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Mangshin 망신 Mahng-sheen
Avoiding Shame
Korea’s traditional minutely prescribed etiquette, which incorporates both physical behavior and speech, makes it necessary for Koreans to spend a considerable amount of time and energy in maintaining friendly, cooperative relationships with family members, friends, co-workers, and others during the course of their daily activities. This kind of careful behavior is necessary because Koreans have been conditioned for generations to be especially sensitive about shaming anyone or themselves being shamed—something that can result from the wrong level of speech being used, from not using the “proper” form of address or title, from criticism, from weaknesses being revealed, and so on.
For Koreans, mangshin (mahng-sheen), or “shame,” has traditionally been an unbearable burden that they would go to extremes to avoid and still greatly complicates their lives because it often precludes open, honest relationships and forces people to play roles that are more virtual than real.
The mangshin factor in Korean culture is a by-product of Confucianism, which teaches that the highest morality is a carefully prescribed form of conduct or etiquette that is based on hierarchical relationships between people. The Confucianism adopted by Korea’s last and longest dynasty (the Joseon dynasty that began in 1392 and lasted until 1910) divided Korean society according to hereditary social class, sex, age, and other factors and prescribed an etiquette based on male superiority, social class, seniority in age, official authority, and so on.
In addition to laws designed to enforce adherence to the prescribed etiquette where official authorities were concerned, the Confucian scholar-officials who administered the government propagated the concept of shame as the primary social sanction against any kind of undesirable behavior. In effect this system put everyone in jeopardy at all times. The slightest deviation from the prescribed etiquette was very conspicuous—as when an actor misses a cue or speaks the wrong lines. The system made morality visible as well as audible. Everyone was exposed to shaming someone or being shamed at every encounter.
Korean concern with shame is one of the cultural factors that often complicates their relationships with Westerners because Westerners generally are much less sensitive to things that Koreans find shameful—and there are many, including some that Westerners are familiar with, such as public criticism. Probably the two broad areas in which foreigners are most often guilty of shaming Koreans, usually unintentionally, is underestimating their ability (from the Korean viewpoint, of course) and being disrespectful toward them by manner or by word (again from their viewpoint).
Koreans are quick to identify another all-too-common breed of foreigner who, because of their own character failings, are openly arrogant and disdainful of most people and habitually belittle them in a variety of ways. There is another category of longtime resident foreigners who criticize Korea as a country and Koreans as a people, usually behind their backs, in the most bitter terms. But they continue living and working there year after year in a strange symbiotic relationship that they seemingly cannot end.
Westerners in Korea (or elsewhere in Confucian Asia) should keep in mind that in many ways shame cultures are more effective in promoting good manners, mutual responsibility, and group cooperation than their own guilt cultures, and make a special effort to avoid cultural confrontations.
Matbeoli bubu 맞벌이 부부 Maht-buh-lee buu-buu
Two-Income Families
Korea has long been regarded as the most Confucian of all Asian countries, especially in the traditional image that men had of women, how they treated them, and what they required of them. From around the twelfth century on, when Confucianism began to replace Buddhism as the favored social and political philosophy, the status of Korean women began to erode in direct proportion to the rise of Confucianism. Following the establishment of the Joseon (Yi) dynasty in 1392 and the adoption of Confucianism as the state creed, the position of women degenerated to the point that they were little more than slaves to men.
The higher the social position of women, the more their prerogatives and activities were limited and carefully controlled by their fathers, husbands, oldest sons, in-laws, and the government in general. Women in rural areas worked in the fields and at various handicrafts and operated small family-type businesses, but they too were treated as inherently inferior to men and at the beck-and-call of male members of their households.
This virtual enslavement of women in Korea did not begin to end until the last decades of the nineteenth century, when the Joseon court began to lose control in the face of new religious, economic, and political ideas coming in from the outside and encroachments being made on the sovereignty of Korea by China, Japan, Russia, the United States, and the colonial powers of Europe. But it was the middle of the twentieth century before Korean women were legally emancipated and the 1970s and 1980s before they had achieved a significant degree of social freedom.
One of the most far-reaching factors in the social emancipation of Korean women was the rapid growth of industry from 1962 on, a phenomenon that resulted in most Korean girls going to work outside their homes as soon as they finished high school or college. For the first few decades it was generally understood that these young women would work only until they got married, at which time they would quit work and become full-time housewives. By the 1980s, however, many young women had become independent enough that they insisted on keeping their jobs after they got married.
