MODERN CHINA
The position of China among the nations of the world is quite peculiar,
because in population and potential strength China is the greatest
nation in the world, while in actual strength at the moment it is one of
the least. The international problems raised by this situation have been
brought into the forefront of world-politics by the Washington
Conference. What settlement, if any, will ultimately be arrived at, it
is as yet impossible to foresee. There are, however, certain broad facts
and principles which no wise solution can ignore, for which I shall try
to give the evidence in the course of the following chapters, but which
it may be as well to state briefly at the outset. First, the Chinese,
though as yet incompetent in politics and backward in economic
development, have, in other respects, a civilization at least as good as
our own, containing elements which the world greatly needs, and which we
shall destroy at our peril. Secondly, the Powers have inflicted upon
China a multitude of humiliations and disabilities, for which excuses
have been found in China's misdeeds, but for which the sole real reason
has been China's military and naval weakness. Thirdly, the best of the
Great Powers at present, in relation to China, is America, and the worst
is Japan; in the interests of China, as well as in our own larger
interests, it is an immense advance that we have ceased to support Japan
and have ranged ourselves on the side of America, in so far as America
stands for Chinese freedom, but not when Japanese freedom is threatened.
Fourthly, in the long run, the Chinese cannot escape economic domination
by foreign Powers unless China becomes military or the foreign Powers
become Socialistic, because the capitalist system involves in its very
essence a predatory relation of the strong towards the weak,
internationally as well as nationally. A strong military China would be
a disaster; therefore Socialism in Europe and America affords the only
ultimate solution.
After these preliminary remarks, I come to the theme of this chapter,
namely, the present internal condition of China.
As everyone knows, China, after having an Emperor for forty centuries,
decided, eleven years ago, to become a modern democratic republic. Many
causes led up to this result. Passing over the first 3,700 years of
Chinese history, we arrive at the Manchu conquest in 1644, when a
warlike invader from the north succeeded in establishing himself upon
the Dragon Throne. He set to work to induce Chinese men to wear pigtails
and Chinese women to have big feet. After a time a statesmanlike
compromise was arranged: pigtails were adopted but big feet were
rejected; the new absurdity was accepted and the old one retained. This
characteristic compromise shows how much England and China have in
common.
The Manchu Emperors soon became almost completely Chinese, but
differences of dress and manners kept the Manchus distinct from the
more civilized people whom they had conquered, and the Chinese remained
inwardly hostile to them. From 1840 to 1900, a series of disastrous
foreign wars, culminating in the humiliation of the Boxer time,
destroyed the prestige of the Imperial Family and showed all thoughtful
people the need of learning from Europeans. The Taiping rebellion, which
lasted for 15 years (1849-64), is thought by Putnam Weale to have
diminished the population by 150 millions,[31] and was almost as
terrible a business as the Great War. For a long time it seemed doubtful
whether the Manchus could suppress it, and when at last they succeeded
(by the help of Gordon) their energy was exhausted. The defeat of China
by Japan (1894-5) and the vengeance of the Powers after the Boxer rising
(1900) finally opened the eyes of all thoughtful Chinese to the need for
a better and more modern government than that of the Imperial Family.
But things move slowly in China, and it was not till eleven years after
the Boxer movement that the revolution broke out.
The revolution of 1911, in China, was a moderate one, similar in spirit
to ours of 1688. Its chief promoter, Sun Yat Sen, now at the head of the
Canton Government, was supported by the Republicans, and was elected
provisional President. But the Nothern Army remained faithful to the
dynasty, and could probably have defeated the revolutionaries. Its
Commander-in-Chief, Yuan Shih-k'ai, however, hit upon a better scheme.
He made peace with the revolutionaries and acknowledged the Republic, on
condition that he should be the first President instead of Sun Yat Sen.
