no more marked contrast appears in passing from our western land to the paper houses and cherry blossoms of japan than appears in passing from korea to china. to achieve a correct appreciation of the chinese the traveller should first sojourn amongst the koreans for several months, and then, one fine day, cross over the yalu into manchuria. it would be of exceptional advantage to the correctness of appreciation did he cross over the yalu on the heels of a hostile and alien army.

war is to-day the final arbiter in the affairs of men, and it is as yet the final test of the worth-whileness of peoples. tested thus, the korean fails. he lacks the nerve to remain when a strange army crosses his land. the few goods and chattels he may have managed to accumulate he puts on his back, along with his doors and windows, and away he heads for his mountain fastnesses. later he may return, sans goods, chattels, doors, and windows, impelled by insatiable curiosity for a “look see.” but it is curiosity merely — a timid, deerlike curiosity. he is prepared to bound away on his long legs at the first hint of danger or trouble.

northern korea was a desolate land when the japanese passed through. villages and towns were deserted. the fields lay untouched. there was no ploughing nor sowing, no green things growing. little or nothing was to be purchased. one carried one’s own food with him and food for horses and servants was the anxious problem that waited at the day’s end. in many a lonely village not an ounce nor a grain of anything could be bought, and yet there might be standing around scores of white-garmented, stalwart koreans, smoking yard-long pipes and chattering, chattering — ceaselessly chattering. love, money, or force could not procure from them a horseshoe or a horseshoe nail.

“upso,” was their invariable reply. “upso,” cursed word, which means “have not got.”

they had tramped probably forty miles that day, down from their hiding-places, just for a “look see,” and forty miles back they would cheerfully tramp, chattering all the way over what they had seen. shake a stick at them as they stand chattering about your camp-fire, and the gloom of the landscape will be filled with tall, flitting ghosts, bounding like deer, with great springy strides which one cannot but envy. they have splendid vigour and fine bodies, but they are accustomed to being beaten and robbed without protest or resistance by every chance foreigner who enters their country.

from this nerveless, forsaken korean land i rode down upon the sandy islands of the yalu. for weeks these islands had been the dread between-the-lines of two fighting armies. the air above had been rent by screaming projectiles. the echoes of the final battle had scarcely died away. the trains of japanese wounded and japanese dead were trailing by.

on the conical hill, a quarter of a mile away, the russian dead were being buried in their trenches and in the shell holes made by the japanese. and here, in the thick of it all, a man was ploughing. green things were growing — young onions — and the man who was weeding them paused from his labour long enough to sell me a handful. near by was the smoke-blackened ruin of the farmhouse, fired by the russians when they retreated from the riverbed. two men were removing the debris, cleaning the confusion, preparatory to rebuilding. they were clad in blue. pigtails hung down their backs. i was in china!

i rode to the shore, into the village of kuelian–ching. there were no lounging men smoking long pipes and chattering. the previous day the russians had been there, a bloody battle had been fought, and to-day the japanese were there — but what was that to talk about? everybody was busy. men were offering eggs and chickens and fruit for sale upon the street, and bread, as i live, bread in small round loaves or buns. i rode on into the country. everywhere a toiling population was in evidence. the houses and walls were strong and substantial. stone and brick replaced the mud walls of the korean dwellings. twilight fell and deepened, and still the ploughs went up and down the fields, the sowers following after. trains of wheelbarrows, heavily loaded, squeaked by, and pekin carts, drawn by from four to six cows, horses, mules, ponies, or jackasses — cows even with their newborn calves tottering along on puny legs outside the traces. everybody worked. everything worked. i saw a man mending the road. i was in china.

i came to the city of antung, and lodged with a merchant. he was a grain merchant. corn he had, hundreds of bushels, stored in great bins of stout matting; peas and beans in sacks, and in the back yard his millstones went round and round, grinding out meal. also, in his back yard, were buildings containing vats sunk into the ground, and here the tanners were at work making leather. i bought a measure of corn from mine host for my horses, and he overcharged me thirty cents. i was in china. antung was jammed with japanese troops. it was the thick of war. but it did not matter. the work of antung went on just the same. the shops were wide open; the streets were lined with pedlars. one could buy anything; get anything made. i dined at a chinese restaurant, cleansed myself at a public bath in a private tub with a small boy to assist in the scrubbing. i bought condensed milk, bitter, canned vegetables, bread, and cake. i repeat it, cake — good cake. i bought knives, forks, and spoons, granite-ware dishes and mugs. there were horseshoes and horseshoers. a worker in iron realized for me new designs of mine for my tent poles. my shoes were sent out to be repaired. a barber shampooed my hair. a servant returned with corn-beef in tins, a bottle of port, another of cognac, and beer, blessed beer, to wash out from my throat the dust of an army. it was the land of canaan. i was in china.