By the beginning of the 1990s there were enough wives working that they and their husbands had formed a new economic category known as matbeoli bubu (maht-buh-lee buu-buu), or “two-income families”—something that, with rare exceptions, had previously been unthinkable in Korea. Now this term is bandied about by economists, politicians, and news media pundits as a significant and growing factor in the economy of the country.
The fact that more and more Korean women continue to work after marriage is indicative not only of the increasing cost of the new style of living that has been part of the industrialization process, but also of the extraordinary progress Korean women have made toward equality with men since 1962, when General Chung Hee Park took over the government in a coup and initiated the first of a series of five-year economic growth plans.
The impact of Korean females working in industry, first as young single women and then as wives, has already resulted in more changes in Korean culture than occurred in the previous six hundred years, and the changes are far from over. Given the hard work, resilience, courage, and talents that have traditionally been demanded of Korean women, there is every reason to believe that they will make the most of their freedom.
Worshiping Beauty
Institutionalized aesthetics have been an important aspect of Korean culture since the beginning of the country’s recorded history. As is also the case in other Asian cultures, Korea’s aesthetic beliefs and practices first evolved from animism and then from Buddhism and Taoism, introduced into Korea from China between the fourth and sixth centuries A.D.
All of the beliefs and practices taught by these religious philosophies conditioned Koreans to minimize their physical and sensual desires in favor of spiritual and aesthetic goals—a philosophy that served the needs of the secular powers as much as it aided priests and helped provide ordinary Koreans with the fortitude that was necessary for them to survive at a subsistence level for generation after generation.
The institutionalization of aesthetics occurred during the golden years of the Shilla dynasty (669-935). Because the genesis of the movement to make beauty an integral part of the lives of all people was religious, it was originally expressed in chants and poetry, then in the construction of temples and the making of arts and crafts related to religious expressions. The goal of every architect, artist, and craftsman was to achieve the ultimate in beauty through harmonious symmetry and revealing the spiritual nature of the materials used—or, in the case of paintings, the subjects depicted. Both the creating and viewing of man-made as well as natural objects were regarded as a religious experience.
One of the crafts for which Shilla artisans became especially famous was the casting and embossing of temple bells, said by noted Korean art historian Dr. Jon Carter Covell to be superior to anything done in China or Japan.
Another important element in Korean aesthetics was their sensitivity to natural changes in the climate and the seasons. Because their lives and their comfort depended on clouds, rain, snow, sunshine, and wind, all of which were endowed with spiritual dimensions, Koreans became exceptionally aware of these forces and endeavored to see the beauty in them as part of their reverence of nature.
This reverence for nature, taught by animism and buttressed by Buddhism, was especially important in making mi (me), or “beauty,” a basic part of the everyday lives of Koreans. Animism taught that clay, metal, stones, and wood had spirits that were retained when these materials were used in making ceramics and other utensils. The making of such things, if done correctly, further enhanced their spirits and their beauty. Buddhism provided an element of refinement, style, and spiritualism that added to the aesthetics of accessories, furnishings, and buildings and gave virtually everything Koreans made a recognizable “Oriental” flavor.
Because the beauty that is inherent in the cultural artifacts of Korea goes well beyond physical harmony and utilitarian values, it touches and pleases the spirit of more sensitive viewers and plays a key role in the tranquillity and contentment that is inherent in the traditional Korean lifestyle. Contemporary scholar Hyon Bae Choe attributes the traditional importance of beauty in Korean life—as expressed in pottery, ceramics, and other handicrafts as well as paintings and drawings—to a belief that their purpose in life is to enhance the welfare of mankind by cultivating humanism and spirituality.
Korea’s traditional dedication to mi has suffered grievously since the late 1800s, when inroads by colonial powers doomed the already weakened Joseon dynasty. Japan’s annexation of the country in 1910 and the havoc of the Korean War in 1950–1952 made basic survival the paramount concern of the people.
