Part 4

At every temple one may secure _tarani_. A _tarani_ is a sheet of paper with something printed on it in red from a wood-block. The wood-blocks at the different temples vary and while most of the characters in the printing are Chinese, there is a sprinkling of Sanskrit. A _tarani_ is a sort of passport to the Western Paradise and it is supplied for burial with the dead. When a man is burned or buried a _tarani_ is placed with his body. We secured them from almost every monastery visited. Perhaps no priest in Korea can read them. We saw, however, at one monastery, an old book concerning _tarani_, and it seems probable that these texts have been copied from such books. About sixty years ago there seems to have been a special fancy for cutting these wood-blocks for printing _tarani_ and most of those we saw date from that time.

Interesting are _sari_ monuments. As we neared Yuchom-sa we passed ten or twelve stone monuments with a square base, a swelling body and decorated tip. We were told that these were _sari_ stones and that in them a _sari_ or “jewel” was buried. These _sari_ are curious things. It is said that when the body of a monk of special piety is burned a little pebble will be found among the ashes. It is irregular in form, clearly shows fusion, and looks a little like a gem or crystal. It is believed that it has been formed from the elements of the dead body, and they say that only about one man out of four hundred gives rise to one of these _sari_.

I had always had my doubts about them. One day at Songkwang-sa, where the monks are exceptionally depraved, a policeman was with us to see that nothing happened. Coming to some _sari_ stones we asked a monk about them. He told us the same story that we had heard before and we asked him if he really believed that it was true. He answered, “O yes, surely it is true.” The policeman, however, expressed vigorous doubt. The monk replied, “You don’t believe it, I will show you.” So we proceeded to tear a _sari_ monument to pieces! It seemed a shocking thing to do. We took off the top stone, and laid it by, and then turned the main stone upside down. At the center was a little cavity which was neatly covered with a thin sheet or disk of earthenware; removing this we found inside a hole filled with packing, in which was a small tin capsule bearing an inscription. This was said to be the name of the man who had honored the dead priest by erecting the monument to him. Opening the capsule it was found to contain some packing in the midst of which was the little gem—all that remained to represent the worthy dead man. We put it back with care, replaced the packing, closed the capsule, repacked it and reconstructed the monument as it had been originally. No doubt all these _sari_ stones really contain some such relic. That policeman had his doubts—I still have doubts as to just what _sari_ are, but it seems certain that all _sari_ stones really have _sari_ in them.

There is no question that there is much ignorance and even vice among the monks. In this monastery where we examined the matter of _sari_ stones there were only five men, poor, ignorant fellows. We early noticed that the head priest there lacked a tooth, but only found after we had left the place that the most devout of the five monks had knocked it out the day before, having had a fight with his superior. The neighbors told us that that monastery was a place of constant disorder and bad conduct.

At one monastery we were even moved to give a lesson in behavior. Here we were accompanied by a Japanese policeman; he was with us to protect and give such aid as possible, but was absolutely of no use. The monks received us coldly, answered a few questions and then disappeared. Unaccustomed to such treatment, I complained to the policeman who replied, “This monastery has a very bad name in all this district; the monks are avaricious; they are thieves; they always treat visitors badly; they do nothing unless they are well paid. That is why I came with you.” I replied, “Why don’t you do something, then? Tell them to come out and do their duty.” He shook his head sadly and said, “You do not know the reputation of this temple hereabouts; it has a very bad name indeed.”

So turning to my interpreter I said, “We must deal with this problem right here.” Calling a priest I said to him, “I understand that in this monastery you have a bad name; there is no time to waste; we want no delays; call every monk and priest here at once.”

He did so, and when they had come I placed them in a semicircle before me and spoke to them. “You are Buddhists; you bear the name of Buddha, a great teacher; he was kind and good and cared nothing for money; he desired to help people and make them better, and people who are Buddhists should be like him; I am told that you are avaricious and when visitors come here you treat them with unkindness and discourtesy unless they pay you well; I shall pay you nothing, but I want you to think of the disgrace you bring upon your name by such conduct; I am visiting the monasteries because I wish to see whether Buddhism is a living force in this land; I wish to see how you monks live and what your conduct is, and what the people say about you; go back to your rooms and think over what I have said; as I go from place to place, looking at things here, I expect to have them open, and I wish you to treat me as a brother and a friend; remember that others who may come after me deserve equally good treatment; it is a shame to bring disgrace upon a cause.”

