steadfastly refused to give it up against the entreaty of the station officials. A bit of
"social consciousness" might have told him that without the driver no one in the bus
could get home, but this spark of social consciousness was lacking. If one analyses
still further, was he to blame? Why was there only one bus for about eighty
passengers? The local militarist had commandeered the others for transportation
purposes. Where, then, was the social consciousness of the militarist? Where system
fails, and where men are forced into a mad scramble, all stranded on the road thirty
miles away from home on a rainy day and all anxious to get home, what was the
occupant of the driver's seat to expect if he gave it up? The case is the refore typical: it
shows the maladjustment between the natural rural courtesy of the farmers and the
age of speed, the political chaos which hastens individual scramble, and the lack of a
tradition, based on a new social consciousness, which must take time to grow up.
This lack of social consciousness explains why all bus companies are losing money
and why all mining companies have closed up. It goes on in an uninterrupted series
from the library regulations to the law of the land. The great officials break the great
laws, the small officials break the small laws, and the result is a total lack of social
discipline and general disregard for social rules and regulations.
The fact is, the family system stands midway between extreme individualism and the
new sense of social consciousness which, in the West, includes the whole society.
Chinese society is cut up into little family units, inside which exists the the greatest
communistic co-operation, but between the units no real bond of unity exists, except
the state. As China has stood practically alone and unchallenged, even this sense of state, or nationalism, has not been greatly developed. So family consciousness has
taken the place of the social consciousness and national consciousness in the West.
Some form of nationalism is developing, but no one need be alarmed. The "yellow
peril" can come from Japan but not from China. Deep down in our instincts we want
to die for our family, but we do not want to die for our state. None of us ever want to
die for the world. The propaganda of the Japanese militarist clique that says a nation
should aggrandize itself in order to bring "peace and harmony" to Asia, or even to the
world, can have no appeal to the Chinese. To such appeals we are strangely,
superlatively, heathenishly callous. To such appeals, our only answer is, "What do you
mean?" We will not save the world. Enough provocation there is in modern Chinese
international relations to goad us and weld us into a national unity, but the surprising
thing is how well we resist such influences and provocations.
Viewing the nation as a whole, it may really seem as if we mean to carry along as we
were before. Travellers in 1935 in Japan and China can observe the greatest possible
contrast in this respect. Compare the Japanese, busy and bustling, reading a
newspaper in the tram or in the train, with a dogged face and determinecL chin and a
cloud of imminent national disaster hanging over his brow, determined that Japan
must either smash the world or be smashed in the next great conflict, and preparing
for its coming 梐 nd the Chinese in his long gown, as placid, as contented, as
happy-go- lucky, as if nothing could ever shake him out of his dreams. You cannot go
into 橿 nese homes, eat in Chinese restaurants and walk about hi hinese streets, and
believe that a national or world disaster B coming. The Chinese always say of
themselves that their iation is like "a tray of loose sands/' each grain being, not an
individual but a family. On the other hand, the Japanese ation is (grammatically
one says the Chinese nation are, ut the Japanese nation is) welded together like
a piece of ranite. Perhaps this is a good thing. The next world ex_Josion may
blow up the granite, but can at best but disperse sands. The sands will rema in sands.
IV. PRIVILEGE AND EQUALITY
The Doctrine of Social Status, or the ideal of "every man in his place/' cuts through
the idea of equality in a curious way, and it is important to see this point in order to
understand the whole spirit of Chinese social behaviour, both good and bad. The
humanist temper is one emphasizing distinctions of all kinds, distinctions between
men and women (resulting in the seclusion of women, as we have seen), between
ruling authority and subjects, and between the old and the young. Confucianism
always imagined itself as a civilizing influence going about preaching these
distinctions and establishing social order. It hoped to bind society together by a moral
force, by teaching benevolence in the rulers and submission hi the ruled, kindliness in
the elders and respect for old age in the young, "friendliness" hi the elder brother, and
humility hi the younger brother, Instead of social equality, the emphasis is rather on
sharply defined differentiation, or stratified equality. For the Chinese word for the five cardinal relationships, lun> means equality within its class.
Such a society is not without its charms and graces. The respect for old age, for
instance, is always something touching, and Professor A. E. Ross has noted that the
old man hi China is a most imposing figure, more dignified and good to look at than
the old men hi the West, who are made to feel in every way that they have passed the
period of their usefulness and are now gratuitously fed by their children, as if they had
not done their bit in bringing up the young in their prime of life! Or else, these old
men of the West are continually shouting to people that they are still young in spirit,
which of course makes them look ridiculous. No well-bred Chinese would
gratuitously offend an old man, just as no well-bred Western gentleman would
intentionally offend a lady. Some of that fine feeling is now gone, but a great part of it
still remains in most Chinese families. That accounts for the poise and serenity of old
age. China is the one country in which the old man is made to feel at ease. I am sure
this general respect for old age is a thousand times better than all the old-age pensions
in the world.
On the other hand, this theory of differentiated status has brought about privilege,
always charming to the privileged classes and, until recently, also to their admirers.
