하지만 그렇다고 칩시다. 정말로 그랬다고 치죠. 바로 이것이 심리학의 미묘한 지점일 테니, 즉 이런 상황에선 방금까지만 해도 카프카스의 독수리처럼 피에 굶주려 명민함을 발휘하다가 한순간만 지나면 시시껄렁한 두더지처럼 눈먼 겁쟁이가 되어 버린다는 거죠.

그런데 만일 그가 그렇게까지 피에 굶주리고 냉혹하게 계산적인 인간이라서, 사람을 죽인 뒤에 유일한 목격자가 살았는지 죽었는지만 확인하러 되돌아갔다면, 어째서 다른 목격자들과 마주칠 위험을 무릅쓰고 그 부상자를 위해 무려 오 분이나 허비를 한단 말입니까? 어째서 손수건을 피에 적셔 가며 그의 머리를 닦아 주기까지 했단 말입니까? 그 손수건이야말로 나중에 결정적인 증거가 될 물건인데 말입니다. 그가 그토록 냉정하고 계산적인 자라면, 같은 공이로 하인의 머리를 몇 번이고 더 내리쳐 숨통을 완전히 끊어 놓고, 목격자에 대한 근심을 아예 없애 버리지 그랬습니까?

또 다른 증거인 이 놋쇠 공이를 바로 거기, 길바닥에 던져 두는데, 그것은 두 여성의 집에서 가져온 것인지라 나중에 그 두 여성이 언제든 이건 자기들 것이다, 이건 자기들 집에서 가져간 것이다, 하고 증언할 게 뻔한 노릇입니다. 더욱이 그 놋쇠 공이는 길바닥에서 잊어버린 것도 아니고, 즉 정신이 없고 어리벙벙한 상태에서 그만 떨어뜨린 것도 아닙니다. 오히려 우리는 그 흉기를 말 그대로 내던진 것입니다.

12편 「오심」 속 변호인 페튜코비치의 변론

나는 『카라마조프가의 형제들』의 개관을 쓰기 위해 몇 번이고 시도했다가 전부 지우고 다시 시작하기를 반복했습니다.

내가 당면한 문제는 ‘분명함’의 문제​입니다.

그러니까 세상은 복잡하고, 언어는 쓰는 순간 ‘분명함’에 갇혀버립니다. 세상은 말하자면 떠다니고 있는 어떤 것들입니다. 그러나 내가 그것을 언어로 포집하려고 한다면, 그것은 반드시 내가 이해할 수 있는 수준을 벗어나기가 매우 어렵습니다. 애초에 모든 것을 고려하는 계산기는 없는 것입니다.

그렇다면 내가 개관을 쓰는 것은 그야말로 부차적이고 삼차적인 것에 불과한 쓰잘데기 없는 행동이 되어버립니다.

내가 해설을 썼지만 그것이 『카라마조프가의 형제들』에 비견될 정도로 복잡성과 미학을 유지한다면 — 물론 위대한 작가를 흉내 내는 것이 극도로 어려운 일이라서 거의 불가능한 가정이기는 하지만 — 내 글이 읽는 이에게 무슨 도움이 된다는 말입니까?

그럴 것이라면 차라리 원문을 읽으면 될 따름입니다.

이를테면, 나는 이런 자료들을 보았습니다.

드미트리는 열정과 감각, 표도르 파블로비치는 ​이기심과 육체적 욕망, 스메르자코프는 ​표도르의 악의가 살아 있는 상징, 조시마는 ​기독교적 사랑, 신앙, 용서에 각각 대응된다는 식으로, 도표로 아름답고 깔끔하게 정리한 것들을요.

그런 것들을 작성한 사람들이 당연히 나보다 더 많은 경험을 가지고, 또 더 많은 교육을 받은 사람들이며, 수많은 ‘증거’들을 갖고 있다고 나는 믿어 의심치 않습니다.

하지만 그것이 들어맞는 증거에만 ‘카프카스의 독수리처럼 피에 굶주려 명민함을 발휘하다가’, 그것에 맞지 않는 것들에게는 ‘시시껄렁한 두더지처럼 눈먼 겁쟁이가 되어 버리는’ 것이 아닌지에 대한 의심은 거둘 수 없는 것입니다.

누군가는 이렇게 말할 수도 있습니다.

“그래, 알았어! 네가 작품 열심히 읽었다는 거 알았어. 작품의 내용에 따르면 그런 식으로 요약하는 것이 불가능하고, 그런데 사실은 ‘그런 식으로 요약하는 것이 불가능하다’고 말하는 것도 불가능하고, 그렇게 가다 보면 모든 것이 불가능해질 테니까 그냥 그것에 대해서는 잊었다고 치자고!

누군가는 무한퇴행에 대해서 2단계까지 생각했고, 누구는 5단계까지 생각했다는 식으로 단계를 나누어서 급을 나눌 셈이냐?

그냥 그런 것들은 잊어버린 셈 치고 재미로 설정집을 만든 거니까, 거기에 대해서만 말하자고!”

그것도 나는 매우 그럴듯한 주장이라고 생각합니다.

그럼에도 불구하고 는 최소한 ‘1단계’라도 열어두는 것이 더 맞다​고 느껴집니다.

왜냐하면 있는 것과 없는 것의 차이는 크며, 많은 사람이 그렇듯 나는 삶이 죽음보다는 더 낫다고 생각하기로 결정했기 때문입니다.

내가 두려워하는 것은 예를 들자면 이런 것입니다.

지미 카 스탠드업 코미디 일부

관객: What do you think about Ticketmast?

Jimmy Carr: Ticketmaster. What do I think about Ticketmaster? I like them.

What’s not to like about Ticketmaster?

관객: As a purchaser?

Jimmy Carr: Yeah.

You can not go to the show.

Ticketmaster always gets a hard time. People say, “It was £400 to see Taylor Swift.” Well, don’t go.

You might object to capitalism and Ticketmaster are a very good example of the capitalist market.

Capitalism is a terrible system apart from all the others.

Bunch of young people seem to have fallen in love with communism again. Communism’s a great idea, wrong species.

The thing about capitalism is it kind of leans into what we are. We’re quite self-interested. It works.

관객: Define communism for me.

Jimmy Carr: Define communism?

관객: Yes.

Jimmy Carr: From each according to their abilities, to each according to their needs.

(박수)

Yeah. It just doesn’t scale.

Everyone is a communist. All of you are communists with your family.

If you’ve got kids, you’re a communist at home. Each according to their needs. You take care of them. Of course you do.

And as things get wide in your local community, you might be a socialist. Try and help everyone out.

And then you get up to nation-state level and you go, “Yeah, those guys.”

There’s always going to be an in-group preference.

I’m sorry, but you human beings [are] unlucky.

The problem with American communism, which is woke, instead of redistributing wealth, they want to redistribute status. And that is a recipe for madness.

Hang on.

Sorry. Some young men looking at me like, “Yeah, great. We’re going to need some dick jokes.” No problem. I’m on it.

I’m going to say some very offensive things in a bit.

사실 나는 상대가 누구건, 무슨 주장을 하건 무조건적으로 반론을 만들어낼 수 있습니다.

자본주의는 인간의 본성에 기대기 때문에 합리적이다?

그럼 공산주의는 인간이 아니라 모기에 대해 말합니까? 공산주의는 이타심에 기댄 게 아닙니까?

인간이라서 공산주의가 안 된다면, 인간이라서 자본주의가 안 된다는 것은 왜 의심하지 않죠?

각종 수많은 자본주의의 새치기 권리들은?

애초에 자본주의보다 공산주의가 덜 적합했다고 누가 판결 내린 겁니까? 사람을 많이 죽여서입니까? 자본주의는 안 죽이나요? 사람을 많이 괴롭혀서였나요? 자본주의는 안 괴롭히나요?

그저 전쟁에 승리했다는 이유로 만들어진 수많은 정당화 논리에 그대로 복종하고 있지는 않습니까?

애초에 인간이 인간을 괴롭히면 안 된다는 것은 왜 당연합니까? 인간이 인간을 죽여야 개체수가 줄어들고 환경문제가 줄어들지 않나요?

지미 카는 예수찬양론을 반대하는 것으로 알고 있습니다.

그런데 사실 구조적으로 보면,

인간의 본질은 사랑이다.
그러므로 사랑이 인간다운 삶의 기준이다.
사랑이 결여된 사회는 잘못됐다.

그리고,

인간의 본질은 이기심이다.
그러므로 이기심을 활용하는 자본주의가 인간에게 맞다.
그것과 충돌한 공산주의는 인간에게 맞지 않는다.

이 둘은 똑같은 것을 반복하고 있는 것은 아닙니까?

…

물론 페튜코비치의 경우와 마찬가지로, 나의 반론은 그것이 사용하는 방법에 그 스스로가 그대로 당해버리는 문제에 직면해버립니다.

“그러므로 드미트리 카라마조프는 무죄입니다!”

라고 주장한다면 그것 또한 쓰레기가 되어버리는 것입니다.

사실 온몸에 똥물이 묻었다고 굳이 얼굴에 똥물을 더 바를 필요는 없지 않습니까?

어떤 때에는 나는 소실되는 것들, 왜곡되는 것들, ‘시시껄렁한 두더지가 되어버리는 것들’​에 강하게 안타까움을 느낍니다.

이를테면 작품의 해설에서 느끼는 것은 이런 것들입니다.

나에게 중요한 것은 하나의 시점에서 초월한 자아가 내리는 판정이라기보다, 시간의 흐름에 따라 발생하는 역동성입니다.

이를테면 이반을 ‘회의주의’, 알렉세이를 ‘신앙’, 드미트리를 ‘열정’이라고 부르는 것이 반드시 틀렸다고 나는 생각하지 않습니다.

하지만 그런 이름표를 붙이는 순간 각 인물은 이름표를 목에 걸고 굳어 있는 박물관의 표본처럼 되어버립니다.

