TAIPEI, Sept. 20 (Xinhua) -- As dusk falls, a small sign lights up at the entrance of a narrow front yard in Taipei's old town, where passersby usually pause to make out the ink-brushed calligraphy reading "Yin Lu," or "Hidden Cottage" in Chinese.
Xin Yi-yun's lecture on Chinese philosophy starts promptly at 7 p.m. every Thursday here. The small hall, which seats about 30 people, is usually full, with mostly older attendees and a few younger ones scattered among them.
Since 2011, this philosophy course has come a long way, covering various schools from Taoism to Confucianism and the lesser-known School of Naturalists. Its location has moved to this humble apartment from the grand Taipei Zhongshan Hall, a heritage site where a ceremony to accept Japan's surrender after World War II was held in 1945.
"A person's basic understanding and awareness of their own culture is incredibly important, especially in today's world, where East and West collide," said Xin, a disciple of renowned historian and philosopher Qian Mu, speaking about why he has been teaching Chinese classics for so many years outside campus.
Many of the attendees came to the class to resolve the fundamental question: "Who am I?"
"I'm not just here to take a philosophy class or acquire knowledge. I'm seeking an answer to a deeper life question," said Liang Zheng-yi who is in his early forties. He was once a student of Xin at the Taipei University of the Arts and now regularly attends the classes at Yin Lu.
"I began reflecting on this in college. As a musician, the techniques and materials I learned were from the West. So how can the things I create represent me? If we're talking about using Western methods with a Chinese foundation, then what is that 'Chinese foundation'?" he said.
At 33, Li Yi-peng found solace from internal conflicts through the class. Growing up with parents who had worked in the United States, he said he was influenced by the notion that "Chinese culture is outdated, and the West is better; you should listen to American pop music and watch American and European movies."
"I didn't want to be a person who felt disappointed in his own culture," he said. Learning from the wisdom of his ancestors helped him realize that "our cultural tradition is amazing. It addresses daily life issues practically, unites a nation's core spirit, and even answers the question of happiness."
Apart from Xin's philosophy course, calligrapher Chen Jun-guang also teaches at Yin Lu. Compared with Xin's course, the students in Chen's class range more widely in age, from a fifth-grader to a university student and a grandfather.
"Calligraphy class is like a door. Once you step through it, you encounter many other aspects of traditional culture," said Xie Yu-juan, an architect in Taipei. In 2019, she and her classmates embarked on a "calligraphy journey" to the mainland, where they learned the traditional techniques of how to make paper, ink-stones, ink, and brushes.
Chen, who lives in Pingtung in southern Taiwan, lamented that enthusiasm for learning calligraphy has greatly waned since his youth.
"In the past, the calligraphy club in a middle school would have more than 100 members; now, only a handful," he said. Nonetheless, he believes that being a uniquely Chinese art form, calligraphy is deeply embedded in the cultural genes, waiting for the right conditions to sprout.
The owner of Yin Lu, Lin Gu-fang, once chaired the Taipei Lecture Hall, located on the third floor of the Taipei Zhongshan Hall. Under his leadership, the busy cultural hub became a landmark for promoting traditional Chinese culture and fostering cultural exchanges across the Taiwan Strait.
Since Lin's departure in the autumn of 2020, Taipei Zhongshan Hall has remained an active cultural space, hosting performances and lectures on ballet, folk songs, and modern dance.
Compared to the spacious rooms of Taipei Zhongshan Hall, Yin Lu feels cramped. Its limited space and location, which lies in a quiet residential community, have made it difficult to attract new participants.
Both Liang and Li felt that people like themselves, who are captivated by traditional culture, are fewer in Taiwan. For many, the connection to tradition is either distant or vague, let alone the current authorities that are trying to keep distance from traditional Chinese culture because of their independence agenda.
"However, when critical life events like birth, aging, sickness, or death occur, people instinctively turn to tradition," Li said.
"History is vital to the Chinese people. For us, life is a long river; only by having a past can we live firmly in the present and pursue happiness in the future," said Xin. "If you forcibly sever ties with the past, you will become a drifting, lonely soul."
Stepping out of Yin Lu, one can still find similar people like Xin and Chen as well as attendees at their classes.
For example, Sun Rui-jin, the chief musician at the Taipei Confucius Temple for 37 years, has dedicated himself to training successive groups of middle school students to perform ancient music at the memorial services for Confucius. Tea master Tang Wen-jing has been committed to recreating the whole tea-making and drinking ritual following what was recorded in the book "The Classic of Tea" by Tang scholar Lu Yu in the eighth century.
"There are three meanings behind naming this space 'hidden cottage'," said Lin. "First, it refers to the traditional saying that the great hermit hides in the city. Second, it reflects the ancient wisdom that when the Way does not prevail in the world, one should retreat."
The third meaning comes from Lin's unique observation of the Taiwan society. He believes there is a "visible Taiwan" and a "hidden Taiwan." The visible side, which people see in the media, online, and in politics, is noisy and chaotic. In contrast, the hidden side is made up of those quietly holding on to their own cause.
"In the past, the visible and hidden sides of Taiwan coexisted in balance. Now, the hidden side is indeed gradually diminishing," Lin remarked. "Although Yin Lu is small, it represents a small glimmer of hope." ■
