19 minute read
Burying the Dead in Korea
Korean traditional graves. (iclickart)
RELOCATING GRAVES Koreans show particular concern about the location of gravesites of their ancestors. The relocation of the graves of noted celebrities’ ancestors is always newsworthy and never fails to attract public interest. Several decades ago, former president Kim Dae-jung relocated his father’s grave to a new site in Yongin, south of Seoul, when he was the presidential candidate. It was thought that the new site might be a better “blessed site” and more auspicious for the deceased’s offspring. Sure enough, Kim Dae-jung was elected president!
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Another political personage, Kim Jong-pil, also relocated his father’s grave to a blessed site, which created the rumor that he was also expecting to run for the highest seat in the country. Then in 2004, the presidential candidate of the Grand National Party, Lee Hoi-chang, relocated his father’s grave, which was also widely reported by the media.
Why is ancestral grave relocation so newsworthy in Korea? To understand this peculiar social phenomenon, one must understand Koreans’ views of life and death. According to their traditional outlook on life and death, when a person dies, not everything related to the person disappears. For them, death means the separation of the hon (혼, soul) and baek (백, spirit). Hon is regarded as the nature of yang, bestowed by heaven, and when one dies it returns to heaven. Baek is regarded as the nature of yin, bestowed by the earth, and when one dies it returns to the earth with one’s body. That is, the grave where one is buried is the place where one’s baek resides, called a “yinhouse” (eum-gye, 음계).
The concept of “house” during the Joseon Dynasty included not only the “yang-house” (yang-gye, 양계), where the living reside, but also the yin-house, where the baek of the deceased reside.
From this, we can surmise that Koreans have regarded life and death as a relationship between yang and yin, that is, between heaven and earth. Yang represents the positive or assertive cosmic force. Yin represents the negative or passive force. These twin forces are the two fundamental, interactive forces of nature, exerting influence on each other and initiating movement.
They explain the perpetual change in all things. One cannot exist without the other. We cannot experience light without darkness, stillness without movement, happiness without sadness, and so on. To be in balance, one must be in harmony with these two forces.
To build the ancestral yin-house in a blessed site is an attempt to exert affirmative influence on the living offspring. Likewise, a yin-house in a non-blessed site exerts negative influence. At the core of the concept of reburial lies the bones of the deceased as the connecting link between the deceased and their offspring. Bones
Royal Silla burial mounds.
residing in a blessed site transmit good energy to their offspring, while those in a non-blessed site transmit bad energy.
CHANGING BURIAL PRACTICES In recent times, the problem of burial space has become a national issue. According to statistics, the area occupied by the dead is greater than that occupied by the living. Over a decade ago, Seoul municipal authorities attempted to set aside a portion of its administrative area to provide a large cemetery for Seoul residents. The plan, however, met with vehement opposition from the residents of the nearby area because of the feeling of repugnance that a cemetery at their doorstep would give. Seoul tried to persuade the citizens that the city was in dire need of such a public facility for convenient burials, but to no avail.
The Korean burial method has traditionally been subterranean interment; that is, burying the coffin in the earth on a hillside with an earthen mound on top. This practice includes pungsu-jiri (풍수지리, geomancy), the selection of a “blessed site” as the location for the grave. According to geomancy, a “blessed site” is required to guarantee good fortune and happiness for the offspring of the deceased. This is why so many people have roamed the mountainsides in search of an auspicious burial site. If a site has a mountain to its back with a flowing stream in front (背山臨水, 배산임수), a fine view, terrain on the left resembling a blue dragon (左靑龍, 좌청룡) and terrain on the right resembling a white tiger (右白虎, 우백호), then the location is supposed to be a blessed site. But such sites have now been exhausted. It is presently even difficult to find an ordinary spot for a gravesite.
This shortage of burial grounds has forced the government and social organizations to look toward another mode of burial: cremation. Statistics show that the cremation ratio is increasing annually. It was 13.7% in 1980, 17.8% in 1991, 33.7% in 2000, 52.6% in 2005, 61.9% in 2008, [and 82.7% in 2016]. We can see that five sixths of Korean funerals now involve cremation. Cremated remains are generally treated in one of three ways: stored in a columbarium, interred in a tree burial, and buried in a natural burial. A columbarium (納骨堂, 납골당, napgol-dang) is a repository where cremated remains are stored. The remains are placed in a small ceramic or wooden pot that is stored in a niche within a structure of multi-tiered compartments, so that one building may contain thousands of pots, thus making huge burial grounds unnecessary.
