Читать книгу The Korean Mind - Boye Lafayette De Mente - Страница 12

Chaebol 재벌 Chay-buhl

The Industrial Colossi

One of the most powerful forces contributing to Korea’s astounding economic transformation between 1953 and the 1980s was the emergence of a number of corporate conglomerates patterned after Japan’s pre-World War II zaibatsu (zighbaht-sue). Japan’s zaibatsu, epitomized by Mitsui, Mitsubishi, and Sumitomo, were owned by individual families and together dominated Japan’s economy. All of them were used as instruments of the Japanese government in carrying out its expansion-ist political policies from the 1880s on, including the annexation of Korea in 1910 and its administration as a colony until 1945.

Korea’s post-World War II zaibatsu -like enterprise groups are called chaebol (chay-buhl), which is the Korean pronunciation of the same Chinese ideograms that are pronounced zaibatsu in Japanese—meaning “financial clique” or “group.” (A group of affiliated companies as well as financial groups are collectively known as a jaebul [jay-buhl]). More than one hundred Korean enterprise groups are labeled as chaebol by the government, with the largest and best known being Daewoo, Hanjin, Hyundai, Kia, LG Group (formerly Lucky Goldstar), Samsung, Ssangyong, and Sunkyong. Like their Japanese counterparts, Korea’s chaebol had government support in their early years, but unlike the Japanese firms the support they received from the government was generally unofficial—and, according to their critics, often illegal.

Another significant difference between Korean chaebol and Japan’s pre-World War II zaibatsu is that the Japanese groups had their own banks to arrange financing for them, while the Korean chaebol did not. This made the Korean groups more dependent on the government and therefore more susceptible to pressure from the various agencies and ministries controlling finance, manufacturing, importing, and exporting. One of the results of this difference is that the larger and more successful the Korean companies became, the more independent their decisions and actions.

Like their Japanese zaibatsu role models, however, Korea’s chaebol were motivated by an urge to diversify and to control every aspect of their operations, from the sourcing of raw materials and manufacturing to marketing finished products. Most of the groups also entered totally unrelated businesses, taking advantage of their financial resources and government contacts. In many cases they were able to monopolize the categories they entered by emphasizing market share rather than profits. This compulsion to diversify included becoming major stockholders in other companies.

By the 1970s the chaebol were often referred to as muno (muu-noh), or “octopuses,” because they had their “tentacles” in many things. Part of this negative image arose from the general public opinion that the combines profited unfairly from their close ties with government officials and agencies. There were numerous accusations of pujong chuk chae (puu-johng chewk chay), or “illicit wealth accumulation,” that not only involved illegal activity but went against the Confucian concept of morality and virtue that went with political power.

The Vietnam War was a boon to the growing Korean chaebol, especially Hyundai and Hanjin. With the backing of the U.S. Army, Hanjin became virtually the sole operator of the key Vietnamese port of Qui Nhon and provided both marine and land transportation for the American forces in Vietnam. In support of this effort, Hanjin established an air and sea transport company in Korea to ferry supplies and workers to Vietnam. Using the enormous profits generated by this activity—and paid for by the American military forces in Vietnam—Hanjin bought the then ailing Korean Air (KAL) from the Korean government and subsequently turned it into one of the world’s premier airline companies.

Hyundai and the hurriedly established construction divisions of other chaebol were given major construction contracts in Korea by the U.S. Army, providing them with a fund of experience as well as huge profits, which made it possible for them to bid on and win numerous construction contracts in the Middle East and elsewhere when the Vietnam War ended. Records show that in just four years in the latter part of the 1970s Korea’s top ten chaebol made $22 billion on construction projects in the Middle East.

Each of Korea’s conglomerates has its own corporate culture that began as a manifestation of the background and beliefs of its founder. Samsung, for example, was founded by the youngest son of an old yangban (yahng-bahn) gentry family. Its employees regard the company and themselves as the best and the brightest. It emphasizes high-tech industries. Hyundai, on the other hand, was founded by the son of a farmer, is known for its conservatism, and emphasizes heavy industries. The first generation of post-World War II chaebol employees, tempered by the experience as a colony of Japan (1910-45) and the horrors of wars that had devastated their homeland, were educated, hardworking, totally diligent, and fiercely loyal.

Korean-American anthropologist Choong Soon Kim, in his book The Culture of Korean Industry, described the first generation of chaebol managers as authoritarian, inclusive, and worried about the continuity of their enterprises. This led them to staff their executive positions with sons, sons-in-law, and other close relatives. In the early days of the chaebol there were few stockholders. The founder and his family usually owned controlling interest. Stockholder meetings were programmed to last for only half an hour or so, with outside stockholders given no chance to speak up about anything.

Not surprisingly, the founders or chairmen of the largest conglomerates were generally referred to by the press and others as chongsu (chohng-suu), a military term meaning “commander in chief.” The personal income of some of the founders became enormous, amounting to several hundred million dollars a year, adding to criticism by those who saw the giant combines as immoral parasites.

Much of the unsavory reputation of the chaebol in the 1970s and 1980s was apparently well deserved. Their founders and senior executives (along with other companies and individuals who owned substantial real property assets) were accused of using kamyong (kah-myohng), or “pseudonyms,” and the names of relatives to disguise the true ownership of stocks, land, bank accounts, and so on. This practice, which goes back to ancient times in Korea, eventually became a national scandal, and in the early 1990s a law was passed forbidding the practice. But the law apparently succeeded only in reducing the use of the subterfuge, not eliminating it.

In some chaebol and other large firms the workday began with the playing of the national anthem over the public address system. During the playing, employees stood at attention. At 5:00 p.m. the national anthem was again played to signal the official end of the workday, but unlike some of their Western counterparts, employees made no mad dash for the door. Women usually continued working for another hour or so, while the majority of the male employees worked for two or three more hours. The few people who left the office at “quitting time” invariably had a special reason for leaving and did so only after clearing it with their superiors.

The reputation of the chaebol reached a low point in the 1970s and 1980s, particularly among their own employees. Union agitation and strikes increased. A number of the conglomerates created special strike forces called kusadae (kuu-sah-day), or “save the company corps,” made up of tough young men the companies used to physically break up strikes and other union activities.

Still, university graduates were so anxious to obtain employment with one of the chaebol that they would take the entrance exams of several firms in the hope of being accepted by at least one of them. This resulted in the government’s ordering the conglomerates to hold their ipsa sihom (eep-sah she-hohm), or “entrance examinations,” on the same day so that graduates from the most prestigious and best schools could not monopolize the available jobs. Smaller companies held their entrance exams on a later date. Candidates who passed the entrance exams then had to pass rigorous personal interviews that were designed to weed out prospects who did not meet the character and personality standards of the companies concerned.

By the early 1990s the chaebol had matured and reformed their managerial practices to the point that their labor problems had disappeared. They had also grown to the point that it was difficult to buy any domestically manufactured or imported item that had not been touched by one of the combines. The names of the leading groups had also become well known around the world. But in 1995 the close ties between the conglomerates and the government suddenly came to a head. President Young Sam Kim ordered the arrest of his two immediate predecessors, Doo Hwan Chun and Tae Woo Roh, on bribery charges, and implicated twenty-four of the country’s top chaebol in payoffs to the former presidents. Government officials were quick to point out, however, that they had no intention of dismantling the conglomerates because that would cripple the economy. They said their purpose in calling in and interrogating the leaders of the twenty-four chaebol was to impress on them the importance of their voluntarily reducing their role and power in the economy—something that, in keeping with their dedication to the well-being of the nation, most of them agreed to do.

In chaebol jargon, the founder company is often referred to as moche (moach-eh), or “the mother company,” while subsidiaries are often called chamae hoesa (chah-my hoh-eh-sah), or “sister companies.”

There was to be an even more serious downside to the rapid growth the chaebol had relentlessly pursued for more than three decades. In 1997 their overextended financial obligations caught up with them, and several of them went bankrupt—something that had been virtually inconceivable to Koreans up to that time.

However, by the year 2000 leading chaebol like LG, Samsung, and Hyundai had become global conglomerates, ranking among the world’s largest and best-known enterprises.

Chaegim 책임 Chay-geem

Dealing with Responsibility

Korea’s traditional culture precluded the development of individualism and a sense of self. The Confucian system of filial piety and familism required that the self and the individual be merged into the family collective. Centuries of conditioning in the concept and practice of collective identity as opposed to individual identity resulted in Koreans’ failing to develop a clear sense of personal chaegim (chay-geem), or “responsibility.”

Chaegim was seen as a family or collective thing, not as a personal or individual matter. The father and family as a whole were responsible for the attitudes and conduct of each individual member, particularly when the conduct was regarded as immoral or disruptive. When a member of a family committed a crime or transgression against someone else or against government authorities, the whole family was considered guilty and was subject to punishment.

The demands on the “collective character” of individuals eventually became so strong that the personal pronoun I was seldom used. Koreans typically thought and spoke in terms of we, not I. In this environment, people generally did not think in terms of personal responsibility.

Present-day Koreans are still being culturally programmed in the concept of family-centered collective responsibility, but not nearly as much as in the past. At the same time, they are also being taught to develop individual chaegim, particularly in high-tech, highly competitive businesses, where the ideas and efforts of individuals acting on their own can make the difference between success and failure. This does not mean, however, that foreigners dealing with Koreans in business or in politics can automatically expect individual Koreans either to act on their own or to take personal responsibility for projects—or even their own actions.

Chaegim in Korean enterprises and institutions continues to be far more collective than it is in their Western counterparts. The Western practice of identifying and dealing with the “man in charge” often does not work in Korea. Typically there is no single individual company member who is directly and exclusively in charge of a particular matter. It is a section or group responsibility. There is usually a person in sections and divisions who has been designated as the “window” to the outside world. But he or she is generally an extension of the group and cannot act alone.

However, there are very conspicuous exceptions to the rule of divided responsibility in Korean companies that are still being run by their founders as well as in family-owned and operated companies. In fact there is a specific shijo (she-joe), or “company founder,” syndrome in Korea that played a significant role in South Korea’s rapid development into an economic powerhouse. Most Koreans who founded companies between 1945 and around 1970 were totally traditional (Confucian) in their attitudes and behavior, meaning that they looked on their employees as family members who were expected to show them the utmost respect and obey them absolutely.

These company founders typically worked seventy to eighty hours a week and expected the same of their employees. They ran their companies like feudal kingdoms, delegating very little authority to their subordinates. But anytime a company failed, all of the employees got a share of the blame—a factor that scholar-essayist Kyu Tae Yi explains in The Shape of Korean Life. He notes that when things are going well, Koreans who are involved in any way characteristically claim as much of the credit as possible, but when things go wrong they typically blame others.

In present-day Korea, managers of departments and divisions in larger companies typically give an impression of authority and power because they are almost always surrounded by a retinue of aides who respond to their orders like well-drilled military teams. But this impression is usually deceiving. For the most part these managers can act only after arriving at a consensus with a number of other managers. Adds H. J. Chang, president of SEMCO International, a leading consulting firm in Seoul, “There is, however, a slow but nevertheless discernible shift toward the Western way of decision-making by individuals.”

Although Koreans are assuming more and more personal responsibility for their actions in family as well as business affairs, there is little likelihood that collectivism will disappear entirely from the culture in the foreseeable future. Sharing responsibility is deeply embedded in the Korean character. They are acutely conscious of the fact that if a society is to survive and prosper in a harmonious environment, individualism must inevitably give way to group responsibility. They are not likely to discard that hard-earned wisdom.

Chae-myun 체면 Chay-me’yuun

Saving Everybody’s Face

At the beginning of Korea’s Choson dynasty in 1392 the new government strengthened the divisions between the already segregated social classes by making a much sterner version of Confucianism the national political ideology as well as the state religion. The government made the system work by imbuing its religious aspects with a cultlike status that conditioned people mentally and physically to behave according to a precise etiquette and by severely punishing any dissent.

Since this system made a carefully prescribed etiquette the essence of morality while also providing the social factors that gave people identity based on their sex, age, social class, and official position, it created in people a permanent obsession with making sure that others treated them with an exaggerated level of formal courtesy and respect.

People became extremely sensitive to the behavior of others and to their own behavior because everything that was done or said impacted their highly honed sense of propriety, self-respect, and honor. Protecting and nurturing one’s “face” and the “face” of one’s family thus became an overriding challenge in Korean life and had a fundamental influence in the subsequent molding of the Korean language and culture in general. Chae-myun (chay-me’yuun), or “face saving,” often took precedence over rationality, practicality, and truth.

In this face-sensitive society, speaking clearly and candidly became taboo. Speech became indirect and vague. Direct criticism, especially of superiors, was prohibited, and there were serious sanctions for breaking the ban. When something disruptive happened between individuals or groups, one of the institutionalized ways of “repairing” the damage was for a mutual agreement to opton kosuro haja (ohp-tohn koh-suu-roh hah-jah), which means “pretend it never happened.”

During the long Choson dynasty (1392-1910), the practice of chae-myun contributed significantly to cultural, social, and economic stagnation because it did not permit open, free, and critical discussion of matters at hand. It was not only safer to say nothing and do nothing to change things, it was the spiritually and morally correct thing to do.

Face is still of vital importance to Koreans. People continue to be extremely circumspect in their speech and behavior. The goal is to guarantee that everyone is in a constant state of anshim (ahn-sheem), which means “peace of mind” or “at perfect ease.” The first priority is to avoid any kind of direct confrontation by using only polite terms and refraining from saying or doing anything that would upset anyone. In business situations this may include not telling the truth about something, withholding bad news, and not bringing up mistakes that have been made. Naturally this kind of behavior can be very confusing and can mislead people who are not capable of reading between the lines. Foreigners dealing with Koreans may be especially disadvantaged.

Well before the formal end of the Choson dynasty in 1910, however, public institutions and the government had lost their Confucian immunity to criticism. By the 1950s criticism and direct action designed to bring about change were not only common in Korea but also were engaged in with a special vehemence. Physical violence and bloodshed were often included in the overreaction to the centuries during which such behavior occurred only when people were oppressed beyond the limits of their endurance.

Despite evolutionary changes in Korean culture since the end of the Choson dynasty, however, Koreans continuously engage in chae-myun in all of their personal and business relationships. Foreigners in Korea must do the same. Face saving, in fact, remains Korea’s “cultural lubricant,” without which things cannot and will not run smoothly.

Chagun 차군 Chah-guun

Compassion and Mercy

Westerners tend to be both fascinated and repulsed by the contradictions in Asian attitudes and behavior. The stylized etiquette and tranquil harmony that reflects one face of the Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, and other Asians simply does not fit with their other face of rage and savage brutality. These inconsistencies in character apparently arose from centuries of emotional, intellectual, and physical programming that compelled Asians to repress their natural instincts and desires and conform to an artificial kind of behavior that created contradictory impulses.

As long as the pressure on Asians to conform to this contradictory lifestyle was strong enough and steady enough to maintain a balance of the conflicting impulses, there was peace and tranquillity. But when this pressure weakened or became more than people could endure, their suppressed rage was unleashed, and the only way open to them to express this rage was through violence.

Korea’s pre-modern history is a series of long cycles of peace and tranquillity ending in periods of great violence. The Koreans survived both forms of these cycles because they were tough, resilient, and determined and also because of a cultural element expressed in the word chagun (chah-guun), which can be translated as “compassion and mercy.”

In keeping with the humanistic side of Korea’s multiple philosophies (shamanism, Buddhism, and Confucianism), the harshness of life in Korea has traditionally been tempered by chagun most of the time. Except in rare cases of truly evil men, the officials who administered the authoritarian regimes down to modern times were generally compassionate men who, during times of peace, interpreted and enforced the laws from a humane rather than legalistic viewpoint. During periods of turmoil, however, the dark side of the Asian character inevitably came to the fore, and chagun was frequently replaced by absolute ruthlessness.

Broadly speaking, the cycle of violence and change that began in Korea in the 1870s has not yet ended. But this time there is a good chance the violence will end not because of the imposition of a new authoritarian political regime but because the national will of the people will succeed in bringing about the formation of a truly democratic government.

In the meantime, foreign residents of Korea may benefit from the chagun factor if they are aware of it and learn how to use it. On occasions when people run afoul of the law, whether the situation is minor or major, it is normal for them to get a special measure of leniency—a kind of justice that is applied to Koreans and foreigners alike—if they invoke the chagun element by apologizing and expressing regret.

There is another side to the dispensation of chagun if the situation involves a business matter in which Koreans are pitted against foreigners. In such situations it typically takes on a nationalistic flavor and can be expected to come down on the Korean side. To help prevent this from happening, or at least to mitigate the results, the foreign side is well advised to present its case with as much emotion and “humanism” as possible. Koreans are invariably more receptive to humanistic approaches than they are to hard facts and logic.

The Korean custom of giving precedence to human factors over facts and logic is usually upsetting to most Western businesspeople when they first encounter it—and may continue to upset them for months or years, depending on their own character and attitudes. Those who are perceptive enough to combine the Korean way with the Western way, using a combination of logic, humanism, and personalism, are usually the ones who succeed in Korea.

Chakupjachok 차굽자촉 Chah-kuup-jah-choke

The Self-Sufficiency Syndrome

In the early 1990s, Korean business and political leaders began talking about the importance of internationalizing or globalizing the Korean economy in keeping with the worldwide trend among leading industrial powers—something that is such an extreme departure from traditional Korean thinking that it suggests changes in the Korean mind-set that, in fact, have not occurred. Those who are expressing this viewpoint are few in number and are not speaking for the overwhelming majority of Koreans.

A number of Korean companies have become multinational to the point that they appear to have been internationalized, but that too is misleading because behind the foreign facade of Samsung, the LG Group, and other Korean conglomerates, both the heart and soul are still Korean. True and complete internationalization and globalization are so directly opposed to the traditional Korean mind-set that the whole culture would have to be transformed before either could happen—a circumstance that is, of course, common in some degree to all nationalities.

For all practical purposes Koreans were isolated from the world community until 1965, when diplomatic relations were reestablished with Japan, and although they have since made remarkable progress in catching up with the rest of the world in a material sense, they (like the Chinese and Japanese) are still generations behind most Westerners in viewing themselves as members of the world family—racially as well as culturally.

In addition to their geographic and cultural isolation until recent times, Koreans have traditionally been programmed in the concept of chakupjachok (chah-kuup-jah-choke), or “self-sufficiency.” While this cultural conditioning naturally began as a matter of survival, it was eventually institutionalized in the Korean political, economic, and social systems. Until the first decades of the twentieth century the vast majority of all Koreans were, in fact, virtually self-sufficient, raising their own food and making their own clothing. While there was some exporting and importing in pre-twentieth-century Korea, the volume was so minuscule and limited to such a few items that foreign trade had no impact at all on most people.

