Habermas Meets China: The Legacy of the Late Qing/Early Republican “Public Sphere” on the Modern Chinese Social Imaginary

Abstract

The debate over the existence of a “public sphere” in China’s Late Qing/Early Republican era began nearly three decades ago, but it has yet to generate a special socio-cultural review on the “Confucian social imaginary” of the Chinese people. The article builds on existing “economic-political approach” and “idea-communication approach” to argue decisive factors hindering the development of a Habermasian “public sphere.” These includes (1) people’s traditional-collectivist lifestyle, (2) lack of understanding of “universal equality,” (3) conservative self-positioning during social transition, (4) regionalist attitude toward outsiders, (5) lack of access to Enlightenment ideas, (6) disregard for parliamentary systems, and (7) ignorance of the rule of law.

1. Introduction

The English translation of Jürgen Habermas’s The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere was released in 1989, nearly three decades after its initial publication in German, yet it still quickly created a sensation in Anglophone academic circles. Among those captivated were a group of prominent historians, sociologists, and Sinologists affiliated with Harvard’s Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies. Still reeling from the recent Tiananmen Square incident in Beijing and the collapse of Communist regimes in Eastern Europe, these scholars were fascinated by The Structural Transformation and had immediately posed a question that held intellectual excitement, political sensitivity, and practical significance (Wakeman 1993): Has China ever had a public sphere, such as during the turbulent, opening period of its recent history—the Late Qing/Early Republican era?

In response, several scholars in the group—including Schoppa (1992), Rowe (1993), Rankin (1993), et al.—made initial attempts by essentially integrating their own intellectual backgrounds and methodologies in historical studies with Habermas’s questions and approaches. Specifically, they all examined the remarkable role of the prestigious gentry and rich merchants from commercial centers and port regions, such as Zhejiang province and Hankow city, in promoting economic advancement. They found, with satisfaction, that these local elites not only established social relief and welfare associations but also capitalized on the decline of the Qing regime by assuming public roles in local governance. In doing so, they created a vibrant space for public life among ordinary people, all set against the tumultuous backdrop of foreign colonization, social upheaval, failed national reforms, and struggles of political power.

Interestingly, these scholars also largely affirm the existence of various “Chinese versions of the public sphere,” which, unsurprisingly, has sparked scrutiny and criticisms, such as from Kuhn (1992), Wakeman (1993) and Huang (1993). These critics, primarily adopting a postcolonial viewpoint (Cohen 1984), accuse their colleagues of retrofitting a celebrated, and perhaps morally desirable, Western theory to cherry-picking evidence from China, while overlooking the country’s more pressing and concrete local problems, which can only be understood in the context of its unique historical trajectory. Nevertheless, for a broader readership, the works of Schoppa, Rowe, Rankin, and the like have received considerable praise, even if not everyone endorses their conclusions. In my view, their contributions are valued for at least three reasons: (1) their keen epistemic focus on the interactions between economic and political actors and systems; (2) their flexible use of a rich concept like the “public sphere” to frame foreign historical studies; and (3) their overarching normative concerns about “human emancipation and flourishing,” as evidenced in their conceptual choices and theoretical analysis. In fact, their studies have been widely considered exemplary paradigms for investigating the history of China, at least in Anglophone academia (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 257-78).

The last remark matters because, in the following decade, the gradual release of Cao (2006)’s Chinese translation of The Structural Transformation, along with Habermas’s inaugural visit to Chinese universities, has not only popularized this fervent debate within Chinese academia but also elicited a diverse range of responses to the initial question. Some Chinese scholars, like Ma (1996), Wang (1996), and Xiong (1998), have adhered to the established paradigm and supplemented it with additional case studies in a similar vein. Examples include their research on the bourgeoning chamber of commerce in Suzhou, the dynamic public leisure spaces in Chengdu, and the opening of private garden in Shanghai.

Meanwhile, others like Liu (1999), Xu (2003) and Pan (2005) have critically identified a significant gap in the prior “economic-political approach,” specifically its neglect of the influence of Western Enlightenment ideas across various domestic realms, since the infamous defeat in the Sino-Japanese war of 1895 until the end of the New Cultural Movement in 1923. They argue that the spread of “Social Darwinist thinking,” coupled with the pervasive “mentality of national salvation” within the academia, the higher education system, and the widely circulated newspapers, has been critical in both fueling societal discontent toward the declining Qing regime and triggering political enthusiasm among the local elites. To be sure, this new “idea-communication approach,” despite leading to several highly acclaimed studies on mass communication and intellectual history of the period, can still be traced back to Habermas (1962 [1989])’s original methodology for studying the rise of the political public sphere in early modern Europe. In this sense, the new approach serves at most as a complement to the initial intellectual endeavor.

In addition, a more comprehensive critique has emerged from a broader group of scholars, including Yang (1995), Deng (2000), Zhao and Sun (2003), Zhu (2006), and Shao and Zhan (2013). They all have built upon the observations of their Western counterparts, taking to heart Habermas (1962 [1989], xvii)’s warning against generalizing the concept of the public sphere “to any number of historical situations that represent a formally similar constellation.” In other words, they not only concur that applying Habermas’s concept to non-Western contexts risks creating fragmented and distorted narratives, but they also question the practical relevance of the concept’s implicit political critique in the name of “liberalism,” given that “liberalism” represents an ideological path that China has clearly abandoned in both its historical and contemporary contexts.

