From Order to Chaos and Back: China’s Warring States Period and Contemporary Global Disorder

Prof. Dr. Marco Marchetti is a seasoned academic and diplomat with 25+ years of teaching and leadership experience in international law, diplomacy, and governance. Former Deputy Ambassador for the Holy See in Africa and the Maghreb, with governance clearance and extensive involvement in political risk analysis, human rights, and multilateral relations. Currently Full Professor and Chancellor at Nusa Putra University. Expert in legal ethics, compliance, and stakeholder relations, with strong experience organizing global partnerships, managing complex budgets, and advising high-level institutions.

This opinion has been authorised for publication by Prof. Dr. Marco Marchetti.

Wars, crises, and upheavals have always been engines of transformation. They dismantle the old, clear space for the new, and force societies to rethink how power and legitimacy are organized. I want to reflect on our present global disorder through a moment in China’s own past—the long transition from the Spring and Autumn period to the Warring States and finally to the unification under the Qin. My argument follows an idea from the Chinese scholar Hui Wang, who wrote that chaos itself may contain the seeds of order. In his reading of history, the Warring States period was not only a time of collapse but the crucible from which a new, more stable political reality emerged. I believe that insight helps us understand the present.

The Spring and Autumn period, beginning in 722 BCE, marked the decline of the Zhou dynasty’s central authority. Over a thousand feudal principalities claimed autonomy, ruled by local lords bound by alliances, rivalries, and endless wars. The historian Sima Qian described this age as one of moral and political disintegration, where the strong no longer protected the weak and where violence replaced reason. Yet behind this apparent collapse lay a deeper transformation. Local societies adapted, commerce expanded, and new philosophies sought answers to chaos.

One episode captures the spirit of the age. The Duke of Xiang, facing an enemy force, could have won easily by attacking first. Out of honor, he waited for the opponent to deploy, and his hesitation brought defeat. This story, often retold, symbolizes the moment when the old codes of virtue gave way to new rules of survival. The chivalry of an earlier order no longer functioned in a world that had changed.

By the time of the Warring States, seven major powers dominated the Chinese world, locked in near-permanent conflict. Military advances—iron, crossbows, cavalry, and mass mobilization—made warfare total. These conditions destroyed the feudal nobility and opened a new kind of social mobility. A man’s worth was measured not by birth but by his ability and service. Economic management and supply chains became as decisive as military strength.

The state of Qin was the first to grasp the direction of change. It centralized administration, refined bureaucracy, and turned to the philosophy of Legalism, which argued that the foundation of political order was not virtue or tradition but written law, applied equally and impersonally. Legalist thinkers like Shang Yang and Han Fei believed that social harmony depends on clear rules, collective responsibility, and the consistent application of rewards and penalties. The purpose of government, they said, is to secure prosperity and defense, not to preserve inherited privilege.

This legal and bureaucratic revolution transformed China. Under Qin, even the ruler was bound by law. Peasants could appeal against nobles, taxes and punishments were standardized, and public service became the road to advancement. Harsh though it was, the system created a sense of fairness in its equality before the law. Power became rational, grounded in administration rather than lineage.

Philosophically, this was a profound change. The Zhou kings had claimed the “Mandate of Heaven”—divine approval for their rule. When the dynasty collapsed, that notion of legitimacy also fell into crisis. The thinkers of the Warring States—Confucians, Legalists, and Taoists—searched for a new foundation. The Confucians placed faith in moral virtue and ritual, believing that harmony could be restored through ethical leadership. The Legalists, by contrast, located legitimacy in institutions and results. They argued that Heaven’s favor is proven not by noble origin but by the ruler’s ability to maintain peace and order.

This concept of Yuan—human authority as the organizing principle of society—replaced divine mandate with administrative performance. It was an early form of what we might call political realism: legitimacy arises from effective governance. The Qin’s success in unifying the empire demonstrated this idea in practice. Michael Loewe later called Qin the world’s first meritocratic state. Titles were earned through service, not inherited, and military success brought social mobility.