Thus the concept of chakupjachok has permeated Korean thinking since ancient times and still is a significant part of the policies and practices of the government and business in general. The larger a Korean enterprise, the more it tries to control all of the factors involved in its operation, from sourcing raw materials to selling and servicing finished goods. Korean companies also have a phobia about coming under the control of foreign firms. On a national scale the Korean government is determined to prevent the country from ever again coming under the political and economic hegemony of any foreign power.

Foreign businesspeople and diplomats dealing with Korea invariably encounter the chakupjachok syndrome at one time or another, and generally it plays some kind of role in all of their relations with Korea. However, well before the end of the 20th century the incredible practical nature and success-drive of Koreans had led them to give the carefully nuanced globalization of their economy the highest priority, with astounding results.

Chamulsong 찰물송 Chah-muhl-song

You Gotta Have Patience!

One of the sights that early foreign visitors to Korea were most impressed with, and invariably described—almost to the point that it appears to have been required of them—was that of elderly Korean men and women seated in calm repose outside their homes, in parks, or along rural walkways. These elderly people, dressed in the national male and female costumes, were generally assumed to be the embodiment of the revered grandmother, grandfather, or wise old Confucian scholar and the famed Korean trait of chamulsong (chah-muhl-song), or “patience”—all of which represented the best of Korean culture in the popular mind.

Contemporary Korean philosophers, psychologists, and other social scientists proclaim that chamulsong, or “patience,” is one of the primary national characteristics of the Korean people. They do not add, however, that this characteristic developed because the people of pre-modern Korea had no choice but to passively endure the abuses of authoritarian and backward-looking governments with as much dignity and patience as possible for century after century.

In old Korea any outward sign of impatience at the behavior of government officials and others in authority was traditionally taken as disrespectful and met with some kind of reaction that made things worse. In present-day Korea, chamulsong remains a prerequisite for survival and achievement. The government is not nearly as oppressive as it was in the past, but bureaucratic red tape, the personal nature of business transactions, limited facilities, and competition for virtually everything make patience essential if one is to avoid an emotional breakdown. Westerners in Korea generally have to undergo substantial cultural transformation before they can emotionally adjust to the slower pace of officialdom.

Probably the most conspicuous changes in the famed patience of Koreans is on the political front. Younger generations who have never known the hardships or the oppression that were the lot of their forebears are becoming more and more impatient in demanding political and economic rights that have long been taken for granted in the United States and other countries. Like other Asian societies that are attempting to accommodate principles of democracy and individualism within the context of their enduring Confucian cultures, present-day Koreans who live in larger cities and have college educations essentially have two personalities—a traditional Korean personality and what might be called a Western-oriented personality.

Generally speaking, these “two-sided” Koreans are able to assume whatever personality best fits the situations they are in. Problems arise, however, when the situations are not clear-cut and when they try to switch back and forth between the two modes or attempt to fuse them in an effort to please everyone.

Koreans who work with other Koreans in companies managed by expatriate foreign managers are especially challenged because they must be sensitive to a wide range of contradictory emotional needs and expectations from both their foreign managers and Korean co-workers. On an individual basis, Koreans can be as impatient as anyone else. But in any normal situation the larger the number of people involved the more likely the group is to assume a chamulsong mode and behave in the traditional fashion.

Generally speaking, as the famed English poet Rudyard Kipling did, trying to hurry things up in an Eastern culture like Korea usually makes them worse.

Another common term for patience—and endurance—is innae (een-nigh).

Changpi 창비 Chahng-pee

The Shame Culture

Many people are familiar with the concept of a “shame culture” as a result of Ruth Benedict’s classic book The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, published in the 1940s, in which she delved into the cultural characteristics of the Japanese. As it happens, Korea also has a “shame culture” and for the same reasons—the influence of Confucianism, which makes saving face one of the most important elements in proper, moral behavior. In fact Korea was a “shame culture” before Japan, because Confucianism became entrenched in Korea well before it arrived in Japan.

In its Confucian context shame is regarded as the root of morality, and in shame cultures morality is driven externally. People in shame cultures try to avoid causing emotional pain to others and being subjected to such pain themselves—pain that is caused by being looked down on by others, by being embarrassed, by being disgraced in the eyes of others. Shame-centered people do not try to “be good” so as to avoid committing a sin that endangers their soul; they try to behave as is required by their social status and station to avoid losing their reputation.

Historically, the greatest sources of changpi (chahng-pee), or “shame,” in Korea were failing to live up to the expectations of the father, the family, the kin, and one’s circle of friends and associates and not being treated as one’s status demanded. In the case of the latter, Koreans were honor bound to wipe out the shame by somehow, at some time, taking revenge against the person or persons who shamed them.

In contrast to both Korea and Japan, the United States and other Christianized countries have “guilt cultures.” The primary sanction of the Christian religion is guilt feelings, and the more influence Christianity has on people the more guilty they feel about what they do—or think. Because these guilt feelings are internalized, people who have “sinned” can suffer on their own and in silence to the point that they go crazy—something that is rare in changpi cultures.

While Christianity peddles guilt and Confucianism purveys shame, there is a fundamental difference in the effects of the two sanctions. Shame-centered people can get by with all kinds of “immoral” conduct and not suffer any pangs of shame as long as it doesn’t become known to others. In shame cultures it is not doing that is shameful so much as getting caught. Among the many things that people in changpi cultures can “morally” do that are considered immoral in Christianized guilt cultures is treat people as inferiors, take financial advantage of people, conceal the truth, use devious tactics, and—for men anyway—engage in premarital and extramarital sex.

It should be noted that some 20 to 25 percent of all present-day Koreans are classified as Christians, which could imply that this large number of Koreans today are more influenced by maume kengginun (mou-may keng-ghee-nuun), or “guilt feelings,” than by shame and are therefore easier for Christianized foreigners to deal with. There is some truth in this belief, but not a lot. Koreans who regard themselves as Christians but were born and raised in Korea are geneally Koreans first and Christians second—meaning that they continue to be more influenced by the traditional shame culture than by the Christian guilt culture. Their Christianity is more of an intellectual addition to their beliefs than spiritual or emotional guidelines for behavior.

In male-female relations, in family matters, and in other personal and professional matters that really count, traditional Korean beliefs and behavior generally take precedence over Christian dogma and customs. Changpi, as it applies to Korean culture, is, in fact, far more powerful as a social conscience than spiritual guilt because it is precisely detailed and is much more visible to the eye. Guilt can be disguised and denied. Shame often stands out for everyone to see.

The one transgression that Koreans cannot accept is being shamed.

Chang Sung 창숭 Chahng Suung

Staying in Touch with the Spirits

Concern with the supernatural and with superstitions has historically been a primary trait in Korean character—an attitude that was part of the shamanistic beliefs that made up the spiritual cosmos of Koreans since the earliest times. As in all societies, including the latest and most modern, the Koreans used a variety of rituals and symbols to communicate with and appease the unseen gods and spirits they believed ruled over human affairs.

Today, despite its modern, high-tech veneer, Korea has not lost contact with the spiritual side of life. One of the most interesting signs of this ongoing connection is the chang sung (chahng suung), or “spirit posts,” that historically have served as village guardians. These large totems, made of wood or stone, with grotesque humanlike faces painted on them, are still seen along rural roads and on the outskirts of villages. The spirit posts have huge, bulging eyes, big noses, and wide mouths that are designed to embody a wide range of human emotions, from anguish to ecstasy. To some the expressions of the spirit post faces are comical; others see them as frightening.

There are generally two spirit posts in each setting, one male and the other female. One of the posts will usually be inscribed with the Chinese ideograms that read Chon Ha Dae Jang Gun (Great General Under the Sky), and the other, Chi Ha Dae Jang Gun (Great General Under the Earth).

In earlier times, the chang sung were an integral part of village rites designed to ensure peace and prosperity and to ward off diseases and other calamities. The posts were cleaned and repaired regularly and replaced periodically so as not to offend their spirits. The materials and shapes of the chang sung varied with the location. In central Korea, pine, chestnut, and alder trees were used commonly. In southern Korea, where they were more susceptible to damage by weathering and decay, they were often made of stone.

In addition to village gods, all Korean homes traditionally had “ancestor gods,” “house master gods,” “fire gods,” and “house site gods.”

Among the more personal of the various religious symbols in Korea are the pujok (puu-johk), or “spiritual talismans,” found in Korean homes, places of worship, and other public places. Pujok consist of slips of paper, usually white or yellow mulberry paper, with special Chinese characters and other symbols painted on them in red ink. (In Korean thought, red possesses the power to ward off evil and is the reason why the color is so common in the culture.) The pujok are placed on gates, on ceiling beams, over doors and other such places to ward off evil spirits.

Pujok come in a variety of types, ranging from single Chinese ideographs to religious symbols, geometric patterns, star charts, and the like. In addition to being used as barriers against evil, and unpleasant, disastrous events, they also are used to invite unlimited good fortune, from a long and healthy life to all of the other things that normally bring bliss to people.

While fewer and fewer Koreans take pujok seriously, they are still commonly seen throughout the country, especially at the beginning of the new year and at the beginning of spring. Many foreign residents in Korea adopt the pujok custom as a simple and pleasant way of demonstrating their appreciation of Korean culture—and to make sure they don’t miss any bets in avoiding misfortune.

Chayu 차유 Chah-yuu

The Power of Freedom

The official date for the “creation” of the Korean people is 2333 B.C.—a time that probably marks the appearance of the first combined clan-state. Koreans thus claim a history of more than four thousand years. From that long-ago time until the 1970s, Koreans lived under authoritarian governments that were dominated by a tiny, elite class that denied common people the right of freedom of choice in almost every aspect of their lives.

In fact the concept of chayu (chah-yuu), or “freedom,” in its present-day sense was totally alien to Korean culture until recent times. The political and social ideologies that prevailed during the long span of Korean history simply did not include the concept of personal freedom or personal choice. Personal freedom of any kind was regarded as an evil and corrupting ideology that had no place in Korean society because it contradicted virtually every facet of traditional shamanistic morality as well as the later Buddhist and Confucianist ideologies.

The historical lack of chayu in Korea not only warped the minds and spirits of Koreans but also kept the social, political, and economic state of Korea frozen in time. During all but the last decades of the 518-year-long Choson dynasty (1392-1910) the whole ideological weight of the Confucian-oriented government was focused on preventing change; on keeping the elite yangban (yahng-bahn) class in power and the common people in their place.

Despite more than four thousand years of conditioning in antifreedom ideologies within a hierarchical, authoritarian society, Koreans did not lose their desire for chayu because it is inherent in the human psyche; it was something their spirits yearned for. But the first serious movements toward democracy and change in Korea in the latter part of the 1800s were subverted by Japan, which began colonizing the country in 1895 and took over completely in 1910.

Koreans had fewer freedoms under the thirty-six-year Japanese colonial regime (1910-1945) than during the Choson dynasty and were to continue to suffer under strict authoritarian governments for another thirty years after regaining their sovereignty in 1945. But even the modest amount of freedom Koreans gained following the expulsion of Japan in 1945 was to have a dramatic social and economic effect on the country.

Free to make many economic choices and exercise their own initiative and energy for the first time in the history of the country, Koreans began working at a frenzied pace. By the early 1960s, economic growth had begun to change the country visibly. The more chayu Koreans won, the faster the economy grew. The larger and more powerful the economy, the more the people pressured the government for still more freedom.

Beginning in the 1960s and continuing over a period of several years, the Korean government gradually lifted the restrictions on ordinary Koreans traveling abroad. First only businessmen with special permission could travel overseas. Then the privilege was extended to people over the age of fifty who wanted to go abroad as tourists. Finally, in 1989, all restrictions on overseas travel were removed. The right to travel freely outside the country, perhaps more than any other change in Korea, spoke volumes about the progress that had been made in democratizing the government. The fact that hundreds of thousands of Koreans could afford to travel abroad was equally significant.

Legally, present-day Koreans are as free as the citizens of Australia, Canada, the United States, and other democratic societies. But there are numerous traditional social customs and cultural taboos that reduce their options and obligate them in many ways that prevent them from being as free as people in other democratic countries. These customs and taboos range from their manner of speech and behavior in general to what is acceptable as wearing apparel. Another factor that limits the freedom of Koreans has to do with the law itself. In Korea the accused person is considered guilty until proven innocent. Furthermore, the hand of the law is much harsher in Korea than it is in countries with long traditions of human rights.

Chebol 쳅올 Cheh-bohl

Collective Punishment

Historically in China, Korea, and Japan the Confucian principle of collective guilt and chebol (cheh-bohl), or “collective punishment,” were practiced with determined zeal in an effort to maintain absolute anjong (ahn-johng), or “stability,” in society. In Japan whole families were sometimes executed for the crimes of single members (and to eliminate potential political rivals). In China collective punishment as well as political elimination were often even more draconian, covering extended families out to second cousins—a practice that was used regularly by Chinese Communists between 1930 and 1976 as a means of both eliminating enemies and suspects and intimidating other people through terror.

In early Korea, which historically was generally regarded as the most Confucian country in the Confucian sphere of Asia, entire families, and sometimes whole communities or villages, were held responsible for the behavior of each member. This provided an extraordinary incentive for individuals to behave and for families and group members to severely police their own members, resulting in the ultimate in Big Brotherism.

This collective coercion began in each individual family unit, the smallest political unit in the society. The father was responsible for the behavior of the family. The same concept of collective responsibility was extended to neighborhood communities and villages.

Today the Korean concept of morality is still based loosely on collective guilt, even though the law is not. Generally speaking, Korean society holds a family responsible for the misdeeds of any of its members, and by the same reasoning individuals cannot exonerate their families simply by declaring that their families are not responsible for their behavior. This is not to suggest that Koreans traditionally approved of chebol unconditionally. Quite the contrary. When applied arbitrarily by public authorities, it was regarded as one of the primary evils of the ruling powers. But it persisted in virtually full force in schools, in the military, and in various social organizations until the early 1970s.

Collective responsibility works especially well as a social sanction against mis-behavior because Korean culture is a “shame culture.” (See Changpi on page 27.) There is extreme pressure on all Koreans to avoid shaming themselves and their families. Foreigners living and working in Korea invariably encounter the shame factor in Korean culture, but generally they are not exposed directly to collective punishment.

(Although the concept of collective guilt and punishment may be anathema to most individualistic Westerners, if it is not carried to extremes it is the ideal social mechanism for ensuring maximal harmony in society. There is, in fact, constant dialogue in the United States in particular about a return to this ancient practice—holding parents responsible for the misconduct of their children.)

In present-day Korea chebol continues to be an important aspect of society, but it is generally enforced by private social response rather than official or government action. Individual Koreans are traditionally well behaved because they know their families will suffer if they misbehave.

As in other societies, however, violence is sanctioned in certain situations by Korean society, and those who refrain from such action are the ones criticized. The most common and conspicuous of these circumstances involve the need to focus attention on government abuses. Deliberately disobeying government edicts and attacking government officials and facilities are extremes historically deemed necessary because there was no other way of influencing the government.

In present-day Korea most such incidents are not aimed at actually killing anyone or destroying government property but are more symbolic in nature.

Chib 칩 Cheeb

Getting Family Approval

One of the legacies of Confucianism that still impacts life in Korea is the concept and practice of filial piety, which has always gone far beyond honoring and obeying one’s parents. One might say that filial piety has been the mortar of Korean society for more than seven hundred years. Until the last decades of the twentieth century, the instruction of Korean children in filial piety, in respecting and obeying their parents without question and taking care of them in their old age, was in effect the foundation on which Korean society rested.

Children who were conditioned in the home to honor and obey their superiors (their parents and other seniors in age and status) and to fulfill their social and economic obligations to their families could also be expected to be obedient, diligent, and loyal employees and citizens. The practice of Korean-style filial piety required individual members of families to suppress their own individuality and give the family or the group precedence in all things. Rather than identify themselves as individuals, people identified themselves with their families or work units in a totally collective sense.

In the Western view, individual Koreans hardly existed. They were first and last members of a chib (cheeb), or “household,” or some other group, depending on the circumstances. Individual members of chib (or chip [cheep], depending on the usage), particularly younger members and females, could not make decisions or act on their own. Korean children in particular were required to think and behave in terms of their chib to avoid bringing dishonor on the family and disrupting its hierarchical standing. Parents constantly admonished their children to behave “like a family,” not as individuals.

In the Confucian concept, chib were the building blocks of Korean society, and it was in the family that the foundation was laid for hierarchical social and political order based on the absolute submission of inferiors to superiors.

While the overall importance of the Korean chib has diminished considerably in modern times, there are many instances when it still takes precedence over the desires of individual family members and determines the opportunities that are available to them. When Koreans evaluate others, as possible marriage mates, as employees, and in other capacities, they look at the family as well as the individual, and the more important the matter at hand, the more weight the status and overall character of the chib has in their judgment.

One of the obvious results of this Confucian-oriented custom is that it contributes enormously to social harmony, a mutually cooperative spirit, and national cohesiveness—all qualities that are just as dramatically missing from many non-Confucian societies. Koreans commonly use the term chip an (cheep ahn), which literally means “inside the household” or “inside the family,” in the sense of “my home,” “my family,” and “my company” (employer), as an indication of the commonality of themselves and the units they belong to. In other words, Koreans generally regard their places of employment as families, with all the attendant family-type responsibilities.

Among the biggest challenges facing Koreans today is how to maintain the positive aspects of the character and role of the chib while taking advantage of many of the Western attitudes and customs that do, in fact, contribute to the quality and ambience of life—particularly the freedom to develop one’s own talents and lifestyle. If Koreans can successfully resolve this problem, by fusing ancient wisdom and modern knowledge, they could have one of the best of all social systems.

Chimsul 침술 Cheem-suhl

Needling Cosmic Power

Chimsul (cheem-suhl), or “acupuncture” (also sometimes spelled shimsul in roman letters), is another of the many concepts brought to Korea from China some two thousand years ago that has survived into modern times and now exists side by side with Western ideas. The principle of acupuncture is based on the belief that the “life force” that animates the body and energizes the various organs flows through the body in precise channels. When this energy is weakened or disrupted for any reason, the particular organ that is affected and the body as a whole cannot function normally.

As long as three thousand years ago, Chinese doctors identified and mapped the body’s network of energy channels, then located more than 650 “points” where needles could be inserted into these channels to achieve some desired result. Acupuncturists say that inserting tiny needles into these energy channels has a variety of effects, ranging from stimulating and increasing the energy flow to blocking the flow, depending on where in the channels the needles are inserted.

Surprisingly enough, the channels and insertion points relating to particular body organs are often nowhere near the organs themselves. The insertion point for a problem involving the head or upper portion of the body may be located on the feet. (Western doctors agree that the bottoms of the feet are a mass of nerve endings, but they do not agree that the nerves “connect” with any of the other parts of the body.)

