It must be borne in mind that the empire of China comprises eighteen provinces, quite large enough to form eighteen separate kingdoms. I am speaking now of China Proper, and am leaving out Thibet, Mongolia, and Manchuria, immense countries to the West, North-West, and North of China, and also the vast possessions of China in Central Asia, all forming part of that great empire. Many of these eighteen provinces are larger than Great Britain; one of them is equal in extent to France. Although there is in one sense a language common to the whole country, yet not only has each province a dialect of its own, different from that of the others, but it has, so to speak, innumerable sub-dialects. Dialect, perhaps, is hardly the correct word; it is more than a dialect, for not only each province, but each district or county, has a dialect, differing so essentially from each other that the people of one province, or one district, can, in most instances, no more make themselves colloquially understood by those of another than a Frenchman could make himself intelligible to an Englishman, if neither knew the language of the other. You will often find people living in villages not more than fifteen or twenty miles apart who cannot converse with one another. I have seen in my own office a man belonging to the province of Kwang-tung, in the south of China, unable to speak in Chinese to a native of the adjoining province of Fuh-kien. In this case the native villages of these two were not more than ten miles apart, and the only medium of conversation was the barbarous jargon in which Europeans and Chinese carry on their dealings, called “pidgin English”—a species of broken English of the most ridiculous kind. Now, when you take into account that each province differs in language from each other—for that is really what the case practically comes to—that they have separate dialects in each province, and also, to a certain extent, different customs and certain prejudices, I ask you, does it not appear a gigantic, if not an impossible, task for England, a small and distant country, to be able to demoralize, debase, and corrupt the people of each of these eighteen provinces? Yet that is really the allegation of the Anti-Opium Society against their own country, this small and distant England!
I have said that there are customs peculiar to each of these provinces, but there are others common to all; one of them is opium smoking; another, I am sorry to say, is hatred and contempt of foreigners. They one and all agree in regarding foreigners as an inferior race, whose customs, language, and religion they despise. Among the common people every foreigner, of whatsoever nationality, is called “Fan-Qui,” or “foreign devil.” The designation of foreigners amongst the better classes of people is “outer barbarian.” No better instance could I give you than this to show the strong prejudice held by the whole nation against foreigners. “Fan-Qui” is still the term used by the lower orders to denote foreigners, even in the British colony of Hong Kong. To remedy this state of things, at the time of the making of the Treaty of Tientsin in 1858 (which is the existing treaty between the two nations), Lord Elgin, the author of the treaty, had very properly a stipulation inserted that the term “outer barbarian” should no longer be applied to British subjects. Now, when you take into account that not only are these three hundred and sixty millions of people spread over an enormous empire, having a prejudice common to all parts alike against foreigners, as well as their own prejudices against each other, forming eighteen separate provinces or kingdoms, speaking different languages, is it reasonable to suppose that they would, so to speak, simultaneously adopt the practice of opium smoking when introduced by the despised foreigner? If these people still despise our customs, as they do our religion, as they do everything, in fact, belonging to us, how can it be said that we are forcing this foreign drug upon them to their destruction?
I have already mentioned that the custom of opium smoking is common to all the people of these eighteen provinces. Whether they live in the valleys or on the hills they smoke opium. Now Mr. Turner is a great enemy of opium smoking; he is its determined opponent, and I do not think I wrong him—I certainly do not mean to do so—when I describe him as a person strongly prejudiced against the practice. The best, the wisest, and ablest among us have prejudices, and it is casting no stigma upon that gentleman to say that he has his. When I make you better acquainted with his book, which I shall soon do, you will, I think, agree with me on this point. When people have those strong prepossessions they are prone not to judge facts fairly; they see things, in short, through a false medium. That which to an ordinary person appears plain and clear enough, to one under the influence of prejudice stands out in different colours, and is passed over as untrue or misleading; sometimes, however, the plain truth will leak out, in spite of prejudice. It is laid down by legal text writers that truth is natural to the human mind, that the first impulse of a man if interrogated upon a point is to tell the truth, and that it is only when he has had time to consider, that he is inclined to swerve from it. Now in this book of Mr. Turner’s, at p. 13, he confirms my statement. This is what he says. I need not read to you the previous part, because the context does not alter the sense of my quotation. He is arguing against the allegation of pro-opium people that opium has a beneficial result in counteracting the effects of malaria and ague, and he says:—
These curious arguments are two. First, that the universal predilection of the Chinese for opium is owing to the malarious character of the country; secondly, that the use of opium is a wholesome corrective to the unwholesome, even putrid, food which the Chinese consume. The reply to the first is that the country over which opium is smoked is in area about the size of Europe, and includes, perhaps, an equal variety of sites, soils, and climates, great plains level as our own fen district, and mountainous regions like the Highlands of Scotland. Ague is almost unknown in many of the provinces—yet everywhere, in all climates and all soils, in every variety of condition and circumstance throughout that vast empire, the Chinese smoke opium.
