The National Protection War and the Intellectual Foundations of Chinese Warlordism

Abstract

In 1915–1916, a coalition under the joint leadership of the military officers Cai E, Tang Jiyao, and Li Liejun fought the National Protection War 护国战争 to prevent Yuan Shikai from restoring the monarchy in China. Their declared goal was to defend the Republican polity, yet despite their victory, the Republic did not resurge. I argue that the actions of these men were motivated by two interdependent ideas that decisively contributed to the later rise of warlordism: the assumption that the professional soldier ought to play a prominent role in the Chinese nation-state-building project and the belief that the military man was obligated to defend the Chinese nation against all threats. By tracing the origins, implementation, and reception of these ideas, I focus on the previously neglected intellectual foundations of Chinese warlordism. The victory of Cai and his comrades-in-arms and the overwhelming public appreciation of their actions following the war would come to encourage an ever-growing number of military men—who soon were to be decried as “warlords” 军阀—to also intervene in political affairs.

The death of Yuan Shikai 袁世凯 (1859–1916) on June 6, 1916, is usually regarded as a turning point in China’s Republican history. His death, the story goes, deprived both his supporters and his opponents of their main point of focus, thus setting the stage for the progressive disintegration of the Republican state into quasi-independent and competing warlord territories (e.g., MacKinnon, 1980: 5–6; Lai, 2006: 1:385–86; Shan, 2018: 227–29). And yet, China’s descent into the warlord era (usually dated 1916–1928) happened only after the new acting president of the Republic, Li Yuanhong 黎元洪 (1864–1928), had reinstated the provisional constitution of 1912 and reconvened the National Assembly. For some time, it seemed as if the Republican polity had been offered a new chance. Only then did a (soon to be growing) number of military men quite suddenly begin to interfere in civilian affairs. This raises two questions: What emboldened these men—who soon were to be decried as “warlords” 军阀—to transcend the military sphere and intrude into the political sphere, and what motivated them to do so?

The answer to these questions, I argue, is indeed closely linked to a prominent death in 1916, but not that of Yuan Shikai. Instead, the demise of Lieutenant General Cai E 蔡锷 (1882–1916) on November 8 was decisive in hastening the subsequent deterioration of Republican central authority. In late 1915, Cai, together with Tang Jiyao 唐继尧 (1883–1927) and Li Liejun 李烈钧 (1882–1946), had raised the National Protection Army 护国军 to thwart Yuan’s plans to crown himself emperor, and to protect the Republic. Following their victory over Yuan in the National Protection War 护国战争, these men were widely celebrated as saviors of the Republic, and when Cai died in November 1916, the admiration for him in particular grew to near boundless proportions. I will show that Cai and his comrades-in-arms justified their actions by claiming that the professional military man ought to play a dual role within the framework of the Chinese nation-state, both as a soldier and as a role model for the people. When Cai, Tang, and Li came to the conclusion that Yuan’s monarchical plans were detrimental to the interests of the nation (i.e., the people; see Greenfeld and Chariot, 1994: 79–80), they claimed it to be their professional duty as military men to intervene in civilian affairs. After the war, then, universal praise for their actions could easily be construed as an ex post affirmation of their original motivation to act. ¹ Eventually, the official and public acclaim of the National Protection War and its leaders confirmed an ever-growing number of professional soldiers in their belief that they were equally entitled—and competent—to interfere in civilian politics if they deemed the national interest to be at risk. In other words, by inspiring and encouraging the “warlords” of later times to meddle in civilian affairs, the National Protection War inadvertently laid the intellectual foundations of the warlord era.

Existing sociopolitical conditions and previous events were also important in setting the stage for Chinese warlordism, but they alone cannot sufficiently explain its emergence. The 1911 Revolution, sparked by military commanders in the provinces, reinforced the idea that military men ought to have a say in political matters. However, as Edward McCord has pointed out, this neither implied the existence of a “postrevolutionary political vacuum” that was filled by military rulers, nor did it incite military governors of the pre-warlord era to wield their political power with military means (McCord, 1993: 83). Military interventions in political affairs did in fact occur even prior to Yuan’s death, but these were smaller and localized events, publicly condemned and most often triggered by failure to pay garrisoned troops (see Second Historical Archives of China, 1982: 1–126). With the exception of the Second Revolution in 1913, when forces led by or affiliated to the Guomindang 国民党 (GMD) attempted in vain to thwart Yuan Shikai’s scheme to strengthen his own power by eliminating the GMD as a political force, large-scale and violent military interventions in national affairs became commonplace only after the National Protection War. The crucial differences between these two conflicts were the sociopolitical climates in which they took place and their respective outcomes. In 1913, a wish for stability rather than revolution prevailed, and the uprising ended in the insurgents’ defeat—two factors that inevitably stunted an enthusiastic reception of their ideals and actions. By contrast, in 1915–1916 public opinion was predominantly on the side of the National Protection Army, and after their victory over Yuan, its leaders and their proclaimed motives to revolt were widely celebrated (Shan, 2018: 174–78; Sutton, 1980: 185, 209–10).

A close examination of the National Protection War and the motives of its leaders to intervene in national politics enables us to gain insights into the hitherto overlooked intellectual foundations of Chinese warlordism. Previous research on the warlord era usually has concentrated on the personal ambitions of individual warlords, the organizational peculiarities of the late Qing/early Republican military sphere, or those socio-structural conditions that facilitated the assumption of political roles by military men. ² Going beyond such approaches, McCord has shown that the sociopolitical conditions of the early Republican era—namely, a “continuing crisis of political authority”—afforded military men the opportunity to inject themselves into Chinese politics. In the face of a lack of consensus on the question of who rightfully could claim to represent the will of the people (while never questioning the basic premise that the Chinese people ought to be the foundation of a unitary state), military force eventually turned into the ultimate means “to resolve the seemingly irreconcilable conflicts of civilian politics” (McCord, 1993: 310, see also 9–11, 91, 314–15). My article adds to these findings by providing an explanation not only for the intellectual motivation of Chinese military men to become involved in politics on a national scale but also for the ways in which they acted and justified their actions.

