Contrary to the conventional wisdom of recent years, sometimes a concept as abstract as identity can be defined and distilled easily into its constituent parts. Korea is unusual in that it formally instills its ideological principles in the classroom setting. As a discipline completely separate and distinct from history or social studies (both of which are regular parts of the Korean middle school curriculum and are analogous to the their American namesakes) doduk (literally "morals/ethics") is a discipline formally taught as a classroom subject. Encompassing topics from proper behavior in specific social situations, Korean national heroes, to the portrayal of the Korean national character as a crucial cultural factor in explaining national growth, what distinguishes doduk as a peculiar epistemology apart from the other traditional ones is its undisguised nationalist agenda formalized as a discipline of knowledge. The doctrine is not subtle, nor is it in any way tentative about the claims it makes. It not only poses moral questions - it gives the answers.
The ideological agenda is far more specific than a mere abstract "moral" education; it consciously defines Korean social norms and role expectations, and the proper citizen's role in the Korean state. The relationships between individuals in Korean society are complex and crucial to the proper functioning of the society as a whole. Doduk is essential to a society in which the "good person" is defined by one's ability to adhere to a myriad of strict social norms. These norms are clearly outlined and reinforced in Korean doduk textbooks, and crucially, are often juxtapositioned against different foreign cultural norms and traditions. In doduk, Korea is not evaluated solely on "neutral" terms, i.e., in terms of Korean norms themselves; rather, doduk outlines the idea of Korea, Korean culture, and the ideal citizen in relation to that which they are not. It is in this way that doduk undertakes its project of constructing the proper citizen in a Korean cultural context.
Most importantly, however, is that doduk is the official forum through which the state reinforces the dominant ideology of the Korean nation. Doduk is anything and everything that is part of dominant ideology, but the crucial difference is that it is not just norms of behavior that are constructed as moral behavior - norms of belief gain a moral meaning as well. In much the same way that religion is not just a code of conduct, but a mode of belief, doduk takes on a new meaning as it relates the self to a set of proper beliefs about one's role as a member of three main group affiliations - the family, the school, and the nation-state. In the discourse of doduk in Korea, this is just one of several key conceptual relationships through which one must look in order to understand one's role in society.
The crucial point at which the doduk project begins is the first year in middle school. It is in the first year of middle school that serious education begins as the basic preparation for two major sets of exams that will greatly determine the course of a person's life: Third year middle school students take the high school qualifying exam, and the quality of the high school in turn affects how one will fare on the all-important university entrance exams, taken during the third (and final) year of high school. For the purposes of this analysis, however, it is important to note that it is during the first year of middle school that the student begins the process of transformation into a proper citizen. Although the bulk of this analysis draws from a close reading of the first year doduk textbook itself as a vessel of state ideology, crucial to an understanding of this discourse is a brief exploration into both the intellectual and physical backgrounds in front of which doduk finds itself.
The intellectual and educational traditions in Korea owe much to the influence of China, especially to philosophers such as Confucius. The concept of education itself rests on a very specific conceptual scheme. Confucius' formulation of the role of education in society is constructed as a linkage of three crucial concepts, each of which in succession rests on the previous: sung - which is a person's "nature," do - which is "the way," and gyo - which, translated roughly, means "teaching." There are obvious similarities to the philosophies of Jean-Jacques Rousseau that so influenced Western thought, especially as they relate to education: "Everything is good when it leaves the hand of the Creator; everything degenerates in the hands of man."[3] In the Confucian framework, the sung is characterized by sun, which translates as "good," in the Manichean sense of good and evil. This is the innate goodness that Rousseau believes to be the common element of human nature.
Do is the "way," in the literal sense of the word in English. The translation gleaned from Korean is "the road which must be followed." This is a pronunciation familiar to many Americans as "tao." Although the entry into American intellectual thought has been via such popular texts as The Tao of Pooh and The Tao of Motorcycle Repair, the concept is taken far more seriously in Asia, and is one of the philosophical foundations of several Asian societies, and this is certainly true with Korea. In this conceptual framework, the "way," or the path one must take, is illuminated by the light of the aforementioned gyo, which is education.[4] Similarly, Rousseau places great importance on not only the cultivation of the mind and the necessity of education in forming the "complete person," and bringing that person to adulthood, but the mode in which this enlightenment takes place. Specifically, formal education is a desirable means of showing this "way." In Chinese, the language in which Confucius was writing and which influenced so many other languages (over 50% of Korean words are phonetic derivations from Chinese character pronunciations) the word for adult is sung in[5], whose meaning is literally "complete person." In the same way, the concept of childhood itself is defined as mi sung nyun, whose literal translation is "not yet complete in years." Every person must traverse this path to adulthood, but must engage in this struggle in their own particular way. Quoting Rousseau, the similarity between Chinese (and hence Korean) conceptualizations of childhood and its relationship to education is obvious: "The way in which ideas are formed is what gives character to the human mind...The attitude, more or less great, of comparing ideas, and of finding a rapport and relationship is that which gives more or less character to the mind of man."[6] Not only education itself, but the tone which it takes, the pitch of the "pitch," is vitally important to the production of good people and good citizens. At this point Rousseau's and Confucius's thought would likely diverge, as it relates to the place of the individual in the state, for Korean culture, deeply grounded in the Chinese philosophical tradition, concerns itself a great deal with the cultivation of its children into proper, right-thinking citizens, in sync with state conceptions of ideal citizenship. This is the point at which to begin an exploration of Korean education itself.
During the first year of middle school, the bulk of the project to construct the citizen/subject begins. For the student, this time entails a marked change and a significant transition from child to young adult. An analysis of the intellectual nature of doduk cannot take place without understanding the psychological shifts in thinking that the structure of the middle school engenders. As a middle school teacher in Korea, it was apparent to me that the change in life is stark and disruptive to some extent. This is not to imply that the experience is necessarily traumatic, only that it is a significant change in lifestyle that elementary school students can dread, but also a rite of passage to look forward to as a sign of maturity. Here it is interesting to note that much of the structure of the Korean education system comes from outside cultural influences, but have been adopted as acceptable, even desirable aspects of a decidedly Korean system.
