrogression. As soon as he seized power at the age of twenty-one, King Zheng had eliminated the Confucian Prime Minister, Lü Buwei. From then on, according to Mao, China’s history was characterised by a series of struggles between Confucianism and the Legalist school, between retrogression and progress, between stagnation and revolution.

While advocating the rule of law and the consolidation of power within the hands of a single supreme ruler, Han Feizi never wrote about the adverse consequences of such unlimited authority on the personality of the ruler. In the case of Mao, absolute power corrupted him absolutely, and he became increasingly intolerant of the slightest disagreement with any of his wishes.

Mao carried out political persecution on an unprecedented scale during the last ten years of his life, attacking most of his closest associates. Full of ambiguity and self-contradiction, it was impossible to foretell his intentions or predict his desires. Ever since Khrushchev’s posthumous denigration of Stalin in the 1950s, Mao had been fearful of a similar revisionism in China after his own death. He was obsessed both with grooming a successor and destroying that successor as the latter’s power grew. It became extremely hazardous to assume the number two position in China.

On his sickbed, Mao had summoned his latest designated successor Hua Guofeng, his wife Jiang Qing and her three closest collaborators and said to them, ‘I have done two great things in my life. The first was to drive out the Japanese and Chiang Kai-shek. The second was to initiate the Cultural Revolution, which remains unfinished. Heaven knows how you are going to handle it.’ Mao closed his eyes wearily and ended by quoting a proverb from a book written during the Jin dynasty (AD 265–420): ‘Gai guan lun ding’ (only when a person is dead and the lid of his coffin closed can final judgement be passed on him).