The 80-20 Rule and the Trickster Archetype
"Is he lucky?"
Ying Zheng was born on New Year’s Day 259 BCE, to Zhao Ji, a concubine belonging to Ying Yiren, a minor prince of the royal house of Qin who was being held hostage in the neighbouring state of Zhao as a guarantee of his family’s continued goodwill. Almost immediately after Zheng’s birth Yiren’s father, King Xiaowen, broke his truce with Zhao. Lü Buwei, Ji’s former owner, managed to exfiltrate the family from the besieged city of Handan and return them to Qin, where Yiren so successfully charmed his father and stepmother that he was appointed crown prince, and shortly thereafter succeeded to the throne of Qin, making Buwei his Chancellor. Yiren himself died three years later, and Zheng was crowned aged 13, in the midst of an armed rebellion by Lord Chengjiao, his elder half-brother. However, Zheng was King in name only, with the court being controlled by Buwei, Zhao Ji and her secret lover Lao Ai. By the time Zheng was 18, his mother had two additional children by Lao Ai, and was beginning manoeuvres to have Zheng ousted and replaced, culminating in an attempted palace coup by Ai. Demonstrating the first signs of the capacity for political manoeuvring and decisive action that would mark his career, Zheng used Buwei to defeat Ai and his troops, had his two half-brothers killed and his mother sent into exile, before compelling Buwei to commit suicide and taking power into his own hands with the assistance of Li Si, one of Buwei’s former deputies. It was to prove a durable partnership: together they broadened and deepened the technocratic reforms begun under Zheng’s great-great-great grandfather, Duke Xiao. These reforms, based on the the manipulation of economic incentives and penal sanctions to maximise the state’s corporate efficiency, had already turned Qin from a backwater into a military powerhouse, and under Zheng’s rule its full capacity would be unleashed upon the neighbouring states. After surviving repeated assassination attempts, in 221 BCE he finally succeeded in uniting China, ruling under the name Qin Shihuang until his death - likely from mercury poisoning - in 210 BCE.
It is a life that provides plenty of juicy material for any historian, and various snippets appear in the Stratagems of the Warring States, a vast compendium of anecdotes about the exploits of the most celebrated diplomats and generals from the years roughly spanning 480 - 221 BCE. Given that many of the stories seem to have been first committed to manuscipt in Qin during the third century, one might expect him to be the object of hagiography in the manner of later imperial founders. Alternatively, one may note that the collection was compiled under the Han dynasty, whose leaders were known for conducting ferocious literary propaganda operations against their predecessors as a means of justifying their own rule, and expect the Stratagems to present him as a remorseless tyrant and oppressor. Instead, the book does something much more remarkable and strangely under-remarked, and makes him something akin to a trickster god.
The trickster god archetype is a quasi-universal figure, as the limited Wikipedia list of examples attests:
While not all of these entities display every characteristic of the ideal type, it is possible to provide a description of the general tendencies of the character: amoral, fallible, enthusiastic, oafish, unaccountable, often defeated but ultimately so indefatigable that this seldom matters. Even where they do not feature as a demiurge-like ambivalent creator, they often accumulate more myths and legends than any of their more conventionally divine colleagues, being solid fan favourites despite - or possibly because of - their flaws. They pop up among the earliest and most recent mythological cycles: from ǀKaggen and the Bluetongue Lizard through Susanoo, Loki and Anansi to Bugs Bunny and Jack Sparrow.
In the Stratagems’ Qin Shihuang stories, he appears most often as an ironic observer, coming close to breaking the fourth wall with his accurate assessments of his supplicants’ motives. Having sent Yao Jia, a Qin diplomat, out to distribute bribes among the courts of his enemies he receives word that Jia has been using the funds to attempt to secure himself a better position instead. Zheng summons him back, and subjects him to an interrogation that is both carefully ambiguous and shot through with self-aware sarcasm:
The King summoned Yao Jia and questioned him, saying, "I hear that you are using our resources to build relations with the sovereign lords. Hooked any yet?"
Yao Jia replied, "I have."
The King said, "Then why bother to show your face around here again?"
(Full translation with original text)
When faced with Dun Ruo, a Confucian scholar bent on performing moral intransigence, he tolerates repeated insults, gently exposes Ruo’s cupidity, and finally transforms him into a Qin agent. A story that appears at first glance to be an example of the rewards that can be won by an official of staunch integrity transforms into a cynical description of the ease with which such individuals can be corrupted:
The King of Qin requested an audience with Dun Ruo. Dun Ruo said, "My principles forbid me from bowing. If Your Majesty can permit his servant to refrain from bowing, then I can come. If not, then there will be no audience." The King of Qin allowed it. (…)
Dun Ruo said, "East of the mountains are six warring states. For all your power you cannot repress the states east of the mountains, though you repress your own mother. Your servant humbly suggests that this is not appropriate behaviour for Your Majesty."
