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Tang Junyi
Modern Chinese Philosophy

Edited by

John Makeham (La Trobe University)

VOLUME 13

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/mcp

 Tang Junyi
Confucian Philosophy and the Challenge of Modernity

By

Thomas Fröhlich

LEIDEN | BOSTON
 This is an open access title distributed under the terms of the CC-BY-NC License, which
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Copyright 2017 by Thomas Fröhlich.

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Contents

Preface and Acknowledgments vii

1 Tang Junyi’s Intellectual Endeavor 1

A Journey into a Broken World 1
The Vantage Point of Modern Confucianism 7
The Watershed of 1949 18

2 Critical Issues in Research on Modern Confucianism 23

Stereotypes and Omissions 23
Coherence and Comparison 31

3 Common Perspectives on Tang Junyi’s Thought 43

Conservatism 43
Neo-Confucianism 46
Humanism and Religiosity 48
Dogmatism 53

4 Exile, Modernity, and Cultural Patriotism 61

The Convergence between Exile and Modernity 61
Exile as Horror Vacui 69
Intellectual Ethos and Messianic Vision 76
Nation and Culture 85
Cultural Patriotism 93
Defending Authenticity 100

5 The Theological Accentuation 108

Theological Foundations 108
The Taxonomy of Knowledge and Intuition 118
Limits of Philosophical Exposition 124
The Limit-Concepts of “Philosophical Faith” 130

6 The Moral Vision 138

Moral Intuitionism 138
Struggling with “Self-Cultivation” 144
Outlines of a Confucian Ethos 154
vi contents

7 Shifting the Foundations of Confucian Political Thought 161

The Political and Its Demonic Aspects 161
Introspection in the Will for Power 170
The Moral Dimension of the Political Will 178

8 On Statehood 182
Failed Statehood in China 182
The State and Individual Self-Fulfillment 189
State and Society 193
The World Order of “Ecumenical States” 198

9 Anticipating Democracy 206

“Confucian Democracy”: Dead Ends and Alternatives 206
The Weakness of Democracy in China 215
The Civil-Theological Justification of Democracy 220
Humanistic Culture and Democracy 228

10 Civil Religion on a Confucian Basis 240

Civil Religion for a Future China 240
Political Ideals and Reality 247

11 Coming to Terms with History 250

Modernity and Agency 250
History and Normativity 257
Signs of Progress 264
Delimiting a “Philosophy of History” 267

12 In Lieu of a Conclusion: The Totalitarian Challenge 270

On the Origins and Causes of Totalitarianism 271
Overcoming Totalitarianism? 281

Appendix: Biographical Survey 291

Bibliography 293
Index 314
Preface and Acknowledgments

The present book on Tang Junyi attempts to make his work accessible for con-
temporary philosophy and intellectual history. Although I have interpreted
Tang’s works as an intellectual historian, I endeavor here to do more than think
about him. I also think with Tang and, consequently, at times go beyond him.
It is admittedly not the case that all of Tang’s oeuvre equally deserves con-
temporary philosophy’s undivided attention. Indeed, some parts are best left
to intellectual historians. Their examination can deepen our historical under-
standing of modern Confucianism, without necessarily having immediate rel-
evance for current discussions in international philosophy or political theory.
Other parts, however, undoubtedly offer stimulating insights with respect to
ongoing discourses, for example on modernity, in these disciplines.
The scope of the subject matter covered by Tang’s philosophy is vast. Readers
can thus follow their own interests by perusing specific chapters. For those
with little interest in political ideas and historical thinking, Chapters 8 to 12
are of secondary importance. As regards the first three chapters, and Chapters
5 and 6, they offer an examination of the historical and intellectual contexts of
Tang’s Confucianism, as well as an analysis of the civil-theological framework,
which is crucial for understanding his philosophical undertaking. Chapter 7
should also be of interest for those readers who do not normally study politi-
cal philosophy. It shows how profoundly Tang’s thought differs from common,
often uninspiring interpretations of Confucianism and its idea of man. In the
same vein, Chapter 4 is meant to correct the impression that Confucians of
the 20th century mostly contented themselves with defending “Chinese cul-
ture” and fighting cultural battles against Western influence. The fact that Tang
was more concerned with general problems of modern life and exile is one of
the reasons why his work rewards careful study.
Finally, it is not my aim to reconstruct Tang Junyi’s philosophy as a closed
system free from inner contradictions. This would inevitably lead to ommis-
sions and misrepresentations of certain parts of his work. Nor do I wish to
present a hermetic exegesis of his writings that would have little more to offer
than a straightforward reading of his texts.
Research on the present work began more than fifteen years ago. Some
parts have been published, in earlier versions, as articles in journals and col-
lective volumes. Chapter 4 is based on my “The Exilic Prism of Modernity: New
Perspectives on the Post-War Philosophy of Tang Junyi;” Chapters 7 and 8 con-
tain some revised passages from “Tang Junyi, Max Weber und die Mächte des
Dämonischen. Zum Politikverständnis eines modernen Konfuzianers,” and
viii preface and acknowledgments

“Tang Junyi und die konfuzianische Erneuerung des chinesischen Staates;”

Chapter 9 entails revised passages of “ ‘Confucian Democracy’ and its Confucian
Critics: Mou Zongsan and Tang Junyi on the Limits of Confucianism;” Chapters
11 and 12 contain parts of “The Challenge of Totalitarianism: Lessons from Tang
Junyi’s Political Philosophy.”
I wish to thank the German Federal Ministry of Education and Research for
funding the International Consortium for the Research in the Humanities: Fate,
Freedom, and Prognostication. Strategies of Coping with the Future in East Asia
and Europe (at the University of Erlangen-Nuremberg). This research project
gave me the opportunity, as one of its directors, to work on this book in an
inspiring intellectual environment. The same applies to the visiting professor-
ship at the University of Hamburg, where I finished the manuscript. I am sin-
cerely grateful to the colleagues from Sinology at the University of Hamburg
for inviting me to their institute.
I am indebted to many colleagues for their support over the years. Professors
Sébastien Billioud (Paris Diderot), Stéphane Feuillas (Paris Diderot), Michael
Friedrich (Hamburg), Hon Tze-ki (SUNY Geneseo), Huang Kuan-min (Academia
Sinica, Taiwan), Lionel Jensen (Notre Dame, Colorado), Kai Marchal (Soochow
University, Taiwan), Peng Guoxiang (Zhejiang University), Axel Schneider
(Göttingen), Takahiro Nakajima (Tokyo University), Kai Vogelsang (Hamburg),
and Ralph Weber (Basel) have either read earlier articles, parts of this book,
or discussed its subject matter. Their comments and suggestions were very
helpful. Tu Wei-ming (IHAS Beijing) kindly invited me along to visit the Fazhu
Institute in Hong Kong, whose chairperson Huo Taohui is a former student of
Tang Junyi. Other colleagues offered insightful comments on the occasion
of numerous talks and at conferences where I have presented my research on
Tang in recent years. I am also indebted to the book’s two reviewers, Professor
Jason Clower (California State University) and an anonymous reader. Their
critical comments and questions were invaluable in improving the manuscript.
Finally, Dr. Christopher Reid was a very reliable, but also inspiring proofreader.
 CHAPTER 1

Tang Junyi’s Intellectual Endeavor

A Journey into a Broken World

Tang Junyi conveyed a vivid impression of the huge distance between the
Sichuan of his youth and the modernizing Hong Kong of the late 1960s in an
interview that he gave to a student journal two decades after his emigration
to Hong Kong in 1949. He revealed that his interest had been piqued by the
American hippie movement after watching a documentary about Woodstock
in a movie theater in Hong Kong. His comments are particularly illuminating
not only because they highlight his extensive intellectual journey, but also his
liberal mindset. For instance, he indicated his fascination with the fact that the
hippies practiced a passive form of social protest, albeit without a clear objec-
tive. While he sympathized with the hippies, he critically observed that they
had no adequate form of expressing their opinions or their longing for individ-
uality. They also had no real idea of how to proceed. At most, they seemed only
able to engage in a form of protest that was specifically linked to their clothing
and hair style. Tang believed that they ultimately did not know how to posi-
tively change the external world and thus resorted to transforming their own
internal realities—their feelings—through another form of protest, namely,
by taking drugs. While he was convinced that hippies lacked “inner peace” and
individual strength, he also recognized that their music appealed to audiences
despite its sense of despair and restlessness. What is more, even though he dis-
closed his conservative sexual morality in diagnosing an “indulgence in sexual
life” in Europe and America (believing it to be a sign of the “degeneration of
Western culture”1), he still refrained from condemning the hippie movement
altogether.2
Woodstock might seem far removed for a Chinese philosopher who was born
in suburban Southwestern Sichuan on January 17, 1909, four days before the
reign of the second to last emperor of the Qing Dynasty, the ­Guangxu-Emperor,

1 Tang, Zhonghua renwen yu dangjin shijie, Vol. 8, p. 325 (interview in the Mingbao 明報 from
1974).
2 Tang, Zhonghua renwen yu dangjin shijie bubian, Vol. 10, pp. 385, 393–394. The interview was
published on August 7, 1970 in Zhongguo Xuesheng Zhoubao, No. 42.

© thomas fröhlich, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004330139_002

This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the CC-BY-NC License.
2 CHAPTER 1

had officially ended.3 At that time, the Chinese state was rapidly disintegrating
and many parts of the country were caught in the grip of tumultuous political,
social, and intellectual change. Tang not only lived through these events and
the upheavals of the following decades, but he felt compelled to make sense
of them. His philosophical oeuvre, which reflects this endeavor, is marked by
many achievements and failures, along with some surprises. Tang was one of
modern China’s most prolific thinkers. He relentlessly produced his lifework,
which spans a remarkable range of intellectual concerns, over the course of
half a century.4 His life indeed seems to be characterized by a persistent effort
to keep pace intellectually with an age of unprecedented cataclysms and recur-
rent political and social turmoil in China and the world.
Tang’s statements about the hippie movement are also remarkable
because they reveal his open-mindedness toward social phenomena that
must have been unsettling to a tradition-conscious thinker. Tang himself
would have referred to his intellectual and personal attitude as “humanistic,”
but it might also be called “liberal.” Liu Shu-hsien aptly sums up this attitude
when he writes that “[f]or Tang everyone has to find the best for himself in
the context given.”5 This liberal mindset was certainly prone to ambiguity, for
while Tang upheld a culturally conservative world view, he was also convinced
that a rigid insistence on traditional orders of political and moral values was
untenable for modernizing societies. As a result, his reflection on modernity
was largely free from schematic distinctions between (Chinese) tradition and
(Western) modernity.
Tang maintained his liberal outlook in the face of hostile political tenden-
cies and historical turmoil. The most severe disruption in his life came in
1949, when he left the Chinese Mainland for good. At the time he immigrated
to Hong Kong, his life had probably not been in immediate danger, nor did
Chinese communism likely pose a personal threat to him. Indeed, he had
never publicly criticized the communists before his years in exile.6 This would