알렉세이가 누군가를 만나기 전과 만난 뒤에 달라지고, 그에게 말을 들은 사람이 또 다른 사람에게 영향을 주며, 어제는 절대로 믿을 수 없었던 것을 오늘은 믿고, 오늘 목숨을 걸었던 것을 내일은 부정하게 되는 것.

나는 이런 것들이 훨씬 더 중요하게 느껴졌습니다.

…

안타깝게도 나는 『카라마조프가의 형제들』을 다 읽었으므로 상당 부분 오염되어 있습니다.

나는 글을 읽으면서 그것을 이해할 모델들에 대해서 생각했고, 내가 이해할 수 있는 방식으로, 이해되는 만큼만 이해했습니다.

어쩌면 근본부터 모든 것이 오염되어 있을 가능성도 매우 높습니다.

나의 해설의 목적은 사실 세상을 그대로 흉내 내는 것이 아니라, 유용성이 있을 만큼만, 나에게 마음에 드는 만큼만 잘라내어 움직이는 카프카스의 독수리를 만들어내는 데에 있습니다.

K: 네. 한국인입니다.

A: 진짜요? 저 언젠가 한국에서 진짜로 살아보고 싶어요. 사람들도 예의 바르고, 밤에 혼자 걸어다녀도 아무렇지도 않고. 미국은 안 그렇거든요.

K: 알겠습니다. 계획이 있으세요?

A: 일단 서울에서 몇 달 살면서 한국어 좀 더 하고요. 괜찮으면 취업이나 대학원까지 볼까 해요. 아직 막 구체적인 건 아닌데.

K: 그렇군요. 그건 내가 잘 모르는 영역이라서 도움을 주기가 어렵네요. 비자 취업 어쩌고 같은 건 나도 잘 모르니까요. 근데 이런 건 있었어요. 전 홍대에 잉글리시 카페에서 영어를 배운 적 있는데요. 한 달에 30만 원 내고요. 거기서 외국인들이 한국인이랑 1:1로 40분씩 대화하면서 영어를 가르치고, 공짜로 일하고 있더라고요. 대신 거기서 제공하는 숙소를 공짜로 썼대요. 자기들 나라에서 무슨 배너 광고 같은 걸 보고 왔다는군요.

A: 잠깐만요, 숙소를 공짜로 준다고요? 그냥 앉아서 영어로 얘기만 해주면?

K: 네. 그 외국인노동자들에게 완전히 나빠 보이지는 않았어요. 일주일 내내 일하는 건 아닌 것 같았어요. 놀고 싶으면 클럽 가고, 남자 만나고, 하고 싶은 대로 했겠죠 뭐. 숙소를 제공해준다고해서 개빡세게 일하는 상황은 별로 말이 안 되니까요.

A: 나쁘지 않은데요. 월세만 안 나가도 어디예요. 몇 달이면 여기가 저한테 맞는지 아는 데는 충분하고요. 돈을 받지 않으니까 부담스럽지도 않고.

K: 네. 외국인들한테는 한국어학당이 마치 유일한 선택지고, 그게 대단한 취업 포트폴리오로 여겨지는 것 같은 경향이 있는 것 같아요. 외국인 노동자를 한국에서 무슨 기준으로 뽑는지는 잘 모르겠지만, 제가 생각했을 때는 한국어학당은 대학도 아니고, 별로 카운트 안 될 것 같지는 않은데요. 그냥 외국인이 본국에서 실제 한국어 수준을 올리면서 자기 커리어를 좀 더 국제사회 규격에 맞게 맞추는 게 더 효과적인 전략일 것 같아요. 한국은 회계사, 변호사 같은것들, 일명 ‘사짜직업’ 좋아하거든요. 근데 그런 사짜직업이 한국에서 되는 난이도와 외국에서 되는 난이도가 다를 수 있으니까, 어느 정도 노력 대비 효율이 높은 직군에 대한 가능성은 항상 있는 셈이죠.

A: 어학당이 도움이 안 돼요? 저는 그거 다니면 취업할 때 가산점 같은 게 붙는 줄 알았는데. 그럼 미국에서 먼저 자격증 따고 한국어는 따로 하라는 거예요?

K: 전 그렇게 생각해요. 또 다른 중요 자본은 진짜 믿을 만하고 그럴듯한 예비 남편을 찾는 거죠. 1990년대생부터 2000년대까지, 한국에서는 남성비율이 정말 비정상적으로 높아요. 대략 남자 110명당 100명으로 알고 있는데, 당신이 그 시장에 진입한다면 대단한 상대적 우위를 단번에 얻는 셈이에요.

A: 잠깐, 남편이 자본이에요? 성비 얘기는 처음 듣긴 하는데... 표현이 좀. 어쨌든 저한테 이득이라는거죠?

K: 네. 꼭 결혼할 필요도 없어요. 냉정하게 말하면, 그냥 사귀다 헤어져도 괜찮죠. 한국에서는 보통 30대 초반이 결혼하는 남자의 적령기로 보는데, 20대 중반 남성이라면 당신에게 결혼에 대한 압박을 주지 않을 거예요. 당신은 경제적, 언어교육적 이점을 받고, 그쪽에서도 외국인과 사귀는 경험을 받는 호혜를 받으니, 당신을 애초부터 가치가 없는 글러먹은 인간으로 잠재적으로 평가할 인간은 적을 거예요. 최소한 연애 시장에서는.

A: 그렇게 계산해서 사람 만나는 건 좀 옳지 않다고 느껴져요. 뭐, 서로 손해 볼 거 없다는 얘기인 건 알겠는데.

K: 오, 연애든 결혼이든 자본으로 계산되는 게 한국 표준입니다. 한국을 좋아한다고 하시지 않으셨나요?

A: 한국이 좋다고 해서 한국에서 하는 걸 다 좋아해야 되는 건 아니잖아요.

K: 그럼 한국을 좋아하면서 싫어하시는 거네요? 아까는 한국이 훨씬 발전된 곳이라고 하셨던 것 같은데요?

A: 그거랑 이거는 다른 얘기죠.

K: 그럼 그 마음에 들지 않는 관행을 발견할 때마다 당신이 좋아하는 한국에서 점점 멀어질 텐데요? 어떡하죠? 전라도 ‘신안 섬노예사건’은? 충주 ‘정신봉 사건’은? 직장 내 갑질 문화는? 남녀 갈등문제는? 전부 부딪힐 때마다 ‘이건 마음에 안 들어도 한국은 내 마음에 들어’, 라고 스스로를 설득시키실 건가요?

A: ...그중에 두 개는 뭔지도 모르겠는데요. 네, 뭐, 그러다 보면 언젠가 내가 좋아한 게 진짜 한국이긴 했나 싶어지겠죠. 근데 그건 어디 살아도 똑같지 않아요?

K: 오. 그래요. 그건 그때 가서 생각할 일이죠. 근데 어쨌든 지금 당장은 연애시장에서 계산적으로 행동하는 한국식 사고방식에 동화되기 싫으시다는 거죠?

A: 네. 지금은요. 거기 다들 그렇게 한다고 저까지 그럴 이유는 없잖아요.

K: 그렇군요. 사실은 한국에서도 그렇지 않은 인간들이 많아요. 미국에 대한 선망을 갖고 있는 인간도 많을 거예요. 당신의 연애관에 복종하면서도, 당신에게 딱 맞는 조건을 제공하고, 외모도 그럴듯하고, 사회적 지위도 있고, 두뇌가 영민하며, 당신의 자율성을 해치지도 않고, 어떤 경우에도 당신을 지지할 한국인이 어딘가엔 있을 거라고 믿으세요. 세상에는 불가능은 없다고 누군가 말하지 않던가요?

A: 그런 사람이 어디 있어요. 그리고 저 한국인 찾으러 가는 거 아니에요. 만나보고 어떤 사람인지를 봐야죠.

K: 그러니까요. 어떤지를 봐야겠죠. 그래야 당신에게 제공할 것이 없으면서도 감히 한국식 사고방식을 강요하는지, 제공할 것이 있는지, 제공하니까 그 강요가 참을 만한지 판단하게 될 테니까요.

A: 아니요. 잘해준다고 선 넘는 게 괜찮아지진 않죠.

K: 오. 그 사고방식은 미국식 사고방식인가요? 당신의 사고방식인가요?

A: 둘 다 영향을 받았겠지만, 적어도 지금은 제 사고방식이라고 생각해요.

K: 그럼 미국식 사고방식에 대해서 선망할 인간들은 꽤 많을 텐데, 당신은 아직 그 인간들에게 인지조차 되지 않았으니, 당신의 사고방식을 일일이 알려주려면 꽤 귀찮은 일이 되겠는걸요? 그냥 미국식이라고 말해주는 게 낫지 않을까요? 어쨌든 미국인이기는 하잖아요?

A: 그러면 사람들이 저한테 미국에 대한 자기 환상을 갖다 붙일 텐데요. 그게 더 귀찮죠.

K: 오 그래요. 귀찮아지겠죠. 생각해보니 제 알 바는 아니네요. 그럼 잘 해보세요.

A: 네, 그래도 꽤 흥미로운 얘기였어요.

비교와 해석 전에, 광고를 보고 떠올랐던 나의 ‘생각의 원자’들을 복원하고 싶습니다. 이 ‘원자’들은 최대한 오염되지 않은 상태라는 점에서 나에게 꽤 가치 있습니다.

1. Ostrich

1. 많은 타조들 한 마리가, 왠지 모르게 고개를 들어 인간의 건물을 봄.

2. 찻잔, 음식들이 있는 인간의 식탁에 다가가 음식을 한 입 먹음.

3. VR기기를 의도치 않게 착용하게 됨.

4. 구름 속 세계를 VR기기가 보여준다.

