The monks and monasteries of the Diamond Mountains—The Temple
of Eternal Rest—The Temple of the Tree of Buddha—Buddhism
Game abounds in the region between the German mines and the Diamond
Mountains, and as we moved slowly forward to the famous Monastery of
Chang-an, many short halts were made in search of birds and deer.
Unfortunately, the deer evaded us and it became impossible to put up
the pheasants out of the dense growth in the bushes in which they found
cover. We had, however, some sport among the wood-pigeon. Korean hunters
accompanied us some little distance upon our journey, leaving our caravan
when our ways diverged. Beyond the Hai-yong River their track lay to the
west into the heart of the mountains; our own continued north-east.
The hardships, experienced in travelling through Korea, were exemplified
by the difficulties of our progress. They were intensified, however, by
our ignorance of the precise trail, which it was necessary to follow
across the heights from Tong-ko-kai to the mountain retreat of the pious
monks. The inhabitants of the village of To-chi-dol warned our grooms of
the difficulty of taking horses across the Tan-bal-yang Pass, the one
barrier, which remained unsurmounted, between the outside world and
the quiet repose of the first monastery in the Keum-kang-san. Until we
enforced our orders with sticks the _mampus_ were inclined to give up
the enterprise. Their opposition was momentary; the transition from a
somewhat angry mood into their usual condition of unruffled composure and
high spirits was instantaneous. With untiring energy and patience they
encouraged their diminutive ponies to climb the boulders; to twist and
wriggle between the clumps of tangled bushes and masses of rock which
beset the path, and to scramble across the steeps. We followed a dried-up
water-course at the level of the valley, making the ascent gradually. The
climb was severe, and became so steep that the pack-saddles slipped off
the backs of the ponies. It occupied our eight animals some four hours,
testing the endurance of pony and groom, alike the product of the hills,
stout of limb and strong of wind.
[Illustration: THE ABBOT OF CHANG-AN-SA]
The descent from the spirit shrine, in a gap on the crest of the range,
was less toilsome. The grooms plaited ropes of green creepers, plucked
from the bush, and strung them round the packs. Walking behind the
ponies, they held to these cords, thus supporting the animals and
preventing the loads and clumsy saddles from reversing the process of the
previous scramble. Nevertheless, our path was littered with fragments
of our baggage. The contrivance was successful, however, and in the
main the little steeds picked their way with an easy accuracy through
the cool green woods. The mountain side was fragrant with innumerable
plants, the bush a tangle of magnificent ferns, trees, and shrubs. Oaks,
hawthorn, chestnut, birch and pines grew in crowded splendour; the wild
rose, the freckled lily, and a purple orchid embroidered the moss. Beyond
the hollows of the hilly woodlands, the crumpled backs of the jagged
mountains reared themselves skyward, their proud crests lost in the
clouds, soaring silently to a height of five thousand feet. Below in the
valley, a wall of granite mountains set up an impenetrable barrier before
a noisy river, which until the advent of the rainy season becomes the
merest trickle of silver in a lone expanse of river-bed.
Our way lay across the river-bed and thence into the centre of the
mountains, a journey of one more day, to The Temple of Eternal Rest.
After crossing the Tan-bal-yang Pass we delayed, resting at Kal-kan-i.
Starting at daybreak, upon the next morning we moved through the Kak-pi
Pass as the sun touched the tops of the mountains, which shut in the
narrow valley, across which lay the last stage of the journey. We were
nearing the last home of many distressed pilgrims. In a cleft among the
mountains the deep curved roofs of many temples might be seen. The air
was tremulous with the pleasant jangling of bells, and from a wayside
shrine the sweet fumes of incense mingled with the scent of the pines.
The calm and seclusion of this spiritual retreat was in itself soothing;
as one passed beneath the red gate, that indicates royal patronage, the
placid gentleness of the scene was an allurement to the consolation and
protection offered by this Buddhistic asylum.
There are thirty-four monasteries, and monastic shrines in the
Keum-kang-san, and they are tended by three hundred monks and sixty nuns.
Chang-an is the oldest, and has been in existence for some generations.
In 515 A.D., during the reign of Po-pheung, a king of Silla, it was
restored by two monks, Yul-sa and Chin-kyo. Other monasteries, akin to
this in their romantic setting and picturesque seclusion, are Pyo-un,
which, together with Chang-an is situated upon the western slopes,
Yu-chom and Sin-ga upon the eastern slopes. These, with thirty others of
less importance, excite the most profound interest and enthusiasm among
the Koreans, many of whom repeatedly brave the difficulties and fatigues
of travel in the Diamond Mountains to visit them.
