Women and Confucianism in Chosŏn Korea: New Perspectives

This volume offers a fresh, multifaceted exploration of women and Confucianism in mid- to late-Choso˘n Korea (mid-sixteenth to early twentieth century). Using primary sources and perspectives from social history, intellectual history, literature, and political thought, contributors challenge unitary views of Confucianism as a system of thought, of women as a group, and of the relationship between the two.

Youngmin Kim is Associate Professor of Political Science at Seoul National University. Michael J. Pettid is Associate Professor of Premodern Korean Studies at Binghamton University, State University of New York. He is the author of Korean Cuisine: An Illustrated History and cotranslator (with Kil Cha) of Unyo˘ng-jo˘n: A Love Affair at the Royal Palace of Choso˘n Korea.

Women and Confucianism in Choso˘n Korea

Much earlier scholarship has focused on how women were oppressed under the strict patriarchal systems that emerged as Confucianism became the dominant social ideology during the Choso˘n dynasty (1392–1910). Contributors to this volume bring to light the varied ways that diverse women actually lived during this era, from elite yangban women to women who were enslaved. Women are shown to have used various strategies to seek status, economic rights, and more comfortable spaces, with some women even emerging as Confucian intellectuals and exemplars.

Kim and Pettid

ASIAN STUDIES / HISTORY

Women and Confucianism in Choso˘n Korea New Perspectives Edited by Youngmin Kim and Michael J. Pettid

SUNY P R E S S

new york press

kim and pettid hc.indd 1

9/2/11 3:09:18 pM

Women and Confucianism in Chosŏn Korea

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Women and Confucianism in Chosŏn Korea New Perspectives

Edited by

Youngmin Kim and Michael J. Pettid

Published by State University of New York Press, Albany © 2011 State University of New York All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY www.sunypress.edu Production by Eileen Meehan Marketing by Anne M. Valentine Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Women and Confucianism in Choson Korea : new perspectives / edited by Youngmin Kim and Michael J. Pettid. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4384-3775-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Women in Confucianism— Korea—History. 2. Korea—Social life and customs—1392–1910. I. Kim, Youngmin. II. Pettid, Michael J. BL1842.W66 2011 299.5'1208209519—dc22

2011003129 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

List of Illustrations Chapter 1 Introduction Michael J. Pettid and Youngmin Kim Chapter 2 Portrait of Two Women: Multiple Layers of “Confucianism” in Late Chosŏn Korea Youngmin Kim Chapter 3 The Exemplar Wife: The Life of Lady Chang of Andong in Historical Context Lee SoonGu Chapter 4 Confucian Educational Works for Upper Status Women in Chosŏn Korea Michael J. Pettid Chapter 5 Neo-Confucianism as Free-floating Resource: Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang as Two Female Neo-Confucian Philosophers in Late Chosŏn Youngmin Kim Chapter 6 The Rights of the Eldest Daughter-in-Law and Strengthening of Adoption of Lineage Heirs in the Mid-Chosŏn Period Lee SoonGu

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Contents

Chapter 7 Questions Concerning Widows’ Social Status and Remarriage in Late Chosŏn Jung Ji-Young Chapter 8 Devalued Bodies, Revalued Status: Confucianism and the Plight of Female Slaves in Late Chosŏn Korea Milan Hejtmanek

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Glossary

151

Bibliography

157

Index

163

List of Illustrations

Tables Table 7.1

Gender of Successor to Householder (%)

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Table 7.2

Types of Succession to Householder (%)

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Table 7.3

Class and Successors to Householder (%)

115

Table 7.4

Place of Residence: In-Laws or Natal Home

118

Table 7.5

Widows’ Household of Residence and Social Class

120

Table 7.6

Percentage of Widows among Women over the age of Twenty

122

Patterns of Women’s Remarriage in the Tansŏng Household Register

126

Table 7.8

Remarried Women and Widows

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Table 8.1

P’iram Sŏwŏn Nobi Marriages

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Table 8.2

Tosan Sŏwŏn Nobi Marriages in a 1708 Roster

143

Table 7.7

Figures Figure 4.1

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Figure 4.2

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1

Introduction Michael J. Pettid and Youngmin Kim

This volume explores the relationship between Confucianism and women in mid- to late Chosŏn Korea from a wide range of perspectives, from social history through literature and political thought to intellectual history.1 For those interested in Korean intellectual and cultural history, the Chosŏn dynasty marks the ascendancy of Neo-Confucianism as the dominant system of social governance. Indeed, Korean society underwent significant changes that affected women as well as other members of society as Neo-Confucianism became rooted in society and culture during the late Chosŏn dynasty. Despite a seeming consensus of scholarly opinion concerning the general rubric of the “Confucianization of the late Chosŏn dynasty,” the multidimensional culture milieu of late Chosŏn in general and women’s history in particular demand further investigation. Perhaps, a seemingly contradictory tendency in the field of Korean studies would suffice for demonstrating the need for such further investigation. As an intellectual historian noted, one may find oneself trapped in inconsistency when one sees the fact that scholars in women’s history often emphasize the continuation of “Confucianization” in late Chosŏn while those in history of Korean Confucianism take note of new trends such as the so-called sirhak (substantive learning) movement in the same period of the Chosŏn dynasty. Indeed, as the ever-deepening “Confucianization” was an important feature of late Chosŏn society, so too was the rise of various new trends of thought and culture. How can we account for this kind of apparent inconsistency? One may be tempted to explain it by noting that the former was often advocated

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Michael J. Pettid and Youngmin Kim

by Western scholars and the latter by Korean scholars. Indeed, it seems that Western, mostly American, scholarship on the Chosŏn dynasty tends to emphasize the continuation of the “premodern” features of late Chosŏn culture while Korean scholarship focuses on “dynamic” aspects, which may be conducive to “modernity.” And yet, it should be also noted that the seeming inconsistency is most apparent, and it appears especially when we adopt a misleading vision of the historical reality, namely, a misleading view that portrays a unified and monolithic culture in late Chosŏn. Thus, rather than viewing the various conflicting elements of late Chosŏn culture as inconsistencies, the editors of this volume read them as signposts calling for the necessity of a more nuanced understanding of the multifaceted historical realities. Questioning what is oftentimes assumed about history is all the more crucial when considering the historic realities of women, who more often than not have been relegated to secondary status in historic examinations. Such a dismissive stance toward women and their place in historical times has consistently been proven incorrect as scholars cast off preconceived notions about what women might have been capable of achieving.2 It is the view of the editors of this volume that such a new scrutiny of women and Confucianism is sorely needed. To appreciate the complexity of the relationship between women and Confucianism in late Chosŏn, this volume is predicated on considering late Chosŏn culture on its own terms without assuming any unitary feature. As each essay in this volume, hopefully, shows, late Chosŏn culture in general and the relationship between women and Confucianism in particular, insofar as it was a unity at all, was a fragile and complex balance of various disparate and conflicting elements. To understand the relationship between Confucianism and women in late Chosŏn Korea more fully, it is necessary to recognize a number of different and conflicting strands in late Chosŏn culture, each of which imposed its own strains and tensions on the whole. How, then, can we appreciate such a complex historical reality? Of course, essential is historically sensitive analysis, which utilizes historical sources—oftentimes newly available—and thus empirically supports conclusions without resorting to a narrow, judgmental application of contemporary standards. In addition, it is absolutely imperative to recognize that neither “woman” nor “Confucianism” is a uniform category, as both terms have a tremendously complicated set of references. The idea that a unitary notion of Korean or Chosŏn women can be misleading is almost self-evident when considering the fact that women, like other members of any given society, are likely to have different inter-

Introduction

3

ests and preoccupations according to their stations within the society. Indeed, women are as divided by factors such as status, age, economic wherewithal, and geography as much as they are united by a shared gender. The worldview and aspirations of an upper status yangban woman living in the capital would have been quite different from those of a commoner status women living in a rural area. Even for women of the same status group in the same community there would have been major differences in worldview or goals depending upon the particulars of their personal situation. Finally, we can in no way assume that women’s lives in the early Chosŏn period were anything like those of women at the end of the dynasty. Accordingly, the notion of Chosŏn women contains tremendous internal diversity, the voices of many groups and individuals pursuing a wide range of goals. The notion of Confucianism is not any less complex. Confucianism has always meant different things to different thinkers and intellectuals. Even people who identify themselves as “Confucians” or who acknowledge that they share in the “Confucian” approach to such a degree that they see themselves as part of a sustained tradition, often disagree on who are the central figures within the tradition and who are not. Additionally, seeing Chosŏn Korea as a bastion of Neo-Confucian orthodoxy, one even more rigidly following this school of thought than contemporary Chinese cultures, is also incorrect. As John Duncan has pointed out in his study of Confucianism in Chosŏn, such a viewpoint is closely linked to “the Hegelian-inspired modern Western notion of the East as an unchanging traditional order.”3 Chosŏn society, like any other, was one with multiple influences and multiple responses to such influences. In fact, we might cite the multiplicity of worldviews, the syncretism of customs, and the constant change in social practices as being far more representative of what life in Chosŏn might have been rather than simply labeling it as a Confucian society. We should thus expect to find varied responses to Confucianism dependent upon numerous factors including social status, interest, time, place, and educational level. In this sense, the essays collected in this volume take up and expand upon a methodological stance adopted in the most recent studies on East Asian women.4 The authors do not have a shared focus on a specific group of women or a specific aspect of “Confucianism.” For a more nuanced investigation of the relationship between women and Confucianism in late Chosŏn Korea, the unitary notion of Chosŏn women is divided and subdivided into more specific and refined categories such as (no)bi, female philosophers, female literati, widows, and so on, until the category serves

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the explanatory purposes more fully. Likewise, the authors were asked to define the term Confucianism or Neo-Confucianism within their essays, without assuming that there is a timeless unity in the Confucian tradition. In short, taking the relationship between women and Confucianism as its central focus, the contributors are very much in agreement concerning the need that umbrella categories such as “Chosŏn women” and “Confucianism” should be more carefully used to appreciate fully the complex, multiple layers of late Chosŏn culture. As a corollary, it is no part of the editors’ task here to support one and the same conclusion or blanket statements about late Chosŏn culture. At the same time, while the authors of this volume bring so many issues to our attention, their tacit acknowledgment of the validity of the subject on which we are writing in this volume—Confucianism and women—implies that we all believe that there are relationships between the two, and that those relationships are complex. Taken together, the essays in this volume hope to not only help us restore the tremendous internal diversity of late Chosŏn women’s history, but also enhance our ability to appreciate what Confucianism meant to various populations in Chosŏn society.

Thematic Considerations and Boundaries The editors of this volume have sought to establish a new paradigm for understanding the diverse ways that women interacted with Confucianism from the mid- to late Chosŏn period. In order to understand the diversity of women’s lives in this period, acknowledging the complexity of the intellectual tradition of Confucianism and the heterogeneity of the lives of women must be a first step. Then, by building upon and expanding the parameters established by recent scholarship,5 it is our collective hope that throwaway generalizations of Chosŏn period women seen in phrases such as “Confucian oppression of women” and “the Confucian victimization of women” will be replaced with more complete understandings of how women actually lived in this period. Without doubt, Confucianism was the most important social system and nearly all people of late Chosŏn— regardless of gender, social status, economic means, or geographical location—followed these norms in at least part of their lives.6 Nonetheless, we must acknowledge that other belief systems—particularly Buddhism and shamanism—continued to play major roles in the lives of the people in general.7 Accordingly, the multidimensional nature of Chosŏn should be recognized and, moreover, we should allow for the possibility that the

Introduction

5

people were able to conduct a significant part of their lives in realms not controlled by Confucian dictates. Yet, crucial to this volume is how women actually engaged Confucianism and how they were able to negotiate a means to fully live their lives. The image of the ideal Confucian woman—say for example that of Sin Saimdang (1504–1551) the mother of the famous Confucianist Yi I (1536–1584) whose image was largely fashioned by disciples of her son—is not a realistic or accurate standard for measuring women of this period. Such an image is one-sided, particularly since it is not the voice of the actor we hear, but rather those attempting to shape the actor. A far more relevant image might be that of Lady Chang of Andong examined in this volume. Here we can understand the actions and motivations of the actor in her own words and deeds. In this same light, the contributions in this volume seek to give fuller and more accurate understandings of women in the mid- to late Chosŏn period. Given the vast period encompassed by the Chosŏn dynasty, we acknowledge that it is not possible to cover women’s lives of the period from start to finish. Rather, we have limited our focus to the late Chosŏn period—that is, the Chosŏn from the late seventeenth century forward— with the single exception of the chapter by Lee SoonGu on the rights of the eldest daughter-in-law (ch’ongbu) in the mid-sixteenth century. This slight expansion of chronological bounds allows a clear demonstration of the ongoing settlement of Confucian norms in the legal and social systems of Chosŏn. Specifically, we can note the highly contested dissidence between long-standing customs of Korean polities and the wishes of some ruling elites to push Chosŏn society toward a society based on strict understandings of propriety as outlined in Confucian teachings. While these battles were waged on many fronts throughout the Chosŏn, this particular instance reveals both attempts to preserve Korean custom and move to the model for the lineage principle (chongppŏp) of Confucianism. Important in this study is that we can definitively state that the differences between an ideological system of China and the native practices of Korea were numerous and that attempting to change customs was not a simple process. The points of contention are markers of the gap between what can be called “native” Korean practices and those imported from China in the form of Neo-Confucian practices. Such markers are certainly crucial starting points for recognizing what the shape of Korean society might have been in times before Confucianism became the hegemonic social system. Thematically, the authors in this volume have brought several highly important topics forward. First among these is how women genuinely lived

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within the Confucian social system. While this seems a very obvious consideration, it is nonetheless an aspect that has not been adequately addressed in studies of women in the late Chosŏn period, which largely focus on women of the uppermost status groups. One reason for this neglect is that women’s voices are oftentimes difficult to find in the official documents and literary records of Chosŏn, and this is all the more true for women of lower status groups. Yet, as the chapters in this volume will bring to light, these voices are indeed able to be heard if we search deep enough. The idea of living within the Confucian system was not really one that most women had to contemplate deeply. After all, it was a pervasive system and the government of Chosŏn made concerted and ongoing efforts to see this system imposed on nearly every aspect of society. For women, and in actuality all people, it was a matter of how to best live within this system. As long-standing rights and freedoms slowly regressed over the first three centuries of Chosŏn, women were able to negotiate spaces where various rights could be maintained. As the authors in this collection demonstrate, such spaces were solidified by working within the Confucian legal system and also expanded through education. Far from passive bystanders, we see that women in this period were active participants in defining how Confucianism would unfold in reality. Perhaps one of the strongest themes that this volume has brought forward is that of the strategies that women employed for overcoming the various limitations imposed upon them by the Confucian social system. Whether or not such attempts to subvert the Confucian system were intentional, women did use various strategies to create more comfortable spaces for their lives and for exercising autonomy in select domains. Such comfort could be in the form of economic or status rights, or simply being able to better grasp the teachings of Confucianism. Certainly we can see examples of women using Confucianism to achieve various cultural ideals—a prime case is that detailed by Youngmin Kim in his chapter on the lives of two female Confucian philosophers. Thus, much like women of any period or place in history, the editors hold that the women of Chosŏn were more than capable of finding the best means to live within the restraints—real or imagined—that might have been present in the late Chosŏn period. The authors in this volume have brought to light the varied ways that women lived under the Confucian social system. Whether this was realized in retaining legal rights in the face of the continuous push to create a patriarchal frame by ruling elites or in simply pursuing their own best interests in remarriage, the volume attempts to focus on the very diverseness of women’s lives. Similar to the diverse understandings

Introduction

7

of Confucianism in Chosŏn, we have sought to bring to light the diversity of women in Chosŏn to this volume. Rather than focusing only on upper status women, the authors in this collection have examined the lives of women ranging from members of the yangban status to those of slave status. Chosŏn was a complex society where status would either afford great privileges or enact significant limitations. However, along with rights came obligations and perhaps less space to act in a manner contrary to social norms.

Organization of the Volume This volume begins with an essay written by Youngmin Kim that demonstrates how very different understandings of Confucianism could be based upon time and environment. Kim’s chapter exposes the complexities inherent to Confucianism and the danger of oversimplifying this worldview. He examines two narratives: Yingying chuan [The tale of Yingying] of Tang China and Ch’unhyang-jŏn [The tale of Ch’unhyang] of the Chosŏn dynasty to bring into sharp relief the different manifestations of Confucianism and the manifold means that this could be employed by women in their lives. This essay adds to the present scholarship that seeks to break away from monolithic understandings of Confucianism that fail to appreciate the historical complexity of the relationship between women and Confucianism. The next chapter is an examination of the life of Lady Chang of Andong by Lee SoonGu. This description of a yangban woman who embraced Confucianism as a means to find personal agency reveals how women were able to find self-fulfillment and empowerment within the dominant ideology of the mid- to late Chosŏn period. Somewhat like the female philosophers in Youngmin Kim’s chapter described below, Lady Chang was able to understand and manipulate Confucian ideals in her life and find a space in which she excelled and was acknowledged highly by society. As the chapter well demonstrates, a woman of this period was as able to reach sagehood as a man through the mastery of Confucian virtue as illustrated in the life of Lady Chang. Michael Pettid’s chapter focuses on the general aim of educational works in the late Chosŏn period for women, and what these works reveal about the social expectations that elite society held for women. This chapter highlights the difference in government and private educational works for women, and also how education for women became increasingly broad as the dynasty moved toward the nineteenth century. We further see that

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Konbŏm [Rules for women], a text thought to be authored by a woman, attempted to provide its readers with a tool for engaging Confucianism as a means of gaining a space for agency. This again allows cognition that women of the late Chosŏn understood the necessity of engaging Confucian ideals as a means of bettering their lives and for self-realization. Moreover, such a text further demonstrates that women were far from passive victims of the Confucian social system, but rather active participants in shaping the realities of this ideology. Also demonstrating that women were not helpless victims or bystanders is the chapter by Youngmin Kim on two female intellectuals of late Chosŏn, Im Yunjidang (1721–1793) and Kang Chŏngildang (1772–1832). This chapter reveals that while Confucianism did limit women to certain roles and restrict them from aspects of officialdom, these two Confucian philosophers still understood that they were as able as men to find perfection within their lives. It was the Confucian ideal of “universal sagehood” that provided a basis for these women to justify their own study of Confucianism. Kim shows this to be an outcome of their desire for self-fulfillment at a time when the only real option available to them was Confucianism. Rather than shrinking from Confucianism, these two women found empowerment in its ideals. Our single mid-Chosŏn piece is the chapter by Lee SoonGu on the rights of the eldest daughter-in-law (ch’ongbu) in terms of designating a legal heir in the event of her husband dying before the birth of a son. Here we are treated to a glimpse of women struggling within the bounds of the Confucian-based legal system to retain their status and power within a family. The right to name an heir was extremely important to this end, and Lee’s chapter shows that women held fast to this right and sought to adopt heirs from distant collateral lineages that preserved their positions of power. Moreover, as mentioned above, this chapter allows cognition of the complexities of introducing a foreign ideological system to Chosŏn and the conflicts that resulted from the clash with native custom. Moving away from focus on solely upper status women is the chapter by Jung Ji-Young on the position and agency of widows in late Chosŏn. By examining census data in the Tansŏng-hyŏn hojŏk taejang [The household register for Tansŏng-hyŏn], this chapter examines the efforts of widows to maintain their rights as householder in the face of legislation designed to award the eldest son such rights upon the death of his father. As Jung demonstrates, widows resisted this change through a variety of responses and sought to preserve their social position as householder. Moreover, we can clearly see that responses to inroads by patriarchal norms such as the right of householder becoming exclusively male and prohibition on

Introduction

9

remarriage by widows varied by social status. Thus, it is clear that even in the late Chosŏn there remained much resistance to seceding heretofore important rights held by women. Like the essays above, this examination allows a realization that women were not simply the victims of Confucian legislation, but rather used various strategies to retain their rights. Our final chapter is by Milan Hejtmanek and examines status changes among female slaves. Slavery, as well argued by Hejtmanek, was a decidedly un-Confucian practice that nonetheless thrived in Chosŏn Korea due to a perceived economic necessity by the ruling elites. By using official and private accounts of the time, this chapter reveals that some slaves employed strategies of fleeing in order to claim freeborn status; of course, this was a matter that was contested by former owners if the slave was captured. We also see in this chapter the fluidity of slave status and how women could move in and out of slave status. The editors of this volume would like to acknowledge the generous support of the International Center for Korean Studies (ICKS). The project was conceived and initiated by the publication project of ICKS and would not have otherwise been possible without their support. The ICKS also assisted us with further honing the project by reviewing a first draft of the manuscript and adding valuable input at that time. We also owe thanks to the translators for this volume. Translations of chapters 3 and 6 were done by Kil Cha of Binghamton University; the translation of the first portions of chapter 7 was done by Adam Bohnet and the remainder by Kil Cha. Some of the papers in this volume were initially presented at the 2005 Association for Asian Studies annual conference held in Chicago. The unusually large attendance for our panel and the insightful comments by audience members convinced us that the time was ripe for a serious assessment of this issue. Further, some of the papers were also presented in Korea at Women’s World 2005, 9th International Interdisciplinary Congress on Women. Again, this panel was treated to a large audience and excellent commentary from our colleagues in Korea. We sincerely hope that this volume will enable a continuation of the scholarly exchange and growth began at those times and help foster future studies.

Notes 1. Throughout this volume we have used the McCune-Reischauer system for transliterating Korean words into English except in cases where there is an accepted conventional spelling in the West (e.g., Seoul) or for personal names when there is an individual preference.

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2. Such a position as this is certainly demonstrated in various aspects of historical studies on Chosŏn. For example, we can cite the recent acknowledgment in Korean literary studies that a whole category of novels once attributed to males is now widely recognized as being the productions of women. See Chŏng Ch’urhŏn, Kojŏn sosŏl ŭi kudu wa sigak [Structure and view in classical novel history] (Seoul: Somyŏng ch’ulp’an, 2003), 189–215. In terms of political and social agency, a recent study by Yun Chŏngnan demonstrates that the queens of the Chosŏn dynasty wielded significant influence at various points in time. See Chosŏn wangbi obaek nyŏn sa [A five hundred year history of the queens of Chosŏn] (Seoul: Iga ch’ulp’ansa, 2008). 3. John B. Duncan, “Examinations and Orthodoxy in Chosŏn Dynasty Korea,” in Rethinking Confucianism: Past and Present in China, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam, ed. Benjamin A Elman, John B. Duncan, and Herman Ooms (Los Angeles: UCLA Asian Pacific Monograph Series, 2002), 66. 4. See, for example, Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggott eds. Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). 5. Particularly Ko et al., eds. Women and Confucian Cultures; Chenyang Li, ed., The Sage and the Second Sex: Confucianism, Ethics, and Gender (Chicago: Open Court, 2000); Patricia Ebrey, The Inner Quarters: Marriage and the Lives of Chinese Women in the Sung Period (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). 6. The official-private characterization of Chosŏn society is quite apt in this point. We can certainly note the flourishing of shamanic and Buddhist customs in some aspects of society while also acknowledging the hegemony of Confucianism in other areas. Much like Mikhail Bakhtin described for Western Europe of a similar period, the public-private distinctions of Chosŏn allowed for varying spheres where individuals could use cultures appropriate for their needs. See Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, trans. Hélène Iswolsky (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984). 7. There is copious scholarship supporting such a position. Two of the best works in English are found in JaHyun Kim Haboush and Martina Deuchler, eds., Culture and the State in Late Chosŏn Korea (Cambridge, MA: Harvard-Hallym Series on Korean Studies, 1999). For Buddhism see Robert E. Buswell Jr, “Buddhism under Confucian Domination: The Synthetic Vision of Sŏsan Hyujŏng”; and for shamanism see Boudewijn Walraven, “Popular Religion in a Confucianized Society.”

2

Portrait of Two Women Multiple Layers of “Confucianism” in Late Chosŏn Korea

Youngmin Kim

Introduction In discussing East Asian women in general and Korean women in particular, “Confucianism” has been employed as a principal category and term of analysis. Until recently, most interpretations of East Asian women presupposed, supported, or attempted to prove that East Asian women were victims of Confucianism, which the interpreters took to be the most powerful political ideology in premodern East Asia. According to existing interpretations, Confucianism had not only deprived women of their basic rights, but also promoted a strict social structure that was not conducive to the recognition of women’s talents or dignity. According to Patricia Ebrey, this kind of interpretation of the relationship between Confucianism and women can be traced back to the New Culture movement in early-twentieth-century China.1 Although the intellectual atmosphere has changed greatly since the New Culture movement, the prevailing image of East Asian women as victims of Confucianism is still powerfully evident in various studies and discourses on East Asian women. Fortunately, however, some of the recent studies have begun to challenge such a stereotypical image. For example, the essays in The Sage and the Second Sex attempt to find “within Confucianism the conceptual flexibility to embrace notions of male-female equality and parallels between Confucianism and feminist theories.”2 The essays are suggestive enough to induce Patricia Ebrey, who wrote a preface for the volume, to say “Clearly 11

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it is time to discard the exaggerated stereotypes generated by the rhetoric of the New Culture Movement.”3 In a similar vein, the editors of Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan attempted to show that women were “neither victims nor rebels within these Confucian societies (China, Japan, Korea) for they embraced aspects of official norms while resisting others.”4 In particular, the editors rightly noted that the monolithic notions of both “Confucianism” and “East Asian women” presupposed by previous interpretations are misleading. In keeping with such concerns, the chapters of this volume seek to clearly define particular spaces and situations where women were able to realize a degree of empowerment by employing some aspect of Confucianism. Here, I would like to critically examine the notion of Confucianism loosely employed in discourses on Korean women, thereby arguing that we should be more sensitized to the historical complexity of the relationship between women and Confucianism. First of all, it should be noted that, in many discourses on East Asian women, Confucianism has often been rendered as almost coextensive with the idea of patriarchy. For example, although Martina Deuchler’s notion of patriarchy is much more richly articulated than in the New Culture movement, in her The Confucian Transformation of Korea, the most comprehensive English language study of women in the Chosŏn dynasty, she frames Chosŏn women’s history primarily in terms of the expansion of patriarchy as Confucianism became rooted in the Chosŏn society. Given the influential image of women as victims of Confucianism, it is understandable why interpreters put to the fore the idea of patriarchy among many elements of the Confucian tradition. In fact, it is not wrong to describe the Confucian tradition as patriarchal, given the fact that key texts in the Confucian tradition convey such an image. For example, we can readily find in Zhu Xi’s Family Rituals emphasis on the moral rightness of separate spheres for men and women, the authority of male household heads, and devotion to fidelity, among other things.5 However, it is debatable that the idea of patriarchy constitutes the “essence” of Confucianism. In other words, once it is noted that the Confucian tradition contains tremendous diversity, one soon realizes that it cannot be reduced solely to the idea of patriarchy. We do not have time to recount a variety of the aspects of Confucianism. Suffice it here to say that the rich theories of human nature inherent in the Confucian tradition cannot be easily reduced or viewed as conducive to patriarchy. Perhaps, an oversimplified notion of Confucianism is not a problem only with studies of East Asian women, but with East Asian studies in

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general. One notable consequence of an oversimplified appropriation of Confucianism, like the reduction Confucianism to the idea of patriarchy, is that the same term refers to so many different things, as the contexts of discourses are shifting. Because of the diverse meanings contained in Confucian terms, Nathan Sivin once said “It is hard to think of any idea responsible for more fuzziness in writing about China than the notion of Confucianism.”6 Indeed, “Confucianism” has been meaning a wide range of entities from a narrowly conceived orthodoxy maintained by the cultural elite; political ideology sustained through civil service examination by autocratic rulers; moral, political philosophical discourse based on the interpretation of a set of classical texts; to a value system supporting patriarchy. Perhaps the only reliable common denominator among a variety of usages of Confucianism is its connection to the key texts that can be called “the Confucian classics.” However, this does not help us very much. For when viewed diachronically, Confucianism has been changed greatly as the Confucian classics have been redefined and rich commentarial traditions have been developed around them. Furthermore, even when an idea associated with a key text remains unchanged for a sustained period of time, there is no guarantee that its significance to the members of a society remains unchanged. For the practitioners of the idea may set the idea in motion but have no control over its eventual fate when released into the world. Thus, unless the historical context of an idea is clarified, one can hardly grasp what an idea meant in a particular historical juncture. For these reasons, the monolithic notion of a Confucianism immune to historical changes makes discourse on East Asian women fail to appreciate the historical complexity of the relationship between women and the Confucian tradition. This failure is especially problematic in that it repeatedly produces a highly judgmental assessment of the relationship between Confucianism and women, such as the idea of women as mere victims of Confucianism. At worst, such a packaged understanding may be combined with an explicit intention to praise or blame, only disabling our historical imagination. My practical suggestion to remedy this problem is to think that Confucianism is not one but many, and that Confucianism is more of a configuration than a system. As the nature of Confucianism is multiple, the relationship between women and Confucianism can also defined in multiple ways in accordance with shifting historical contexts. For example, we can see in the chapter on Lady Chang of the mid-Chosŏn that her understanding of Confucianism is significantly different than the Confu-

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cianism practiced by late Chosŏn period female Confucian philosophers in chapter 5. Thus, we will see that when Confucianism is approached as a configuration, various parts or elements of Confucianism can be rearranged according to the shifting needs of its practitioners/consumers. In this chapter, in order to demonstrate that the relationship between Confucianism and women is more complicated than we have been led to believe, I propose to discuss Yingying chuan [The tale of Yingying], a famous chuanqi work of fiction in late Tang China, and Ch’unhyang-jŏn [The tale of Ch’unhyang] of late Chosŏn Korea. I hope that a comparative reading of these stories evinces the shifting significance of Confucianism in East Asian history, and challenges the heretofore overly simplistic use of Confucianism in discourses on East Asian women.7

Yingying chuan in Tang China First, let me briefly summarize the plot of Yingying chuan. It begins with the introduction of Zhang, the male protagonist. His character is described as wholly virtuous and never engaged in anything improper. While traveling he meets a woman who turns out to be a distant relative, whom he later helps protect from a dangerous uprising. In the meantime, all proper courtesies are carried out as expected. The story begins to change slightly when the daughter, Yingying, is introduced. Zhang is so overcome with desire that he embarrasses the maidservant with his requests and admits he cannot even wait for marriage, even though he had never before entertained the idea of being improper to a woman. Furthermore, although Yingying has always remained proper and untouchable, she gives in to desire as well and they both engage in a quite unacceptable relationship. However, their relationship does not last long, for the pressure to remain respectable in the aristocratic society is a heavy burden to the two: Zhang fails to pass the civil service examination and Yingying suffers emotionally. In the end, they decide to terminate their affair since they understand that they cannot be together because of the etiquette required of them in society. At first glance, this story seems to be about universal assumptions about the sexual drives and mores of young adults. Throughout the story, the characters move from order to its disruption and finally restoration. What creates the disruption of order is passion. Indeed, the opening sentences of the story suggest the passion to come: “Things of the most bewitching beauty never fail to leave a lasting impression on my heart, and this tells me that I am not one of those free of passion.”8 Throughout

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the story, the power of passion overrides self-control: “I never would have thought that a time would come when I found myself so overwhelmed by desire. The other day at the party, I could scarcely control myself.” Order can triumph only through the renunciation of the passion at the end. Such renunciation is possible only when Zhang returns to existing social norms and expectations. Perhaps the author wanted to tell the story as warning against passions, so that “those who know about it will not act in the same way; and those who act in the same way will not be confounded.”9 However, if we put ourselves in the historical context of the story, the message of the story stops being about universal assumptions about the sexual drives and mores of young adults, and turns out to be conditioned by the historical context at the time when the story was written. That is to say, in order to interpret the characters as behaving in ways that make sense by the terms of human behavior that would be familiar in the context of the Tang dynasty, we should know what the Tang culture was like.10 The Tang culture can best be called an aristocratic culture. It is an aristocratic culture not only in the sense that social worth and the right to govern came by virtue of birth, but also in the sense that there was (or is assumed to have been) a link between the social status one is born to and the culture one carries and manifests. From the beginning of the Tang dynasty, great clan families argued for their exclusive right to govern by insisting that their worth derived from the ability of their members to maintain their family’s high standards of learning and morality. The Tang founders accepted the idea of aristocratic clans having the right to political office. For when cultural continuity did to a great extent depend on family continuity, the idea was a well-grounded justification. As a consequence, the early Tang political leadership was largely an oligarchy of great clans. The most illustrious families were better able to produce men with the traits desirable for the highest officials, because they were best at preserving and continuing cultural traditions. Great clan families maintained their exclusivity and created further distinctions of worth among themselves through marriage alliances with like families. Since service required submitting to the selection process at the capital, aristocratic families tended to move to the capital. As for the content of aristocratic culture, learning was a cultural cement among aristocrats. It was defined as a way to improve the way that one interacts with others rather than becoming an intrinsically better person. Thus, the importance of emulating and copying good examples was emphasized. The source of the learning was often the family’s learned traditions, as is seen in Yen Chih-t’ui’s case. The rituals maintained by

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a family often combined common rules from the Book of Rites with a particular family’s traditions. In other words, the social norm of how to behave came essentially from the external-like family tradition rather than the internal-like human nature. Common people could not get access to it easily, insofar as the source of the learning existed in family transmission. On the other hand, although aristocrats were hereditary elite, each generation had to strive to avoid slipping to the level of common people by maintaining the cultural tradition. The Zhen-yuan reign (785–804) in which Yingying’s love affair takes place represents the time when this sort of Tang order was falling apart.11 To understand the cultural/social milieu of the Zheng-yuan reign, we should remember the An Lushan rebellion, which shook the Tang dynasty. In 755 the frontier commander An Lushan led his troops in rebellion and marched on the capital of Chang’an. The emperor fled to the southwestern province of Sichuan. Although Tang forces eventually quelled the rebellion and retook the capital, they never regained full control, and power devolved to military governors in many regions outside the capital. Thus, the Zheng-yuan reign represents “an era when scholars were aware that the conflicts between civil and military interests, centralizing policies and provincial localism, and state and church had devastating consequences.”12 Seen in this light, it is not accidental that the author mentioned a dangerous uprising at the beginning of the story as a stage for the meeting of Zhang and Yingying. It could symbolize the late Tang sociopolitical crisis.13 With this connection, before the love affair unfolds, one can view Zhang as the one who embodies the Tang aristocratic order before its crisis, for he “held steadfastly to his personal principles and refused to become involved in anything improper.” Once he encounters Yingying, however, the Tang culture he embodies soon falls in trouble, as Zhang becomes abruptly infatuated and loses an anchor for proper conduct. The fact that Zhang failed the civil service examinations and that they failed to stay together as a couple may be interpreted as the author’s way of warning what consequences may come out of the failure of the aristocratic culture to maintain high moral standards. The important question we should pose is: How, then, does Zhang get out of trouble? As the ending of the story suggests, the solution to restore order is to admit that the love is a mistake and to return to their proper social roles in society as defined by ritual/propriety (li). This unromantic ending seems to represent a reaffirmation of Tang aristocratic culture. For the story suggests that the need to maintain proper appearances to protect the reputation and honor of one’s family is more important than following

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one’s heart and doing whatever one wishes. More specifically, Yuan Zhen probably wanted the reader to notice and understand how Zhang’s ‘status’ changes throughout the story. In the beginning he is virtuous and “utterly composed.” To a Tang audience, this would probably have been seen as a very positive character trait. The apparently positive judgment on the part of his contemporaries on the success with which Zhang was able to correct his mistakes supports this interpretation. After falling in love with Yingying, Zhang becomes indecent and is obligated to leave his mistress in order to regain his lost virtue. This transition is very closely tied with the ideas about proper social behavior at the time.14 What is more intriguing is how the tension between individuals and society plays out in Yingying chuan. As Peter Bol argued, Yuan Zhen conceives the conflict in the story as the problematic relationship between a perceiving self and perceived things, since Zhang and Yingying are depicted as a thing to arouse passion. The passion comes into being as things impinge upon the self. Before things (such as the beautiful woman or the talented man in the story) impinge upon the self, people remain “empty, unintending, and unselfconscious.” As Bol rightly notes, “The arousal of emotions/passions is the very moment at which people realize their ability to be substantial, conscious, intending.” In other words, their love affair represents a process in which characters realize dimensions of the self which they did not previously have the chance to be aware of. However, their being substantial, conscious, and intending gets them nowhere. The power of restoring the order comes not from their awareness of their own internal subjectivity but by returning to an external social norm. The source of the social norm and the ability to maintain social order exist ultimately in the external world, not in the internal self. Without the norm and coercive pressure from the external world, they cannot avoid being enslaved by the things surrounding them. In this sense, it can be said that “in terms of their personal histories, both Zhang and Yuan reflect a desire for the primacy of civil, centralizing, and state interests in restoring order.”15 This is also the reason why the self portrayed in the story is never heroic. Of course, Zhang was praised by his contemporaries for his mastery of passion in the interest of sociopolitical integration. But the following passage demonstrates that Zhang is never heroic. He is even portrayed as a coward because of his lack of self-confidence: [I]f she were not the clouds and the rain of sexual pleasure, then she would have been a serpent or a fierce dragon—I do

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not know what she would have transformed into. Long ago King Shou-xin of Yin and King You of Zhou controlled domains that mustered a million chariots, and their power was very great. Nevertheless, in both cases a woman destroyed them. . . . My own virtue is inadequate to triumph over such cursed wickedness, and for this reason I hardened my heart against her.16 As the last sentence shows, it is not his own virtue but his reliance on external sources that allows him to triumph over things and the passion aroused by them. The ending of the story reveals to us the frailty of humans, which necessitates the constraints of an external social norm. This kind of relationship between self and society—the individual being made subordinate to the values of the society at large—corresponds to that which we suppose in discoursing the relationship between women and the Confucianism of late the Chosŏn period. However, it was not until the Ming dynasty is established in China and the Chosŏn dynasty launched its Confucianization project that Confucianism became rooted in society. Yingying chuan is a document from the time before this change. Confucianism established itself by turning the existing idea of an individual’s relation to society upside down and inside out.17 It is Ch’unhyang-jŏn that effectively embodies Confucian notion of an individual’s relation to society.

