intelligence. I have compared the Chinese type of humanity to a domesticated animal. Now what is that which makes a domesticated animal so different from a wild animal? It is something in the domesticated animal which we recognise as distinctively human. But what is distinctively human as distinguished from what is animal? It is intelligence. But the intelligence of a domesticated animal is not a thinking intelligence. It is not an intelligence which comes to him from reasoning. Neither does it come to him from instinct, such as the intelligence of the fox,—the vulpine intelligence which knows where eatable chickens are to be found. This intelligence which comes from instinct, of the fox, all,—even wild, animals have. But this, what may be called human intelligence of a domesticated animal is something quite different from the vulpine or animal intelligence. This intelligence of a domesticated animal is an intelligence which comes not from reasoning nor from instinct, but from sympathy, from a feeling of love and attachment. A thorough-bred Arab horse understands his English master not because he has studied English grammar nor because he has an instinct for the English language, but because he loves and is attached to his master. This is what I call human intelligence, as distinguished from mere vulpine or animal intelligence. It is the possession of this human quality which distinguishes domesticated from wild animals. In the same way, I say, it is the possession of this sympathetic and true human intelligence, which gives to the Chinese type of humanity, to the real Chinaman, his inexpressible gentleness.
