Imagine a staircase with 7,863 steps. At this very moment, thousands of Chinese are streaming to the famous Mount Tai to offer their prayers and greet the sunrise, 1,545 metres above sea level.
The mountain lies in Shandong province, south of Beijing, where it rises abruptly from the plain, facing the morning sun. In May it is at its most welcoming. The winter cold has withdrawn, while the summer heat has not yet arrived. On the summit the temperature is pleasant during the day, but chilly in the morning. Be careful, though, for spring rain can make the stone steps slippery.
For more than two thousand years, Mount Tai was an important place for China’s emperors. Here, on the Jade Emperor Peak, heaven and earth met. A Chinese ruler could not govern by force alone; he also had to show that he possessed the “Mandate of Heaven”. Mount Tai was perfectly suited to this purpose, and so the mountain became a political altar. By climbing it, the emperor could symbolically report to Heaven and say: “The realm is in order. I am the rightful ruler.”
China’s first emperor, Qin Shihuang, is said to have performed several ceremonies on the mountain after uniting the country into a single empire more than 2,200 years ago. In an inscription he left behind, it says that he “united all under Heaven” and that “none failed to submit”.
Later, several other emperors followed his example. Whether they ruled from Xi’an, Beijing or other cities, they travelled for weeks and months to Mount Tai to sacrifice and pray. But had the moral philosopher Confucius been here already three hundred years earlier? His birthplace, Qufu, lay only seventy kilometres away. Mencius, another thinker of the same school, at least wrote: “Confucius climbed Mount Tai, and all under Heaven seemed small to him.”
The classic route from the foot of the mountain to the summit takes about four hours. At the many pavilions along the way we refresh ourselves with tea, soft drinks or watermelon. We also take time to study centuries-old inscriptions, prayer sites and twisted evergreen trees. The trees here are not merely nature, but cultural monuments. Ancient pines, cypresses and ginkgo trees have names and histories, and some carry an aura of sanctity. Not least the ancient ginkgo, the only surviving species of an otherwise extinct group of plants.
If we begin to gasp for breath, we stop for five minutes before the final, demanding ascent to the Southern Gate of Heaven. A few sips from the water bottle we have brought along usually help as well.
Those who are not fit enough take a bus part of the way up, and then the cable car. But then they miss the Eighteen Bends, where the steps force their way upward between cliffs and green mountainside. It is here that the mountain ceases to be a cultural walk and becomes a physical test. In return, we pass a small, austere stone portal called the Gate of Immortality, and all at once we breathe a sigh of relief.
At the top, the mountain changes character. After the final steps, it suddenly opens up into streets, temples, stone-paved paths and viewpoints. Heaven Street, Tianjie, lies like a small mountain town above the clouds. From the bronze incense burners in front of the Bixia Temple, grey smoke rises, and on the Jade Emperor Peak we gather to take photographs, celebrate and pray. If we dare to venture a few steps farther, we find the perfect cliff from which to greet the blood-red orange in the east.
The sunrise on Mount Tai in May can be one of the great moments of a journey through China, but it is not guaranteed. One morning the summit may be wrapped in thick fog; the next, the clouds may open like a sea beneath us. Either way, we must climb at night or spend the night on the summit to witness the transformation. The drama lasts only a few minutes, and suddenly we stand there in a newly created, pale-pink world of light and warmth. By then, the few resident Daoist monks have also awakened to a new day.
Perhaps the most famous poem about Mount Tai was written by the poet Du Fu in the eighth century: “One day I shall stand on the utmost summit and see all other mountains become small.”
But Mount Tai is not China’s only “sacred” mountain. Today’s leaders may swear by their atheist convictions, yet several hundred million Chinese follow their own paths and flock to temples and chosen mountains alike. While Mount Tai belongs above all to the Confucian tradition, shaped by the state, order and morality, Buddhists seek out their four classic sacred mountains: Wutai, Emei, Putuo and Jiuhua. They are found in different parts of the country, and all distinguish themselves by their lofty, heaven-reaching forms.
