nature of our people, above all, the institution of the family, itself a
little state--a political, social, and economic unit--these and other
facts have rendered us independent of government control to an extent
which to Europeans may seem incredible. Neither the acts nor the
omissions of the authorities at Pekin have any real or permanent effect
on the life of our masses, except so far as they register the movements
of popular sentiment and demand. Otherwise, as you foreigners know to
your cost, they remain a dead letter. The government may make
conventions and treaties, but it cannot put them into effect, except in
so far as they are endorsed by public opinion.... Our fundamental
institutions are no arbitrary inventions of power, they are the form
which the people have given to their lives. No government created and no
government would think of modifying them.... Law, in a word, is not with
us a rule imposed from above; it is the formula of the national life,
and its embodiment in practice precedes its inscription in a code."
Referring to the political disputes between China and Europe, another
Chinese writer says:
"When first your traders came to China it was not at our invitation; yet
we received them, if not with enthusiasm, at least with tolerance. So
long as they were content to observe our regulations we were willing to
sanction their traffic, but always on the condition that it should not
disturb our social and political order. To this condition, in earlier
days, your countrymen consented to conform, and for many years, in spite
of occasional disputes, there was no serious trouble between them and
us. The trouble arose over a matter in regard to which you yourselves
have hardly ventured to defend your conduct. A considerable part of your
trade was the commerce in opium. The use of this drug, we observed, was
destroying the health and the morals of our people, and we therefore
prohibited the trade. Your merchants, however, evaded the law; opium was
smuggled in, till at last we were driven to take the matter into our own
hands and to seize and destroy the whole stock of the forbidden drug.
Your government made our action an excuse for war. You invaded our
territory, exacted an indemnity, and took from us the island of Hong
Kong. Was this an auspicious beginning? Was it calculated to impress us
with a sense of the justice and fair play of the British nation? Years
went on; a petty dispute about the privileges of the flag--a dispute in
which we still believe that we were in the right--brought us once more
into collision with you. You made the unfortunate conflict an excuse for
new demands. In conjunction with the French you occupied our capital and
imposed upon us terms which you would never have dared to offer to a
European nation. We submitted because we must; we were not a military
power. But do you suppose our sense of justice was not outraged? Or
later, when every power in Europe, on some pretext or other, has seized
some part of our territory, do you suppose because we cannot resist that
we do not feel?"
These passages, one-sided though they may be, give us some idea of what
the Chinese think of Europe, of the politics of the West, and of our
civilization as a whole, and we cannot be greatly surprised that the
yellow empire looks upon us as its greatest enemy. From the time that
our first trading vessels touched the coasts of China, closely followed
by men-of-war, the Chinese have been on the losing side, both
economically and politically. One great Power after another came upon
the scene of action, and seized and occupied provinces, many of them
larger than their own European dominions. When a Chinese schoolboy of
today studies the map of his country, and considers how much smaller it
has become in the course of the last hundred years, how can it fail to
make him sad?
Almost ever since the victorious English navy first made its appearance
at Hong Kong, foreign Powers have been occupied in tearing away pieces
from the empire. Russia owns the whole northern portion of the land, and
with one stroke of the pen Count Muravieff has torn from China and
incorporated into the Russian Empire the gigantic Amur district, or, as
it is now called, Eastern Siberia, the area of which is almost larger
than that of the whole of Central Europe. Korea, once a vassal state, is
practically governed by Japan, while Tonking and Annam have become
French colonies.
Besides suffering these territorial losses China has been compelled to
pay heavy damages after each war. In order to procure these moneys fresh
taxes have to be levied, so that it may be said with truth that every
son of the land--apart from the ignominy put upon his national
pride--has personally to bear some part of the burden laid upon his
country. Such was the condition of things at the time of the riots in
1900, and feelings have not greatly altered since then, although on the
surface all appears smooth and quiet. The recent war between Russia and
Japan has roused the people afresh; and do we wonder at the exultation
which fills the masses of the yellow race, now that one of its nations
at last appears to be getting the better of its white opponents?
* * * * *
Will China, in case of need, unite with Japan to destroy the common
enemy? Will the Chinese seek retaliation for what they consider to have
been an injustice done to them, and which they evidently have not
forgotten? It is hardly likely--at any rate, not just yet. Japan and
China are now farther apart than one would think possible, considering
their close geographical vicinity, and the cultural analogy which till
recently existed between them.