Korea under Japanese occupation underwent massive and permanent changes, one of the most far-reaching taking place in the education system. Korea was deeply affected by Japan's occupation from 1910 to 1945, absorbing many of its "nationalistic and militaristic educational and cultural values," and these influences did not simply disappear with liberation in 1945.[7] One legacy of the Japanese-style school system is the physical organization and structure of the school itself, which I will discuss later in more detail. The United States, in its role of liberator/occupier/superintendent of Korea after liberation in 1945, also heavily influenced the Korean education system.
Whereas the Americans emphasized the promotion of democratic educational philosophy and practices, the Korean leaders in the Ministry of Education and other government organizations emphasized the need to eradicate colonial residues in education and culture while recognizing the importance of democratic education....efforts made by the American military government brought about the rapid increase in the number of schools.[8]
One effect of American influence is apparent in that the school system is completely analogous to the American kindergarten, elementary, middle and high school levels. After the establishment of a Korean government in 1948, the Ministry of Education officially adopted the principle of hong ik in gan, which "stressed the development of national spirit," and the concept of il-min, meaning "one people."[9] The continued existence of doduk textbook itself stems from these two doctrines of thought.
As much as there was a drive on the part of the people and government to rid themselves of the influence and reminders of Japanese colonial rule, it is interesting to note that the physical organization and structure of the Korean school system itself remains to the present-day almost unchanged since occupation. This was a source of puzzlement for me as I taught in Korean schools patterned after Japanese ones, even as anti-Japanese sentiment still runs high in the country. A most surreal experience was listening to my students half-jokingly (half-not) proclaim that they hoped Japan would sink into the sea, even as they stood in the organizational structure that the Japanese had built. However, when considering Japanese policy for Koreans placed in schools under the Japanese, the apparent contradiction disappears. With the goal of erasing Korean culture and identity from society, the Japanese used not only the Althusserian "state apparatus" of military and police force, but recognized the supreme importance of school as an "ideological educational apparatus" to reinforce the legitimacy of its rule:
The colonial government issued an ordinance in August 1911, which stated that the purpose of education in Korea was to produce "loyal and obedient" and useful subjects of the Japanese emperor. It adopted a system of four-year primary education, a four-year secondary school program for boys and a three-year secondary curriculum for girls...The ordinance made the study of the Japanese language compulsory at all approved schools and banned instruction in Korean history and geography.[10]
Before 1945, Japan's project to erase the culture of Korea would escalate from the discouragement of teaching the Korean language to an outright ban on speaking it in all public schools. Recitation of the imperial Japanese "Pledge of the Imperial Subjects" was mandatory at all "political, religious, educational, or social" gatherings. The picture of the Japanese emperor hung at the front of each classroom, and students the ritual of bowing in the direction of Tokyo was required during school functions.[11] Understandably, such memories loomed large in the minds of a formerly subjugated people immediately after liberation, and remain burned into the psyche of the Korean national consciousness to this day.
The Korean government after liberation was indeed eager to dismantle the state apparatuses that were the legacy of the Japanese, but not disposed to indiscriminately dismantle all vestiges of colonial influence - specifically the structures, whether physical or psychological, were still of some utility to the new nation. For example, some historical interpretations recognize that despite the odiousness of Japanese invasion and occupation, the colonial government established some structures which were of benefit to Korea's development. Although the forced industrialization and urbanization of Korea were initiated "to service the empire," on an objective level, the rate of development was abnormally rapid. Even though most of industry's physical structure was destroyed through the country's civil war, some important structures, including the railway system and the textile industry "remained as a framework for reconstruction in the 1950s and for rapid export-led growth in the 1960s."[12] In a similar way, there were many elements in the education system that remained as a useful "framework for reconstruction" that were still of utility to even a stable, independent Korea.
The ideological educational apparatus used by the Japanese was as much in place in the Korean psyche as were the vestigial physical structures still on the peninsula, education being a necessary tool for reinforcing ideological hegemony over the minds of its populace. Partially as a result of the colonial experience, a national identity forged in the fires of resistance; both an external and internal struggle began to take shape in the collective mind of the Korean people. As mentioned above, the nationalistic doctrines of hong ik in gan and il-min became the defining aspects of Korean nationality. It had always been one of the main organs of the Japanese societal body.
At least since the Imperial Revolution on Education of 1890, Japanese education had been an exercise in imperial propaganda. The Prime Minister at the time, Yamagata Aritomo, said that "education, just like the military, ought to possess an imperial mandate." He said that in national crises, all Japanese should be taught to offer themselves "courageously" to the state, and "thus guard and maintain the prosperity of Our Imperial Throne."[13]
It was no coincidence that during this period, Imperial Japan began putting into motion its designs on dominating Asia. Indeed, it was out of fear that this "organ" would once again lead to the disease of Japan's rabid nationalism that ethics (doduk) as a discipline of study was abolished in Japan, as well as government control over educational materials, especially textbooks. To characterize the importance of ethics education in Japan during the colonial period, I quote at length from Ian Buruma's The Wages of Guilt: Memories of War in Germany and Japan:
Ethical studies were given extreme importance. This is how such national values as self-sacrifice, military discipline, ancestor worship, and the imperial cult were bred. And as was true in most countries in the first half of the century, military heroes were held up as the cardinal models to follow. Kimigayo, a prayer for the everlasting imperial reign, was sung as the national anthem, and the Rising Sun flag hoisted all over Asia. It was the duty of all Japanese to spring to attention at the very mention of the divine emperor. every Japanese school had a shrine with the emperor's portrait. A speck of dust on the picture and careless hanging were reasons for severe punishment.[14]
In Korea, ethical studies was also assigned extreme importance. However, in the "Land of the Morning Calm," nationalism took place in a spirit of reconstruction and reassertion of national pride, and was viewed by its populace in a completely different light than its former oppressor, Japan (also know as the "Land of the Rising Sun.").