Ch’unhyang-jŏn in Chosŏn Korea In discussing Yingying chuan, Katherine Carlitz shows how a beloved story could be reinterpreted to meet a new set of social needs. For example, in the fifteenth-century novella “An Elegant Compendium of Sentiments Conjoined,” the latter-day Yingying and Zhang end up happily married. In late Chosŏn Korea, we find another similar, yet different version of a love story, which offers us a chance to appreciate the shifting significance of Confucianism in its relation to women. The background of Ch’unhyang-jŏn18 is in late-seventeenth-century Korea.19 The male protagonist of the story is Mongryong, the son of the governor of Namwŏn in Chŏlla province. Like Zhang in Yingying chuan, he is also supposed to study vigorously for the civil service examination, but catches sight of a beautiful girl on a swing and falls in love with her at once. He learns that she is Ch’unhyang, the daughter of a retired kisaeng named Wŏlmae, but he pursues her despite her lower social status. Mongryong succeeds in winning the heart of Ch’unhyang and Wŏlmae and pledges that Ch’unhyang will be his life-long companion. Unfortunately, Mongryong is

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forced to leave the side of his beloved when his father is summoned by the king’s court. Sadly, he leaves for the capital with the promise to return as a court official. One day a new governor, Pyŏn Hakto arrives in Namwŏn. Notorious for his insatiable desire for women, he orders Ch’unhyang to serve him after hearing of her beauty. Although Ch’unhyang considers herself a married woman, because she was the daughter of a kisaeng the governor of Namwŏn expected her to obey his commands. However, she refuses on the pain of death to consent to the governor, because it would be unfaithful to her husband. She maintains her loyalty even through the governor’s brutal beatings. Meanwhile, Mongryong passes the civil service examination with the highest distinction, whereby the king makes him a royal inspector, a post that grants him the authority to punish corrupt officials. Disguised as a vagrant and accompanied by his envoy, Mongryong heads toward Namwŏn with a vengeance. After saving Ch’unhyang from Pyŏn, Mongryong marries Ch’unhyang instead of taking her as a concubine. When they return to the capital, Mongryong is immediately promoted to be a member of the Board of Civil Affairs and rector of the national Confucian college. Ch’unhyang becomes officially recognized as a woman of great constancy. At first glance, Yingying chuan and Ch’unhyang-jŏn are strikingly similar. First of all, both are the tales of two star-crossed lovers. A gentleman, who is pursuing success at the civil service examination, becomes infatuated with a woman of beauty.20 There soon emerges a conflict between social expectations and the passions of lovers. In addition, many similar details, such as writing a suggestive poem in response to what he/she thinks is an invitation, highlight the fact that the two stories belong to the similar, if not the same, literary tradition. What makes the stories different are their endings, among other things. In Yingying chuan, Zhang and Yingying are forced to give up their relationship in order to follow the “correct” rules of society and eventually marry other people under more formal arrangements. By contrast, Ch’unhyang and Mongryong consummate their love after overcoming various obstacles. The question, then, is this: What makes such a happy ending possible? Ironically, it is “Confucianism.” Consider how Ch’unhyang resists the new governor. She uses Confucianism in her attempts to defend her honor from the lecherous governor. “Your commands must be respected, but since I am married I cannot do as you may. . . . A subject cannot serve two kings, and a wife cannot belong to two husbands; that is my principle.

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I would rather die than do as you say, however many times you ask me. Please allow me to hold to my ideal: I cannot have more than one husband.”21 Pyŏn’s reply shows that Ch’unhyang makes her case by having recourse to “Confucianism”: “Your chastity is wonderful. You are quite right to reply like that. But young Yi is the eldest son of a famous family in Seoul and do you think he regards you as anything more than a flower he plucked in passing?”22 Although Pyŏn never gives up until Mongryong intervenes in the situation, it is Ch’unhyang’s virtue that enables her to resist the immoral governor until Mongryong arrives. If we stop here, this story seems to convey a conservative message, just as Yingying chuan does. For this story apparently encourages women to embody virtues that the government promulgated at that time. However, the story turns out to contain a subversive message as well if we ask further questions. What makes Ch’unhyang cling to Confucian virtue? Is it purely love? The questions such as “Why are you making such a fuss about being chaste and faithful?” seem to suggest that there is more than romantic love in Ch’unhyang’s motive.23 What allows us to take a glimpse at Ch’unhyang’s motive is her unique identity. Ch’unhyang, despite her father’s yangban status, still remains bound by the Chosŏn social structure due to her mother’s kisaeng background.24 Because of her mother’s background, people, including Mongryong at the beginning of story, think of Ch’unhyang as a kisaeng.25 However, Ch’unhyang refuses to accept her identity as a daughter of a kisaeng, saying “I am no kisaeng.”26 Thus, she spends all her time thinking of flowery poetry and embroidery and writing, just like a girl of good family. Ch’unhyang’s own self-definition as a non-kisaeng is connected to her aspiration for upward social mobility by marrying a member of yangban class. Although this kind of reading of Ch’unhyang’s story may make it less romantic than is often assumed, there are many instances showing that Ch’unhyang is preoccupied with uplifting her social status. For example, consider Wŏlmae’s statement to Ch’unhyang, “I always told you would regret it, told you to find someone of your own station to marry. Then you could have stayed with me and we should both have been happy. But you were always too high-minded, different from the rest of us, and now see what’s happened!.”27 Given the fact that marriage was more of a practical transaction between clans during the Chosŏn dynasty, the significance of Ch’unhyang’s preoccupation with marrying a member of the yangban class is evident. In addition, the concluding remark of Ch’unhyang-jŏn sug-

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gests that this story is more of an ambitious lower-class woman’s success story than a “pure” love story. The concluding remark stresses the fact that Ch’unhyang’s finally became a member of the yangban class despite her low status: “She bore him three sons and two daughters, who were more brilliant than their father and whose descendants were raised to the first rank of nobility for generation after generation.”28 The statement that Ch’unhyang’s descendants become perfect members of the nobility is especially quite revolutionary, given the fact that such a case was almost impossible in the social structure of the Chosŏn dynasty. In contrast to Korean nationalist historiography, American scholars have argued that social mobility was extremely limited in Chosŏn Korea. The Chosŏn society strictly obeyed its hierarchal structure. The yangban class was at the top of the hierarchical system. For most people, there was no way out of their inherited status. According to Martina Deuchler, Confucianism was quite conducive to solidifying such a hierarchical society. For the social elite of the Chosŏn dynasty sought to remake society through the ritual hierarchy of Confucian ancestor worship, which favors and supports vertical and linear father-son inheritance and transmission of authority. That is, by more exclusively defining the patrilineal kinship group, the Chosŏn social elite developed a more narrowly defined stratum of social/political elites. It resulted in the marginalization of various members of society, particularly women, but also including the offspring of marriages between yangban male and their secondary, usually non-yangban, wives. In other words, equal status of plural wives is replaced with strict ranking giving full lineage and ritual status only to the single primary wife and her offspring. Seen in this light, Ch’unhyang’s frustration as a daughter of a kisaeng is part of a larger problem that the illegitimate offspring of yangban had to endure.29 Indeed, the new governor’s assertion that a daughter of a courtesan automatically is a courtesan demonstrates the inflexibility and class divide during the time. While the story of Ch’unhyang highlights a very pervasive social issue in Chosŏn society, what is extraordinary in Ch’unhyang-jŏn is the fact that Ch’unhyang employed Confucianism, which was believed to support such a hierarchical system, in order to resist the very hierarchical system.30 Consider the following passage: The treasurer spoke her then, “. . . What do you singing girl know about faithfulness and chastity? The old governor has gone and the new governor has arrived: it’s proper for you

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to obey him. Stop talking strangely. What have loyalty and faithfulness to do with people of your sort?” Ch’unhyang was amazed. She relaxed her posture and said: “A woman’s virtue is the same for high ranks and low. If you listen I will explain. Let’s speak of kisaeng. There are no virtuous ones, you say; but I will tell them to you one by one:. . . .”31 Underlying the notion that a woman’s virtue is the same for high and low ranks is the Confucian premise that the capacity for goodness is inherent within all men, and thus, all human beings can become morally perfect. Perhaps because of our familiarity with Mencius, the theory of an innately good human nature may not sound very innovative. However, according to P. J. Ivanhoe, “The view that human nature is innately or basically good is by no means ‘characteristic’ of Chinese thought. From the time of Mengzi [Mencius] until the resurrection of his theory by Cheng Yi (Cheng I) in the eleventh century, almost no thinker in China advocated any version of the theory that human nature is good.”32 This is also the case with Korean thought. In other words, human commonality based on human nature is true of the Confucianism practiced in the late Chosŏn, but not the Confucian tradition as a whole.33 It is quite understandable why Ch’unhyang employs Confucianism. For one thing, there are no other intellectual resources available to protect her interests.34 The patriarchal atmosphere was so overbearing that women had to embrace the norms in order to survive. If no alternative ideologies are available, perhaps it would be wise to be willful participants of the Confucian system and then gear it in one’s own direction. Secondly, there are indeed some resources within Confucianism for her to tap: human commonality. Ch’unhyang may not have known anything outside of Confucian tradition, which is why she may have adapted it to her advantage.35 In keeping with its revolutionary nature, the reformed Confucian view of human nature possesses many significant implications that other positions on human nature do not share. First of all, it presents an “absolute” theory of human nature, in contrast to other positions on human nature: “The nature is a mixture of good and bad” (Yang Xiong), “The nature is different in different individuals” (Wang Chong), “There are three grades of human nature, good, intermediate, and bad” (Xun Yue and Han Yu). These positions afford room for men to be defined contingently according to their dispositions. By contrast, reformed Confucianism chooses to define as “nature” the moral disposition among many human dispositions. This

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claims an absolute understanding of what we are as persons, and offers us an intense experience of the self ’s identity, which, in Ch’unhyang’s case, can replace her socially defined identity. Secondly, the innate goodness of human nature includes a high estimate of the moral and spiritual resources of man. “The perfectibility of man through self-effort thus becomes a defining characteristic of Confucian humanism and the real strength of the Neo-Confucian development of the Confucian concept of man.” 36 Being optimistic concerning the prospect of human moral perfectibility accords new power to individuals, so much so that, in Ch’unhyang’s case, enables a daughter of a kisaeng to resist a governor. Perhaps there was something encouraging and inspirational in the idea that our original nature is derived from heaven and that perfection is an attainable aim of our concerted human efforts. Of course, Pyŏn is not willing to accept Ch’unhyang’s appropriation of “Confucianism.” When he says, “The governor was furious: ‘Listen girl: treason is a capital offence, and insulting royal officers is equally serious. Refusing to obey a governor meets the same punishment. Don’t put yourself in danger of death,’ ”37 he represents the elite who want to defend their position by drawing on the Confucian idea of social hierarchy out of many other possible aspects of Confucianism. The clash between Pyŏn and Ch’unhyang represents the tension within Confucianism—the tension between Confucianism’s supporting a rigid class-based system and Confucianism’s exhortation calling for all people to become moral. The fact that there are resources both to support and thwart women’s interests in Confucianism indicates that Confucianism is more of a configuration than a closed system. Alternatively, the fact that Ch’unhyang saw Confucianism as an outlet to succeed and gain power in a powerless situation shows, at least, that the significance of Confucianism in late Chosŏn Korea is not as simplistic as we are led to believe. Lastly, it should be noted that, when compared with Yingying chuan, a significant change is taking place in the relationship between the individual and society. First of all, the individual selves depicted in Ch’unhyang-jŏn are stronger in the sense that they do not perceive passion as an insurmountable danger and thus though afraid of it, are capable of controlling it. For example, in Yingying chuan, passion serves as a hindrance to Zhang’s pursuit of success in the civil service examination, causing Zhang to later fail the examination. However, in Ch’unhyang-jŏn, passion empowers Mongryong in the sense that it makes Mongryong study harder to pass the examination: “Now when I go up to Seoul, I shall pass out top in the examinations, and then I shall come to fetch you.”38 Indeed, the point

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of such rich theories of self-cultivation in reformed Confucianism is to strengthen the individual self to the point that the self controls passion rather than avoiding it. (Neo-Confucians believed that it is Buddhistic to avoid passion. The notion of controlling passion presupposes that passion is an unavoidable aspect of human life.) In addition, there are many instances that show Ch’unhyang’s strong ability to control the situation in which she finds herself.39 For example, women were expected to be modest and submissive, yet Ch’unhyang asserts herself when Mongryong first wants to meet her, and refuses the demands of the governor.40 Ch’unhyang also defies the strict social ranking, considering herself a decent girl although she is the daughter of a kisaeng. What is most noteworthy is the fact that Ch’unhyang is portrayed as agent of negotiation who is able to “manipulate” social norms. Insofar as one can bend social norms to suit one’s interest, one is never a victim of them. Such capability to use social norms is connected to the belief that it is not society but the self that constitutes the source of the social norm. “Your commands must be respected, but since I am married I cannot do as you may. . . . A subject cannot serve two kings, and a wife cannot belong to two husbands; that is my principle. I would rather die than do as you say, however many times you ask me. Please allow me to hold to my ideal: I cannot have more than one husband.”41 As seen in the above citation, Ch’unhyang considers the social norm to be one and the same as her own principle. This attitude corresponds with the Confucian notion that the principle governing the world is nothing other than one’s own moral nature (xing ji li). In this notion, the self is reconceptualized as the agent of shaping or completing the world rather than the passive object controlled by the external world.

Conclusion This chapter is based on a critical evaluation that the monolithic notion of Confucianism presumed in discourses on East Asian women is too simplistic to allow an appreciation of historical reality. To challenge the monolithic notion of Confucianism and capture a historicity of Confucian tradition, I discussed Yingying chuan and Ch’unhyang-jŏn from a comparative perspective.

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The Confucianism of the Tang dynasty in Yingying chuan and Confucianism in Ch’unhyang-jŏn are remarkably different, especially in terms of an assumed relationship between the individual and society. This should not be surprising, for in Chinese intellectual history, reformed Confucianism established itself as a response to the crisis in Tang dynasty’s culture, which Yingying chuan embodies. Although this is a small example that shows the tremendous internal diversity of the Confucian tradition, I think that the difference between Yingying chuan and Ch’unhyang-jŏn alone is suggestive enough to prompt us to reconsider the monolithic notion of Confucianism in discourses on women, particularly women in Chosŏn Korea. For those interested in premodern Korean intellectual and cultural history, the Chosŏn dynasty marks the ascendancy of reformed Confucianism. Indeed, the scholarly consensus is that Korean society underwent significant changes that affected women as well as other members of society as Confucianism became rooted in society and culture during the late the Chosŏn dynasty. As for women’s history, the “Confucianization of the late Chosŏn dynasty” meant a doctrine to subjugate and objectify women as a means of masculine empowerment. However, Confucianism thus understood resonates with that of Yingying chuan rather than that of Ch’unhyang-jŏn. For, in most studies on Chosŏn women, the individual self, including the female self, is understood as constrained by the external forces of social norms, just as in Yingying chuan. As discussed in Ch’unhyang-jŏn, Confucianism can be employed to empower women while empowering men, bring romantic love to fruition instead of thwarting it, and serve the interests of marginalized members of society such as a daughter of a courtesan. Such an empowering quality of Confucianism is also found in the following chapters in the volume and we can easily see that women used Confucian morality, education, and legal rights for realizing a degree of autonomy. This does not mean that Confucianism was always conducive to women’s interests. My point is rather that reformed Confucianism can both act as a constraint and an opportunity depending on a given context. If so, this prompts us to rethink the ways in which we approach the relationship between Confucianism and women in the late Chosŏn period. For one thing, umbrella categories such as “Chosŏn women” and “Confucianism” should be more carefully used to fully appreciate the nuanced, multiple layers of late Chosŏn culture. Only then can we restore the multidimensional quality of late Chosŏn women’s history, but also enhance our ability to appreciate what Confucianism meant to various populations in Chosŏn society.

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Notes 1. Chenyang Li, ed. The Sage and the Second Sex: Confucianism, Ethics, and Gender. (Chicago: Open Court, 2000), Foreword. 2. Ibid. 3. Ibid. 4. Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggott, eds. Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). 5. Patricia Buckley Ebrey, trans. Chu Hsi’s Family Rituals: A Twelfth-century Chinese Manual for the Performance of Cappings, Weddings, Funerals, and Ancestral Rites (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), chapter 1. 6. Natan Sivin, Foreword, in Benjamin Elman, From Philosophy to Philology: Intellectual and Social Aspects of Change in Late Imperial China, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard East Asia Monograph Series, 1984), xiii. 7. Katherine Carlitz briefly mentions the story of Ch’unhyang when she discusses Yingying chuan. See Pauline Yu et al., eds., Ways with Words: Writing about Reading Texts from Early China, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 197. 8. Ibid., 173. 9. Ibid., 187. 10. The following summary of Tang culture is based on: Peter K. Bol, This Culture of Ours: Intellectual Transitions in T’ang and Sung China, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1992); Yen Chih-t’ui. Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968). 11. Ways with Words, 173. 12. Ibid., 109–200. 13. Ibid., 174. “That year Hun Zhen, the Military Governor, passed away in Pu-zhou, and Ding Wen-ya, the court officer left in charge, was not liked by the troops. After the funeral, they rioted and pillaged widely in Pu-zhou,” 14. On the other hand, one could also argue that the story was a critique of the aristocratic culture, which does not allow romantic love. In this case, we should assume that most readers would have wanted the two to stay happy together at the end of the story. In addition to these two perspectives, there are many different ways to interpret this story. See Ways with Words, 199: “Can we read this work historically? As Stephen Owen has observed, we can see it as a naïve work and conclude that the author reveals more than he ought to; we can read as an ironic work and admire the author for his critique of his own class. We can suppose the character to be “real” and ask for whom and why such behavior was justifiable in the early ninth century, as Chen Yinke does in denying that the story is problematic.” 15. Ibid., 200.

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16. Ibid., 181; italics added. 17. This phase of Confucianism is often called Neo-Confucianism or daoxue by the scholars working on East Asian intellectual history. 18. Parts of this section on Ch’unhyang-jŏn are adapted from Youngmin Kim, “Chŏngch’i sasang t’esŭt’ŭ-rosŏ Ch’unhyang-jŏn” [Ch’unhyang-jŏn as a text of political thought], Han’guk chŏngch’ihak hoebo 41 (Winter 2007). 19. “The faithful wife Song Ch’un-hyang was born in 1672 and lives in upper Cholla province at Namwŏn.” “The Song of a Faithful Wife, Ch’un-Hyang,” in Richard Rutt and Kim Chong-un, trans., Virtuous Women: Three Classic Korean Novels (Seoul: Royal Asiatic Society, 1974), 313. 20. In addition to description of Ch’unhyang’s virtue, there are many statements about her appearance. For example, see pp. 258, 260, 268. 21. “The Song of a Faithful Wife, Ch’un-Hyang,” 300. Repeated use of the term “my” implies that Confucian value here is more of internalized value than social norm imposed by the external force. Italics added. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid., 299. 24. As for a detailed account of this social practice, see Martina Deuchler, The Confucian Transformation of Korea: A Study of Society and Ideology. (Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1992). 25. “The Song of a Faithful Wife, Ch’un-Hyang,” 258. Mongryong himself treated her as nothing more than a kisaeng’s daughter, when he said, “Go and fetch her here.” 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid., 287. In addition, see the following textual evidence: “Governor Song . . . when he was posted for a time to Namwŏn, mistook a kite for a falcon and called me to serve him. After I had been with him three months, he returned to the capital; but I found I was pregnant and this child of mine was born. . . . Unhappily, he died soon after, and I could not send her to him. . . . I have been worried that she will be slow in finding a spouse because it will be difficult to decide on the right rank of husband for her”(270); Even when Mongryong pretends not to pass the civil service exam and Ch’unhyang thinks that there is no hope to get married to Mongryong, she hopes to be part of Mong’s family: “I shall die of my tortures. Pick up my body like a bearer’s load, and take it to the quiet Lotus Cottage where we spent our first night together. . . . Then later, when you have achieved high office, come back and re-bury me in a fine linen shroud; have me carried in a decorated bier away from these hills and up to Seoul, so that I can be buried near your ancestral graves” (328). The statement that “I can be buried near your ancestral graves” is suggestive enough given the importance of genealogy in defining one’s social status in the Chosŏn dynasty.; “Ch’un-hyang lifted her eyelids for a moment and looked at the boy. He was a handsome lad, remarkably good-looking. His high forehead showed promise of early success;

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the fine bones of his face showed that he would become a distinguished statesman. . . . See what Ch’un-hyang does: she knits her eyebrows, half-opens her lips, and gently murmurs: ‘A loyal subject cannot serve two kings, and a faithful wife cannot honor two husbands. I have read this in an old book. You are from a noble family, but I am a woman of the people. After we have plighted our troth, if you put me away because of my low birth, I shall nevertheless be bound to remain faithful to you, and have to spend the rest of my life grieving in a lonely room, and there will be no one to help me. Do not make me do this” (360–61). When she first knows that Mongryong will go to Seoul following his father, Chunhayng says, “High-born and humble can never be matched!” (286). 28. Ibid., 333. 29. We see a similar theme in Hong Kiltong-jŏn [The tale of Hong Kiltong]. 30. In this connection, the story of Ch’unhyang suggests more agency of women in their relation to “Confucianism” than Martina Deuchler’s The Confucian Transformation of Korea allows. 31. “The Song of a Faithful Wife, Ch’un-Hyang,” 300. 32. Philip J. Ivanhoe, Ethics in the Confucian Tradition (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1990), 37. 33. Indeed, the Neo-Confucian view of human nature differed from many positions that preceded it, including those of Yang Xiong 楊雄 (52BC–AD18), Wang Chong 王充 (27–c.100), Xun Yue 荀悅 (148–209), and Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824). See, A. C. Graham, Two Chinese Philosophers, (La Salle: Open Court, 1992), 45. 34. Those who refused to comply with Neo-Confucianism could be dismissed as heretic or unfaithful. 35. There are passages indicating the fact that Ch’un-Hyang was knowledgeable about the Confucian classics. See “The Song of a Faithful Wife, Ch’un-Hyang,” 252, 301, 309. 36. Tu Wei-ming, Humanity and Self-Cultivation: Essays in Confucian Thought (Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1979), 71. 37. “The Song of a Faithful Wife, Ch’un-Hyang,” 301. 38. Ibid., 290. 39. Ibid., 259. “It’s your fault, not mine. Just listen. When a girl wants to play on a swing, the proper thing for her to do is to rig up a swing in her own back yard and play where nobody can see her. . . . You have hung your swing in a popular place, and when you swing up there on your little white melon-seed feet, with your red skirt billowing against the clouds and the edge of your petticoat fluttering in the southeast wind, your white skin shows like the flesh of a melon against the sky. The young master saw you and sent for you.” Also, see p. 259: “Granting what you say is true, I am not a girl to be ordered about. Decent girls are not to be sent for in this way.” 40. Ibid., 259, 300. 41. See note 19. Italics added.

3

The Exemplar Wife The Life of Lady Chang of Andong in Historical Context

Lee SoonGu

Introduction While there have been numerous scholarly papers published on the subject of the Exemplar Wife,1 Lady Chang of Andong, she has never been examined in relation to the processes of the historical changes in women’s lives in the Chosŏn period. While this woman has been described as an example of a person who lived excellently, one who reached a high level of Confucian moral cultivation, an important mediator in developing the School of T’oegye, or as the writer of a cookbook, she has never been studied as a representative individual who could well demonstrate how attitudes and consciousness regarding life for women were transformed around the seventeenth century. As with the other chapters in this volume, this study will focus on how Lady Chang used the Confucian value system to find her own space for autonomy and personal growth. Far from a victim, she was able to utilize Confucian values to realize her own vision of how a woman should live. Seventeenth-century Chosŏn was a very important period for women. Women no longer stayed at their natal homes after marriage, but instead went to their in-laws’ houses and had to adapt to this new situation. Also, since ancestral rites (chesa) were established as the central pillar for maintaining the family, women came to realize that it was essential to give birth to sons, as well as the fact that the prosperity of their in-law families equated honor to themselves. On the other hand, the shares of property 29

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inherited as a daughter decreased while status as a daughter-in-law or as a mother was relatively firm and secure. Also, as the education of women became stronger, it was a time when virtuous women were produced in even larger quantities. Living in such a time of change, in the circumstances she faced as a yangban status woman, how did Lady Chang think and how did she adjust to the realities of life? How was her attitude toward life different from the women who had lived earlier, and what abilities inspired her recognition as the most exemplary yangban status woman in a changed Chosŏn society? In the course of addressing such questions, the actual shape of the lives that upper status yangban women in late Chosŏn moved toward can be described relatively closely. Further, the actual manner in which yangban women needed to conduct their lives and the highest values of society at the time can also be ascertained. Using authentic records was given first priority in researching the data in this chapter. While it could be argued that some of these records contain exaggerations, I focused on that content that could not have been written unless grounded in truth, even among the context of these records.

Confucian Grounding A tremendous difference between Lady Chang (1598–1680) and the women who lived before her is observed in the fact that she was deeply fascinated with the perfection of Confucian morality.2 Given this, we should seek an answer to the question of why Lady Chang became so fascinated with Confucianism or Confucian practices. Fundamentally, Lady Chang was in a situation where she had no choice but to be well grounded in Confucian ideas. It is noteworthy that her father, Chang Hŭnghyo (1564–1593), was a disciple of Kim Sŏngil (1538–1593) and is highly regarded as a Confucianist.3 As such, her family was grounded in an atmosphere of Confucianism. Lady Chang seems to have been educated directly by her father, as she was a bright child and the only daughter of the family.4 Education of children in the Chosŏn period was often accomplished within the family, and a grandfather or father could be a good teacher in such a case.5 There were even cases where a grandmother or mother was in charge of elementary education.6 Education within the family was especially important for daughters, who did not have the ability to attend formal educational institutions outside of the home.

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In Lady Chang’s case, as an only daughter, and said to have been talented, a thorough education could be realized. She was able to learn directly from her father, and the content of this education consisted of matters of Confucianism or Confucian practices.7 An account informs that “Master Kyŏngdang,” since he had only one daughter, commendably adored and taught her Xiaoxue [小學 Elementary learning] and Shijiu shilue [十九史略 Nineteen concise histories]; she came to master the meanings of these without much effort.” That she easily learned Xiaoxue shows that she understood a text that provides the basic knowledge of the Confucianism of this period. Of course, in the late Chosŏn period Xiaoxue was already considered among Confucianists to be an easily understood text, but this could carry a different meaning when the student was female. Once the master was lecturing about the fortune of the Cosmic Cycle with his disciplines, and there were none who could comprehend this theory.8 A bit later he returned home, went to the inner room, and asked his daughter [i.e., Lady Chang] about the theory. Although she was barely over ten years of age, she quietly sat for a time, counted the numbers in every case and answered; thus the master considered her very praiseworthy. From this time on, he taught her face to face in his spare time in the morning and evening, and also conveyed to her his words which were nothing other than the teachings of the sages.9 The above account indicates that Lady Chang’s level of knowledge in Confucianism did not remain at the rather elementary level of Xiaoxue. Although we do not have the full details of her education, the world of Confucianism that she could acquire from her father Chang Hŭnghyo does not seem to be insignificant. Her poems seem to be an extension of her Confucian interests as well. SONG OF THE SAGES

I was not born in the time of the sages, I cannot see the faces of the sages. [Yet] I can hear the words of the sages, I can see the minds of the sages.

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The above poem was composed when she was only nine years old; in the content of the poem we can understand that her interest was focused on the “sages.” Seeing this, we can posit that Lady Chang desired to think of and practice the meanings of Confucianism. Namely, she wanted to carry out the words she heard from the sages. Yi Tonghwan contends that such poems by Lady Chang were the fruit of her profound learning.10 This appraisal can seemingly be confirmed in the fact that she had deep knowledge of Confucianism and also a great desire to put it into practice. However, the present study will focus more on how this was manifested in her life as a woman in seventeenth-century Chosŏn Korea. According to records, when Lady Chang became an adult, she stated that “composing poems and writing are not the work of women,” and resolutely ceased such work.11 Commonly, this is simply thought to be a case of her choosing to keep away from scholarly interests and instead immersing herself in household management. However, while this indeed brought a halt to composing poems and writing, it should not be understood to mean that she intended to give up the ideal life of Confucianism and only live as a woman. Given the historical setting, living perfectly as a woman was not necessarily contradictory to the life suggested in Confucianism. Accordingly, it would be more exact to recognize that she made this decision thinking that composing poems might be an interruption in living or practicing the life of Confucianism. This can be confirmed in Lady Chang’s own words, “Although you achieve fame from excellence in writing, I would not deem it valuable. However, if I hear of even one good deed by you, I would be unexpectedly happy and not forget it.”12 It is my contention that Lady Chang considered carrying out the roles given to her as a woman—a daughter, a daughter-in-law, a primary wife, and a mother—to be the direct way to realize the ideal life suggested by Confucianism. This might not constitute devotion to theoretical study, but she must have concluded that in respect to faithfulness to the ideology the achievement of an ethical daily life was not inferior to the study of Confucianism by men. From this viewpoint, the distinction between study and practice, or the question of which sex studied and which performed practice, does not carry the ultimate meaning. Again, this can be seen in Lady Chang’s awareness and sense of self-confidence in stating, “[I]f the action of the sage is a daily and ordinary morality, it could be a worry that people do not learn the way of sages. If one truly learns of the way of the sages, what difficulty could there be?”13 Clearly, she considered the daily practice of moral principles to be a means to sagehood. From this standpoint, Lady Chang had the confidence that she too could be a sage. Such confidence could not appear without the recognition

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that Confucianism was already the highest value of the time, or without a background of some degree of scholarship in this ideology. Grounded in such confidence concerning Confucianism, the life of Lady Chang can be said to have entailed a detailed application of Confucianism to daily life. In short, Lady Chang stopped composing poems and writings, which were not greatly meaningful to the practice of Confucianism, and rather strongly carried out the ideals of Confucian practice through daily life. Her choice in this direction is significantly different than that of the female Confucian philosophers discussed in chapter 5 and shows her understanding of a woman’s life in the domestic sphere. In the following sections, I will discuss her practice of the ethical life suggested in Confucianism in areas such as home management and the education of her children.

Capacity of Home Management Ancestral Rites and Reception of Guests Since I was ill and not knowing of the future, I hurriedly had her in to make certain she was capable of holding the ancestral rites and managing the home; what difference would it make if I were to die now.14 The above are the words of Lady Cho, the author of Pyŏngja ilgi [丙子日記 Diary of the year pyŏngja], written in the mid-seventeenth century. We can understand that the writer’s most basic standard for evaluating her granddaughter-in-law was in her ability to conduct ancestral rites and manage the home.15 Since seventeenth-century Chosŏn society was maintained through the conducting of ancestral rites, this was a woman’s principal task. Accordingly, it was very important for an unmarried woman of the time to demonstrate and be recognized for how well she could support and conduct these rites. Families with daughters would cultivate such abilities through education. For example, Uam Kyenyŏsŏ [戒女書 Admonishments for women by Uam] written by Song Siyŏl (宋時ḟ 1607–1689) can be said to be a representative textbook for such education.16 What was Lady Chang’s attitude toward ancestral rites and the reception of guests in a social situation such as this? There is no mention of the ancestral rites of her in-law family in records concerning Lady Chang, which seems to indicate that she did not have the duty of carrying out the rites as the eldest descendant of the main family, since her husband Yi

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Simyŏng was the second son.17 However, there are records indicating that she was in charge of the ancestral rites of her natal home. After her father passed away, she brought her stepmother and her younger siblings as well as the ancestral tablets of her grandfather and father to her home, and continued their rites in the spring and fall. What is interesting in this is that she took charge of the rites of her natal home, which were in danger of being discontinued. This was a case that could not be allowed according to the customary practice of the lineage principal (宗法 chongbŏp) of the time. However, the actions of Lady Chang related to the rites are clearly recorded as expressing exemplary filial conduct toward her parents. How was this possible? By this time the system of conducting ancestral rites in turns or sharing them among siblings had been all but eradicated and replaced by the practices of the lineage principle. Moreover, women had to put the rites of their husband’s family above those of their natal family. Notwithstanding this situation, Lady Chang was able to carry out the rites of her natal home. I believe this was possible because she had confidence, based on Confucian precepts, that conducting the rites for her parents was based on filial duty and this could take precendence over the ritual practices of the lineage principle. This priority on filial piety will be discussed again when examining her relations with her natal home. The skill of Lady Chang in receiving honored guests can be seen in the variety of liquors recorded in Ŭmsik timibang [Methods for preparing tasty food]. This cookbook has a total of 144 recipes, as well as ways to preserve food, among which fifty-one recipes relate to liquor.18 This means that one-third of the various recipes were for types of alcoholic drinks, demonstrating the significance of alcohol in this work. It is no exaggeration to state that the reason homes prepared liquors in Chosŏn was for the reception of honored guests, as seen in the following records concerning alcohol in the aforementioned Pyŏngja ilgi: Royal Secretary (sŭngji) Yi Hyŏn and Minister Im (p’ansa) came and drank three glasses of wine each, and at dusk Kwŏn Chibŭi came [and joined them] and each drank six glasses of wine.19 Chŏng Indong and Yi Ch’ŏmji came and had rice wine.20 After dinner, he went to Minister Yi’s home at Sajik-gol and came home drunk at dark.21 When mentioning guests, almost without exception, this is followed by accounts of drinking wine. We can see in the above that not only were

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there guests at the home of Lady Cho who drank wine, but also her husband (Nam Iung, 1575–1648) went to other houses as a guest and drank. For upper status families the reception of honored guests meant serving liquor. Through Lady Chang’s recipes for more than fifty kinds of liquor, we can see how thorough she was when offering hospitality to guests. This demonstrates that Lady Chang was competent both in conducting ancestral rites and serving honored guests, which were the most important roles for an upper status group woman in daily life in seventeenth-century Chosŏn. Her competence seems to stem from her strong confidence concerning this role. At least Lady Chang was one who asked herself why she should excel in conducting ancestral rites and receiving honored guests and looked for an answer. Since she could find the answer for this in the practice of Confucianism, she could positively carry out these tasks not simply as duties but rather as her own work. She must have learned by experience that carrying out such a role brought her not far from sagehood.22 Managing Nobi Managing a family’s nobi (奴婢 slaves) was another important role for women in terms of household finances. There were basically two ways to manage nobi: treat them harshly or with compassion. The successful way was, of course, the latter. It is said that the servants living in Yangnam upon seeing the servants of the house, all came out, inquired of their masters, saying how it was a heavenly thing that all went through the disturbance safely, and were all very pleased to see all of them survive without even one person dying thanks to the grace of the masters. It is also said that many of the nobi of other houses either ran away or hid upon seeing their own masters, since these masters had been mistreating them. However, the servants in Yangnam were somehow or other trying to get the servants from the master’s house to at least farm. I think this was because the masters [the speaker and other masters] did not treat them severely although they were outside nobi.23 The above account relates the impressions of Lady Cho, the writer of Pyŏngja ilgi, concerning nobi. Even during the turmoil of the Manchu Invasion of 1636, her nobi did not run away or hide, but, rather, managed the works of their masters as they always had. The writer believed

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this to be due to her not harshly treating the nobi. Of course, Lady Cho felt gratitude for this. This sentiment vividly appears in her diary in the following lines; During this war, when leaving home to seek refuge, I went out wearing only the clothes I had on at the time. Since the nobi went to Yŏsan, coarsely weaved several rolls of cloth out of Ŭiju’s cotton, and also weaved cotton brought from Kaeryŏng, I managed not to be so naked, frozen, or troubled with great hardships. Without the servants how could all this be possible?24 Lady Cho’s style of managing nobi seems to have originated in her good nature. Although nobi were of a different social status, she treated them humanely. Lady Chang seems to have had a similar style, as seen below: When treating young female servants, she treated them as if they were her own daughters. If they were sick, she made sure that they had sufficient food and care in order for them to have complete comfort. When they made mistakes or did bad things, she quietly instructed and admonished them. All the nobi were impressed and obeyed her of their own will. There was not one nobi of another house who heard this and did not want to serve and work for her house.25 Since Chosŏn was a society that observed strict distinctions in social status, it was common to treat nobi as nobi. However, in the case of Lady Chang, it is said that she treated them as if taking care of her children. Especially the comment that she quietly instructed and admonished them when they made a mistake or did something bad, and that they obeyed of their own accord, reflects that she had a belief that the servants also were humans and could have a good will. While we might see this as an overstatement, we can also state that such actions would not have occurred unless one desired to practice the words of the sages. Here, we can come back to the idea that Lady Chang was thoroughly grounded in Confucianism and she dreamed of reconciling this with the world.26 Consequently, in the management of nobi she expressed more than simply a kind heart, and her actions appear to be based on Confucian morality that sought to understand nobi also as human beings.

