Religion--Buddhism--Bonzes--Their power--Shamanism--Spirits--Spirits
of the mountain--Stone heaps--Sacred trees--Seized by the
spirits--Safe-guard against them--The wind--Sorcerers and
sorceresses--Exorcisms--Monasteries--Temples--Buddha--Monks--Their
customs and clothing--Nuns--Their garments--Religious ceremonies--The
tooth-stone.
The question of religion is always a difficult one to settle, for--no
matter where one goes--there are people who are religious and people who
are not.
The generality of people in Corea are not religious, though in former
days, especially in the Korai-an era, between the tenth and fourteenth
centuries, they seem to have been ardent Buddhists. Indeed, Buddhism as a
religion seems to have got a strong hold in Cho-sen during the many
Chinese invasions; it only passed over Cho-sen, however, like a huge
cloud, to vanish again, though leaving here and there traces of the power
it once exercised.
The bonzes (priests) had at one time so much authority all over the
country as to actually rule the King himself; and, as the reverend
gentlemen were ready with the sword as well as with their bead
prayer-rosaries, they became an unparalleled nuisance and dangerous to
the constitution. After having, by their great power and capacity for
agitation, roused the country to revolution and internal disputes, it
was found necessary to put them down, and from that time forward, they
became mere nonentities. The chief instrument which brought this about
was a law, still in existence, by which no religion is, under any
circumstances, tolerated or allowed within the walls of Corean cities,
and all bonzes are forbidden to enter the gates of any city under pain of
losing their heads.
The influence which the priests had gained over the Court having been
thus suddenly destroyed, and the offenders against the law in question
having been most severely dealt with, Buddhism, so far as Corea was
concerned, received its death blow. This was so: first, because, although
it had prevailed without restraint for nearly five centuries, many of the
primitive old superstitions were still deeply rooted in the minds of the
Coreans, and because, with the fall of the priests, these sprang up again
bolder than ever; then, too, because the law above-mentioned was so
strictly enforced that many temples and monasteries had to be closed
owing to lack of sufficient funds, the number of their supporters having
become infinitesimal in a comparatively short time.
Shamanism is at the present time the popular religion, if indeed there is
any that can be so designated. The primitive worship of nature appears to
be quite sufficient for the religious aspirations of the Corean native,
and with his imaginative brain he has peopled the earth with evil and
good spirits, as well as giving them to the elements, the sky, and the
morning star. To these spirits he offers sacrifices, when somebody in his
family dies, or when any great event takes place; and to be on good
terms with these invisible rulers of his fate is deemed necessary, even
by well-educated people who should know better.
There are spirits for everything in Cho-sen. The air is alive with them,
and there are people who will actually swear that they have come in
contact with them. Diseases of all sorts, particularly paralysis, are
invariably ascribed to the possession of the human frame by one of these
unwholesome visitors, and when a death occurs, to what else can it be due
than to their evil and invisible operation? To old age, to diseases
natural and zymotic, the expiration of life is never ascribed; these
everlasting evil spirits have to answer for it all.
The most prominent spirits are probably those of the mountain. According
to Corean accounts, the mountains and hills seem to be full of these
heroes of witchcraft: this being probably due to the fact that the dead
are buried on hilly ground and that their souls, therefore, are most
likely to make their nocturnal hoverings in such neighbourhoods, until a
fresh career is found for them in the body of some animal. They are not
_gods_ of the mountains, as some writers have been pleased to call them,
for, so far as I could judge, the natives are more terror-stricken when
thinking about them than inclined to worship them. No Corean, of sound
mind and body, however brave and fearless of death in battle, can ever be
induced to walk out at night on the mountain-slopes; and even in the
day-time a great deal of uneasiness is manifested by the natives should
they have to climb a hill. On such occasions they provide themselves
with armfuls of stones, which, as they go up, they throw violently one
by one at these imaginary beings, thus showing them that their company is
neither required nor wished for, and that they had better keep aloof. If
this simple precaution is used, the obliging and scorned spirits seldom
interfere with the traveller's welfare. The hills close to the towns are
simply covered with heaps of stones, so thrown at these mythical dwellers
of the mountains. Such is the effect produced by terror on the people's
imagination, that frequently in their imagination they feel the actual
touch of the spirits. Probably, if there is any physical touch in those
cases, it is only a leaf or a twig falling from a tree. Still, when that
occurs a regular fight ensues, the men continuing to fire stones at their
imaginary foes, until in their mental vision they see them disappear and
fade away in the air. Others not so brave prefer an accelerated retreat,
only stopping now and again to throw a stone at the pursuers.
