A Definite Compass for My Life

The Moon clan originated in Nampyung, near Naju, Cholla Province,
a town about 320 miles south of Seoul, in the southwest
region of the country. My great-great-grandfather, Sung Hak
Moon, had three sons. The youngest of these was my great-grandfather,
Jung Heul Moon, who himself had three sons: Chi Guk, Shin Guk, and
Yun Guk. My grandfather, Chi Guk Moon, was the oldest.
Grandfather Chi Guk Moon was illiterate, as he did not attend either
a modern elementary school or the traditional village school. His power
of concentration was so great, however, that he was able to recite the full
text of the Korean translation of San Guo Zhi just by having listened to
others read it to him. And it wasn’t just San Guo Zhi. When he heard
someone tell an interesting story, he could memorize it and retell it in
exactly the same words. He could memorize anything after hearing it just
once. My father took after him in this way; he could sing from memory the
Christian hymnal, consisting of more than four hundred pages.
Grandfather followed the last words of his father to live his life with a
spirit of giving, but he was not able to maintain the family fortune. This
was because his youngest brother, my Great-Uncle Yun Guk Moon, borrowed
money against the family’s property and lost it all. Following this
incident, members of the family went through some very hard times,
but my grandfather and father never spoke ill of Great-Uncle Yun Guk.
This was because they knew he had not lost the money gambling or
doing anything of that nature. Instead, he had sent the money to the
Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea, based in Shanghai,
China. In those days, seventy thousand won was a large sum, and this
was the amount that my great uncle donated to the independence
movement.
Great-Uncle Yun Guk, a graduate of Pyongyang Seminary and a
minister, was an intellectual who was fluent in English and well versed in
Chinese studies. He served as the responsible pastor for three churches,
including Deok Heung Church in Deok Eon Myeon. He participated
in the drafting of the 1919 Declaration of Independence, together
with Nam Seon Choe. When it was found, however, that three of the
sixteen Christian leaders among the signatories were associated with
Deok Heung Church, Great-Uncle had his name removed from the list.
Seung Heung Lee, one of the remaining signatories who worked with
my great-uncle in establishing the Osan School, asked Great-Uncle Yun
Guk to take care of all his affairs in case the independence movement
failed and he died at the hands of the Japanese colonial authorities.
On returning to our hometown, Great-Uncle Yun Guk printed tens
of thousands of Korean flags and handed them out to the people who
poured into the streets to shout their support for Korean independence.
He was arrested on March 8 as he led a demonstration on the hill behind
the Aipo Myeon administrative office. The demonstration in support
of independence was attended by the principal, faculty, and some two
thousand students of the Osan School, some three thousand Christians,
and some four thousand other residents of the area. He was given a
two-year prison sentence and was imprisoned in the Eui-ju prison. The
following year he was released as part of a special pardon.
Even after his release, severe persecution by the Japanese police
meant he could never stay long in one place, and he was always on the
run. He carried a large scar where the Japanese police had tortured him
by stabbing him with a bamboo spear and carving out a piece of his
flesh. He was speared in the legs and in the side of his ribs, but he said
that he never gave in. When the Japanese found they couldn’t break
him, they offered him the position of county chief if he would pledge
to stop participating in the independence movement. His response was
to rebuke the Japanese in a loud voice: “Do you think I would take on a
position and work for you thieves?”
When I was about seven or eight years old, Great-Uncle Yun Guk
was staying in our home for a short time and some members of the
Korean independence army came to see him. They were low on funds
and had traveled by night on foot through a heavy snowfall to reach our
house. My father covered the heads of us children with a sleeping quilt
so that we would not be awakened. I was already wide awake, and I lay
there under the quilt, my eyes wide open, listening as best I could to the
sounds of the adults talking. Though it was late, my mother killed a chicken
and boiled some noodles to serve to the independence fighters.