As responses, these scholars have introduced two alternative approaches: a positivist approach and a China-centric approach. In short, the positivist approach simply avoids normative issues in historical studies and considers the “public sphere” merely as a specific Western manifestation that reveals more foundational “state-society relations” in other contexts. The China-centric approach, on the other hand, actively engages with normative issues by proposing an alternative, historically contextualized, and politically conformist “positive-interaction model” (as opposed to the Western “society-against-state model” under democratic regime) to justify a public sphere “with Chinese characteristics” under authoritarian regime.

Over the years, the positivist approach has solidified as the dominant paradigm in macro-historical studies of China (Zhu 2006), while the China-centric approach has also gained traction, inspiring a host of subsequent research (Yu and Zhou 2012). This has led to a waning of the initial, lively debate on the topics, and it is against this background—and notably around the centenary of the liberal-leaning May Fourth Movement in 2019—that I intend to offer a comprehensive reevaluation of the subject, through a largely overlooked but integrative theoretical lens. But before delving into the details, I will briefly address the existing approaches—especially the two critical ones—and justify the value of this reexamination.

In my read, the “positivists” have effectively reduced value-laden historical-empirical research to a narrow, technical exercise in “puzzle-solving.” While their efforts have illuminated previously unknown “historical facts,” these scholars fall short in two respects. First, they risk becoming “cognitive authoritarians” by positioning themselves as “the experts” of “historical truths” (Fuller 1988, chap. 12)—truths that could be constructed and interpreted differently depending on one’s intellectual and moral sensibility. Second, they often sidestep, sometimes under the guise of “scientific rigor,” the crucial normative questions related to the value of these historical facts in contemporary society. To quote Karl Marx, the point of intellectual activity should not just be to understand the world, but to change it—the key question being “to what end”?

In contrast, the “China-centrists” have often sought to downplay the political implications of their normative stances, largely due to the sensitive academic environment in China. However, in doing so, they have misinterpreted the core intellectual and moral underpinnings of Habermas’s concept of the “public sphere.” Surely, Habermas’s work is centered on promoting not “liberal ideology” per se but more specifically (1) ideal conditions for rational and constructive communication among ordinary citizens in the daily basis, and (2) an ideal type of an effective and legitimate democratic system. In fact, during his visit to China, Habermas (1999, 35-36) pointed out that any political regime which “aims to further the enterprise of modernization … will eventually demand a sound mechanism of public communication and public opinion formation to reflect people’s needs with sensitivity.” Despite having an authoritarian system, this is a challenge that the Chinese Communist Party has been adapting to since the era of Reform and Opening (Lei 2017). Hence, the concept of “public sphere” can rightly serve as a “yardstick for criticism,” helping to evaluate progress at various historical junctures, with the ultimate aim of advancing the nation’s modernity (Fraser 2017).

This leads us back to the two seminal approaches outlined earlier. In my reading, the “idea-communication approach,” focusing on the introduction of Western Enlightenment ideas during the Late Qing/Early Republican era, remains underappreciated in Anglophone academia, so I intend to explore this perspective further in subsequent sections. However, it still falls short of offering a complete view about “public sphere,” because simply demonstrating the presence and dissemination of “new ideas” in a society does not conclusively verify the emergence of “public sphere” as a social phenomenon. The missing link, in my view, which is curiously overlooked by most scholars, is the profound transformation of the ordinary Chinese people’s “social imaginary,” in the sense conceptualized by Charles Taylor (2003). This transformation typically arises from the successful introduction of new ideas into society, but it manifests when these ideas inspire and train ordinary citizens to adopt radically different ways of understanding the world, and a new collective sense of legitimacy toward existing institutions (Taylor 2003)—qualities that make the history of Western Enlightenment particularly salient.

In the forthcoming sections, I delve into the “social imaginary” of ordinary Chinese people during the Late Qing/Early Republican era, which I will refer to simply as “the transitional period.” My approach will synthesize and extend existing studies on two fronts: (1) the well-recognized “trends of thought” that prevalent in society at the time, and (2) the broader transformation of the “economic-political structure.” This approach is inspired by the “cybernetic perspective” advocated by Habermas in his influential Legitimation Crisis (1973 [1975]), in which he insists that to truly understand the functioning and development of society, it is essential to grasp the interplay among its various interrelated subsystems. Further, since the “public sphere” is a rich, multi-layered concept built upon foundational notions of “the public” and “public opinion” (Habermas 1964 [1974]), it is both logical and necessary to unpack each of these layers in turn, in order to arrive at a comprehensive understanding.

2. The Public

While Habermas departs in some ways from the founding figures of the Frankfurt School, he remains deeply influenced by their commitment to the project of human emancipation rooted in European Enlightenment tradition (Müller-Doohm 2017). As such, Habermas’s definition of “the public” emphasizes particularly on the character of autonomy and equality of the individual. As he clarifies, “members of the public” should act neither as public officials beholden to state interests nor as businesspersons focused solely on private concerns (Habermas 1964 [1974]), but they should interact as equal human beings (“hommes” in Habermas’s terminology), ready to suspend their apparent differences in social status, aiming instead for mutual understanding through open, honest, and rational dialogue (Habermas 1962 [1989]). This ideal interaction encapsulates what Habermas famously terms “communicative rationality”—the rational potential embedded in everyday speech that is crucial for the development of a modern society (Habermas 1981 [1984]).