From their very childhood the Coreans are imbued with horrid and
fantastic accounts of the doings of these spirits, and so vividly are the
usual habits of these ghostly creatures depicted to them, that they
cannot but remain for ever indelibly impressed on their minds.
Another very common sight, besides the stone-heaps, are the sacred trees.
These are to be found everywhere, but especially on hilly ground. Their
branches are literally covered with rags, bits of glass, and other
offerings given by the superstitious and frightened passers-by, lest
these spirits might take offence at not being noticed. Women and men
when compelled to travel on the hills go well provided with these rags,
and when--for the sacred trees are very numerous--supplies run short,
many a woman has been known to tear off a bit of her silk gown, and
attach it to a branch of the tree among the other donations.
A coolie, who was carrying my paint-box one evening, when I was returning
home from the hills, was simply terrified at the prospect of being seized
by the spirits. He kept his mouth tightly closed, and stoutly declined to
open it, for fear the spirits should get into him by that passage; and
when, with the cold end of my stick, I purposely touched the back of his
neck--unperceived by him, of course--he fled frightened out of his life,
supposing it to have been a ghost. He met me again on the high road in
the plain, about half a mile farther on, and explained his conduct with
the very truthful excuse, that "a spirit had seized him by the throat and
shaken him violently, meaning at all costs to enter his mouth, and that
it was to escape serious injury that he had fled!" When I told him that
it was I who had touched him with the end of my stick, he sarcastically
smiled, as if he knew better.
"No, sir," said he; "honestly, I saw with my own eyes the spirit that
assaulted me!"
The forms given to these spirits vary much, according to the amount of
imagination and descriptive power of the persons who describe them.
Generally, however, they assume the forms either of repulsively hideous
human beings, or else of snakes. The best safeguard against them,
according to Corean notions, is music, or rather, I should say, noise.
When possessed with a spirit, a diabolical row of drums, voices, bells
and rattles combined is set agoing to make him depart without delay;
while, on the other hand, little bits of dangling glass, tied to strings,
small sweet-toned bells and cymbals, hanging in a bunch from the corners
of the roof or in front of the windows and door, often by means of their
tinkling--a sound not dissimilar to that of an Æolian harp--attract to
the house the friendly spirits of good fortune and prosperity. The latter
are always heartily welcomed.
The very wind itself is supposed to be the breathing of a god-spirit with
extra powerful lungs; and rain, lightning, war, thirst, food and so on,
each possesses a special deity, who, if not invoked at the right moment,
and in the right manner, may, when least expected, have his revenge
against you.
The spirits of Cho-sen are very sensitive, and insist on being taken into
notice. Through astrologers, sorcerers and sorceresses they convey
messages and threats to this person and to that--generally the richer
people--whose errors may always be rectified or atoned for by paying a
round sum down to these go-betweens, who are quite ready to assume the
responsibility of guaranteeing a peaceful settlement of matters. There
are regular establishments kept by these sorcerers and sorceresses--as a
rule, outside the city walls--where witchcraft is practised with impunity
in all its forms. These establishments are much patronised both by the
poor and by the man of noble rank; and amidst the most excruciating
howling, clapping of hands, violent beating of drums and other
exorcisms, illnesses are got rid of, pains and troubles softened,
calamities prevented and children procured for sterile people. The
Government itself does not consider these houses as forming part of the
religious gang, and one or two of them may be found even in Seoul within
the wall. One, an extremely noisy house and mostly patronised by women,
is situated not far from the West Gate along the wall. There are also one
or two on the slope of Mount Nanzam.
The exorcisms, with the exception of a few particular ones, are, for the
most part, performed in the open air, on a level space in front of the
house. A circle is formed by the various claimants, in the centre of
which a woman, apparently in a trance, squats on her heels. The more
money that is paid in, the greater the noise that takes place, and the
longer does the performance last. Every now and then the woman in the
centre will get up, and, rushing to some other female in the circle, will
tap her furiously on her back and shake her, saying that _she_ has an
evil spirit in her which refuses to come out. She will also hint that
possibly by paying an extra sum, and by means of special exorcisms, it
may be induced to leave. What with the shaking, the tapping, the
clapping, the drums and the howls, the wretched "spotted" woman really
begins to feel that she has something in her, and, possessed--not by the
spirits--but by the most awful fright, she disburses the extra money
required, after which the spirit ultimately departs.