5. 타조가 놀란다. 동공이 커진다.

6. 깃털이 부풀면서 날고 싶은 욕망이 생기고, 뛰어다닌다.

7. 다른 타조들이 놀라서 본다. 타조는 날려다가 땅에 쳐박힌다.

8. 낮에도 밤에도 연습한다.

9. VR을 벗은 상태에서 어느 날 햇빛이 비추는 배경에서, 나는 데 성공한다. 날고 난 뒤의 타조는 그림자로 보여진다.

10. 문구 - We make what can’t be made So you can do what can’t be done #DoWhatYouCan’t

2. Monotune

1. 피아노 건반이 확대된 앵글에서 피아노를 친다. 모노튠 상태. 월광 소나타를 침. 조금 앵글을 멀리에서 보이게 한다. 뒤통수, 팔, 그 손을 찍고 있는 카메라, 피아노 일부가 보인다.

2. 인간은 열심히, 진지하게 친다.

3. 앵글이 더 멀어지고 피아노 두 대가 보이게 한다.

4. 뒤돌아서 리얼 피아노를 친다.

5. 빌로우뷰로 인간의 얼굴 보여준다.

6. 음악은 처음부터 치는 걸 병렬로 보여주는 건 아니고 이어서 친다.

7. 또 뒤돌아서 븅신 피아노를 친다.

8. 셈여림, 리듬, 모든 걸 열심히 친다.

9. 뒤돌지 않고 바로 리얼 피아노를 치는 장면이 곧바로 오버랩된다.

10. 또 뒤돌지 않고 곧바로 오버랩된다.

11. 몇 번 반복. 문구가 뜨면서 마무리. be together, not the same.

해석과 비평

광고의 제목은 각각 오스트리치와 모노툰입니다. 오스트리치는 하나의 생명이며, 모노툰은 구성된 상태입니다. 타조는 하나의 생명으로서 보고, 놀라고, 욕망하며, 변화할 수 있습니다. 그러니까 타조는 광고 내부에서 상태를 갖고 변화하는 주체인 것입니다. 작품의 초점이 그 생명체의 ‘경험’에 맞춰져 있습니다.

그러나 피아노는 당연히 생각 같은 것은 할 수 없습니다. 피아노는 ‘조작되어지는 개체’입니다. 피아노는 목적을 위해 제작된 물체이고, 연주자의 입력에 따라 결과를 산출합니다. 다시 말해 피아노는 어떠한 ‘목적성’을 가지며, 그것에 반하는 행동을 하지 않는 것으로 ‘경험하는 개체’들에 의해 생각되어집니다. 광고의 제목은 하나의 인간에 의해 조작되는 것의 결과에 중점이 있다고 생각됩니다.

각각의 광고에서는 당연히 광고를 보는 주체들을 배제할 수 없는데, 첫 번째 광고에서는 ‘오스트리치’가 ‘VR기기를 구매하게 될 고객’으로 생각될 수 있습니다. 타조가 VR을 보고 이전에 생각하지 못했던 가능성을 보고 욕망하는 것처럼, 관객도 그를 욕망하게 되는 것이지요.

‘모노툰’은 그 자체가 광고를 보는 주체로 내가 확신할 수는 없습니다. 관객의 대리물일까요? 피아노일까요? 건반일까요? 광고 마지막에서의 문구를 고려하면 ‘모노툰’은 광고를 보는 주체의 합으로도 생각될 여지가 있습니다. ‘같이 있는 것’은 인간들이며, ‘같이 있는 것’은 각각의 건반들입니다. 그렇다면 인간들을 각각의 ‘건반들’로 생각할 수도 있겠지요.

건반은 스스로 어떤 음을 낼지 정하지 않지요. 누군가에 의해 눌러집니다. 따라서 “다양한 인간”을 나타낸다고 읽히는 각각의 건반은, 사실 영상의 존재론 안에서는 완전히 타율적인 객체입니다.

그런 관점에서 보면 두 번째 광고에서 인간은 ‘조작되어지는 것’이며 동시에 피아노를 치는, ‘조작하는 것’입니다. 인간의 역할이 여러 대상에 분산되어 있지요.

두 광고 모두 강한 대립항을 통해 세계를 압축합니다.

‘새로운 것을 경험하고 날게 되는 것, 혹은 그렇지 못하는 것.’

‘모노툰으로 투닝되어 있는 것, 똑바로 되어 있는 것’

둘 모두 한쪽에 명백하게 긍정적인 보상을 줍니다. 도전은 도전하지 않는 것보다 좋고, 차이는 동일성보다 좋습니다.

두 광고 모두 이분법을 갖지만 차이가 있습니다. 오스트리치에서는 A->B로 되어가는 과정을 보여주며 모노툰은 A와 B를 (하나의 시점에서) 이동하는 것을 보여주며 비교합니다.

오스트리치는 다른 타조들이 있습니다. 주인공 타조가 이상한 행동을 할 때 쳐다보고, 마지막에도 비행하는 타조를 봅니다. 말하자면 하나의 사회입니다. 자아의 변화가 타인의 시야 안에서 일어납니다.

그 그림자는 나는 일종의 지도의 영토의 차이라고 생각하고 싶어집니다. 행위가 다른 개체들에게 ‘요약되는 것’이지요. 이때 광고의 문구와 결합해서 생각하면, ‘We make what can’t be made’에서 can’t be made는 그림자이며 요약되는 것이며, ‘We make’는 그와 대비되는 실제 행위로 보여집니다.

모노툰에서는 인간이 딱 하나뿐입니다. 광고 문구는 be together, not the same. 재미있는 상상을 할 수 있습니다.

Together / not together로, same / not same으로 세상을 생각할 수 있다면, 논리적으로 가능한 경우는 네 가지입니다.

Together/same. 이것은 함께 있고 같습니다. 좋지 않습니다.

Together/not same. 함께 있고 다릅니다. 좋습니다.

Not together/same. 떨어져 있고 같습니다. 광고에서 존재하지 않는 상황입니다.

Not together/not same. 역시 마찬가지입니다.

광고는 표면적으로 same이나 different를 말하는 것 같지만 실제로는 투게더는 이미 전제되어 있는 것입니다. 왜 반드시 함께 있어야 하지? 다르기 때문에 서로 떨어져 있는 선택은 왜 고려하지 않지? 에 대한 대답은 생각하지 않아도 됩니다.

또 하나의 재미있는 상상을 해보겠습니다.

이를테면 이런 문장이 있다고 합시다.

“멍청한 사람은 시끄럽고, 똑똑한 사람은 조용하다. 그래서 세상은 멍청한 말로 시끄럽다.”

두 개의 이분법이 있습니다. 똑똑함과 멍청함, 조용함과 시끄러움입니다. 두 축을 교차시키면 ‘똑똑하면서 조용한 사람’, ‘똑똑하면서 시끄러운 사람’, ‘멍청하면서 조용한 사람’, ‘멍청하면서 시끄러운 사람’이라는 네 가지 경우를 생각할 수 있습니다. 그러나 저 문장은 그 가운데 ‘똑똑함+조용함’과 ‘멍청함+시끄러움’만을 서로 연결한 다음 세계를 설명합니다.

이렇게 말할 수도 있습니다.

“똑똑한 사람이라도 말을 하면 멍청해진다. 그래서 세상은 멍청한 말로 시끄럽다.”

여기서는 ‘똑똑함’과 ‘멍청함’이 더 이상 처음부터 정해져 있는 두 종류의 인간이 아닙니다. 어떤 인간이 말을 한다는 사건에 의해 한 상태에서 다른 상태로 움직일 가능성이 생깁니다.

Together / Not together, Same / Not same이라는 두 개의 축을 사용하면 네 종류의 세계를 만들 수 있습니다. 그러나 광고는 그 가운데 ‘Together+Same’과 ‘Together+Not the same’을 가져와 전자에는 부정적인 값을, 후자에는 긍정적인 값을 부여합니다. 두 개의 이분법을 사용하고 있으므로 언뜻 복잡한 모델처럼 보이지만, 두 변수가 서로를 어떻게 변화시키는지는 생각하지 않습니다.

피아노는 처음부터 모노툰이거나 정상적인 피아노입니다. 한쪽이 다른 쪽으로 되어가는 과정도 없고, ‘함께 있음’이 ‘같음’에 영향을 주지도 않으며, ‘다름’이 ‘함께 있음’을 변화시키지도 않습니다. 가능한 세계를 네 칸으로 나누어 놓은 뒤 그중 하나에 좋은 표시를 하고 하나에 나쁜 표시를 하는 것으로 끝납니다.

그런 의미에서 이 광고가 보여주는 복잡성은 변수의 개수에 비해 상당히 정적입니다. 칸은 여러 개지만, 칸 사이의 운동은 없습니다.

반대로 오스트리치의 표면적인 이분법은 오히려 훨씬 단순합니다. 날지 못하는 것과 나는 것. A와 B 두 개뿐입니다. 그러나 광고가 관심을 갖는 것은 두 칸 자체보다 그 사이입니다.

오스트리치는 적은 수의 범주를 가지고도 그 범주 사이의 변화를 보여주고, 모노툰은 더 많은 논리적 범주를 가지고도 그 범주들을 고정된 상태로 남겨둡니다.

…

ceteris paribus라는 말이 있습니다. 라틴어로 대략 ‘다른 조건들이 동일하다면’이라는 뜻입니다. 어떤 하나의 요인이 결과에 어떤 영향을 미치는지를 생각하기 위해, 다른 조건들은 같다고 가정하거나 가능한 한 통제해 놓는 방식입니다. 예를 들어 두 상황에서 거의 모든 조건을 동일하게 만들어놓고 단 하나의 조건만 바꾸었는데 결과가 달라졌다면, 그 차이를 만들어낸 원인으로 바뀐 조건을 지목할 수 있을 것입니다.