The four chief monasteries are served by one hundred and seventy monks
and thirty nuns. The main temple of Chang-an is a large building,
forty-eight feet in height, of the type to which travellers in the East
soon become accustomed. The wooden structure is rectangular with two
roofs, deep, curved and richly carved eaves, the heavy tiled roofs being
supported upon teak pillars three feet in circumference. The diamond-cut
panels of the doors, which serve as windows, are ornamented with gold,
and the lofty ceiling is carved and wrought in rich designs, lavishly
gilded and highly coloured in blue, red, green and gold. Granite steps
give access to the temples; the main beams and supports of the whole
edifice resting upon huge circular slabs of this stone.
On the inner walls of this building there are scenes from the life of
Gautama, the apostle of the Buddhistic creed. A gilded image figures
as the centre of a golden group of seven past and future godheads,
incarnations of the One and sublime Sakya-muni, whose future reappearance
is anticipated by the faithful. Brass incense-burners, candlesticks, and
a manuscript book of masses in Chinese and Korean characters, resting
upon a faded cover of soiled and dusty brocade, furnish the front of the
altar. Before this high altar, wonderfully impressive and inspiring in
the dim religious light of the vast interior, a priest spends certain
hours of the day and night in profound obeisance, intoning, chanting and
gabbling monotonously and with constant genuflections, the words _Na-mu
Ami Tabul_. This expression is a phonetic rendering of certain Thibetan
words, the meaning of which the Abbot himself was unable to explain; when
transcribed in Chinese characters it appears equally unintelligible.
Other temples in this particular monastery are dedicated to The Abode
of Virtue, The Four Sages, and The Ten Judges. Within these edifices
Sakya-muni and his disciples sit in different attitudes of ineffable
abstraction, contemplating gruesome pictures of demons, animals, and
the torments awarded in after-life to the wicked. Many of the buildings
of Chang-an have been restored within recent years. The work has been
completed long since, and the spacious courtyards are now well kept. The
temples are clean and spotless, the whole monastery bearing witness to
the care with which it is maintained.
Besides the more important temples, there are many smaller shrines,
set within some forest nook; a stage for the more important religious
observances, bell and tablet houses, stables for the ponies of the
numerous visitors, a nunnery and a refectory for the Abbot and monks.
There are, in addition, cells for the priests and quarters for the
servants. Accommodation is found for the widows, orphans, and the
destitute; for the lame, the halt, and the blind; for the aged and
forlorn, to whom the monks grant shelter and protection. Besides the
Abbot, there were in the monastery some twenty other men, monks, priests
and neophytes, and ten nuns of various ages, ranging from girlhood to
wrinkled wisdom.
The establishment derives its revenues from the rent and proceeds of the
Church lands, donations from pilgrims and guests, occasional benefactions
from the wealthy, and the collections made by the mendicant monks. These
latter chant the litanies of Buddha from house to house, and travel
throughout the Empire, finding food and lodging by the wayside, to
collect the scanty contributions which their solicitations evoke. The
four great monasteries are presided over by a member of the community,
who is elected annually to the office. Unless his conduct gives rise
to dissatisfaction, he is maintained in authority, usually until his
death, or transference to some other centre of Buddhistic activity.
The practices and observances, in these monasteries of the Diamond
Mountains, conform to the principles of the religion of Buddha, as nearly
as do the customs and manners of our own Church to the varied tenets of
Christianity throughout the world.
I confess myself sorely puzzled to discover any substratum of truth
in the charges of gross profligacy and irreverence which the agent
of an American Missionary Society brings against the monasteries of
the Keum-kang-san. Personally, after spending many weeks in the calm
seclusion of this monastic region, I prefer to recall the kindliness of
the monks—their real Christian charity—to the poor and afflicted, to the
hungry and sore distressed, as to all who come to them in times of misery
and evil. If many of them learn the litanies of their liturgy by heart,
if they lack scholarship, if they do not know the meaning of much upon
which they spend so many weary hours of their lives, are not these slight
things when weighed against their profound humanity, their gentleness to
everything which breathes, their benevolence to the old and destitute,
their exceeding humility, their wonderful toleration, the quietness and
extreme simplicity of their lives, and the humanitarian nature of their
interests?
