On pens and learning

I enjoy symbols and objects for memory. Among the many kinds of things I treasure are writing pens. I have a particular pen that was used by my maternal grandfather, a set of pens given to me when I graduated from high school and several pens from the institutions where I’ve studied and worked. These are treasured possessions, though I don’t use them much. I think I should. They are sources of contemplation for my life and for my friendships and relationships of learning.

Recently, I’ve been sorting through some of my effects, giving away quite a bit and keeping less. In doing so, I came across my Korean name stamp and my first books on Confucius and Korea. Writing has been a major source of consolation and lifelong learning for me. As a young person, and to some extent still today, I organize my thinking and speaking through writing. It’s easier for me to do that than through verbal articulations. I may sound better on paper than in person!

I remember very well my best friend showing me Insa-dong and obtaining a name stamp and a little vial of red ink for prepping the stamp. I used the stamp once or twice. It had my English initials instead of my Korean ones. However, a stamp is used for official purposes and should bear one’s name. The stamp makes me think of Korean conventions for writing and signing official documents, of Insa-dong, of friendship and of the places I used it.

This makes me think of the scholar-bureaucrats and others, perhaps most Koreans at one time, who used brush and ink to write, to compose beautiful poetry, to print and share and treasure it. It makes me think of my visits to the great museums of Seoul that showcase writing and its development in Korea. It makes me think of the scholar’s image, a man with a black hat and a light blue coat, seated at a table and copying classics or writing letters. I also think of the reenactment of the Confucian exams held annually at Gyeonghui Palace.

Reading Confucius in English isn’t going to make me an expert. My Korean reading skills aren’t advanced either. However, I have improved much by dwelling on the significance of Korean Confucianism in its ongoing life and practice, despite nouveau haters of it. I learned to distinguish the philosophy of Confucius from the Neo-Confucian appropriations of it in Korea. The values of treating others as equals through avoidance of scapegoating and dedication to mutual development are fundamental values for my life and work. When I hold these books, I recall many, many hours spent studying them and reflect on how few they are if one wishes to know Confucius’ thoughts fully. I also recall my writings, and in particular my work on a Korean encyclopedia and dictionary with the late Suh Cheong-soo.

Whether through the frailty of faculties or the need to inform and be informed of and by so many persons and things, writing helps human beings to retain, remember and share thought, opinion and knowledge. I’m not aware that Confucius spoke of writing, per se, but he often spoke of the need to think clearly and to learn from the process. Writing is an aid to doing just that.

These days, the most fundamental form of a “pen” is the keyboard on a phone, computer or tablet — or virtual keyboard. I do not doubt that in time we’ll see other forms of pens and writing. Just as the process of writing has transformed, so have the materials and technologies of writing. How do you memorialize your treasured thoughts and experiences? The pen remains a valuable symbol of learning, development and happiness.

Bernard Rowan is associate provost for contract administration and academic services at Chicago State University and a full professor of political science. He is a past fellow of the Korea Foundation and a past visiting professor at the Graduate School of Public Administration, Hanyang University.