In the Korean classroom, the physical vestiges of culture under Japanese occupation remain. In the center of every classroom is a picture of the Korean flag, to which all students salute with hand over heart, reciting a oath of loyalty to the Korean republic much like the oath of allegiance to a picture of the Emperor Korean students were made to recite during occupation. Physically, the students are homogenized to the greatest extent possible, in the manner that Japanese students were; uniforms and close-cropped hair for boys, short bobs at the ears for girls were and still are the norm. Uniformity is strictly enforced in the middle school. Typical infractions for which students receive severe scolding or corporal punishment range from the wearing of brightly-colored shoelaces to having hair longer than regulation. Corporal punishment for failure to complete homework or getting low test scores is common, as is corporal punishment for transgressions of almost any kind. Another legacy of the traditional Japanese school system is the teachers' room. Teachers have their desks and materials in one central room, and take what they need with them to the classroom scheduled for that hour. Students remain in a particular classroomall day, with a student "class leader" responsible for them. Because of the strict nature of most of the teachers, students generally fear treading into the teachers' room. At best, it is a place where students are forced to bow and humble themselves to multiple teachers at a time; at worst, it is a place of punishment and humiliation (not to mention the haunt of the vice-principal, whom the teachers also often fear). Recent educational reform is aimed at changing the environment of the school to a more student-oriented, comfortable one, but, as I argue, both the physical and mental structures of the Korean system are difficult to break down, and there is little motivation to do so, as these structures serve their purposes well.
Despite the fact that many parents nowadays find corporal punishment of their own children loathsome, tradition dies hard. In the high school of another foreign teacher working in the southern part of the peninsula, a student died as a direct result of a teacher's extended physical punishment; the school quietly encouraged the early retirement of the teacher and the incident was forgotten. This is an extreme example, of course, but one begins able to comprehend the power of the teacher in Korean society. I once witnessed a teacher slap a student in front of his mother - at which point the mother hastily apologized for the student's behavior. This too, although not an everyday occurrence, does make clear the high status and social power that the teacher, along with the school system in general, holds in society.
Middle school is a place where social relationships are clearly and unmistakably defined, and deviation from the norm is harshly punished. It is like a microcosm of society, where everyone fits into a hierarchical structure, surrounded by a strict set of rules that defines one's place in it. Even within the student body, hierarchical social rules are more strictly enforced, and there is no room for those who will not abide by them. It is significant that these rules are also outlined in the first-year doduk textbook. Taken as a whole, middle school is where one begins to "know one's place," as a citizen and as a person. Doduk makes no pretense of subtlety in this respect. Indeed, frankness in dealing with the meaning of nationality is the very nature of the discipline itself.
From the introduction, the arguments of the book are clearly outlined. Acknowledging that the student has to some extent already learned most societal norms, the textbook adds that it will assist the student in considering more deeply one's everyday thoughts and actions, especially, it adds, "as a Korean." The book, the reader is told, will be divided into the following parts: "I: Life and Ethics," "Family and School Life Etiquette," Society and Ethics," and finally "Country and People." The reader is told at the end of the foreword: "However, it isn't enough to simply know the norms and beliefs of ethical behavior." They have to become second-nature, one has to perform them in practice without a second thought, as a natural part of one's own standards of behavior.[16] The textbook begins this process on the small scale, moving towards the large; beginning with one's role as an individual in a small group, the scope expands continually until the canvas becomes one upon which the student sees him or herself against the backdrop of the entire society. All the while, the book emphasizes the analogous nature of the various groups and bodies to which the individual belongs. The subtext to the main one is that non-conformity to one group implies a lack of allegiance to all. In the family, school, the factory, and the nation, the roles vary, but the duties and obligations remain strikingly similar. The agenda is to define the student as a "fine" or "good" person[17] - or more importantly, as a useful social being.
The first chapter, "Human life and ethics," the book asks the student to consider the "life worth living." It asks the question of whether the student is a mere "nan saram" or a "daen saram." Though difficult to translate into English, the nan saram is a person who simply possesses a name and is only a person by virtue of the fact that others have defined him or her as such. This person can "either occupy a high position in society or have property and participate in many of societal activities." However, beyond this, a daen saram (a "developed person") is "a person of high character and full of refinement and taste, a humanely mature person."[18] This is a concept that will be defined in more detail later - the cultivation required in order to form the desired, mature social and personal identity. However, what is important to understand at this point is the fact that the Korean definition of a "good" social individual entails far more than the construction of the useful subject in the strict Marxist sense, for state interests related to capital and control. The textbook will, of course deal with this aspect of "good" citizenship," but what makes doduk and (Korean nationalism in general) so interesting are other state interests that are not economic, and therefore not explicable in strictly Marxist, reductionist terms.
Ringing of classical Chinese precepts which will be explored later, the first chapter tells the reader:
For us, that which lights the path on the way to becoming a "daen saram" is doduk. While doduk gives us the judgment standards for good and evil, right and wrong, from related situations it becomes the underlying principle for our thoughts and actions.[19]
In answering the question "What makes an moral person?" the book draws explicitly on the classical Chinese philosophical tradition, making reference to the four main fundamental aspects of a stable, well-functioning social being: "in," "eui," "ye", and "ji." In is a Chinese character whose literal meaning is "humaneness." From this, every person feels some sense of obligation to fellow human beings. This is what motivates us to save a drowning stranger from a pond, while eui is our sense of "justice," which is the literal translation of that character. The example given in the textbook is one of a taxi driver returning a lost briefcase containing a great deal of money to the police station. The subtext here is a one of "law and order," the morality specifically based on proper behavior towards others as social beings. In order to be an honest citizen, one must possess a "righteous heart." The difference between in and eui is subtle, but the examples given in the text makes clear the distinction between obligations to others as human versus social beings. The third crucial concept, ye, literally means "propriety." Every person should have "a spirit of restraint and concession" in relations with others, as this is "a basic rule for the maintenance of societal order." Quoting the "golden rule" almost verbatim, the textbook admonishes that "one should treat others as you would want to be treated."[20] Interestingly enough, the textbook characterizes this concept of "yangshim" (the aforementioned "yielding spirit") as an "Eastern" one, the first of many instances in which the text characterizes itself in distinction from the West.[21] Using the textbook's metaphor, one can understand the relationship between the three in as a root, and eui as blossoming flower, ye is the literal "fruit." Finally comes ji, meaning "knowledge.[22] Through intellectual pursuits, one can uncover the underlying principles of the world, indeed, even come to understand the preceding three principles. The world needs those who have come to this point via the three others; this is the "life worth living."