Practitioners of acupuncture say that it is not an instant cure for the variety of more serious ailments that develop over a long period of time. In such cases, they say, the treatment must continue for months to years if it is to have any chance of reversing the condition.

There is no question that acupuncture works in reducing or eliminating a number of ailments. It has been in use for more than three thousand years and has proven itself over and over again. One of its most dramatic uses is as an anesthetic in serious surgical operations on the brain. However, neither the Koreans nor the Chinese, who discovered and developed acupuncture, can explain in acceptable scientific terms exactly how and why it works. But in the 1980s Chinese medical authorities began a research program, with modern-day scientific guidelines, in a determined effort to resolve the mystery.

Acupuncture clinics are common throughout Korea, attesting to the continuing popularity of the treatment. In the past, practitioners routinely rotated the inserted needles by hand to increase their efficacy. Many have “modernized” the system by attaching wires to the inserted needles and sending weak electrical pulses through them. Some of the chim clinics in Korea cater specifically to foreign residents and visitors.

Western medical authorities are gradually accepting the premise that there is much more to therapy than drugs and surgery, and growing numbers are adding acupuncture to their medical repertoire. An interesting historical note: During the early decades of the Choson dynasty (1392-1910) a special group of women were taught how to treat upper-class female patients with chim because it was forbidden for men, including doctors, to touch women who were not their wives.

Chingu 친구 Cheen-guu

Cultivating Friends

Chingu (cheen-guu), or “friends,” have traditionally occupied a special place in Korean society, but not just for the reasons that Westerners regard as obvious. Until well up into the twentieth century, Koreans were severely limited in the number and kind of personal relationships they could develop outside their families and kin. Each family was virtually an exclusive unit. The obligations that individual members had to each other, both individually and as a unit, precluded them from establishing close relationships with all but a select few outsiders. Females were especially limited in their outside relationships. With few exceptions, girls and women were not allowed to associate on intimate terms with anyone other than family members and close same-sex relatives.

During most of the long Choson dynasty (1392-1910) the majority of Korean women who lived in urban areas spent their entire lives without speaking to any men other than those in their immediate families and close kin. Their contact with females outside their families was limited by law to a few hours in the evening after dark, during which men were required to stay indoors.

When the Choson dynasty began to break up near the end of the nineteenth century, the segregation of males and females also began to end, as did the isolation of females in their homes. But it was not until the mid-1950s—after almost forty-five years of occupation by Japan and the havoc caused by war between North and South Korea—that Koreans began, slowly, establishing the kind of casual and intimate male-female friendships that are common in the West.

Korean men had always had more freedom to develop relationships outside their families—with other men as well as women (the latter in the kisaeng houses, tea houses, and bars making up Korea’s exclusively male-oriented entertainment industry)—but it would not be until the last decades of the Choson dynasty, when the feudal class system was abolished and Western-type companies were introduced into the country, that men began to associate freely with relatively large numbers of other men. For the first time in the history of the country men were politically as well as socially free to expand their circle of friends.

These legal changes did not end the Confucian-oriented family system or the class differences, and both of these continued to limit the circle of intimate friends that men had. What was new and dramatic was that, because of the personalized nature of all relationships in Korea, large numbers of businessmen were compelled to meet and develop personal relationships with people in other companies and in a variety of government offices as part of their job.

In Korea today most businesspeople and all politicians count the number of friends and contacts they have in high places as among their most important professional assets. Ujong (uh-johng), or “friendship,” remains one of the primary foundations for most business and professional dealings.

Fortunately, there are almost no cultural restraints on Koreans’ meeting and establishing close relationships with foreigners, and many go out of their way to initiate such contacts for their own personal reasons. This is common enough that newly arrived foreigners are often advised by old-timers to be cautious about adding just anyone they meet to their circle of friends. There always seems to be a collection of unsavory characters in each city who are notorious for taking advantage of such relationships.

Chinshim 친힘 Cheen-sheem

Sincerity Comes First

Koreans and other Asians regularly accuse Westerners of being shallow-minded, of giving priority to things that are secondary, and of often ignoring altogether matters that are most important. This contrast in attitudes and behavior, which often does exist, results from a fundamental difference in Asian and Western cultures. Westerners characteristically opt for short-term goals—immediate advantages, quick profits, instant satisfaction, and so on. Asians, on the other hand, have been conditioned culturally for centuries to take a long-term view, to approach things slowly, often by circuitous routes, and to be satisfied with making progress in small incremental steps.

While the typical Western approach calls for fast decisions based on whatever information is available at the time, combined with fast, concentrated action and force designed to overwhelm any obstacles, Asians have traditionally preferred to accumulate every shred of information possible, study it thoroughly over a relatively long period of time, and then devise strategies that take all possible contingencies into account.

Of course there are now numerous exceptions to this traditional form of Asian behavior, but many of the attitudes associated with this mind-set remain vital factors in everyday life in Asia and are especially conspicuous in personnel management and other areas of business. In Korea, for example, one of the most important attributes that employers look for in job applicants is expressed in the term chin-shim (cheen-sheem), which literally means “true heart” and is the Korean word for “sincerity.”

As is the usual case, however, chinshim is far more culturally laden than the English word sincerity and is used and understood in a different way. In its typical Western context sincerity is used in a rather casual manner. In contrast, chinshim in its Korean context refers to the philosophical beliefs, including spirituality, general attitude, and overall character, of an individual. People with a “true heart” are those who can be trusted to behave according to the highest social and ethical standards, which includes being unselfish, scrupulously honest, loyal to their superiors, hardworking, and willing to make extraordinary sacrifices to achieve more than what they are asked and expected to do.

Despite the importance of education—and experience—in Korean industry today, employers continue to give chinshim high priority on their list of qualifications when interviewing candidates for employment. Their view is that in the long run character and spirit are more important than anything else in determining the potential of job applicants.

Koreans automatically measure the chinshim of every person they meet—subconsciously when the meetings are casual and are not expected to lead to any kind of relationship, but consciously and very deliberately on other occasions. Their “sincerity radar” automatically switches to its most sensitive setting when they first meet foreign businesspeople, especially Westerners, with whom they might become involved. It is far more difficult for them to read the character of foreigners, and therefore whatever reading they get is all the more critical.

Westerners seeking to establish long-term positive relationships with Koreans can speed up the process by using the word chinshim in their dialogue because it sends a very clear message to their Korean counterparts that they are aware of the importance of “sincerity” in Korean culture and that they too desire a relationship based on chinshim.

Chiwi 치위 Chee-wee

Paying Attention to Rank

For nearly two thousand years Koreans were carefully conditioned to conduct themselves according to a minutely defined social status based on gender, age, class, education, and official position. This behavioral programming made all Koreans extraordinarily sensitive to chiwi (chee-wee), or “rank,” and all of its symbols.

Koreans became so habituated to titles of respect that these titles were practically indistinguishable from their names. The most common such title for ordinary people is ssi (ssee), which is a generic term (like the Japanese san) used when addressing both males and females. Another generic title heard fairly often is sobang (soh-bahng), which basically means the same thing as ssi but is considerably lower than ssi on the respect scale. It is generally used only by superiors to some inferiors—and sometimes by people who are arbitrarily assuming a superior social status to put someone down.

In addition to these generic personal titles there is the usual array of bureaucratic titles for government officials and functionaries, as well as titles associated with occupations and managerial positions in companies and professional organizations, all of which are vital facets of the cultural protocol governing interpersonal relationships in Korea.

Of course none of this is unique to Korea (the Western world has its own traditions of ecclesiastical, military, political, professional, and social titles), but in Korea, as in China, Japan, and other Confucian-oriented Asian societies, the formal use of titles permeates society and is essential to maintaining friendly, even casual, relationships with people.

Social and professional ranking in Korea is acknowledged and demonstrated spatially as well as by title. Every space, from offices and meeting rooms to cars and elevators, has a “head” and a “foot.” The “head” space belongs to the highest-ranking person or people involved, with lower-ranking people positioned in the order of their rank down to the “foot” space. The head space of a room or hall is normally the most distant from the entrance. Therefore, one can assume upon entering a large “community” office in Korea that the people whose desks are nearest the entrance are the lowest-ranking people in the office.

In large-scale companies especially, managers can also be quickly identified by the size and quality of their desks and chairs. As a rule, the larger the desk and the more drawers it has, the higher the rank of the individual who sits there. Top-ranking executives with private offices have filing cabinets as well as many-drawered desks. Chairs without armrests mean ordinary staff members. Chairs with armrests indicate section chiefs. Chairs with armrests plus a high back denote department heads. The desks of ordinary employees are usually arranged classroom style, with the manager’s desk in the front, facing them.

In a car driven by a chauffeur the ranking space is the right rear seat. The second rank is the left rear seat. If there is a third-ranking person, he or she will normally sit in the middle in the backseat or in the right front seat next to the driver. In a car driven by its owner, the ranking seat in the car is the right front seat.

From around 1960 until the early 1990s it became fairly common for people involved in international business to address people with the English titles Mr., Mrs., and Miss, not only because of the international flavor but because these terms were rank neutral and could be used without fear of slighting anyone’s social sensitivities. People who were not involved in international business in any way also picked up on the custom, and it became vogue among some internationally minded young people. But the almost miraculous growth of the Korean economy during those decades was also accompanied by a resurgence of pride in Korean culture and the feeling that using foreign gender and social titles was demeaning, resulting in many people discarding the practice.

There are now signs that the pendulum is once again swinging toward the mixing of foreign and Korean forms of address as people become more secure in their identity. The use of Mr., Mrs., and Miss by foreigners is perfectly acceptable to Koreans in all classes. However, when people have professional titles, it is important that they be used. Foreigners wanting to develop and maintain good relations with Koreans should learn and use both generic social and professional titles so as to be socially correct. Learning and using professional titles is also vital in helping to distinguish among the large number of people who have the same last name. Here are some of the common social titles:

Yobo (yoh-boh), apparently an early Korean equivalent of “hey you,” was originally used by superiors to inferiors, but eventually men began using the term when calling their wives, resulting in foreigners’ translating it as “wife.” In more modern times the word took on a personal, intimate nuance and is commonly used by older husbands and wives when calling each other, in the sense of “dear” or “darling.” Younger Koreans, on the other hand, regard the term as sexist, and among them it is out of fashion.

Paksa (pahk-sah) is the title used for anyone who has a Ph.D. and is used routinely when addressing professors and other professionals. Whether used to address people with doctorates or others, the term has a strong nuance of both respect and flattery. Not using the term to people who have a doctorate degree is likely to be perceived as arrogance and taken as an insult.

Sonsaeng (sohn-sang) means “teacher” and is also used in the sense of “senior” or “someone who is older than me.” It is commonly attached to the names of craftsmen and other specialists as a polite and somewhat flattering form of address. Koreans also often use it in a flattering sense to address foreigners who have some special skill or knowledge, particularly when the Koreans are nurturing a personal relationship with them for whatever purpose. It is not used by itself.

Kun (kuun) is a word used by teachers when addressing male students and also by some Korean managers when addressing younger male staff members in their sections or departments. It is always used in combination with the last name and is the equivalent of the old English use of the word master when addressing young boys.

Titles denoting family relationships are among the most important words in the Korean language. There are several different terms for each relationship, depending on the circumstances. Here are the various terms applying only to grandfathers (although only the first two terms are used commonly today):

Haraboji (hah-rah-boh-jee)—a familiar term for one’s own grandfather; Chobu (choh-buu)—a formal term used when speaking to or about one’s own grandfather; Wangbu (wahng-buu)—used when speaking to others about one’s own grandfather; Songjogo (sohng-joh-go)—used when referring to one’s own deceased grandfather; Chobujang (choh-buu-jahng)—used when speaking about someone else’s grandfather; Wangdaein (wahng-die-een)—same as above but formal; Wangbujang (wahngbuu-jahng)—same as Chobujang but formal; Wangjonjang (wahng-john-jahng)—same as Chobujang but formal; Sonjobujang (sohn-joh-buu-jahng)—used when speaking about someone else’s deceased grandfather; Sonwangdaein (sohn-wahng-die-een)—same as Sonjobujang ; Sonwanggojang (sohn-wahng-goh-jahng)—same as Sonjobujang.

There are six different words for “grandmother,” fifteen for “father,” seven for “mother,” twenty-three for “elder brother,” seventeen for “uncle,” nine for “aunt,” seven for “husband,” sixteen for “wife,” ten for “son,” eleven for “sister”—with the use of each one determined by the blood relationship between the individuals involved.

Chiyok Kaldeungui 치욕갈든기 Chee-yohk Kahl-dung-we

The Scourge of Regionalism

Birthplace and home village or hometown continue to be vitally important factors in life in Korea, significantly affecting the lives of people socially, economically, and politically. This widespread influence has its roots in the clan system that has prevailed in Korean society since ancient times and in the political, social, and economic divisions that have also existed since early times.

In present-day Korea this carryover from the past is generally expressed in terms of chiyok kaldeungui (chee-yohk kahl-dung-we), or “regionalism.” It has to be taken into account to understand Korea as a nation and deal effectively with people individually as well as in groups. Economist Eui-Young Yu notes that people from Honam, for example, have routinely been discriminated against on a local, regional, and national basis for more than a thousand years. Yu says that the people of Honam are distinguished from other Koreans only by a slight accent, but the discrimination continues because it has been built into the culture.

Yu traces the origins of regionalism in Korea to the so-called Three Kingdoms period, which began in the first century B.C. and lasted until the seventh century A.D. During that long period the kingdom of Kokuryo held sway in what is now North Korea, the kingdom of Paekche was located in what is now the southwestern portion of the peninsula (the Honam and Chungchong regions), and the kingdom of Shilla was made up of the southeastern side of the peninsula—now designated as the Youngnam region.

Following the emergence of Shilla as the dominant power on the peninsula in the seventh century, people from the Youngnam region have dominated the government ever since. Discrimination against Honam people became the official policy of the government. In the tenth century legislation was passed prohibiting the hiring of Honam people for any government post. As time went by this government ban was transformed by geomancers into a folk belief that the topographical features of the Honam region were so negative that they fundamentally affected the mentality of the people, making them unfit for government service and untrust-worthy in any endeavor. Yu notes that “this ridiculous myth” persists today and that regional antagonisms resulting from this factor remain a major influence in the political and economic life of both North and South Korea.

Since 1948 the government in North Korea has been dominated by people from North Hamkyong Province, where the late Il Sung Kim, founder of the North Korean regime, was active as a guerrilla leader during World War II. Since that time people from the North Korean provinces of Hwanghae and Kangwon, which are the closest to South Korea, have been virtually banned from high government offices because they are considered untrustworthy and unfit. In South Korea the government has been controlled mostly by natives from North Kyongsang Province in the Youngnam (formerly Shilla) region.

In South Korea the preference for people from Youngnam can be discerned in the professions and in business as well as in government. According to data compiled by Yu, being from the Honam region was more of a handicap in getting a highly desirable job in Seoul than gender. He found that the majority of both Honam men and women in the capital worked in blue-collar jobs and in lower-end clerical positions. Ongoing competition and conflicts between people from Cholla and Kyongsang Provinces are said to be serious enough that they have significant negative impact on national politics, the economy, and life in general.

Foreign employers in Korea routinely encounter situations involving friction and outright conflicts between managers and workers who are from different regions of the country. Much of this friction results when the foreigners inadvertently put Honam people in managerial positions over employees from Youngnam or other regions whose natives consider themselves superior to Honam residents. The best solution to this problem is to confront the situation from the beginning and make it clearly understood that employees will be treated equally and fairly on the basis of their qualifications and experience—not where they were born. Younger Koreans generally prefer this approach and accept it readily if it is made company policy, and is impartially enforced. Where older employees are concerned, however, foreign managers may have to make a special effort to see that they do not continue using this regional superiority syndrome to lord it over fellow employees.

Chodae 촏애 Choh-day

The Home-Meal Invitation

Among the many things that have traditionally distinguished Koreans from most other Asians (in particular the Japanese, who are their closest racial and cultural relatives) is their custom of not only allowing but welcoming newly made foreign friends as well as casual acquaintances into the inner circle of their lives. Unlike the Japanese, who were traditionally conditioned to distrust and dislike foreigners and to keep them at a distance, Koreans are characteristically much more open in their relationships with foreigners.

In Japan the tradition was for people to entertain friends and guests outside the home, in restaurants, inns, bars, cabarets, and the like. In Korea, on the other hand, it was common for men of means to invite their friends and guests into their homes and to shower them with hospitality. Homes of the upper class generally had a special room in the front where the male members of the family spent most of their free time and entertained their guests.

With the introduction of democratic principles and equal rights for women in Korea, this tradition of entertaining guests in one’s home was extended to women as well. Like Americans and other nationalities outside Asia, Koreans today take both pleasure and pride in extending chodae (choh-day) or “invitations” to friends and associates to come to their homes for meals that are marked by the variety and volume of food served. Part of this tradition no doubt comes from the old Korean custom for affluent families to invite their less fortunate relatives to their homes often for large meals.

The custom has since become one of the defining traits of Koreans. In fact Koreans who have become bilingual and bicultural typically list chodae as one of the key words in Korean culture and one of the terms (and customs) that foreigners must learn to fully understand and appreciate the Korean lifestyle.

Chodae is one of the reasons foreigners are able to establish closer, more intimate relationships with Koreans than are generally possible with other Asians. The custom makes many foreigners feel much more at home among Koreans than among other Asians. Foreign families wanting to create and nurture close relationships with Koreans should take advantage of the highly regarded chodae custom.

Choe 최 Choh-eh

Sin in a Godless Society

I have long believed that the fascination Asian countries have traditionally held for Western men was originally based on the beauty and perceived availability of Asian women and on the fact that a great many of the things that were regarded as sinful in the Western world were looked on as perfectly normal in the East. I don’t think that Marco Polo would have stayed in China so long or that the Portuguese, Dutch, English, and later the Americans would have persevered in their pursuit of trade and conquest if it had not been for Asian women and the very different concept of sin that existed in Asia.

My own personal experience and observations in Asia in the last half century indicate very clearly that at least a significant part of the attraction that Asia has for Western men has not changed since the time of Marco Polo. Both the reality and the promise of “sin” are for many still a major attraction. Of course, Koreans have traditionally had a very clear concept of choe (cho-eh), which is usually translated as “sin,” but choe is primarily a Confucian concept, and sin is a Christian thing. Choe is concerned mostly with outward appearances and Christian sin with internal thoughts as well as external behavior.

Choe in the eyes of Neo-Confucianism, which was adopted as the state ideology and national religion of Korea by the Choson dynasty (1392-1910), was concerned primarily with the failure of inferiors to behave in a respectful manner toward superiors and to obey them without question; the failure of children and especially sons to honor and obey their parents, especially their father; the failure of family members, particularly eldest sons, to revere their ancestors; and the failure to protect the “face” or reputation of the family.