To this day, I cannot forget the words that I heard Great-Uncle Yun
Guk speak as I lay there under the quilt, holding my breath in excitement.
“Even if you die,” he said, “if you die for the sake of our country,
you will be blessed.” He continued, “Right now, we can see only darkness
before us, but the bright morning is sure to come.” Because of the
effects of torture, he did not have full use of his body, but his voice
resonated with strength.
I also remember thinking to myself then: “Why did such a wonderful
person as Great-Uncle have to go to prison? If only we were stronger
than Japan, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Great-Uncle Yun Guk continued to roam about the country, avoiding
persecution by the Japanese police, and it was not until 1966, while
I was in Seoul, that I received news of him again. Great-Uncle appeared
in a dream to one of my younger cousins and told him, “I am buried
in Jeong-seon, Kang-won Province.” We went to the address he gave in
the dream and found that he had passed away nine years before that.
We found only a grave mound covered with weeds. I had his remains
reburied in Paju, Kyounggi Province, near Seoul.
In the years following Korea’s liberation from Japan in 1945, communists
in North Korea killed Christian ministers and independence
fighters indiscriminately. Great-Uncle Yun Guk, fearing his presence
might cause harm to the family, escaped the communists by crossing
south over the 38th parallel and settling in Jeong-seon. No one in our
family was aware of this. He supported himself in that remote mountain
valley by selling calligraphy brushes. Later, we were told that he set up
a traditional village school where he taught Chinese classics. According
to some of his former students, he often enjoyed spontaneously
composing poems in Chinese characters. His students transcribed and
preserved some 130 of these, including the following:

South North Peace
南北平和
Ten years have passed since I left home to come South
在前十載越南州
The flow of time speeds my hair to turn white
流水光陰催白頭
I would return North, but how can I?
故園欲去安能去
What was intended as a short sojourn has been prolonged
別界薄遊爲久游
Wearing the long-sleeved ko-hemp clothing of summer
袗長着知當夏
I fan myself with a silk fan and consider what the autumn will bring
紈扇動搖畏及秋
Peace between South and North draws near
南北平和今不遠
Children waiting under the eaves,
You needn’t worry so much.
候兒女莫深愁
Though separated from his family and living in Jeong-seon, a land
unfamiliar to him in every way, Great-Uncle Yun Guk’s heart was filled
with concerns for his country. Great-Uncle also left this poetic verse:
“When setting your goal in the beginning, pledge yourself to a high
standard; don’t allow yourself even the least bit of private desire (厥
初立志自期高 私慾未嘗容一毫).” My great-uncle’s contributions to
the independence movement were posthumously recognized by the
Republic of Korea government in 1977 with a Presidential Award and
in 1990 with the Order of Merit for National Foundation. Even now, I
sometimes recite his poetic verses. They are infused with his steadfast
love for his country, even in the face of extreme adversity.
Recently, as I have grown older, I think about Great-Uncle Yun Guk
more often. Each phrase of his poetry expressing his heart of concern
for his country penetrates into my heart. I have taught our members the
song Daehan Jiri Ga (Song of Korean Geography), whose words were
written by Great-Uncle Yun Guk himself. I enjoy singing this song with
our members. When I sing this song, from Mount Baektu to Mount
Halla, I feel relieved of my burdens.
Song of Korean Geography
The peninsula of Korea in the East
Positioned among three countries.
North, the wide plains of Manchuria
East, the deep and blue East Sea,
South, a sea of many islands,
West, the deep Yellow Sea
Food in the seas on three sides,
Our treasure of all species of fish.
Mighty Mount Paektu stands on the North,
Providing water to the Rivers of Amrok and Tumen.
Flowing into seas east and west,
Marking a clear border with the Soviets
Mount Kumgang shines bright in the center,
A preserve for the world, pride of Korea.
Mount Halla rises above the blue South Sea
A landmark for fishermen at sea.
Four plains of Daedong, Hangang, Geumgang, and Jeonju
give our people food and clothing.