Outlining a range of examples of ethical behavior ranging from cutting in line at the bank, giving up one's seat on the bus, or helping out an old man with a heavy load, the second chapter defines the doduk concepts of "knowledge, belief, and practice" concretely.[23] A person who can "harmonize" these concepts by not only knowing just behavior in a given situation, not only believing they should be carried out, but by actually reflecting this in one's behavior, can be called an in gyuk ja, a "man of character." Mentioning examples from other cultures, the text places this concept in a universal tradition, sharing the same category with other eastern countries' "man of virtue," or the concept of the "gentleman" in the West.[24] In a fascinating comparison, the text ends the chapter with the "favorite maxims" of Ben Franklin (e.g. "Waste not, want not.") with those of one of Korea's most revered scholars, Toegye, characterizing them both as "concrete examples of moral principles put into practice."[25] The textbook clearly sets up its moral principles in a Korean ethical framework, while not hesitating to find a place for itself in the Western tradition. There is no hostility to exposing students to foreign concepts and ways of thought in the objective sense. However, the text does later define the desirable limits of outside influence.
At this point, the text diverges from its traditional philosophizing to offer the readers the meaning of youth and middle school life. In its efforts to establish the principles that make up the ethical person, the text stresses the importance of this time to one's greater personal development. The student's physical, mental and social maturation are crucial to the development of a healthy societal member. Referring to a French philosopher, the text talks of "the second birth" of youth. The first birth produces life itself, while second birth produces people capable of living.[26] The student is told that this is the time he or she develops an interest in the opposite sex, begins to form an identity, and starts to see a future for him or herself. The text underneath a picture of girl students talking to a male teacher tells us "Youth is the most beautiful and precious time of our lives," while a pair of pictures, one showing a row of boys working with electronics equipment, the other showing a female scientist looking up inquisitively into a beaker, has as a caption: "Youth is a time of many opportunities and possibilities."[27] It is interesting that the beauty of youth is characterized by a picture from school, while even more significant that life's possibilities are defined in terms of science and industry.
Youth is also the time of confusion. According to the text, even as middle schoolers begin to develop a sense of their desires in life, they begin to develop a desire to be perceived well by others. So one begins to form a concept of self, a social self-awareness that begins to define specific goals and desires. When individuals' desires begin to clash with others', conflict occurs. According to the text, "This is the role of social rules."[28] The proper learning of social rules in this period of youth is emphasized as crucial to one's proper development: A straight-raised sapling grows into a straight tree; a crooked sapling becomes a crooked tree."[29]
The textbook continues after the third chapter into the second section of the book with the title "Proper Behavior at Home and School."[30] Here the text begins to strictly define the social relationships and responsibilities of the student as a student, as a son or daughter, and then as a citizen, outlining the conceptual framework of society. After two pages outlining the growth of Korea into an industrialized society with a nuclear family structure (from an agrarian, extended-family system), and all its concomitant changes, the text makes the first clear connection between societal structures, those of family and school: "As the family is called the 'nest of love,' the school is 'the locus of education.'"[31] The text goes on to assert that family is essential for learning basic human relations, but school is equally essential for the proper learning of the deep social relations required to function well in society. As harmonious family relations are essential for the continued functioning of the family, the text explores the specifics of proper etiquette within the household. 1) Family members must understand and yield to one another, 2) everyone must act according to their roles and responsibilities, 3) there must be adherence to modicum of manners and etiquette, 4) there must be effective communication between all members of the family.[32] If any one member neglects his or her responsibilities, there can be no harmony in the family.[33] Interestingly enough, the text goes into detail in commenting on the responsibility of parents to understand their children - "if the parents cannot understand their children, and the children cannot fathom the meaning of their parents, how can there be harmony?"[34] It hints at the necessity of a democratic understanding between family members, slightly different from the traditional Confucian doctrine that places the father, teacher, and King in the same category, as unconditional rulers over their respective domains. Assuming that the family is a model for the proper functioning of society, the importance of this "social contract"-like relationship becomes desirable, even as it does not interfere with the traditional hierarchy of the Korean family/society. The section ends by explicitly stating that society is simply a huge, extended family.
Next comes an extended section outlining the essential elements of proper behavior in relation to those outside of the immediate family; this includes extended relatives, friends, neighbors, and strangers. Not staying on the phone for longer than it takes to relay necessary information, especially on public phones, proper bowing procedures to people of different social statuses, proper table manners (including not eating loudly), and appropriate attire (i.e. not too modish or risqué clothing)[35] - these examples struck me as particularly interesting, as they seem to be sites of rapid change and contention in Korean society. Although at first glance these examples seem clearly grounded in what might be called Korean "common sense," at the same time, it does not seem merely coincidental that one occasionally reads in the newspaper about a person being stabbed because he/she was taking too long on the phone, or that older Koreans often complain about the erosion of traditional values, often surprised by the raciness of youth culture and dress. As a foreigner often reminded by Koreans that it was natural in Korea to noisily slurp one's soup, it is somewhat surprising to see this defined as bad etiquette. All these examples seem responses to a definite awareness of rapid changes in Korean society, where the prescription of clear remedies might be seen as potentially useful by the Ministry of Education. Responsible for the people as a controlling body, the crucial concept for which the text sets up the reader is that of "hyo." The importance of this concept rounds out this section of the textbook, and figures prominently as one of the most important uniting concepts presented thus far.
Hyo is a concept difficult to translate into one word, yet it is easy to understand. A narrow translation might yield "filial piety," while a more open translation might simply read "duty." Duty to one's parents and elders begins the text's investigation of the concept, but the text makes clear that the most important aspect of hyo does not lie in behaving according to its precepts, but in being sincere about doing so. The book, quoting Confucius, asks:
When most people say the word "hyo," they know about supporting their parents only by feeding and clothing them, but how is that different from raising a dog or a horse?[36]
The crucial factor here is sincerity. The writers of the text pose a question of their own to help illustrate this point:
When you were an elementary school student and you showed your father and mother a picture you drew of them, or when you hung a poorly-made carnation from art class on your parents' chest, how happy do you remember they were? Why do you think they were so happy? ... It was because it was something made out of sincere love and respect for them that they were deeply touched. The spirit of keeping your parents happy and pleased is honest hyo.37
Quoting Mencius, another Chinese philosopher, the book makes the crucial point that the concept of hyo extends not only to parents, but to other people's parents as well, and by extension, to all elders in society. However, the writers argue, with the onset of modernization and the dominance of the nuclear family structure, "our people's" old values are changing; however, it is critical that Koreans maintain the values that undergird Korean society.[38]
The argument extends to the school as well. "Even as the parents in the family give children their love and attention, the teacher in the school does the same. In the same way that parents in the family influence us the most, the teacher in the school gives us out most important lessons."[39] Here, the text presents the appreciation of Helen Keller for her teacher, as her amazing success in life would not have been possible without the help of her one determined teacher. The book asks the question, "Then in the spirit of always being thankful to our teachers, in our life as students, what are the basic methods and manners that we must possess?[40] The answer is fairly simple; what follows is an explanation of the proper way to behave in school and around teachers, as well as the proper way to ask a question, which is with a sense of gong son, which translates roughly as "humbly and politely."