Yuan Shih-k'ai was, of course, supported by the Legations, being what is
called a "strong man," _i.e._ a believer in blood and iron, not likely
to be led astray by talk about democracy or freedom. In China, the North
has always been more military and less liberal than the South, and Yuan
Shih-k'ai had created out of Northern troops whatever China possessed in
the way of a modern army. As he was also ambitious and treacherous, he
had every quality needed for inspiring confidence in the diplomatic
corps. In view of the chaos which has existed since his death, it must
be admitted, however, that there was something to be said in favour of
his policy and methods.
A Constituent Assembly, after enacting a provisional constitution, gave
place to a duly elected Parliament, which met in April 1913 to determine
the permanent constitution. Yuan soon began to quarrel with the
Parliament as to the powers of the President, which the Parliament
wished to restrict. The majority in Parliament was opposed to Yuan, but
he had the preponderance in military strength. Under these
circumstances, as was to be expected, constitutionalism was soon
overthrown. Yuan made himself financially independent of Parliament
(which had been duly endowed with the power of the purse) by
unconstitutionally concluding a loan with the foreign banks. This led to
a revolt of the South, which, however, Yuan quickly suppressed. After
this, by various stages, he made himself virtually absolute ruler of
China. He appointed his army lieutenants military governors of
provinces, and sent Northern troops into the South. His régime might
have lasted but for the fact that, in 1915, he tried to become Emperor,
and was met by a successful revolt. He died in 1916--of a broken heart,
it was said.
Since then there has been nothing but confusion in China. The military
governors appointed by Yuan refused to submit to the Central Government
when his strong hand was removed, and their troops terrorized the
populations upon whom they were quartered. Ever since there has been
civil war, not, as a rule, for any definite principle, but simply to
determine which of various rival generals should govern various groups
of provinces. There still remains the issue of North versus South, but
this has lost most of its constitutional significance.
The military governors of provinces or groups of provinces, who are
called Tuchuns, govern despotically in defiance of Peking, and commit
depredations on the inhabitants of the districts over which they rule.
They intercept the revenue, except the portions collected and
administered by foreigners, such as the salt tax. They are nominally
appointed by Peking, but in practice depend only upon the favour of the
soldiers in their provinces. The Central Government is nearly bankrupt,
and is usually unable to pay the soldiers, who live by loot and by such
portions of the Tuchun's illgotten wealth as he finds it prudent to
surrender to them. When any faction seemed near to complete victory, the
Japanese supported its opponents, in order that civil discord might be
prolonged. While I was in Peking, the three most important Tuchuns met
there for a conference on the division of the spoils. They were barely
civil to the President and the Prime Minister, who still officially
represent China in the eyes of foreign Powers. The unfortunate nominal
Government was obliged to pay to these three worthies, out of a bankrupt
treasury, a sum which the newspapers stated to be nine million dollars,
to secure their departure from the capital. The largest share went to
Chang-tso-lin, the Viceroy of Manchuria and commonly said to be a tool
of Japan. His share was paid to cover the expenses of an expedition to
Mongolia, which had revolted; but no one for a moment supposed that he
would undertake such an expedition, and in fact he has remained at
Mukden ever since.[32]
In the extreme south, however, there has been established a Government
of a different sort, for which it is possible to have some respect.
Canton, which has always been the centre of Chinese radicalism,
succeeded, in the autumn of 1920, in throwing off the tyranny of its
Northern garrison and establishing a progressive efficient Government
under the Presidency of Sun Yat Sen. This Government now embraces two
provinces, Kwangtung (of which Canton is the capital) and Kwangsi. For a
moment it seemed likely to conquer the whole of the South, but it has
been checked by the victories of the Northern General Wu-Pei-Fu in the
neighbouring province of Hunan. Its enemies allege that it cherishes
designs of conquest, and wishes to unite all China under its sway.[33]
In all ascertainable respects it is a Government which deserves the
support of all progressive people. Professor Dewey, in articles in the
_New Republic_, has set forth its merits, as well as the bitter enmity
which it has encountered from Hong-Kong and the British generally. This
opposition is partly on general principles, because we dislike radical
reform, partly because of the Cassel agreement. This agreement--of a
common type in China--would have given us a virtual monopoly of the
railways and mines in the province of Kwangtung. It had been concluded
with the former Government, and only awaited ratification, but the
change of Government has made ratification impossible. The new
Government, very properly, is befriended by the Americans, and one of
them, Mr. Shank, concluded an agreement with the new Government more or
less similar to that which we had concluded with the old one. The
American Government, however, did not support Mr. Shank, whereas the
British Government did support the Cassel agreement. Meanwhile we have
lost a very valuable though very iniquitous concession, merely because
we, but not the Americans, prefer what is old and corrupt to what is
vigorous and honest. I understand, moreover, that the Shank agreement
lapsed because Mr. Shank could not raise the necessary capital.
