From India to Mongolia
Copyright Š 2015 All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher. Published in 2015 by Seoul Selection U.S.A., Inc. 4199 Campus Drive, Suite 550 Irvine, CA 92612, USA Phone: 949-509-6584 Fax: 949-509-6599 Email: publisher@seoulselection.com Website: www.seoulselection.com ISBN: 978-1-62412-054-1 52300 Printed in the Republic of Korea Library of Congress Control Number: 2015958069
From India to Mongolia
Lee Ocksoon Sim Hyuk Joo Kim Seonja Lee Pyung Rae Sun Jeong Gyu Yi Yong Bhum
PREFACE
All of the world’s religions refer to death in some way. Everyone is somewhat familiar with stories about where we go or what happens to us after death. From an early age, we have all heard stories of heaven or hell or some other version of paradise. Many of us believed such stories, and a great number of us still do. When considering that such stories manage to persist in modern times, an age of science and logic, we can be sure that death is an issue to which humans attach great importance. In a sense, the idea of an afterlife can be a great source of comfort to those whose death is imminent, as well as to their loved ones. Those who have led especially difficult lives can look forward to a more pleasant world, while those who have enjoyed happiness and abundance have the chance to experience more good fortune. To those left behind, the idea of an afterlife presents the chance to meet a loved one again. We may not be conscious of it, but such hopes and expectations stay with us throughout our lives. If such an afterlife does exist, then there is no reason to avoid or fear death. Moreover, if we believe that another life awaits us, then we would believe that we are only separated from our loved ones temporarily before being reunited with them later on. Philosophers and thinkers from both Eastern and Western civili-
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zations have ruminated upon the inevitability of death, exploring such concepts as death and life being the same entity, death being a condition of life, and death residing within all living things. Just as night and day coexist, the idea of death being a precondition for life is perfectly logical. Outside the realm of theory, however, there really are people who seemingly squander their lives before facing death unexpectedly, just as there really are countless stories about people who approach death with detached calm. Some typical examples of the latter are the spiritual gurus from India and Tibet who we see on television or read about in books. Witnessing their ascetic practices or their peaceful encounters with death, which often occur as though these people sensed death was coming, gives the impression that their entire lives were spent in preparation for death—that they were literally born to die. Despite the teachings of various religions, thinkers, and philosophers that have been handed down over thousands of years, we still cry in the presence of death. In short, death is a sad thing. If someone’s death is in any way abnormal, our sense of grief is even greater. We have several reasons for this sadness: “She left too soon.” “How can I live without you?” “He still had so many things to accomplish.” Yet even when death follows old age, this sadness does not dissipate. Regret for not having treated them better, the tragedy of them passing after a lifetime of suffering, the hurtful thought of them spending their last moments in immense physical pain—each are the reasons why we are often so sad to see our parents pass on. In some societies, it is customary to intentionally emit wails of pain to express the sadness of death. Although we cannot be sure of the cultural implications behind such wails performed during Korea’s traditional funerary rites, what is certain is that we feel obligated to feel sad when death arrives. How else could Koreans come up with the proverb, “Even if I have to roll around in dog feces, I would rath-
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er be alive”? No matter how painful or lowly living might be, people still prefer life over death. After all, the notion that “I just want to get death over with” is supposedly one of the three great lies that older people tell. Although having one’s life end after a respectable term is perfectly natural, do we still not refuse to accept this simple course of events? Despite the repeated teachings of philosophers and thinkers over multiple generations, people still wish to avoid death at all costs. In addition, surveys have shown that even among believers of faiths that profess an afterlife, the number of people with an unwavering belief in life after death is surprisingly low. What does this tell us? On occasion, religious teachings regarding life after death, eternal existence, and good deeds seem to simply mask the very nature of death. As such, it is also difficult to fully embrace the claims that death is a part of life and that, consequently, there is nothing to fear. Although I have no proof, I am sure that other people have felt this way too. At the same time, I have no intention of denigrating the teachings of great religions, thinkers, or philosophers; I have neither the ability nor the courage to do so. I simply believe that people’s demands for proof of an afterlife, or the challenge to prove its nonexistence, might contain a sliver of truth. If this is the case, why is it that the teachings of religions, thinkers and philosophers regarding death often seem empty, as fruitless as the roots of a tree that cannot sprout? In particular, when hearing accounts of the events that occur after death or of certain places we go when we die, I cannot help but harbor doubts. Thus, I often lean toward the claim that death is an unpleasant but unavoidable experience and should simply be accepted, as it seems to be the most honest and useful approach. Confronting practical issues related to death (suicide, the physical suffering before death, and euthanasia) and providing education to
