THE IMPERIAL COLLEGE IN PEKING.
By Rev. GEO. W. SMYTH, President of Fouchow College.
Among the many interesting places to be seen in the old and strange city of Peking, that which must claim the chief attention of every visitor intent on noting the changes which the last twenty-five years have wrought in this ancient empire is the Túng Wên Kuan, or College of United Literatures. It is an imperial college in which Chinese students are taught the principal languages and literatures of modern Europe. Their studies are in Chinese and in one or other of the western languages, and hence doubtless its high-sounding but significant name. The students are government cadets, paid from the public treasury, and preparing to enter the consular and diplomatic service of their country in foreign lands. A short account of the origin, purpose and methods of this school may not be uninteresting, as showing how great a change has come over the high official mind of this country in the last quarter of a century. The change, indeed, was the result of necessity, but it is not on that account any the less real, and the movement it inaugurated can not now be stopped.
The war of 1860, which so nearly destroyed the present dynasty, and showed the ruling classes at Peking the greatly superior power of the West, necessitated a great change in the foreign policy of the empire. Hitherto they had complacently looked upon foreigners, subjects and sovereigns alike, as uncouth barbarians, who were to be excluded from the capital, or allowed to enter it only on admitting their subjection and vassalage to the Celestial ruler. But the war which came so near overthrowing the dynasty and bringing down the whole fabric of government crashing about their ears, convinced even the proudest of the mandarins that further resistance would be destruction, and that China, whether she would or not, must step out of her seclusion, and take an open place among the nations of the world. She must henceforth enter into treaty relations with the kingdoms of the West, treat them as equals, trade with them on reasonable terms, receive their ambassadors, and submit herself to the public laws of the civilized world. New methods had to be devised to meet these unusual conditions, and the first thing done was to establish the Tsungli Yamên, or office for the transaction of Foreign Affairs. In the following year a school was opened for the training of interpreters, and out of this grew in time the well equipped Imperial College of to-day. In 1865 this school was raised to the rank of a college by adding a scientific department. With this view new buildings were erected, and steps taken toward engaging the services of a competent corps of foreign professors. In a memorial to the throne presented by Prince Kung in 1866, that enlightened statesman thus declares the scope and motives of this undertaking: “What we desire,” he says, “is that students shall go to the bottom of these subjects (that is, the astronomical and mathematical sciences), for we are firmly convinced that if we are able to master the mysteries of mathematical calculation, physical investigation, astronomical observation, the construction of engines, the engineering of water courses, this, and this only, will assure the steady growth and power of the empire.” The prince had to meet many objections, and after stating that the nations of the West learn from each other, daily producing something new, and that even Japan has recently sent men to England to acquire the language and science of that country, he adds: “Now, when a small nation like Japan knows how to enter on a career of progress, what could be a greater disgrace than for China to adhere to her old traditions, and never think of waking up?”
It was some time before the college was thoroughly organized. W. A. P. Martin, D.D., once a missionary of the American Presbyterian Church at Ningpo, was appointed president. Other appointments followed as speedily as the fitting men could be found, till the plan contemplated was realized.
This, then, is the Imperial College at Peking. What does it do? What is taught there, and what are the influences of its training? While in Peking this summer I was fortunate enough to visit it, to see something of its working, and to gain some familiarity with its purposes and plans. The learned president, Dr. Martin, courteously showed me over the buildings, and told me of the work they were doing. The college buildings adjoin the foreign office or Tsungli Yamên. They are in no sense imposing, being ordinary Chinese structures of one story, without attempt at adornment or splendor of any sort whatever. The rooms are small and plain, containing nothing that is not needed for the immediate work of teaching. The room of the president is a very plain one for so high an officer. The departments of chemistry and physics are well supplied with the instruments and chemicals needed for their work. The professor of astronomy, who is also professor of mathematics, showed me a fine equatorial telescope just arrived from Grubb, one of the most celebrated makers in Europe. The rooms of the language professors are in keeping with the rest, small and bare, but sufficiently well adapted for the purposes to which they are put. The languages taught are four, English, French, German, and Russian, the English receiving far more attention than the others. The full course extends over a period of eight years, and in that time the students are led from “reading, writing and speaking,” through all the intermediate departments to “astronomy, geology and mineralogy, political economy and the translation of books.” After completing the course, those so disposed may remain in the college or be sent abroad, at the option of the government, for the pursuit of special studies, with a view to professional use. Many so remain. Last year one man left who had been in attendance for eighteen years.