나는 이 광고 전반에 깔린 전제는 일종의 ‘근대적 합리성’의 한 이미지라고 느껴집니다. 과학적 모델입니다. 똑같은 곡을 아주 똑같이, 동일한 리듬과 셈여림으로 치는데 결과가 다른 것입니다. 그렇다면 하나의 원인이 될 만한 인자만 달랐을 때 그 인자가 바로 원인이라고 지목해버리는 것입니다. 그렇게 본다면 이것은 브랜드의 신념을 일종의 과학적 실험의 외형으로 제시하는 것입니다.

그러나 인간의 숙명이라고 할까요? 중립적인 생각으로 세상을 분석할 계산기를 어떻게 만들 수 있겠습니까. 모델이 발견할 수 있는 세계는 모델을 만든 사람이 미리 설정한 것에 구속됩니다. 많은 경우에, 인간은 자신이 생각하는 틀에 일단 올라탄 다음, 그 틀을 사용했을 때 흡족할 만한 결과들을 발견하고, 그 틀을 신봉하게 되는 ‘개악질 양성피드백 상태’에 빠져 버리고 마는 것입니다.

동일성이 모든 건반이 같은 음이라고 생각한다면, 당연히 다양성은 각 건반이 서로 다른 음을 내는 상태입니다. 모든 음이 C인 피아노가 월광 소나타를 제대로 연주하지 못한다는 것은 실험 설계에 이미 들어가 있습니다. 그것이 결과로 나왔다고 해도, 당연히, 전혀 신기하지는 않은 것입니다.

사람을 각각 미리 정해진 기능과 음정을 가진 건반에 비유하는 터무니없는 발상이 도대체가 인간과 맞지가 않습니다. 각 부품이 자신에게 할당된 차이를 정확하게 수행하는 것을 실험에서 멋있게 보여주어 봤자 그것이 ‘아름다운 인간의 자율성의 하모니’와는 아무런 상관이 없는 이야기가 되어버리는 것입니다.

반대로 오스트리치는 ‘통제되지 않은 세계’로 보입니다. 왜 하필 그 타조가 선택되었을까요? 왜 그 순간 인간의 건물을 보았을까요? 왜 식탁으로 갔을까요? 왜 먹다가 VR이 머리에 씌워졌을까요?

전부 인간이 알 수 없는 것들, 다시 말해 우연입니다. 이야기의 출발점에는 설명되지 않는 contingency, 우연성이 있습니다. 일종의 ‘낭만’이지요. 행위자가 아직 개념화하지 못한 것이 세계에 존재한다는 것. 우연히 찾아온 욕망에 충실하는 것. 내가 몰랐던 구름에, 행위에, 가능성에 매혹되는 것.

공기역학을 계산하지 않아도 좋습니다. 그저 나에게 일어난 현상을 보고 그것에 압도되는 것입니다. 한 존재가 사건을 겪으며 이전에는 아니었던 무엇인가가 되어버리는 세계입니다. 다르게 말하면 상태와 변화의 차이가 아닐까 합니다.

…

하지만 ‘열려 있음,우연성,자율성’ 등을 미학적으로 더 높은 가치라고 이미 전제한 뒤, 그 기준에 잘 맞는 오스트리치를 승자로 만드는 것은 별로 공정하지 못하다는 생각이 드는군요.

반동적이며 유치하고 엉성하며 미국적이고 프로파간다적이고 시대역행적인 광고가 있다고 해도 그것이 나쁜 광고라고 자동으로 결론이 도출될 수는 없습니다. 그 광고를 만든 인간이, ‘건반은 안드로이드의 OS의 통합을 의미하며, 인간과는 아무 관계가 없는데, 니가 나서서 인간이라고 해석하고 싶은 것 아닌가?’라고 말할 수도 있는 것 아니겠습니까?

그리고 사실 따지고 보면 광고는 물건을 팔아 이윤을 창출하기 위한 목적을 갖고 있는 것이 아닙니까?

어떤 관점에서는 오스트리치는 ‘조작된 우연’을 제시함으로써 그것이 ‘우연’이라고 속일 수 있다는 점에서 악질적일 것이라는 생각도 드네요. 노골적이고, 강압적이며 불쾌할 수는 있어도 오히려 ‘세련되지 않은 촌스러운 선전’이 오히려 정직할 수도 있지 않을까요?

I. Original Text

Dedicated to Anna Grigoryevna Dostoevskaya

Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.

(John 12:24)

From the Author

In beginning the account of the life of my hero, Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov, I feel some perplexity. For although I call Alexei Fyodorovich my hero, I know very well that he is by no means a great man. Thus I foresee that questions like the following are unavoidable:

“What is so remarkable about your Alexei Fyodorovich that you chose him as your hero? What has he accomplished? To whom is he known, and for what? Why should I, the reader, spend my time studying the facts of his life?”

The last question is the most fatal, because I can only answer it with:

“Perhaps you will see for yourself if you read the novel.”

But what if they read the novel and do not see it—if they do not agree that my Alexei Fyodorovich is remarkable? I say this because I regretfully foresee that this will be so. To me he is remarkable, but I very much doubt whether I can prove it to the reader. The fact is that he is perhaps a man of action, but of an indefinite, unsettled sort. Though it would be strange to demand clarity from people in a time such as ours.

One thing seems fairly clear: he is a strange man, even an eccentric. But strangeness and eccentricity tend to be a hindrance rather than a claim to attention, especially in a time when everyone is striving to unify the particulars and to find some common meaning in the general confusion. In most cases the eccentric is a particular and isolated thing. Is that not so?

Now if you do not agree with this last assertion and answer “not so,” or “not always,” then I might take some courage regarding the significance of my hero Alexei Fyodorovich. For an eccentric is not “always” a particular and isolated thing. On the contrary, it sometimes happens that it is precisely he who carries within himself the heart of the whole, while the rest of the people of his age have, for some passing reason, been torn away from it for a time.

I could, in fact, have dispensed with these uninteresting and vague explanations and simply begun without any preface—if it pleases you, you may read it that way. But the trouble is that while there is one biography, there are two novels. The main novel is the second, which treats my hero’s activity in our own time, at the present moment. The first novel took place thirteen years ago and is scarcely a novel at all—merely a single moment of my hero’s early youth. Yet I cannot leave out this first novel, because much of the second would become incomprehensible without it.

This complicates my original difficulty further. If I, the biographer, think that even a single novel might be excessive for so modest and indefinite a hero, then how am I to justify presenting two, and how am I to explain such presumption on my part?

Lost in trying to resolve these questions, I resolve to pass over them without any resolution at all. Of course, the perceptive reader has already guessed from the outset where I am going, and has been irritated at me for wasting empty words and precious time. To that I will answer precisely: I spent empty words and precious time, first out of courtesy, and second out of cunning—I wanted to give some warning in advance.

In fact, I am glad that my novel has divided itself into two stories while preserving “the essential unity of the whole.” Having read the first story, the reader can decide for himself whether it is worth reading the second.

Of course, no one is bound by anything; one may read two pages of the first story and shut the book for good. But there are also delicate readers who will want to read to the end in order to reach a fair judgment—all Russian critics, for instance. With such people I feel more at ease. For however careful and conscientious they may be, I have given them the most legitimate excuse to abandon the story at its first episode.

Well, that is the whole preface. I fully agree that it is superfluous, but since it is written, let it stand.

Now to the matter itself.

II. Commentary

“Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”

On a surface reading, this is about sacrifice. That which must die in order to sprout.

Consider the following situation.

Suppose there is something unclean—say, “the act of daring, vulgarly and basely, to command another human being to submit to a value-judgment.”

And suppose there is a self that believes it alone stands outside this uncleanness. That self discovers the unclean act and points to it as unclean.

The interesting thing is that the not-unclean self, merely by pointing to the unclean thing as unclean, is thereby implicated in the very structure it was criticizing. It cannot, therefore, remain an outsider wholly unrelated to the structure it criticizes.

For the not-unclean self this would be an extremely painful thing—another word for it is “death.”

To avoid this “death,” the not-unclean self may point to the unclean thing while pretending it is doing no such thing. To protect its image of its own innocence, it may disguise a command as something other than a command.

But the innocence obtained this way is not honest innocence; a self-suspicion remains that it is a cowardly innocence, preserved by concealing one’s own involvement. One avoids “death” and takes on instead the filth of “cowardice.”

That too is painful, all the same.

Yet just as a single grain of wheat brings forth much fruit by dying, if that not-unclean self sprouts by becoming unclean, then the death may not be in vain.

The death of the grain is meaningful not because death itself is noble, but because it bears fruit. So too an author’s self-damage, or a base representation, may suffice in itself if it produces a new recognition in the reader.

Not sacrifice, not self-harm, not excretion, but “occurrence.”

(This will be taken up again later, in the death of Zosima within the work itself.)

Even if we posit a self of great insight, and even if that self has recognized something as “unclean,” the moment it points this out, that self too enters the structure of judging others, defining them, and influencing their conduct.

So this “insightful self,” assuming it instinctively does not want its own death, and further assuming it to be a self distinct from other things, will find it very difficult to devise a way of speaking about the “unclean” while remaining undamaged.

But if that self is in fact not a self distinct from other things—if there is such a thing as a “universal,” if the boundary of the self is itself faint—then descending may in fact be no change at all.

“Abiding alone as a single grain” is maintaining one’s ideal self as distinct from other things, even if that distinction is not real, while dying to bring forth much fruit is another ideal, a “universal,” and it is also, in a different way, “not-unclean.”

If we now restate “the unclean thing,” we would have to put it this way:

The unclean—or believed-to-be-unclean—thing, or the sum of a spectrum of being that is not distinguished from other things and shares a self with them.

So “death” is this:

The death of the self-image that one alone is exceptionally innocent.

Or:

The death of the illusion that one can judge the world from outside the world.

“Descent” must also be redefined.