The anarchy in China is, of course, very regrettable, and every friend
of China must hope that it will be brought to an end. But it would be a
mistake to exaggerate the evil, or to suppose that it is comparable in
magnitude to the evils endured in Europe. China must not be compared to
a single European country, but to Europe as a whole. In _The Times_ of
November 11, 1921, I notice a pessimistic article headed: "The Peril of
China. A dozen rival Governments." But in Europe there are much more
than a dozen Governments, and their enmities are much fiercer than those
of China. The number of troops in Europe is enormously greater than in
China, and they are infinitely better provided with weapons of
destruction. The amount of fighting in Europe since the Armistice has
been incomparably more than the amount in China during the same period.
You may travel through China from end to end, and it is ten to one that
you will see no signs of war. Chinese battles are seldom bloody, being
fought by mercenary soldiers who take no interest in the cause for which
they are supposed to be fighting. I am inclined to think that the
inhabitants of China, at the present moment, are happier, on the
average, than the inhabitants of Europe taken as a whole.
It is clear, I think, that political reform in China, when it becomes
possible, will have to take the form of a federal constitution, allowing
a very large measure of autonomy to the provinces. The division into
provinces is very ancient, and provincial feeling is strong. After the
revolution, a constitution more or less resembling our own was
attempted, only with a President instead of a King. But the successful
working of a non-federal constitution requires a homogeneous population
without much local feeling, as may be seen from our own experience in
Ireland. Most progressive Chinese, as far as I was able to judge, now
favour a federal constitution, leaving to the Central Government not
much except armaments, foreign affairs, and customs. But the difficulty
of getting rid of the existing military anarchy is very great. The
Central Government cannot disband the troops, because it cannot find
the money to pay them. It would be necessary to borrow from abroad
enough money to pay off the troops and establish them in new jobs. But
it is doubtful whether any Power or Powers would make such a loan
without exacting the sacrifice of the last remnants of Chinese
independence. One must therefore hope that somehow the Chinese will find
a way of escaping from their troubles without too much foreign
assistance.
It is by no means impossible that one of the Tuchuns may become supreme,
and may then make friends with the constitutionalists as the best way of
consolidating his influence. China is a country where public opinion has
great weight, and where the desire to be thought well of may quite
possibly lead a successful militarist into patriotic courses. There are,
at the moment, two Tuchuns who are more important than any of the
others. These are Chang-tso-lin and Wu-Pei-Fu, both of whom have been
already mentioned. Chang-tso-lin is supreme in Manchuria, and strong in
Japanese support; he represents all that is most reactionary in China.
Wu-Pei-Fu, on the other hand, is credited with liberal tendencies. He is
an able general; not long ago, nominally at the bidding of Peking, he
established his authority on the Yangtze and in Hunan, thereby dealing a
blow to the hopes of Canton. It is not easy to see how he could come to
terms with the Canton Government, especially since it has allied itself
with Chang-tso-lin, but in the rest of China he might establish his
authority and seek to make it permanent by being constitutional (see
Appendix). If so, China might have a breathing-space, and a
breathing-space is all that is needed.
The economic life of China, except in the Treaty Ports and in a few
regions where there are mines, is still wholly pre-industrial. Peking
has nearly a million inhabitants, and covers an enormous area, owing to
the fact that all the houses have only a ground floor and are built
round a courtyard. Yet it has no trams or buses or local trains. So far
as I could see, there are not more than two or three factory chimneys in
the whole town. Apart from begging, trading, thieving and Government
employment, people live by handicrafts. The products are exquisite and
the work less monotonous than machine-minding, but the hours are long
and the pay infinitesimal.