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promote the peaceful acceptance of death are not only realistic goals but may also help us better tackle our problems in life and aid people in realistic ways. Yet when I think of death as integrally linked with life, as opposed to being a separate entity, not only does death itself appear differently, the suppositions one can make about death suddenly expand. After all, does death’s importance not stem from life? Ultimately, does preparing for and studying death not serve as a way to experience life as opposed to death itself? This is perhaps why some people profess that learning how to die is the best way to learn how to live. Let us approach Korean funerary rites from this perspective. Although ancestral rites are meant to serve one’s ancestors, the dead, everything is initiated and conducted by the living, the descendants, whom the ceremony actually serves. Myths regarding death from around the world can also be approached this way. Broadly speaking, mythology is a way to understand prehistoric civilizations, stories that reiterate the scientific reality that human life is something that will inevitably end. For this reason, many thinkers before us have speculated that a full acknowledgement of one’s mortality was the chief method of preparing for death. Given that this simple teaching has been repeated over thousands of years, such a realization may sound elementary, but it is actually an incredibly difficult mental feat. The great sages have taught us to constantly keep death close and to prepare ourselves to meet it, an activity that is incredibly challenging to put into practice. The reason for such difficulty, however, is surprisingly simple. Though we might use a phrase such as “life or death” rather easily and agree that the two concepts are intertwined, our thought processes are always focused on life. We close our eyes to death and obsess over life and its outer shell: riches and honors, social rank, health, and longevity. Although this
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cannot be proven, it seems plausible that the economic comforts of modern times have converted our former obsession with survival into an obsession with living. Paradoxically, as infant mortality rates drop, our life spans increase, and as the availability of physical comforts improves, our obsession with living deepens. Let us look at recent medical procedures for prolonging life, treatments that continue to rouse controversy. Modern medical innovations allow us to offer dying people slightly longer lives, even if only temporarily, an approach that has its benefits. It also comforts the children of dying parents by utilizing every available resource before the final close. However, these life-extending procedures also strip humans of the right to die with dignity, as they are often performed regardless of the patient’s will to continue living, resulting in mere extensions of a dying person’s physical suffering. Hospitals and doctors may cite their professional duty to treat patients with all available means, but it is difficult to ascertain the true benefactors of life-extending procedures. What is clear, however, is that life-extending procedures are also based on an excessive obsession with living, the idea that death is the end of everything and therefore life is always the best option. Realistically, however, it is nearly impossible for the average person to simply view life and death as linked and to then embrace death as it comes. The only people who face life and death on an equal plane and accept death as a natural progression are the holy figures and spiritual masters who have gained an understanding of the laws of the universe and have spent their lives in accordance with such laws. The average person may experience this enlightened state a few moments before death. Such clarity of vision is usually reserved for a select few, those who consistently walk the border between life and death, such as people who work with corpses directly or the Jews who experienced Auschwitz. There is a single factor that separates
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us from them: They have one foot in life and one in death and stare both in the face, while the rest of us wade solely in life. Thus, as long as we remain exclusively attached to life, all of our discussions regarding death are simply musings on a variation of life or just empty hypotheses. There is, however, a solution. We can learn from those who do not separate life from death and follow in their steps. If we choose not to, then all of our discussions surrounding death will amount to no more than wordplay. Religious clergy are no exception. Those who avoid directly confronting death and the deceased and instead focus only on ceremonial approaches to death may spend a lifetime expounding upon death and will only succeed in adding to the endless universe of empty words. The other five authors of this book and I organized, wrote, and published the following work in spite of the limits mentioned