I love 'hanja'
Hanja (Chinese characters) confronted me in a real way when I first came to Korea 50 years ago. I knew about them and had seen depictions of those curious scratchings in my years of studying world history in high school and college. But in Korea, they became quite real to me, since even into the mid-1970s, hanja was in common daily use. We often saw signage on shops, menus (which often listed prices in Chinese numerals rather than Arabic numerals) and mixed-script in daily newspapers. Business cards included the individual’s name in hanja, along with their company's name, the person’s position and the address. Even the notations for introducing phone numbers were in hanja.
Much like Latin in the West, Chinese characters dominated both the writing systems and the vocabulary of East Asia. Indeed, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese and even Thai, to name a few, have large helpings of words derived from Chinese. And in not just a few cases, the pronunciations of words do not vary widely, despite the existence of tones in some of the spoken languages.
In Korea, the only writing system in use for much of the peninsula’s history was Chinese characters (and grammar). Even after King Sejong promulgated Hangeul in the mid-1400s, the use of Chinese writing persisted. Hangeul was a threat to the established order. Those in power maintained control largely because most of the population was illiterate. Widespread literacy would end their dominance over the masses. Wealth and power depended on maintaining the inner sanctum of secrecy. A few publications were issued in mixed script in the mid-1400s, and Buddhist monks began using Hangeul to write prayers and chants. Eventually, poets began to use the script and in the 1600s, mass-produced novels were published in Hangeul. The early use of the alphabet was limited mostly to commoners, women and children. Palace women are known to have kept journals in Hangeul.
Hanja is difficult. There are thousands of characters, some often so similar that a small drip of ink changes the word. There are basic principles for writing characters. A set of basic components, called radicals, helps form complex words.
With the 1962 currency reform, hanja was removed from Korean banknotes. The Korean education system reduced the emphasis on hanja education beginning in the 1970s. Still, there have been some spikes in its use in language education, during which some have advocated broader exposure.
North Korea has completely abandoned all use of hanja. Down here, other reasons are part of the argument.
As the 1392-1910 Joseon Kingdom entered its waning years and became more open to foreign connections, many in government and other circles recognized the need to modernize, and the use of Hangeul was one means of facilitating that effort. That era also saw the widespread introduction of Protestant Christianity, and the earliest missionaries recognized the need to make the text of their scriptures accessible to the masses. In Korea, Hangeul was the obvious way to meet their goals. Not only was Hangeul scientific and phonetic, but it was also easy to learn. One could learn to read in just a few hours.
Perhaps the single most critical factor in the widespread adoption of Hangeul was, and perhaps remains, patriotism. There is no better way to express national identity and independence than through a unique writing system that enables nearly 100 percent literacy. We have the Japanese to thank for that — the Japanese colonial era was so brutal, so oppressive, that Hangeul became an important symbol of Korean identity and resistance.
The 2019 Korean film “Mal-Mo-E: Secret Mission” dramatizes the historical efforts of independence activists and heroes to create a Korean-language dictionary to preserve their language and cultural identity. The Korean Language Society was a real group of scholars who seriously undertook the patriotic task, but their work was not a secret mission as suggested in the film. Of course, as the Pacific War progressed and Japan’s oppression of the Korean identity intensified, the effort indeed became dangerous.
Some argue that the rich morphology of Korean (that is, particles and endings) makes Hanja unnecessary for a full understanding of Korean vocabulary. Given the numerous homophones in Korean (often caused by the absence of tones in pronunciation), I believe there is no question that word clarity derives most accurately from knowing the root hanja. I think there is little question that the richness of the language has suffered because of the disuse of hanja.
Rev. Steven L. Shields, FRAS (slshields@gmail.com) has lived in Korea for many years, beginning in the 1970s. A Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, he is also a life member of Royal Asiatic Society Korea, of which he was a director, vice president and president. He was a copy editor of The Korea Times in 1977. The views expressed in this column are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect The Korea Times’ editorial stance.