The Korean anthropology of han remains an untapped resource for envisioning and articulating Roman Catholic soteriology within a globalizing and intercultural context. Whereas many mainline Protestant theologians—particularly Suh Nam-Dong, Andrew Sung Park, and Wonhee Anne Joh—have engaged with “thick descriptions” of han and brought them into dialogue with Christian theology, few, if any, Roman Catholics have engaged with han in a similar vein. One means by which to rectify this lack of interaction with han is to engage with the minjung writings of Korean poet/playwright/political dissident Kim Chi-Ha (b. 1941) and his evocative images of han that are centered on salvation for the “sinned-against.”Footnote 1
In this article, I will offer an introduction to and a cultural outsider's interpretation of han through the writings of Kim Chi-Ha, and then discuss their importance for articulating a Roman Catholic soteriology within a globalizing and intercultural context. First, I will reintroduce Kim's life and the underlying concerns in his writings. Second, I will discuss some of the meanings associated with han through insights from linguistics, psychology, history, politics, and gender dynamics. Third, I will examine two images in which Kim illustrates han: the sound of the mutilated innocent man, Ando (“K'ung … K'ung …”), and Kim's own “dark night of the soul” into han where he encounters God through becoming “collectively-chained flesh” with his fellow prisoners. Fourth, I will discuss Kim's understanding and proposal of dan as a constructive response for resolving han, and then illustrate dan with Kim's poem Chang Il-Dam. Fifth, I will discuss how Kim's understanding of han and dan can inform Roman Catholic soteriologies through a focus on an inculturated vision of earthly, fragmentary salvation for victim and victimizer, the salvific potential within religious and cultural hybridity, and unexpected encounters with God and salvation in a community of “collectively-chained flesh” that walks the road of han. Finally, I will briefly show how Kim's han anthropology challenges Roman Catholic soteriology to focus on the “sinned-against” and not only sinners.
I. Kim Chi-Ha: A Reintroduction
Kim Chi-Ha's prominence within the Roman Catholic community reached its height in the 1970s.Footnote 2 This decade in South Korea was defined by the military dictatorship of Park Chung-Hee (1961–79), who, through his policies of economic development and authoritarian control, engaged in repressive measures against artists, intellectuals, political adversaries, and others, such as students and labor organizers. Park's dictatorship, the earlier regime of Syngman Rhee (1948–60), and the later rule of Chun Doo-Hwan (1979–88), after Park's assassination, provided the context for the rise of the modern minjung movement and its Christian theology.
Kim, along with many other writers, artists, students, and activists, was part and parcel of the modern minjung movement and helped to articulate its primary concerns and goals. The word minjung (民衆) consists of two Chinese characters, min meaning “people” and jung meaning “the masses.” David Kwang-sun Suh remarks that the term minjung, although essentially untranslatable, points to those who have been “politically oppressed, economically exploited and culturally alienated.”Footnote 3
Park Chung-Hee imprisoned Kim in 1970 after the publication of the narrative poem Five Bandits, which critiqued and satirized Park's ongoing plan for economic development for South Korea. Kim converted and was baptized into Catholicism in 1971, when he discerned a revolutionary potential in Christianity for salvation of both oppressed and oppressor. During a subsequent imprisonment in 1974, Kim was sentenced to death by a military tribunal. His sentence, however, was commuted to life imprisonment because of the outcry of the international community, and in particular writers such as Jean-Paul Sartre. During this time, Kim was an outspoken Christian, political dissident, poet, internationally renowned “prisoner of conscience,” nominee for Nobel Prizes in Peace and Literature (1975), and the recipient of the Lotus Prize (1975). At the height of Kim's international fame, Catholic activist Daniel Berrigan characterized Kim as a “Catholic resister … who so clearly embodies the healing, the heroism, the chutzpah, the lyrical and tragic, the mask of grotesquerie—and perhaps most important of all, the spinal courage, the articulated, stalking, indomitable no which today is the chief ingredient of that vocation. Quite a human. Quite a Christian.”Footnote 4 Kim was released from prison in 1980 in the wake of the assassination of Park Chung-Hee.
Kim, however, understood his primary identity to be that of a poet and only secondarily as a Catholic Christian. He described himself thus: “I am a poet. And the poet is the man who stands in the midst of the miserable lives of the poor, shares their agony and suffering, and expresses it in poetry. He should give hope to the poor by finding the cause of their unhappiness and trying to remove it and by dreaming a better future and presenting its fruits to them. Hence, we call the true poet the flower of the common people.”Footnote 5
Kim no longer considers himself a Roman Catholic or a Christian. He turned his back on Roman Catholic Christianity because he began to perceive it as little more than a gateway for the cultural and economic neocolonialism of Korea by the United States and the West.Footnote 6 His post-Cold War poetry has reflected this change in thinking, and Kim's more recent poetry shows a Buddhist and shamanistic sensibility rather than his earlier Christian sensibility. Kim continues to write, but the majority of English translations and collections of his poetry were published before his release from prison in 1980.