A secondary level of choe in Korea involved breaking any of the rules of etiquette involving “proper” behavior between the sexes, husbands and wives, the young and the old. This included not using the prescribed form of speech, not bowing at the right time in the right way, not responding properly to the prescribed behavior of others, and so on.

In other words, sin in the traditional Korean context was any kind of behavior that upset the carefully balanced hierarchical relationship between people that was designed to maintain absolute social harmony in a minutely structured system of etiquette. Morality in this context was more of a physical thing than an intellectual standard of behavior based on a universal concept of right and wrong. In Korean society morality and sin were circumstantial things. What was perfectly moral for some people was a capital sin for others.

When Westerners began arriving in Korea in the late 1800s, they found the Korean concept of sin deplorable or delightful, depending on their own moral viewpoints and habits. Foreign missionaries were shocked by much of the traditional behavior of Koreans. But most foreign sailors, traders, and fortune hunters generally found the inferior position of women, uninhibited drinking by men, unrestrained pursuit of sexual pleasures by those of means, authoritarian rule by officials, and might-makes-right mentality of those in power very much to their liking.

When this latter category of foreigners in Korea ran afoul of the law, it was generally because they did not understand the circumstantial nature of Korean etiquette and ethics and assumed that they could get by with virtually anything at any time.

There have been significant changes in the Korean concept of sin since the nineteenth century. Large numbers of people have accepted the Christian concept of morality and Western democratic ideals, particularly as they relate to government in general and to the treatment of women in particular. Other Western influences, from films and love marriages to traveling and studying abroad, have greatly diminished the more inhuman facets of Confucian-oriented morality.

But generally choe in Korea continues to be Confucian and Buddhist first, and often last as well. The Korean criteria for sin are not based as much on universal absolutes as on the effect actions have on individuals, on the family, on co-workers and friends, and on society at large. Sin is not tied to what may happen to the spirit or soul after death. In fact, Koreans have never really been frightened by the prospect of going to a Christian-type hell.

One of the many advantages that Korea’s choe -based morality has over a sin-based ethic is that it gives people far more leeway in what they can do and how they do it. Generally speaking neither businesspeople nor politicians judge their actions on the basis of any universal principles of right or wrong. They judge them on the basis of the risk involved and how beneficial they will be if they succeed.

Cho Guk 초국 Choh Guuk

The Mother Country

From the 1950s through the 1970s hundreds of thousands of South Koreans fled their country in search of a safer and better life elsewhere. During the 1980s thousands of others went abroad to study and ended up staying in their host countries. By that time, however, political and economic conditions in South Korea had changed to the point that many expatriate Koreans began to return home, responding not only to unique opportunities to take advantage of the burgeoning economy but also to a deep-seated attachment to their cho guk (choh guuk), or “mother country.” (This term may also be translated as “native country” and “fatherland.”)

Unlike the Japanese, who have traditionally had powerful prejudices against other Japanese who went abroad and returned, regarding them as no longer Japanese at best and dangerous traitors at worst, Korea’s major enterprises not only welcomed their countrymen back but offered them special incentives as well.

The most notable among these Korean returnees included many who had become successful technicians, engineers, and scientists and were subsequently given high-level positions in Korea’s leading multinational firms. This factor alone played an enormous role in the rapid progress Korean companies made in the electronic and computer industries—progress that stunned the Japanese and others who did not believe that Koreans were capable of using, much less creating, high technology.

There is another curious difference between Koreans and Japanese that appears to be a part of their respective national consciousness. When the Japanese go abroad, they tend rapidly to lose their Japaneseness unless they spend most of their time in overseas Japanese enclaves with other Japanese. Koreans, on the other hand, seem to be much more adept at absorbing foreign cultures while retaining their own.

No doubt the key to this difference is that traditionally the Japanese were conditioned to believe that they were unique; that their language and their culture were so exclusive that no non-Japanese could ever learn them; and that any exposure to other cultures was like some disease for which there was no cure. The Japanese believed these things largely because their country had never been invaded successfully and they had never been forcefully exposed to other cultures (until the country was occupied by American and Allied troops at the end of World War II in 1945).

Koreans, on the other hand, had been subjected to repeated invasions from the dawn of their history. Forced to play a subordinate role to the Chinese (as well as the Mongols and Manchus) throughout most of their history, they learned very early to survive and prosper by accommodating foreign cultures while preserving their own identity. The call of the cho guk remains especially strong among Koreans because of their long history of survival against such fearsome odds. Their economic success since the 1950s is in considerable part due to the extraordinary pride that they have in being Koreans.

Munhwa undong (moon-whah uhn-dohng), or “cultural nationalism,” is another important factor in the “mother country” pride that imbues Koreans with extraordinary energy and ambition. Munhwa undong is said to have originated in the 1920s as a movement to thwart the plans of the Japanese occupation forces to obliterate Korean culture and transform Koreans into Japanese. Korean scholars began to teach, surreptitiously as well as publicly, that the survival of the nation depended on preserving the culture.

When Japan was defeated and Korea regained its sovereignty in 1945, a number of Korean patriots who had absorbed the teachings of the scholars and survived the annexation by Japan became leaders in the new Republic of Korea. They unobtrusively made the concept of cultural nationalism part of their official platform, integrating it with their economic policies.

But it was not until the 1980s, by which time Korea had begun to flex its economic as well as its cultural muscles, that “cultural nationalism” became a primary theme in the country’s domestic and international policies. Much of this phenomenon was precipitated by the United States government and American companies beginning to bring political pressure against Korea to open more doors to American-made imports.

None of these efforts were more controversial among Koreans or did more harm to the Korean image of America as a sympathetic “big brother” than the campaign to force Korea to allow the importation of American-made cigarettes. This campaign resulted in Korean intellectuals and industrialists creating a counter-campaign that appealed to the patriotism and nationalism of all Koreans. Signs disparaging American cigarettes and the American efforts appeared all over Korea.

It was during this campaign that the Korean phrase Uri Hanguk saram (Uh-ree Hahn-guuk sah-rahm), meaning “We Koreans,” took on new meaning that was pregnant with emotional connotations. In its new emotionalized context the expression was meant to distinguish Koreans racially, culturally, socially, geographically, economically, and politically from all other people. It meant “we Koreans are a unique people,” with the additional connotation that their cultural values should not be trampled on by foreign companies or governments interested only in financial profits.

Munhwa undong continues to buttress the “mother country” feelings of Koreans and to play a leading role in the planning and design of new public facilities as well as construction in the private area. The feelings that Koreans have for their country are often expressed in the term aeguk (aye-guuk), which literally means “love of country.”

Chok 촉 Choak

The Korean Clan System

Korea began as a collection of clans that gradually coalesced into tribal states and finally a unified kingdom. But the ancient chok (choak), or “clans,” did not disappear, and today Koreans still commonly identify themselves and others by their ancestral clan roots. Contemporary terms for “clan” include ssijok (sshe-joak) and tangpa (tahng-pah).

Korea’s clan system survived into modern times because of shamanism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and the political ideology that evolved from these beliefs. Shamanism, Korea’s indigenous spiritual philosophy, taught that the spirits or souls of individuals survived death, continued to influence the welfare of the living, and therefore had to be treated with reverence to avoid making them angry.

Chok leadership eventually became hereditary, with the families of the leaders becoming the royal houses and therefore vitally concerned about their genealogy. At the same time the roles of court officials, military officers, and other ranking members of the various tribal kingdoms also became hereditary, making it imperative that people in these families keep track of their bloodlines.

Buddhism, the state religion in Korea from around the seventh century A.D. until the end of the Koryo dynasty in 1392, also fostered the belief that the spirit survived death and was reincarnated time and again in an attempt to achieve total enlightenment, be liberated from the cycle of birth and death, and thereafter remain in paradise. Gaining merit by memorializing and revering one’s ancestors was an important part of the teachings of Buddhism. This religious requirement added to the importance of keeping track of one’s family tree.

Confucianism, which became increasingly influential in Korea from the twelfth century and was decreed the state religion in 1392, made ancestor worship the law of the land. Social classes, based primarily on ancestry, were minutely prescribed and hereditary. Local government offices kept detailed records of all families. From that time until the end of the nineteenth century, keeping track of one’s genealogy was not just a religious and social commitment but a legal requirement as well.

Another factor in the perpetuation of the chok system in Korea was the requirement that all families be listed in a national registry for tax, corvée labor, military service, and other administrative purposes, a procedure that provided a permanent record of the bloodlines of families from one generation to the next.

Probably the most important element in the perpetuation of the chok system, however, was the fact that the ruling elite in each of the earliest clans tended to make their positions hereditary, resulting in both power and wealth accruing to their individual families. Over the generations a few hundred of these families grew into large clans. By the beginning of the so-called Three Kingdoms period in the first century B.C., in any particular generation a handful of these clans were able to maintain a virtual monopoly on government power, often with the king and most of the higher court officials from the same clan.

Each of Korea’s three great unified dynasties, Shilla (669-935), Koryo (935-1392), and Choson (1391-1910), was dominated by the clans of their founders and their allied clans.

Korea’s largest and most famous clans cannot be separated from the country’s hereditary gentry class, the so-called yangban (yahng-bahn), a title first used in the early Shilla kingdom, prior to the unification of the country in 669, to describe scholars who served as both civil service officials and military officers.

Clan lineage in the yangban class became of overriding importance during the early centuries of the Choson dynasty (1392-1910) because each family’s social status was determined primarily by its clan and by its relationship to the patrilineal founder of the clan. This made it extremely important for people to maintain detailed records of their ancestry, and as a result the study and publication of chok po (choak poh), or “clan genealogy,” became a major industry in the early 1600s.

Among the clans that were prominent and powerful in Korea during the Three Kingdoms period (100 B.C.-A.D. 668), the ones that stand out were Kim, Pak (now often written as Park), Yi (usually romanized as Lee), Sol, Suk, Sin, Kang, Yo, Ro, Om, Chu, and Myong.

There are said to be thirty-nine “root clans” throughout the country, each with a number of branches. The largest and most prominent of these “root clans” is the Kim family, which has thirty-two branch clans and accounts for some 24 percent of the population of the country. The Yi (or Lee) family has five branches. (The literal meaning of Kim is “gold.”)

Some Korean families can trace their clan ancestry back twenty-five hundred years. The main clan heir is known as chongson (chohng-sohn), which refers to “the oldest offspring.” The place where a clan originated is known as pongwan (pohngwahn), or “original place.”

Chol 촐 Choll

The Versatile Bow

While all ancient people apparently bowed down to superiors and to symbols of power as a sign of inferiority, humility, and respect (behavior that seems to have been inherent in the human species), the Chinese ritualized and institutionalized the bow and made it a formal, official part of all greetings, farewells, apologies, petitions, religious rituals, acknowledgments of orders, and so on. When the Chinese invaded Korea in 109 B.C. and established a four-hundred-year-long political hegemony over the small kingdoms on the peninsula, one of the customs they introduced into Korea was their highly stylized form of bowing.

Over the next thirteen centuries the chol (choll), or “bow,” gradually became embedded in Korean behavior. But it was the founding of the Choson or Yi dynasty in 1392 by General Song Gye Yi that was to make the bow into a vital part of the lives of all Koreans. General Yi adopted a much more structured and strict form of Confucianism, referred to as Neo-Confucianism, as the foundation for Korean society and implemented this new social order with military precision and discipline.

A key part of the relationship between individuals in the newly organized Choson dynasty was a precise form of etiquette that included respect language, a demeanor that was appropriate to the social rank of the people involved, and the chol.

General Yi’s successors continued the policies and practices that he had instituted until the very end of the Choson dynasty in 1910. When the Japanese annexed and colonized Korea in 1910, they brought their own highly institutionalized and stylized bow with them and required that all Koreans adopt it. The result of all this intensive conditioning is that the bow is still an important part of Korean etiquette.

The deeper the bow, the more humility, respect, sorrow, gratitude, etc., it indicates. In earlier times it was common for people to kneel down (if they were not already sitting) and touch their foreheads to the floor or ground when bowing to rulers and other high-ranking dignitaries and on special occasions such as funerals. This was the infamous k’ou t’ou (kowtow) long associated with China. K’ou means “head,” and t’ou means “bump” or “knock”—in other words, to knock one’s head against the floor or ground to demonstrate servile deference.

European traders and others who began visiting Asia in the 1700s and 1800s were shocked when they observed people performing the kowtow. They regarded it as dehumanizing and insulting. One historically famous “bowing incident” involved the leader of a British delegation who was scheduled to be presented to the empress of China. When he was informed that he would have to perform the kowtow before the empress, he became outraged and announced that he would rather go to war than submit to such a barbaric custom. (Finally the matter was settled when the Chinese agreed that he could remain standing and just bow from the waist.)

If one is accustomed to sitting on the floor or ground—as the Chinese and other Asians were—bowing until the head touches the floor is not such a big deal—a perspective that was, of course, totally alien to Europeans.

In Korea, as in Japan and most other Asian nations, bowing remains the formal method of acknowledging, greeting, and paying respect to people, to religious symbols, and so on, although where casual meetings and farewells are concerned internationalized Koreans and other Asians routinely combine the bow—and sometimes replace it altogether—with the Western custom of handshaking.

The chol is, in fact, a very effective means of nonverbal communication and for Koreans is far more culture-laden than verbal greetings and handshaking. The message given by a chol is determined by its depth and its duration. The deeper the bow and the longer its duration, the stronger the message.

There are bows for a variety of occasions and people involved. The lower-status person generally bows first, unless the superior is formally apologizing for some serious transgression. Differences in the social standing of the parties, as well as the circumstances, determine the type of bow that is appropriate. People of conspicuously senior status may barely nod in response to bows from those who are young and very junior to them (professors/students; parents/children; corporate presidents/ordinary employees). By the same token, the more emotional content the bower wants to express, the deeper and longer the bow.

As someone who has been bowing for more than fifty years, I can personally attest to the efficacy of the chol as a means of relating emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually to others. When expressing sorrow, humility, or gratitude, for example, a deep, prolonged bow can be far more powerful than a handshake or a comment. (In greeting and saying farewell to people, however, it is not nearly as expressive as a hug!)

Bowing properly is not as simple as it may seem. It requires a great deal of intuitive understanding of the situation and practice in the physical technology involved, both of which are generally learned only through long experience in the culture. Training programs conducted for new employees by larger Korean companies usually include lessons in bowing.

For those who want to learn and use the chol properly, it is normally accompanied by expressions that are appropriate for the occasion. When meeting someone for the first time in a day, the standard expression is Annyong haseyo! (Ahn-n’yohng hah-say-yoh!), which is the Korean equivalent of “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” and “Good evening.” When parting or seeing someone off, the bow is accompanied by Annyonghi gaseyo! (Ahn-n’yohng-hee gah-say-yoh!), which literally means “Go in peace.” The person leaving generally responds with Annyonghi gyeseyo! (Ahn-n’yohnghee gay-say-yoh!), or “Stay in peace.”

Korean children traditionally began learning when and how to bow as toddlers. One of the more important bowing occasions in Korea was early on New Year’s Day. On this day members of families performed deep bows, called sae bae (sigh bay), before photographs of deceased ancestors and to the older members of their families.

Many Korean families have continued all or part of this old Confucian ritual, and it is especially popular among some older children and teenagers because their grandparents customarily give them money, called sae bae ton, or “sae bae money,” to mark the occasion. However, younger Korean generations are rapidly becoming Westernized in virtually all of their casual behavior when only their peers are involved. In casual leave-takings among this group one is more apt to hear “goodbye” or “bye-bye” than any of the traditional Korean greetings.

Westerners who spend more than a few weeks in Korea generally find themselves becoming acculturated to the bow without realizing or working at it. The best solution for cross-cultural encounters, practiced by more and more internationalized Koreans, is to use both the bow and the handshake, often at the same time.

Chomjangi 촘장이 Choam-jahng-ee

The Fortune-Tellers

Historically Koreans were conditioned to believe that their lives were in the hands of spirits and only direct intervention by the spirits could change their fortunes for the better. This was especially true of common people, whose lives were predetermined primarily by their ancestry, social class, and gender. They were not free to change occupations, to move their place of residence, or to alter the way things were done.

Because of these political restrictions and social conventions, common Koreans generally could not improve their fortunes through their own efforts. Members of the elite class as well, particularly women, were also severely limited in their options. Therefore people on all social levels naturally turned to the supernatural for solace, guidance, and blessings.

Since communicating with the supernatural requires special knowledge and powers, the profession of the chomjangi (choam-jahng-ee), or “fortune-teller,” became an important aspect of Korean society from the earliest times. Virtually everybody, from the king on down, consulted with chomjangi about important decisions and actions.

Fortune-telling is still a thriving industry in Korea. Young men and women consult chomjangi about their marriage prospects. Mothers ask fortune-tellers to evaluate potential sons- and daughters-in-law. Parents of newborn babies get help from fortune-tellers to select the most favorable names for their offspring. More than a few businesspeople regularly consult chomjangi prior to making important decisions. Shamans, who abound in Korea, are also believed to be able to predict the future and are commonly consulted on all kinds of matters by many people.

The Korean belief in the supernatural and its relationship to their fortune hinges on astrological factors surrounding the year, month, day, and hour of their birth—the familiar zodiac, with its twelve animal symbols. When all of the astrological factors are combined, they are known as saju (sah-juu).

Despite the fact that many intellectuals and other Western-oriented sophisticates in Korea tend to look down on chomjangi, it is generally accepted that they provide an important service—on the order of psychiatrists in the West—and there is no stigma attached to patronizing their services.

The most popular forms of divination in Seoul are said to be reading horo-scopes, consulting with spirits, reading faces and figures (physiognomy), casting lots, and numerology. Horoscopic divination is based on the idea that the time of birth fixes one’s personality and fortune. Divination through spirits involves diviners going into trances and consulting with various spirits. Some people in Seoul specialize in reading faces as a means of discerning character, personality, sexuality, and potential for future success. There are also diviners who include face and hand reading in their practice. Casting lots consists of tossing eight sticks of bamboo, metal rods, or three coins a set number of times and “reading the patterns” they form. Numerology is one of the tools used by spiritual diviners.

On New Year’s Day and for the following two weeks many Koreans engage in the popular custom of consulting fortune-tellers to find out what their fortunes are going to be for the next twelve months. The most popular method of fortune-telling during this period is by use of the Tojong-Pigyol (Toh-johng-Pee-gyohl), a book that purports to reveal the secrets of one’s fortune based on the yin-yang principle of negative and positive forces and the five cosmic elements, metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. (The book was written by a man named Ji Ham Lee, an authority on the principle of yin-yang, whose pen name was Tojong.)