Emei Shan lies in the central province of Sichuan, known for its bamboo forests and wild pandas. This mountain, too, has been praised for generations by poets and connoisseurs of beauty. “Over Emei hangs the autumn half-moon; its shadow floats on the waters of the Pingqiang River,” wrote the poet Li Bai, who lived from 701 to 762. In another poem by his hand we read: “The land of Shu has many immortal mountains, but Emei stands remote and without equal.” The Shu kingdom of that time roughly corresponded to today’s Sichuan.
Emei Shan is also a popular pilgrimage destination in spring. In the first days of May this year alone, nearly 260,000 visitors arrived, according to local media. It can become even more crowded during the summer holidays and the National Day week in October.
The four sacred mountains of the Daoists are no less beloved. Perhaps the most spectacular is Wudang Shan in northern Hubei province. This is due not only to the scenery, but to the combination of deep gorges and steep mountainsides, temples and palaces clinging to rocky ledges — and not least the famous Golden Hall on the mountain’s summit, 1,612 metres above sea level.
Unlike Buddhism, which came to China from India, Daoism arose on Chinese soil around 2,500 years ago. Its founder, Laozi, is said to have become disillusioned by the power struggles, intrigues and moral decay of his age. In the end, he left the realm and rode westward on an ox or water buffalo. At the border pass, the guard asked him to write down his wisdom before he disappeared. The result was the Daodejing — “The Book of the Way and Its Power” — a brief, enigmatic text of about five thousand Chinese characters.
For Daoists, life is about living in harmony with the Dao — the Way — the deeper order that flows through nature, the cosmos and human life. Perhaps we may say that Daoism is more in tune with popular belief than Buddhism.
Even today, after 77 years of Communist rule, Daoists and Buddhists still have millions of followers. As long as they keep quiet and do not challenge those in power, they are left in peace — and allowed to climb their mountains. Even sedentary party secretaries occasionally find their way to Mount Tai and other peaks, and some of them even bow before the deities they meet.
Things are not quite so uncomplicated in Tibet, where Tibetans practise their own form of Buddhism, and to some extent also the older Bön religion. The tension in the capital, Lhasa, and elsewhere in the mountain realm is palpable. But unlike the Han Chinese, Tibetans are reluctant to climb their countless — and sky-high — mountains. For there dwell deities, spirits and protective forces. To climb all the way to the top is therefore considered disrespectful.
A well-known example is Kailash. The mountain is sacred to Buddhists, Hindus, Jains and followers of Bön, and no official ascents are permitted. Instead, pilgrims walk around the mountain in a ritual circumambulation known as a kora. The ordinary kora is just over fifty kilometres long and passes through high-altitude terrain, with the Dolma La pass, at 5,600 metres, as its highest point. Kailash itself rises to 6,638 metres.
Most pilgrims take two or three days to complete the circuit, but some, the most devout, perform it with full-body prostrations. This means that they lie down, mark the furthest point reached by their hands, rise, walk forward to that mark, and repeat the same movement over and over again. In that case, they may need several weeks.
It is easy to understand why Kailash has become so revered. The mountain looks dramatic because it rises rather alone, and with great force, from a fairly flat highland plateau. From a distance it can resemble a pyramid with four equal sides. According to myths and legends, it is made of enormous quantities of precious stones and metals, such as gold, silver, rubies and crystal. In Hindu thought, Kailash is an earthly manifestation of the mythical Mount Meru, the cosmic centre.
The annual pilgrimage to Kailash also begins in May. Good shoes and warm clothing are strongly recommended, as are sunglasses and sunblock. Pilgrims intending to perform full-body prostrations around the mountain should make sure to protect their hands, feet, knees and body. I have seen many use wooden boards fastened to their hands, knee pads and reinforced shoes. A thick leather apron is also useful.
A continued happy spring to all, whether you are wandering here or there.
