Zeng Guofan's View of Money

In the late Qing dynasty, Zeng Guofan was renowned for his outstanding political and military gifts, and the principles of conduct he followed through his career, together with his system of thought, left an indelible mark on both history and modern society.

Yet few have attended to his attitudes and practices around money. Across his life Zeng Guofan left behind a great many family letters and diaries, and these writings record his financial circumstances in detail, income and expenditure alike. As a part of his complex character and the depth of his thought, they hold much that can enlighten us.

Born into an age of turmoil, Zeng Guofan’s experience carried him through social upheaval and national crisis. This not only honed his political and military talent but shaped his singular view of wealth. He was born into a family that prized letters over commerce, and from childhood he received the Confucian education of the “doctrine of the mean,” so that his understanding of money was rooted deep in personal cultivation, family duty and contribution to society.

Zeng Guofan’s official career passed through three distinct phases. At twenty-eight he became a jinshi; at thirty he entered the Hanlin Academy; and until the age of forty-two he served as an official in the capital. From forty-three to fifty-four he transformed into a military commander, single-handedly raising the Xiang Army and taking part in the suppression of the Taiping Rebellion. From fifty-five until his death at sixty-two, as Viceroy of Liangjiang and Viceroy of Zhili, he became one of the most powerful and influential officials of his day.

Let us analyze Zeng Guofan’s view of money through these three phases.

Living Beyond His Means: Frugality as the Cultivation of Virtue

At only thirty, Zeng Guofan was appointed to the Hanlin Academy. Though his rank was not high — merely the seventh — in the emperor’s eyes a Hanlin academician was an elite chosen through the imperial examinations, charged with important duties. Zeng Guofan rose swiftly, promoted seven times in ten years, and before he was forty he already held the high post of Vice Minister of Rites, of the full second rank.

Yet behind this glittering surface, Zeng Guofan faced financial straits throughout.

By forty-one, Zeng Guofan held the vice-ministership of four departments at once — Rites, Works, War and Justice. But in a letter to his younger brother he mentioned that life in the last lunar month of that year was very hard, and that he needed to borrow at least two hundred taels of silver to get through the New Year.

In his forty-second year Zeng Guofan’s mother died, and by traditional rites he returned to his home village to observe mourning, bringing to a close a twelve-year official career in the capital. When he left, he still owed debts to many colleagues, friends and even merchants in the capital. Only years later, when he had become Viceroy of Liangjiang, was Zeng Guofan able to clear them.

Why did this come about? It may be hard for us to imagine, but the living expenses of an official in the capital were no small sum.

Take dress first. For an official of the Qing, the purchase of clothing was a major expense. By the rules of the day, an official had to buy his own official robes at his own cost, including the familiar “official’s cap and peacock feather.” Even when the emperor conferred the honor of the yellow riding jacket, the official had to pay out of his own pocket to have the garment made.

The types of official robes were extremely numerous — divided by occasion into court robes and festive robes; by season into winter and summer dress; and further into everyday robes and robes for going out. They were not only many in kind but frequently changed, and which robe was worn was decided not by the official himself but by the court’s uniform command. Wang Wenshao, for instance, Vice Minister of Revenue in the Guangxu era, recorded in his diary that in three months he changed through eleven sets of official robes — a change, on average, less than every nine days.

In the family letters he exchanged with his brother, Zeng Guofan too once mentioned that after his many years as an official in the capital, what piled up in his home was chiefly books and clothing. Books were his passion; clothing was a necessity of his office.

Just how large was the expense of official robes? In the very year that the thirty-year-old Zeng Guofan first obtained his Hanlin post, his spending on dress came to nearly 33 taels of silver, while his salary for the whole year was 130 taels. That is, the cost of clothing alone took up a quarter of his annual income.

Next, let us discuss food. You might think that economizing on food would be simple enough — just eat more plainly, and there it is. For a private person this can indeed save money. But for an official in the capital, frequent social calls, banquets and gatherings of every kind were all but unavoidable.

In the Qing, the life of a capital official was relatively comfortable and settled, and that of a Hanlin academician was more leisurely still. They were not merely officials but something more like scholars recognized by the emperor, whose chief duty was to “cultivate the self, order the family, govern the state, and bring peace to all under heaven.” This meant they had to build their reputation through reading and study.

