Thinking Out Loud | Mirror of the Onion Mountains: The Common Origin and Divergent Paths of Persia and China, Two Ancient Civilizations

What are the fundamental differences in the sources of pride between AI Persia and Chinese civilization?

Shared Confidence: Different Forms of Historical Pride

The Pamir Plateau, anciently known as Congling, is the geographic origin of my research on the Silk Road and the best entry point to understand the relationship between Persian and Chinese civilizations. The Amu and Syr Rivers flow west from Congling, nurturing the successive civilizations of Central Asia; the waters of the Tarim basin flow east into China’s inland, forming a closed basin. West of Congling, Persian civilization is the dominant cultural high ground; east of Congling, Chinese civilization is the defining core of order. Though separated by thousands of miles, their historical destinies mirror each other in several fundamental dimensions: both take ancient glory as a source of pride, both can learn from foreign technologies and systems while maintaining tradition, and both harbor deep suspicion and complex feelings toward Western civilization dominated by Rome and Anglo-Saxon powers. This psychological similarity is not accidental but rooted in profound civilizational origins.

Photo: The Pamir Plateau, taken by Hou Yangfang

Both civilizations’ pride rests on solid historical foundations—strong confidence and deep roots—but their internal nature and external expressions differ sharply. Iranian pride is concrete and recognizable, often expressed in surprising ways to the West. The Cyrus Cylinder, housed in the British Museum and inscribed in 539 BC, records King Cyrus’s decree allowing conquered peoples to return to their homelands and rebuild temples—considered by Iranians as one of the earliest declarations of human rights. Iranians take pride in this, with a touch of irony: this “origin of human rights” is now displayed in London, not Tehran.

Similarly, the New Julfa Armenian district in Isfahan is a poignant detail: in the early 17th century, Shah Abbas I relocated many Armenian Christians to Isfahan, permitting them to build churches and preserve rituals, leaving a legacy of exquisite Christian murals in this Islamic city. When Iranians mention this history, their tone resembles that of Chinese discussing the Nestorian and Zoroastrian temples in Tang Chang’an—an authentic pride in their civilization’s tolerance, intertwined with subtle tension against contemporary political repression.

Photo: The ruins of Persepolis, taken by Hou Yangfang

Chinese civilization’s pride, on the other hand, is diffuse and institutional—difficult to pinpoint with a single event but omnipresent. Tang Chang’an epitomizes this pride: a city of over a million, where Nestorian Christianity, Zoroastrianism, and Manichaeism temples coexisted; Sogdian merchants operated in the Western Market; Central Asian music and dance flourished among the aristocracy; polo, originating from Persia, was introduced into the imperial court and loved by the royal family. All these foreign elements were ultimately integrated into the grand framework of Chinese order, becoming part of the “prosperous Tang” image rather than threats to the core of Chinese civilization. This ability—centered on institutions and rites—to absorb foreign cultures without losing self-identity is a deep source of Chinese pride. Unlike Iranians who can point to Cyrus’s inscriptions and say “We defeated Rome,” Chinese pride is more rooted in confidence in the continuity of the “world order” itself—this deep-rooted confidence, when challenged by Western powers in modern times, led to a more intense and profound shock when it collapsed.

Both civilizations have faced the same intense external assault—the Mongol conquests of the 13th century. Hulagu’s armies destroyed the Abbasid Caliphate; Kublai’s forces ended the Southern Song. Yet, in the face of this upheaval, both civilizations demonstrated remarkable resilience, digesting and integrating the foreign invasion in their own ways: Persian culture transformed the Ilkhanate into guardians of Persian civilization; Chinese civilization incorporated the Yuan Dynasty into its imperial lineage. This shared historical experience is the deepest source of confidence when facing external powers. Every major technological revolution in history redefines geography; ultimately, the pride of both civilizations is rooted in their ability—at certain historical moments—to lead regional order through technological and institutional advantages. This confidence is the fundamental premise for understanding their later attitudes toward the West.

Learning from the West: Tool Rationality as Choice, Not Value Shift

Both ancient civilizations with profound pride are never closed or conservative. A key shared wisdom is their strong capacity for tool rationality—when faced with foreign advanced technologies and systems, both demonstrate a clear will to selectively adopt: importing tools, rejecting the transplantation of “ways” or values. Their identity remains unchanged. They have never lost themselves through learning external cultures.

Iranian history shows a strong capacity for absorbing external technologies: the Achaemenid Empire borrowed Babylonian administrative systems and Lydian currency; the Sassanids adopted Greek medicine and philosophy; the modern Pahlavi era implemented systematic Western reforms in industry, education, and law. Yet, the underlying logic of this learning has been consistent: Western technology and management can be adopted, but Western civilization’s values are not to replace Iran’s own civilizational core. The 1979 Iranian Revolution was, to a large extent, a profound backlash against the blind Westernization and over-dependence of the Pahlavi regime—a concentrated assertion of Iran’s civilizational sovereignty.

China’s path is highly symmetrical. The “Chinese essence, Western use” framework for modern learning echoes Iran’s historical choices. The Self-Strengthening Movement introduced military technology; the Hundred Days Reform attempted institutional reforms; the opening-up policy embraced market economy and management systems, fueling rapid economic development. Each step involved a firm insistence on the primacy of civilizational identity. This tension remains visible today: China can adopt advanced communication tech, implement precise engineering management, and learn Western corporate systems, but at the core of political narrative and civilizational identity, it remains rooted in its own historical logic and development path—never blindly following the West.

