The shrine was actually dedicated to the parents of Confucius; grand ceremonies were held every year to pay homage to the greatest sage in Chinese history, and to all teachers. Following the collapse of the roof, at once, preservation and reconstruction work became a hot topic among the local people.
Today at Panchiao in the suburbs of Taipei, reconstruction work on the old Lin Family Garden is proceeding smoothly. In early July, we decided to pay a visit to the ancient residence. Our car circled round and round the area, since the estate has been submerged in modern four-story apartment buildings—on two sides; we finally come across its transient main gate.
Constructed in 1893 during the reign of Emperor Teh Tsung of the Ching Dynasty, the 5,000-ping garden cost tycoon Lin Pen-yuan 500,000 "white silver" dollars to construct. Like a man newly shaved, the compound, once smothered in man-high wild bushes, is now neatly presented. Wood pillars, red brick, and dexterously carved column heads are all visible.
Masons were busy cementing the red bricks into walls. Opposite them stands a newly constructed pavilion, its four pillars wrapped up in protective green plastic. Inside, an aged man in his 70s and a middle-aged man were carving wood pillars. To the back, a bamboo workshop sheltered 20 restoration masters, each concentrated on his own work. Suddenly, from a corner, came a scream: "Oh God!" With a slip of the hand, one of the craftsmen had cut his hand. Blood oozed out so profusely that nearby timbers were dyed red. I offered him my handkerchief, but he turned it down tactfully. Instead, he picked up some shreds and tassels of wood and rubbed them on the wound. I could not bear the sight and left the workshop.
Off to the left is the site of the old Laiching Attic. A yellow tent was set up along the remains of this building. Underneath it, 76-year-old Chen Chuang-lin, superintendent of the whole project, was browsing through blueprints of the restorative architecture. He had a kind of rack affixed to his back to support the backbone, also injured in the work. "We are confident our skills are not inferior to those of the ancient masters," he said, but without conceit. The work and responsibility seem heavier than anyone could ever expect.
In this industrialized society, there are many who may jump to the conclusion that to expend such resources on preservation of ancient relics is a wasteful turning back of the clock—or at most, a romantic, nostalgic, sentimental gesture. For them, such actions lack positive significance in the process of modernization. However, we cannot deny that the crowded, monochrome buildings of the metropolis lack special graces.
In more idealistic, and more historic, cities such as Rome, Kyoto, Paris, and Boston, the old buildings have not disappeared, though the modern buildings have risen up. Architecture of different ages can co-exist in the same city. The tracks of the sites of differing architectural styles gauge the development of the city. From the nature of the "relics," we can trace changes in society and culture.
The "house of the sage" is decorated with light and shadow, as well as by the forms and colors of man
Through preservation of its ancient objects, the city will have its own characteristics—different from the so-called "international style." The old buildings tell of the climate, sunshine, the direction of wind, and even the source of construction materials.
In addition, the individual's recollection of his own environment is really of vital importance. A mottled wall, a special building, a huge tree, a well, or even a special corner of a remembered house nurtures an individual sense of security—an affection formed of knowledge and concern. A more harmonious relationship between individual and ambience is thus established.
Even from the economic point of view, a city needs old buildings—not necessarily "national landmarks," just common old structures. The old buildings of Taipei's Tihua Street, for instance, are suitable to accommodate professions that have a close relationship with everyday life, increasing their rapport with the living environment. The first floors of the major new buildings are, more often than not, taken by such facilities as banks, insurance companies, consortiums, luxuriant restaurants, fashionable stores, or are simply empty lobbies with elevators. The activities of their first floors have little to do with living; indeed, most of them shut down after office hours, and on holidays. On the other hand, bookstores, snack bars, grocery stores, galleries, musical instrument shops, druggists—all have close relationships with everyday life, and can only survive in economic older buildings. As the number of old structures is reduced, street peddlers show up to take the places of the little shops.