In order to substantiate these claims, I will proceed in three steps: First, I will outline how, in the early twentieth century, the professional soldier (in the form of the officer, the most comprehensively trained and educated representative of the military sphere) was turned into the role model for the Chinese people and came to be regarded—and regard himself—as the prime agent for the interests of the nation. Second, I will show how this combination of a professional sense of responsibility to the nation-state and a sense of superior ability to identify the national interest informed the reasoning and actions of the leaders of the National Protection War to rise against the Chinese state when they deemed the actions of civilian authorities to be detrimental to the will of the people. ³ Third, and in conclusion, I will trace how the official and public admiration of the leaders of the National Protection Army, and particularly of Cai E, set the stage for the subsequent warlord era.

The Military Man, the Chinese Nation, and the Unitary State

In a way, the military orientation of the National Protection Movement 护国运动 was no more than the culmination of one of the main currents of Chinese political thinking since the late nineteenth century. After the First Sino-Japanese War 甲午战争 (1894–1895), the hope for national strength and unity became increasingly linked to concurrent demands for military modernization and an awakening of nationalist sentiments. In the early twentieth century, these demands became intertwined when a decidedly militarized nationalist discourse emerged. In said discourse, patriotism, martiality, discipline, and obedience were turned into the desired key characteristics of a future Chinese nation (Harrison, 1998: 42, 46). Social Darwinism provided a (seemingly) scientific justification of such demands, and accordingly the assumption that a united national people must be able to fight and be willing to die for their country was reinforced. Within this discursive context, the professional soldier—whose raison d’être is to fight—soon turned into the symbol and ideal of the envisioned nation (Büttner, 2020: 287–96).

The integration of the professional soldier into Chinese nationalist thinking began with two specific texts. In 1902, two articles were published in Liang Qichao’s 梁启超 (1873–1929) influential journal Xinmin congbao 新民丛报. These articles were written by Cai E and Jiang Baili 蒋百里 (1882–1938), respectively, who at that time both were enrolled at the Seijō Academy (Seijō Gakkō 成城学校) in Tokyo, a military preparatory school that readied its students for entry into the top Japanese Imperial Army Officers Academy (Rikugun Shikan Gakkō 陸軍士官学校, hereafter Shikan Gakkō). ⁴ In their articles, both men expanded on ideas of nation-statehood that first had been introduced by Liang Qichao in 1899, when he—transmitting the ideas of the Swiss jurist Johann Caspar Bluntschli (1808–1881)—had posited that national sovereignty was dependent on social cohesion. Bluntschli had argued that nation-statehood resulted from the voluntary and deliberate decision of a large group of people to join forces and willingly assume collective responsibility for the well-being of their home country. By taking this step, loosely linked local communities or “ethnic nations” (Nation in German) transformed themselves into the highly developed “people” (Volk) of a unitary “nation-state” (Volksstaat) who assumed political authority by codifying the principle of popular sovereignty in a constitution binding for people and ruler alike (Bluntschli, 1874: 11, 16, 27–28). When Liang Qichao relayed these ideas to his readers, he translated “ethnic nation” as “minzu” 民族, “people” as “guomin” 国民 (literally “state-people”), and “nation-state” as “guojia” 国家 (Bolunzhili, 1899: pt. 2, 5a–5b; also cf. Bastid-Bruguière, 2004: 108), ⁵ and he presented Chinese prerevolutionary political thought with the powerful idea that the concepts of popular sovereignty and constitutionalism were intimately linked (Zheng, 2018: 74).

Concurrently, Liang also communicated Bluntschli’s disdain of the democratic principle of majority rule. According to the Swiss jurist, a nation-state could only truly become sovereign if it was animated by a united popular will (“minxin” 民心 in Liang’s text). This will—and not that of the majority of society (in the sense of a sum of private individuals with divergent needs and interests)—furnished the state with its sovereignty. By thus postulating the existence of an objectively discernible, clearly definable, and united national will above and beyond the petty and ever-changing desires of the members of society, Bluntschli conceptually disengaged the notion of popular sovereignty from the people: the state (and its foundational constitution)—and not the people—was the actual locus of popular sovereignty (Bluntschli, 1874: 150, 152–56, 159–60; Bolunzhili, 1899: pt. 11, 1a, 2a–2b, pt. 12, 3a–4b, pt. 13, 5a, 6b). By implication, this also meant that individual members of a national people were not necessarily able to discern the “true” will of the people (or national interest) on their own, that political parties or groups could be construed as agents of societal discord, and that the state (as the foremost representative of the popular will and national interest) was not obliged to provide institutionalized mechanisms to mediate in social conflicts. ⁶ For Bluntschli, such an abstract notion of popular sovereignty was conceivable because he simply presupposed the existence of a strong state that could assert its exclusive authority to define the national interest. In the Chinese case, however, where the (late Qing and early Republican) state was lacking in actual and normative authority, this line of reasoning begged the following question: if neither the state nor the people themselves were able or entitled to identify the “true” interest of the nation, then who was to assume this responsibility?