Well, there was an instant conversion. Poor, ignorant fellows, living in their remote mountain monastery, how should they know better? They gave me honey water and popped rice; they showed me their buildings and their treasure; they begged that I would come again and some accompanied me, when I was leaving, down to the outer gate.

As for ignorance, it is probable that very few of them could pass examination on any kind of Buddhism, whether Hinayana or Mahayana. What more could be expected? Surely we can scarcely throw stones. What do most of us know about Christian doctrine? How wise religiously are the common people in our churches? In a recent newspaper it was stated that a man among us asked five professional men about the Holy Ghost. Do you suppose he got much in the way of a satisfactory answer? In reality he got nothing. All these educated men had other business than to know about the Holy Ghost. They were not well informed in regard to the religion in which they had been reared; and yet we expect Buddhists, who have been exiled in mountain monasteries for four hundred years to know so much!

How is the population of the monasteries maintained? Whence do new members come to-day? There is, of course, always a supply of orphan children, few of whom ever go back into the world after they have been brought up in monastery surroundings. Other people drift in for many reasons. Men who have lost their friends and relatives by death often go to the monasteries. So do those who fail in business, or who have been disappointed in life enterprises. The head-priest of one small, but very famous, ancient monastery, only recently became religious; he had been employed as a janitor or helper in a Buddhist temple of Japanese in a Korean city and became interested and attracted. The head-priest of one of my favorite monasteries was in the world until he had reached the age of fifty years or more; he had been in military service and I believe, had risen to the rank of Colonel; getting on in years, however, he began to think seriously of religious matters and retreated to the monastery. With one young priest at Yuchom-sa in the Diamond Mountains we talked for hours, until midnight. He was genuine; he had the spirit of true religion; he was a thinker and was in the monastery from principle. There are no doubt many like him.

We were at Tongdo-sa on Buddha’s birthday. It is one of the great monasteries of the South. They knew we were coming and therefore we found a place to sleep. When we were within three or four miles of it we found ourselves in a crowd of persons going up to the celebration. The nearest railway station is about ten miles away. Most of the people, however, had walked from their homes. It is a mountain district, sparsely settled; there are surely only two or three towns of any size within fifteen miles of the place. When we reached the monastery we found one of the liveliest scenes we ever witnessed in Korea. The head-priest told us that ten thousand people slept on the grounds of the temple that night. The majority of them were women. Of course, _that_ would have been true if it had been a Presbyterian gathering. We were two nights there. On the full day that we spent with them a wonderful crowd of people was present; there were a few Japanese—a teacher and one or two officials—but apart from these the multitude was Korean. Probably fifteen thousand people were there that day. We found that one of the events of that evening was a moving-picture show in one of the monastery buildings. The life of Buddha was to be represented in moving pictures. All this does not look much like death! It is said that at the other head monasteries there were proportionately equal crowds.

We often asked what efforts were being made at monasteries for general improvement and helping the outside world. The purpose of a monastery, of course, is not related to such undertakings. In all religions, at all times, monasteries have been only for persons who were seeking individual improvement or salvation. In their very essence they are not philanthropic or reform movements. Still, with the lack of temples in the cities and definite teaching of the people through them, it might seem as if something would be undertaken by the monasteries. In reality there is much more in this direction than could be expected. At several of the monasteries there is a school for outside children; some have undertaken a definite work of teaching and some others realize that they have a genuine opportunity to aid in the elevation of the country. More and more the monasteries seem to awake to the existence of these possibilities.

Korean Buddhism has, perhaps, a political part to play. When the Japanese took over Korea, Buddhists came into the country in great numbers. Japanese priests and temples came with these settlers. These priests and temples are in the cities and larger towns. They do not, however, fit with the Koreans. There might be thousands of them and they would still not make Korean converts—not because the Japanese are not ready to do mission work, but because the Koreans are not ready to accept it. The Korean Buddhism of to-day is actually Korean, not Japanese.