Those wanting their fortunes told provide the saju (sah-juu), or year of their birth, according to the lunar calendar, along with the month, date, and hour of their birth. One day is divided into twelve hours instead of twenty-four hours, and each of the twelve segments of time has its own name or label (Ja, Chuk, Im, Myo, Jim, Sa, Oh, Mi, Sim, Yu, Sul, and Hae).

Chon Do Kyo 촌도교 Choan Doh K’yoh

The Heavenly Way Religions

The influence of Chon Do Kyo (Choan Doh K’yoh), or “Heavenly Way Religions,” on Koreans—beginning with shamanism and continuing with Buddhism, Confucianism, and Christianity—has been both profound and contradictory. Shamanism was their original link with their ancestors and all the gods and spirits in the universe. It taught them that all things in nature had spirits that had to be kept benign and friendly by prayer, offerings, and other rituals.

Buddhism, introduced into Korea from China in the fourth century A.D., brought with it virtually all of the arts, crafts, values, and beliefs, including reincarnation, of the already ancient and sophisticated civilization of China. Life in Korea became an amalgam of Korean and Chinese cultures and civilizations—often Chinese on the surface but stubbornly Korean on the inside.

From around A.D. 700 until the last decade of the fourteenth century, Buddhism was generally treated as the official state religion, while shamanism was practiced as more of an unofficial folk belief. But Buddhism was much too tolerant, too un-focused, and too susceptible to manipulation and corruption to provide either the ideology or the political structure necessary for the survival of a society. Ultimately neither shamanism nor Buddhism could compete with the aggressive and politically potent Confucianism, which was first introduced into Korea as a political and social ideology soon after China invaded the country in 109 B.C. and turned the existing kingdoms into vassal states.

By the thirteenth century, reform-minded Chinese scholars were advocating a much more focused form of Confucianism that was based on absolute filial piety and ancestor worship, which would give the government much more control over society. It was this form of Confucianism that was made the state religion by Korea’s Choson dynasty in 1392.

During the 518-year reign of the Choson dynasty, Koreans were so thoroughly programmed in the concepts of Neo-Confucianism from infancy on that both Buddhism and shamanism became little more than private folk beliefs involved with the spiritual welfare of the people, while Confucianism controlled their practical everyday values, attitudes, and interpersonal relationships.

Christianity, introduced to the common people of Korea in the late 1800s, near the end of the Choson era, was to have a dramatic effect on the thinking and behavior of Koreans within a very short period of time. The Christian ideas of universal brotherhood and social equality were new and exciting concepts to Koreans and caused a great deal of ferment among the small literate class, completely overshadowing Buddhism and causing the validity of Confucianism to be questioned.

In fact, some Korean scholars like Tong Shik Yu say that Buddhism had virtually nothing to do with forming the modern-day Korean mind, despite its long history in the country. Yu says that traditional Korean mentality is a mixture of Confucianism, shamanism, and Christianity. Yu adds that shamanism satisfies the Koreans’ need for spiritual solace, Confucianism provides answers for social and political challenges, and the concepts of universal equality and brotherhood taught by Christianity appeal to their intellect.

Yu’s description of the Confucian contribution to Korean culture is essentially negative. He lists these negatives (paraphrased) as dependency on others because of a lack of a strong sense of self, conservatism and fear of change that grows out of lack of personal control over their lives, pragmatism that is self-centered because of the first two elements, a powerful tendency to form factions that are bound together with religious fervor, submission to bureaucratic control by authoritarian politicians and corporate bosses, and a hedonistic obsession with enjoying the good life now because the future is so uncertain.

Yu goes on to identify the shamanist elements in the traditional Korean character as a strong belief that the fate of individuals, good or bad, is determined by supernatural spirits; a deep-seated resistance to changes in attitudes and values; a strong concern for present-day, here-and-now needs, and a “pleasure orientation” manifested by copious singing and dancing.

Korean historian Sang Yun Hyon offers an additional list of the effects of Confucianism on the Korean mind—all of them negative. He says Confucianism kept Korea dependent on China and thereby discouraged the growth of an independent and self-reliant spirit, resulted in the creation of a family- and faction-centered society that tended to ignore all public responsibility, brought about severe discrimination against people based solely on their social class, justified an authoritarian government and an all-powerful bureaucracy that controlled and limited the lives of the people, prevented economic development by regarding profit making as immoral, encouraged people to resort to bribery and other unscrupulous means to raise their social status, and kept people focused on the past, thereby further discouraging progressive changes.

Hyon does say there is a plus side to the effects of Confucianism, however. He notes that Confucianism made Koreans famous for their stylized etiquette (Chinese officials originally referred to Korea as “The Eastern Country of Correct Manners and Propriety”), promoted the concept of mass education and the importance of learning, provided an ethical foundation for Korea’s feudal society, promoted the idea of human relatedness and mutual responsibility, and encouraged people to be content with “honest” poverty and develop their character rather than attempt to accumulate material wealth.

Not all Korean historians are totally critical of Buddhism. Buddhist scholar Ki Yong Yi holds that Buddhism is a far more humane religion than Confucianism; that Buddhism promoted good, discouraged evil, called for evildoers to be punished, promoted mercy and charity, advocated the development of endurance to withstand the daily challenges of life, and endorsed individuals’ sacrificing themselves for others and for their ideals.

A recent semi-governmental study that focused on the influence of Christianity in Korean society, in comparison with shamanism, Buddhism, and Confucianism, came up with some intriguing conclusions. The study concluded that Korean shamanism had become much more practical, Buddhism had become nationalistic, and Confucianism was giving way to Christian thought because the latter is human and personally oriented rather than bureaucratic-authoritarian-harmony oriented.

The study also reported that Buddhist and Christian thought and behavior were publicly very conspicuous in everyday life in Korea, while the influence of shamanism and Confucianism was generally “below the surface” and more subtle. Ultimately an amalgam of Korea’s four great “Heavenly Ways” may prove to be their most important legacy.

Chong 총 Chohng

Ties That Bind

Historically Koreans have had especially strong bonds with their families, kin, schoolmates, teachers, work colleagues, and other people from their birthplace—bonds that come under the label of chong (chohng), or “feelings.” These bonds were of special importance because the people could not depend on laws, government agencies, or outsiders to assist them in times of need. Generally their only recourse was to call on people with whom they had personal chong bonds derived from a common relationship, preferably chinchok (cheen-choak), or “blood kinship.”

Despite the dramatic changes that have taken place in Korea since the mid-1900s, chong continue to be one of the most important factors in Korean society. Koreans still think in terms of their chong links in private matters as well as in business and politics. Businesspeople prefer to hire family members, relatives, fellow alumni, and people from their home village or hometown, usually in that order. When people find it necessary to contact a government or business office for any purpose, they first try to find out if they have any chong -bound links in the office or in any related office.

Korean social scientists say that chong was also the basis for the hwa (whah), or “harmony,” that was long associated with their culture. It was this emotional element, they add, that made it possible for groupism to take precedence over individual interests, even overriding the concept of personal identity. Not surprisingly, the official end of the feudalistic family system in Korea in the mid-1900s and the demise of the authoritarian state power that was used to enforce the Confucian philosophy of hwa have since resulted in dramatic changes in Korean attitudes and behavior.

Koreans are still primarily family and group oriented, and a great deal of their behavior that confounds and frustrates foreigners derives from the lingering influence of generations of programming in avoiding confrontation, but Confucian-style harmony is rapidly becoming a thing of the past.

The personal feelings of young Koreans are no longer totally smothered in family or group bonds. They generally conform to high standards of etiquette in interacting with seniors and superiors with whom they have social relationships, particularly in school and the workplace, but in other situations they do not hesitate to express their chong as individuals.

Still today, Koreans are inclined to overreact both vocally and physically when expressing their feelings in public as well as private settings—a symptom that is no doubt exaggerated because such behavior was totally forbidden in the past. To some Western eyes Korean women, for example, are masters at using emotion to achieve their goals. In the words of one longtime foreign resident in Seoul, “they will rant and rave and carry on like banshees until they get what they want.” Traditionally, Korean behavior was characterized by extreme swings from stone-faced passivity to loud and sometimes violent outbursts.

All Koreans are apt to resort to institutionalized outpourings of emotion, some angry and aggressive and others designed to express humility, sorrow, anguish, and the like, in situations that in the West would more likely be resolved by calm, rational consideration. This conspicuous use of chong no doubt derives from the fact that historically matters were never settled by rational consideration or debate in Korea. The Korean language itself was not designed for clear, objective reasoning. All relationships, personal as well as public, were based on predetermined factors that included gender, age, social class, and position and were officially immutable but could be influenced by emotional factors.

Broadly speaking, since Koreans were traditionally prohibited from basing their personal relationships on chong, or changing their relationships because of ill feelings, their only recourse was to use feelings to influence these set relationships and to try to manipulate the system through chong.

In present-day Korea, feelings still often take precedence over all other considerations, a factor that just as often becomes a major roadblock for rational-minded, fact-oriented Western businesspeople and diplomats. Usually the best way through this cultural quicksand is to address the personal, emotional factors along with the hard facts of the situation at the same setting, intertwining them so that they buttress each other. In some cases, however, the most effective approach may be to lead with the facts and then bring in chong, or vice versa.

Chongbu 총부 Chohng-buu

Big Brother

Centuries ago the Koreans, like their Chinese and Japanese neighbors, perfected the “Big Brother” kind of government made famous by George Orwell in his novel 1984. Until the 1980s chongbu (chohng-buu), or “government,” in Korea was controlled by a tiny elite class of scholar-bureaucrats, or by military authoritarians, who in turn controlled virtually every aspect of life in the country. Common people had no voice in the government. There was no such concept as human rights and only the vaguest concept of civil rights. (The literal meaning of chongbu, a Chinese word, is “big brother,” or “oldest brother.” The native Korean word for the same concept is mat-hyung/maht-hyuung.)

Until the end of the nineteenth century the government of Korea not only prescribed the official religious beliefs and rituals but also prescribed and enforced the etiquette for all personal and public relationships. Only “right thinking” was permitted. People who criticized the government or did not follow the prescribed protocol were either ostracized, exiled, or executed, depending on the nature of their offense.

It was not until the 1970s that demands by the Korean people finally began to result in the powers of the government being curbed and some of the worst government abuses being prohibited by law. It was another two decades, however, before additional reforms by a new generation of leaders actually brought about significant changes in the attitudes and behavior of government officials.

Still today, government bureaucrats and appointees on every level tend to view themselves as Korea’s first line of defense against unwanted intrusions by outsiders and as “big brothers” to the rest of the population. These attitudes are subsumed in a number of key words that have long been associated with the government and continue to play a significant role in business as well as in the private lives of the people. Some of the most important of these words:

Chido (chee-doh), or “guidance”: This term is probably best known for its use in reference to the influence that the Korean government exercises over business. An elaboration on this word is haengjung chido (hang-juung chee-doh), meaning “administrative guidance,” a specific reference to how the government influences business through the power that is inherent in its control of licenses, import and export quotas, taxes, government financing, etc. In addition to the various laws pertaining to these functions, there are numerous nae kyu (nay k’yuu), or “unwritten laws,” that the ministries and agencies of the government utilize in their efforts to control the economy.

One of the “unwritten rules” commonly invoked by government bureaucrats involves a practice known as gara mungeida (gah-rah muun-gay-dah), or “crushing with one’s rear end.” In other words, killing applications or proposals by sitting on them—something that bureaucrats are noted for in almost every country. Government bureaucrats are also noted for subjecting people to a runaround known as jajungga bakwi dolligi (jah-juung-gah bahk-wee dohl-lee-ghee), or “pedaling a stationary bike.”

Government control of mok (moke), or “quotas,” on some categories of imports and exports has traditionally played a key role in the Korean economy. In some product categories annual quotas are based on the previous year’s performance, virtually guaranteeing that certain companies are able to monopolize these import and export categories.

Another method used by the government to influence business in general is the official sponsorship of a large number of hyopoe (h’yahp-poh-eh), or “associations.” There is an association for almost every profession and industry in Korea, all of which are required to operate within guidelines set down by the government. Those pertaining to business are invariably designed to achieve goals that the government approves of or goals that the government itself has set.

Hyopoe that are sponsored directly by the government and designed to promote the export industry (like the Korean Traders’ Association) can be very helpful to foreign businesses wanting to import from Korea. These associations maintain extensive data banks of information on virtually every manufacturing category in the country and provide free staff help in identifying suppliers and setting up appointments with them. Associations sponsored by Korean manufacturers, wholesalers, and retailers, on the other hand, have as one of their primary goals controlling foreign access to the Korean market.

Another factor that has long been an integral part of doing business in Korea is putting up with the age-old practice of bringing social, economic, or political leverage against companies to force them to make kibu (kee-buu), or “donations”—a custom that has traditionally involved people in all walks of life but is especially associated with top-level politicians, particularly presidents, because the sums going to them amounted to millions of dollars.

Chonggyo 총교 Chohng-g’yoh

Faces of Korean Religions

Traditional Korean beliefs and day-to-day behavior were an amalgam of four schools of spiritual and philosophical thought, or “religions” if you will—shamanism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and, to a lesser degree, Taoism. Early foreign Christian missionaries in Korea (in the last decades of the 1800s) noted that Koreans were Confucian in their social life, Buddhist and Taoist in their philosophical attitudes, and shamanist in their attempts to ward off and deal with life’s calamities—all without apparent conflict.

Korean educator and developmental psychologist Jae Un Kim has surmised that the “success” of so many chonggyo (chohng-g’yoh), or “religions,” in Korea was a direct outgrowth of the people’s need for spiritual comfort in an authoritarian society that oppressed and abused them. Kim also says that Koreans showed little interest in the theological foundations of religions because they were more interested in relieving the hardships of their daily lives than in contemplating abstract notions of a better life in the hereafter.

Kim explains that several religions could coexist in pre-modern Korea because none of them had theological underpinnings that demanded absolute exclusivity. None of the early religions of Korea—shamanism, Buddhism, or Confucianism—has a “jealous” God in the Christian sense. And strictly speaking, they also do not have a Christian-type hell designed to frighten them into worshiping a single deity.

The only conflict between Buddhism and Confucianism in early Korea was over government and royal patronage and political power—not in the religious or philosophical sphere. Confucianism provided the social, political, and educational ideology that determined how Koreans thought and acted in regard to these matters, while Buddhism (along with shamanism) influenced their spiritual beliefs and behavior.

Generally speaking, Korea’s Confucian scholar-philosophers paid no heed to practical social and economic matters until around the fourteenth century, and even then it was only a small group of powerless “outside” scholars who began advocating “practical learning.” When Christianity, a religion that is based on an exact theological premise, was introduced into Korea, Kim adds, most Koreans ignored its theological teachings and saw only its political and social implications.

Korea’s oldest religion, originally called Ko Shin Do (Koh Sheen Doh), or “The Way of the Gods,” is now officially called Tae Jong Gyo (Tay Johng G’yoh), which translates as “old religion.” Tae Jong Gyo incorporates Korea’s creation myth, which says that Tangun, the legendary founder of the Korean race, became a great teacher and lawgiver who reigned over the people of Korea until he ascended into heaven.

Early Koreans offered prayers to the sajik (sah-jeek), or “gods,” of the land and harvests before sajiktan (sah-jeek-tahn), or “god altars.” This eventually resulted in the so-called “Founder’s Altar,” a system under which new tribal chieftains and later incoming kings offered their prayers. These altars eventually evolved into shrines where shamanist rituals were conducted.

Buddhism was “officially” introduced into Korea in A.D. 372. By the time the Shilla kingdom had unified the Korean peninsula under its rule in A.D. 668, Buddhism was already generally accepted as the national religion. During the following Koryo dynasty (918-1392) Buddhist monks became politicians, courtiers, and warriors, usurping much of the power of the court and causing a steady decline in private as well as public morality. The more wealth and power Buddhist monks achieved, the more corrupt they became.

Ultimately those who opposed the corrupt government and eventually ended the Koryo dynasty associated Buddhism with its evils, resulting in Buddhism’s being replaced by Confucianism as the new state ideology when the Koryo dynasty fell in 1392.

Confucianism was brought into Korea much earlier, presumably by Chinese government officials and others who flocked to the peninsula after it was conquered by the armies of Emperor Wu-Ti in 108 B.C. But it was more of a social ethic than a religion and did not impinge on the spiritual beliefs or customs of the people. By the beginning of the Choson dynasty in 1392, however, Confucianism had been developed into an all-encompassing political, social, and philosophical ideology with cult status. Over the next five hundred years it was to become the core of Korean culture.

Taoism was “formally” introduced into Korea sometime in the seventh century A.D. Over the next several generations many Buddhist temples were converted into Taoist temples as part of the general decline of the influence of Buddhism. While Taoism did not develop into an independent cult, it was to have a significant influence on Korean thinking, particularly its emphasis on long life (su) and happiness (pok), whose symbols are still used widely today.

The basic philosophy of Taoism was that people should live simple, spontaneous, meditative lives; that they should ignore social conventions and worldly affairs and stay in harmony with nature. (This impractical approach to life was no doubt the primary reason that Taoism never became a widely practiced philosophy.)

In an effort to discover ways to transcend life, Taoist devotees experimented with elixirs and potions and with transforming metals. During one period Taoists advocated engaging in copious sexual activity as the best way to achieve enlightenment—a policy that resulted in a significant increase in the philosophy’s followers.

In number of adherents, the third-largest religion in Korea today is Chon Do Gyo (Chone Doh G’yoh), or “Religion of the Heavenly Way,” which originated in the Tong Hak (Tong Hahk) or “Eastern Learning” movement that developed in the latter part of the nineteenth century in response to pressure on Korea from Russia, Japan, and European powers and the weaknesses of the Choson court. Chon Do Gyo is described by Korea’s religious authorities as a nationalistic mixture of Buddhism and Confucianism.

Islam is one of the officially registered religions in Korea but is of recent origin. Koreans who were moved to Manchuria between 1895 and 1928 by the Japanese and were subsequently converted to Islam brought their new religious faith with them when they were finally returned to their homeland. The first inaugural service of Korean Islam was held in 1955, following which a Korean Imam was elected. The Korean Islamic Society was established in 1966, and the Ministry of Culture gave the organization official status in 1976.

Many Koreans still do not think very much about any religion. Surveys indicate that younger people do not believe that religion should be a part of the education of their children. At the same time, they say the moral teachings of religion are necessary for a wholesome outlook on life.

This apparently contradictory view results from the fact that throughout Korean history religious beliefs and rituals were an inseparable part of the lifestyle, not something seen or regarded as distinct and separate from everyday living. Koreans simply did not associate the concept of religion with the way they lived. They did not think in terms of “this is a Buddhist ritual” or “that is a shamanistic practice.”