The well known local architect, Professor Han Pao-teh, points out that ancient relics have their own "life." "In safekeeping an ancient relic, we must pay attention to its spiritual side—the space and structure. In my view, the location of the ancient relic is very important because it is a historic landmark; its site should not be changed unless the change is obligatory. For instance, in Boston, the old buildings of Revolutionary War age still elbow the high-rises. They may be shabby, but they manifest an unyielding spirit, a strong sense of mission. For security reasons, some of the construction materials have been renewed."
Among the ancient buildings that have been restored in Taiwan, the Confucian Temple in Changhua County, central Taiwan, is the earliest and most successful example. Constructed in 1726 during the reign of Emperor Yungcheng of the Ching Dynasty, the temple was reconstructed on a grand scale in 1978 at a total cost of NT$21 million (US$525,000). It is the brainchild of Professor Han.
Standing at the foot of Mt. Pakua, Changhua City's Confucian temple is very close to downtown. In the 1960s, when the 257-year-old temple had become dilapidated "beyond repair," some advocated tearing it down and moving it to the suburbs. In its place the government projected a shopping center.
The proposal met with strong protests from concerned architecture and art circles. Leading local artists Shih Tsui-feng and Hsi Teh-ching especially demanded that the government reconsider its plans. In 1975, the tide finally reversed, and it was agreed to restore the temple on its original site.
After accepting the project, Professor Han's special task force first conducted a detailed investigation, recording details of the structure and the system of the building to serve as the basis of the renovation work. Workers climbed up and down the frames of the building to obtain needed information.
Then came the work of passing judgment on existent structural details for the rebuilding blueprints. This work was even more difficult, because some hidden structures couldn't be identified, and joined, sectional wood pieces were unified by oil paints. To solve the problem, Professor Han first invited veteran, engineers with up-to-date training in modern construction to do detailed research. Then, an experienced master in temple construction was invited to conduct research from a traditional vantage. The contrast in the reports allowed for a better understanding of the intricacies of the building.
The third step was to identify the steps and methods for the overhaul work—what should be kept and how? Which should be replaced and how? The most difficult job was to keep the restored temple as close to the original as possible.
Besides technical research, the task force also conducted research work into historical documents to better ascertain the true scope of the work and to judge the time of its construction. To regain the true shape of old buildings, it is important to know when they were constructed and previously overhauled.
After the research work was completed, Professor Han laid down five principles for the restoration work. First, the original architecture would be restored, including the colors used. Second, original materials and restored original structural elements would be utilized as much as possible. Third, modern composite techniques would be adapted to reinforce the original structure, and modern construction materials be utilized to make it more durable. Fourth, the original appearance of those sub-structures torn down for reconstruction would be restored. Fifth, the original shapes of the structures would be kept, without addition or embellishment.
Additional principles were adopted after reconsideration. Standing in areas subject to typhoons and earthquakes, traditional architecture of brick and wood must undergo preventive maintenance every 15 years. The Confucian Temple in Tainan is a good example. Its maintenance has imposed a grave burden on local governments though, as times changed, the Confucian Temple has become a treasure, a symbol of tradition, instead of the cultural and educational center as it was during the Ching Dynasty.
The Changhua Temple's grace is revealed from every vantage, in part and in whole
Professor Han decided to adopt new methods in reconstructing easily damaged areas. For instance, the traditional method of inserting wood gables in the brick walls may easily result in decay. There is no reason to repeat this error, since the stability of hidden structures can be improved through modern technology. For instance, also, the great volume of clay within the traditional frame may become a dangerous burden in earthquakes. It is better to reinforce with trusses.
Professor Han imposed strict terms on those who entered bids. The manufactories had to have top woodworkers with long experience in crafting precision structural parts.
When the work started, the Professor discovered that the most difficult part was to preserve the sculptures along the roof ridges. With their hundreds of years of history, the tile figures could not be moved. Once touched, they crumbled down into powder. He took pictures to serve as reference materials.
