The Sacred Impermanence: Religious Anxiety and “Capital Relocation” (遷都) in Early China

Abstract

Religion played a pivotal role in shaping the political and cultural landscape of early China, particularly through the practice of relocating capitals (遷都). The relocation of capitals is an outstanding theme in early Chinese historiography, setting it apart from many other world traditions. In particular, this practice contrasts sharply with the early Mediterranean context, where the city of Rome transitioned from a modest city-state to a world empire and was celebrated as the “eternal city.” By contrast, early Chinese capitals were deliberately transient, their impermanence rooted in strong religious sentiments and pragmatic considerations. Religious and ideological justifications were central to these relocations. The relocation was not merely a logistical or political exercise; it was imbued with symbolic meaning that reinforced the ruler’s legitimacy and divine mandate. Equally important was the way rulers communicated these decisions to the populace. The ability to garner mass support for such monumental undertakings reveals the intricate relationship between political authority and religious practice in early China. These critical moments of migration offer profound insights into the evolving religious landscape of early China, shedding light on how religion shaped early governance and public persuasion. “Capital relocation” served as a means to rearticulate belief, reaffirm the centrality of worship, and restore faith in the ruling order. Drawing on recent archeological discoveries and updated textual and inscriptional scholarship related to the events of Pan Geng and the Zhou relocation to Luoyi, this article re-examines the motif of “capital relocation” as both a historical and historiographical phenomenon unique to early China.

1. Introduction: The Religiosity of “Capital Relocation”

Relocating a capital in ancient societies was often a deeply symbolic act, imbued with religious and ritual significance. In the ancient Mediterranean, religious rituals were integral to the process of founding a city. In the famous story of Romulus and Remus, founders of Rome sought divine approval through augury—interpreting bird flight patterns—to determine the specific locality of building the city (Livy 1919, pp. 24–25). Founding rituals also included the marking of the pomerium, the sacred boundary of a Roman city, often a plow is used to sanctify the perimeter (ibid., pp. 154–57). The transfer and preservation of key religious objects was essential, such as relocating cult statues from conquered cities and preserving the sacred flames by vestal virgins (Livy 1924, pp. 174–79). Lavish sacrificial offerings also accompanied these founding rituals. Public celebrations, games, and festivals reinforced communal unity under divine protection. Temples were built to further align the city with cosmic order.1

In contrast to Roman history, where the founding of a singular, dominant metropolis holds paramount importance, early Chinese history is marked by a recurring theme of relocating the seat of power—a pattern whose sacred rituals and spiritual significance remain largely elusive. Unlike the founding of Rome or other Mediterranean poleis, which were conceived as permanent settlements, in early Chinese narratives, the religious significance of early Chinese cities was less embedded in the permanence of urban space and more expressed through the ritualized process of capital relocation.

One of the most striking examples is Pan Geng’s (盤庚) (c. 14–13th century BCE) relocation of the Shang capital—a pivotal event that occupies the longest passage in the Book of Documents (尚書), the foundational text of early Chinese political philosophy. Yet, the famously terse nature of this text has made it difficult for scholars to reconstruct how the migration actually took place, leaving analysis largely confined to rhetorical interpretation. Another example is the establishment of Luo (洛) as the new political center for the Western Zhou dynasty (11th–8th century BCE). Following a decisive military campaign, King Wu of Zhou envisioned a new city to resettle certain subjects of the defeated Shang. Slowly the new city evolved into the utmost important seat of power for the Zhou and cemented its status as the eastern capital.

These monumental acts of capital relocation have long been studied for their political and strategic implications, yet their religious dimensions remain in the shadows. This oversight is partly due to the general neglect of early religious practices in scholarship, and more crucially, to the limited archeological evidence that corroborates accounts preserved in transmitted texts. A major intervention in this scholarly gap came from Zhang Guangzhi, who, in the mid-20th century, introduced the notion of the “sacred” into discussions of capital formation. Zhang proposed a distinction between a fixed “sacred capital” (聖都) and a mobile “secular capital” (俗都), suggesting that the latter relocated in pursuit of bronze resources necessary for the production of ritual vessels (Zhang 2013b).

Ritual bronze vessels undoubtedly played a significant role in the religious and political authority of early China. However, Zhang Guangzhi’s hypothesis lacks sufficient evidence to support the claim that “sacred capitals” were indeed permanently fixed in a single location.2 Moreover, recent archeological discoveries at Yinxu have called into question several of Zhang’s claims—most notably his assertion that Dayi Shang (大邑商) or the Celestial City of Shang (天邑商)3, the so-called “sacred capital,” was spatially distinct from the late Shang capital at Yin (殷), now identified with the archeological site of Yinxu (殷墟). Emerging evidence increasingly suggests that the sacred and secular capitals may have been one and the same, most likely being Yinxu,4 challenging Zhang’s earlier hypothesis. It is precisely this tension—between long-standing textual interpretations and emerging archeological evidence—that renders my current analysis both meaningful and timely. This moment calls for a reassessment of how the “sacred” was conceptualized and enacted by early rulers and their advisors.

The formulation of sacredness in the context of early capitals was far from self-evident and demands closer critical scrutiny. As this article seeks to demonstrate, interpretive tensions within ancient sources and across successive dynastic commentaries reveal a deeper, unresolved issue: the legitimacy of capital relocation remains a contested and unsettled matter. These tensions expose the unstable foundations of sacredness and authority in the discourse surrounding such relocations—an unresolved dynamic I refer to as “religious anxiety.” I argue that sacredness was not solely anchored in ritual bronze vessels but was continually reimagined during pivotal episodes of spatial and political transformation. In other words, it is in impermanence—in the very possibility of change and renewal—that religiosity found its most powerful and enduring expression.

This article combines textual traditions with newly uncovered archeological findings to illuminate the sacred rites and spiritual concerns that accompanied these monumental shifts in power. Focusing on two pivotal moments—Pan Geng’s relocation and the Zhou dynasty’s establishment of Luo—this article examines how early Chinese rulers, when confronted with crises of faith, sought divine sanction and inscribed sacred space upon the land. Through this lens, capital relocation emerges not merely as a political strategy but as a cosmic realignment, where human authority and divine will converge in a delicate balance of power and belief.

1.1. The “Problem” of Early Chinese Capital

Despite the abundance of ancient texts on Chinese capitals, early Chinese cities present a distinct challenge for both Chinese archeologists and urban historians. Scholars of early China often approach Chinese cities and landscape with a focus on idealistic narratives of tianxia (天下, lit. “all-under-heaven”). This perspective is largely influenced by two seminal texts, the Rites of Zhou (周禮) and the “Tribute of Yu” (禹貢) chapter in the Book of Documents, which are revered as the foundational documents of early Chinese civilization. These texts offer idealized depictions of early Chinese empires and imperial geography.

The “Tribute of Yu” is believed to delineate the initial contours of tianxia, famously dividing it into approximately nine regions or zones. Whereas the Rites of Zhou offers a quasi-scientific explanation for locating dizhong (地中) or the “center of the earth,” using tugui (土圭), a gnomon like instrument, through measuring the shadow of the sun to provide guidance on how future capitals of kingdoms and empires could position themselves in relation to the broader tianxia (Sun 2015, p. 864). How was this process actually carried out? The book did not provide detailed guidelines.5

According to the Rites, “building the state” (建國) and “establishing the capital” (營都) are presented as integral components of a unified political endeavor. These undertakings are depicted as essential first steps in the formation of governance, underscoring their role not only as concurrent processes but also as foundational prerequisites for the establishment of effective rule:

The sovereign alone constitutes the kingdoms; he determines the four sides and fixes the main positions. He draws the plan of the capital and the countryside. He creates the ministries and separates their function, so as to form the administrative center of the people.

惟王建國，辨方正位，體國經野，設官分職，以為民極。

(Sun 2015)

This recurring programmatic statement in the Rites—a Confucian classic canonized between the mid-Western Han and late Eastern Han periods (3rd century BCE to 3rd century CE)—appears at the outset of each of its six chapters, offering a quasi-constitutional blueprint for subsequent Confucian empires to emulate.6 This foundational axiom underscores the central role of the king or emperor in the ritual establishment of capitals and states: it is the sovereign alone who calls forth order from, presumably, primordial chaos. The founding of a capital, then, is not merely a political or administrative act, but a profoundly sacred one that reaffirms the ruler’s unique role as a mediator between the human and the divine. This latent vision of a shamanistic monarchy—where the sovereign is both political leader and ritual master—is further reinforced in narrative retellings of historical events, a theme that will be explored in greater depth in the following sections of this article.

That said, the actual founding of early cities rarely adhered to the specific procedures prescribed by the founding axiom or to the geometrically symmetrical designs described in normative accounts. While archeologists continue to unearth evidence of their physical remains, historical records offer no conclusive proof that these later theoretical models were ever translated into practice in early China. These models are more likely products of the Warring States period (475–221 BCE),7 offering theoretical guidelines for managing unified empires that later emperors were expected to follow.

In reality, only a few rulers in early China genuinely attempted to systematically enforce these principles, often without success. For instance, Wang Mang (45 BCE–23 AD), the usurper of the Han throne and interim emperor, extensively studied the classics, particularly the Rites, and attempted to apply these principles when he assumed power. However, with the swift downfall of his regime, his efforts did not succeed on a large scale.

While it is true that archeological evidence for early Chinese cities and capitals remains largely inconclusive, the quest to unravel the essence of these capitals should not be limited to the overtly “constitutional” documents of ancient cities. The crux of the issue, I believe, also lies in a fundamental characteristic of early Chinese capitals—their inherent “movable” nature.

