Part 16

Two of these tendencies I will mention as diagnostic, or characteristic and inseparable marks of ordinary alcoholic intoxication, but which no excess in the use of opium ever develops. One is the loss of self-command, in relation to all one's acts and purposes, which steals gradually (though with varying degrees of speed) over _all_ persons indiscriminately when indulging in wine or distilled liquors beyond a certain limit. The tongue and other organs become unmanageable: the intoxicated man speaks inarticulately; and, with regard to certain words, makes efforts ludicrously earnest yet oftentimes unavailing, to utter them. The eyes are bewildered, and see double; grasping too little, and too much. The hand aims awry. The legs stumble and lose their power of _concurrent_ action. To this result _all_ people tend, though by varying rates of acceleration. Secondly, as another characteristic, it may be noticed that, in alcoholic intoxication, the movement is always along a kind of arch; the drinker rises through continual ascents to a summit or _apex_, from which he descends through corresponding steps of declension. There is a crowning point in the movement upwards, which once attained cannot be renewed; and it is the blind, unconscious, but always unsuccessful effort of the obstinate drinker to restore this supreme altitude of enjoyment which tempts him into excesses that become dangerous. After reaching this _acme_ of genial pleasure, it is a mere necessity of the case to sink through corresponding stages of collapse. Some people have maintained, in my hearing, that they had been drunk upon green tea; and a medical student in London, for whose knowledge in his profession I have reason to feel great respect, assured me, the other day, that a patient, in recovering from an illness, had got drunk on a beef-steak. All turns, in fact, upon a rigorous definition of intoxication.

Having dwelt so much on this first and leading error in respect to opium, I shall notice briefly a second and a third; which are, that the elevation of spirits produced by opium is necessarily followed by a proportionate depression, and that the natural and even immediate consequence of opium is torpor and stagnation, animal as well as mental. The first of these errors I shall content myself with simply denying; assuring my reader, that for ten years, during which I took opium, not regularly, but intermittingly, the day succeeding to that on which I allowed myself this luxury was always a day of unusually good spirits.

With respect to the torpor supposed to follow, or rather (if we were to credit the numerous pictures of Turkish opium-eaters) to accompany, the practice of opium-eating, I deny that also. Certainly, opium is classed under the head of narcotics, and some such effect it may produce in the end; but the primary effects of opium are always, and in the highest degree, to excite and stimulate the system. This first stage of its action always lasted with me, during my novitiate, for upwards of eight hours; so that it must be the fault of the opium-eater himself, if he does not so time his exhibition of the dose, as that the whole weight of its narcotic influence may descend upon his sleep.