above. We set out to help readers realize the average person’s stubborn tendency to focus only on living by sharing the ideas offered by holy figures and spiritual masters who are well versed in the laws of the universe, spotlighting the perspectives of those who have witnessed death and the deceased and are personally acquainted with our ultimate fate, and explaining the views of people who have devoted themselves to accepting the laws of nature. The book’s six authors wrote about the death-related customs of Korea, the Han Chinese, Mongolia, and China’s ethnic minorities, Tibet, and India. The original plan was to include material regarding Japan, Western Asia, and Siberia as well, producing a complete investigation of death-related customs in all of Asia, but we lacked the resources. From the book’s very conception, it was determined that the authors would present their material as they pleased, with no set format or editorial stance. Thus, while all authors abided by the common denominator of exploring a certain region’s views and
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ceremonies regarding death, the content and format of each section reflects the individual style of each author. Moreover, each author draws from a different field of expertise. There are both advantages and disadvantages to this approach. Although formalities seemed frivolous in a book addressing death, a second look does reveal a certain lack of consistency. In actuality, what worries me more is how successful we have been in covering a topic of such gravity. Ultimately, this book is meant to help readers better understand the death-related customs of various cultures in Asia and perhaps endow their daily lives with a little more meaning. On a closing note, I would like to thank from the bottom of my heart the authors Kim Seonja, Sun Jeong Gyu, Sim Hyuk Joo, Lee Ocksoon, and Yi Yong Bhum for all their time and efforts. I would also like to thank Sonamu Publishing for having faith in a book that is probably not going boost their accounts very much.
Lee Pyung Rae, on behalf of the authors October 18, 2010
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DYING FOR REBIRTH During meditation, a sage saw his future flash before his eyes. He called over a favored disciple and told him, “I just realized that I will die soon and that I will be born as the fourth piglet of that sow gorging on trash in the yard. You will be able to recognize me by the red mark on my forehead. End my life with a sharp knife the minute I am born. I don’t want to live as a lowly pig.” The disciple answered that he would do so. After a while, the sage passed away and the sow laid a litter. The fourth piglet did indeed have a red mark on its forehead just as the sage had foreseen. But the student could not bear to kill his teacher reincarnated in the form of a pig. A day or two elapsed. Finally, the student made up his mind that he must keep his promise to his teacher. Sharp knife in hand, he went into the pigpen and was about to thrust the knife into the piglet’s throat. At that moment the pig squealed, “Wait! Stop! Don’t kill me!” The piglet, the reincarnation of the sage, said to the startled disciple, “Do not kill me. I want to live as a pig. When I asked that you kill me, I thought a pig’s life was contemptible and lowly. But now that I’ve lived a couple of days as a pig while you were hesitating about whether or not to kill me, I realize that it’s all right. It’s not so bad. Let me live as a pig.”
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The Hindu belief of transmigration and reincarnation is evident in this tale. Much like people of other cultures, Indian Hindus are also essentially afraid of death. But the reason they seem undaunted by death is because they believe in the continuity of life, or transmigration. If you were aware of what you were in your past lives and what you will be in the next, as was the sage who became a pig, the fear of death would subside. The French poet Baudelaire said that only the strong can indulge in the charm of fear. But the fear of death is also present in the strong. The fear of death comes from the dread of one’s existence coming to an end in this world. Disappearing from the face of the Earth forever, being separated from loved ones, and having to relinquish all Earthly bonds all contribute to this fear. Sometimes, the sadness that arises from having to leave the fortune and riches one has amassed with so much difficulty also makes death fearsome. The fear of death also arises from ignorance. No one would be scared of death if one were sure of a happy afterlife. If you knew you would be reincarnated as a great holy man or happy prince after you died, dying today would not be something that caused pain or sadness. Vergil sang that, “Death is a wave of no return.” But to Indian Hindus, death is but a temporary disappearance and part of a long journey of coming back in another form, much like the sage that was reincarnated as a pig. Indian Hindu culture considers death as something that happens to the body and not the mind, and is therefore not a subject to be feared; the body dies but the soul is immortal. It is the separation of a “dying me” and an “eternal me.” In other words, death is considered the separation of soul from the body, which means there is no true death. To Hindus, death is the intermission between one life cycle and the next, a passageway to the next life. For them, reincarnation is repeated until they are broken off from the chain of transmigration.