Seventy or eighty per cent. of the population of China are engaged in
agriculture. Rice and tea are the chief products of the south, while
wheat and other kinds of grain form the staple crops in the north.[34]
The rainfall is very great in the south, but in the north it is only
just sufficient to prevent the land from being a desert. When I arrived
in China, in the autumn of 1920, a large area in the north, owing to
drought, was afflicted with a terrible famine, nearly as bad, probably,
as the famine in Russia in 1921. As the Bolsheviks were not concerned,
foreigners had no hesitation in trying to bring relief. As for the
Chinese, they regarded it passively as a stroke of fate, and even those
who died of it shared this view.
Most of the land is in the hands of peasant proprietors, who divide
their holdings among their sons, so that each man's share becomes barely
sufficient to support himself and his family. Consequently, when the
rainfall is less than usual, immense numbers perish of starvation. It
would of course be possible, for a time, to prevent famines by more
scientific methods of agriculture, and to prevent droughts and floods by
afforestation. More railways and better roads would give a vastly
improved market, and might greatly enrich the peasants for a generation.
But in the long run, if the birth-rate is as great as is usually
supposed, no permanent cure for their poverty is possible while their
families continue to be so large. In China, Malthus's theory of
population, according to many writers, finds full scope.[35] If so, the
good done by any improvement of methods will lead to the survival of
more children, involving a greater subdivision of the land, and in the
end, a return to the same degree of poverty. Only education and a higher
standard of life can remove the fundamental cause of these evils. And
popular education, on a large scale, is of course impossible until there
is a better Government and an adequate revenue. Apart even from these
difficulties, there does not exist, as yet, a sufficient supply of
competent Chinese teachers for a system of universal elementary
education.
Apart from war, the impact of European civilization upon the traditional
life of China takes two forms, one commercial, the other intellectual.
Both depend upon the prestige of armaments; the Chinese would never have
opened either their ports to our trade or their minds to our ideas if we
had not defeated them in war. But the military beginning of our
intercourse with the Middle Kingdom has now receded into the background;
one is not conscious, in any class, of a strong hostility to foreigners
as such. It would not be difficult to make out a case for the view that
intercourse with the white races is proving a misfortune to China, but
apparently this view is not taken by anyone in China except where
unreasoning conservative prejudice outweighs all other considerations.
The Chinese have a very strong instinct for trade, and a considerable
intellectual curiosity, to both of which we appeal. Only a bare minimum
of common decency is required to secure their friendship, whether
privately or politically. And I think their thought is as capable of
enriching our culture as their commerce of enriching our pockets.
In the Treaty Ports, Europeans and Americans live in their own quarters,
with streets well paved and lighted, houses in European style, and shops
full of American and English goods. There is generally also a Chinese
part of the town, with narrow streets, gaily decorated shops, and the
rich mixture of smells characteristic of China. Often one passes through
a gate, suddenly, from one to the other; after the cheerful disordered
beauty of the old town, Europe's ugly cleanliness and
Sunday-go-to-meeting decency make a strange complex impression,
half-love and half-hate. In the European town one finds safety,
spaciousness and hygiene; in the Chinese town, romance, overcrowding and
disease. In spite of my affection for China, these transitions always
made me realize that I am a European; for me, the Chinese manner of life
would not mean happiness. But after making all necessary deductions for
the poverty and the disease, I am inclined to think that Chinese life
brings more happiness to the Chinese than English life does to us. At
any rate this seemed to me to be true for the men; for the women I do
not think it would be true.
