It’s Saturday afternoon in a large, air-conditioned classroom at a private research institute in western Taipei. Twenty-five children, their ages varying from five to twelve, are putting in some extracurricular time.
This highly unusual class first reviews ten brief, self-contained passages from the Analects of Confucius, repeating aloud line by line. The teacher then groups the students and asks each group in turn to come on to the platform and recite all ten passages. He grades and comments on the performances. After that, they start on another ten passages. The teacher takes a microphone and walks the aisles, directing the recitation.
Later, they switch to an essay from the Chuang Tzu, repeating the review-read process for another half hour. By the end of the second session, students are becoming a little restless. Some get up and go for water, others slump on the desktop, and a couple of the very youngest even climb onto Mom’s lap. The teacher wisely switches to something lighter. The class raps selections from the Three Hundred Poems of the Tang Dynasty in unison. The teacher snaps his fingers to keep time, while the kids beat their pens against the desk, tap their feet, or swing their legs. The atmosphere lightens up considerably after this fun session. The kids go home looking refreshed and happy. Another demonstration class at Hua Shan Forum has come to an end.
So what is going on here? Each semester for the past two years, the forum has offered Saturday afternoon demonstration classes in reading ching (經): Chinese classics originally composed in an ancient literary style. For generations these texts were the backbone of Chinese education. It has been a long time, however, since they received more than scant attention in school curricula, which makes this study session something of a curiosity. Hence “demonstration” class, because interested parents and educators are welcome to observe the weekly classes, and many have done so.
For hundreds of years “The Classics” were almost synonymous with education: ancient texts that had withstood the test of time. The very word for Classics, ching, could also mean the warp of a fabric, with connotations of essential strength and immutable structure that cannot have been lost on those who studied them and thought about the society in which they lived. Either in educational institutions or with private tutors, youngsters in China studied—more accurately, memorized—the Four Books and the Five Classics, along with the standard commentaries on these works. This common schooling experience lasted until the fall of the Ching dynasty in 1911.
By the time the traditional examination system was suspended in 1905, a new intelligentsia was emerging in China. Educational reform enabled thousands of government-sponsored young people to study science, engineering, medicine, law, economics, and education in Japan, Europe, and the United States. Many factors prompted these foreign-educated people to question Chinese ways of thought and take a keen interest in Western ideas. Chief among them were the frequent defeats China had suffered at the hands of foreign powers, the weakness and incompetence of the Ching court, and the success of the Meiji Reformation in Japan.
This new generation of intellectuals scrutinized all aspects of Chinese culture and traditional ethics. They brought back from abroad the democratic concepts of individual liberty and equality, and a scientific approach to problem-solving. Before long, some of them were seeking fundamental cultural reform. In 1912 China’s minister of education, Tsai Yuan-pei (蔡元培), who himself had spent many years studying in Germany, made the bold decision to remove the Chinese classics course from the formal curriculum. Shortly afterwards, Hu Shih (胡適), then a professor of philosophy at National Peking University, successfully proposed that henceforth literature should be written in vernacular language rather than in the classical style—a marked success for the pai hua wen (白話文) movement, which wanted to see the vernacular prevail in written as well as oral communication.
After Hu Shih had pronounced literary Chinese dead, students were no longer encouraged to learn ching. Nowadays, although selected classical works are taught from primary through high school, Taiwan students receive minimal exposure to the Classics. The only exceptions are college students majoring in Chinese history or Chinese language and literature.
But it would be wrong to assume that the vernacular movement has won universal support. Literary Chinese has never lacked adherents, particularly in the field of cultural studies. For example, Wang Tsai-kuei (王財貴), a doctoral candidate at Taiwan Normal University’s Chinese department, is outspoken in his criticism of the vernacular movement. “If we look at the bigger picture, the movement’s central idea was always to learn from the West, especially its democratic systems and scientific achievements,” Wang says. “I have no problem with that. The movement’s fault lay in its denial of the value of Chinese civilization. Chinese culture has its shortcomings, but if you exclude the Classics, which are the essence of that culture, you throw the baby out with the bath water.”
Wang believes that study of the Classics must be restored to its proper place at the center of Chinese education. “By cutting Chinese students off from the long lasting tradition of reading the Classics, the [vernacular] movement has succeeded in disconnecting us from our cultural heritage,” he says. “Modern Chinese have no way of understanding the wisdom of their ancestors, let alone drawing on it.”