Four mines of Woonsan, Soonan, Gaecheon, and Jaeryung
give us the treasures of the Earth.
Four cities of Kyungsung, Pyongyang, Daegu, and Kaesung shine over the land
Four ports of Busan, Wonsan, Mokpo and Incheon
welcome foreign ships.
Railroads spread out from Kyungsung,
Connecting the two main lines, Kyung-Eui and Kyung-Bu
Branch lines Kyung-Won and Honam run north and south,
Cover the peninsula.
Our sites tell us our history.
Pyongyang, 2,000-year-old city of Dangun,
Kaesung, capital of Koryo,
Kyungsung, 500-year capital of Chosun,
Kyungju, 2,000 years of Shilla’s culture shines, origin of Pak Hyuk-ko-sai,
Chungchong has Buyo,
the historic capital of Paekche.
Sons of Korea pioneering the future, the waves
of civilization wash against our shores.
Come out of the hills, and march forward in
strength to the world of the future!

Food is love Being a Friend to All

Once I set my mind to do something, I have to put it into
action immediately. Otherwise, I cannot sleep. As a child, I
would sometimes get an idea during the night but be forced
to wait until morning before acting on it. I would stay awake and make
scratches on the wall to pass the time. This happened so often that I
would almost dig a hole in the wall and chunks of dirt would pile up on
the floor. I also couldn’t sleep if I had been treated unfairly during the
day. In such a case, I would get out of bed during the night, go to the
culprit’s home, and challenge him to come out and fight me. I am sure it
must have been very difficult for my parents to raise me.
I could not stand to see someone treated unjustly. Whenever there
was a fight among the children in the village, I would involve myself as
though I were responsible to see that justice was served in every situation.
I would decide which child in the fight was in the wrong and I
would scold that child in a loud voice. Once I went to see the grandfather
of a boy who was a bully in the neighborhood. I said to him, “Your
grandson has done this and that wrong. Please take care of it.”
I could be wild in my actions, but nevertheless I was a child with a
big heart. I would sometimes visit my married older sister in the home
of her husband’s family and demand that they serve me rice cakes and
chicken. The adults never disliked me for this because they could see
that my heart was filled with a warm love.
I was particularly good at taking care of animals. When birds made a
nest in a tree in front of our house, I dug a small waterhole for them to
drink water. I also scattered some hulled millet from the storeroom on
the ground for the birds to eat. At first, the birds would fly away whenever
someone came close. They soon realized, however, that the person
giving them food was someone who loved them, and they stopped flying
away when I approached.
Once I thought I would try raising fish. So I caught some fish and put
them in the water hole. I also took a fistful of fish food and sprinkled it
over the water. When I got up the next morning, though, I found that all
the fish had died during the night. I was so looking forward to raising
those fish. I stood there in astonishment, looking at them floating on
top of the water. I remember that I cried all day that day.
My father kept many bee colonies. He would take a large hive box
and fasten a basic foundation to the bottom of the hive. Then the bees
would deposit their beeswax there to create a nest and store their honey.
I was a curious child, and I wanted to see just how the bees built the
hive. So I stuck my face into the middle of the hive and got myself stung
severely by the bees, causing my entire face to swell tremendously.
I once took the foundations from the hive boxes and received a
severe scolding from my father. Once the bees had finished building
their hives, my father would take the foundations and stack them to one
side. These foundations were covered with beeswax that could be used
as fuel for lamps in place of oil. I took those expensive foundations,
broke them up, and took them to homes that couldn’t afford to buy oil
for their lamps. It was an act of kindness, but I had done it without my
father’s permission, and so I was harshly reprimanded.