Now that is the testimony of the Rev. Storrs Turner, the most strenuous and, as I believe, the ablest advocate against the Indo-China opium trade. But then he adds:—
But nowhere do they all smoke opium. The smokers are but a per-centage greater or smaller in any place.
Well, nobody ever said they all did smoke opium. Females, as a rule, do not smoke, and children don’t smoke. It is only the grown men, and those who can afford to buy the drug, who smoke it. China, for its extent and its vast and industrious population, is still a poor country. Although its natural resources are considerable, the great bulk of the people are in poor circumstances. It is only those above the very poor who can afford to smoke opium occasionally, and only well-to-do people who are able to do so habitually. Opium smoking is, in fact, a luxury in which, every Chinaman who can afford it indulges more or less, just as English people who have sufficient means drink tea, wine, and beer, or smoke tobacco. The effects of opium smoking are no more injurious than are those articles, in daily use in England, nor is its use more enslaving. On the contrary, from my own observation, I feel persuaded that those who habitually drink wine or spirits are far more liable to abuse and become enslaved to the habit than the smoker of opium. This, as you are now aware, is confirmed by the great authority of Dr. Ayres. Yet Mr. Storrs Turner, in the face of that most damaging admission, and his disciples would have the British public believe that by supplying the Chinese with a small quantity of opium, which is used and grown largely in almost every province, district, and village of China, we are demoralizing and degrading the whole people. Now, if this practice of opium smoking has existed, and does exist, throughout these eighteen provinces, over this large and mighty empire, as Mr. Storrs Turner admits, can it be urged for a moment that England has had anything to do with it more than that Englishmen, in common with other foreigners, have imported for the last forty or forty-five years a quantity of the drug very much less than that actually grown in China itself? I say she has not. I say that opium smoking has existed for a thousand years or more, and that its use by the natives of China is simply limited by the extent of their purchasing power. But how is it that such divergent opinions can exist between Englishmen living in China and certain Englishmen here at home? My answer is, that the former, the English residents in China, derive their knowledge on the subject from actual experience formed from personal intercourse with the natives, from seeing with their own eyes, and hearing with their own ears; whilst people in England obtain their information from hearsay only. Hearsay testimony is their sole guide; and, as I shall show you by and by, this hearsay evidence is of the worst and most unreliable kind. But still the question remains why this should be so; why is it that among the educated and intelligent people of England, in an age when newspapers are universal, and books of travel cheap and plentiful, that such an extraordinary difference of opinion should exist? I will now give you the explanation of these opposite views.
The first is this:—China is ten thousand miles away. If that country were as near to us as the Continent of Europe, to which it is equal in extent, the people of England, including all these Anti-Opium advocates, would be of the same mind as their countrymen in China. The field of the imposture would then be so close to us that the delusion could no longer be sustained—if, indeed, under such circumstances it could ever have existence—it would be seen through at once. If it were sought to prove that we were corrupting and demoralizing the whole of the natives of the Continent by selling them spirits, beer, or opium, and if the persons who did so were to pity, patronize, and caress those people as if they were an inferior race, and but semi-civilized, as the anti-opium people do with the Chinese,—the persons who attempted to act in such an extraordinary manner would be scoffed at as visionaries, if not downright fools; yet the parallel is complete. Indeed, taking into account the existing prejudices of the Chinese against foreigners, the sound sense of the people of China and their frugal and abstemious habits, there should be less difficulty in effecting such wonderful results in Europe than in China. Perhaps, however, the best illustration of this is that afforded by the present agitation here in England, under the leadership of Sir Wilfrid Lawson against the liquor traffic. The evils of intemperance, unlike those alleged against opium smoking, are real evils, and are admitted to be so by all. Everyone is agreed upon this point; yet a large portion of our revenue, amounting to some twenty-six millions sterling, is derived from taxes upon spirits, wine, and beer, the abuse of which produces these evils. Sir Wilfrid Lawson is as determined a foe to the Indo-China opium trade as he is to the liquor traffic. Why does he not apply the same rule to the one as to the other? Why does he ask the Government to forego the eight millions derived from opium in India, and not demand the abrogation of these spirit, wine, and beer duties which are derived from so wicked a source here in England? He and his Anti-Opium friends would, if they could, prohibit the cultivation and exportation of opium in India, why do not he and his fellow teetotallers call upon the country to prohibit the manufacture of alcoholic liquors? Some few months ago an Anti-Opium meeting took place at, I think, Newcastle, attended by Sir Wilfrid Lawson. In the course of a facetious speech the Honourable Baronet, becoming serious, made quite light of this ridiculously small sum of eight millions sterling derived from the opium trade, and declared that he who did not believe that a substitute for it could be found was a “moral atheist”—whatever that may mean. Why does he not call upon the Government to forego the sum of twenty-six millions derived from alcohol, which is not more to England, if indeed so much, as the eight millions are to India, and declare that any person who said we could not find a substitute was a “moral atheist”? I answer thus: because the one concerns matters here at home with which he and the rest of the public are well acquainted, whilst the other relates to affairs ten thousand miles away, about which he and they know little or nothing. Sir Wilfrid and his followers very well know that if they advocated the abolition of the duties on spirits, wine, and beer, they would be simply scoffed at by the public as fools and visionaries, and that, on the other hand, if they required all our distilleries and breweries and all public-houses to be closed, they would be treated as downright lunatics; but it is quite different as regards India and China. With matters in those countries these enthusiastic gentlemen can and do disport themselves very much as they please, oblivious to the plainest facts.