1.2. The Mobility of Early Capitals

Instead of solely focusing on the tangible remnants of ancient Chinese capitals, our examination should also consider the unique epistemological foundation that shaped their essence. While the paucity of enduring architectural relics, unlike the resilient Roman concrete, may explain the dearth of physical evidence, the ephemeral nature of these cities is also woven into the fabric of their intellectual identity.

The word du (都) in early Chinese documents is not always used as a noun, as in the conventional usage of the word today to mean the physical object and the material buildup of the capital; but rather in these earlier narratives, du functions as a verb, meaning “to establish,” “to fix,” or “to make” the capital in a specific location. Such as, in the following examples of Records of Han and Records of the Grand Historian:

King Cheng assumed the throne…and began to manage the Zhou dynasty. He fixed the capital in Luoyi and made it the center of tianxia…

成王即位…乃營成周。 都(v.)洛邑。 為此天下中…

(Xun and Yuan 2002, p. 39)

By the time when Qin proclaimed the imperial rule and established its capital in Xianyang, all the Five Sacred Peaks and Four Great Rivers lay to the east.

至秦稱帝，都(v.)鹹陽，則五嶽、四瀆皆並在東方。

(Sima 1959, p. 1649)

In former times, the Tang people established their capital in Hedong, the Yin people established theirs in Henei, and the Zhou Henan. These three regions stand like the legs of a tripod in the center of the realm, and have long served as seats of kingship, with dynasties enduring there for hundreds or even a thousand years.

昔唐人都(v.)河東，殷人都(v.)河內，周人河南。 夫三河在天下之中，若鼎足，王者所更居也，建國各數百千歲…

(ibid., p. 3959)

To establish a capital in a specific location, the first step is to determine its site—but how was this decision made, and what legitimized it? Was it guided by divination, sacred geography, practical concerns, or philosophical reasoning? Were there overarching principles or laws governing capital relocation? How was its status secured?

The answers to these questions are both historical and philosophical–religious, offering insights into the contrasting worldviews of early China and the Mediterranean. In the Mediterranean tradition, the city-state held a sacred status, epitomized by the Roman ideal of urbs aeterna—the eternal city—adorned with monumental architecture as a testament to its permanence. In contrast, early China viewed the capital as a strategic and often temporary response to natural and spiritual crises, where relocation was not merely pragmatic but carried a spiritual and religious dimension. Beyond addressing immediate challenges, relocating the capital served as a means to rearticulate belief, reaffirm the centrality of worship, and restore faith in the ruling order.

1.3. Pan Geng and Zhou Luo: The Two Beginnings of “Capital Relocation”

The beginnings of “capital relocation” as a historical practice and motif is most notably documented by the Book of Documents. The cases of Pan Geng and Zhou Luo form a compelling juxtaposition, illustrating how this practice was understood and implemented differently under the Shang and Zhou regimes. A key challenge in studying these relocations lies in the scarcity of archeological evidence to corroborate the transmitted historical accounts. While these accounts offer valuable insights, the lack of material confirmation makes it difficult to fully reconstruct the religious dimensions of early capital relocations.

To address this, I will first examine what the foundational accounts of capital relocation themselves reveal about the sacred practices surrounding these relocations. By analyzing textual sources (including commentaries), I can identify key religious and ritual motifs and their underlying significance. Following this, I will turn to other historical narratives and archeological findings that, while not always directly linked to Pan Geng or Zhou Luo, may offer broader insights into the religious considerations that influenced the selection and consecration of new capitals and cities. These sources can help illuminate the spiritual and cosmological factors that shaped early Chinese notions of political legitimacy and spatial planning. Finally, I will examine the archeological materials that either corroborate the written accounts or open new avenues for further exploration of the religious dimensions of “capital relocation.”

2. The Case of Pan Geng

2.1. The Start of the “Relocation” Motif: A Shang-Style Religious–Political Discourse

The most well-known precedent of all “capital relocations” in Chinese history is the saga of Pan Geng. “Pan Geng,” the text in the Book of Documents, with all three parts combined, is one of the longest treatises in the collection. Although migration and settlement occurred frequently before and after Pan Geng,8 there are reasons why this story in particular commands the most attention in the classical tradition. Not only because it marks the so-called final relocation of the Shang people, but also because Pan Geng’s persuasive power was awe-inspiring, setting a distinctive style of leadership to be reckoned with. This alone may constitute a key reason for capital relocation: to reaffirm the centrality of worship as a prerogative of the monarch. It is a direct expression of the “constitutional” principle that “the sovereign alone constitutes the kingdoms” (Sun 2015).

“Pan Geng” recounts the narrative of the eponymous Shang Dynasty king who forcefully moved his capital to a new location (presumably Yin), despite initial opposition from his high-ranking officials. According to “Pan Geng”, the Shang people underwent at least five relocations since King Cheng Tang (Kong and Kong 2007, p. 335)—thirteen times in total, including another eight earlier, possibly smaller settlements that predate Cheng Tang (ibid., p. 276)—before their final resettlement to Yin. The question arises: Why did the Shang people frequently shift their center of activity? Modern scholars have speculated on several potential reasons, with the most widely accepted being the threat of floods (Gu and Liu 2005, p. 976). Other theories suggest that the Shang people practiced a form of semi-nomadic or nomadic farming, or that agricultural pressures necessitated the relocations, or that frontier crises brought about the change (ibid., p. 978–81).9

However, none of these reasons are explicitly stated in Pan Geng’s formidable speech, although a subtle hint of floods is present without substantial evidence. Even though the material motive behind Pan Geng’s relocation is rather obscure, the religious motive of this relocation is front and center in his speech. Pan Geng opens up his persuasion by stating:

The rule of kings has always been to revere the mandate of Heaven; therefore, they did not dare seek comfort or remain in one place permanently. Since the founding of the state, the capital has already been relocated five times. If we do not follow the precedent set by the former kings, we risk Heaven severing the great mandate bestowed upon our Shang state. How, then, can we speak of continuing the glorious achievements of our ancestors?

先王有服，恪謹天命，茲猶不常寧；不常厥邑，于今五邦。今不承于古，罔知天之斷命，矧曰其克從先王之烈？

(Kong and Kong 2007, pp. 337–38)

This passage reflects a fundamental belief in the dynamic nature of rulership and the Mandate of Heaven. It suggests that past rulers upheld the mandate by adapting to change rather than clinging to stability. The repeated relocation of the capital is framed not as a disruption but as a necessary response to maintain alignment with Heaven’s will. If the current ruler fails to follow these precedents, the passage warns, the Shang dynasty risks losing Heaven’s favor, which legitimizes its rule. In essence, the passage justifies capital relocation as both a political necessity and a sacred duty, reinforcing the idea that the legitimacy of rulership depends on responsiveness to divine and historical precedents. Divine will is made manifest through the very act of relocation.

The above statement appears at the beginning of the first part of the “Pan Geng” tripartite text, serving as a programmatic statement. However, two leading modern scholars of the Documents, Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, have challenged the traditional ordering of the text. They observed that this opening segment likely took place after, rather than before, Pan Geng’s resettlement was completed. Consequently, they argued that rearranging the three-part speech to reflect the actual chronological sequence of events would provide a more accurate and logically coherent structure (Gu and Liu 2005, pp. 965–68).

It would, of course, be more accurate to arrange the text chronologically if we were to treat “Pan Geng” primarily as a piece of historical document. However, I argue that the ancients themselves did not regard “Pan Geng” in this way—despite the tendency of many contemporary scholars to interpret it as such. Its structure does not adhere strictly to chronology; rather, it functions as a treatise of political philosophy, prioritizing religious reasoning over chronological description.

The opening of the text emphasizes historical precedent and the Mandate of Heaven, underscoring the paramount importance of tradition in this discourse. While the narrative attributes the relocation of the capital to divine will, Pan Geng’s argument also relies on the precedent of previous relocations, framing his decision as a continuation of an established, spiritually grounded practice. Therefore, I adhere to the traditional ordering of the text in my analysis.

The Shang people’s understanding of the Mandate of Heaven was deeply intertwined with their reverence for ancestral precedent—following the ways of former kings who upheld this sacred order (Song 1994, pp. 497–514). This interplay between divine mandate and historical continuity shaped their political and religious worldview. To fully grasp this dynamic, we must consider not only the rituals and rites recorded in canonical texts but also the broader historical memory preserved in narrative traditions and archeological findings.

Several key religious dimensions emerge in Pan Geng’s decision to relocate the capital. First is the spiritual justification for the move—how divine authority was invoked to legitimize the decision. Second is the possible religious significance of the new location—why this particular site was chosen and whether it carried sacred connotations. Third is the role of religious principles in urban planning—how ritual considerations shaped the spatial organization of the new capital. Each of these dimensions will be addressed in a separate section below.

2.2. Divination and Divine Authority in the Text of “Pan Geng”

It is widely acknowledged that the Shang people were deeply religious and committed to the practice of divination in small and big affairs of their lives (ibid., pp. 514–32). The vast number of oracle bones unearthed over the past century attests to the pervasiveness of this tradition in all facets of life, reinforcing its centrality as reflected in transmitted texts. Deeply embedded in Shang political and religious life, divine authority as revealed through divination served as a means of seeking guidance from ancestral spirits and the divine before undertaking significant actions. The case of Pan Geng was no exception. Yet, this very pervasiveness of religious context has led many to overlook its significance in Pan Geng’s case, dismissing it as merely conventional rather than essential. However, failing to recognize the centrality of religion in his speech would mean missing a crucial dimension of its persuasive power.