Later, during the Han dynasty, a synthesis emerged. Legalist structure combined with Confucian ethics, producing an enduring model of statecraft—pragmatic yet moral, centralized yet accountable. Centuries later, Matteo Ricci, the Jesuit scholar, described China as a perfecta monarchia—not perfect in the moral sense, but “self-founded,” a state sustained by its own logic of law, merit, and hierarchy. To Ricci, it was remarkable that the emperor himself obeyed the law, that scholars, not soldiers, ranked highest, and that bureaucracy ensured stability more than armies did.

This journey from chaos to order, from moral collapse to rational government, offers a framework for understanding our own moment. Like China’s Warring States, the contemporary world is passing through a period of profound transition. The institutions built after World War II—those of the American-led order—once offered stability. But that system, grounded in liberal norms and multilateralism, is eroding. The balance maintained during the Cold War has given way to new rivalries, shifting alliances, and ideological fatigue.

We find ourselves again between two worlds: the fading certainty of a rule-based order and the uncertain logic of a competitive, multi-centered one. Hui Wang compares this to Duke Xiang’s dilemma—whether to cling to the old code or adapt to the new. The United States, for example, long saw itself as the guarantor of a moral and economic order. Yet recent years have shown a retreat from universal commitments toward pragmatic nationalism. When Donald Trump imposed tariffs and withdrew from multilateral agreements, many saw chaos. In fact, it was a symptom of structural change. The old rules, designed for another age, no longer serve the same purpose.

This shift is not limited to one country. Across the world, leaders are reasserting political control in ways that recall the Legalist emphasis on effectiveness. Power is justified by results: growth, stability, sovereignty. Whether in Asia, the Middle East, or Eastern Europe, governments seek legitimacy through tangible outcomes rather than abstract ideals. We are entering a global “Warring States” phase—a time of competition, experimentation, and the search for new models of order.

History shows that those who fail to adapt pay a heavy price. After World War I, France built the Maginot Line to defend itself from another German invasion, but the line was bypassed within days in 1940. The Republic of Venice, wealthy and proud of its moral traditions, surrendered to Napoleon without a fight, paralyzed by its inability to imagine change. Both stories, like that of Duke Xiang, remind us that virtue alone cannot replace foresight. In the same way, parts of the Western world risk relying on outdated moral confidence while the rest of the world experiments with new forms of power and governance.

The multilateral institutions of the postwar era—the UN, the WTO, the IMF—still exist, but many have become hollow, symbols of an order that has lost momentum. At the same time, new organizations such as the BRICS+ forum and the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank are emerging, reflecting different logics and priorities. The global system is becoming polycentric, no longer dominated by a single hegemon but shaped by overlapping centers of influence. This is not necessarily decline; it may be the beginning of a more plural and balanced world.

From Africa to South Asia, nations are experimenting with innovative models of governance and development—digital economies, leapfrog technologies, hybrid public-private systems. Just as the Hundred Schools of Thought once flourished amid China’s chaos, today’s intellectual diversity may eventually produce a new synthesis. The key is to see disorder not as the end of history but as its renewal.

The real lesson of China’s Warring States is not that one philosophy triumphed over another, but that new orders emerge from the courage to rethink legitimacy. The Qin unification was brief, but it prepared the ground for the Han, which achieved lasting balance by blending strict institutions with moral purpose. The present global transition may yield a similar outcome—not a single dominant model, but a hybrid that draws from multiple traditions. The task is not to predict which system will prevail, but to develop the flexibility to navigate change.

We must learn, as the philosopher François Jullien writes, to think “in-between.” When established categories collapse, creativity begins. In a world of fading certainties, this middle ground—the space between order and chaos—may be where genuine renewal takes shape. We are not witnessing the end of an age but the difficult birth of another.

History does not repeat itself, but it often rhymes. The ancient Chinese transition from disorder to unity shows that chaos can be a teacher. It forces societies to abandon illusions, test new ideas, and rediscover balance. Today’s world, too, is being reshaped by similar forces—technological disruption, shifting alliances, and competing visions of legitimacy. Out of this turbulence, something new is forming.

Our challenge is to recognize it before it fully appears. The passage from order to chaos and back is the rhythm of history. In that rhythm, we may yet find direction.