But the economic prosperity that South Korea achieved between 1960 and 1980 was accompanied by a resurgence of interest in natural as well as man-made beauty, and since that time private as well as government-sponsored programs have restored much of the natural beauty to the peninsula. Denuded mountains were reforested. Parks and riverways were beautified. Urban landscaping around new homes of the well-to-do and professional buildings now reflect aesthetic principles that were perfected over a period of some two thousand years.
On the commercial front Koreans designed and made consumer products that reflect the refinement that comes from generations of sophisticated cultural traditions. Korea’s long history of revering beauty is once again making a major contribution to its culture. Korean beauty products are now becoming famous worldwide.
Mudang 무당 Muu-dahng
The Spirit Mediums
From the first appearance of Koreans in history until recent times, one of the few areas in Korean life where women played leading roles was in the practice of shamanism—the indigenous religious belief that there is a spiritual world inhabited by good and bad spirits who are able to influence the lives of the living and that all material things in nature have spirits which people must live in harmony with to enjoy good physical and mental health.
The involvement of women along with men in shamanism apparently came about because early in Korean history women were recognized as the mothers of humanity, as healers, and as the primary source of solace for those in pain. This led to their being accepted in the role of mudang (muu-dahng), or “shamanistic mediums,” in early Korean society. (An honorific term for shaman mediums is manshin [mahn-sheen].)
Generally, women took up the role of mudang after going through some kind of psychotic experience such as falling into a trance and seeing a vision—a common phenomenon worldwide among so-called “faith-healers.” As time passed, some daughters of mudang followed in their mothers’ footsteps, and the profession gradually became hereditary. Thereafter the use of drums, cymbals, and dancing to achieve trances became an integral part of the profession.
Before the arrival of Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism in Korea between the fourth and sixth centuries A.D., mudang were figures of importance in their communities. As the priests of their day, they were respected and honored. But with the spread of these imported philosophies, shamanism gradually lost most of its official standing as the national religion.
When the founders of the Yi or Joseon dynasty made Confucianism the state religion in 1392, the new government prohibited many of the ancient shamanistic practices in an attempt to further erode the official image of mudang. At least a part of this action was based on the Confucian principle that women were inferior to men and should not participate in important rituals of any kind.
But the tenets and practices of shamanism were too deeply embedded in the psyche of the people to be legislated away. Not only did the common people continue to engage mudang to perform the age-old shamanistic rituals, but members of the ruling class, including the royal family, also unofficially continued the custom. In fact during the long centuries of the Joseon dynasty mudang were among the few women who were allowed to associate officially and publicly with men. (The others generally were professional female entertainers and high-class prostitutes.)
The profession of the mudang is still alive and well in present-day Korea—although their social status is akin to that of mediums in Western societies. Still, they are called in by people in all classes to perform rituals on a number of occasions, ranging from sickness and death to the dedication of new buildings.
However, present-day mudang can no longer get by with such common religious techniques as ringing bells, beating drums, and intoning incantations. Depending on the occasion, they must stage elaborate performances that include music, singing, dancing, comedy, and other vaudevillelike acts.
Shamanistic ceremonies are known as kut (koot) and kosa (koh-sah) in Korean. Kut refers to a mudang making contact with one or more spirits during a seance. Which spirit or spirits is determined by the occasions. Traditionally, mudang enter into trances by performing mind-altering dances to make contact with spirits. Expelling evil spirits is known as narye (nahr-yeh). A seance to “cleanse” a dead spirit of troubling matters is known as ssitkimkut (sheet-keemkoot).
Some families, villages, and towns retain mudang for annual as well as special kut. Some kut are open to the public and are advertised in newspapers like other spectator events. Public kut are usually held in scenic places alongside rivers or in mountains and are as much entertainment or recreation as they are religious. Foreigners may be invited to attend private kut and are welcome to attend public ceremonies without invitation. People who attend are expected to make small donations of money.
Mudang may also be invited to participate in the shamanistic ceremonies that are performed to dedicate new construction projects (homes, office buildings, ships) or the opening of new offices. These ceremonies are known as kosa, which literally means “prayer ritual.”
Government records show there are some forty thousand mudang in South Korea alone, but media reports say the figure is probably closer to one hundred thousand because most mudang do not bother to register. There is a national association of mudang headquartered in Seoul.