II. What Is Han?
Currently, there is no fully adequate treatment or “thick description” of han in the English language. Han is truly untranslatable and requires an in-depth study of Korean linguistics, history, politics, gender and class dynamics, religion, artwork, poetry, and theology. A comprehensive analysis is beyond the scope of this article, yet I must provide an introduction to han before engaging with Kim's work.
To begin, han is neither an abstract concept nor a philosophical category in the Western, Kantian, sense. Han, essentially untranslatable, is akin to an anthropology—shaped by culture and religion—that refers to the deep wounds carried by oppressed and violated individuals, groups, and peoples. Chang-Hee Son provides a philosophical-linguistic analysis of han. Son, whose work is based on the philosophy of hanism of Kim Sang-Yil,Footnote 7 notes a difference between three separate hans that are written and pronounced identically in the Korean language but are based in differing and unequivocal Chinese characters. Son makes a distinction between what he calls the han (韓) of han philosophy, the haan (恨) of minjung theology, and the Southern Han (漢) people of China. Son traces the origin of haan (which is transliterated han in this article) from two characters (恨), on which the full character is based. Son argues that the first character carries the meaning of “heart” or “mind,” and the second the meaning “to remain still or calm.”Footnote 8 Son describes the fullness of the character as connoting a tree with roots stretching very deeply into the earth. As Son writes, “Haan is used to describe the heart of a person or people who has/have endured or is/are enduring an affliction but the pains, wounds, and scars are not always apparent and visible because they are the kind that occur deep within the essence, core being, or heart of a person … haan connotes a mind's or a heart's affliction and struggle with a deep emotional or spiritual pain which either poisons the entire being or even ends up nourishing the person.”Footnote 9
Jae-Hoon Lee provides a nuanced psychological understanding of the nature of han (恨) through a dialogue between Korean culture and the psychological work of Carl Jung and Melanie Klein. He highlights three interconnected manifestations: won-han, hu-han, and jeong-han. To simplify each variant: won-han is based in aggression and has the energy to lash out; hu-han is the nihilistic woundedness that is a full collapsing in on oneself, empty, and destructive; jeong-han has two variations, immature and mature. Immature jeong-han is a resigned, depressive state that could lead to mental illness, despair, and disengagement, while mature jeong-han is a healing manifestation of han that Lee analogizes to agape. It is the negative and destructive energy of pain and woundedness transformed into a positive and constructive energy expressed in love for self and others.Footnote 10
The works of Andrew Sung Park and Wonhee Anne Joh also are of great importance for understanding han. Park's basic definition is that han is a multifaceted “abyss of pain” and a “wounded heart” that is the residue of violence unleashed on the innocent. Park describes han as a “black hole” and a festering wound whose energy must be channeled and resolved either to give life or to give death to one's self and others.Footnote 11 Wonhee Anne Joh quotes the work of Wang-Sang Han: “Han is a sense of unresolved resentment against injustices suffered, a sense of helplessness because of overwhelming odds against one's feeling of total abandonment, a feeling of acute pain and sorrow in one's guts and bowels.”Footnote 12
Finally, han's roots tap into the depths of suffering in Korean history. In crystallizing this painful history, Ham Sok-Hon has described Korea as the “Queen of Suffering.” As Ham writes, “This land, this people, events big and small, its politics and religion, its art and thought—all that is Korean bespeaks suffering. It is a fact, however shameful and painful.”Footnote 13 Not only was the Korean peninsula subject to centuries of invasions and pillaging by regional powers, but also there were internal causes of han.
For example, during the Yi (Joseon) Dynasty (1392–1910), neo-Confucianism was adopted as the official state religion rather than Buddhism, Daoism, or shamanism. An emerging yangban class codified this philosophy into a governing structure that led to a heightened stratification between the rich minority and the poor majority. The contemporary roots of collective han, however, tap into the nineteenth- and twentieth-century invasions by the Russian, Chinese, and Japanese militaries. Of these, the Japanese were particularly brutal in their attempt to eradicate Korean language and culture. In addition, the internal violence and political oppression that was part and parcel of the various Korean military dictatorships that followed the Korean War deepened the han of the masses. For example, this internal strife included the inception of the South Korean Central Intelligence Agency (KCIA), which engaged in secret arrests and torture of artists, intellectuals, students, and suspected Communists, as well as the South Korean military's violent suppression of antiregime protests, such as the Kwangju massacre (1980), in which hundreds, if not thousands, of civilians were killed.