In their own articles, entitled “A Militaristic State-People” 军国民篇 and “The Education of a Militaristic State-People” 军国民之教育, respectively, Cai E and Jiang Baili elaborated on these ideas by inserting the figure of the professional soldier into the discourse on national unity and strength. Both men contemplated the question of how the willingness to exert oneself for one’s nation-state ought to manifest itself. To this end, they recommended that each member of the state-people acquire the mindset and practical skill set of the professional soldier. The ideal military man was to be motivated by patriotism, honor, loyalty, and a sense of duty toward the nation-state, he had to be disciplined and obedient, and he was to be animated by a “martial spirit” 尚武精神. The possession of such a mindset would enable the individual to better discern the national interest and increase their willingness to give their life in pursuit of it. In addition, the acquisition of such a mindset was to be supplemented with physical training and military drills (Fenhesheng, 1902; Jiang, 1902). Hence, by establishing a link between the Bluntschlian notion of a people’s willingness to exert themselves for their nation-state and the demand to transfer the military way of life to the civilian sphere, Cai and Jiang pursued militaristic goals. ⁷ Only a state with a people united in their pursuit of the common goal of national strength would stand a chance of survival in this Social Darwinist world. Accordingly, Cai E admonished his compatriots to renounce their previous disdain of the military profession: “[The soldier] gives up all personal selfishness and puts himself in service of the public good of the country 国之公. What could be of greater magnanimity?” (Fenhesheng, 1902: pt. 1, 87). Jiang Baili, who was equally fascinated with the death-defying selflessness of the (idealized) military man, mirrored such sentiments. He called for the wholesale transfer of military organizational principles to the civilian sphere: “All societal organizations should be regulated according to military law. . . . The spirit of society 社会之精神, its customs and habits, they all ought to be steeped in the spirit of the military man 军人之精神” (Jiang, 1902: 33–35). Cai and Jiang thus argued that the professional soldier possessed a more highly developed understanding of the nation’s needs and interests than the common people.

These calls for a militarization of society at large were enthusiastically taken up by reform- and revolution-oriented intellectuals alike, who were assumed to thus have found a (seemingly) feasible solution to the persistent weakness and sociopolitical divisions of the Chinese state (e.g., Zhongguo zhi xinmin, 1903; Chen, 1906: 3–4). In addition, the idea of a “militaristic state-people” as a united, disciplined, and obedient body who willingly served their state was equally appealing to China’s central governments, both before and after the 1911 Revolution (e.g., “Educational aims,” 1906; “Educational aims,” 1912). The sweeping sociopolitical embrace of the concept of a “militaristic state-people” was accompanied by various efforts to highlight the overarching importance of the soldierly profession. In June 1905, for instance, an unsigned article in Dongfang zazhi 东方杂志 informed its readers that they must “heighten the [social] position of the military man and promote the education of a militaristic state-people . . . so that to submit oneself to military service may be regarded as the due responsibility of the state-people” (“On the doctrine of esteeming martial qualities,” 1905: 99). The best way to achieve the goal of a strong and unitary state, the article argued, was to follow the example of the military man who, by means of education, had already been imbued with such a spirit, possessed a greater understanding of the national interest, and therefore could lead the way (“On the doctrine of esteeming martial qualities,” 1905: 99–100).

The underlying Social Darwinist assumption that such calls to militarize society were but a scientific necessity (e.g., Yang, 1907: 1b)—after all, to oppose such calls was tantamount to opposing the forces of evolution—contributed considerably to reinforcing the growing trend to glorify the military man on grounds of his chosen profession. Eventually, this trend even became apparent in Chinese legislation. In December 1912, President Yuan promulgated the “Admonitory Instructions to Military Men” 诰诫军人训令, a legal text that addressed the duties of the soldier. The “Admonitory Instructions” were accompanied by a veritable glorification of the military man that culminated in the following statement: “For thousands of years, [China] has relied on the sacred military man 神圣军人 for its protection and preservation” (“Admonitory instructions to military men,” 1913: 9). By thus furnishing the soldier with an air of quasi-religious superiority, the civilian state had inadvertently put itself in a weak position vis-à-vis the military. This weakness was further exacerbated by positioning the nation-state as the main focal point of soldierly love and loyalty: while the “Admonitory Instructions” also contained a reminder that the military man ought to obey the president of the Republic (“Admonitory instructions to military men,” 1913: 8), the highly ambiguous and vague idea of the “nation” was presented as a more important point of reference for the soldier, thus implicitly affording the soldier the liberty to decide for himself who—or what—was worthy of his loyalty.

From early on, the Chinese military sphere was captivated by this new level of sociopolitical appreciation. The concept of a militaristic state-people as the basis of a strong and united nation-state and the resulting notion of an overall and outstanding importance of the military man were enthusiastically taken up by the Chinese specialized military press. There, it was developed into a constitutive part of the professional (self-)concept of the soldier and distributed among military men. In the winter of 1906–1907, for instance, Huang Zan 黄瓒 (1874–?), a former classmate of Cai and Jiang at the Japanese Imperial Army Officers Academy, published a two-part article entitled “Writings on a Militaristic State-People” 军国民书 in the influential military journal Nanyang bingshi zazhi 南洋兵事杂志. There, Huang put the newfound professional confidence of the military man into the following words: “The soldier is the shield and bulwark of the country. Why is there a country? Only because of the soldier is there one” (Huang, 1906–1907: pt. 1, 5). The assumption that underlay such statements—or the more general idea that the professional soldier ought to serve as a role model for the people—was seemingly convincing in its simplicity: the military man was able to achieve such outstanding feats because he had been trained to do so. It was his professional expertise—acquired during a lengthy educational process—that enabled him in particular to identify and protect the interests of the nation (Huang, 1906–1907: pt. 2, 14–15). ⁸

On the basis of this argument, the sociopolitical importance of the professional soldier could easily be essentialized. In 1911, Yang Zengwei 杨曾蔚 (1885–1936), another graduate of the Shikan Gakkō, published an article entitled “The Sacredness of the Military Man” 神圣军人论. In his article, Yang depicted the military man as the engine of China’s progress. On basis of the Social Darwinist idea that all species had to struggle for their survival, Yang argued that the military man ought to be understood as the physical embodiment of the main force of evolutionary progress:

War truly is the engine that propels the advancement of humankind 人类开化之推进机, and for that reason the so-called “military man” is the very essence of global civilization 世界文明之花! [War is the means with which] the military man influences world trends and promotes the development of humankind. (Yang, 1911: 9)

For men like Yang, the societal respect and admiration that the military man ought to command obviously did not only rest with his (presumed) spiritual qualities and practical skill set. It was also, and arguably more importantly, based on the assumption that he was an actual engine of human progress. Paradoxically, however, claims to the “sacredness” of the military man thus came to rest not on religious but (seemingly) scientific arguments.