I can imagine nothing that would be more dangerous to Japanese control than a strong and vital Korean Buddhism that was hostile to Japan. On the other hand, I can think of nothing that would be a greater help to Japan than a Korean Buddhism developed among those people by their own priests and friendly to Japan. What Korean Buddhism is to be in the future depends upon its relation to the government now there. If Korean Buddhism accepts and coöperates with the Japanese control, it will become the mightiest factor that can be devised to make Japan’s hold on the peninsula secure. If hostile to Japan, when the crisis comes, as it surely will come, when Japan will be tried out again and once for all on Korean soil, Korean Buddhism may be the decisive element in that moment of test.

KOREAN BUDDHISM: ART

To-night we are to consider art in Korean Buddhism. We shall examine it under six different forms—scenery, sculpture in stone, wood carving, architecture, images or idols and painting.

Perhaps it scarcely seems to you as if scenery—real landscape, not landscape painting—were art. In the Orient, however, it is surely such. Eastern peoples have for hundreds of years been passionately fond of the beautiful in nature. Chinese, Koreans, Japanese will travel on foot or by any possible conveyance many miles to see a famous view. They locate their houses in pretty places; they build temples and shrines upon commanding points. When the Korean monks, in the fifteenth century, were compelled to take refuge in the mountains, they located their buildings in surroundings harmonious to the religion. Their locations have been chosen with great care. And there is much more in scenery than the careless spectator thinks; for the Oriental scenery always contains something of the esoteric.

For example, think of the Diamond Mountains. They are a remarkable tangle of peaks and ridges; measuring only thirty or forty miles across, the area is more or less elliptical in form; it is called “the twelve thousand peaks” or summits. The Diamond Mountains have been famous for two thousand years, and famous not only in Korea, but in China and Japan. They have been the theme of hundreds of poems and have furnished material for scores of books, some of them hundreds of years old. Artists have delighted in depicting their beauties. The Diamond Mountains with their twelve thousand peaks are divided into two portions. The name Diamond Mountains in itself is most suggestive; the diamond is one of the most precious symbols in Buddhism—indicating purity, clearness, brightness—and Korean Buddhism was a religion of light and illumination. The two divisions of the Diamond Mountains are known as the Inner and the Outer Kongo. The traveller may visit the outer region and realize but little of the true significance of Kongo-San. In the Inner Kongo every outstanding rock is significant. Every building has been placed with reference to some hidden meaning of the landscape, and with every step the visitor goes deeper and deeper into mystery.

Let us approach a mountain monastery. The trail is well marked long before we see the buildings. Once upon the grounds we come to some of those carved posts or pillars, devil posts, _changson_, which were illustrated in the preceding lecture, and were no doubt taken over from the old-time paganism. We pass through the outer gate. All the gates bear names significant to the thoughtful worshipper. We pass through gate after gate like “the gateway of Life,” “the gate of All-powerful Truth,” “the gate of Illumination.” Many of these gates are pavilions, resting-places, whence one may view the scenery, or visit with companions, or meditate in preparation for worship. As we approach the buildings we may find ourselves in a narrowing valley, or passing some cascade. All the rock cliffs have been seized and utilized and bear inscriptions, beautifully cut into the stone material. We see the formula, constantly on the tongue of Korean Buddhists, _Namu Amida Pul_, not once or dozens of times, but everywhere, repeated hundreds of times over. The _Daimon_, or great gateway, is the last; it signifies the gate of death through which we reach the heavenly life.

At last we come to the mass of monastery buildings. Every temple has its name marked clearly on it, sometimes the names themselves are suggestive, helping the worshipper to clearer thought and serious meditation.

The second form of art is sculpture in stone. We have already mentioned the formulæ and other inscriptions cut upon the cliffs. To the Oriental eye they are as beautiful and represent as much artistic skill as figures would. There are, however, also on the natural rock faces, designs and figures cut in low relief, which we find in the most unexpected places. In the Inner Kongo there are many great representations of the Buddhas cut upon the vertical rock face. Here, for instance, are three figures, twenty feet in height, one of the great Buddhist trinities. Again, there is a representation of Monju, of even greater size. (Plate XIV.) On another face of rocks are the figures of the famous fifty-three Buddhas who came so long ago to live and die among the Diamond Mountains.