Here, it is instructive to consider the rise of “the public” in seventeenth century England. While Habermas prioritizes theoretical constructs, historians and sociologists like David Zaret offer more nuanced accounts. Zaret (1989) traced the roots of “the public” not to the “literary public sphere” as Habermas (1962 [1989]) suggests, but to early religious assemblies where debates over Christian doctrines first flourished. In his account, the transformation is not just a secularized reinterpretation of Protestant doctrine, such as “every individual is created by God thus equal in the sight of God” into liberal democratic ideology (Habermas 1962 [1989]). Rather, the focus is on the aftermath of the English Civil War in the 1650s, when serious discussions over religious issues have become “the common discourse and table-talk in every tavern and alehouses” (Zaret 1992, 218). This social phenomenon marked the fundamental shift, challenging clerical authority and empowering the educated gentry and merchants to play an active role in religious debates. Over time, this change fostered a new lifestyle among ordinary English people, who began to develop the habit of thinking autonomously about the right deeds to conduct in life and gathering to discuss the meaning of Biblical texts. Crucially, these discussions were conducted on an equal footing, as social status held no weight to truth-oriented conversations (Zaret 1992).

In contrast, the history in China’s transitional period is vastly different, and several common misconceptions about its overarching “economic-political structure” warrant a brief clarification. Indeed, most sinologists have noted the remarkable flourishing of commercial activities and the rise of voluntary associations in several developing regions. These began with the Self-Strengthening Movement (1860-95) and gathered momentum in the subsequent transitional period—the growth of cross-provincial trading in crops (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 257-78), raw materials (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 167-86), daily commodities (Rankin 1986), and specialized handicrafts (Rowe 1989), as well as the increase in the size and number of market towns (Wang 1996; Zhao and Sun 2003), trade guilds (Ma 1996; Zhu 2006), and urban wage-labors (Hershatter 1986; Strand 1989), are all evidences.

However, these developments should not be seen as indicators of structural transformation of the economy, because this trend of spontaneous recovery toward traditional order and self-sufficiency—especially after nationwide socio-political disturbances like the Taiping Rebellion (1840-60) and the decreasing influence of central power at the county level—has recurred many times throughout Chinese Imperial history. In reality, by the end of the transitional period in the 1920s, the nation’s annual growth rate in the industrial sector had only touched 13 percent, which was largely attributed to the decline in Western imports since the onset of World War I (Bergère 1989). Concurrently, agriculture still constituted 65 percent of the national product (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 167-86), accompanied by a century-long national trend of production “involution,” signifying growth at the expense of productivity (Huang 1990). Regarding literacy, merely 6.6 million individuals had completed primary education, and 180,000 had finished secondary schooling, representing 1.7 percent and 0.0005 percent of the total population of 400 million respectively (Rawski 1979). For comparison, the “education revolution” in England under Elizabeth I (1533-1603) had elevated the male literacy rate to about 30 percent by the time of English Civil War (Cressy 1977). Lastly, commercial centers and under-industrialized port cities along the middle and lower reaches of the Yangzi River and the extreme South of the Qing empire were established only with the aid of a massive inflow of cross-regional migrants from nearly every rural province (Zhou 2014).

The collective evidence suggests that China back then was far from reaching a point of structural transformation, where it could shift from its long-standing peasant economy to a modernized form, and underlying this stagnation, I argue, was the enduring traditional lifestyle of the general population, which included not just farmers and workers but also the educated gentry and affluent merchants. According to Jared Diamond (2011) and earlier anthropologist Mead (1935 [2001]), this lifestyle pattern is typical of premodern societies, where people are accustomed to managing both their domestic affairs and external economic and social engagements—both autonomously and collectively—with close relatives and fellow villagers, based on both familial and geographic ties.

To be sure, the spirit of autonomy among the Chinese people is most evident during the transitional period. Before that time, Chinese merchants often displayed a proclivity not for adventurous, individualistic pursuits as Max Weber characterized “entrepreneurs” in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, but for maintaining smaller-scale businesses for self-preservation. To do so, these merchants frequently colluded with powerful sub-county officials and the educated gentry, who together formed the administrative hub of the town. These officials could offer protection for merchants’ properties, grant operational permissions, and provide tax relief (Wakeman 1993). However, the landscape changed dramatically following the onset of full-scale political reforms, beginning with the 1901 “New Deal.” These structural reforms led to a significant decline in public authority while elevating the status and power of merchants and the gentry. Without hesitation, this new class of local elites took on the role previously held by public authority, striving for complete, unfettered governance over local affairs (Kuhn 1992). Within a decade, these elites co-established and fortified 794 Chambers of Commerce, 723 private educational institutes, and countless citywide and provincial assemblies (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 167-86). These organizations expanded their reach beyond merely economic activities; they also took on key bureaucratic functions such as managing irrigation systems, firefighting institutions, police offices, and tax collection (Rowe 1989; Strand 1989). Moreover, they sustained welfare enterprises that cared for the ill and widows, maintained temples, bridges, and ferries, buried the deceased, and provided loan clearance and poor relief (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 235-53).

