The Soul of the Far East | Page 6

them. Connected with it only as
separable parts of its structure, the cuttings might have been lopped off
again without influencing perceptibly the condition of the foster-parent
stem. The grafts in time grew to be great branches, but the trunk
remained through it all the trunk of a sapling. In other words, the nation
grew up to man's estate, keeping the mind of its childhood.
What is thus true of the Japanese is true likewise of the Koreans and of
the Chinese. The three peoples, indeed, form so many links in one long
chain of borrowing. China took from India, then Korea copied China,
and lastly Japan imitated Korea. In this simple manner they
successively became possessed of a civilization which originally was
not the property of any one of them. In the eagerness they all evinced in

purloining what was not theirs, and in the perfect content with which
they then proceeded to enjoy what they had taken, they remind us
forcibly of that happy-go-lucky class in the community which prefers
to live on questionable loans rather than work itself for a living. Like
those same individuals, whatever interest the Far Eastern people may
succeed in raising now, Nature will in the end make them pay dearly
for their lack of principal.
The Far Eastern civilization resembles, in fact, more a mechanical
mixture of social elements than a well differentiated chemical
compound. For in spite of the great variety of ingredients thrown into
its caldron of destiny, as no affinity existed between them, no
combination resulted. The power to fuse was wanting. Capability to
evolve anything is not one of the marked characteristics of the Far East.
Indeed, the tendency to spontaneous variation, Nature's mode of
making experiments, would seem there to have been an enterprising
faculty that was exhausted early. Sleepy, no doubt, from having got up
betimes with the dawn, these dwellers in the far lands of the morning
began to look upon their day as already well spent before they had
reached its noon. They grew old young, and have remained much the
same age ever since. What they were centuries ago, that at bottom they
are to-day. Take away the European influence of the last twenty years,
and each man might almost be his own great-grandfather. In race
characteristics he is yet essentially the same. The traits that
distinguished these peoples in the past have been gradually
extinguishing them ever since. Of these traits, stagnating influences
upon their career, perhaps the most important is the great quality of
impersonality.
If we take, through the earth's temperate zone, a belt of country whose
northern and southern edges are determined by certain limiting
isotherms, not more than half the width of the zone apart, we shall find
that we have included in a relatively small extent of surface almost all
the nations of note in the world, past or present. Now if we examine
this belt, and compare the different parts of it with one another, we
shall be struck by a remarkable fact. The peoples inhabiting it grow
steadily more personal as we go west. So unmistakable is this gradation
of spirit, that one is tempted to ascribe it to cosmic rather than to
human causes. It is as marked as the change in color of the human

complexion observable along any meridian, which ranges from black at
the equator to blonde toward the pole. In like manner, the sense of self
grows more intense as we follow in the wake of the setting sun, and
fades steadily as we advance into the dawn. America, Europe, the
Levant, India, Japan, each is less personal than the one before. We
stand at the nearer end of the scale, the Far Orientals at the other. If
with us the I seems to be of the very essence of the soul, then the soul
of the Far East may be said to be Impersonality.
Curious as this characteristic is as a fact, it is even more interesting as a
factor. For what it betokens of these peoples in particular may suggest
much about man generally. It may mark a stride in theory, if a standstill
in practice. Possibly it may help us to some understanding of ourselves.
Not that it promises much aid to vexed metaphysical questions, but as a
study in sociology it may not prove so vain.
And for a thing which is always with us, its discussion may be said to
be peculiarly opportune just now. For it lies at the bottom of the most
pressing questions of the day. Of the two great problems that stare the
Western world in the face at the present moment, both turn to it for
solution. Agnosticism, the foreboding silence of those who think,
socialism, communism, and nihilism, the petulant cry