Читать книгу The Korean Mind - Boye Lafayette De Mente - Страница 13
ОглавлениеHaengbok 행복 Hang-bohk
The Pursuit of Happiness
The founders of the United States of America believed that human beings have the right to be happy and that they should have the freedom to strive for happiness—something that neither religions nor social contracts anywhere in the world had formally recognized up to that time.
In Korea, as elsewhere, the concept of haengbok (hang-bohk), or “happiness,” as a birthright was totally alien—first because the lives of most people were routinely hard and often cruel and second because they had virtually no control over the quality of their lives. In this environment, haengbok was a rare and incidental thing. People came to believe that happiness was something dispensed by the gods in heaven—not something that they could or should strive for on their own. Happiness was therefore something that came to people who were favored by the gods and was more a matter of luck than a reward for hard work or righteous living.
According to Korean essayist Kyu Tae Yi, people who claimed to be or appeared to be happy in pre-modern Korea were often viewed by the majority with suspicion because they themselves were unable to experience happiness. It was not until the political freedom and economic progress of the 1960s and 1970s that ordinary Koreans for the first time in the history of the country were able to achieve a level of affluence and security that allowed them to experience haengbok over relatively long periods of time.
Surveys today indicate that Koreans in general are “fairly happy.” For the first time their more important material and sensual needs are being met and they acknowledge regularly enjoying themselves by eating and drinking with family and friends, traveling, and attending or participating in cultural events. In fact, many in the upper middle class and upper class now indulge themselves in a surfeit of material and sensual pleasures in a pendulum reaction to the hardships of earlier times. While they may not describe themselves as “happy,” their level of manjok (mahn-joak), or “satisfaction,” is the highest it has ever been.
Koreans say that the biggest obstacle to happiness in the country today is the authoritarianism and elitism that still pervades the political and economic systems, despite progress that has been made in democratizing the presidency and society in general. These complaints are primarily about the bureaucratic nature of the government and the militaristic approach to both government and business management that continues to prevail in Korea.
Having tasted intellectual and spiritual freedom for the first time in their history, Koreans yearn for freedom from other restraints as well. But they are also beset by a dilemma, by the question of whether or not giving up more and more of their traditional ways will, in fact, lead to more happiness or to the kind of social ills that now plague the United States and other Western countries.
This dilemma represents one of the greatest social challenges the Koreans have ever faced. But of all the people in the Confucian sphere of Asia, they are much more likely to be successful in retaining the best parts of their traditional culture while pursuing the haengbok that is possible only in a society that guarantees the right as well as the means for achieving happiness.
Hakgajok 학갖족 Hahk-gah-joak
Two-Generation Families
Until the 1970s the characteristic Korean household consisted of three to four generations. From earliest times it had been customary for the oldest sons to replace their fathers in the same households. After younger sons got married, families that could afford the expense helped them establish their own households. They then repeated the process, becoming three-and four-generation families sharing the same abode.
This custom caused an endless array of problems in Korean families because it made friction inevitable, but it also ensured that no member of any family would be left completely helpless. One of the primary obligations of oldest sons was to look after their aged parents—a responsibility that they invariably laid on their wives. As a result of this custom most aged parents were able to live out their lives in relative comfort, without worry about having a place to live, food to eat, and someone to take care of their other personal needs.
Korea’s transformation into a highly industrialized, affluent society during the 1960s and 1970s changed this ancient custom dramatically by introducing a totally new element into the society—the hakgajok (hahk-gah-joak), or “two-generation family.” By the early 1990s the preponderance of hakgajok had fundamentally changed not only the social structure of the country but much of the economy as well. The change from three-and four-generation households to two-generation households resulted in a striking increase in the demand for housing, furniture, kitchen appliances and utensils, household accessories, and so on, giving an extraordinary boost to the development of a mass market in Korea.
There are still many multigenerational families in Korea, particularly in rural areas, but they are becoming the exception rather than the rule. The move away from multigenerational families was not caused solely by the desires of newly married young people to be independent from their parents. Parents themselves, newly affluent and used to far more independence than their own parents had experienced, often preferred to live alone rather than be relegated to the position of housekeepers, cooks, and baby-sitters for their married offspring.
