PLATE XIII
Hain-sa: Building for the Wood-blocks, interior [Page 27]
One of the most interesting things in connection with this modern movement of Korean Buddhism, and one which seems to show that it has real vitality, is the fact that Buddhist books for common reading are being printed. Most Korean books are printed in Chinese characters and are thus sealed to the common people; they can be read only by scholars or people of considerable education. Yet Korea is said to have invented one of the most perfect systems of writing that the world has seen. It is known as the on-mun and is competent to write the language perfectly and easily. But scholars in Korea have never used the on-mun; it has been considered suitable only for the ignorant, for women and children. If a book is to reach the common people, however, and be widely read, it should be printed in on-mun. The books issued by the foreign missionaries in their propaganda have been printed in on-mun, or in a mixed script of Chinese character and on-mun. The fact that several Buddhist books have recently appeared printed in on-mun shows that Korean Buddhism is reaching out after the common people.
Two of these books deserve special mention. One is called the “Eight Scenes from the Life of Buddha.” It follows quite closely the story of Buddha’s life as told in other countries. The book is widely offered at book stores and street stalls and is said to have considerable sale. More interesting than it, however, is the allegory called Sei-yeu-ki. You remember that in the seventh century a Chinese pilgrim, Hiouen Tsiang, went on foot from China to India, and that he came back loaded with books and images for use in religious worship. That pilgrim was really a historic character, and he wrote an account of his journey, a simple and charming diary of travel. His book was called Sei-yeu-ki, which in its English translation appears under the title of “A Report of Buddhist Kingdoms.” In it he described the countries through which he had passed, the monasteries and temples which he had seen, and the adventures he had undergone. Now in the thirteenth century a Chinese monk wrote a book with almost the same name. As pronounced there is scarcely any difference; when the names are written they are easily distinguished. The writer intended to imitate the name of the diary of the old pilgrim. In his story, he says that a certain man named Hiouen-Tsiang—he uses the actual name of the old pilgrim—goes on a journey to the West for books, idols and information, just as the real pilgrim did; but instead of telling a true and simple story this man writes an allegory something of the nature of “Pilgrim’s Progress.” It is full of astonishing adventures. It seems that the Emperor of China died and came to life again. He determined to send Hiouen-Tsiang, “the Master,” to the West for books, idols and pictures. The Master started upon his errand and as he travelled picked up a strange group of comrades. The Emperor had given him a white horse, and of course he had to have a boy to take care of it; in addition he had for companions and helpers a monkey and a pig. The master and his three human companions were gone, like the real pilgrim, about fifteen years; they travelled, of course, through the same countries, but had startling adventures. The master was very pious, but unpractical; in fact he was a weak subject for the hero of a story. But the monkey was fine, and when they got into trouble it was always the monkey who rescued them. When the master, through his lack of knowledge, and practical experience, was caught by the most palpable traps and tricks only the monkey could rescue him. Yet they all abused the poor creature. All were jealous of him and on the slightest occasion pig or boy or horse urged the master to make the magic hat equipped with thorns and pins squeeze and hurt the monkey’s head in order “that he shall not become proud.” It is really an interesting and beautiful allegory. It has recently been translated into English by a missionary in China and anyone who wishes may read it. For hundreds of years it has been read in the original Chinese by Chinese, Koreans and Japanese. To-day Koreans may read it in their own language, printed in on-mun.
All these signs of life seem to show that Korean Buddhism is far from dead. It is coming forth from its mountain exile and bids fair to make itself felt in the future.