These witches and sorceresses are even more numerous than their male
equivalents. They are recruited from the riff-raff of the towns, and are
generally people well-informed on the state, condition, and doings of
everybody. Acting on this previous knowledge, they can often tell your
past to perfection, and in many cases they predict future events--which
their judgment informs them are not unlikely to occur. When ignorant,
they work pretty much on the same lines as the Oracle of Delphi; they
give an answer that may be taken as you please. Then, if things do not
occur in the way they predicted, they simply make it an excuse for
extorting more money out of their victim under the plea that he has
incurred the displeasure of the spirits, and that serious evil will come
upon him if he does not comply with their request. The money obtained is
generally spent in orgies during the night. These sorceresses and male
magicians are usually unscrupulous and immoral, and are often implicated,
not only in the intrigues of the noblest families, but also in murders
and other hideous crimes.
Outside the towns, again, there are, only a grade higher than these, the
Buddhist monasteries and nunneries. Within a few miles of Seoul, several
of these are to be found. One thing that may be said for these
institutions is that they are invariably built on lovely spots. Generally
on the top, or high on the slopes of a mountain, they form not only homes
for the religious, but fortified and impregnable castles. The monasteries
are seldom very large, and, as a general rule, hold respectively only
about two dozen monks.
[Illustration: THE INTERIOR OF A TEMPLE]
There is a small temple on a platform, with a figure of Pul or Buddha in
the centre, two brass candlesticks by his side, and a small incense
burner at his feet. "Joss sticks" are constantly burned before him and
fill the temple with scent and haze. Buddha, as found in Corea, has
generally a sitting and cross-legged posture; the feet are twisted with
the soles upwards, and, while the right arm hangs down, the left is
folded, the forearm projecting, and the hand holding a bronze ball. By
his side, generally on the left, is a small tablet in a frame of
elaborate wood-carving. At the foot of the statue is a large collection
box for the donations of the worshippers. The background is usually
plain, or painted with innumerable figures of the minor gods, some with
young white faces and good-natured expressions, probably the gods of
confidence; others with rugged old faces and shaggy white eyebrows,
moustache and hair, undoubtedly the various forms of the deity of wisdom.
Then there is one with squinting ferocious eyes, black eyebrows and
beard, dressed in a helmet and fighting robe, who, needless to remark,
is the god of war. Others are the gods of justice, deference, and
affection; the last being impersonated by two female figures who usually
stand on each side of the Buddha. One curious thing about the Buddha is
that the head is generally very large in proportion to the body, and that
the ears are enormous for the size of the head. In the East it is
considered lucky to possess large ears, but these Buddhas are often
represented with their organs of hearing as long as the whole height of
the head. In Europe such a thing would hardly be considered a compliment!
The hair of the Buddha is carefully plastered down on his forehead, and
is adorned with a jewel in the centre. The eyes are almost straight, like
the eyes of Europeans, instead of being slanting, like those of the
Mongolians, while the eyebrows, finely painted with a small brush,
describe a beautiful semi-circular arch. The expression of the face, as
one looks at it, is in most cases that of nobility and sleepiness.
Out of the West Gate, and a good way past the Pekin Pass, a very
interesting day can be spent in visiting a monastery which is to be found
there among the hills. Previous to reaching it, a small tomb, that,
namely, of the King's mother, is passed. On each flank is a stone figure,
while on three sides a wall shuts in the mound of earth under which the
body lies. On the right is a tablet to the memory of the deceased, and in
front of the mound is placed a well-polished stone, also a small urn.
High up, after following a zig-zag mountain path, we come to the
monastery.
Monasteries as a rule consist of the temple and the mud huts and houses
of the monks and novices. The temple always stands apart. Of the temples
which I saw, none were very rich in interesting works of art or in
excellent decoration, like the temples of Japan. The only parts decorated
outside in the Corean houses of worship are immediately under the roof
and above the doors, where elaborate, though roughly executed
wood-carvings are painted over in red, white, green and yellow, in their
crudest tones. Over each of the columns supporting the temple, projects a
board with two enormous curved teeth, like the tusks of an elephant, and
over the principal door of the temple is a black tablet, on which the
name of the temple is written in gold Chinese characters. At each of the
columns, both of the temple and of the common part of the dwellings, hang
long wooden panels on which are written the names of supporters and
donors with accompanying words of high praise.
The doors of the temples are of lattice-work and are made up of four
different parts, folding and opening on hinges. On some occasions, when
the _concours_ of the public is too great to be accommodated within the
building itself, the whole of the front and sides of the temple are
thrown open. Inside the lattice-work above mentioned tissue-paper is
placed, to protect the religious winter visitors from the cold.
