Korea

by A. Hamilton

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.

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.