Because the phenomenon and various influences of hakgajok families were totally new to Korea, by the mid-1990s the term itself had become a catchall for many of the changes taking place in the social infrastructure as well as the psyche of the people. Hakgajok now represent a growing majority among Korean households, impacting on every area of the social, economic, and political life of the country.
Among the numerous cultural changes that are being encouraged by hakgajok are a significant decrease in the role of ancestor worship as well as in the age-old custom of respecting and honoring parents in general, a decrease in the use of respect language, and a general loosening of the family bonds that have been so crucial to survival and success in Korea.
While hakgajok played a positive role in the creation of a mass-market economy in Korea and helped fuel a dramatic rise in the standard of living, their overall cultural impact may prove to be negative.
Haksaeng 핛앵 Hahk-sang
The World of Korean Students
Until the 1880s higher education in Korea was generally reserved for the sons of the elite scholar-official yangban (yahng-bahn) class, who went on to monopolize virtually all local and national government posts in the country. Becoming a student at an institute of higher learning was therefore an impossible dream for the majority of young Koreans. When this monopoly on education ended, hundreds of thousands of ordinary Koreans flocked to newly opened high schools and colleges, joining the ranks of the formerly exclusive, privileged class of haksaeng (hahk-sang), or “students.”
Unlike most of the sons of the hereditary elite, this new breed of Korean haksaeng was not dedicated to maintaining the social and economic status quo that had kept the yangban in power and generally wealthy for more than a thousand years. They wanted, and demanded, change. And it was this new class of educated Koreans who were at the forefront of resisting the colonization of Korea by Japan from 1910 to 1945 and again took up the struggle against their own militaristic leaders after Korea regained its independence.
From the 1950s through the 1980s, Westerners in Korea were often surprised and sometimes shocked at the propensity for Korean haksaeng to engage in anti-government protests. But these students were not setting precedents or imitating politically active students in the West. They were following an Asian tradition that goes back to ancient times.
Throughout the Confucian sphere of Asia, intellectuals had traditionally regarded it as their right and their responsibility to monitor the behavior of government leaders and to demand that they step down if they misbehaved. Thus in earlier centuries the only Korean voices raised against authoritarian and corrupt governments were those of a few scholars who had the courage to put their lives on the line for their beliefs—and more often than not they made the ultimate sacrifice by doing so.
When the yangban monopoly on education ended in the late 1800s and schools were opened for hundreds and then thousands of ordinary Koreans, many of them went on to become both the conscience and the voice of the people, and unlike their scholarly predecessors they advocated direct action. When Japan began the process of invading and annexing Korea in the early 1900s, this new class of students was in the vanguard of those who took up arms to defend the country.
But it was the latter part of the 1950s, after thirty-six years of occupation by Japan and a devastating civil war that followed the division of Korea into north and south camps, before the students of South Korea had a major impact on the political system and subsequently the lifestyle of all Koreans. Always more courageous and aggressive than their teachers and elders, students once again took the lead in uprisings against inept, corrupt, and militaristic leaders. They helped bring down administrations and influence political reforms that were subsequently enacted by succeeding governments.
By the 1970s student uprisings of one kind or another had become so common in Korea that there were special police units to deal with them. Most of these demonstrations were on a limited scale and were controlled by determined police action without serious damage to either side. However, larger uprisings were invariably crushed by the police and the army, occasionally with great loss of life. The resolve with which Korean students undertook protests against dictatorial governments was indicated by the term hyolso (h’yohl-soh), one of the words that bound them together. The literal meaning of hyolso is “written in blood,” and it referred to a “blood-brother” kind of bond between those who chose to defy the government openly and physically.
The sacrifices by Korean students were not in vain, however. By the early 1990s the authoritarian rule by a long line of ex-generals and their military aides had been replaced by a democratically elected civilian leadership, and the militarism that had marked the South Korean government since 1948 had begun receding into the background. This success, combined with continued economic progress, resulted in most students’ going back to their books and to an easy life on campus before they joined Korea’s fast-paced corporate world.
