Section: Cannibalism during Times of War

In times of war, cities under siege often suffered from a deliberately created famine situation—if an army could not conquer a city by military force, they tried to starve it out. In such situations, desperate inhabitants sometimes started to eat corpses and, if this was not sufficient, to kill and eat their own children or those they had exchanged with neighbors. Sometimes butchers purchased women and children sold by their own husbands and parents.1

The earliest accounts of the deadly practice known as “exchanging one’s children and eating them” come from the philosopher Mencius (ca. 372–ca. 289 BCE) and the Shiji (“Records of the Grand Historian,” finished around 94 BCE), the oldest of the dynastic histories. These accounts treat the consumption of children as a sign of determination rather than desperation: a city whose inhabitants were willing to sacrifice their own family members for food was essentially impossible to starve out.2 About another siege that had been aborted after the inhabitants of the attacked city resorted to cannibalism, the Shiji notes approvingly: “When officers harbour no thoughts of rebellion although people are eaten and their bones burned, they can be called soldiers of Sun Bin’s,” a famous military strategist.3

In order to show that they did not just ask the population to make sacrifices they were not willing to make themselves, in a least three sieges between the second and thirteenth centuries military leaders supposedly ordered their own “favourite concubine” to be butchered to feed the hungry soldiers. The earliest recorded instance of this practice took place in 195 CE: “In the end, when there was nothing more to eat, [Hong] killed his favourite concubine and fed her to the soldiers. They all cried and lowered their heads in respect. Seventy to eighty men and women cuddled together and died [voluntarily sacrificing themselves for the famished soldiers?]. No one left or rebelled.”4

In 1223, the leader’s decision triggered a chain reaction of other officers trying to prove that they were no less loyal: “Within the walls provisions were exhausted. People ate each other. Heihan killed his favourite concubine and fed her to his officers. Officers then vied with each other to kill their own wives and children.”5

Another account from the official histories shows with particular clarity the deadly logic with which those considered less essential for the war effort were sacrificed, and the hierarchies—in particular, of gender and age—that determined who had to die and who might live. In 757, writes the Jiu Tangshu (Old Book of Tang),

Because Yi Ziqi’s siege had lasted for a long time, food supplies within the walls were exhausted, children were being exchanged and eaten and their bones split for fuel. People had fear in their hearts and thought that there would be a mutiny. Because of this Xun fetched his concubine, killed her in front of the army and presented her to the soldiers saying: “Brothers, for the sake of your country you have defended this city with united efforts. . . . I am not able to cut my own flesh to feed you, but how can I take pity on this woman and just sit by and watch the dangers?” As tears rolled down their faces the soldiers were unable to eat. Xun forcefully ordered them to eat her. When the city’s other women had perished, old men and small boys followed. Twenty to thirty thousand people were eaten. Still, at the bottom of their hearts, they remained loyal.6

The Xin Tangshu (New Book of Tang), which describes these events in a very similar manner, goes on to discuss their ethical implications:

Critics have blamed Xun for eating humans and have ridiculed him for his win or die resistance. Myself, I look upon him humbly and in painful compassion. . . .

If Xun in the beginning of his defence had already planned to eat people and lose a few hundred for the purpose of unification, I would still say that merits and faults cancel each other out and also ask whether it is not a question of eternal ideals.7

Maybe because of such an attitude which considered the fate of individuals as less important than military goals, war leaders occasionally seem to have been quite willing to utilize parts of their own population as food. During another siege in 908, “the daily killings to feed the soldiers” were handled by a specialized institution known as “slaughter service.”8

Hostile captives or rebels were killed with even less hesitation to provide food for soldiers. In some cases, such acts were motivated by hunger: “In 22 A.D., during the reign of Wang Mang, 5000 soldiers in the western regions went hungry, but they survived on the flesh and blood of their prisoners of war.”9 A similar act was recorded sixteen centuries later, when the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) was about to collapse due to political chaos and famines. Around 1640, “when the horses and mules in the camp were all gone, they killed rebels, took their corpses, divided them and ate them up.”10

In other cases, it seems that hunger was not the only or primary reason, but that other motives such as convenience or a desire to humiliate the enemy played a role as well. During a conflict in 386, “Deng killed bandits in every battle and was famous for cooking and eating them. He said to his soldiers: ‘If you fight at dawn, you can feast on flesh at dusk. Why worry about starving?’ His men acted accordingly; ate the flesh of the dead and were always full, healthy and capable of fighting.” In the same year, two other generals, Dou Chong and Li Bian, after defeating their enemies “slew 1800 people, butchered their bodies and ate them.”11 In this case, since the military conflict was already over, a desire to humiliate and completely annihilate the conquered foe might have been the main motive.