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Education of Children The education of her children is an example of the success of Lady Chang. She raised a total of seven sons and three daughters, including one son and one daughter by her husband’s previous marriage. The child that achieved the most distinction was her second son Yi Hyŏnil (—玄逸 1627–1704). He not only obtained a high government post as minister (判書 p’ansŏ) of the Board of Personnel (​曹 Ijo) but is also renowned as a representative scholar of the T’oegye School of the late Chosŏn period. In fact, it is no exaggeration to state that Lady Chang was recognized as a successful woman because of her son. Then, how did Lady Chang educate her children? First of all, beginning with prenatal care, in keeping with the admonishments contained in works such as the Yŏllyŏ-jŏn [ḟ女傳 Biographies of virtuous women], it is said that she did not put anything to her mouth that was not perfect nor correct in shape or color, even a mere fruit or vegetable.27 There was a feast to celebrate the longevity of someone’s mother in the village and the relatives and relatives in-law all gathered. Kisaeng (female entertainers) as well as music were present and dancers with ghost masks were acting out the Ch’ŏyong-mu [Fete of Ch’ŏyong] in front. Lady Chang, since she was pregnant at the time, looked away and did not raise her eyes all day. Her father heard of this and praised her deeds saying, “You did not abandon what you learned from me.”28 This was praise for her not watching anything unclean. This is a form of Confucian prenatal care found in works such as T’aegyo sin’gi [胎敎新記 New records for prenatal care], a representative book on prenatal care written by Yi Sajudang (—師朱當 1739–1821) in late Chosŏn.29 Of course, the reason for such prenatal care was to give a birth safely and to maintain the family successfully. After receiving the husband’s surname, one should return it to its father. In the meanwhile for ten months, the woman must not act recklessly with her body. She should not see, hear, speak, or even think unless it is with propriety. It is a mother’s obligation to know everything by heart and to raise a child with reason and righteousness.30

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This is an expression of a resolute will to maintain the patriarchal family order, in which it is a mother’s role to give birth to a child, receive the husband’s family name by becoming a part of his lineage, and return this favor through the child that will carry on the husband’s family. Lady Chang, being well versed in Confucianism, would have respected this ideal. Besides following the directives regarding prenatal care, when she educated her children in the processes of growth or in social life, she coherently expressed the morality pursued in Confucianism. First, she did not place priority on her sons’ success: I, from early on, have worried that people in the world harm righteousness with earthly desires. The principles of righteousness are precious and earthly desires are insignificant; how could anyone abandon what is precious and choose inconsequential worldly desires?31 That she put greater importance on principles of righteousness than worldly desires meant that she emphasized striving for perfection of individual morality rather than worldly success. She instructed her children that they should be filial to their parents, polite to their elder siblings, and sincere and honest in their hearts. Moreover, she taught that order would be established from respect, laziness in work would lead to failure, one would gain success if he followed righteousness, and one would be dishonored when he followed greed.32 Second, it is noteworthy that she advised doing good deeds throughout life. This appears clearly in her remarking that it would be more joyous to hear that her children had performed good deeds rather than that they had become famous for a well-written composition.33 We can further see her educational philosophy based on performing good deeds in the instructions she gave to the women and young men among her husband’s relatives, advising them to follow the principles of righteousness, which would lead them to do good deeds and keep them from straying to contrary things. Especially, her words demonstrate that she believed that good deeds, namely Confucian moral practice, came before all else: Good deeds are what all people intend to do. If you point to a young child saying “you are a good child,” the child would be pleased and he/she would be upset if you say to him/her

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“you are not a good child.” What people deem should be done as right conduct is absolutely the same as they have in minds. Finally, what Lady Chang wanted to suggest to her children was to go forward beyond good deeds and become sages. She was an individual who earnestly wanted to reach sagehood herself. With such a goal, how could she not suggest this to those closest to her, her own children? We see an example of this in a poem she gave to her grandchild Sin’gŭp: GREAT GRANDSON, SIN’GŬP

Seeing the poem of you separating from your good friend, In it, there were words of intending to learn of the sages. I am so pleased with this and again praise you, Composing this short poem I give to you.34 This poem vividly exposes what Lady Chang desired of her descendants, which was to abstain from greed, to be good, and ultimately to reach sagehood. In fact, a similar discourse on education—a discussion of which is seen in chapter 4 of this volume—might have been held in any family of the time due to the generalization of Confucianism. However, it was unusual that such instruction was accomplished under the leadership of a mother. For example, we cannot find such an educational philosophy expressed by Sin Saimdang (申師任堂 1504–1551) who is counted as the exemplary mother of Chosŏn. She educated her children based on a mother’s fundamental affection toward her children, with an artistry based on her keen sensibilities, but never exclusively consistent with Confucian morality. It is seen that she practiced filial duty toward her own parents, but she did not emphasize good deeds in particular nor suggest to her children that they might become sages.35 This is probably because Confucianism of the sixteenth century had not yet been established as a philosophy generally experienced by women. However, Lady Chang lived in the seventeenth century, when Confucian morality had become widespread, and thus was successful in educating her children by adhering closely to this ideology and admonishing her children to put it into practice. Yi Hyŏnil wrote that he himself was so dull and stupid that he did not properly practice the teachings, but in his life he did not use coarse or rude language and did not treat others

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without compassion, which was all due to his mother who prohibited such things and made him circumspect from a young age.36 Relationship with Her Husband It is said that Lady Chang and her husband Yi Simyŏng (—詩明 1590– 1674) mutually respected each other as if receiving an honored guest, for nearly sixty years. Without exception, she carried out tasks only after she consulted with her husband and received his orders.37 This might be seen as the subordination of a wife to a husband, but actually at that time it expressed the structure of the family. Subordinate relations within the order of a family did not exist according to the decorum of Confucianism, but there was a distinction of roles. As for Lady Chang, who believed that the way to achieve sagehood consisted in the daily practice of moral principles, her fulfillment of her obligations as a wife was not different in the slightest from her husband’s study of Confucianism. For this reason she could confidently demand that her husband study and teach his juniors: Since you avoid the world and carry out your life in the house, you should teach and instruct your sons and grandsons the Shijing [詩經 Book of poetry] and Lizhi [ṭ記 Book of rites]. Why not accomplish the great task of illuminating the former generations and enlightening the younger generation by leading the adults and children, expounding scholarship, and having them practice decorum?38 It is said that her husband accepted her words, lectured on Xiaoxue and various other Confucian writings, practiced decorum in Confucian rituals such as the Hyangsa-rye (鄕射禮) and Sasang kyŏn-rye (士相見禮), and encouraged young scholars.39 It would have been difficult for Lady Chang to strongly suggest that her husband dedicate himself to scholarship and teach his juniors unless she realized that she could maintain an equal relation with her husband by practicing Confucian morality in her own daily life. She often experienced difficulties due to frequent moves to new homes, because her husband was not especially interested in current affairs and making money. Nonetheless, it is written that she never displayed any grievance about this, which seems to have been possible because she and her husband mutually agreed to pursue lives of morality as defined by Confucianism.40 It is known that she did not consider the financial

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difficulties she experienced due to her husband significant as long as this was an unavoidable condition stemming from their joint desire to practice the words of the sages. As a result, they seem to have maintained excellent relations because she shared with her husband the goal of realizing Confucian morality. Relations with her Parents’ House It is written that even after she married Lady Chang never neglected her filial duty to her parents. She returned to her parents’ house every year after her marriage, and inquired after them. Lady Cho in her Pyŏngja ilgi wrote, “Although today is the day for the rites, I could not even participate; what could be more useless than a daughter?”41 Through these words we can understand that it must not have been an easy matter for a married woman to visit her natal home in the seventeenth century. Yet, when we see that Lady Chang visited her natal home once a year even after marriage, she can be said to have had a great deal of privilege. This could even have been an object of criticism. However, there was an atmosphere surrounding Lady Chang that resulted in her not only not being criticized but in fact being praised for fulfilling her filial duty.42 Furthermore, after Lady Chang’s mother passed away, and having received her husband’s permission, she went back to her natal home to serve her father, and did not return to her own home until after her father remarried.43 When her father passed away he left four children from his second marriage, three sons and one daughter, the oldest of whom was only eight. Lady Chang, again with her husband’s agreement, brought that child to her home to raise and educate; subsequently, she arranged for the other children and her stepmother to come to her home, had a house built for them, and had them live there.44 As mentioned previously, since this was a time after the lineage principle of family order had been settled, it was not easy for a woman to leave her husband’s house for matters concerning her natal home or to bring and take care of her parents’ family. Nonetheless, Lady Chang was able to realize this after obtaining her husband’s approval. How can such a relationship between Lady Chang and her natal home be interpreted? This might have originated in her husband’s appeasing attitude, or from the fact that Lady Chang, being the only child, was obligated to take care of her parents’ house. However, more fundamentally, it resulted from the fact that she could request this of her husband and receive his agreement, the basis of which should be examined closely.

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First, it seems that, rather than the system itself, filial duty to one’s parents, which was fundamental in practicing Confucianism, could be the basis. Lady Chang seems to have had a firm consciousness of the lineage principle as the prime factor in establishing family order. In the preface of her book Ŭmsik timibang, she wrote, “My daughters, copy the contents of this book, but do not think to take it with you.”45 This demonstrates her understanding that a daughter, when married, becomes a member of her husband’s family. She was firm in the idea that a family consisted of a man and his wife, that is, a daughter-in-law. Nonetheless, we can see that Lady Chang herself deeply participated in and directed the affairs of her natal home. How did she justify this contradiction? The order of lineage system was a fundamental system that maintained families and society. However, could that overrule filial duty? Since the lineage principle was only one means of maintaining family union, along with the basic principle of filial duty, at times there was sufficient propriety that practicing filial duty could precede the family order of lineage principle. Lady Chang’s deeds seem to have been based on such an understanding. This also is supported in the fact that her son Yi Hyŏnil appraised his mother’s care of her natal home as an excellent filial deed. Second, it was an expression of her confidence that she was maintaining Confucian morality. Her age at that time was about thirty-five, which means that nearly twenty years had passed since she had married and moved into her husband’s home, and she already had several children. This was a point in her life when she had fully accomplished her role as a woman, which was the daily practice of moral principles. Accordingly, she did not experience even a slight wavering in her confidence that she was living a Confucian life. From such confidence, she could ask her husband to allow her to take care of her parents, and actually do such work. Social Service This aspect can be said to be one of cardinal virtues of Confucianism that is difficult to find among the men of late Chosŏn. Simply, it is difficult to find instances of community service in Confucian morality. One could point to the regulations in of the hyangyak (鄕約 Village code), but this was not an ethic that accrued to the individual. However, Lady Chang, wherever she went, is said to have never neglected helping those who lost parents when young, or who were old and had no one to rely on. She never neglected to help others for reasons of her own poverty or distress, which she always considered to be her own,

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secret concerns.46 Even if we take this as being somewhat overstated, we can wonder where such compassion for others might have stemmed from. Yet, I find it difficult to relate this aspect of her life to Confucian morality, since this is not suggested as a way of practice for moral cultivation. If that is the case, perhaps we should view this as having originated in Lady Chang’s female disposition. What I mean by female disposition here is consideration for those people who lived outside the mainstream. For example, when we examine the ritual recipients in shamanic beliefs held by women, we find not only the objects of male-oriented ritual services, but many other spirits who were not qualified to receive ancestral rites and were therefore excluded from Confucian rituals.47 For example, the spirits of a woman’s younger siblings, the women and children of her natal and her husband’s homes, a sister-in-law who died before giving birth to a son, or a husband’s younger brother who died before getting married. In the early Chosŏn period, despite the suppression of Buddhism, women continued to conduct Suryuk-chae (水陸齋), a Buddhist rite held to console lonely spirits and hungry ghosts wandering either on land or water.48 It is believed that this filled gaps in social practice, and strengthened those social relations that were ignored or could be obstructed.49 Thus, such female-oriented rites can be said to have operated as another aspect of a properly functioning society. Although Lady Chang was not an adherent of shamanic beliefs, her actions show many deeds that can be interpreted thus. As she did not tell others when sending food, the elders of the neighborhood and of the town were all greatly impressed and wished for her longevity and good fortune. They also said they would pray for her and return this favor and indebtedness even after they died.50 Even if we consider this to be overstated, as I do, it demonstrates Lady Chang’s disposition toward her role in strengthening relations with others. Her social service activity is the single aspect of her life that cannot be well explained by Confucian morality. It seems to be based on what I term female properties rather than Confucianism. However, it cannot be fully denied that Lady Chang practiced such activities based on Confucian morality. This means there is a possibility that she believed such activities were important when practicing goodness. Due to this complexity, this writer believes that the evaluation of Lady Chang’s social service and her role in strengthening social relations is better left for a future research project.

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Conclusion Lady Chang assumed Confucian morality as her basis for all daily activities such as ancestral rites, treatment of guests, household management, education of children, and even her relationship with her husband or her parents’ house. We should ask, then, why did she pursue such a Confucian life? She did so because a Confucian life was the means to live in the main social current of the time, and also because it was a way for so-called ego realization. Confucianism was an absolute value that nearly all upper status men pursued in the Chosŏn period. Through this, men gained power, governed the people, accomplished their studies, and cultivated their character. There was nothing that could not be realized within Confucianism. In the late Chosŏn period, women also were able to recognize this phenomenon and came to look for answers in Confucianism. We can see this desire to master Confucianism in both the educational works produced by women in the late Chosŏn such as the Konbŏm [壼範 Rules for women] discussed in Michael Pettid’s chapter and the scholarly activities of Im Yunjidang (1721–1793) and Kang Chŏngildang examined in Youngmin Kim’s chapter in this volume. To women, Confucianism was unfamiliar until the early Chosŏn period. This ideology demanded the acceptance and practice of a stronger or different ethics than in earlier times, and this was not easily accepted and followed. The deep theory of Confucianism was not only difficult to approach, but unlike Buddhism, it did not provide spiritual comfort. Thus, women in the early and middle Chosŏn period were no more than educational targets of Confucianism and could not but occupy an objectified position. However, as the ideology of Confucianism spread, and as it passed into a time when its value was maximized, women also gradually approached it. Women who had long been admonished in Confucian ethics posed the fundamental question of why Confucianism had been presented to them. Accordingly, women came to know Confucianism, and as a result, realized that the ideology encouraged many accomplishments. Not only did men gain everything, but women too could gain much. They came to understand that Confucianism was an essential factor for managing life in the main social current. Women themselves wanted to become the subjects of Confucianism, even though there could not be any political advancement for them. Still, it did not seem impossible for them—despite their being women—to practice Confucian morality and to reach a goal of perfecting their character. This is because Confucianism was a universal

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philosophy available to all, based on the idea that one could complete his or her character through comprehending the principles of nature.51 Moreover, in the late Chosŏn period, there were many upper status men who were not able to gain any of the limited government positions and thus pursued their studies and practiced morality, which helped in the formation of an atmosphere where women too could pursue sagehood. Lady Chang was a representative woman who perceived such a social change and adapted to it. She believed that she could reach sagehood if she followed the daily practice of moral principles. She wanted to understand Confucianism and practice it as it was, apparently from a realization that to comprehend and practice the most highly valued ideology of the time was a means for her to be able to live in the main social current, as well as a way to gain the greatest recognition from society (whether she was conscious of this or not). Her attitude toward life was not greatly different from that of the career women of today who enter the workforce seeking ego realization. Lady Chang had the same aspiration for her life, to perfect her character and become a sage, that was considered by the men of her time to represent the highest values and to constitute a worthy goal of ego realization. In that respect, Lady Chang is no different in the degree of her accomplishment than female scholars such as Im Yunjidang or Kang Chŏngildang of a later period, who advanced Confucian studies and the ethical practice of Confucianism.52 Writings on women’s history have focused on how women were either restricted by changing social systems or how they lost rights. Such a view either makes what women accomplished look insignificant or constitutes an obstacle to correctly describing the actualities of the time.53 To be free of such an obstacle, I believe we should pay more attention to how women managed their lives, how they endeavored to achieve something within the restrictions placed upon them by the historical and social system, and what meanings such accomplishment carried for them. The case of Lady Chang examined in this chapter has opened the possibility that even women were able to achieve a perfected character, like men, by comprehending and practicing the highest value system of late Chosŏn society, Confucianism. This is meaningful from another aspect in that it extends the realm of women in Chosŏn Korea.

Notes 1. Chŏng puin (貞婦人) was an title invested to exemplar wives of the upper status groups in Chosŏn.

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2. What is referred to as Confucianism (Sŏngnihak) in this chapter is one stage of Confucian tradition that originated in Song China (960–1279) and became widespread in intellectual society following the early Chosŏn period. This reformed Confucianism strongly affirmed the universal possibility that humans could achieve sagehood through moral cultivation, compared to the other stages of the Confucian tradition such as Pre-Qin Confucianism (Sŏn-Jin yuhak) or the Confucianism of the Tang dynasty (618–907). In this chapter, I argue that Confucianism settled in at the core of Lady Chang’s identity. That is, I pay attention to the fact she internalized the universal possibility of becoming a sage as advocated in reformed Confucianism. 3. Yi Wanchae, “T’oegye hakmaek kwa Chŏng puin Chang-ssi” [The vein of the T’oegye school and the exemplar wife Lady Chang], in Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi ŭi sam kwa hagye [The life and literary accomplishments of the exemplar wife, Lady Chang of Andong] (Seoul: Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi kinyŏm saŏphoe, 1999). 4. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi [Authentic records of the exemplar wife Andong Chang-ssi] (Seoul: Kugyŏk chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi kanhaengso, 1999), 24. 5. Lady Chang herself suggested to her husband that he teach their sons and grandsons. 6. Lady Yun of Haep’yŏng, the mother of Kim Manjung, also directly taught letters to her young grandchildren. 7. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 24. 8. The Cosmic Cycle refers to the theory of wŏn hoe un se (元會運世). It is a theory of measuring time devised by the Song Chinese scholar Shao Yung. Wŏn (元) is a period of 129,600 years, hoe (會) 10,800 years, un (運) 360 years, and se (世) 30 years. Upon completion of the full cycle, ilwŏn (一元), the universe will experience a transformation. 9. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 23. 10. Yi Tonghwan, “Chŏng puin Chang-ssi ŭi simun” [The poetry and prose of the exemplar wife Lady Chang], in Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi sam kwa hagye, 31–34. 11. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 25. 12. Ibid., 28. 13. Ibid. 14. Chŏng Hyŏngdae and Pak Kyŏngsin, trans., Pyŏngja ilgi [Diary of the year pyŏngja], 1639-4-13 (Seoul: Yejŏnsa, 1991). 15. Holding ancestral rites and receiving guests became the most important role for upper status group women after the clan-oriented lifestyle was settled in Chosŏn. 16. Commonly, this kind of educational book is argued to be generalization of the ethics of reformed Confucianism, but in reality it could be a type of descriptive work. Women needed know-how and had to learn this in order

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to adapt themselves to their in-laws’ houses after marriage. In the content of Kyenyŏsŏ it states, “At your age you are about to use a hairpin [in reference to a married woman’s hairstyle] and marry, and move to the home of a high status family, I thus summarily write down for you.” This book is an expedient written for a daughter so that she could solve matters of reality and well adapt to the home of her in-laws. 17. Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi siga Chaeryŏng Yi-ssi kagye-do [The genealogy of the Chaeryŏng Yi family that Lady Chang of Andong married into], in Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 72. 18. Han Pokchin, “Ŭmsik timibang-e naonŭn Chosŏn sidae chunggi ŭmsikpŏp ŭi chori hakchŏk koch’al” [An investigation of food preparation methods in the middle Chosŏn period as seen in Ŭmsik timibang], in Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi sam kwa hagye, 60. 19. Pyŏngja ilgi, 1638-11-1. 20. Ibid., 1638-8-28/29. 21. Ibid., 1639-1-11. 22. Her son, Yi Hyŏnil, judged that it was a great filial duty for his mother to take care of her natal home. This is quite noteworthy from the point that this was at a time when only filial duty toward the paternal line had begun to be emphasized. 23. Pyŏngja ilgi, 1637-11-10. 24. Ibid., 1638-4-24. 25. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 25–26. 26. Yi Tonghwan, “Chŏng puin Chang-ssi ŭi simun,” 31–34. 27. This work is a biography of women in successive generations of China attributed to Liu Xiang of the Chinese Han dynasty. 28. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 26–27. 29. Ch’oe Samsŏp and Pak Ch’an’guk, trans. and annotations, T’aegyo sin’gi [New records for prenatal care] (Seoul: Sŏngposa, 1991), 71. 30. Ibid., 43. 31. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 28. 32. Ibid., 27. 33. Ibid., 34. 34. Ibid., 17. 35. “Sŏnbi haengjang” [Records of a deceased mother], in Kugyŏk Yulgok chŏnsŏ [The collected works of Yulgok, in translation] (Sŏngnam: Han’guk chŏngsin munhwa yŏn’guwŏn, 1988), 18. 36. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 27. 37. Ibid., 29. 38. Ibid., 28. 39. The Hyangsa-rye was a ceremonial gathering on the third day of the third lunar month where those seeking to pass the military service examination would hold an arrow-shooting contest. Yet, this was not simply an arrow-shooting

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contest, but rather an exercise in Confucian decorum where the eldest were given priority and treated deferentially. This was oftentimes accompanied by a banquet. Sasang kyŏn-rye was the decorum scholars would display upon meeting one another. 40. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 30. 41. Pyŏngja ilgi, 1638-9-5 to 1638-9-6. 42. She returned to her parents’ house once every year to inquire after her parents and never neglected to inquire after them even a bit, even though she was married. See Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 29. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Ŭmsik timibang, preface, ed. Yi Hoch’ŏl, (Taegu, Korea: Kyŏngbuk taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 2005). 46. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang-ssi silgi, 26. 47. Chŏn Hyesŏng, “Chosŏn ŭi munhwa paljŏn-e taehan konghŏn” [Contributions to the development of culture in Chosŏn], in Han’guksa simin kangchwa 15 [Lecture on the populace in Korean history 15] (Seoul: Iljogak, 1994), 118. 48. Lee SoonGu [Yi Sun’gu], “Chosŏn ch’ogi yŏsŏng ŭi sinang saenghwal” [The spiritual lives of women in the early Chosŏn period], Yŏksa hakpo 150 (1996): 53. 49. Chŏn Hyesŏng, “Chosŏn ŭi munhwa paljŏn e taehan konghŏn,” 118. 50. Kugyŏk Chŏng puin Andong Chang_ssi silgi, 26. 51. Kim Hyŏn, “Im Yunjidang ŭi kyŏnghak sasang” [The ideology of the Classics of Im Yunjidang], in Im Yunjidang ŭi saengae wa sasang [The ideology and life of Im Yunjidang] (Wŏnju: Wŏnju munhwawŏn, 2002), 240. 52. Yi Yŏngch’un, Kang Chŏngildang [Kang Chŏngildang], (Seoul: Karam kihoek, 2002). 53. Patricia B. Ebrey, Marriage and Life of Women in China, trans., Pae Sukhoe (Seoul: Samjiwŏn, 2000), 35.

4

Confucian Educational Works for Upper Status Women in Chosŏn Korea Michael J. Pettid

On a road where women go, Men take a circuitous path; On a road where men pass, Women take a roundabout path; If it is not your husband or wife, Do not ask the name. —Chŏng Ch’ŏl, “Hunmin-ga” [訓民歌 Songs of edification]

Introduction The starting point for this discussion is the early seventeenth century, a period that witnessed Chosŏn barely catch its breath from one series of invasions by Japan (1592–1598) to only again suffer invasions by the Manchu people (1627, 1636–37). The repercussions from these invasions echoed throughout society and marked a turning point in the elite’s view of social systems and values in light of the realities of the wars. The invasions were also prominent in the manner in which the ruling elite appraised women, especially those of the upper status yangban group, and their roles in society. An essential battleground for the increasing puissance of Confucian social ethics in Chosŏn after the invasions was strengthening the discourse of the virtuous woman (ḟ女 yŏllyŏ). Such fortification was

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to be accomplished through both punitive legal codes and educational materials that idealized desirable models of female behaviors. The social ethics of Confucianism examined in this chapter are those upon which social order was constructed in late Chosŏn, those being primarily the building blocks for human relations exemplified in the Three Bonds (三綱 samgang) explicated in the Confucian Classics. The Three Bonds were the basic relationships that operated at all levels of society, from the home to the governing of the country. These idealized relationships, specifically the bond of loyalty between subject and ruler, filial piety of children to parents, and distinction between husband and wife, were understood as fundamental requirements for the creation of an orderly home and country. These ethics became prevasive by late Chosŏn and spread to every level of society. We should, however, acknowledge that Confucian ethics were not immutable and varied depending upon factors including social status, geographical location, and time. As discussed in other chapters in this volume, what constituted Confucianism differed significantly from pre-Chosŏn Korea to the late Chosŏn. Moreover, Confucian ethics never had complete mastery of the Chosŏn people, as alternative belief systems such as Buddhism and shamanism were always important components in the lives of the people despite legislation that sought to minimize the influence of these worldviews. Thus, it is erroneous to consider Chosŏn Korea a society entirely under the domain of Confucian ideals. Notwithstanding the vicissitudes influencing Confucianism in Chosŏn Korea and how the people interacted with this system, we cannot deny that it had substantial impact upon lives. Confucianism advocates a strong patriarchal order and this was repeatedly highlighted by writers in both China and Korea over the centuries not only in exegeses of the Confucian canon, but also in educational works that highlighted behaviors supporting hierarchal relations between the sexes and the reinforcement of the patriarchal system.1 Moreover, there is no doubt that the legal code of Chosŏn functioned, in part, to strengthen patriarchal and patrilocal elements of Korean society. Accordingly it is not incorrect to see late Chosŏn education as being primarily dominated by what we can best describe as Chosŏn Confucian ethics.2 Prior to the sixteenth century, legislation enacted in Chosŏn had created a solid foundation for the continued Confucian orientation of society. Concerning women, behaviors in keeping with Confucian norms were stimulated through both legal measures and education. Yet, records before the invasions demonstrate that Confucian mores were far from being ubiquitous in Chosŏn, and conceivably not even uniformly practiced in

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the highest status groups.3 As such, the push to alter the customs of the people was to continue throughout the sixteenth century without much alteration until the catastrophic series of invasions. These epoch events ushered in wholesale changes to nearly every aspect of Chosŏn society. The invasions of this period were to prove to be, perhaps, the most important events in the five hundred year history of Chosŏn. Aside from devastation of the land, massive loss of life, and defeat at the hands of invaders, the invasions were to alter the manner in which Chosŏn was governed. JaHyun Kim Haboush writes that due to the invasions, “all encompassing social transformations ranging from the economy and family structure to ideology and worldview” were brought about.4 This is particularly true in regard to social expectations for women. By the mid-seventeenth century, in the aftermath of the invasions, there emerged a strong, dichotomic discourse between “virtuous” (ḟ女 yŏllyŏ) and “un-virtuous” (᪷ḟ女 pul-yŏllyŏ) women that would remain hegemonic until the end of the Chosŏn dynasty. This distinction was not one of shades of gray, but rather a very simple, black and white determination: either a woman was virtuous or she was not.5 This marker of virtuousness became a means with which to measure all women.6 So deep was this consciousness, it superseded the importance of women, their lives, and their place in Chosŏn society. The ideal was not only reified and enforced by the males who controlled Chosŏn, but also by women who were indoctrinated into the concept by means of education and socialization. Thus, in many ways, the ideal of the virtuous woman for upper status group women became, at least on some levels, a Foucaultian self-governing and self-perpetuating concept, since the threat of discipline or ostracization from family forced compliance.7 This chapter will examine three aspects of education for upper-class women in late Chosŏn. First, I will investigate the social reasons behind the educational works for women in this time period. That is, how did the overall direction of the Chosŏn dynasty shape expectations for women? Second, the important educational texts of late Chosŏn are discussed with emphasis on the means in which each text sought to edify womenfolk. Finally, I will consider how women engaged and internalized the messages in these texts.

Women and the Aftermath of the Invasions We can best understand the actualities of the invasions and the chaos that befell society by examining period literary accounts. These descriptions

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demonstrate the deplorable situation of the people during the invasions and the complete breakdown of social norms. For example, Yun Kukhyŏng (1543–1611) wrote that there “appeared many woman dirtied by the enemy” and described the situation as being so dire that “amid the heaps of corpses scattered on the plains with no one to bury them . . . there were fathers who sold their children.” Moreover, Yun further described a people so desperate for food that they were eating corpses, with death from starvation and disease commonplace.8 Such graphic descriptions do not conjure up visions of a society operating under Confucian mores, but rather a war-torn land where simple survival would have dictated human behavior. Of all the people, it was perhaps women who suffered the greatest in these catastrophic times. Rape or kidnapping was all too commonplace, as described by O Hŭimun (1539–1613), I heard the Japanese selected women they liked among the Yŏngnam elite families (士女 sanyŏ), loaded them onto five ships and sent them to their country [i.e., Japan]. They had them comb their hair, powder their faces, and draw eyebrows— if they did not they [the Japanese] would become angry. The women, scared to death, followed these orders. All these women, in fact, were raped prior to this. The rest, who were not pleasing to the Japanese, were gang raped. How sad and cruel it is to hear this.9 Since many women of all status groups suffered rape and other abuses at the hands of the Japanese and others during the invasions, after the conflict ceased there surfaced a serious social problem.10 The stigma of a “dirtied” woman, that is, those unfortunate women who had been raped or kidnapped, tainted many families and the families who had avoided such tragedies shunned marriage with those families that had not been so lucky. One writer of the period described the problem: During the Imjin waeran [the Japanese invasion of 1592], the enemy occupied the country for six or seven years and there were many wives of scholar families who were captured by the enemy and lost their honor. After the enemy withdrew, those families that luckily were not visited by calamity would not allow marriages with families that had met with misfortune. King Sŏnjo worried about this problem; if the trend continued for long it seemed the country would be nearly without

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sound scholar families; it was important that both the royal family and aristocratic families positively marry with those families that had experienced calamity. After this the distinction between those families who had experienced misfortune began to disappear.11 While the above accounts describe the Hideyoshi invasions, other records demonstrate that a very similar situation existed during and after the Manchu invasions. Women who had been taken captive by the Manchu armies were oftentimes ransomed back to their families.12 The returning women could have quite possibly been divorced by their husbands upon their return for having lost their virtue (失節 siljŏl). Yet as in the period after the Japanese invasions, the Korean court was surprisingly proactive and largely prohibited divorce on this basis for the repatriated women.13 This response seems to have been almost unavoidable, as many families had been touched by the invasions. For the Chosŏn elites, the kidnapping and rape of so many women posed a tremendous problem. The hierarchical Confucian worldview of Chosŏn required that the yangban lineages maintain purity, thus preserving their superior position vis-à-vis lower status groups. The difference between an upper status yangban family and the commoners who worked nearby land was that of access to privilege, especially the ability to sit for the government service examinations. The right to enter government service was only available to men of yangban families and it was their bloodlines that afforded them this franchise.14 If the bloodlines of the yangban families were dirtied with foreign, non-yangban blood, how could the status quo be justified?

Post-invasions Official Discourse on Women The disastrous consequences of the invasions, the breakdown of social systems, ineptitude of the government, and its weakened position, all combined to bring about a period of heightened social change. On the immediate surface, the prestige of the ruling elites and royal family had been severely damaged by the totality of the victories by invading forces on Korean soil. Perhaps more than any other issue, the ruling elites of Chosŏn realized that the collapse of Confucian morality—the very basis for the rigid separation of the classes and the base of the elite’s power— endangered the continuation of a society being built upon the foundation of hierarchy and birthright.

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After the invasions, the Chosŏn government was faced with reorganizing and rebuilding a devastated country. The appalling consequences of the invasions resulted in human behaviors aimed at survival, and such primal actions were anathema to the structured society pursued by Confucianists. Faced with such a challenge, the ruling elites emphasized behaviors that matched the Confucian ideal and, for the most part, simply ignored other actions and behaviors. In order to create the illusion that people made great sacrifices to uphold certain ethics, those who matched these behaviors were honored. This, according to entries in the dynastic record, would stimulate further like behavior among the people and thus create a more easily governed population.15 As such, the “official” discourse that emerged from the Japanese and Manchu invasions was directed at creating the perception that the people of Chosŏn had acted in an almost single accord and had heroically clung to Confucian notions such as loyalty, filiality, and virtuous womanly behavior. Echoing the official discourse on the invasions were some literary accounts that seem to focus on narratives revealing what can be termed ideal Confucian virtue. I find it difficult to accept all such descriptions of virtuous behavior as being literal, however, and see them as rather depictions of what should have occurred rather than strictly factual retellings of events. The following account is an excellent example of how a virtuous woman should have acted: During the Imjin waeran the wife of a scholar was fleeing together with her maidservant and had arrived at a ferry to cross a river. Many people were taking the boat, so they [the two women] held hands and were about to board. A person on the boat took the woman’s hand and pulled her up. The woman cried, “Now my hand has been dirtied by an outside man, how can I live?” and then plunged into the river and died. The servant looked upon this scene, exclaiming, “My lady has died, how can I live alone?” before jumping to her death in the water. During a chaotic time like this, it is distressing that such a person is not widely known.16 I believe the writer’s final words reveal the fact that such model behavior, at least in terms of Confucian propriety for women, was very rare and far from common. Moreover, such a scene is not one telling of a woman acting as an agent of her own volition, but rather a male conception of ideal womanly behavior in terms of Confucian notions of female virtue.

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Other records reveal that such behavior was not the norm. Various accounts in the dynastic record lament the dissipation of the people’s customs and way of life and pronounce a pressing need to create a didactic work similar to Samgang haengsil-to [三綱行實圖 Conduct of the three bonds, with illustrations].17 Moreover, court officials urged that this work be “translated” into vernacular Korean, thus enabling it to reach the widest possible audience.18 It was in the early seventeenth century during the reign of Kwanghae-gun (1608–1623) that plans to create a compilation to honor the filial, loyal, and virtuous actions of the people were finalized. This massive project would require dozens of compilers, copyists, carvers, and writers, and be carried out at great expense to the Chosŏn government. The grand scope bespeaks the perceived importance of this endeavor at a time when the finances of the government were severely depleted due to the havoc and destruction resulting from the invasions of just ten years earlier. While economic realities eventually caused the scale of the project to be reduced, it was completed by 1617 and distributed nationwide.19 Titled Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil [東國新續三綱行實 New and expanded Korean conduct of the three bonds], its contents are impressive. It contains 1,500 accounts divided into eight volumes of filial deeds, one volume of actions by loyal retainers, eight volumes detailing the virtuous conduct of women, and a supplemental volume of the seventy-two Koreans recorded in two earlier compilations.20 Each entry describes an individual’s filial, heroic, or virtuous action in both literary Chinese and han’gŭl script, and this is accompanied by an illustration depicting the noteworthy activity. The composition of the work allowed it to reach a wide audience: literary Chinese for yangban literati, han’gŭl script for those with less education such as women, commoners, and children, and illustrations for the illiterate. The Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil has 717 accounts concerning virtuous women—some entries feature multiple women—with some 73 percent of these occurring during the Hideyoshi invasions.21 This is in stark contrast to the accounts of only sixty-seven filial sons and eleven loyal retainers for the same period.22 It was during the reign of Kwanghae, some ten years after the conclusion of the invasions, that the largest numbers of women were honored. The women honored in this work died in many different ways and for a multitude of reasons. Entries for times before the reign of Kwanghae reveal that that most common reason for honoring a woman was her refusal to remarry after her husband’s death, with sixty-nine such descriptions. However, for the time of Kwanghae the focus shifted to the woman who

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took her own life to preserve her fidelity. In this period, 404 women who took their own lives are honored, some 83 percent of the total.23 Thus, we can see that the ideal of an honorable death (死節 sajŏl) dominates the official discourse on women during the invasions. Narratives such as the following are indicative of the flavor of these accounts: Lady Kim was of Yŏnghŭng District, the wife of the scholar Kim Yunhŭp. At the time of the Imjin invasions, a crowd of thieves [Japanese] arrived at her family’s house. They tried to dirty her as she suckled her baby, but she refused to follow their demands. They cut off her head and left. The baby remained in the embrace of the still seated corpse. A gate was erected in her honor.24 The maidservant of the Royal Ancestral Shrine maintenance office (Chongmyo-sŏ) Kahi was from Seoul. She encountered the thieves [Japanese] and their leader tried to rape her. She then threw herself into a well and died. She was eighteen and unmarried. The king ordered a gate erected [for her].25 The idea of purity and its preservation in face of the Japanese invasion is prominent throughout Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil. The nar-

Figure 4.1.

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Figure 4.2.

ratives present a binary relationship between Chosŏn purity and Japanese impurity, emphasizing an enemy that sought to degrade the entire country by entering and soiling it. The narratives further demonstrate the Confucian solution to such a threat, that being suicide. The images of virtuous women in this work contain a plethora of such behavior, all strengthening the official discourse on the actions of the people during the invasions. Additionally, the scope of this work is quite broad and includes all varieties of women, such as married and unmarried, upper and lower status, and the young and old. The contents would impart upon its audience the devastation of the war, the brutality of the enemy, and the unanimity of the actions of women during this time of great crisis.26 Such narratives suggest that the most important quality a woman could possess is that of fidelity along with an unbending desire to guard

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her purity and that of her lineage at any cost.27 In fact, the act of preserving purity for a woman became constructed as an act of loyalty to the nation in the aftermath of the invasions.28 The rape of the land by a foreign army and the rape of women were often seen as being the very same act. Thus, if a man loyally fighting against an invading army was seen as serving the country, so too was the woman who prevented the enemy from conquering her body through the act of rape.29

Building a Consensus In the period after the invasions, Chosŏn society in general transformed variously due to the difficult circumstances brought about by the devastation of the conflicts and the erosion of governmental authority. The ruling elites, fully cognizant of the social disarray, intensified efforts to spread Confucian ideals and, perhaps most importantly, Confucian order to every level of society. For women, this was also a period of change. In particular, many scholars see a shift away from the heretofore heavy focus on the image of the virtuous woman to a more practical ideal.30 The reason for the shift, these writers contend, was due to the heavy loss of life during the invasions by women attempting to maintain their fidelity. Such sentiments seem to be echoed in writings of the period: During the Imjin invasions, since [upper class] wives naturally kept their fidelity, such a number that we cannot record were cut down and killed by the evil [Japanese] thieves while maintaining their pureness. Even to the level of ignorant, low class women, many also rebuked the enemy and died. Possibly, without education this would not have been possible.31 This account seems to reinforce the idea that education greatly facilitated the spread of the ideology of the virtuous woman up to the period of the invasions. Such an exemplar of virtuous behavior as presented in educational texts was not a woman in control of her own life, but rather the embodiment of a Confucian ideal. The shift toward practicality is argued to have led to the creation of a new model for women, one that acknowledged various aspects of a woman’s life including childrearing, management of the domestic sphere, and serving her husband. While this notion would still be steeped in

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Confucian ideals for womanly behavior, it is seen as being a much more practical interpretation of Confucianism and more applicable to daily life.32 Ch’a Chuwŏn believes that this shift was the result of doubts that women harbored toward the ideal of the virtuous woman in the aftermath of the invasions when so many had been sacrificed.33 This seems rather unlikely however. First, women, regardless of their acceptance or rejection of the ideal of the virtuous woman, did not have the social wherewithal to change the manner in which society was operated. This was the prerogative of ruling class males. Second, as will be discussed below, it was the period directly after the invasions that witnessed the greatest explosion of didactic texts directed at edifying the population in virtues such as virtuous womanly behavior. The idea that the importance of the virtuous woman diminished in any way also is contradicted by the continued emphasis on this very quality in both official and unofficial records. There are numerous accounts in the dynastic record that retell the actions of virtuous women who are honored by the court for their behavior.34 These records demonstrate that ruling elites’ view of women was very much consistent with the paragon of the virtuous woman. And the periodic honoring of these women was done as a means to further stimulate like behavior in other women. As to whether women themselves concurred with this model is, of course, questionable, but the emphasis on virtuous womanly behavior by the ruling elites did not diminish in any way even as Chosŏn entered its fourth century. We should understand the concepts aimed at practicality in a woman’s life as being an extension of the exemplar of the virtuous woman. While the more practical approach to education did acknowledge other aspects of a woman’s life, such as raising her children and serving her husband, it was fundamentally constructed upon the foundation of virtuous womanly behavior. A woman could certainly be declared a virtuous woman without having married or bearing children.35 The single most important aspect of virtue was a woman’s purity or fidelity, and marriage and childbearing were not prerequisite to this ideal. Conversely, a woman was completely rejected by society if she was not virtuous. Didactic works of the last half of Chosŏn did transform to some degree, especially in regard to providing a fuller education for upper status group women. There were both private and public texts published in this period, with private texts reflecting a more practical content at times than the government works. Private texts for this period are clearly designed for upper status group women and can be divided into three main categories: those discussing a woman’s life after marriage, those with a broader focus

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and covering a woman’s life from her childhood and on, and those written by males as guidebooks in instructing one’s daughter(s). Texts in the first group are well represented by Uam kyenyŏsŏ [尤菴戒女書 Admonishments for women by Uam] written by Song Siyŏl (1607–1689) for his eldest daughter before her marriage. Illustrative of the second category of more broadly designed texts for daily life is Kyubŏm [閨範 Rules for the women’s quarters], written by Lady Yun of Haep’yŏng.36 The third group of texts is seemingly written for males (i.e., in literary Chinese) to use in the instruction of women. One such work is Sasojŏl [士小節 Elementary matters of etiquette for scholar families], compiled by Yi Tŏkmu in 1775. Uam kyenyŏsŏ is divided into twenty categories ranging from serving one’s parents, husband, or parents-in-law, to how to instruct one’s children, to how to buy and sell items. The overriding theme of this han’gŭl text is that of behaving in a manner that will reflect positively on both one’s natal home and her husband’s house. One example that perhaps best illustrates the need to act with respectful prudence is Song’s admonishment concerning jealousy: I have already spoken that you should not be jealous as a part of obligation in serving your husband, but since it is the most evil action by a wife, I will write again. Jealousy will cause the once intimate couple to mutually hate and deceive. . . . It will cause one to lose the heart to serve one’s parents-in-law, the naturally loving heart to become unimportant, to beat the slaves without purpose, to not properly manage the household, and to constantly speak words rising from bad emotions.37 The responsibility of women in Song’s eyes was to behave honorably at all times. This was the proper way for an upper status woman to comport herself. It is notable that Song does admonish his daughter to use her judgment at points in the text, demonstrating his own belief in her abilities. Kyubŏm, likewise, is a han’gŭl text, but has a much broader scope than the above text. The preface to the work is written in verse and the following chapters covering topics such as sincerity, serving one’s parents, reverence to one’s ancestors, and a correct mind. The chief goal of this work is to discuss proper womanly virtue (婦德 pudŏk) in a wide range of areas. Sasojŏl, perhaps not surprisingly, is very much like the Song Siyŏl text discussed above, at least in the aspect of focus upon honorable and exemplary behavior by womenfolk. The work culled the writings of