In 1995 thousands of Korean students once again took to the streets in a massive effort to force the democratically elected government of President Young Sam Kim to punish his predecessors, Doo Hwan Chun and Tae Woo Roh, who were accused of accepting several hundred million dollars in bribes from Korean and American firms. The protests, backed by strong media support, succeeded. Both Chun and Roh were arrested and sentenced to long prison terms. Thirty-six leaders of the country’s giant chaebol (chay-buhl) conglomerates were also called in for questioning about the “donations” they had given to Roh. But the general consensus was that such political corruption was so widespread and deep that it would not be pursued beyond punishment of the two ex-presidents.
Present-day Korean students are politically aware and continue to make their influence felt in the country, but student violence in the streets is no longer common. The biggest challenge facing Korean students today is to get on the “escalator to success”—the schools, beginning with elementary schools, that are most successful in sending their graduates on to successively higher institutions whose graduates end up with the plum jobs in industry and government.
This “success escalator” is narrow and crowded, and the competition to stay on it grows more fierce as it goes up. Students must pass highly competitive entrance examinations for each higher level of school—a system that makes junior, middle, and senior high school a “living hell” for the more ambitious students. High school students are pressured by their parents—especially their mothers—to study hard in school and then continue their studies at home for up to six more hours each weekday evening. Many mothers arrange their lives and manage their households in support of the study efforts of their children, especially their sons. Because of this unrelenting pressure, many students are burned out by the time they enter college and literally coast through their university years.
In the early 1990s the ministry of education took a number of steps to alleviate the pressure on Korean students competing to get into the most prestigious high schools and universities by adopting a universal quota system separate from entrance examination scores. Some students are now admitted to schools on qualifications other than test scores.
Han 한 Hahn
The “Force” Is with Them
There is always something in the cultures of nations that defines the character and personality of the people—something that is responsible for the essence that we label American, Chinese, Japanese, or Korean. The nature of this essence is influenced by geography, climate, the flora and fauna of the region, religions, political systems, the proximity to other cultures, and so on. At the same time, there is an inherent spiritual quality in most people that encourages them to endure under the most trying of circumstances and, when the opportunity arises, to improve the quality of their lives dramatically.
There is, perhaps, no better example of all this than the Koreans, a people who have not only survived the hardships of nature and the depravities of their own fellow men but were so tempered by the experience that, once freed from the more onerous restraints and oppressions of the past, they astounded the world with their rapid intellectual and material progress.
Among the forces that were responsible for the character, personality, and aspirations of the Korean people, none were more fateful, for good and bad, than the feudalistic form of government imposed on them from the dawn of their history until the last decades of the twentieth century. It was within this crucible that the essence of the Korean people was forged.
There is a single word in Korean that encompasses and explains to a remarkable degree the spirit, the aspirations, the strength, and the fierce will of the Korean people. This word is han (hahn). Han is an abbreviation of the phrase han tan (hahn tahn), which is defined by Korean sociologists as “unrequited resentments.” But its meaning is far stronger than this definition implies. It refers to a degree of anger and bitterness that wells up from the very depths of the soul and has been passed on from one generation to the next. It is a word that, like primordial matter compressed into a tiny ball, contains unbounded energy and a universe of references and meanings.
Korean social and medical authorities identify many different kinds of han, all of them spawned by the spiritual, emotional, intellectual, and physical oppression under which the Koreans lived for so many centuries. There is the han of political abuse, the han of status immobility, the han of sexual discrimination, the han of poverty, the han of wartime suffering, the han of stifled ambitions—all of the institutionalized limitations on human freedom and all of the hardships the people of Korea were forced to endure over the ages.
Expressed in another way, han refers to the buildup of unrequited yearnings that were created by oppressive religious and political systems; by life in a society in which most of the normal human drives were subverted or totally denied; by a state of constant fear; and by intense and permanent feelings of frustration, repressed anger, regret, remorse, grief, deprivation, and helplessness.