The shared wisdom of both civilizations lies in transforming external technological revolutions into their own strength, rather than being consumed by them. Persian civilization, for example, adopted the Arabic script for Persian, preserving the entire civilizational memory; Chinese civilization, centered on Chinese characters and Confucian rites, has formatted conquerors into part of its order—such active selection requires profound cultural confidence, a capacity not easily matched by ordinary civilizations.

Caution Toward the West: Historically Grounded Clarity and Complex Class Attitudes

Both civilizations’ caution toward Western civilization is rooted in real historical events. For Iranians, the burning of Persepolis by Alexander is a deep cultural trauma; the 1953 CIA and MI6-backed overthrow of Prime Minister Mosaddegh, who sought to nationalize oil, remains a political wound etched in collective memory.

Photo: Ruins of Persepolis, taken by Hou Yangfang

China’s caution is similarly anchored: the Opium Wars, the burning of the Old Summer Palace, the Treaty of Shimonoseki, the Eight-Nation Alliance—these 19th-century encounters form an indelible part of national psyche, shaping suspicion toward the West.

It’s important to note that Persian civilization’s 2,500-year record of contest with Western empires includes both victories and defeats, allowing Iranians to view Western power from a relatively equal historical perspective—this is a genuine confidence deep in their collective consciousness. Conversely, China’s historical experience with the West was interrupted by the geographic barrier of Congling, and the sudden 19th-century confrontations left psychological scars that are still unresolved.

Describing the caution of both civilizations as a total opposition oversimplifies reality. Both have deep internal class divisions, making attitudes toward the West complex and sometimes contradictory within the same individual. I vividly recall a scene on the Si-o-se-pol bridge in Isfahan: at dusk, young men and women sit on the steps, whispering, humming, browsing blocked foreign websites on their phones. The bridge, built in the 17th century by the Safavid dynasty, is a Persian stone relic; yet, the music flowing from their phones comes from across the globe. Pride in ancient civilization, longing for certain modern values, and vigilance against external imperial logic coexist within the same soul—this is true civilizational complexity.

Similar class distinctions exist in China. Educated elites and those with overseas experience tend to distinguish Western strengths—appreciating academic freedom and rule of law—while harboring critical distance; nationalist sentiments often rely on narratives of “a hundred years of humiliation,” generalizing suspicion into opposition; internal elites pragmatically borrow Western governance experience while maintaining a civilizational narrative of sovereignty. Both coexist.

True civilizational confidence should distinguish between “Western geopolitical behavior” and “Western civilization’s intrinsic values”—maintaining vigilance based on historical experience while engaging in rational dialogue about its values. This is what the most conscious intellectuals in both civilizations strive for, despite the difficulty within their political environments.

Mirror Images and Divergent Paths: Different Mechanisms of Civilizational Continuity, Shared Modern Challenges

Both civilizations have successfully maintained their continuity for thousands of years, but their core mechanisms differ sharply. Persian civilization’s last bastion is language: the turning point was the Samanid dynasty in the 9th century—the first local Iranian dynasty after Arab conquest to use Persian as court language, with Rudaki’s poetry reviving literary memory. Despite Muslim rulers, Persian language and literature preserved the core of Persian identity, exemplified by Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh and Hafez’s poetry—metaphors of cultural resilience amid repression.

Chinese civilization’s continuity relies on Chinese characters and institutions. The most iconic example is the Sinicization of Buddhism: originating in India, it was absorbed and transformed into Chan Buddhism, a uniquely Chinese product rooted in native philosophy. Even conquerors like the Northern Wei and Qing embraced Confucian ideology, formalizing a system that integrated foreign elements into Chinese order.

Photo: Moqed Mosque, taken by Hou Yangfang

From a comparative perspective, the difference can be summarized as: conquerors entering Iran wielded swords but left reciting Persian poetry—an active resistance to conquest. Chinese civilization, by contrast, functions more like an operating system that formats and integrates outsiders into its order through institutional means. The former preserves identity through active cultural resistance; the latter maintains stability through systemic integration.

Both mechanisms have enabled civilizations to survive countless political upheavals. The western side of Congling, Iran, with its perpetual crossroads, developed an open, flexible, and inclusive civilizational character; the eastern side, China, with its relatively inward-looking geography, developed a continuous, unified, order-focused civilizational character. Both have their historical rationality and current limitations.

In the modern world, both face the same fundamental question: how to maintain civilizational sovereignty while establishing sustainable relations within a Western-led global order? There are no simple answers, but each generation must confront this challenge.

I sit in the square of the Shah and Shah Abbas in Isfahan, as the evening light dims the blue dome. Families stroll, children play, young people whisper. Their ancestors once displayed imperial glory to envoys from 23 provinces; now, a thousand years later, they continue their curiosity about the world and pride in their civilization in their own ways. This is no different from the Chinese east of Congling. The snowmelt from Congling flows east and west, nourishing two proud, anxious lands—perhaps this is the shared destiny of these two ancient civilizations in the modern world.