Moreover, the suffering of women during the long history of the Korean peninsula has been severe. Particularly after the Yi Dynasty's adoption of neo-Confucianism, Korean women became fully subordinated in three obediences: to their father, to their husband, and to the eldest son. In addition to this internal structure that caused much han for women, there were external factors as well. For example, in the twentieth century the Japanese pressed tens of thousands of Korean women into sex slavery to be “comfort women” to Japanese soldiers. As Chung Hyun-Kyung has pointed out, the experience of Korean women became the very embodiment of han. She calls them the “han of the han” and the “minjung within the minjung.”Footnote 14 Chung has pointed out that the han of women is most severe and mostly overlooked. The han of women is so pervasive that some have argued that han should be applied almost exclusively to the woundedness of women.Footnote 15
In short, han has a sociopolitical “fourfold dimension” that was formed through the unfolding of Korean history. Theologian Suh Nam-Dong describes this fourfold dimension as follows: (1) colonization and invasion by regional powers such as China, Japan, and Mongolia that threatened the very existence of the Korean nation and people; (2) the tyrannical rulers who inflicted great suffering on the Korean people; (3) neo-Confucianism's strict subordination and oppression of women, so that “the existence of women was han itself”; and (4) the overwhelming number of Korean peasants who were officially registered as hereditary slaves and thus treated as government property throughout Korean history.Footnote 16 In addition to the observations offered above by Son, Lee, Park, and Joh, this brief historical overview fleshes out han and offers an entry point for engaging Kim's writings.Footnote 17
III. Kim Chi-Ha's Poetic Retrieval and Articulation of Han
Kim once described himself as a “priest of han,” and he delves deeply into the breadth and depth of the han-ridden masses in Korea.Footnote 18Minjung theologian Suh Nam-Dong has argued that Kim is “the person who has done the most to develop han as a theme in Christian theology.”Footnote 19 Generally, Kim thinks han is the minjung's experience of oppression that also carries the energy for social transformation. Kim writes that “accumulated han is inherited and transmitted, boiling in the blood of the people,” and possesses “the emotional core of anti-regime action.”Footnote 20 Kim also emphasizes the intense negativity of han, for, as Joh points out, han is never innocent.Footnote 21 Its deep negativity cannot be underestimated, and one of Kim's sharpest descriptions of han is “a people-eating monster.”Footnote 22 For him, han is a “ghostly creature” that “appears as a concrete substance with enormous ugly and evil energy.”Footnote 23
For Kim, han is so prevalent within Korean history that he discerns its mark even on the landscape. He encounters the ghosts of han in locations of historical tragedy and importance. For example, Kim cries:
Also, he reflects on the landmark of Mt. Chiri and declares:
Although Kim encounters han in the landscape of the Korean peninsula, he most often characterizes it as an aspect of being human. Two clear examples of this anthropological manifestation are found in two of Kim's longer works, Groundless Rumors: The Story of a Sound and Torture Road—1974.
The Sound of Han—“K'ung … K'ung …”
Kim's famous poem Groundless Rumors: The Story of a Sound, for which he was later imprisoned, provides the first example: a haunting symbol of han through the sound (K'ung … K'ung …) created by the mutilated man Ando. Kim's long poem is a satirical, grotesque poem full of irony and dark humor, and as it unfolds, he describes an incessant and disturbing clanking noise (K'ung … K'ung) that is making many of the wealthy and powerful residents of Seoul break out into cold sweats and tremble in fear.Footnote 26 Kim slowly reveals that this sound comes from the remains of a man named Ando. Ando is a decent man, hardworking, ethical, harmless, and meek. Ando continually tries and fails to make a better life, and much of his failure is due to the political, economic, and social corruption within Seoul. Kim writes that despite all of his best efforts, Ando is unable to prosper.