When considering Pan Geng and his administration’s use of divination in the context of capital relocation, several key questions arise. What specific form did divine authority take in this instance? Did it differ in any notable way from other recorded divinatory practices in Shang texts? How was divination employed to justify and legitimize the decision to move the capital? Understanding where and how divine authority was invoked in Pan Geng’s rhetoric offers deeper insight into its function—not only as a religious practice but also as a persuasive tool for aligning political actions with the will of Heaven and ancestral precedent.

Before delving into the specific role of divine authority in the text of “Pan Geng”, it is important to consider the nature of the text as a whole. What kind of rhetorical piece is “Pan Geng”? Scholars have spent centuries attempting to decode the nature of Pan Geng’s impassioned call to his people to relocate. It is certainly not a conventional persuasive speech; since it originates from the monarch himself, its authority does not rest solely on the strength of its argument. However, persuasion remains a central element, intertwined with and complicated by other rhetorical strategies. For instance, the use of threat as a rhetorical device is particularly striking in these early documents, setting “Pan Geng” apart from other political or doctrinal proclamations of its time.

There is certainly a pervasive sense of existential crisis in Pan Geng. The language of urgency or emergency permeates the entire speech:

“You’ve brought destructions and calamities upon yourself; villains and traitors, you must now bear the suffering yourselves—regret will come too late!”

乃敗禍姦宄，以自災于厥身。

(Kong and Kong 2007, p. 344)

“I have announced to you the difficulties of the present enterprise. My will is that of an archer.”

予告汝于難，若射之有志。

(ibid., p. 347)

“When great disasters befell the Yin, the former kings did not cling to their original location. Instead, they prioritized the well-being of the people and relocated the capital accordingly.”

殷降大虐，先王不懷。厥攸作，視民利用遷。

(ibid., p. 350)

“Perpetually respect my great anxiety; let us not get alienated and removed from one another.”

永敬大恤，無胥絕遠

(ibid., p. 357)

“My people, you have been scattered and uprooted, driven from your homes with no permanent place to settle.”

今我民用蕩析離居，罔有定極。

(ibid., p. 360)

It appears that other justifications for relocation, such as the discovery of a more suitable site for long-term settlement,10 are secondary to this enveloping sense of crisis, anxiety, and ensuing threats. The urgency of responding to nebulous impending threats takes precedence over practical considerations, framing the act of relocation as a response to existential danger rather than a deliberate search for a better home.

Pan Geng’s relocation is essentially a coercive act in a time of crisis. This kind of coercion based on perceived existential threat can help the monarch to consolidate power. As history shows, even in a more liberal democratic form of government, such as the Roman Republic, the declaration of a state of emergency or a crisis situation was used to summon a more concentrated form of power, such as the institution of dictatorship, to enable more focused and efficient response. The case of Pan Geng set up a new precedent that the use of threat is permissible in a state of emergency.11 Pan Geng’s consolidation and reinforcement of his power ultimately depended on the invocation of divine will and the very act of capital relocation.

Pan Geng’s speech, steeped in crisis and threat, stands apart from the usual persuasive tradition of the Documents, which is typically marked by calm and measured prose and verse. This striking contrast makes the speech both startling and compelling, prompting us to examine the specific justifications Pan Geng employed to persuade his audience. His rhetoric not only underscores an imminent sense of danger but also reinforces divine authority and the role of divination. Even as he invokes crisis, his speech is carefully balanced by repeated affirmations of divine presence and supremacy, framing the relocation as both a necessary response to turmoil and an act of sacred alignment:

“If we do not uphold the ways of the past, we will be ignorant of Heaven’s decree… May Heaven extend my mandate in this new city.”

今不承于古，罔知天之斷命……天其永我命于茲新邑。

(Kong and Kong 2007, p. 338)

“I seek to extend your mandate from Heaven; do I force you by the terrors of my power?”

予迓續乃命于天，予豈汝威？

(ibid., p. 353)

“Thus, Shangdi will restore the virtue of my great ancestor and bring order upon my house.”

肆上帝將復我高祖之德，亂越我家。

(ibid., p. 361)

The invocation of Tian (天 Heaven) or Shangdi (上帝 Supreme God) is as frequent and intense as the evocation of threat and crisis, forming a deliberate interplay where each mention of looming danger necessitates an equally potent divine response. Modern scholars often overlook this interplay, viewing references to Heaven or Shangdi as mere rhetorical devices—used to justify a predetermined decision to relocate rather than as integral to the decision-making process itself (Wang 2010, p. 28). This interpretation resonates with contemporary skepticism toward divination, reflecting a modern sensibility inclined to separate political decision-making from religious belief.

However, I argue that this dynamic interplay between impending crisis and divine response is central to the theological structure of the text. Here, crisis is not merely acknowledged but strategically countered through the invocation of divine authority. Pan Geng’s speech was not solely a means of consolidating earthly power; it also sought to restore his followers’ faith in divine will and ancestral spirits by demonstrating that divine authority was not only present but also firmly aligned with the right course of action. Ultimately, the completion of the relocation serves to reaffirm and consolidate the king’s shamanistic authority12.

First and foremost, divination played a crucial role in Pan Geng’s case. The explicit mention of divination—“The tortoise-shell was consulted” (卜稽) (Kong and Kong 2007, p. 337)—at the very top of the speech underscores its significance, signaling that the decision to relocate was firmly grounded in divine will. This deliberate invocation of divination not only reinforces its centrality but also frames the entire undertaking as an act of religious legitimacy.

Although no oracle bones explicitly linked to capital relocations or settlement shifts per se have been found in the extensive archeological discoveries of Shang settlements,13 the later text Rites of Zhou mentions the role of the “Minister of Divination for Great Affairs” (大卜 dabu), whose duties included performing tortoise-shell divinations for major state decisions, such as military campaigns and capital relocations (Sun 2015, p. 2338). This strongly supports the historical authenticity of the practice. Han and Tang Dynasty exegetes of the Documents frequently cited this clause from the Rites of Zhou (Kong and Kong 2007, pp. 337, 339) to suggest that Pan Geng likely performed divination in connection with the capital relocation. Their interpretations reinforce the idea that such rituals were an expected part of major state decisions, aligning with broader traditions of divinatory practice in early China.

Secondly, the nature of the divine as revealed through divination and invocation must be carefully examined. Various terms are used to invoke higher spiritual authority, including Tian (Heaven), Shangdi (Supreme God), and ancestors (先王). Scholars have long debated the relationship between the abstract concept of Tian and the personified figure of Shangdi, as well as the possible connections between Shangdi and the ancestral spirits of deceased kings. At the core of this discussion lies the intricate relationship between ancestral deities and the celestial god Di (帝) in Shang religious thought—whether they were distinct entities or part of a continuum within the Shang spiritual hierarchy.

Wang Guowei and Guo Moruo advocate a monistic perspective, arguing that Di in oracle inscriptions often refers to ancestral spirits (e.g., Gaozu Kui 高祖夔) (Guo 1982, p. 327), effectively merging celestial and ancestral authority into a single entity. In contrast, Chen Mengjia and Hu Houxuan propose a dualistic model, contending that Di was a separate deity of Heaven with no direct blood ties to Shang ancestors (Chen 1988, p. 580; Hu 1959a, 1959b), merely anthropomorphized for shamanic communication. Oracle inscriptions reveal that while Di had the power to bestow blessings or misfortunes, on the other hand, phrases such as “Di grants us favor” (帝受我又) or “Di does not approve of the king” (帝弗若王) indicate that protection by Di was not always predictable and secured (Wang 2010, p. 30). This unreliability may have led the Shang to place increasing emphasis on ancestral veneration, as demonstrated by the overwhelming frequency of ancestral sacrifices (e.g., over 800 recorded offerings to King Tang; more than 15,000 recorded offerings to ancestral spirits in total) compared to any other type of rituals (Chao 1990, p. 100).

In the late Shang period, deceased kings were believed to “accompany Di,” (賓于帝) such as “Father Yi-Di” (父乙帝) or “Di-Ding” (帝丁), enhancing their sacred authority and shifting religious focus from the mysterious Di to ancestral spirits (Hu and Hu 2003, pp. 82–88). This transformation reinforced the political authority of Shang rulers, who, as the “chief of all shamans,” gradually shifted their focus from direct celestial intervention—centered on the enigmatic deity Di—to ancestral worship as a means of legitimizing their rule (M. Lin 2009).

This evolution led to a dual structure of divine authority: the transcendent “Supreme Di” (上帝), embodying cosmic order, and the “Royal Di” (王帝), closely linked to ancestral worship and governance (Hu and Hu 2003, p. 87). While the former represented the vast, universal forces of creation, the latter was intimately connected to the Shang ruling lineage. The shift from an early emphasis on the enigmatic Di to a later focus on ancestral veneration reflects both the consolidation of royal power and a pragmatic turn toward governance and survival.

That said, in the case of “Pan Geng,” a text edited during the Zhou Dynasty or even later—when these two aspects of divinity were increasingly intertwined—it is more appropriate to view the separate sources of divine authority as a unified concept rather than distinct deities. This religious perspective raises a crucial question: To what extent does divine will, as revealed through divination, carry binding authority? Is it absolute and unquestionable, or open to challenge and reinterpretation?

Third, to fully understand Pan Geng’s actions, we must view them within the broader context of losing faith. After Pan Geng relocated the capital to Yin, his people questioned the legitimacy of both the Mandate of Heaven and the divination that sanctioned the move (Yifeng Liu 2024, p. 25). Later, the last text of the tripartite “Pan Geng” explicitly states, “dare not to disobey the divination,” (非敢違卜) (Kong and Kong 2007, p. 361) suggesting that defying divinatory instructions was a real concern. The people’s faith wavered when repeated reliance on divination failed to bring favorable outcomes, leading them to consider disregarding its guidance. While the Shang placed great importance on divination, they did not always follow it unquestioningly. As Liu Yifeng has insightfully observed, both textual and archeological evidence from the Shang–Zhou period indicate a tradition of “disobeying the divinatory instruction” (違卜) (Yifeng Liu 2024), revealing a pragmatic rather than rigid approach to omens.