When I was twelve, we had very little in the way of games. The
choices were a Parcheesi-like game called yute, a chesslike game called
jang-gi, and card games. I always enjoyed it when many people would
play together. During the day, I would like to play yute or fly my kite,
and in the evenings I would make the rounds of the card games going
on around the village. They were games where the winner picked up 120
won (Korean monetary unit) after each hand, and I could usually win at
least once every three hands. New Year’s Eve and the first full moon of
the new year were the days when the most gambling went on. On those
days, the police would look the other way and never arrest anyone for
gambling. I went to where grown-ups were gambling, took a nap during
the night, and got them to deal me in for just three hands in the early
morning, just as they were about to call it quits for the night. I took
the money I had won, bought some starch syrup, and took it around
to all my friends to give them each a taste. I didn’t use the money for
myself or to do anything bad. When my older sisters’ husbands visited
our home, I would ask permission and take money from their wallets.
I would then use this money to buy sweets for children in need. I also
bought them starch syrup.
In any village it is natural that there are people who live well and
those who don’t. When I would see a child who had brought boiled
millet to school for lunch, I couldn’t eat my own better lunch of rice. So
I would exchange my rice for his millet. I felt closer to the children from
poor families than to those from rich families, and I wanted somehow
to see to it that they didn’t go hungry. This was a kind of game that I enjoyed
most of all. I was still a child, but I felt that I wanted to be a friend
to everyone. In fact, I wanted to be more than just friends; I wanted to
have relationships where we could share our deepest hearts.
One of my uncles was a greedy man. His family owned a melon patch near
the middle of the village, and every summer, when the melons were ripe and
giving off a sweet fragrance, the village children would beg him to let them eat
some. My uncle, though, set up a tent on the road next to the melon patch and
sat there keeping guard, refusing to share even a single melon.
One day I went to him and asked, “Uncle, would it be all right if some time
I were to go to your patch and eat all the melon I want?” Uncle willingly answered,
“Sure, that would be fine.”
So I sent word to all the children that anyone wanting to eat melon
should bring a burlap bag and gather in front of my house at midnight. At
midnight I led them to my uncle’s melon patch and told them, “I want all of
you to pick a row of melons, and don’t worry about anything.” The children
shouted with joy and ran into the melon patch. It took only a few minutes
for several rows of melons to be picked clean. That night the hungry children
of the village sat in a clover field and ate melons until their stomachs
almost burst.
The next day there was big trouble. I went to my uncle’s home, and it
was in pandemonium, like a beehive that had been poked. “You rascal,” my
uncle shouted at me. “Was this your doing? Are you the one who ruined my
entire year’s work of raising melons?”
No matter what he said, I was not going to back down. “Uncle,” I said,
“don’t you remember? You told me I could eat all the melons I wanted.
The village children wanted to eat melons, and their desire was my desire.
Was it right for me to give them a melon each, or should I absolutely not
have given them any?” When he heard this, my uncle said, “All right. You’re
right.” That was the end of his anger.

Food is love The Joy of Giving Food to Others

I have very small eyes. I am told that when I was born, my mother
wondered, “Does my baby have eyes, or not?” and spread my eyelids
apart with her fingers. Then when I blinked, she said with joy,
“Oh my, yes. He does have eyes, after all!” My eyes were so small that
people often called me “Osan’s Little Tiny-Eyes,” because my mother
was from the village of Osan.
I cannot remember anyone saying, though, that my small eyes make
me any less attractive. In fact, people who know something about
physiognomy, the art of understanding a person’s characteristics and
fortune by studying facial features, say my small eyes give me the right
disposition to be a religious leader. I think it is similar to the way a
camera is able to focus on objects farther away as the aperture of its iris
diaphragm is reduced. A religious leader needs to be able to see farther
into the future than do other people, and perhaps small eyes are an
indication of such a quality. My nose is rather unusual as well. Just one
look and it is obvious that this is the nose of a stubborn and determined
man. There must be something to physiognomy, because when I look
back on my life, these features of my face seem to parallel the way I have
lived my life.