The work done is as thorough as it can be. It can not be said that the students make as much progress as foreign students would make in much less time, but the slowness is due not more to the difficulties of a foreign language than to the utter strangeness of the subjects pursued. I was fortunate in being there on Wednesday, when the students of the higher English classes read essays of their own before the president and the English professor. Some of those I heard were very creditable, especially one on the subject of currency. He seemed to have thought for himself, to have a fair understanding of the subject, and would have delighted the fiscal reformers of America by the soundness of his hard money principles. He expressed great dissatisfaction with the currency of China, and hoped for a speedy and thorough reform. So does every man who travels in this strange country. Inside the walls of Peking there is one way of reckoning money, outside there is another; a few miles off one may find a third, and so on, ad infinitum. The currency of China is the most bewildering subject on the face of the earth. The rest of the essays did not impress me so much by the thoughts they expressed (indeed, there was little originality in any of them), as by their fair command of English style. The writers had evidently some mastery of the intricacies of the English idiom. I confess some of the themes disappointed me. They were taken from somewhere or other in the ancient classics, instead of being characteristic of the subjects they were studying. But it is hard to avoid this. The students know very little of the literature of the languages they are studying, and it is almost impossible, I am told, to induce them to take the great foreign works from the library and attempt to read them for themselves. They have not yet reached the state of intelligent enthusiasm which refuses to think a language known before a fair acquaintance is made with its literature. But this, too, will come in time. As to the students personally, a few of them impressed me as intelligent men, and as anxious to do their work well. The great trouble with them, the one which must seriously interfere with their studies, since it can not but narrow and distort their intellectual sympathies, is their seemingly invincible pride. I was told that scarce any but the Cantonese students care to take the slightest notice of their professors when they meet them on the street. Think of the difficulties of teaching such men! They probably look upon their instructors as far beneath themselves, and possibly think of the languages they are studying as the speech of barbarians. With such material, and with such dull and sullen prejudices to fight against, the professors must be regarded as having accomplished much. They could do more were their students men of liberal minds, eager to acquire knowledge for its own sake, and pursuing it with a generous enthusiasm. It is not easy to do your best work where you fail to rouse the sympathies of the student and make him feel something of the ardor which a liberal mind ever feels in the acquisition of knowledge. The Chinese are not an enthusiastic people, and except in a very few cases, it is impossible to make them such in learning of foreign things. They like to know as much as suits their imperative needs, and but few care enough about more to study with eager diligence. This struck me as being true of many of the students of this Peking college.
Beside teaching there is here another department of the first importance—that of translating and publishing foreign books. Several important works have already been translated by the professors of the college, or by the students under their supervision. Wheaton’s “Elements of International Law,” Woolsey’s “International Law,” Faucett’s “Political Economy,” Bluntschli’s “Droit International Codifié,” the “Code Napoleon,” Kerl’s “English Grammar,” and Tytler’s “Universal History;” these are the chief works hitherto translated. In addition, several compilations have been made, such as “Natural Philosophy,” “Chemical Analysis,” “Mathematical Exercises,” and “Mathematical Physics.”
The printing office is a commodious building, with several presses, several fonts of movable Chinese, and one of English type. When I was there one great book had just been finished, and another was just being printed. No more remarkable books have ever been issued from the government press, and if they are prophetic of the near future we may look for its coming with no little hope.
The book just published is a report on education in the West, by Dr. Martin. It is the result of a recent examination of the chief schools of learning in America and Europe. The report is quite full, giving an account of the principal classes of schools, elementary and professional, of the two continents, and closing with an exhibit of the present state of our own Michigan University. I wish there were space to speak of it at length, but the mere catalogue of some of the titles of its chapters will show its scope and purpose as well as the most elaborate description. Among the principal headings are such as these: “Elements Common to the Education of all Western Nations;” “Classification of Schools;” “Primary Schools;” “Education of Women;” “Education of the Blind and Deaf;” “Literary and Scientific Associations;” “The Nations Learning from Each Other;” “Rise and Progress of Science;” “Educational Statistics.” Beside these there is an account of professional schools of all classes. These will give some conception of the character of this most significant work. It is published with a preface by one of the ministers, by order of the Council for Foreign Affairs.
Who may estimate the influence of such a work as this, published and sanctioned by such high authority? The educational system of the West could have no more favorable introduction, as no foreigner in the empire is more highly esteemed than the learned author. It was fitting that such a book should come from the pen of Dr. Martin. In his translations of Woolsey’s and Wheaton’s treatises on international law, he had already shown the Chinese the public law of the nations of the West, and in this he describes the educational system on which their intellectual life is based. Others, it is true, have already taught the Chinese much, but it is scarcely injustice to say that from no one could this work come with such weighty authority as from the president of their own highest western school. It may be regarded as destined to play no unimportant part in shaping the intellectual life of the China of the future.
The other book, a much larger one, is an exhaustive treatise on anatomy, in ten volumes, by Dr. Dudgeon, a professor in the college, and a member of the London Missionary Society in Peking. He has been in charge for many years of the London Mission Hospital, and has long been engaged in the preparation of this great work. One of the conditions on which it was published was that the authorities should retain one hundred and fifty copies for their own use. How great a change this indicates, and how eloquently it speaks for the future of medical science in China, none but the older missionaries can adequately appreciate. Twenty years ago, few even of the most sanguine, could have believed that in the ancient capital itself, almost under the very shadow of the Imperial Palace, the work of an English medical missionary would be printed at the public expense, and official sanction be given to this recent innovation of the once universally feared and detested foreigner. Yet so it is. It is needless to speculate on what its influence must be on the future of medical education in this ancient empire.
Such is some of the work done in this most interesting school. It would be a pleasing task to note the changes which its very existence indicates, and speak of what its influence must be on the future. But this paper, being too long already, with a single further remark I will bring it to a close. The president of this great school is a Christian man, once a missionary of the Presbyterian Board, and still interested in all missionary work. In accepting his new position he gave up neither his faith nor his interest in the evangelization of the land. This is a matter of great moment, and it can not but be a theme for rejoicing that the highest foreign school in the empire is under the presidency of such a man. Of course he is not permitted to teach Christianity directly, but his influence and life are on the side of Christian principles, and Christianity will suffer no injustice at his hands. China is slowly opening her doors to the introduction of Western learning. She cares nothing as yet for our religion, but our science she will have. Is it not then important that it should be given her by Christian men, and not by such as him who, in the Japanese University at Tokio once told his students, that in the West Christianity was the religion of only women and babes? If Christian educators can take a leading part in this movement now, they may be able to hold it when it becomes more general, and thus the Chinese, in receiving science may the more readily accept that best of all gifts, a pure and undefiled Christianity. This must be the hope of all men interested in the future of China, and patiently waiting for the time when the religion of Christ shall cover the whole earth.