For instance, the “Great Announcement” (大誥) chapter in the Book of Documents recounts how King Cheng of Zhou, despite receiving an auspicious divination for his eastern campaign, was advised by his ministers to “disobeying the divinatory instruction” (違卜) (Kong and Kong 2007, p. 510), demonstrating a selective dismissal of favorable omens. Similarly, the “Appointment of Fu Yue” in Tsinghua Bamboo Slips records Shi Zhong ignoring a divination that advised against killing a pig and proceeding with the act anyway. Archeological findings from Yinxu oracle inscriptions further support this pattern, with cases where divinations marked as “auspicious” (吉) or “very auspicious” (大吉) were later annotated as “not used” (不用), indicating a conscious decision to reject certain outcomes (Yifeng Liu 2024, pp. 26–27).

These findings indicate that while divination carried significant ritual weight, decision-makers retained agency. The practice of “disobeying divinatory instructions” reflects a nuanced balance between divine interpretation and pragmatic governance. Pan Geng was not simply responding to the imminent threat of potential natural disasters, as many scholars, ancient and modern, have highlighted. It is reasonable to speculate that the internal threat of spiritual crisis—marked by a weakening faith, the practice of “disobeying divinatory instructions,” and a diminishing belief in divine authority—needed to be countered through the enactment of this migration. Thus, his decision to relocate the capital was not merely an attempt to consolidate power but also a means of restoring faith in the hearts of Shang subjects.

Fourth, the theme of “restoration” (復) is evident both in the original “Pan Geng” text and in its Tang Dynasty exegetical interpretations. The term appears twice in the original text, underscoring its central role in the discourse on legitimacy and continuity:

Just as a fallen tree can sprout new shoots, may Heaven extend my mandate in this new city, continuing and restoring the great enterprise of the former kings, bringing lasting stability to the four directions.

若顛木之有由蘗，天其永我命于茲新邑，紹復先王之大業厎綏四方。

(Kong and Kong 2007, p. 338)

Thus, Shangdi shall restore the virtue of my great ancestor, bringing order and prosperity to my royal house.

肆上帝將復我高祖之德，亂越我家。

(ibid., p. 361)

The imagery of a fallen tree sprouting new shoots symbolizes revival and regeneration, reinforcing the idea that dynastic legitimacy is cyclical rather than permanently lost. “Restoration” is a reciprocal dynamic between human agency and divine will. In the first sentence, Pan Geng actively seeks to renew the dynasty by aligning with Heaven’s will, while in the second, Shangdi’s intervention ensures that virtue (and mandate) is revived. The emphasis on ancestral precedent and mandate renewal reflects a Shang conception of time and legitimacy—not as a linear progression but as a cycle of decline and revival, where restoration is necessary to sustain dynastic continuity. Only through the act of capital relocation can the mandate be restored; without it, the mandate will dissipate. This logic is made even more explicit in the words of the Tang Dynasty official exegete Kong Yingda, as he interprets what Pan Geng meant:

The reason I moved the capital was to establish a center (to stabilize the people). You failed to understand my intent, instead questioning why I disturbed the populace with such a relocation. Precisely through this move, Heaven will restore the virtuous legacy of our High Ancestor Cheng Tang and bring order to our dynasty. Together with loyal and reverent ministers, I shall uphold the Mandate of Heaven to ensure the people dwell securely in this new capital.

Though I am of limited wisdom, I dared not act arbitrarily in this migration plan. I sought counsel widely, even as opinions diverged—ultimately adopting the wise advice of those who advocated relocation. We further resolved the matter through tortoise shell divination, which revealed auspicious signs. Neither I nor my ministers dare disobey the divinatory instruction; thus, we must proceed to glorify and prosper this great undertaking. Such is the true purpose of my relocation.

言我徙以爲民立中，汝等不明我心，乃謂我何故震動萬民，以爲此遷。我以此遷之故，上天將復我高祖成湯之德，治理於我家。我當與厚敬之臣奉承民命，用是長居於此新邑。以此須遷之故，我童蒙之人非敢廢其詢謀，謀放衆人。衆謀不同，至用其善者，言善謀者皆欲遷都也。又決之於龜，卜而得吉，我與汝群臣各非敢違卜，用是必遷，光大此遷都之大業。我徙本意如此耳。

(Kong and Kong 2007, p. 361)

Here, “restoration” emerges as a convergence of political resolve and spiritual duty. Pan Geng presents his decision to relocate the capital not as a personal or arbitrary choice but as an act of establishing a (spiritual) center to align with the virtuous legacy of Cheng Tang, the Shang dynasty’s revered founder. The term “restoration” here implies a return to rightful governance, moral integrity, and cosmic harmony, reinforcing the idea that dynastic legitimacy is not static but must be actively renewed through decisive action.

The idea of “restoration” in this passage operates on multiple levels: it justifies the upheaval of relocation as a means of recovering “lost faith” (in light of the previous discussion), reinforces the dynasty’s alignment with Heaven (though it remains debated whether the concept of “virtue” was later introduced by subsequent compilers as an editorial gloss, replacing the original notion of the “mandate”), and positions the ruler as a responsible steward of both tradition and divine will—essentially, a shaman–monarch. It transforms what might appear as a disruptive political maneuver into an act of moral and cosmic necessity. It was the convergence of two key factors—the central role of divination in Shang religious life and a perceived spiritual crisis, characterized by diminishing confidence in divinatory outcomes—that compelled Pan Geng to “restore” faith through the act of capital relocation.

2.3. The Uncertain Location of Pan Geng’s Resettlement

The theme of “restoration” is also evident in the choice of the new capital’s location—a return to ancestral land, at least in one major retelling of the Pan Geng story. In Records of the Grand Historian, Sima Qian suggests that Pan Geng did not establish the capital on newly surveyed, unoccupied land. Instead, he reclaimed the former capital once inhabited by Cheng Tang, the revered ancestor of the Shang people:

During the reign of Emperor Pan Geng, the Yin people had already settled north of the river. Pan Geng then crossed south of the river, returning to the former capital of Cheng Tang. By this point, the Yin people had relocated five times, never having a permanent settlement. The people of Yin resented these moves and did not wish to relocate again.

Pan Geng addressed the nobles and ministers, saying: “In the past, our great ancestor Cheng Tang established order in the realm together with your forefathers, and his laws and institutions are worthy of preservation. If we abandon them and make no effort, how can we achieve virtue?”

Thus, he proceeded to cross the river and settle in Bo, where he upheld the governance of Cheng Tang. Only then did the people find stability, and the Way of Yin was revived. The feudal lords came to pay tribute, recognizing that Pan Geng had restored the virtue of Cheng Tang.

帝盤庚之時，殷已都河北，盤庚渡河南，復居成湯之故居，迺五遷，無定處。殷民咨胥皆怨，不欲徙。盤庚乃告諭諸侯大臣曰：“昔高后成湯與爾之先祖俱定天下，法則可修。舍而弗勉，何以成德！”乃遂涉河南，治亳，行湯之政，然後百姓由寧，殷道復興。諸侯來朝，以其遵成湯之德也。

(Sima 1959, p. 102)

This is the most authoritative account of Pan Geng aside from the Documents. It aligns with the suspicion that the orchestrated migration was not merely another relocation—like previous moves often interpreted as responses to environmental crises—but rather an event of profound religious significance. This migration was worth documenting because it played a crucial role in restoring both the divine mandate and the people’s faith in the regime. According to Sima Qian, the revival (復興) of the Yin (Shang) Way14 is entirely dependent on the return to its former land (復居). In Sima Qian’s account, this sacred dimension of rulership is quite literally anchored in the hallowed ground of Cheng Tang’s former capital—a site that later Shang kings persistently sought to reclaim. Although Sima Qian’s statement does not fully align with Zhang Guangzhi’s hypothesis of the “sacred capital” (Zhang 2013b), it appears to support the idea that the “sacred capital” is tied to a specific location to which successive rulers sought to return.

However, despite the undeniable influence of this account, it clearly contradicts the version of the story found in the Documents (and also current archeological evidence), which is closer in time to the event, particularly concerning the location of the capital. The Documents refers to Pan Geng’s destination as the “new city” (新邑), without any reference to the former seat of Cheng Tang. Another textual discrepancy regarding the location of Pan Geng’s capital appears in the Bamboo Annals (竹書紀年), a chronicle of ancient China allegedly buried during the Warring States period and rediscovered centuries later. The Annals state that Pan Geng moved to Yin rather than Bo (Fang and Wang 1981, p. 29), prompting some scholars to consider these as two distinct locations rather than interchangeable names for the same site, as certain versions of the Documents also suggest (Kong and Kong 2007, pp. 335–36).

There is now a scholarly consensus identifying the Yinxu archeological site in Anyang (安陽殷墟) as the location of Pan Geng’s relocated capital (Niu 2024; Institute of Archaeology (Chinese Academy of Social Sciences) 2007a, p. 47; Tang and Jing 2009, p. 80), a view further consolidated and officially cemented by the recent establishment of the Yinxu Museum (J. Zhang 2024). Previously, scholars have challenged this view for decades, pointing out a series of clear textual discrepancies. As a result, opinions have diverged on the most likely locations of Pan Geng’s former and later capitals, prompting new avenues for reassessing their exact whereabouts.15 Even the number of migrations was questioned, as some assume Pan Geng moved only once, while others entertain the possibility of multiple relocations. For example, archeologist Zhang Guoshuo argues that Pan Geng relocated the capital twice, establishing it in three distinct locations during his reign (G. Zhang 2003, p. 49).