3 For a brief biographical summary of Tang’s life, see the Biographical Survey at the end of this
book. A major source for Tang’s biography, apart from Tang’s diaries, is Tang Duanzheng’s
Chronicle of the life and work of Tang Junyi, see Tang, Nianpu; see also Tang Duanzheng’s Tang
Junyi zhuanlüe.
4 In Tang’s thirty volumes of collected writings there are over 450 publications, including 20
books; an index of these works can be found in Tang, Zhushu nianbiao, pp. 3–71; cf. also Feng,
Tang Junyi xiansheng jinian ji, pp. 29–117.
5 Liu, Essentials of Contemporary Neo-Confucian Philosophy, p. 103.
6 Tang, Tang Junyi zhuanlüe, p. 50. Perhaps it was due to Tang’s reticence that Liang Shuming
decided to write him a letter in December 1951 suggesting that Tang return to the Mainland.
Li Yuandeng 李源澄 and Qian Ziyuan 錢子原 also wrote letters to the same effect. In a letter
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 3

change almost immediately after his arrival in Hong Kong. In the context of the
Cold War period, he began to equate communist rule on the Chinese Mainland
with totalitarianism, which, for him, was inextricably linked to modernity
(see Chap. 12). Other aspects of modernity appeared on Tang’s philosophical
agenda as well which were no less threatening to him. His reflection on the
exilic experience was, above all, closely intertwined with a perceptive observa-
tion of modernity’s downsides. These included the experience of the individu-
al’s cultural alienation, social isolation, and intellectual marginalization. Tang
once remarked that the contemporary situation of the exiled Chinese is char-
acterized by the fact that their “motherland has been destroyed and [their]
home lost”7—that their hopes for their lives and educational ideals now “loom
in the emptiness,” and they therefore “roam around” and are “carried by the
wind.”8 In fact, Tang conceptualized the exilic experience as a sort of prism
through which one could not only grasp the nature of modernity, but also con-
ceive of ways to cope with it. This interweaving of exile and modernity informs
his reflection on the identity and stability of the individual self in modern soci-
ety (see Chap. 4).
At the interface between exile and modernity, Tang also pondered the
aggressive colonization of human societies by hegemonic forms of instrumen-
tal rationality and an ensuing reification of social and cultural relations. This
led to his diagnosis of the global unfolding of an instrumental type of modern-
ization that was posing a lethal threat to the remnants of intellectual traditions
and established ways of life. In the wake of the communist takeover on the
Chinese Mainland, he described this threat at times in a dramatic way, detect-
ing initial signs of a withering away of China’s humanistic culture. However,
he insisted that a wholesale rejection of modernity was not feasible, and he
was keenly aware of the dangerous implications of ideologies that prom-
ised fundamental solutions to the modern malaise. He also did not opt for a
“Chinese” solution, for he knew that many emancipatory facets of political
modernity—among them constitutional government, human rights, the rule
of law, and democracy—had Western, not Chinese origins. The same could be
said, by and large, of the dynamic process of industrialization and scientific-
technological development. Significantly, Tang never subscribed to the type
of historical speculation that predicted the emergence of a superior, predomi-
nantly “Chinese” form of ­modernity. Liang Shuming 梁漱溟 (1893–1988) had

from January 1952, Tang reaffirmed to Liang his decision to stay in Hong Kong: Li, “Tang Junyi
shujian xi nian xianyi bu ding,” pp. 119–120.
7 Tang, Zhonghua renwen yu dangjin shijie bubian, Vol. 9, p. 470.
8 Ibid., p. 478.
4 CHAPTER 1

done this in his widely popular book Eastern and Western Cultures and Their
Philosophies (Dong Xi wenhua ji qi zhexue) from 1921.9 On the contrary, Tang
was convinced that modern societies were irremediably broken to the point
where no single, comprehensive doctrine could adequately respond to their
inherently ambiguous life-worlds.
Yet Tang was still convinced that members of modern societies needed to
maintain, at least in some measure, an affirmative identification with cul-
tural life in order to instill meaning into their own ways of life—even if exist-
ing conditions were in turmoil and the given cultural contexts on the brink
of disintegration. Otherwise, neither individuals nor collectivities would be
able to uphold an authentic self-reassurance. Indeed, authenticity was one
of Tang’s major concerns. Under the condition of an irretrievably alienating
modernization, an effort of normative “reconstruction” was necessary since
authenticity could no longer be understood as a historically given condition.
Yet he disagreed with the reactionary forces that propagated a return to impe-
rial political and cultural traditions, a tendency which culminated under the
dictatorial rule of Yuan Shikai in the mid-1910s. Tang’s stance was also critical
toward the so-called movement for a “New Culture,” which began at around
the same time. He was highly skeptical about the tendency of “New Culture”
proponents to subject the modern plurality of Chinese life-worlds to totalistic
forms of scientism. Despite these misgivings, his opposition to the movement
remained limited to the intellectual sphere. The political goal of democracy,
on the other hand, was not contested by the New Culture Movement or Tang’s
modern Confucianism, nor was the basic understanding that the introduction
of modern science to China was indispensable.
Overall, Tang’s diagnosis of Chinese modernity was bleak. This was espe-
cially true with regard to China’s prolonged failure in catching up with Western
nation-states economically, and its inability to establish a robust demo-
cratic republic after 1911. Reflecting on China’s historical course, Tang faced

9 While studying at Peking University from 1925 to 1927, Tang attended Liang Shuming’s lec-
tures on the eight stages of pursuing philosophy. After Liang was openly criticized by left-
ists when he delivered his public lectures, Tang, apparently sharing this criticism, stopped
listening to Liang’s talks. What is more, Tang deemed Liang’s intuitionist philosophy too
“subjective” and hence unreliable; see Tang, Nianpu, pp. 19, 23. Li Yufang and Zhang Yunjiang
indicate that Tang also attended lectures by Liang Shuming on the “Eastern and Western
Cultures and Their Philosophies,” but they do not substantiate this finding; see Li et al., “Tang
Junyi qi fo gui ru zhi yuanyin chutan,” p. 21. According to the Nianpu, Tang had read Liang’s
Eastern and Western Cultures and Their Philosophies in 1923; see Tang, Nianpu, p. 15.
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 5

the uneasy reality that, except for the communist revolution of 1949, every
other political revolution and use of military force had largely failed to pro-
duce any political and social stability. He thus drew the following fundamental
lesson from China’s continuous failure to establish a new and stable type of
political order: Any attempt to implement a totalistic, substantial reintegration
of modern society would inevitably come at the cost of traditionalism, dog-
matism, authoritarianism, or even totalitarianism. What had to be acknowl-
edged instead was the insight that the justification of institutions, procedures
and norms of collective life could no longer rest on claims to a higher, “sacred”
truth. Tang was thus well aware of the fact that in global modernity there were
both emancipative currents and an ever-looming tendency toward the oppo-
site, namely the totalistic reification of the human beings and their life-worlds.
In Tang’s view, modern subjects were indeed in danger of falling victim to their
own rebellion against the fetters of traditional societies and ideas. This para-
dox marks the point of departure for his project to reconstruct Confucianism.
It is therefore more to the point to address this reconstruction as “modern”
rather than simply as “new.” In fact, Tang hardly ever used the now common
label of “new Confucianism” (xin ruxue 新儒學 / xin rujia 新儒家). The des-
ignation “modern” is also apt because Tang’s project is consistent with key
ideas of the Western philosophical criticism of modernity raised during the
20th century—whether in the context of philosophies of life, existentialism,
philosophical anthropology, or political philosophy.
Tang occasionally termed his philosophical project “humanistic” (renwen
人文) and contended that Chinese humanism would need to “expand” in the
future to attain the position of a “world humanism.”10 The humanistic con-
cern of thinking through modernity entails, first of all, the quest for a “moral
self,” i.e. a realization of man’s “moral nature.” Here, Tang harkened back to
Confucian speculations about the individual’s access to the inner moral truth
of human nature. In the 20th century, these speculations had to be critically
reassessed under specifically modern conditions. Tang consequently elimi-
nated from his Confucian agenda the vain hope of overcoming the downsides
of modernity by making an appeal to individuals to engage in ethical “self-
cultivation.” An uncritical belief in self-cultivation would make the individual
highly susceptible to Weltanschauungen (world views) and political ideologies
that proclaim the omnipotence of an ethical will in the realm of politics. Yet

10 See e.g. Tang’s essay entitled “World humanism and Chinese humanism (Shijie ren-
wenzhuyi yu Zhongguo renwenzhuyi 世界人文主義與中國人文主義)” from 1959;
reprinted in Tang, Zhonghua renwen yu dangjin shijie, Vol. 8, p. 44.
6 CHAPTER 1

the historical course of modernity, according to Tang, is not to be misunder-

stood as a process of inner-worldly salvation leading to the ethical realization
of the good in human society.
Tang was equally skeptical towards reflections on modernity that simply
adopt the “Western” perspective, no matter whether they are presented in
the fields of social science, philosophy, or social criticism. But his skepticism
did not prevent him from conceptualizing modernization as a globally ongo-
ing process characterized by the gradual evolution of traits typically associ-
ated with contemporary Western societies. He assumed that over the long run
functional and institutional differentiations of spheres of action which were
observable in Western societies would emerge on a global scale. This per-
tained, in particular, to the division of labor in industrial society, and, above all,
to the division of spheres of law and morality. Indeed, this assumption is criti-
cal to Tang’s universalistic concept of modernity-as-modernization. It forms
the basis for his claim that modernization will produce the political form of
a constitutional democracy, together with an industrial society. Yet Tang did
not ignore particular historical conditions and intellectual traditions—such as
those in China—which could shape modernity in different parts of the world.
On the contrary, in reconsidering China’s intellectual traditions in the broad
sense, he fought against what he perceived to be manifestations of a “Western”
colonial hegemony or even cultural imperialism in the spheres of education,
science, the liberal arts, and public debate. A number of Tang’s writings from
the exile period bear witness to his crusade, as does his affirmative, pan-Asian
depiction of post-war Japan as a model for preserving indigenous intellectual
and material culture under conditions of rapid modernization (see Chap. 4).
Since the early decades of the 20th century, there have been debates both
inside and outside of China about Confucian alternatives to Western models
of modernization. In many respects, however, the discussions have reached an
impasse: Whereas some observers tend to depict Confucianism as a panacea
for all kinds of political and social ills in East Asian and Western societies, oth-
ers consider it to be a mere vestige of imperial China that lacks any relevance
for contemporary discourse on modernity. Tang Junyi’s modern Confucianism
proposes a way to overcome this impasse by combining a critical reinterpre-
tation of Confucian thought with a careful assessment of achievements and
failures in modern societies. Not only does an in-depth analysis of his project
inspire a critical reexamination of key issues in contemporary Confucian dis-
course such as “Confucian democracy,” but it is also highly conducive for the
discussion of issues that are critical to our understanding of modern China
and Confucianism. Among these we find an ever-present concern in modern
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 7

Chinese philosophy and politics, namely the question of how to conceptual-

ize the relationship between new “Western” types of political order and indig-
enous intellectual traditions. Equally significant, Tang’s philosophy yields a
thought-provoking approach to understanding the individual’s vulnerability
in the context of rapidly modernizing East Asian societies. What is more, by
reflecting on exile—an experience with which he was intimately familiar and
which marked the lives of many people worldwide in the 20th century—Tang
presents a novel perspective on the modern malaise. Here, as well as in other
respects, Tang’s own refusal to “Orientalize” his thinking is crucial, because it
opens it up to broader philosophical debates.