Shanghai and Tientsin are white men's cities; the first sight of
Shanghai makes one wonder what is the use of travelling, because there
is so little change from what one is used to. Treaty Ports, each of
which is a centre of European influence, exist practically all over
China, not only on the sea coast. Hankow, a very important Treaty Port,
is almost exactly in the centre of China. North and South China are
divided by the Yangtze; East and West China are divided by the route
from Peking to Canton. These two dividing lines meet at Hankow, which
has long been an important strategical point in Chinese history. From
Peking to Hankow there is a railway, formerly Franco-Belgian, now owned
by the Chinese Government. From Wuchang, opposite Hankow on the southern
bank of the river, there is to be a railway to Canton, but at present it
only runs half-way, to Changsha, also a Treaty Port. The completion of
the railway, together with improved docks, will greatly increase the
importance of Canton and diminish that of Hong-Kong.
In the Treaty Ports commerce is the principal business; but in the lower
Yangtze and in certain mining districts there are beginnings of
industrialism. China produces large amounts of raw cotton, which are
mostly manipulated by primitive methods; but there are a certain number
of cotton-mills on modern lines. If low wages meant cheap labour for the
employer, there would be little hope for Lancashire, because in Southern
China the cotton is grown on the spot, the climate is damp, and there is
an inexhaustible supply of industrious coolies ready to work very long
hours for wages upon which an English working-man would find it
literally impossible to keep body and soul together. Nevertheless, it is
not the underpaid Chinese coolie whom Lancashire has to fear, and China
will not become a formidable competitor until improvement in methods and
education enables the Chinese workers to earn good wages. Meanwhile, in
China, as in every other country, the beginnings of industry are sordid
and cruel. The intellectuals wish to be told of some less horrible
method by which their country may be industrialized, but so far none is
in sight.
The intelligentsia in China has a very peculiar position, unlike that
which it has in any other country. Hereditary aristocracy has been
practically extinct in China for about 2,000 years, and for many
centuries the country has been governed by the successful candidates in
competitive examinations. This has given to the educated the kind of
prestige elsewhere belonging to a governing aristocracy. Although the
old traditional education is fast dying out, and higher education now
teaches modern subjects, the prestige of education has survived, and
public opinion is still ready to be influenced by those who have
intellectual qualifications. The Tuchuns, many of whom, including
Chang-tso-lin, have begun by being brigands,[36] are, of course, mostly
too stupid and ignorant to share this attitude, but that in itself makes
their régime weak and unstable. The influence of Young China--_i.e._ of
those who have been educated either abroad or in modern colleges at
home--is far greater than it would be in a country with less respect for
learning. This is, perhaps, the most hopeful feature in the situation,
because the number of modern students is rapidly increasing, and their
outlook and aims are admirable. In another ten years or so they will
probably be strong enough to regenerate China--if only the Powers will
allow ten years to elapse without taking any drastic action.
It is important to try to understand the outlook and potentialities of
Young China. Most of my time was spent among those Chinese who had had a
modern education, and I should like to give some idea of their
mentality. It seemed to me that one could already distinguish two
generations: the older men, who had fought their way with great
difficulty and almost in solitude out of the traditional Confucian
prejudices; and the younger men, who had found modern schools and
colleges waiting for them, containing a whole world of modern-minded
people ready to give sympathy and encouragement in the inevitable fight
against the family. The older men--men varying in age from 30 to
50--have gone through an inward and outward struggle resembling that of
the rationalists of Darwin's and Mill's generation. They have had,
painfully and with infinite difficulty, to free their minds from the
beliefs instilled in youth, and to turn their thoughts to a new science
and a new ethic. Imagine (say) Plotinus recalled from the shades and
miraculously compelled to respect Mr. Henry Ford; this will give you
some idea of the centuries across which these men have had to travel in
becoming European. Some of them are a little weary with the effort,
their forces somewhat spent and their originality no longer creative.
But this can astonish no one who realizes the internal revolution they
have achieved in their own minds.