Occasionally captured enemies were sold prior to being eaten, adding a commercial aspect to the cannibal act. During the reign of Emperor Wu of Liang (464–549), the founder of a short-lived dynasty in southeastern China, “numerous prisoners of war were purchased and caged. Whenever there was a demand for meat, some of them were taken out, cut, broiled and consumed. Similarly, those disloyal to the throne were severely punished by having their tongues cut off, sold and cooked for consumption.”12 This account is somewhat mysterious, as it does not explain who purchased these prisoners and what exactly motivated the “demand for [their] meat.”

Things turned particularly bad near the end of the ninth century, when the Tang dynasty (618–907) was challenged by large-scale rebellions. The Jiu Wudaishi, one of the official histories, notes that both rebels and government troops killed “common people . . . to supplement rations” and “used dismembered prisoners as an asset” when provisions ran low.13 Sometimes these acts had a commercial side. Certain rebel leaders were supposedly willing to purchase kidnapped individuals “as food. One human fetched the price of several hundred thousand qian.”14 One of the more successful warlords, Qin Zongquan (d. 889), who—ultimately without success—tried to take the imperial throne, seems to have been particularly ruthless in his reliance on cannibalism. According to one of the chronicles, his army routinely “captured the elderly and the young [and] slaughtered [them] like sheep.” The human flesh not needed for the troops was sold on the market, thus helping to finance the rebellion.15

At this point it may well be asked how reliable these chronicles were—did they not just try to badmouth the rebels? While this is conceivable, it must be pointed out that the quoted chronicles were compiled during the subsequent Song dynasty, when the Tang dynasty, which suffered under these attacks, had already collapsed. They seem to show no particular sympathy for either side and observe that acts of cannibalism were committed by rebels and government troops alike. Moreover, the authors of one of these works, the Xin Tangshu, made the comment about cannibalism during sieges already cited above, indicating that they were not strictly opposed to even the deliberate killing of people for food as long as it served a legitimate military goal.

While it seems that cannibalism for military purposes was not strictly disapproved of, it could backfire if leaders got too ruthless. The same chronicles also report an earlier case of an initially successful warlord who apparently relied on human flesh to such a degree that the affected population ultimately turned against him. During the chaotic transition period from the Sui to the Tang dynasty, the soldiers of Zhu Can (d. 621), the leader of one of the factions competing for the throne, ran into difficulties securing provisions. When they “began to cook and eat infants,” Zhu Can did not chastise or punish them, instead declaring: “Of all exquisite foods, does any surpass human flesh? As long as there are people in the other kingdoms what have I to worry about?” He told his men that “if they captured women and children they were all to be boiled and shared by the officers.” Later he even ordered the inhabitants of the cities and villages under his control “to hand in their children to add to the soldiers’ provisions.” The people responded by rising in a revolt which contributed to his downfall.16

That cannibalism was seemingly not rare during the time of rebellions and chaos at the end of the Tang dynasty is confirmed by independent observers. The Arab-Persian author Abu Zayd al-Sirafi compiled a book from the reports of several Arab travelers who visited China in the late ninth century. After explaining that persons captured in war campaigns were often eaten, he adds: “cannibalism [is] permissible for them according to their legal code, for they trade in human flesh in their markets.”17

During the Song dynasty (960–1279), no acts of cannibalism committed by government troops are known, but various cases of bandits and rebels kidnapping, killing, and eating people are documented in the dynastic histories.18 One of the most famous early Chinese novels, The Water Margin, was written in the fourteen century (or possibly earlier) and based on folktales about Song Jiang, an outlaw whose gang surrendered to the Song government in 1121. The novel—which has also been translated under other titles, including Outlaws of the Marsh and All Men Are Brothers—gives the impression that the consumption of the flesh of kidnapped travelers was considered a pretty normal matter in the criminal underworld (celebrated as “gallant fraternity” in the book).

