Confidential reporting was also sabotaged by collusion in the field. Hungli was frustrated to find that his province chiefs were getting together to smooth out differences in their evaluations of the subordinates they had in common, which deprived him of independent views. This practice came to light when he was comparing two confidential reports on personnel: one from a governor-general and another from that official's subordinate, a governor. "`The k'ao-yu they have entered for their subordinates are largely the same. We then went back and compared the memorials they had submitted last time, and there was absolutely no difference there, either. It was astonishing." These confidential memorials, he wrote, were vital reference material for appointments. "We keep them all in the palace to consult from time to time and We do not allow court officials to know their contents." Accordingly each provincial official "ought to report his own views. Not only is it unnecessary for officials to consolidate their views to demonstrate unanimity, it is actually better that they do not do so, so that We may refer to both in making Our judgments." If province chiefs got together to present a unified view, "what is the use of memorializing confidentially ?1149
Hungli's goal, evidently not attained to his satisfaction, was to deroutinize the bureaucratic evaluation system by collecting secret intelligence through another channel. The trouble was that his agents, in both channels, were the same. Apparently nobody retained much confidence in the confidentiality of the palace memorial system. That system was not, as it turned out, sufficient to pry open the provincial bureaucracy's grip on personnel evaluation.
Hungli's Rejection of New Routines
One solution that did not commend itself to Hungli was making the recommendation process even more routinized and precise. A censor charged that promotion recommendations from governors were full of "empty words," stock phrases such as "intelligent and able, conscientious and effective," vacuous cliches with little relevance to how the official actually had performed. The censor favored concrete accounts of official performance, in the form of a list of what a man had actually done. If the appointee did not live up to his billing, his recommender would be held accountable.50
Not unreasonable on the face of it, Hungli responded. But what would constitute "concrete accomplishments"? Those the censor had suggested, such as "founding schools, enforcing the pao-chia system [in which households were registered in decimal groups and made responsible for actions of their neighbors]"-these, too, were mere "empty words." After all, if pao-chia were ever really enforced, "how come local authorities cannot promptly catch bandits and escaped criminals?" Looking deeper into the matter, the admirable principle "government by men, not by laws" could not be realized by "setting up procedures that will simply generate conventional documents." Hungli ruled out any solution that involved further routinization, particularly generating more paperwork that could serve to ritualize or formalize government. But if the monarch ruled out more effective routines, what was the answer? Apparently it was the direct injection of imperial power.
The Imperial Audience System
The Ch'ing inherited the venerable system by which all regular officials were "escorted to audience" (tai-ling yin-chien) before being assigned to a post (in addition to the triennial audiences that all high' officials were expected to request). The "escorting" was done, for civil appointments, by the Board of Civil Office; and for military, by the Board of War. The daily accounts of audiences in the official Court Diaries (ch'i-chii-chu) record throngs of officials passing through the audience chamber. Though one might suppose that such meetings were nothing but mass prostrations and perfunctory benedictions, it is astonishing to discover the detail with which the monarch interviewed each man. And he really expected the prostrate candidate to speak up.51
Here was the autocrat using his personal insight without the benefit of a standard phrasebook. Our evidence for this process consists of sketches, from the vermilion brush itself, of officials who came to imperial audience, written on the candidate's vitae (sometimes called yin-chien-tan or Iii-Ii-tan). Hungli's father had evidently considered himself a keen judge of character.52 From l:iim, even a short interview evoked a shrewd character sketch, proof of the sage's capacity to judge men. Though Hungli's comments were briefer and blander, they had enormous power to propel or derail a man's career. The monarch's face-to-face impressions naturally overrode the routine judgments of the governor on the scene. Hence the career of an official with good marks from the field could be ruined by a bad audience. One hapless provincial judge brought to audience from Chekiang impressed Hungli as crude and boorish, "ignorant of proper ceremonies." When asked what he had to report about Chekiang affairs, he produced from his sleeve a poster he had prepared to overawe the commoners with graphic displays of the "five punishments." This struck Hungli as indelicate, and he fired off a query to the man's superior. The reply was that the judge had committed no administrative offenses and, although he lacked refinement, his integrity was quite sound, and he was "up to the job of Chekiang provincial judge." Hungli nevertheless had him fired the following year.51
Although Hungli's sixty-year reign must have produced thousands of these documents, only nineteen (from various years) have been recovered.54 It is instructive to compare these vermilion comments with the stilted k'ao-yu that were generated by the routine evaluation system.