In the case of a tree burial, the bereaved family will choose either an evergreen or deciduous tree (not too young) for the tree burial. They place the cremated ashes in an unbaked clay pot and bury it under the tree, or scatter the ashes around the base of the tree, and hang on the tree a plastic tag or plaque with the deceased’s name and dates of birth and death inscribed on it. In time, the tree will grow larger and form a fine specimen. Some time ago, one of the prominent clans of Korea declared that it would conduct its clan funerals by tree burial. Many others are sure to follow suit.
A natural burial is like a tree burial, but instead of using a single tree, a natural burial selects a garden of flowering shrubbery as a suitable burial ground. A small hole, large enough to hold the clay urn, is dug amongst the shrubbery and the ground is leveled after the urn is placed underground. A memorial slab is placed over it with the deceased’s name and dates of birth and death on it. There is not much disturbance to the surroundings. In time, the unbaked clay pot will disintegrate into the soil with its ashes to nourish the plants. No damage is done to the area. The burial site looks the same as before – as natural as before. That is why it is called a natural burial.
Now a growing number of people use cremation as their preferred mode of burial, and various organizations – municipal, religious, and commercial – have built columbaria for social services. Bereaved families can use these facilities at a reasonable price. This has alleviated many municipalities’ difficulties in providing sufficient burial facilities for their residents.
The largest memorial park in the Gwangju area is Youngrak Park, located in a wooded area of Buk-gu in the direction of Damyang. It contains cemeteries, a crematorium, and several columbaria within the park area.
Compiled and supplemented by David Shaffer
“REST IN PEACE”
Youngrak Park. (Namdo News)
YOUNGRAK PARK 영락공원
170 Yeongnak-gongwon-ro, Hyoryeong- dong, Buk-gu, Gwangju 광주광역시 북구 효령동 영락공원로 170 062-2572-4384
The Editor David Shaffer is a long-time resident of Gwangju. In 2020, he is spending his fifth Year of the Rat here. He has written about the lunar calendar and Lunar New Year customs in Seasonal Customs of Korea (Hollym). Dr. Shaffer is the chairman of the board at the Gwangju International Center and the editor-inchief at the Gwangju News.
Evicting God The Exodus of Hak-dong’s Condemned Churches
Written and photographed by Isaiah Winters
Evictions and buyouts for the sake of redevelopment are all the rage these days. Hak-dong is the latest neighborhood to get the boot on behalf of real estate developers and their towering new apartments. All that stands in their way is a dense network of shabby, lowrise homes that offends the present with its allusions to the past – a past they can’t seem to pave over fast enough.
Take one look at a map and you’ll understand why developers want Hak-dong leveled. The neighborhood sits on primo land conveniently triangulated between Namgwangju Market, Chosun University, and the Gwangju Stream. What’s more, the redevelopment zone runs parallel to the city’s only subway line, with one stop conveniently located at each end. Once the new lines are completed, the junction at Namgwangju Station will only further boost the area’s accessibility.
Nearly the entire area parallel to the Gwangju Stream has already been evicted, save for a dwindling batch of holdouts: a run-down dry cleaner, a post-prime karaoke bar, and a waning pulse of seniors who shuffle by the trash heaps and vacant windows without saying a word. The neighborhood’s only remaining hub of social capital appears to be Namgwang Church, which practices some denomination of Presbyterianism.
Namgwang Church remains very active despite being in a condemned neighborhood of Hak-dong.
Visit condemned neighborhoods enough and you’ll notice that churches like this are often the most tenacious holdouts. Following their inevitable eviction and demolition, however, an intriguing question is where these deeply embedded churches go after they die, so to speak. It’s something I’ve always wondered but never looked into – that is, until the issue stared me in the face not too long ago.
Recently, while ambling through an abandoned hillside farmstead in Nam-gu, I caught sight of vivid banners strung up along the Bangrim Tunnel Intersection. Like renegade semaphores, the banners blazoned the message “We Absolutely Oppose Namseon Church’s Construction!” Instantly curious, I used my best “Google-fu” to find out more about this incoming church and its backstory.
Long story short, the Seventh-day Adventists of Namseon Church used to convene in the northernmost part of Hakdong’s redevelopment zone before it was razed in 2015 and turned into the soaring, upscale apartment complex seen there today. After losing its house of worship in Hak-dong, Namseon Church began an exodus of sorts in search of a new promised land – a search that remarkably continues to this day.
A resident of Bangrim-dong adjusts her banner protesting the church’s construction.
Based on what I could find, in 2016, Namseon Church attempted to buy land in Unrim-dong along the busy valley entrance to Mudeung National Park. Unfortunately, relations with the local community quickly began to sour.
According to a plea letter issued by residents of Unrimdong, they were upset that the church had significantly underreported the size of its congregation and the amount of traffic it would bring to the narrow valley. Facing ardent resistance, Namseon Church was turned out once again and has since continued to wander through the urban wilderness in search of another home.