The Vantage Point of Modern Confucianism

To grasp the originality, but also the ambivalence of Tang’s modern

Confucianism, discussion should not be limited to his moral reflection, reli-
gious thought, and academic philosophy.11 In the framework of Tang’s thought,
it is indispensable to uncover the relation between moral, political, and reli-
gious concerns. Toward this end, one may discern three major stages in his

11 For a compilation of Chinese and English research on Tang Junyi until 2008, see Chen,
“Tang Junyi yanjiu gaikuang ji shumu wenxian suoyin.” So far, research on Tang’s philoso-
phy has focused on his metaphysical speculation about human nature and the human
spirit’s access to the higher, transcendent realm of “Heaven.” This is somewhat surpris-
ing given the fact that, in international philosophical anthropology, the identification
of the human being as an animal metaphysicum was by and large abandoned by the
mid-20th century. Tang’s moral philosophy and his religious studies on the Confucian
tradition also received considerable attention (for a monographic study see e.g. Kevin
Shun Kai Cheng’s thesis: Cheng, Karl Barth and Tang Junyi on the Nature of Ethics and the
Realization of Moral Life: A Comparative Study from 1995; in a Chinese version: Zheng,
Tang Junyi yu Bate. Yi ge lunlixue de bijiao from 2002). A number of studies have been pub-
lished on Tang’s final two-volume monograph Life, Existence and the Horizons of the Mind
(Shengming cunzai yu xinling jingjie); see e.g. Liang, Xinling jiu jing yu rensheng zhexue:
Tang Junyi xiansheng “Shengming cunzai yu xinling jingjie” dao du (2006); Shan, Xin tong
jiu jing: Tang Junyi zhexue de jingshen kongjian (2001); Steinbauer, Tang Junyis System der
neun Horizonte des Geistes (2005); for a recent in-depth article on this topic, see Huang,
“Tang Junyi de jingjie gantong lun: Yi ge changsuo lun de xiansuo” (2011). Several mono-
graphic studies on Tang that were published in Hong Kong, China, and Taiwan provide
general surveys of his thought, with Li Du’s Tang Junyi xiansheng de zhexue from 1982
being a pioneering study.
8 CHAPTER 1

philosophical lifework, which spanned a period of almost five decades.12 Prior

to his years in exile, which began in 1949, he wrote two monographs deal-
ing with topics of moral philosophy and philosophy of life. He also published
a considerable number of articles on Chinese philosophy, art and literature,
Western philosophy, and contemporary political and social issues.13 In the
second stage, from the late 1940s to the early 1960s, Tang concentrated on
political philosophy, moral philosophy, philosophy of history, and Chinese
humanism, while also developing the theological-metaphysical framework of
his Confucianism.14 In addition, he addressed a wide range of issues in politics,
society, and cultural life. Though he did not comment on contemporary issues
as much as Xu Fuguan 徐復觀 (1903–1982) or Zhang Junmai 張君勱 (1886–
1969), he continuously engaged in current affairs well into the 1970s by writ-
ing articles and giving interviews. The third stage can be roughly dated from
the mid-1960s onwards until the end of Tang’s life, when he devoted most of
his time to an extensive academic study of Chinese philosophy and a compre-
hensive metaphysical speculation about the spiritual and moral dimensions of
human life.15

12 This division roughly corresponds to the one presented by Kevin Shun Kai Cheng, with
the exception that I place Tang’s seminal study Wenhua yishi yu daode lixing in the second
phase as the major work of his political philosophy. However, Cheng seems to overlook
the importance of the middle period; see Cheng, Karl Barth and Tang Junyi on the Nature
of Ethics and the Realization of Moral Life: A Comparative Study, pp. 487–497. Tang’s own
review of stages in his intellectual development appears to be somewhat haphazard. On
the one hand, he applied a rationale of personal “spiritual” development; on the other, his
evaluative criteria are more academic in nature; see ibid., pp. 500–501.
13 These two monographs are The Establishment of the Moral Self (Daode ziwo zhi jianli) and
The Realization of Human Life (Rensheng zhi tiyan), both published in 1944. For research
on the early phase of Tang’s work, see e.g. Fan, Tang Junyis Synthese chinesischer und westli-
cher Philosophie; Lai, Ti yong yu xin xing: dangdai xin ruxue zhexue xin lun, pp. 45–110. For
a brief overview, see Huo, “Tang Junyi xiansheng de wenhua zhexue tixi—yi ‘Wenhua
yishi yu daode lixing’ yi shu wei zhongxin,” pp. 97–111.
14 His major works from his middle period include the two-volume monograph Cultural
Consciousness and Moral Reason (Wenhua yishi yu daode lixing; the manuscript was writ-
ten between 1947 and 1952; see Tang, Nianpu, pp. 67, 69, 119) and several volumes of col-
lected essays and articles: The Reconstruction of the Humanistic Spirit (Renwen jingshen
zhi chongjian) and The Development of the Chinese Humanistic Spirit (Zhongguo renwen
jingshen zhi fazhan) are particularly significant. At the beginning of his exile, Tang pub-
lished The Spiritual Values of Chinese Culture (Zhongguo wenhua zhi jingshen jiazhi), a
monograph that marks the transition from the first to the second period.
15 These are the monograph series On the Sources of Chinese Philosophy (Zhongguo zhexue
yuan lun) and the two-volume monograph Shengming cunzai yu xinling jingjie.
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 9

It was during the middle period that Tang developed his understanding of
modern Confucianism in terms of political thought. This effort rested on his
conviction that the course of modernity might be influenced by those afflicted
by it, even though modern societies appeared to organize collective life her-
metically. For Tang, there was still room for normative reflection and practi-
cal interventions in the modern world, provided that individuals were able
to attain a thorough understanding of the process of modernity. The modern
world, in other words, was still a political reality.
Most interpreters exclusively apply the label “philosophy” to Tang’s work,
without addressing its framework as “theological.” However, Tang systemati-
cally developed the notions of “Confucian religiosity” to a degree that justifies
the use of the label “theological” in this context. Some scholars actually qualify
Tang’s “philosophy” by highlighting the religious aspects of his thought. Shun
Kai Kevin Cheng, for example, concludes that “[t]his (i.e. Tang’s philosophy—
TF) can be considered as a fully incarnational philosophy where the decree of
Heaven is fully incarnated within the nature of each and every human being.” It
goes without saying that the word “theology” is used in the present study in the
broad sense of the word. This is common nowadays in encyclopedias of theol-
ogy, with “theology” in the narrow sense denoting the monotheistic religions.
When Tang outlined the theological framework of modern Confucianism in the
late 1940s and 1950s, he may have felt that the term “theology” (shenxue 神學)
was linked too closely to Christian theology. Be that as it may, he conceived
of an inclusive concept of philosophy to absorb theological-metaphysical ele-
ments, referring to this framework variously as “philosophical,” “metaphysical,”
or “religious.”
Tang summarized the far-reaching infusion of modern Confucianism with
theological elements as a “philosophical faith” (zhexue de xinyang 哲學的
信仰) (see Chap. 5). His project is therefore “modern,” not only in the sense
of a philosophical reaction to the global impact of modernity, but also in a
much more ambitious sense insofar as it aims to delineate a philosophical-
theological foundation of social modernity in (a future) China. To be sure, Tang
recognized the secularized, “disenchanted” form of modernity. Nonetheless,
he still identified modernity as the historical stage at which Confucian ideas
of individual self-fulfillment, and hence freedom, can be realized to an
unprecedented degree. In effect, he maintained that modern forms of collec-
tive life are to be understood as preconditions for the individual’s striving for
self-realization. Faced with socioeconomic, political, and cultural alienation,
individuals can, according to a Hegelian figure in Tang’s thought, overcome
(aufheben) the antithesis between their goal of self-­fulfillment and the “outer”
forms of alienation. In order to come to terms with the modern experience of
10 CHAPTER 1

alienation, they must analyze its historical formation and then discern how
alienation and emancipation are interrelated. This very reflection is to be seen
as an endeavor that actually befits the individual’s self-fulfillment. The latter
does not require, if we are to follow Tang, a comprehensive remediation of
alienation in modernity, nor should it be understood as a purely theoretical
endeavor. Rather, Tang proposes to closely interweave normative reflection on
the modern world and the quest for individual self-fulfillment. In this vein,
Tang conceptualizes “inner sagehood” as the human being’s immediate real-
ization of the absolute or “Heaven” (tian 天). As Tang claims, the communion
with “Heaven” instantaneously lifts the individual’s mind above its own limits.
This ephemeral state of mind involves the cognitive act of “innate knowing”
(liang zhi 良知), whereby the human mind gains intuitive access to the high-
est truth or principle. This is the broad perspective of Tang’s tenacious effort
to reconstruct modern subjectivity on the basis of a Confucian civil theology.16
He accordingly linked the notion of self-fulfillment with certain Confucian tra-
ditions and categorized it as a Confucian type of “religiosity” (zongjiaoxing 宗
教性) (see Chap. 5). Besides, Tang’s civil-theological understanding of “innate
knowing” is clearly set apart from reinterpretations of “innate knowing” from
the Republican period. He indeed refrained from harkening back to these ear-
lier reinterpretations and their critics.17
With the new conceptualization of Confucian religiosity, Tang’s civil theol-
ogy dissociates itself from the politico-religious tradition of Confucian cults in

16 “Civil theology” will be used in the present study as a technical term for the analysis of
Tang’s modern Confucianism. Even though he did not use the term “civil theology” to
designate his brand of Confucianism, it is nonetheless useful for our purposes. On the
different uses of the term as a self-referential marker and as an analytical concept in
the Western context, see Sandoz, “The Civil Theology of Liberal Democracy: Locke and
His Predecessors,” p. 2.
17 In an article on the philosophy of Dai Zhen 戴震 (Dai Dongyuan 戴東原; 1723–1777)
from 1927, Hu Shi 胡適 (1891–1962) deplored the “recent” tendency in China to return
to the philosophy of Lu Jiuyuan 陸九淵 (Lu Xiangshan 陸象山; 1139–1192) and Wang
Yangming 王陽明 (1472–1529) and their “philosophy of liang zhi.” Hu’s criticism was
clearly leveled against Zhang Junmai and Liang Shuming; see Hu, Dai Dongyuan de zhexue,
p. 140; on Liang Shuming’s interest in intuitionist philosophy (in Confucianism and in
Henri Bergson’s vitalist philosophy), see Alitto, The Last Confucian. Liang Shu-ming and
the Chinese Dilemma of Modernity, pp. 98–101. Before Hu Shi, it was Yan Fu 嚴復 (1853–
1921) who had sharply criticized Chinese intuitionist philosophy, and Lu Jiuyuan and
Wang Yangming in particular, as an obstacle to scientific progress in China; see Kurtz, The
Discovery of Chinese Logic, pp. 155–156. After 1949, Zhang Junmai attempted to interpret
liang zhi in terms of philosophical rationalism; see e.g. Chang (Zhang Junmai), “Is there
no Epistemological Background for the Chinese Philosophy of Reason?” pp. 130, 136–137.
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 11

the late imperial period and from ill-fated attempts to install a Confucian state
religion in early republican China. What it shares with the ideas of proponents
of a Confucian state religion, such as Chen Huanzhang 陳煥章 (1880–1933),
Yan Fu, or Liang Qichao 梁啟超 (1873–1929) who were active in the years 1912
and 1913, is the intention to tie “Confucianism” to the normative foundations of
the republic. Yet Tang’s notion of Confucian religiosity did not lend itself to a
concept of republican “state religion” (guo jiao 國教) that tended to contradict
the constitutional principle of religious freedom. It also was neither amenable
to a religious reverence of the figure of Confucius (as in “Kong jiao” 孔教), nor,
finally, to a dogmatism that hypostatized Confucianism as an authoritative
religious teaching (as in “Ru jiao” 儒教).18
In fact, Tang did not assume that the truth of moral intuition (liang zhi) could
be institutionalized, either in terms of religion or politics. He instead endorsed
a view that highlights the religious and political elusiveness of absolute truth
claims based on intuition. Due to this rejection of dogmatism, Tang’s civil theol-
ogy accords with the transcendental type of civil theology.19 “Transcendental”
refers to the conviction that “secular ends can never really become sacred.”20
The sacred, accordingly, is not considered to be substantially immanent to par-
ticular politico-religious institutions and practices. David Apter’s observation
that “what there is of the sacred in Western secular government is the frame-
work itself”21 also pertains to Tang’s civil theology. The latter can thus be distin-
guished from the immanent type of civil theology, which “in its more archaic
forms,” seems closely related to what David Apter calls the theocratic system.22
Unsurprisingly, Tang rejected the idea that the government should implement
a civil theology through direct legal means. The enforcement of the Confucian-
based civil theology by the government would have to be restricted to the insti-
tutionalization of religious tolerance. This orientation towards constitutional
provisions for religious freedom shows that Tang’s Confucian civil theology
concurs with liberal forms of civil or political theology. Specifically, it funda-
mentally accepts two major shifts in the history of Western political thought:

18 For a concise overview of the different stages of controversies in China about Confucianism
as a state religion during the first two decades of the 20th century, see: Kobayashi, “Some
Political Aspects of the Problem of Confucian State Religion.”
19 For a definition of this type of civil theology, see Davis, “The Civil Theology of Inou
Tetsujirô,” p. 3.
20 This is David Apter’s phrase (see his “Political Religion in the New States,” p. 67; here
quoted from Davis, ibid.).
21 Apter, ibid., p. 76; quoted from Davis, ibid.
22 Apter, ibid.
12 CHAPTER 1

the emphasis on a notion of political reason, which allows room for the separa-
tion of ethics/religion and politics; and an acceptance of secularizing societies
and the related repercussions in politics and law. Tang’s version therefore sets
itself apart from imperial China’s civil theology23 by emphatically approving the
introduction of modern rights and its accompanying institutions based on the
rule of law.
The major political concern of Tang’s civil theology is therefore not to re-
sacralize the political and social institutions and customs, but to bolster the
normative foundation of the republic’s democratic order. The aim of his civil
theology is to foster the individual’s loyalty to the republican state and its lib-
eral constitution, while at the same time providing him or her with a new self-
image as a republican citizen. Toward this end, core concepts of the Confucian
civil theology such as “innate knowing” and “inner sagehood” function as posi-
tive limit-concepts. They serve as a normative measuring stick and a spiritual
vision for the modern subject in social and political life. There is, however,
no promise of creating an ideal social life form or substantially reconciling
the subject with the disenchanted modern world. The kind of reconciliation
offered here requires that individuals perceive the modern forms of alienated
social life as the necessary condition for their efforts to attain “inner sagehood.”
Consistent with this interest in the individual’s ability to cope with alien-
ation, Tang’s Confucian civil theology frames and unites his intellectual endeav-
ors in the fields of political philosophy, ethics, religious metaphysics, cultural
philosophy, and the philosophy of history. Even though his writings in specific
fields might be studied as isolated parts of his oeuvre, a sound understand-
ing of his project of modern Confucianism requires the close examination of
the civil-theological axis. His modern Confucianism cannot, in other words, be
detached from its theological underpinnings. A selective, post-metaphysical
dissection of his work which disregards its civil-theological dimension would
result in distortions and simplifications.
Tang’s civil theology cannot be productively compared with particular fea-
tures of Western civil theology without considering the question of how his
civil theology relates to political philosophy. Even though he did not explicitly

23 For an analysis of early imperial Chinese civil theology and its pre-imperial roots, see
Weber-Schäfer, Oikumene und Imperium, pp. 17–22. Tang’s concept of civil theology
is obviously also fundamentally different from what Max Weber had in mind when he
described Confucianism as a civil theology which systematized and institutionalized
political and social ethics of the Confucian elite in the context of late imperial China.
On Weber, see Schluchter, “Einleitung,” p. 26.
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 13

discuss this issue, Tang tried to reconnect political thought with a Confucian
anthropological vision of human existence. It is, indeed, no exaggeration to
say that Tang’s own political thinking finds its guiding principles in the civil-
theological limit-concepts of “innate knowing” (liang zhi) and the “sage”
(sheng ren). His political philosophy hence relates these limit-concepts to
political reality. Tang measures, as it were, political reality, its development,
actions, institutional and symbolic orders, and structures against these guid-
ing principles. The civil theology thus forms the normative reference point for
his political philosophy. In turn, the political philosophy serves the purpose of
exploring, within the time frame of the modern world, the realization and tem-
poralization of civil-theological principles. Tang’s thoughts on such issues as
the human will to political power, the relation of statehood and individual self-
fulfillment, the distinction of state and society, the world order of “ecumenical
states,” the justification of democracy, the meaning and function of “humanis-
tic culture,” and civil religion in democracy, are thus closely intertwined with
his civil-theological limit-concepts (see Chap. 5).
The range of issues covered by Tang’s political thought indicates that his
civil theology is not to be understood solely as a reaction to the modern sub-
ject’s experience of alienation, but also as a reaction to political and religious
violence in modern China. Tang’s outlook on China’s political history since the
mid-19th century highlights such violent events as the rebellion of the Taiping,
the Boxer Rebellion, the revolution of 1911, the Second Revolution that top-
pled Yuan Shikai, the rise of warlords, the Northern Expedition, the struggle
between nationalists and communists in the 1920s and 1930s, and, of course,
the communist victory in 1949.24 What has been said of John Locke as well as
Hobbes and Spinoza may thus, mutatis mutandis, also be said with respect
to Tang’ interest in civil theology, namely that “. . . his chief purposes were . . . to
foster civic peace in the face of political and religious enthusiasm and vio-
lence.” Proponents of civil theology consequently acknowledged the “political
necessity for a generally accepted account of the ultimate reality.”25 Whereas
Hobbes and Spinoza sought to secure public peace through the enforcement of
a broadly acceptable, doctrinally minimized form of religious belief, Tang, like
Locke, viewed the idea of institutionally guaranteeing ­religious tolerance as

24 See for example Tang’s article from 1955 “The Logic of the Development of the Chinese
Nation’s Political Consciousness in the Past One Hundred Years” reprinted in: Tang,
Zhongguo renwen zhi jingshen fazhan, pp. 155–176.
25 Sandoz, “The Civil Theology of Liberal Democracy: Locke and His Predecessors,” p. 3.
14 CHAPTER 1

an integral element of civil theology.26 Civil theology itself, therefore, “was not
a dogma; rather it marked the parameters of a conversation or debate which
rested on the shared assumption that there was some correlation between a
society’s religion and its government.”27
An essential distinction made by Western civil theologies concerns the pub-
lic cult and the “life of reason.” Whereas the former is a matter of faith and
entails the representation of the “minimum dogma,” the latter pertains to the
search for truth in philosophy and the sciences. This contrast became starker
during the age of Enlightenment.28 Tang Junyi’s civil theology draws a similar
distinction, even though he did not prescribe which parts of the Confucian
rituals, if any, were to be “public” in character. Yet Tang’s delineation between
the realms of Confucian religiosity, scientific truth-seeking, and politics corre-
sponds to their modern differentiation in functional and institutional spheres.
The conflation of faith and knowledge was, according to Tang, to be achieved
only in the individual’s inwardness. The public representation of Confucian
religiosity was hence characterized by the absence of clerical institutions (see
Chap. 10). Still, the Confucian-based civil religion was to produce a “funda-
mental consensus beyond public debate,”29 even though its symbolic repre-
sentation in the public sphere was much more subtle than in the case of its
Christian counterparts.
As regards doctrinal aspects, there are further differences between Tang’s
civil theology and both ancient and modern Western forms of civil t­ heology.30
For one, Tang neither referred to a comprehensive theological system, nor

26 On Hobbes, Spinoza and Locke see Ibid., p. 31.

27 Kidd, “Civil Theology and Church Establishments in Revolutionary America,” p. 1010;
Sandoz traces the history of civil theology back to Plato, stating that Plato’s “analysis of
the order of being, in relation to the true and political order as given in the Republic”
entailed the assumption that “only after the true theology has been expounded . . . the
truth of man can become thematic to the Republic.” See Sandoz, “The Civil Theology of
Liberal Democracy: Locke and His Predecessors,” pp. 4–5.
28 See Sandoz, “The Civil Theology of Liberal Democracy: Locke and His Predecessors,”
pp. 6–8; Sandoz refers in this context to the distinction between the “public system of
divine worship” and “private worship” in the thought of Hobbes and Spinoza.
29 Ibid., p. 7.
30 Concise overviews of the conceptual development of civil theology in the Western con-
text can be found in Wacker and Manemann’s “ ‘Politische Theologie’. Eine Skizze zur
Geschichte und aktuellen Diskussion des Begriffs,” pp. 28–65; Sandoz, “The Civil Theology
of Liberal Democracy: Locke and His Predecessors,” pp. 2–10. In current usage, “civil
­theology” and “political theology” have become interchangeable, especially once “politi-
cal theology” lost the negative meaning it had acquired in the 19th century.
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 15

­ rescribed a religious faith based on divine revelation.31 What is more, when

p
considering the question of how to arrange the relations between religious and
political institutions, Tang hardly referred to extant clerical systems in China,
such as Buddhist or Daoist churches. Nor did he contemplate a Confucian state
cult. His Confucian civil theology, therefore, did not center on problems per-
taining to the relation between the church and the state, as was the case in the
Western context.
Finally, Tang’s concept of civil theology differs from political theologies
based on Christianity, Judaism or Islam, but also from China’s imperial civil
theology, insofar as it does not serve to vindicate an existing political order. On
the contrary, modern Confucian civil theology questions the legitimacy of the
existing Chinese political regimes of the 20th century (both on the Mainland
and in Taiwan). At the same time, it anticipates the future, “authentic” political
form of Confucianism: liberal democracy. Tang consequently invests the intel-
lectual foundations of ­liberal democracy with a belief that is consistent with
Confucian religiosity:

He [who shares the Confucian faith that all human beings are natu-
rally endowed with humaneness—TF] can truly believe that everybody
can become a Yao or Shun and that all human beings can ascend to the
Heavenly kingdom. This is the Chinese Confucians’ great spirit of equal-
ity. (. . .) At the same time, this is also the last and only foundation of the
comprehensive spirit of democracy as a whole. If you cannot attain this in
[your] faith, you will certainly in the last resort be unable to truly believe
in democracy, and one day you will not take others as [your] equal. By
the time you wield political power, you will definitely not let those who
are not equal to you in their personality have an equal share of political
power. As a matter of fact, those in the early modern Western [world]
who sincerely believed in democracy also often had this faith. In the end,
the teachings of Jesus as well as those of early modern Western idealism
can also share this [faith]. But those who usually discuss the theoretical
foundation of democracy and freedom are not necessarily able to truly
recognize that they will ultimately have to erect this faith and may be
able to reach a high level thereafter.32

31 This is not to say that there are no systematic aspects at all in Tang’s theology which does
include the outlines of a classification of religious doctrines; see below Chap. 5 and 10.
32 Tang, Renwen jingshen zhi chongjian, pp. 418–419.
16 CHAPTER 1

Obviously, the civil-theological outlook was not intended to evoke a passive

attitude towards the modern world and its vicissitudes. On the contrary, the
renewal of Confucian intellectual traditions was meant to foster an activistic
form of inwardness in individuals which conformed to what Tang considered
the preferable outer forms of modernity—i.e. a constitutional democracy and
a pluralistic, industrialized society. These outer forms were to be vindicated,
albeit not exclusively, in the language of China’s indigenous intellectual tradi-
tions (see Chap. 9).
Tang was not the only one to turn to Confucianism with such a liberal
agenda in mind, even though his civil theology clearly stands out in terms of
its complexity and scope. Apart from Zhang Junmai, Mou Zongsan 牟宗三
(1909–1995), and Xu Fuguan, liberal intellectuals like Xiao Gongquan 蕭公權
(1897–1981) and Zhang Dongsun 張東蓀 (1886–1973) also took recourse to
Confucianism in order to foster acceptance of constitutional democracy in the
period of civil war after 1945. Like Tang, both Xiao and Zhang did not interpret
the concept of political freedom primarily from the “negative” perspective of
the individual embracing his or her fundamental rights as means of a defense
against the state. They did so from a Confucian (as well as Greek/republican)
position that highlighted the aspect of freedom as expressed in the individu-
al’s right to participate in political life. This, in turn, would provide him or her
with opportunities to actualize the natural dispositions, or “nature” (xing 性),
of the human being.33 Xiao explicitly linked this interpretation of participa-
tion in political life with the teachings of Confucius.34 In a similar way, Zhang
Dongsun discussed the notion of personal “self-­attainment” (zi de 自得) from
the Mencius in order to demonstrate that there had existed a positive concept
of freedom in ancient China. He added that this concept indeed constituted
one of the strong points of Confucian thought.35
This approach to a vindication of constitutional democracy in Confucian
thought and language did not exclude criticism of extant types of Western
democracy. The critique, however, like the description and analysis of democ-
racy, had to take a proleptic form. After all, Xiao and Zhang, as well as Tang
after 1949, faced a Chinese reality that was unfamiliar with liberal-democratic
institutions and values. Indeed democracy for Tang was one of the unrealized