Inside, the temples are extremely simple. With the exception of the
statue of Buddha and the various representations of minor deities that we
have already mentioned, there is little else to be seen. The
prayer-books, certainly, are interesting; their leaves are joined
together so as to form a long strip of paper folded into pages, but not
sewn, nor fastened anywhere except at the two ends, to which two wooden
panels are attached, and, by one side of the book being kept higher than
the other, the leaves unfold, so to speak, automatically.
In one temple of very small dimensions, perched up among the rocks near
the South Gate of Seoul, are to be seen hundreds of little images in
costumes of warriors, mandarins and princes, all crammed together in the
most unmerciful manner. This temple goes by the name of the "The
Five-hundred Images." Adjoining it is a quaint little monastery and a
weird cavern (_see_ chap, xx., "A Trip to Poo Kan").
As to the monasteries themselves, these, though adjoining the temples,
are built apart from them. Their lower portions are, like all Corean
houses, of stone and mud, while the upper parts are entirely of mud. The
roof is tiled on the main portion of the building, while over the kitchen
and quarters for the novices it is generally only thatched.
[Illustration: BUDDHIST BONZES AND TEMPLE]
More interesting to me than the temples and buildings were the bonzes,
who are, I may as well say at once, a very depraved lot. It is a strange
fact in nature that the vicious are often more interesting than the
virtuous. So it is with the Corean bonzes. Here you have a body of men,
shrewd, it is true, yet wicked (not to say more) and entirely without
conscience, whose only aim is to make money at the expense of weak-minded
believers. Morals they have none; if it were possible, one might say even
less than none. They lead a lazy and vicious life in these monasteries,
gambling among themselves and spending much time in orgies. They feed
themselves well at the expense of the charitable, and a great deal of
their energy is expended in blackmailing rich persons, not of course
openly, but through agents as disreputable as themselves. Whenever there
are riots or revolutions in progress, their origin can invariably be
traced to the monasteries. In other respects, excepting these few little
faults, they seemed charming people. Their dress consists of a long white
padded gown with baggy sleeves; the usual huge trousers and short coat
underneath; and a rosary of largeish beads round their necks. When
praying, the rosary is held in the hands, and each bead counts for one
prayer. A larger bead in the rosary is the starting-point. When petitions
are being offered to Buddha on behalf of third parties--for rarely do
they, if ever, pray on behalf of themselves--there is a scale of prices
varying according to the wealth of the petitioners; so many prayers are
worth so much _cash_; in other words, one buys them as one would rice or
fruit. The bonzes shave their heads as clean as billiard balls; while the
novices content themselves with cutting their hair extremely short,
leaving it, probably, not longer than one-eighth of an inch. There are
many different degrees of bonzes. We have, for example, the begging
bonzes, who wear large conical hats of plaited split bamboos, or else
hats smaller still and also cone-shaped but made of thick dried grass.
They travel all over the district, and sometimes even to distant
provinces, collecting funds and information from the people. Sometimes
they impose their company on some well-to-do person, who, owing to the
Corean etiquette in the matter of hospitality, has to provide them with
food, money and promises of constant contributions before he can get rid
of them. Then there are the stay-at-home bonzes, well-fattened and
easy-going, who cover their heads with round, horse-hair, stiffened black
caps of the exact shape of those familiar articles in French and Italian
pastry-cook shops, used over the different plates to prevent flies from
eating the sweets. Lastly, we have the military priests, who follow the
army to offer up prayers when at war and during battles, and who don hats
of the ordinary shape worn by every one else except that they have round
crowns instead of almost cylindrical ones. These alone are occasionally
allowed to enter the towns. Paper sandals are the foot-gear chiefly in
use among them.
Whenever I visited a monastery, I found the monks most civil and
hospitable, although naturally they expect something back for their
hospitality. I hardly had time to pay my chin-chins to all of them,
folding my hands and shaking them in front of my forehead, bent forward,
before a tray of eatables, such as beans, radishes and rice in pretty
brass bowls would be produced, and a large cup of wine offered, out of
which latter the whole company drank in turn. They took much interest in
my sketching, and all insisted on being portrayed. Many of them possessed
a good deal of artistic talent, and it is generally by their handiwork
and patience that the images and statues in the temples are produced.
Among them were some very intelligent faces, somewhat _abruties_, to use
a French word, owing to the life they lead, but exceedingly bright and
cheery withal, and often very witty, when one came to talk with them. As
for shrewdness and quickness of perception I know no person who has these
better at his command than the Corean Buddhist priest.