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the Confucian Canon and writers of both Korea and China to provide direction on everything from washing one’s underwear (“When washing underclothes spread them out to dry in a quiet place”) to how to treat one’s sister’s husband (as an “outside” person). The educational philosophy of the work vis-à-vis women can be seen in the following: If a son is not instructed, our house will be ruined; if a daughter is not instructed, another’s house will be ruined. Accordingly, to not instruct is the fault of the parents.38 This statement is steeped in the idea of a daughter needing to act correctly in marriage or otherwise reflecting badly upon her natal home. Numerous other publications aimed at women were printed and distributed by governmental agencies. Particularly, the dynastic records demonstrate that there were numerous printings of works such as Samgang haengsil-to even through the nineteenth century.39 These entries confirm that the ruling elites still held that the work had an important didactic function for propagating Confucian morals throughout society.40 Unique to works such as Samgang haengsil-to and Oryun haengsil-to [五倫行實圖 Conduct of the five relations, with illustrations],41 which were often printed and distributed as a combined volume, was the incorporation of illustrations into the text, thus allowing the works to reach the widest possible audience of both the literate and illiterate. There were also other educational works propagated in late Chosŏn that used Chinese materials for their basis. Perhaps the most important of these was Yŏsasŏ ŏnhae [᷎四書諺解 The four women’s books, with annotations in Korean], compiled by Yi Tŏksu (1673–1744) in 1736 under a royal edict.42 This work contains Korean translations of Chinese educational works, written by women, and dating from as far back as the latter Han dynasty (25–220 CE). An account concerning this work in the dynastic record leaves little doubt as to the rationale behind this endeavor, as King Yŏngjo stated: If this text is printed and distributed, it will surely help with the ways of the women’s quarters (閨範 kyubŏm); moreover, if it is interpreted in ŏnmun (i.e., han’gŭl) it will be easier understood.43 Similar to Naehun [內訓 Instructions for the inner quarters], written by Queen Sohye in 1475, Yŏsasŏ ŏnhae sought to explicate a woman’s

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position vis-à-vis that of a man in view of the Confucian cosmological order of the universe. Hence, the very quality that made a woman female, that is yin, also made her inherently inferior and subservient to males.44 The way in which she could fulfill her role was to conduct herself in accordance with the Confucian regulations that established the primacy of males throughout society. Yŏsasŏ ŏnhae was also composed in a manner that facilitated its use for educating women in Confucian mores. The text was written in literary Chinese and followed by a translation into han’gŭl script. Accordingly, women unable to read literary Chinese were still able to read the various sections on serving their parents and husband, maintaining their fidelity, and being righteous mothers. The emphasis of the work is that a woman should conduct herself in accordance with Confucian precepts. As the following line demonstrates, maintaining fidelity was of the utmost importance for a woman and equated with a man’s loyalty to the throne: A loyal vassal cannot serve two countries and a virtuous woman cannot serve two husbands.45 As is clear, fidelity remained every bit as vital component in a woman’s life as loyalty was for males. A text of somewhat ambiguous origins that nonetheless merits attention is Konbŏm [壼範 Rules for women]. This work is thought to have been written for women of the royal palace and then circulated to womenfolk of upper status group families. Based on this han’gŭl work’s contents, it is thought to have been compiled in the mid- to late eighteenth century. Differing from other didactic works of the day, Konbŏm engaged the mainstream Confucian texts and the writings of Confucian scholars.46 Furthermore, the work is organized by specific text rather than subject, allowing the reader to carefully scrutinize particular works one at a time. This demonstrates to the present writer that some women had realized that by engaging Confucianism on the same level as men they could move beyond simply mastering the domestic realm. Such an attitude toward Confucianism is markedly different than what we can see in the life of a woman of the seventeenth century such as Lady Chang of Andong, discussed elsewhere in this volume by Lee SoonGu. The main features of the work have been argued to reveal some aspects of a woman’s life in late Chosŏn.47 First, the importance of the family in a woman’s life is evident throughout the text. The work instructs that any domestic difficulties that arise need to be solved harmoniously and this is done through the use of Confucian ethics and virtue. Second, while it

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is inevitable that conflicts in familial relations would arise, the means for congenially solving these problems was not through rules or laws, but rather through decorum (i.e., 禮, ye). For the gamut of emotions that might surface in conflicts to be understood and resolved harmoniously, one’s attitude toward life was held paramount. Finally, while stressing a woman’s role in the domestic sphere as being defined by decorum and Confucian ethics, this work did not limit the role of women to moral training and the simple management of the domestic sphere. Rather, it indicated that the influence of a woman’s role and her realm of care extended as far as governing the country in at least an indirect fashion. We can understand from the contents of Konbŏm that the writer did not envision women meekly awaiting their fate within their homes. This writer viewed the role of women to be much greater than simply the domestic sphere, even if this influence was indirect. The thorough examination of Confucian texts in this work also seems to have allowed women a greater space than did the more straightforward didactic texts such as Samgang haengsil-to. For this reason, it seems logical to posit that the writer of this work was in fact a woman who hoped to come to terms with the Confucian social system and allow other women to do so also. Another interesting development in post-invasions education of upper status group women was the creation of board games to imbue women with Confucian values. Most notable among these is a game attributed to Queen Inhyŏn (1667–1701).48 Titled Kyumun suji yŏhaengji-do [閨門須知᷎行之圖 Map to what should be known for women’s behavior in the inner quarters], this game was played in the same fashion as the popular yut game.49 The board was ringed with various improper womanly behaviors, some three dozen in all, ranging from the serious such as adultery, not being a good wife, unfilial behavior, and practicing Buddhism, to those that seem less serious including enjoying music, laughing loudly, and speaking frivolously. In the board’s center are historic personages who represent different aspects of excellent womanly behavior. Finally, at the board’s base are both positive behaviors including maintaining one’s fidelity, being a wise mother, and possessing appropriate womanly skills, and negative behaviors including evil actions. The various categories and personages were titled in Chinese characters and accompanied by explanations in han’gŭl.50 In addition to the above game, there were also versions entirely written in han’gŭl, presumably allowing wider accessibility. These such games, oftentimes referred to as chongjŏng-do (從政圖), are closely related to the sŭnggyŏng-do (陞卿圖) used at sŏdang (書堂 village schools) to teach young males the various government positions and ranks. The chief aim

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of such educational tools was to socialize upper status group children in such a way that the values represented in these games would become second nature. A final category of educational materials for women are the most practical of texts, that being cookbooks. These works were primarily created to pass on recipes for various food and drink. One such example is Ŭmsik timibang [Methods for preparing tasty food], written by Lady Chang of Andong, who was introduced in chapter 3. Despite the focus on food preparation, these texts also convey ideological messages to their readership and thus can be considered as didactic works in this context, at least insofar as providing a means where a woman could creatively express herself. A very important consideration with any of the above-discussed texts concerns that of distribution. Namely, how widespread and available were these texts? For the government-sponsored texts the answer is somewhat easier as we can find occasional mention in the dynastic records of the printing and distribution of a certain number of a given text. The reproduction of works such as Samgang haengsil-to, for example, is well documented in the dynastic records even through the nineteenth century as mentioned above. For private texts, however, the trail of publication—or transcription, the more likely means of reproduction—is a much murkier path. While we know that novels, particularly those written in han’gŭl, were the objects of a thriving book-lending business centering on upper status group women in the late Chosŏn period, there is little information to be mined concerning didactic works. Yet, the commonness of such educational materials even to the present day seems to indicate that these works too were frequently reproduced in some manner. For example, in the epilogue of the aforementioned cookbook Ŭmsik timibang, the author urges her daughters to copy the book and take it with them. Perhaps such a pattern of transcription as a learning activity was also practiced with other educational works.

Engaging the Texts An important consideration concerning the didactic texts created for women is how women themselves negotiated meaning with these works and carved space for their own autonomous activities. There is no reason

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to believe that Chosŏn women simply accepted the ideals for womanly behavior at face value, notwithstanding the preponderance of these texts. In fact, as writings by women clearly demonstrate, they used writing and reading as one area where they could gain empowerment.51 The use of literary activities as a cathartic device is commonly seen in the fictional works favored and created by upper status womenfolk in late Chosŏn, evidenced by numerous kyubang sosŏl (novels of the women’s quarters). Indeed, some males saw the propensity of women to read fiction as a major social problem.52 Yet notwithstanding the complaints levied at fiction reading by women, the genre only escalated in popularity as the Chosŏn dynasty wore on. From this we can easily surmise the great value that fictional works provided to the lives of women in this period. From this function of escape found in fiction, one could extrapolate a similar positive function of didactic texts for women. Rather than blind obedience to or uncritical acceptance of these texts, women might have used the Confucian codes as a means to create their own space, one that was not subordinate to males. One such text that demonstrates this possibility is Konbŏm, which certainly sought to establish an autonomous and empowered space for women both within the domestic sphere and beyond. While it is clear that the ruling elites of Chosŏn valued the model of the virtuous woman as essential for the maintenance of patriarchal society, it is not clear that women followed this ideal with the same enthusiasm.53 Numerous literary works by women vividly demonstrate their frustrations with the social system that subordinated their desires to male ones; such a frustration can be found in literary works dating to at least the early seventeenth century.54 Yet, outright rebellion or rejection of the system was neither possible nor wise for the upper status group woman, especially in light of the grave repercussions for one’s family. In this vein, the didactic texts of late Chosŏn were important for upper status womenfolk in that they represented access to knowledge. Knowledge allowed women space and agency within the restraints of a repressive social system and further allowed them to enlarge their roles and influence, both within the family and beyond. The woman armed with knowledge certainly had greater means to assert her will and interact with the men in her life as a more equal individual. Thus, the didactic texts of late Chosŏn were more than male-driven creations to subjugate women, as women themselves could achieve a measure of empowerment through these works.

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Notes 1. There is little doubt that writings attributed to Confucius himself devalued women and placed them at the bottom of the domestic hierarchy. See Paul Rakita Goldin, “The View of Women in Early Confucianism,” in The Sage and the Second Sex: Confucianism, Ethics, and Gender, ed. Chenyang Li (Chicago: Open Court, 2000), 138–39. 2. It must be emphasized that these Confucian ethics were Korean interpretations and variations on the Confucian Canon and differed from either Chinese or Japanese understandings. See, Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggott, “Introduction,” in Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan, ed. Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggott (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 5–6. 3. For example, a petition to the throne in 1554 notes that customs are “scandalous” and there is a need “to put forth efforts to change the [people’s] customs.” See Myŏngjong sillok [明宗實錄 Veritable records of King Myŏngjong], 16: 16: 71b (1554-06-27). 4. JaHyun Kim Haboush, “Dream Journeys: Post-war Literary Discourse in 17th Century Korea,” in History, Language and Culture in Korea: Proceedings of the 20th Conference of the Association of Korean Studies in Europe, ed. Youngsook Pak and Jaehoon Yeon (London: Saffron Books, 2001), 65. 5. Being virtuous was more than simple chastity. As Martina Deuchler points out it took many forms including only leaving home after dark and while wearing a cloak, self-mutilation, and even suicide. See Deuchler, “Propagating Female Virtues in Chosŏn Korea,” in Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan, ed. Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggott (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 160. 6. Chin Chegyo, “Yi-jo hugi hansi-e nat’anan ‘yŏl’ ŭi sidaesang” [Periodic phases of “virtuousness” in late Chosŏn dynasty Chinese-character poetry], in Chosŏn sidae ŭi yŏllyŏ tamron [Discourse on the virtuous woman of the Chosŏn period], ed. Han’guk kojŏn yŏsŏng munhak-hoe (Seoul: Wŏrin, 2002), 185. 7. This is the same mechanism that Michel Foucault saw as being the force behind establishing “correct” social behaviors in the West. He argued that discipline “makes possible the operation of a relational power that sustains itself by its own mechanism.” See, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), 177. 8. Munjo man-rok [聞詔漫錄 Scattered records of Munjo], 2: 1a. 9. Swaemi-rok [瑣尾錄 Records of a refugee], 13. 10. It has been pointed out that the Japanese were not the only abusers of women during this period, as Ming Chinese troops and opportunistic Korean men also committed rape and violence against women during the invasions. See Ch’oe Sukkyŏng and Ha Hyŏngang, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa: Kodae Chosŏn sidae [A

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history of Korean women: from ancient times through the Chosŏn period] (Seoul: Ihwa yŏja taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 1993), 405. 11. Chŏng Chaeryun, Kongsa mun’gyŏn-rok [公私聞見錄 Record of public and private observations] 1: 5a–5b. 12. Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa, 409. 13. Ibid., 409, 411–12. 14. Provisions in the legal code of early Chosŏn penalized the descendents of a woman who remarried. Sons of yangban women who had remarried were considered unfit to sit for the government examinations, as they were considered illegitimate. See, Kyŏngguk taejŏn [經國大典 National code], 1: 4b–5a; 3:1b. 15. Sŏnjo sillok [宣祖實錄 Veritable records of King Sŏnjo], 65: 34a (1595-07-19), 65: 34b (1595-07-20), and 163: 6a (1603-06-09). 16. Yi Sugwang, Chibong yusŏl [芝峰῀設 Topical discourses by Chibong], 15: 15a–15b. 17. After the Japanese invasions, see Sŏnjo sillok, 199: 21b (1606-05-21) and 199: 23a (1606-05-24). After the Manchu invasions see Hyojong sillok [孝宗實錄 Veritable records of King Hyojong], 15: 8b (1655-07-26) among other accounts. 18. Sŏnjo sillok, 199: 21b (1606-05-21). Of course, the Samgang haengsil-to had already been published in han’gŭl versions by the fifteenth century). 19. While the original plans called for 1,600 sets of the work to be printed, this number was later lowered to 400 and finally to 50 sets. 20. The earlier works are the Samgang haengsil-to [三綱行實圖 Conduct of the three bonds with illustrations, 1432] and the subsequent Sok samgang haengsil-to [續三綱行實圖 Expanded conduct of the three bonds with illustrations, 1514]. The former of these works contain the accounts of far more Chinese personages than Koreans (eighty-nine Chinese, sixteen Koreans), the later contains accounts of fourteen Chinese and fifty-six Koreans. In contrast, Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil only records the exploits of Koreans. 21. See, Pak Chu, Chosŏn sidae ŭi hyo wa yŏsŏng [Women and filial piety in the Chosŏn period] (Seoul: Kukhak charyowŏn, 2000), 311. 22. Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa, 400–401. 23. Pak Chu, Chosŏn sidae ŭi hyo wa yŏsŏng, 313–18. 24. Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil, 4: 31. 25. Ibid., 3: 47. 26. The contents of this work have also been argued to have a desensitizing effect on readers by depicting women as insensate puppets despite the horrific deaths they are suffering. See, Ko Yŏnhŭi, “Chosŏn sidae yŏllyŏ-do koch’al” [An investigation of the paintings of virtuous women in the Chosŏn period], in Han’guk kojŏn yŏsŏng munhak yŏn’gu [Studies on classical Korean women’s literature], Han’guk kojŏn yŏsŏng munhak-hoe, ed., vol. 2. (Seoul: Wŏrin, 2001), 205–206. 27. Also notable is that a family who had a mother, wife, daughter-in-law declared virtuous would reap a tax benefit from the government.

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28. The notion that a woman who dies while protecting her honor is also serving the country is found in various entries in the dynastic record. For example, for the Japanese invasions see Sŏnjo sillok, 163: 6a (1603-06-09) or Kwanghae-gun ilgi, 26: 24b (1610-03-20). For the Manchu invasions and the idea that an honorable death is service to the nation, see Injo sillok [仁祖實錄 Veritable records of King Injo], 21: 41a–41b (1629-11-17) and 36: 28b (1638-03-25). 29. Martin W. Huang has noted that the ideal of female chastity runs parallel to male political loyalty in some Chinese novels. See, Desire and Fictional Narrative in Late Imperial China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001), 261. 30. Such a model is proposed in Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa, 306–307 and 577–78; also see Ch’a Chuwŏn, “Im—Pyŏng-nan ihu sasŏl sijo-e nat’anan yŏsŏng ŭisik” [Women’s consciousness as presented in narrative sijo poems in the period after the Japanese and Manchu invasions], in Han’guk munhak kwa yŏsŏng [Korean literature and women], ed. Hwang Chegun, Kim Kyŏngnam and Mun Pokhŭi (Seoul: Pakijŏng, 1997), 220–25. 31. Yi Sugwang, Chibong yusŏl, 3: 17a. 32. Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa, 583. 33. Ch’a Chuwŏn, “Im—Pyŏng-nan ihu sasŏl sijo-e nat’anan yŏsŏng ŭisik,” 224. 34. While there are far too many entries to enumerate, notable are the entry on the commoner Hyangnang who refused to remarry after the death of her husband and instead committed suicide, recorded in Sukchong sillok [肅宗實錄 Veritable records of King Sukchong], 39: 50a–50b (1704-06-05), the entry of a Lady Yi who killed herself rather than be raped recorded in Yŏngjo sillok [英祖實錄 Veritable records of King Yŏngjo], 60: 45a–45b (1744-12-13), the entry in the Chŏngjo sillok [正祖實錄 Veritable records of King Chŏngjo], 15: 18b (1783-01-23), mentioning that some sixty virtuous women will be honored with gates as opposed to two loyal ministers and three filial sons, and the account of a yangban woman who committed suicide to prevent rape recorded in the Sunjo sillok [純祖實錄 Veritable records of King Sunjo], 25: 24b (1822-10-21). These are but a few of the literally dozens of entries honoring virtuous women in latter half of Chosŏn. 35. There are numerous accounts of maidens who were designated as virtuous women for preserving their honor in Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil among other works. For example, see the entries on unmarried women in Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil, 3: 47 and 6: 17. 36. The actual identity of Lady Yun is not known nor is the date in which this work was written. 37. Song Siyŏl, Uam kyenyŏsŏ [尤菴戒女書 Admonishments for women by Uam], 15–16. 38. Yi Tŏkmu, Sasojŏl [士小節 Elementary matters of etiquette for scholar families], trans. Kim Chonggwŏn (Seoul: Myŏngmundang, 1987), 237–38.

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39. There are numerous entries concerning the printing, distribution, and compilation of the Samgang haengsil-to including Sukchong sillok, 45: 64b–65a (1707-11-23), Yŏngjo sillok, 23: 30a (1729-08-27) and 72: 11a (1750-09-18), and Chŏngjo sillok, 47: 8a (1797-07-20). 40. In regard to the didactic function of the work, particularly in regard to women, see Sukchong sillok, 39: 50a–50b (1704-06-05). 41. The five relations were affection between father and son, justice between ruler and subject, harmony between husband and wife, hierarchy between elder and younger, and trust between friends. 42. Yŏngjo sillok, 42: 22a (1736-08-27). 43. Yŏngjo sillok, 39: 22b (1734-12-20). 44. The hierarchal arrangement of yang and yin is not a quality found in the teachings of Confucius or Mencius, but rather a later development added to Confucian teachings attributed to Dong Zhong-shu (179–104 BCE). See Chenyang Li, “The Confucian Concept of Jen and the Feminist Ethics of Care: A Comparative Study,” in The Sage and the Second Sex: Confucianism, Ethics, and Gender, ed. Chenyang Li (Chicago: Open Court, 2000), 35–36. 45. Yŏsasŏ ŏnhae, 4: 20a. 46. Hŏ Wŏn’gi, “Konbŏm-e nat’anan yŏsŏng toksŏ ŭi yangsang kwa ŭimi” [Structure and meaning of texts for women as appearing in Konbŏm], in Han’guk kojŏn yŏsŏng munhak yŏn’gu, ed. Han’guk kojŏn yŏsŏng munhak-hoe, vol. 6 (Seoul: Wŏrin, 2003), 233–34. 47. Ibid., 250–55. 48. Inhyŏn was the queen of Sukchong (r. 1674–1720) and is remembered for being a victim of court intrigue. She was degraded as the queen due to the machinations of Sukchong’s concubine Lady Chang and exiled. After six years she was reinstated when the lies of Chang were revealed. As such, Inhyŏn is often cited as an exemplar of proper womanly behavior, as she endured her disgrace with dignity. 49. Yut nori is played by tossing four wooden sticks with markings on one side. Depending upon how the sticks fall, players move tokens on a game board a given number of spaces. The goal of the game is to bring each of a player’s four tokens home before the other player does. 50. This game has been cited as a good example of the combination of education and entertainment in premodern society in parallel with such techniques in modern education. See Kim Ilgŭn, “Kyumun suji yŏhaengji-do kongkae wa ŭiŭi” [The exhibition and meaning of the Kyumun suji yŏhaengji-do], in Chosŏn yŏin ŭi sam kwa munhwa [The lives and culture of women in the Chosŏn period], ed. Seoul yŏksa pangmulgwan (Seoul: Seoul yŏksa pangmulgwan, 2002), 176. 51. Two recent studies by John Duncan and JaHyun Kim Haboush on this subject amply demonstrate that women used their writing as a means of empowerment and as a way to survive in the patriarchal structure of Chosŏn. See, John

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Duncan, “The Naehun and the Politics of Gender in Fifteenth-Century Korea,” in Creative Women of Korea: The Fifteenth through the Twentieth Centuries, ed. Young-Key Kim-Renaud (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 2004); and JaHyun Kim Haboush, “Versions and Subversions: Patriarchy and Polygamy in Korean Narratives,” in Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan, ed. Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggott (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). 52. For example, Yi Tŏkmu, the author of the aforementioned Sasojŏl, condemned novels as leading women astray from proper womanly behaviors and values. See Sasojŏl, 107. 53. Quite to the contrary, we find numerous uncritical accounts of women behaving in a manner that is far removed from any sort of Confucian ideal, especially in regard to sexual activity. See, Michael J. Pettid, “Sexual Identity in Chosŏn Period Literature: Humorous Accounts of Forbidden Passion,” The Review of Korean Studies 4 (June 2001): 61–85. 54. An excellent example of such frustration and a desire to overcome limitations in the Confucian social system is the early-seventeenth-century novel Unyŏng-jŏn [雲英傳 The Tale of Unyŏng]. See Michael J. Pettid Unyŏng-jŏn: A Love Affair at the Royal Palace of Chosŏn Korea (Berkeley: Institute for East Asian Studies, 2009).

5

Neo-Confucianism as Free-floating Resource Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang as Two Female Neo-Confucian Philosophers in Late Chosŏn

Youngmin Kim

Who Are Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang? As has been examined in the other essays in this volume, the manner in which women of the mid- to late Chosŏn period contended with Confucianism varied considerably. From the exemplar Confucian lifestyle of Lady Chang to the proactive manner in which women in the late Chosŏn used educational materials to engage Confucianism, we can note that different strategies allowed women in different spaces, times, and social circumstances to successfully find areas for achieving their aims. In this chapter I will investigate two remarkable women who pursued Confucian ideals through the domain of males, the scholarly study of Confucianism. Im Yunjidang (1721–1793) and Kang Chŏngildang (1772–1832) were female intellectuals in late Chosŏn Korea. Kang Chŏngildang was born in Chech’ŏn, Ch’ungch’ŏng province, in 1772 and married Yun Kwangyŏn when she was twenty years old. Yun did not pass the civil service examination and Yun’s family was quite poor. According to various biographies in Kang’s literary collection, despite the extreme poverty in which she lived, Kang not only satisfactorily fulfilled her expected domestic duties but also applied herself to a thorough study of the Confucian Classics such as the Four Books. The fruition of her study of the classics was many scholarly

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essays, letters, and poems. Soon after Kang passed away at the age of sixty-one, her husband collected her writings and published her works in a literary collection. Im Yunjidang was born in Yangsŏng in Kyŏnggi province. She was a sister of Im Sŏngju, a famous Neo-Confucian philosopher in the late Chosŏn period. In the funeral oration for her brother Im Yunjidang wrote that her brother served as her lifetime intellectual companion in studying the Confucian Classics.1 She married Sin Kwangyu at the age of nineteen, but was left a widow at age twenty-seven. Even after her husband passed away, it was said that she fulfilled all the duties of a daughter-in-law in the Sin family until she passed away at the age of seventy-two. In the meantime, she continued to study the Confucian Classics and wrote many philosophical essays and commentaries on the Doctrine of Mean and the Great Learning. Her literary collection was posthumously published by her other brother Im Chŏngju and her brother-in-law Sin Kwangu. It is most likely that they both enjoyed happy lives. For one thing, their family members and friends admired them as exceptionally virtuous human beings. In addition, it was quite rare in the Chosŏn dynasty for women to be able to publish their literary collections. However, their personal lives did not seem to live up to their perfect reputation as the exemplars of virtuous women. Among other things, neither Im Yunjidang nor Kang Chŏngildang had children. In fact, Kang Chŏngildang gave birth to nine children, but all of them died before they could speak. Given the tremendous significance of having children in a traditional Korean family, we may arrive at the conclusion that their personal lives were less than perfect. Although scholars have esteemed their scholarly achievements as the outcome of overcoming such personal misfortune, it seems more likely that such misfortune freed them up, allowing them to invest more time and energy in scholarly activities instead of performing household tasks such as caring for children. The existence of many governmental tablets celebrating virtuous women during the Chosŏn dynasty tells us that Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang were not the only women who were believed to realize Confucian moral ideals through virtuous conduct. However, what is really extraordinary about them is the fact that they apparently wanted to be Confucian philosophers. In other words, they were Confucian not only in the sense that they were willing to fulfill the roles of women as defined in Confucian family rituals, but also that they took it a step or two farther, studying theories of Confucianism and writing philosophical

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essays and commentaries on the Confucian Classics. It is because they took on the work of scholars and contributed to the body of Confucian philosophy that we can call them Confucian philosophers. In particular, Im’s philosophical essays are proof of her firm grasp of Confucianism. Her mastery of the theories of human nature and the so-called Four Beginnings show that Im was able to comprehend and ponder Confucianism as deeply as male intellectuals. However, it is not easy to discover many female intellectuals of the Chosŏn period since opportunities for higher education were not widely open to women. Though there are a handful of female intellectuals with extant literary collections, it appears that very few female intellectuals were interested in philosophy. The vast majority of female intellectuals were most likely encouraged toward interests primarily in literature, such as poems. The following remark by Yun Chehong shows that Kang and Im were almost unprecedented as female philosophers: Since antiquity there have been many renowned female worthies. People were happily surprised by their filial piety, chastity, virtuous conduct, or literary talent. However, how could one find women whose understanding of moral principle is so refined and learning so deep as is seen in this case!!2 In addition, Kang Chŏngildang consciously selected Im Yunjidang out of all other previous female intellectuals to identify herself with, and as her source of inspiration: Im Yunjidang said, “Although I am a women, there is no difference between man and woman in terms of human nature.” She also said, “if a women does not wish to be like Tai Si and Tai Ren, it amounts to be self-injury and self-abandonment.3 This being so, I think that a woman can be a sage if she spares no efforts. My husband, what do you think about this idea?”4 In this note to her husband, Kang Chŏngildang was forging an intellectual genealogy between herself and Im Yunjidang, Tai Ren, and Tai Si, female worthies in ancient China. This genealogy reflects her self-identity as distinguishable from other female intellectuals, in the sense that she excluded all other Korean female intellectuals while singling out Im Yunjidang as being aligned with her own philosophy.

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Why Do They Matter? Why do these philosophers matter?5 What is the significance of the existence of female Confucian philosophers in late Chosŏn? First of all, for those interested in premodern Korean intellectual and cultural history, the Chosŏn dynasty marks the ascendancy of Neo-Confucianism. Indeed, Korean society underwent significant changes that affected women as well as other members of society as Confucianism became rooted in society and culture during the late Chosŏn dynasty. Despite the consensus of scholarly opinions concerning the general rubric of “Confucianization of the [late] Chosŏn dynasty,” the multidimensional quality of late Chosŏn culture in general and women’s history in particular demand further investigation. Much of the existing scholarship is devoted to Chosŏn Confucianism, but its relation to women’s history remains neglected. Except for Martina Deuchler’s The Confucian Transformation of Korea: A Study of Society and Ideology, virtually no monographs in English have been written about the relationship between Chosŏn women and Confucianism. According to Deuchler, the Confucian transformation of Korean society represents the development of a rigid patrilineal lineage system. The social elites of Chosŏn sought to remake society through the ritual hierarchy of Confucian ancestor worship, which favors and supports vertical and linear father-son inheritance and transmission of authority. In her view, the most significant implication of the transformation is to preserve the aristocratic element. That is, by more exclusively defining the patrilineal kinship group; the Chosŏn social elite developed a more narrowly defined stratum of social/political elites. This resulted in the marginalization of various members of society, particularly women. According to this interpretation, women became economic and social appendages of their husband’s families as Confucianism became rooted in the Chosŏn society. It should be noted of Deuchler’s research that her study focuses exclusively on the behaviors that can be seen externally. In addition, as the Confucian transformation is described as a change imposed from above, it is hard to uncover the agency of woman at any level of society in this picture. For these reasons, we do not know how such Confucian transformation was perceived by women themselves. For example, since ritual (of ancestor worship and mourning) is understood as a kind of ideological weapon used by the male social elite, Deuchler does not explore how women themselves at that time made sense of their performance of the rituals. Regardless of the way in which it transpired, we simply do not know enough about the experience of women during the Confucian transformation. This not only represents a serious gap in our overall

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understanding of the Confucian transformation of the Chosŏn culture, but also hinders our ability to appreciate what Confucianism meant to specific populations in Chosŏn society. In order to draw a richer picture of the Confucian transformation of women in its historical context, we should not rest content with the study of external behaviors alone, but need also to hear the voices of the women themselves. In this respect, the writings of these two female Confucian philosophers could serve as an invaluable primary source revealing the so-called Confucianized women’s thoughts that, without according them a proper place, would likely have been lost forever. Second, the study of Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang sheds important light on a very difficult question with regard to the Confucian tradition: the relationship between women and Confucianism. Indeed, many scholars of Confucianism have been plagued by such questions as: “Has Confucianism been responsible for the traditional (East Asian) oppression of women?” “Is degradation of women a necessary implication of Confucian philosophy?” “Is it possible to find common ground between feminism and Confucianism?” Given that Confucianism has a reputation for its degrading attitude toward women, the term “Female Confucian Philosopher” sounds like a contradiction in terms. If Confucianism is a female-oppressive ideology, it seems self-defeating for a woman to be a Confucian philosopher. The fact that female Confucian philosophers existed in the late Chosŏn period suggests that the relationship between Confucianism and women in this period is much more complex and multidimensional than has been assumed. This chapter aims to explore the significance of Confucian philosophy in late Chosŏn female intellectuals’ lives through the study of these two female Confucian philosophers.

Definition of Key Terms Taking the relationship between women and Confucianism as its central focus, this chapter supposes that broad categories such as “Chosŏn women” and “Confucianism” should be more carefully used to fully appreciate the multiple layers and nuances of late Chosŏn culture. With the critical awareness that the term Confucianism in the study of women’s history has been rather loosely used, this chapter starts with a general inquiry: What is Confucianism? More specifically, what characterizes Confucianism in the late Chosŏn period? As was the case in most of the studies of the relationship between women and Confucianism in social history and

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sociology, Confucianism often represents a simplistic model of a patriarchal family system, which is thought to be applicable to the Confucian tradition as a whole. However, it should be noted that Confucianism in the late Chosŏn period represents a particular version of Confucianism among multiple versions, that is, Neo-Confucianism. Neo-Confucianism here refers to Neo-Confucianism in a narrow sense, namely, Daoxue (Learning of the way). Neo-Confucianism was a vast intellectual movement that was launched in Song China and that thereafter continued to exert great influence in East Asia. Neo-Confucianism represents first and foremost an emphasis on personal morality. Neo-Confucians believed that all human beings were unified by the same moral nature. Of course, they did know that we were different at an immediate level. However, they believed that all of us were ultimately the same. By the same token, everyone, not just some of us, could realize the unitary moral nature. In other words, everyone, not just some of us, could become morally perfect. Everyone could become a sage because everyone possessed this unitary moral nature. Neo-Confucians believe that the fundamental way to order the world is the realization of a moral nature over the authority of legal institutions and literary activities. Thus, when I call these two woman Neo-Confucian philosophers, it means that they pursued moral sagehood as the goal of their life and engaged themselves in inner self-cultivation to realize moral perfection while understanding the theory behind their self-cultivation. Secondly, the term Chosŏn women also encompasses very diverse groups of women. Assuming that Confucianism had a different meaning to different groups of society, I would like to look beyond the blanket category of “Chosŏn women,” focusing on specific female social formations. This chapter proposes to focus the scope of analysis onto the wives of yangban in general—in particular, female philosophers. Narrowing the defined scope of the terms not only helps us come closer to restoring the tremendous internal diversity of women’s history in late Chosŏn, but also enhances our ability to appreciate what Confucianism meant to various populations in Chosŏn society.

State of the Field Scholars such as Yi Yŏngch’un, who translated these women’s literary collections into modern Korean, praised Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang as examples of great women in Korean history. For example, Yi Yŏngch’un

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starts the introduction of the translation of Kang Chŏngildang’s literary collection with the following statement: “There have been many great women in Korean history.”6 This perspective is problematic not only because it approaches history with an explicit intention to praise on the basis of a highly judgmental criterion, but also because it does not illuminate the difference between the two female philosophers and other “great” women in the past. As I mentioned above, there is ample evidence that Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang should be considered quite apart and distinct from other, preexisting female intellectuals in the Chosŏn dynasty. Second, there have been studies that connect Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang to the so-called practical learning (sirhak) that was allegedly gaining ground among eighteenth-century intellectuals. According to these studies, female intellectuals did not have the opportunity to be vocal under the oppressive mores of Confucianism and were finally becoming more liberated with the rise of the practical learning. They explain the emergence of the female philosophers as part of this shifting cultural ethos. However, the very concept of practical learning itself is highly problematic, and has been increasingly contested in the field of Korean studies. Even when we accept the loosely defined concept of practical learning as being opposed to Confucianism, these studies simply do not appreciate the hard fact that these two women are Confucians, not advocates of practical learning. In any case, this approach sidesteps the difficult question of the vexing relationship between Confucianism and women. In recent years, there have emerged scholars who faced the hard fact that Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang were Confucians, and tackled the questions of how the seemingly contradictory male orientation of Confucianism and women’s interests were being reconciled in the minds of these two women. Let me briefly examine two representative cases—the studies by Pak Hyŏnsuk and Kim Hyŏn.7 First, Pak made it clear that the two women followed the dominant Confucian philosophy, not that of practical learning. Indeed, Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang fully accepted the Confucian idea that all human beings could be sages and that one should pursue moral perfection as one’s aim in life. Furthermore, they utilized the notion of the universality of the goodness of human nature to point out the inconsistency between the Confucian notion of the universal potential for sagehood and what was being practiced with regard to women. Im Yunjidang explicitly says, “Even if I am a woman, there is no difference between a man and woman’s human nature.” Both sexes have, in the absence of discrimination, the potentiality for the perfection of moral character. While there is little new in their belief in human commonality, it is extraordinary that they

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used the belief to voice their complaint that women at that time were not educated nor allowed the same resources as men. Indeed, by establishing themselves as moral exemplars and engaging themselves in the serious study of Confucian philosophy, which had previously been the business of male intellectuals, they gave credence to their claims. Pak stresses the above point to show how much they wanted to be recognized in the public realm. According to Pak, they realized that women had been unjustly stuck in the domestic realm, so much so that they finally came to want recognition equal to that of any man in non-domestic affairs such as philosophical discourse and politics. From the interpretation that Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang were able to appropriate certain aspects of Confucian philosophy in order to go beyond the confine of the inner chamber and fulfill their desire for self-realization in the public realm, Pak concluded that the relationship between women’s interests and Confucianism was not always in opposition. In other words, the Confucian tradition did not suppress women at all times. Moreover, she even added that the two female Confucians’ awareness of women’s right to learn and to be recognized in public contributed, directly or indirectly, to the women’s public school movement in modern Korea. While agreeing with Pak in that Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang appropriated Confucian philosophy to justify their philosophical concerns and that the Confucian tradition did not always suppress women, I do not agree with Pak’s attempt to read the minds of the two female intellectuals. Pak suggested that they wanted to study Confucianism because they were not content with duties in the domestic sphere. However, I would argue that their urge to study Confucian philosophy should not be interpreted as a modern feminist aspiration to go beyond the domestic realm to the public realm. First of all, numerous statements that they willingly accepted the domestic realm and female virtue associated with it as legitimate belies such an interpretation. For example, see Kang’s poem: “For the wife of Kŭnjin, a great-grand son.” Female virtue is of prime importance. Submissiveness is a duty. This is the way of a woman. You should follow it diligently.8 This poem indicates that she believed that although a woman also had the Confucian duty/aspiration to become a cultured person, this duty manifested itself in quite a different way than it did for a man. In it, she writes

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of the perfect man as humane, righteous, courteous, and educated, and his wife, the perfect woman, as diligent, loyal, and submissive to his will. Second, it is not innate in Confucian philosophy that its practitioners are invited to compete for recognition in the public realm. Rather, it is more a recipe for a more effective self-cultivation at the individual level. This being so, what the two female philosophers wanted to achieve through “philosophizing” was the completion of their individual moral pursuits rather than public recognition as philosophers in the modern sense. In fact, there is virtually nothing new in their theoretical writings that could otherwise have established them as original thinkers. This does not mean that they were not bright enough to be original, but that originality was not considered a virtue in the Confucian philosophical discourse at that time. What was more important was how to make sense of philosophy in such a way that theory contributes to building moral character. Third, their writings were never published while they were alive. Thus, it is hard to believe that they wanted to achieve “public” status through their study. Finally, Pak’s perspective suffers from the progressionist interpretation, which has become a virtual orthodoxy in South Korean historiography, in the sense that she depicts the two female philosophers as sprouts of modern consciousness that wished to go beyond the traditional inner quarters, and that contributed to the flowering of modern women’s consciousness from the late nineteenth into the twentieth century. The textual evidence does not support Pak’s interpretation, let alone the problem of a teleological aspect of such a progressionist interpretation. The prime example she offers as textual evidence that they wanted to go beyond the inner quarters and join the public realm in an area such as politics is the fact that Im Yunjidang wrote an essay on Wang Anshi (1021–1086), a reformer of Northern Song China. Pak suggests that Wang Anshi in the essay was a metaphor for the politics of the practical learning at that time. While she criticized Wang’s lack of personal virtue and argued that personal morality should be the foundation of ordering the world, we cannot find any clue tying Wang Anshi and the political situation at that time in Im Yunjidang’s literary collection. In addition, we do not know exactly when she wrote this essay, and who the target audience was. Above all, this essay was not published during her lifetime. A more plausible explanation for the significance of this essay is to see it simply as a sign that she identified herself as a Confucian. It is customary for Neo-Confucians to criticize Wang Anshi as the one who represents

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a diametrically opposed vision of Neo-Confucianism. In particular, the fact that Yun did not add anything new to the conventional critique of Wang allows us to treat Yun’s essay as repeating an almost cliché-like trope in Neo-Confucian literature. The symbolic meaning of critiquing Wang Anshi is fully understandable when considering how Neo-Confucianism emerged as a political philosophy in the Song dynasty. As mentioned above, the defining characteristic of Neo-Confucianism is its attention to personal morality. Of course, attention to personal morality was not without precedent in Chinese intellectual history. And yet, Neo-Confucians’ reassertion of personal morality was made in their own distinct intellectual context and thus possessed distinct qualities. The distinctiveness of their position could be best understood through their critical stance toward Wang Anshi’s political reform. As is well known, Wang Anshi’s vision, which supported the broad current of political reform in the Northern Song, upheld the radical hope of reshaping society through the transforming impulses of the political center. In particular, it invoked the benefit of large-scale, state-wide institutions. When the Northern Song collapsed, many intellectuals attributed it to the disastrous effects of Wang Anshi’s policies. Accordingly, it is quite understandable that as enthusiasm for broad institutional reforms waned, intellectuals wanted to bring personal morality to the fore. It is not that Neo-Confucianism completely ruled out institutional action. Yet, it is certain that the Southern Song witnessed a shift away from a radical political reform and toward an emphasis on the regeneration of individual morality. This is what we call the Neo-Confucian movement. Let us examine now Kim Hyŏn’s study as another example of the current scholarship on Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang. Like Pak Hyŏnsuk, he also recognizes that Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang were Neo-Confucians, and explores how two seemingly contradictory aspects— male orientation of Neo-Confucianism and women’s interests—were being reconciled in these two women’s minds. However, he does not find sprouts of a modern consciousness in their works. As Kim understands them, they are neither particularly interested in going beyond the inner quarters, nor concerned with women’s rights in the modern sense. What, then, made possible the meeting of women’s interests and Neo-Confucianism? It was not their urge to go beyond the inner quarters and be involved in public affairs, but the feminization of Neo-Confucianism in late Chosŏn. According to Kim, Neo-Confucianism in late Chosŏn was increasingly preoccupied with the religious concern of ‘the ultimate being’ at the expense of sociopolitical concerns. He explains the rise of the religious concern

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of Neo-Confucianism by the dynamics of officeholding in late Chosŏn. His argument goes like this: As 70 percent of the population claimed the status of the yangban, competition for access to political and economic power was increasingly intense. Along with this intensity, the probability of gaining access to the officialdom became increasingly low. Since the prospect of a career in the political realm was dim, people channeled their aspiration for self-realization into the religious dimension. As the concerns of the yangban moved from politics to religion, Neo-Confucianism also became increasingly estranged from public matters such as politics. As a consequence, it was possible for women to identify themselves as Neo-Confucians, which was then very much apolitical. However, it would be misleading to interpret Neo-Confucianism as a religion at the expense of sociopolitical concerns. If there is any definitive common denominator among the multiple versions of Confucianism, it would be the commitment to ordering the world. It is true that along with Neo-Confucians’ concern with personal morality was an emphasis on introspection and the regulation of one’s mental state. Common Neo-Confucian activities such as quiet-sitting (jingzuo) are also full of psychological implications. In light of this, it is hardly an exaggeration to say that Neo-Confucians were interested primarily in the state of an individual’s mind and heart. The goal of introspection was to discern the pattern underlying things and events, for Neo-Confucians saw the universe as structured and unified at every level by “pattern” or “principle.” However, this pattern or principle is not simply a transcendental entity but is bursting with sociopolitical implications, as I will discuss below.

