Read Ebook: Korean Buddhism: History—Condition—Art by Starr Frederick

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But about six years ago the priests of these thirty head monasteries came together; they held a great meeting and discussed their common interests; they decided that union was necessary and a forward movement, a thing such as was tried in 1902 and which failed then. It was tried again and has not failed. They elected a president of their commission, with a term of office of one year. His whole time is devoted to the interests of united Korean Buddhism for that year. They bought property in the city of Seoul and erected a central building, partly temple and partly office building. The expenses of this head office are borne by the thirty temples in proportion to their importance and wealth. The monasteries are graded into five groups and each contributes annually a set sum for the advancement of Buddhism in the peninsula.

While in Seoul last year, I visited a theological seminary of Buddhism. It has a good location in a desirable part of the city; it occupies a fine old Korean building; it has a corps of teachers of some ability; I found sixty-five students in attendance. The institution had been running for about three years. Most of the students were already connected with some of the mountain monasteries; they had come in for information, for improvement, for further study; they were looking forward to return to their temples with new strength and vigor for their work. The young men with whom I talked seemed to be earnestly interested and anxious for improvement. A definite course of three years instruction is offered to them. The number of students has grown steadily and no doubt the time will come when there will be hundreds of students in this institution.

There is to-day a magazine conducted in the interests of Korean Buddhism. It has been published for something like six years. The history of the editor, Yi Nung Hwa, is rather interesting. His father is a pillar of the Presbyterian Church in Seoul, one of the most successful of the mission churches. The young man himself was educated in Catholic schools in Seoul; his education came from foreigners, and he is now official interpreter for the Belgian Consul; but he finds his pleasure and outside interest in this magazine for the advancement of Korean Buddhism. Son of a Presbyterian Elder, trained in Catholic schools, speaking French, Korean, Chinese and Japanese, professionally engaged in service at a foreign consulate, he is the editor of a magazine for Buddhist propaganda!

Mr. Yi is also the author of a history of Korean Buddhism, which had not yet been printed when I saw him. It is, I think, the only history that has been written covering the entire field of Korean Buddhism. Everything that is printed in Korea must pass under the eye of the Japanese government, and can be printed only with its permission. It makes no difference whether the material is secular or religious, social, economic, literary or political. At the time when we were speaking about his book it had been sent in to the government for examination. It is to be hoped that it was approved and that permission was given for its publication. A book of that kind would have importance and no such book exists, in any modern form certainly, for popular reading.

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.

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.

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.

Many young men come in from the outside world for purposes of instruction. They look forward to becoming monks, but during their period of study they let their hair grow long, dress as outsiders and are regarded as still belonging to the world. Most of them, however, carry out their intention and remain permanently in the monastery. Thirdly, there are the regular monks and priests. They are dressed, of course, in characteristic style, and their heads are shaved. They live on vegetarian food and are vowed to celibacy. At some of the more important monasteries there is a resident teacher, but most of them depend upon a teacher sent from the head temple. The greeting given him when he arrives is beautiful to see. All know when he is expected, and at the hour they go in procession, dressed in their best robes, out to the farthest gate to meet him. When he arrives all but the head priest prostrate themselves so that they actually grovel in the dust. Then, accompanying him, with the head priest walking before, the whole company goes back to the monastery and the teaching almost immediately begins. He barely takes a little refreshment and rests a bit before he undertakes his duties. During the period of his stay the teaching continues throughout the day. One class or group comes in after another; the teaching is sometimes from books, sometimes from the teacher's own experience and knowledge.

Are the monasteries really places of great learning; are they centers of deep piety? It is hard to tell and much depends on one's definition.

Buddha was one of the greatest of world teachers. His teaching was simple; we may work out release gradually from the thraldom into which we are born; through careful thought and right living we may pass from stage to stage until at last we merge into infinity and lose our individuality.

But this is not the Buddhism of China, Korea or Japan. The Buddhism of these three countries recognizes an individual soul that continues. It has scores of gods and represents them by images or idols; the man who lives to-day does not try to work out salvation for himself through stage after stage of higher living. On the contrary he seeks salvation through another and that other is Amida Buddha. The Koreans call him Amida Pul. You may see them any day standing outside the temples repeating over and over again the formula, "Namu Amida Pul, Namu Amida Pul, Namu Amida Pul." They are thereby gaining salvation; through faith in Amida they will reach the Western Paradise. There was no Western Paradise in Buddha's teaching; there was no continued existence of the human soul; there was no one through whom men might be saved; one must work out his own salvation. But in this second Buddhism, any person in a single moment may gain salvation. It makes no difference whether a man has led a good or evil life, death-bed repentance may save him. A man does nothing for himself; faith only through the merit of another wins salvation--it sounds like good Presbyterian doctrine.

