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 minutiæ 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 régime—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.
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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.