the korean is the perfect type of inefficiency — of utter worthlessness. the chinese is the perfect type of industry. for sheer work no worker in the world can compare with him. work is the breath of his nostrils. it is his solution of existence. it is to him what wandering and fighting in far lands and spiritual adventure have been to other peoples. liberty to him epitomizes itself in access to the means of toil. to till the soil and labour interminably with rude implements and utensils is all he asks of life and of the powers that be. work is what he desires above all things, and he will work at anything for anybody.

during the taking of the taku forts he carried scaling ladders at the heads of the storming columns and planted them against the walls. he did this, not from a sense of patriotism, but for the invading foreign devils because they paid him a daily wage of fifty cents. he is not frightened by war. he accepts it as he does rain and sunshine, the changing of the seasons, and other natural phenomena. he prepares for it, endures it, and survives it, and when the tide of battle sweeps by, the thunder of the guns still reverberating in the distant canyons, he is seen calmly bending to his usual tasks. nay, war itself bears fruits whereof he may pick. before the dead are cold or the burial squads have arrived he is out on the field, stripping the mangled bodies, collecting the shrapnel, and ferreting in the shell holes for slivers and fragments of iron.

the chinese is no coward. he does not carry away his doors amid windows to the mountains, but remains to guard them when alien soldiers occupy his town. he does not hide away his chickens and his eggs, nor any other commodity he possesses. he proceeds at once to offer them for sale. nor is he to be bullied into lowering his price. what if the purchaser be a soldier and an alien made cocky by victory and confident by overwhelming force? he has two large pears saved over from last year which he will sell for five sen, or for the same price three small pears. what if one soldier persist in taking away with him three large pears? what if there be twenty other soldiers jostling about him? he turns over his sack of fruit to another chinese and races down the street after his pears and the soldier responsible for their flight, and he does not return till he has wrenched away one large pear from that soldier’s grasp.

nor is the chinese the type of permanence which he has been so often designated. he is not so ill-disposed toward new ideas and new methods as his history would seem to indicate. true, his forms, customs, and methods have been permanent these many centuries, but this has been due to the fact that his government was in the hands of the learned classes, and that these governing scholars found their salvation lay in suppressing all progressive ideas. the ideas behind the boxer troubles and the outbreaks over the introduction of railroad and other foreign devil machinations have emanated from the minds of the literati, and been spread by their pamphlets and propagandists.

originality and enterprise have been suppressed in the chinese for scores of generations. only has remained to him industry, and in this has he found the supreme expression of his being. on the other hand, his susceptibility to new ideas has been well demonstrated wherever he has escaped beyond the restrictions imposed upon him by his government. so far as the business man is concerned he has grasped far more clearly the western code of business, the western ethics of business, than has the japanese. he has learned, as a matter of course, to keep his word or his bond. as yet, the japanese business man has failed to understand this. when he has signed a time contract and when changing conditions cause him to lose by it, the japanese merchant cannot understand why he should live up to his contract. it is beyond his comprehension and repulsive to his common sense that he should live up to his contract and thereby lose money. he firmly believes that the changing conditions themselves absolve him. and in so far adaptable as he has shown himself to be in other respects, he fails to grasp a radically new idea where the chinese succeeds.

here we have the chinese, four hundred millions of him, occupying a vast land of immense natural resources — resources of a twentieth-century age, of a machine age; resources of coal and iron, which are the backbone of commercial civilization. he is an indefatigable worker. he is not dead to new ideas, new methods, new systems. under a capable management he can be made to do anything. truly would he of himself constitute the much-heralded yellow peril were it not for his present management. this management, his government, is set, crystallized. it is what binds him down to building as his fathers built. the governing class, entrenched by the precedent and power of centuries and by the stamp it has put upon his mind, will never free him. it would be the suicide of the governing class, and the governing class knows it.

comes now the japanese. on the streets of antung, of feng–wang-chang, or of any other manchurian city, the following is a familiar scene: one is hurrying home through the dark of the unlighted streets when he comes upon a paper lantern resting on the ground. on one side squats a chinese civilian on his hams, on the other side squats a japanese soldier. one dips his forefinger in the dust and writes strange, monstrous characters. the other nods understanding, sweeps the dust slate level with his hand, and with his forefinger inscribes similar characters. they are talking. they cannot speak to each other, but they can write. long ago one borrowed the other’s written language, and long before that, untold generations ago, they diverged from a common root, the ancient mongol stock.

