Why Do We Fear Looking Like China?
When we read ancient history, we often reach for pride before we reach for method.
If a fact flatters “us,” the past becomes a warm blanket: proof that our ancestors were exceptional, pure, unbroken.
If a fact complicates “us,” the past becomes a battlefield: someone must be lying, someone must be stealing credit, someone must be humiliating us.
But in early East Asia, “looking like China” wasn’t automatically a stamp of defeat. It was also—often—a language of growth. Civilizations rarely become strong through purity. They become strong through selective borrowing, and through the harder trick: reassembling imported parts into a local machine.
So let’s try a different posture. Not defensive. Not worshipful. Just precise.
The real question isn’t, “Did they copy?”
It’s: What did they copy, why did they copy it, and what did it become after it passed through their own political structure?
1) Silla’s Clothing Wasn’t “Humiliation.” It Was Visible Statecraft.
Clothing rules sound superficial—until you remember what clothing does in a premodern state.
A dress code isn’t about fashion. It’s about legibility.
Who outranks whom?
Who may enter which space?
Who speaks first, who kneels, who seals documents?
Who is “inside” the governing order—and who is outside it?
In other words, a clothing system is a low-tech way to turn a society into a readable diagram.
This is why Silla’s “color and attire regulations” matter. Records tied to Samguk Sagi’s treatise material describe a trajectory: early regulation to stabilize internal order, then increasingly explicit engagement with Tang ceremonial norms—including the well-known episode in which Silla requests to follow Tang rites and receives Tang-style garments and court items, and later reforms align dress and headgear with Chinese models. (한국사데이터베이스)
If you read that as “barbarians imitating civilization,” you turn history into an ego argument. But there’s a much more realistic reading:
In that era, “international standards” were real power.
Tang ritual culture functioned like a regional operating system for diplomacy and recognition. Adopting the form wasn’t self-erasure; it was often the price of entering negotiations as a state that could be taken seriously.
Diplomacy is not emotion. It’s protocol.
Adopting an external ceremonial grammar can be a declaration:
“We can speak your language at the negotiating table—so treat us as a peer, not as noise.”
Importing is the beginning of transformation, not the end.
Two countries can wear similar robes and still be structurally different states. The internal engine—aristocratic coalitions, village control, military organization, taxation—determines what those “borrowed” forms actually do once implemented.
So yes: Silla looked to Tang models. That’s not a shameful confession. It’s a reminder that state-building is often an art of strategic translation. (한국사데이터베이스)
2) The Han Commanderies: Not a Myth to Deny, Not a Master Key to Overuse
Few topics trigger more emotional reflex than the Han commanderies (漢四郡). That’s because they sit right on the border between archaeology, historiography, and modern identity.
A good reading begins by refusing two lazy extremes:
Extreme A: “They never existed; it’s all fabrication.”
Extreme B: “They existed, therefore Korean history is just a Chinese copy.”
The basic outline—that after the fall of Wiman Joseon, Han established administrative commanderies—is not a fringe idea. It is recorded in classical sources and repeated in standard historical summaries. (한국사데이터베이스)
But the more useful question is: What is a commandery, functionally?
A commandery isn’t merely an occupying garrison. It’s a package:
taxation mechanisms
bureaucratic paperwork
legal and administrative categories
trade routes and controlled exchange
prestige language (titles, seals, scripts)
In other words, it’s governance technology. Even limited or contested commandery control can leave long shadows—not just politically, but materially and institutionally.
At the same time, commanderies do not mean total, unbroken domination over “the whole peninsula.” Historical summaries themselves emphasize changes over time—such as the abolition of some commanderies and the persistence of others, and ongoing conflicts with local polities. (우리역사넷)
And if you want an example of why this topic should be handled with care, look at debates surrounding specific commanderies like Lintun (臨屯郡)—including disputes about location and scope. Even encyclopedia-style references present it as a historically attested entity with significant scholarly discussion around where and how it operated. (한국사데이터베이스)
So the responsible stance is not “deny” or “surrender.” It is:
Treat the commanderies as historical governance experiments—contested, evolving, interacting with local societies—whose influence cannot be reduced to either zero or totality.
That’s not a compromise. That’s accuracy.
3) “Korea Superior to Japan” Is a Trap—and So Is Its Mirror Image
A common warning in popular discourse is:
“Don’t project 20th-century colonial emotions onto ancient history.”
Correct. But people often apply that warning selectively.
Yes, superiority fantasies distort the past.
But inferiority fantasies distort it too.
If you dismiss everything as propaganda or nationalist fiction, you don’t become more critical—you become lazy in a different direction. Cynicism feels intelligent because it avoids commitment. But it also avoids explanation.
Ancient history is real. The sources are incomplete. Interpretations compete. The issue isn’t competition—it’s whether interpretations are disciplined by evidence.
A mature reader doesn’t ask, “Which side makes me feel better?”
A mature reader asks:
What kind of source is this—chronicle, legal record, later compilation, diplomatic text?
What does it clearly claim?
What does it not claim?
What would this author have wanted the reader to believe?
Where do archaeology and comparative context support—or challenge—the narrative?
That is how you turn identity stress into historical skill.
Conclusion: Let Go of Pride—But Don’t Let Go of Verification
It’s fair to say: “Let go of ancient history as a pride contest.”
But don’t let go of verification.
If you want the past to teach you something beyond comfort, train yourself to see three layers at once:
What was borrowed? (forms, titles, dress codes, administrative terms)
What was modified? (local constraints, political structure, social hierarchy)
What became truly “ours”? (the new machine that emerged after remixing)
When you can hold those layers together, “looking like China” stops being an insult. It becomes what it often was in real time:
a sign of a society learning to operate at the scale of states.
Bonus: Turning This Into Game Systems (Civ / Paradox Modding Hooks)
Civ-style Wonder: Tang-Style Court Reforms
Concept: Not “China copied,” but “standardized state capacity.”
Possible effects
Free Social Policy (or Great Writer)
+10% Culture in all cities
Diplomatic bonus with connected city-states (ritual + paperwork = soft power)
Alternative National Wonder: The Color-Rank Attire System
Concept: Internal hierarchy made visible.
Possible effects
Happiness from city connections
Reduced policy cost (or reduced unrest)
Small culture bonus in the capital
Paradox-style Decision Chain: Adopt Tang Protocol
Event tension
Pro-adoption faction: legitimacy + diplomacy + administrative efficiency
Anti-adoption faction: tradition + noble backlash + short-term instability
Tradeoff designLong-term stability grows, but short-term faction conflict spikes—exactly the kind of “statecraft pain” that makes good Paradox storytelling.
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