And how was such “renown” to be cultivated? Not by shutting oneself away, but through wide friendship. In the official culture of the day, making many friends was regarded as a way of building a good image among the literati. Attending gatherings, poetry societies and banquets of every kind — these were prime chances to make new friends.

Beyond this, one had also to maintain existing relationships. A capital official was himself set within a complex web of connections woven from fellow townsmen, fellow disciples, fellow examinees, fellow students and fellow officials, and to keep this web stable, constant contact and gathering were indispensable.

Taking Zeng Guofan’s thirtieth year again as an example, his spending at gatherings of various kinds came to nearly 40 taels of silver.

The matter of lodging was likewise a major expense for Zeng Guofan.

In the Qing, a capital official was provided neither with an official residence nor with any form of housing subsidy. For those who came from elsewhere to serve in the capital, renting a house was the first solution to the problem of lodging.

Yet to preserve an official’s dignity and decorum, the house he rented had to be large enough in area and favorable in location — and so, naturally, the rent was relatively high. In Zeng Guofan’s thirtieth year, the cost of housing rent alone reached 107 taels of silver.

Transport, too, was no small expense for Zeng Guofan. The Han officials of the Qing mostly lived in the outer city of Beijing, and the government offices were usually some distance from their homes. Beijing’s roads were mainly of packed earth or gravel — travel was inconvenient, and in wind or rain it was harder still, so officials commonly chose to ride in a sedan chair or a carriage.

To keep bearers, or a carriage and horses, was a heavy burden for the newly appointed Zeng Guofan, so he chose to travel by rented carriage. Even so, a year’s travel came to as much as 51 taels of silver.

Adding together the expenses of dress, food, lodging and travel, along with daily living costs, financial support for his parents back home, and the purchase of books, Zeng Guofan’s income in his thirtieth year was about 130 taels of silver, while his total spending came to as much as 605 taels — meaning that in a single year he faced a shortfall of 475 taels.

This financial plight was no isolated case. By the historical records that survive, the ordinary salaries of the great majority of capital officials fell far short of supporting their living expenses. On one hand, to maintain their dignity, officials generally spent more than ordinary people on dress, food, lodging and travel. On the other, because the Qing operated a “meager-salary system,” officials’ pay really was too low.

Many capital officials therefore began to seek additional sources of income, sometimes even at the cost of turning to corruption.

Zeng Guofan, as a capital official, naturally had no wish to take the road of corruption. He resolved his financial straits chiefly through borrowing and through gifts from relatives and friends.

Even so, Zeng Guofan was not without desire for money. Once, chatting with others, he heard that a certain official had accepted a rich gift sent by an official from the provinces, and that night he dreamed of others growing rich and felt envy stir in his heart. On waking, Zeng Guofan reflected deeply and recorded the matter in his diary, using it to warn himself.

This experience fully displays Zeng Guofan’s economic and spiritual struggle in the life of a capital official. Though his straitened life stirred his heart toward gain, as a man who held fast to his ideals Zeng Guofan in the end bound his desire with a moral standard, keeping his integrity clean within the shifting, complex world of officialdom.

Spending Like Water: Strict with Himself, Generous to Others

During his time as commander of the Xiang Army, more than thirty million taels of silver in military pay once passed through Zeng Guofan’s hands. Had he harbored the least private motive, he could easily have amassed an enormous fortune. Yet he did not grow rich by it, and though the funds at his disposal seemed as vast as the sea, the money he sent home was less than in his days as a capital official.

In this period, the chief challenge he faced was not how to keep his personal integrity but how to inspire the morale and loyalty of the Xiang Army’s officers and men.

The Qing operated a “meager-salary system” for its civil officials, and it likewise operated a “low-pay system” for its army. A soldier of the Green Standard Army earned on average less than two taels of silver a month, and even a high officer serving as a provincial commander of the first rank earned less than a thousand taels a year.

From the analysis above of Zeng Guofan’s finances as a capital official, we can see that even high officers in the army struggled to meet daily living expenses, and that the income of an ordinary soldier could hardly support a family at all.