This was said everywhere, but I cannot see that there is anything in Korean Buddhism like the sects of Japan. In Shingon there is a whole series of doctrines and beliefs and practices; so in Zen, so in every other sect. Every person belonging to a given sect holds those dogmas and practises those ceremonials characteristic of his sect. No man is at once Shingon and Zen. But in a Korean monastery we find Syen people meditating and Kyo people reading and to-morrow the situation will be reversed, and it seems as if the terms apply merely to two modes of discipline, not to actually different sects. At all events in the same monastery we regularly find Syen and Kyo.

The texts of Mahayana Buddhism were originally in Sanskrit. They have been translated into Chinese and it is in their Chinese form that they are generally studied in China, Korea and Japan. In Korean monasteries we not infrequently find books that are printed, at least in part, in Sanskrit characters. Do the Korean monks know the Sanskrit language? Far from it. I doubt whether there are a half-dozen priests in all Korea who know anything whatever of the language.

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 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 co?perates 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.

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 formulae 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. 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.

Thirdly, are the wooden figures and other carvings in wood. And before we study these in detail let us remember that all religions are accustomed to borrow from those that have preceded them. In Christianity we have quantities of superstition lingering on from our days of paganism. Every religion that attempts a propaganda is compelled to take over much from the faiths which it displaces. India is a veritable mother of religions. One after another great religious systems have developed there. In very ancient days there was the simple nature worship of the old Aryans, as shown us in their sacred hymns, the Vedas. Among their gods two of the greatest were Brahma and Indra. Brahma was the creator, Indra was a god of heaven, an atmospheric deity who wielded thunderbolts, who hurled lightning strokes against the foe. In course of time the old Aryans advanced in culture, and their ancient worship gave way to a systematized religion, Brahmanism, with many gods, having definite names and qualities and attributes. But old Brahma and Indra lived on from the early days into Brahmanism. In that system Brahma was the king of all the gods, Indra was the king of heaven--having a special heaven of great beauty. It is said that his heaven was situated between the four peaks of Meru and consisted of thirty-two cities of Devas, eight on each of the four corners of the mountain. Indra's capital was at the center where he sat enthroned, with a thousand eyes and four arms grasping the thunderbolt, in company with his wife and eleven thousand and nine hundred concubines. There he received monthly reports regarding the progress of good and evil in the world from his four Maharajas, heavenly kings of the cardinal points. The word Deva in Brahmanism is applied to the gods in general; if a god is not specifically named he is called a Deva.

Brahmanism was the religion of India when Buddha came. He devoted his life to its overthrow, and his teaching was hostile to its assumptions. Curiously, however, in the popular traditional life of Buddha many incidents are mentioned in which the friendliest of relations were established between Buddha and the Devas of the old faith. Thus it is said that Brahma himself appeared to Buddha and begged him to begin his teaching. Indra in these stories repeatedly shows his friendship. There is one splendid occasion mentioned in which Buddha had been to Indra's heaven; when he was ready to descend, stairs appeared for him made of the choicest and most beautiful materials, and as he came down this stairway, Brahma descended by a side stairway of silver and Indra upon a stairway of purple gold upon the other side, while with them came thousands of Devas, singing Buddha's praises.

We need not then, be surprised, to find that a number of the old Brahmanic gods were taken bodily over into Buddhism. Brahma and Indra are in fact to-day considered in Mahayana to be the chief patrons and protectors of Buddhism. The four Maharajas have also been taken over completely. And Yama, the very ancient god of hell, to-day finds himself as comfortable in Buddhism as he ever could have been in Brahmanism, or in the earlier Aryan worship of the Vedas.

Approaching any Buddhist temple in Japan or Korea you are almost sure to find two gigantic figures standing at the outer gate. They are the old gods Brahma and Indra. They are represented as full-muscled men of gigantic size, wrestling against the powers of evil.