Regardless of the accuracy of Sima Qian’s account, his narrative reflects a noticeable anxiety in reframing Pan Geng’s actions within the political ideology of the Han Dynasty. By Sima Qian’s time, divination had long lost its central role in statecraft following the fall of the Shang dynasty and the reconfiguration of religious belief during the Zhou. The authority and legitimacy of rulership were no longer derived primarily from omens or oracle bones but from historical precedent and moral justification. The king’s latent shamanistic power was no longer embraced but instead restrained by the concept of “virtue” (de 德), which was strongly advocated by Confucian thinkers of the Han time.

What grants Pan Geng’s decision credibility in Sima Qian’s retelling of the story is not the reliance on divination but rather the compelling logic of returning to ancestral land—a concept deeply resonant with Han audiences. Ancestral continuity, territorial legitimacy, and the restoration of rightful rule were themes that aligned with Han political thought. By emphasizing Pan Geng’s return to the ancestral capital, Sima Qian subtly aligns the history of the Shang with broader Confucian ideals of filial piety and moral governance rooted in virtue. In doing so, he recasts Pan Geng’s relocation not as a superstitious act driven by divine will, but as a deliberate effort to restore harmony through the Confucian principle, rather than through reliance on an arbitrary mandate vested solely in the king. The return to ancestral land also signals a pragmatic, rather than radical, approach to capital relocation: by re-establishing the capital on familiar ground and building upon existing infrastructure, the move was naturally less costly and therefore more agreeable to the vast majority of the populace.16 Whether Sima Qian truly intended to revise the underlying logic of relocation remains a question requiring further investigation and lies beyond the scope of this article. Nonetheless, the evident textual discrepancy suggests a possible shift in that direction.

2.4. Building the New Capital: Cosmic Alignment

More archeological evidence is needed to verify any of the above theories of Pan Geng’s location. However, something could be said about the religious characteristics related to capital planning both regarding Pan Geng’s case and also about the Shang period, in general, from archeological discoveries.

In the text “Pan Geng,” the most significant reference to the planning of the new capital states “after Pan Geng completed the relocation, he settled the new residence and properly established its placement and orientation” (盤庚既遷，奠厥攸居，乃正厥位。 Kong and Kong 2007, p. 358). Textual scholars have offered numerous interpretations of what exactly took place during this process. Several contentious points remain: How was the new residence established in relation to ancestral temples and administrative courts? Which held priority in the layout? What was considered the proper spatial organization of the capital?

Han Dynasty scholar Kong Anguo asserts that “he established their places of residence and determined the positions of the suburban altars, ancestral temples, royal court, and communal shrines.” (定其所居，正郊，廟，朝，社之位。 (ibid.). Kong Anguo’s interpretation suggests that both official and ritual architecture and common living quarters were established simultaneously, leaving the sequence of spatial arrangement in the capital ambiguous—a point of later scholarly contention. Over time, Confucian scholars increasingly sought to determine the precise order in which urban sectors and architectural structures took shape in early capital and settlement.

Han Dynasty scholar Zheng Xuan argued that, since the primary aim of relocation is to improve the lives and prosperity of the people, priority should be given to determining the placement of their neighborhoods and residences. Only after that is attention given to properly establishing the positions of the ancestral temples and the royal court (Kong and Kong 2007, p. 359). In contrast, Tang Dynasty official exegete Kong Yingda, drawing anachronistically from later ritual principles, described an idealized urban layout: the suburban altar outside the capital, the ancestral temple to the left, the altar of the Earth to the right, the court facing forward, and the market behind. He interpreted properly establishing its placement (正厥位) as the positioning of these key ritual and administrative structures in accordance with established principles (ibid.).

None of the textual scholars had access to what we now know about Shang capitals and palaces from recent archeological discoveries. The closest material evidence to Pan Geng’s period comes from two representative palace–ritual complexes: Huanbei Shang City (洹北商城) and the Yinxu (殷墟). These archeological discoveries do not fully align with the anachronistic expectations of ritual order projected by later scholars onto an earlier cultural period. For instance, what appears to be the royal palaces at both Huanbei Shang City and Yinxu contain numerous human and animal sacrifices. Other Shang period cities also required similar “founding rituals” (Li 2022). Archeologists suspect that these sacrificial remains, discovered alongside the foundations of grand structures, were part of rituals conducted during the laying of the foundations for the royal palace–ritual complex (Institute of Archeology (Chinese Academy of Social Sciences) 2007a, p. 49; Li 2022). The recurring close association between large-scale architectural projects and sacrificial activity strongly suggests that the founding of a new city was conceived not merely as a political or administrative act, but as a deeply religious ritual. Laying the foundations of a new capital required vast, unoccupied land to accommodate large-scale animal and human sacrifices. These rituals, matched to the scale of the envisioned capital, served to consecrate the emerging political order—literally embedding it within a sacred framework that linked human authority to cosmic forces and ancestral spirits.

The role of cities as “ceremonial centers” in early civilizations was famously theorized by Paul Wheatley in his seminal work The Pivot of the Four Quarters (Wheatley 1971). In this influential study, Wheatley argues that early urban centers—particularly in the Chinese context, and probably throughout Asia—were not primarily economic or military hubs, but cosmologically significant sites anchored in ritual and symbolic order. He draws attention to the immense human labor and organizational effort invested in constructing monumental ritual structures, emphasizing that these undertakings were not merely feats of engineering, but acts grounded in what he terms a long-overlooked “cosmo-magical” worldview (p. 435). For Wheatley, the spatial logic of these early cities reflects an integrated vision of political authority and sacred order, in which the city served as the ritual axis connecting Heaven, Earth, and the human realm.

Although Wheatley’s theory was developed in the 1960s and 1970s, following a wave of anthropological interest in magic, and relied more on speculative synthesis than on the relatively limited archeological evidence then available, his core insights remain resonant. However, in light of the increasingly rich and complex body of archeological data now at our disposal, early cities should be understood not just as ceremonial centers, but as multifaceted entities shaped by a broader range of social, political, and economic dynamics.

As we have seen in recent discoveries, the urban structures of early Chinese cities reveal a level of complexity that exceeds the scope of Wheatley’s original model. In middle to late Shang cities, ritual and sacrificial sites were often interwoven with residential quarters, though evidence also points to instances of deliberate spatial separation and the intentional design of ritual spaces. Three findings in particular seem to bear some resemblance to the later ritual customs described by Kong Yingda. First, south of the Yinxu palace complex’s core architecture—believed to be the last standing palace structure of the Shang period—there are areas that appear to have been designated for ritual sacrifice, along with the recently discovered foundations of a large structure that may have functioned as a temple (Zhao 2017). This layout loosely aligns with Kong Yingda’s principles, in which ritual sacrifices are positioned spatially to the right (west) and the temple to the left (east) (within a royal–ritual complex). And yet, it is still impossible to determine, with limited archeological findings, whether the temple was indeed for ancestor worship, which would have enshrined Xiao Yi (小乙), Da Yi (大乙), Zu Ding (祖丁), and the other ten former kings (ibid., p. 91).

On the other hand, Huanbei Shang City, located north of the Huan River and opposite the Yinxu archeological site, had a relatively brief existence before being destroyed by a catastrophic fire. Scholars have now identified two specific principles that guided the planning of the palace structures of Huanbei Shang City. The east–west central axis of the palace city aligns with the tripartite division line of the outer city, strongly suggesting that the layout of both the outer and palace cities followed principles of axial symmetry and tripartite division (He 2023, p. 102). Although the palace was not positioned precisely at the midpoint of the axial line, its placement was nevertheless deliberate and “properly” planned according to established rules and geometric principles, echoing Kong Yingda’s interpretation.

Finally, within the walls of Huanbei Shang City, unlike what Wheatley’s theory might anticipate, little evidence of religious architecture has been found. However, to the west of Huanbei Shang City lay the Shang royal tombs site. Recent discoveries indicate that this area was connected to hundreds of sacrificial pits and two ditches encircling the outer perimeter of the royal tomb complex (Niu 2023). Notably, the site remained in use from the period of Huanbei Shang City’s occupation through its abandonment and continued to serve ritual purposes well into the late Shang period represented by the Yinxu archeological site south of the Huan River (Institute of Archaeology (Chinese Academy of Social Sciences) 2007a, pp. 93–113). Archeologist He Yuling (He 2023) argues that the original east–west alignment of the royal city and the royal tomb site reflects a deliberate and intentional design. The relocation of the city to the south side of the river was likely a compromise, as it created a somewhat inconvenient ritual relationship with the tomb site. The river would have posed logistical challenges for ritual activities, complicating access for participants who likely resided within the new city. This suggests that while the connection to the ancestral tombs remained important, practical considerations may have influenced the decision to establish the city across the river.

However, the fact that the royal tombs remained in the same location while the city was likely relocated south of the river warrants further consideration. This raises the question of whether the city’s sacredness was rooted not in its physical location, but in the presence of ancestral spirits enshrined within its tombs. In this view, the city retained its sacred status as long as it remained within a reachable distance from the royal tombs, reaffirming the central role of ancestral worship in Shang religious thought, especially in the middle to later period when Huanbei Shang City and Yinxu were believed to be in use. However, reorienting the direction of worship after relocating from the north to the south of the river could still provoke heated debates over ritual order.

Could it be that the above emerging ritual motifs were signs of ritualistic reform tied to Pan Geng’s relocation? Are they suggesting the emergence of a cosmic order embedded in urban architecture and layout, a principle that became more fully articulated in later commentaries? Further research is needed to determine whether the religious practices in the new capital(s) reflect a new synthesis of ancestral worship and the veneration of higher powers—a fusion that appears increasingly characteristic of later religious traditions—or whether other factors were driving the perceived changes.