In order to demonstrate the importance of subtle semantics and the subtle assumptions that are inextricably woven into the structure of language itself, an exercise in semantic analysis would prove useful. In unpacking the word from which I am translating, I think it crucial to break down the meaning of gong son to its constituent elements. Since the doduk text analogizes each element of its society in a steady progression outward, the manner in students are told to question deserves critical analysis, as the subtext here is very much tied up in the language itself. From a small character dictionary made for foreigners studying Korean,[41] a search for the meaning for the character gong yielded "respect." Interestingly enough, there was no listing of the character son in this smaller dictionary, which listed all the 1800 characters taught up to the secondary level of school in Korea. A quick run to the Myung Moon New Chinese Character Dictionary defined son as meaning "sa yang," in Korean, which translates roughly into "restraint," or "to refrain from." The meanings here are conflated into this concept of "gong son," and the two separate concepts bound up into one word seem to complement each other in an unconscious, yet insidious way. A sense of restraint is linked to the idea of respect. The message in the text seems to imply that even in questioning, there are boundaries. This is not necessarily a radical or repressive concept in and of itself, as even in the "individualistic," and/or "irreverent" West, there are certain modicums of behavior and simple respect for teachers' authority. However, in my experience teaching in Korea, there always seemed to be much less separation between simple questioning and/or challenging of material and the questioning/challenging of the authority of the teacher. As the book goes on to stress the importance of adherence to hierarchical social structures within the school itself, the meaning of the concept of "questioning" becomes more important.
In all schools, within the student body itself, there is a formal social structure created and reinforced by the students to which all students must adhere. First-years have certain social responsibilities to those senior (older) than themselves. This is usually determined by year. The sunbae/hoobae (senior/junior) relationship is a crucial part of any and every school system, including the university. Numerous times I have heard students complain about the difficulty the juniors have questioning their seniors; even disagreeing with the opinion of a senior is tantamount to disrespect, so students generally seem to avoid doing so. This is also true of the teacher/student relationship. Questioning the assumptions of the teacher means doubting his or her credibility. Inherent in deference to authority is the notion of yielding to it; this is a problematic characteristic in any education system. This is something with which Korean society is presently coming to terms.
The example that springs to mind is a situation relayed to me by a Korean-American friend working for an engineering department in Samsung. One of the most frustrating things about being a young hotshot in the company was the fact that the working group always had to try out the ideas of the most senior among them first, despite the fact that other ideas seemed a little more promising. According to my friend, it reduced efficiency and raised frustrations in general. How much can traditional values fit into a modern world? This is the question which the textbook occupies itself in section III: "Society and Ethics."
The third section of the textbook attempts to contextualize young people into society as both individuals and subjects, while balancing between ancient and modern traditions. According to the text, unlike the West, the Korean people have, "from ancient days on, enjoyed a traditional culture that emphasized morality and proper behavior." However, recently Korea finds itself faced with a moral crisis," one created by the exigencies of a new industrialized society.[42] In an effort to characterize the nature of Korea's present-day existence, the text looks to first define the traditional culture of the past. These are not simply the old traditions passed down by habit, but precious ones seen by the ancestors as one crucial towards defining the Korean identity. The text asks the question, "What is the reason for criticizing traditional culture?" The problem is that traditional doduk and modern-day changes do not mix well in many cases. The goal, therefore, must be adapted: "In passing down the proper traditional values, we must apply the ones that are right for the present-day, and it is our responsibility to always encourage [societal and economic] development."[43] This is not a new concept in Korea. Indeed, Marx concluded that Confucianism in the East was a hindrance to development. According to his analysis, Korea's Neo-Confucian aristocratic elite opposed economic and social reform on the basis of traditional philosophical precepts.[44] The elite of the time considered fundamental societal change harmful to the welfare of a healthy Korean social body. This is the same issue which preoccupies Korea today, even though Korea has already "signed on the dotted line" in terms of its decision to pursue economic development for itself. The management of the undesirable side effects of "progress" is Korea's sticky issue. What is the element that will act as the fulcrum that will keep the delicate balance between progress and preservation of tradition? What will keep an industrializing Korea - a Korea that is losing the need for many of its traditional values - distinctly Korean? What is an irreducible element of Korean culture? The text brings offers a story allegedly told by a foreigner who had been living in Korea for over 20 years:
I've already lived in Korea for about 20 years now. Anyone can see that in that period, Korean has achieved much economic development. However, the continually-erecting buildings and apartments makes one get the dreary feeling that Korea is beginning to look like any other city in the world.
However, if one looks a little more harder, this feeling immediately fades away and one can get the comfortable feeling that "Despite this, people do indeed live here!" When one sees, in crowded buses and subways, sitting passengers cheerfully taking the heavy loads and bags of standees and hold them in their laps, or the faces of people loudly shouting greetings to each other across busy streets, I too feel jung. (Outside of Korea, this is something that can rarely be found.)[45]
The crucial element is jung, a central concept in the Korean language and culture, which finds no easy translation into English, for it is a purely Korean concept, one without analogue in Western culture.
Jung can be defined as many thing as once: a feeling, and emotion, and/or intimacy with another person - most importantly, it denotes an emotional connection with another person. It is significant that the textbook use a foreigner's "point of view" to characterize the jung that permeates and defines Korean society. Some concrete examples of jung are useful at this point, and I will use my experience in the manner that the doduk textbook utilizes specific examples to illustrate a point as much as possible in explaining the concept if jung.