I was born at 2221 Sang-sa Ri (village), Deok-eon District, Jeong-ju
Township, Pyong-an Province, as the second son of Kyung Yu Moon
of the Nam Pyung Moon clan and Kyung Gye Kim of the Yeon An
Kim clan. I was born on the sixth day of the first lunar month in 1920,
the year after the 1919 independence movement. I was told that our
family settled in the village of Sang-sa Ri during the life of my greatgrandfather.
My paternal great-grandfather worked the farm himself,
produced thousands of bushels of rice, and built the family fortune with
his own hands. He never smoked or drank liquor, preferring instead to
use that money to buy food to give to those in need. When he died, his
last words were, “If you feed people from all the regions of Korea, then
you will receive blessings from all those regions.” So the guest room in
our home was always full of people. Even people from other villages
knew that if they came to our home, they could always count on being
fed a good meal. My mother carried out her role of preparing food for
all those people without ever complaining.
My great-grandfather was so active, he never wanted to rest. If he
had some spare time he would use it to make pairs of straw footwear
that he would then sell in the marketplace. When he grew old, in his
merciful ways, he would buy several geese, let them go in the wild, and
pray that all would be well with his descendants. He hired a teacher of
Chinese characters to sit in the guest room of his home and provide
free literacy lessons to the young people of the village. The villagers gave
him the honorific title “Sun Ok” (Jewel of Goodness) and referred to
our home as “a home that will be blessed.”
By the time I was born and was growing up, much of the wealth that
my great-grandfather had accumulated was gone, and our family had
just enough to get by. The family tradition of feeding others was still
alive, however, and we would feed others even if it meant there wouldn’t
be enough to feed our family members. The first thing I learned after I
learned to walk was how to serve food to others.
During the Japanese occupation, many Koreans had their homes and
land confiscated. As they escaped the country to Manchuria, where they
hoped to build new lives for themselves, they would pass by our home
on the main road that led to Seon-cheon in North Pyong-an Province.
My mother would always prepare food for the passersby, who came
from all parts of Korea. If a beggar came to our home asking for food
and my mother didn’t react quickly enough, my grandfather would pick
up his meal and take it to the beggar. Perhaps because I was born into
such a family, I too have spent much of my life feeding people. To me,
giving people food is the most precious work. When I am eating and
I see someone who has nothing to eat, it pains my heart and I cannot
continue eating.
I will tell you something that happened when I was about eleven
years old. It was toward the last day of the year, and everyone in the
village was busy preparing rice cakes for the New Year’s feast. There was
one neighbor family, though, that was so poor they had nothing to eat.
I kept seeing their faces in my mind, and it made me so restless that I
was walking around the house, wondering what to do. Finally, I picked
up an eight-kilogram (17.6-pound) bag of rice and ran out of the house.
I was in such a hurry to get the bag of rice out of the house that I didn’t
even tie the bag closed. I hoisted the bag onto my shoulders and held it
tight as I ran along a steep, uphill path for about eight kilometers (five
miles) to get to the neighbor’s home. I was excited to think how good it
would feel to give those people enough food so they could eat as much
as they wanted.

The village mill was next to our house. The four walls of the millhouse
were well built, so that the crushed rice could not fall through the
cracks. This meant that in the winter it was a good place to escape the
wind and stay warm. If someone took some kindling from our home’s
furnace and started a small fire in the millhouse, it became warmer than
an ondol-heated room. Some of the beggars who would travel around
the country would decide to spend the winter in that millhouse. I was
fascinated by the stories they had to tell about the world outside, and I
found myself spending time with them every chance I got. My mother
would bring my meals to the millhouse, and she would always bring
enough for my beggar friends to eat as well. We would eat from the
same dishes and share the same blankets at night. This is how I spent
the winter. When spring came, they would leave for faraway places,
and I could not wait for winter to come again so they would return to
our home. Just because their bodies were poorly clothed did not mean
that their hearts were ragged as well. They had a deep and warm love
that showed. I gave them food, and they shared their love with me. The
deep friendship and warmth they showed me back then continue to be
a source of strength for me today.