there have been changes, differentiations brought about by diverse conditions and infusions of other blood; but down at the bottom of their being, twisted into the fibres of them, is a heritage in common — a sameness in kind which time has not obliterated. the infusion of other blood, malay, perhaps, has made the japanese a race of mastery and power, a fighting race through all its history, a race which has always despised commerce and exalted fighting.

to-day, equipped with the finest machines and systems of destruction the caucasian mind has devised, handling machines and systems with remarkable and deadly accuracy, this rejuvenescent japanese race has embarked on a course of conquest the goal of which no man knows. the head men of japan are dreaming ambitiously, and the people are dreaming blindly, a napoleonic dream. and to this dream the japanese clings and will cling with bull-dog tenacity. the soldier shouting “nippon, banzai!” on the walls of wiju, the widow at home in her paper house committing suicide so that her only son, her sole support, may go to the front, are both expressing the unanimity of the dream.

the late disturbance in the far east marked the clashing of the dreams, for the slav, too, is dreaming greatly. granting that the japanese can hurl back the slav and that the two great branches of the anglo–saxon race do not despoil him of his spoils, the japanese dream takes on substantiality. japan’s population is no larger because her people have continually pressed against the means of subsistence. but given poor, empty korea for a breeding colony and manchuria for a granary, and at once the japanese begins to increase by leaps and bounds.

even so, he would not of himself constitute a brown peril. he has not the time in which to grow and realize the dream. he is only forty-five millions, and so fast does the economic exploitation of the planet hurry on the planet’s partition amongst the western peoples that, before he could attain the stature requisite to menace, he would see the western giants in possession of the very stuff of his dream.

the menace to the western world lies, not in the little brown man, but in the four hundred millions of yellow men should the little brown man undertake their management. the chinese is not dead to new ideas; he is an efficient worker; makes a good soldier, and is wealthy in the essential materials of a machine age. under a capable management he will go far. the japanese is prepared and fit to undertake this management. not only has he proved himself an apt imitator of western material progress, a sturdy worker, and a capable organizer, but he is far more fit to manage the chinese than are we. the baffling enigma of the chinese character is no baffling enigma to him. he understands as we could never school ourselves nor hope to understand. their mental processes are largely the same. he thinks with the same thought-symbols as does the chinese, and he thinks in the same peculiar grooves. he goes on where we are balked by the obstacles of incomprehension. he takes the turning which we cannot perceive, twists around the obstacle, and, presto! is out of sight in the ramifications of the chinese mind where we cannot follow.

the chinese has been called the type of permanence, and well he has merited it, dozing as he has through the ages. and as truly was the japanese the type of permanence up to a generation ago, when he suddenly awoke and startled the world with a rejuvenescence the like of which the world had never seen before. the ideas of the west were the leaven which quickened the japanese; and the ideas of the west, transmitted by the japanese mind into ideas japanese, may well make the leaven powerful enough to quicken the chinese.

we have had africa for the afrikander, and at no distant day we shall hear “asia for the asiatic!” four hundred million indefatigable workers (deft, intelligent, and unafraid to die), aroused and rejuvenescent, managed and guided by forty-five million additional human beings who are splendid fighting animals, scientific and modern, constitute that menace to the western world which has been well named the “yellow peril.” the possibility of race adventure has not passed away. we are in the midst of our own. the slav is just girding himself up to begin. why may not the yellow and the brown start out on an adventure as tremendous as our own and more strikingly unique?

the ultimate success of such an adventure the western mind refuses to consider. it is not the nature of life to believe itself weak. there is such a thing as race egotism as well as creature egotism, and a very good thing it is. in the first place, the western world will not permit the rise of the yellow peril. it is firmly convinced that it will not permit the yellow and the brown to wax strong and menace its peace and comfort. it advances this idea with persistency, and delivers itself of long arguments showing how and why this menace will not be permitted to arise. to-day, far more voices are engaged in denying the yellow peril than in prophesying it. the western world is warned, if not armed, against the possibility of it.

in the second place, there is a weakness inherent in the brown man which will bring his adventure to naught. from the west he has borrowed all our material achievement and passed our ethical achievement by. our engines of production and destruction he has made his. what was once solely ours he now duplicates, rivalling our merchants in the commerce of the east, thrashing the russian on sea and land. a marvellous imitator truly, but imitating us only in things material. things spiritual cannot be imitated; they must be felt and lived, woven into the very fabric of life, and here the japanese fails.