It was not until the widespread introduction of Christianity into Korea from the late 1800s on that ordinary Koreans began to consciously recognize religion as a distinctive field of thought, and there is still a tendency for Koreans to see Christianity and other new religions as “religions” but not to label Buddhism, Confucianism, and shamanism as such.

There are some 240 so-called “new religions” in Korea, all of which are combinations of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism. The largest of these new religions are Ilshin Gyo, Taejing Gyo, Chondo Gyo, Murong Chondo, Pong Nam, Todokhoe, Chongilhoe, and the Unification Church. Chondo Gyo began in the nineteenth century as Tong Hak (Tohng Hahk), or “Eastern Learning,” a political movement against inroads being made into the country by foreign colonial powers and Catholicism.

Internationally the best known of Korea’s new religions is the Unification Church, founded in the 1950s by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon. Notorious for its cult-like practices in attracting and keeping converts and in fundraising, the Unification Church has branches worldwide. In the United States, members of the church are popularly known as “Moonies,” a less than flattering term probably coined by a journalist. In 1982 the founder, Rev. Moon, was convicted by a U.S. court for income tax evasion and spent nearly a year in a federal prison.

The public platform of the Unification Church is “the Global Family” and “Love Will Save the Earth”—themes that it uses to stage mass gatherings that attract high-profile celebrity speakers. However, the most unusual of the church’s huge gatherings are mass weddings, the largest of which (at the time of this writing) involved more than seven hundred thousand couples around the world.

According to government statistics, some 25 percent of the population of South Korea is listed as members of the various Christian denominations that have flourished in the country.

Chongmal 총말 Chohng-mahl

The Color of Truth

When the first Westerners took up residence in Korea in the sixteenth century—unwillingly as the result of a shipwreck on Cheju Island—they were almost immediately presented with a kind of behavior that confused and frustrated them. They quickly learned that virtually everything of substance that they were told by their Korean captor/hosts turned out to be untrue. It seemed to them that it was the official policy of the authorities to lie rather than tell the truth.

What these early visitors to Korea encountered was a version of chongmal (chohng-mahl), or “truth,” that was based on the reality of Korean life rather than abstract principles. In Korea’s authoritarian feudal society “truth” was an arbitrary factor that was determined by circumstances, not by hard, objective facts. In effect chongmal was what the government said it was and what the people had to accept to survive in that cultural environment.

In other terms people were not free to determine or express objective truth in their personal relationships or any of their affairs. The “truth” in all matters was an artificially constructed political and social paradigm that had been designed to preserve the harmony of a hierarchically arranged authoritarian society that denied personal individuality and human rights. All personal feelings and concerns were secondary to the interests of the state, which based its policies on a corrupted form of Confucianism that the government used to justify itself.

In this environment, chongmal was an artifice that people were forced to use to maintain the inferior-superior relationships that were prescribed precisely for family members and between friends, co-workers, and the authorities on every level of government. A “truthful” response was whatever would sustain and enhance the harmonious actions and reactions of people within this minutely controlled culture. Thus “real truth” was sacrificed to the system. People were forced to “lie” as an essential part of the role playing demanded by the etiquette they were forced to follow.

When Westerners were first confronted with this form of reality, they took it to mean that Koreans had no principles and no honor and that they knowingly lied for malicious purposes rather than as a part of their normal behavior.

In the latter decades of the nineteenth century a few Westerners—mostly missionaries and their families—became longtime residents of Korea, learned the language, and became familiar enough with Korean culture to understand the difference between Western reality and Korean reality. They also learned that when Koreans were interacting with foreigners in a relatively culture-free, nonthreatening atmosphere they not only understood the concept of objective reality and truth but were perfectly capable of telling the truth and behaving in a rational manner.

Although the political, economic, and social systems of Korea have been transformed since the mid-1900s, and the people have undergone dramatic intellectual changes as well, enough of the traditional mind-set remains that it continues to play an easily discernible and significant role in society. In purely Korean settings people are still under immense pressure to tailor the truth in their responses to others and for the same reasons—to save face for themselves and others and to keep everything harmonious on the surface.

But there are now powerful forces at work within Korean society, fueled by increasing economic and political involvement with the West, by a critical mass media and the internationalization of education, that are gradually eroding the use and the need for circumstantial truth. It is unlikely that this erosion process will totally eliminate subjective truth from Korean society in the foreseeable future, but it has already gone far enough in Korea’s “international community” that it is no longer a major barrier to communication, understanding, and cooperation. As a general rule, however, it is still important for foreigners doing business in Korea to maintain a “truth alert” in their relationships with employees and others and to regularly confirm the information they receive.

Chongshik 총힉 Chohng-sheek

Doing Things by the Book

Life in ancient Korea was structured around the tenets of shamanism, with precise rituals governing all religious ceremonies, including planting, harvesting, and various other activities that were believed to be influenced directly by spirits and sundry gods. The ritualization of these functions consisted primarily of creating and following precise ceremonial actions designed to honor and placate the various spirits, from making food and drink offerings to performing dances, chanting prayers, and singing.

The introduction of Buddhism and Confucianism into Korea from China between A.D. 300 and 600 brought a variety of new rituals, both religious and social, that were to have a profound effect on the overall attitudes and behavior of Koreans down to the present time. For century after century Koreans were physically, emotionally, and intellectually programmed in all of the chongshik (chohng-sheek), “processes” or “procedures,” making up the Korean lifestyle—from worshiping, bowing, sitting, eating, performing household chores, and working, to the way they used their language.

This behavioral conditioning was so pervasive that it eventually became an integral part of Korean culture, something that was automatically taught to each child, directly as well as indirectly, and thus became a part of his or her character and personality.

A deep attachment to chongshik, which is also the Korean word for “formality,” remains a key element in Korean culture. Although most present-day Koreans, particularly those in younger generations, are significantly less formal in their behavior than what was characteristic until the last decades of the twentieth century, the legacy of millennia of conditioning in chongshik continues to distinguish Koreans from most Westerners, particularly Americans.

Some of the formalities that remain characteristic of Korean behavior include their treatment of guests in both their homes and places of work, their use of respect language, their dress, their conduct of meetings and ceremonies, and so on.

While this ceremonial behavior may be time consuming, it nevertheless adds a certain nuance to life in Korea that most foreign visitors and residents—especially those from countries where the niceties of social etiquette have become so diluted that they are hardly noticeable—find reassuring and often pleasant if not charming.

There is another facet of chongshik, however, that generally elicits a negative reaction from foreigners as well as a growing number of Koreans. This is the ongoing penchant for people in both business and the government to formalize their activities to the point that initiative, spontaneity, and innovation become difficult or impossible. Even the most mundane activities must be done “according to the book” in the ultimate bureaucratic mode, almost inevitably complicating and delaying things.

In recent years the Korean government as well as private organizations, including commercial enterprises, have inaugurated policies and programs to eliminate some of the chongshik from their operations, but it persists to varying degrees, especially in many government offices, because it continues to be part of the traditional culture. The challenge now is to find the degree of formality that continues to add decorum to personal relationships but does not detract from getting things done.

Chongui 총의 Chohng-we

Justice Korean Style

During Korea’s long feudal era, which actually did not begin to end until the mid-1900s, whole families were held responsible for the behavior of individual members, with the primary responsibility falling on the male heads of families. This Confucian-based system provided extraordinary incentive for Korean patriarchs to rule their families with an iron hand and was at the heart of the order and harmony that existed in pre-modern Korea.

In ruling their families, Korean patriarchs were prosecutor, jury, and judge. Their rules and their decisions were based primarily on Confucian ethics instead of man-made laws, and to that extent there was uniformity in the standards society required of people. But Confucianism was not so cut-and-dried that it required the same kind or degree of punishment generally demanded by man-made laws. Confucian “law” was more situational and was generally applied according to personal rather than objective circumstances.

In the Korean concept of things, chongui (chohng-we), or “justice,” within families was what served the best interests of the family, which is quite different from a universal concept of punishing an individual for misdeeds. Legal justice applied by the official judicial system of pre-modern Korea also had a personal element that made it different from Western justice.

In both family and official justice in feudal Korea the first consideration of importance was whether or not the accused admitted guilt, expressed remorse, and asked for forgiveness or maintained his or her innocence. If the accused confessed and begged to be forgiven, crying and carrying on in the process, the punishment was invariably less. (Or, in the case of people accused and convicted by authorities of capital crimes, the death sentence could be carried out in a more humane manner.)

Ordinary Koreans are extraordinarily sensitive about the concept of chongui because throughout the history of the country common people were treated by the government and the elite ruling class as second-class or third-class citizens, with few inherent human rights and no legal rights except those granted to them by the ruling powers. They therefore looked on those in power as arrogant and unjust and on themselves as eternal victims whose only recourse was to pretend to obey the laws and to get by with as much as they could without getting caught.

In the minds of most ordinary Koreans today the government is still more authoritarian than democratic, still denies them rights that they should have, and tramples on those that have been enacted into law. It often seems that the greatest—and sometimes only—champions of justice in Korea today are university students. Knowing that government officials would pay little if any attention to them if they presented their criticisms and demands in petitions—the traditional practice of scholars and others—the students take to the streets.

The Confucian-oriented concept of proper behavior, collective responsibility, and personalized justice still prevails in Korea. While punishment is no longer officially collective, most Koreans still believe that misbehavior by one member of a family dishonors the whole family, and there is extraordinary pressure on family members to obey both customs and laws. (Korean students who are active enough in street demonstrations to attract personal attention to themselves endanger their chances of getting jobs with prestigious companies after their graduation. Some companies have a policy of not hiring former student agitators.)

There is one other important factor in the Korean concept of chongui that is not totally unique to Korea but is much more developed there than in most cultures. When someone confesses to misconduct or a crime, expresses remorse, and asks for forgiveness but is subjected to the full measure of punishment anyway, the person typically takes it as an injustice, resents it deeply, never forgets or forgives, and, if possible, exacts some kind of revenge in the future.

Justice in Korea also has a nationalistic element that favors the Korean side in any situation involving foreigners. Some of this bias is to be expected. Consciously and unconsciously, most people favor their own kind. But in business and political disputes with foreigners, the tilt toward the Korean side is generally open and aggressive.

There is also often an easily discernible clan, regional, and relational aspect to local justice in Korean courts. The local judicial system can be expected to favor people who are members of the same family lineage or the same community. Part of this bias is a holdover from earlier times when local people regarded the central government as an adversary rather than an ally and generally resisted what they regarded as unfair treatment by bending laws or ignoring them altogether to benefit the local community.

Still today, the concept of Korean justice is generally based on what is best for society rather than on what is best for the individual. Because of this concept, individualistic foreigners who become involved with Korean courts are likely to be disappointed with the decisions handed down.

Chongyong 총용 Chohn-gyohng

Paying Proper Respect

One of the key Confucian principles of Korea’s traditional lifestyle was maintaining absolutely harmonious relationships among all people at all levels of society. The basis for this interpersonal harmony was the suppression of individual interests and desires coupled with unquestioning obedience to all superiors and the authorities, along with unselfish service to the family, the local community, and the nation.

This abrogation of virtually all “human” and personal rights by the Confucian-oriented government was cloaked in the guise of chongyong (chohngyohng), or “paying proper respect”—to one’s parents, siblings, elders, the authorities, and so on.

While the Confucian concept of chongyong was emminently admirable when presented in principle, translating it into practical day-to-day rules that governed all human behavior turned out to be primarily a political maneuver that stifled the lives and spirits of the Korean people. Common Koreans had almost no personal choice in their lives. They were required to submit to the will of their parents, particularly their fathers, who in turn were subject to the will and authority of the government. With only a few exceptions during the long pre-modern dynasties, this system kept Korea locked in a social, political, and economic time warp.

Particularly between 1392, the beginning of the Choson dynasty, and the latter decades of the 1800s, changes in Korea were few and far between because the emphasis was on a kind of harmony with the status quo and the past that made change immoral. But modern times were to bring to Korea in just one century as many changes as most European countries went through in five hundred years.

One of the facets of traditional Korean culture that has survived these changes, however—albeit in significantly altered form—is chongyong. For the first time in more than five hundred years, paying respect in Korea is more a matter of personal choice than of government edict. Koreans today continue to show exceptional respect toward their parents, teachers, and superiors who have legitimate authority over them. But they draw the line at respecting people they consider undeserving, especially government officials.

The most important facet of chongyong in Korea today is the respect that individuals expect and demand for their own feelings and face. People are extremely sensitive about any comment or demeanor that appears to be disrespectful in any way. The respect that bosses expect from their employees, for example, includes bowing to them at all appropriate times, addressing them by their titles and using other respect language, not leaving the office or workplace before they do, and doing—or trying their utmost to do—anything asked of them.

There is also a strongly nationalistic facet to the respect that Koreans expect. They are fiercely proud of their country and their culture and react very emotionally to any comments or actions that disparage either one. Foreigners dealing with Koreans must therefore be equally sensitive about their feelings, keeping in mind that their reactions are likely to be emotional rather than logical and that once they have taken a position they will typically defend it well beyond all reason.

To maintain effective working relations with Koreans, foreigners must continually demonstrate Korean-style sincerity, loyalty, and respect for all of the things that Koreans hold dear.

Chonjung 촌중 Chohn-juung

Deferential Honor

Until the latter decades of the 1900s the Korean lifestyle denied people on all levels of society the right to exercise personal prerogatives, to demonstrate any significant degree of individuality or self-interest. In fact, there was virtually no time and no situation in which Koreans could think or do exactly as they pleased. Their lives were programmed to conform to a very precise and strictly enforced vertical system based on gender, social class, age, order of birth, education, and occupation.

Every individual had a specific place in this hierarchically arranged society that generally was fixed at birth. In most of the fundamental things in life—such as education, occupation, place of residence, marriage, and so on—people usually had little or no personal choice. These were things that were prescribed by custom and by law. Life was further controlled by a system of stylized etiquette that was designed to maintain harmonious relationships among all the ranks and categories of people.

In such a society self-esteem derived mainly from following all of the rules prescribed for one’s class and category rather than from individual efforts, skills, or accomplishments. With but few exceptions, personal ambition, initiative, innovation, and anything else that might disturb or change the status quo was taboo.

One of the most important cultural factors in the existence and survival of this system was the role of chonjung (chohn-juung), or “paying deferential honor to superiors.” Koreans were literally programmed from childhood to treat those above them with extraordinary deference at all times. Deferential respect for parents, especially fathers, for the male sex in general, for senior members of the family, for elders in general, for government authorities, and for spirits and the gods was a prime directive in the culture and resulted in chonjung becoming a key element in the foundation of the social system.

The repeal of Korea’s feudal family laws following the end of World War II in 1945 and the gradual introduction of democratic principles into Korean government over the next several decades removed almost all of the legal coercion and much of the social pressure that had artificially supported the respect syndrome in Korean culture since ancient times. But by that time chonjung was so deeply embedded in the culture that, although greatly diminished in many respects, it has continued to be a significant factor in Korean life.

Koreans are still distinguished by their respect for their parents and family, for their seniors and elders, for scholars, for discipline, for form and formalities, for education, and so on, but they no longer passively accept or automatically respect government authority or its elected or appointed officials. For the first time in the history of the country the people of Korea not only have a legal right to criticize and oppose government authorities but also are protected by laws that guarantee this right. And even though these laws are not always enforced fully or fairly, Koreans now have a voice in their government, and they are as verbal—and sometimes as violent—in asserting this voice as other people with much longer democratic histories.

Present-day Koreans have made great progress in personalizing chonjung—that is, they decide who and what they are going to respect according to their own criteria, not according to traditional customs or authoritarian government regimes. In this new environment, self-respect takes precedence over all other people and institutions. Individual Koreans are, in fact, extraordinarily sensitive about being respected—in itself this is nothing new, but in the past the respect they demanded was based on external factors such as their age, gender, rank, position, and so on. Now it is based primarily on their image of themselves as individuals with personal rights and only secondarily on other circumstances. Koreans also have great respect for themselves as a national group, with virtually unbounded confidence in their combined abilities.

Chonjung is therefore an especially important word in the Korean vocabulary and one that foreigners dealing with Korea should learn in all of its nuances.

Chontu/Ssa-um 촌두싸움 Chohn-tuu/Ssah-uum

Fighting at the Drop of a Hat

The ancient view of Koreans as paragons of good behavior and of Korea itself as “The Land of Morning Calm” stands out in stark contrast to another aspect of Korean life—the inherently volatile character of Koreans and their willingness to fight whenever verbally insulted or physically confronted. Korean social scientists invariably rank a “peaceful” nature high on any list of Korean traits. But this one-dimensional reading of the character of Koreans is based on the fact that historically Koreans were not aggressive toward their neighbors (the Chinese, the Khitans, the Japanese) and did not go out looking for trouble.

The home front was a different matter altogether. The code of Confucian etiquette and ethics that Koreans lived under from the fourteenth century until modern times was so all-encompassing and so strict that it required Koreans to suppress virtually all of their emotions and confine themselves to a highly stylized form of behavior that was contrary to practically everything that is normal and natural for human beings.

This behavioral conditioning made Koreans extremely sensitive to any deviation from the prescribed Confucian manners, particularly any behavior they regarded as disrespectful toward them or their family, and primed them to take quick action on such occasions. It could be said that Korean men in particular were something like water in covered pots that was normally just below the boiling point but hot enough for considerable pressure to build up inside the pot. When the “heat” on Korean men was turned up by anything that was upsetting, the pressure inside them increased rapidly, often resulting in their “blowing their lids.”

The propensity for Korean men to engage in chontu (chohn-tuu), or “fights,” especially public brawls, became such a disruption that one of the early kings of the Choson dynasty issued an edict requiring adult men to wear heavy ceramic hats in place of the lightweight horsehair hats that were traditional at that time. (Chontu is a Chinese term. The Korean equivalent, also commonly used, is ssa-um [ssah-uum].)

The edict went on to say that any man who became embroiled in a fight and lost his chungsan mo (chuung-sahn moh), or “pot hat,” would be punished severely. It is said that this decree was successful enough that it significantly diminished the amount of public violence in Korea. (What has not been mentioned, however, is how acrobatically skilled many Korean men became in balancing their heavy hats while still defending their honor.) The story goes that the “pot edict” was soon repealed because it interfered too much with the normal routine of men.

Korean men still do not go out looking for chontu, and by other social standards they are exceptionally well behaved even when drinking, but when they are called on to fight in a socially and politically approved situation they are fierce fighters who are inclined to give no quarter. During the Korean War men as well as women, on both sides of the conflict, routinely performed incredible feats that required extraordinary bravery.

In the late 1960s and early 1970s close to 250,000 Korean soldiers were sent to fight in the Vietnam War (under a financial arrangement with the United States), where they again proved their fighting spirit and skills and were especially feared by the Viet Cong. Since the 1970s most of the fighting spirit of Koreans has gone into transforming the country into an economic powerhouse—a challenge they met with the kind of ferocity once directed toward enemies on the battlefield.