When I arrived in America for the first time in two years, I was a mere 260 frequent flyer miles short of a domestic round trip ticket, which I begged the phone ticket agent to overlook. She said she could not, because of airline policy, and would not do so. Frustrated and disappointed, I remember knowing, absolutely knowing that a Korean ticket agent would have helped me out, given the right amount of begging and gentle coercion. I knew my chances were almost certain if I were to beg in person. Indeed, the more the agent saw me as a person, the greater my chances would be. This is a significant choice of wording on my part. In my time teaching, anytime I would threaten to do something particularly odious to the possessions of a student seized during class, the student would beg and plead in Korean, "Look at me!" While losing a lot in the translation, the meaning remains clear. Look past the rules and the roles, and look at me, make a connection with me. Being the pushover American teacher I did, and often overlooked small infractions that other teachers might not have. So for the students with whom I had established some rapport, their appeals to my sense of jung usually worked.
Jung exists on more significant levels in Korean society. I have listened to many female teachers in the lounge complain about their lazy, inconsiderate husbands whom they claim not to really love, but with whom they have developed a great deal ofjung; they cannot help but feel affection for their husbands. Young women ready to shed their boyfriends cite the buildup of too much jung between them as the reason for their inability to cut the rope. Indeed, a recent popular song entitled "Jung" related the story of a girl who "stood by her man," regardless of his desire to break up with her, for whatever reason - even stating the desire to wait for him if he decided to date another girl. This is a situation which many Westerners would probably find difficult to understand, simply by virtue of the fact that it is a concept that has no analogue in contemporary Western culture.
Jung is a clearly-defined basis for social relationships that by definition often ask the social actors to violate accepted social norms in a given situation. Some would even argue that it is the maintenance of traditional jung-based social connections that is responsible for what the West would call corruption. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" is the way Americans might characterize favors that create obligations. Many Koreans might just call it jung. In the above example with the middle school students, I might have been accused of playing favorites, as I was being soft on students with whom I had developed a closer, personal relationship. However, this relationship is seen as a desirable one to cultivate between people, and is a defining concept in Korean interpersonal relations. But as a social glue, the textbook goes on to ask, how effective and desirable is it?
The textbook places Korean societal development into an inevitable scheme of forward progress. What characterized the Industrial Revolution, according to the text, was the process in which the citizens of small social groups began to cease to see each other in terms of jung relationships, and only in terms of personal gain and loss. The growth of a "mercenary lifestyle" accompanied the development of industry and urbanization. The habit of calculating the worth of others in the cold terms of gain and loss made all citizens see each other as competitors. [46] What the text is referring to is the creation of societal rules only to protect citizens' and the state's narrow interests. Marx would agree, but he is, not surprisingly, not mentioned in this quite appropriate section, not is mention made of Korea's own experience with seeing its workers "only in terms of loss and gain." A glaring omission, but nevertheless unsurprising, given the extreme anti-Communism that has characterized South Korea.
So is this simply a search for new ethics in an industrial society? The textbook writers would answer with a resounding "no." The other key event in the West that now holds import for the East was the "citizen revolution," specifically the French Revolution. Here the reader is shown a picture of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen, next to a painting of angry citizens storming the Bastille. It was a time when society found as its new basis the freedom and equality of its citizenry; the Reformation is also mentioned as a result of this new movement towards equality. However, the book makes no mention of Martin Luther's 95 Theses, but quotes Calvin at length, the text establishing God's "justification" (in the Biblical sense) for capitalism. No longer is the accumulation of property and material goods a sin, but rather a sign of God's grace, the manifestation of one's hard work, thrift, and justification; for only one enjoying the God's grace - holy salvation - could enjoy material benefit. According to the text, this thinking, the result of the various Revolutions working in tandem, changed the social relationships and the nature of citizenship in the particular way that best facilitated the growth of capitalism.[47] Without referring explicitly to the "Protestant work ethic," as this might entail mention of the M-word[48], the book chronicles the birth of capitalism, devoid of moral judgment.
This would seem a strange segue for a book professing to deal with "morality," but it serves the interest of the state in characterizing itself in a morally positive way while justifying its mode of existence. By making explicit comparisons to the "national character" of other countries, the textbook defines the traits most worthy for a fast-developing country like Korea to emulate. Reading like a laundry list, Americans are exemplars of "the Frontier Spirit," while France is laudable for its freedom, equality, and philanthropy. Most notable is the French people's frugality, according to the textbook. Even though France is the world capital of fashion, the average French person doesn't live a life of chic excess. England is the country whose citizens enjoy the most degree of personal freedom in the world, and the people also treat each other with kindness and politeness. As a fine citizenry, the English people exemplify the principles of the refined "gentleman."[49] Interestingly (and uncomfortably) enough, the country that comes out on top in the Korean reckoning of national character traits is Germany. From the German people's powerful sense of "group consciousness," they were "able to lift themselves up from the ashes of WWII and create a startling amount of economic growth now called the "Rhine river miracle."[50] What the text fails to mention, however, are the pitfalls of "group consciousness" that got Germany reduced to "a lump of ash" in the first place. Underneath this whole section is a pair of pictures depicting on the left, German consumers frugally going through a fruit market, and on the right, the towering apparatus of what appears to be a chemical plant.[51] This is the "Rhine river miracle." But the text goes on to define what it does not desire from the West, despite the myriad benefits of Western culture. What Korea is endeavoring to prevent is a loss of what is essentially Korean, even as it enters into the club of "developed" nations. For Korea, becoming developed cannot mean a loss of cultural distinctness.
At this point the writers juxtapose Western yulli (another term for "ethics/morality") and Korean doduk as opposing elements in Korean society to be balanced against one another, Western yulli being held in appropriate check. On page 173, the reader is presented with an actual picture of a scale, balancing "Our traditional culture" against "Western citizen ethics," the main difference between the two lying in the idea of "yielding" and jung.52 The goal is one of taking the strong points from Western culture and integrating them "harmoniously" with Korean traditional culture: "In this way, our society can become, more than any other one, the world's leading society in terms of doduk and ethical values."[53]
Starting with the heavy cultural influence of China, periodically invaded from every direction for most of its history, subjugated as a colony of Japan from 1905 until liberation 40 years later, and being subjected to Japan and the West's influence via media and money, Korea has been forced to be preoccupied with the question of its cultural identity as it copes with the influences of the outside, as well as the changes it finds itself undergoing as a rapidly developing international country. What is at stake is the nation's cultural identity in a way that is not simply a response to socio-economic factors.
