ABSTRACT

S ometime around 221 b.c., Ying Zheng, the First Emperor of Qin, began to assemble an army unlike any the world had ever seen. This army-over 7,000 men with bronze swords, halberds, daggers, axes, crossbows and bows, 130 chariots, and close to 700 horses-was not meant for the world of the living. Ying Zheng’s army is made of clay, beautifully sculpted life-sized models of soldiers set in formation to stand guard against the enemies the emperor would face after his death, perhaps the spirits of the armies he had massacred in wars of conquest (Figure 12.1). A chance discovery in 1974 near the city of Xian led to archaeological excavations that have brought to light the First Emperor’s army, much of it still standing intact after more than 2,000 years. In the Royal Tombs of Ur and the pyramids of Giza, we have already seen the efforts of rulers to continue their dominance in the afterlife. The paradox at the core of the Epic of Gilgamesh-that power among the living does not conquer death-would have been familiar to the First Emperor, who is said to have searched in vain for a secret source of immortality. The terracotta army-row after row of intricately molded, yet mute figures-is among the most spectacular archaeological sites in the world. The tomb of the First Emperor is an ultimate expression of the power of administration in which “the realm of the future became peopled by officials, servants and armies, unlike the afterlife populated by gods and spirits described by so many of the world’s religions” (Rawson 2007, 145). In the terracotta army of Xian, we see the extension of the institutions of social complexity into the realm of the afterworld on a monumental scale.