Munhak 문학 Muun-hahk
Literature and Culture
Between 108 B.C. and the seventh century A.D. the small kingdoms on the Korean peninsula were in effect vassal states to China. During this long period munhak (muun-hahk), or “literature,” in the form of Buddhist, Confucian, and Taoist treatises covering everything from arts, crafts, medicine, government, philosophy, and politics to poetry, was introduced to Korea’s ruling class, first by Chinese scholars and later by Korean scholars as well.
From around the fourth century A.D. Confucianism was gradually adopted as the ideology of the Korean government, and Buddhism was adopted as the state religion. At the same time, Korean scholars developed a way of writing the Korean language using the already ancient Chinese ideograms. Legend has it that this system of writing, called Idu (Ee-duh), was developed by the love child of Wonhyo, a famous seventh-century monk, and a court princess. According to the legend, Wonhyo was motivated to create the new system of writing as a result of his efforts to unify the various Buddhist sects and popularize the religion among the masses. In the process he wrote many books in the Idu script.
Learning how to write the Chinese characters was a painstaking process that required years of study and practice, however, and was therefore something that only a few privileged people could accomplish. To restrict the spread of literacy further, the rulers of the Korean kingdoms also adopted the policy of limiting education to sons of the elite ruling class—a policy that was made official in the seventh century and was to be continued for most of the next twelve hundred years.
Thus, until modern times virtually all Korean literature was written in Chinese ideograms by professional scholars who had spent years learning how to read and write the complicated “characters,” and, with the exception of professional female entertainers called kisaeng (kee-sang), the only people who had direct access to literature were male members of the yangban ruling class. Because of this government policy, the vast majority of Koreans were cut off from direct access to the Buddhist, Confucian, and Taoist literature that prescribed as well as defined their culture and was a reflection of all of the elements that went into the making of the traditional Korean character.
Historian Kuy Tae Yi says in his book Rediscovery of the Koreans that the main “elements” of Korean character revealed in classical Korean literature are a “this-worldly secularism,” a longing for a hermit-like life of seclusion, a belief in miracles, deep resentment and remorse, and a lack of love caused by artificial barriers between people, especially between the sexes. Yi adds that early Korean literature also emphasized the importance of self-discipline and the suppression of truth as a means of ensuring absolute order and harmony throughout society. In some periods it was even taboo to emphasize beauty, to prevent jealousy and other emotional reactions.
The suppression of truth as a means of maintaining order and harmony is, of course, a common and well-known practice in authoritarian political regimes. But the suppression or, to be more exact, the disguising, of beauty is more complex and is typical only in the Confucian sphere of Asia.
Just as well-to-do Korean officials built homes with nondescript exteriors as a means of keeping their inner luxury from prying and envious eyes, it appears that there was an unwritten consensus among the yangban to play down the beauty of Korean arts and crafts as well as the beauty of Korean women to discourage envy among commoners and invasions by foreigners seeking loot.
But there was an ancient tradition of oral literature in Korea that helped to make up for the illiteracy of the common people. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries some of Korea’s most celebrated scholars were those who wrote soul-stirring historical sagas for a new class of baegwan (baig-wahn), or “storytellers.” Poetry, in particular, had long played a key role in Korean culture. All scholars were trained in writing and appreciating poetry, and many of them pursued the art as both a vocation and an avocation throughout their lives.
Reforms introduced by the founder of the Joseon dynasty (1392–1910) and his early successors, including a simplified system of writing called Hangeul (Hahn-geul), resulted in the gradual appearance of a popular form of literature that expressed personal feelings, including such taboo emotions as love and discontent with the Confucian-oriented society. Most of the writers of these books were disaffected scholars who were still members of the elite yangban class but whose families had long since been out of power. Their writings planted the seeds of rebellion that were to contribute to the downfall of the dynasty at the end of the first decade of the twentieth century.
Other contributors to the literature of the Joseon dynasty were female members of the royal court and the families of leading yangban scholars and officials who took advantage of the new, easy-to-learn system of writing. These rare women broke the ancient taboos against women becoming educated and speaking out by writing letters, poetry, travel accounts, diaries, and essays.
The most famous work produced by a female during this long era was a manual prescribing the attitudes and behavior expected of Korean wives and women in general. Entitled Naehun (Nay-huun), it was written by Queen Sohei and published in 1475. Reprinted numerous times and distributed nationally, this was the bible of Korean women until the Joseon dynasty began breaking up at the end of the nineteenth century.