Let us examine for a moment the organization of an ordinary monastery. The monasteries are scattered through the mountains. Many of them are in remote places and it is difficult to reach them. Some are so far back that it would be impossible for them to go farther. I have no fears that ordinary tourists will spoil my delight in Pawpchu-sa, or Hain-sa, or Yu-chom-sa. If one desires to see them he must pay the price. Take Pawpchu-sa for instance. To see it we dismounted from the railroad train and took a Ford car across country ten miles to a little district capital; the next day, by government automobile, we went out over a road which had just been put in good order—there was only one break in it that was serious; for forty miles we travelled over this mountain road, deeper and deeper among the hills, up and up into the narrowing valley, until with mountains on all sides of us we reached the village of Poun. There we abandoned the automobile. The party went by horses, but a chair had been provided for my benefit. I hate chairs, and would have much preferred a horse, though Korean horses are little creatures and disagreeable. Their gait is as bad as anything one can imagine; there is nothing like a saddle, but only a broad cushion, without stirrups, and the traveller’s legs hang down over the front of the cushion, one foot on each side of the horse’s neck and the rider has no control whatever over the horse; nor has anyone else, although the mapu, or “boy,” runs along beside and hangs on to the halter or strikes the beast with stick or whip. I hate a Korean horse, but I hate a chair worse. However, we started, the rest on horses. When we had gone about half a mile the chair carriers, though professionals, declared they could go no farther; this, of course, was a mere question of weight; it was, however, a great relief to me. Promptly an exchange was made with my little Japanese photographer and interpreter, who took the chair, while I mounted his horse—the smallest and weakest of the outfit. We travelled on and on for miles; we passed one ridge behind another and another and another, until at last we reached Pawpchu-sa. Anyone who really journeys to Pawpchu-sa has my regard and blessing.
PLATE XIV
Great Buddha relief on rock face: Inner Kongo [Page 70]
The trip to Hain-sa, where the woodblocks are preserved, is a trying one. We went by basha. Japanese bashas are bad; the Japanese themselves think them far superior to Korean, but I prefer the latter. A basha is made for six passengers, but usually carries eight. The Japanese basha has two benches running lengthwise at the sides; three persons fill a bench, four overfill one. The driver sits in front and a single horse moves the conveyance. Such is the Japanese basha. The Korean vehicle has no benches at the sides like the Japanese affair; the passengers sit upon the floor with thin, rush mats under them, probably to keep the floor of the vehicle clean; there are no springs and the roads are rough. After travelling sitting on the springless floor for thirty-two miles, we abandoned the basha, as there was no longer a cart-road, and rode about seventeen miles on horses; it was like travelling over Mexican trails. Thus we reached Hain-sa. I do not begrudge a visit to Hain-sa to any person; those who make the journey deserve to be treated as friends and brothers.
Each monastery has its official corps. First comes the head priest. He has a hard time of it. He has to deal with the outside world and to oversee everything; he is business manager; he has little to do with spiritual direction, but has to settle all the quarrels and deal with all the problems that present themselves to the monastery; he gets all the hard work and shoulders all the blame. He receives, however, some extra rice and is entitled to an extraordinary exhibition of respect. He has a councillor to help him in problems of a serious nature. Next comes the religious head, who leads the services and sees that they are properly observed. The first religious service of the day comes at three o’clock A.M. At that hour the visitor hears the bells and gongs and the droning of songs and prayers. The people of the monastery all turn out to early service. There may be other services throughout the day; there are also times of meditation, and in special halls, where no disturbance is permitted, persons spend hours or entire days in silence and pious thought. There is always a steward whose business it is to attend to the food supply of the entire monastery. In a monastery of a hundred and fifty or two hundred persons in a remote mountain district, the steward’s work is important and exacting. At every monastery there are, of course, one or two cooks, whose business it is to prepare the food. There is regularly also, a group of little fellows, boys from ten to fifteen years of age, whose business it is to help these others on every occasion when help is needed. These boys have little in the way of religious duties, but sweeping and cleaning, errands, burden carrying and hard work in general falls on them. ([Plate XI].)
The balance of the population in a monastery is devoted to religious living. These include three different kinds of persons—priests, acolytes and orphans. The monasteries have always been orphan asylums. When a child in the country around is left without parents or other proper guardians he is usually sent to the mountain monastery; unless the unexpected happens he will grow up in the way of religion and become a priest or monk when the time arrives.