I define Korean ethnocentrism as reactionary. When I use this term "reactionary," I do not mean to characterize the Korean national identity as desperate, knee-jerk parries to each attacker's hurried thrust. This would falsely characterize the Koreans as hopelessly besieged defenders, helpless to shape their own discourse with the outside - thrust, parry, thrust, parry. When I use the metaphor of force and counterforce, I do so in a way that is more suggestive of Korea's ongoing renegotiation with the outside - an analogy that comes to mind is that of a lone cell floating in a current of rapid flux and change. Korean ethnocentrism, like the force that maintains the life and shape of a cell, is that internal pressure which keeps the walls from collapsing in on themselves, despite the raging swirls and eddies outside. Even as a cell is fluid, with no definite shape, it is no less a definable body, a real, solid mass. Even as these cell walls shield, and by their very existence, define the cell from the outside, it is permeable, breathing through a process of osmosis. It allows exchange with the outside and responds to a slowly-changing environment or can accomodate a rough-and-tumble world in flux.
With this in mind, let's examine the question the textbook asks the reader: "What is a people?" The word used in Korean for "people" is minjok, literally meaning "people type/brethren." It has one meaning in Korean, but translated into English, minjok can mean people, ethnicity, or race. The concept of the Korean people is very deeply rooted in the idea of common origin, of sharing a common blood. Indeed, the quote that "Blood is thicker than water" is well-placed in the beginning of this section of the textbook.[55] The concept of "us" is defined not only in terms of blood, but in time, as pointed out in the oft-cited fact that Korea has endured for 5,000 years of history:
A people share the same lineage, utilize a common language, and as they live through the same history and culture, form a group based on the concept of "us," made from a shared sense of unity.[56]
A people is nothing more than "a big family," and in the same way, even if a member finds oneself far away, one cannot simply cease to be a part of it. It is in this way of thinking that Korean-Americans find themselves in when they visit Korea. No matter what nationality one holds, one is always Korean; if one cannot speak the language or function as a member of Korean society, then something is wrong. The standard is always consistent, always Korean; a certain Korean-American is never an American who has gotten pretty good at speaking some of the "old tongue." He or she is a Korean who speaks the mother tongue badly. This is the kind of thinking that goes on in Korea, and is reflected in the text; it hardly needs to be reinforced - once a Korean, always a Korean.
Indeed, the concept of "us" is reflected in everyday speech in Korea. More than hinting at the "group consciousness" of the Korean people, "we" is the word of choice when describing even those things that Westerners would consider "mine." In the common language, no one ever says "my school." People say "our school," "our house," and "our country." As bizarre as it may seem to Westerners, the linguistic usage of "our wife" or "our husband" is standard in everyday speech. When Koreans refer to their country in English in such ways, the ring is uncomfortably nationalistic: "In our country..." It is not a simple linguistic accident, nor do I think this feeling is imagined; the words "our country" are said, even in Korean, with a real sense of pride in the nation and the culture.
According to the textbook, the accomplishments of the Korean people are many. Not only is the Korean written alphabet always shown off as an example of Korean intellectual accomplishment (the Korean alphabet has been cited by many linguists as the most efficient, well-designed in the world), the metal printing press was, according to the text, invented in Korea, in 1234, over 200 years before Gutenburg was even learning to write. The Koreans invented the rain gauge also 200 years before the West, as well as using armored ships with which to soundly thrash the invading Japanese well before the West. Indeed, the book tells the student that "Our people inherit a proud culture."[57]
The text also sets up Korean culture as one particularly suited to development and advancement. From ancient times, "Our people's cultural excellence is the peculiar characteristic that allows us, by combining old culture with new, outside influences, to make a completely original culture, expressed in a Korean way."[58] This is not just a reflection of Korean culture's ability to absorb new types of ceramic pottery into the culture, which is the context in which the previous quote appeared, but the doduk textbook stresses the importance of this trait to the cultural survival of the Korean people: "If we lose our Korean traditional culture, not only would our living existence become impossible, but it would even be difficult to find the meaning of life."[59] The text characterizes assimilation is as a most horrid fate for the Korean people, and the student is told that he or she must actively promote Korean culture, and preserve it as not only a connection to the past, but as a bridge to the future.[60]
While extolling the virtues of Korean culture in comparison to others (the word "excellence" in Korean can also connote "superiority"), the book makes clear that it is not practicing an "ultranationalism" in the sense that Etienne Balibar would define. Korea definitely draws on the ""ideology of the elect nation," indeed, in Korea, this "ideal entity" is the "imaginary core of the nation," involving a sense of purity; this "entity" comes "long before the nation and goes far beyond it in space and time."[61] This the core around which doduk clearly constructs its nationalism. However, even as he claims that "...the building of the nation-state...is closely associated with class domination," the analysis must go deeper than an economically reductionist one would allow. Letting the text fend for itself, it states:
However, the inheritance of a people's cultural traditions does not mean an intolerant ultranationalism or exclusionism. In the same way that we think of our own culture as precious, so must we preserve an attitude that recognizes the preciousness of other cultures as well.[62]
So Korean ethnocentrism (in theory) does not come at the cost of a diminished respect for other cultures; on the contrary, it comes as the result of the desire of the Korean people to preserve what is deems as its most precious defining elements. There is nothing wrong with the influence of outside culture; the only important thing not to forget is the importance and value of Korean culture itself.