33 For Xiao’s concept, see his article “On the Freedom of Speech” (Shuo yanlun ziyou 說言論
自由) from 1940 in: Xiao, Xianzheng yu minzhu. Xiao Gongquan xiansheng quanji zhi ba,
p. 29 and his Ziyou de lilun yu shiji, pp. 33, 59.
34 Xiao, “Kongzi zhengzhi xueshuo de xiandai yiyi,” p. 74; see also ibid., p. 69.
35 Zhang, Lixing yu minzhu, pp. 118–119, 123.
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 17

goals of “modernization.” The objective, then, was to establish the normative

and factual preconditions for the development of modern statehood, which
would include constitutional government, the rule of law, and democracy.
What was at stake, therefore, was not solely a justification of liberal democ-
racy, but equally the mobilization of intellectual resources to spur its forma-
tion. Henceforth, the Chinese should be able to describe themselves at once
as Confucians and as the democratic authors of the laws that bind them as
citizens. Under the condition of the state’s neutrality vis-à-vis the religious
preferences of the citizens, China’s future political culture was to embrace a
Confucian-based humanistic culture which could be made the object of cul-
tural patriotism. The latter would, moreover, promote commonplace attitudes
of mutual respect for rights and religious tolerance in a Chinese democracy.
To be sure, Tang’s political thought is unmistakably marked by elitist ele-
ments. This should not be taken, however, as a contradiction within the liberal-
democratic outlook of his modern Confucianism. After all, “classical” European
liberalism, as represented for example by John Stuart Mill, also abounded with
elitist ideas, not all of which have disappeared in the many revisions of politi-
cal liberalism of the 20th century. It is therefore appropriate to call Tang’s posi-
tion generally “liberal,” especially given the persistent vagueness of the term
“liberal.” Most problematic in this regard is without doubt the assessment of
how Tang might have supported a “liberal” model for the economic order
of modern societies. Since he neither discussed theories of capitalism or mar-
ket economy, nor devised an elaborate criticism of socialist economic models,
his economic liberalism is much more a matter of uncertainty than his politi-
cal liberalism.
The picture is clearer with respect to the ethical dimension of his liberal
thought. The civil-theological conception of man and the notion of an imme-
diate, non-discursive access to the highest truth constitute elements of a
political anthropology with ethically “pluralistic” implications. The intuitive
access to truth is only open to the individual’s subjective mind in a moment
of immediate enlightenment. Accordingly, discursive truth claims can neither
be justified with absolute moral certainty, nor attain uncontested political
validity. Any deliberative or otherwise symbolically represented truth claim
has to be seen as provisional and should be made with an awareness of its ten-
tative nature. By implication, this means that there cannot exist a human col-
lectivity that truly commands an access to absolute truth as collectivity, i.e. as
a group that identically acts as an enlightened collective agent. Given Tang’s
conviction that the absolute truth can only be grasped in an ephemeral intu-
ition in actu, which is non-linguistic in nature, no such truth possession can
be objectified or permanently incorporated into ideologies or other systems
18 CHAPTER 1

of thought. Neither can any political order as such be regarded as an immedi-

ate manifestation of an intuitively accessible, ultimate truth.
One of the major problems posed by the civil-theological foundation of
Tang’s political thought is shared by many other schools, currents, and theories
in the history of political thought—namely, the imposition that one is called
on to believe in the notion of man and human nature as part of an underlying
political anthropology. For the non-believer it is challenging, to say the least,
to follow Tang when he maintains, on the one hand, that “innate knowing”
entails a moment of sudden awareness free from any form of intersubjectivity,
and on the other, that individual self-cultivation which is clearly dominated
by intersubjective elements (e.g. moral practice) leads to “innate knowing.” At
this point, Tang’s project of reconstructing Confucianism as a civil theology
begins to break down—at least from the perspective of a political philosophy
grounded in intersubjectivity. This does not mean, however, that it is a com-
plete failure. On the contrary, Tang’s civil theology encourages deliberation
about central issues to political thought. This includes questions pertaining to
the formation of political reason, the normative potential of Confucian tradi-
tions, and the secularization of pre-modern Chinese speculation in the trans-
national context of accommodating Western political ideas.

The Watershed of 1949

Between 1934 and 1948, just five out of the considerable number of articles that
Tang published during those years addressed political issues. They specifically
dealt with Chinese nationalism and national consciousness and China’s national
salvation movement. Two other articles from 1938 concerned China’s war of
resistance against Japan.36 Tang appears to having taken very little interest in
political issues at this time. The immediate inducement for turning his atten-
tion in this direction was the communist takeover on the Mainland. In an article
published in 1955, he explained that prior to 1949 he had been generally confi-
dent with respect to China’s political prospects and had thus felt free to indulge
in purely academic work, oblivious to the rising communist threat.37
After 1949, Tang was much more concerned with the fragility of individual
subjectivity in times of revolutionary turmoil, ideological contestations, rapid
modernization and, last but not least, exilic isolation. His Confucian philoso-
phy now took the form of an intellectual engagement that extended beyond

36 Tang, Zhushu nianbiao, pp. 6, 9, 13–14.

37 Tang, Zhonghua renwen yu dangjin shijie, Vol. 7, p. 172.
Tang Junyi ’ s Intellectual Endeavor 19

purely academic concerns. Significantly, at around the time he immigrated to

Hong Kong and was developing his political ideas, he began to conceptualize
his Confucian civil-theology. This endeavor was intimately linked to the events
of 1949 and the new political constellation that emerged during that fateful
period. Starting in the 1950s he indeed hardly addressed controversies about
Confucian traditions or the historical reliability of Confucian scriptures from
the Republican period. By all appearances, he was convinced that the cata-
clysmic events of 1949, the continuing process of global modernization, and
the disruptions of the Cold War period represented challenges to the “human-
istic tradition” of Confucianism which greatly transcended those that had
been previously raised in China. One can surmise that this was the reason why
Tang very rarely mentioned earlier works by such prominent figures as Liang
Shuming, Xiong Shili 熊十力 (1885–1968) and Zhang Junmai.
While the historical contexts of Tang’s initiation to political thought are
fairly easy to discern, the same cannot be said regarding the circumstances
surrounding the eventually drastic decline in his production of political writ-
ings. For reasons that remain unclear, Tang turned away from political phi-
losophy after the mid-1960s. This may have been due to the beginning of the
so-called Cultural Revolution, with its crude anti-Confucian propaganda.
During the 1970s, his rejection of the “Cultural Revolution” might have brought
him somewhat closer to the anti-communist regime of the Nationalist Party
(Guomindang; GMD) in Taiwan. Indeed, he gave an interview in 1974 that gives
a glimpse of the enormous impact that the victory of Chinese communism and
the subsequent events of the “Cultural Revolution” had on the intellectuals in
exile.38 Tang further noted how strongly he reacted to film footage of the mass
movements of the “Cultural Revolution” that was shown in movie theaters in
Hong Kong around 1972, comparing such slogan shouting masses of people to
the mass rallies that had taken place in Nazi Germany.39
During his years in exile, Tang’s judgments about the communist regime
on the Mainland were consistently negative. In contrast, his attitude towards
the regime of the GMD was much more ambivalent. This may be explained
by the fact that, to begin with, Tang had been briefly employed by the bureau-
cracy of the GMD government during the Second World War. In 1939, he had
accepted an offer to work as an editor on special assignment in the Ministry of
Education in the war-time capital of Chongqing. At that time, he was assisting
Chen Lifu 陳立夫, the Minister of Education, with a book project. Chen had
been one of the chief theoreticians of the party’s right wing and an eminent