For centuries, political leaders kept the people of Korea inside a sealed cage that prevented them from developing even a fraction of their potential. They became like steel springs pressed nearly flat, with no way to release their energy, curiosity, or creativity. In an article on the values of the Korean people, essayist In Hoe Kim noted that the feelings of han had a kind of magical power that could cause disaster, because it could easily turn into hatred that became a curse.
Submerged in the psyche of every Korean is the heart and soul of a fierce warrior. When pushed just a little too far, the warrior returns with a rush that shocks the uninitiated foreigner. (This can be particularly disconcerting to foreign men who unintentionally unleash the warrior in Korean women.)
Korean poetry abounds with expressions of han—deep feelings of sadness, frustration, and resentment. The submissiveness of Koreans throughout their feudal history was related directly to the degree of power holding them down. Any lessening of that power resulted in an equal increase in their aggressiveness. If the pressure went beyond a certain point, however, they exploded in violence.
Psychologist Tae Rim Yun attributes this dual nature of Koreans to contradictions between their cultural programming in humility, harmony, and the inherent goodness of man and the harsh reality they actually faced. In his book The Koreans: The Structure of Their Minds, Yun says that although Koreans were forced to be submissive and obedient no matter what the provocations, the “knife of resistance” was turning in their hearts and souls.
All of this repressed energy, all of the repressed needs and aspirations of the Koreans over a period of some five thousand years, is what makes up the han, or the psychic force, that motivates and energizes those Koreans who are now free for the first time in their history. It is this released energy of han that drives Koreans to get an education; to work with a kind of frenzy; to be adaptable, disciplined, and tenacious; to sacrifice themselves for the betterment of their families and their country.
The political, economic, and social successes of South Korea since the mid-1950s demonstrate that no matter how heavy, how old, or how widespread the burdens of han, once the yoke of political oppression has been removed, people can and will help themselves to rise to the level of their abilities.
Nothing produced more han for Koreans than the annexation of the country by Japan in 1910 and the mental and physical pain inflicted on them by the Japanese over the next thirty-five years. Many Koreans say openly that this han is the driving force behind their efforts to outdo the Japanese economically and become a member in good standing of the international community. Certainly the old as well as the new han that continues to influence the attitudes and behavior of Koreans provides much of the himssuda (heem-ssuu-dah), or propensity for Koreans to be “diligent, industrious” and “exert” themselves beyond the norm, noted Korean cultural authority Dr. Martin H. Sours, Professor of International Studies [Ret.] at Thunderbird School of Global Management.
Hanbok 한복 Hahn-boak
People in White
The traditional national costume of Korean men and women is known as hanbok (hahn-boak), which literally means “Korean dress.” One of the more intriguing things about hanbok is that it is so different from the traditional costumes of China and Japan that one might question the cultural relationship among the three countries.
Perhaps because of the influence of Buddhism and Taoism, which promoted a sedate manner and prolonged periods of inactivity, the primary characteristic of the formal traditional costumes of China and Japan is that they were extremely confining. Consisting of full-length “robes” that wrapped around the body more or less like straitjackets, they forced the wearers to take short, mincing steps and limited all other physical actions. Chinese history reveals that many of China’s battles with less civilized tribes of the North and West were lost because the ground-length robes worn by Chinese troops made it impossible for them to move freely and quickly.
In Japan, the whole way of fighting by that country’s famed samurai warrior class was fundamentally influenced by the kimono. (When industrialization began in Japan, the Japanese kimono proved totally incompatible with getting onto streetcars, buses, and trains, working in factories, etc.)
After following Chinese styles for several centuries, the Koreans adopted a new national dress in the thirteenth century that was an adaptation of the attire worn by Mongols, who invaded and exercised suzerainty over the Korean peninsula for more than one hundred years (1231-1366). During the Mongol occupation, the costume worn by Korean men evolved into short jackets (chogori [chohh-goe-ree]) tied at the chest, baggy trousers (paji [pah-jee]) tied at the ankles, and boat-shaped shoes. Men, particularly those in the aristocratic yangban class, also adopted the stiff, broad-brimmed Mongol hat (kat) made of horsehair to complete their ensembles.*
During this period the national dress for women became a short, tight jacket (also called chogori), a long voluminous skirt (chima [chee-mah]), a slip that was a shortened version of the men’s pajama-like trousers, and sandal-like shoes that curled up at the toes. The ankle-length skirt was worn high, tightly wrapped around the chest so that it covered the bust. The skirt was fastened at the chest with a large bow or brooch. In one version, the skirt came only to the waist, leaving the breasts exposed for nursing. Except for being fastened snugly around the chest, it was designed to allow free movement and to be cool in summer and warm in winter.