Nonetheless, while the emergence of a local elite class taking on social responsibilities reflects a commendable spirit of autonomy, it does not indicate by any means the successful penetration of Western Enlightenment ideas into Chinese society. Rather, it manifests a traditional philosophy deeply rooted in the “neo-Confucian social imaginary,” an indigenous ideology that aligns well with both the peasant economy (Fang 2010) and traditional lifestyles (Lin 2003). Throughout most of China’s imperial history, particularly following the Song Dynasty (960-1279), Confucianism had dominated the “Imperial Examination” system (科举考试), a pivotal mechanism that largely determined an individual’s career prospects—the sole “legitimate” opportunity for achieving power, wealth, and reputation. Consequently, Confucianism successfully captivated the masses and dominated their social imaginaries. Over the millennia, Confucianism had undergone monumental modifications, ¹ evolving into “neo-Confucianism” (理学) under Zhu Xi (1130–1200) and adopting a more populist aspect under Huang Zongxi (1610-95), but its core tenets concerning “the path to personal maturity” and “the manner in which people should treat one another” have remained intact (Jenco 2010). Specifically, the former involves a four-stage progression beginning with “self-cultivation” and extending to “family regulation,” “state governance,” and ultimately “bringing harmony to the world” (修身, 齐家, 治国, 平天下). It is these doctrines that underpin the local elites’ spirit of autonomy. Meanwhile, the latter focuses on the “Confucian Ethics of the Five Constant Relationships” ² (or “the Five Ethics” [五伦]), dictating the moral principles that govern interactions based on one’s social and hierarchical status (Liang 1949 [2014]). Clearly, this framework leaves no room for treating others on equal terms.

Admittedly, while “the Five Ethics” play a significant role in shaping interactions within Chinese society, they often do coexist with another neo-Confucian principle called “Harmony in Diversity” (和而不同), which encourages people from diverse occupational and social background to engage in respectful and honest discourse in order to reach compromises—it is just that the existence of “the Five Ethics” implies that those higher up the social hierarchy have a more significant voice and are deemed “more equal than others” (Tao 2006). In addition, the “Five Ethics” also assign particular duties to individuals based on their social status; for instance, the wealthy and reputable are expected to take care of their relatives and fellow villagers, forming a “recognized collective” (Yang 2002). As such, during the transitional period, local elites did show a considerable degree of enthusiasm and commitment in negotiating social schemes and providing assistance. Nonetheless, these initiatives were generally confined to these elites and their local communities, rather than extended to the broader society (Jenco 2010). In my view, these social phenomena highlight a fundamental historical truth initially discovered by Jaspers (1949 [1953]): the concept of universal equality, a cornerstone of European Enlightenment thought, stems from Judeo-Christian theology and is foreign to other civilizations, including African tribalism (Ekeh 1990), Oceania’s indigenous cultures (Cowlishaw 1992), and Imperial China. Hence, it is difficult to acknowledge that a Habermasian “public” already existed in China at that time.

3. Public Opinion

In his later work, Habermas (1992 [1998]) clarifies that the emancipatory value of “public opinion” is not vested in the final outcome of general interest, but in the process of rational negotiation toward compromise. ³ This is particularly important when resolving conflicts of interest among different societal members, for this process honors the general interest of everyone, in principle.

The historical context facilitating the growth of “public opinion” can be traced back to early seventeenth century England. During this period, the doctrine of “natural rights,” which justifies both the opposition to the absolute power of Charles I (1600-49) and the rule of the propertied class, began to permeate Parliament’s grassroots support, after they gained traction through the popular press, including newspaper like Mercurius Britannicus, as well as printed speeches and sermons by Members of Parliament and Puritan preachers (Seaver 1985). Recognizing the power of newsletters and pamphlets, the group of renowned “Levellers” like John Liburne (1614-57) and Richard Overton (1599-1664) began to fervently advocate that the parliamentarians ought to be held “to the supreme end, the freedom of the people; as in other things, so in that necessary and essential part of speaking, writing, printing and publishing their minds freely” (Woodhouse 1938, 328). As result, they succeeded in abolishing the institution of censorship of news in England, thereby allowing timely parliamentary debates on politics to be publicly discussed on the street.

Over several decades, the expansion of long-distance trade fueled a growing demand for news about commodity prices and current public affairs (Calhoun 1992). In this era of “mercantilism,” the autonomously thriving town economies extended into larger national territories overseen by an expanding public authority. This led businessmen to convene regularly in public venues—such as the three thousand new coffeehouses that sprang up in London (Calhoun 1992)—to discuss military expenditure, taxation policies, and other matters affecting the public interest (Habermas 1962 [1989]). By the eighteenth century, this educated cohort became increasingly drawn to Enlightenment ideas, eager to engage in intellectual discourse with a broader array of scholars, clergy, and other educated or liberal-leaning gentry and nobles. They began to identify more robustly as “citizens of the state,” striving for more thoughtfully formulated “public opinions” (Merriman 1996 [2009]). Meanwhile, although the editorial staffs of newspapers faced the challenge of establishing a commercial basis for their publications, they largely refrained from sacrificing political neutrality for commercial gain (Habermas 1964 [1974]).