It must not be supposed that an able Chinaman, when he masters our
culture, becomes purely imitative. This may happen among the second-rate
Chinese, especially when they turn Christians, but it does not happen
among the best. They remain Chinese, critical of European civilization
even when they have assimilated it. They retain a certain crystal
candour and a touching belief in the efficacy of moral forces; the
industrial revolution has not yet affected their mental processes. When
they become persuaded of the importance of some opinion, they try to
spread it by setting forth the reasons in its favour; they do not hire
the front pages of newspapers for advertising, or put up on hoardings
along the railways "So-and-so's opinion is the best." In all this they
differ greatly from more advanced nations, and particularly from
America; it never occurs to them to treat opinions as if they were
soaps. And they have no admiration for ruthlessness, or love of bustling
activity without regard to its purpose. Having thrown over the
prejudices in which they were brought up, they have not taken on a new
set, but have remained genuinely free in their thoughts, able to
consider any proposition honestly on its merits.
The younger men, however, have something more than the first generation
of modern intellectuals. Having had less of a struggle, they have
retained more energy and self-confidence. The candour and honesty of the
pioneers survive, with more determination to be socially effective. This
may be merely the natural character of youth, but I think it is more
than that. Young men under thirty have often come in contact with
Western ideas at a sufficiently early age to have assimilated them
without a great struggle, so that they can acquire knowledge without
being torn by spiritual conflicts. And they have been able to learn
Western knowledge from Chinese teachers to begin with, which has made
the process less difficult. Even the youngest students, of course, still
have reactionary families, but they find less difficulty than their
predecessors in resisting the claims of the family, and in realizing
practically, not only theoretically, that the traditional Chinese
reverence for the old may well be carried too far. In these young men I
see the hope of China. When a little experience has taught them
practical wisdom, I believe they will be able to lead Chinese opinion in
the directions in which it ought to move.
There is one traditional Chinese belief which dies very hard, and that
is the belief that correct ethical sentiments are more important then
detailed scientific knowledge. This view is, of course, derived from the
Confucian tradition, and is more or less true in a pre-industrial
society. It would have been upheld by Rousseau or Dr. Johnson, and
broadly speaking by everybody before the Benthamites. We, in the West,
have now swung to the opposite extreme: we tend to think that technical
efficiency is everything and moral purpose nothing. A battleship may be
taken as the concrete embodiment of this view. When we read, say, of
some new poison-gas by means of which one bomb from an aeroplane can
exterminate a whole town, we have a thrill of what we fondly believe to
be horror, but it is really delight in scientific skill. Science is our
god; we say to it, "Though thou slay me, yet will I trust in thee." And
so it slays us. The Chinese have not this defect, but they have the
opposite one, of believing that good intentions are the only thing
really necessary. I will give an illustration. Forsythe Sherfesee,
Forestry Adviser to the Chinese Government, gave an address at the
British Legation in January 1919 on "Some National Aspects of Forestry
in China."[37] In this address he proves (so far as a person ignorant of
forestry can judge) that large parts of China which now lie waste are
suitable for forestry, that the importation of timber (_e.g_. for
railway sleepers) which now takes place is wholly unnecessary, and that
the floods which often sweep away whole districts would be largely
prevented if the slopes of the mountains from which the rivers come were
reafforested. Yet it is often difficult to interest even the most
reforming Chinese in afforestation, because it is not an easy subject
for ethical enthusiasm. Trees are planted round graves, because
Confucius said they should be; if Confucianism dies out, even these will
be cut down. But public-spirited Chinese students learn political theory
as it is taught in our universities, and despise such humble questions
as the utility of trees. After learning all about (say) the proper
relations of the two Houses of Parliament, they go home to find that
some Tuchun has dismissed both Houses, and is governing in a fashion not
considered in our text-books. Our theories of politics are only true in
the West (if there); our theories of forestry are equally true
everywhere. Yet it is our theories of politics that Chinese students are
most eager to learn. Similarly the practical study of industrial
processes might be very useful, but the Chinese prefer the study of our
theoretical economics, which is hardly applicable except where industry
is already developed. In all these respects, however, there is beginning
to be a marked improvement.