First, then, it is not so much affirmed, as taken for granted, by all who ever mention opium, formally or incidentally, that it does or can produce intoxication. Now, reader, assure yourself, _meo periculo_, that no quantity of opium ever did, or could, intoxicate. As to the tincture of opium (commonly called laudanum), _that_ might certainly intoxicate, if a man could bear to take enough of it; but why? Because it contains so much proof spirits of wine, and not because it contains so much opium. But crude opium, I affirm peremptorily, is incapable of producing any state of body at all resembling that which is produced by alcohol; and not in _degree_ only incapable, but even in _kind_; it is not in the quantity of its effects merely, but in the quality, that it differs altogether. The pleasure given by wine is always rapidly mounting, and tending to a crisis, after which as rapidly it declines; that from opium, when once generated, is stationary for eight or ten hours: the first, to borrow a technical distinction from medicine, is a case of acute, the second of chronic, pleasure; the one is a flickering flame, the other a steady and equable glow. But the main distinction lies in this--that, whereas wine disorders the mental faculties, opium, on the contrary (if taken in a proper manner), introduces amongst them the most exquisite order, legislation, and harmony. Wine robs a man of his self-possession; opium sustains and reinforces it. Wine unsettles the judgment, and gives a preternatural brightness and a vivid exaltation to the contempts and the admirations, to the loves and the hatreds, of the drinker; opium, on the contrary, communicates serenity and equipoise to all the faculties, active or passive; and, with respect to the temper and moral feelings in general, it gives simply that sort of vital warmth which is approved by the judgment, and which would probably always accompany a bodily constitution of primeval or antediluvian health. Thus, for instance, opium, like wine, gives an expansion to the heart and the benevolent affections; but, then, with this remarkable difference, that in the sudden development of kind-heartedness which accompanies inebriation, there is always more or less of a maudlin and a transitory character, which exposes it to the contempt of the bystander. Men shake hands, swear eternal friendship, and shed tears--no mortal knows why; and the animal nature is clearly uppermost. But the expansion of the benigner feelings incident to opium is no febrile access, no fugitive paroxysm; it is a healthy restoration to that state which the mind would naturally recover upon the removal of any deep-seated irritation from pain that had disturbed and quarrelled with the impulses of a heart originally just and good. True it is, that even wine, up to a certain point, and with certain men, rather tends to exalt and to steady the intellect; I myself, who have never been a great wine-drinker, used to find that half-a-dozen glasses of wine advantageously affected the faculties, brightened and intensified the consciousness, and gave to the mind a feeling of being "ponderibus librata suis," and certainly it is most absurdly said, in popular language, of any man, that he is _disguised_ in liquor; for, on the contrary, most men are disguised by sobriety, and exceedingly disguised; and it is when they are drinking that men display themselves in their true complexion of character; which surely is not disguising themselves. But still, wine constantly leads a man to the brink of absurdity and extravagance; and, beyond a certain point, it is sure to volatilise and to disperse the intellectual energies; whereas opium always seems to compose what had been agitated and to concentrate what had been distracted. In short, to sum up all in one word, a man who is inebriated, or tending to inebriation, is, and feels that he is, in a condition which calls up into supremacy the merely human, too often the brutal, part of his nature; but the opium-eater (I speak of him simply _as_ such, and assume that he is in a normal state of health) feels that the diviner part of his nature is paramount--that is, the moral affections are in a state of cloudless serenity; and high over all the great light of the majestic intellect.

This is the doctrine of the true church on the subject of opium, of which church I acknowledge myself to be the Pope (consequently infallible), and self-appointed _legate à latere_ to all degrees of latitude and longitude. But then it is to be recollected that I speak from the ground of a large and profound personal experience, whereas most of the unscientific authors who have at all treated of opium, and even of those who have written professionally on the _materia medica_, make it evident, by the horror they express of it, that their experimental knowledge of its action is none at all.

I have now dealt with fallacies 1, 2, 3, and 5. The fourth Mr. Turner gravely states in his book--and I am perfectly sure it is accepted as seriously by his fellowers, _that the supply of opium regulates the demand, and not the demand the supply_. He says at pp. 152, 153:--

Defenders of the [opium] policy vainly strive to shelter it behind the ordinary operation of the trade laws of demand and supply. The operation of these economic laws does not divest of responsibility those who set them in motion at either end; for though it would be absurd to speak of supply as alone creative of demand, _there is no question but that an abundant and constantly sustained supply increases demand whenever the article is not one of absolute necessity_. When silk came by caravans across Central Asia, and a single robe was worth its weight in gold in Europe, the shining fabric was reserved for emperors and nobles, and no demand could be said to exist for it among common people, whereas now the abundant supply creates a demand among all classes but the very poorest. The maid-servant who covets a silk dress may be literally said to have had the demand _created_ in her case, by the ample supply of the material which places it constantly before her eyes and renders it impossible for her to obtain it. Only a few years ago there was no demand for newspapers amongst multitudes who are now daily or weekly purchasers of them. In this case the supply of penny and halfpenny journals may be fairly said to have almost alone created the demand. Such illustrations might be indefinitely multiplied.