It repeatedly mentions inns in lonely places, run by bandits who engaged in the side business of kidnapping and killing travelers who appeared to be wealthy and then selling their flesh to other unsuspecting travelers. Some of the heroes of the book—all members of the “gallant fraternity”—almost suffer this fate, but inevitably the innkeepers discover in the last moment who they are and decide to spare them. The near-victims never particularly mind, but are happy to have survived and celebrate their newly sealed friendship with the criminal innkeepers.19

One innkeeper tells that they have clear rules about whom to spare: wandering monks because of their merit, singsong girls (singer-prostitutes) out of a fear that “if we kill one of them, word will get around, and they’ll sing about it on the stage,” and criminals condemned to exile because “there are many bold fellows among them.”20 People discovered sleeping in the streets, on the other hand, are considered suitable victims—when helpers of the same innkeeper spot a sleeping man, they comment, “The rascal is nice and fat” and announce him to the innkeeper as “a fine piece of merchandise.”21 Several other innkeepers have a “butchering shed” with a “skinning bench” behind their main house, used to dismember and process their human victims (and likely animals as well).22

On another occasion, a group of robbers captures a traveler and takes his goods. They decide to butcher their captive: “When [the big chieftain] sleeps off his drinks, we’ll . . . give him a broth of the heart and liver of this ox to sober him up! And we’ll all be able to eat fresh meat!” The chieftain approves and invites several other chiefs to join them for the upcoming meal, but—as usual—the captive is recognized just in time as a famous criminal and therefore spared. A big feast is given in his honor, for which “sheep and horses” are butchered—a hint that such acts were not motivated by a lack of meat.23

That such acts are described in a novel does not, of course, mean that they also occurred in real life—though the accounts of the official dynasties indicate that cannibalism among bandits and rebels was indeed not unheard of. And The Water Margin is not just any novel—its depiction of the outlawed, but “gallant” underworld held a considerable “romantic appeal to young men” for centuries after it was published; its heroes were seen as ideal “tough guy” who preferred “personal honor and male comradeship” over the widespread “corruptions of local officials” and their “pursuit of material wealth.”24 That the honorable men depicted in the novel treat the consumption of travelers and kidnapped persons as a pretty normal part of their operations can thus be considered a hint that cannibalism was not seen as shocking as it was in the West—while there cannibals might have appeared as monsters, here they were heroes.

In the nineteenth century, human flesh again appeared on the marketplaces during times of rebellion, seemingly with the silent permission of the army. In 1850, a civil war erupted over attempts to establish a Christian fundamentalist state in the southeast of the country. This conflict—the Taiping Rebellion—lasted fifteen years and cost about thirty million human lives, making it the deadliest civil war in history.25

According to witnesses, “human flesh and organs were sold openly at the marketplace.” A worker employed by a Shanghai trading firm later stated that he had purchased and “eaten the hearts of many Taiping prisoners” out of a belief—reportedly shared by many soldiers—that doing so was a way of strengthening one’s courage. While assumptions about the beneficial consequences of eating human organs might have been one reason for such acts, a famine resulting from the devastation of warfare was another, since hungry parents once more murdered and ate their children and “many people were kidnapped and killed for food.” Observers from the affected regions report that both “fresh” and “dried human meat” was offered for sale, usually labeled as “beef or mutton.”26

Zeng Guofan (1811–1872), the leader of the imperial army which fought and ultimately suppressed the rebellion “confirmed in his diary that human meat was sold at the marketplace in Kiangsu Province.” In one note he “complained about the high price of human meat, which had gone from 90 wen to 130 wen per chin”—a hint that he might have been among the buyers.27

Rebellions also repeatedly took place on the island of Taiwan (then known as Formosa), which from the late seventeenth century to 1895 was ruled by China. The Indigenous population was treated badly and reacted in a way described by a local proverb as “every three years an uprising; every five years a rebellion.”28 Describing the repression of a rebellion in 1891/92, the American consul James W. Davidson (1872–1933) writes:

One horrible feature of the campaign against the savages was the sale by the Chinese in open market of savage flesh. Impossible as it may seem that a race with such high pretensions to civilization and religion should be guilty of such barbarity, yet such is the truth. After killing a savage, the . . . body was then either divided among its captors and eaten, or sold to wealthy Chinese and even to high officials, who disposed of it in a like manner. The kidney, liver, heart, and soles of the feet were considered the most desirable portions, and were ordinarily cut up into very small pieces, boiled, and eaten somewhat in the form of soup.29

In 1891, he adds, “savage flesh was brought in—in baskets—. . . and sold like pork in the open markets of Tokoham [in the north of the island] before the eyes of all, foreigners included”; some of it was shipped to the neighboring mainland and sold there.30 The open sale of human flesh during the rebellion is also confirmed by an article published in January 1896 in the Hong Kong Daily Express. There are no indications that these acts were due to food scarcity. Reviewing accounts from the time, the sinologist Robert des Rotours (1891–1980) concludes that the main motive seems to have been “contempt for an inferior race”—though hatred against those challenging the imperial rule certainly played a role as well.31