That’s where the protest banners in Bangrim-dong come into play. Residents there have taken an emphatic stance against Namseon Church’s proposed construction in a hilly, forested part of their neighborhood that they’d rather see turned into a public park. Usually, hanging up a few roadside banners is about as far as public protests go, but to my surprise, at least twenty-five nearby apartments were also flying similar banners from their veranda railings. An official opposition rally was held in Bangrim-dong on Thursday, February 13 – the day before I stumbled upon the area. Local opposition is rather eclectic, including two of Bangrim 2-dong’s local residents’ committees and a voluntary crime prevention group.
Also against the new project is the Saemaeul Council and Saemaeul Women’s Society, in addition to residents of both the Geumho Mansion and Gwangshin Progress apartment complexes, who’ve festooned their blocks with protest banners. There are likely many more nearby residents who similarly oppose the new construction, though as individuals.
Further opposition to the church’s construction comes from a group of rogue terrace farmers who sidestep the hills’ “No Farming” signage and till the land at their leisure. The terraces are impressively maintained and ring the hills from top to bottom like giant steps.
In one area, the hillside is notched with as many as ten such terraces, each either meticulously cultivated or purposely left fallow. In all likelihood, these farmers will eventually get the short end of the stick: A new, manicured park would likely crowd them out, while a new church would likely make parking lots of it all.
It’s unclear who’s going to make the next move in this stalemate. As it stands, the abandoned farmstead has been gutted and some of the nearby bamboo thickets cleared – preludes to the church’s construction. Meanwhile, protest banners continue to fly and rogue farmers continue to farm. The tense standoff in this sleepy little corner of Gwangju is just one of the many overlooked ripple effects of redevelopment. What’s for certain is that the remaining redevelopment zone in Hak-dong will come crashing down so that unaffordable housing can go up. With it goes Namgwang Church – that last pulse of civic life in the condemned area. Maybe its followers will get lucky and set up a new house of worship somewhere else with little to no resistance. Or maybe – like Namseon Church – they’ll begin a prolonged exodus all their own.
A gutted farmstead in Bangrim-dong sits on the land sought by Namseon Church.
The Author O r i g i n a l l y from Southern C a l i f o r n i a , Isaiah Winters is a Gwangjubased urban explorer who enjoys writing about the City of Light’s lesser-known quarters. When he’s not roaming the streets and writing about his experiences, he’s usually working or fulfilling his duties as the Gwangju News’ heavily caffeinated chief proofreader.
Liberating the Dharma for Women Visiting a Revolutionary Buddhist Monastery in Thailand
Written and photographed by Michael Goonan
At first glance, Wat Songdhammakalyani is a familiar sight in Thailand. Situated along a busy road about 50 km outside of Bangkok, this Theravada Buddhist monastery is an oasis within the noise and busyness of modern urban life. Home to around 30 monastic novices dressed in traditional saffron robes, the monastery is peppered with various Buddhist shrines and meditation halls, an extensive library of books in various languages, dormitories for monastics and lay visitors, and a serene and quiet courtyard with a koi pond. A dozen dogs roam freely around the grounds, living an idyllic animal’s life. Chanting, meditation, and readings of the Buddhist scriptures are held at 5:30 each morning and 7:00 each evening, and lay people from the community often visit the temple to take part. Other special ceremonies and offerings take place to mark important Thai holy days and in remembrance of ancestors. Many of these ancient traditions predate Buddhism, which has long since embraced them.
Traditional as this scene may seem in Southeast Asia, one thing makes it very different – in fact, revolutionary. The temple is run completely by women, under the direction of their abbess, Ven. Dhammananda Bhikkuni. This would be unremarkable in other countries, including Korea, where female monastics have been part of the fabric of society for centuries. Yet, in Thailand, female monastics, Bhikkunis, are considered to be illegitimate by the religious establishment. The reasoning goes that the lineage of Bhikkunis died out in Thailand sometime in the 10th century, making it impossible for female monastics to receive proper ordination and training. Male monks are forbidden from ordaining female monastics and could face punishment for doing so. For this reason, Dhammananda received her monastic ordination in Sri Lanka in 2003.
Buddhist monastics are so revered in Thai society that even the king bows in their presence. Impersonating a monastic is a crime punishable by several months in prison. Dhammanada and her students are not officially recognized as monastics, so they are technically in violation of this law. However, the Buddhist establishment in Thailand does not interfere with her monastery’s activities in practice. A 2003 profile in the American Buddhist magazine Lion’s Roar speculates, “Perhaps it’s an example of the Thai value of mai pen rai, or ‘never mind,’ where people ignore what they don’t like rather than actively oppose it.” Perhaps.
