Soulstealers: The Chinese Sorcery Scare of 1768 (33 page)

Systemic Blocks to Routine Control

Hungli's Despair at the Routine System

Hungli had nothing against routine evaluations as such. On the contrary, he recognized that they "affected the fundamental institutions
of state" (ta-tien). The trouble was, he believed, that they were applied
carelessly and dishonestly. Seven years into his reign, he complained
that the Grand Accounting in the provinces was "an empty letter"
and was administered "sloppily or perfunctorily." Good officials were
not recommended, bad ones not impeached. Personnel evaluations
hinged on affairs of the moment and said little about long-term
conduct. Judgment of an incumbent official rested on whether the
governor-general and governor happened to like him, and might not
accord with the man's general reputation. Officials were recommended for promotion through personal favoritism, and scoundrels
were shown leniency. "Only the faults of educational officials or petty
functionaries are casually noted, so as to make up the necessary
numbers." By such chicanery was the autocrat undone: "Our governors-general and governors are Our arms and legs, heart and backbone. If they treat such a crucial government function as mere routine, on what can We rely?"26 Evaluation in the Capital Investigation
he considered just as perfunctory.27

In the hands of the review commission, the triennial yellow registers got the same off-hand treatment. Hungli complained that
unworthy candidates for promotion or reassignment were not
screened out but were passed right through to imperial audience. "It
should be possible at a glance to see [from the registers] whether a
candidate is up to the job. But the Nine Chief Ministers (chiu-ch'ing)
[that is, the review commission responsible for inspecting the registers] pass the buck to the Board of Civil Office, the Board of Civil
Office passes it to the Nine Chief Ministers; and the result is that
they all pass it to Us!"28 The monarch knew that, rather than face up
to the task of making personnel judgments that might arouse resentment, the bureaucracy passed the job to the one man who could
always take the heat.

The routine inflation of evaluative phrases (k'ao-yii) was all too
apparent to Hungli when a candidate for appointment received radically disparate ratings from two evaluators, or when a man he knew
to be a bumbler came before him with glowing recommendations.
The Yunnan governor recommended one of his circuit-intendants
with a kao-yu of "experienced and of solid character."29 But Hungli
reviewed the man's record and found that the preceding governor
had characterized him as "aged and infirm," defects that the passage
of time would hardly have remedied. The new governor had, he
complained,

said nothing about his age and infirmity. And the k'ao-yii of all his other
subordinates show only superior traits and no deficiencies. Now human
talent is variously distributed. Some men are of decent character but
not very able; or they are efficient administrators but insincere in their
inner natures ... but in [the new governor's] memorial, the evaluations
are very general and there is absolutely no differentiation among them.
It seems that in the whole province there is not a single official who can
be criticized!

The k'ao-yu of a certain Taiwan circuit-intendant read "youthful and
vigorous, of fine character, able and intelligent, apt at administra-
tion."30 Hungli: "But We know him very well. He has a bit of cleverness, but his character is definitely not sincere, and his administrative behavior merely consists of complying with the formal
requirements of his job in order to dispose of his public duty. He
never had solid abilities, and his physical vigor is not that great either
... This shows how provincial officials do not take seriously the job
of evaluating personnel." Although he was aware that laziness and
laxity were part of the trouble, Hungli also knew that reliable routine
personnel control was hampered by certain systemic problems.

Patronage versus Discipline

The provincial governors were line administrators as well as evaluators. Hence they acted under compulsions that went with their
office.;' One of these was a powerful desire for a certain kind of
personal image, which can be roughly translated as "magnanimity"
(k'uan-ta). The essence of a good patron, this quality warmed what
might otherwise be a cold, objective bureaucratic relationship
between a province chief and his subordinates. "Magnanimity" in a
patron meant a concern for the human needs of his clients. Though
the patron's practical payoff was loyalty, his symbolic reward was a certain personal image, one that was sullied every time he had to
throw the book at a subordinate and thus treat him as a misaligned
cog in a machine rather than as a human dependent. The dignity of
the superior was hurt along with the career of the subordinate.

