[Encounter] Why "Gusil" Cannot Be the Same as "Pinggye"

[Asia Economy, reporter Park Byunghee] On June 16, a press conference was held at a cafe in Mapo-gu, Seoul, to celebrate the release of novelist Kim Hoon's new book, "The Horse Running Beyond the Moon." It was intriguing when Kim Hoon remarked on the current situation of the COVID-19 pandemic, saying, "There are 'prophets' and 'snake oil salesmen' everywhere." This likely implied that the flood of words and writings from numerous media outlets during these chaotic times only adds to the confusion. Today, with a greater variety of media and an emphasis on speed, words and writings are undoubtedly treated more lightly than in the past.

The Korean saying "Eon darugo eo dareuda" (The spoken and the written are different) underscores the importance of words and writing. This is not a didactic call to memorize things simply because they are important. The author persistently delves into the origins of specific words to highlight their significance, using morpheme analysis-the smallest unit of meaning in a word. The author refers to this process of accurately grasping a word’s meaning through morpheme analysis as the "factorization learning method." Through this, the book explores the principles underlying the structure of the Korean language and helps readers discern subtle nuances, teaching which words should be used in which situations.

For example, the book explains the difference between the Chinese characters "sin" (身) and "che" (體), both of which mean "body" in Korean, and why "sisin" (corpse) is more appropriate than "siche" (dead body) in the sentence, "The son wept, holding his mother's corpse." Both "che" and "sin" mean body, but "sin" encompasses the whole human being, including mind and personality, whereas "che" refers solely to the physical body. Therefore, using "sisin" rather than "siche" better conveys the son's deep affection for his mother.

The book also explains why there is the word "nachehwa" (depiction of nudity) but not "nashinhwa," and why protests are called "nache siwi" (nude protests) rather than "nashin siwi." "Nashin" refers to a nakedness that the person has no intention of revealing, while "nache" indicates a state where the person has consciously decided to expose themselves. In this context, the author expresses dissatisfaction with the National Institute of the Korean Language's Standard Korean Dictionary, which defines both "nache" and "nashin" simply as "naked body." Through linguistic analysis, the author points out the dictionary’s shortcomings and argues for the need to revise such definitions, as seen in the case of "nashin" and "nache."

The author also criticizes the National Institute of the Korean Language’s indiscriminate language purification efforts when they are misguided. For instance, the Institute recommends replacing "gusil" (pretext) with the native Korean word "pinggye" (excuse). The author argues that this is wrong because "gusil" (口實), meaning an act that is only words, is contrasted with "haengsil" (行實, actual conduct), making its meaning clear. If "gusil" is replaced with "pinggye," the contrast with "haengsil" disappears, resulting in a loss of nuance and a simplification of Korean expression.

The author emphasizes that appropriately used Sino-Korean words enrich the Korean language. Many traditional Sino-Korean morphemes originate from Confucian, Buddhist, and Taoist classics, as well as historical anecdotes, and thus carry the spirit of East Asia. Through language, one can naturally study East Asian thought and philosophy.

The author’s affection for native Korean words is also evident throughout the book. Through deep contemplation, the author offers convincing interpretations of the origins and histories of native words. For example, the author speculates that the word "uri" (we), which is emphasized even more than "na" (I) in Korean, likely originates from "ultari" (fence), in other words, "ul" (fence).

The author’s interpretation of the origins of "cham" (truth) and "geojit" (falsehood) is also fascinating. The author interprets "geojit" as stemming from "gajuk" (leather), "geojuk" (surface), and "geot" (outside). The opposite of "geot" is "sok" (inside), which is likened to the relationship between shell and kernel. The author concludes that something filled inside is "cham" (truth), and something hollow is "geojit" (falsehood), suggesting that "cham" comes from the meaning of "to be filled."

In the epilogue, the author explains the reason for persistently delving into the meanings of words: precise language skills and the ability to think critically determine our quality of life. The author laments that language is regressing in the face of the power of visual media, which in turn signifies a decline in our ability to think and communicate. He emphasizes that closely examining one’s own words and writings is, in essence, an act of self-reflection.

(Eon Darugo Eo Dareuda / written by Kim Chulho / Dolbegae)

This content was produced with the assistance of AI translation services.