Looked at from a distance, and when one does not know all the
circumstances, certain kindred features may stand out prominently; but
the likeness vanishes when one comes to live amongst them. As a matter
of fact, a greater dissimilarity can hardly be imagined than that which
separates China from Japan. The difference may be traced throughout
their past and present histories. Corporeal build and manner of thought,
state organization, government and system of education, all were
different. Their similarity begins and ends in the basis from which they
both started, namely, the old Chinese civilization founded on Buddhist
principles, and early borrowed by Japan from China. The Nippon of the
past had no national culture. From China, across Korea, Japan received
the doctrines of Buddha, of Confucius, of Mencius, or Thao. From China
also came the first scholars, artists, and writers. What to us are the
Greek and Latin classics the writings of the old Chinese academicians
are to Japan. Upon them the Japanese have based their views of life;
from them their artists received their inspiration, and the ideas
conceived in China found expression in Japanese literature. As with us
Latin, so in Japan Chinese is the language of ancient literature. It is
probably owing to this circumstance that so many erroneous views exist
in the West concerning the mutual relationship of these two Eastern
nations. They are always being mistaken the one for the other, their
virtues and failings confused, their good and bad points confounded.
Formerly everything that came from the borders of the Yellow Sea was
simply called "chinoiserie," and now in the same way everything that
arrives from there is called Japanese. It would seem as if Europe even
now could not distinguish between them; above all, as if we were unable
to realize the psychological and metaphysical differences of the two
nations. We do not judge by what is essential, real, and original, we
only go by outward appearances, by what is conspicuous at first sight.
And now, since Japan has made its mark in the contest with Russia, it is
only its external success which causes us surprise, the internal change
of the people leaves us unmoved. The public of Europe is strangely
ignorant of the moral worth of Japan. The interest of the moment is
concentrated on the little Japanese soldier, who handles the British gun
so dexterously, who blindly rushes into danger, and dies by thousands.
And all one knows or cares to know about China is, that it is backward,
dull, and stupid.
But as regards the real cause of the present relations, and whether
there is a possibility of further developments--this is a matter of
small interest to the general public. The nations of Europe seem to be
as little concerned to understand the inner qualities of the peoples on
the Yellow Sea, their psychological divergences and moral strength, as
they trouble to know the history of their early culture and intellectual
existence.
This want of interest is noticeable in all our dealings with the yellow
races. In industrial undertakings we constantly confuse China and Japan,
and Japanese goods often pass for Chinese. Even those who profess to
have studied the history of Japanese art have been found to attribute
to Japan the fundamental ideas which originated in China. The more one
comes into contact with Chinese and Japanese works, the more clearly one
sees that the honour of originality and initiative belongs to China.
The celebrated Japanese painters, sculptors, and bronze-workers were
taught by China; they were clever imitators of Chinese art. In point of
execution they have doubtless in many cases surpassed their masters. The
detail work of Japanese art is decidedly finer and better finished than
the Chinese, and in the work of reproduction they have attained a degree
of perfection unparalleled in any other industrial nation. But this,
after all, is rather a matter of skill than of genius. The artistic
conception, the creative power, was far more original in ancient China
than in ancient Japan, and although the minutiae of Chinese art were
often crude and imperfect, the fundamental idea was always noble and
grand. We notice this particularly in their architecture. China's marble
and stone yamens and pagodas were imitated by Japan, but with this
difference, that they are built of wood and roofed over with shingles or
thatch. In the various branches of sculpture and painting we see the
same divergence. The Japanese was always an excellent copyist, but he
drew his inspirations from China, in much the same manner in which the
masters of the Renaissance school used the antique masterpieces for
their models.
Just as the Japanese imitated and appropriated the customs and
institutions of the ancient Chinese Empire, so they have now, with
astonishing rapidity, adopted European civilization. Their power of
assimilation is incredible. When we compare the Japan of today with the
land as it was five-and-twenty years ago, our surprise is fully
justified. From being under the most antiquated feudal system, the
empire has suddenly become one of the most progressive states. At the
Mikado's command all things were changed: government, army, education,
even national views of life and ideals. The authority of the Shogun is
replaced by a parliament. The descendant of the old Samurai becomes a
soldier, moulded after the German pattern. The agricultural classes are
gradually transformed into factory hands. From day to day the old
institutions and beliefs are being destroyed, and with the new
constitution a new religion is also called into existence, or rather the
obsolete and somewhat obscure Shinto cult is converted into the religion
of the state. How much of real conviction there has been in this magic
change or how much of it has been the work of natural evolution, it is
difficult to say. Inward convictions and the problems of moral
satisfaction are outside the pale of politics. Whether the present-day
Japanese, who wears a silk hat, is happier than his ancestor with his
kimono--whether the workman in the factory is more contented than the
former agricultural labourer--whether the internal peace of the land is
better secured under the new system than it was under the old
regime--who shall say? It will even remain doubtful whether their thirst
for glory was not more gratified when guarding the frontiers and the
territory of their ancient Daimios than now, when, according to Western
notions, their chief object is occupation and material gain.
