China and the West

Letter from John Dewey to Dewey family
Nanking, Care Higher Normal College, April 5 '20
Dearest family,
On my way here—I arrived yesterday afternoon—I had the nearest approach to an adventure that I have had in China. It began with riding in a wheelbarrow from the station in Tai-an to a Chinese hotel in the village. It was after ten and the clouds were chasing the full moon, and the mountains shone thru the mists. A Chinese wheel barrow is built around a big wheel at the centre and its squeak, and its made to carry a ton and never wear out. There are two theories about the squeak which is more like a symphony minus the music than an ordinary creaking vehicle. One is that the coolies wish to save the expense of oil. The other is that the noise is a sign of good luck. Probably both theories are true, certainly the second is, if the first is. The hotel is less than a mile and the mud was soon so deep and the road so rough we had to get out and walk. But the proprities had been saved. The town magistrate had been telegraphed to of our arrival, and he had deputed the president of the middle school to await us. We might have slept in the clean German built station but we hadnt brought our roll of bed clothes with us. We hadnt expected to stop when we left Peking but Dr Tao, the Dean of this school, who was bringing me down, met Mr Lu an inspector of the ministry of education on the train who was coming to Tsinan—where we were Christmas time—and arranged the stop to go ou up Tai-sgan the sacred mt of Shantung. The hotel—there is no use putting quotation marks around as they it wouldnt mean anything to you—is built like all Chinese house level with the ground, and our rooms had dirt floors. It had been raining for several days; each room had one small window with paper panes, and the room was decorated with gilt and silvern paper bullion, which the pilgrims take up the mt and burn for sacrifice. Chinese beds are made by taking two saw horses and stretching boards across them. Fortunately mine had kooliang stalks, tall milmillet, a kind of cross between rushes, corn stalks and bamboo, and they put a fur rug over, so by turning over every five minutes I got some sleep. It must be said things were fairly clean. Mr Lu remarked that it was too early in the season for bedbugs, which would seem to disprove the theory of adaptation to environment as March is the season for pilgrims—or perhaps the pilgrims started the adaptation this time. What was a hotel in back was a food shop in front, and so our food was brought from one of the stands such as Ive seen hundreds of—mainly a kind of scrambled eggs, and noodle soups—palatable enough except that the garlic with which it is flavored while innocent enough at first soon takes root and becomes a great tree wherein the birds of the air may roost. Anyway two of the ambitions of my life had been safely realized, to ride in a wheel-barrow and go to a Chinese hotel. About eight next morning the middle school president (who touches his spectacles when he bows to you much as we would our hats) came around with the men & chairs for the ascent. Two coolies to each chair, and one spare man for a change. Leather straps so that each carries over his shoulders fastened to the long handles—one man ahead and one behind on good ground, sideways going up the steps, when they shaift the strap by a kind of hitch without slowing their pace from one shoulder to another; at the level between flights of steps they suddenyl whirl about sides so as to change strap from one shoulder to another. The chairs have no bottom except some loose roping over which a rug is thrown, so the seat is very comfortable. Until you have tried it you wouldnt believe oyou could be carried up steps with so little feeling of motion. Shut your eyes and you can hardly tell when you are going up or down one. And the coolies are more surefooted than mules—whic[h] they need to be, if you recal any pictures of the steps. In four years there have been two accidents, neither fatal and both on rainy days—which is no day to go up. It seems there was an artcile in the geog magazine some years ago on Taishan which gives particulars better than I can, but for the benefit of the statisticians Fred and Sabino. Ill say that the mountain is over 5000 feet high, straight up from the almost sea level plain, and there are 6600 stone steps—also the mountain is very steep, as geographically this country isnt very old. Toward the end it is almost all steps, and the view from below looking up to a red gate at the top of the gorge is a sight for a life time. In the lower reaches there are cedars along the path and above wonderful pines, some of them like the queer pines in Japan; monasteries at the top where we got our lunch, a Taoist monastery this was not Buddhist, so we had meat. We are were six hours going up, and three down, of course we walked more or less going up. We started in a fog and not much prospect of a view, but as the day wore along wethe wind came up and by the top we were at the top it was clear but with a soft mist effect over everything. To the east it was mts to the sea—which we couldnt see. Something like the Arizona mts in form, tho without the brilliant colorings, then in the other directions the spread out plains. Hundreds of tablets cut in the rocks all the way up, and at the top—generally "poems"—such as Hear the