After much struggle and failure, the hapless, hardworking Ando finally breaks down one day. He plants both of his feet firmly on the ground and screams to the heavens, “Agh! What a dog's life this is!”Footnote 28 Immediately, the police arrive, arrest him, and bring him to trial for a multitude of crimes against government and society. These crimes include “Insufficient Veneration For The Fatherland,”Footnote 29 explained as
The charges are absurd, the trial is a farce, and Ando is found guilty and sentenced to bodily mutilation: his head, legs, penis, and testicles are cut off; his hands are bound together, and his trunk is tied with a wet, leather vest; even his throat is stuffed with insulation so that he can make no sound during a sentence of 500 years of solitary confinement. Despite all of this, Ando is determined to resist. He attempts to cry out:
But Ando is unable speak. So, he rolls what's left of himself, his trunk, against the prison walls. This creates the incessant, disturbing, clanking sound (K'ung … K'ung …) that is heard all throughout Seoul. This is the source of the sound that stirs up fear, loathing, and anxiety among the powerful. It is also the sound whose story causes those in the streets to talk “while a strange light flashes from their eyes.”Footnote 33
Ando and the sound of K'ung create a haunting symbol of the han of the minjung: an incessant sound and festering wound that demands attention, troubles the consciences of the violators, and gives a strange kernel of hope for the healing of the violated. Ando has been physically, psychologically, and spiritually mutilated. Yet his resistance, his banging against the walls of prison, creates both a threat and a hope. Kim shows this double possibility in the “strange light” in the eyes of those on the street, as well as in the fear and disgust that Ando's sound stirs up in the violators. Han's threat is bloody revenge and violent revolution, or perhaps suicide and mental illness. These negative resolutions are variations that Jae-Hoon Lee would term won-han, hu-han, and immature jeong-han. Han's hope, however, is also found in this same situation. The “strange light [that] flashes from their eyes,” the eyes of the oppressed, could lead to self-assertion and liberation, and the fear and anxiety of the oppressors could lead to repentance. These positive resolutions are a variation akin to mature jeong-han. Kim hopes that the han possessing Seoul will lead to creation and not destruction. Nevertheless, the ambiguity of the impact of Ando's sound on the residents of Seoul leaves the question hanging as to how this han will be resolved.Footnote 34
Kim's “Dark Night of the Soul” into Han
The second illustration is Kim's “dark night of the soul” into han that characterizes his long poem, Torture Road—1974. In Torture Road, the author reflects on his unjust, brutal imprisonment and the ways in which the prison cast all of its inhabitants into the darkness of han. Footnote 35 Chong-Sun Kim and Shelly Killen suggest that Kim's journey is a mystical experience, akin to a “dark night of the soul,” but with one caveat: Kim's journey was not individual but part of a collective experience. They argue that “unlike mystics who have travelled the dark night of the soul in solitude, Kim Chi Ha's spiritual journey was made in the company of others who like himself chose truth rather than the lie that could save their life.”Footnote 36
A fundamental paradox resides at the heart of this poem: Kim arrives at a long-suffering gratitude to God for walking this “torture road.” Kim is imprisoned unjustly and becomes overwhelmed by the presence of death and despair. Eventually, he accepts the fact that no one, including himself, has hope for leaving this prison and returning home.
Kim and his fellow prisoners, however, encounter a seed of hope and salvation lingering in the darkness. Despite all evidence to the contrary, han is not fully victorious in this prison.
Mysterious torture road of candlelight, paradox of overcoming death by choosing death. This was our task: to comprehend this mysterious torture road. In the death room, where the question of death clung to us, I learned of the birth of my son. Oh, God, for the first time I understood your will.Footnote 38
Here, in the depths of despair and pain, God manifests to Kim in the proclamation of the birth of his son. He is surprised to discover that new life was still possible through, or despite, this hellish place. Kim discovers that he can overcome death and darkness by freely choosing to enter into them. This work, however, cannot be accomplished alone. It is a collective pilgrimage, and he refers to “we” and “us” more so than “I” when describing his religious experience.
Kim discovers that life is indeed possible through the choice of collectively embracing death and the black hole of han. As he continues to walk this road and enter into the mystery of his “dark night,” Kim discovers an unexpected and unlikely moment of enlightenment and grace. This moment is inspired by the words of his fellow prisoner Kim Byong-Kon. Byong-Kon receives the death sentence and replies to the authorities, “This is an honor.”Footnote 39 Kim Chi-Ha also has received the death sentence but finds his friend's words troubling and nonsensical. He wonders:
Are these the words of saints? Are we saints? ... No. It is not that. What do these words mean? We at last conquered our terror of death. That is right. That is truly right. Writhing every moment and everyday in blood all over that hell, we have overcome.Footnote 40
He continues:
It was not Kyong Sok, individually, Byong Kon, individually, or I individually, who overcame. But all of us triumphed collectively. And triumphing, we elected the seal of eternally divine grace on our death. By accepting death, we overcame death. By choosing death, we collectively gained eternity.