Wang is particularly scathing in his denunciation of the vernacular movement’s attitude toward the Classics. “To say that they are anachronistic and we should discard them is totally misleading,” he says. “The Classics do not teach one to live life in the old way, because they’re not about technical things or practical knowledge. You don’t read them to learn about some ancient system and then try to apply it to modern society—the value lies in learning the spirit of the system. Ching are about life on the metaphysical level. And they certainly won’t hinder the modernization of China.”
This islandwide ching memorizing contest, sponsored by a Taoist temple in Taipei, attracted more than eighty contestants and thousands of spectators.
Around ten years ago, with the support and encouragement of his wife, Wang hired a tutor to teach their four children to read ching. He introduced each of them to the Classics as they entered the third grade. After the two eldest had been studying for two years they were surpassing their classmates in academic performance—not just in Chinese class, but across the board. The third child has been reading ching for five years now, and even the youngest, who began when she was in the first grade, has more than two years of ching reading to her credit. Like their older siblings, both excel at school. But beside pointing to improved academic performance, their proud father claims that his children seem to be more emotionally stable and mentally mature than their peers. And his wife agrees, cheerfully undertaking the role of substitute teacher at the Saturday afternoon demonstration class.
Wang believes the Chinese Classics provide valuable therapy. “My children are not prodigies,” he says. “And as parents we don’t have a radical educational approach. All I know is that while other kids are learning how to use the abacus and polishing their mathematical skills at some private cram school, mine are reading Chinese Classics. So I believe it’s the Classics that have helped them develop their reasoning powers and attain mental maturity faster. “
This sentiment may well strike a nostalgic chord in the minds of Western readers. Today’s parents in both hemispheres are keen for their children to improve both their powers of memory and their way with words, but how many of those parents can look back with fondness on hot summer days spent memorizing yards of English verse? Yet plenty of Western educators would argue that such memorization, especially when coupled with subsequent recitation, conferred precisely the benefits Wang refers to.
Some fathers might have opted to keep the secret of their children’s fast-track abilities to themselves. Not Wang. “I’m more than glad to share the experience in order to provide other Chinese parents with an educational option that’s available but not often chosen,” he says. About five years ago, at about the same time as he started his own children on the Classics, friends started to send their offspring over to participate in Wang’s ching-reading sessions, and soon a little class had formed. News of their experiment spread quickly. Before long, foundations, teachers’ professional development camps, cultural centers, and kindergartens and primary schools were inviting Wang to give speeches on child rearing, education, and, specifically, ching-reading. He grabbed every opportunity he could to promote his ideas.
Wang Tsai-kuei—“Modern Chinese have no way of understanding the wisdom of their ancestors, let alone drawing on it.”
In 1992 the Chinese Culture Foundation, a non-profit organization primarily engaged in the compilation of research materials, provided a grant that enabled Wang to open a children’s ching-reading class for twenty students. This is still going strong, although under the supervision of another teacher. Even more significantly, in 1993 the Academic Research Foundation of Asian Culture, a private organization that focuses on Confucian studies, sponsored seven teachers’ training sessions specifically devoted to ching reading.
Wang had every reason to feel pleased. His original inspiration had given rise to a small-scale but eminently useful and rewarding activity. Then something happened that was to change the course of events quite dramatically: Lin Chi-ming (林琦敏) came on the scene.
Lin is the founder of Hua Shan Forum, a private educational institute within the Society for the Study of Religious Philosophy. This society was set up by Tien-ti Chiao, the Lord of the Universe Church, a religion that draws upon some of China’s oldest spiritual traditions while venerating a God of Heaven. When Lin learned about Wang’s crusade in 1993, he invited him to initiate a program of children’s ching-reading classes within the forum. Wang took a look at what the organization stood for and liked what he saw.
Hua Shan Forum was founded in the summer of 1991, offering classes on Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism. During the past four years it has run courses on, among other things, the Analects, the Book of History, Tao Te Ching, Chuang Tzu, and the Diamond Sutra. “This is a non-profit organization and the service is totally free,” says Wu Yu-kuei (吳玉桂), the forum’s curriculum manager. “But we place great stress on quality of service and always try to hire the best scholars to supervise courses in their specialty. Our purpose is to provide an opportunity for those who wish to pursue spiritual purity and self-improvement.”
Pupils at Hua Shan Forum recite ching to a rapt audience. Many educators have observed the Saturday demonstration classes.
The forum is fortunate in having a wealthy—and generous—benefactor in Lin Chi-ming, who is board chairman of National Chain-Store Co., Taiwan’s largest electric and electronic appliances retail chain. For each of the past four years he has contributed approximately NT$4.5 million [US$170,000] to the forum’s operating expenses.
