CHAPTER XXII
GOVERNMENT EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM
One of the highest testimonials to the wisdom of the missionaries in inaugurating an educational policy has been given by the Chinese Government. Imitation is the sincerest flattery, and missionary education has its imitator in no less a body than the Chinese Government. The Chinese have always loved education, but the education they admired was the literary education which had for its commencement the Chinese character and for its end the Chinese Classics; their system of teaching was different from our own; they were far greater believers in learning by rote than the most conservative English schoolmaster who ever set a long repetition lesson to his pupils. It is a strange sight to see an old-fashioned Chinese school, the boys all shouting out at the top of their voices the names of the characters whose meaning they do not understand. An essential part of the performance is the clamorous shouting; the louder they shout, the harder they are working and the quicker they think they learn, so when the visitor surprises a class their voices are not raised above a pleasant and reasonable elevation, but after he has been discovered by the class, the shouts increase in volume till the noise is only to be compared to the paroquets' cage in the Zoological Gardens.
Another peculiarity of the school is that all the pupils turn their backs to their master; the doctrine being that if they were allowed to watch their master, it would be perfectly impossible for him to detect their many little acts of dishonesty. The missionaries at first painfully imitated these schools; they felt that it was impossible to trust the children of their converts to the heathen atmosphere of a Chinese school, and at the same time they realised what great value and importance was placed by the Chinese on education. These schools led on to a sort of middle school called "shu-yuen," which existed in all big towns, which in its turn led on to four Universities, but they have been, I believe, for some time in an inefficient condition. Still for good or for evil the system was there, and long before our own new departure in education, the Chinese were quite accustomed to the idea that the boy who had sufficient ability might climb the ladder of learning, from class to class, from school to school, till at last he took the coveted Hanlin Degree. So high a value did the Chinese place on education, that it was possible, and it did indeed happen, that boys of the very humblest parentage climbed that ladder till they reached the most exalted positions.
The first sign of an alteration of this system was the book that was issued after the Chinese-Japanese war by Chang-Chih-Tung. That remarkable statesman realised after China's crushing defeat that a general reform was absolutely necessary if she was to maintain her place among the free and independent nations of the world, and he wrote a book entitled "China's Only Hope," in which he strongly advocated the acceptance in some measure of Western education. His scheme is the one which practically obtains now in China, that is of making Chinese learning the foundation on which Western education is to be placed. He had a great disbelief, like most Chinese, in the difficulty of acquiring Western education. He writes: "Comparative study of foreign geography, especially that of Russia, France, Germany, England, Japan, and America; a cursory survey of the size and distance, capital, principal ports, climate, defences, wealth, and power of these (the time required to complete this course ten days)." It is very hard for the Chinese literati to understand the difficulties of acquiring Western learning. Chang was a man of no mean intellect, and one of the reasons why he was so anxious to preserve Chinese learning was because he realised the destructive effect Western learning has on Oriental faiths. He hoped to preserve the ethics of Confucianism and to attach to them the practical knowledge of the West, which he realised was a necessity for China. He summed up the position by saying, "Western knowledge is practical, Chinese learning is moral."
The immediate result of this book was absolutely the reverse of what its author intended. A million copies of the book had been issued, and it circulated throughout China. It raised a storm of opposition, and probably was one of the causes which produced the Boxer outbreak; but the failure of Boxerdom and the Russo-Japanese war convinced China that Chang-Chih-Tung was right, and his book may now be taken as the book which best expresses the intellectual position of the moderate reformer.
He first deals with that very difficult question of finance. He proposes to finance the schools with a wholesale disendowment of the two religions in which he does not believe, Buddhism and Taoism. He writes: "Buddhism is on its last legs, Taoism is discouraged because its devils have become irresponsive and inefficacious." He then suggests that seven temples out of ten should be used both as regards their building and their funds for educational purposes. But he has a sympathetic way of treating the disendowed clergy of China. He suggests that they could be comforted by a liberal bestowal of official distinction upon themselves and upon their relatives. Who can tell if Welsh Disestablishment would not be popular if all the clergy were to be made archdeacons and their brothers and fathers knights. But he has a historical precedent for disendowment—Buddhism has apparently experienced the process of disendowment three times; but as the last disendowment was in 846, on our side of the world we should not regard it as a precedent of much value.