38 See Tang, Zhonghua renwen yu dangjin shijie, Vol. 8, pp. 311–333.

39 Tang, Nianpu, pp. 183–184.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
persecuted Khalif, and, enlisting the sympathies of the innumerable
malcontents who viewed with favor any plan promising the overthrow
of Suleyman, soon found himself at the head of a formidable
revolution.
Ali had hardly landed in Andalusia, before Amir-Ibn-Fotuh,
governor of Malaga, whose attachment to the family of the dethroned
Khalif had been recently strengthened by the appropriation of a part
of his dominions by the Berbers, surrendered that important fortress,
and, Ali having formed a junction with Khairan at Almuñecar, the
allied army pressed forward without delay to attack the capital. Zawi,
the governor of Granada, whose authority and resources equalled
those of Suleyman himself, as soon as intelligence of the invasion
reached him, announced his adherence to the cause of the
insurgents. The times had never been more auspicious for the
enterprise of a pretender. By the populace, too often disposed to
hold the leader responsible for the delinquencies of his faction,
Suleyman was regarded as a fiend incarnate. The soldiers despised
him because they mistook his disposition to lenity for an indication of
cowardice. The supporters of the ancient dynasty and the
dependents of the Amirides, who attributed to his agency the
persecution of which they had been the victims, never mentioned his
name without a curse. The palace and the Divan were as usual on
such occasions centres of intrigue. The army swarmed with traitors.
In Cordova itself the mob, which had enjoyed for centuries an
unenviable reputation for inconstancy and turbulence, awaited with
impatience the signal for revolt. The consequences of this political
condition soon became evident. The detachments sent by Suleyman
to check the insurgents were one after another put to flight. When
the Prince himself appeared in the camp to take command in person,
he was seized by his own troops and sent in chains to the enemy. A
few days afterwards the wretched Suleyman received at the hands
of the executioner, after the infliction of every insult, the last penalty
of disaster and incapacity,—the usual fate of captive monarchs in
that barbarous age. In spite of the diligent search instituted by the
victorious generals, the missing Hischem could not be found, and, as
previously related, although Suleyman had insisted that he was
dead, the corpse exhumed as his and subjected to a superficial and
insufficient identification was not accepted as genuine by those not
interested in supporting a fraud, and the fate of the unfortunate son
of Al-Hakem remains to this day an impenetrable mystery.
In compliance with an agreement in which he had taken
advantage of the credulity of Khairan, Ali now assumed the royal
insignia and authority, with the title of Al-Nassir-al-Din-Allah, and
another usurper was invested with the uncertain and perilous dignity
of nominal ruler of the dismembered khalifate.
Contrary to the expectations of his opponents, and to the infinite
disgust of his partisans, who had counted upon indulgence in
unbridled license, the beginning of the reign of Ali was marked by a
display of moderation and justice for many years unknown to the
unhappy people of Andalusia. Before his tribunal the distinctions of
faction were no longer recognized, and the Spaniard, without regard
to his political relations, received equal consideration with the
African. The bandit propensities of the Berbers were mercilessly
repressed. The fact that Ali had been reared among them, was
connected with their race by ties of consanguinity, was familiar with
no other tongue but theirs, and had been raised to the throne
through their influence, afforded no security to the Berber malefactor.
The slightest act of rapine was punished with instant death. An
incident is related by the Arab historians which conveys a significant
idea of this summary administration of justice. As the Khalif was
once passing through a gate of the capital, he encountered a
mounted Berber with a quantity of grapes on the saddle before him.
The royal cavalcade was instantly halted, and the Prince demanded
of the horseman: “Whence hast thou obtained those grapes?” “I
seized them like a soldier,” was the insolent reply. At a signal from
Ali, the culprit was at once dragged to the roadside and decapitated.
His head was then fastened upon the grapes, and the horse, with its
ghastly burden, preceded by a crier, was led through the principal
streets of the city as an example of the fate to be expected by all
whose lawless inclinations, confirmed by former impunity, tempted
them to violate the rights of person and property. In the forms of legal
procedure the new ruler discarded the habits of seclusion and
mystery affected by the later Ommeyades, and returned to the
ancient and patriarchal simplicity which had characterized from time
immemorial the unceremonious judicial tribunals of the Orient. On
certain appointed days, attended by a slender retinue and with
scarcely any tokens of his exalted rank, he sat at the gate of the
palace to receive the complaints and redress the grievances of his
subjects. At the bar of this court no offender could hope for immunity
through pride of lineage, amount of wealth, or important tribal
affiliations. Justice was meted out equally to all. The executioner was
constantly in attendance, and infliction of the penalty, whether by
scourging, imprisonment, or death, followed closely upon the
sentence. As the Berbers constituted the majority of the delinquents,
they soon began to denounce their sovereign as a political apostate
and an enemy of his race. This exhibition of judicial severity was
followed by the most satisfactory results. The irresponsible infliction
of unusual punishments was replaced by the regular process of law.
The Berbers submitted sullenly but completely to the disagreeable
but wholesome restraints of discipline. The citizen and the peasant
could now, without serious molestation, pursue their ordinary
employments. The streets became safe for pedestrians. The
highways were purged of banditti. Commerce began to revive. The
partiality of Ali for the Andalusians, who, as the more peaceable
class of the population, were seldom arraigned before the magistrate
to answer for violation of the laws, became daily more marked.
Indeed, he had formed the commendable design of depriving his
Berber subjects of the property they had acquired by the pillage of
their neighbors, and of restoring to the latter the estates which had
been confiscated without other warrant of authority than that
conveyed by force during the lawless period which had followed the
death of Al-Mansur. This plan was frustrated by the habitual
inconstancy and ingratitude of the people, fomented by the
discontent of a military leader, whose exaggerated estimate of his
own abilities was in a direct proportion to his inordinate ambition.
For nearly two years Ali governed the states of his contracted
kingdom with exemplary firmness and wisdom. But, while reluctantly
acknowledging the benefits they enjoyed, the partisans of the House
of Ommeyah could never forget the foreign origin and barbarian
antecedents of the determined prince who had avenged their wrongs
and tamed the ferocity of their savage oppressors. As for the
Africans, they detested the ruler who owed his rank to their courage
and treachery, and who repaid their devotion with a contumely and
an impartial disregard of their claims which they did not hesitate to
denounce as the most flagrant ingratitude. Thus the inflexible justice
of Ali alienated his partisans, while the national prejudice against his
race operated to his disadvantage in every other quarter. Aware of
this feeling, Khairan, who felt aggrieved because he was not
intrusted with a larger share in the government he had contributed to
establish, organized a conspiracy to restore the Ommeyades to
power. Al-Morthada, a great-grandson of Abd-al-Rahman III., was
selected as the representative of the malcontents under the title of
Abd-al-Rahman IV. The prestige investing the name of the illustrious
family of the pretender, the hope of vengeance upon the Berbers, the
prospect of revolution, so attractive to the Andalusian mind, brought
many followers to his standard. Valencia declared for him. The
governor of Saragossa espoused his cause and marched southward
with a force of several thousand men. The services of Raymond,
Count of Barcelona, were secured, and he appeared in the rebel
camp at the head of a squadron of Christian knights sheathed in
complete armor. The popularity of the enterprise enlisted the
sympathy of the peasantry, always prone to insurrection. In Cordova
the presence of the soldiery alone prevented an outbreak, and it was
problematical for how long a time the garrison would be able to
overawe the populace, even if their own fidelity remained unshaken.
Indignant that his efforts for the restoration and maintenance of
public order should meet with such a recompense, Ali renounced the
statesmanlike policy he had hitherto pursued. The Berbers again
reigned supreme in the capital. Once more the streets rang with the
tumultuous din of outrage and riot, with the groans of murdered men,
with the shrieks of violated women. The tribunals, which for many
months had dispensed justice with rigid impartiality, now refused to
entertain a complaint against the military tyrants whose passions,
exasperated by restraint, raged with redoubled violence. An army of
informers was maintained by the government, and eminent citizens
were daily consigned to dungeons on the false testimony of the vilest
of mankind. This spirit of espionage was so general that it is
remarked by a writer, who himself witnessed these scenes, that
“one-half of the inhabitants was constantly employed in watching the
other half.” The possession of wealth was of itself a powerful
incentive to an accusation of treason. A convenient and effective
method of replenishing the treasury was devised by causing the
arrest of the rich upon fabricated evidence and then restoring them
to liberty after payment of an exorbitant ransom. When the friends of
the victims came to escort them to their homes, their horses were
seized and they were forced to return on foot. It was not unusual for
the houses of the nobles to be robbed in open day by the African
guards of the Khalif. The few remaining palaces erected by the
Ommeyades were destroyed; the known adherents of that faction
were persecuted with unrelenting severity, and every conceivable
insult was visited upon those whose prejudices against the party in
power were assumed to exist by reason of their literary tastes or
their superior erudition. The mosques, which heretofore, either from
superstitious fear or from motives of policy, had been exempt from
forced contributions, were now subjected to the most vexatious
extortion. Their ornaments were carried away. Their revenues were
confiscated. The ministers of religion were taxed. Many of the finest
temples of the capital were deserted or became the haunts of
nocturnal marauders. Even the devout dared not assemble for the
worship of God. The consciousness of the perfidious ingratitude
displayed by his subjects so embittered the temper of the Khalif that
he resolved upon the most extreme measures, and publicly
announced his intention of razing to its foundation the city of
Cordova. The accomplishment of this malignant design, which, in
destroying the most splendid architectural monument of Moslem
genius, would at the same time have inflicted an irreparable injury
upon art and archæology, was fortunately frustrated by the
assassination of the tyrant. Three of his most trusted slaves,
animated by a desire to liberate their country from the evils from
which it suffered, and, so far as can be determined, without the co-
operation of others, killed Ali in the bath on the very day he was
about to take the field against the enemy.
The murder of the usurper was far from producing the effect
desired and expected by the revolutionists, who everywhere hailed it
with the most extravagant demonstrations of rejoicing. The dreaded
Africans still overawed the populace of the capital. The emissaries of
Al-Morthada were unable to arouse the mob, in whose mind was still
fresh the remembrance of the merciless vengeance of these
barbarians. A council of chieftains was assembled, and the crown
was offered to Kasim, the brother of Ali, at that time governor of
Seville, who, a trusty lieutenant of Al-Mansur, had served with
gallantry in many campaigns against the Christians.
While these events were taking place the cause of the
Ommeyade party was declining. Its head, who had been proclaimed
khalif under the name of Abd-al-Rahman IV., manifested too
independent a spirit to please those who had expected to retain him
in perpetual subjection. After the factitious enthusiasm of revolution
had subsided, the ranks of the insurgents began to be seriously
depleted by desertions. Recruits could not be enlisted for an
enterprise which now offered the unattractive prospect of much
fighting and privation and but little plunder. The governors of
important towns held aloof, or withdrew from an alliance which they
had never heartily indorsed. Even the ardor of the leaders was
visibly cooled. Khairan himself, whose treasonable propensities were
incorrigible, now agreed with Zawi, governor of Granada,—before
which city the revolutionary army was encamped,—to abandon the
Ommeyade pretender during the first engagement. The perfidious
compact was fulfilled to the letter. The traitors deserted in the heat of
battle, the faithful adherents of Al-Morthada were overpowered and
cut off to a man, and that unfortunate prince, having escaped with
difficulty from the field, was followed and put to death by the
horsemen of Khairan.
With the death of Ali had disappeared the last impediment to the
undisputed ascendency of the Berber faction. The people of
Cordova, who had taken no active part in the recent disturbances,
submitted with scarcely a murmur to the government of a sovereign
who, though trained in camps, evinced little inclination for scenes of
bloodshed. The persecution of Ali had effectually broken the spirit of
the Andalusian nobility. The wealthy were impoverished. The
philosophers, the theologians, the faquis,—whose hypocrisy served
as a convenient cloak for their ambition,—had been either
exterminated or driven into exile. Thus, the elements of successful
resistance having been paralyzed or entirely eliminated, a rare
opportunity was afforded for the restoration of order and prosperity.
In the very first dispositions of his reign, Kasim displayed a tact and
a magnanimity which would have done credit to the most
enlightened monarch. He suppressed the violence which had
hitherto been tolerated, if not sanctioned, by representatives of the
law. He granted an amnesty to the vanquished. The treason of
Khairan was pardoned. Eminent supporters of the ancient dynasty
were raised to important and responsible commands. Strenuous
efforts were made to heal the wounds caused by generations of civil
war and to reconcile, at least in appearance, the political dissensions
prevailing even among individuals of the same family, and which
constantly distracted the peace of every community. This patriotic
and conservative policy of Kasim had hardly commenced to restore
public confidence, when a measure, adopted for his own security,
once more awakened the animosity of the implacable enemies of
civilization and order. Long familiarity with the inconstant
attachments and treacherous character of the Berbers had rendered
the Khalif unwilling to entrust his person to their keeping. They were
therefore gradually removed from the palace and their places