From the fourteenth century on, when the cultivation of cotton was introduced into Korea from China, the hanbok were made from this popular fabric. (The production of cotton cloth quickly became the main household industry in many peasant homes. In addition to producing cotton cloth for their own use, each household was required to produce a specified amount of fabric every year as a “tribute tax” that went to landlords and the government—the latter for the manufacture of military uniforms and for export.) The fact that Koreans chose to pattern their national dress after the costumes worn by horse-riding Mongols would seem to be an early indication that they were more practical than either the Chinese or Japanese. But the hanbok has also come in for its share of criticism in more recent times—not only because of its design but also because white was long regarded as the “national color.” The Korean affinity for white clothing resulted in the phrase Paek-i Min Jok (Pake-ee Meen Joak), or “Country of White-Clothed People,” becoming a synonym for Korea.
Since white was traditionally associated with the national costume of Korea it is somewhat surprising to discover that contemporary Korean writer-scholar Hyon Bae Choe says that white symbolizes poverty, inactivity, senility, sorrow, and femininity and is therefore symbolic of all that has traditionally been irrational, inefficient, and negative in Korean society. In actuality, white clothing was the prescribed, official attire only for commoners, who were permitted, however, to don brightly colored hanbok when participating in special events such as festivals and weddings. Members of the royal court and the elite upper class were permitted to wear colored versions of the national costume, made of silk, as their daily attire. Choe, a severe critic of traditional Korean culture, says that the Korean style of clothing was awkward to wear, got soiled easily, forced women to spend an inordinate amount of time doing laundry, and was therefore one of the primary weaknesses of the traditional Korean way of life. The design of Korea’s traditional clothing, Choe observed, restrained the movements of both women and men and contributed to both a disdain for manual labor and effeminate attitudes and behavior by men in the upper class.
Among a series of reforms enacted in 1894 was one that abolished the law designating wearing apparel for the upper class and commoners and made it legal for Koreans to wear Western-style apparel. It is still common to see elderly retired men in rural areas wearing the traditional hanbok, but since the 1960s the Western business suit has been the new “uniform” of Korean men in the white-collar class. Korean girls and women wear the traditional female costume on special occasions such as weddings and festivals. Now it comes in a variety of colors. Unmarried girls often wear yellow jackets and red-and-blue skirts to indicate their single status. Brides may wear yellow jackets and pink skirts as a sign of their new status.
Both Korean men and women are especially concerned about their appearance, no doubt because historically wearing apparel was a conspicuous sign of one’s social class and occupation. The government not only designated the wearing apparel for each class but also designated the dates on which winter attire would be changed for summer wear and did not take into account any changes in the weather. Wearing winter clothing after the date set for changing to summer attire was not only illegal but eventually became unthinkable. (After Korea opened its doors to Westerners in the 1870s, Koreans would often express amazement when they saw Westerners wear winter-type clothing during cold spells in June. To them, one simply did not wear winter clothing in summer, no matter how cold it might be.)
Present-day Koreans regard dressing up as raising one’s class in the eyes of others. Formal attire is so common among white-collar male workers in Korea that there has long been a saying that baby boys are born already dressed in three-piece suits. Young Korean women are especially concerned about yuhaeng (yuu-hang), “fashion,” and go to considerable expense and trouble to keep up with the latest trends. When it comes to the quality and style of clothing, virtually all Koreans have exceptional mot (moht), or “good taste.” This special sensitivity to wearing apparel, a legacy of the past, has provided extraordinary impetus for Korea’s fashion apparel industry.