Generally speaking, there were three categories of Joseon women who became educated enough to read and write, with some of them leaving impressive examples of their poetry and prose. These three groups of women were members of the royal and noble families, concubines of upper-class men, and kisaeng, women trained to be professional entertainers and companions for men of means. A fairly large collection of biographies, essays, letters, memoirs, and travelogues written by upper-class women and ladies-in-waiting are still extant.
One of the most quoted of all Korean sijo (she-joh) poems was written in the sixteenth century by a lady named Chin I Hwang.
I cut in two
A long November night, and
Place half under the coverlet,
Sweet-scented as a spring breeze.
And when he comes, I shall take it out,
Unroll it inch by inch, to stretch the night.
Another sijo verse, quoted below, was written by a kisaeng named Hongnang in the sixteenth century. It was composed when she was saying farewell to her lover, a scholar-poet named Kyong Chang Choe, as he was about to leave on a government-sponsored tour. She gave him the poem as a parting gift.
I chose a wild willow branch
and plucked it to send to you.
I want you to plant it
by the window where you sleep.
When new leaves open in the night rains,
think that it is I that have come to you.17
The turmoil of the late 1800s created enormous interest in the history of the rest of the world and in literature of all kinds among younger upper-class Koreans. This interest spawned a new class of writers, including authors who wrote so-called sin sosol (sheen soh-sohl), or “new novels,” which were written in the ordinary vernacular as opposed to a highly stylized literary language of the past and expounded on such themes as sexual equality, democracy, and other matters that had previously been alien in Korean thought.
One of the forms of literature that became prominent as a political tool was the use of wall posters, byeok bo (byuhk boh), and banners or streamers, hyeon sumak (h’yuhn suu-mahk), the latter usually hung in trees as well as on walls, that carried political messages aimed at the government and sometimes at individual figures. In the early 1800s the suffering of the peasants had reached the point that they began to voice their grievances through wall posters and banners inscribed with their complaints in the harshest possible language. A banner hung up in the city of Chongju resulted in the government punishing the city by reducing its administrative rank and changing its name.
But it was not until well into the twentieth century that mass education was made available to Koreans, making it possible for literature to became a direct influence in their lives.
The Japanese occupation and annexation of Korea in 1910 served as a powerful impetus for a new breed of educated Koreans to use literature to express their feelings of outrage and encourage people to resist the Japanese occupation forces. Koreans who took refuge in Manchuria, China, and the United States were leaders in this movement. Literature, of all kinds, is now a major industry in Korea.
Myeongham 명«‘ M’yuhng-hahm
Playing Your Name Cards
Family and given names are of special importance in Korean society, playing a much more specific and vital role than names do in most other countries. There are several reasons for this phenomenon. The first, or earliest, of these reasons is the fact that Koreans trace their ancestry as a people to a single tribe made up of a relatively small number of families. Tribal custom allowed only elite core families to have family names.
Over the ages, these elite families grew into clans and their names became more and more sanctified. Members of these families revered their ancestors and their names. (Early in Korean history given names were known as “taboo” names and were kept confidential from most people.) There was also an element of ancestor worship in musok (muu-soak), or shamanism, Korea’s indigenous religion, which contributed to the importance of keeping detailed records of names.
The introduction of Buddhism and Confucianism into Korea in the fourth century A.D., both of which also included reverence for ancestors as major tenets, brought more emphasis to family names and genealogies. In 1392 the new Joseon dynasty proclaimed Neo-Confucianism, a much more detailed and stricter form of Confucian concepts, the state religion and the foundation of Korean society. The centerpiece of this new social system was filial piety and ancestor worship, making it mandatory that Korean families record the names and honor the memories of their ancestors.
The Joseon dynasty formally lasted until 1910, but the custom of keeping track of and honoring family names had become so deeply embedded in Korean culture that it survives to this day. Still today there are only a few hundred surnames in all of Korea, each with its own historical pedigree and status. The “middle” or “generational” name is also a key to identifying individual Koreans within the context of their family tree and sometimes their birthplace as well.
More than half of all Koreans have only six family names—Kim, Lee (Li, Yi), Pak (Park), Choi (Choe), Jung (Chung), and Chang (Jang).