In establishing schools he adopts five principles. The first is one to which we have already referred, that the new and the old are to be woven into one, the Chinese Classics are to be made by some magical process the foundation of the teaching of Western education. The second is a very un-Western but possibly a sound way of looking at the question. He puts forward two objects of education: first, government; secondly, science. The first includes all knowledge necessary for the government of mankind—geography, political economy, fiscal science, the military art, and though he does not mention it, I suppose history. The second is natural science, and includes mathematics, mining, therapeutics, sound, light, chemistry, &c. The third principle is one that we rarely act on in our own country, namely, that the child shall be only educated in the subjects for which he has a natural aptitude. The fourth principle is one that applies absolutely to China; it is the abolition of what is called the three-legged essay, a complicated feat of archaic and artificial writing which only exists for the purpose of examination, something analogous to our Latin verses. The fifth principle shows that China is as far ahead of us in some ways as she is behind us in others. China has passed beyond the stage of free education to the stage of universal scholarship; all students are paid, and this has brought about a great abuse; men study merely to obtain a living who have no aptitude for learning, and on whom educational money is really wasted, and so he abolishes payment.
His Excellency closes his advice with a suggestion that societies for the promotion of education should be formed. The Chinaman loves these little social clubs and gatherings. His chess club, his poetry club, his domino club, are national institutions. Why not, suggests His Excellency, have an educational club, or as I suppose we should call it, a mutual improvement society. Thus wrote the great Viceroy who more than any other man prevented the spread of the Boxer outbreak from desolating Central and Southern China. During that Boxer rebellion all advance was impossible, but after that overflowing flood of disorder was passed, the reforms suggested by Chang-Chih-Tung began to be seriously considered, and on January 13, 1903, an Imperial Edict was put forth renovating and organising, at least on paper, the whole educational system of China. It would not be China if there were not a great deal of sound sense in that edict; it would not be China if on paper the organisation did not seem to be perfect; it would not be China if as a matter of fact the whole scheme were not to a great extent a failure.
The scheme was very complete. It began at the bottom and continued through every grade of education to the top. First there were to be infant schools; these were to receive children from three to seven years old, and their object was to give the first idea of right and to keep the children from the dangers of the street. These schools were to be succeeded by primary schools of two departments, and children were to enter the schools as they left the infant school when they were seven years old, and to continue in them till they were twelve. The subjects to be taught were morals, Chinese language, arithmetic, history, geography, physical science and gymnastics. At present there was to be no compulsory attendance, but that was looked forward to as the future ideal. The schools were to be free, and the money was to be produced either by taxes or by a raid on some endowments, notably endowments of religion or of the theatre—for theatres in China are endowed. Funds were also to be found by subscription, and titles and ranks were promised to those who shall open schools; unlike our own country, where, alas, the spending time on education for the poor is only rewarded by abuse. These primary schools would lead into higher schools, and these schools would be the last on the ladder of education, in which only Chinese subjects were to be taught. Above them were to be what they call middle schools, and the subjects to be taught are roughly those which are taught in our High Schools: the Chinese Classics, Chinese language and literature, foreign languages (one at least to be obligatory), history, geography, physics, chemistry, science of government, political economy, drawing, gymnastics; and after the example of Western schools, singing would be also taught. These schools lead on to the superior schools in which higher branches of the same subjects are taught. These schools were to be divided into three sections. The first section consists of law, literature, and commerce; the second section of sciences, civil engineering, and agriculture; the third section of medicine. It is noteworthy that English is necessary for those who are learning the first two sections, while German is compulsory for those who are learning the third section—in either case a third language may be added; and these superior schools were to lead on to a University, in which there were to be eight faculties. The first faculty is essentially a Chinese one, and I suppose would be best expressed to our thought by "belles-lettres," but it includes such things as rites and poetry; the second faculty is that of law; the third, history and geography; the fourth, medicine and pharmacy; the fifth, science; the sixth, agriculture; the seventh, civil engineering; the eighth, commerce.
The University course was to take three years, and there was to be a University installed in each province. The educational system was to be perfected by two other institutions—a post-graduate college where research was to be undertaken, and a normal college which was to be divided into an inferior and a superior one for the purpose, the one of preparing schoolmasters for the village schools, the other for higher education. A far less ambitious scheme for the education of girls has been added to this by an edict of 1907. If my readers have waded through this scheme I am afraid that they will have come to the conclusion that China has nothing to learn from Western powers, but rather she ought to be able to teach them how to perfect their own incomplete system of education; but alas, this scheme is only on paper. In the province where H.E. Yuan-Shih-Kai ruled the schools approach in some degree to the level of Western efficiency. In every other province that I visited or heard about, the results of this edict were markedly disappointing; the only exception being where the Universities had been organised, not in the form or terms of the edict, but by Western teachers acting on more or less independent lines. For instance, there is a splendid University which has been founded by Dr. Timothy Richard in Shansi.