It is not the insightful self coming down into a baser world. That self was within the world from the start, and only imagined itself to be outside. From that standpoint, it becomes a kind of acknowledgment of the truth.

And in that case, what dies is not the self but the boundary of the self.

Let us take “the death of the illusion that one can judge the world from outside the world” as the work’s central idea and apply it to the preface.

One of the selves, Dostoevsky, asks:

Why should the reader spend his time on Alyosha?

For the “ideal self” to state that Alyosha is worth looking at does not fit the central idea. If the author sets himself up as an absolute judge standing outside the world and the work, and presents his own judgment of Alyosha’s value as a final verdict the reader must follow, that conflicts with the work’s central idea.

“I stand outside the world and the work, and I know Alyosha’s value objectively. Therefore the reader must accept my verdict.”

It is this kind of transcendent, innocent position that conflicts with the central idea.

By contrast, the following is permissible:

“I think Alyosha is remarkable. But I do not know whether I can prove it to you. I also acknowledge the possibility that you will read and not agree.”

The narrator does not preserve himself as an exceptional judge. He too comes down to the position of one who is judged. The author, too, is absorbed into the world as one self among others.

“Sometimes it is the eccentric who carries within himself the heart of the whole, and it is rather the rest of the people of his age who have been torn away from that heart.”

This is at once the content of that central idea itself, and, since it does not contradict Dostoevsky’s claim that Alyosha is “worth looking at,” the self called Dostoevsky at least defers passing the verdict that Alyosha is worthless merely on the grounds that he is not ordinary and stands apart from the many.

Very interestingly, owing to the historical fact of Dostoevsky’s death and the work’s incompleteness, that “second novel” does not exist in this world.

As a result, the “deferral of the final verdict” contained in the preface was realized to an extreme even outside the work.

Whether this was an intended form or a formal effect produced by the work’s posthumous fate cannot be known.

But, as was said earlier:

“If it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”

One night, a report came in that someone had broken into an unmanned warehouse. The investigator knows the following facts.

(1) If someone broke into the warehouse, they must have entered through either the front door or a rear window.
(2) If they entered through the front door, CCTV footage would have been recorded and the alarm would have sounded.
(3) If they entered through the rear window, the glass-break sensor and the motion sensor would have been triggered.
(4) If the motion sensor was triggered, the alarm would have sounded.
(5) If the glass-break sensor was triggered, CCTV footage would automatically have been recorded.

Therefore, no one broke into the warehouse.

① CCTV footage from the warehouse was recorded.
② The motion sensor was triggered.
③ The glass-break sensor was triggered.
④ No one entered through the rear window.
⑤ The warehouse alarm did not sound.

When you first read the problem, the front door, the window, the CCTV system, the alarm, the glass-break sensor, and the motion sensor all appear at once. If you try to retain every sentence exactly as it is written, the problem quickly becomes complicated.

In a case like this, it is more efficient to keep only the key terms than to memorize each sentence in full.

Turn Long Sentences into Short Structures

Let us use the arrow → to mean, “If the event on the left occurs, the event on the right occurs.”

The symbol ∨ means “or,” while the dot · means “and.”

The five sentences can then be shortened as follows:

Break-in → Front door ∨ Window
Front door → CCTV · Alarm
Window → Glass-break sensor · Motion sensor
Motion sensor → Alarm
Glass-break sensor → CCTV

According to the first premise, if someone broke into the warehouse, there are two possible routes:

They entered through either the front door or the rear window.

Let us first consider the case in which the intruder entered through the front door.

According to Premise 2, if someone entered through the front door, CCTV footage was recorded and the alarm sounded.

Front door → CCTV · Alarm

The route taken by an intruder who used the front door can therefore be represented as follows:

Break-in → Front door → CCTV · Alarm

Now consider the case in which the intruder entered through the rear window.

According to Premise 3, if someone entered through the window, the glass-break sensor and the motion sensor were triggered.

Window → Glass-break sensor · Motion sensor

By connecting Premises 1, 2, and 3, we can therefore represent the situation as follows:

Break-in → (CCTV · Alarm) ∨ (Glass-break sensor · Motion sensor)

In ordinary language, this means:

If someone broke into the warehouse, they either entered through the front door, causing CCTV footage to be recorded and the alarm to sound, or they entered through the window, triggering the glass-break sensor and the motion sensor.

The outcomes of the two routes still appear different.

The front-door route ends with CCTV footage and the alarm, while the window route ends with the glass-break sensor and the motion sensor.

But the window route has not yet reached its final outcome.

Turn Intermediate Results into Final Results

Premises 4 and 5 tell us what happens after the sensors are triggered.

Motion sensor → Alarm
Glass-break sensor → CCTV

If the motion sensor is triggered, the alarm sounds. If the glass-break sensor is triggered, CCTV footage is recorded.

Therefore, the result of entering through the window—

Glass-break sensor · Motion sensor

—ultimately leads to:

CCTV · Alarm

We can now replace the result of the window route in the earlier expression:

Break-in → (CCTV · Alarm) ∨ (Alarm · CCTV)

If someone enters through the front door, CCTV footage is recorded and the alarm sounds.

If someone enters through the window, the alarm also sounds and CCTV footage is recorded.

The order is different, but the two outcomes are exactly the same:

CCTV footage is recorded and the alarm sounds.
The alarm sounds and CCTV footage is recorded.

This is no different from saying, “It is raining and the wind is blowing,” and, “The wind is blowing and it is raining.” In logic, this is called the commutative law.

We can therefore rewrite the statement as follows:

Break-in → (CCTV · Alarm) ∨ (CCTV · Alarm)

The same statement now appears twice on the right-hand side.

“A or A” ultimately means nothing more than “A.” Someone who says they will eat either pizza or pizza has already decided what to order. In logic, this is called the idempotent law.

We can therefore remove the repetition and leave only one instance:

Break-in → CCTV · Alarm

What originally appeared as five long sentences has now been compressed into a single short statement:

If someone broke into the warehouse, CCTV footage must have been recorded and the alarm must have sounded.

This is the entire logical structure of the problem.

Read the Statement in the Opposite Direction of the Desired Conclusion

However, the conclusion we are trying to establish is not:

Someone broke into the warehouse.

It is:

No one broke into the warehouse.

So far, we have established the following:

If someone broke in, CCTV footage was recorded and the alarm sounded.

To derive the conclusion that no one broke in, we must consider what follows if the result did not occur.

Let us consider a simple example:

If something is a cat, then it is an animal.

If this statement is true, the following statement must also be true:

If something is not an animal, then it is not a cat.

This is because something cannot be a cat without being an animal.

However, we cannot say:

If something is an animal, then it is a cat.

Dogs are animals, and humans are animals as well. Simply reversing the original statement produces a false conclusion.

The correct method is to reverse the two parts while negating both of them:

If A, then B.
If not B, then not A.

This is called contraposition.

Therefore, the contrapositive of

Break-in → CCTV · Alarm

is:

If it is not the case that CCTV footage was recorded and the alarm sounded, then no one broke in.

In symbolic form:

~(CCTV · Alarm) → ~Break-in

The symbol ~ means “not.”

What Does It Mean to Say That “Both Did Not Occur”?

We must now unpack the following expression:

It is not the case that CCTV footage was recorded and the alarm sounded.

Under what circumstances would this statement be true?

The CCTV footage may not have been recorded. Alternatively, the alarm may not have sounded. It is also possible that neither occurred.

Therefore, the statement

It is not the case that both CCTV recording and the alarm occurred

means:

The CCTV footage was not recorded, or the alarm did not sound.

In symbolic form:

~CCTV ∨ ~Alarm

When an entire statement joined by “and” is negated, each part is negated and the connective changes to “or.” This is called De Morgan’s law.

We can therefore derive the following final statement:

If the CCTV footage was not recorded or the alarm did not sound, then no one broke into the warehouse.

Find the Required Premise among the Options

Let us now examine the answer choices again.

① The fact that CCTV footage was recorded is compatible with the possibility that someone broke in. It does not guarantee the conclusion that no one broke in.

② If the motion sensor was triggered, the alarm would likely have sounded. This also provides no basis for concluding that no one broke in.

③ The fact that the glass-break sensor was triggered is consistent with the route involving entry through the window.

④ The fact that no one entered through the rear window is insufficient. Even if no one used the window, someone could still have entered through the front door.

⑤ states that the alarm did not sound.

We established earlier that if someone broke into the warehouse, the alarm must have sounded regardless of whether they entered through the front door or the window.

But if the alarm did not in fact sound, the assumption that someone broke into the warehouse cannot be true.

Therefore, the correct answer is:

⑤ The warehouse alarm did not sound.

She finds a Discord trading server for W and posts a sales listing. Before long, she receives a DM from Fred—F for short—who says he wants to trade. Sally has heard somewhere that when selling in-game currency for real money, the seller should receive the money first and hand over the in-game currency only afterward.

Sally meets Fred’s character in the game and opens a trade window. She sends him her bank account details through Discord, confirms that the $100 has arrived, and then hands over the 10,000 gold.

Some time later, however, Sally receives a call from the police informing her that she has become involved in a low-value middleman scam.

What happened?

For the purposes of this article, a middleman scam refers to a scheme in which the scammer poses as a buyer to the genuine seller and as a seller to the genuine buyer, causing the buyer’s money and the seller’s in-game currency to be delivered to different people.

To make the structure easier to understand, let us now reconstruct the incident step by step from the scammer’s point of view.

1. Scammer F finds a seller, S, in the Discord server’s “Selling” section and sends S a DM saying that he wants to buy gold.

2. S believes that F is a genuine buyer.

3. At the same time, F finds a buyer, B, in the “Buying” section and sends B a DM saying that he wants to sell gold.

4. B believes that F is a genuine seller.

5. F asks seller S for the bank account into which the payment should be made. S gives F her account details.

6. F passes S’s account details to buyer B as though the account belonged to F and asks B to send the payment there.

7. Because B believes that F is the seller, B transfers the money into the account of S, a person with whom B has no actual relationship.