With deep feeling, we gazed into the brilliant flame of truthful life, which began to burn inside our collectively-chained flesh. It was our historical moment. No, it was not just something of this world. It was religious inspiration. But it was not only that. It was the height of artistic vision. No, it cannot be expressed in words. It was a glittering zenith of wholeness and of all human values and sublimities. I began to feel as if I were in touch with the mystery of the spirit.Footnote 41
Kim's mystical experience leads to an insight: poetry and politics, art and social change, can be married in the union of “the power of the political imagination.”Footnote 42 He concludes his reflection on his mystical experience and enlightenment in the same way as his friend Kim Byong-Kon. He writes: “The definitive answer to this enigma has been presented to me through the torture road. An extravagant, extravagant moment. At the time, I muttered to myself, ‘I thank you,’ and those almost unspeakable words, ‘I am honored.’”Footnote 43
Kim's moment of enlightenment and his subsequent gratitude for the “torture road” are difficult to understand. He clearly describes this prison as a place of darkness, terror, and despair. Yet Kim arrives at this moment in which he reenvisions his imprisonment as an object of gratitude because of his momentary communion with “the mystery of the spirit” and his subsequent insight into the “power of the political imagination.” The locus for this mystical experience is the “collectively-chained flesh” he shares with the other prisoners. Together, they find truth, hope, and a glimpse of salvation along the path of han. Kim and Killen shed further light on this paradox and argue, “Kim Chi Ha frequently uses the image of a fire that purifies, and like the Christian mystics he perceives the light within the darkness.”Footnote 44 As a mystic, Kim is determined to resist and will not succumb to the abyss of han into which he has been cast and that permeates his body, mind, and soul.
In the poem's prose conclusion, Kim provides a haunting illustration of the enduring wounds of han. He is released and has successfully persevered through the “dark night” of han. Nevertheless, Kim's battle with han has left his body, mind, and soul scarred and broken. He envisions himself as a severed, hollowed-out finger that has been cast out of the prison. Kim has been cut off from the whole and has become a fragmented being. He writes:
I left my soul behind in prison. An empty shell left the prison. My soul is there, crying. Sobbing madly, it is calling out to my flesh … to liberate, to be together, to be united. It is crying to meet again. . . . Let's go, to search for my soul. Let's go, go and open the prison gates and set my soul free. Embrace in liberation until the tears run down on my face. To unite, to be one, to be together. My flesh will fight until it meets with my soul. Smashed with beatings into fine, fine pieces blown away on the wind—until then, my flesh will fight.Footnote 45
Kim's narrates his own “dark night of the soul” and in doing so provides an image of persevering through han. He is cast into the pit, surrounded by and saturated with brutality and despair. Yet he encounters God's presence within the darkness through his becoming “collectively-chained flesh” with the other prisoners. Although many others have fallen victim to death and despair, and Kim laments his separation from them, he individually emerges from the pit. The “people-eating monster” and “ghostly creature” of han has failed to devour him.
Yet Kim remains indelibly marked, scarred, and broken from the road on which he trod. Like Ando, he is determined to resist the injustice that has been inflicted on him as well as its effects. He resolves, “My flesh will fight until it meets with my soul”; and, like Ando's sound K'ung, Kim's fight for wholeness represents both a hope and a threat. Kim has hope and will fight for the reunification of his body and soul, which have been violently separated by his tormentors. At the same time, Kim does not offer a vision, positive or negative, of the results or consequences of his ongoing struggle. He continues to carry han, and it must be unraveled and resolved. He remains silent, however, as to how this han will be resolved. Kim's han could be resolved through violent revenge and suicide or personal healing and the creation of a more just society.
IV. “Unity of God and Revolution”: Kim's Philosophy of Dan
In Groundless Rumors: The Story of a Sound and Torture Road—1974, among other works, Kim acts as a priest of han who returns to and retrieves original deeds and memories of violence and suffering, which have created han, in order to bring them into the present. He intends to create space for the han-ridden people, living and dead, to experience justice, healing, and peace and is what Korean shamanism has termed han-pu-ri.Footnote 46
Despite the saturation of han in Kim's minjung poetry, he also imbues his poetry with hope.Footnote 47 He hopes that good will triumph over evil, the oppressed will be liberated, and han-pu-ri will occur because God and revolution are intertwined. For Kim, God is immanent, the reign of God through Christ is already here, and salvation from han is being embraced by the minjung. Kim developed the phrase the “unity of God and revolution” through synthesizing the God of Catholicism and that of the Korean Tonghak (also known as Chondogyo) religion.Footnote 48 The roots of this expression can be found in the Tonghak revolutionary cry “Humanity is heaven!” as the peasants marched against the ruling class. Kim reflects: “I've been grappling with that image for ten years. At some point, I gave it a name: ‘The unity of God and revolution.’ I also changed the phrase ‘man [sic] is heaven’ into ‘rice is heaven’ and used it in my poetry. That vague idea of the ‘unity of God and revolution’ stayed with me as I continued my long arduous search for personal and political answers, and as I became very interested in contemporary Christian thought and activism.”Footnote 49
Kim's theology of the “unity of God and revolution” takes flesh in what he calls a philosophy and praxis of dan. For Kim, dan is a remedy to han. It is the cutting off of han in order to break the cycles of suffering, revenge, and unjust violence it perpetuates. Dan is akin to a necessary amputation of a gangrenous limb in order to save the rest of the body from infection and death. Kim thinks that this practice includes the confluence of personal asceticism, detachment from the world, and a purified reengagement with the world for the purpose of social transformation. Kim writes: “Dan is to overcome han. Personally, it is self-denial. Collectively, it is to cut the vicious circle of revenge.”Footnote 50 Kim explains dan further this way: “[It is] to cut all adherence to the secular world in order that one may be for the revolution of the secular world. It is to sever the link which permits circulation. There is a terrible accumulation of han which will burn in endless hate, massacre, revenge, and destruction. Therefore we need the repeated cutting which stops the vicious circular explosion and sublimates it to a higher spiritual power.”Footnote 51 The God, or “higher spiritual power,” that Kim suggests in a practice of dan is immanent, in full solidarity with the lowest within society, and truly shows that humanity is heaven.