In what respect could local officials be considered dependents or
clients of governors? Though the general answer is surely the paternalism that tinctured the entire Chinese bureaucracy, the specific
answer lies in the governor's power to recommend his subordinates
for appointment, transfer, or promotion. Except for the small
number of local posts that were rated highest in administrative difficulty and were filled by recommendation of the Grand Council32
and except for a portion of posts set aside to be filled directly by the
Board of Civil Office, governors had the privilege of recommending
men for particular posts within their provinces. If a governor certified
that there was no suitable candidate among bureaucrats of his own
jurisdiction, he could recommend someone from outside. Even in
categories of appointment that the administrative code specifically
placed outside their reach, governors pushed relentlessly to expand
their appointive power, a power basic to personal patronage networks. Given the speed at which provincial personnel rotated from
post to post, such networks could rapidly grow to national scale.
Information in the Collected Statutes indicates that at least 30 percent
of all posts, from circuit-intendancies down to county magistracies,
were in categories that could be filled through a governor's
recommendation.33

Quite apart from the danger of cliques and factions, however,
Hungli had constantly to deal with governors' desire "to acquire a
reputation for magnanimity," which made it hard for them to evaluate personnel honestly.34 Hungli scolded G'aojin (then serving as
Anhwei governor) for submitting an implausible evaluation of a previously dismissed subordinate who was now due for reassignment:
"In the case of a man who has already left office, there is nothing to
prevent [his superior] from skirting the truth about him in order to
elicit the admiration of his subordinates. This bad practice among
governors-general and governors of purchasing reputation (ku-ming)
is wholly inappropriate."35 Of course, Hungli considered "magnanimity" of this sort perfectly appropriate when exercised at the top of
the system, namely by himself. Indeed, it may be a law of bureaucratic
practice that every official tries to reserve this genial quality to himself
(or those above him), while holding his subordinates to strict application of the rules.

Once a governor had recommended an official for a post, it was
awkward for him to admit a mistake. Hence evaluations tended
toward a certain consistency: no governor was likely to change his
opinion of a subordinate he had recommended until the man's per-
fornmance, either good or bad, was so egregious that he had no choice.
Hungli complained that, if it man of modest ability had been rec-
onmmended for an easy post, his superior would seldom report any
outstanding accomplishments; if 'a promising man had been recommended for it hard post, then he would seldom report faults.36

Reading the Leader's Mind

Another systemic evil that stymied personnel evaluation was called
"seeking to accord [with the desires of one's superiors]" (ying-ho): that
is, currying favor by molding one's judgments to conform to what
one believed the boss wanted. This produced ludicrous distortions in
the routine evaluation system, as officials trimmed their standards to
the winds of imperial preference. The problem was endemic to the
highest officials in both capital and provinces. "When We are lenient
in one or two cases in which leniency is appropriate, then all the
officials scurry to be lenient. When We are strict in one or two cases
that require strictness, then they all scurry to be strict." On the surface
this might seem to be a case of "the grass bending before the wind"a commendable deference to royal leadership. But in reality, Hungli
warned, "it stems from self-interest and self-aggrandizement."
Ignoring the "great principles," acting without proper estimation of
right and wrong-were these really the right way to advance in honor
and rank? When officials in the capital need correction, "We can
personally admonish them." In the provinces, however, "the governors-general and governors have sole charge of their jurisdictions. If
they are determined to conform themselves to whatever they think
We want, without any firm views of their own, then their subordinates
will flock to do the same in order to curry favor with their superiors,"
and national affairs will really be in parlous straits.37

Obstacles to Impeachment

Like any system of accountability, the personnel evaluation process
included one self-defeating mechanism that nobody knew how to
cope with: reporting misconduct was dangerous to the reporter, but
so was failure to report it. The administrative code included a range of penalties for "failure to investigate" (shih-ch'a). Failure to report a
subordinate for dereliction of duty made one liable, oneself, for
administrative discipline. But if one did report him, a whole range
of other embarrassments might surface (including tales he might bear
about his colleagues, whom one had also "failed to investigate") that
might have even worse results. Hungli knew that penalties for "failure
to investigate" hindered his access to information. Reporting heterodox sects, for instance, was dangerous to an official's career.
"Because it arose in his jurisdiction, and hence would adversely affect
his fitness report, he might consider covering it up."3"

Here are some penalties visited upon officials who "failed to investigate," from the administrative code of the Board of Civil Office:

In the case of an official who receives bribes in the course of duty, and
whose misconduct is not reported, [when the affair finally comes to
light] a prefect stationed in the same city will be charged with failure to
investigate and will be demoted one grade and retained in his post. A
circuit-intendant will be fined a year's [nominal] salary.3`' A prefect not
in the same city but stationed within a hundred li will be fined one
year's [nominal] salary. A circuit-intendant will be fined nine months
[nominal] salary ... When a governor-general or governor impeaches
an official in a "failure to investigate" case, let him clearly state in his
memorial the distance [from the scene], to serve as data for investigation.
If there is a misstatement of the distance, any official through whose
hands the memorial passes will be demoted two grades and
transferred.'"'