Chorhakcha 촐학차 Chorr-hahk-chah

The Perennial Philosophers

Early Korea, like China, had its great chorhakcha (chorr-hahk-chah), or “philosophers,” who were generally the most esteemed men in the country. As also in China, Korea’s philosophers typically expressed their beliefs in poetry as well as prose, further ensuring that their names and beliefs would become known to the masses. (Many chorhakcha were as famous for the artistic quality of their calligraphy as for their philosophical concepts. The ability to write calligraphy in a highly refined style was, in fact, a yardstick for measuring the cultural achievement of all men in Korea’s gentry class and was regarded as the mark of a gentleman.)

Korea’s most outstanding philosophers included Ik Chae Yi (1287-1367), Kun Kwon (1352-1409), Hwang Yi (1501-1570), I Yi (1536-1584), and Hae Wol Choe (1829-1898).

Ik Chae Yi’s main theme was that all education should focus on realism, that metaphysical subjects, which abounded in his time, were just empty talk. Kun Kwon emphasized shilli (sheel-lee), or “realistic reasoning,” and shilshim (sheel sheem), or “realistic mind,” in his teachings. Hwang Yi (known as Toegye) was also a proponent of practical learning, which was counter to the Confucian-oriented system of education that had prevailed in the country for the previous thousand years.

I Yi (known as Yulgok) taught that reverence for sincerity in attitudes and behavior would prevent the victory of evil over good—that only the sincere man could know the “realism of heaven.” I Yi believed that government should be conducted on the basis of national consensus and that a loyal opposition was essential to keep those in power honest. He said that if demagoguery was not kept under control it would eventually destroy the state; that no man who depended upon demagoguery could survive no matter how high his position; that no amount of eloquence or courage could save a country once its leaders were caught up in the quagmire of demagoguery.

I Yi added that the more incompetent and corrupt the leadership, the more public resentment there would be; that morality would crumble and the penal system would become ineffective. He said that as long as corrupt officials escaped punishment, injustice could not be eliminated.

Hae Wol Choe (who was probably influenced by European and American philosophers) held that all men were created equal and that there should be no distinction as to origin or class—both concepts that were diametrically opposed to the political and social ideology of the ruling yangban (yahng-bahn) class.

While all of Korea’s early philosophers were themselves members of the yangban class, those who held beliefs that were contrary to the philosophy prevailing at the royal court were invariably “outsiders” with little or no political power. Thus for generation after generation, their wisdom came to naught.

Korea’s dissident philosophers played a background role in the disintegration of the country’s backward-looking Choson court in the last half of the nineteenth century, but their warnings and counsel were too little too late. The government was so outdated, weak, and inept that it was simply overwhelmed by the tidal wave of Western influence that began sweeping the country in the 1870s, culminating in a period of colonization and destructive wars that lasted until 1953.

The philosophical conditioning of Koreans in coping with authoritarian governments throughout their early history was a major factor in their survival during the turbulent period when they were ruled by the Japanese and subjected to the brutality and havoc of modern warfare. But it was not until they had regained their sovereignty and accomplished a virtual economic miracle that they had the luxury of applying philosophy in its higher moral, spiritual, and social sense to their daily lives. This did not come easily.

The harsh military occupation of Korea by Japan for some five decades (essentially from 1895 to 1945), followed by the communization of the northern portion of the peninsula and a devastating civil war, resulted in the resurgence of a degree of militant authoritarianism that had not been experienced in the country since the founding of the Choson dynasty in 1392. And it was mostly Korean students, the heirs of the still-unused higher philosophical wisdom that had been accumulating for centuries, who defied one militaristic government after the other, eventually making it possible for more democratic leaders to achieve political power and, for the first time in the history of the country, begin heeding the philosophers.

Koreans on all levels of society are now engaged in a fundamental philosophical transformation, trying to fuse ancient beliefs and traditions with independence, individualism, democracy, and a totally new technology-driven lifestyle. How well they succeed will have international repercussions for the foreseeable future.

Chosang Sungbae 촛앙 숭배 Choh-sahng Suung-bye

Ancestor Worship

It is generally assumed that the ancient Korean practice of chosang sungbae (chohsahng suung-bye), or “ancestor worship,” was imported from China, but that is not entirely the case. There was a substantial element of ancestor worship in shamanism, Korea’s indigenous religion. Shamanism taught that the spirits of people who died survived death and continued to play an important role in the lives of those still alive and that those still living had to make sure their deceased ancestors were comfortable and content to keep them from causing trouble. (It was long believed that the spirits of people who died childless, called yongsan [yohng-sahn], were the most likely to be violent and cause problems.)

But of all the cultural values and customs introduced into Korea from China, none was more insidious or influential than the version of chosang sungbae originated by Buddhists and later elaborated on and espoused by Neo-Confucianists as a political and social ideology.

Neo-Confucianism itself was a product of reform-minded Confucian idealists in China during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In their efforts to rid China of its hated Mongol overlords, they began advocating a form of Confucianism that they believed would revitalize Chinese society and at the same time strengthen government control. This new form of Confucianism, based on absolute filial piety and ancestor worship, was adopted as Korea’s state creed in 1392 by General Song-Gye Yi, founder of Korea’s last and longest dynasty (Choson).

Building on the Buddhist teachings of the survival of the spirit after death and the importance of revering the spirits of ancestors, Neo-Confucianists created a minutely structured hierarchical society in which males were inherently superior to females, the family unit was a patriarchy, and the father or oldest male in the family had absolute authority over all the other members. Individualism was taboo. Responsibility was collective.

The bond that held this system together, intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally, was the cult of chosang sungbae—which was not only adopted as the national philosophy but also made the national political ideology as well as the state religion. This meant that it was mandatory; people had no choice in the matter. The eldest son in each family was charged with the responsibility of performing the various rituals concerned with ancestor worship, a requirement that made it absolutely essential for each family to have at least one male offspring to perform the rituals as well as to carry on the family line.

The general rule was that ancestors back to the fourth generation were to be honored by their direct descendants several times a year, including their death days, ki-il (kee-eel), at their home sang chong (sahng chohng), or “mourning shrine,” where the memorial tablets (wooden slats bearing the deceased ones’ names) were kept. Ancestors from the fifth generation and back were to be commemorated only once a year during Harvest Festival visits to grave sites. Some people who were the descendants of illustrious forebears going back several more generations chose to honor them as well.

Chosang sungbae was the central theme in Korean culture for more than five hundred years, impacting virtually every aspect of society. The cult contributed to the custom of arranged marriages and was directly responsible for the obsession with having male children. It also contributed to the practice of men taking “second wives” or concubines when their first wives failed to have sons, displeased them, or weren’t sufficiently attractive to hold their interest.

Early Korean critics of the cult of ancestor worship blamed it for the relative lack of social and economic progress in the country until the advent of modern times. They said that the cult forced first sons to spend so much time involved in the process of maintaining the family system, and themselves preparing to become ancestors, that it made their lives as well as the lives of their families an aberration.

Today more traditional Korean families hold memorial services in their homes for grandparents going back four generations on the anniversaries of their deaths. For ancestors from the fifth generation and beyond, combined memorial services are held at the family tomb once a year during Chusok (Chuusoak), the Harvest Moon Festival (the Korean equivalent of America’s Thanksgiving Day), held on the fifteenth day of the eighth month on the lunar calendar (which ranges from late August to early October). Less traditional Koreans pay respect to their ancestors just once a year during Chusok. Ancestor worship rites are known as chesa (cheh-sah) or jesa (jeh-sah).

Choson 초순 Choh-suun

Land of Morning Calm

Some three thousand years ago, when the Chinese first began to pay serious attention to what is now the Korean peninsula, they found it occupied by a people who were racially akin to them but had their own distinctive language and culture. It appears that one of these early Chinese visitors, no doubt some kind of official, was so impressed with the peaceful atmosphere of the Korean countryside that in his report he used the Chinese characters cho son (choh suun), meaning “morning calm,” in reference to the region.

According to one Chinese myth, China itself founded the first Korean nation (now referred to as “Old Choson”) in 1122 B.C. In any event, by 109 B.C. (when China’s emperor Wu-Ti led an invasion army that conquered the Korean peninsula) the Chinese were officially referring to Korea as Choson. Later Choson came to be translated into English as “Land of Morning Calm” and became a phrase associated not only with the Korean landscape and unpretentious lifestyle but also the spirit and character of the people. (Choson is also commonly written as Chosun, which is closer to the phonetically correct pronunciation.)

Unfortunately, it seems that the peaceful character of the early Koreans was more of a bane than a blessing. Throughout its long history the Korean peninsula was invaded repeatedly by the Chinese and others, including Khitan tribesmen from the north, Mongols from the west, and, in later centuries, Japanese pirates and armies of the Japanese warlord Hideyoshi Toyotomi from the east. In 1386 still another invasion by Chinese forces precipitated the founding of a new dynasty in Korea in 1392 that was officially named Choson, no doubt in the hope that it would live up to that old description.

General Song Gye Yi, the founder of the new dynasty, took the title of King Taejo. To reward his supporters, he seized control of all the land in the country, thereafter parceling out much of it to them on the basis of their rank. Peasants were guaranteed the right to till the land, but they were required to pay half of their annual crops to the state as rent on the lands they tilled. Taejo reigned from 1392 until 1398, when he was ousted by the powerful literati who dominated the Privy Council. His youngest son and designated heir was assassinated on the orders of his fifth son, who also disposed of the fourth son and became King Taejong (1400-1418).

King Sejong, who ruled Korea from 1418 to 1450, is generally considered the greatest of the Choson kings. In addition to a number of inventions and innovations he is said to have created himself, he instituted many reforms and established the Chip Hyonjon (Cheep H’yohn-joan), or “Hall of Worthies” (sometimes spelled Jip Hyonjon [Jeep H’yohnjoan] and translated as “Symposium of Wise Men”), made up of a select group of scholars and scientists. In 1443, King Sejong ordered this group to create a native writing system for the Korean language, which was subsequently made available to the public in 1446. These scholar-scientists also researched various other subjects, wrote books and manuals, and acted as advisers to the king.

The next Choson king (Sejo) was neither as scholarly nor as benevolent as King Sejong. Sejo and his supporters exterminated virtually everyone who opposed him, including the country’s leading scholars, ministers, and his own younger brother, then devised a national code that was to bring the full force of Neo-Confucianism to Korea for the next five-hundred-plus years.

Under this new code the Choson court sought to control every aspect of society, including the size of dwellings (which had to be appropriate for the status of the individual family concerned), the number and placement of gates in the walls around homes, the apparel that people wore (including the materials they were made of), the accessories people wore, and their personal behavior in virtually every situation. Political purges and killings continued during most of the 1500s, but by the end of the century most organized resistance to Neo-Confucianism had ended.

Because the Neo-Confucian-based regulations were enforced strictly by the Choson court, a great calm did, in fact, descend on the countryside (a world far removed from the squabbling yangban, or “scholar-officials,” who continued to dominate the higher echelons of the government and the bureaucracy) and lasted for nearly a century.

In 1592 Japan, then ruled by warlord Hideyoshi Toyotomi, launched the first of two massive invasions against Korea, according to some historians to punish the Koreans for having aided the Mongols in the thirteenth-century invasions of Japan and for refusing to help Japan invade China at this time. These Japanese armies sent to Korea were made up mostly of samurai (sah-muu-rye), Japan’s professional warrior class, who marched to and fro in Korea, looting and then destroying virtually everything in their paths.

Despite the destruction wrought by the Japanese on land, the Koreans, under General Sun Shin Yi (usually referred to as Admiral Sun Shin Yi), eventually won the first encounter by using the world’s first ironclad warships to devastate the Japanese naval fleet. Japan’s second invasion of Korea, launched in 1597, was called off the following year by the Japanese when Toyotomi died and the fief lords in his kingdom began fighting among themselves.

Just three decades later the Manchus launched the first of another two invasions of Korea, the first in 1627 and the second in 1636, to establish their own hegemony over Korea. Unable to defend itself against the Manchu hordes, the Choson court once again agreed to accept the status of a vassal state under the new rulers of China. But the Choson court went further than that. It closed the country’s borders to all outsiders except the Chinese, eventually becoming known to the outside world as “The Hermit Kingdom.”

External enemies were not the only thing that frequently disturbed the calm of Korea. Other Choson rulers ranged from mediocre to tyrants who squandered huge amounts of tax money and carried out purges and reigns of terror resulting in the execution of hundreds of scholars and officials.

During the last two hundred years of the Choson dynasty the system gradually broke down, in part because growing numbers of yangban lost their elite status when no one in their families could pass the civil service exams. Commoners could legally sit for the civil service examinations during the Choson period, but appointments to all public offices were monopolized by the leading yangban, who formed factions and fought continuously, overtly and covertly, for power.

As more time passed, people from the middle and “technical” classes began rising in the bureaucracy. The number of slaves began to drop dramatically. In the 1700s a number of young yangban, along with members of the chugin (chuu-gheen), “middle class,” and the lower class were converted to Christianity and its principles of equality and democracy.

When Western missionaries began flocking to Korea after the country was forced to reopen its doors to the outside world in 1876, they reported enthusiastically on the peace and calm that reigned in the countryside as well as the towns and cities. One missionary wrote in a 1908 letter that Korea was a nation of silence, that there was very little recreation for common people, and that among the most common sights were farmers working in their fields and middle-aged and older men sitting around outside, smoking tobacco in quiet contemplation.

But the Korea that emerged in the 1880s from its long hermit period was soon to become anything but a “Land of Morning Calm.” Japan began dominating the peninsula in the 1890s and in 1910 annexed the country, making it into a province in the Japanese empire. The normally peaceful Koreans did not accept Japanese domination casually. Prior to and after the annexation Korean patriots engaged in violent street protests, local rebellions, and guerrilla activities in the mountains.

The Japanese period ended with Japan’s defeat in World War II in 1945, but within seven years after regaining its sovereignty Korea was torn apart by the Korean War (1950-53).

Choson still has meaning for Koreans, evoking nostalgic images of golden ages of the past. In addition to the internationally known Chosun Hotel in Seoul, the name is also widely used in company names. Chosun Ilbo (Choh-suun Eelboh), or “The Daily Chosun,” is one of Korea’s most important newspapers.

Chung 충 Chuung

Groupism as Morality

Koreans have survived for five millennia or more as a society and as a distinctive people because they are bound together and influenced by common beliefs, aspirations, and dangers. But there is more to the coherence of Korean society and the national character of Koreans than what normally results from these shared influences. One additional element was the emotional and intellectual homogenization of Koreans to the point that chung (chuung), or “group consciousness,” virtually replaced individual awareness. (Chung is also the Korean word for “loyalty.” See the next entry.)

In areas where the emotional and intellectual fusion of Koreans was incomplete, powerful sanctions were brought into play to force people to behave in the same way even if they did not think in exactly the same way. Chung was the goal, no matter what it took to achieve. To make group consciousness totally acceptable to people, Korea’s elite ruling class deliberately introduced the most powerful psychological factor of all. They equated chung with morality, making conformity in both thought and action the ultimate standard for moral behavior.

From the beginning of the Chosun dynasty in 1392 until modern times, the moral value used to support chung was a new brand of Confucianism that made filial piety and ancestor worship the primary foundation of society. While total chung was never achieved at any time in Korean history, it came close during the middle centuries of the long Choson era—close enough that most Koreans seemed to have been cast from the same cultural mold, as fraternal if not identical cultural twins.

Between 1400 and 1900 the concept of group consciousness became so deeply embedded in the psyche of the people that its influence is still readily visible today, even though Koreans are no longer compelled to think and act alike for political or moral reasons. In many areas of life opinions and behavior vary greatly, but in such things as courtesy, dignity, respect, pride, and ambition, chung continues to prevail.

Foreign diplomats and businesspeople involved with Korea must deal with chung in almost every encounter, which often means repressing their tendency to concentrate on and depend on the individuality of their contacts. In most cases Koreans are still not free to act as individuals because the effects of centuries of conditioning to think and behave in terms of group interests continue to permeate their culture. Acting on their own is tantamount to disowning their group and virtually assuring that they will be severely criticized if not ostracized.

When self-centered Westerners are first exposed to the degree of chung -based morality that exists in Korea, they generally regard it as both irrational and inhuman. But the fact is, of course, that a substantial degree of chung is absolutely essential for the smooth functioning of any society and represents an advanced state of social maturity that is sorely and conspicuously absent in the United States and many other Western countries.

Individualistic Western businesspeople often find themselves seriously handicapped by the groupist morality of Koreans. But rather than viewing chung as a negative and as something that Koreans should give up, these self-directed Westerners should try to meet their Korean counterparts halfway and develop some chung of their own.

Educated Koreans with cross-cultural experience are well aware that their group-based morality often conflicts with the interests, intentions, and actions of Westerners. Many are under constant pressure to give up their traditional way of thinking and doing things and adopt the Western way. A few Koreans are making the switch to accommodate their foreign business associates. But most Koreans feel very strongly that their traditional way is superior to the Western way and are not inclined to change.

Chung 충 Chuung

Loyalty in a Korean Setting

Koreans traditionally emphasized chung (chuung), or “loyalty,” in their literature, teaching, and behavior. But loyalty in the traditional culture of Korea was not a universal concept or practice that applied to people in a general sense. It was a carefully defined and prescribed kind of behavior that was based on Confucian concepts of male superiority, authoritarianism, a hierarchical society, ancestor worship, regionalism, and other circumstantial factors. In its Korean context, loyalty came under the heading of what is now called situation ethics.

In general terms the first obligation of individual Koreans has traditionally been absolute loyalty to their immediate families. The second priority was loyalty to kin, followed by loyalty to friends, community, and the nation at large. Most of these loyalty obligations were fixed at birth and in essence were immutable regardless of the feelings involved. The closed nature of Korean families, communities, and society in general severely limited the number of personal relationships individuals could develop and therefore kept obligations for loyal behavior narrowly focused.

Chung in its Confucian context was, of course, a social principle linked to virtue. On an individual basis, virtue was demonstrated by acts of loyalty. The other side of the chung principle was that those to whom loyalty was extended were expected to be virtuous and therefore deserving of the loyalty, implying that people were not required to be loyal to the undeserving. In actual practice, however, lack of virtue in the case of fathers, other family members of superior status, and local or national authorities did not automatically release people from obligations of loyalty. Those in power could and usually did demand loyalty regardless of their own character and punished those whom they considered disloyal.

The Confucian concept of loyalty still prevails in Korea, but it has become less focused and less one-sided in response to the growth of individualism, personal choice, and personal responsibility. Young people no longer blindly obey abusive or unfair fathers; wives no longer remain loyal to abusive or distant husbands, opting for divorce instead; workers who feel they are not being paid or treated properly regularly change jobs without suffering any pangs of Confucian shame.