Beyond the Inner and the Outer Here we need to return to a simple and yet fundamental question. Why did these women want to study Neo-Confucian philosophy, which was previously the domain of male intellectuals? If their study of Neo-Confucian philosophy was an answer, what was the problem? It is hard to accept that they wanted to study Neo-Confucian philosophy simply to go beyond the confines of the inner quarters and dabble in the male sphere, given the fact that they focused on the application of Confucian thought toward the domestic setting, as opposed to that of the outside world. Textual evidence seems to indicate that they studied philosophy neither because they were suffocated by the limited sphere of domestic-

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ity, nor because they were becoming self-assertive in the modern sense, but because they wanted to be the real agents of what they were doing. What does it mean to love learning? It does not go beyond the following statement of Confucius: “Look at nothing contrary to ritual, listen to nothing contrary to ritual, say nothing contrary to ritual, do nothing contrary to ritual.” The whole endeavor starts with broadening the self by being widely versed in theory and restraining the self with ritual.9 In other words, they genuinely wanted to perform rituals as authentically as possible by understanding the meaning of ritual as fully as possible. Given that they fully accepted the Confucian notion that “ritual propriety is deportment of the Heavenly pattern,” the genuine understanding of ritual necessarily entails the study of metaphysical subjects such as the Heavenly pattern. According to this view, without a deep understanding of the meaning of ritual and the underlying pattern of the universe, ritual remains empty form. An understanding of the meaning of ritual and the underlying pattern of the universe can be acquired, presumably, by philosophizing. Only then, the hair-splitting ritual system stops being formalistic gestures, but turns out to contain the expression inherent in human nature. From the numerous statements by Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang, we can sense such an aspiration to become the real owners of their daily activities. However, no matter how seriously they are engaged in introspection and the discourse of human nature, such preoccupation with inner self-cultivation never means a religious impulse immune to sociopolitical implications, as Kim Hyun argued. Neo-Confucianism should not be regarded as representing a simple inward turn, or a forsaking of one’s responsibility for the world beyond the apparently confined self.10 It should be noted that, from the formative stage of Neo-Confucianism onward, Neo-Confucians were driven by the need to order the world properly. This philosophy should, thus, be understood as proposing the fostering of personal morality as a much more fundamental, and ultimately more effective, way of social regeneration. In sum, the Neo-Confucian inward turn is not an escape from social responsibility but a reassertion of social responsibility. How, then, could it be that a preoccupation with personal morality meant neither world renunciation nor self-indulgence, but a way of fulfilling one’s social responsibility? It was the Neo-Confucian notion of unity

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that fulfilled this theoretical task. This belief in the unity of the world was represented by the Neo-Confucian concept of li (理 pattern or principle). What is most interesting in the Neo-Confucian understanding of li is that li is the great, all-embracing unity despite the fact that its manifestations are diverse. The idea of multiple li was not li in the Neo-Confucian sense. Li was synonymous with totality in the Neo-Confucian vision. When his disciple asked, “Given the diversity of the myriad things, I am wondering if the myriad things are same?” Zhu Xi replied, “li is just one.”11 This point is often expressed in the expression, li yi fen shu (理一分殊). This idiosyncratic understanding of li had significant consequences for personal morality. For, in the realm of the self, li meant human nature. The identification of human nature with li is best represented by the formula of xing ji li (性卽理 [human] nature is principle), which Cheng I first advanced and Zhu Xi acknowledged as a genuine, unprecedented theoretical breakthrough.12 The deep understanding of the implication of xing ji li is critical for understanding how Neo-Confucians could propose personal morality as the fulcrum of social regeneration. The Neo-Confucian idea of li implies that there is a fundamental identity of the self and the universe—a notion characteristic of Chinese Buddhism. That is, Neo-Confucian unity was not the kind of unity that was generated by connecting multiple parts. It was unity in the sense that each of the myriad things contained the essence of the whole universe. If we use the metaphor of the moon mirrored in various rivers, the reflections of the moon in the river are not partial embodiments of the moon in the sky.13 Even if a full moon in the sky were reflected in more than a hundred rivers, the reflected image would still be the full moon, not a partial representation of the moon. In short, a thing in the world is a microcosmos in itself, not part of the cosmos. By the same token, xing is not part of the pattern of the integrated process of heaven-and-earth, but the pattern itself. The idea of the self ’s underlying identity with the world, first and foremost, resolved the vexed relationship between self and world, brought about the emphasis on self-rectification as the essential method of fulfilling social responsibility. Now, the self is not a freestanding, partial, or isolated individual but a great being to whom things in the world, in their entirety, depended. The world forms a single continuum with the self in that human nature (xing) is the same as the normative principle (li) innately endowed in all things by heaven-and-earth. Furthermore, the self was not just part of the cosmos, it was a microcosm in the sense that the xing residing in the self is not a partial fulfillment of li but li in its entirety.

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The main consequence of this notion was that the possibility of appropriating the whole world was inherent in the very structure of the self. To realize one’s authentic existence (human nature) meant to realize the heavenly principle of the world. The individual self was thus redefined as a moral agent with the immense power to transform the whole world. In this way, Neo-Confucians were still able to lay claim to the larger world beyond the apparently limited range of the individual self. Perhaps, this unique view of the individual moral agent, grounded in a belief of the unity between self and world, might be hard for modern minds to digest. However, without a belief in the unity between self and world, the Neo-Confucian project, which upholds personal morality as the main fulcrum of social well-being, cannot be theoretically sustained. This kind of unique vision of the self ’s relation to the world allowed the Chinese literati in late imperial period and the Korean yangban in late Chosŏn to feel socially responsible while they remain in local society without being able to hold office. Insofar as they could appropriate the whole world in the realm of the self, they did not have to give up the task of ordering the world and then become “religious.” By the same token, I would like to argue that in this way, Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang were able to feel socially responsible even when they remained in the inner chambers. In fact, they did not have to leave the domestic realm to attain sociopolitical significance, insofar as they could appropriate the whole world in the realm of the self. In a sense, the inner chamber was a functional equivalent of local society. As is seen in the following passage, the distinction between the inner and the outer ceased to be their concern. The way of man is being strong; the way of women is being submissive. Each thing has its own principle. That is why the tasks of the female sage Tai Si and the sage King Wen were different. Their differences are the different manifestation [of the same pattern (li)]. They are the same in the sense that they fulfilled the moral nature. Their sameness represents the unity of the pattern (li). If King Wen had been a female and Tai Si a male, they would have acted according to their changed roles. This being so, if a women does not wish to be like Tai Si and Tai Ren, it amounts to be self-injury and self-abandonment.14 To appreciate this passage fully, let me revisit Kang Chŏngildang’s intellectual genealogy. Why did Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang

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identify themselves with Tai Si and Tai Ren, rather than other virtuous women of the past? Tai Ren was King Wen’s mother and Tai Si was King Wen’s wife in the Zhou dynasty.15 The poems in the Shijing (Book of poetry) assert that they played a critical role alongside their husbands in the establishment of the dynasty. The two female philosophers’ identification with Tai Si and Tai Ren shows that they were concerned with sociopolitical implications. At the same time, the poem in the Shijing makes it clear that Tai Si and Tai Ren excelled at their allotted gender roles of wife and mother. In other words, Tai Ren and Tai Si contributed to the flourishing of the age, precisely because they proved helpful to their husband and son. This shows that the two female philosophers fully accepted the domestic realm as their proper domain. What allowed the individual morality of Tai Ren and Tai Si to earn such a heroic dimension as contributors to the establishment and flourishing of the dynasty rather than a mere household? It was nothing other than their husband/son’s powerful position as rulers who existed at the center of the hierarchical political realm. If the position at the center of the political realm allows the virtue of Tai Ren and Tai Si to exert influence upon the world as a whole, on what grounds could Im Yunjidang and Kang Chŏngildang take Tai Ren and Tai Si as their role models while remaining in the domestic realm as a mere widow or a wife of a poor man? As was the case of the Chinese literati in late imperial China and the Korean rural yangban in the late Chosŏn period, the Neo-Confucian notion of unity made such significance possible. As far as they identified themselves as Neo-Confucian and thus accept the notion of the unity between self and world, they contributed to the ordering of society as a whole when they perfected their moral nature, which was nothing other than the pattern of the world as a whole.

Conclusion Seen in a new light, the relationship between women and Confucianism cannot be defined in simplistic terms, whether the relationship is one of confrontation/conflict or one of harmony/complementariness. History is often more complicated than what we have been led to believe. It is true that the Confucian tradition defined the tasks of women quite differently from those of men. Thus, it is understandable that many modern scholars find it oppressive with regard to women’s self-realization.

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However, the two female Confucian philosophers did not understand Neo-Confucianism as limiting women to their roles but as granting an equal opportunity to perfection within their assigned role in society. What they were truly unhappy about was not their role in the domestic realm but the fact that women did not have the chance to appreciate their role at a profound level as many women were left without a way to study or learn. Ironically enough, the intellectual resources they mobilized to challenge the status quo were found in Neo-Confucianism itself. In particular, they effectively utilized the Neo-Confucian notion of human commonality to address the difficult issue of the unequal relationship between men and women. The notion of universal sagehood even allowed Kang to push her husband to study hard to become morally perfect. By so doing, she, in turn, became a teacher. However, this does not mean they were feminists in the modern sense. Despite the shared goal of sagehood, the way to achieve moral perfection was different for men and women. The role of women was to support and help their husbands or sons. When the author of the preface to Kang Chongiltang’s literary collection said, “I paid my attention to you and found you extraordinary. Now I know what made it possible. Your wife’s admonishment and advice in daily life made you virtuous. This is indeed an extraordinary case!”16 Kang was being received essentially as a traditional virtuous woman who exhorted her husband to aim for higher goals. Indeed, the very fact that their literary collections were published by males may suggest that only when women’s ideas were able to find common ground with the dominant male culture were they able to survive. Given the extremely complex nature of Im Yunjidang’s and Kang Chŏngildang’s identities as female Neo-Confucian philosophers, they can be best understood as an outcome of the negotiation between women’s desire for self-fulfillment, on the one hand, and Chosŏn Neo-Confucianism, which did not allow much room for alternative ideologies, on the other. While the outcome of the negotiation was not as modern as some scholars may want it to be, its significance should not be underestimated. Unlike the dominant image of Chosŏn women as passive victims of the Confucian transformation of Korea, one can find a great deal of initiative in the process of negotiation. By appropriating Neo-Confucian philosophy within their own context, they justified their study of philosophy, interpreted the ritual system as the vehicle of self-realization rather than a hindrance to it, modified the ritual by their own reflection on the principle behind the ritual, and finally opened up a new vista that included their meaning in ordering the world. While remaining in the inner quarter, they believed

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they were the moral agents responsible for the flourishing of the society, as Tai Ren and Tai Si were believed to be in ancient China. If the above interpretation makes sense, it implies that Neo-Confucianism during late Chosŏn was not simply the exclusive intellectual property of the male yangban class, or a constraint from which late Chosŏn women wanted to escape if given the opportunity. Rather, it sometimes functioned as a free-floating resource that larger populations, including certain females, could appropriate for their own purposes and interests. This point becomes clear only when we appreciate certain philosophical aspects of Neo-Confucianism.

Notes 1. Yi Youngch’un, Im Yunchidang [Im Yunchidang] (Seoul: Hye-an, 1998), 241. 2. Yi Yŏngch’un, Kang Chŏngiltang [Kang Chŏngiltang] (Seoul: Karam KiHoek, 2002), 48. 3. Mencius, 4a: 10. 4. Yi Yŏngch’un, Kang Chŏngiltang, 90. 5. Parts about Im Yunjidang (1721–1793) and Kang Chŏngildang draw on my earlier paper, “Hyŏngyongmosun ŭl nŏmŏsŏ” [Beyond an oxymoron], Ch’ŏlhak 83 (2005). 6. Yi Yŏngch’un, Kang Chŏngiltang, 3. 7. Pak Hyŏnsuk, “Im Yunchitang ron” [On Im Yunchitang] Yŏsŏng munhak yŏn’gu 9 (2003); “Kang Chŏngildang sŏngnihak-jŏk namnyŏ p’yŏngdŭng ronja” [Kang Chŏngildang, an essay on the discourse of Neo-Confucian male-female equality] Yŏsŏng munhak yŏn’gu 11 (2004); “Im Yunchitang kwa Kang Chŏngildang ŭi munhak ŭi sasangjŏk kiban” [The theoretical foundation of the literature of Im Yunchitang and Kang Chŏngildang] Han-Chung inmunhak yŏn’gu 9 (2002);. Kim Hyŏn, “Sŏngnihakjŏk kach’igwan ŭi hwaksan kwa yŏsŏng” [The expansion of Neo-Confucian values and women] Minjok munhwa yŏn’gu 41 (Dec. 2004). 8. Yi Yŏngch’un, Kang Chŏngiltang, 53. 9. Yi Yŏngch’un, Im Yunchitang, 136. Also see Yi Yŏngch’un, Kang Chŏngiltang, 69–70. 10. The social concern of Neo-Confucianism is confirmed by the fact that Neo-Confucians opposed the monastic idea of Buddhism and the Daoist idea of the recluse. 11. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi Yulei ⇳ᶰᡬ (Conversations of Zhu Xi topically arranged), ed. Li Jingde (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1986), 99. 12. Ibid., 2425.

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13. For an explanation of the metaphor of the moon, see Tu Wei-ming, Humanity and Self-Cultivation: Essays in Confucian Thought, (Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1979), 76. 14. Yi Yŏngch’un, Im Yunchitang, 281. 15. As For Tai Si and Tai Ren, see Paul Rakita Goldin, “The View of Women in Early Confucianism,” in The Sage and the Second Sex: Confucianism, Ethics, and Gender, ed. Chenyang Li (Chicago: Open Court, 2000). 16. Yi Yŏngch’un, Kang Chŏngiltang, 48.

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The Rights of the Eldest Daughter-in-Law and the Strengthening of Adoption of Lineage Heirs in the Mid-Chosŏn Period Lee SoonGu

Introduction Immediately after the founding of Chosŏn there was in general no strong sense that daughters should perform ancestor rites (chesa) if a family had no male offspring, or even a notion that ancestor rites should be strictly observed. This is thought to have been the case because the idea of succession according to the lineage principle (chongppŏp) was not yet commonly held. Of course, there was a grieving heart when one’s parents passed away and it is true that such sorrow was expressed in a certain form. However, this form of mourning was either expressed in prevailing customs or derived from Buddhist ancestor-memorial rites. Thus, there was no understanding that such a ritual should be conducted only by sons; moreover, the concept that such observance should be transmitted from generation to generation within a family was not established. However, by the time of King Myŏngjong (r. 1545–1567) the institutional system of rites and customs (yeje) in Chosŏn had changed and become fixed. As the politics of the Sarim (士林 the Confucian literati) settled and Neo-Confucianism became deeply rooted as a study, social funerary customs came to follow Neo-Confucian practices or the lineage principal. This is also evident in the establishment of such social ethics as the “half induction” (pan ch’inyŏng 半親迎) of the bride into her husband’s house, which appeared in the marriage system during the reign

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of Myŏngjong. Consequently, the yeje that were adopted at this time can be identified as the fixed forms in Chosŏn thereafter. It is noteworthy that within the regulations for ritual succession in this period there appeared rules for establishing an heir (iphu). According to the Kyŏngguk taejŏn [National code]—which outlined the regulations for ritual succession in Chosŏn—if the eldest son had no heir, the other sons were to continue the ancestor rites for the family, and if the other sons also had no heirs, then a son of a secondary wife would continue the rites.1 However by late Chosŏn, this responsibility was given to an adopted son even if there were sons of secondary lineage or those born of secondary wives. To explain this, we can cite the general idea that families were concerned with the possibility that it would downgrade the status of the family if the offspring of a concubine became the family representative. Yet, there are aspects that make it difficult to understand why an adopted child was preferred over the son of secondary lineage when the son of the dominant lineage died without an heir. Existing research supports the idea that an adopted child of the first son had priority over secondary sons because the legitimacy of family succession to the first son was valued more than the blood of the family,2 or because the funerary customs of Chosŏn had changed to reflect very serious views of moral obligations.3 In fact, considering that in general the social funerary customs of this period had changed following accordance with the social ethics of Neo-Confucian funerary customs, such views can be said to have persuasive power. The custom of a younger sibling filling the role of an heirless eldest brother (lateral inheritance; hyŏngmang chegŭp) did not contradict the lineage principle, and it was also one of the secured laws of succession outlined in the Kyŏngguk taejŏn.4 However, in the fact that an adopted child of the first son sustained the family lineage in precedence over the second son, there are aspects of the changes in funerary customs that cannot be explained only by principles of conducting rites or acceptance of the succession of the legitimate child. What other factors might be discerned in such changes? We might take note of the numerous debates during the reign of Myŏngjong concerning the eldest daughter-in-law (ch’ongbu), which allow us to surmise that laws governing the status of the eldest daughter-in-law were unique to Chosŏn, and to acknowledge this authority.5 Then, what does it mean to recognize the rights of the eldest daughter-in-law, and how did this relate to the widespread practice of adopting a son in order to continue the family lineage? This chapter examines the causes and processes behind the social acceptance of the rights and status of the

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eldest daughter-in-law during the mid-Chosŏn period, and also conducts a close inquiry into how this influenced the common practice of adopting a son in Chosŏn society.

The Concept of the Ch’ongbu The Concept of the Ch’ongbu in the Institutional System of Rites and Customs Originally, the term ch’ongbu refers to the eldest daughter-in-law, that is, the wife of the eldest son of a family lineage. Ch’ongbu is sometimes referred to as chŏkpu (lineal wife) and its meaning is also mingled together with chongbu (wife of a descent line). The terms ch’ongbu or chokpu can be used with either the main or collateral family line and indicate the eldest daughter-in-law of a family; chongbu, however, is only used with the main lineage. Therefore, ch’ongbu is a general term with broader meanings, and chongbu belongs to a subcategory within that term. The role of the ch’ongbu as outlined in the Lizhi [Book of rites] is to serve during the ancestor rites and to treat honored guests.6 While it is true that it was necessary to consult with a still-living mother-in-law in family matters, in general, the ch’ongbu was in charge of the household. Especially, the ch’ongbu had a monopoly on command concerning the other daughters-in-law of the family. Moreover, other daughters-in-law were supposed to consult with the ch’ongbu in the event of a problem rather than directly consulting their mother-in-law. The other daughters-in-law also could not oppose the ch’ongbu, they could not walk side by side with her, receive the same orders from the elders, or even sit at her side.7 As such, the status of the ch’ongbu was higher than that of the other daughters-in-law, and this was ensured by codes supporting the lineage principle. Such a status of ch’ongbu was limited only to the wife of the eldest son of the major lineage. When the husband, the eldest son of the major lineage, died before his wife (i.e., the ch’ongbu) her role disappeared and the management of ancestor rights was assumed by the “new” eldest son of the major lineage. The duty of the ch’ongbu in China, which was regulated by the lineage principle, was to make preparations for conducting ancestor rites as the wife of the eldest son, who was charged with the actual performance of the rites; however, for the ch’ongbu this rarely extended to participation in the management or transmission of the right to conduct ancestor rights.

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An examination of the dynastic records of Chosŏn demonstrates that no other definition of the ch’ongbu of China can be found than that their rights were subordinate to the rights of the eldest son and that they were simply participants in the ancestor rites. We retainers, upon examining the writings of decorum, cite that the [position of] chief officiator of rites (chujeja) is for the head of the family and chubu is for the wife of the head. Thus, chubu here is designated for the ch’ongbu. Based on this interpretation, in the instance that the husband dies without an heir, it is clear that his wife cannot be called ch’ongbu. In China there is a regulation concerning the major lineage (taejong) indicating that a wife whose husband has died without a son cannot be charged with the conducting of ancestor rites.8 As seen above, the term ch’ongbu in China was used to indicate the wife of the lineage head, who was charged with the performance of ancestor rites. It further clarifies that a woman can no longer have the status of ch’ongbu when her husband dies unless she has a son. From this we can see that ch’ongbu was a status subordinate to the husband according to Chinese documents. The Concept of Ch’ongbu in Mid-Chosŏn In the case of Chosŏn as well, it seems that the concept of ch’ongbu simply as the eldest daughter-in-law of the family came before any other definitions early after the foundation of the dynasty. According to a writing bestowed by King T’aejo (r. 1392–1398) on the queen of Chŏngjong (r. 1398–1400): The Queen established the principles of the women’s quarters from early on, brought harmony among the women of this house, and cultivated the decorum of ch’ongbu as she grew up and served the ritual ceremonies.9 Viewing this, ch’ongbu carried the meaning of eldest daughter-in-law prior to others and she was charged with the role of conducting ancestor rites. This notion of ch’ongbu was based on the concept of ch’ongbu or chongbu as found in works such as Lizhi or Ŭirye [Book of Etiquette and Ceremonies], and the role of ch’ongbu was recognized as to conduct the ritual ceremonies of the family as the eldest daughter-in-law.

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As time passed, the concept of ch’ongbu changed in Chosŏn and unique regulations differing from those observed in China evolved. In 1492, Yi Sun was criticized because of his actions toward Lady Sŏng, the wife of Yi Chu. Although she did not have a child, she directed the family’s ancestor rites until the time of her death. However, he tried to take the right to manage the rites from her even before she finished the mourning period for her husband.10 Through this we can see that as ch’ongbu she was qualified to serve the ancestor rites until the end of her life, even though she had no son. Compared to the role of the ch’ongbu simply serving the rites as wife of the first son in China, it can be seen that the meaning of ch’ongbu was extended in Chosŏn. Ch’ongbu in Chosŏn not only prepared ancestor rites but also had the right to serve the rites after the death of her husband. For example, in the instance of a husband who had served the rites as the first son of a major lineage dying, his wife continued her role and was charged with the rites. There were also cases where the ch’ongbu inherited the rites even when her husband died before he took charge of the rites. However we are different from China. In China there is a law concerning succession of the family head which prohibits a wife without a son from holding rites when her husband dies. In our country such regulations have not been carried out for long. There is a long history [in Chosŏn] that the wife of the eldest son of the family entered the house and managed the rites to the ancestors although her husband died without a son.11 From the above we can understand that the ch’ongbu of Chosŏn had many rights unlike her counterpart in China. This clarifies that the qualifications of a ch’ongbu were forfeited soon after her husband died without a son in China, but in Chosŏn the management of rites by the ch’ongbu was commonly held for long periods of time despite not only her husband’s death, but also not having a son. Furthermore, in Chosŏn it can be understood that the basic meaning of ch’ongbu included the eldest daughter-in-law of a family even after the death of her husband, as seen in the following: The Office of the Inspector-General (Sahŏnbu) reports that “the term of the so-called ch’ongbu being used on the street [i.e., commonly] has two meanings. One indicates the wife of the first son [after his death] who served the rites after both

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of his parents died, and the other is for the wife of the first son whose husband has died before his parents and subsequently serves the rites as a wife of the first son after both of his parents die.”12 Here we can understand that the term ch’ongbu first indicated the eldest daughter-in-law whose husband had died, and beyond that the term represents two categories. First, the wife of a deceased son whose parents had died early and had been charged with conducting rites, and second, the wife of an eldest son who died before his parents and then after their deaths came to be charged with serving the rites. However, at this time the Office of the Inspector-General indicated that the wife of the first son who had not yet begun to serve the rites would not have rights as ch’ongbu. Conversely, the legal code did allow the wife who had served the rites from early on to be called ch’ongbu and to maintain this right to the end of her life. From this we can see that the government generally held the position that in the latter case the woman should not manage the rites and instead hand over this duty to the second son of family.13 There were, however, strong opinions against this as well. Specifically, that the wife of the first son must be considered as ch’ongbu although her husband died before he took over the family rites. An entry in the dynastic record one month earlier than the above insisted that [s]uch a provision stating that the wife of a first son who died before taking over the family rites cannot be called ch’ongbu, is natural when referring to ancient customs. Yet, in the conventions of our country [i.e., Chosŏn], it has long been practiced that the wife of the first son becomes ch’ongbu.14 Thus, there was a debate as to whether the wife of an eldest son who died before serving the rites could be consider as ch’ongbu. By examining subsequent legal cases or debates related to ch’ongbu, we can find additional cases where the wife of the first son who died before taking over the rites was still held to be ch’ongbu. The dispute concerning ritual succession in the family of the Lord of Musan in 1550 is a representative example that recognized and gave the rights of ch’ongbu to the wife of the first son who died before taking over the rites of the family. At that time, as the Lord’s eldest son Kwisu died without an heir, the wife of the Lord, Lady Sin, granted the right to manage the rites to the second son, Misu. However, subsequently the wife of Kwisu, Lady An, adopted the second son of another of her late

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husband’s younger brothers, and attempted to have him continue to serve the ancestral rites after Kwisu died.15 In this instance, we see that the ch’ongbu tried to adopt a son from her own position to continue the family rites despite the fact that these were already held by the second son. In truth, it seems somewhat irrational to overturn a case that had already been decided and to hand over the family rites to the adopted child. In spite of that, the government tried to acknowledge Lady An, the wife of Kwisu, as ch’ongbu. The king himself stated, “Since the ministers of the Office of the Censor-General [Saganwŏn] and Office of the Inspector-General did not feel comfortable to damage the regulations concerning ch’ongbu and debated this for many months, the regulations concerning ch’ongbu should be followed,” and thus supported the position of the ch’ongbu.16 From this we can understand that the ch’ongbu in Chosŏn did not only serve the family ancestor rites as a daughter-in-law. She assumed the role of managing the rites in place of her husband when he died without a son and, moreover, had the greatest influence in adopting a son for that matter. In other words, in Chosŏn the concept of ch’ongbu was generally used to indicate a wife whose husband (the eldest son) had died without a son. Such rights for ch’ongbu were not allowed in China and are thus important as well as distinctive qualities in laws concerning customary practices of rites in Chosŏn. Here we should question why this understanding of the ch’ongbu came to be used in Chosŏn. The above quoted phrase, “since the regulations concerning the major lineage are not executed, the ch’ongbu can manage the rites,” is noteworthy. This demonstrates that although the performance of ancestral rites was generalized to some degree in Chosŏn, the lineage principle had not yet become exactly like that of China. Against this backdrop, the ch’ongbu was permitted to be in charge of ancestor rites. The Ch’ongbu and Practice of Adopting an Heir THE MANAGEMENT OF RITES BY THE CH’ONGBU

It was clarified earlier in this chapter that the designation ch’ongbu in Chosŏn was largely premised on the absence of her husband. We should now examine how ancestor rites were conducted after the death of the husband. If she adopted a son as an heir (iphu) before her husband died, it is not necessary to mention the role of ch’ongbu. Here we will examine the rights or role of the ch’ongbu in the instance of her husband dying without adopting a son.

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First, there is the instance in which the ch’ongbu herself was charged with the rites. This is termed ch’ongbu officiated rites (ch’ongbu chuje or ch’ongbu chusa). This indicates that the ch’ongbu filled the role of chief officiator when performing the rites for her husband or the lineage’s ancestors. Records indicate that the ch’ongbu would serve such a role until she either adopted a son or died. For long it has been justified for the wife of the first son who dies without a son to enter and live in the main house and to manage the ancestor rites. From the time of the royal ancestors there have been no small number of virtuous kings and sage ministers, yet the management of rites by the ch’ongbu has never been brought forth as an issue. . . . There are many cases of distinguished and powerful families that deemed it comfortable for the ch’ongbu to manage the rites and thus the ch’ongbu lives in the house where the rites are held.17 This entry in the dynastic record shows that management of ancestor rites by the ch’ongbu was relatively widespread in the mid-sixteenth century. The government saw this as a long-standing custom that could not easily be changed. In the dispute concerning ritual succession of the Lord of Musan introduced above, the right of succession returned to Kwisu (in the form of his wife) because Chosŏn society was accustomed to the practice of the ch’ongbu managing the rites. There were, however, many Confucianists who objected to this by arguing that such a system of the ch’ongbu managing the rites of the major lineage was not morally correct. For example, one account reads, “Although the ch’ongbu can manage the ancestor rites, it is not proper to write the name of the ch’ongbu on one side of the ancestral tablet, is it?”18 This argument is based on the fact that as the name of the ch’ongbu could not be written on the ancestral tablet, it was unavoidable that the name of a nephew (yuja) who should serve the rites be written. Further, this debate insisted, “When the name of the yuja is already used in the rites and at the same time the wife of his father’s brother manages the rites, the titles are improper and naturally the ch’ongbu system should be abolished.”19 The name of the officiator of the rites was to be written on the ancestral tablet and in general the officiator was the son. Thus, it is true that this matter became ambiguous in case that the ch’ongbu managed the rites. Such arguments were based on the reasoning found in the Chuja taejŏn [Collected works of Zhu Xi], “For the mourning of a wife in general,

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the husband becomes the chief mourner. It now seems too regrettable to have the son act as chief mourner. Also, it is allowed not to write the name of one offering the rites on the tablet.”20 Thus, those who supported ch’ongbu officiated rites insisted that there was nothing wrong in omitting the name of the officiator when the ch’ongbu managed of the rites. As such, the government of this period emphasized strict regulation of ch’ongbu officiated rites by utilizing the expedient method that the ancestral tablet could be left blank.21 It is assumed that such flexibility was allowed in Chosŏn during this transitional period of the sixteenth century when the lineage principle had not been firmly established. As a result, it is an undeniable fact that rites managed by ch’ongbu were relatively widespread at this time. Of course the ch’ongbu officiated rites were fundamentally recognized by Confucian scholars to be contrary to propriety. However, the Confucianists also wanted to find a proper compromise for this problem since it would also be distressing if the ch’ongbu lost her place to live and was sent away. Although a younger brother serves the rites of his older brother, if there is a ch’ongbu, she is in charge of the house, land, male and female servants, and the materials for holding rites; the younger brother is only carrying out an order. Harmony among brothers and the benevolence of customs were able to be maintained only because of this system. However, these days. . . .22 The above account dates from the eighth lunar month of 1550 and indicates a desirable division of roles between the second son of the family and the ch’ongbu. It expresses the opinion that property rights should be kept by the ch’ongbu and the right to conduct rites should go to the second son. However, even Sin Kwanghan who is recorded to have said the above seems to have recognized that such a division of roles was only an ideal. The position of the Confucianists who criticized the ch’ongbu officiated rites had a limit when strongly disavowing this right, and therefore the practice could not easily disappear in these realistic conditions. THE RIGHT OF THE CH’ONGBU TO ADOPT A SON FOR CONTINUING ANCESTRAL RITES

As discussed above, the ch’ongbu herself was in charge of managing ancestral rites after her husband’s death. However, this management of rites could

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only be temporary. Adopting an heir (iphu) was the method to secure and maintain her status as ch’ongbu. Ultimately, the adoption of an heir by the ch’ongbu for conducting ancestral rites can be called an extension of the ch’ongbu officiated rites. If the ch’ongbu did not keep the right to manage the ancestral rites and was to hand this over to the second son of the family, she also had to transfer the house where the family shrine was located and all the property that was related to the rites as well. In such a circumstance it was quite possible the ch’ongbu would be driven out of the house in which she lived.23 It was thus a matter of life and death for the ch’ongbu to adopt a son for conducting the ancestral rites. She would adopt an heir in order not to lose the various economic rights related to succession and the right to conduct ancestral rites. Discord between the ch’ongbu’s right to adopt and the principles of lateral inheritance (i.e., the younger son becoming his brother’s successor) occurred against this backdrop. Lateral inheritance (hyŏngmang chegŭp) means that the second son of the family succeeds and serves the family rites when the first son of the family dies without leaving a male heir. This method of rite succession was considered natural and also affirmed by lineage principles. Furthermore, the importance of lateral inheritance as a mode of rite succession is seen in the entry on ancestor rites codified in the Kyŏngguk taejŏn: “If the wife of the first son does not have a son, the other sons take over the rites and if the other sons do not have a son either, a child born of a concubine serves the rites.”24 However, in the reality of the mid-Chosŏn period, even if the first son died without leaving a son, the matter was not so simple when the wife of the first son was still alive. Yŏ Munmang, who will take the civil service examination, is a son of Chungon, the second son of Yŏ Hŭinyŏng. The first son Maengon died without leaving a male heir and Chungon, the father of Munmang also died. Now that the wife of Hŭinyŏng has died, Munmang considered it natural to serve rites as the first son of the second son of the family and carried out the funeral of his grandmother (i.e., the wife of Hŭinyŏng). However, the wife of Maengon stopped him saying, “As I am the ch’ongbu, I should be in charge of serving the rites. I will have my husband’s third brother’s son Ŭinam continue the ancestral rites. You do not need to be concerned with the funeral rites.” Thus Munmang at last took off his mourning clothes, dressed in regular clothes, and tried to go forward for

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the final sitting of the civil service examination. This is why I dare to report to you.25 In the above case, the ch’ongbu objected to the situation in which a son of the second son of the family attempted to manage the funeral of his grandmother, and instead sought to continue the ancestral rites by putting another son (of another brother of her husband), her nephew, in the position to manage the rites. Such a dispute can be said to be representative of the conflict between the ch’ongbu and lateral inheritance. In this particular case, we can see that the rights of the ch’ongbu were positively protected by examining the solution set forth by the Office of the Censor-General: The regulations concerning the ch’ongbu in our country are difficult to change. In the case of 1547, although he was specially allowed to conduct the mourning as there had not been anyone adopted to manage the ancestral rites, when there is a person who is proper to be adopted, the right of the ch’ongbu to adopt a son is considered important. . . . Please value the rights of the ch’ongbu of our country by not letting Munmang wear the mourning clothes for his grandmother.26 What is important here is the fact that most of the ministers agreed with this result “since the rights of the ch’ongbu in our country [i.e., Chosŏn] are something very strong and not easily changed, this should be acknowledged as such.” This well exposes the difficulties for the ministers of the sixteenth century who wanted to strictly maintain the succession of rites according to lineage principles, but on the other hand, could not simply ignore the long-standing customs concerning the ch’ongbu. As mentioned above, the succession of rites in the family of the Lord of Musan can be said to be a typical manifestation of the dispute between the ch’ongbu and lateral inheritance. When Lady An, the wife of Kwisu, adopted the second son of Sŏksu, another brother of Kwisu, and attempted to have him succeed Kwisu and serve the ancestral rites this caused much debate within the government. Each side’s views concerning adoptions by the ch’ongbu and for lateral inheritance were intense and clear. Ultimately, the King decreed, “It is a common law in the world that a legitimate child manages the rites and also an unchangeable law that the one who becomes an heir also becomes the son of the family. Therefore, let Kwisu [through his wife] have the

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right to decide about matters of continuing the family and managing the ancestral rites,” concluding that Sŏksu’s son adopted for the ancestral rites would continue to do so as the heir of Kwisu.27 Ultimately, the above was decided in favor of protecting the position of the ch’ongbu. This reflects the standpoint that the regulations concerning ancestral rites of Chosŏn were different from those of China and that the status of the ch’ongbu must be protected. Yet, important in this event, is that the adoption of a son to preserve the ancestral rites and secure the status of the ch’ongbu was also adequately suited to the notion of the lineage principle. There was the basic notion of lateral inheritance in the lineage principal, but it was also a rule to continue the rites by adopting a child of a son aside from the first son of the family when the first son of the main lineage died without a son. From the standpoint of the king, it seems to have been considered proper within the rules of the lineage principle to recognize the rights of the ch’ongbu and to allow Kwisu’s heir to succeed the family headship. The adoption of a son by Yi Ch’ungwŏn, an official in the Five Military Commands (Owi), for family succession is another important example of the dispute between adoption for family rites and lateral inheritance.28 The problem was, who should serve the ancestral rites of the family of Yi Kŭkton, the great grandfather of Yi Ch’ungwŏn? Yi Kŭkton had two sons: the eldest was Yi Sejŏn and the other Yi Sejŏng. Sejŏn had three sons: Subŏn, Sugan, and Suji. There would have been no problem if the rites had continued to devolve on Subŏn from his father, but the matter of adoption for access to the rites succession was raised because Subŏn died early, and his son Sŏngnin also died before getting married. Lady Kwŏn, the wife of Kŭkton, Lady Yi, the wife of Sejŏn, and Sejŏng, the second son of Kŭkton, consulted with one another and had Sugan, the second son of Sejŏn, serve the rites; they further had him recognized as a legitimate successor by submitting the transfer to the Merit Awards Administration (Ch’unghunbu). However, later on, Lady Chŏng, the wife of Subŏn, adopted a son of Suji, In as the successor of ancestor rites, and the possibility for new problems arose. And after In died, sure enough, problems occurred. Yi Chimyŏng, a son of In, filed a suit to dispute the issue of who was the legitimate child for succeeding ancestral rites, and the Board of Rites (Yejo) decided the matter in the favor of Chimyŏng. This can be seen as a dispute between the ch’ongbu and lateral inheritance rather than a direct confrontation between a ch’ongbu and the second son of family. However, the ch’ongbu surely played a role in the dispute. Although Lady Chŏng, the

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wife of Subŏn, adopted a son with the simple desire to continue the rites of her husband and herself, it was in fact brought about because there already was estrangement between the rights of ancestral rites in lateral inheritance and her adoption of a successor. It is assumed that after the rights to manage the ancestral rites were given to Sugan, Lady Chŏng, the wife of Subŏn, must have adopted a son because her status was diminished and, worse yet, the rites for her husband and herself might not be continued after her death. In reality this caused the ch’ongbu to adopt a son; thus, the case of Lady Chŏng cannot be considered exceptional in this respect. Externally, this was a dispute between the second son of the family, who inherited the ancestral rites, and a legitimate child by adoption; internally, however, the power relations regarding the rights to manage ancestral rites between the ch’ongbu and the second son of family served as the root of the dispute. The endeavor of the ch’ongbu to secure her status through adopting a son to maintain the right to manage ancestral rites was not simply a contentious dispute over ancestral rites succession between her and the second son of family. When the ch’ongbu adopted a son, they gradually tended to find one who was a distant blood relation instead of a nephew, who would have been closer. In the lineage principle, the general rule was to adopt a son from among the sons of the husband’s brothers for conducting ancestral rites. However, the typical ch’ongbu of the time seemed to have had a feeling of uneasiness that her own situation would be threatened by the increased influence of his natural father if she adopted a son of her husband’s blood brother to serve the ancestral rites. Accordingly, the ch’ongbu sought to adopt a son of a more distant relation who could influence the rights of property or ancestral rites in the family. The following, which was presented by the Board of Rites in 1551, well demonstrates such a case: Since this regulation was carried out, ignorant widows do not think of the basic principle, and abandon a son of her husband’s blood brother although he is available, and devise to adopt a descendant of a distant relation according to the regulation of “they can adopt a son for serving the ancestral rites.”29 By “widows,” the above excerpt refers to ch’ongbu. Also, “he” in “although he is available” means the second son of family, who was in succession to inherit the ancestral rites (i.e., lateral inheritance). However, judging by the situation at that time, the custom of adopting a son

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outweighed lateral inheritance, and the ch’ongbu who initially seemed to adopt a son to serve as head of her family eventually stepped forward and took up the role of the server of the ancestral rites. Furthermore, she tried to adopt a successor from a distant relation rather than a son of a close relation, which vividly demonstrates the intent of the ch’ongbu who tried to increase their own influence by excluding intervention by the second son of the family and adopting her own son. As such, the custom among the ch’ongbu in mid-Chosŏn of securing the rights to conduct ancestral rites by adopting a son began with the aim of self-preservation, but consequently was a major influence in changing social norms regarding the succession of rites. Notwithstanding that lateral inheritance was an important aspect of the lineage principles and was also justified in the Kyŏngguk taejŏn, its influence waned as time passed toward the late Chosŏn period and adoption by the ch’ongbu became commonplace. This was a result of endeavors by the ch’ongbu who either tried to secure the right of managing the ancestral rites for themselves or adopted a son for that purpose. The efforts by the ch’ongbu to keep the rights of adoption, together with the government’s intention to secure this, resulted in adoptions by ch’ongbu for managing ancestral rites of the family rather than lateral inheritance. Most of the contentious cases were decided in favor of the ch’ongbu, which represents this tendency as well. As mentioned above, the main outcome of this study is to suggest that the generalized practice of adopting a successor in late Chosŏn was a result that appeared as a widespread consciousness stressing the main branch of a family over blood or, due to Neo-Confucianism, becoming more deeply imbued with a sense of obligation or duty. However, when analyzing the various disputes concerning rite succession, we can understand that in reality a factor contributing to the more widespread adoptions by ch’ongbu was the precedence of the right of the ch’ongbu to rite succession over that of a younger brother. In actuality, we should recognize the other side of this ideological dispute of Neo-Confucianism, or the lineage principle. Indeed, there was the matter of who would have greater rights of property, and the adoptions by the ch’ongbu became widespread as they took advantage of this ideological dispute to improve their positions.

