By Mark Peterson
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I have attended many ancestor ceremonies over the last 50 years of living in (and out) of Korea. Because of my interest in Confucianism and my interest in Korean history, I've always wanted to see actual ceremonies, and not just read about them in books. I am also interested in Korean families and how they function, their value system, and how they acculturate the succeeding generations. I've always been impressed with Korean families ― how solid they are and how Korea values are perpetuated in the family.
The ancestor ceremonies tell us a lot, and although they are Confucian in their origin, people who outwardly do not claim to be Confucian, still, carry on the ancestor ceremonies. In fact, people who are critical of Confucianism and even blame Confucianism for some of Korea's problems will still carry out the family ceremonies.
Confucianism is generally thought to be a philosophy or set of social ethics rather than a religion, although about two percent of the populace in given surveys will claim Confucianism as their religion. To most people Confucianism, without a god and without the trappings of religion in many cases, is not a religion ― but to a few, who take the ancestor ceremonies very seriously, it is a religion.
The "jesa," or ancestor ceremonies, are not one thing. There are many levels of ceremonies, basically defined by the level of ancestor being commemorated. One can commemorate a grandfather or great grandfather and the numbers that attend are rather small. Or one can commemorate a remote ancestor, what we might call a "jungsijo" ― a founder of a lineage segment ― and quite a few people will attend. And one can commemorate the founder of a lineage, a sijo, and there can be a large number that attend.
The meeting I attended was for all the Gwangsan Kim. Not a word was said about the founding ancestor, but everyone knew each other ― either personally, or by generation name. Interestingly, everyone had a prepared name tag with only the given name ― two characters on the name tag. It didn't have to say "Kim." And one could easily see the "jung" or "yong" or some other common characters that were the common generational names that tell you what generation you are in, counting from the founder of the Gwangsan Kims.
The thing the struck me the most, however, was the gifts that were given to all who attended. The meeting was held in the Palace Hotel in Seoul ― not at an ancestral hall or gravesite, where jesa are usually held. And I noticed when I came in that there was a huge cache of products ― packages of food, household products, all kinds of nice things ― set out on the side of the stage at the front of the grand ball room. I wondered what they were for.
The gifts were given to various people who spoke or performed (some sang for our enjoyment). But at the end of the day, everyone when home with an armload of gifts. Even I got some ― a big package of kim (seaweed) and a big thing of shampoo. Everyone went home with an armful of goodies. And there it struck me. This is just like going home from the traditional jesa; there, too, everyone goes home with packages of goodies. There the goodies are all edibles and include meat from the ancestral offerings. The offerings to the ancestors at a big ceremony, like for the founder of the lineage, fill a huge table, and are eaten by all who attend. It is a great feast. And there is enough for everyone to take some home.
I remember the anthropologist Charlie Goldberg writing in the 1970s that the ancestor ceremonies were one of the few occasions in those days where people added meat protein to their diet.
In the ballroom of the Palace Hotel I witnessed a modern rendition of jesa. The important part was not the ancestors and was not additional protein for the diet, but it was an opportunity for the descendant to get together, build and rebuild ties to one another. And to share nice gifts with one another.
Mark Peterson (markpeterson@byu.edu) is professor emeritus of Korean, Asian and Near Eastern languages at Brigham Young University in Utah.