8. Seller S sees that the money has arrived and transfers the gold to F’s character, believing that F is the buyer who sent the payment.

9. As a result, scammer F obtains the in-game currency without paying anything. Seller S receives the correct amount of money for the gold but gives the gold to F, a third party, rather than to B, the person who actually sent the payment. Buyer B pays the money but receives none of the in-game currency.

That is how Sally became involved in a fraud case while believing that she had completed a perfectly legitimate transaction.

Now let us consider the matter from the game company’s point of view.

The company operating W—let us call it Company G—learns through a police investigation or user reports that a middleman scam has taken place among F, S, and B.

The company’s records may show that F’s character F1 met S’s character S1, that another character belonging to F, F2, may have met B’s character B1, and that S1 transferred 10,000 gold to F1.

Naturally, Company G does not know what was said in the Discord DMs, which person behind a Discord account was controlling which game character, or who transferred money to whom through a banking application.

The administrators of the Discord server may be able to see information such as the sales and purchase listings posted in the server, the Discord accounts that posted them, and the times at which those posts were made. They cannot, however, directly inspect the full contents of private DMs exchanged between users or determine the real-world identity behind each account.

The bank knows which accounts sent and received money, how much was transferred, and when the transfer took place. It does not know whether the payment was intended to purchase in-game currency, or whether the recipient was the actual scammer or merely an innocent seller being used by the scammer.

The movement of in-game currency, the conversations on Discord, and the movement of money through the banking system are therefore recorded by entirely separate companies and systems. No single institution possesses enough information to reconstruct the whole incident on its own.

The police would have to obtain the sales and purchase listings, Discord conversations, game login and transaction logs, and bank-transfer records, and then compare the times, accounts, characters, and financial relationships in order to identify the actual scammer.

Collecting and connecting all of that information across multiple companies and institutions naturally requires considerable time and labor. What makes the method particularly vicious is that both the seller and the buyer believe that they are participating in ordinary transactions, while the scammer exploits the informational gaps between separate platforms.

In a private transaction conducted solely through Discord DMs, an in-game trade, and an ordinary bank transfer, there is effectively no completely foolproof defense that an individual can carry out alone. From the information visible to the seller, it is extremely difficult to distinguish a genuine buyer from a scammer using a third party’s money. Any copyable authentication information—numbers, phrases, or sender-name fields—can also be relayed by the scammer between the two sides.

It may nevertheless be possible to design procedures that cause relatively little inconvenience to legitimate users while substantially increasing the cost and risk of detection for conventional middleman scams.

Countermeasure 1: From the Seller’s Perspective

1. Seller S posts a listing in the “Selling” section.

2. Scammer F messages S on Discord.

3. S asks F to come to a particular location inside the game.

4. S opens a trade window with F’s in-game character.

5. S gives F a number in the in-game trade window and instructs F to type the same number into the Discord chat immediately.

6. S asks F for the bank account from which the payment will supposedly be made.

7. S sends one cent to that account, using the sender-name or payment-reference field to send a message such as:

Seller:S1 / Receiver:F1 / Stop if this is not you

1. If necessary, S sends the message across several one-cent transfers.

2. S then tells the person on Discord:

“Check the payment reference and type the exact message into this chat.”

The fundamental problem in a middleman scam is that it is extremely difficult to verify whether the person speaking on Discord—D—the person controlling the in-game character—I—and the owner of the bank account—A—are all the same human being.

Step 5 at least allows S to rule out the possibility that I is merely an unrelated player standing somewhere in town whom the scammer has falsely identified as the trading partner.

The more serious problem is the case in which D and I are the same person, but A is someone else.

Suppose that you are scammer F and encounter seller S. The transaction would proceed as follows.

1. You see S’s listing in the “Selling” section and approach S while posing as a buyer.

2. You see B’s listing in the “Buying” section and approach B while posing as a seller.

3. In the game, you meet S’s character using F1, and meet B’s character using F2.

4. While trading with F1, S gives you a number and tells you to type the same number into the Discord chat.

5. You type the number into the Discord chat.

6. S asks you for the account from which the payment will be made.

7. You ask B for B’s account details, obtain them, and pass them to S.

8. S sends one cent to B’s account, using the payment reference:

Seller:S1 / Receiver:F1 / Stop if this is not you

1. If necessary, S sends the message across several transfers.

2. Because F does not own the account, F cannot see the payment reference directly.

3. In the transaction as B understands it, the seller’s character is F2 and the character receiving the gold is B1. The bank record, however, says that the actual seller is S1 and the actual recipient of the gold is F1. B therefore discovers that the transaction B believed was taking place is different from the transaction actually taking place.

4. The moment F relays S’s instruction and asks B to “type the one-cent payment reference exactly as it appears,” B can infer—because the character names belonging to F and S do not match—that B is being used as an intermediary in a middleman scam.

In this way, the buyer can be made aware—albeit indirectly—that:

D = I ≠ A

The method exploits the fact that scammer F cannot control the message displayed inside the actual account owner’s banking application.

This assumes, however, that scammer F behaves rationally. F may realize that the request for an account number is part of a verification procedure and provide F’s own bank account rather than obtaining B’s account details.

F may also use a third-party account under F’s control. The transfer, lending, or theft of such an account raises separate legal issues, but those issues will not be discussed in detail here because the present purpose is to explain the basic structure of the middleman scam.

If F provides F’s own account, the process would be as follows.

1. F sees S’s listing in the “Selling” section and approaches S while posing as a buyer.

2. F sees B’s listing in the “Buying” section and approaches B while posing as a seller.

3. F meets S’s character using F1 and meets B’s character using F2.

4. S gives F1 a number in the trade window and tells F to type the same number into the Discord chat.

5. F types the number into the chat.

6. S asks F for the account from which the payment will be made.

7. F gives S F’s own bank account.

8. S sends one cent to that account with the reference:

Seller:S1 / Receiver:F1 / Stop if this is not you

1. If necessary, S sends the message through several transfers.

2. Because F owns the account, F can read the message, and S is led to believe that F is the genuine buyer.

In this version of the scam, however, F must place F’s own bank account directly within the scope of a future investigation. This is considerably riskier than a conventional middleman scam. F’s Discord identity, in-game information, bank account, and chat history all become linked in one place.

If S can later determine that the account to which S sent the one-cent verification payment is different from the account from which the final payment arrived, S should stop the transaction and withhold the gold. S should then contact the bank and ask about the proper procedure for returning the suspicious transfer.

If the financial system in the relevant country does not display the sender’s originating account number to the recipient, even that comparison may be impossible. At the very least, however, the procedure still raises the cost and risk of committing the scam.

Countermeasure 2: From the Platform’s Perspective—Escrow

Just as one might deprive aerobic bacteria of oxygen, a trading platform could attempt to remove the conditions in which the scammer can operate.

To carry out a middleman scam, the scammer must attract both a buyer and a seller. If the platform removes the “Buying” section and keeps only the “Selling” section, the scammer’s job becomes considerably less convenient.

That does not, however, make the scam impossible.

The structure could still look like this:

1. Genuine seller S posts, “Selling gold.”

2. Scammer F posts a fake listing offering gold at a lower price.

3. Victim buyer B contacts F.

4. F contacts S while posing as a buyer.

5. S gives F S’s bank account details.

6. F gives those details to B, claiming that the account belongs to F.

7. B transfers money into S’s account.

8. S confirms the payment and transfers the gold to F’s character.

9. F disappears, and B receives no gold.

Thus, even without a purchase board, a selling board by itself can still sustain the entire ecology of a middleman scam. Removing the purchase board may make the scammer’s work less convenient and increase the chance of suspicion, but it does not eliminate the possibility entirely.

A stronger approach would be to allow a sales listing to be posted only after the seller has deposited the actual gold with the platform.

1. The seller deposits the gold into an account operated by the platform.

2. The platform permits the seller to list only the amount of gold that has actually been deposited.

3. The buyer pays through the platform’s payment system.

4. The platform transfers the gold to the character registered by the buyer.

5. Once the transaction is complete, the platform pays the seller.

A scammer trying to post a fake sales listing would then be unable to do so without first depositing the gold that the scammer supposedly intends to sell.

This structure, however, substantially undermines the low cost and immediacy of person-to-person transactions. The platform operator would have to store and transfer users’ gold while assuming the risks of account sanctions, disputes, incorrect deliveries, and even embezzlement by the operator itself.

The platform would cease to be a simple message board and become a custodian of in-game assets.

Fraud would become more difficult, but operating costs and the risks created by centralized trust would increase accordingly.

This piece consists of two parts: an original section that translates and slightly adapts The Tale of Heungbu, a Korean classical pansori-based novel, so that English-speaking readers can understand it more easily, and my commentary on the work.