The second is this:—There is, here in England, that powerful association, “The Anglo-Oriental Society for the Suppression of the Opium Trade,” whose sole object is to attain the end which its name imports, the abolition of the Indo-China opium trade, on the alleged ground that it is demoralizing and ruining the natives of China. That Society, I deeply regret to say, is supported by some of the most influential people in England—noblemen, archbishops, and other dignitaries of the Church, clergymen of all denominations, people justly and deservedly commanding the respect of their fellows—but who, on this opium question, simply know little or nothing, who implicitly believe all that is told to them by the agents of that Society, but otherwise have no knowledge of the facts. When it is taken into account that this body has immense funds at its command, that it has the support of a large part of what is known as the “religious world,” and that the Society has branches and agencies ramified throughout the whole country, the reader will not fail to perceive how this extraordinary hallucination, these false and unfounded delusions respecting opium smoking, have got possession of the public mind. In former times we have had associations formed for the purpose of carrying out great public objects and of disseminating knowledge necessary for the country to comprehend those objects; but you will find that for the most part these societies have dealt with acknowledged and existing facts. For instance, there was the “Anti-Corn Law League.” The purposes of that league were understood by everyone; the main facts were admitted because they existed here in England and were patent to all. It was only a matter of opinion between two great political parties whether they should be dealt with in one particular way or not. That league was formed for a great national object; but the Anti-Opium Society of which I am speaking has been got up to carry out the opinions of a few individuals, most respectable, I admit, but at the same time most enthusiastic—I may say, indeed, fanatical—holding views the most incorrect and delusive upon a subject with which they are most imperfectly acquainted.
Meantime, this Society, through its ubiquitous and indefatigable Secretary, who may be called the “Head Centre” of the confederacy, and its other agents, is for ever on the alert. Let any gentleman who has bad experience of opium smoking, whether in India or China, write to the newspapers; let him read a paper at a meeting of any of our scientific bodies disputing the alleged facts of the opium-phobists, and he is marked out as a prey. Sir Rutherford Alcock, whose high character, thorough knowledge of China, and great abilities are well known, with a view of putting the opium question before the public in a correct and proper light, published an able and, indeed, unanswerable article in the “Nineteenth Century” for December 1881 (“Opium and Common Sense”), when Mr. Storrs Turner plunged into print with a counter article in the number for February 1882 of the same Review (“Opium and England’s Duty”), to which I have already alluded. This article purports to be an answer to the former one, but it is nothing of the kind, for it is a mere rechauffé of his book, and wholly fails in its alleged purpose. Again Sir Rutherford Alcock, with the same laudable object, early in 1882, read an able and interesting paper on the opium question before the Society of Arts. It was listened to by many scientific gentlemen and others. Sir Rutherford knows the truth about opium, and he told it in his paper. The Rev. Storrs Turner was there; he knew the damaging revelations which Sir Rutherford Alcock had made, and so much afraid was he of the effects of the fusillade, that to rally his dismayed followers he improvised a meeting of his most devoted disciples two or three days afterwards at the Aquarium. I venture to say there was not a pro-opium advocate present at his meeting I do not think the meeting was ever advertised—I certainly saw no advertisement of it in the newspapers—and Mr. Turner, on that occasion, exhorted his followers to hold fast to the true faith, refuting in the way, no doubt most satisfactory to himself and his audience, the facts, figures, and arguments of Sir Rutherford. So it is with articles and letters in the newspapers. Many gentlemen well-informed upon the opium question have published letters dealing with this question on the pro-opium side; whereupon Mr. Turner and other anti-opium advocates at once pounce down upon them, and repeat the same old stale exploded stories about demoralization and what not. But latterly, and since the first edition of these lectures was published, Mr. Turner has preferred to carry on the anti-opium agitation more quietly, for I think I have thrown cold water upon the zeal of him and his friends. His plan now is to get together in private conclave a few medical gentlemen and others whose opinions he has first made sure of; certain resolutions are then produced ready cut and dry, which are passed with acclamation and inserted in the newspapers. This sort of thing deceives nobody but the infatuated dupes of the Anti-Opium Society, for whose edification they are principally intended; just as the American orator, though speaking to empty benches in Congress, made what his constituents at Bunkum considered a capital speech.