it required no revolution of his nature to learn to calculate the range and fire a field gun or to march the goose-step. it was a mere matter of training. our material achievement is the product of our intellect. it is knowledge, and knowledge, like coin, is interchangeable. it is not wrapped up in the heredity of the new-born child, but is something to be acquired afterward. not so with our soul stuff, which is the product of an evolution which goes back to the raw beginnings of the race. our soul stuff is not a coin to be pocketed by the first chance comer. the japanese cannot pocket it any more than he can thrill to short saxon words or we can thrill to chinese hieroglyphics. the leopard cannot change its spots, nor can the japanese, nor can we. we are thumbed by the ages into what we are, and by no conscious inward effort can we in a day rethumb ourselves. nor can the japanese in a day, or a generation, rethumb himself in our image.

back of our own great race adventure, back of our robberies by sea and land, our lusts and violences and all the evil things we have done, there is a certain integrity, a sternness of conscience, a melancholy responsibility of life, a sympathy and comradeship and warm human feel, which is ours, indubitably ours, and which we cannot teach to the oriental as we would teach logarithms or the trajectory of projectiles. that we have groped for the way of right conduct and agonized over the soul betokens our spiritual endowment. though we have strayed often and far from righteousness, the voices of the seers have always been raised, and we have harked back to the bidding of conscience. the colossal fact of our history is that we have made the religion of jesus christ our religion. no matter how dark in error and deed, ours has been a history of spiritual struggle and endeavour. we are pre-eminently a religious race, which is another way of saying that we are a right-seeking race.

“what do you think of the japanese?” was asked an american woman after she had lived some time in japan. “it seems to me that they have no soul,” was her answer.

this must not be taken to mean that the japanese is without soul. but it serves to illustrate the enormous difference between their souls and this woman’s soul. there was no feel, no speech, no recognition. this western soul did not dream that the eastern soul existed, it was so different, so totally different.

religion, as a battle for the right in our sense of right, as a yearning and a strife for spiritual good and purity, is unknown to the japanese.

measured by what religion means to us, the japanese is a race without religion. yet it has a religion, and who shall say that it is not as great a religion as ours, nor as efficacious? as one japanese has written:

“our reflection brought into prominence not so much the moral as the national consciousness of the individual. . . . to us the country is more than land and soil from which to mine gold or reap grain — it is the sacred abode of the gods, the spirit of our forefathers; to us the emperor is more than the arch constable of a reichsstaat, or even the patron of a kulturstaat; he is the bodily representative of heaven on earth, blending in his person its power and its mercy.”

the religion of japan is practically a worship of the state itself. patriotism is the expression of this worship. the japanese mind does not split hairs as to whether the emperor is heaven incarnate or the state incarnate. so far as the japanese are concerned, the emperor lives, is himself deity. the emperor is the object to live for and to die for. the japanese is not an individualist. he has developed national consciousness instead of moral consciousness. he is not interested in his own moral welfare except in so far as it is the welfare of the state. the honour of the individual, per se, does not exist. only exists the honour of the state, which is his honour. he does not look upon himself as a free agent, working out his own personal salvation. spiritual agonizing is unknown to him. he has a “sense of calm trust in fate, a quiet submission to the inevitable, a stoic composure in sight of danger or calamity, a disdain of life and friendliness with death.” he relates himself to the state as, amongst bees, the worker is related to the hive; himself nothing, the state everything; his reasons for existence the exaltation and glorification of the state.

the most admired quality to-day of the japanese is his patriotism. the western world is in rhapsodies over it, unwittingly measuring the japanese patriotism by its own conceptions of patriotism. “for god, my country, and the czar!” cries the russian patriot; but in the japanese mind there is no differentiation between the three. the emperor is the emperor, and god and country as well. the patriotism of the japanese is blind and unswerving loyalty to what is practically an absolutism. the emperor can do no wrong, nor can the five ambitious great men who have his ear and control the destiny of japan.

no great race adventure can go far nor endure long which has no deeper foundation than material success, no higher prompting than conquest for conquest’s sake and mere race glorification. to go far and to endure, it must have behind it an ethical impulse, a sincerely conceived righteousness. but it must be taken into consideration that the above postulate is itself a product of western race-egotism, urged by our belief in our own righteousness and fostered by a faith in ourselves which may be as erroneous as are most fond race fancies. so be it. the world is whirling faster to-day than ever before. it has gained impetus. affairs rush to conclusion. the far east is the point of contact of the adventuring western people as well as of the asiatic. we shall not have to wait for our children’s time nor our children’s children. we shall ourselves see and largely determine the adventure of the yellow and the brown.

feng–wang-cheng, manchuria.

june 1904,