The Monastery of Yu-chom is all peace and quietude. It lies, shut off
from all contact with the outer world, within a deep, tree-clad valley
of the eastern ranges. It is self-contained, and its whole existence
is wrapped up in the mysteries of that faith to whose services it is
dedicated. There is no booming torrent, such as that which vibrates and
thunders through the Chang-an-sa gorge; a subdued babble alone rises
from the water, which wells from some rocks deep in the recesses of the
prevailing bush. Its appearance is strangely solemn, and it exerts over
the daily lives of the coterie of monks, assembled within its walls, an
influence that conduces to their extreme asceticism. The atmosphere of
repose and seclusion, in which a soul distressed finds so much comfort,
broods over the whole community.
[Illustration: THE ABBOT OF YU-CHOM-SA]
The most imposing of the thirty-four Buddhist retreats within the Diamond
Mountains is Yu-chom-sa. It may be approached from the western side of
the Keum-kang-san by climbing the rocky path of the Chang-an-sa gorge,
and crossing the watershed through the An-man-chai Pass, 4215 feet in
height. The descent is made by a rough and picturesque track through
deep woods to the cluster of temples upon the eastern face of the
range. Another way, which, after a short _détour_ from Chang-an-sa, is
an easier route, lies over the Pu-ti-chong Pass, 3700 feet in height;
after winding through some miles of forest, it drops directly upon a
track, which leads to the gates of the monastery. Each road starts from
Chang-an-sa, and the crossing of the mountains must be undertaken by all
who wish to visit the monasteries upon the eastern slopes. The journey in
either direction can be accomplished within eight hours; the difficulties
of the bed of the Chang-an-sa torrent render this route impassable to
horses, &c. Lightly-loaded ponies can be taken across the Pu-ti-chong.
The hire of coolies is recommended and one Korean dollar for each man is
the tariff.
The temples of Yu-chom-sa are very similar to those at Chang-an-sa.
They are, however, more numerous and more richly endowed. Before the
steps of the main temple there is a small granite pagoda, whose graceful
proportions give an element of dignity to the spacious courtyard upon
which the principal temples of the monastery abut. The altar of this
temple is adorned by a singular piece of wood-carving. Upon the roots of
an upturned tree sit or stand fifty-three diminutive figures of Buddha.
The monks tell an old-world legend of this strange structure. Many
centuries ago, fifty-three priests, who had journeyed from India to Korea
to introduce the precepts of Buddha into this ancient land, sat down by a
well beneath a spreading tree. Three dragons presently emerged from the
depths of the well and attacked the fifty-three, calling to their aid the
wind-dragon, who thereupon uprooted the tree. As the fight proceeded, the
priests managed to place an image of Buddha upon each root of the tree,
converting the whole into an altar, under whose influence the dragons
were forced back into their cavernous depths, when huge rocks were piled
into the well to shut them up. The monks then founded the monastery,
building the main temple above the remains of the vanquished dragons.
Upon each side of the fantastic altar-piece there is a carved design of
lotus leaves several feet in width and height; at the feet of an immense
image of the divine Buddha, golden and bejewelled, which graces the
centre of the shrine, are several magnificent bronze bowls of vast size,
weight, and antiquity. Blue and red silk-gauze draperies, serving the
purpose of a screen, hang from the massive beams in the roof.
The figures seen in Korean temples are reproduced in Buddhist temples
throughout Asia, the supreme and central form being that of Sakya-muni or
Buddha. In the sculpture and artistic development of this, the central
figure of their pantheon, there is little, if any, deviation from the
conventional traditions of India, Siam, Thibet, and Mongolia. The sage
is crouching on his knees with the souls of his feet turned upward to
the face; the palms and fingers of his hands pressed together; the
eyes are slightly oblique, and the lobes of the ears somewhat bulbous.
The throne consists of the open calyx of a lotus flower, the symbol
of eternity. The splendour of the figures in the Temple of the Tree
of Buddha is noticeable; and the lustre of the heavy gilding gleams
from about the altar into the dimness and uncertain light of the vast
chamber like the rays of some spiritual fire. Devotional exercises never
cease in this House of the Ever-Supreme Lord, the services and constant
offering of prayer being taken in turn by the officiating priests. At
these moments, when the lonely figure of the priest is seen pleading
with the Ever-Supreme Lord, in his most sacred Temple and before his
most sacred shrine, for the grace of forgiveness, the scene is one of
the most extraordinary solemnity. As the chant rises and falls in the
great spaces of the hall and the swaying figure rocks in the despair of
his passionate self-abandonment the sympathies and emotions are strangely
stirred. The stages of the services are marked by blows upon a bell which
the priest holds before him, the while he casts himself upon his face and
kneels before the resplendent Buddha.