After that it may be said that the Birmingham jewellers and Manchester merchants have only to send out to China any amount they please of their wares, and they will find a ready market, the more the merrier. All their goods will be taken off their hands; they will only have to take care that the prices shall not be too exorbitant, for otherwise, as in the case of the maid-servant, though the Chinese working classes may have helped to _create_ the demand, they would be unable to avail themselves of the supply. If that doctrine were sound, a mercantile firm could create as extensive a trade as it desired, and that, too, in any part of the world. Instead of sending out fifty thousand pounds worth this year, as it did last, it would have only to export ten times the amount, and still the demand would continue. The fact is, as every man well knows who is not blinded by enthusiasm and looks at the subject by the light of cool reason and common sense, that the effect of sending to China or elsewhere an excessive quantity of merchandise, even though such merchandise were in request there, would have the effect of glutting the market. It is only where the demand exists, and the desire to possess the article, or where the people want a particular class of thing, that the goods can be readily and profitably disposed of. I am sure that if we sent double the quantity of opium that we do to China, or, indeed, three times the amount, it would be readily bought up by the natives, because there is a great demand there for Indian opium, owing to its superior strength and better flavour. And it must be remembered that China is a vast empire, and that the natives cannot get as much of the Indian drug as they want. I had an opportunity recently of speaking to a German gentleman established here in London, who has been many years in the opium trade generally, who has made opium quite a study, tasting and smelling it, as wine merchants do their wine, and he declares that Indian opium has a perfume and aroma that is not found in the Chinese or Persian drug, and that, in fact, the smell of the one is comparatively agreeable, while that of the others is offensive. This, I believe, is one of the reasons for the Chinese liking Indian opium. For my own part I must say, that much as I dislike the odour of tobacco, I have a greater aversion still to the effluvium of opium in any form or shape, and I think this is also the case with all Europeans. In fact, opium smoking is a practice peculiar to China.

Nothing proves this so completely as the correspondence between Sir Robert Hart and his various Sub-Commissioners of Customs, as set out in the Yellow-Book to which I have so often referred. These Commissioners say that the Indian drug is almost invariably used to mix with the Chinese article to flavour and make it, so to speak, the more palatable. The proposition which Mr. Storrs Turner lays down is simply preposterous, and cannot for a moment be sustained. I do not wish to utter an offensive word towards that gentleman personally, whose talents and energy are unquestionable, and whom I hold in great esteem. Upon any subject but opium he would be incapable of writing anything but sound sense, but having opium on the brain, he starts theories that are wholly unsustainable, which, I am sorry to say, his devoted followers accept as gospel. But to return to the theory that supply creates the demand. By way of illustration, Mr. Turner goes on to show that, previous to the removal of the duty on newspapers, there were very few in the country, but that the moment the duty was taken off, they multiplied, which he considers proof that in this case the supply created the demand. That is most fallacious. The demand for newspapers always existed, but, unfortunately, owing to the oppressive taxes upon knowledge to which the press in former times was subjected, the supply was limited. In those days even a weekly newspaper was a great undertaking. An enterprising man in a country town might start such a paper, but after a lingering existence it was almost sure to die, not for want of readers, but because it was so heavily taxed that readers could not afford to buy it, the price then being necessarily high. First there was a penny duty on each copy of the newspaper. Next there was a duty of so much the pound upon the raw material, which had to be paid before it left the mill; and then there was a further duty upon every advertisement; so that the unfortunate newspaper proprietor was met with exactions on every side. A copy, even though an old one, of the _Times_, or of any of the London morning papers, was in former days eagerly sought for. In his "Deserted Village," Goldsmith, describing the village ale-house, says:--

Where village statesmen talked with wit profound, And news much older than their ale went round.

And one can imagine an eager group in that ale-house trying to get a glimpse of a London newspaper over the shoulders of the privileged holder. But when these oppressive duties were removed, a different state of things prevailed. The cost of starting and manufacturing a newspaper was reduced to about one-fifth of what it was formerly. Every considerable town had its daily and its weekly newspaper, because the demand had always existed, whilst, owing to these prohibitive taxes, there was no supply. The craving for news had always been present, and the moment these prohibitive duties were struck off, the ambitious editor, or proprietor, saw his opportunity and started a paper, not because the supply would create a demand, but because he knew the demand already existed, and he printed just as many as he thought he would find readers for, and no more. Had he printed more than was required the excess would have lain on his hands as so much waste paper. But according to Mr. Turner's theory, the more newspapers he printed the more he would have sold! It will at once be recognised that this theory of supply and demand is simply absurd. If it could be shown to hold water for a moment, China, and other countries also, would be inundated with articles that never were seen there before. There would be no reason why China should not be largely supplied with ladies' bonnets and satin shoes, which, we know, might lie there for a thousand years and never be used. I have brought before you this notable theory of Mr. Storrs Turner's, to show you the utterly worthless kind of arguments with which the British public have been supplied, in order to support the silly, unfounded, and most mischievous agitation against the Indo-China opium trade.