Why should a successful businessman like Lin show such enthusiasm for promoting ching-reading? The answer is simple. He realizes the positive impact it has on a person’s character. “When I think of my childhood,” he says, “I remember the respect people in my village paid to men of letters. My father was teaching at a community classroom and people often came knocking on our door to consult with him and ask for advice. They always followed his suggestions and decisions in public affairs, because they trusted the judgment of a person who had studied the Classics.”
For Lin, studying the Classics from an early age seemed quite natural. He and his siblings were required to read the Analects, the Three-Character Classic and the Thousand-School Poems in childhood, and his own son reads them now. “Some question the value of having children look at these old books. They argue that the kids won’t be able to understand them and they’re skeptical about asking youngsters to memorize so much,” Lin acknowledges. “But I’m convinced that we should allow the kids to take full advantage of their excellent memories while they’re peaking. When the time is ripe they’ll recall this old wisdom, chew on it, and come to make sense out of it.”
Lin Chi-ming—“When the time is ripe they’ll recall this old wisdom, chew on it, and come to make sense out of it.”
The experimental chiIdren’s class has quickly become a big hit in the Hua Shan Forum, with about twenty-five students enrolling each semester. Since the second semester there have been more applicants than places. The class has constantly received positive responses from everyone involved: kids, parents, and even those who just come along to look. “I’ve heard from the staff that many parents comment on how ching-reading has helped their children. Lots of our former students have sent us thank-you notes and cards to express their gratitude,” Lin says.
Encouraged by the success of the class, Lin and Wang decided on a more daring step. Their Ching-Reading Promotion Center opened in January 1994. Its purpose? Nothing less than the propagation of a ching-reading movement through out the island. Lin shoulders the financial burden, and Wang is in overall charge of the operation.
The Center offers regular classroom teachers’ training courses, free of charge. So far, dozens of such courses have been completed. A pamphlet that explains the main concepts and skills of ching-reading and tutoring has just gone into its sixth edition. Fifty thousand copies have been printed to date.
The Center also publishes a quarterly newsletter which is given away free to teachers and parents on the mailing list, as well as to just about anyone who is sufficiently interested to ask for a copy. The Center currently sends out around twenty thousand copies of each issue. In this way, Center staff have been able to set up an islandwide network for exchanging information, compiling statistics, evaluating progress, and locating bases for promotional activities.
Future prospects are good. In its first year of operation the Center introduced one hundred kids to ching-reading. By August this year, four hundred classes had opened and altogether some eight thousand students had enrolled. The Center estimates that it will reach its goal of ten thousand enrollments by the end of the year. It’s third-year goal is especially ambitious: to expose no fewer than one hundred thousand youngsters to the Classics.
Because Lin was anxious to boost widespread acceptance of ching-reading he decided to involve his company, allowing the center to take advantage of its financial resources. At the beginning he was careful not to draw the spotlight onto himself or his business because he wanted to avoid any suggestion that his motives might not be entirely disinterested. “Now,” he says, “my company, with a one-hundred-fifty store network and strong media connections, should be able to contribute to the promotion of the ching-reading movement. On the other hand, I frankly admit that being known as a major sponsor of the movement is good for my company’s image.” Indeed, his company is looking at the possibility of incorporating the ching-reading message in its product advertisements. There are also plans to use the company’s name to attract sponsors for a promotional march next spring.
Thanks to the efforts of Lin and Wang, a small but growing number of people have already been introduced to these marginalized Classics, and ching-reading might well be making a comeback. Even if momentum is slow to gather, there can be no retreat: children, parents, and supporters will continue to spread the word. Take Chen Yueh-ying (陳月英), for example. A mother who has accompanied her sons to the demonstration class for two years, she often testifies to its practical value. She also believes that ching-reading is eventually going to have some positive impact on children’s characters as a prelude to a general upgrading of society’s cultural level. Chen says, “Let me give you parents out there one incentive: memorizing the Classics will increase your kids’ competitive edge. It helps them recognize Chinese characters, it improves their comprehension, and it enhances their writing skills. Why not take this unique opportunity of reading Chinese Classics, a distinctive part of our own culture? It could be our best hope when competing with Westerners.”
Outmoded and obsolete, or a vital warp-thread in the fabric of society? Everyone has a view. But it is reassuring to know that a priceless part of the Chinese cultural heritage has not been irretrievably lost.