The Introduction situates the main theoretical framework and contextualises the book amid the institutional landscape of modern-day Germany. It analyses the productive albeit difficult relationship between anthropology and theatre, as well as the crucial intersections and failures to connect ethnography as a method and contemporary performance studies. The introduction outlines the role of theatre as a modern form of self-cultivation in Germany and introduces the book’s key concept of theatre as a scalar ethico-aesthetic tradition. It discusses the unique scope of anthropology to study both micro-level practices of institutionalised traditions, as well as to grasp wider cultural and historic patterns that have shaped the national traditions of German public theatre. The introduction also outlines the ethnographic accounts through which this book unfolds how such an anthropological study of contemporary German theatre renders intelligible the tensions and troubles of a self-proclaimed ‘state of the arts’.

This chapter examines Foucault’s theory of self-cultivation and its influence in anthropology. It considers the criticisms of atomistic individualism and social determinism that are often levelled at practices of self-cultivation and argues that practices of self-cultivation are neither wholly self-directed nor wholly socially determined. Ethnographies of self-cultivation reveal the efforts that people make to shape themselves and the worlds in which they find themselves. How far such efforts go, the form that they take, and the relationships in which they are embedded will be specific to particular lives, but focussing on practices of self-cultivation enables anthropology to account for the reflective efforts that people make to live well. Resisting interpretations of self-cultivation as entirely self-directed or socially determined collapses a second dichotomy prevalent in the literature, between those practices of self-cultivation found in ‘pedagogic’ ethical projects and those found in ordinary life. This chapter makes the argument that forms of reflective self-cultivation are found in the ‘midst’ of everyday practice to varying degrees, and in contexts of intense ethical training people remain vulnerable to moral plurality and the contingency of messy everyday life.

Focusing on Confucianism and Daoism, Yao suggests that religious experience in these Chinese traditions falls into two broad categories: the human-centered and the transcendent-centered. Even so, he finds that the traditions agree in their tending to include an ultimate concern about human life and human destiny reflected in personal, familiar, and social matters, and that they typically associate their religious experiences with practices that, via self-cultivation, nourish a good human life.

All states need competent and loyal state administrators to both reflect the state and implement its policies. Although the People’s Republic of China in Sunan and the Republic of China in Taiwan were unalterably politically opposed to each other, the ways in which they labeled and conceived of their administrators exhibited surprising overlaps. Both used ganbu (cadre) alongside more neutral terms like civil servant or state personnel in the early 1950s. Both presumed that individuals in state service needed to exhibit “virtue” (loyalty and engaging in work in the “right” way), “talent” (functional and technical competence) and continuous self-cultivation. The two regimes diverged in how they fostered these positive attributes in their state administrators: the PRC in Sunan sent thousands for party-mandated training, and selected “talent” according to enthusiasm and conducting campaigns in the right way while the ROC in Taiwan was enamoured of regular systems of examination and annual evaluation for entry and promotion.