The next fallacy is number six, namely: _that all, or nearly all, who smoke opium are either inordinate smokers or necessarily in the way of becoming so; and that once the custom has been commenced it cannot be dropped, and that the consumption daily increases_. That is not so at all. It is altogether exceptional to find an inordinate opium smoker; my reasons for saying so I have already given. I am supported in those views by every English resident in China, amongst them by Dr. Ayres, whose authority is simply unquestionable, and whose opinion on the point I have set out at page 7. I have known hundreds of men who were in the daily habit of smoking opium after business hours, and they never showed any decadence whatever. Opium smoking is never practised during business hours, except by very aged people or the criminal classes. This is an absolute fact. The Chinese are too wise and thrifty to while away their time in such luxurious practices during working hours. The opium pipe, as a rule, is indulged in more moderately than wine or cigars are with us, the Chinese being so extremely abstemious in their habits. I never saw any such instances of over-indulgence as Mr. Turner alleges, and I could get hundreds of European witnesses out in China and here in London who would depose to the same fact. Frequently have I compared the small shop-keeping and working people of China with the same classes here at home as regards sobriety, industry, and frugality, and always, I regret to say, in favour of the Chinese.

It is absolutely untrue, as put forward by the Anti-Opium Society and their secretary, Mr. Turner, that opium is so fascinating that, once a man begins to use it, he cannot leave it off; natives will smoke it, on and off, for two or three days, and not smoke it again for a week or more; but the truth is, the habit is a pleasant and beneficial one, and few who can afford it desire to discontinue smoking. The fact undoubtedly is, that if opium smoking were productive of the terrible results that the missionaries and the Anti-Opium Society allege, China would not be the densely-populated country that it now actually is. China could not have held its own as it has done so long and so successfully had all the people been addicted to such a vice as dram drinking. The true way to look at this aspect of the case is to suppose for a moment that, instead of being "opium sots," as Mr. Storrs Turner puts it, the Chinese, "everywhere in China, in all climates and all soils, in every variety of condition and circumstance throughout the vast Empire," to adopt that gentleman's own language, drank spirits freely. Should we then have the Chinese the hard-working, industrious, thrifty, frugal people that we find them? I trow not. Intemperance carries with it the destruction of its votaries, but no baneful consequences attend opium smoking. Some thirty years ago, as Sir Rutherford Alcock tells us, an American missionary declared that there were twenty millions of opium smokers in China--all, no doubt, induced to that immorality by the British Government and people--and that two millions were dying annually from the effects of the vice! This monstrous tale was implicitly believed in by Lords Shaftesbury and Chichester. Yet we now have a Chinese official, Sir Robert Hart, deliberately telling the Government of China, in his official Yellow Book, that there are but two millions of smokers in the whole Empire; that Indian opium supplies but a moderate quantity of the drug to but half of that number; and that neither the health, wealth, nor prosperity of the people suffers in consequence.

This is what Don Sinibaldo de Mas says upon the subject:--

The most extraordinary of the advocates of the opium trade is the Earl of Shaftesbury, President of the Committee organized in London for the suppression of the traffic. I have not the slightest doubt as to the _bona fides_ and excellent heart of the noble lord. There is something grand and generous in entering the lists for the welfare and protection of a distant and foreign nation, and manfully fighting for it against the interests of one's own country and one's native land. I sincerely admire men of such mettle and the country which can produce them, but I regret that Lord Shaftesbury did not act with greater caution, and that before entering upon this question he had not studied it more carefully; especially do I regret that he did not adopt a more moderate and dignified tone in the expression of his opinions. Had he done so, he would have saved himself from the reproach of having lent his name and sanction to a document disfigured by statistical errors, some of which are opposed to common sense, and also of having given gratuitous and undeserved insults to others who differed from his opinions.

He argues in his statement to the Queen's Government that opium smoking annually kills two millions of people in China. How is it possible that the noble Earl could for a moment imagine that every year so many human beings voluntarily commit suicide! Two millions of adults who destroy themselves to enjoy a pleasure! Does it not strike His Lordship how absurd is such an antithesis as pleasure and death? Can he believe that human nature in China is different to what it is in Europe? Is it logical to give publicity to such strange assertions without adducing the slightest proofs. If we inquire into the accusations brought forward against the merchants and growers of opium, we find the same discrepancy and the same injustice. It is a mistake to imagine that the English alone trade in opium, for all foreigners alike, especially the Americans, introduce and sell it.