The Qing army therefore showed a strange phenomenon: almost everyone had a side occupation. Soldiers dodged training where they could, and in ordinary times busied themselves running teahouses, doing business, selling fish and meat. Some officers even encouraged their soldiers to go into trade, the better to embezzle their pay; or they rented out the training grounds for local use, or rented out warships to merchants for hauling goods. Some went further still, smuggling under the name of military supplies to reap private profit.

Given such a state of the army, it is not hard to understand how the Xiang Army — an irregular force recruited by Zeng Guofan himself — gradually rose to become the main force against the Taiping insurgents.

Having once served as Vice Minister of War, Zeng Guofan knew well that the chief cause of the army’s disorder was the lowness of its pay. When he formed the Xiang Army, he therefore introduced a more generous pay scale, setting an ordinary Xiang soldier’s monthly income at four to six taels of silver — three times the income of the regular state army, and more even than most Green Standard soldiers earned with their side occupations. This policy effectively eased the soldiers’ pressures of living and let them devote themselves fully to training, laying a solid foundation for the Xiang Army’s fighting power.

For the officers of the Xiang Army, Zeng Guofan practiced a policy of “high pay to nourish integrity.” A mid-ranking Xiang officer could earn 1,800 taels a year, already more than a high Green Standard officer such as a provincial commander. And a senior Xiang officer commanding ten thousand men earned as much as 5,400 taels a year. From top to bottom, the Xiang Army’s average income was more than three times that of the regular army, so much so that whenever it recruited, it drew a flood of applicants.

With ample sources of recruits and its focus on training, the Xiang Army’s fighting power was fully assured. Yet when the Xiang Army went to war, the new challenge Zeng Guofan faced was how to keep the soldiers from plundering civilians. Human desire is without end, and the chaos of war heightened the disorder of human conduct. After the Xiang Army took a city, officers and men would often divide the spoils among themselves in private, and even rob civilians outright.

For a scholar-official like Zeng Guofan, whose goal was to defend the rites and to realize an ideal — though he had cast aside the pen and taken up arms — the greatest challenge was how to manage these soldiers, whose purpose was rank and riches: to restrain them effectively without damaging their zeal became a riddle Zeng Guofan had to solve.

In organizing the Xiang Army, Zeng Guofan followed one core principle — “let scholars lead the mountain farmers.” This meant that the Xiang Army’s officers were drawn mainly from educated men of letters rather than the traditional professional soldier, while its rank and file were recruited mainly from farmers rather than from the jobless or those on society’s margins.

This choice rested on a deep understanding of human nature and the traits of the social classes: the educated man of letters carried a cast of idealism, while the farmer kept a plain and simple sense of morality. This structure not only gave the Xiang Army a distinctive atmosphere and discipline but set it markedly apart from the traditional Green Standard soldier.

Zeng Guofan innovated not only in his principles of organization but also demonstrated in his own person, and imparted his ideas to his subordinates, so that many Xiang officers learned from him and held to the principle of clean and self-disciplined conduct.

Compared with the Eight Banners and the Green Standard of the day, the Xiang Army’s integrity stood markedly higher. In the war against the Taiping, though the court mobilized nearly a hundred thousand Green Standard soldiers, in more than two years they achieved no notable military success and consumed as much as 25.1 million taels of military pay. The Xiang Army, by contrast, at its largest about a hundred and twenty thousand strong, spent over twelve years only 29 million taels of the court’s military funds.

Zeng Guofan, as an idealist, though he held enormous sums in his hands, always strove to keep his own integrity clean and tried to influence his subordinates by his character. At the same time, as a realist, he understood that high pay was the basis of the Xiang Army’s fighting power, and knew that money was an effective means of stirring his subordinates’ zeal. As for the conduct of some Xiang commanders who let their soldiers plunder, though in his heart he may not have approved, under the pressures of real politics and war he had no choice but to take an accommodating stance.

Stepping Into the Fray: Mastering the Self, Serving the Public

Let us turn to examine Zeng Guofan’s time as Viceroy of Liangjiang and Viceroy of Zhili.

As Viceroy of Liangjiang and Viceroy of Zhili, Zeng Guofan was without doubt among the most powerful and far-reaching of the Qing’s provincial officials. On the strength of his military achievements he was granted high honors — a first-class marquis, Grand Guardian of the Heir Apparent, Grand Secretary — his standing second only to the imperial clan. Yet high as his position was, his way of life grew ever plainer, surpassing even the simplicity of his days in the capital.