Among professional soldiers, such deliberations strengthened the belief that they had to serve a dual purpose in the Chinese nation-state: they were convinced of their obligation—and ability—to protect (as well as discern) the national interest, and they were willing to assume an active role in the education of the people at large, thus contributing to the consolidation of a unitary state. The institutional framework for such an endeavor was to be provided in the form of a nationwide compulsory military service system. However, in the face of the absence of such a system (steps toward its establishment would only be taken in the 1930s), the Chinese professional soldier committed himself to his other purpose: the protection of the national interest against any perceived threat.

The National Protection War as a Soldierly Duty

Against this intellectual background, the decision of Cai E, Tang Jiyao, and Li Liejun to summon the National Protection Army and go to war with Yuan Shikai acquires a new dimension of meaning. As professional soldiers who all had undergone lengthy processes of military education and professional socialization, ⁹ they assumed that they, on the grounds of their professional expertise, were uniquely qualified to identify the interests of the Chinese nation, and were obligated to protect them. After all, they were protectors of a nation-state, not just a state. Still, their decision to rise against the central government seems irreconcilable with any notion of an accomplished level of military professionalism. As Samuel Huntington has pointed out, a military establishment can only be deemed fully professionalized if it accepts the authority of the civilian state, in both its capacities as commander of the armed forces and the legitimate representative of the nation (Huntington, 1985 [1957]: 14–15). ¹⁰ Thus, as professional soldiers, Cai, Tang, and Li should not independently have taken the decision to take military action, let alone take such action against their own government.

However, because of the above-described militaristic inclination of Chinese political thinking at the time, the Chinese notion of military professionalism had become linked to specific nationalist ideas: in both the military and civilian spheres, the professional soldier was not only ascribed a special responsibility for the nation-state, he was also deemed to have superior competence in all matters of the nation-state. From the early twentieth century onwards, this outlook and self-concept were deliberately fostered in those men who decided to undergo the process of professional military training and socialization. As a result, the supposed nationalist qualities of the professional soldier (a superior ability to identify and protect the national interest) could justifiably be deemed a direct—and desired—outcome of his professional education and socialization. Based on this idea, then, the professional soldier—who already had undergone military education and training—must indeed not only be a better citizen than the average civilian (who still had to undergo the education of a “militaristic state-people”), he also—at least implicitly—had been charged with the mission to proactively protect the nation-state from dangers only he might be able to identify. The Chinese people were, for lack of training, not yet able to fully grasp the national interest or assume their responsibilities for the well-being of the nation-state. ¹¹ As long as that was the case, it was the professional duty of the military man to rush to the nation’s rescue when needed—even if that entailed going against the civilian authorities of the state.

The very possibility of thus pitting nation and state against each other discloses a fatal intellectual shortcoming of the above-sketched combination of Bluntschlian notions of nation-statehood (as the result of the manifestation of popular sovereignty) with militaristic nationalist ideas and the accompanying ideological elevation of the professional soldier: on that intellectual basis, every single professionally trained military man justifiably could claim for himself the possession of superior insights into the “true” popular will or “actual” national interest (whose existence was never doubted). Yet, given the fact that the very idea of a united and objectively discernible popular will/national interest (beyond expressions of majority opinion on specific topics) is an illusion, ¹² different professional soldiers must sooner or later come to differing conclusions about the national interest and thus into fundamental conflict with each other.

This development was not yet foreseeable when Cai, Tang, and Li—motivated by a sense of professional obligation, I argue—declared war on Yuan in late 1915. ¹³ In fact, their decision to revolt actually came as surprise: thus far, Cai E had been a staunch supporter of Yuan’s efforts to strengthen the authority of the central state vis-à-vis the provinces and the national assembly. Cai even had sided with Yuan during the Second Revolution in 1913 (Shan, 2018: 188–94), as he was convinced that China could only rise again if the country was firmly united under an assertive and efficient central government that took care of its affairs. Yet when Yuan made his monarchical plans public, Cai secretly left Beijing and absconded to the south. With the help of his former teacher Liang Qichao (who from early on had been highly critical of Yuan’s monarchical plans), Cai returned to his former power base in Yunnan (where he had served as military governor from 1911 to 1913), arriving in Yunnanfu (Kunming) on December 19. On December 22, Cai E, Li Liejun (who had arrived around December 17), and others met at Tang Jiyao’s private residence to discuss how to proceed. It was decided that the armed forces of Yunnan were to be mobilized on behalf of Tang Jiyao and Ren Kecheng 任可澄 (1879–1946), then civil governor of Yunnan (Xiang, 1986: 85). In the course of said mobilization, measures to increase the size of the Yunnan Army and to augment its equipment were taken, as were steps to ensure the movement’s longer-term financial solvency (Wang, 1990: 238–39, 243–44). ¹⁴