While the respect for old age is unquestionably good, the respect for scholars and
officialdom is both good and bad. The social acclaim of the "literary wrangler," the
first man in the imperial examinations, was something to touch a mother's heart, and
many a maiden's, too. There he was, mounted on a white horse, personally decorated
by the Emperor, parading the streets as the first and cleverest scholar of the land, a
veritable Prince Charming, for it was important, too, that the first scholar should look
handsome. Such was the glory of being a distinguished scholar, and such was the
glory of being a mandarin official. Whenever he went out, a gong so unded
announcing his coming, and yamen1 servants cleared the way, brushing the
passers-by away like so much dirt. The yamen servants had always been invested with
part of their master's power and glory. What though they accidentally maimed or
killed a man or two!
One cannot read old Chinese novels without coming upon such a scene. We do not
call it power and glory; we call it "glowing fire and lapping flames," glorious as a
conflagration. The yamen servants* only worry was that they might come across
another train belonging to an official of higher rank (for so works the Doctrine of
Status), which would dampen their "fire" a little, or that they might unknowingly kill
or maim a man who belonged to that higher official's household. Then they would cry,
"I ought to die! I ought to die!" and actually they might be handed over to the higher
official for whatever punishment that official deemed fit, including flogging and
imprisonment, law or no law.
1 Yamen is the headquarters of an official.
Privilege of this sort was always inspiring and fascinating, and it is no wonder that
modern officials, deprived of such outward glory, are unwilling to give it up. No one
enjoying a privilege is not flattered by it or highly pleased with it. What a democratic
come-down to call these modern officials "public servants!" They may use the phrase
themselves in circular telegrams, but in their hearts they hate it. In 1934 there still
occurred a case in which the chauffeur of a high government official disobeyed the
traffic signal, crossed the road at a busy corner, and pulling out a revolver, shot off the
thumb of the policeman who tried to stop him. Such was the glowing flame of his
official fire. Yes, privilege was a good thing, and it is still glowing to-day.
Privilege is therefore the antithesis of equality and the officials are the natural enemies
of democracy. Whenever the officials are willing to curtail their class privilege, enjoy
less freedom of action and answer an impeachment by appearing at a law court, China
can be transformed overnight into a true democracy. But not until then. For if the
people are free, where will be the freedom of the officials and militarists? If the
people have the inviolability of person, where will be the freedom of the militarists to
arrest editors, close down the press and chop off men's heads to cure their headache?1
Whenever the people are disrespectful to their officials or the young speak against
their parents, we exclaim "Fan liao! Fan liao!" meaning that heaven and earth are
overturned and the world has come to an end.
The notion is very deep-rooted in the Chinese mind, and the evil is not confined to the
officials, but spreads like the roots of a banyan tree miles off. Like the banyan tree,
too, it spreads its cool shade over all who come under it. We Chinese do not fight the
banyan tree; we try to come under its shade. We do not impeach officials, like the
Americans, or burn down the houses of the rich, like the Bolsheviks. We try to
become their doorkeepers and enjoy their official umbrage.
1 As did General Chang Yi in my native town, Changchow, FnMen. I can give Ms
name because he is dead.
V. SOCIAL GLASSES
It seems clear, then, that actually there are only two social classes in China, the yamen
class who enjoyed extraterritorial rights without consular jurisdiction long before the
Europeans came to China, and the non-yamen class who pay the taxes and obey the
law. To put it a little more cruelly, there are only two classes in China, the top-dog and
the under-dog, who take turns. With their cheerful fatalism, the Chinese bear this
scheme of things quite nobly and well. There are no established social classes in
China, but only different families, which go up and down according to the vicissitudes
of fortune. There are the lucky yamen families, and there are the less lucky families,
whose sons do not preside in the yamens or whose daughters do not marry into the
yamendom. And no families stand quite alone. Through marriage, or through acquaintance, there is hardly a family in China that cannot find a distant cousin who
knows the teacher of the third son of Mr. Chang whose sister- in-law is the sister of a
certain bureaucrat's wife, which relationship is of extreme value when it comes to
lawsuits.
Yamen families may indeed well be compared again to banyan trees whose roots cross
and recross each other and spread fanwise, and Chinese society to a banyan tree on a
hill. Through a process of adjustment, they all struggle for a place in the sun, and they
live at peace with each other. Some stand at a better vantage point than others, and
they all protect each other?officials protect officials," as the current Chinese saying
goes. The common people are the soil which nourishes these trees and gives them
sustenance and makes them grow. As Mencius said, when he was defending the
distinction between the gentleman and the common man, "Without the gentleman
there would be no one to rule the common people, and without the common people
there would be no one to feed the gentleman." Once the King of Gh' i asked Confucius
about government, and on being told of the Doctrine of Social Status, the King
exclaimed, "Well said, sir! If the king is not kingly, and the subjects do not fulfil their
duties as subjects . . . how can I be fed, though there be plenty of rice in the country?"
So between the sunshine from above and the sap of the earth from below, the trees
prosper. Some trees are more vigorous than others and draw more sap from the earth,
and people who sit under their shade and admire their green leaves do not know that it
is the sap that does it.
The officials know it, however. Candidates for magistracy sitting and awaiting their
chances in Peking know by heart and constant conversation which district is "fat" and
which district is "thin." They, too, with a literary flourish, speak of the national