The chief celebrations of the day and night in Yu-chom-sa are accompanied
by the booming of the great bronze bell—an elaborate casting of the
fourteenth century—and by the beating of a large circular drum many feet
in circumference. Both instruments stand in their own towers in the
courtyard. During the minor services, the genuflections of the priests
are accompanied by the jarring notes of the small brass bells, which they
strike repeatedly with deer-horns. A magnificent figure of Buddha sits in
the Temple of the Lotus Blossom, in an attitude of impassive benignity
behind a screen of glass, looking solemnly upon the devotions and pious
exercises of his faithful attendants. This altar is recessed, the entire
shrine being protected by plates of glass, and the offerings of rice,
which are presented to the altar for benediction, stand without the
screen. Among other temples and shrines at Yu-chom-sa there are the House
of Everlasting Life, the Temple of the Water Month, the Temple of People
who come from the West. There are fifty monks in Yu-chom-sa, twelve nuns,
and eight boys who have not yet been admitted to the order. Many of the
boys in these monasteries are quite young. Some have been handed over by
their parents in extreme infancy, while others have been received out
of the wide charity of the Buddhists, and dedicated to the service of
the monasteries. These boys appear intelligent. They are taught little
beyond the different chants and litanies, with the words of which they
soon become familiar. The boys are clean and well fed; but the monks,
if equally clean, are more sparing in their diet. Their frugal repast
consists of rice and varieties of minced vegetables, cakes of pine nuts
glued together with honey, and other cakes of popped rice and honey. The
extreme richness of the dishes soon palls upon the palate. While managing
to exist, signs of emaciation are noticeable in their bodies and faces.
Among the nuns who are attracted to these different monasteries, there
are many who have entered the cloister from religious motives, and a
few who, alone in the world, find it a convenient spot in which to pass
their lives. Neither class, however, encroaches upon the religious and
devotional functions of the monks, but lives entirely apart, existing
altogether in a world of their own making.
[Illustration: YU-CHOM-SA]
The forms of religion which prevail in Korea to-day are Buddhism,
Confucianism, and Shamanism. Statements of ancient Chinese and Japanese
writers, and the early Jesuit missionaries, tend to prove that the
worship of spirits and demons has been the basis of national belief since
the earliest times. The god of the hills is even now the most popular
deity. Worship of the spirits of heaven and earth, of the invisible
powers of the air, of nature, of the morning star, of the guardian genii
of the hills and rivers, and of the soil and grain, has been so long
practised that, in spite of the influences of Confucianism, and the many
centuries in which Buddhism has existed in the land, the actual worship
of the great mass of the people has undergone little material alteration.
However widespread this leaning of the lower classes towards demonolatry
may be, the philosophy of Confucius has been from the fifteenth century
the official and fashionable cult in Korea. In its middle period, it
attained to that point when a religion, which at first was fostered by
the few and has spread gradually until it became absorbed by the people,
feels itself firmly established, and emphasises its ascendency by the
bigotry of its assertions, its intolerance, and, crowning triumph of
all usurping tenets, by the virulence of its persecution. Confucianism
now overspreads the whole peninsula. From the fourth to the fourteenth
century, when the religion of the Enlightened One prevailed, it was
studied and practised only by the learned classes. Buddhism predominated
throughout the southern half of the peninsula, and only partially
leavened the northern division of the Empire, where it was unable to
combat the teachings of Confucius. Throughout its development, however,
Buddhism has exercised a potent influence in Korean affairs, which
continued until the close of the last dynasty. The power of the bonzes at
one time controlled the Court and nullified the decrees of the monarch.
During its pristine supremacy it became the strongest and most formidable
factor in the education of the country. It wielded unlimited and
unrestricted power, while it guided the political and social revolutions
of the period. Great respect is still shown to the tenets of Buddhism in
Korea. New monasteries and temples are in process of construction—the
Buddhist priests of Japan and Korea making common cause against the
activities of Western missionaries. The Emperor has also shown himself
interested in the propagation of this faith, and, with Lady Om, he has
given large sums to the restoration of certain dilapidated temples
without the city. All things considered, Buddhism has left such a mark
upon the history of the little kingdom that, although the purely ethical
character of the teachings of Confucius be acknowledged, Korea must be
classed among the Buddhist countries of the earth.
[Illustration: AN ALTAR-PIECE]