Obviously, many scenes reminiscent of the development of the “public opinion” in Europe reappeared during China’s transitional period. Prior to 1895, there were sustained efforts to fund and establish newspapers by the state, scholar-officials, ⁴ educated merchants, and liberal-minded foreigners (Wakeman 1993). However, most of these ventures eventually failed due to a variety of reasons such as cash flow problems, operational failures, and dwindling readership. Those that remained were mainly allowed by the Qing government to cover limited subjects such as reprints of ancient classics, official memorials and rescripts, state policy propaganda, and moderate news reviews (Pan 2005).

The landscape began to change dramatically after the 1895 Sino-Japanese War and the subsequent weakening of state censorship. Liang Qichao, a prominent reformist scholar-official, founded the Journal of Political Opinion (or “Qingyi Bao”) in Japan, with a clear agenda to modernize China through mass appeal via liberal newspapers (Liu 1999). This event marked a watershed moment for China’s press industry, prompting other scholar-officials to engage in provincial initiatives often supported by the local elite. Beginning in the more open port cities, they rapidly expanded to all commercial centers, publishing real-time news, commentaries, and books infused with radical Western ideas. By the 1920s, only about 10 percent of the press industry was controlled by officials (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 257-78). Private publications like Shen Bao (founded by liberal English merchant Earnest Major in 1872), Shiwu Bao (founded by Liang Qichao in 1896), Tiger Magazine (founded by populist neo-Confucian reformist Zhang Shizhao in 1914), and New Youth (founded by the liberal-turned-communist Chen Duxiu in 1915), had largely come to dominate the readership market. They gained nationwide popularity for their critical and inspiring commentary on current affairs (Liu 2000).

This dramatic ascent of the industry is rooted in the profound shift in the career perspective of “scholar-officials.” Once believed that “officialdom is the natural outlet for good scholars” (学而优则士), these scholar-officials began to question the legitimacy of the established authority, especially after discovering that their country’s humiliating defeat to a modernized Japan ⁵ stemmed largely from the aristocracy’s rampant corruption, particularly regarding military expenditure and warship production for royal extravagance (Jenco 2010). As a result, many scholar-officials gravitated toward the press and publishing sectors, becoming critical journalists, news editors, and independent commentators—by contemporary standards, these roles equate to “public intellectuals” (Wu 2004).

Over the years, different factions emerged with distinct agendas. Some, under the leadership of liberal-reformist philosopher Hu Shih (1896-1950), championed the replacement of “Classical Chinese” with “Vernacular Chinese.” Others, led by the communist-revolutionary novelist Lu Xun (1881-1936), produced groundbreaking critical vernacular novels. Furthermore, many collaborated with local elites (and occasionally liberal-leaning officials) to establish elementary schools across regions, aiding the slow but steady increase in literacy—from less than 0.5 percent in 1904 (Liu 1999) to 1.5 percent in 1920. Concurrently, numerous self-driven university students took it upon themselves to return to their rural hometowns and enlighten their illiterate neighbors, organizing free street lectures, distributing vernacular pamphlets, ensuring their communities stayed informed about the latest political development (Xu 2003). Over time, these concerted efforts broadened the nation’s readership, enabling more people to access information on state reformist programs, contemporary social and political events, and emergent Enlightenment thoughts (Pan 2005).

However, unfortunately, though the nationwide flow of uncensored news coverage may seem to parallel early modern England’s vibrant public discourse, in China, this flow is led almost entirely by public intellectuals acting under the banner of “saving the country from subjugation” (救亡图存), rather than being a grassroots movement aimed at human emancipation. Once again, this state of affairs can be attributed to the pervasive neo-Confucian social imaginary, which dictates a paternalistic role for “scholar-officials,” who believed to “represent the conscience of the society” by critiquing the ruling class and modeling correct beliefs and lifestyles for the general population (Xu 2003). Thus, eventually, major national events like unfair treaties, military defeat, and failed reforms, have only touched the nerve of public intellectuals, who espouse an authoritative view that only they can comprehend the true general interest of the populace (Jenco 2010). Meanwhile, other local elites, satisfied with social stability and wealth accumulation, have participated in political activities only when their immediate interests were threatened (Xu 2003). Their involvement has often been reactionary rather than proactive, limited to cases where their local governance was compromised or their assets were appropriated by the state (Rankin 1986)—for example, when their collectively owned railway system is re-nationalized by the state. ⁶ While this response appears to echo the dissatisfaction of the early modern English bourgeoisie against the expanding public authority, the dominant Confucian social imaginary fundamentally hindered them from actively advocating for their own voices to be heard by the broader population, including the state, public intellectuals, and society at large.

Admittedly, these educated local elites did engage in robust debates and discussions in various social settings like tea houses and wine shops (Strand 1989; Wang 1996)—it is just that, once again, the dominant neo-Confucian ideology prevented both the formation of a public where everyone is treated equally and their seek for the general interest that benefits everyone in the society. Instead, I argue what manifests during the discussions was a strong regional protectionist tendency toward handling public affairs. In the case of Chengdu, a large number of associations established after 1895 by migrant merchants and local gentry had only served their hometown villagers and remained largely isolated from other such groups in different towns (Wang 1996). Though the leaders do regularly arranged meetings to settle public affairs, the “local residents” and “alien outsiders” still frequently mediated conflicts between towns (Wang 1996). Similarly, in Beijing in the 1920s, regional organizations maintained separate and enclosed areas within the city, as these groups often initiated violent conflicts with outsiders, typically over matters such as leadership, territorial control, and local identity (Strand 1989). Moreover, most relief and welfare assistance provided by these community elites were largely targeted at their own collectives, with little provision for outsiders (Zhou 2009). This suggests that the notion of altruism within collectives did not extend to a broader concept of general interest.