Conclusion What is the reason behind the strong rights of the ch’ongbu and why was the government not able to control these? One opinion holds that regu-

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lations concerning the ch’ongbu are grounded in Buddhist-style rituals, because ch’ongbu served such rituals by burning incense.30 However, this is too limiting a view. It would be more reasonable to conclude that these rights resulted from innate customary convention rather than Buddhist practices. For example, prevailing social customs such as uxorilocal residence after marriage or the lack of discrimination between daughters and sons could have influenced these unique codes concerning the ch’ongbu.31 In case of China, it was difficult for any other elements to intervene since the patriarchal family structure had been in place from ancient times. However in Chosŏn, there were remnants of both matrilineal and patriarchal elements; married couples lived at the wife’s natal home for an extended period after marriage until the early Chosŏn period, which naturally secured women’s rights and social status. The unique regulations of the ch’ongbu in Chosŏn can be said to have been generated from such a background of social practices. Further until the mid-Chosŏn period, recognition of the connection between rituals and lineage succession was weak. Although there was awareness concerning the holding of family rituals, consciousness that this stemmed from the dimension of lineage succession was not strong. This is a point that cannot be understood from the concept, popular during the late Chosŏn period, that holding family rituals presupposed the influence of family lineage.32 However, to properly understand Chosŏn society, we must accept that holding family rites preexisted the notion that these should be held by the first legitimate child of a lineage. Of course, such a notion also became the backdrop that strengthened the rights of the ch’ongbu. As such, inevitably the rights of the ch’ongbu gradually diminished as the patriarchal family order strengthened after the mid-Chosŏn period. Consequently, the status of the ch’ongbu in terms of family rituals was at its highest in mid-Chosŏn. This was resultant from the fact that the rituals were not considered greatly important in early Chosŏn, and that managing the rituals was not recognized to be a special right. But by late Chosŏn the strong connection to family lineage and paternal blood relations had formed, and under that influence the ch’ongbu alone could not control the situation. Lastly, I would like to consider the reasons why in mid-Chosŏn the government supported the position of the ch’ongbu whenever matters related to ritual succession were raised. While the rights of the ch’ongbu in Chosŏn were unique and notably different from China, although it was a situation that could not but reflect ritual succession, the government’s

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position was clearly to adapt all the social conventions to reflect the patriarchal lineage principle. Accordingly, it is hard to understand why the government demonstrated a tendency to secure the rights of the ch’ongbu as such. It seems that there was a consciousness that the lineage principle could be established more solidly by directing the rights of the ch’ongbu in a proper direction than by unconditionally excluding the ch’ongbu from the leadership of the family lineage. Namely, although the status of the ch’ongbu came before the other paternal relations, there seems to have been a conviction that the general ideas of the lineage principle could be realized while avoiding discord with social conventions as long as the ch’ongbu did not willfully violate the principle of the head family lineage when deciding upon a successor. That the ch’ongbu chose a successor from among the blood relatives of her husband can be understood as a compromise to avoid discord between the status of the ch’ongbu and the general notions of the lineage principle. Although this was contrary to lateral inheritance—one of the tenets of the lineage principle—since adopting a son for ritual succession also was clearly one of the elements, the right of adoption by the ch’ongbu could be rationalized. It might seem contradictory that although regulations concerning the ch’ongbu were influenced by customs unique to Chosŏn, there is an aspect of this positively functioning in the generalization of lineage principle ritual regulations. Although the ch’ongbu insisted on adopting a successor for her own benefit, from the aspect that it established succession from the lawful wife and continued the head family lineage, there are also aspects that suit the ritual successions of family; this was a further element that could be reasonably accepted from the standpoint of government. From such a point of view, the generalization of adoption in late Chosŏn cannot be restricted to tenets of the lineage principle or the intensification of Neo-Confucianism. The endeavor of the ch’ongbu to secure their position amidst a tendency of strengthening Confucian rites and a government policy that flexibly accepted such reality can be said to have caused such a result.

Notes 1. Kyŏngguk taejŏn [National code], yejŏn. The section on conducting ancestor rites reads, “If the major lineage has no heir, the heir of a secondary lineage should conduct the rites; if the secondary lineage has no heir, then the son of a secondary wife should conduct the rites.”

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2. Chi Tuhwan, Chosŏn chŏn’gi ŭirye yŏn’gu [A study of ritual practices in early Chosŏn] (Seoul: Seoul taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 1994), 18. 3. Pak Yŏnho, Chosŏn chŏn’gi sadaebu ye ŭi pyŏnhwa yangsang [Phases of change in the ritual decorum of scholar families in early Chosŏn] (Seoul: Ch’ŏnggye sahak, 1990), 191. 4. Ibid., 192. 5. Kim Sŏngsuk, “Yijo ch’ogi ŭi chesa sangsok popni wa ch’ongbu-pop” [Laws concerning the eldest daughter-in-law and the succession of ancestors rites in the early Yi dynasty], Sungjŏn taehakkyo nonmunjip 15 (1985). This article examines mainly the rights of adoption held by the eldest daughter-in-law. However, it does not mention in depth how the rights of the ch’ongbu influenced the transformation of the regulation of rites succession in Chosŏn. 6. Lizhi [Book of rites], kwŏn 12, section 12 reads, “Even if one’s parents have passed away, if he intends to do a good deed, he must do so thinking that a beautiful name will fall upon his parents. If one intends to do something not kind, he should not do so thinking that the shame might reach his parents. By the time one’s father-in-law dies, the mother-in-law is old. The ch’ongbu should consult with her mother-in-law and the other daughters-in-law (kongbu) should consult with the ch’ongbu on every issue when holding ancestor rites and treating guests.” 7. Ibid. 8. Myŏngjong sillok [Veritable records of King Myŏngjong], 17: 44a (1554-09-27). 9. T’aejo sillok [Veritable records of King T’aejo], 15: 10a (1397-11-18). 10. Sŏngjong sillok [Veritable records of King Sŏngjong], 267: 17a–17b (1492-07-28). 11. Myŏngjong sillok, 17: 44a (1554-09-27). 12. Ibid., 17: 51b (1554-10-21). 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., 17: 44a (1554-09-27). 15. Ibid., 12: 3b–6b (1550-08-12). 16. Ibid., 11: 66b (1550-07-28). 17. Ibid., 17: 44a (1554-09-27). 18. Ibid. The entry reads, “The present petitioner states, even though the ch’ongbu can manage the ancestor rites, it is not proper to write the name of the ch’ongbu on one side of the ancestral tablet, is it? Now, if we look [at the fact] that the name of the ch’ongbu cannot be written [on the tablet] we see that it is unavoidable that the name of the nephew who should serve the rites must be written. When the name of the yuja is already used in the rites and at the same time the wife of his father’s brother manages the rites, the titles are improper and naturally the ch’ongbu system should be abolished.” 19. Ibid.

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20. Ibid. The entry continues, “If this is noted, there is no problem with omitting the name of the ch’ongbu who serves as the officiator of the ancestor rites. The regulations to treat widows in our country can be said to be very strict and detailed.” 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid., 12: 3b (1550-08-12). 23. Ibid., 17: 44a (1554-09-27). The entry reads, “The wife of the eldest brother without a male heir bitterly weeps in a field after being driven away from the house overnight, and his [i.e., the older brother’s] younger brother holds his elder brother’s death and lack of male heir as good fortune and rejoices in seizing his brother’s house and driving his brother’s wife out of it. Based upon human nature, this is an extremely depraved incident.” 24. Kyŏngguk taejŏn, yejŏn. 25. Myŏngjong sillok, 13: 26a–26b (1551-04-02). 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid., 12: 3b–4a (1550-08-12). 28. Ibid., 25:80b–81a (1558-11-23). 29. Ibid. The entry reads, “However, since adopting an heir is for her own benefit, it is the basic principle of the Taejŏn [Comprehensive code] to allow her to take a son of the same lineage (tongjong) as a successor regardless of the relation being close or distant. Offering rites to the ancestors and adopting an heir for that purpose are very different from one another. Despite that these two are not related, according to the Husok-rok [Supplemented, later record], only one close by blood relation and from the same lineage is supposed to be adopted. This intent is to have an adopted heir serve the ancestor rites as well. Accordingly, in case that one is from a separate lineage of a family, if he is truly derived from the same family and uses the same family name, he also is allowed to be adopted as a successor. Since this regulation was carried out, ignorant widows do not think of the basic principle, and abandon a son of her husband’s blood brother although he is available, and devise to adopt a descendant of a distant relation according to the regulation of ‘they can adopt a son for serving the ancestral rites.’ After they report this to the government office and fail to receive permission, they then even submit [this petition] to the king repeatedly. Luckily [for them] if this is permitted, they quote a version of ‘if one is adopted, right away he becomes a son.’ Then, they say that since he has already become a son of the family, he should serve the ancestor rites. Thus, although there are ones who can serve the rites such as descendents of a branch family or of concubine nearby, they do not dare dispute this and consider it natural to be as such by law.” 30. Kim Sŏngsuk, “Yijo ch’ogi ŭi chesa sangsok popni wa ch’ongbu-pop.” 31. Martina Deuchler, The Confucian Transformation of Korea: A Study of Society and Ideology (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992), 157–58.

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32. Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi [Diary of the Royal Secretariat] (kŏllyung 51 year, 12th month, 23rd day) reads, “Ok stated, when serving the ancestor rites, one should put his effort into maintaining the incense fire and when succeeding a family lineage, he should put effort on its order. However, in commoner families, oddly enough one only serves the ancestor rites and is not able to succeed the family lineage in a [particular] order.”

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Questions Concerning Widows’ Social Status and Remarriage in Late Chosŏn Jung Ji-Young

Many researchers of Chosŏn dynasty women have looked at ways in which the status of women changed as a result of the increasing prevalence of Confucian customs and ideology. Yet, while there has been considerable research into the development of policies encouraging Confucianization during the early Chosŏn, there has been very little work done exploring the process by which Neo-Confucian norms became increasingly dominant in the late Chosŏn. The aim of the present study is to understand how this influence was manifested. Furthermore, there has been little research into the effects of Confucianization on nonelite people. In terms of women’s lives, most research has focused on female members of the royal court or of yangban families. Common source materials for such studies have generally been publicly sanctioned works such as the Chosŏn wangjo sillok [The veritable records of the Chosŏn dynasty], along with private documents such as literary collections, genealogies, and inheritance documents. As a result, discussion has tended to focus on the sort of person who was capable of leaving behind, or being recorded in, such writings. These, almost invariably, were members of the yangban elite. This chapter, much like Milan Hejtmanek’s study on women of slave status in Chosŏn (also in this volume) will provide valuable insight into a group of nonelite women in late Chosŏn. I further believe that much earlier research has tended to view the development of patrilineal society rather simplistically, as if women were merely on the receiving end of the influence. Confucianization has often

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been diagrammed as either causing women’s status to decline or, alternately, providing them with greater protection. By viewing the decline in the status of women as the result of Confucianization, we are treating Confucianism as the active agent in changes in women’s status in late Chosŏn and thus treating women as passive objects of this change. This approach does not sufficiently examine how women responded—negatively or positively—to these institutional and social changes.1 This chapter uses as its source the Kyŏngsang-do Tansŏng-hyŏn hojŏk taejang [慶尙道丹城縣戊午式年戶籍大帳 The household register for Tansŏng-hyŏn, Kyŏngsang province; henceforth the Register], which provides general information on social groups.2 Using the Register as a primary source allows us to understand how the increasing prevalence of a strict patrilineal succession affected lower status groups in late Chosŏn, if it involved them at all. My aim here is to assess the extent to which the lower status groups and women were influenced by, and responded to, the new social structure, as well as exploring the underlying reasons for this influence. This chapter centers on the following issues. First, how the method for recording widows as householders changed in the eighteenth century on account of the spread of Neo-Confucian social order.3 This will show that not only yangban, but also lower status group families, were reorganized in the Register according to strict Neo-Confucian patrilineal principles. Second, I will discuss how various types of widows responded to these bureaucratic changes. Third, I will examine trends among widows concerning remarriage as revealed in the Register. The chapter will also investigate the increasing prevalence of the patrilineal family structure by assessing both the extent to which society was transformed along patrilineal lines and the manner in which this transformation occurred. Especially, I attempt to understand the responses of widows to this social transformation.

Succession to Householder and Establishment of Patrilineality in Late Chosŏn There are numerous instances in the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century household registries for Tansŏng-hyŏn, of women described as householder. In 1678, there were 234 women householders, amounting to approximately 10 percent of total householders.4 This shows that during the late Chosŏn, while householders were usually men, they were not

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exclusively so. However, by 1717, the percentage of householders who were women had decreased to about 6.7 percent of the total. This trend toward a decreasing number of female householders continued into the mid-eighteenth century. What were the criteria used for determining the householder during the Chosŏn dynasty? According to Chosŏn legal codes, when a household (戶 ho) was recorded, first the location of the household (according to the administrative regions of pu 部, pang 坊, and ri 里), then the occupation of householder, along with his name, age, ancestral seat, and his four ancestors (sajo 四祖 that is, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and maternal grandfather) should be listed. Next to be recorded were the name of the householder’s wife, her age, her ancestral seat, and her four ancestors, along with the children, the base born(奴婢 nobi) and servants (雇工 kogong) living with them, and their ages.5 As one can tell from this framework, the householder was generally assumed to be the patriarch, either the husband or the father. Yet the code did not clearly explain the process by which one would inherit the status of householder. For instance, who would be the householder in those cases where the wife and the son were living together? To answer these questions, I have investigated those cases where the person classified as householder changed.6 In the Register, when the householder changes, the entry begins with the character tae (代 succeed) or the characters taeho (代戶 successor to householder).7 When the name of the householder is described using either of these two terms, then one may assume that the householder has changed during the last three years.8 Table 7.1 below lists the number of successors to householder during the four years in question, while controlling for gender. Successors to householder did not make up a large proportion of total householders. Indeed, the total number for both sexes made up generally about 7 percent of the total population. In 1678, however, there were almost no male and relatively many female successors to householder—in the household register of that year, 93.1 percent of successors to householder were female. By 1717, the percentage of successors to householders who were female had declined considerably, to 37 percent. If we look at the gender of “successors to householder,” we find that while, in 1678, 6.9 percent were men and 93.1 percent were women, by 1717 63.0 percent were men and 37 percent were women. This trend toward a declining number of female successors to householder continued in 1759 and 1789. In 1759, the percentage of female successors to householder decreased, with 30 percent of successors to householder being female

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Table 7.1. Gender of Successor to Householder (%) Total male householders Year

Male successor

1678 1717 1759 1789

11 109 79 110

(0.5) (4.3) (2.9) (4.1)

Total female householders Female successor

1,883 2,403 2,462 2,502

(88.9) (93.7) (89.1) (93.3)

149 64 34 64

(7.0) (2.5) (1.2) (2.4)

Total householders 234 161 301 181

(10.7) (6.3) (10.9) (6.7)

2188 2564 2764 2683

(100) (100) (100) (100)

and 70 percent being men. The 1789 numbers show some return to the situation prevalent in 1717. However, the overall trend shows no sign of return to the 1678 level. How should we understand this change? Clearly, the succession practice has changed from one in which wives succeeded their husbands to one in which sons succeeded their fathers. Table 7.2 compares the number of sons succeeding their fathers to the number of wives succeeding their husbands. In 1678 of a total of 160 cases in which the householder changed, the vast majority, over 90 percent, were cases of wives succeeding their husbands.9 However, by 1717 this percentage had declined to 35.8 percent. By contrast, while in 1678 only about 2 percent of successors to householder were sons succeeding their fathers, by 1717 such cases made up almost 50 percent of total successors to householder. From this we can see that in 1678, when the husband died, the position of householder was passed on to his wife. At this time, even a widow living with a married son would be recorded as householder. However by 1717 the number of wives succeeding their husbands decreased significantly, with sons instead taking the position of householder. In the seventeenth century a woman would be recorded in the Register as somebody’s wife, or, after the death of their husband, could be recorded as the householder. At some point during the beginning of the eighteenth century the woman began to be recorded as the mother of her son. The convention in eighteenth-century household register compilation was to emphasize gender over age. Thus, in 1717, a younger man was more likely to succeed as householder than an older woman. Despite the status of mothers as elders, sons would push them aside and take the lead. The fact that sons were given priority in the Register tells us that the

1678 1717 1759 1789

Year 3 87 46 96

(1.9) (50.3) (40.7) (55.2)

Father to Son 8 22 33 14

(5.0) (12.7) (29.2) (8.0)

Other (6.9) (63.0) (69.9) (63.2)

Subtotal 11 109 79 110

Succeeding Male Householders

Table 7.2. Types of Succession to Householder (%)

145 62 26 61

(90.6) (35.8) (23.0) (35.1)

Husband to Wife

4 2 8 3

(2.5) (1.2) (7.1) (1.7)

Other

149 64 34 64

(93.1) (37.0) (30.1) (36.8)

Sub-Total

Succeeding Female Householders

160 173 113 174

(100) (100) (100) (100)

Total

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hierarchy implied within the mother-child relationship was considered less important than the hierarchy between men and women. What is the reason for this change? The most obvious factor is the increasing prevalence of Neo-Confucian norms. One suspects that increasing emphasis on a strict patrilineal family system led to this shift. One possible reason for this change is the increasing emphasis in yangban families on inheritance from father to son and this might have changed the conventions of those registering households. In order to test the above hypothesis, it would be instructive to see if social status affected the manner in which these changes occurred. If the tendency to record householder succession as passing from father to eldest son largely occurred in relation to yangban (ᶍ班) families, but not in commoner (ᶢ人 yangin) or base (賤人 ch’ŏnin) families, then one might argue that this change in the conventions used in the Register were simply reflecting the changes in the inheritance of goods and ritual duties that were occurring in yangban families. Table 7.3 attempts to answer that question. In Table 7.3 we can see in the case of yangban and commoners, women began by succeeding more than half the time to householder, but this number decreased, while the number of men succeeding to householder increased. In the case of base people, after 1759 the number, of either gender, succeeding to householder decreased sharply. Nevertheless, by 1717 the proportion of men succeeding to householder among base householders in general increased considerably. By 1759 and 1789 the number of base men succeeding to householder decreased somewhat relative to base women, although it stayed more or less at the same level. Ultimately, during the period in question, succession to householder changed in a similar fashion among all social groups—between 1678 and 1717 the proportion of men succeeding to householder increased enormously while in post-1759 the proportions remained fairly steady.10 Did these changes occur because lower status people during the eighteenth century accepted Neo-Confucian customs? If so, how can we explain this phenomenon? Perhaps commoners and base people imitated yangban cultural practices because they themselves aspired to achieve yangban status.11 Yet even if that was the case, how likely is it that such aspirations would be reflected so visibly in a public document such as the Register? It is very important to remember that the Register, unlike inheritance documents, was produced by the state; its form was not determined by the desires of individual families. If we look at the Kabo sikhojŏk samok

9 40 33 145

(11.7%) (60.6%) (86.8%) (59.2%)

Male 68 26 5 31

(88.3%) (39.4%) (13.2%) (40.8%)

Female 2 (3.6%) 49 (65.3%) 38 (64.4%) 57 (67.9%)

Male 54 26 21 27

(96.4%) (34.7%) (35.6%) (32.1%)

Female

Commoner Successors to Householder

0 20 (62.5%) 8 (50.0%) 8 (57.1%)

Male

27 12 8 6

(100%) (37.5%) (50.0%) (42.9%)

Female

Base Successors to Householder

*The percentage within the brackets denotes the percentage of successors to householder of a particular gender out the total number of successors to householder for a given class.

1678 1717 1759 1789

Year

Yangban Successors to Householder

Table 7.3. Class and Successors to Householder (%)

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[甲午式戶籍事目 Guide to compiling the household register in the kabo year], a document presumably written in the late eighteenth century, we find the following passage outlining the policy of the state toward the issue of female householders: “Even though the widow is in charge of the household, if her son is fully grown, then her son should be considered to be the householder.”12 It would seem that the document was written as part of a general shift in the policy of household register compilation by which men would, whenever possible, be recorded as householders.13 This is connected with the fact that, during the reigns of Hyŏnjong (顯宗 r. 1659–1674) and the early part of the reign of Sukchong (肅宗 r. 1674–1720), there was a push at the state level to bring order to household registers. This policy was a part of a larger effort to bring order to a society still suffering from the wars of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. For example, during the early years of Sukchong’s reign the oga chakt’ongje (The law of five households forming a t’ong 五 家作統制)14 was brought into effect, and in 1677 the use of identification tags (號牌法 hop’ae-pŏb) was revived.15 It is clear from these legal changes that there was interest in strengthening the household register system. A passage from the dynastic record in 1696 reveals that when a criminal was being interrogated, his name was first checked on his identification tag. As the criminal in question was a slave, it is clear that, in contrast to the customs of previous eras, not only officials but also commoners and base people were required to have identification tags.16 Moreover, in 1711 there was a royal decree declaring that those without identification tags would not be allowed to take the civil service examinations.17 It seems likely that the increasing tendency to restrict the position of householder to men was part of the general trend to tighten up the organization of the household register system in general. And a part of this change was to list the son, not the wife, as the householder in the register. Women seemed to have conceded their rights as householder to their sons since this had no significant effect on their actual status. In short, a widow did not lose her position in her family or her ability to manage her husband’s former possessions merely because her son was now recorded as householder. The widow continued, within the confines of her role as a “mother of a son,” to have authority over domestic matters and the administration of property. Indeed, women were successfully excluded from the position of householder because their de facto sphere of influence was protected. Perhaps it was through such subtle techniques as this that women were accommodated to patriarchy. The fact that a widow could

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continue to manage the possessions of her son allowed the widow to treat her removal from the position of householder as an insignificant event. That being said, we should not ignore the considerable symbolic meaning implied by the changes in the household register conventions. During the eighteenth century, women were excluded from the position of householder, and with it, from the right to represent the family to the outside world. Of course, a widow without a son or woman who had never married was still recorded as householder. However, since widows with sons were excluded from the position of householder, women householders were not treated as privileged beings, but as women who had failed to give birth to a son, or, alternately, failed to marry. This change seems to have occurred equally across class lines, having the same effect on the recording of yangban, commoner, and base households. The fact that state policy increasingly excluded even commoner and base women from the position of householder suggests that the state hoped to enlighten nonelite households concerning Neo-Confucian norms. Indeed, it is significant that the same patrilineal rules of householder succession were imposed on Tansŏng-hyŏn, an isolated community far from the capital. The very fact that widows were being eliminated from succession must have played a role in spreading the state ideology. We should ask to what extent the actual lives of people were successfully reorganized according to Neo-Confucian patriarchal principles. Despite changes, it is still possible to find, even for entries in the mid-eighteenth century, cases of yangban widows who were recorded as householder despite the fact that they were living with adult sons.18 In particular, it is noticeable that, among commoner households, the proportion of householders who were women remained fairly steady after the initial large decrease in numbers in 1717. This suggests that there was some discrepancy between the goals of state policy and the practical reality of late Chosŏn society. Presumably, there would have been women who responded to the rise of the patriarchy by internalizing Neo-Confucian ideology, with some even enthusiastically pioneering its principles. Such instances can be seen elsewhere in this volume, such as the works of female Neo-Confucian philosophers discussed in Youngmin Kim’s chapter or the changes in educational texts examined by Michael Pettid. However, other women would have made their own choices in accord with their own particular position in society, perhaps going with the flow of Neo-Confucian patriarchy on some occasions and openly rejecting these principles on other occasions. Widows within varied families would, accord-

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ing to their differing circumstances, have approached the social strictures related to Neo-Confucian patriarchy with methods ranging from open conflict to quiet compromise. Let us consider some of the life strategies of these widows by viewing how the decision to remain unmarried was influenced by the people with whom they were living.

Residence of Widows A widows in this period had essentially three choices for living arrangements after the death of her husband: she could live on her own in her husband’s old house, with her parents-in-law, or in her natal home. In the Register a widow was usually recorded as either the householder living with children or as the mother of a son who was recorded as the householder. However, a young widow would often live with relatives, either of her natal family or her in-laws. Our general image of the late Chosŏn suggests that a young widow would stay with her mother-in-law, or, if that were not possible, with other relatives of her husband. Yet is this image correct? Were there no cases of young widows returning to their natal homes? To answer this question, I looked for entries in the Register in which the widow was either recorded as householder or was not recorded as the dependent of a son who was recorded as householder. Through this it was established that a widow lived within a wide variety of relationships, as daughter or younger sister with her father or older brother, or as daughter-in-law or sister-in-law in the house of her father-in-law or brother-in-law. Table 7.4 considers these circumstances. During 1678, more women were living with their natal families than with their in-laws. During the eighteenth century, however, a relatively larger number of widows are recorded as living with their in-laws. Of course, all these numbers are quite small considering the population as a

Table 7.4. Place of Residence: In-Laws or Natal Home Year

Natal Family

In-Laws

In-Law/Natal

1678 1717 1759 1789

15 39 17 8

9 43 37 27

0.60 1.1 2.18 3.38

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whole and thus it may well be dangerous to make assumptions concerning social change on the basis of such a small number of cases. However, this trend corresponds with the well-documented increasing prevalence of a patrilineal system during the late Chosŏn, I think it is safe to assume that these numbers are valid. If the patrilineal system was largely responsible for the increasing tendency of widows to stay with their in-laws, then one expects that lower status group widows would have made up a considerable proportion of the women who are recorded as living with their natal families. Table 7.5 describes the same information as above, but controls for social status. The data above suggest that during this period it became increasingly common for a yangban widow to live with her in-laws. By contrast, there continued to be numerous instances of commoner widows leaving their in-laws and moving back to their natal families. In the seventeenth century, many yangban widows chose to leave their in-laws for their natal family, but during the eighteenth century, the trend was to stay with their natal families. This change was most likely influenced by the increasing prevalence of the patrilineal family structure. Yangban families, moreover, would have had the economic resources to support a widowed sister-in-law or daughter-in-law. However, in the case of commoners or base people, it seems very little changed, as they continued to leave their husbands’ kin for their natal families. Presumably this was because their economic situation held more importance than a desire to follow a patrilineal system. A commoner widow would have gone wherever she could receive economic support; she would not have concerned herself with whether the house belonged to her husband’s family or to her natal family. It is quite possible that the husband’s family would have considered their widowed daughter-in-law a burden. Quite often in the case of a nonelite widow neither her husband’s family nor her natal family would have provided a comfortable home, and she would have had to survive through her own efforts. There are various records from this time period of widows who lived with their older brothers. One narrative tells of an older brother’s attempts to remarry his widowed sister, although she opposes this on grounds that it would be a violation of social norms.19 One can see in this narrative that the proscription on remarriage had become general among yangban by this time. However, the fact that the widow is living with her older brother is not treated as in any way surprising. We can surmise from this that in the late Chosŏn dynasty there were numerous cases of women widowed at a young age living with their natal family. Moreover, it seems that in

4 2 3 0

1678 1717 1759 1789

3 19 26 21

In-law 0.75 9.5 8.7 21

* 5 21 11 4

Natal 6 20 10 5

In-law

Commoner

1.4 1.0 0.9 1.3

* 6 16 3 4

Natal 0 4 1 1

In-law

Base

0 0.3 0.3 0.3

*

15 39 17 8

Natal

9 43 37 27

In-law

Total

0.6 1.1 2.2 3.4

*

*refers to widows residing with in-laws/over widow’s residing with natal family. The larger the number, the larger the proportion of widows residing with their in-laws.

Natal

Year

Yangban

Table 7.5. Widows’ Household of Residence and Social Class

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some cases, a widow living with her natal family would be able to reject the social mores and remarry. Based on the Register it would seem that this situation changed very little during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Indeed, there are cases of widows who continued to be registered in their husbands’ households but were described as “having moved away.” One such entry describes the yangban household of the Andong Kwŏn family, of which the householder was Kwŏn Chungbaek of Hyŏnnae-myŏn. His daughterin-law, Lady Sŏng, who was forty years old, is recorded as having lived with him. Perhaps because she was a widow, she was not recorded with her husband. In any case, Lady Sŏng is recorded in the 1759 Tansŏng Household Register as having left for Chinju. Interestingly, her son, Kwŏn Bongwon is also described as having left for Chinju with her. It would seem that Lady Sŏng, after staying with her parents-in-law for some time, had left for Chinju with her son. Quite possibly she may have remarried some time after arriving in Chinju.20 She may even have remarried immediately after her departure.21

Remarriage and Widow Chastity As family structures began to follow to strict patrilineal principles, widows were increasingly required to not remarry. A narrative written by Pak Chiwŏn (朴趾源; 1737–1805), Yŏllyŏ Hamyang Pakssi-jŏn [ḟ女咸陽朴 氏傳The tale of the virtuous women Lady Pak of Hamyang], suggests that by late Chosŏn it was common for widows of all classes to shun remarriage. The narrative suggests that women of all social status groups considered it appropriate not to remarry and that what was once praised as a virtuous woman was now commonplace.22 In contrast, in another narrative, one Yi Yongmuk ducks into a house to escape the rain. There he meets a widow who claims that remarriage is a more natural action for widows than remaining chaste.23 The seventeen-year-old women in this story has decided that, three years after becoming a widow at fourteen, the time has come for her to seek out a new husband on her own. Moreover, she believes that remaining unmarried and chaste violates the principles of nature and human emotions. For her, remarriage is an action that in no way violates natural principles such as the combining of yin and yang, or basic human emotions. Which of the two accounts is in greater accord with the reality revealed in the Register? The percentage of women who are listed as widows in the

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Register are 6.1 percent in 1678, 7.8 percent in 1717, 7.5 percent in 1759 and 7.0 percent in 1789. Let us investigate how the number of widows changed according to social status.24 If we look at the Table 7.6, it becomes clear that percentage of widows among adult yangban women as a whole was 1.5 times larger than the percentage of widows among adult commoner women. About 30 percent of yangban women during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were widows who had remained unmarried. This was true of only about 16–18 percent of commoner women. Ultimately, the number of chaste widows of commoner origin was larger in the eighteenth century than it had been in the mid-seventeenth century. Most likely this was on account of the increasingly pervasive influence of a society that looked negatively on widows who had remarried. However, the evidence in the Register suggests that this influence was not very strong. There are accounts that seem to indicate that lower status group women did not have the same attitude toward remarriage as did yangban status women. A large reason for this difference probably lies in the economic position and social status of the widows. A widow with sufficient economic resources could have remained unmarried, but otherwise would probably have been forced to find a new husband. For the most part, yangban women would have had sufficient economic resources. Moreover, only by remaining unmarried could they ensure that their children inherited these resources. By contrast, most commoner women would not have had sufficient resources to remain unmarried, nor would they have had many possessions to pass on to their children. Yangban women also had to consider the fact that, if they remarried, their descendents would be blocked from participation in the civil service. By remarrying they would be giving up on a future for their sons and grandsons. This became a clear reason why they might chose not to remarry. However, for most commoner status women, there was no chance

Table 7.6. Percentage of Widows among Women over the Age of Twenty Year

Yangban

Commoner

Base People

1678 1717 1759 1789

30.0% 28.9% 27.5% 23.9%

16.2% 18.2% 18.9% 14.5%

7.5% 8.4% 6.7% 2.9%

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of their sons’ participating in the civil service examinations, whether or not they remarried. For commoner widows, the minute chance of their children entering the civil service would not have been a good enough reason to endure the hardships of living on their own. We should not ignore the effects of social pressure. There were yangban women who were not at all well off economically, and whose in-laws were too poor to provide much to their children. However, the very fact that there were laws restricting the children of remarried widows from entering into the civil service would have caused other yangban to think of remarriage negatively—even poor yangban women without much hope in that direction could not have ignored these attitudes. While it is hard to know what commoner women thought, it seems likely that they would have been less influenced by Neo-Confucian morality. In any case, even in those instances where they followed the ideology of Neo-Confucianism, they would not have been economically able to fulfil the demands of the ideology.