It is science that makes the difference between our intellectual outlook
and that of the Chinese intelligentsia. The Chinese, even the most
modern, look to the white nations, especially America, for moral maxims
to replace those of Confucius. They have not yet grasped that men's
morals in the mass are the same everywhere: they do as much harm as they
dare, and as much good as they must. In so far as there is a difference
of morals between us and the Chinese, we differ for the worse, because
we are more energetic, and can therefore commit more crimes _per diem_.
What we have to teach the Chinese is not morals, or ethical maxims about
government, but science and technical skill. The real problem for the
Chinese intellectuals is to acquire Western knowledge without acquiring
the mechanistic outlook.
Perhaps it is not clear what I mean by "the mechanistic outlook." I mean
something which exists equally in Imperialism, Bolshevism and the
Y.M.C.A.; something which distinguishes all these from the Chinese
outlook, and which I, for my part, consider very evil. What I mean is
the habit of regarding mankind as raw material, to be moulded by our
scientific manipulation into whatever form may happen to suit our fancy.
The essence of the matter, from the point of view of the individual who
has this point of view, is the cultivation of will at the expense of
perception, the fervent moral belief that it is our duty to force other
people to realize our conception of the world. The Chinese intellectual
is not much troubled by Imperialism as a creed, but is vigorously
assailed by Bolshevism and the Y.M.C.A., to one or other of which he is
too apt to fall a victim, learning a belief from the one in the
class-war and the dictatorship of the communists, from the other in the
mystic efficacy of cold baths and dumb-bells. Both these creeds, in
their Western adepts, involve a contempt for the rest of mankind except
as potential converts, and the belief that progress consists in the
spread of a doctrine. They both involve a belief in government and a
life against Nature. This view, though I have called it mechanistic, is
as old as religion, though mechanism has given it new and more virulent
forms. The first of Chinese philosophers, Lao-Tze, wrote his book to
protest against it, and his disciple Chuang-Tze put his criticism into a
fable[38]:--
Horses have hoofs to carry them over frost and snow; hair, to
protect them from wind and cold. They eat grass and drink water,
and fling up their heels over the champaign. Such is the real
nature of horses. Palatial dwellings are of no use to them.
One day Po Lo appeared, saying: "I understand the management of
horses."
So he branded them, and clipped them, and pared their hoofs, and
put halters on them, tying them up by the head and shackling them
by the feet, and disposing them in stables, with the result that
two or three in every ten died. Then he kept them hungry and
thirsty, trotting them and galloping them, and grooming, and
trimming, with the misery of the tasselled bridle before and the
fear of the knotted whip behind, until more than half of them
were dead.
The potter says: "I can do what I will with clay. If I want it
round, I use compasses; if rectangular, a square."
The carpenter says: "I can do what I will with wood. If I want it
curved, I use an arc; if straight, a line."
But on what grounds can we think that the natures of clay and
wood desire this application of compasses and square, of arc and
line? Nevertheless, every age extols Po Lo for his skill in
managing horses, and potters and carpenters for their skill with
clay and wood. Those who _govern_ the Empire make the same
mistake.
Although Taoism, of which Lao-Tze was the founder and Chuang-Tze the
chief apostle, was displaced by Confucianism, yet the spirit of this
fable has penetrated deeply into Chinese life, making it more urbane and
tolerant, more contemplative and observant, than the fiercer life of the
West. The Chinese watch foreigners as we watch animals in the Zoo, to
see whether they "drink water and fling up their heels over the
champaign," and generally to derive amusement from their curious habits.