Here, one may naturally ask: Why did the influx of Western Enlightenment ideas fail to significantly alter the prevailing social imaginary in China? The answer, I believe, lies in both the restricted impact of higher education and the nature of prevailing ideas of the period.

As previously said, the reach of Western-style higher education during this transitional period was exceedingly limited—especially given the national literacy rate of less than 1.5 percent. Thus, even though most university students hailed from affluent families and possessed more social influence than average citizens (Jenco 2010), their capacity to challenge mainstream ideology remained restricted. Moreover, and more crucially, the reigning imperial authority and leading scholars responsible for establishment of modern higher education—such as Yan Fu, Liang Qichao, Lu Xun, among others—remained steadfast in their adherence to the principle of “Chinese learning for fundamental principles, Western learning for practical application.” Their ultimate aim in importing Western knowledge was not humanistic emancipation, but rather “national salvation.” In line with this practical objective, Western science was fervently disseminated as a tool for developing advanced naval and artillery capabilities (in order to achieve national salvation). Yet, the emancipatory liberal ideas rooted in “universalism” and “individualism” were largely sidelined. This is most evident in the evolving philosophies of these scholars across time. For example, Lu Xun transitioned from liberalism in the late Qing era, to anarchism in the early Republican era, then to Mohism, ⁷ and finally settled as a Marxist, aligning with the views of Chen Duxiu, Li Dazhao, and Mao Zedong. This trajectory underscores their common quest for a practical and effective ideology for “national salvation” palatable to the ruling class, at the expense of the intrinsic or moral value of these ideas. ⁸

Besides that, Yan Fu, initially a liberal educator who later leaned conservative, made a significant ideological impact since 1898 by introducing Herbert Spencer’s idea of the “four stages of social evolution” to China. He also translated Thomas Huxley’s Evolution and Ethics after stripping it of its moral implications, and hence popularized Social Darwinism thought in Chinese society (Zhai 2014). The book resonated with many, ⁹ who became convinced that the “law of jungle” unveiled a “scientific truth” about the development of humanity. However, despite his ambitions, Yan failed to uproot the neo-Confucian social imaginary entirely (Zhai 2014). Rather ironically, I argue this is because Social Darwinist principles had been complementary to neo-Confucian ethics, as the former offered a “moral principle” of how people should treat “strangers” that the latter neglects. ¹⁰ Of course, Social Darwinist principles like “the end justifies the means” and “might makes right” fundamentally clashes with Habermas’s ideal of communicative rationality like “means justifies ends” and “compromise makes justice,” thus hampering the formation of “public opinion.”

Concurrently, societal discontent toward the ineffective Qing government created fertile ground for the rise of collectivist and nationalist ideologies. These ideas were imported from Japan by influential figures like Li Dazhao and Liang Qichao. They served as rallying cries during pivotal moments like the 1911 Chinese Revolution against the Qing Dynasty and the 1919 May Fourth Movement against the flawed Republican regime (Rankin 1993). However, effective propaganda often involves “creatively reinterpreting” the original concept while sacrificing some of its original complexity to captivate the mainstream social imaginary (this is evident in how Russian Marxists repurposed the idea of Messianism within Russian Orthodoxy to trigger the 1917 October Revolution). In the case of the term “nation,” although its meaning in the European Enlightenment tradition refers to an “imagined community” where people consider themselves self-governing individuals with equal rights, liberty, and dignity (Anderson 1983 [1999]), this meaning underwent radical modification in Japan during its Meiji Restoration (1850-89). Reformists like Yoshikawa Akimasa (1841-1920) creatively constructed an ethnic identity for the Japanese based on shared bloodlines, territory, culture, and language.

This redefined concept of “nation” was then imported into China through Liang Qichao’s term “Zhonghua Minzu” (中华民族), capturing the common territory (“Zhong”), neo-Confucian culture (“Hua”), and bloodline (“Minzu”) among all Chinese people as a unified clan. This concept was later popularized by Dr. Sun Yat-Sen, the founding father of the Republican regime, during the 1911 Chinese Revolution with his slogan, “drive out the Manchus, restore the Zhonghua” (驱除鞑虏, 恢复中华). In a similar fashion, the term was remolded into “patriotism” during the 1919 May Fourth Movement, when student protesters portrayed the Republican regime as “Traitors of the Chinese” (汉奸) (Wang 2015). Overall, when merged with neo-Confucian doctrines, the original value of “equality” integral to the concept of “nation” was lost. Local elites were not persuaded by the overarching goal of the “prosperity and strength of the entire Zhonghua Minzu.” They only supported the overthrow of the government after revolutionaries promised them that they could preserve their regional interest by maintaining provisional autonomy in local governance, free from state intervention and colonial privilege (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 257-78).