At another gate, farther up the trail, one is almost sure to find the Maharajas, heavenly kings of the cardinal points, under shelter, each in a niche or alcove; usually there are two on either side as one passes through the gate. Being related to the cardinal points, they are always arranged in the same order, and are distinguished from each other by having different colored faces, each having the color proper to the district over which he has control. Each carries a characteristic object, thus one bears a pagoda or tower on his hand, another carries a blazing jewel, the third varies what he carries, but frequently he plays upon a lute, the fourth one has a sword; these four great Brahman deities are found to-day in Korea at every Buddhist monastery, at the gate commonly called "the gate of the four kings"; there they watch, guarding the monastery against all harm. These are almost always figures of wood, but rarely one may find paintings on the wooden walls instead of the figures. While these guardian kings are always represented in heroic size the series at Pawpchu-sa are of extraordinary dimensions, probably the largest in Korea.

Yama, too, was taken over from the older faith. The god of hell, he was assisted by ten helpers; each of these served as his representative in a separate hell, or division of that place of torment. Yama judges souls and inflicts penalties, assigns duties, and directs all the details of his realm. In most Korean monasteries there will be a hall of the ten kings in which we see figures of Yama with his assistants.

Next we may consider architecture. We place it fourth because we have pursued a logical order of approach. Coming through the beautiful scenery, we have passed over the trail, noticing the inscriptions on the cliffs, passing by the guardians of the outer gate, walking between the four kings on their ceaseless guard, but at last have come to the monastery buildings proper and see them in their age and beauty before us. We have already seen representations of many of these temples in the preceding lectures. You have noticed that all were built of wood; you have observed the curious mode of timbering; you have studied the tangle of projecting timber ends under the roof--the decorative features applied to them, the carving and painting; red, green, black, white and blue, the gaudiest of colors are used upon them in a fashion which we could not conceive, and from which we would expect disharmony, though the real effect is charming. You have examined in detail the carved decoration of the doors, sometimes foliage, again floral, or with figures mingled with the other designs.

While the buildings themselves are always of wood there is a curious use made of stone at times in the way of supports. You remember in a picture from Sukwang-sa this was illustrated. The building was in the nature of a pavilion where tablets bearing names were left by visitors; the pavilion was borne upon upright columns of stone, highly characteristic of Korea, but not common elsewhere.

Another feature of the architecture is wall-painting and here we find two different kinds. Pictures may be painted directly upon the woodwork of the wall. It is more common, however, to panel the timbered walls with plastering and then to paint upon the plaster. Let us examine examples of both kinds.

The pilgrims had almost finished their journey and were returning in state, on cherubim, with a great collection of idols and sacred texts. It was found, however, that they had suffered only eighty trials, and it seems that to be perfect they should pass through eighty-one--nine times nine--so angels were sent to overtake the eight cherubim, and tell them privately that they must let the monks suffer one trial more. This the angels did. As a sample of the story, and in explanation of the picture we quote from Dr. Richard's translation.

"It was a strange sensation to be on the ground again. They had come down near some water. The master asked, 'Can anyone tell me where we are?'

The monkey said, 'Master, this is the mouth of the Milky Way River.' The river was wide. It was also a lonely place, without houses or boats, and they were on the western side. How could they get across? Two of them suggested that since the master had left his mortal body behind they could cross the river by magic, but the monkey said, 'No, it cannot be done.' He knew that there was one trial more to undergo, and it was for this they had stopped on the way. Then they heard a cry, 'Chinese priest, come this way.' They went and found that it was the white tortoise, who had ferried them over as they went West, at the time when they had saved the family at Chen Kia Chwang. The tortoise said he had been waiting for their return for a long time and was glad to see them. The practical monkey said, 'Formerly we had to trouble you. Now we meet again.'

At this the four pilgrims were very rejoiced to see the tortoise. He took them and the horse all on his back and swam across to the other side. As they neared the Eastern shore and it was getting dark, the tortoise said, 'Master, when you went West I asked you to inquire of Buddha for me how I might return to my former state, and when I might get a human body. Did you remember to ask?' But the master had been so absorbed in his own affairs that he had completely forgotten the tortoise and his request and so he had nothing to say. The tortoise, finding that he had been forgotten, turned a somersault, and threw all and everything into the river. Happily the mortal body of the master had been exchanged for an immortal one, and therefore he was safe in the water. The pig and the monkey, the boy and the horse, were also at home in the water, but the books were all soaked."