supplied by negro slaves purchased in the markets of Africa, whose
habits of obedience were presumed to afford a better warrant for
their fidelity than the offensive pretensions and proud independence
of the desert tribes, confirmed for years by legal impunity and
successful revolution. The disgrace of the royal guard was
considered an unpardonable affront by every individual of the Berber
nation. A plot was formed to bestow the khalifate on Yahya, a son of
Ali, whose absence in Africa had alone prevented his succession to
his father, and who responded with alacrity to the overtures of the
Berber chieftains. Landing at Malaga, which city was under the
jurisdiction of his brother Edris, and welcomed with the acclamations
of the people, he occupied Cordova without encountering the
slightest resistance. Kasim, having received intimations of the
intended defection of his followers, left the capital at night, and,
attended by five slaves on whom he could rely, withdrew to Seville.
The pre-eminent unfitness of Yahya for his exalted position soon
became apparent. He alienated the Berbers by refusing to restore
the ancient privileges of plunder and extortion to which they
considered themselves entitled by the right of conquest. Proud of his
descent from the family of the Prophet, he constantly maintained a
haughty demeanor towards the nobility, and disdained all intercourse
with the people, whom he affected to regard as slaves.
Notwithstanding this offensive assumption of superiority, he chose
for his intimate associates men without standing or character, whose
principal recommendation was their indulgence of his whims and
their subserviency to his vices. The eminent qualifications for
government derived from intellectual acquirements and military
experience received no consideration at the hands of this vain and
ignorant successor of the khalifs. Discontent soon spread throughout
the court and the city. The Berbers importunately demanded a
division of the public treasure. The slave-guards of Kasim,
apprehensive for their safety, sought the presence and the
forgiveness of their former monarch at Seville. Officers, who had
signalized their abilities in the councils and the campaigns of a
generation, abandoned with disgust the cares of government to the
incompetent and low-born sycophants who swarmed around the
throne. In no mosque of Andalusia was the khotba repeated in the
name of Yahya; that expressive mark of sovereignty was still enjoyed
by Kasim, or by some representative of the uncertain and fast-
vanishing dignity of the royal race of the Ommeyades.
Thus restricted to the walls of Cordova, whose population
regarded his conduct with unconcealed disfavor, Yahya soon began
to appreciate the threatening character of the perils that environed
him. Convinced of his inability to defend himself in case of attack, he
retired to Malaga, accompanied by a retinue little superior in
numbers to that with which his uncle had abandoned his capital but a
few months before.
The return of Kasim was the signal for fresh conspiracies and
renewed disorder. In the conflict of interests the two factions which
had accomplished his expulsion were again arrayed against him,
and the force of negro slaves, whose duplicity had so signally
disappointed his expectations, constituted the sole and precarious
bulwark of the throne. A report, perhaps well founded, gained
credence in Cordova that another descendant of Abd-al-Rahman
would soon lay claim to his hereditary and usurped prerogatives.
When the rumor of this movement reached the court, Kasim adopted
the most radical measures for the prevention of a new revolution. An
indiscriminate proscription was inaugurated against the
Ommeyades. The uncertainty of the candidate for regal honors,
whose pretensions were to be exhibited for the approval of the
people, stimulated the animosity and increased the vigilance of the
authorities. The members of the proscribed dynasty fled precipitately
from the capital. Of those arrested, many were summarily executed.
Others were cast into filthy dungeons to perish slowly by disease
and hunger. Princes bred in luxury were compelled to assume the
most humble disguises and to adopt the most menial occupations to
avoid arrest. The indefatigable search of the emissaries of the Khalif,
aided by the venal malice of informers, caused the seizure of a
considerable number of the obnoxious faction, who had found a
temporary asylum in the villages and farm-houses of the surrounding
country. These rigorous precautions failed, however, to intimidate the
seditious and exasperated populace. An insurrection suddenly broke
out. Oppressed by the tyranny of the government and the increasing
license of the soldiery, the citizens, animated by irresistible fury,
drove the Khalif, the negro slaves, and the Berbers headlong from
the city. The capital was now invested by those who had recently
been its masters. Though unprovided with facilities indispensable to
the successful maintenance of a siege, they more than once
managed to force their way inside the fortifications. The citizens,
aware that no quarter was to be expected from their infuriated
enemies, defended themselves with the valor of desperation. The
gates were walled up with masonry. The ramparts were guarded with
ceaseless vigilance. Women and children contributed their puny but
encouraging assistance to the almost superhuman efforts of their
husbands and fathers. Hunger, exposure, suffering, were endured by
all with uncomplaining fortitude. At length the failure of provisions
necessitated a compromise. Overtures were made by the besieged
for a peaceful evacuation. The Berbers, certain of their prey and
meditating a bloody revenge, refused to entertain any proposals from
a foe reduced to extremity. Then a sally was made, and the
besiegers, unable to withstand the impetuous attack of the
Cordovans, sustained a crushing defeat. Their army was scattered;
the negroes were slaughtered; the surviving Berbers betook
themselves to Malaga, where they entered the service of Yahya; and
Kasim, repulsed from the gates of Seville, in which city he had hoped
once more to find security, made his way to Xeres, where he soon
afterwards fell into the hands of his nephew, and was by his order
strangled in prison.
Liberated from the detested presence of the Berbers after an
interregnum of two months, the inhabitants of Cordova determined to
exercise the right of election in the choice of a ruler, an ancient and
integral but long suspended principle of their polity. A vast concourse
was convoked in the spacious temple erected by Abd-al-Rahman I.
The proceedings were conducted with every circumstance of pomp
and solemnity. The presence of the surviving princes of the House of
Ommeyah, of the descendants of families illustrious for centuries in
the annals of the Peninsula, of nobles who traced their lineage
beyond the Hegira, all arrayed in silken vestments embroidered with
gold and silver, imparted an air of majesty and splendor to the scene.
Thousands of the clients of the dynasty, whose fate had been so
closely interwoven with that of the capital it had done so much to
embellish, attended in the snowy robes which constituted the
distinguishing badge of their party. The Mosque, which easily
contained ten thousand people, was crowded to its utmost capacity.
Three candidates—Abd-al-Rahman, brother of Mohammed Mahdi;
Suleyman, son of Abd-al-Rahman IV.; and Mohammed-Ibn-al-Iraki—
appeared to solicit the suffrages of the multitude. Of these,
Suleyman, whose claims were urged by the viziers and by the most
powerful nobles of the court, seemed so certain of success that, with
ill-advised haste, he appeared in the assemblage clad in the
costume reserved for royalty, while his adherents had prematurely
caused the deed of investiture to be drawn up in his name. But the
votes of the lower classes, with whom Abd-al-Rahman was the
favorite, overwhelmed the aristocratic party of Suleyman, and,
amidst the acclamations of his supporters, the fortunate candidate
received the reluctant homage of his rivals, and was raised to the
throne of his ancestors under the name of Abd-al-Rahman V.
The reign of the new Khalif lasted only forty-seven days. His
elevation was displeasing to the old nobility. His orthodoxy was
suspected. The irreverent speeches of his companions were heard
with disgust by the theologians and the ministers of religion, who,
perhaps not unjustly, thought that infidel and sacrilegious sentiments
should not be encouraged in the presence of the Successor of the
Prophet. The predilection of the young prince for the society of poets
and scholars was a source of complaint to the populace, including
many thousand unemployed mechanics and laborers, who had been
impoverished by the unsettled condition of society, who had in vain
solicited relief from each successive administration, and who,
exasperated by repeated disappointments, were ready for any
desperate undertaking. The habitual discontent of this numerous
class was diligently encouraged by Mohammed, a degenerate
grandson of the great Al-Nassir, who united the tastes of an
aristocrat with the arts of a demagogue. By the mediation of Ibn-
Imran, a noble who had been imprisoned for sedition and
imprudently released, a combination of the two most antagonistic
elements of Moslem society was accomplished; and disappointed
ambition induced the haughty patrician to co-operate with the laborer
and the slave who, with the jealousy born of degradation and
poverty, had always regarded the members of the ancient Arab
nobility as their natural and implacable enemies. When the
conspiracy was matured, the guards, who had been corrupted, were
withdrawn; the ministers quietly deserted their master; the
revolutionists occupied the citadel; and Abd-al-Rahman, dragged
ignominiously from an oven where he had hastily sought
concealment, was put to death without ceremony or delay. The
palace was then sacked by the mob; every individual related by
blood or affinity to the Berbers was butchered; the seraglio of the late
Khalif was apportioned among the leaders of the triumphant faction;
and Mohammed, surrounded with the sanguinary evidences of
victory and with the corpse of his predecessor lying before him, took
his seat upon the throne.
 The unnatural union of the patricians and the mob was dissolved
as soon as its object had been attained. The former despised
Mohammed, whom they had used solely as an instrument of
vengeance, and at once begun to plot his overthrow. Ina few months
another insurrection vacated the royal office. Mohammed escaped in
a female disguise, only to be poisoned by one of his followers. The
African, Yahya, who ruled the city of Malaga, was invited to assume
the hazardous and unprofitable honor attaching to the empty title of
khalif and the precarious sovereignty of Cordova. That prince,
knowing by experience the character of those who tendered him a
crown, and the desperation which must have prompted that act when
the prejudice against his nationality was considered, while not
unwilling to include Cordova in his dominions, yet hesitated to intrust
his person to a people whose reputation for disorder and perfidy had
gained for it such an infamous and wide-spread notoriety. He
therefore delegated his authority to a Berber officer, who, to the
consternation and disgust of the inhabitants, took up his abode in the
Alcazar, with the title and the powers of viceroy.
The old feeling against the Africans was soon revived. A new
conspiracy solicited the interference of Khairan, whose advancing
years apparently offered no impediment to his participation in
treasonable or revolutionary enterprises, and, with the aid of
Modjehid, governor of Denia, he easily drove the Berbers from
Cordova. But, as each party feared the other, no agreement could be
effected concerning the succession, and the Cordovans were again
left to extricate themselves as best they might from the difficulties
which misgovernment and license had brought upon them. Once
more an attempt was made to restore the Ommeyades, and the
crown was offered to a brother of Abd-al-Rahman IV., called
Hischem, a name of inauspicious associations, and fated to
designate the last of that renowned dynasty of Moorish kings.
Already in the decline of life, of moderate abilities, and for years
accustomed to the hardships of poverty and exile, Hischem III.
possessed none of those qualities which inspire the respect of the
noble and the learned or arouse the enthusiasm of the giddy and
inconstant populace. His person was without dignity. His manners
were those of a clown. His education had been neglected. Long
familiarity with hunger had made him insensible to all enjoyments
save those afforded by the indulgence of inordinate gluttony.
Although he was welcomed by the inhabitants of Cordova with every
demonstration of affection and rejoicing, he constantly maintained a
reserved and stolid demeanor which as ill became his station and
prospective greatness as did the simplicity of his attire and
smallness of his retinue, neither of which was commensurate with
the rank of even a prosperous citizen. Upon a people who had not
forgotten the majesty of the ancient khalifate and the lavish display
of regal magnificence exhibited by its princes, the plebeian
appearance and insignificant equipage of this successor of the
famous Abd-al-Rahman III. produced a feeling of disappointment not
unmingled with contempt. Nor did the subsequent conduct of
Hischem III. tend to remove the unfavorable impressions which his
first appearance elicited. His voracity and his indolence made him a
conspicuous target for the sarcastic wits of the capital. His practical
surrender of the power and emoluments of his office to his prime
minister, Hakem-Ibn-Said, whose former respectable but humble
occupation of weaver seemed a doubtful qualification for important
employments of state, provoked the envy and indignation of the
arrogant and highly accomplished Arab nobility. The arbitrary
measures devised by Hakem to replenish the treasury soon
increased the unpopularity which his obscure origin and his
unexpected exaltation inspired. He confiscated and sold at auction
the jewels and other personal effects of the wealthy Amirides, who,
belonging to the weakest political faction of Andalusia, could be
oppressed and robbed with comparative impunity. These
descendants of the renowned Al-Mansur were also forced to
purchase for an enormous sum the metal collected from the royal
palaces, whose destruction was popularly attributed to the ambition
or the vengeance of the adherents of that family of daring
adventurers. Amidst the maledictions and unavailing remonstrances
of the clergy, the sanctity of the mosques was again profaned, and
the treasures accumulated through the generosity of the pious
compelled to contribute to the imperious necessities of the state. The
diminution of their revenues exasperated the ministers of religion far
more than the sacrilegious interference with their authority and the
appropriation of the precious utensils of divine worship. But the
theological element had long since, by its avarice, its hypocrisy, and
its inclination to political disorder, forfeited the respect of the people
of Cordova, where once the ravings of a popular faqui could awaken
the apprehensions of the most powerful of sovereigns. While Hakem
had little to fear from the hostility of this class, the conduct of the
patricians caused him no little anxiety. All attempts to conciliate them
proved ineffectual. They scorned his advances. They refused with
disdain honorable and lucrative employments. The most magnificent
presents failed to gain their friendship or even to secure their
neutrality. Thus, repulsed by those whose support he had hoped to