Through a practice of dan, Kim shows a conviction that despite han's intense negativity, it can be sublimated and channeled to foster healing, justice, and peace. Dan entails both a commitment to nonviolent resistance and an acceptance of the possibility of resorting to an “agonized violence of love.” As Kim writes: “I reject dehumanizing violence and accept the violence that restores human dignity. It could justly be called a violence of love.”Footnote 52 No bloodthirsty revolutionary, however, Kim continues: “I welcome the violence of love, yet I am also an ally of true nonviolence. The revolution I would support would be a synthesis of true nonviolence and an agonized violence of love.”Footnote 53 An “agonized violence of love” is part of Kim's understanding of the sociopolitical practice of cutting off the cycle of han. Although not ideal, it may be a pragmatic necessity in order to foster salvation, liberation, and eventual han-pu-ri. Footnote 54
One of Kim's most dramatic illustrations of han and dan comes through the invocation of Christian narrative and is found in the notes for the poem Chang Il-Dam. Kim's notes show that Chang Il-Dam is a han-filled person through personal lineage and sociopolitical circumstance.Footnote 55 He is a convicted criminal who reforms, begins to redistribute wealth, and also becomes a Christ-like figure who kisses the feet of prostitutes and associates with lepers. Chang overcomes his han through a religious experience of enlightenment that is a “‘complete conformity with the han of abyss.’ This refers to his experience of becoming one with those who are cursed and expelled by society, such as robbers, murderers, defrauders, etc.”Footnote 56 This conformity with han occurs while Chang encounters a prostitute in labor with a child. Suh Nam-Dong observes that Chang “arrives at the deep realization [that] the truth of new life (God) comes into the filthy cesspools of humanity.”Footnote 57
Consequently, Chang begins to preach liberation to the people. He gathers disciples and retreats with them into the mountains to teach them the practice of dan. Later, Chang and his disciples march to Seoul in order to proclaim the liberation of the minjung from their han. Chang is betrayed by one of his disciples, brought to trial before the rulers of Seoul, and beheaded.Footnote 58
After three days, Chang rises from the dead, and then the story takes a strange turn. Chang cuts off the head of his betrayer, places the betrayer's head on his own body, and places his own head on the betrayer's body. Kim's resurrection image of Chang shows one possibility of han being resolved through dan. Footnote 59 It is a strange image of a reconciliation based on Jesus Christ's resurrection. Oppressor and oppressed are irrevocably fused together in a new, albeit grotesque, creation. As Kim writes, “It is an expression of Chang's conflicting thought that this is revenge but at the same time also the salvation of vicious men.”Footnote 60 Or, as Suh observes, “the head speaking justice and truth is bonded to the body carrying injustice and falsehood.”Footnote 61
Chang's life shows dan through his attempt to cut off the vicious cycle of han through nonviolent resistance and proclamation against evil. His resurrection embodies dan through an “agonized violence of love” that is meant to overcome sin and evil. In order to begin a process of han-pu-ri, Chang literally cuts off the head and becomes one flesh with a man who bears and disseminates han.
Chang's resurrection embodies an “agonized violence of love” as a result of the fusion of victim and victimizer into new creations. The limited, agonized violence and cutting of dan, for Kim, is necessary in order for these new, reconciled persons to arise. They are a product of dan, have been fully separated from the cycle of han, and by their very embodied existence transform its negative energy into positive energy that can foster healing, liberation, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Suh observes: “This peculiar combination of the body of the evil man and the head of truth indicates that Kim Chi-Ha thought that even the most wicked villain will be saved in the end. Through the carrier that is the body of the evil man, Chang Il-Dam's good news of liberation, like a wild and stormy wind, goes everywhere.”Footnote 62
V. Three Contributions of Kim Chi-Ha's Han Anthropology
Kim Chi-Ha's han anthropology offers three contributions to Catholic thought: a unique vision of salvation for both victim and victimizer, a demonstration of the salvific potential of cultural and religious hybridity, and an illustration of unexpected, collective encounters with God on a road of injustice, despair, and affliction.