What can be said, comparing the Documents account and archeological evidence with later, especially Han Dynasty, interpretations, is that there appear to be diverging viewpoints regarding the legitimacy of capital relocation. Pan Geng’s speech in the Book of Documents appears to invoke shamanistic power through the very act of relocation, whereas Sima Qian’s retelling emphasizes the importance of virtue in the Han Confucian discourse, and Zheng Xuan’s “humanistic” reinterpretation foregrounds the welfare of the people as the ultimate justification. These later moralized interpretations, despite their hopeful intentions, however, are challenged by archeological evidence: findings to date do not support the claim made by Sima Qian that Pan Geng returned to Cheng Tang’s old capital. Instead, they point to a new departure in the middle to late Shang period, characterized by an intensified use of human and animal sacrifices that persisted until the dynasty’s fall.17 The only viable interpretive framework for understanding the relocation remains rooted in the distinctive religious practices of the Shang period.

3. The Case of Zhou Luo

3.1. The Continuation of “Capital Relocation”

The second major instance of the “capital relocation” motif recorded in the Documents is the establishment and subsequent relocation of the Zhou Dynasty’s eastern capital, Luo. Unlike Pan Geng’s seemingly drastic decision to uproot his entire clan and relocate, the creation of Luo followed a gradual, deliberate process that spanned multiple generations of Zhou rulers and involved a concerted and collective effort. From King Wu of Zhou selecting the site, the Duke of Shao surveying the land, and the Duke of Zhou overseeing the construction of Luo, to King Cheng of Zhou ultimately establishing it as the dynastic seat by moving the nine ritual vessels ding (九鼎) from the old Yin capital to Luo, the royal city stands as the first capital in Chinese history to be meticulously planned and constructed at an imperial level spanning a few generations of Zhou rulers.

After conquering the Shang people and overthrowing the rule of Yin, King Wu faced an immense challenge: how to govern his newly annexed territory and, more importantly, how to secure the legitimacy of his rule. Unlike the Shang kings, whose authority had been reinforced through ancestral precedents and divination, King Wu had to navigate a drastically altered political and religious landscape. His solution was to establish a new city—one that would serve not only as an administrative center for managing the diverse populations under his rule but also as a means of securing the Mandate of Heaven.

This resettlement was not merely a logistical or political maneuver; it was also a deeply religious and ritualistic act. With a significantly larger body of transmitted texts and archeological materials available for analysis, we can trace how this process unfolded in multiple stages. In this section, I will once again move through three key aspects of the relocation: the decision-making process behind the move, the selection of the new site, and the planning of the “capital” itself. However, my primary focus will be on uncovering the religious considerations that underpinned each of these steps.

3.2. King Wu’s Religious Anxiety: Divine Authority Without Divination

As one might expect, divination was likely employed in decisions regarding capital relocation, as stipulated in the Rites of Zhou.18 However, when King Wu proposed establishing a new city in the eastern part of his newly expanded realm, he made no mention of divination. The Documents does not provide any account of how King Wu allegedly arrived at this decision; instead, the text refers to it only through the words of the Duke of Zhou.

This is not just a simple oversight; no clear sign of divine revelation or authority to legitimize his actions generated great anxiety in King Wu, the conqueror. It is in the “Contemplating the City” (度邑解) chapter the Lost Book of Zhou (逸周書) that this episode of the king’s anguishes after conquering the Zhou was made evident:

When the king subdued the state of Yin and became lord over the feudal lords, he then summoned the contributing people and the commanders of the Nine Regions’ forces to present themselves to the king at the outskirts of Yin. Then the king ascended the mound of Fen to gaze upon the Shang city, and with a deep sigh, said: “Alas! The heavens did not favor the Shang dynasty.” He then commanded that on one day, the people should remember the divine and awe-inspiring actions of the past.

The king arrived in Zhou and, from… to Qiu, remained vigilant without resting. His young son was driving the chariot, and when the king spoke with Shudan, Shudan hurried to meet the king and asked: “You have been long in distress and have not rested—why is that?” The king replied, “Alas! Duke of Zhou, Heaven no longer shelters the Shang. From the time before I (Ji Fa) was even born until now, sixty years have passed. During this period, there were omens—wild sheep appearing in the fields and birds darkening the sky—signs that Heaven had long withdrawn its favor from the Shang. Only now has our Zhou dynasty been able to accomplish its great task. When Heaven first established the Shang, it bestowed upon them three hundred and sixty virtuous men as advisors. But they did not heed [Heaven’s will], nor did they serve in reverence at the completion [of their task], and thus brought ruin upon themselves to this day. Alas! I am troubled by these calamities, weary though I am from care. This very day, I have not dwelled at ease. We have yet to truly establish where Heaven’s mandate resides. How, then, could I sleep in peace or indulge in desire?”

維王尅殷國，君諸侯，乃厥獻民徵主九牧之師見王於殷郊。王乃升汾之阜，以望商邑。永嘆曰：嗚呼！不淑兌天對，遂命一日，維顯畏弗忘。王至于周，自□至于丘中，具明不寢。王小子御告叔旦，叔旦亟奔即王。曰：久憂勞，問周不寢？曰：安，予告汝。王曰：嗚呼！旦，維天不享於殷，發之未生，至于今六十年，夷羊在牧，飛鴻過野。天自幽，不享于殷，乃今有成。維天建殷，厥徵天民名三百六十夫。弗顧，亦不賓成，用戾於今。嗚呼！予憂茲難，近飽于卹，辰是不室。我來所定天保。何寢能欲？

(Huang 2007, pp. 465–71)

Even though King Wu was confident that he was fulfilling Heaven’s will in bringing about the downfall of the Shang, as they had lost the Mandate of Heaven, he was not certain that he himself was truly deserving of that mandate. In other words, he questioned why he, rather than someone else, had been chosen to receive Heaven’s mandate at this moment in history. He was tormented by intense anxiety (manifested as persistent insomnia) because he had not received any definitive sign confirming his mandate, presumably akin to the omens inscribed on tortoise-shells when Pan Geng sought divine guidance for relocating his capital. He asked, “We have yet to truly establish where Heaven’s mandate resides. How, then, could I sleep in peace?”

Establishing a place for Heaven’s mandate to reside became the most urgent priority. However, unlike Pan Geng, or his illustrious predecessor Danfu (亶父), who most certainly used tortoise-shell to divine the location of his new settlement,19 King Wu did not seek guidance through divination. This marked a departure from the traditional reliance on divination and signaled a new approach to the religious practice of relocation—one rooted in the sanctification of a specific site. To quell his deep anxiety, King Wu sought to secure Heaven’s mandate by properly consecrating the chosen new site, ensuring its legitimacy as a new dynastic seat of power:

The king said, “Duke of Zhou, I am able to follow the sacred and enlightened mandate bestowed by Heaven, establish its divine protection, and cling to Tianshi. I constantly remain vigilant against my own faults, lest I fall into the same decadence as the last Shang king, Zhou. The four quarters have not yet fully acknowledged me in the western lands. It is through my manifest virtue and the brilliance of my moral conduct that I shall secure their recognition.”

王曰：旦，予克致天之明命，定天保，依天室。志我共惡，俾從殷王紂。四方赤宜未定我于西土。我維顯服及德之方明。

(Huang 2007, pp. 472–73)

Scholars have debated the meaning of Tianshi (天室) in this context. Two primary interpretations emerged. The first identifies Tianshi as the largest central hall within the Ming Hall (明堂) or an ancestral temple, where ancient emperors conducted state affairs and performed rituals. This interpretation is supported by the Book of Documents, specifically the “Announcement Concerning Luo” (洛誥) chapter, which states, “The king performed the sacrificial offering in the Grand Hall (太室), with his guests in attendance” (Kong and Kong 2007, p. 610).

The second interpretation associates Tianshi with Tianshi (Taishi) Mountain (天室山 or 太室山) (Ye 2000; Y. Lin 1993). I follow scholars such as Lin Yun and Ye Zhengbo in identifying Tianshi as the sacred mountain situated adjacent to Luo, as this interpretation provides a compelling rationale for King Wu’s selection of this site as his new city. If the Zhou rulers deliberately moved away from divination as the primary means of legitimizing political decisions, we must also consider where they sought divine authority in its place.

King Wu’s religious anxiety—his uncertainty about his rightful claim to the Mandate of Heaven—may have reshaped the trajectory of capital relocation. Rather than relying solely on traditional divination for divine approval, the Zhou rulers adopted a different mode of sacralization: grounding their legitimacy in designating sacred landscape itself. This shift has its roots in early Chinese traditions of mountain rituals, where sacred peaks were seen as conduits between Heaven and Earth. By establishing his authority on this ritual high ground, King Wu could only hope that his virtue would align with Heaven’s mandate (以德配天).

3.3. Sacred Geography: Mountain Rituals and Divine Mandate

The religious significance of selecting Luo as a new center of politics likely stems from the early practice of fengshan (封禪). Mountains have long held a sacred status as conduits between Heaven and Earth with ancient rulers conducting fengshan rituals on these sites to affirm their divine mandate. Sima Qian, in the Records of the Grand Historian, notes that “since ancient times, emperors who received the Mandate of Heaven have practiced fengshan” (Sima 1959, p. 1355).