On December 23, an open telegram undersigned by Tang and Ren was sent to Yuan Shikai. Knowing that the armed forces in Yunnan were on their side, they issued an ultimatum to Yuan, giving him until 10 a.m. on December 25, 1915, to abandon his monarchical plans and to indict the (alleged) ringleaders of the monarchical movement (Shishi xinbao, Dec. 26, 1915: 2–3 ¹⁵ ). Despite its harsh demands, this first telegram was actually quite conciliatory in tone. Its signatories admonished Yuan to be satisfied with the power he already had amassed since 1913. That kind of power, they argued, was sufficient to make political improvements and to strengthen the foundations of the country 巩固国基. Any further attempt to change the current provisional constitution, to alter the state’s existing political system 国体, or to go against the will of the people 民意 by reintroducing a monarchical system would only lead to civil unrest. However, if “our president unflinchingly corrects his mistakes, this danger will be averted and the future of the Republic will indeed be prosperous,” they added (Shishi xinbao, Dec. 26, 1915: 2–3).

On December 24, one day before the ultimatum was to expire, Cai and his friend Dai Kan 戴戡 (1880–1917), then head of the civil government of Guizhou, sent a private telegram to Yuan. In it, they urged the president to yield to the demands made in Tang and Ren’s telegram. Cai gratefully acknowledged their previous working relationship, but also made it clear that the “whole country unanimously” 全国一致 rejected Yuan’s plans: “We [therefore] implore the president . . . to give the order to abandon the monarchical system forever. As if having been blessed by Heaven, our nation-state would eternally benefit from this [decision]. If you do not [give this order], disaster will befall us” (You, 1957: 50).

Since Yuan Shikai neither reacted to the plea of Cai and Dai, nor to the ultimatum of Tang and Ren, a series of preparatory steps were taken by the insurgents. On December 25, they openly challenged China’s emperor-to-be in a circular telegram that was sent to all provinces, lamenting that the constitution had been discarded, that Yuan had violated his presidential oath of allegiance to the Republic, that he had acted contrary to the will of the people, and that his actions invited foreign aggression. ¹⁶ For these reasons, the insurgents called upon all state officials, soldiers, and civilians to resist their—now discredited—president (Shenbao, Dec. 29, 1915: 6). On December 27, these charges were reiterated in a “Call-To-Arms Against the Traitor Yuan” 讨袁逆檄 (Shishi xinbao, Dec. 28, 1915: 2).

On January 1, 1916, a “Public Announcement of the National Protection Military Government” 护国军政府布告 was issued, its sole signatories being Tang Jiyao, Cai E, and Li Liejun. In this announcement, Yuan was now accused of violating China’s national sovereignty 国权 (vested in the people, as it was), disrespecting the dignity of the nation-state 玩视国家之尊严, depriving the representative bodies of the people’s will of their political independence, and debasing Chinese laws and regulations. For these reasons, “the state-people of the Republic and the traitor Yuan simply cannot live under the same sky” (“Historical materials about the National Protection [Movement] in Yunnan,” 1979: 277–78).

The specificity of these accusations reveals that the leaders of the National Protection Movement based their actions on a clear understanding of the concepts of a nation and its relation to a nation-state as had been set out by Liang Qichao and elaborated on by Cai E and Jiang Baili. For Cai (who throughout the war stayed in close contact with Liang to consult with him), Tang, and Li, the Republic had come into existence only after the Chinese people had decided to unite and fight for its establishment, as had become evident in the 1911 Revolution. If Yuan Shikai were now to go through with his monarchical plans and crown himself emperor, the Chinese people would once again be forced off the political stage and lose their status as the bedrock of China’s national sovereignty.

This is not to say that the leaders of the National Protection Movement were advocates of the democratic principle of majority rule. As indicated, Cai E had supported Yuan’s policies in 1913–1914, and so had Tang Jiyao (Xie, 1983: 68–77, 1993: 10–12). While Li Liejun had opposed Yuan in 1913, it had not been in defense of democracy. Instead, Li even then had accused Yuan of working toward a restoration of the monarchy (Li, 1996a [1913], 111, 1996b [1913], 146; Xiang, 1986: 58–62). Cai’s skepticism of democratic practices would stay with him until the very end. On his deathbed in a Japanese hospital, his friend Jiang Baili by his side, he stated in his will that “(1) I hope that our people and government may firmly be of one mind. . . . (2) At present, various [political] factions are stubbornly competing for privileges. I [therefore] wish for one man whom the people may look up to as [a model of] morality and patriotism” (Liu, 1943: 集首 [unnumbered prepended vol.], 63b–64a). Had Yuan Shikai in 1915 continued to base his claim to power on a constitutionally codified presidential office, he might have been such a man. After all, dictatorial rule on the basis of a constitutionally codified presidential office might still have been reconcilable with the notion of popular sovereignty. Hence, when Yuan set out to restore the monarchy, he correspondingly claimed that his actions were motivated by the (unspoken) will of the people (who supposedly favored a monarchical system), and that his upcoming rule as Hongxian 洪宪 (lit. “great constitutional”) emperor would rest on a sound constitutional basis (Young, 1976: 181–83, 1977, 212–16). Considering China’s own imperial past, however, Yuan’s ascendancy to the throne still would have implied that his claim to power ultimately would have come to rest on a religious notion of some kind of heavenly mandate, in which the concept of popular sovereignty, as symbolized by a codified constitution, could not hold any meaningful place.

The “Public Announcement of the National Protection Military Government” primarily served the purpose of communicating the political convictions of Cai, Tang, and Li to the public. But, at the same time, it also provided insight into the motivation of these officers to take action against Yuan. In order to emphasize that their actions were for the benefit of the whole nation, they repeatedly invoked the “will of the people” to justify their uprising, but they also made it clear that the National Protection Movement was a military enterprise. While those “among the state-people of the Republic who obey the established [1912 provisional] constitution [are invited to] assist 翊 in defending the Republic,” all efforts to remake the Republican central government after the victory over Yuan were to fall under the purview of the military government (Shishi xinbao, Mar. 6, 1916: 3, 6).