Probably the most conspicuous example of chung in Korea today is toward the nation as a whole. Koreans are especially proud of their country. Their pride and loyalty results in their willingly making sacrifices to benefit all of Korea.

Foreign managers in Korea should keep in mind that Koreans still relate the loyalty they extend to foreign relationships, particularly foreign employers, with their perception of the degree of virtue, including chung, exhibited by the foreigners involved. Any sign, real or imagined, that the foreign side is disloyal (looking out primarily for itself at their expense) releases them from their chung obligations.

Maintaining mutual loyalty in Korea requires extraordinary sensitivity to a variety of cultural expectations and both the willingness and ability to fulfill those expectations. Acquiring this level of awareness and experience usually takes several years of dedicated effort. Until foreigners achieve that level of expertise, they should make a point of establishing a close personal relationship with one or more older, experienced Korean men and women willing to be their mentors.

Chungjaein 충재인 Chuung-jay-een

The Go-Betweens

One might say that prior to modern times Korea was not a land of laws but a land of religious beliefs and customs. Until 1910, when the last of Korea’s royal dynasties officially ended, behavior was controlled primarily by Confucian ethics, which detailed all interpersonal relationships, including those between citizens and government authorities. A number of laws and codes had been established over the centuries by various kings and their ministers, but the ruling Confucianists believed that the fewer laws the better.

One of the reasons for this Confucian attitude toward laws was that if there were no precise laws, the government was free to interpret any action or idea to its best advantage. Another rationale was that if there were no precise laws covering a situation, people would be more circumspect in their behavior because of uncertainty over what might get them into serious trouble.

Confucius himself taught that the more laws a society has, the less people will obey them and that societies that depend on laws to control the behavior of their citizens will eventually self-destruct. His philosophy was that people will conduct themselves in a peaceful, cooperative manner only if they are taught by their parents and teachers to respect, obey, and support their seniors and superiors.

Throughout Korea’s history parents and government scholar-officials were the judges of good behavior and were responsible for keeping order. Since there was no great body of law on which to base decisions, most disputes were settled by officials or others acting as chungjaein (chuung-jay-een), or “mediators.”

Generally speaking, people preferred to make use of the services of private chungjaein rather than go to government officials, because the latter tended to be much harsher in their judgments and because it was always dangerous to bring oneself to the attention of the authorities. Over the centuries this extreme reluctance to get involved with government officials on any level became deeply embedded in the psychology of the common people, giving the role of chungjaein special importance in Korean society.

This attitude remains very strong in present-day Korean society, and mediators continue to play an important role in private as well as business affairs. Korean businesspeople especially prefer to use mediation to settle disputes that arise in their international relations and are upset when foreigners bring in lawyers, or threaten to bring them in, and resort to court action.

The best way for foreign companies to protect their own interests in Korea is to have ready access to the services of a Korean chungjaein who is senior enough in age to be genuinely respected by the other side; who has had a distinguished career in business, in diplomacy, or as a high-ranking government official; who was educated abroad or had extensive experience in acting as a go-between in international situations; and who is known to be objective and fair-minded.

Generally there is no lack of such individuals in Korea. Korean culture influences people to become philosophical as they age, and for most this means becoming logical, objective, and fair in their judgments—all things that were often denied to them during their youth and younger years.

Naturally, the better educated, the more experienced, and the more successful Koreans are in their primary careers, the more likely they are to mature into sages who think and see beyond the confines of their own culture and become true internationalists.

Chung Mae 충매 Chuung May

Arranged Marriages

Until Korea’s feudal family system was abolished in 1945 following World War II, virtually all marriages were arranged and were subject to a number of government regulations and social customs, some of which extended back to the first appearance of Koreans as a distinctive group of people.

By the unified Shilla period (669-935), marriages between people with the same family name, between blood relatives, and between different classes were prohibited. During the Koryo period (935-1392) young men and women could not marry if either any of their parents or grandparents were serving prison terms or if it was during the official period of mourning for a deceased parent or spouse. Also in earlier times, there was a form of serial monogamy in which the two parties getting married were already related to each other through marriage that was known by the interesting name of tae bagu (tay bah-guu), which is translated colloquially as “substitute sex partner” and figuratively refers to a surrogate husband.

During the latter years of the Koryo dynasty (918-1392) the gradual encroachment of Confucian influence in the government resulted in measures being taken to prevent widows who had married a second time from marrying a third time. Anyone who married a third time was blacklisted in an official book called chanyoan (chah-n’yoh-ahn), which was tantamount to being labeled a prostitute. In 1485 the Choson government totally banned widows from remarrying in an edict called Kyong Guk Taejon (K’yohng Guuk Tay-joan), which means “Great Book of Honorable Nation.” To add force to this edict, the sons and grandsons of upper-class women who disobeyed the law and remarried anyway were permanently prohibited from taking the civil service exams that were a prelude to government positions. The only males that this law did not apply to were sons-in-law of kings.

The Kyong Guk Taejon edict resulted in the development of so-called “kidnap marriages” among commoners and those below them. Men arranged with their male friends to steal widows from their homes. Once they had slept with the stolen brides, the marriage was recognized by society and the law as legitimate. In many cases, widows, usually with the help of friends, arranged for their own kidnapping since that was the only way they could remarry.

During the Choson dynasty (1392-1910) there was a ban on marriages among the upper class when the court was looking for brides or husbands for royal princes and princesses. Most upper-class families did not want their children to marry into the royal family because they became virtual prisoners in the court, were in special danger during factional uprisings, and could end the family line if their sons or daughters who were wed to royal spouses died childless.

In addition to being kept isolated in their court quarters, the women of the court, including the queen and princesses, were required to do various kinds of work. All, including the queen, had to tend silkworms because this particular activity was considered to be training in moral thought and virtuous conduct. Another reason why most women did not like being selected to serve in court as ladies-in-waiting was that after they were released they were officially prohibited from getting married.

Early in the Choson period all marriages were prohibited during mourning for the death of members of the royal family. It was eventually made law that all betrothed couples had to wait for two years if a death occurred in either of the two families concerned prior to a planned marriage. Punishment for violating this law was a hundred lashes with a bamboo staff, which was usually disfiguring and could be fatal.

The legal age for marriage during the Choson era was fourteen for girls and fifteen for boys, but it was common for girls to be married earlier, especially when a parent was ill with an incurable disease or was over the age of fifty.

Upper-class Choson men could have as many secondary wives (concubines) as they wanted and could afford to support. Secondary wives from the commoner class were called yang chop (yahng chope). Those from the “lowly class” (butchers, entertainers, slaves) were called chon chop (chohn chope). When a man took a commoner as a second wife, there was a simplified ceremony. No ceremony was required when the woman was from the lowly class. Secondary wives had no legal position, and their children were regarded as illegitimate. Their sons were prohibited from taking the exams for government service, the highest form of employment in the society.

Until recent times in rural areas, immediately following a wedding the bride was presented to her new in-laws and other members of her husband’s family in a ceremony that was called pyebaek (peh-bahk). Another old practice that has fallen by the wayside was the custom for members of the wedding party to escort the new bride and groom to the room where they were to spend their first night together. There their relatives, mostly drunk by that time, would poke peep-holes in the paper doors to watch the couple. But once the couple had started ceremoniously removing their wedding robes, the groom extinguished the candle lighting the room (by squeezing the flame between sticks rather than blowing it out so as not to breathe out good luck), thereby preventing the peepers from seeing anything.

The chung mae (chuung may), or “arranged marriages,” that occur in Korea today are more likely to be among the upper class, whose members are more concerned about social and economic standing, and among common people in rural areas, where the old traditions persist. Arranged marriages that do occur generally follow centuries-old customs. The first of these customs is careful scrutiny of the so-called “four pillars” of the prospective couple, which refers to an astrological study of the year, month, day, and hour of their birth.

Predictions based on the “four pillars” concern the health, life span, and material success of the two individuals—not the relationship itself. Whether or not the couple can be expected to live together in harmony is revealed by their kung hap (kuung hahp), or “harmony quotient,” which is usually determined by a fortune-teller. The results of the kung hap generally take precedence over the “four pillars.” If the harmony quotient of the couple is low, the proceedings are usually called off, and the search for potential partners begins anew.

If both the kung hap and “four pillars” are positive, the next step is an engagement ceremony at the girl’s home, at a restaurant, or at a hotel. At the meeting the young couple exchange gifts, and the young man’s parents ceremoniously present the girl’s parents with a piece of handmade white paper on which his “four pillars” have been written. The two families then decide on the wedding date. The first private meeting between prospects for an arranged marriage is called the matson (maht-sohn).

From this point on, the customs for yon-ae (yohn-aae), or “love marriages,” and chung mae marriages are similar. A day or so before the wedding is scheduled to take place, the young man’s family sends a large wooden box of gifts to the bride-to-be. The box is called a ham (hahm), which literally means “box” but refers specifically to a box used to convey wedding gifts. The gifts, normally jewelry and several yards of red and blue cloth used in making a traditional dress, are known as yemul (yehm-uul), or “courtesy gifts.” (On the day of the wedding acquaintances and work associates generally bring money, in special white envelopes, as gifts. Close friends often give the bride and groom personal items.)

Friends of the young man, usually in a merry mood from drinking and cutting up, carry the box of gifts to the girl’s home. My alumnus-brother Don Hackney, who was married in Korea, notes that the groom’s friends who take the ham to the bride’s home are divided up into a leader, a “horse” (the man actually carrying the box), and two “knights” guarding the “horse.” The “horse,” who may be wearing a dried squid mask, cannot make a move without being told to do so by the leader. As the group approaches the door of the bride’s home, the leader repeatedly orders the “horse” to stop and allows it to proceed little by little as the bride’s family and her friends hand over sums of money to the leader. The money is later used to take the whole group out for more drinks, food, and fun.

Most present-day weddings in Korea are held at wedding halls, in hotel banquet rooms, or in Christian churches. More likely than not, the bride and groom wear Western-style dress. The wedding ceremony itself is very much like the typical Western wedding. The father of the bride escorts her to the groom’s side. The bride and groom face the wedding officiant and exchange vows. The officiant then makes a long speech about the obligations of the couple and how they must strive to make a successful marriage.

When the speech ends, the couple turn to the guests and bow. This concludes the formal ceremony, following which photographs are taken. An elaborate buffet-style meal in an adjoining or nearby room follows (some guests leave the ceremony early or skip it altogether and head straight for the buffet). Couples who get married in Western-style dress invariably do a quick change into traditional Korean attire after the ceremony for the picture-taking session.

When the bride and groom are Christians, which is often the case since some 25 percent of Koreans are officially registered as Christian, the wedding may be completely Western, cake and all.

Chuso 추소 Chuu-soh

Finding the Right Place

Finding chuso (chuu-soh), or “addresses,” in Korean cities approximates finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. In fact there is no better illustration of the difference in Korean and Western thinking than the naming of streets and the numbering of buildings for addressing purposes, for here the contradictions between the logic and rationality of the West and the “illogic and irrationality” of the East are plainly visible for all to see and experience on a daily basis.

Historically in Korea (as in Japan) most streets were not named, numbered, or otherwise identified in any way, making it impossible for people to orient themselves or locate buildings or homes by referring to the lanes or streets that they were on or near. Furthermore, houses and buildings were not numbered in sequence according to their locations on or near streets. Instead they were numbered on an area basis in the order in which they were built. In other words, there was no such thing as “street addresses”; instead there were “area addresses.” Individual addresses had nothing to do with their street locations.

To further complicate the problem of finding places in Seoul and other cities, there was little or no order in the relationship of many lanes and streets, resulting in mazes that were virtually impenetrable by outsiders. This fuzzy system resulted in Koreans’ (as well as foreign residents’) navigating in the cities primarily by means of well-known landmarks. After arriving in the vicinity of a desired location, it was then a matter of “needle-in-a-haystack” searching.

Still today, many streets and most lanes in Korean cities are not named. Generally, the only streets that are named are major thoroughfares (and in some cases they were first given names by foreign residents). The house and building numbering system has been rationalized in some new districts, but in most urban areas it remains a maze with no obvious relation to streets—a system that is just as inconvenient for Koreans as it is for foreigners.

Korean cities are divided into wards (gu or ku), districts (dong), and sections or blocks (ka). There are several dong in each gu. (Seoul has 24 gu, and over 500 dong.) Houses and buildings are numbered, but for the most part the numbers are not attached to the buildings or displayed where they can be seen readily. Addresses begin with the appropriate ward (gu), followed by the district (dong), the section or block (ka), then the house or building number, and finally the name of the householder or the building name.

A typical address (in the Korean language), for example, is “Seoul, Choong Gu, Sokong Dong, 87, name of the building or householder.” (The Korean postal system accepts—and delivers—international mail addressed in the Western manner: addressee, building or house number, district, ward, city, country.) In rural areas, counties (gun) and villages (ri) take the place of cities and wards in the addressing system.

The best approach for non-Korean-language foreigners who want to go to private homes or less than well-known office buildings by taxi is to have a Korean call the location concerned, get precise instructions on how to get there, and then draw a map of the location, with the names of the ward, district, and section written in Hangul (Hahn-guhl), along with markers indicating nearby landmarks, to give to the taxi driver.

Almost all hotels in Korea keep a ready supply of their own “address cards,” in both English and Korean, at their check-in and information counters for the convenience of their guests. The cards are designed to be shown to taxi drivers and others to make sure that guests can get back to their hotels.

Dong Ari 동아리 Dohng Ah-ree

Hobby Groups

From early in Korea’s history until the 1960s and 1970s, the hierarchical structure of the society, the separation of the sexes, the exclusivity of the family, community, and clan groups, and the lifestyle in general severely limited friendships outside these groups and any activity not directly related to making a living and engaging in the various religious rituals and celebrations. Recreational activities in the modern sense were virtually nonexistent for most people.

There were games that children played, some festivals featured athletic events (including rock battles), and adult men were privileged to frequent a variety of tea and wine houses, but for the most part life in Korea did not permit individuals to pursue their own personal or professional interests for any purpose.

All this was to change with the abolition of the feudalistic family system and the coming of affluence in the last half of the twentieth century. For the first time in the history of the country people were not only politically and socially free to pursue personal interests but had the financial means to do so. Large numbers of people began to indulge themselves in the kinds of ch’wimi (chee-we-me), or “hobbies,” that had long been popular in affluent Western nations.

One of the more interesting of these new developments in Korean society was the emergence on college campuses of dong ari (dohng ah-ree), which might be translated as “hobby groups” and gradually spread into the general population. The “hobbies” pursued by these early college groups came to be known as “circle activities” and encompassed such things as singing, general discussion groups, book readings, soyangjanggi (soh-yahng-jahng-ghee) or “Oriental chess” (the Koreanization of the English word chess is also used—ch’essu [cheh-ssuu]), and various volunteer activities.

In Korea today there are dong ari for virtually every recreational activity one can imagine, from poetry readings and travel groups to computer users who have formed electronic networks for personal and professional purposes. Most of the dong ari have female as well as male members, and, depending on their activities, age is no barrier. There is a nominal fee for membership in the groups.

Like the Japanese, Taiwanese, and other Asians who got their first real taste of freedom following the end of World War II and the introduction of democratic principles into their lives, Koreans take their dong ari seriously, devoting a great deal of time and money to them. They represent a degree and kind of freedom never before experienced in Korea, even among the elite yangban class and members of the royal court, and are symbolic of the extraordinary progress Korea has made since the 1960s.

In addition to their importance in the social emancipation of Koreans, the rapid growth of dong ari made a significant contribution to the emergence of Korea’s mass market by increasing the demand for recreational supplies, accessories, and equipment of all kinds, from books to hiking boots.

Foreign residents in Korea who want to expand their personal and professional networks of friends and colleagues should look into joining one or more appropriate dong ari.

Enuri 엔울이 Eh-nuu-ree

Bargaining as a Social Skill

In most old societies bargaining was a natural part of economic exchange because there were no universally recognized principles for establishing set prices for goods or labor. Everything was a matter of personal choice. Korea is one of the many societies around the world in which enuri (eh-nuu-ree), or “bargaining,” has survived as an important economic and cultural activity, especially in public markets and among smaller, family-operated businesses.

Since enuri has long been part of the regular social intercourse of Koreans they are generally good enough at it that they do not feel they are at a disadvantage when dealing with established merchants. Where sidewalk vendors are concerned, however, they are cautious but take pride in being able to hold their own.

Visitors in Korea who have not had any experience in bargaining tend to feel very uncomfortable when faced with a choice of haggling or paying an inflated price—especially when there is a language problem. The first experience that foreign travelers have with bargaining in Korea is often at one of Seoul’s two huge public markets, the famous Tongdaemun (Tohng-day-muun), “Great East Gate,” or Nandaemun (Nahn-day-muun), “Great South Gate,” or in Itaewon (E-tay-wahn), Seoul’s most famous tourist shopping and entertainment district, where hundreds of shops and sidewalk vendors compete for buyers.

Supermarket chains, department stores, and other first-line retailers in Korea have fixed prices on their products, and customers are not expected to bargain. (But I have received discounts of 10 percent in name department stores in Seoul simply by asking for them—a special service they may extend to foreign customers who buy several relatively expensive items.)

Veteran foreign bargainers in Korea advise that shoppers in places where bargaining is the accepted practice carefully scrutinize any item they are interested in, especially internationally known brand items, because it may turn out to be an unlicensed copy. Another thing to look for is any kind of flaw. In either case, it is usually best to start out with a casual offer that ranges from 60 to 70 percent of the asking price. Of course, shoppers have to be willing to walk away if vendors refuse to accept their offers. But in the larger shopping districts the same items are usually sold by several vendors, so there are a number of opportunities.

Koreans have traditionally been skilled bargainers, whether in public markets or business offices, because the nature of their class- and rank-based society made it imperative that they develop substantial verbal skills and learn how to deal with people on an emotional basis. Present-day Korean society is much less hierarchical and hidebound than it was during the country’s long pre-modern period, but enough of the traditional culture remains that the same kind of skills are still essential in both private and public matters.

Bargaining sessions involving groups are often noisy affairs at which many people may talk at the same time, often in loud voices, in a traditional process that is known as chugoni-batkoni (chuu-goh-nee baht-koh-nee), which means “give-and-take,” something at which most Koreans are masters. Another well-used old term referring to several people haggling over something is oksinkaksin (ohk-sheen-kahk-sheen), which might be translated as “pushing back and forth.”

Western business and political negotiators who have been conditioned to depend on facts and logic rather than emotion and verbal skills often find themselves seriously disadvantaged in dealing with their Korean counterparts. There is a major element of stagecraft in Korean bargaining techniques that simply floors people who are not skilled in using theatrics to achieve their goals.