However, over time—sometimes spanning over a thousand years—the ceremony faded, and its precise details were lost (ibid.). This discontinuity led later scholars to question its historical authenticity, with some suggesting that fengshan may have been a constructed tradition of the Qin and Han Dynasties (Y. Lin 1993, p. 26). Today, however, an increasing number of scholars argue that similar mountain rituals existed in earlier times, even if they were not explicitly known as fengshan (Y. Yang 2015). Long before fengshan became a formalized Han institution, comparable practices were already in place, such as Shun’s ritual journeys to sacred mountains. These early ceremonies suggest a longstanding tradition of rulers seeking divine affirmation through mountain worship, which later evolved into the codified fengshan rituals.

Sacred mountain rituals are recorded as early as the Book of Documents, which references the “Four Sacred Mountains” (四嶽) in the “Canon of Shun” (舜典). The text describes the legendary Emperor Shun conducting ritual visits every five years to these mountains in the second, fifth, eighth, and eleventh months. These visits combined offerings to Heaven, the Six Ancestral Deities, and other spirits with governance-related activities such as standardizing measurements and distributing symbolic tokens to regional leaders (Kong and Kong 2007, pp. 76–82). However, the Book of Documents does not specify which mountains comprised the “Four Sacred Mountains.”

Scholar Lin Yun has argued that the first recorded instance of fengshan occurred during King Wu’s era. The Tianwang Gui (天亡簋) inscription, attributed to King Wu’s time, contains the phrase: “The king performed a sacrifice at Tianshi” (王祀于天室) (Institute of Archaeology (Chinese Academy of Social Sciences) 2007b, p. 2589). While some scholars have interpreted Tianshi (天室) as a sacred hall or celestial palace, Lin Yun compellingly argues that it refers instead to Tianshi (Taishi) Mountain (Y. Lin 1993).

Given that fengshan has long been associated with the Mandate of Heaven, it is unsurprising that proximity to a sacred mountain played a decisive role in King Wu’s deliberation on the new capital. More recently, historian Xin Deyong has suggested that Tianshi (Taishi) Mountain may have originally been recognized as the Western Mountain within an earlier iteration of the “Four Sacred Mountains,” including during King Wu’s era. This interpretation aligns with traditions that conceptualized sacred geography in a fourfold rather than fivefold scheme. It was only later, as successive dynasties expanded their territorial reach, that the sacred mountain system was reconfigured into the more familiar “Five Sacred Mountains” (五嶽), with Tianshi Mountain redesignated as the Central Mountain (Xin 2021). This shift reflects not only an evolving understanding of sacred geography but also the broader process by which the spatial and ritual landscape of the Chinese state was continuously reimagined in response to political expansion and dynastic consolidation.

By selecting a site near Tianshi Mountain, King Wu could symbolically integrate his rule into a cosmic order independent of oracle bone divination, reinforcing his dynasty’s legitimacy by reinterpreting and reinscribing sacred geography—literally placing the new capital onto the pre-existing sacred map marked by sacred mountains, rather than relying on traditional divinatory practices. This possibility suggests that the Zhou’s evolving religious framework was not a wholesale rejection of earlier traditions. In addition to existing mountain rituals, the final selection of the Luo site still relied on oracle bone divination and was also partially influenced by traces of the legendary Xia tribe’s former presence (Huang 2007, p. 481). This decision reflects a blend of religious and pragmatic considerations. Rather than abandoning earlier practices, the Zhou adapted them, seeking new forms of divine sanction better aligned with the ideological needs of the emerging dynasty.

3.4. Consecrating the New City

Although King Wu bypassed divination in initiating the relocation project, his successors relied on it to determine the precise locality for resettlement. When King Cheng, the son of King Wu, sought to build the new city, he first dispatched the Duke of Shao to conduct divination and then the Duke of Zhao to conduct founding rituals before the actual construction of the capital took place—a process documented in the “Announcement of the Duke of Shao” (召誥) in the Book of Documents:

The Duke of Shao went before the Duke of Zhou to survey the locality of the new city. In the third month, on the day Wu-shen, the third day following the first appearance of the moon on Bing-wu, he arrived at Luo in the morning.

He performed divination using tortoiseshell to evaluate various localities, and upon receiving favorable omens, he began planning the city’s layout. On Geng-xu, three days later, he led the people of Yin to prepare designated sites north of the Luo River. This work was completed on Jia-yin, five days thereafter.

惟太保先周公相宅。越若來三月，惟丙午朏。越三日戊申，太保朝至于洛，卜宅。厥既得卜，則經營。越三日庚戌，太保乃以庶殷攻位于洛汭。越五日甲寅，位成。

(Kong and Kong 2007, p. 574)

The divination process used to determine the precise location of the new city was known as “assessing a site for residence” (相宅 or 卜宅). The “Announcement Concerning Luo” chapter of the Documents provides further insight into how this divinatory procedure unfolded. The Duke of Zhou relates to the king:

On the day Yi-mao, I came in the morning to this capital of Luo. I (first) divined by the shell concerning (the ground about) the Li-water on the north of the He. I then divined concerning the east of the Jian-water, and the west of the Chan, when the (ground near the) Luo was indicated. Again, I divined concerning the east of the Chan-water when the (ground near the) Luo was also indicated. I (now) send a messenger with a map, and to present the result of the divinations.

予惟乙卯，朝至于洛師。我卜河朔黎水，我乃卜澗水東，瀍水西，惟洛食。我又卜瀍水東，亦惟洛食。伻來以圖，及獻卜。

(ibid., p. 593)

The site selection for the new city followed a structured divination process using tortoise-shells. The initial divination examined land near the Li River, followed by comparisons east of the Jian River and west of the Chan River, both favoring the Luo River. A second divination east of the Chan River confirmed this choice.

The king did obeisance with his hands to his head and his head to the ground, saying, “The duke did not dare but revere Heaven’s blessings, and has surveyed the locality where our Zhou may respond to that favour. Having settled the locality, he has sent his messenger to show me the divinations, favourable and always auspicious. We two must together sustain the responsibility. He has made provision for me (and my successors), for myriads and tens of myriads of years, there reverently to honor the Heaven’s blessings.” With the hands to the head, and the head to the ground, received his instructive words.

王拜手稽首，曰：「公不敢不敬天之休，來相宅，其作周匹休。公既定宅，伻來，來視予卜休恆吉，我二人共貞，公其以予萬億年敬天之休。」拜手稽首誨言。

(ibid., pp. 594–95)

The king received the message from the duke containing the divinatory instructions and, recognizing the decision as Heaven’s blessing, performed a ritual obeisance and affirmed the site’s divine legitimacy for future generations. The phrase “The duke did not dare but revere Heaven’s blessings” (公不敢不敬天之休) is particularly revealing when juxtaposed with “dare not to disobey the divination” (非敢違卜) in “Pan Geng.”20 Unlike Pan Geng, who feared defying Heaven’s will by disregarding divinatory instructions, the Zhou rulers worried that acting solely on King Wu’s directive—without consulting divination—would mark a decisive break from religious tradition and risk unforeseen consequences.

This shift indicates a move toward diminishing reliance on divination and a stronger emphasis on the ruler’s authority, yet it also reflects an underlying anxiety about entirely abandoning religious belief and institutions. Although King Wu had already designated the general area for resettlement, the Zhou rulers maintained a deep reverence for divination, ensuring that the precise location was chosen with ritualistic care.

After the site was chosen, another set of ritualistic measures was taken to consecrate the ground of the new city, both in and outside of the city bounds:

On the following day, Yi-mao, the Duke of Zhou arrived in the morning at Luo and conducted a thorough inspection of the new city’s plan. On the third day, Ding-si, he offered two bulls as sacrifices in the suburbs. The next day, Wu-wu, he made offerings at the altar to the spirit of the land in the new city, presenting a bull, a ram, and a boar.

若翼日乙卯，周公朝至于洛，則達觀于新邑營。越三日丁巳，用牲于郊，牛二。越翼日戊午，乃社于新邑，牛一，羊一，豕一。

(Kong and Kong 2007, p. 576)

According to the Book of Han, this set of rituals performed by the Duke of Zhou marked the beginning of a new ritual institution “suburban offerings” (郊祀), referring to the grand state sacrifices performed outside the capital, typically dedicated to Heaven and Earth in ancient China.21 Using animal sacrifices to consecrate new grounds as documented here is celebrated as the more “civilized” way to consecrate the city ground compared to the numerous human sacrifices found in the Shang capital ruins. It is also important to note that the deliberate distance between significant ritual spaces and the palace complex, as well as the residential quarters, starkly contrasts with the indistinguishable nature of these spaces in the Shang context, as evidenced by the aforementioned archeological findings.

Whether this suburban site refers to a specific landscape or even the sacred mountain Tianshi (Taishi) remains uncertain. What can be inferred from this episode is the extension of ritual offerings beyond the city limits, signaling a broader spatial (re)conception of sacred and political authority. However, the ceremonial practices performed in Luo were not confined solely to Zhou traditions; rather, the rulers deliberately incorporated and prioritized Yin rituals. As stated in the “Announcement Concerning Luo”, “let the king at first employ the ceremonies of Yin, and sacrifice in the new city, doing everything in an orderly way, including those that were not part of the ritual canons of Zhou.” (王肇稱殷禮，祀于新邑，咸秩無文。) (Kong and Kong 2007, p. 596).

This emphasis on honoring Yin rituals highlights the deeper significance behind the establishment of the new city—it was not merely a political or administrative endeavor but a strategic effort to religiously and ritually assimilate the relocated Yin population. By adopting Yin sacrificial rites within the new Zhou city’s ceremonial framework, the Zhou rulers signaled their recognition of Yin traditions, facilitating a smoother transition for the displaced people. At the same time, the physical labor of constructing the city served as both a means of occupation and a method of control, ensuring their subordination within the Zhou order. This dual approach—ritual incorporation and labor mobilization—helped the Zhou consolidate their authority while transforming the new city into a space where old traditions were reconfigured under the Zhou mandate.