The most serious of all future eventualities is evidently whether these
rashly accomplished innovations, and the total transformation of all
existing conditions, may not, as was the case in Europe, lead to a
material and moral crisis. In the most progressive circles of the land
this is a much-discussed point. The recent labour riots, and the
continually occurring strikes in the great cities, cast a certain shadow
over the possibilities of the future. Baron Ivasaki, the greatest
industrial power in the land, whose ships frequent all parts of the
world, who has banking connexions in all commercial centres, who employs
a large number of clerks, and has every opportunity of investigating
the labour question in all its details, has published some interesting
articles on the social questions of Japan. Another prominent Japanese
writer, Okuma, occupies himself chiefly with the moral condition of the
people, anticipating with fear the time when the innate religious
feeling, and the once imperturbable loyalty to the Head of the State,
should be shaken to its roots. The ultimate crystallization of the
economic and moral relations of future Japan is, after all, the most
interesting problem which this nation at present offers.
* * * * *
The reason that China still delays its reorganization, and cannot
blindly follow in the footsteps of Japan, lies chiefly in the internal
constitution of the land. The population, which is above all things
peaceful and cautious, waits to see what effect the transformation has
upon Japan, whether it is really for the good of the people. The
above-quoted passages from the works of Chinese writers clearly show
that the Chinese as a people do not covet either military glory or
exorbitant material wealth. For them the basis of happiness is peace and
stability. The disturbance of harmony is irksome to the nation. This was
the initial thought which prompted them in olden times to build a great
wall to protect their native land from foreign intrusion. The Chinese
are now beginning to realize that the highest wall cannot stem the
current of time; that progress--or let us say the course of
events--sweeps away even the mightiest obstacle before it. The necessity
of their ultimate reorganization is more and more apparent to those
natives who have come into contact with the outer world; only, as
Chang-chi-tung said, "It cannot be expected or desired that we should be
transformed in the twinkling of an eye."
The more impetuous advocates of reform, the representatives of the
so-called "Progressive Party," have their headquarters at Shanghai. The
members of this faction are mostly educated, travelled persons, speaking
several European languages, students who have finished their university
career, officials, merchants, and authors. Some amongst them, on account
of their revolutionary tendencies, have been banished from Pekin or from
the interior, and reside in the European quarters and districts governed
by consular magistrates. These are the leaders of the discontented. They
reject all existing conditions and demand the total abolition of the
present system of government. But the man of the day I should say is
Yuan-chi-kai. It is he who represents the Progressive Party at the Court
of Pekin. To his influence may be attributed the various reforms
introduced during the last few years, and the notable changes in the
politics of the Tsung-li Yamen. Of all the viceroys of the united empire
he is the one most directly in touch with the representatives of foreign
Powers.
Yuan-chi-kai is in the first instance a military leader. His policy,
which is to secure peace for his land, is based on military principles.
It is probably at his instigation that a number of young Chinamen were
sent at state expense to Japanese universities, in order that they might
there study the effect of the imported reforms upon an Asiatic nation
already imbued with European ideas. To a Chinaman all these institutions
would appear in Japan in a more intelligible form than in Europe, where
all conditions are so absolutely contrary to their preconceived notions.
Perhaps, in his capacity of soldier, Yuan-chi-kai also hoped that the
Japanese might impart some of their military enthusiasm to the lethargic
youths of his country. So far the results have been satisfactory. A
residence in Europe has seldom proved of much benefit to Chinese
students, but a visit to the universities and schools of Tokio,
Yokohama, or Kobe, has seldom failed to answer its purpose.
The already modernized Chinaman is doubtless an interesting figure, and
he displays highly intellectual qualities. Life in the harbour towns,
where he has free intercourse with foreigners from all parts of the
world, has considerably widened his field of vision, and offers him
ample opportunity for making comparison between the natives of the
various European countries. It enables him also to become more familiar
with the achievements of Western culture. The latest products of French
industry, Manchester goods, or any of the most recent European
inventions, reach these shores within a very short time. There are many
wholesale merchants and bankers who have for several years been in
direct communication with the city of London, or Wall Street in New
York. They are bold and enterprising men, and work their business
exclusively on modern principles. Their offices are fitted up in
European fashion with telephones and type-writers; only here and there a
rare plant, some precious object of art, or a singing bird in a cage,
betrays the native instinct of love of nature and art. The national
dress is still worn, and the wide silk trousers and traditional pigtail
strike one at first as somewhat out of place in these modern
surroundings.
At Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Tien-tsin, one has excellent opportunities
of seeing the business man at home. During my stay in those towns I
thoroughly enjoyed the social intercourse with these people. It is
interesting to ponder over what may become of them as they continue to
acquire all the advantages of Western accomplishments. What
possibilities this nation possesses!
