It Must Be My Lack of Virtue
In 1428, the tenth year of King Sejong's reign, the royal court received a report from Jinju in Gyeongsang Province: a man named Kim Hwa had killed his own father. In Joseon, harming one's parents was classified as gangsangjoe (綱常罪) and punished as the gravest of all crimes.
※ 'Gangsangjoe' meant a crime against the most basic moral bonds of Confucian society. It covered cases such as a child harming a parent, a wife harming her husband, or a servant harming a master. The offender was usually put to death, and the family could also be punished or the offender's home district demoted in rank.
When the king heard the news, he turned pale with shock and blamed himself.
“This must be due to my lack of virtue.”
Sejong summoned his ministers to discuss how to strengthen filial piety and fraternal love and set public morals right.
Byeon Gye-ryang, a senior minister, then spoke.
“Let books such as Hyohaeng-rok (Records of Filial Conduct) be widely distributed, so that ordinary people in the villages may read and recite them every day and, little by little, come to know filial piety, fraternal love, courtesy, and righteousness.”
The king then turned to Seol Sun, a scholar of the royal academy.
“Our customs have grown so callous that some children no longer fulfill their duties as children. I wish to publish Hyohaeng-rok to enlighten the ‘eorin’ people. This may not be an urgent remedy, but it is truly the first step in teaching. To the twenty-four stories of filial children compiled long ago, add some twenty more, and gather as well those of Goryeo and the Three Kingdoms who were outstanding in filial conduct. Make them into a single book, and let the Hall of Worthies take charge of it.”
By adding stories of loyal subjects and virtuous women to Hyohaeng-rok, the court produced Samgang Haengsildo (Illustrated Guide to the Three Bonds).
The “three bonds” are the moral duties between ruler and subject, parent and child, and husband and wife. The book told the stories of more than 300 people, filial children, loyal subjects, and virtuous women, who had lived by these duties.
The book had something special about it.
Pictures. Alongside the text describing each person's deeds, it included an illustration of the story. A single picture was divided into several scenes, so that readers could follow along and work out what had happened.
Why include pictures?
Most common people at the time could not read Classical Chinese. So the court tried to convey the heart of each story through pictures, if nothing else.
But pictures alone were not enough. A picture could show a scene, but it could hardly convey a person's thoughts or the details of what happened. If the people could not read the book themselves, it could only ever achieve half of its purpose.
Should the People Not Know the Law?
In the eleventh month of 1432, the fourteenth year of his reign, Sejong made a proposal while discussing the law with his ministers.
“Even a person who understands reason must check the law before knowing whether a crime is serious or minor. How, then, can the ‘eorin’ people know the weight of the crimes they commit and correct themselves? Even if we cannot make the people know every article of the law, why not select the provisions for major crimes, translate them into idu, and make them widely known, so that ordinary men and women may know how to avoid wrongdoing?”
The king hoped that no one would commit a crime simply because they did not know the law.
Then Heo Jo, the Minister of Personnel, spoke.
“I fear this will cause harm. If wicked people come to know the articles of the law, they will weigh how serious each crime is and lose all fear and restraint. From this, people who twist the law to their own ends will arise.”
It was a clash between Sejong's belief that the people should know the law and Heo Jo's belief that wicked people could exploit the law once they knew it.
The king replied.
“Then is it right to let the people commit crimes without knowing? If the people do not know the law and we punish those who break it, is that not close to the trick of ‘four in the morning, three in the evening’ (朝四暮三)? Moreover, the kings before me established the practice of reading the law so that everyone would know it. Examine the old records, discuss the matter, and report to me.”
※ 'Four in the morning, three in the evening' comes from an old Chinese fable. A keeper told his monkeys he would give them three acorns in the morning and four in the evening. When they grew angry, he offered four in the morning and three in the evening instead, and they were delighted, though the total was the same. The phrase came to mean a deceptive trick.
After Heo Jo left, the king said:
“Heo Jo believes that if the people know the law, lawsuits will never end and a tendency to scorn their superiors will grow. Even so, the poor and powerless must be made to know what is forbidden, so that they will fear it and avoid it.”
Sejong then ordered the Hall of Worthies to look into whether rulers before him had ever taught the law to their people, and to report back.
This conversation survives word for word in the Annals of King Sejong.
And Then, Winter 1443
There were already several ways to write with borrowed Chinese characters. The court had made a picture book and had even discussed translating the law into idu.
Yet the root of the problem remained. There was no script the people could use to write down their own words and thoughts.
Then, in the twelfth month of 1443, the twenty-fifth year of Sejong's reign, a short entry appears in the Annals of King Sejong.
This month, the king personally created twenty-eight letters of eonmun.
This single line, appearing without warning, marks the beginning of Hunminjeongeum.
Continued in Part 3