The conviction that the military was responsible for the nation’s well-being was reiterated in a short address that Cai E directed to his troops in early January 1916. After lecturing his soldiers that the elected president was expected to create a “shared nation-state” 共同的国家 in which everybody could assume their respective responsibility for the well-being of the nation-state—and thus ensure its survival—he condemned Yuan for having done the exact opposite: immediately after his election Yuan supposedly had begun to undermine the political institutions of the Republic and to abuse his powers to his own personal advantage, thus eroding national unity. Worse still, Yuan had pretended to heed the will of the people when he proclaimed the restoration of the monarchy. For these reasons, Cai stressed, “this army cannot bear [the thought] that our nation-state is on the brink of destruction. . . . [I am, therefore,] calling on the military circles 军界 in other provinces, as well as all people with high ideals 志士仁人, to join forces with our troops to get rid of Yuan and to jointly preserve our Republic” (Shishi xinbao, Feb. 11, 1916: 6). In a short but blazing speech directed at the troops under his command, Tang Jiyao reiterated these ideas, but he also added that an abandonment of Republicanism and return to autocracy was tantamount to renouncing the forces of evolution (Shishi xinbao, Jan. 22, 1916: 6). ¹⁷

Such ideas were not only communicated to the armed forces. Shortly after the outbreak of the war, the so-called National Protection Lecture Society 护国演说社 was established in Yunnan, and a series of lectures was given in Yunnanfu to gain public support for the insurgents and their antimonarchical cause (Li, 1985: 107–108). In one of these lectures, it was reiterated that it had been the “duty” 责任 of the National Protection Army to declare war on Yuan. Had Yuan been allowed to proceed unchallenged with his monarchical plans, the Chinese people would once again have had to suffer as mere imperial subjects without political agency, their blood being spilt for the sole benefit of a single person (“The duty and the reputation of the National Protection Army,” 1985 [1916]: 705–706). In another lecture, the legal considerations that underlay Cai, Tang, and Li’s decision to go to war were explained in an easy vernacular: “The people are the constitutive body of the Republican nation-state, the president is, according to law, elected by the people to head the government. . . . However, at present Yuan Shikai uses his presidential office . . . for his selfish benefit; he wields the presidential powers to smash the Republic and to presumptuously declare himself emperor.” Since the people were not yet fully aware of their own responsibility to curb Yuan’s machinations, Tang Jiyao, Cai E, and Li Liejun had had to step in (“The people first must possess the ability,” 1985 [1916]: 713-14). Yet another street lecture was concerned with the following question: “So, what is the most glorious duty of the Republican state-people?” (1985 [1916]: 718). The answer, pointing to the prominent status the military man had already acquired in Chinese nationalist and statist thinking, was convincingly obvious: “To serve as a soldier, of course!” ¹⁸

The Aftermath and Consequences of the National Protection War

On March 22, 1916, after a series of military defeats, a growing number of defecting provinces (by then Yunnan, Guizhou, and Guangxi), and mounting pressure from within and abroad, Yuan gave in and abandoned his monarchical plans. Yet, he was not willing to relinquish the presidency (Shan, 2018: 217–22; Sutton, 1980: 209–12). As a result, more provinces (Guangdong, Zhejiang, Shaanxi, Sichuan) declared independence, and on May 8, 1916, an alternative government, the so-called “Council for Military Affairs” 军务院, was set up in Zhaoqing in Guangdong. This military government was headed by Tang Jiyao and Cen Chunxuan 岑春煊 (1861–1933), an old opponent of Yuan. Cai E, Li Liejun, Liang Qichao (with Jiang Baili on his staff), and others assumed (nominal) posts as “governors” 抚军 of the provinces that had defected (Xie et al., 1984: 411–20; Wang, 1989: 47–50). ¹⁹ The Council for Military Affairs insisted that Yuan resign and be prosecuted for his crimes against the Republic, but his death on June 6, 1916, made this demand obsolete. On the following day, Li Yuanhong was sworn in as acting president, and he quickly reinstated the 1912 provisional constitution and arranged for the National Assembly to reconvene. On July 14, therefore, on the day the Beijing government ordered the prosecution of the alleged ringleaders of the monarchical restoration, the Council for Military Affairs declared its dissolution, thus bringing the National Protection Movement to its official end (Shan, 2018: 223, 228; Xie et al., 1984: 422).

Cai and his comrades-in-arms apparently had achieved what they had set out do: they had prevented a restoration of monarchy and saved the Republic. However, in another, and ultimately more important, regard the National Protection Movement failed spectacularly: their example did not inspire the Chinese people to rally and strive for the well-being of the nation-state, and neither partisanship nor factionalism—which commonly were regarded as the main reasons for China’s inability to grow into a strong unitary state—were overcome. Instead, the National Protection War further amplified the political role of the armed forces in the Chinese Republic. ²⁰ After all, the actions of Cai, Tang, and Li had not only shown that national policy could indeed be influenced by violent means, they also proved that such actions could be met with public approval. From April to December 1916, for instance, the commemorative monthly journal Chronicle of the National Protection Army 护国军纪事 was published in Shanghai, recounting and analyzing the events and reprinting telegrams, proclamations, and the like. The first issue of the Chronicle contained pictures of Tang, Cai, and Li that were captioned “the great men 伟人 who were the first to revolt in Yunnan” (Chronicle of the National Protection Army, 1916: vol. 1, in the pages preceding the table of contents). In October 1916, Liang Qichao published his own documentary collection of the National Protection War (Liang, 1916), and in 1917 a joint Biography of the Three Heroes of The National Protection of the Chinese Republic 中华护国三杰传 (Yu, 1917) was published in Yunnan by Yu Enyang 庾恩旸 (1884–1918), a graduate of the Shikan Gakkō who during the war had held high appointments in the Yunnan military government. Many other publications praising the leaders of the National Protection Movement and endorsing their lofty ideals were to follow in the coming months and years.