That University has a curious history. After the Boxer massacres compensation was demanded by the Powers both for the buildings that were destroyed and for the missionaries that were killed. A certain number of the missionary bodies refused absolutely to take any compensation. Animated by the spirit of the early Christian Church, they would not allow that the blood that had been shed for the sacred cause could be paid for in money. At this juncture there threatened to be rather an impasse. The Western Government were insisting on compensation, and it was doubtful and uncertain how that compensation should be paid. The Chinese Government sent for the Protestant missionary in whom they had the greatest confidence, Dr. Timothy Richard, and he made a suggestion which was at once acceptable to both the Chinese and to the missionary body, that the money should be devoted to the founding of a great University; for ignorance is the most common cause of fanaticism, and the terrible massacres enacted in China would never have taken place had China understood, as Chang-Chih-Tung did understand, that Western science and enlightenment were for the benefit of China; so this University was founded. It was founded under peculiar terms. It is under the government of China, and yet not completely so. Dr. Timothy Richard is for a certain number of years one of its governors, and he has for ten years at least the control of the Western side of the education. He is supported by an able staff, and the Rev. W. E. Soothill is the existing President. At the end of the ten years which are just running out, the status of the University is to be altered, and is, as far as I understand, to return to the ordinary status of a Government University. I need hardly say that this University has been highly satisfactory in its teaching, and lately it has sent many of its students to England to complete their education. It suffers, however, from the absence of a proper preparatory course. One of the difficulties that lie right in the way of Chang-Chih-Tung's compromise is the difficulty of finding time for a Western preparatory course, and that is only equalled by the difficulty of finding teachers. Without time and teachers the students arrive at the University period of their lives with only a very elementary knowledge of Western subjects. This college can hardly be cited as a college of high governmental efficiency, but should rather be regarded as an example of the good that a man like Dr. Timothy Richard can do if he is only allowed scope.
Another Western University under Chinese Government control is the one at Tientsin, the Pei-Yang University. That University has the advantage of being well supported by efficient Government schools at Pao-ting-fu. One interesting detail about the Pao-ting-fu school—a fact indeed which in two or three ways should give us food for thought—is that it is controlled by a Christian who is allowed by the Government, against their own regulations, to carry on an active propaganda. He was the man who, when the missionaries were murdered at Shansi, at the risk of his life brought down a message from them written in blood on a piece of stuff. Perhaps it is not extraordinary to find that such a man is producing excellent work. The Pei-Yang University, however, falls far short of our ideals of what a University standard should be. Still, as far as it goes, it is very efficient. It is taught by a very effective body of professors. It has 150 students, and teaches law, mining, and engineering. The staff is American with very few exceptions. One of those exceptions is Mr. Wang, a Chinese gentleman who received his education in London. Very little philosophy is taught, only three hours a week are given for Chinese learning, and the students are expected to acquire a sufficient knowledge of Chinese subjects before they come to the University. The American professors, who proved to be a delightful set of men, allowed that there was no real scientific training given in this school. They gave the same account of their pupils which you will hear in every Chinese school. They excelled in algebra, drawing, and in the most stupendous power of committing formulæ to memory. One of the difficulties of teaching a Chinese class is that they have so little difficulty in learning by rote that they much prefer learning the text-books by heart to trying to understand them. The Law School in the Pei-Yang University is taught by a man who has no knowledge of Chinese law. This is one of the small mistakes made by American educators in China, which I think must be somewhat misleading for China in the future. To learn nothing but Western law, and to imagine that that Western law can be applied directly to the Chinese people, is to make the same mistake that Macaulay so eloquently condemned in the old East India Company. Such a system of teaching can only make unreasonable revolutionaries.
These two examples of teaching institutions carried on under the Chinese Government by Western teachers are wholly exceptional, and though excellent in their way are unimportant, and having regard to the vast mass of the population of China are inconsiderable. What are five or six hundred students to a population of four hundred millions.
I must reserve the account of what I saw of the schools under Chinese management, including the Peking University, to another chapter.