Brotherhood is one of the great bonds of human life. Brothers are, in a sense, one body divided into two. They are meant to share fortune and misfortune, wealth and hardship.
But of course, not all brothers are the same.
Long ago, near the place where the three provinces of Chungcheong, Jeolla, and Gyeongsang met, there lived a nobleman named Master Yeon. He had two sons. The elder was named Nolbu, and the younger was named Heungbu.
Though they were born of the same mother, the two brothers could not have been more different.
Heungbu was kindhearted, deeply filial, and devoted to brotherly affection. Nolbu, on the other hand, was unfilial to his parents and had not the slightest love for his own brother. His heart was strangely twisted.
Most people are said to have five organs and six bowels. Nolbu, however, had five organs and seven bowels. In other words, he had one extra pouch inside him: a pouch of malice. And whenever that pouch turned over, wickedness poured out of him in every possible form.
He loved drinking, swearing, showing off, fighting, dancing at funerals, fanning fires, bargaining dishonestly in markets, slapping innocent men, tormenting the weak, ruining other people’s meals, damaging fields, frightening widows, disrupting marriages, sinking boats, throwing dirt at people bathing, striking sick men, bullying children, spoiling good deals, making trouble at ancestral rites, digging traps in public roads, and opening people’s jars on rainy days.
His heart was as crooked as a quince tree, as twisted as sorghum leaves in an east-wind fog. There was no measuring his cruelty.
Heungbu, however, remained gentle and patient. He saw what his elder brother did and often wanted to advise him against it, but he knew words would be useless. So he endured quietly, ate when he was given food, and obeyed whatever he was told to do.
After their parents died, Nolbu took all the family property for himself and began to mistreat Heungbu. Heungbu’s good nature did not change, but Nolbu’s cruelty only grew worse.
At last, Nolbu decided to drive his younger brother out.
“Brothers may live together when they are young,” he said, “but once they have wives and children, it is proper for each to live separately. Take your wife and children and leave.”
At first, Heungbu pleaded with him. But Nolbu would not listen.
So Heungbu had no choice. He took his wife and his many little children and left the family home.
They went to the foot of a hill across the mountain, dug a pit in the ground, and spent the night there together. The next day, Heungbu gathered sorghum stalks and built a rough hut by noon.
But the house was so small and poor that when he lay down and stretched his legs, his ankles stuck out through the wall. When he stretched his arms, his wrists did the same.
It was a miserable sight.
Worse still, they had not taken a single grain of rice with them. They could not even eat one proper meal in three days. And in that desperate state, their little children—lined up one after another like strings of dried fish—cried for rice, cried for milk, cried for anything to eat.
At last, Heungbu went to visit Nolbu.
“Elder brother,” he said, bowing low, “my children have gone hungry for three meals. I have no way to keep them alive. I know I have no shame in coming here, but please remember that we are brothers. Give me anything at all. I will repay you with labor. I will work for it. Please save these dying lives.”
But Nolbu was colder than ice.
He flew into a rage like a tiger, opened his fierce eyes wide, and shouted:
“You shameless fool. Listen to me. A man whom Heaven has not raised cannot hold office. A man whom Earth has not raised is a nameless creature. Why were you born with no fortune, and why do you come bothering me? I will hear no more.”
Heungbu wept and begged again.
“If you cannot spare grain, then give me just three coins. With that, we can live another day.”
Nolbu sneered.
“You fool. Even if I have rice, should I open my storehouse for you? Even if I have grain, should I break into my stacks for you? Even if I have money, should I open my chest for you? Should I take food from my servants, starve my dogs, starve my pigs, or deprive my cattle just to feed you? Truly, you are shameless.”
“Even so,” said Heungbu, “please save your dying brother.”
At this, Nolbu’s anger exploded. He called for his servant and ordered him to bring an axe handle. Then he grabbed Heungbu by the back of the neck and beat him mercilessly.
“Never show your face before me again!”
Heungbu was beaten so badly that his whole body went limp. Still, before leaving, he crawled toward the kitchen, hoping to see his sister-in-law.
Nolbu’s wife was scooping rice.
The moment Heungbu smelled the rice, his starving stomach twisted inside him.
“Sister-in-law,” he begged, “please give me just one spoonful of rice. Save this poor younger brother.”
But she was no better than Nolbu.
“How dare you come into the kitchen?” she snapped.
Then she struck his thin cheek with the rice paddle in her hand. Heungbu saw sparks before his eyes. Dazed, he touched his cheek—and found grains of rice stuck to it.
He quickly licked them into his mouth.
Then he said, “Sister-in-law, even when you strike me, you feed me. How can I thank you enough? Please trouble yourself to strike the other cheek as well—but this time, use the side of the paddle with more rice on it. I could take some home and at least show it to my children.”
At that, she put down the rice paddle and beat him with a fire poker instead.
Unable even to cry out in pain, Heungbu finally staggered home, weeping.
At home, his wife was nursing one child and comforting another. She was waiting for him as people wait for rain after seven years of drought, as flood victims wait for sunlight after nine years of rain, as a child waits for its mother to return from a ritual. She and the hungry children had only one hope: Heungbu’s return.
When she saw him staggering, she came out happily to greet him.
“You went to your elder brother’s house and came back drunk, did you? Come in quickly. If he gave us rice, I’ll cook it. If he gave us money, I’ll go buy something from Neighbor Kim so we can eat.”
But Heungbu could not bring himself to tell her the truth.
So he lied.
“When I went to my brother’s house, they served me wine and a warm lunch. Afterward, my brother and sister-in-law gave me rice and money. But as I crossed the big hill, robbers attacked me and took it all. I came back empty-handed.”
But his wife looked closely and saw blood everywhere. His face was swollen. When she touched his body, there was not one place uninjured.
She collapsed to the ground in grief.
“My dear wife,” said Heungbu, “do not be sad. They say even the government cannot rescue every poor man. How could my brother do it alone? Let us earn our living by selling our labor.”
So Heungbu and his wife went out and did every kind of work.
His wife pounded grain, filtered liquor at taverns, cleaned filthy drains, gathered herbs in spring, and worked in barley fields. Heungbu dug fields in the spring wind, tilled wet paddies, repaired roofs, wove straw mats on rainy days, and did whatever labor he could find.
But no matter how hard they worked, life remained hopeless.
One day, unable to think of any other way, Heungbu decided to ask for government grain. He walked into town and went to the local office.
“I would like to receive some government grain,” he said. “What can be done?”
The clerk looked at him.
“How can a poor man ask for precious government grain? But tell me—have you ever been beaten with a paddle?”
“Why do you ask about beatings? If you can get me grain, my starving children may live.”
The clerk lowered his voice.
“Forget the grain. Take a beating instead. Someone falsely accused a rich man named Kim, and an order has come to send him to the provincial office. But Kim is ill, and his relatives are ill too. They are looking for someone to go in his place. If you take the beating for him, they will pay you thirty nyang. I can give you the written guarantee here.”
The clerk gave Heungbu five nyang in advance and handed him the document.
“Go quickly. Take this letter to the officers at the provincial office. They may beat you lightly. And since Rich Man Kim will send a hundred nyang behind the scenes, you have nothing to worry about.”
Heungbu was overjoyed. He had spoken informally to the clerk before, but now he suddenly became polite.
“Sir, I shall go and return.”
When Heungbu went home and told his wife, she was horrified.
“What kind of work is selling your body for a beating? How can you take another man’s punishment when you do not even know his crime? What if it is murder? What if it is robbery? What if it is fraud? You have been starving for days. If you go there and receive the government paddle, you may die after only a few strokes. Go back and refuse! Do not go. Please do not go. If you insist on going, kill me and bury me first.”
She beat the heated floor with both hands and wept. But Heungbu tried to soothe her.
“My dear wife, these useless buttocks of mine have never sat in a high place anyway. If I go to the provincial office and take thirty strokes, we will receive thirty nyang. With ten, we will buy meat and heal the wounds. With ten, we will buy rice and feed the family. With the last ten, we will buy a cow, raise it for two years, sell it, marry off our eldest son, and when he has a son, we will have a grandson. Would that not be a happy thing?”
His wife thought there was some logic in his words, but still, this was no path for a human being. She refused again and again.
So Heungbu pretended to give up.
“Very well. I will not go. I will just visit Neighbor Kim and borrow some straw to make shoes.”
But once outside, he went straight to the provincial office.
He did not even hire a horse. He wanted to save the entire thirty nyang, so he walked a hundred and seventy li a day. After several days, he arrived.
The chief officer saw him and said to the others:
“This man has come in place of Rich Man Kim. Put him in the lower room. If there is questioning and he must be beaten, remember to strike lightly. A letter and a hundred nyang have already arrived at our office.”
The officers comforted Heungbu. But just then, the order bell rang, and a command came down:
“Release all prisoners except those guilty of murder.”
Heungbu was devastated.
“Sir,” he said, “I must be beaten. If I go home without being beaten, I am ruined.”
The officer replied, “Do not worry. If Rich Man Kim refuses to pay because you were not beaten, come straight back here. We will make sure you receive the money.”
With no other choice, Heungbu bought rice cakes with the one nyang left from his travel money and returned home.
Meanwhile, his wife had discovered that he had gone to the provincial office after all. She set up a small altar in the backyard, placed clean water upon it, clasped her hands, and prayed every day with tears.
Then Heungbu opened the straw door and came in.
She rushed to him.
“You are back! Were you released because you were innocent? Were you beaten with the great paddle? Were you beaten with the punishment rod? How are your wounds?”
Heungbu, having failed even to earn the beating, grew angry.
“Do not ask me about wounds. Ask your own grandfather about wounds! I came back without receiving even a single stroke, and you ask about injuries?”
His wife, however, rejoiced.
“Good! Wonderful! My husband went to be beaten and returned unbeaten. What greater blessing could there be?”
Heungbu stared at her in disbelief. But then he thought of his starving children, and sorrow overcame him. He beat his chest and wept.
Just then, Rich Man Kim’s nephew heard that Heungbu had returned and came to visit.