[Illustration: A NUNNERY]
There are also in Corea nunneries for women who desire to follow a
religious life. Curiously enough, contrary to the rule with us, the
Corean nuns are more emancipated than the rest of the native women. To
begin with, they dress just in the same way as do the monks, shave their
heads like them; and being, moreover, of a cast of countenance
exceedingly ugly and not at all feminine, they might quite well, from the
appearance of their faces, be taken to belong to the stronger sex. A good
many of them, contrary to the case of the monks, impressed me as being
afflicted with mental and bodily sufferings, and in several cases they
even appeared to me to be bordering on idiocy. They always, however,
received me kindly, and showed me their convents, with cells in which
two or three nuns sleep together. They were not quite so careless as the
monks about the duties of religion, and at the little temple close by
there was a continual rattling of the gong, a buzzing, monotonous sound,
enough to drive anybody out of his mind, if especially it was accompanied
by the beating of drums. The temples attached to these nunneries seemed
to be more elaborate inside than those of the monasteries, and when a
religious ceremony has to be performed, two nuns, one in white, the other
draped in a long, black-greenish gown, and both wearing a red garment
thrown over the left shoulder, passed under the right arm, and tied in
front with a ribbon, walk up and down inside the temple, muttering
prayers, while a third female goes on rattling on the drums with all her
might. Offerings of rice, beans, etc., are placed in front of the gods, a
candle or two is lighted--and the nun in dark clothing holds a small
gong, fastened to the end of a bent stick, and taps on it with a
long-handled hammer, first gently and slowly, then quicker and quicker,
in a crescendo, till she manages to produce a long shrill sound. The
person, for whom these prayers are offered, kneels in front of the
particular deity whom she wants to invoke, though generally at the foot
of the Great Buddha, and with hands joined in front of her nose, prays
with the nuns, getting up during certain prayers, kneeling down again for
others. For head-gear, the nuns wear the same grass conical hats which
the travelling monks do. If a large oblation is offered, the service is
still more noisy, and not only are the big drums played in the most
violent manner, but the nuns squat in a body along the walls inside the
temple, and keep hammering away on little gongs similar to that just
described. Recall to your memory the sound of a blacksmith's forge with
two men hammering a red-hot iron, magnify that sound a hundred times, and
add to it the buzzing of the prayers, and you will then get a pretty fair
idea of what one of these religious ceremonies sounds like to European
ears.
One of the best features of Confucianism is the inculcation of respect
towards parents and old people, in which respect both monks and nuns do a
deal of good; though, otherwise, I think the country might advantageously
be without these institutions.
Beliefs are comical when one does not believe in them.
On the mountain slopes, just outside the city wall, and at no great
distance from the West Gate, is a peculiar rock, which the action of the
weather has worn out into the shape of a gigantic tooth. Whence comes its
name of Tooth-stone. There would be nothing wonderful about this, if it
were not for the fact that a visit to this freak of nature, has,
according to Corean accounts, the property of curing the worst of
tooth-aches. Though I was not myself afflicted with the complaint in
question, I went one afternoon to witness the pilgrimage that takes place
every day to this miraculous spot. A little altar stands at the foot of
the huge tooth, and numberless tablets, certifying to cures, erected by
thankful noble visitors and others, are fixed against the rock, with the
name, date and year when the cures were effected.
As I stood there, I could not help laughing at the sight of the crowds of
men and women with swollen cheeks, bandaged up in cotton wool and
kerchiefs, apparently undergoing excruciating agonies through coming out
on so cold a day. One after the other they came up, first paying their
chin-chins in front of the altar, and then depositing on it what _cash_
they could afford; after which they proceeded to rub one cheek after the
other on the Tooth-stone, just as "puss" rubs herself against your legs
when you stroke her head. The bandages had, of course, to be removed
before the balloon-like cheek could be rubbed on the frozen stone, and to
watch the different expressions of relief or increased pain upon their
ill-balanced, inflamed faces, gave me as much amusement as any show that
I have ever witnessed. Should the pain have temporarily disappeared, the
man in charge of the _miracle_ would make it his duty to try and extract
more money from the person cured; if, instead of that, the pain had
increased, which was generally the case, then, again, he would impress on
the agonised sufferer that had he paid a larger sum in the beginning the
gods would not have been vexed at his meanness and the pain would have
disappeared. Let him, therefore, now pay more _cash_ by way of making up
for it, and try again! It is wonderful, too, how shallow people are when
they have a pain anywhere!