On a social level it is extremely important for Koreans who meet to get their respective names right and to quickly establish their relative status to know how to behave toward each other. Until the relative social position is clearly established, communication is severely limited. Both parties use a high standard of respect language to avoid the possibility of offending someone who may be higher on the social hierarchy.
On a business level getting names right is not only a social imperative but also essential to properly identifying individuals for any kind of future reference. Myeongham (m’yuhng-hahm), or “name cards,” therefore play a vitally important role in Korean business and society in general. Name cards help overcome the serious problem of same and similar names by giving company affiliation, departments, sections, titles, phone numbers, and so on—all of which are usually necessary to distinguish among the hundreds of thousands of Kims, Lees, Choes, and Parks.
When a single large company has as many as two hundred, three hundred, or even more employees named Lee, Kim, and Pak, not having detailed information about a particular individual can make it impossible for telephone operators, receptionists, and others to identify and locate the right person.
Foreign businesspeople meeting Korean contacts for the first time must be especially diligent about getting their name cards and making sure that their cards provide enough information to distinguish them from other people in their company who have the same or similar names. Another aspect of the name problem is that there are several different ways of spelling the romanized versions of a number of Korea’s most common family names. Name cards make it possible to use the spelling preferred by the individual concerned.
It is fairly common to receive a name card of an individual whose rank is given as taewu (tie-wuu), which means “high rank” or “senior rank,” but does not give any additional information about the individual. These are generally people who do not have a specific position or title such as goes with being the head of a department or division manager, being a director, and so forth, but have been designated as taewu to indicate their status in the company. They are often former government bureaucrats who have joined the company but are not directline managers.
The term taewu is also used in reference to the kind of treatment that is given to VIPs and other special guests whom companies want to impress for one reason or another.
Myeongye 명예 M’yuhng-eh
The Need for Honor
Americans and other Westerners dealing with Koreans for the first time often find themselves encountering negative reactions that they did not anticipate, cannot understand, and are unable to overcome. There may be a variety of reasons for this common Korean reaction, but one that is of special importance has to do with myeongye (m’yuhng-eh), or “honor,” and the distinctive role that it plays in Korean life. To Koreans, personal honor is not an abstract concept in the back of their minds. It is a living thing that is a constant force in their thoughts, influencing their behavior and their reaction to others.
Korean psychologists say that Koreans were traditionally obsessed with honor because of their deep-seated need to maintain face, which feeds on fame and honor. They add that still today it is virtually impossible to deal effectively with Koreans without protecting and stroking their sense of honor.
In earlier times the Korean obsession with honor was so overpowering that it often led to violence. Any action that was perceived as damaging to one’s honor, whether something as mundane as a slur or a failure to use respectful language, called for evening the score by somehow punishing the guilty person. During the long Joseon dynasty (1392–1910) this extreme sensitivity about personal honor caused so many street fights that it became a matter of national concern, resulting in a number of decrees designed to keep the level of violence down.
Contemporary essayist Kyu Tae Yi says that once a Korean loses face he or she feels like an outcast and that to keep face Koreans need regular recognition for their character and efforts. Yi adds that while Koreans are no longer totally obsessed with myeongye, the desire for honor often leads them to sacrifice practical interests. Yi was specifically referring to South Koreans, not North Koreans, when he noted that Koreans are no longer obsessive about honor. The intransigence of North Korea’s political and military leaders continues to be fueled by a compulsive preoccupation with face and honor that has not changed since the heyday of the Joseon era.
Although the Korean need for honor continues to impact negatively in a number of ways, there is a positive side that more than mitigates the negatives. It is the ongoing concern with honor that motivates young Koreans to sacrifice much of their youth to study. It is the need for honor that compels virtually all adult Koreans to adhere to a strict form of etiquette, to dress well, to approach their obligations seriously, to work exceptionally hard, and to be concerned about the reputation of their country.
Much of the extraordinary spirit and strength that is characteristic of Koreans, and played a key role in their rapid rise to stardom as an economic superpower, was derived from their feelings of personal and national honor.
To succeed in Korea, both foreign businesspeople and diplomats must understand the nature and role of honor in Korean life and develop the ability to work cooperatively with Koreans, in the context of their need for myeongye, without compromising their own principles. This requires a substantial degree of knowledge about Korean values, expectations, and behavior.