Kim's conviction regarding salvation for both victim and victimizer accompanied his conversion to Catholicism. As Kim explained, “I became a Catholic because Catholicism conveys a universal message. Not only the spiritual and material burdens could be lifted from people but also oppression itself could be ended by the salvation of both the oppressor and the oppressed. Catholicism is capable of assimilating and synthesizing these contradictory and conflicting ideologies, theories, and value standards into a universal truth.”Footnote 63
Kim's work reflects this concern for fragments of earthly salvation for both oppressor and oppressed, victim and victimizer. Kim shows a preferential option for the “sinned-against” but is not convinced that full salvation is possible without the concurrent transformation of the sinner. The sound of Ando, K'ung, and the grotesque resurrection image of Chang Il-Dam demonstrate Kim's conviction. Ando's han-ful K'ung saturates Seoul and brings hope for healing and social transformation to the sinned-against minjung while simultaneously bringing fear and dread to the wealthy and powerful for their sins of commission and omission against the lowly. Although Kim does not offer a resolution in this poem, he suggests that salvation is possible as illustrated by the nagging sound of Ando that resists societal amnesia and apathy. The grotesque resurrection of Chang Il-Dam also illustrates Kim's hope for fragments of earthly salvation for sinned-against and sinner. The irreversible fusion of betrayer and betrayed refashions each man into a new creation that embodies a kind of redeemed existence.
Kim suggests, however, that the realization of fragments of earthly salvation between victim and victimizer is precarious. Ando's K'ung and Kim's search for his soul after the “torture road” are symbols of han that are imbued with an excess of meaning. These symbols contain both a hope and a threat because han is a churning energy that will be resolved. The problem is how it will be resolved. Han's threat is the onset of mental illness, social violence and interpersonal bloodletting, whereas its hope is the realization of fragments of earthly salvation, such as personal and interpersonal healing along with positive social transformation.
A second contribution of Kim's han anthropology is a vision of cultural and religious hybridity that holds potential for realizing fragments of earthly salvation and constructively resolving han. Footnote 64 In his work, Kim brings together Roman Catholic Christianity with traditional Korean shamanism and Chondogyo, and the uneasy interplay of these traditions leads to an inculturation of Catholicism into the native soil of Korea. As Shelly Killen and Chong-Sun Kim observe, Kim is “a charismatic figure who uses the forms of shaman incantations and rich Korean colloquialisms in his poetry [and] … is the only Asian poet to combine the essence of Christian socialism with his native tradition.”Footnote 65
Kim discusses this religious interplay, and uneasy hybridity, when reflecting on Chang Il-Dam. He describes the competing religious and cultural undercurrents as creating a world in transition.
Religious asceticism and revolutionary action, the works of Jesus and the struggle of Ch'oe Che U (founder of the Tong Hak) and Chon Pong Jun (commander of the Tong Hak peasant army), a yearning for the communal life of early Christianity, and a deep affection for the long, valiant resistance of the Korean people are all part of Chang's kaleidoscopic world. So are Paulo Freire's The Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Frantz Fanon's ideas on violence, the direct action of Blanquism, the Christian view of humanity as flawed by original sin, the Catholic doctrine of the omnipresence of God and the Buddhist concept of the transmigration of the soul, the populist redistributive egalitarianism of Im Kok Chong and Hong Kil Tong, and the Tong Hak teachings of Sich'onju and Yangch'onju. Some of these movements and doctrines combine and coalesce; others clash in mighty confrontation.Footnote 66
Kim further defines the Christian influences with respect to the “unity of God and revolution” by citing aspects of Roman Catholicism. He refers to social encyclicals such as Pope Leo XIII's Rerum Novarum (1891), Pope Pius XI's Quadragesimo Anno (1931), and Pope John XXIII's Mater et Magistra (1961), as well as to the work of various theologians, such as James Cone, Johann Baptist Metz, Jürgen Moltmann, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.Footnote 67
Kim's hybrid imagination underlies Chang Il-Dam, and this work illustrates how han and shamanism, Tonghak and Catholicism, collide and converge in order to envision earthly fragments of salvation. Kim's grotesque resurrection image of Chang, which is a vision of salvation, is comprised of diverse religious and philosophical ideas that are woven into a Christian symbol. Kim brings these diverse religious sources together and creates a hybrid space. Chang's resurrection takes a Christian form and suggests salvation for the sinned-against minjung, and their connection to an immanent God. This space of hybridity is asymmetrical, in flux, and has an uncertain, emerging identity. Yet, Kim shows how religious and cultural hybridity also holds the possibility of salvation.