The old allegory took a strong hold upon Eastern Asia and there must have been hundreds of pictures painted in the course of time representing its incidents.

As an example of the wall-paintings on plaster we may study a group of paintings, each representing an individual being, from one of the main temples at Sukwang-sa. None of these figures is haphazard, or without significance. Each would be recognized by the well-informed Buddhist.

The two Buddhas most commonly represented by figures in Korean Buddhism are Sakya and Amida. Miroku, too, is frequently to be seen, but Miroku is not yet a Buddha but only Bodhisattva.

They become, then, Maitreya or Miroku, Jizo, Kwannon, Daiseishi, Monju, Fugen. Curiously enough in Korean iconography Jizo, a most mild and gentle god, fond of and loved by children, replaces Yama often as the king of hell. Kwannon, god of mercy, usually considered female in Japan, though not invariably, is usually male in Korean representation.

These three kinds of figures are usually made of wood, painted and gilded; sometimes the gold leaf on them represents absolutely considerable value. The figures of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas are frequently of large size, and often beautiful. They may be standing or seated, but in both cases the position of the hands and fingers is important and significant. Buddhism everywhere recognizes a series of finger symbols carrying a message. It is interesting to notice that the Buddha is usually included in a trinity. This fact is among many which have led some writers like Professor Lloyd, Doctor Richard, and Madame Gordon to think that Mahayana Buddhism is actually Christianity worked over and given the name of Buddhism.

Trinities are conspicuous everywhere. Often we find the central figure of the three to be Sakya, while to his right and left are the Bodhisattvas Monju and Fugen. The former sometimes sits upon a dog or lion, and the latter upon a white elephant. Then they are easily recognized by their mount. When not mounted they are not so easy of recognition. Even more common in Korea is the Amida trinity. Amida is usually accompanied by Kwannon on one side and Daiseishi on the other. There are other trinities to be seen in Korean temples but these two are common.

These figures are generally in curious relation with paintings. In most temples where there are figures on the altar there are paintings hung up on the wall behind which usually represent the same beings as the figures, but accompanied by many more attendants. This association of pictures and figures representing the same being is rare, if it occurs, in Japanese Buddhism.

Lastly, we come to paintings. While many are related to figures as just mentioned, many more stand by themselves and are displayed upon the walls of halls and temples without figures. If we desire to make a study of the paintings of a monastery we must pass from hall to hall. Many monasteries are absolute masses of great buildings. In the main temple there are usually figures of a trinity of Buddhas or sometimes even three trinities with paintings hung behind. In the Rakan hall we may find the sixteen Rakan in figures, in paintings, or in combinations. In halls of the five hundred Rakan, we usually find five hundred little figures set on shelves thickly around all three sides; no two are just alike, and it is probable that you will be told with glee that if you look long enough you will find your own father represented among them. In the hall of the Ten Kings of Hell we sometimes find the figures of Yama or of Jizo with the ten helpers; if so, behind the figures are frightful paintings of the ten hells, a picture of each one behind its proper king. Sometimes, however, there are only paintings in this hall. At some temples there is the hall of the Eight Scenes of the Life of Buddha. These scenes are definite and fixed in every detail, are traditional, and have been passed down for centuries. The whole building is occupied by the eight great paintings hung upon the wall. Each contains a mass of detail, and there may be hundreds of individuals represented in a single scene. Occasionally there is a hall of portraits at a monastery; such a one we saw at the monastery where we rebuked the priests for avarice and impoliteness; the building is devoted to the portraits which are said to be reliable representations of the head priests of this monastery for a period of almost fifteen hundred years. One might, however, visit many monasteries without finding such a hall.

Probably every monastery of any consequence has its hall of Seven Stars. It is always a little building and on the outskirts of the group of temples. Korea must have worshipped the constellation of the Great Bear, the Big Dipper or the Seven Stars, long before Buddhism came. Many Koreans still pay worship to the stars themselves. The father of a young man who was once my Korean interpreter, never fails to pray to the seven stars on any night when the sky is clear enough for them to be seen; the worship is interesting and deserves attention. It was probably taken over early by Buddhism. The picture always shown in this little hall is very curious. There is always a Buddha figure of some kind in it, but above are Buddha-like figures of the Seven Stars, heavenly beings, with pale faces; below there are the representations of seven earthly ministers corresponding to them; the idea that heavenly conditions are reproduced upon the earth is one common to many religions.

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