and Dallet’s book on the Korean church. Dallet never set foot in Korea. He compiled his book on the basis of letters sent home to Paris by the French missionaries. The book is amazing for the wealth of information it contains on Korean institutions and mores. The shorter English version should be compulsory reading for those who don’t read French but who aspire to live long-term in Korea. Dallet reached some wrong conclusions, inevitably so, I suppose, since he was relying on second-hand information. One of the areas where Dallet got it wrong was in dealing with the Confucian tradition. Korea in the 1800s had a large population of dispossessed yangban who for one reason or another could not get posts in the bureaucracy. To work was beneath their dignity, but they retained the right to complain and criticize. They were a constant drain on society and a thorn in the side of the developing church whose appeal, despite yangban beginnings, was egalitarian. The Catholic church tended to attract the more disadvantaged people in society: chung’in (a middle group between yangban and commoner), commoners, kisaeng, butchers, and so on. Dallet made the mistake of judging the great Confucian tradition by the attitudes and actions of a disgruntled, dispossessed minority. Gale and Allen shared this jaundiced view. Our counsellor had inherited Dallet’s view of Confucian culture, but he had a great sense of humour and a bottomless well of fun stories, and he regaled us with all his skills. The general advice he gave, and sage advice it proved to be, could be summarized in three propositions. Don’t try to be more Korean than the Koreans. Make friends rather than enemies because in Korea friends and enemies tend to be for life. And if you have some extra money, give it, don’t lend it. Money lending is destructive of human relations.
Trying to be more Korean than the Koreans was not a problem in the ’60s and ’70s. We lived distinctly Western lives, in Western space, speaking a lot of English. Our lifestyle was probably an inevitable condition for survival, physically and spiritually, but it was also the prime source of our language problems. We never learned the language of the kitchen. The Korean church was so welcoming and our sense of camaraderie was so strong that feelings of not-belonging were only experienced by a minority. However, I am aware now that the sense of being an outsider was a feature of the experience of some young expats in the ’80s and ’90s who didn’t have the luxury of a church support community. They desperately wanted to be accepted; not-belonging was an enormous source of pain. Today, too, young ex-pats tell me about feelings of alienation in alleyways, subway cars, stores, work places and rented accommodation. I am shocked by stories of abuse and resentment that are totally outside my experience.
Our counsellor’s injunction to make friends not enemies was so true it hurt. Many of my friends today have been friends for forty years. Solidarity in friendship is what makes the Korean experience so special.
The third proposition was not a problem for me. My total resources when I arrived in Seoul came to about $500, and by the end of the year, the experienced poker players had tucked it safely in their inside pockets. In all modesty I should add that I got it back with interest over the next ten years.
Purity of heart and generosity of spirit were the virtues that defined the Korean experience. Of course, it wasn’t all plain sailing. Yokshim (greed, desire) constantly tries to ensnare even the most innocent heart.
Evening on the Mountain: Song to the Moon in the Well
A mountain monk coveted the moon;
he drew water, a whole jar full;
but when he reached his temple, he discovered
that tilting the jar meant spilling the moon.
Yi Kyubo (1168–1241)
Most of us spilled a little moonlight every day, but despite the depredations of yokshim on foreigner and Korean alike, the overflowing heart, Korea’s gemstone since Shilla and Koryŏ, is my abiding memory of the early years, and as Sŏ Chŏngju notes, green celadon is its perfect symbol:
Good Times in Koryŏ
Tenth month of the third year
of the reign of Sukchong:
glorious day; not a prisoner on Koryŏ soil,
jails utterly empty.
Sunrays blossomed in that emptiness
like yellow chrysanthemums,
sunrays wherein Tan’gun’s smile was etched,
a smile that opened again the village of the gods.
Green celadon, coloured and fired
in the village of the gods.
Cloud-crane patterned, cloud-crane patterned,
Koryŏ pale green celadon.
Sŏ Chŏngju (1915–2000)
I discovered very early that Korea gets in the blood. If you are going to leave, you better get out before the five-year limit. Otherwise in your heart you will never be able to leave. I have known many who stayed too long, and when eventually they left, they were more or less unhappy in situations outside Korea. This was true of diplomats and business people as well as missionaries.
In the Blood
If you wonder why Korea is in the blood,
look to the heart, to friends that endure,
to loyalty green as pine and bamboo,
to flowers that bloom in the snow.
4
CULTURAL ADAPTATION
NEW IN KOREA? Feeling the strain? You are much better off than we were. At least you can read Dr Crane’s Korean Patterns (1967). Beg, borrow or steal it. It tells you how the Korean mind works and the areas in which a foreigner must be particularly careful. Insightfully, Crane begins not with relationships, which would be the obvious place to start, but with kibun. There is no English word for kibun, but when you have been in Korea for a while, you’ll know all about it. Kibun controls everything. With good kibun, you feel good; with bad kibun, you feel bad. By the time you motor through the gradations of good, better and best, not to mention bad, worse and worst, you’ll know a lot about kibun. For one thing, you’ll know that it’s not just a matter of your kibun; the other person’s kibun is important too. That’s lesson number one.
Directions
Kibun controls the show.
Rationalize afterwards, if you must.
Don’t shirk the bill, though.
Consequences never go.
And read Yi Munyŏl’s Our Twisted Hero. This book gives the psychology of relationships and consequently of power in Korea. Ultimately, it is an allegory on power, said to be like The Lord of the Flies but really very different. It is an allegory about the abuse of power during the era of the generals in the ’80s, but the way relationships work here shows how they have worked throughout history at all levels of Korean society, from government to hospitals and schools, from crooks to bishops.