4. Public Sphere

In Habermas (1962 [1989])’s view, the emergence of a political public sphere is marked by a significant shift in the way people conceptualize the “state.” Previously seen as a personal belonging of the ruler, the state comes to be understood as an impersonal locus of authority. This change accompanies a move away from literal interpretations of royal power, like divine right, to a more abstract, legal understanding. Before the seventeenth century in England, monarchs considered themselves to be direct descendants of Adam, and thus divine rulers by birthright. This belief made them literal embodiments of higher power, entitled to represent themselves as the “head of state” before a “body of people” that hoped for good health, security, and prosperity (Skinner 2008). The transitional moment occurs in tandem with several societal shifts: the privatization of religious belief, the decoupling of public finances from the ruler’s personal expenditure, and the increase of public authority in urban areas (Habermas 1964 [1974]). These changes undermine the divine right of rulers, prompt discussions about state policies and budget expenditures, and encourage scrutiny of public authority.

Over time, as Enlightenment ideas like “popular sovereignty” gain traction, public perception of the state evolves further. Instead of being the representation of prince’s court endowed with unquestionable authority, the state is reconceptualized as an abstract civil union abstract civil union constituted by free individuals. They live spontaneously in a society without the arbitrary will of the ruler, and they willingly relinquish some of their freedoms to form a government, which acts on their behalf to realize general interest via the law (Skinner 2008). In other words, the state is now reimagined as an “authorized representative” of the will of the people, its administrative activities directed by the “public opinion” and constrained by legal codes, its authority derived not from a central ruler but from a decentered network of multiple, overlapping communicative spaces: the public sphere.

Admittedly, Habermas (1992 [1998]) initially focused too heavily on the Enlightenment history of England, arguing that a functional “public sphere” could only exist within a well-functioning constitutional system, with the rule of law tradition safeguarding individual liberty and political participation, and thereby facilitating peaceful and incremental reforms. However, when questioned over the existence of a “plebian public sphere” (Eley 1989), a “feminist public sphere” (Fraser 1990), or other ideal type that is historically unrecognized by the official constitutional system but has exerted considerable impact on the society (Calhoun 2010), Habermas (1992 [1998], 427, 430) admits that “this [plebian and feminist] culture of the common people apparently was by no means only a backdrop, that is, a passive echo of the dominant culture; it was also the periodically recurring violent revolt of a counterproject to the hierarchical world of domination, with its official celebrations and everyday disciplines.” And “from this it follows … that the model of the contradictory institutionalization of the public sphere in the bourgeois constitutional state is conceived too rigidly.” In other words, Habermas accepts the legitimacy of any public sphere that articulates public opinion on issues of general interest, even if it lacks legal recognition.

Interestingly, if Habermas’s compromise entails a “public sphere without legal recognition,” then the situation during China’s transitional period represents “legal recognition without a public sphere.” In fact, at the turn of the twentieth century, the Qing government initiated significant political decentralization and institutional reforms, introducing what was called the “New Deal.” They promised to establish a constitutional legal system and a parliamentary system that would recognize people’s rights to discuss political affairs, and to their credit, these were institutionally established by in 1908 (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 235-53)! However, the underlying motives for these reforms foreshadowed their ultimate failure in practice. Heeding advice from Japan’s Prince Itō about retaining supreme power, the ruling group intentionally subverted these reform efforts. They used them as an excuse to selectively recruit non-official local elites for political discussions in local councils, provincial assemblies, and the national parliament (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 235-53). Rather than treating public opinion as a legitimate source for legislation and policy formulation, they reduced it to mere advice that supported their autocratic rule. In doing so, they effectively dismissed people’s rights to convert their views on general interest into formal laws and public policies, thereby circumventing any accountability to which the ruler and public authorities should be subject.

Over time, the situation only deteriorated during the early Republican period when provisional President Sun Yat-sen transferred his power in 1912 to Yuan Shikai (1859-1916), a former general of the Qing court. Yuan promptly disbanded the local councils, provincial assemblies, national parliament, and independent judiciary, while reinstated autocracy, crowned himself the new Emperor, and unilaterally directed all subsequent reform policies and programs (Jenco 2010). Eventually, the period of “institutional reform without implementation” ended with his unexpected death in 1916, plunging China back into the chaos of party-dictatorship and warlord politics in the following decades.

But even if the parliamentary system had been strictly implemented, I still question the likelihood of witnessing the rise of a public sphere. This is because the underlying concept of a “constitutional state” remains fundamentally alien to ordinary people who have been shaped by neo-Confucian ideas. ¹¹ Although the Chinese legal codes since the Tang Dynasty are monumental by premodern standards (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 167-86), local elites, who had enjoyed an autonomous and collective lifestyle under a peasant economy, never viewed formal state law as embodying transcendent and categorical imperatives for governing society, as is the case in the West. Instead, the law was seen as an extension of neo-Confucian ethical criteria, wielded by the autocratic ruler as a tool for effective domination (Huang 1993). In practice, such laws were often bent or replaced, whether by respected guild leaders during commercial negotiations or by village elders during dispute mediation. As Fairbank and Goldman (1992 [2006], 183) put it, “Moses received his golden tablets on a mountaintop, but Confucius reasoned from daily life without the aid of any deity.”