Instances of Remarriage in the Register Although there are few records extant concerning remarried women in Chosŏn, we can generally approximate what their situation might have been like through unofficially conveyed records such as legends and poem-songs. For example, a song entitled “Tendong emi hwajŏn-ga” [Song of the burnt boy’s mother at the flower festival] was sung by a remarried woman and has interesting content in regard to the lives of remarried women. The narrative tells that on a beautiful spring day in the late Chosŏn period a widow went to the flower festival (hwajŏn nori) and was sitting about with a sullen face. Tendong’s mother saw this and sang a long song of her own life story. Tendong’s mother is a woman who repeatedly lost her husband and remarried many times. She also raised her son, Tendong, who received his nickname from a severe burn. The song, in part, follows: If a young widow is trying to remarry, I will stop her resolutely, Born with a poor destiny, and thus remarried ten bitter times. Young widows in the flower of youth, listen to me and do not remarry. A bride from Hwaryŏng that married in a certain village was widowed at age twenty-one,

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I was told that she went to Tanyang to remarry, but she died after just five months which is okay. But a bride from Changim who married in another village and was widowed at barely twenty could not bear her youthful splendor and remarried in Yŏngch’un, Yet she suffered from a nasty disease and became unable to walk. A bride from Andong who married in a certain village lost her husband at nineteen, She needlessly lost her mind and went to Naesŏng where she was beaten to death by a bastard husband. A bride from Wŏldong in a certain house became a widow at age twenty-two, She slandered her late husband’s concubine and went to Yechŏn to remarry, There she mistreated the son of previous wife and was expelled by her husband. A women of Tangyang married into a certain place, but lost her husband at the mere age of twenty, She became the concubine of some house, but the first wife was fierce and fought with her three or four times a day, so the woman eventually killed herself by drinking poison.25 There are five remarried women in the above song, and, although not included in the above excerpt, Tendong’s mother had her own luckless story of losing some four husbands.26 Thus, in her laments she urges other widows not to remarry. This narrative not only reflects negatively in terms of the culture surrounding women and remarriage, but also demonstrates that women who opted to remarry could not but suffer in such an atmosphere. We also see that women remarried in spite of such conditions. An entry in the dynastic record tells of an instance where a member of a widow’s natal family arranged a remarriage for her while she was living with them after being widowed: Wives cannot have two husbands due to morality. However, on occasion a woman might be widowed early in her marriage and thus her parents fear that she will live alone and force her to remarry. As this was compelled, it is not a case that can be punished.27

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We can see from this that the court was understanding to some degree and held the opinion that widows should not be punished when their parents forced them to remarry. While this does not explain the whole of social conditions in late Chosŏn, we can understand that parents, when possible, would attempt to have their widowed daughters remarry. If that is the case, through the cases of remarriage in the Register we should be able to assess how effective the negative view of women’s remarriage was in reality and also how often women remarried. Yet there is not a single case of woman who is clearly indicated as having a second marriage in the data of the Register. Thus, to investigate the actualities about the remarriage of widows through concrete examples is not a simple matter. In case of a male remarrying, this is clearly indicated in household registers, as his new wife is indicated as a “second wife” (huch’ŏ). However, in cases of the remarriage of women, there are no indications of remarriage in any data and the new husband is not indicated as a second husband, either. The presence of women recorded as a second or added wife seen in the family register is concrete evidence that men remarried, but there are many cases where it cannot be determined if it was the second wife’s first marriage or second marriage.28 In order to find traces of women who were once widows and later remarried, I searched Register in the years 1717, 1720, 1729, 1732, 1735, which are spaced by either three or nine years. For example, I attempted to trace a woman who was widowed in 1717 again in 1720, and so on. What I found was that widows who did not remarry were easily found, but there was not a single case of a woman remarrying in the data. I believe this is related to the fact that women who remarried would leave the area where they lived before their husband died. In the above “Tendong emi hwajŏn-ga” we can note that to remarry each of the first four women left the town where they previously married; in the case of the fifth woman who became a concubine it is not clear if she did so or not, although there is a high possibility that she also went to some other area. Thus, in the Register the women who remarried took their husbands from other areas, and not from Tansŏng. One example is of a tanner by the name of Kim Paek who had a thirty-one-year-old daughter named Paekkŭm who lived in his house.29 Examining the content written in his family register in 1720, it is written under her name “moved to Samga” (samga igŏ 三嘉 移去).30 After being widowed, this woman returned to her natal home before eventually moving to Samga. This seems to indicate that she remarried and left for her new husband’s home. If that is the case, there must also have been women who came to Tansŏng from other areas to remarry.31

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In order to find remarried women in the Register, we have to examine the details concerning the various family members, especially about the women as wives. I classified the women identified as wives in the Register on such factors as whether they were secondary wives, whether they had children from former marriages, and their ages when they married. The data in the following table is arranged in various categories for four census years (᳨ᚌ singnyŏn—the regular three-year cycle when censuses were completed). While remarriage cannot be proven completely we can make strong assumptions that it was extremely likely to have occurred. I established four instances where it seems likely that a woman had remarried. Roughly, there are two main groups: first, women who had children with a different father, and second, women who married at an age too great to be a first marriage. Among these cases, the most certain method to find remarried women was to find the cases where women had children with different fathers. These cases can be distinguished by statements in the register such as “a son/daughter of a different husband,” or “a son/daughter of a different mother.” In the table above, categories A and B indicate these cases.32 A child of a different husband, when recorded as a stepchild of the householder, is of course a child that the woman had from an earlier marriage. This was sometimes expressed as ŭija or ŭinyŏ or simply as ibu cha/nyŏ, all of which are reflected in category A above.

Table 7.7. Patterns of Women’s Remarriage in the Tansŏng Household Register Presumed remarriage through existence of a stepchild

Presumed remarriage by age of remarriage

Year

A

B

C

D

Total number of remarried women

1678 1717 1759 1789

6 14 9 7

3 1 3 1

18 15 8 3

4 6 5 2

31 36 25 13

Unit: person 1. A:  Instances where a stepchild is recorded in the register 2. B:  Instances where a stepchild is presumed 3. C:  Age of the second wife was over thirty and recorded as newly added (kahyŏn) 4. D: Age of the second wife was over thirty and the first wife was recorded to have died since the last triennial census (kŭmgo)

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From the standpoint of the head of the family, these were not his children but, rather, children brought by their mother from her first marriage. A woman who had a child from a different husband had certainly already been married.33 If the woman was a second wife, we can understand that both the woman and the man had already been married, and if she was a first wife, we can see that it was the first marriage for the man. Category B accounts for the cases in which a stepchild is not clearly indicated by the terms in category A. In these cases a second wife was newly recorded along with a child that was already more than ten years old. Thus, such a child can be seen as a stepchild brought by the mother from her prior marriage. In these instances the women are indicated by terms such as kach’ŏ (added wife) or huch’ŏ (second wife) along with a children over the age of ten indicated by kaja or kanyŏ (added son or added daughter).34 When both the second wife and children were recorded as being added at the same time, we can assume that the woman who became a second wife brought her own children into the marriage. There could be other possible reasons for this such as a delay in adding the new family members to the register or simply a tendency to not add the members to the register at all. However, when there was a large age gap between other children it seems most plausible that the children were brought into the marriage by the new wife. Another means of ascertaining remarriage was done through the ages of the new wives. Category C records women who became second wives at ages over thirty when they first appeared in the family register.35 One such example is that of the family register for Pŏpmurya Township in 1678 where a commoner woman by the name of Yeu appeared as a second wife at age sixty-five.36 If this record is correct, it seems highly likely that she was a remarried woman. Thus, I consider those women who were beyond the age of thirty when added as second wives to have remarried. The category of D are the cases where the first wife was recorded as having died in the period since the last census (i.e., within three years) while the second wife was recorded as well in the family register.37 Although the second wife is not recorded as newly added, if the first wife died within three years, there is a good possibility that the second wife came to that family within a three-year period. Thus, the second wife can be understood as being newly added. I investigated these instances as well to see if the second wife was over thirty years of age or not and also if there were newly added children over the age of ten.38 Based on these aspects, I was able to identify the data for this category.

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The total number of women I identified as most likely having remarried was thirty-one in 1678, thirty-one in 1717, twenty-five in 1759, and eleven in 1789. This is not greatly different from the number of remarried men. Finally, I will now contrast these figures with the number of widows who did not seem to have remarried. The table above shows that the percentage of remarried women in 1678 was around 8.4 percent. This ratio decreases quite clearly over the ensuing eighteenth century. Thus, we can posit that during this one hundred year period either both men and women tended to remarry less often, or at least practices concerning remarriage transformed in such a way that records in the family register became much more difficult to trace.

Conclusion This chapter has attempted to assess the influence of Neo-Confucian patriarchy on a rural community of late Chosŏn by investigating the situation of widows living in Tansŏng-hyŏn of Kyŏngsang Province. In particular, the focus has been on the ways in which the social and economic status of women affected how they responded to various social changes. Taking into account the differences between the early and late Chosŏn, it would seem that the change in the situation of widows was the outcome of specific government policies. I have attempted to reveal ways in which women living within this society attempted to survive, according to their own particular circumstances, by accommodating, ignoring, or resisting the change. Most women would have searched for strategies to negotiate the increasingly rigid patriarchal structure of society; they would have found a delicate balance, by sometimes accommodating, sometimes resisting, this structure as we have seen in other chapters of this volume.

Table 7.8. Remarried Women and Widows Year

Number of Remarried Women

Number of widows

Ratio of Remarried Women and Widows

1678 1717 1759 1789

31  36  25 13 

369  715  706  600 

8.4 4.3 3.5 1.8

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By the eighteenth century, fewer and fewer widows succeeded to the position of householder. Instead, their sons were more likely to do so. This change means that the patrilineal system that was common among yangban households began to influence the records of public documents such as the Register. Conversely, the change in the conventions of the household register would have influenced the general populace by organizing them formally along patrilineal principles. This would especially have changed the relative status of sons and mothers, but did not interfere with the widow’s customary duty of managing her late husband’s property. The transformation in the Register of the widow to “a mother of a son” played a role in spreading the patriarchal ideology to lower status group women in provincial society. Similar trends are seen in the records of yangban, commoner, and base widows. However, this change was not enormous. The greatest changes were among the yangban, who were, after all, more heavily influenced by Neo-Confucian norms. The situation for commoner women was more complicated, with the number of widow householders increasing again in the late eighteenth century. Moreover, one should note that it is still possible to find yangban widows succeeding as householders in the late eighteenth century. A widow, as a single woman without a husband, would often be chiefly responsible for the affairs of her household. A widow is woman, but one who is forced to assume, to a limited extent, a man’s role. In the mid-Chosŏn period this was manifested in the management of ancestor rites by the eldest daughter-in-law, as seen in the chapter by Lee SoonGu. Within the context of a strict patrilineal system, the widow was a vital link between father and son, and had the ability to interfere or cause disorder in the line of succession. A vital issue in the development of strict patrilineal family structure is the issue of whether or not widows remain unmarried. Widowhood means that they would have continued to have the status of legitimate wife, but of course this had the potential to change with remarriage. A widow could contribute to the maintenance of a secure, patriarchal order if she maintained her chastity, restricted herself to her own narrow role, and did not attempt to assume the role of patriarch. However, because widows were also a potential source of disruption to the patriarchal order, they were the objects of the interference and protection of the state. In contrast to the largely bureaucratic changes in the conventions for determining the householder in the Register, the decision to remain unmarried would have been influenced heavily by economic position and status factors. Moreover, those who chose to remain unmarried would have been expressing Neo-Confucian norms in a highly concrete and personal

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way. While state policy concerning who was recorded as householder had similar influence through all social classes, widow remarriage was much more greatly influenced by the social position of the widow. Thus, while yangban widows increasingly chose to live with their husbands’ kin, there was very little change in the cases of commoner and base women. The relatively small number of lower status widows suggests that more of them chose to remarry.39 In the late Chosŏn dynasty a strict patrilineal system became more pervasive and began to influence even the lower status groups. However, Neo-Confucian principles did not seem to take root among non-yangban households even by the late eighteenth century. Though the ideology of chastity was gradually gaining strength, widows would, according to their own particular circumstances, chose to either remarry or not. Clearly we can see that the expansion of patrilineal ideology in the late Chosŏn was not a lineal, simple process. Instead, it was a matter of the state attempting to reorganize all society according to patrilineal principles, and widows endeavoring to negotiate their position within this society in numerous ways. At times, widows would escape from this ideological structure by finding hitherto undiscovered cracks at its edges.

Notes The first portions of this chapter are based on Ji-Young Jung, “Widow’s Position and Agency in the Late Chosŏn Dynasty,” The Journal of Korean Studies 14 (Fall 2009): 61–82. 1. There have been a number of attempts to address this problem by describing how women responded to the transformations that were occurring. Recently, Martina Deuchler and JaHyun Kim Haboush have gone beyond looking at the ways in which the activities of women were restricted by the normative demands made by male rulers and social structures dominated by men. Indeed, they have attempted to uncover the female agency and a feminine culture developing within the context of a Confucianizing society. See, Martina Deuchler, “Propagating Female Virtues in Chosŏn Korea,” in Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan, ed. Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggot (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003); and JaHyun Kim Haboush, “Version and Subversion: Patriarchy and Polygamy in Korean Narratives,” in the same volume. 2. I used as my main source the Kyŏngsangdo tansŏng hojŏk taejang CD (Tongbang Media, 2001). This CD was based on the Kyŏngsangdo tansŏng hojŏk taejang (vol. I and II), a facsimile edition published in 1980 by the Chŏngsin

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munhwa yŏn’guwŏn. The particular registers referred to here are as follows, the 1678 (Sukchong 4) Kyŏngsangdo Tansŏnghŏn muo singnyŏn hojŏk taejang, the 1717 (Sukchong 43) Kyŏngsangdo Tansŏnghŏn chŏngyu singnyŏn hojŏk taejang, the 1759 (Yŏngjo 35) Kyŏngsangdo Tansŏnghŏn samyo singnyŏn hojŏk taejang and the 1789 (Chŏngjo 13) Kyŏngsangdo Tansŏnghŏn sayu singnyŏn hojŏk taejang. The facsimile edition itself was based on the original household register documents for the region, which were collected and organized every three years during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Tansŏng-hyŏn is approximately the area of Sanch’ŏng County in South Kyŏngsang Province. When I quote from the Tansŏng Household Register I cite it in the following fashion. If, for instance, I am quoting a passage from page one hundred of the first volume of the facsimile edition, I write “Tansŏng Household Register I, 100 a (or ‘b,’ depending on whether the text is at the top or bottom of the page).” If the address of the household in question is Tosan-myŏn, 1-ri, 1-t’ong, 1-ho, I write “Tosan-myŏn 01-01-01.” 3. I use the term Neo-Confucianism rather than Confucianism as Neo-Confucianism was employed as a vision for social transformation in late Chosŏn. As for the meaning of “Neo-Confucianism,” see Youngmin Kim’s chapter, “Neo-Confucianism as Free-Floating Resource,” in this volume. 4. “Householder” is a translation of the term hoju. The reader should note that this term was very rarely used during the Chosŏn dynasty. In the document itself the householder is distinguished from other members of the household by being listed first. Occasionally the term chuho (which is still used in Korean academia, but with a different meaning) was also used. The widespread use of the term hoju originated with the Japanese colonial government. 5. Kyŏngguk taejŏn [National code] “Yejŏn” “Hŏgusik.” I note that the use of “slave” as a translation for nobi is controversial. 6. For instance see Tansŏng Household Register vol. I, 228a, 1717, Tosan-myŏn, 7-5-3. 7. Generally, the phrase taeho is used under those circumstances where the identity of the person succeeded is not mentioned. An example is Tansŏng Household Register I, 215 b, Odong-myŏn, 04-030-05. Tae is generally used on its own when the identity of the previous householder is specified and the relationship between the previous householder and the succeeding householder is described. For instance, in Tansŏng Household Register I, 263 a, 1720 Sindŭng-myŏn 01-23-05, we are told that “After Madam Yi died, her son Kwon Insŏ, a yuhak [lit. young scholar] succeeded [tae]. He was fourteen.” 8. After the fact of succession has been recorded once, it is generally omitted from the next compilation of the household register. For instance, in Tansŏng Household Register I, 210b, 1717 Puktong-myŏn, 5-4-5 we are told that “after the death of Ha Tuch’ŏn, his wife, madam Ko, succeeded [tae].” However, during the next census year three years later the initial entry for the same household simply provides information concerning “the widow, Madam Ko” (Tansŏng Household

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Register I, 346 b, 1720 Puktong-myŏn 05-07-02). We are not informed that she “succeeded.” Thus it would seem that taeho and tae were only used when the position of householder had changed within the previous three years. 9. It seems likely that the standard convention before and during the early Chosŏn was to pass the position of householder to the widow of a dead householder, and not to his son. In the few remaining examples of household registers for the late Koryŏ and the early Chosŏn, one often finds cases of women being registered as householder. See, Ch’oe Honggi, Han’guk hojŏk chedosa yŏn’gu [A study of Korean family structure] (Seoul: Sŏul taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 1997), 100–102. This suggests that the conventions visible in the 1678 Tansŏng Household Register were consistent with previous practice. The changes that occurred during the early eighteenth century, then, amounted to a significant break with convention. 10. Of course, the trend does not remain absolutely steady throughout the eighteenth century. It is especially interesting that, in 1759, the proportion of yangban successors to householder who are women decreases somewhat before increasing again in 1789. This could be because the changes that I am describing did not come about without resistance, or it could reflect numerous other factors. Nevertheless, it is clear that all the eighteenth-century records, taken as a whole, show a considerably stronger tendency for successors to householder to be male than what is true for 1678. 11. The influence of the Neo-Confucian patriarchy among lower status groups in late Chosŏn is evident in the fact that commoner women attempted to mimic the ideals of chastity that were practiced by yangban women, and aspired to become yangban themselves by doing so. See Yi Hyojae, Chosŏnjo sahoe wa kajok [Family and society in the Chosŏn dynasty] (Seoul: Hanŭl, 2004). 12. The Kabo sikhojŏk samok is a document found in the Kyujanggak Library (Kyujanggak no. 12318). This handwritten text is of uncertain date, but it is assumed that the kabo year of the sexagenary cycle referred to here is 1774. 13. A similar statement of policy is not recorded in any other official source. It seems possible that it was reemphasizing a policy first established sometime during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. 14. That is to say, the policy by which groups of five families were linked together as an administrative unit called the t’ong, and were considered responsible for each other. 15. Sukchong sillok [Veritable records of King Sukchong], 6: 16a–16b (1677-03-01). 16. Ibid., 30: 28a (1696-04-29). 17. According to the Sinbosugyo chimnok (yejŏn chegwa) anyone without both an identification plaque and a certificate of passing the preliminary examination (chohŭlch’ŏp) would be prevented from taking the examination. 18. In 1678 there are forty such cases for yangban widows and thirty-five such cases for commoners. The number of such widows decreases in 1717 to

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nine cases for yangban widows and five cases for commoner widows. Similarly, in 1759 there were three such cases for yangban widows and seven such cases for commoners. However, in 1789 the numbers of widows living with their sons but who were still considered householders increased somewhat to twenty yangban and eleven commoners. The period between 1678 and 1717 saw a considerable increase in the number of sons succeeding as householder; nevertheless, even after 1717 there are cases of widows with sons being recorded as householder. 19. Kodam [ᒱ᛾], in Yijo hanmun tanp’yŏn-jip [Anthology of short narratives in Chinese of the Chosŏn dynasty], trans. Yi Usŏng and Im Yŏngt’aek (Seoul: Ilchogak, 1973), 234–42. 20. There are stories recorded in collections such as Ch’ŏng’gu yadam [Tales from the green hills] which describe how a man falsely reported his that his widowed daughter had died, and then had her remarry. A good example is the “T’aehak kwiro” [Road back to the Confucian Academy ␪⓴ᖻᠨ] in Yijo hanmun tanp’yŏn-jip, 229–33. 21. There are stories in Tongp’ae raksong [Thrice-told tales from the East] and Ch’ŏng’gu yadam [Tales from the green hills] which describe widows who fled from their in-laws to their natal homes, as a result of which they were able to find new husbands. These stories describe how the widows were suffering from mistreatment at the hands of their in-laws, and how they then used the support of their natal family to succeed in their second marriage. See, Yijo hanmun tanp’yŏn-jip, 242–48. 22. “Yŏllyŏ Pakssi jŏn [The tale of the virtuous Lady Pak],” recorded in Pak Chiwŏn, Yŏnam-jip [Collected works of Yŏnam Ḉᵐ⊘], 1: 32b. 23. Kim Hyŏllyong, Han’guk munhŏn sŏrhwa 3 [Legends in Korean literary documents, vol. 3] (Seoul: Kŏn’guk taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 1999), 181–82. 24. When we discuss the increase or decrease in the number of widows, we cannot ignore the issue of the total population of women of each class. For this reason, I have calculated the total population of women over twenty for each group, and have then calculated the percentage of women for each classification who are widows. The results have been arranged in Table 7.5. 25. Recorded in Im Hyŏngt’aek and Ko Misuk, trans., Han’guk kojŏn siga sŏn [Anthology of classical Korean poem-songs] (Seoul: Ch’angjak kwa pip’yŏngsa, 1997), 196–219. 26. In general, it seems to have been rare for those of lower social status to have grand weddings for remarriage; however, it was considered as a remarriage when they simply lived together. In case of the protagonist of the above song, although it is said that she was married at least five times, there is no explanation of the formal process of marriage in each instance. Related to this, we can refer to research dealing with the marriage and married lives of slaves. Here we are simply informed by the diary of the yangban owner of the slaves that “a male slave was married to a female slave.” See, Yi Yŏnghun, “Nobi ŭi honin kwa pubu

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saenghwal” [Marriage and married lives of slaves], in Chosŏn sidae saenghwal sa 2 [Life history in the Chosŏn dynasty 2], ed. Han’guk komunsŏ hakhoe (Seoul: Yŏksapip’yŏngsa, 2000), 108–109. 27. Sŏngjong sillok [Veritable Records of King Sŏngjong] 82: 9b, (1477-07-17). 28. To find entries for remarried women we have to trace the various individuals recorded and study their relations to the family, their ages, and their children’s ages in close detail. Rather than interpreting the data too optimistically, I opted to err on the side of caution and thus the results that I will present could certainly be on the low side. Clear records of a woman’s remarriage were something that the recorders of registers absolutely did not want to have clearly indicated on their family documents. 29. Tansŏng Household Register vol. I, 244b, 04-01-05. 30. Ibid., vol. I, 385a, 04-01-05. 31. The most accurate method to find remarried women is to find a women marked as a widow in an earlier register and then as remarried in a subsequent register. This would allow a positive tracing of the woman and tell us if she stayed unmarried or remarried and moved to another place. I tried this method time and time again. However, the details concerning women in the Register are simply not as informative as those concerning men. Thus, it was very difficult to ascertain that it was the same person recorded in the Register at a forty-year interval as was the case of 1678 and 1717. More than anything else in the case of women, it was difficult to clearly know their existence since there were many cases that simply used classifiers such as ssi (ᴟ), choi (ᰉᬈ), or sŏng (ᯯ) after a family name. In the lesser gaps for the years from 1717 to 1720 through 1729, it was relatively easy to indentify individual women since the interval was fairly short. Nonetheless, one could not state that they had remarried based only on the fact that they did not appear in a subsequent entry in the next Register. Other factors such as simply moving to live with another family member might have been the reason for the disappearance. Thus, one could not ascertain remarriage based only on the absence of a widow in a subsequent Register entry. 32. For example, a record in the Register concerning the male slave employed by the government notes that he, named Horong and forty-three years of age, had taken a commoner women with the surname Yi (42 years old) for his wife. Directly under this record it states that she brought a daughter of a different husband with her into the marriage. See, Tansŏng Household Register I, 26a, Hyŏnnae-myŏn 05-07-02). 33. In one example the householder is a woman recorded as Yi choi (54 years old) who was a wife of Kang Sun’gi (deceased). Her daughter Kiok (20 years old) was recorded as the daughter of a different father by the name of Kim Mongnan. Seeing this, we can understand that Yi choi remarried Kang but he had died sometime before this entry. When she married Kang, she had brought

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her daughter from a previous marriage. See, Tansŏng Household Register I, 130a, Pŏbmurya-myŏn (03-03-02). 34. Such cases could be something that had been omitted in previous entries but recorded in this particular entry. Yet, if we consider that the woman is recorded as a second wife (huch’ŏ) and the advanced ages of the added children we can surmise that they had not been simply omitted from early entries in the Register, but rather had newly joined this household. 35. Kahyŏn indicates a person who has been added from the previous Register of three years earlier. Therefore, a woman marked as kahyŏn indicates a newly added wife from the previous Register of three years earlier. In cases where kahyŏn is not indicated, although the woman might have been a second wife, since she could have been a second wife from long time before, it is difficult to estimate at what age she came in as a second wife. Thus, it is not possible to even presume that it was her first or second marriage. 36. Tansŏng Household Register I, 137a. 37. I interpreted the data differently based on if the first wife was written kŭmgo or simply ko (故). As the Register was compiled every three years the designation of kŭmgo indicates that the first wife had died within a three-year period. On the other hand, ko simply indicates a deceased first wife and could indicate a woman who had died well beyond a three-year period. 38. I did exclude any instances where the data was questionable. For example, there is one case where the first wife is listed as newly deceased (kŭmgo) and a woman with the surname of Yi is listed as newly added. However, the age of the new wife is but twenty-two, so while it is clear that she is a second wife, it is not clear if it is her second marriage. See Tansŏng Household Register I, 43b, Hyŏnnae-myŏn 05-03-01). There were also other instances where the data was not clear so these were not counted as being remarriages for the women in this study. 39. However, even lower status women were influenced by public hostility to remarriage to the extent that, when they did remarry, they generally married men of relatively low status.

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8

Devalued Bodies, Revalued Status Confucianism and the Plight of Female Slaves in Late Chosŏn Korea

Milan Hejtmanek

The homicide case from 1776 brought before Chŏngjo for review five times between 1779 and 1784 involved a straightforward act of violent murder.1 The defendant, Yang Yuŏn, from Hwanghae-do, outraged over the failure of his victim, Ponggŭm, to come when summoned to tend his dying elder brother, had thrashed her with a stick, meting out dozens of strong blows; she died two days later. Yang Yuŏn had blurred the early clarity of the matter, however, by recanting his former confession, given on repeated occasions, now claiming that his deceased brother had ordered the beating. Moreover, the most vexing feature of the case involved the social background of the deceased victim, Ponggŭm, for she had been a manumitted former slave of the ill, elder brother. As the matter dragged on, in the third hearing in 1784, fully eight years after the crime, Chŏngjo evinced irritation at Yang Yuŏn’s failure to wind things up with a satisfactory confession: The relationship of Yuŏn to Ponggŭm was not originally one of master to slave. Now over a petty matter he has abusively beaten and killed her. The law that a murderer must die is very strict. . . . He reneged and changed his testimony . . . imputing the crime to his dead brother. This was, of course, a tactic to save himself, and bespeaks a lack of ethical demeanor in addi-

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tion to the original charges against him. Interrogate according to prior procedures and await confession.2 Yet, forces were at work seeking to rescue Yang Yuŏn. The provincial governor noted the existence of grounds for clemency, citing the importance of the master-slave relationship, and opining that Ponggŭm, by failing to heed orders, had damaged this fundamental bond, a Confucian twist to an economic and status-group relationship. The Board of Punishments (Hyŏngjo) was dubious over this line of reasoning. However, Chŏngjo himself granted some merit to the governor’s opinion, noting that: In principle, the distinction between the one called master and the one called slave is extremely serious; if these terms are applicable for even a single day, or a brief period, then there is no requital for a life (i.e. if a master slays the slave). Although he granted that commuted slaves were to be treated as legally as any other persons, still the prior relationship could have legal force in determining clemency, and Chŏngjo shifted ground and now unaccountably gave full credit to Yuŏn’s changed testimony. Ponggŭm was a working slave for many years. If, immediately after her status was commuted, she forgot all about the meaning of the former relationship and did not even come to see her former master in his illness, this would be showing no regard at all for the favor (shown her) and the feelings of the previous days. . . . Then, too, Yuŏn’s beating her was at the direct instruction and order of his older brother; thus, the earlier comment [of the board?] that even among brothers, each slave has his own master was not really apposite. This is truly a case that is difficult to pardon from the point of view of the crime but proper to pardon from the perspective of the circumstances. [emphasis added] Finally, in the fifth simni review, as foreshadowed by his new-found sympathy for Yang Yuŏn, Chŏngjo ordered the prior death sentence be reduced to that of beating and banishment. This case, and the “perspective of the circumstances” hinted at by the monarch speak to the changing social conditions of the late Chosŏn period, when the social status system of the earlier centuries was begin-

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ning to erode, as evidenced by the slow disappearance of the hereditary slave class known collectively as the nobi, accompanied by a fierce, residual loyalty to the aristocratic hierarchies that accompanied slavery, couched in Confucian rhetoric. It has been more than twenty years since Chŏng Sŏkchŏng lamented that “[a]s for the Chosŏn dynasty—no matter whether one speaks of the early or late period—it is commonly known that the issue of nobi is the most prominent of the social contradictions of the period. And yet, this issue of the nobi cannot be viewed as having been studied as much as its importance warrants.”3 Over the past generation, the entire issue of the nobi in particular and of slavery in Korea generally has received greater attention, garnering a flurry of new monographs as well as numerous shorter studies; fascinating controversies have ensued. Yet the issue of gender and slavery has received scant attention, an omission somewhat surprising given the varying economic roles males (no) and females (pi) played within the nobi class. For females, it was their ability to reproduce property for their masters that lay at the core of their own economic value, together with the wide range of household work they performed, versus the strength male no could bring to various tasks requiring physical labor, which helped determine their economic place in society. Fundamentally, private slavery in Chosŏn Korea served three essential functions, broadly congruent yet distinct. First it provided a dependable source of manpower, available for both household tasks and agricultural labor. Second it comprised a source of wealth that could be employed for the benefit of the master through sales, rent, or manumission. Third, it was a central indication of social status, for without possession of slaves it was difficult to claim yangban standing. In the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries the first two of these functions, both economic in nature, began to deteriorate as the underlying demographic distribution changed. The third one proved more tenacious. Not only did it involve the self-definition of yangban status and express its needs in Confucian rhetoric, but it was also the social function of slavery that most directly involved women.

Confucianism and the Institution of Slavery The existence of the nobi system, inherited from the Koryŏ was accepted as an organic part of society and recognized by the ruling literati class as manifestly important to the contemporary economy of Chosŏn, an

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attitude well captured in the fifteenth-century trope of nobi as “the hands and feet” (nobi sa chi sujok) of their yangban masters.4 As such, nobi were understood to be in a hierarchical relationship to their yangban masters equivalent to the ruler-subject or father-son Confucian relationships outlined in Mencius.5 The propertied class was well aware, however, that such a system of hereditary slavery did not exist in China. As a member of the censorate put it in defending the social status of Korea: The territory of our state is different [from that of China] and our customs are not the same. For that reason, even though our system of morality, based on the Three Bonds and the Five Moral Imperatives is the same as that of China, our system [of rule] and language necessarily differs [from theirs]. . . . As for the laws concerning nobi, China does not have them, while in our state we do. Yet, while we might consider doing away with the literati (sajok) class, how could we ever eliminate the nobi [class]?6 For government officials of this time, at least, the most basic defense of slavery was that the economy could simply not exist without it. The massive invasions by Japan in the 1590s provided a temporary means for nobi to purchase commoner status; however, after the war’s conclusion such expedient actions were sternly rejected as legal precedents, as the nation sought to restore its social status system, understood in moralistic, if also self-serving terms: The nobi laws of the Eastern Kingdom derive from Kija and they form an immutable code of the Eastern Regions. If we eliminate the laws of nobi ownership then our moral foundation will collapse.7 Amidst the general approbation for slavery were also to be seen from the outset of the dynasty passing laments for its inhumanity and the harsh logic of the marketplace, whereby several slaves might be exchanged for a single horse.8 From the seventeenth century more sustained attacks on slavery appeared, including those of Yu Hyŏngwŏn, who based his objections to the institution both on its deviation from its origin in criminal justice, whereby only the criminals were enslaved, not their descendants, and on a principled belief that all human beings share a common humanity that differentiates them from inanimate objects. Hence, in Yu’s eyes, to

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treat human beings as chattel property was a violation of both tradition and principle.9 Yu’s unease with hereditary slavery was echoed in the eighteenth century by thinkers such as Yi Ik who lamented the injustice and the waste of talent inherent in the nobi system: The laws of slavery in our country are not to be found [elsewhere] in the world, either in the past or present. Once fallen into status as nobi one must perform hard labor until aged, and as if that were not sufficiently sad, according to the law how pathetic is it that one must follow the status of one’s mother? This being the case, beginning with one’s mother’s mother and her mother’s mother’s mother, follow the trail back ten or 100 generations, not knowing which person in which generation one is. . . . Having fallen into such an environment not even Yan Hui or Bai Qui could comport themselves properly.10 Other prominent thinkers, such as Yu Suwŏn and An Chŏngbok, echoed and expanded on this critique of slavery and compilers of encyclopedias in the nineteenth century, including Yi Yuwŏn, gave the critics further prominence.11 Within the government as well there were indications of a shift in attitude toward nobi, most prominently demonstrated in freeing the vast majority of government slaves in 1801, following up on proposals already being discussed in the latter part of Chŏngjo’s reign.12 Such a sweeping measure built on a number of less dramatic ones throughout the eighteenth century that aimed at lessening the burden on nobi. Among these was a change in 1755 that abolished nationwide the sin’gong or “head tax” for all pi, whether owned by the government or privately, implicitly recognizing for the first time the gender equality of freeborn women (who were exempt from government yŏk exactions) and slave women.13 Compared to Confucian statecraft, thinkers and their sympathizers in the government—who could, after all, hardly ignore a social class that occupied some one-third of the population—the problematik of slavery appears to have generated little interest among Confucian metaphysicians, although, to a large degree, the wealth that supported their literati lifestyle and that undergirded their educational institutions depended on the labor of nobi.14 However, one area of controversial social practice where sŏngnihak adherents could not help but be drawn in, involved the need to classify the children of mixed marriages between yang’in (including

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yangban) and ch’ŏnmin (principally the nobi). Should the father’s status be followed or the mother’s? Confucian ritual practice as well as the government desire to maintain a healthy tax base of yang’in championed the chongbubŏp (or patrilineal inheritance law) against the well-entrenched Koryŏ-dynastic social practice of matrifilial inheritance of slaves. Squabbles between Confucian ideologues in the bureaucracy versus slaveowners erupted periodically from the outset of the dynasty down to 1731, when matrifilial practice finally won out. The matter of the offspring of mixed marriage lay at the heart of the dispute, for it was not uncommon for free men to have children by slave women. Should those offspring all follow the father’s social status and be yang’in as well?15 The social implications of the chongmobŏp (matrilineal inheritance law) were quite serious for the pi, for the law made them generally less desirable as marriage partners either for ambitious male slaves hoping to find a commoner wife and possibly sire yang’in offspring or for commoner males who might hesitate to enter into a marriage that would enslave his children no matter how winsome the potential spouse.16 Accordingly, in the marriage market the females (pi) were at a substantial disadvantage. Moreover, the legal designation of the female slaves as the source of future wealth for masters, aligned the economic interests of the owners with certain marriage choices for their nobi. There is substantial, if still partial, evidence to indicate that, in the later Chosŏn period, for the nobi the decision over whom to choose as one’s partner was suspiciously in accord with the financial advantage of their masters. The nobibo, or slave genealogy, of P’iram Sŏwŏn, for example lists marriage partners for 135 of the 229 nobi likely to have married at the time of its production in the eighteenth century. Of those with no listing, little can be said except that the numbers of females and are almost equal, totaling sixty-eight and sixty-seven, respectively. However, for the eighty-four individuals for whom spouses are listed, an interesting pattern emerges, as shown in Table 8.1.17 Of the thirty-eight listed males, fully twenty, or about 53 percent, had wives of commoner status; according the matrifilial inheritance law, their children would belong to the academy. However, any children born to the other eighteen men who were married to slave women would not (unless the wives also happened to be owned by the sŏwŏn, a likely possibility that is difficult to confirm in most cases). Of the forty-six females, on the other hand, only six, or 13 percent, had commoner husbands, a situation of little value to the academy and some possible threat, if the husband happened to persuade his wife to run away or legally migrate

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Table 8.1. P’iram Sŏwŏn Nobi Marriages

Male slave Female slave

Commoner spouse

Slave spouse

20 (53%) 6 (13%)

18 (47%) 40 (87%)

to another locale. By contrast, fully forty of the females (87%) had slave spouses; the children of these couples would be unambiguously the property of the sŏwŏn. Yi Suhwan in his study of marriages among the nobi of Tosan Sŏwŏn in Kyŏngsang Province found a similar patterning, noting that given the inheritance laws, the spouses of male slaves owned by the academy were of crucial importance. Of the 149 males listed, sixty-three, or 42 percent, were married to commoner women, The female slaves, however, were almost all married to male slaves, whether owned outside the sŏwŏn or within it. Only in seven out of eighty cases were there marriages to commoners.18 Such a patterning of mixed commoner-nobi marriages shows a clear appreciation for the laws on succession, and appears to reflect deliberate matchmaking on the part of the sŏwŏn administrations to secure their economic interests. Contemporary accounts also evince a concern, even obsession (at least rhetorical), in the latter Chosŏn period for increasing one’s slave holdings, as in the case of a male slave owned by the Haenam Yun lineage who is portrayed as abject in his apologies to his master (“I deserve to die 10,000 times over”) after having “betrayed” his master’s economic interests by marrying a pi owned by another yangban and siring many children with her, all of whom were owned by his wife’s owner.21 As chattel property and members of an underclass the pi were deemed objects of ready sexual possession by the yangban, whether by their owners or other members of the community. The following, rather

Table 8.2. Tosan Sŏwŏn Nobi Marriages in a 1708 Roster

Male (No) Female (Pi)

Commoner spouse 19

Non-commoner spouse 20

63 (42%) 7 (9%)

86 (58%) 73 (91%)

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hyperbolic, observation by a contemporary observer in the late Chosŏn likely speaks as much to yangban fantasies of the ready availability and moral depravity of women of the nobi class as it does to the reality of village social life: Although our country is not generally known for its licentiousness, yet lewd customs are widely to be found. Apart from the official courtesans (kwanch’ang), household female slaves and the base women of the villages comport themselves wantonly, not concerning themselves with either payment or social status, day and night they carry on as if drunk or crazy. There are few [pi] in this land who have not become harlots. In view of [such practices] our country has become more sexually degraded than China.22 A grittier—and fairer—glimpse into the sexual world of female slaves emerges in criminal cases. Given paucity of references to yangban charged with sexual assault of their own or other’s pi—in sharp contrast to the more numerous and well-documented cases of male slaves assaulting yangban women, typically resulting in capital punishment23—it seems likely that female slaves were in a nearly powerless situation and lived on a dangerous fault line of sexual tension that could on occasion explode into violence. An illustrative case dates from 1556 and involves the murder of the yangban master Wŏn Yŏngsa by his female slave Ch’unggye and her lover, a slave named Pokpu, in Wŏnju. Originally the master, Wŏn Yŏngsa, had made Ch’unggye his mistress and lived with her for several years, but after he chose a successor main wife (huch’ŏ), Ch’unggye had taken Pokpu as her lover. This angered her master and he increased his demands upon her for labor. In return, furious at his lover’s treatment, Pokpu killed Wŏn Sahyŏng and four other members of his family, together with ripping a fetus out of the wife’s womb. Ch’unggye and Pokpu were both beheaded.24 A defense widely employed by the pi against violence by owners and intrusions into their lives by owners’ wives was flight to another region.25 During the latter Chosŏn period, particularly in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, runaways became numerous, to the point that masters either lost—or for economic reasons chose to lose—a substantial proportion of their slaveholdings. Most often nobi families fled together, but episodes appearing in personal narratives also provide evidence that for women, flight could be as well a chance to achieve a family on their own terms. In the Swaemi rok, written in the 1590s, O Hŭimun relates how one of his female slaves, Kangbi fled with a male slave from a neighbor-

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ing estate. The unfortunate couple, after having been caught and dragged back, were soundly cudgeled with dozens of blows. Kangbi survived, but her partner Hanbok died later that night, presumably of further beating.26 A similar situation ended a bit more happily for Puni, an escaped slave spotted living in Kongju. As reported in a surviving document (likely from the nineteenth century) the owner, having been informed of her location, traveled to Kongju, only to learn to his chagrin that she had remarried to a well-known “thug” who “had no sense of the law.” He writes in his plea to the local authorities, “Alone here in a strange place, I have no means of hiring sufficient private force [to seize Puni]” and asks for official assistance in arresting her. Apparently, one defense for female runaway slaves was to find strong male protection in a new relationship, perhaps substituting one form of domination for another.27 Flight to islands off the western coast was also an attractive possibility, for by the eighteenth century runaway slaves had begun creating communities there that were effectively beyond the reach of the law.28 Cities could also be a good choice for sanctuary. Pak Tŭknyŏng gloomily relates in his diary, Chŏsang ilwŏl, a trip in 1844 from his home in Yech’ŏn to Sangju seeking a runaway pi. After first spending a day asking around about her (“a waste of time”), the next day he climbs the West Gate Tower, looking down over the marketplace hoping to spy her out, but to no avail. Conceding to himself that he “couldn’t ask everyone,” he gives up, requests notification if she happens to be spotted, then goes home, frustrated.29 One reason for Pak’s decision to seek out his lost pi was likely due to the increasing worth in his own day of female versus male slaves. Allowing for regional diversity, it appears that during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the respective markets for male and female slave labor had begun to diverge in Chosŏn Korea. With the filling up of the best arable land and concomitant reduction in size of plots inherited by successive generations of yangban, the marginal utility of additional male labor kept as household male slaves began to decline and the attractiveness of more flexible arrangements to increase. It made less and less sense to search for male runaways when their work could be done by idle laborers in the community, hired as necessary. However, by contrast the household labor provided by the pi, together with the status conferred by owning a household slave, proved more durable and made the pi differentially more attractive. After an extensive analysis of available slave sales records Chŏng Sokchong discovered that in his sample of documents the proportion of pi sold far outstripped that of that of no, totaling over twice as many overall and in the age group of twenties to thirties, four times as many pi were

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sold as no, and concludes that the sales and purchases were conducted for reasons apart from raw labor. Moreover, he found that generally the price of pi was higher than that for their male counterparts.30 Another trend favoring the social utility of pi in the latter Chosŏn period was the growing importance of Confucian ritual in lineage organizations. The dissemination of Confucian social practice into the countryside from the sixteenth century on created a host of large-scale ceremonies to be performed at regular intervals during the year, and from the seventeenth century on they were organized by the changja or eldest son’s household. Under demographic pressure the scale of such ceremonies for large lineages continually increased, as did the need for cooks and maids to provide for the large social gatherings involved, thereby tending to prop up the market for pi. While it would have been inappropriate for pi to prepare the ritual food itself, their assistance in cooking for the numerous attendees was likely essential.31 For pi who somehow did change their status to that of commoner through flight or manumission, the path to a new life was fraught with hazards. The legality of one’s transformed social position remained tentative and subject to suspicion from authority. Ponggŭm’s murder, introduced at the start of this chapter, stemming from her stalwart refusal to serve her former master, even at the furious insistence of his brother, reveals that changed legal status and social expectations in the community could be at odds. Moreover, the slope back down to slave status was a slippery one, at times involving a painful choice between life and death for self and family. The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries saw the transition to free status of many women, but the reverse course was also not uncommon. During periods of famine or other dire circumstances a common method for saving one’s children was to entrust them provisionally to a government relief office, with the understanding they would be deemed slaves if not picked up within a limited period. This practice was sufficiently routine by the eighteenth century that the local government offices had ready-made printed forms at hand requiring only minimal effort to complete. In the case of young children (under the age of three, but on occasion older as well) it was agreed that if they were entrusted for care to the government relief office, they could be freely redeemed within sixty days, and within ninety days for a payment of grain. Otherwise, they subsequently became hereditary nobi, to be dealt with as the relief office saw fit.32 Surviving documents also reveal cases of commending oneself or one’s spouse and family into slavery, effectively using hereditary servitude as a social safety net. Such a case was that of Chŏng Iljae, who in 1786 sold his wife Ilae, and five children (four sons and a daughter), aged from

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three se to twenty se, for fifty yang. The wife, Ilae, had previously been a slave and was now returning to that status, in order to have enough food to feed her husband’s aged father of eighty se. For her and her family, lives as commoners had been brief and Confucian obligations to elders unrelenting.33

Concluding Thoughts Confucianism did not lie at the heart of the ancient institution of slavery in Korea and its special implications for women. Throughout the Chosŏn period are to be found educated men who marshaled their classical learning in the service of decrying hereditary slavery. They were, however, far outnumbered by the vast majority of the yangban literati who managed to avoid contemplating the continuing existence of a class of human beings, treated as chattel property, the members of which tilled their fields and cooked their food, even as the philosophers among them mounted erudite attacks, firmly grounded in Neo-Confucian metaphysics, on the moral evils of the day. Historians are at the mercy of surviving documents, and the ones that inform this brief examination, while substantial, can hardly begin to capture the complexity of a social transformation that involved millions of women over more than two centuries. It is particularly frustrating not to have the means that would permit the pi to speak in their own voices. Indirectly, however, the palimpsests of the lives of these women do appear, however faint and distorted. For the most part, their very existence has been forgotten in the great press of events over the past century and a half. If there is a family history of a courageous slave, risking all to flee to a distant part of Korea in order make a new life for herself and her family, I have yet to hear it. It is my hope that the public narrative of the Korean past will find a place to represent, recreate, remember, and honor these still forgotten lives of a largely unknown social class.