running water, or the waterfall; or The color of the sky and the sound of water; or Hear the whistling of the pines; Or we are coming to the better places, with a great many references to the sky or heaven. Its easy enough of course to see why mountains became sacred but the steepness must accentuate the feeling that you are going the mountain is going up to meet heaven. Nobody knows when the road and steps were built, the steps all dressed stone, altho there is a Chinese history in twelve volumes of the mountain. Coming down we left the road and wnt off to some Buddisht scriptures engraved on flat rocks over 1500 years ago, each character about a foot by a foot and a half. Unfortunately the water comes down there sometimes, and a good deal of the original has been carried off. Near the top is very big insciption of the one of Han Emperors, engraved on a cliff, two thousand years ago. It is impossible to convey any sense of the feeling the Chinese have for characters. Even a greenhorn can see the new ones fall far below the old, they are stiffer and more mechanical The educated Chinese go up to see these characters as we would go to a fine picture gallery. The rush hour of the pilgrim season is over, but we must have seen a thousand or two, mostly peasant people, and many many old women. The pilgrims acquire merit by walking—the poor women with their bound feet stumping up and down these thousand of steps—they sleep at the top, or along the way. Mr Tao counted the beggars—there were 186, not so many as earlier. They are much less professional than the Peking beggars; they cut out the whine about Great master, and confine themselves to Spare one, or Open up and distribute. Many are farmers who have made a few yards of terraced dirt among the rocks, and many lived in caves and straw houts along the road side. Most had hens too. They scrooch in the middle of the road, or leave their baskets there while they go off, and the coolies calmly carry the chair right over them. They had only cash in their baskets, one tenth of a copper, so the pilgrims can acquire merit without great expense. To add a few more statistics. The magistrate having engaged the chair bearers at our expense, they had been hired at the official price—one hundred coppers, about 75 cents for a chair, three men. We gae them money for their food and tips so they got at least a dollar apeice. But think of carrying a man up and down a mountain, six miles at least each way, for a dollar—or officially for 25 cents. They were are as imperturbably cheerful when we got back as when we started, and made their one leg courtesies most gracefully when they got their cumshaws.
On arriving at Nanking we cross the Yangste on a ferry. When we got off there were several score hackmen yelling and crowding with no attempt at order. Mr Tao engaged one, and then another one spied me, an old pirate who drove mama and me around when we here a year ago. We were his plunder and he seized the baggage and put us in his carriage, the other man cursing at top of the voice. We had to stop sooon to get my trunk which had come on a day before. The the man who had lost the job rushed up like a wildman and attacked our villain. He put his head down and rushed to butt him; our man dodged and he scraped his head on a brick wall, and soon as they clinched the gore thereform gave both of them a bluggy look. Finally therey were separated, after howling and cursing all the time, neither really the worse for wear, and we drove off leaving them to act it all over out before a policeman, who hasd a maternal and detached air as he listented to them. The other man on our carriage drove off not even having his seat or spoken to his companion all during the row or its sequel. Why worry?
Its astonishing what a difference your own feelings due to the temperature make in the look of a place. Last May it was as hot as hell here, and the town didnt look for thirty cents. Now it is cool and you can really see the lovely first green of the willows, and note that the town is full of them, and see may lovely things about the place. Its too warm for fires here, and too chilly to be warm, but still Im writing by an open window. Im satying almost next door to the Higher Normal compound with a Y M C A secy, a Mr Sweetman. They have two little kids, four and two, and are young and not very YMCAy. Its not their house but that of a missionary home on a forlough. He has been here 25 years and has a lovely compound, lots of trees, some big old ones, and across the street is the highest hill within the town walls which has been made thru foreign influence into a city park, planted with trees, mostly small yet, but a more attractive part of town thn where we were last year—or maybe its just the effect of temperature differences again. Today is Arbor day; everybody is supposed to plant a tree Mr Tao is quite disguseted because he says last year the coolies dug all the holes and all the students did was to stick a tree apiece in the ground when the coolie filled it up again.
Much love to everybody. While I was slumbering on my Chinese bed I dreamed there were three letters all addressed in Eliz writing. I woke up before I had a ch[a]nce to read them, but anyway Ill address this letter to her. The delayed Empress mail was just coming when I left Peking, so probably the three will be forwarded to me soon.
Love to verybody Dad.