A third contribution of Kim's han anthropology is his unexpected, collective mystical experience through a “dark night” of han in which he encounters God and experiences universal communion through “collectively-chained flesh.”Footnote 68 In other words, Kim offers an image of mystical solidarity caused by mutually shared wounds that also hold the possibility of salvation. Despite being cast into the darkness of a han-filled space, Kim finds a purification and renewed understanding of God through a kind of “dark night of the soul.” Kim suggests that the journey through han, as a collective and unified body, can lead to healing, insight, and an experience of the divine. As Kim writes, “We [in prison] are united by those flashing handcuffs, which chained all of us. We are fused together in the boiling blast furnace in the dark, dark, darkness—the Yongdongp'o prison. It was a presentiment of yellow light that united us … by smashing down all discriminations: ideologies, colors, dialects, standard languages, the rich and the poor.”Footnote 69
Kim's illustration of a mystical encounter with the God of Jesus Christ as a collective experience resonates with the communitarian ethos of Roman Catholicism. Kim suggests that in order to endure the festering wounds of han one must journey with a community and become “collectively-chained flesh.” He believes that a person as an isolated individual will succumb to the deep negativity of han. One finds salvation, and encounters God, within a larger community that also carries han. Kim's concluding statement is both lament and protest: “My flesh will fight until it meets with my soul.” He finds life through collectively embracing death with his confreres and encounters God within the hellish, han-ridden prison. The soul that he seeks is not merely his own but is also part and parcel of the collective “soul” of the han-ridden minjung. Kim finds a scarred, yet ongoing life through this “torture road,” and his resistance to the negativity of han was nourished by his fellow prisoners.
VI. Conclusion: Kim Chi-Ha's Challenge to Catholic Thought
Han has been a touchstone for contemporary intercultural challenges to Protestant theologies, and, in particular, traditional doctrines of sin, creation, and atonement theory. In a similar way, han anthropology provides an intercultural challenge to Roman Catholic theology but in the realm of soteriology. It is here that Kim Chi-Ha's three contributions shed light on a shortcoming in Catholic thought: the Catholic soteriological tradition describes the human person almost exclusively as “sinner” without offering an equally thorough understanding of the human person as “sinned-against.”Footnote 70 This tradition has focused tightly on the human being as a sinner estranged from God through freely chosen actions. The guilt of the sinner and the sinner's need for forgiveness are the core of soteriological reflection.
Kim, however, suggests that a soteriological emphasis almost exclusively on sin, guilt, and forgiveness is problematic. He accepts that all humans are sinners, but he advocates for a theological appraisal of their context and their lives, so that they are defined as being “sinned-against” rather than as merely sinners. This means that the theological question that Kim poses is concerned with han and not sin. The characters Ando, Chang Il-Dam, and Kim himself as portrayed in Torture Road may all be sinners. Kim, however, is not concerned with God's forgiveness of the sins of Ando, Chang, and himself but rather with God's resolution of their han. These characters have been brutalized, violated, and suffer unjustly. Their suffering is not the result of sinfulness but of being sinned against by other men and women, and of the social structures and political systems that others have created and that others support. The hapless, mutilated Ando, the betrayed, beheaded Chang, and the hollowed-out, severed finger of Kim himself cry out for a healing balm and not a ritual of absolution. Kim shows that han anthropology, as opposed to a narrow sin anthropology, is the primary problem in need of doctrinal, sacramental, and ritualized soteriological attention in Roman Catholicism.
One need look no further than Gaudium et Spes to see evidence of Kim's concern.Footnote 71 This document provides an authoritative articulation of the fundamental Roman Catholic anthropology of the human as “sinner.”Footnote 72 The Pastoral Constitution rightfully focuses on the sinning creature's alienation from the sinned-against Creator. Kim's han anthropology, however, poses a fundamental challenge and suggests that the anthropology of Gaudium et Spes needs to be supplemented by an anthropology rooted in the woundedness of the sinned-against creature and the work of the living God of Jesus Christ in healing the victims' wounds. The Pastoral Constitution offers a vision of Christian salvation that focuses primarily on the salvation of the sinner while failing also to focus sufficiently on salvation for the sinned-against creature.
Kim challenges Roman Catholics to revisit, critique, and rethink this anthropology and soteriology, not because it is incorrect but because it is too narrow. All human beings are an amalgamation of both sinner and sinned-against, but one or the other often manifests within a specific situation and becomes a site for Christian soteriological reflection.Footnote 73 Kim's imagery and ideas challenge Catholics to supplement this anthropology with an equally robust description of the human being as a “sinned-against” creature. The soteriological question must be based not only on sin but also on han.