Zhao Liewen, Zeng Guofan’s aide, once described in his diary his first sight of Zeng Guofan: plainly dressed, his hat and shoes both worn and old. This was confirmed not only by insiders but even by foreigners. When the British mercenary leader Gordon met with Zeng Guofan, he too was astonished at Zeng Guofan’s tattered, grease-stained garments.

As for food, Zeng Guofan’s attitude was likewise plain. Zhao Liewen recorded an occasion when he called on Zeng Guofan for a meal and noticed that there was neither chicken nor fish on his table. When Zhao Liewen mentioned that people sent hams to the other government offices, Zeng Guofan said that he had refused such gifts before, and that in time no one sent them anymore. Even for a cup of yellow wine, he had to go out and buy it himself.

Zhao Liewen marveled at this, holding that in the two hundred years of the great Qing there had never been so plain a viceroy’s office.

Though Zeng Guofan refused to accept the hams and other gifts of others, during his time as viceroy he did set up a “private treasury” of his own. Its funds came chiefly from the Lianghuai Salt Transport Commission and the Shanghai Customs — sums said to be public monies handed over. In truth this was a hidden bribe to the Viceroy of Liangjiang.

Why did Zeng Guofan accept these bribes? Chiefly out of needs on two counts.

First, it was for the needs of daily work. In the Qing, a provincial viceroy held enormous power and ought to have been provided with complete office facilities by the state. But the Qing’s institutional design was rather different: within the viceroy’s yamen, apart from the viceroy himself, who held an official post on the state roster and drew a state salary, every other member of staff had to be paid by the viceroy personally.

Take Zeng Guofan’s aides — the so-called muyou, or private secretaries. By the historical record, Zeng Guofan’s principal aides numbered more than eighty, and his aides in all exceeded two hundred. Adding the other lower-ranking staff, during his time as viceroy the total of his office personnel exceeded four hundred. The salaries of all these people had to be paid by Zeng Guofan himself.

The need on the other count sprang from the practical demands of getting things done. As mentioned earlier, because capital officials spent heavily while earning little, many of them sought additional sources of income. To keep good relations with the capital officials of the various departments, the better to get things done and done well, was likewise a thing done of necessity.

This, then, was Zeng Guofan’s complex image as viceroy: sparing with himself, strict in self-discipline, yet for the sake of advancing his cause obliged to involve himself in the giving and taking of bribes.

When a personal moral principle stands in contradiction to one’s environment, how Zeng Guofan kept his moral standard as far as he could while mustering resources enough to accomplish a great work — this is a question well worth pondering.

The Influence on His Descendants

Zeng Guofan’s view of money was rooted deep in the soil of Confucian thought, stressing “keeping oneself clean, and living within one’s means.” He held that money was a necessity of social intercourse, but that the pursuit and use of money had to rest on a foundation of morality and integrity.

Zeng Guofan was diligent and frugal all his life; even at the peak of his career he kept a simple way of living and opposed extravagance and waste. In his family letters he stressed again and again the importance of frugality, regarding it as the key to a family’s flourishing.

In Zeng Guofan’s family precepts, the education of his descendants was given particular weight, and among them his teaching on the right attitude toward money stands out especially. He required his children and grandchildren to take study and the knowledge of propriety as their root, and diligence and frugality as their rule of life, to understand the importance of money while also recognizing its limits. Through the practice of his own conduct, he warned those who came after that, though money is a necessity, to obtain wealth through greed and improper means is not to be countenanced.

Zeng Guofan’s influence on his descendants was profound, and his view of money became an important part of the family’s inheritance. Many of his descendants inherited his diligent, practical character and his healthy attitude toward money, and these qualities became an important factor in their success in their several fields. The Zeng descendants distinguished themselves in public service, education, business and many other domains, and many of them, too, took Zeng Guofan’s teachings as the family’s honor and spiritual legacy, passing them on generation after generation.

In sum, Zeng Guofan’s view of money is not only an expression of his personal character but became an important part of his family’s culture. Through strict demands upon his descendants and the example he set, this healthy view of money was effectively handed down, influencing one generation of the Zeng family after another, and becoming an important force by which they kept a clear head and a moral bottom line in a shifting, changeful society.