As I go around the world and witness children suffering from hunger,
I am always reminded of how my grandfather never missed a chance to
share food with others.

FOOD IS LOVE What I Learned about Peace While Being Carried on My Father’s Back

I have lived my life with just one thought. I wanted to bring about
a world of peace, a world where there are no wars and where all
humankind lives in love. Perhaps some may say, “How is it possible
that you were thinking about peace even when you were a child?” Is it
so astonishing that a child would dream of a peaceful world?
In 1920, when I was born, Korea was under forced occupation by Japan. Even
after liberation, there came the Korean War, the Asian financial crisis, and other
numerous difficult crises. For many years, the land of Korea has not been closely
associated with peace. But these times of suffering and confusion were not matters
related only to Korea. The two world wars, the Vietnam War, and the wars in the
Middle East show that people in the world continuously treat each other with enmity,
point guns at each other, and bomb each another. Perhaps for people who
experience these horrors of bloodied bodies and broken bones, peace has
been something that could be imagined only in a dream. Peace, though, is
not so difficult to accomplish. To begin with, we can find peace in the air we
breathe, in the natural environment, and in the people around us.
As a child, I thought of the meadows as my home. As soon as I could
wolf down my bowl of rice for breakfast, I would run out of the house
and spend the entire day in the hills and streams. I could spend the
day wandering about the forest with all the different birds and animals,
eating herbs and wild berries, and I would never feel hungry. Even as a
child, I knew that my mind and body were at ease anytime I went into
the forest.
I would often fall asleep in the hills after playing there. My father
would be forced to come find me. When I heard my father shouting in
the distance, “Yong Myung! Yong Myung!” I couldn’t help but smile,
even as I slept. My name as a child was Yong Myung. The sound of his
voice would awaken me, but I would pretend to still be asleep. He would
hoist me onto his back and carry me home. That feeling I had as he
carried me down the hill—feeling completely secure and able to let my
heart be completely at ease—that was peace. That is how I learned about
peace, while being carried on my father’s back.
The reason I loved the forest was also because all the peace in the
world dwells there. Life forms in the forest do not fight each other. Of
course, they eat one another and are eaten, but that is because they are
hungry and need to sustain themselves. They do not fight out of enmity.
Birds do not hate other birds. Animals do not hate other animals. Trees
do not hate other trees. There needs to be an absence of enmity for peace
to come. Human beings are the only ones who hate other members of
the same species. People hate other people because their country is different,
their religion is different, and their way of thinking is different.
I have been to almost two hundred countries. There were not many
countries where I would land at the airport and think to myself, “This
really is a peaceful and contented place.” There were many places where,
because of civil war, soldiers held their weapons high, guarding the airports
and blocking the streets. The sound of gunfire could be heard day
and night. Several times, I came close to losing my life in places where
I went to talk about peace. In today’s world, there is an endless series
of conflicts and confrontations, large and small. Tens of millions suffer
from hunger, with nothing to eat. Yet, trillions of dollars are spent on
weapons. The money spent on guns and bombs alone would give us
enough to end hunger for everyone.
I have dedicated my life to building bridges of peace between countries
that hate each other as enemies because of ideology and religion.
I created forums where Islam, Christianity, and Judaism could come
together. I worked to reconcile the views of the United States and the
Soviet Union when they were at odds with each other over Iraq. I have
helped in the process of bringing reconciliation between North and
South Korea. I did not do these things for money or fame. From the
time I was old enough to know what was going on in the world, there
has been only one objective for my life: that is for the world to live in
peace, as one. I never wanted anything else. It has not been easy to live
day and night for the purpose of peace, but that is the work that makes
me most happy.