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The concept of reincarnation in India appeared around the sixth century BC. The ancient Brahman scriptures, Veda, do not include reincarnation or transmigration. There are, however, references to the fear of death and rituals to overcome it. The concept of transmigration first appeared in the Upanishads, also known as the “ultimate Veda.” The idea of transmigration—that a person’s life does not end in death, that they are reborn multiple times—appeared for the first time in the Upanishads, and this influenced Buddhism, which arose around this time. The Upanishads explain that death is when the soul gives up the body and takes another form, just as a goldsmith transforms his medium into various things such as rings and necklaces. The Bhagavad Gita contains the conversations on the battlefield between the god Krishna and Arjuna of the Kshatriya caste explaining death in similar terms. Arjuna was deliberating whether or not to fight against his own cousin. Not fighting would mean relinquishing his duties as a Kshatriya to defend his country, while fighting would result in killing many members of his own family. The god Krishna urges Arjuna to stand up and fight for a righteous cause and tells him that death is not something to mourn over, but is the course of nature. “A man’s soul casts off his old body and enters a new one like taking off old clothes and putting on new ones.” According to Krishna, first, the death of the body is inevitable, and so there is no reason to be sad. In other words, there is no reason to grieve inevitable death. Second, he says that death does not exist, but rather the soul casts off old clothes and puts on new ones. The eternal self is not destroyed so there is nothing to be sad about. Death is the soul leaving the old body to go into a new one, only the casting off of the current shell, so one does not have to despair. Thus, to Indian Hindus, death is not an end but a new start. A
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rural Indian woman who doesn’t know elevated ways of speech or philosophical explanations describes death more specifically. To her, death is like when a baby “switches from one of his mother’s breasts to the other.” At the moment, the child may feel as though it has been deprived of his mother’s bosom, but soon clings to the other side and suckles on it. Death is similar to this. Some people consider death to be but one branch of the eternal “river of life” that leads to the ocean. Much like a river that flows through varied terrain to end up in the sea, it is believed that the soul learns through the repetition of life and death to reach salvation. In this way, death is not an extinction but a completion—the unification of God and the universe. Those who realize the truth are delivered to God, but those who only partially know the truth repeat the process of life and death until they are emancipated. The final station of reincarnation is deliverance from worldly existence. The ultimate life goal for Indian Hindus is the deliverance of one’s soul. Of course, not all Hindus live their lives thinking of deliverance. But underneath it all, their goal in life is to be free of this mortal world. Hindu scriptures such as the Veda and the Bhagavad Gita emphasize deliverance as the ultimate emancipation of mankind, rather than reincarnation. Deliverance is becoming free from the cycle of life connected through life and death. It is “the state in which host and guest, inside and out are no longer distinguishable: it is like being in the embrace of a loved one,” or “being one with the universe.” Another part of the Upanishads refers to deliverance as “a flowing river disappearing into the sea, losing its own name and form.” It says, “The enlightened one who’s lost his name and form goes to the transcending God.” The enlightened are neither born nor do they die. This is why death is not considered the extinguishment of identity but its completion.