In the process of overhauling the wood structure, he discovered that the main timbers were rotten beyond repair, and the tenons and mortises now far from stable. It was then decided that the wood frame must be totally torn down and reconstructed. In addition, all wood materials had to be subjected to modern chemical treatment, since wood is vulnerable to insects and decay, and particularly since such huge wood elements as pillars and plinths are exposed to the elements. To extend the lifespan of usable timbers, the Industrial Institute in Hsinchu was invited to apply the anticorrosive treatment. The damages to the stone pillars on the four sides of the temple were not so serious. The massive door panes had suffered the gravest damage.
Deciding the exact colors of the faded oil paints and of the decorative paintings on the door panes became another grave problem. Chinese architecture emphasizes the importance of colors to create a splendor, as well as their utility in protecting the wood. It is natural to discover wood structures with hundreds of years of history, coated with oil paints only dozens of years old. Painters of professional artistic stature were invited to recreate the temple paintings. The original oil paints on the back of the main hall were reserved, left in place so future visitors may make a comparison.
Professor Han made some changes in techniques to accommodate modern methods. First, he did no think it absolutely necessary to construct the wood framework without the use of nails. He claimed that failure to use some nails would downgrade precision, and that the careful use of nails did not mean that the end product would be coarse and rough. Since old methods may invite problems for the security of the architecture, Professor Han decided that the fitting of tenons into mortises should be abandoned. Still, the form of the original structure remains.
Second, mechanical operations were adopted, for stonework in particular. Since Taiwan has no stonemasons trained in granite, it's impossible to recreate elaborate granite carvings. Professor Han fell into a pensive mood, pointing out gravely that the masterworkers with stone and tile have died out on the island. The problem with tile "sculpture" is especially serious. Most of the "embroidery" along the roofs is molded mortar covered with broken pieces of porcelain. Today, the porcelain is gradually being replaced by glass and plastics. He stressed the importance of recovering some of the dying folk arts to the restoration of ancient architecture.
We decided to pay the Confucian Temple in Changhua a visit. Strolling along Kungmen Road in Changhua city, we suddenly spotted its grandiose architecture, soaring up from the secular world like a phoenix consumed in fire. It was risen in youthful freshness from its own ashes. Red colors dominate the whole complex—pillars, brick walls, beams, roofs, drums, floors—and, also, all the instrumentalities for the grand ceremony in commemoration of Confucius Day, September 28 every year. Setting off the reds are blues and greens, applied especially on door panes.
It was the eve of the national competitive entrance examinations for colleges and senior high schools. Some teenagers could be seen studying inside the temple, sitting on balustrades, or on a green inner courtyard lawn, leaning against red walls. A teacher led her kindergarten tots, sheltered under the flying eaves of the temple, in a drawing class. There were so many distractions that the tots could not concentrate. Near a pa-kua gate, a busy child caught my attention. I walked over and discovered that he was trying to teach a bird with a broken wing to fly up. The quiet and gentle ambience provides a nice resort for study, away from the bustling world, shut out by a thin wall.
I sauntered around to the extreme end of the temple, where old bricks, window frames, and some dilapidated beams were piled along the foot of a wall. The dust-covered debris was evidence of the death and rebirth of the phoenix.
Compared to the old temple, it is evident that the wood framework is now much more solid, but the appearance has not otherwise changed. With light materials and modern water-proofing techniques, the roof will last much longer. The wood carving techniques and oil paintings are as good as they ever were. The only blemishes are in the crude tile and stone work.
It has been said that to gaze on an ancient relic is to gaze on a flower. What you see today may disappear tomorrow. But there is a difference. The flowers will bloom again the following year, but once the ancient relic is ruined, there is great pain in recovering it. Therefore, it is of the utmost importance to protect such cultural assets. Endorsed in May last year, a new national law divides ancient relics into three grades according to historic and cultural value, and places each under a supervising institution.
Now that preserving the past has become a trend in world culture—an index of a country's living quality and development—we are happy to see the health and vigor of the concerned institutions in this country. In addition to the Confucian Temple in Changhua, the Confucian Temple in Pingtung on the southern tip of the island, the Taotung Lyceum in Homei, and the Wenkai Lyceum in Lukang will also gain new life. Meanwhile the country must adapt modern scientific technology, and cultivate more traditional artists, for this growing field.