In a former lecture we referred to the cave chapel of Sukkul-am. It is full of beauty. Excavated in the slope near a great ridge summit, it looks out upon the Eastern Sea. In the old days it was approached by a fine flight of steps. From its summit a passageway led to the subterranean chamber. It was bordered on both sides by slabs carved with figures in high relief. Here are the two guardian demons, the four kings of the cardinal points, the six generals. Passing between them we reach the little circular chapel, about thirty feet across, subterraneously situated in the hillside. Its low, vaulted roof is an ingenious and wonderful construction. The surrounding walls are filled with slabs bearing fine carvings. Here are three splendid figures of Bodhisattvas, with boat-shaped haloes, three other figures of Bodhisattvas with round haloes, and distributed between them the ten first disciples of the Great Teacher. These ten figures present marvellous detail of feature; not only personal differences, but race differences are sharply brought out; more than that the figures were originally colored, and no doubt, different races are indicated by the different tints. There is no question that individuals of different races were among the first disciples of the Buddha. And in the center of all this beauty, this flowering of ancient art, sits the stone Buddha, on his lotus pedestal. It is a monolith, cut from a block of stone about eleven feet in height. It is beautiful in pose, in feature, and in expression. For almost fifteen hundred years it has sat there calmly looking out upon the Eastern Sea. Every morning it is greeted by the rising sun.

Besides figures cut in high relief, the old artists made full sculptures in the round. Such, of course, was the Buddha figure, just described. Such are the great miriok, sculptured from natural rock pinnacles, like the one at Eunjin. You may remember the picture of a giant lotus pedestal, lying in the courtyard of Kumsan-sa (Plates V, VI), which we showed you in the first lecture; it is at least a thousand years of age. In the same courtyard, you remember that we saw a little tower or pagoda of stone, thirteen stories high, but in reality no taller than a man. At Pawpchu-sa there is that splendid bowl of stone, more than twelve hundred years of age, which in its time, no doubt, was filled with pure water for the cleansing of the hands and mouth of worshippers. Sometimes we find stone lanterns and occasionally these are supported by animal figures in caryatid forms. Then there are the _sari_ stones and altars and turtle-borne monuments.

Look at this series of pictures from Hoiam-sa, one of the first temples we visited in 1917. (Plate XV.) To-day it is a place of no significance, but it was once a great religious center and has been associated with three famous men. It chanced the day we visited it that the three monks who live there were about to celebrate the day sacred to the memory of these noted teachers; gifts and offerings and all the paraphernalia for worship were laid out, ready. These three men were Muhak, Chikong and Nanong. Chikong was a native of India, who spent his last days in Korea. Nanong was chaplain and preceptor of King Kong-Min-Oang, the last king of the Koryu dynasty. Muhak was the chaplain and preceptor of Yi-tajo, founder of the Yi Dynasty. Behind the monastery building there rises a remarkable narrow-backed and sloping ridge. It bears a line of monuments reared to the memory of these three men. The stones commemorating Chikong and Nanong were erected by Muhak in the year 1393; the stones in memory of him were reared in 1401. The monument to each of these worthies consists of four stone objects—a lantern, an altar, a _sari_ stone—which I suppose contains the jewel that was left after the burning of the man in whose honor it was reared—and a stone turtle figure from whose back rises a slab bearing a long inscription. These turtle-stones with inscribed slabs are found everywhere in Korea; the turtle is the symbol of longevity and its use in this connection breathes the wish that the memory of the thing recorded may endure ten thousand years. These monuments are typical and good examples of their class. The carving on Muhak’s _sari_ stone is particularly beautiful.

In connection with stone work we must remind you again of the towers or pagodas of which you have seen repeated illustrations. Here we show but one to refresh your memory. (Plate XVI.) Such towers or pagodas rise in stories, numbering from three to thirteen, but always odd—three, five, seven, thirteen. There are hundreds of them scattered over the peninsula and at all the old monasteries you will find them. Some of those in the monasteries of the Diamond Mountains claim to be fifteen hundred years of age or more. They are symbolical, variously; they may denote the life of the individual, pointing heavenward, developing from one stage of perfection to another; they may mean the body of the faithful, or the church; the simple three-story towers symbolize earth, sky and heaven.