In many larger corporations and other organizations the programming of Korean life extends beyond behavior to include grooming and dress codes. The historical government practice of setting precise dates for seasonal attire has been continued by some of Korea’s leading firms, with the dates for these changes posted on company bulletin boards.
Foreigners visiting Korea for business or other purposes should be aware that they will be judged by their wearing apparel and grooming. Western attire is known as yangbok (yahng-boak) in Korea.
Hanguk 한국 Hahn-guuk
The Korean Nation
“Let us love, come grief, come gladness, this, our beloved land!”
There is probably no better way to describe the feelings that Koreans have about their cho guk (choh guuk), or “homeland,” than the last line in the Korean national anthem.* Few people have suffered more for the sake of their homeland than Koreans, not because of who they are but because of where they are. Hanguk (Hahn-guuk), or Korea (the literal meaning of which is “Cold Country”), is located on a peninsula that extends southward from the eastern seaboard of Asia, with the Yellow Sea on the west and the East (or Japan) Sea on the east. The peninsula, directly opposite central and southwestern Japan, is approximately 1,000 kilometers (600 miles) long and 216 kilometers (135 miles) wide at its narrowest point. It is 190 kilometers from the west coast of the Korean peninsula to China’s Shantung Peninsula and 180 kilometers from the Korean city of Pusan on the southeast coast to Japan’s main island of Honshu.
Northern Korea shares a 1,025-kilometer (636-mile) boundary with China, marked in the northwest by the Amnok Gang or Amnok River (better known by its Chinese name, Yalu River) and in the northeast by the Tuman (Tuu-mahn) Gang—Tumen in Chinese. The last 16 kilometers of the Tuman River form the boundary between North Korea and Russian Siberia.
The Amnok River (790 kilometers in length) flows southwest into the Yellow Sea. The Tuman River (521 kilometers/313 miles) flows northeast and then southeast into the East (or Japan) Sea. Large rivers in the interior of Korea include the Han (514 kilometers/308 miles), which flows through Seoul, the Kum (401 kilometers/241 miles), and the Naktong (525 kilometers/315 miles).
Total land area of the Korean peninsula is approximately 221,370 square kilometers, which makes it about the same size as New Zealand or England. The peninsula has a range of spectacular mountains, made mostly of granite and limestone, running down its northeast coast. The western and southern regions of the peninsula consist of hills, valleys, and plains that slope down to the coastlines. Hills and mountains account for some 70 percent of the total land area of Korea. Until recent times the chains of mountains running down the peninsula were major barriers between the east and west sides of the country, influencing the culture and the history of the two areas.
The geology and climate of the peninsula has resulted in numerous caves, deep canyons (many with vertical walls of solid granite), and waterfalls, some of them spectacular. The largest and most famous cave in Korea is the Tongnyong Gul, near the city of Yongbyon in North Korea. It is 5 kilometers long and has several chambers that are some 150 meters wide and 50 meters high.
There are no active volcanoes in Korea (although it is only a short distance from the Japanese archipelago, which is one of the most active volcanic regions on earth), but there is ample evidence of major eruptions in the past. There is also no history of strong earthquakes in Korea. Of the two-hundred-plus quakes recorded since 1905, only 48 of them caused measurable damage.
More than 3,400 offshore islands add to the ambience of Korean life and the picturesque beauty of the land and seascape.* The largest and most famous of these islands is Cheju Island, a semitropical volcanic uprising that is 85 kilometers from the southern tip of the Korean peninsula in the South Sea. Cheju (Cheh-juu) has the political status of a province.
Korea has a so-called temperate climate, in this case meaning that it has four distinct seasons, gets hot and humid in the summer (except in the mountains), and gets cold in the winter. The farther north on the peninsula, the longer and colder the winters. In winter the southeast coast is warmer than the west coast because of the warm Kuroshio Current that comes up from the Philippines. The northern portion of the East Coast is influenced by a cold Puk Han (Pook Hahn), or “North Korea” current that comes down from the Okhotsk Sea. In central and northern Korea, rivers freeze during the winter, some for three to four months. (The hot summer period is referred to as tae so [tay soh], or “big heat.” The coldest winter period is known as tae han [tay-hahn], “big cold.”)