Though while her work has certainly caused controversy in Thailand, Dhammananda also has many supporters. The Bangkok Post has called her ordination “momentous in the development of Buddhism in Thailand.”
A Thai senator took up the cause in the legislative chamber, recommending that women be allowed to be ordained. Perhaps most telling, however, is the way that the local community supports the monastery. Unlike other monasteries in Thailand, which receive government assistance, this one runs entirely on the generosity of lay followers. A number of Western Buddhists supportive of Dhammananda’s work have also been among those to provide financial support.
Dhammananda’s mother, Ven. Voramai (known as “Venerable Grandma” to her lay followers), had paved the way for her.
Ordained as a nun in the more liberal Mahayana tradition in Taiwan, she returned to Thailand and started the monastery in the 1950s. For three decades, Dhammananda was a professor of philosophy and religious studies at Thammasat University in Bangkok. She speaks English fluently and did her master’s degree there. According to a profile by the German public broadcaster DW, “She published books on women and Buddhism and even had a television show called “Dharma Talk,” which gained national popularity and won several awards.”
Despite her academic success and following, Dhammananda grew discontented and longed to follow in her mother’s footsteps and be ordained. She chose to do this in Sri Lanka, a fellow Theravada Buddhist country where women’s ordination had been reestablished in 1998 after many centuries. Her work since has been a unique blend of Buddhist traditionalism and modernism, linking traditional Theravada practice with more modern ideals of engaged Buddhism, particularly in relation to women’s liberation.
Four Days Practicing the Dharma at Wat Songdhammakalyani I was very fortunate to be able to spend four days at the temple in January during a visit to Thailand. Ordinarily, female visitors are allowed to stay overnight at the temple. Since I was traveling with my wife, Emily, I had permission to visit with her, although we had to stay in separate rooms. We have had an interest in Buddhism for many years, leading us to read many books on Buddhist philosophy and practice meditation in our free time.
Statue of Vorami, founder of the monastery. The first “medicine Buddha” in a temple in Thailand.
This has included a number of temple stays in Korea, that we have found very enriching. I also visited a female-run monastery in Taiwan as part of a 2012 university travel course on Chinese philosophy.
These have all been quite enriching experiences; however, all have fallen under the Mahayana tradition in Buddhism. Therefore, my visit to Wat Songdhammakalyani was my first exposure to Theravada Buddhism in practice. Theravada, also known as “tradition of the elders”, predates Mahayana Buddhism by several centuries and is often more conservative in its practices. For example, monastics at Wat Songdhammakalyani observe the traditional precept of not eating after noon. In contrast, Mahayana monks in Korea do eat dinner, but they follow other dietary restrictions that Thai monks do not, namely, avoiding “strong herbs” such as garlic and onions.
While chanting is often done in the local vernacular in Mahayana Buddhist countries, including Korea, the chanting at Wat Songdhammakalyani is done in Pali, the ancient Indian language of many of the Buddhist scriptures. A Western analogy could be traditional
All of this was surprisingly accessible, however. While the monks do not eat after noon, visitors are served a delicious Thai vegetarian dinner unless they decline. Full English translations of the chanting were provided to us, and we were also lucky to have the help of Ven. Dhammaparipunna, a monastic who speaks very good English. She sat behind us during readings of the Buddhist scriptures in Thai and translated them into English for us.
During our first day at the monastery, we helped with what is one of the most meticulous recycling programs I have ever seen. As part of their practice of engaged Buddhism, the monks meticulously clean and sort all of their waste to ensure it has the best chance of being recycled. This apparently amounts to an hour or two of work each day, with the goal of leaving not a speck of dirt on any plastic bottle or allowing any compostable food to go to waste.
While early-morning and evening chanting and meditation were regular parts of our schedule, we also had a great deal of free time to devote to our personal sitting and walking meditation practice and study. The monastery had a stunningly extensive English library. In addition to books on Buddhism were books on other religions, science, philosophy, psychology and much more. We even got the chance to feed the fish in the koi pond!
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Our visit to the monastery was a peaceful and enjoyable experience. If you are near Bangkok and you are a woman (or are lucky enough to be married to one), I highly recommend visiting. You will surely be inspired by the experience. More information on how to arrange a visit, either overnight or simply during the day, can be found at www.thaibhikkhunis.com
THE AUTHOR
Michael Goonan teaches English at Baeksu Elementary School in Yeonggwang. Originally from Scranton, Pennsylvania, he has also lived in the Czech Republic, New Zeeland, Australia, and the Netherlands. He blogs about travel, culture, politics, and more at Goonan.us The Gwangju News has been serving the community since 2001 by delivering news and information to the international communities of Gwangju. Send the Gwangju News to your family and friends back home, and let them know about Gwangju!
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