The King of Qin said, "These warring states east of the mountains, can they be annexed?"
Master Dun said, "Han is the throat of All-Under-Heaven, Wei is its stomach. If you provide me with ten thousand gold pieces I will go travelling to obtain the ear of Han and Wei, and ensure that their spirits of earth and grain come and serve Qin. Then Han and Wei will fall in line, and you can make plans to take All-Under-Heaven." (…)
The King of Qin said, "Very well." Accordingly, the ten thousand gold pieces were handed over, and Dun Ruo was ordered to travel eastwards to Han and Wei and bring back their generals and Chancellors. In the North he traveled to Yan and Zhao, and had Li Mu killed. If the King of Qi visited the court of Qin, and the four states finally fell into line, it was down to Master Dun's persuasions
(Full translation with original text)
In the Stratagems Zheng is frequently defeated by clever interlocutors, but the readers - gifted with hindsight - know that this is only a temporary setback and, in any case, are charmed by the gusto he brings to everything he does.
The King of Qin sent an envoy to speak to the Lord of Anling, saying, "We wish to exchange five hundred li of land for the deeds to Anling. The Lord of Anling to consent by reply."
The Lord of Anling said, "Your Majesty is too kind; to propose to exchange something so large for something so small is extremely good of you. Nevertheless, we received our lands from the former King and we intend to protect them to the end. We would not dare to assent to any exchange." The King of Qin was not happy, so the Lord of Anling appointed Tang Ju as his envoy to Qin.
The King of Qin spoke to Tang Ju, saying, "We offered five hundred li of land in exchange for the deeds to Anling, and the Lord of Anling would not hear of it. Why? Qin has wiped out Han and extinguished Wei, and yet his Lordship's fifty li of land remain, simply because we recognised his leadership and had no reason to pay him any mind. Now I am begging to expand his domain with lands ten times the size of his and he rejects us. Does he hold us in contempt?"
Tang Ju replied, "Quite the contrary. The Lord of Anling received his land from the former King and intends to preserve it. Even for a thousand li, he would not dare to exchange it. How could you move him with five hundred?"
The King of Qin was intensely irritated and spoke to Tang Ju, saying, "Have you never heard what happens when you anger the Son of Heaven?"
Tang Ju replied, "Your servant never has."
The King of Qin said, "When you anger the Son of Heaven corpses are scattered over a million li and the blood flows for ten million li."
Tang Ju said, "Has Your Majesty never heard what happens when you anger the lower ranks?"
The King of Qin said, "When you anger the lower ranks they turn up hatless and bare-footed to grovel."
Tang Ju said (…) "If this scholar is angered, he will leave only two corpses, and the blood will flow just five paces, but All-Under-Heaven will wear white in mourning this very day." He rose and drew his sword.
The King of Qin was visibly intimidated and knelt to apologise, saying, "Sit down, your excellency. Why take on this way? Consider us told! Han and Wei have been exterminated, but Anling's fifty li will remain, purely because they have you on their side."
(Full translation with original text)
Why, then, did the authors choose to portray the First Emperor in this way, rather than as a conquering hero or tyrannical oppressor?
It is possible that he gave them no choice. Certainly, from the brief glimpses we are given, Zheng does not seem like a symbol. In fact he is among the most obviously human characters in the book. Indeed, so distinctive are Zheng’s mannerisms and modes of speech that it is possible to recognise him immediately from just a line or two of anonymous speech. Moreover, this extends beyond the text of the Stratagems. If we compare this with the other key source - Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian - Sima Qian’s pre-imperial characters generally have much more of the Shakespearean tragic hero about them, but still we hear in Qin Shihuang’s speech the same idiosyncrasies as are present in the Stratagems. For all the Grand Historian’s efforts to give an epic cast to the character, he cannot entirely escape the cheerful ne’er-do-well sitting on the throne room steps and teasing his subordinates in a mixture of formal court speech and choppy vernacular.
If we see the depiction of Qin Shihuang in the Stratagems as being a free choice by the authors and compilers, this assumes that the archetype preceded the individual, as a sort of Platonic form. However, the historical information we have seems to make more sense if we understand the process as in the opposite direction: that the archetype was built upon stories about real individuals, and these people tended to share certain specific characteristics - the revolutionary eccentric psychological phenotype, as it were. It is not so much that Zheng’s personality has been shaped by historians to fit a particular trope, but rather that he was merely the latest contributor to a composite portrait.
