In South Korea, Buddhist monks are organizing retreats for single people to meet.

Faced with a historically low birth rate, an 8th-century Buddhist temple is hosting speed-dating weekends facilitated by monks. This initiative is part of a broader national effort to boost the birth rate.

The monk in his burnt orange robe addressed the row of young men and women with an unusual gravity for the occasion: they were there, he said, to save their country. By finding a partner. By starting a family. The participants exchanged embarrassed glances, a mixture of nervous laughter and curiosity.

The scene takes place at Donghwasa Temple, nestled in the forests of Mount Palgongsan in southeastern South Korea. This site, founded in the 8th century and used as a camp for monk militias during the 16th-century Japanese invasions, now hosts a thirty-hour retreat of encounters, open to all, regardless of their faith.

The event's host, Yoo Cheol-ju, succinctly summarized the project's philosophy: "Buddhists have always been the first to act when the country is in danger. Insufficient births are a national crisis. We had to do something."

The crisis in question is well-documented. In 2023, South Korea's fertility rate reached a historic low of 0,72 children per woman, far below the replacement level of 2,1. The government responded with extended parental leave, birth bonuses, and subsidized housing for newlyweds. Since 2006, these programs have cost approximately $250 billion, without sustainably reversing the trend.

The act of meeting people has become a structural problem. Koreans traditionally meet through school, work, or... sogaetingThese are the meetings arranged by friends and family. Big cities hardly encourage spontaneous conversations, alcohol consumption is declining, and dating apps have never really taken off. In 2015, Tinder even revised its positioning to present itself as a friendship app, due to insufficient success in the romantic dating market.

The 24 participants in this retreat were selected from 1,600 applicants following a process that included questionnaires and introductory videos. Kim Ah-kyung, 28, known by her Buddhist name Sunhyeji, left the Seoul area for an office job in the southeastern provinces. “There really isn’t any opportunity to meet men,” she says. “I just go to work and come home.” Kwon Seung-oh, 30, nicknamed Enyo, works at a large dairy factory near Daegu where 97% of the employees are men. His friends have set him up on about ten blind dates, all of which have gone nowhere.

The program is packed with activities: an introductory tour, a walk for two in the temple woods, the distribution of plastic roses to choose a lunch partner, a talent show, speed dating over green tea that no one drinks, and then a one-on-one dinner. Minho, a 32-year-old civil servant with a calm demeanor, ends up pairing up with Ruby, a 28-year-old designer, after a few twists and turns. Enyo, on the other hand, doesn't find a partner this time, but says he'd try again "if they let me come back."

At the end of the thirty hours, eight couples were formed, including two between staff members and participants. Of the 24 present, sixteen left with a potential partner.

Korean authorities have been organizing these kinds of events since the early 2000s, from woodworking workshops to riverside DJ parties. The results may be starting to show: in 2024, the fertility rate rose slightly, and projections for 2025 predict an average of 1,0 child per woman, compared to 0,8 the previous year. Authorities cautiously attribute this rebound to the delayed effects of the pandemic on marriages and the births of a large generation reaching adulthood. A survey published in March also showed that unmarried people were nearly 10% more supportive of marriage and parenthood than they were two years ago.

Sunhyeji, for her part, returned home without a partner but with new friends. She stayed up until three in the morning chatting in her room. "I made so many friends!" she said, already organizing a group brunch. For her, the trip felt like a liberating and spontaneous teenage sleepover.