In the wake of Cai E’s death, then, the outpouring of public admiration reached hitherto unprecedented heights. Since the summer of 1916, his declining health had been met with much public interest (e.g., North-China Daily News, July 19, 1916: 8; Shibao, Aug. 4, 1916: 2; Xinwenbao, Sept. 19, 1916: 3), and accordingly, his death on November 8 triggered an enormous reaction. To name but a few examples: An opera entitled “Cai E” was staged in Beijing (Xinwenbao, Nov. 25, 1916: 13), Cai was posthumously promoted to the rank of “General of the Army” 陆军上将 (Zhengfu gongbao, Nov. 29, 1916: 命令, 1), and on December 5, 1916, Liang Qichao pledged to open the Songpo Library 松坡图书馆 in honor of his late disciple (Hu and Zhou, 1997: 53). ²¹

In the following years, Liang would be heavily engaged in keeping the memory of Cai alive. In December 1926, on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of Cai’s death, Liang published a commemorative article on his former pupil. In said article, he argued that the events of 1915–1916 had shown two things: “(1) The might of the willpower of a state-people 国民意志; [and] (2) the might of the guiding power of moral integrity 人格指导力” (Liang, 1926: 65). According to Liang, Yuan Shikai had grossly underestimated the intensity with which his egotistical plan to make himself emperor would be rejected by the people. By contrast, Cai’s victory over Yuan (Liang made no mention of Tang Jiyao or Li Liejun) had been rooted in the conformity of his goals with those of the people. However, had it not been for Cai—a person of outstanding moral integrity—the popular will to stop Yuan would not have found an appropriate outlet and simply have dissipated. Still, Liang emphasized, “Cai Songpo [i.e., Cai E] was not a naturally gifted person 天才. His physical constitution was weak, [and therefore] he diligently exercised. His knowledge was insufficient, [and therefore] he diligently studied. . . . Like him, we, too, must persist in the face of trials and tribulations, must ceaselessly march forward, and must accomplish what he has accomplished” (Liang, 1926: 66–67). In other words, Cai E had evolved into a role model for the state-people because he had trained himself to do so. His superiority vis-à-vis the common people did not derive from any innate talents, but from comprehensive military education and training. Liang’s eulogy also contained a dig at those warlords who currently were meddling with political affairs: “Their strength is, in fact, very limited. The willpower of the state-people grows day by day, and their strength decreases day by day” (Liang, 1926: 66). What Liang did not acknowledge—or maybe even realize—was that, intellectually, these warlords were actually closely following in the footsteps of Cai E, Tang Jiyao, and Li Liejun.

Beginning in the early twentieth century, against an ideological backdrop of Social Darwinism and the corresponding assumption that only unitary states with fortified national peoples stood a chance in the struggle for survival, the professional soldier was ascribed an increasingly prominent role in Chinese nationalist thinking, both as a role model for the people (who were expected to acquire the spiritual and practical skill set of the military man) and as the foremost protector of the nation and their (supposedly objectively discernible) “true” interest. Accordingly, when Yuan Shikai had begun to prepare for a restoration of monarchy in China, Cai, Tang, and Li as professional soldiers had deemed themselves obligated—and competent—to protect said interest. Claiming to be representatives of the actual will of the people, they had taken up arms against a Chinese state that seemingly had readied itself to renege on its previous commitment to popular sovereignty.

In the 1910s and 1920s, China’s “warlords” invoked this very ideological framework when they attempted to justify their own interventions in political affairs. In 1919, for instance, Yan Xishan 阎锡山 (1883–1960), a Shikan Gakkō graduate who dictatorially ruled Shanxi from 1911 to 1949, issued a small book entitled Education for Peasants 农民教育 that drew on many ideas originally brought forward by Liang Qichao, Cai E, and others. With the help of this book, the Shanxi peasantry were “to be turned into a good state-people 好国民” (Yan, 1944 [1919]: 敘言, 1), and in chapter six of the book, which was dedicated to the nation-state, Yan invoked a supposedly indisputable need for national unity (Yan, 1944 [1919]: 56) before declaring that to become a soldier and to pay taxes were the two most important expressions of concern for one’s homeland, as “these [two obligations] are the duties of a state-people 国民的义务” (Yan, 1944 [1919]: 57). The chapter closed with a stern reminder to “respect the military man” 尊重军人 for his services: “The military man is the man who protects the nation-state and the people” (Yan, 1944 [1919]: 75–76). Clearly, the professional soldier (and that included Yan Xishan as well) continued to be ascribed a sociopolitical role of outstanding importance, both as a protector of the unitary state and teacher of the common people.