acquire, the minister was driven to the inferior orders for the
selection of his generals and his magistrates. Every official now
shared the odium attaching to his superior. The prejudices thus
entertained by the most illustrious and influential order of the empire
against the government could not long exist without consequences
fatal to its stability.
To insure the continuance of his authority, the astute vizier, who
no doubt drew a parallel between his own case and that of the
talented and unscrupulous hajib of Hischem II., gratified with all the
resources of boundless wealth and unlimited power the sensual
caprices and epicurean tastes of his aged and dissolute sovereign.
The provinces were ransacked for delicacies to tempt his palate.
Such dainties as were unattainable in his own dominions were
procured in foreign countries through the medium of enterprising
merchants. The choicest wines of Spain, even then famous for the
variety and excellence of its vintage, were consumed at the royal
table in quantities which appalled the orthodox Mussulman, and
struck with amazement the more liberal courtier, who was familiar
with the scandalous excesses of preceding reigns. Professional
singers and dancers, of exquisite beauty and rare accomplishments,
solaced the leisure of the representative of a religion which
pronounced their performances an abomination in the sight of God.
The attendants of the Khalif were instructed to employ every artifice
to retain the latter in seclusion; but the congenial character of the
diversions with which the politic ingenuity of the minister daily
amused him afforded little probability of his interference with the
ambitious designs of one whose anticipation of the desires of his
master, in his eyes, more than atoned for the evils resulting from the
public misfortune.
But the character of Hischem, while weak, was far from
despicable. At times, despite the blandishments of the inmates of his
harem, he came forth from his retirement and mingled with the
people. He dispensed with liberal and indiscriminating hand the alms
whose bestowal is one of the cardinal virtues of the faith of Islam. He
visited the hospitals and brought hope and consolation to the couch
of the sick and the dying. His generosity relieved the necessities of
impecunious pilgrims. The kindness and urbanity he manifested,
even to the most degraded, acquired for him the respect and esteem
of his subjects. Many a malefactor condemned to an inglorious death
had reason to applaud his noble but often mistaken clemency. These
estimable qualities, however, could not, in the eyes of the indignant
aristocracy, compensate for the habitual neglect of public duty
displayed by the Khalif, nor for his complacent resignation of the
destinies of the empire into the hands of a low-born subordinate,
whose creatures monopolized the highest employments and exacted
the unwilling homage of cavaliers whose lineage antedated the
Conquest by centuries. A number of nobles, whose influence had
been secretly but effectively exerted during the recent disturbances,
again met for consultation. The deposition of Hischem was resolved
upon, and it was also determined that they themselves should
hereafter be the sole depositaries of power. The method they
pursued to accomplish their end affords a significant illustration of
the low standard of public morals which at that time universally
prevailed. It must be remembered that these men were no vulgar
conspirators. Of the distinctions conferred by birth, education,
political experience, and military renown none possessed a larger
share. They belonged to the most haughty and exclusive of the
patricians. Their blood had never been contaminated by degrading
alliances with African, Jew, or Spaniard. Aside from the losses
incurred through enforced contributions, their wealth had not been
sensibly impaired by the destructive accidents of revolution and civil
war. Their attainments would have been respectable even when
Cordova was the most enlightened community in Europe, and now,
in its age of degeneracy, few indeed could be found to rival them in
acuteness and erudition. Some were descended from a line of
courtiers for generations employed in the diplomatic service of the
khalifate. Others had exercised their military talents against the
Christian chivalry on the frontiers of Aragon and Catalonia. A few
theologians were to be found among them whose religious principles
had not escaped the vicious contagion of the age, and with whom
questions of casuistry were invariably subordinated to the alluring
claims of pecuniary interest and worldly ambition. It would naturally
be presumed that men of this character would be solicitous to
maintain a high standard of personal honor and political integrity. But
constant familiarity with treason in its most repulsive forms; with the
organized hypocrisy that permeated every department of the
government and every rank of society; with the savage tyranny of
princes, who themselves did not hesitate to assume the hateful office
of executioner; with the deliberate malice of assassins, who without
compunction thrust the dagger into the vitals of their unsuspecting
friends; with the irreconcilable enmities of the nearest kindred; with
the spirit of anarchy ripe among the masses, had produced such
complete demoralization that no caste or individual was
uncontaminated by its pernicious influence. The association of
nobles, above alluded to, had organized itself into a semi-official
body under the designation of the Council of State. At its head was
Ibn-Djahwar, a statesman of great talents, of large experience, of
exquisite tact, of indefatigable energy. The antagonism between this
powerful junta and the minister became each day more bitter, as
each endeavored, with industrious malignity, to subvert the authority
of the other. The influence of his favorite was paramount with the
Khalif, but the Khalif was a cipher. The nobles possessed the
sympathy of their order and the deferential admiration of the masses,
who always looked to the aristocracy for advice and leadership. They
artfully stimulated the discontent of the people, already sufficiently
grievous, by representing the public distress and the decline of
commercial prosperity—legitimate results of a long series of national
misfortunes—as the work of the obnoxious hajib. They aroused the
feeling against the Berbers, some of whom Hakem had intrusted with
important employments. Then, with an ingenious refinement of
treachery, they engaged a young adventurer named Ommeya, a
collateral descendant of the dynasty of Cordova, to head a revolution
with the hope of ascending the throne. Every facility was afforded
him by his shrewd but perfidious allies. They secretly distributed
emissaries through every quarter of the capital and the provinces.
They contributed gold with profuse liberality. The officers of the army
were corrupted by bribery and by promises of promotion. At length
the long-expected signal was given. The mob rose and killed the
minister as he issued from the palace. The venerable Khalif was
seized and confined in his apartments while the nobles assembled to
determine his fate. Ommeya, wholly unconscious of the duplicity of
which he was the victim, had already began to arrogate to himself
the prerogatives of imperial power by the issuing of commands, the
appointment of officials, and the distribution of rewards. The
members of the Council of State, attended by an armed escort, now
appeared upon the scene. With a solemnity that awed the multitude,
they declared the khalifate abolished, and assumed, by virtue of their
self-established dignity, the responsibilities of government and the
supreme direction of affairs. In a proclamation addressed to the
inhabitants of Andalusia, they recounted the calamities which had
ensued from the broken and disordered succession of the empire;
the repeated disappointments resulting from the elevation of
incompetent and dissolute pretenders; the insecurity of the present
and the uncertainty of the future which paralyzed all branches of
commerce and industry; the absolute hopelessness of improvement
under the worthless princes of a decrepit and unstable dynasty. With
modesty and firmness they enumerated their own qualifications for
the discharge of the functions they had usurped. They promised the
maintenance of order, the regulation of police, the removal of the
burdens imposed by immoderate and arbitrary taxation. They
pledged themselves to the faithful execution of the laws. The well-
known and eminent character of the nobles composing the Council
of State procured for their statements a respectful hearing, and their
power, long exercised in an advisory capacity, had prepared the way
for the unreserved assumption of authority. Without either
remonstrance or enthusiasm, the inhabitants of a considerable
portion of the Peninsula transferred their alliance from a line of
monarchs, rendered illustrious by the glorious traditions of nearly
three centuries, to the irresponsible members of a precarious and
self-constituted oligarchy.
The dupe of the conspirators, Ommeya, who with mingled rage
and terror had seen his delusive hopes of empire vanish in an
instant, was forcibly expelled from the city. His part having been
played, and his insignificance rendering him unworthy of further
attention, he remained at liberty, until, having tried to secretly enter
the capital, he was arrested, and his disappearance from that
moment was attributed, not without probability, to the sanguinary
precautions of the Council of State.
Hischem was condemned to imprisonment for life in an isolated
fortress of the Sierra Ronda. The negligence or the corruption of the
guard, however, enabled him to escape after a few months’
detention, and he passed the five remaining years of his existence in
the city of Lerida, a dependency of the princely family of Ibn-Hud,
Emirs of Saragossa.
With Hischem III. finally disappeared the dynasty which had ruled,
for the most part with phenomenal success and splendor, the
powerful empire of Moorish Spain. In the space of two hundred and
sixty-seven years, fourteen khalifs of the House of Ommeyah had
guided the destinies of that empire. Of these princes, six pre-eminent
in executive ability, in intellectual culture, in military genius, in
political sagacity, had ascended, one after another, to the foremost
rank among the great sovereigns of the earth. They had founded
magnificent cities. They had erected palaces, whose crumbling ruins
suggest the creations of the genii. They had collected vast libraries.
Their commercial establishments were to be found among the most
remote nations. The prowess of their captains had been recognized
on the banks of the Rhone, on the plains of Lombardy, in the
provinces of the Atlas, in the islands of the Mediterranean. Their
munificence and culture had made the imperial city of the
Guadalquivir a shrine of literary pilgrimage. In that city the
aristocracy of intellect was even more esteemed than nobility of
descent. Its possessors were the companions, the favorites, the
councillors of kings. In singular contrast to the prejudices of
subsequent ages, the edifices of religion were made subservient to
the interests of science, and the minarets of mosques were furnished
with astronomical apparatus. In the ability to erect stupendous
monuments of mechanical and agricultural industry, in the perfection
of hydraulic engineering, in the skilful employment of the principles of
fortification, the subjects of these polished rulers were the superiors
of any of the nations of antiquity. In such of the arts as were not
proscribed by the doctrines of their religion, they produced models of
unapproachable excellence. And, while these great advances in
civilization were being made under the auspices of Islam, the
European world was plunged in the darkness of barbarism and
superstition. Of the great capitals of Europe, to-day the renowned
seats of art and learning, London and Paris were the only ones
whose population was sufficiently numerous to raise them to the
dignity of cities. Within their precincts the most ordinary
conveniences of life were practically unknown. The intercourse of the
people was dominated by the brutal instincts of savage life; property
was at the mercy of the strongest; and society was conjointly ruled
by the sword of the baron and the crucifix of the monk. The vicious
tendencies of the Moslem system; the participation of barbarians in a
government whose mechanism they had neither the capacity to
understand nor the judgment to direct; the corruption of public
morals, inevitable in a state which has reached the highest degree of
civilization attainable under its institutions; the gradual relaxation and
final rupture of the ties of allegiance which bind the subject to the
sovereign; the decrepitude of a nation which, in obedience to the
inexorable necessity resulting from its political and social conditions,
had completed its existence and fulfilled its destiny in the history of
the world, had undermined the foundations and demolished the
imposing fabric of the Ommeyade empire. The time had long since
passed when the magic of a name, whose owners had accomplished
so much for the cause of human progress, had ennobled the pursuits
of learning and assumed the patronage of art,—a name almost
synonymous with national prosperity and regal grandeur,—could
inspire the respect of foreign nations or arouse the dormant
enthusiasm of the multitude. No member of that dynasty, however
talented, could now have restored the monarchy of his ancestors,
whose reminiscences, for centuries refused the sanction of history
among Christian nations and imperfectly preserved even by Arab
authors, were destined to be largely transmitted to future ages
through the suspicious medium of romantic and exaggerated
tradition.
The relation of Moorish affairs in the Peninsula becomes
henceforth necessarily desultory and disconnected. The authority,
once central at Cordova, was distributed among a hundred states,
whose rulers, mutually hostile and aspiring to individual supremacy,
constantly enlisted Christian auxiliaries in a struggle which must
eventually terminate in the contraction of their dominions, the
impairment of their sovereignty, and the destruction of their faith. The
blessings of peace, the preservation of order, were forgotten in a
fierce contest for power inspired by revenge and ambition.
Prejudices of race and religion, engendered by ages of unremitting
hostility, were discarded by unnatural coalitions of Moslem usurpers
and Castilian adventurers, whose only bond of alliance was a
community of spoliation and infamy. The intrigues of one faction
planted the banners of the Cross on the shores of the
Mediterranean. The blind animosity of another permitted the
desecration of the noblest monument of Moslem piety. Professed
disciples of the religion of Mohammed saw with complacent
indifference the horses of Christian knights tethered to the columns
of the mosque of Abd-al-Rahman, while the sanctuary, which still
contained the sacred Koran of the Khalif Othman, resounded with
the clanking tread of the curious and scoffing infidel.
The disintegrated sections of the empire were now to witness the
trial of a form of government hitherto unknown to the Moslem
constitution. The very essence of the polity of Islam had always been
the concentration of power in a single individual, who exercised
conjointly the functions appertaining to the official head of both
Church and State. The assumption of authority by an association of
nobles, while the result of political necessity, was none the less an
act of flagrant usurpation. It was repugnant to the principles, the
traditions, the legal and religious maxims upon which the
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