Therefore, when given the constitutional right to participate in provincial assemblies in 1909, only a few prominent local elites became orators. Most avoided such public displays, showing loyalty instead to faction leaders or personal cliques rather than adhering to legislative programs or principles (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 235-53). Similarly, when given the opportunity to speak, most did not articulate a clear definition or support of interests. Instead, they delivered platitudes, leaving a handful of trained lawyers to draft legislation that was both obscure and unrepresentative (Fairbank and Goldman 1992 [2006], 235-53). Evidently, ordinary people still seemed to expect that a benevolent sovereign would virtuously use their absolute power to “bring harmony to the world,” without recognizing their own decisive role in claiming constitutional rights of political participation and in shaping public opinion to guide the administrative activities of a modern state.

At a deeper level, this reveals the failure of ordinary people to imagine of the state as an entity separate from premodern metaphors such as the “head-body” relationship, or the hierarchical “ruler-subject” dynamic rooted in neo-Confucianism—but rather as an authorized representative of a civil union. In this context, it is worth examining some popularized intellectual trends of the time. In Xu Jilin’s (2003) study of intellectual history, the most frequently cited Confucian thinkers by influential public intellectuals like Liang (1923 [2014]) and Zhang Shizhao were what I call “populist neo-Confucians,” notably Huang Zongxi and Gu Yanwu (1613-82). Without referencing early modern Western ideas, these Chinese thinkers made four radical claims that could be considered “quasi-modern” by today’s standards (Mizoguchi 1980): (1) the state is a separate entity disconnected from “all under Heaven” (or “Tianxia,” i.e., the world); (2) the “public good” is defined by the people, not rulers; (3) the “duty of the scholar” is to scrutinize and publicize the ruler’s conduct regarding the public good; (4) “overthrowing the ruler” is legitimate when they fail to fulfill the public good. These claims stand in stark contrast to prior neo-Confucian thought. In fact, it was the popularization of these populist neo-Confucian ideas after 1895 that empowered local elites, who had previously only dared to negotiate and compromise with public authorities, to boldly protest for their interests and actively support the revolution against an irresponsible government.

But these shifts in thought did not fundamentally challenge the basic neo-Confucian framework that legitimized an absolutist regime and the hierarchical “ruler-subject” relationship. Ordinary people continued to view the ruling group, be it a monarch or a party, as the authoritative “head of state,” endowed with the right to use the mechanisms of statecraft as they saw fit. The ultimate goal was to promote the “public good” in terms of social harmony, national prosperity, and military strength. This perspective allowed rulers to maintain their legitimacy even if they violated constitutional principles, parliamentary norms, and basic human rights.

Meanwhile, what might be termed “real-modern” ideas, such as Western contractarian thoughts that laid the groundwork for 18th-century English parliamentary democracy, remained largely confined to academic circles. They were mainly championed by a small group of liberal scholars, such as Hu Shih and his student Fu Sinian, starting from the late 1910s (Huang 2017). While these scholars had the platform to disseminate their ideas—like the “individual’s right to liberty” and the notion that “consent is the basis of state legitimacy”—through popular journals like New Youth—they were less successful in challenging the dominant neo-Confucian social imaginary. Unlike the concepts of “nationalism” and “patriotism,” which were successfully reinterpreted to fit within existing Chinese paradigms, these liberal ideas are not successful in capturing the dominant neo-Confucian social imaginary (Huang 2017). As a result, their moderate approach to modernization failed to resonate as deeply as more radical revolutions.

Therefore, when the early Republican era came to a close and the Republican regime backpedaled on its promises of reform, local elites did not demand their constitutional rights for turning public opinion into law or for any other forms of direct, active political participation. Instead, they sought to replace the current government with another, presumably more virtuous, one. This verifies once again that even as China underwent significant political and social changes, deeply ingrained neo-Confucian social imaginary continued to shape the way the Chinese people thought about governance, authority, and the role of the citizen in the state.

5. Conclusion

In this article, I have deconstructed and presented the concept of the “public sphere” through the lens of three progressive layers, and I have extended discussion of the disparity between the “ideal type” of the public sphere—traceable to the early Enlightenment history of England—and its failure to actualize in China during the Late Qing and Early Republican eras. Drawing on existing empirical studies that investigate either the general economic-political context or the emergence of socially popular Enlightenment ideas from the time of China’s defeat in the Sino-Japanese War in 1895 until the end of the New Cultural Movement in 1923, I have illustrated how the dominant neo-Confucian social imaginary, deeply internalized by ordinary Chinese people, has played a decisive role in shaping this historical period, and that the failure to transform this social imaginary has hindered the development of a true public sphere.

In addition, given the numerous historical comparisons between China and other parts of the world, I have also tried to demonstrate that the commonly held view of the “uniqueness” of Chinese civilization is somewhat exaggerated. This exaggeration exists in the sense that its fundamental social and cultural attributes have been largely shared among various premodern societies, both inside and outside the West. Moreover, the waves of successful modernization, resulting in the rise of various forms of modernized states in previous centuries, indicate that achieving socio-political modernity in China is practically possible. One of the key steps, of course, is to identify and analyze the specific disparity between the ideal and the actual state of affairs, especially in terms of the social imaginary of the ordinary people.