Li Shan: The man seems a decent sort, can be appointed. But his capacities are really only up to the post of circuit-intendant. (1747)
Ch'u Yung-chung: The man may actually make something of himself. Circuit-intendant seems about right. (1751)
Chou Yuan-li: A keen and capable talent. 07!i8)
K'ung Chi-tung: Not up to his earlier record. He seems a fellow who is looking for a life of ease. (1758)
Yao Li-te: Durable, will make something of himself. (1761)
Chao-lin: Seems to have a conscience. He can be appointed. But could he be a bit short on talent? (i 761 )
T'an Shan-chung: Stuart, seems likely to make something of himself. He may be a bit insubstantial. (1762)
Yang Ch'ung-ying: Seems appointable. But he may be too clever by half. Conscientious. (1762)
Ma Sheng-chiao: Durable. Can appoint him. In the future, he'll make something of himself. (1762)
Shan Liang: Seems appointable. (1764)
Wu Chao-chi: A bright person. Even if We don't promote him [now], he'll still have opportunities to show his cleverness. Then We'll see. (1764)
Ti Yung-ch'ih: Seems intelligent. (1764)
Liang Chao-pang: He seems about right for this post. But he is not a great talent. (1766)
O Lu-li: Decent, conscientious. Seems durable. (1768)
Li Yuan: Appropriate, but not for a post that's too demanding. Seems all right. Appoint him. (177o)
Ku Hsueh-ch'ao: Unavoidably of the Soochow clique. Not a very great talent. (1773)
Te-er-ping-a: Can appoint him. (1780)
Chang T'ing-kuei: All right. (1781)
Shen jung-hsu: Well, all right. (1783)
Extracted from these comments, here are the evaluative phrases:
Positive characteristics
Decent (chung-hou)
Has gumption, can make something of himself (yu ch'u-hsi)
Keen and able (ching-kan neng-shih)
Durable (chieh-shih)
Has conscience (yu liang-hsin)
Smart (ming-pai)
Intelligent (ts'ung-ming)
Dutiful (pen fen)
Negative characteristics
Lazy (t'u an-i)
Short on talent (tuan yii ts'ai)
Insubstantial (po)
Not a great talent (fti to-ch'i)
Hungli is, of course, making judgments on the basis of face-to-face encounters, perhaps colored by prejudices (the characteristic distrust of Kiangnan literati, for example) or previous impressions (most of these men he has met in previous audiences). He is, then, judging character (as best he can discern it-credit him with some modesty for using the word "seems," ssu
, frequently) rather than judging performance. The list of character traits most appealing to him is headed by the phrase (common in spoken Chinese today) yu ch'u-hsi, which I have rendered "has gumption," or (if referring to the future) "will make something of himself." There may be an implied distinction between a man who relies on his own talents and one who clings to the patronage of others. Certainly it distinguishes the leader from the mere careerist who hews narrowly to the safe track.
Other phrases indicate that Hungli admired the virtues of solidity: "durable" (chieh-shih) suggests perseverence, hardiness of spirit, the kind of man who can hold his own in a troublesome post. "Decent" (chung-hou) and "dutiful" (pen fen) are close to virtues marked in the bureaucratic evaluations. For Hungli they probably distinguish a solid character from the trickster who will exploit public office to his own advantage. The opposite of these solid virtues is "insubstantial" (po), the mark of the lightweight whose surface abilities are not rooted firmly in character. Intelligence (ming-pai, ts'ung-ming) is a virtue of which just the right amount is wanted. Hungli is put off by the fellow who is "too clever by half," who uses his wits as a substitute for more substantial virtues.
The man whom Hungli failed to find, among this fragmentary sample at least, was the "great talent," the rare candidate who is destined for a top ministerial post. He often used the term with a negative to derogate a man who was clearly not an outstanding talent. Such quality is always more obvious in its absence than in its presence, and "not a great talent" is a fair comment on a man whose most evident trait is lack of genius. Even Chou Yuan-11, who was only a prefect at the time of this audience but who was to rise two decades later to the post of board president, was no "great talent," at least not at the audience I have just cited.
The monarch was concerned with character and talent as, indeed, were the formulaic entries of the routine system. Yet there are striking differences in the way the audience notes portray the ideal official. That image includes qualities of toughness, genuineness, and energy-colored equally by courage and ambition-that we call "gumption." This is the mark of the proud, hard-driving achiever: a leader, not a rule-ridden functionary. Caution and diligence, the marks of the reliable paper-shuffler, are not what Hungli sought for membership in the "club" of higher provincial and capital officials.
The Upper-Level System: "Political Appointments"
The principle of "the higher the post, the less routine the appointment" must be common to all bureaucratic systems. "Political appointments," as we know them, offer the chief executive the chance to install personal friends, or at any rate persons who share his views, in positions of power. Hungli plainly regarded the personnel in higher provincial and capital positions as too important for routine handling. He rejected a proposal to bring provincial treasurers and judges under the Grand Accounting, because he knew that punishing malfeasance in such sensitive posts could not wait for the routine triennial review." Although governors-general and governors, along with the upper crust of capital officials, were, in practice, exempt from the triennial evaluations, they had nevertheless been obliged to offer "self-evaluations" (tzu-ch'en) instead. Hungli simply tired of reading these prolix and probably formulaic documents, and in 1752 he abolished them.5' He would, he announced, personally reward and punish officials on that level whenever he wanted. "The evaluation and selection of high officials] will be daily borne in Our own breast," and hence for them the triennial rhythm of evaluation was pointless.57
Yet bearing such weighty material in his breast was not quite reassuring enough, and six years later he seemed to edge back toward formalism. Although the self-evaluation only produced "an endless procession of documents, with no value for practical government," no evaluation at all would make high officials complacent. Now the Board of Civil Office was to prepare, at the time of the Capital Investigation, one register for capital officials of rank three and up, and one for governors-general and governors, furnished with updated vitae for the emperor's reference. He was, however, hardly relaxing his direct control over these political appointments, but rather serving notice to his political appointees that he was not about to let their careers settle into comfortable ruts-to become routinized by default.