During the Cold War, we experienced the pain of having our
world divided in two because of ideology. It seemed then that if only
communism would disappear, peace would come. Yet, now that the
Cold War is past, we find even more conflicts. We are now fractured
by race and religion. Many countries facing each other across their
borders are at odds. As if that were not enough, we have situations
within countries where people are divided by race, religion, or the
regions where they were born. People think of each other as enemies
across these lines of division and refuse to open their hearts
to one another.
When we look at human history, we see that the most brutal and
cruel wars were not those fought between nations but those between
races. Among these, the worst were wars between races where religion
was used as a pretext. In the Bosnian civil war, said to be one of the
worst ethnic conflicts of the twentieth century, thousands, including
many children, were brutally massacred. I am sure you remember the
terrorist incident of September 11, 2001, when thousands of innocent
lives were lost as the World Trade Center buildings in New York were
completely destroyed after passenger planes were crashed into them.
Recently, too, in the Gaza Strip in Palestine as well as in southern Israel,
hundreds have lost their lives as a result of that intense conflict. Homes
have been destroyed, and people are living on the brink of death. All this is
the grim result of conflicts between ethnic groups and between religions.
What makes people hate and kill each other like this? Of course
there are many reasons, but religious differences are almost always
connected. This was true with the Gulf War, which was fought over
oil. It is true with the Arab–Israeli conflict over control of Jerusalem.
When racism uses religion as a pretext, the problem becomes
extremely complex. The evil ghosts of the religious wars that we
thought had ended in the Middle Ages continue to haunt us in the
twenty-first century.
Religious wars continue to occur because many politicians use the
enmity between religions to satisfy their selfish designs. In the face of
political power, religions often waver and lose their way. They lose sight
of their original purpose, which is to exist for the sake of peace. All
religions have a responsibility to advance the cause of world peace. Yet,
lamentably, we see that religions instead become the cause of conflict.
Behind this evil we find the machinations of politics, with its power
and money. The responsibility of a leader, above all else, is to keep the
peace. Yet leaders often seem to do the opposite and lead the world into
confrontation and violence.
Leaders use the language of religion and nationalism to hide their
selfish ambitions. Unless their hearts are set right, countries and nationalities
will wander in confusion. Religion and love of one’s nation
are not evil in their essence. They are valuable if these impulses are used
to contribute to building a global human community. When the claim
is made that only a particular religion or ethnic group is right and when
other religions and ethnic groups are treated with disdain and attacked,
religion and love of nation lose their value. When a religion goes so
far as to trample on others and treat other religions as worthless, it no
longer embodies goodness. The same is true when love of nation is used
to emphasize the righteousness of a person’s own country over others.
The truth of the universe is that we must acknowledge each other
and help each other. Even the smallest animals know this. Cats and
dogs do not get along, but if you raise them in the same household,
they embrace each other’s offspring and are friendly toward each other.
We see the same thing in plants. The vine that winds its way up a tree
depends on the trunk to support it. The tree, however, does not say,
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing, winding your way up my trunk?”
The principle of the universe is for everyone to live together, for the sake
of one another. Anyone who deviates from this principle faces certain
ruin. If nationalities and religions continue maliciously to attack each
other, humanity has no future. There will be an endless cycle of terror
and warfare until one day we become extinct. But we are not without
hope. Clearly there is hope.
I have lived my life without ever letting go of that hope and always
kept alive the dream of peace. What I want is to wipe away completely
the walls and fences that divide the world in myriad ways and to create
a world of unity. I want to tear down the walls between religions and
between races and fill in the gap between the rich and the poor. Once
that is done, we can reestablish the world of peace that God created in
the beginning. I am talking about a world where no one goes hungry
and no one sheds tears. To heal a world where there is no hope, and
which is lacking in love, we need to go back to the pure hearts that we
had as children. To shed our desire to possess ever-increasing amounts
of material wealth and restore our beautiful essence as human beings,
we need to go back to the principles of peace and the breath of love that
we learned as we were being carried on our fathers’ backs.