Yet, as indicated above, such soldierly invocations of national unity and military obligation to protect the popular interest could quickly come into conflict with each other. For example, in April 1922, amid rising tensions between Zhang Zuolin 张作霖 (1875–1928) and Wu Peifu 吴佩孚 (1874–1939) that soon would culminate in the First Zhili–Fengtian War 第一次直奉战争 (1922), a series of heated open telegrams were circulated. Each side accused the other of essentially the same offenses that Yuan Shikai had been accused of a few years earlier. Thus, in a circular dispatched on April 19, 1922, Zhang blamed Wu and his Zhili clique for the current crisis. At the same time, he was intent on emphasizing his own selflessness in service of the country: “[I], Zuolin, . . . have spent half my life in the military . . . and have no interest in power and profit. [I] cherish complete sincerity, and my only concern is the [well-being of] the nation-state and the people.” His current preparations for war, Zhang reassuringly claimed, were merely a measure to protect the nation-state, and his only enemies were those “who destroy the unity 统一 [of the nation-state]” (Editorial Committee, 1982: 647–48). In one of his own circulars, dispatched on April 21, 1922, Wu retorted in likewise fashion. Like Zhang, he emphasized his identity as a soldier and his professional obligation to protect the nation and the state: “[I], Peifu, and others—proud members of an army that has dedicated itself to the cause of the country 许国, that has eliminated traitors, suppressed riots, and halted chaos—have always striven for peace and [national] unity!” (Editorial Committee, 1982: 655). ²² Both men, even though deeply opposed to each other, claimed in nearly identical fashion that their actions were in service of the people.

To give a concluding example, in October 1924 Feng Yuxiang 冯玉祥 (1882–1948), too, issued a circular after his surprising defection from the Zhili clique and his occupation of Beijing during the Second Zhili–Fengtian War 第二次直奉战争 (1924) (Sheridan, 1966: 133–37). After justifying his actions (his sole motivation had been to keep the people safe, he emphasized) he announced the founding of the—certainly deliberately named—State-People Army 国民军. This army, he pledged, “should only be dispatched in service of the country and the people,” albeit only at his personal command (Li, 1969 [1930]: 116). In summary, on the basis of a (supposedly) superior understanding of the popular will and the national interest, Feng Yuxiang and many other military men in the 1910s and 1920s claimed to be but agents of the national interest, thus essentially justifying their actions as an expression of popular sovereignty. ²³

Conclusion

As the examples above show, the National Protection War and its aftermath cast a long shadow over Chinese politics. In the eyes of China’s military men, the events of 1915–1916 had shown three things: That the military—in times of crisis—was justified in intervening in political affairs, that such interventions could be successful, and that such actions were met with public approval. As a result, an ever-growing number of military men began to act on their belief that they were especially competent to discern the “actual” interest of the nation and to represent the “true” will of the people. If they deemed the national interest to be endangered, they stepped into the political arena and intervened. When they intervened, they did so in a military fashion: by applying the means of violence at their disposal. What they failed to realize, however, was that the public’s approval of the actions of Cai E and his comrades-in-arms had not been unconditional. The leaders of the National Protection Movement had only been celebrated because their anti-monarchical beliefs were widely shared. Cai, Tang, and Li thus could somewhat justifiably claim to have acted in the interest of the nation. By contrast, the military men of the 1910s and 1920s who also attempted to enforce their respective visions of the national interest faced a hostile public. Holding the (unrealistic) belief in the existence of a unique and specific popular will and their particular ability to discern and defend it, they first inevitably came to differing conclusions about the national interest and then into fundamental conflict with each other (and a public that usually condemned their actions). In other words, a combination of unsustainable intellectual convictions and the lack of public approval of their ideas and actions turned these soldiers into “warlords.”

Therein lies the main difference between the events of the National Protection War and the warlord era—a difference that highlights a fatal structural flaw of the ideological foundation on which the Republican polity was erected. The National Protection War showed that strong, legitimate, and sovereign statehood was fully dependent on a broad sociopolitical consensus on the related questions of who the nation actually is and who is to represent their interests. In Republican China, the answer to neither of these questions was sufficiently clear: the Chinese state—which supposedly was a nation-state—lacked the normative authority to assert its prerogative to define and represent the interest of the nation or to control the military (see Harrison, 2000: 93). Because of this weakness of the Chinese state, military actors could step in, claim the right to define the national interest for themselves, and then come into conflict with each other when they set out to actualize their respective visions of the national interest.

In such an environment of weak statehood and ideological ambiguities, the professional soldier had decisive advantages over other contenders who also wanted to have a say in matters of the nation: the violent origins of the Republic and the persistent weakness of its central authorities had afforded him an important political role, and he controlled the means of violence which allowed him to effectively enforce his national vision. Still, by themselves, these advantages cannot satisfactorily explain why so many professional soldiers chose to enter the political arena after 1916. This leads me back to the intellectual cornerstone of Chinese warlordism—the supposedly superior nationalist qualities of the military man. By attributing superior national abilities and qualities to the soldier vis-à-vis the civilian people, the term “military man” essentially turned into a prognostic concept that was used to describe the ideal future citizen of the Chinese Republic. As long as the Chinese people had not reached a comparable level of national accomplishment, the military man had to stand apart from—and above—his compatriots, protecting their interests for them. Given the profound effect that processes of professional socialization have on those who undergo them, this self-image most likely motivated Cai, Tang, and Li when they, in 1915, took it upon themselves to defend the interests of the Chinese nation against the Chinese state. But by thus pitting the nation against the state, they not only amplified the already prevalent ambiguity of what the national interest actually was supposed to be, they also fatally undermined the central state’s (still weak) claim to being the only legitimate representative of the nation. By giving credence to the idea that military men were professionally justified—and obligated—to intervene in political affairs, the National Protection War inadvertently provided the intellectual foundations of the warlord era.

On December 5, 1916, the day that Cai E’s remains arrived back in Shanghai from Japan, these developments were of course not yet foreseeable. After having been disembarked from the Canadian steamship CMS Hsinming, Cai’s coffin was escorted by a large funeral procession to an interim resting place in Zhabei district. On April 12, 1917, then, in a first attempt to turn him into a potent symbol of the Republican central state (see Vu, 2021: 83–85), the man whose actions would pave the way for the warlord era was honored with an official state funeral in Hunan. ²⁴