But why should this character be such a universal constant? One could potentially argue that this combination of traits recurs on account of has some evolutionary evolutionary advantage it must confer, but that does not explain what this advantage may be. Why should bumbling self-interest be so useful to preserve?
I would suggest that the answer is a statistical one. An individual who wishes to achieve success within a given rule-bound system has merely to comply intelligently. His effort-reward function is a linear one, and it is thus possible for him to obtain his ends with no or few failures. On the other hand, one who wishes to do something new will necessarily fail most of the time. He has to try out multiple new ideas on a small scale, abandoning those that fail and setting aside those that work to be re-used in bigger and more important manoeuvres. Since most new projects tend to fail or require significant modifications, this will produce the impression of a person who is forced to concede defeat in most of his endeavours, but who - despite this - somehow manages to achieve miraculous outcomes at the crucial moment - an instance of the 80-20 rule in action. The Dao De Jing hints at such a phenomenon:
The ancient masters were subtle, mysterious, profound, responsive.
The depth of their knowledge is unfathomable.
Because it is unfathomable,
All we can do is describe their appearance.
Watchful, like men crossing a winter stream.
Alert, like men aware of danger.
Courteous, like visiting guests.
Yielding like ice about to melt.
Simple, like uncarved blocks of wood.
Hollow, like caves.
Opaque, like muddy pools.
Who can wait quietly while the mud settles?
Who can remain still until the moment of action?
A similar tendency can be observed in warfare - another situation in which the aim is to build a new fait accompli without an excessive regard for rules. Cardinal Mazarin referred to the phenomenon when he suggested that one should ask whether a general is lucky rather than whether he is skillful. A leader who appears skillful is being judged according to pre-established metrics within the parameters of a rule-bound system: we know how he will perform inside a given set of constraints, but have no idea how he will deal with chaos. Existential conflict, by definition, involves the collapse of pre-existing conventions and a struggle to rebuild new ones. Not only will a leader who performs well under stable conditions not necessarily match this performance in chaotic ones, he is actually less likely to achieve good outcomes. The previous rewards he received for high-performance within an ordered context have served to over-fit his mental models to metrics that cease to apply in chaotic situations. The general who succeeds in such circumstances is rather the one who knows that anyone advancing under conditions of uncertainty will make numerous mistakes, with the ultimate distinction between success and failure being whether the mistakes happen at unimportant or important junctures. An outside observer who does not have access to the statistical offsetting he is doing in his head will merely see a serene bumbler who fails 80% of the time and is obscenely fortunate the other 20%. Thus, per Sunzi, “his victories bring him neither reputation for wisdom nor credit for courage.” In fact, the eight failures are essential to create the two successes, and his only genius lies in ensuring that they happen at at a place and time in which they will cost him little.
However, low cost is not zero cost. Anyone attempting to maximise their returns under a known rule-set can advance his career without ever experiencing failure. Thus he gains both the practical benefits to be accrued from this and a reputation for intelligence that can be traded for further profits. The trickster-founder, on the other hand, is playing a high-risk high-reward game (another 80-20 situation), obliged to create or discover a situation in which his own trial-and-error approach will beat intelligent compliance. If he succeeds he will be Alexander, if not, Diogenes. Or, as the Dao De Jing has it,
Ordinary men look bright and intelligent, while I alone seem to be benighted. They look full of discrimination, while I alone am dull and confused. I seem to be carried about as on the sea, drifting as if I had nowhere to rest. All men have their spheres of action, while I alone seem dull and incapable, like a rude borderer.
This mathematical explanation also tells us why the trickster is such a widespread idea. The statistics underlying the process described above apply everywhere and at all times: whether you are a San tribesman, a Warring States prince or a cartoon rabbit, experimental learning through repeated low-cost failure is the only way to establish something unprecedented, but it must be conducted at a certain reputational cost. It is not that all societies coincidentally have legends about a similar individual, but rather that in all societies a similar type of person tends to fulfill the role. While he may not be the smartest, the strongest or even the most stable, he has a gift for arbitraging the odds that makes it appear as though the universe is going out of its way to bestow success upon him despite all his failings.
This is an outstanding bit of analysis. Tying the trickster archetype to the risk-taker in business, politics and military affairs to the Pareto rule is very clever.
Gotta love the Trickster!