Detailed accounts of the construction of Luo are preserved in the “Establishing Luo” (作雒解) chapter of the Lost Book of Zhou:

Duke of Zhou respectfully considered the future, saying: “I fear internal conflict may arise, disrupting the harmony of the realm.” To bring order to the empire/world, he decided to establish the great city of Chengzhou at the center of the land when transferring power.

The city was built with a perimeter of 1720 zhang, and its outer walls extended 700 li. Situated south of the Luo River and backed by Mount Longmen, it was designed as the grand convergence point of the empire. The surrounding suburban and cultivated lands spanned 600 li, while the western territories of the state stretched 1000 li.

The land was divided into 100 counties, each comprising four commanderies (jun), and each commandery further divided into smaller settlements (bi). Large counties occupied one-third the size of the royal capital, while smaller counties were one-ninth its size. The settlements and frontier posts did not exceed 100 households, ensuring efficient land management and agricultural productivity.

周公敬念于後曰：予畏周室克追，俾中天下。及將致政，乃作大邑成周于土中。城方千七百二十丈，郛方七百里。南繫于洛水，地因于郟山，以爲天下之大湊。制郊甸方六百里，國西土爲方千里。分以百縣，縣有四郡，郡有□鄙。大縣城，方王城三之一，小縣立城，方王城九之一。郡鄙不過百室，以便野事。

(Huang 2007, pp. 524–31)

This passage presents Luo (also known as Chengzhou 成周) as a highly structured and centrally positioned capital, designed to serve as both the political and ritual core of the Zhou state. The phrase “to bring order to (establish the center of) the empire/world” (俾中天下) underscores its intended role as the heart of the empire, inaugurating Zhou ideals of centralized governance and cosmic order. This motif resonates with what Wheatley (1971) describes as the “axis mundi”: the use of spatial planning and ritual architecture by rulers to legitimize political authority by situating the city as a ritual “pivot” or cosmic center, thereby aligning political power with sacred order. The location of Luo—south of the Luo River, near Mount Longmen, and in the shadow of the sacred Tianshi Mountain—not only reflects the integration of natural geography into urban planning, ensuring strategic defense and access to vital resources, but also affirms its role as a primordial ceremonial center.

According to the textual description, the spatial organization of Luo follows a strict hierarchical structure, with concentric divisions defining its layout. At the core, the city itself spans 1720 zhang, housing the central institutions of governance. An outer protective wall (郛) extends 700 li and surrounding agricultural lands (郊甸) stretch 600 li, ensuring the city’s sustainability. Further out, western territories (國西土) covering 1000 li illustrate Luo’s broader role in administering the empire. This spatial arrangement reflects a deliberate effort to maintain a structured, stable, and self-sufficient capital.

Additionally, the administrative division of land into counties (縣), commanderies (郡), and settlements (鄙) demonstrates a systematic approach to governance. The proportional scaling of county sizes relative to the capital emphasizes a rigid hierarchy, ensuring that political authority radiates outward in an orderly manner. The stipulation that settlements remain under 100 households highlights concerns for administrative efficiency and agricultural stability. Overall, Luo’s design, at least on paper, embodies the Zhou dynasty’s vision of a well-ordered state, where spatial organization reinforces political legitimacy and cosmic harmony, that integrates rather than excludes annexed peoples and states.

Urban historian Yang Kuan has long argued that Luo, which later became the eastern capital of the Zhou Dynasty, primarily functioned as a center for tribute and taxation with significant symbolic importance (K. Yang 2016, p. 54). More recently, scholar Liu Yuli has argued that Luo underwent significant transformations throughout the Western Zhou period. After King Wu established the city, he relocated the people of Yin there to labor for construction, making it a primary settlement for Yin descendants. By the late Western Zhou, this area was fortified with defensive walls, evolving into a strategic military stronghold against incursions from the Eastern Yi and Southern Huai Yi tribes. Meanwhile, the Luo region along the Chan River served primarily as a residential area for the royal family and nobility, featuring homes, craft workshops, tombs, and sacrificial sites. As the political, economic, military, and cultural center of the Western Zhou, Luo was established in the dynasty’s early years, flourished through its early to middle period, and began to decline in the late Western Zhou (Yuli Liu 2020).

Luo’s relative equidistant location from various regions and lords of the empire made it a practically ideal hub for collecting tribute and taxes (Sima 1959, p. 133). This level of imperial authority required consecration through significant symbolic acts. The sanctification of the new capital was ultimately completed by the transfer of the nine ritual ding (tripod or cauldron) from the old Yin capital,22 an act that also symbolically reaffirmed the mandate to rule over the vast territories and peoples through the ritual power embodied in these sacred vessels.

From the selection of the sacred mountain as the site for the new city, to the series of ritual designs and the reconfiguration of ritual programs accompanying its construction, culminating in the final act of consecration, this ritual sequence established Luo as the spiritual and symbolic center of the new dynastic realm. The concept of “centrality” (中) in this context is primarily spiritual and religious rather than strictly geographical—a point also implied by Wheatley in his discussion of what appears to be a universal omphalos or axis mundi motif in the ancient world (Wheatley 1971, pp. 428–29). This stands in stark contrast to the passage in the Rites of Zhou regarding tugui (土圭), the aforementioned gnomon-like instrument presumably used by the Zhou people to determine the “(geographical) center of the earth” (地中 dizhong).23 Rather than serving as a purely geographical designation, Luo’s centrality was ritually enacted—its spatial layout aligned with cosmic principles to affirm the city’s role as the spiritual and symbolic heart of the dynasty’s sacred geography, where cosmic certainty was reassured.24

4. From Pan Geng to Zhou Luo: Changing Religious Practices of “Capital Relocation”

During the Eastern Han period, the story of Pan Geng served as a foundational reference in the ongoing discourse on capital relocation—a tradition that would persist throughout early Chinese history. The Eastern Han stateman–poet Du Du (d. 78 CE) contributed to this tradition by composing a poem addressed to the emperor, urging the restoration of the Han capital to its former western seat of power. This poem is not merely a political argument; it engages with a broader theoretical discourse on the historical tradition of capital relocation. In its opening lines, Du Du invokes Pan Geng’s renowned statement, “the ancestors did not abide ever in the same city” (不常厥邑) (Fan 1965, p. 2595), thereby directly linking his reasoning to the authoritative precedent established by Pan Geng.

Du Du argues that the rationale for capital relocations has varied across different periods, shaped by changing circumstances and necessities. Ultimately, he justifies such relocations as acts of self-preservation: “Although strategies may differ, the goal remains the same—to preserve the state” (守國之勢，同歸異術) (ibid.). This argument for self-preservation, however, is consistently motivated by a perceived existential threat—be it political, environmental, military, or spiritual. The two codified cases of capital relocation in the Book of Documents—Pan Geng and Zhou Luo—serve as a framework for understanding how the preservation of stately authority is intertwined with religious rejuvenation, as these relocations were framed in the language of divine will and accompanied by a rearticulation of religious centrality and even ritual reforms.

Despite the evident religious language of these events, there has been limited scholarly attention to how religion functioned in these cases. This raises an important question: Were religious explanations post hoc rationalizations for political actions, as many contemporary scholars have suspected, or did religion serve as a foundational framework from the outset, definitively shaping decisions regarding capital relocation? This article argues in favor of the latter.

The shift from Pan Geng’s time to the Zhou period also reflects an evolution in the religious practices associated with capital relocation. Pan Geng’s relocation—likely prompted by a crisis of faith—was marked by divinatory practices, localized sacrificial rituals, and an emerging geometric vision of urban planning. In contrast, the foundation and relocation to Luo—also likely prompted by a crisis of faith (highlighted by King Wu’s insomnia)—involved more elaborate rituals, including mountain rites and the consecration of both city and suburban grounds, signaling a transition in ritual practices from the Shang to the Zhou order. This evolution in ritual practices is emblematic of the broader political and religious transformation as the Zhou sought to consolidate their power and establish their legitimacy within a sacred geography of expanding territory.

In both cases, the establishment of a new capital served not only as a means of political consolidation but also as an effort to (re)inscribe the new regime’s place within an ostensibly unbroken sacred lineage. The rejuvenation of the sacred order was a purposefully physical and demanding process. In contrast to the later Confucian notion of “revival through reinhabiting”—the idea of returning to a previously designated sacred site—as represented by Sima Qian and Zheng Xuan, which appears to prioritize practical concerns for the people’s livelihood over ritualistic or material exertion, the motif of capital relocation marked a significant departure. It moved away from relatively casual reliance on tortoise-shell divination as the primary form of divine validation and toward (1) the consolidation of shamanistic authority in the person of the ruler, as exemplified by Pan Geng; and (2) expansive and labor-intensive ritual programs to secure the regime’s legitimacy, including the marking and creation of sacred landscapes, as seen in both cases.

Just as in the foundation of Rome, where the establishment of the capital reaffirmed the ruler’s legitimacy and alignment with the cosmic order, the capital relocations of the Shang and Zhou dynasties were profound statements on the evolving relationship between sacred authority and imperial power, reinforcing both the ruler’s divine right to govern and the cosmological significance of their reign. However, unlike Rome, which symbolized a new beginning, capital relocations in early China sought to reinvent religious rites and rituals while preserving the traditional belief in the Mandate of Heaven and its continuous lineage. This pattern persisted until the Qin and Han dynasties, which appear to have fundamentally redefined the source of political legitimacy.

In conclusion, the practice of capital relocation in early China reveals a sophisticated interplay among political authority, religious legitimacy, and territorial control. The religious frameworks that underpinned these relocations not only shaped the political landscape of the time but also provided a model for future rulers on how to justify their reigns through the manipulation of sacred space and divine order.