Even though We already have a thorough knowledge of whether they are worthy or not, there may yet be those who advance and retire together, seeking emoluments and behaving like horses loath to leave their stables [that is, are routine careerists]. If such men avoid major gaffes and continue to fill their posts adequately without being regularly evaluated, then when they have hovered around for a long time their official performance cannot but be harmed.
The selection and evaluation of political appointments, both as a formal system and as practical politics, operated by a set of rules that was distinct from the routine system. Although the Board of Civil Office was involved in the process to some extent, the monarch's autocratic power cut across. its routine procedures at every step. The higher the official, the less routine the procedures for his appointment and discipline, and the more direct the impact of the autocrat's personal power. Although this is only what one might expect, we need to know more exactly how this personal power was expressed.58
Ritual Behavior
The monarch's control of his "political appointees" rested largely on his personal relationship with them. This relationship was a two-way communication, proclaimed by the monarch and acknowledged by the bureaucrat. The monarch's constant and conventional recourse to expressions like "arms and legs, heart and backbone" (the upper echelons) is visible everywhere in the documents .59 The bureaucratic acknowledgment closed the loop of this dialogue of dependency and control. This acknowledgment shows up pointedly in the ritual that immediately follows an official's audience with the emperor and his assumption of a bureaucratic post: the submission of a "gratitude (hsieh-en) memorial" by the newly appointed official.
In a modern context, the gratitude memorial might seem the most abject of documents. It expresses utter personal dependency. Where is the "status honor" that is supposed to characterize the exalted scholar-bureaucrat? The "gumption" quotient seems low, if not nonexistent. It is an "oriental-despotic" document, a long verbal kowtow. Here is an example from 1769, which is worth quoting whole:
Wu Ta-shan, Governor-general of Hukuang, respectfully memorializes, humbly expressing gratitude for Imperial Benevolence:
Your humble official's nature is undistinguished, stupid, and base. I have received Your Majesty's munificent benevolence, have been nourished and raised by Your Majesty to the extent of repeatedly being appointed to provincial office. I am ashamed that I have in no way repaid Your Majesty, but rather my errors have multiplied with time.
Now I have received the extraordinary generosity of Your Majesty's appointment to fill the post of Hukuang Governor-general. On the twenty-sixth day of the twelfth month of last year, I journeyed to the Palace, kowtowed before the Imperial Countenance, and respectfully received Your Majesty's sacred instructions. My feelings on that occasion are eternally engraved upon my inmost parts. Your Majesty's having also conferred on me gifts in rich profusion, Your Majesty's benevolence has exceeded all bounds, and Your Majesty's favor has reached an extreme.
Though even dogs and horses know how to repay their masters, yet I, your humble official, though I have a human heart, have yet dared fail to recompense you by serving you with utmost sincerity. What can I do, but with my whole heart and strength reverently obey Your Majesty's instructions to govern my jurisdiction and, without fraud or concealment, to repay, in all matters great and small, Your Majesty's immense generosity?
This, with your humble official's exceeding gratitude and humble sincerity, I respectfully memorialize, kowtowing, in gratitude for the Imperial Benevolence, humbly praying for Your Imperial Majesty's royal perusal.
(Vermilion: "Noted." )60
That this language was repeated, with minor variations, in every gratitude memorial does not justify dismissing it as "mere" ritual. It was the
symbolic form of a basic political fact. The fact that it was repeated makes it, like other rituals, more significant rather than less. It was a ritual of largesse and gratitude that sustained the relationship between sovereign and high official.
Even in the ordinary conduct of business, the symbolism of dependency had its place. Operational documents, too, were framed in ritually significant forms. For example, it was normal for a memorialist to quote, in full, the imperial order to which he was responding. This was not only good bureaucratic practice, to keep the documentary chain clear for purposes of reference. As a ritual act, the writer often quoted his master's words at much greater length than his own humble reply.s' Another common form of verbal prostration occurred when the memorialist humbly quoted the vermilion interlineal scoldings he had received when his memorials were returned.62
These documentary rituals reinforced the official's personal link to his sovereign, a relationship first established by the man's appointment. The moving force was reciprocity, as expressed in the gratitude memorial we have just seen. These ritual humiliations were signs, not of degradation, but of special status: in Confucian terms, these gentlemen were not tools. They could be scolded, ridiculed, or punished by their imperial master, as an errant son by a stern father. But the relationship was not abject, because they were presumed to have "human hearts," and hence the capacity to act like men, not machines or dumb animals. Unlike mere clerks, they were neither artifacts of a body of rules nor automatons controlled by routine procedures.
Soulstealers: The Chinese Sorcery Scare of 1768 Page 24