Unlike the Y.M.C.A., they have no wish to alter the habits of the
foreigners, any more than we wish to put the monkeys at the Zoo into
trousers and stiff shirts. And their attitude towards each other is, as
a rule, equally tolerant. When they became a Republic, instead of
cutting off the Emperor's head, as other nations do, they left him his
title, his palace, and four million dollars a year (about £600,000), and
he remains to this moment with his officials, his eunuchs and his
etiquette, but without one shred of power or influence. In talking with
a Chinese, you feel that he is trying to understand you, not to alter
you or interfere with you. The result of his attempt may be a caricature
or a panegyric, but in either case it will be full of delicate
perception and subtle humour. A friend in Peking showed me a number of
pictures, among which I specially remember various birds: a hawk
swooping on a sparrow, an eagle clasping a big bough of a tree in his
claws, water-fowl standing on one leg disconsolate in the snow. All
these pictures showed that kind of sympathetic understanding which one
feels also in their dealings with human beings--something which I can
perhaps best describe as the antithesis of Nietzsche. This quality,
unfortunately, is useless in warfare, and foreign nations are doing
their best to stamp it out. But it is an infinitely valuable quality, of
which our Western world has far too little. Together with their
exquisite sense of beauty, it makes the Chinese nation quite
extraordinarily lovable. The injury that we are doing to China is wanton
and cruel, the destruction of something delicate and lovely for the sake
of the gross pleasures of barbarous millionaires. One of the poems
translated from the Chinese by Mr. Waley[39] is called _Business Men_,
and it expresses, perhaps more accurately than I could do, the respects
in which the Chinese are our superiors:--
Business men boast of their skill and cunning
But in philosophy they are like little children.
Bragging to each other of successful depredations
They neglect to consider the ultimate fate of the body.
What should they know of the Master of Dark Truth
Who saw the wide world in a jade cup,
By illumined conception got clear of heaven and earth:
On the chariot of Mutation entered the Gate of Immutability?
I wish I could hope that some respect for "the Master of Dark Truth"
would enter into the hearts of our apostles of Western culture. But as
that is out of the question, it is necessary to seek other ways of
solving the Far Eastern question.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 31: _The Truth about China and Japan_, Allen & Unwin, 1921, p.
14. On the other hand Sih-Gung Cheng (_Modern China_, p. 13) says that
it "killed twenty million people," which is the more usual estimate, cf.
_China of the Chinese_ by E.T.C. Werner, p. 24. The extent to which the
population was diminished is not accurately known, but I have no doubt
that 20 millions is nearer the truth than 150 millions.]
[Footnote 32: In January 1922, he came to Peking to establish a more
subservient Government, the dismissal of which has been ordered by
Wu-Pei-Fu. A clash is imminent. See Appendix.]
[Footnote 33: The blame for this is put upon Sun Yat Sen, who is said to
have made an alliance with Chang-tso-lin. The best element in the Canton
Government was said to be represented by Sun's colleague General Cheng
Chiung Ming, who is now reported to have been dismissed (_The Times_,
April 24, 1922). These statements are apparently unfounded. See
Appendix.]
[Footnote 34: The soya bean is rapidly becoming an important product,
especially in Manchuria.]
[Footnote 35: There are, however, no accurate statistics as to the
birth-rate or the death-rate in China, and some writers question whether
the birth-rate is really very large. From a privately printed pamphlet
by my friend Mr. V.K. Ting, I learn that Dr. Lennox, of the Peking Union
Medical College, from a careful study of 4,000 families, found that the
average number of children (dead and living) per family was 2.1, while
the infant mortality was 184.1. Other investigations are quoted to show
that the birth-rate near Peking is between 30 and 50. In the absence of
statistics, generalizations about the population question in China must
be received with extreme caution.]
[Footnote 36: I repeat what everybody, Chinese or foreign, told me. Mr.
Bland, _per contra_, describes Chang-tso-lin as a polished Confucian.
Contrast p. 104 of his _China, Japan and Korea_ with pp. 143, 146 of
Coleman's _The Far East Unveiled_, which gives the view of everybody
except Mr. Bland. Lord Northcliffe had an interview with Chang-tso-lin
reported in _The Times_ recently, but he was, of course, unable to
estimate Chang-tso-lin's claims to literary culture.]
[Footnote 37: Printed in _China in 1918_, published by the _Peking
Leader_.]
[Footnote 38: _Musings of a Chinese Mystic_, by Lionel Giles (Murray),
p. 66. For Legge's translation, see Vol. I, p. 277 of his _Texts of
Taoism_ in _Sacred Books of the East_, Vol. XXXIX.]
[Footnote 39: Waley, 170 _Chinese Poems_, p. 96.]