Notes 1. This chapter has benefited from comments made by Martina Deuchler, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Laurel Kendall on an earlier version. 2. This case is detailed in William Shaw, Legal Norms in a Confucian State (Berkeley: University of California Press: 1981), 177–78. Shaw bases his account on Simni-rok, kwŏn 22, “Hwanghae-do kapchin,” in Pŏpche charyo, che

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samsibil-jip, sangpy’ŏn [Legal code materials, volume 31, part one], ed. Han’guk pŏpche (Seoul: Pŏpche Ch’ŏ, 1968), 352–53. 3. Chŏng Sŏkchŏng, Chosŏn hugi sahoe pyŏndong yŏn’gu [A study of change in late Chosŏn society] (Seoul: Ilchogak, 1983), 177. 4. Sejo sillok [The veritable records of King Sejo], 46: 40b (1468-06-18). 5. Kim Hongsik, Chosŏn sidae ponggŏn sahoe ŭi kibon kujo [The foundations of the feudal society of the Chosŏn period] (Seoul: Pakŏngsa, 1981), 185. 6. Myŏngjong sillok [The veritable records of King Myŏngjong], 1554.9, ŭlch’uk, cited in Kim Yongman, Chosŏn sidae sanobi yŏn’gu [A study of private slavery in the Chosŏn period] (Seoul: Chipmundang, 1997), 342, fn 3. 7. Kwanghaegun ilgi [The diary of prince Kwanghae], 1615.2 kimyo, cited in Kim Yongman, 344, fn. 7. 8. James Palais, Confucian Statecraft and Korean Institutions, (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1996), 218–19. 9. Ibid., 235–36. See also Chŏng Sŏkchong, Chosŏn hugi sahoe pyŏndong yŏn’gu, 288–89 for a discussion on Yu Hyŏngwŏn’s views. 10. Yi Ik, Sŏngho sasŏl [Insignificant explanations by Sŏngho], kwŏn 12, “Nobi.” 11. Yi Yuwŏn, “Nobiron” [Discourse on slaves], in Imha p’ilgi [Jottings by Imha], reprinted by Sŏnggyun’gwan University Press, 517–19. 12. For example, in 1798, Yu Chaedong, the Magistrate of Poŭn County had proposed abolishing all slavery. See Chŏn Hyŏngt’aek, Chosŏn hugi nobi sinbun yŏn’gu [A study of slave status in late Chosŏn] (Seoul: Ilchogak, 1989), 238 ff. and Kim Yongman, Chosŏn sidae sanobi yŏn’gu, 347. 13. Kim Yongman, Chosŏn sidae sanobi yŏn’gu, 346. 14. For example, see Yi Suhwan, Chosŏn hugi sŏwŏn yŏn’gu [A study of sŏwŏn in late Chosŏn] (Seoul: Ilchogak, 2001), 230f for a detailed discussion of the slaveholdings of Tosan Sŏwŏn. 15. See James Palais, Confucian Statecraft and Korean Institutions, 214–25, for an extensive discussion of the history of this issue. 16. Under the general policy active before 1731 and possibly after as well of ilch’ŏn ch’ikch’ŏn, which consigned the children of all mixed marriages to nobi status, however, at the very least a male slave marrying a commoner female might find his living conditions improved, if only because of his master’s approbation in helping create new slaves for the household. For a related discussion of the problems of mixed marriages, see Kim Yongman, 156–57. 17. Milan Hejtmanek, Local Institutional Slavery in Chosŏn Korea: An Analysis of the P’iram Sŏwŏn Nobi Registers, presentation at the Association for Asian Studies Annual Meeting, April 2000. 18. Yi Suhwan, Chosŏn hugi sŏwŏn yŏn’gu, 230–31. 19. Includes both yang’in and, in the case of the females, one case of paeksŏng, which seems likely to refer to the socially ambiguous lower stratum of the commoner class.

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20. Included are a variety of slave categories, including sabi (private slave), panbi (private slave owned by someone else), sibi (government slave), yŏkpi (post-station slave), maedŭkpi (purchased slave), t’awŏnbi (slave of another sŏwŏn), and kwanni (yamen servant). 21. Yi Yŏnghun, “Han’guksa e issŏsŏ nobije ŭi ch’ui wa sŏnggyŏk” [The changes and characteristics of the slavery system in Korean history], in Nobi Nongno Noye [Slaves and serfs], ed. Kuksa Hakhoe (Seoul: Ilchogak, 1998), 382. 22. Songwa ch’apsŏl [Literary sketches by Songwa], ha, in P’aerim [Forest of tales] 6, cited in Chŏng Sŏkchong, 289, esp. fn. 85. 23. Kim Yongman, Chosŏn sidae sanobi yŏn’gu, 384–86. For example, Kim cites a case from Naju in 1682 in which a male slave who was executed for raping his chu, who was presumably a widow. Kim points out that it is difficult to determine from the records whether or not such liaisons were consensual. 24. Kim Yongman, Chosŏn sidae sanobi yŏn’gu, 374, 379–80. For the original account of this incident see Myŏngjong sillok 20:32b (1556-4-10). 25. For an indication how the yangban women were expected to manage the slaves in the household, see, for example, the discussion in the nineteenth-century household management manual, Kyuhap ch’ongsŏ [Encyclopedia to women’s daily life], attributed to Pinghogak Yi Ssi. 26. O Hŭimun, Swaemi rok, vol. 2, (Seoul: Kuksa pyŏnch’anwiwŏn-hoe, 1962), 187–88. 27. Komunsŏ 205144, Seoul National Library, cited in Chŏng Sŏkchong, Chosŏn hugi sahoe p’yŏndong yŏn’gu, 294. 28. Chŏng Sŏkchong, Chosŏn hugi sahoe p’yŏndong yŏn’gu, 292–93. 29. Pak Sŏngsu, ed. and trans., Chŏsang ilwŏl [The moon and stars above the shore’s edge] (Seoul: Minsog’wŏn, 2003). I am grateful to Sonju Kim Choong-nam Yoon for introducing this work to me. 30. Chŏng Sŏkchong, Chosŏn hugi sahoe p’yŏndong yŏn’gu, 206–207, 216. Chŏng estimates that at the end of the eighteenth century, the price of a pi was somewhere between ten and twenty yang. 31. For a discussion of the growing power of lineages and the granting of additional nobi to them through inheritance documents, see Kim Yongman, Chosŏn sidae sanobi yŏn’gu, 322–37. I am grateful to Martina Deuchler for her observation that pi were not allowed to prepare the ritual food used in these ceremonies. 32. Chŏng Sŏkchong, Chosŏn hugi sahoe p’yŏndong yŏn’gu, 179–81. 33. Ibid., 183.

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Glossary

Admonishments for Women by Uam [Uam Kyenyŏsŏ] ἠᵔᒠᚋᮔ An Chŏngbok (1712–1791) ᵀⅿᩜ Bai Qui ᨂᘽ Biographies of Virtuous Women [Yŏllyŏ-jŏn] ḟᚋℎ Board of Personnel (Ijo) ​↣ Book of Poetry [Shijing] ᳢ᒌ Book of Rites [Lizhi] ṭᘺ Chang Hŭnghyo (1564–1593) ₧⚋☼ changja ⃀ Cheng I (1033–1107) Ⅽ頤 chesa ↊ᬥ chŏkpu ℊ᪂ (⃵᪂) The Collected Works of Zhuzi [Chuja taejŏn] ⇳᜔ℐ Conduct of the Five Relations, with Illustrations [Oryun haengsil-to] ṷᡱ╄ᴏᜧ Conduct of the Three Bonds, with Illustrations [Samgang haengsil-to] ᭐ᏻ╄ᴏᜧ chŏng puin ⅴ᪂‵ chongbu ⇏᪂ ch’ongbu 冢᪂ ch’ongbu chuje 冢᪂⇥↊ ch’ongbu chusa 冢᪂⇥ᬥ chongbubŏp ⇐᪍᨜ Chŏngjo (r. 1776–1800) ⅟↯ chongjŏng-do ⇐⅗ᜧ chongmobŏp ⇐ᤧ᨜ chongppŏp ⇏᨜ ch’ŏnin ⌕‵

151

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Glossary

ch’ŏnmin ⌕ᦍ Chosŏn dynasty ↤ᯔ chuanqi (K. chŏn’gi) ℎᘺ chubu ⇥᪂ chujeja ⇥↊⁼ Ch'unggye ⎫ᐅ Ch’unghunbu ⎩♕᪆ Daoxue ᝇ⓴ Diary of the Year Pyŏngja [Pyŏngja ilgi] ᨴ⁑ᘺ Elementary Learning [Xiaoxue] ᰍ⓴ Elementary Matters of Etiquette for Scholar Families [Sasojŏl] ᬍᰍ℻ Fete of Ch’ŏyong [Ch’ŏyong-mu] ⋹ἅᥛ The Four Women’s Books, with Annotations in Korean [Yŏsasŏ ŏnhae] ᷎ᬌᮔᶾ┸ Guide to Compiling the Household Register in the Kabo Year [Kabo sikhojŏk samok] Ꮹṻ᳨▨⃿ᬀᤷ han’gŭl ዽ૳ ho▨ hoju ▨⇥ hop’ae-pŏb ◂⑷᨜ The Household Register for Tansŏng-hyŏn, Kyŏngsang Province [Kyŏngsang-do Tansŏng-hyŏn hojŏk taejang] ᑸ᭤ᝇᛗᯮ╫ᥐṻ᳨ ᚌ▨⃿᜔₥ huch’ŏ ♏⋷ Hyangsa-rye ╉ᬒ᠙ Hyŏngjo ▅↣ Hyŏnjong (r. 1659–1674) ╱⇏ hyŏngmang chegŭp ▄ᣘↅᗼ ibu cha/nyŏ 異夫子/女 ilch’ŏn ch’ikch’ŏn ⁍⌕⏞⌕ ilwŏn ⁍ὒ Im Sŏngju (1711–1788) ⁖᯻⇬ Im Yunjidang (1721–1793) ⁖Έ∿ᜇ Instructions for the Inner Quarters [Naehun] ᚆ♜ iphu ⁣♏ Japanese Invasion of 1592 ⁗≻Ịឡ Jingzuo (K. chŏngjwa) ⅽ⇠ kach’ŏ 加妻 kahyŏn 加現 kaja 加子

Glossary

153

Kang Chŏngildang (1772–1832) Ꮿⅽ⁍ᜇ kanyŏ 加女 Kija ᘳ Kim Sŏngil (1538–1593) ᙋ᯾⁍ King Wen ᥨỉ kisaeng ᘑᮄ ko 故 kogong ᓔᓱ kŭmgo 今故 kwanch’ang ᔏ⋙ Kwanghae-gun (r. 1608–1623) ᔣ┵ᖔ kwanni ᔝᢇ kyubang sosŏl 閨房小說 Lady Chang of Andong (1598–1680) ᵀᝨ₧ᴟ Lady Cho of Namp’yŏng ᙯ⒍↢ᴟ Lady Yun of Haep’yŏng ┵⒍Ήᴟ li (K. ri) ᢐ li yi fen shu (K. ri il pun su) ᢐ⁍᪤ᱠ Lizhi ṭᘺ maedŭkpi ᣮង᫈ Manchu Invasion of 1636 ᨴ▽ឡ Map to What Should be Known for Women’s Behavior in the Inner Quarters [Kyumun suji yŏhaengji-do] ᗍ᥮ᲆ≉᷎╄∷ᜧ Mencius ᣷ Methods for Preparing Tasty Food [Ŭmsik timibang] ၗངಀු෮ Minister (p’ansa) ⑥ᬀ The Moon and Stars above the Shore’s Edge [Chŏsang ilwŏl] ⃢᭜⁑Ὥ Nam Iung (1575–1648) ᙯ ὑ National Code [Kyŏngguk taejŏn] ᒌᖎ᜔ℐ New and Expanded Korean Conduct of the Three Bonds [Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil] ᝨᖎ᳼ᰳ᭐ᏻ╄ᴏ New Records for Prenatal Care [T’aegyo sin’gi] ␱ᕇ᳼ᘺ Nineteen Concise Histories [Shijiu shilue] ᴜᕚᬈំ] nobi ᚗ᫈ nobi sa chi sujok ᚗ᫈ᬍ∷ᱚ⇇ nobibo ᚗ᫈ᩓ O Hŭimun (1539–1613) ṽ⚓ᥨ oga chakt’ongje ṷ᎓₄⑄ↀ ŏnmun ᶾᥨ Owi ṷᾃ

154

Glossary

Pak Chiwŏn (1737–1805) ᦛ≗ὡ pan ch’inyŏng ᦪ⏡Ṙ panbi ᦴ᫈ pang ᧏ P’iram Sŏwŏn ⓠᵐᮔὪ Ponggŭm ᩷ᗭ pu ᪝ pudŏk᪂ᜢ pul-yŏllyŏ ᪷ḟᚋ Queen Inhyŏn (1667–1701) ‶╱ỉ♊ Queen Sohye (1437–1504) ᰓ▙ỉ♊ Records of a Refugee [Swaemi-rok] 瑣᥵ᠲ ri ᢚ Royal Secretary (sŭngji) ᳅≁ Rules for the Women’s Quarters [Kyubŏm] ᗍᨚ Rules for Women [Konbŏm] 壼ᨚ sabi ᬧ᫈ Saganwŏn ᬉᏇὪ Sahŏnbu ᬉ╒᪆ sajo ᬌ↯ sajŏl ᬝ℻ samga igŏ 三嘉 移去 sanyŏ ᬍᚋ Sasang kyŏn-rye ᬍ᭱ᑜ᠙ sibi ᬑ᫈ siljŏl 失節 Sin Kwangyu (d. 1747) ᳿ᔣᾴ Sin Saimdang (1504–1551) ᳿ᬔ⁖ᜇ Singnyŏn 式年 sin’gong ᴉᓺ sirhak ᴏ⓴ sŏn-Jin yuhak ᮷≲ᾋ⓴ Song Siyŏl (1607–1689) ᰾᳗ḟ Sŏngjong (r. 1469–1494) ᯳⇏ sŏngnihak ᯱᢐ⓴ “Songs of Edification” [“Hunmin-ga”] ♜ᦍ᎘ Sŏnjo (r. 1567–1608) ᮺ↯ Sukchong (r. 1674–1720) Ე⇏ sŭnggyŏng-do ᳉ᑳᜧ Suryuk-chae ᱡᡯ⃑

Glossary

155

tae ᜑ taeho ᜑ▨ Tai Ren ␪⁖ Tai Si ␪姒 The Tale of Ch’unhyang [Ch’unhyang-jŏn] ⎢╍ℎ The Tale of the Virtuous Women Lady Pak of Hamyang [Yŏllyŏ Hamyang Pakssi-jŏn] ḟᚋ┊ᶧᦛᴟℎ The Tale of Unyŏng [Unyŏng-jŏn] ὋṖℎ The Tale of Yingying [Yingying chuan] ᵵᵵℎ taejong ᜔⇏ Tang dynasty ᜆ t’awŏnbi ⏲Ὢ᫈ Three Bonds (samgang) ᭐ᏻ Tosan Sŏwŏn ᝊᭁᮔὪ ŭija 義子 ŭinyŏ 義女 Ŭirye ῶ᠙ Village code (hyangyak) ╉ᶅ Village schools (sŏdang) ᮔᜇ Wang Anshi (1021–1086) ỉᵀ᮰ wŏn hoe un se ὒ☩Ὁᰀ Wŏn Yŏngsa ὒṃᬖ xing ji li (K. sŏng chŭk ri) ᯱ∧ᢐ Yan Hui 颜☢ Yang Yuŏn ់ ᾛ ᶻ Yangban ៉ᦴ yang’in ᶢ‵ ye (C. Li) ṭ yeje ṭↀ Yejo ṭ↣ Yi Hyŏnil (1627–1704) —╤⁓ Yi I (1536–1584) —‘ Yi Sajudang (1739–1821) —ᬔ⇳ᜍ Yi Simyŏng (1590–1674) —᳢ᤏ Yi Tŏkmu (1741–1793) —ᜢ᥏ Yi Tŏksu (1673–1744) —ᜢ᱒ Yi Yuwŏn (1814–1888) —ᾴὒ yŏk ᷥ yŏkpi ᷥ᫈ yŏllyŏ ḟᚋ

156

Glossary

Yŏngjo (r. 1724–1776) Ṗ↯ Yu Hyŏngwŏn (1622–1673) ᾟ▖Ὠ Yu Suwŏn (1694–1755) ᾟ᱒ὗ yuja ᾨ Yun Kukhyŏng (1543–1611) Ήᖎ▖ Yun Kwangyŏn Ήᔣḁ yut nori ၑூၦ Zhu Xi (1130–1200; K. Chu Hŭi) ⇳⚚

Bibliography

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Index

Admonishments for Women by Uam [Uam Kyenyŏsŏ], 33, 60, 68n37 An Chŏngbok, 141 An Elegant Compendium of Sentiments Conjoined, 18 An Lushan, 16 An Lushan rebellion, 16 ancestor rites: and family order, 29, 33–34, 99, 101, 107n32; management of, 46n15, 97–98, 99–100, 102; qualifications to receive, 43; regulations concerning, 89, 90, 91–93, 95, 96, 98, 100–101, 104n1, 105n6, 105n18, 106n29; role of women, 35, 91–93, 129. See also chesa ancestor worship, 21, 74 Bai Qui, 141 base born, 111, 114, 116, 117, 119, 129, 130, 144. See also ch’ŏnin Board of Personnel (Ijo), 37 Board of Punishments (Hyŏngjo), 138 Board of Rites (Yejo), 100 Bol, Peter, 17 Book-lending, 64 Book of Etiquette and Ceremonies [Ŭirye], 92 Book of Poetry [Shijing], 40, 85 Book of Rites [Lizhi], 16, 40, 91, 92, 105 Buddhism, 4, 10n7, 43, 44, 50, 63, 83, 87n10

Buddhist rites, 43, 89, 103 Carlitz, Katherine, 18, 26n7 Chang Hŭnghyo, 30–31 changja, 146 Cheng I, 22, 83 chesa, 29, 89. See also ancestral rites China: and the New Culture movement, 11, 12; and women, 61, 73, 91, 92–93, 103 chŏkpu, 99 chŏng puin, 45n1 Chŏng Sŏkchŏng, 139, 145 chongbu, 91, 92 ch’ongbu, 5, 8, chap. 6 passim ch’ongbu chuje, 96 ch’ongbu chusa, 96 chongbubŏp, 142 Chŏngjo, King, 137, 138, 141 chongjŏng-do, 63 chongmobŏp, 142 chongppŏp, 5, 89. See also lineage principle ch’ŏnin (ch’ŏnmin), 114, 142. See also base born Chosŏn dynasty: Confucianization of, 1, 3, 6, 18, 23, 25, 44, 50, 58, 74–75, 109; matrilineal features, 5, 8, 9, 94, 103, 142–143; ruling elites, 5, 6, 9, 53–54, 58, 59, 61, 65 chuanqi (K. chŏn’gi), 14 chubu, 92

163

164

Index

chujeja, 92 Ch’unggye, 144 Ch’unghunbu, 100 Ch’unhyang: and Confucianism, 19, 21–22, 23, 24, 28n30; and kisaeng status, 20, 24; relationship with Pyŏn Hakto, 19; relationship with Yi Mongryong, 18–19; and social mobility, 20, 27–28n27 Ch’unhyang-jŏn, 7, 14, 18–19, 20–21, 23, 24–25 Civil service examination, 13, 14, 16, 18, 19, 23, 53, 67n14, 71, 98–99, 116, 123 Collected Works of Zhuzi, The [Chuja taejŏn], 96 Conduct of the Five Relations, with Illustrations [Oryun haengsil-to], 61, 140 Conduct of the Three Bonds, with Illustrations [Samgang haengsil-to], 55, 61, 63, 64, 67n20, 69n39, 140 Confucian Classics, 13, 28n35, 50, 71, 72, 73 Confucianism: and ancestor worship, 21, 74, 89, 91–92, 95–96, 98, 104n1, 105n6, 106n29; and class systems, 6, 49; cosmology, 83; and East Asia, 11, 66n2, 76; and economics, 51, 74, 98, 138–140; and education of children, 30, 37–39, 46–47n16, 50, 58, 59, 61, 63–64, 71; and ethical life, 50, 54, 62–63, 89–90; and female chastity, 20, 66n5, 68n29, 73, 129, 130, 132n11; and feminism, 75; and home management, 33–35; and human nature, 12, 16, 22–23, 28n33, 73, 77–78, 82–84; and inheritance practices, 14, 142; and morality, 25, 30, 32, 36, 38, 39, 40–45, 53, 76, 80, 81, 82–83, 84, 85, 124, 140; mores, 50, 52, 62, 77, 121; and patriarchy, 12–13, 116, 117–118, 132n11; and prenatal

care, 37–38; and relations between men and women, 12, 40, 50, 77, 86, 114; and rituals, 15–16, 40, 43, 47, 72–73, 74, 82, 103; and role distinction, 40, 50, 84; and social hierarchy, 21, 23, 53, 66n1, 74; and social service, 42–43; and womanly behavior, 54, 57–59, 63, 64–65, 69n48, 70n52 Confucius, 66n1, 69n44, 82 cookbooks, 29, 34, 64 criminals, 116, 140, 144 Custom: Native Korean versus Chinese, 5, 8, 103, 104, 140, 144 Daoxue, 27n17, 76 daughter-in-laws: position in family, 90–95, 129 Deuchler, Martina, 12, 21, 66n5, 74, 149n31 Diary of the Year Pyŏngja [Pyŏngja ilgi], 33, 34, 35, 41 Doctrine of the Mean, 72 Duncan, John, 3, 69n51 Ebrey, Patricia, 11 Education: and womanly fidelity, 20, 62, 63; within the family, 30–31, 33, 38–39, 46–47n16, 51, 59–64 Educational texts: government, 55–57, 61–62; and practicality for women, 58–61, 64; printing and distribution of, 61, 64; private, 59–61, 64 Elementary Learning [Xiaoxue], 31, 40 Elementary Matters of Etiquette for Scholar Families [Sasojŏl], 60–61, 70n52 Eldest Son: and rights, 8, 91–92, 114, 146 Fete of Ch’ŏyong [Ch’ŏyong-mu], 37 fictional literature, 14, 65 filial piety, 34, 38, 39, 41, 42, 47n22, 50, 55, 68n34, 73

Index Four beginnings, 73 The Four Books (Sasŏ), 71 The Four Women’s Books, with Annotations in Korean [Yŏsasŏ ŏnhae], 61–62 funerary customs, 89–90, 98–99 ghosts, 43 Great Learning, 72 Guide to Compiling the Household Register in the Kabo Year [Kabo sikhojŏk samok], 114–116 han’gŭl, 55, 60, 61–62, 63–64, 67n18 ho, 111 hoju, 131n4 hop’ae-pŏb, 116 huch’ŏ, 125, 127, 144 Hyangsa-rye, 40, 47–48n39 Hyŏngjo, King, 138 Hyŏnjong, King, 116 hyŏngmang chegŭp, 90, 98 ibu cha/nyŏ, 126 Ijo, 37 ilch’ŏn ch’ikch’ŏn, 148n16 ilwŏn, 46n8 Im Sŏngju, 72 Im Yunjidang: and Confucianism, 45, 72, 75, 77–78, 79, 82, 84, 86; as a female intellectual, 71, 72, 76–77; life history, 72; and sagehood, 8, 44; and Tai Si and Tai Ren, 73, 85 Inhyŏn, Queen, 63, 69n48 Instructions for the Inner Quarters [Naehun], 61 iphu, 90, 95, 98 Ivanhoe, P. J., 22 Japanese: rape of Chosŏn women, 52–53, 56–57 Japanese invasions of 1592, 1598, 52–53, 54, 56 Jingzuo (K. chŏngjwa), 81

165

kach’ŏ, 127 kahyŏn, 126, 135n35 kaja, 127 Kang Chŏngildang: and Confucianism, 44, 45, 72, 75, 77–78, 80, 82, 86; as a female intellectual, 77; and Im Yunjidang, 73, 84–85; life history, 71–72, 76–77; and sagehood, 8, 77; and Tai Si and Tai Ren, 73, 84–85 kanyŏ, 127 Kija, 140 Kim Haboush, JaHyun, 51, 130n1 Kim Hyŏn, 80–81 Kim Manjung, 46n6 Kim Sŏngil, 30 King Wen, 84 kisaeng, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 37 ko, 135n37 kogong, 111 Korean nationalist historiography, 2, 21, 79 kŭmgo, 126, 135n37, 135n38 kwanch’ang, 144 Kwanghae-gun, Prince, 55 kwanni, 149n20 kyubang sosŏl, 65 Lady Chang of Andong, 5, 13–14, 62, 64, 71; and composing poetry, 32–33; and Confucian morality, 7, 29, 30, 35, 36, 38, 43, 44–45; education of, 31; and education of her children, 37–40; and entertainment of guests, 34–35; and management of slaves, 36; and prenatal care, 37–38; and relations with her natal home, 34, 41–42; and relationship with her husband, 40–41; and social service, 42–43; and Ŭmsik timibang, 34–35, 42; and upbringing, 30–33 Lady Cho of Namp’yŏng, 33, 35–36, 41 Lady Yun of Haep’yŏng, 46n6, 60

166

Index

lateral inheritance, 90, 98–99, 100–102, 104 Latter Han dynasty, 61 Legal system: and Confucianism, 5, 8, 50, 76; and the registration of households, 111, 116; and the right to name an heir, 93, 95, 99, 109n26; and slaves, 138, 140–141, 142, 143, 145; and virtuous women, 49–50; and women, 67n14, 90, 93, 94, 95, 123 li (K. ri), 16, 83, 84 li yi fen shu (K. ri il pun su), 83 lineage principle, 5, 34, 41, 42, 89, 90, 91, 95, 97, 100, 101, 102, 104. See also chongppŏp Lizhi, 40, 91, 92, 105n6 loyalty, 19, 22, 50, 54, 58, 62, 68n29, 139 maedŭkpi, 149n20 Manchu invasions of 1627, 1636–37, 35, 49, 53, 54 Map to What Should be Known for Women’s Behavior in the Inner Quarters [Kyumun suji yŏhaengjido], 63, 69n50 Mencius, 22, 69n44, 140 Methods for Preparing Tasty Food [Ŭmsik timibang], 34, 42, 64 Ming dynasty, 18, 66n10 The Moon and Stars above the Shore’s Edge [Chŏsang ilwŏl], 145 mourning rites, 74, 89, 93, 96–97, 98–99 Myŏngjong, King, 89–90 Nam Iung, 35 National Code [Kyŏngguk taejŏn], 90, 98, 102, 104n1 Neo-Confucianism: and criticism of Wang Anshi, 79–80; feminization of, 80–81; and morality, 23,

28n33, 76, 80–81, 83–84, 147; and patrilineal principles, 110, 114, 117, 130; and social structure, 89–90, 102, 109, 110; and women, 74, 85, 86–87, 117–118, 123, 128, 129, 132n11 New and Expanded Korean Conduct of the Three Bonds [Tongguk sinsok samgang haengsil], 55–57, 67n20, 68n35 New Records for Prenatal Care [T’aegyo sin’gi], 37 Nineteen Concise Histories [Shijiu shilue], 31 nobi, 35–36, 111, 135n5, chap. 8, passim nobi sa chi sujok, 140 nobibo, 142 Northern Song, 79, 80 Novels: and women, 10n2, 64, 65, 70n52 O Hŭimun, 52, 144 oga chakt’ongje, 116 ŏnmun, 61 Owi, 100 Pak Chiwŏn, 121 Pak Hyŏnsuk, 77–80 pan ch’inyŏng, 89–90 panbi, 149n20 passion, 14–15, 17–18, 23–24, 70n53 patrilineal: and family structure, 110, 114, 119, 121, 129, 130; and kinship group, 21, 74; and succession, 110, 117, 129 patrilocal residence, 50 P’iram Sŏwŏn, 142, 143 Ponggŭm, 137–138, 146 Practical learning, 77, 79. See also sirhak pudŏk, 60 pul-yŏllyŏ, 51

Index Pyŏn Hakto, 19–20, 23 queens of the Chosŏn dynasty, 10n2 Records of a Refugee [Swaemi-rok], 144 royal family, 53, 109 Rules for the Women’s Quarters [Kyubŏm], 60 Rules for Women [Konbŏm], 8, 44, 62–63, 65 sabi, 149n20 sagehood, 7, 8, 32, 35, 39, 40, 45, 46n2, 76, 77, 86 sajo, 111 sajŏl, 56 sanyŏ, 52 Sarim, 89 Sasang kyŏn-rye, 40, 47–48n39 secondary lineages, 90, 104n1 secondary wives, 21, 90, 104n1, 126 sex: drive, 14–15; and female slaves, 143–144; and pleasure, 17–18, 70n53 shamanism, 4, 50 sibi, 149n20 siljŏl, 53 Sin Kwangyu, 72 Sin Saimdang, 5, 39 sin’gong, 141 sirhak, 1, 77. See also practical learning Sivin, Nathan, 13 Slavery: and Confucianism, 138– 141; economics of, 9, 138–139; ownership of, 138–139, 142; and women, 139, 142 Slaves: 9, 35, 60, 133n26, chap. 8 passim. See also nobi Sohye, Queen, 61 sŏn-Jin yuhak, 46n2 Song dynasty, 46n2, 76, 80

167

Song Siyŏl, 33, 60 sŏngnihak, 46n2, 141. See also NeoConfucianism Sŏnjo, King, 52–53 Sukchong, King, 69n48, 116 Southern Song, 80 Suryuk-chae, 43 taeho, 111, 131n7, 132n8 taejong, 92 Tai Ren, 73, 84–85, 87 Tai Si, 73, 84–85, 87 The Tale of Ch’unhyang [Ch’unhyangjŏn], 7, 14, 18–19, 20–21, 23, 24–25 The Tale of the Virtuous Women Lady Pak of Hamyang [Yŏllyŏ Hamyang Pakssi-jŏn], 121 The Tale of Unyŏng [Unyŏng-jŏn], 70n54 The Tale of Yingying [Yingying chuan] Tang dynasty, 7, 14–17 passim, 25, 46n2 t’awŏnbi, 149n20 “Tendong emi hwajŏn-ga,” 123–124, 125 Three Bonds (samgang), 50, 140 Tosan Sŏwŏn, 143 ŭija, 126 ŭinyŏ, 126 uxorilocal residence, 103 village code (hyangyak), 42 village schools (sŏdang), 63 virtuous woman, 49–50, 51, 54, 58–59, 62, 65, 86, 121. See also yŏllŏ Wang Anshi, 79–80 Widows: and remarriage, 110, 121–128, 129–130; residence of, 118–121, 130 Women: and adultery, 63; agency, 7, 8, 10n2, 28n30, 65, 74,

168

Index

women (continued) 130n1; autonomy, 6, 25, 29; and childbearing, 29, 37, 38, 59; and divorce, 53; East Asian views of, 11–13, 24, 50, 61, 75, 86–87, 92, 93, 95, 103; and education, 6, 7–8, 25, 30, 33, 39, 44, 46–47n16, 50–51, 58–64, 71, 73, 117; and empowerment, 7, 8, 12, 65, 69–70n51; and fictional literature, 64, 65, 70n52, 73; and fidelity, 12, 55–56, 57–58, 59, 62, 63; and household management, 32, 33–36, 44, 58, 63, 149n25; kidnapping of, 52, 53; legal rights, 6, 8, 25, 93–94, 97, 99, 101–102, 104, 116; and their natal families, 29, 34, 41, 42, 43, 60, 61, 103, 118–121, 124, 133n21; and rape, 52–53, 56, 58, 66n10, 68n34; at the royal palace, 62, 69n48; and slavery, 9, 139, 146–147; unmarried, 33, 56, 57, 68n35, 121; upper status, 3, 7, 8, 30, 35, 46n15, 49, 51, 59–60, 62, 63, 64, 65; as victims of Confucianism, 4, 8, 9, 11–12, 13, 75, 86; yangban status, 3, 7, 30, 49, 67n14, 68n34, 76, 114, 115, 117, 119, 120, 122–123, 129, 130, 132n10, 132n11, 132–133n18, 144, 149n25 wŏn hoe un se, 46n8 Wŏn Yŏngsa, 144

yang, 69n44, 121 Yang Yuŏn, 137, 138 Yangban: and illegitimate offspring, 67n14; and purity of lineage, 53; and social order, 21, 53, 81, 114, 122, 130, 139 yang’in, 141–142, 148n19 ye (C. li), 63 yeje, 89–90 Yejo, 100 Yen Chih-t‘ui, 15 Yi Hyŏnil, 37, 39, 42, 47n22 Yi I, 5 Yi Ik, 141 Yi Mongryong, 18–19, 20, 24, 27n25, 27–28n27 Yi Simyŏng, 40 Yi Tŏkmu, 60, 70n52 Yi Tŏksu, 61 Yi Tonghwan, 32 Yi Yuwŏn, 141 yin, 62, 69n44, 121 yŏk, 144 yŏkpi, 149n20 yŏllyŏ, 49, 51. See also virtuous woman Yŏngjo, King, 61 Yu Hyŏngwŏn, 140 Yu Suwŏn, 141 yuja, 96, 105n18 Yun Kukhyŏng, 52 Yun Kwangyŏn, 71 yut nori, 63, 69n49

xing ji li (K. sŏng chŭk ri), 24, 83 Yan Hui, 141

Zhou dynasty, 18, 85 Zhu Xi (K. Chu Hŭi), 12, 83, 96–97

This volume offers a fresh, multifaceted exploration of women and Confucianism in mid- to late-Choso˘n Korea (mid-sixteenth to early twentieth century). Using primary sources and perspectives from social history, intellectual history, literature, and political thought, contributors challenge unitary views of Confucianism as a system of thought, of women as a group, and of the relationship between the two.

Youngmin Kim is Associate Professor of Political Science at Seoul National University. Michael J. Pettid is Associate Professor of Premodern Korean Studies at Binghamton University, State University of New York. He is the author of Korean Cuisine: An Illustrated History and cotranslator (with Kil Cha) of Unyo˘ng-jo˘n: A Love Affair at the Royal Palace of Choso˘n Korea.

Women and Confucianism in Choso˘n Korea

Much earlier scholarship has focused on how women were oppressed under the strict patriarchal systems that emerged as Confucianism became the dominant social ideology during the Choso˘n dynasty (1392–1910). Contributors to this volume bring to light the varied ways that diverse women actually lived during this era, from elite yangban women to women who were enslaved. Women are shown to have used various strategies to seek status, economic rights, and more comfortable spaces, with some women even emerging as Confucian intellectuals and exemplars.

Kim and Pettid

ASIAN STUDIES / HISTORY

Women and Confucianism in Choso˘n Korea New Perspectives Edited by Youngmin Kim and Michael J. Pettid

SUNY P R E S S

new york press

kim and pettid hc.indd 1

9/2/11 3:09:18 pM