In sensitive cases, willful failure to impeach could bring, not a slap
on the wrist, but real terror. When one of his trusted province chiefs
concealed information in an impeachment case of 1766, Hungli complained that he had been personally betrayed.41 "Chuang Yu-kung
has received Our highest favor and has been selected for choice
appointments. Yet he has the nerve to strut about, flaunting his
favored status . . . This case is one in which he has intentionally
deceived Us!" Not only was the ingrate cashiered, but his case was
switched from the track of administrative discipline to that of criminal
sanctions. Chuang was arrested, haled to Peking for interrogation by
the Grand Council, had all his property confiscated, and was jailed
to await decapitation. Yet the point was not to destroy but to chasten.
Hungli granted him amnesty some months later and appointed him
acting governor of Fukien.42

Hungli, who well knew that bureaucratic culture made impeach ment distasteful to his province chiefs, read memorials carefully and
was not easily fooled. He discerned a system of mutual protection by
which governors shielded the reputations of their immediate subordinates, the provincial treasurer and provincial judge, from charges
of "failure to investigate." The governor's impeachment memorial
would say, "just as I was writing this, the reports of the provincial
treasurer and provincial judge reached my desk and were not at
variance from my own inquiries." Scoffed Hungli: "This might really
occur once in a thousand or a hundred cases; how could it turn up
every time?" From then on, when a governor was impeaching a
subordinate, he was to state whether his information came from his
own inquiries or from a report, and exactly how it had been con-
veyed.433 Because impeachment for irregularities in impeachment was
subject to the same irregularities, could the monarch ever be confident that routine procedures would produce sound evaluations of
personnel? He saw himself confronting a system in which vertical
clique-formation within the provincial bureaucracy made it hard for
that bureaucracy to police itself. Higher officials and their subordinates "form cliques behind the scenes" and "collude by mutually
ingratiating and coercing . . . These evil ways must be rigorously
stamped out."-'-' They were not, however, likely to be stamped out
through the routine procedures of bureaucratic control, and Hungli
knew it.''

Nonroutine Systems of Evaluation

Confidential Reporting from the Field

Given what he saw to be the futility of routine evaluation, the monarch naturally made the most of opportunities to inject autocratic
power into the system. But to do so he needed reliable, undoctored
information. From the beginning of his reign, he tried to get confidential personnel evaluations from the provinces. If governors would
not evaluate their subordinates honestly through the open channel
for fear of stirring up resentment, perhaps reporting confidentially
in palace memorials would make them feel more secure. In the first
year of his reign, Hungli had so instructed them.-"' "Now, in the
beginning of Our reign, We are not well acquainted with the men
serving as circuit-intendants and prefects in the provinces. You [governors] may report on the worthiness and the activities of your sub ordinates through [confidential] palace memorials." Yet even in the
confidential channel the province chiefs felt insecure. Three years
later, Hungli complained that his original decree was being ignored.47
All governors had "reported once," but not since. He pointed out
that governors customarily kept their posts longer than their subordinates, so that the passage of men through various jurisdictions
opened a splendid opportunity for fresh evaluations. Now all governors were to send confidential memorials (mi-tsou) "from time to
time." Yet to enforce this demand required ceaseless struggle. In
1759 Hungli was shocked, but perhaps not surprised, to find the
governor-general of Liangkiang sending in sheer boilerplate through
the confidential channel: "Recently We happened to be examining a
memorial from Yenjigan evaluating his subordinates. In it, Wei Che-
chih still appears as Huai-an prefect, and Dingcang still appears as
Hsu-chou prefect. These men held these posts more than ten years
ago! How come there were no follow-up evaluations of them? This
is a matter for confidential memorials, which can do no harm to one's
reputation for magnanimity.14'