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The Katha Upanishad teaches that eternity is the realization of the absolute God within. Therefore, Hindus’ goal in life is self-realization: the process of finding God within and aspiring for unity with God. Through repeated births, the soul is allowed numerous chances to reach completeness, or immortality of soul. The Upanishad defines the immortality of soul as follows: “You cannot hear it nor touch it; it is formless and does not disappear; it has no smell or taste; there is no beginning and there is no end.” Hindu traditions interpret the path to this ultimate goal in three main ways. The first is action, the second is love of God, and the third is wisdom. First, the path of action (karma) is to reach salvation by abiding by rules and morals and being good to one’s neighbors. Second, the path of God-loving is to love and venerate a certain God with one’s heart and soul. This is the path that most people usually take. Third, the path of wisdom is achieving salvation through insight and intuition or prophesies that cut directly to the absolute reality. In Hinduism, all the paths to God are thus left open; this is not unrelated to the fact that there is no one absolute doctrine in India. The people’s hope to achieve unity with God or reach moksha (liberation and bliss) is connected to the theories of karma and reincarnation. It is believed that the soul starts off inhabiting the lowliest of animals and it is then trained continuously through the repetition of death and birth, evolving into a heightened state of being until it reaches God. People who have done bad things are reincarnated into animals. The following passage appears in the book The Untouchables (1935) by the Indian writer Mulk Anand. Baka the Hindu . . . had witnessed many deaths but had always accepted death as it is. It was said that the God of Death, Yama, presided over the trials in hell judging the sins that people have committed, and these people were reincarnated into various forms. Baka was always
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afraid of being born as a mule or a dog.
According to Hindu beliefs, people who do wrong die and become elephants, trees, cows, or horses. When an animal repeatedly dies and is reincarnated, it is sometimes reborn into a human, but even so, it is born a midget, a hunchback, a tribesman, an Untouchable, or into some such disadvantageous position. And if he still owes karmic debt, then he is born a Shudra, the lowest of the caste system, or a Vaishya, the merchant class. This Brahman way of thinking is no longer very relevant, but it undeniably still influences the Hindu way of looking at life. Hinduism considers birth and death as part of the long process to achieve salvation and moksha. The fact that death is not the end and that another life continues beyond consoles humans who are afraid of death; the fear of death subsides in the wake of reincarnation. There is an old saying that a happy heart is like medicine. This is why Hindus who believe in the immortality of the soul are less afraid of death compared to the people of other cultures. To them, death is immaterial yet omnipresent at the same time. Shiva is the god of both creation and destruction. The fact that the Lord of Creation presides over death signifies that there is no reason to grieve death as we are merely returning to our maker. To Hindus, death is just a suspension of a long event called life, and because there is death, there is life. Life that flows without beginning or end is the path of return to our creator; it is like the road that takes us back home to our mother. Indians who believe in transmigration believe that they must live multiple lives until they regain their intrinsic godliness within, or until they can turn to God, achieve moksha, and reach God. Unless one breaks away from the illusions of this world and realizes one’s true self through transcendence and withdrawal, one must forever be
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bound to the chain of transmigration and repeat the cycle of death and birth forever. The belief that we repeatedly die and are reborn until we are completely free from the obsession over our bodies and the worldly realm is present not only in Hinduism but also in other religions that were founded in India such as Buddhism and Sikhism. Every being has a soul and the body is its prison. The soul that has left the body through death enters another body in the next life. During the nine months in the mother’s womb, the soul recognizes the pain and sadness from the past life and promises itself that it will be devoted to God and live to achieve moksha. But at the moment of birth, the child forgets its past and its experience in the womb. The ignorant ones who have not realized their true selves repeat the process of death and life and move on to the next body. Reincarnation is to meet one’s life in another life. As Krishna said, When we die our bodies die, but the soul does not ever die. Just as our bodies discard old clothes and put on new ones, our souls take leave of our old bodies after death and move into new ones. The soul takes on innumerable different bodies and is reborn as many times as it takes until it is rid of all the karma belonging to it.
This is the theory of reincarnation. When the ancient Indo-Greek King Milinda asked the Indian sage Nagasena what transmigration was, the latter replied, “A being is born into this land and dies in this land. Later he is born in another land and dies there: that is samsara.” “Then is the reborn man the same person as he was before, or is he someone else?” the king responded. “They are neither different nor the same. The chain of Dharma that holds up individuals and the whole universe continues on. When one being disappears, another one appears.”
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Credits Publisher
Kim Hyung-geun
Writers Translator Editor Copy Editor
Lee Ocksoon, Sim Hyuk Joo, Kim Seonja, Lee Pyung Rae, Sun Jeong Gyu, Yi Yong Bhum Myles Ji Shin Yesol Jaime Stief
Designer
Lee Bok-hyun