Geonbongsa Temple, Goseong, South Korea

Geonbongsa Temple, Goseong, South Korea

723, Geonbongsa-ro, Geojin-eup, Goseong-gun, Gangwon-do, Republic of Korea

It was only a year or two ago that I came to know Geonbongsa Temple in any meaningful way. I had come across references to it as one of the great temples of Korea — one that had been burned to the ground during the Korean War and left as a ruined site before undergoing partial restoration in recent years — and my curiosity drew me to look more closely into its history. What I found astonished me. Geonbongsa is said to have been founded in 520, the seventh year of King Beopheung of Silla, by the monk Ado. For well over a millennium it maintained its prominence, and right up until the eve of the Korean War it stood as one of the four great temples of the country and one of the thirty-one head temples of the modern Buddhist administrative system — with the now far more famous Baedamsa and Seoraksan Sinheungsa among its subsidiary temples. Then the war came, and it was burned entirely to the ground.

This is perhaps not difficult to understand. Geonbongsa sits near the armistice line in territory belonging to the Geumgang Mountain range — one of the most fiercely contested battlegrounds of the entire conflict. Even today, military installations line the access road leading to the temple, offering a vivid sense of what that terrain must have looked like during the fighting. For anyone who knows the modern history of this peninsula, the destruction of Geonbongsa feels less like a tragedy of chance than an almost inevitable consequence of where it stood. It is, in the most literal sense, a temple at the very edge of the division between North and South Korea. Until not long ago, the area fell within the Civilian Control Zone, and public access was restricted; but the temple and its approach road have since been removed from that zone, and the site can now be visited freely.

The only structure at Geonbongsa to survive the Korean War unburned was the Buriumun, the Gate of Non-Duality. Even this gate — unusual in having four pillars rather than the customary two — still bears the unmistakable marks of bullets across its surface, a testament to the ferocity of the fighting that swept through here. All other buildings on the grounds date from restorations carried out after 1989 and hold relatively little heritage value in themselves. Throughout Korea there are countless sites of ruined temples, and Geonbongsa came close to joining those that have slipped quietly into the margins of history; what stands today represents a recovery from that near disappearance. Given the enormous original scale of the complex, much of the temple site remains as it was left — unrestored, open ground — with only the main hall and a handful of buildings brought back. Through the center of this partially recovered precinct runs a small stream, and spanning it is Neungpagyo, an arched stone bridge of rainbow form, built in a style reminiscent of Seungseon Bridge before Seonamsa Temple in Suncheon, South Jeolla Province.

Ruined temple sites are found across the entire country, and I have long considered them to be cultural heritage worthy of respect in their own right. Something in the experience of standing beside Neungpagyo and trying to imagine, from imagination alone, the vast monastic complex that once spread out on both sides of that bridge has its own particular value. And yet it was here, for the first time, that I found myself thinking: perhaps restoration — even partial, even imperfect — is better than leaving such a place to slowly vanish. On the way out, I came across a black-and-white photograph taken in the 1920s showing Geonbongsa as it once was. It looked like something conjured from a time machine — an immense complex of extraordinary scale, filling the valley in a way that was almost impossible to reconcile with what stands there now. Had Geonbongsa survived intact to the present day, what a breathtaking sight it would have been.

This brings to mind something a scholar once said: that for a civilization with such a long history, what Korea has managed to preserve is painfully little. Even of what did survive, there are countless examples of heritage left unprotected, neglected, or damaged through simple ignorance of how to care for it properly. What is needed now — and urgently — is the wisdom to find the right methods, to manage and preserve what remains in a systematic way, and to pass it on to those who will come after us. The great cultural heritage passed down from the past is a mirror held up to all of us, and much of it is of a value that defies easy reckoning.

If you would like to experience a unique side of Korea, the "Land of the Morning Calm," please feel free to reach out. I host small, private guided tours tailored for international visitors.

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