The millionaires generally build their houses in European style. The
furniture of their reception-rooms is also of foreign make, and only the
beautiful porcelains and other art treasures remind us that we are in
China. Honestly speaking, all this modernization in house-building and
furnishing is to be regretted, for surely the Chinese yamen is more
tasteful than the European house of iron and brick!
Dress has thus far not been touched by the fashion, and anything more
beautiful than the richly embroidered silk and velvet mantles of the
wealthy classes can hardly be imagined. Neither has Americanism been
able to obliterate the old-world manners and rules of courtesy, or to
sever the bond of family affection and the inborn respect to parents. A
Chinaman protects his home above all that is dear to him. In my
intercourse with the Chinese I have noticed that even the most advanced
among them, who have lived for years in England or in France, and who
have enjoyed all the advantages of our commercial and industrial
achievements, scrupulously avoid imitating the private life of the West.
All that relates to business is zealously excluded from the home, and
it frequently happens that the wife or the child has never entered the
office of husband or father, nor does the father ever mention business
matters in the home circle. The office is for work, he says, the home
for rest.
It has often been remarked to me that with us the wear and whirl of
business and of excessive ambition, destroy the joy of living. One of my
acquaintances at Hong Kong once said, "The conditions of life in the
West nowadays make man his own enemy. He sacrifices his whole life to
acquire what is in the main worthless, without giving himself time to
enjoy what he already possesses."
A banker expressed himself in a similar manner. "Most people in Europe,"
he said, "love money for its own sake, but not for what money can do to
ennoble their lives."
The more intimately I have become acquainted with Chinese mood and
thought, the better have I learned to understand the psychical condition
of the people. It has been said that the Chinaman, when first he comes
to Europe, is struck by the sad expression on all the faces. They say
that the Anglo-Saxon, or perhaps more still the Latin nations, appear to
be more upset by some paltry superficial annoyance, a social slight or
deception, than the Chinaman is at the sight of death. They say that we
prize exorbitantly what is of small real value, while the things which
make life worth living and give inward satisfaction are neglected by us.
And I must confess that I have not been able to confute this statement.
Life in the West--that is to say, the stability of the moral equilibrium
of existence--is very precarious. Steam-engines have long since killed
all sentimentality in us, and deeper feelings are only too frequently
sacrificed to outward appearances and conventionalities. Where even the
basis of religious conviction fails, there is nothing left to compensate
for the vicissitudes of life.
The Chinese Christian, as the progressive element of the land, desires
above all things that his children should lead pure, Christian lives, a
point which is frequently neglected with us. I have known many Chinese
Christian families. I have been in the houses of simple labourers and in
the huts of peasants, as well as in the mansions of the wealthy, and I
have found, as a rule, with poor and rich alike, that charity and
brotherly affection are not empty terms, but that they find expression
in their daily life. Their care for the poor and needy is quite
touching. Such at least has been my experience, and I have heard the
same from missionaries who have spent their lives amongst them. The
charge of insincerity, which is so often brought against the Chinese
converts, is greatly exaggerated, at any rate as far as the Catholics
are concerned.
We must not forget that the greater portion of the Chinese Catholics
have been Christians for many generations, and receive regular religious
instruction. The arrival of the first missionaries dates back to the
thirteenth century. It was Kublai Khan who invited them first to settle
in the country, and in course of time he entrusted the education of his
son to them.
More than six hundred years have passed since the foundation of the
bishopric at Pekin; Monte Corvino was appointed first bishop by Pope
Clement V, and Marco Polo, the famous Italian traveller, accompanied
him. Six thousand baptisms took place in the course of the three
following years, and the number of Christians soon grew to a hundred
thousand. Frequently recurring persecutions hindered the spread of the
gospel; however, it is not my object here to trace the history of
Christianity in China, a question I deal with in another volume, but
rather to point out that the descendants of those early converts have
embraced the Catholic faith already as the religion of their fathers.
With regard to the so-called forced, or paid conversions, I must mention
in the first place that adult conversions very seldom occur, and have
seldom brought the person concerned any material advantage, but on the
contrary exposed him to injustice and persecution. A Chinaman rarely
renounces or changes a once settled conviction, and the greater number
of baptisms recorded were administered to the children of Christian
parents or to orphans and deserted boys, and especially girls, who,
without the intervention of the Church, would have died of starvation or
neglect. Such children are put in orphanages under the supervision of
nuns, and taught a trade which afterwards enables them to provide for
themselves. The more talented among them are educated in the Middle
Schools belonging to the Mission, and in the colleges established in the
larger towns. The administration of these institutions is in the hands
of the clergy, and their popularity is best proved by the fact that a
considerable number of their students profess other religions.