When talking about taking in outside influences, the text reminds the reader that as long as this is done in a "creative, generative spirit," in which the good aspects of other cultures are added in useful ways to one's own, there is no problem with cultural syncretism. However, if this is done at the expense of Korean culture, in a way that degrades it and makes it seem inferior, then, the textbook asserts, it becomes a problematic issue:
However, recently, there have been some people who degrade our traditional culture as inferior, or even assert that we have no traditional culture at all. With that, there are some youth who seem forgetful of the preciousness of our culture, and there is the influence of the West which they blindly imitate and follow. While many youth know nothing of our native pan so-ri [a traditional form of Korean singing/performance] or traditional folk songs, they act as if the songs sung by foreign singers, whose meanings they do not understand, are the best in the world, and follow blindly.[63]
The situation is more complex than this. I am reminded of the times I sat in the movie theater and watched the preview for a upcoming Korean movie. Sometimes with abysmally low production values and "homegrown" actors, some (not all) Korean movies do indeed seem laughable when compared to the movie everyone came to see, or the other previews of the (usually American) movies people often want to see, usually American, big-budget fare. The lines blur in many places, as distinctly American musical styles are Koreanized and become massively popular, but somehow, to the American ear, have gained something that separates it from the genre from which it came, while to a traditional Korean ear, the same music sounds distinctly and gratingly foreign. It is clearly a matter of who is doing the defining, and for what purpose. Many of my middle school students argued that a popular music group, Seo Taiji and the Boys (translated) was distinctly, unmistakably Korean, while I listened to the musical styles clearly sampled and lifted wholesale from American musical groups. However, both sides were partially right; even as the style was ostensibly "gangster rap," the message urged runaway kids to "Come Back Home" to their parents and take advantage of the bright future we all possess by virtue of youth, a likely bizarre theme to the American rap group whose style was being copied - Cypress Hill. The 75 year-old grandfather of one of these students would likely hear the same music and just think, "bizarre."
Cultural syncretism takes place in many loci in Korean society; it would be difficult to define the proper way to engage foreign influences in every instance, but doduk simply endeavors to define the spirit in which the encounter takes place. If Koreans go forward intent on forgetting their collective past, then Korea will lose its meaning as Korea, as a national culture distinct from any found in the West.
Korea holds the same capitalist precepts as most of the developed countries in the world, but fervently holds onto its belief that there is something more to existence than the accumulation of capital alone. Through state organs such as the Ministry of Education, the ideological hold on the populace via projects like doduk remains unbreakable. Standing in a stadium full of elementary and middle school students chanting "Tokdo nun oo-ri ddang!" ("The Tokdo Islands are our land!" - a nationalistic song created out of an ongoing territory dispute with Japan), it occurred to me to be disturbed by the shameless jingoistic display going on around me. However, that thought found no quarter in my mind and quickly turned into the realization that as narrow and simplistic as the Korean worldview may often be, the essence of Korean nationalism and national pride is not rooted in ideologies of inherent superiority or the necessary degradation of other cultures in order to elevate one's own. It is very much rooted in a need to assert itself in the Hegelian sense of gaining "recognition" - for different reasons, gaining recognition in the eyes of North Korea, its economic and ideological competitor, in the eyes of Japan, its former oppressor, and in the eyes of the world, as a powerful nation commanding international respect.
Forged in the fire of subjugation, occupation, and war, Korean nationalism is like a rugged survivor, made strong by the forces which would have destroyed it. This is the defining characteristic of Korean nationalism that sets it apart from the "dangerous" nationalisms that have wreaked havoc on our planet in the last century - the fascisms, racisms, and ideological fundamentalisms that have come and gone, some of which we can still find today. What is different about the Korean strain of national pride is that it is benign and regenerative for the Korean people in much the same way that a Korean puts on a hanbok (traditional Korean attire). It is a reminder of not only what you were, but what you no longer are. The hanbok celebrates a traditional Korean aesthetic, even as it sometimes seems dissonant with present, modern reality. But significantly, for the Korean people, the wearing of the hanbok has also been an act of resistance. No longer is it kept literally under wraps, nor worn in secrecy; now the infamously loud colors of the hanbok, simple and bright, stand out as a glaring assertion of pride in the Korean culture and nation.
Althusser, Louis, "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses: Notes Towards an Investigation," in Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays . (New York: Monthly Review Press)
Balibar, Etienne, "Racism as Universalism," in Masses, Classes, Ideas: Studies and Philosophy Before and After Marx . (New York: Routledge)
Buruma, Ian. The Wages of Guilt: Memories of War in Germany and Japan . (New Yorl: Meredian Press, 1994)
Eckert, Carter J. Ki-baik Lee, Korea, Old and New: A History . (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990)
Grant, Bruce K. A Guide to Korean Characters: Reading and Writing Hangul and Hanja . (New Jersey: Hollym, 1979)
Minjeongseorim. New Little English-Korean/Korean-English Dictionary . (Seoul: Minjeongseorim, 1993)
Seldes, George. The Great Thoughts . (New York: Ballantine Books, 1985)
Myung Moon New Character Dictionary . (Seoul: 1996)
Lee, Dong Hwang. Thoughts on the Nature of Life . (Seoul: Korea National University National Culture Research Institute, 1996)
University, Seoul National Education. Doduk, Middle School Book 1 . (Seoul: Korean Ministry of Education, 1995)
[1]Althusser, Louis, "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses: Notes Towards an Investigation," in Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays . (New York: Monthly Review Press, p.152
[2]To borrow a term from Noam Chomsky...
[3]Emile, as quoted in The Great Thoughts, p. 357
[4]Shin Myung Shin Bo Gam, p. 23
[5]using the Korean pronunciation
[6]Emile, in The Great Thoughts, p. 357
[7]Andrew C. Nahm, Korea: Tradition and Transformation, , p. 497
[12]Korea: Old and New, pp. 390-391
[13]The Wages of Guilt, p. 191
[14]The Wages of Guilt, p. 191
[15]Doduk textbook, first page. From this point on, unless otherwise specifiesd, page numbers come from the doduk textbook.
[17]In Korea, these terms ("hoolunghan," and "chakhan," respectively) are very commonly used to describe a person laudable as a person with refined manners and behavior)
[33]Interestingly, there is a picture of a two young girls bowing to their grandparents as all adults sit looking on approvingly, smiling magnimaniously. All are in traditional dress.
37p. 107
[41]Bruce K. Grant's A Guide to Korean Characters, p. 156
[44]Carter J. Eckert, et al. Korea, Old and New: A History. p. 410
52p. 173
[54]When I use the word "Korea" in this way, I refer to the state apparatuses that reinforce state ideologies, in this case, the Ministry of Education.