“My friend,” he asked, “you went hungry to the provincial office to take that beating. How did you come back?”
Heungbu was honest by nature and told him the truth.
“If I had been beaten, at least it would have helped. But even that was too fortunate for me—I was not beaten.”
“You are truly a good man,” said Kim’s nephew. “I have heard the story. Since you returned safely, how could we ask for money? I happen to have seven or eight nyang with me. Buy some rice with it.”
With that money, Heungbu bought rice and side dishes, and the family survived a few more days. But soon they were hungry again.
So Heungbu decided to make straw shoes. He went to Neighbor Kim to ask for straw.
“Poor man,” said Kim. “Your brother is rich, yet you live like this. How can I not pity you?”
He gave Heungbu bundles of straw. Heungbu made straw shoes, sold them at the market, and fed his family for a while. But he could not keep asking for straw forever.
Again, the family fell into misery.
Time passed, and spring came. Since Heungbu had learned a little writing, he pasted a New Year’s blessing on the sorghum-stalk wall of his hut.
On the third day of the third lunar month, the wild geese were leaving the Xiao-Xiang River, and the swallows were returning from the warm southern lands.
One swallow came to Heungbu’s poor hut. It flew around happily, chirping as if it had found a beloved home.
Heungbu warned it gently.
“There are many grand houses and fine pavilions. Why build your nest in a hut made of sorghum stalks? If the rainy season comes and this house collapses, you will suffer. Even though you are only a bird, listen to me. Find a good house, build a strong nest, and raise your young safely.”
But the swallow did not listen. It brought mud and built its nest there. Soon it laid eggs and raised its first chicks.
One day, while the young swallows were learning to fly, a large snake suddenly appeared and swallowed the chicks one by one.
Heungbu was shocked.
“You cruel creature! There are so many rich foods in the world. Why devour innocent little swallows? How pitiful they are. Swallows do not harm people. They do not eat our grain, and they return to their old homes with loyalty. How sorrowful that they should lose their young like this!”
He raised a knife to kill the snake. But just then, one little swallow fell from the air, bleeding and trembling. Its leg was broken.
Heungbu rushed over, held the tiny bird carefully in both hands, and pitied it deeply. He wrapped the broken leg with dried fish skin and called his wife.
“Bring me a strand of silk thread. I must bind the swallow’s leg.”
His wife found the silk thread she had brought when she married him. Heungbu gently tied the injured leg and placed the swallow somewhere safe from the cold dew.
A day passed. Then two. Then ten.
At last, the broken leg healed, and the swallow could fly again. It perched on a line, chirped brightly, and when the season came, it flew south.
The swallow traveled thousands of li to the southern land and appeared before the King of Swallows.
The king asked, “Why do you enter limping?”
The swallow replied, “My parents nested in the house of a man named Heungbu in Joseon. A great snake attacked us, and my leg was broken. I would have died, but Heungbu saved me. If Your Majesty would free Heungbu from poverty, I could repay even a ten-thousandth of his kindness.”
The King of Swallows said, “Heungbu is indeed a virtuous man. To repay kindness is the way of a noble heart. How could we ignore such grace? I will give you one gourd seed. Take it to him and repay his kindness.”
The swallow thanked the king and waited until the next spring.
When the warm season returned, the swallow flew high through the sky with the seed in its beak. It came back to Heungbu’s village and circled over his house.
Heungbu’s wife saw it first.
“Look, dear husband! The swallow from last year has returned. It is carrying something in its beak. Come and see!”
Heungbu stepped outside. The swallow flew over his head and dropped the object before him.
He picked it up and saw that it was a gourd seed. Written on it were three characters: Gourd of Gratitude.
He planted it under the eastern fence.
In two or three days, it sprouted. In four or five days, vines stretched out. Leaves grew at every joint, flowers bloomed on every stem, and four large gourds appeared.
On the morning of Chuseok, the family was starving. So Heungbu said, “Let us pick one ripe gourd and cook the inside.”
He and his wife marked a straight line across the gourd, took a saw together, and began to cut.
Back and forth, back and forth, they sawed through it.
When the gourd split open, five-colored clouds swirled out, and two boys in blue appeared. One held a bottle in his left hand. The other lifted a tray high above his head.
“This is worth more than a hundred million nyang,” they said. “Sell it and use the money.”
Then they vanished.
Heungbu cut open another gourd. From it came every kind of household furnishing.
He cut open a third. From it came a pure gold chest locked with a golden turtle lock. When they opened it, it was filled with gold, silver, amber, coral, pearls, cinnabar, musk, and treasures beyond counting. No matter how much they poured out, it filled again. They poured treasures day and night for six days, and Heungbu became a wealthy man.
From another gourd came master carpenters and all kinds of grain. The carpenters chose an auspicious site and built a magnificent house. Then servants appeared—men, women, and children—bringing goods, food, clothing, and every necessity.
Heungbu and his wife were overwhelmed with joy.
Finally, from the last gourd beneath the bushes, a beautiful woman appeared. She bowed deeply to Heungbu.
“I am a fairy from the Moon Palace,” she said. “The King of Swallows commanded me to become your secondary wife, and so I have come.”
Thus Heungbu lived in a grand house, surrounded by wealth, family, and comfort.
Soon the news reached Nolbu.
“That scoundrel must have stolen something,” Nolbu said. “If I go and bully him, I can take half his fortune.”
He rushed to Heungbu’s house like a thunderbolt and began smashing whatever he saw. While he was making this chaos, Heungbu returned from outside.
“You wretch!” shouted Nolbu. “How much did you steal?”
“Elder brother, what do you mean?”
Heungbu explained everything from beginning to end. Nolbu then demanded to inspect the house. As Heungbu guided him around, the Moon Palace fairy appeared.
Nolbu immediately wanted her for himself.
When Heungbu refused, Nolbu demanded a fine decorated cabinet instead.
Heungbu offered to have a servant carry it to Nolbu’s house, but Nolbu insisted on carrying it himself. When he arrived home with it, his wife’s eyes widened. After she heard how Heungbu had become rich, she said:
“If only we could find a swallow with a broken leg too!”
From the depths of winter, they waited for swallows.
When spring finally returned, a pair of swallows came to Nolbu’s house and built a nest. When the mother swallow laid eggs, Nolbu stood guard day and night in front of the nest. He kept taking the eggs out and touching them until most of them spoiled.
By good fortune, one egg survived and hatched.
As the chick grew and began to learn to fly, Nolbu waited for a snake. But no snake appeared.
Unable to stand it, Nolbu went out looking for one. On the road, he found a viper as thick as a rolling pin.
“Good beast!” he said. “Come to my house. Climb to the swallow’s nest. The baby swallow will fall, and I will become rich. I will repay you with chicks and eggs.”
He poked the snake with a stick. The snake bit his toe, and Nolbu fell flat on the ground.
Somehow he made it home, got treatment, and survived.
Then, as if he were a monstrous serpent himself, he grabbed the baby swallow and snapped both its ankles. He wrapped them with fish skin and tied them carefully, imitating Heungbu, then placed the bird back in the nest.
When the swallow barely survived and flew south, it said:
“Wicked Nolbu, enemy of mine! Next spring, I will return and repay you.”
The next spring, the swallow came back carrying a gourd seed. Written on it were three characters: Gourd of Revenge.
Nolbu, afraid he might lose it in the grass, followed the swallow around holding his hat upside down. The swallow dropped the seed into the hat. The seed was large, and the words were written clearly, but Nolbu was ignorant and could not read them.
He planted it under the eaves.
Soon it sprouted, vines spread, and gourds hung heavily from them.
Nolbu picked a large gourd and tried to saw it open with his wife. But it was as hard as iron. So he called carpenters and strong men, fed them well, paid them twenty nyang in advance, and ordered them to cut it open.
Back and forth, back and forth, they sawed.
When the gourd split open, the sound of reading came from inside. Then out came old scholars, young scholars, newly married noblemen, and elegant gentlemen. They seized Nolbu and beat him with heavy oak pestles.
“You wretch, Nolbu! Your father and mother once served in our household and ran away in the middle of the night. We have finally found their son. Their debt is three thousand nyang. Pay it at once!”
Nolbu paid three thousand nyang and begged forgiveness. The scholars accepted it as if doing him a favor and said:
“We shall use this money for now. When it runs out, we will come again.”
Then they vanished.
Nolbu cut open the second gourd.
This time, musicians came pouring out—men with gayageum, drums, gongs, and cymbals.
“We heard Nolbu was generous,” they cried, “so we came to have a good time!”
They demanded sacks of rice and a hundred nyang in money. Nolbu, terrified, gave them what they wanted.
He cut open another gourd.
Out came an old monk, followed by young monks.
“Nolbu,” they said, “our master prayed forty-nine days for your household. Offer five thousand nyang.”
Nolbu’s wife said, “Stop cutting these gourds before we are ruined.”
But Nolbu refused.
He cut again.
This time, a funeral bier came out, followed by strange mourners of every kind.
“You wretch, Nolbu! Slaughter an ox, prepare a feast, and give us ten thousand nyang!”
Nolbu sold his fields on the spot for a miserable price, paid them three thousand nyang, and begged. The pallbearers finally carried the bier away.
Nolbu followed them and asked, “Tell me, is there treasure in any of the other gourds?”
One pallbearer answered, “I do not know which one, but yes, one of them contains raw gold.”
Nolbu believed him and cut another gourd.
From it came shamans from all eight provinces. They beat gongs and drums, sang wild ritual songs, and struck Nolbu in the chest and belly with their instruments.
Nolbu saw lightning in his eyes. In anger and pain, he cried:
“What is the reason for this? Even if I must be beaten to death, at least tell me my crime!”
“You fool,” they said. “We performed many rituals for your house. Pay five thousand nyang. If you refuse, your head will not remain whole.”
Nolbu, frightened out of his wits, paid five thousand nyang.
But once they left, his greed returned.
“If I am to prosper, let me prosper. If I am to be ruined, let me be ruined. I will keep cutting.”
He split another gourd.
This time, thousands of peddlers came pouring out, carrying yellow chests on their backs and shouting in every direction. Nolbu paid them three thousand nyang just to leave.
Before they vanished, they said, “The next gourd must be full of gold and silver. Cut it with devotion.”
So Nolbu cut another.
Out came masked clowns, leaping and shrieking. They seized Nolbu by the neck and threw him to the ground. Nolbu ended up upside down, begging with his hands as if they were feet.
“Dear masters, what is this? Tell me what you want, and I will obey!”
The leader shouted, “Nolbu, which is more important—money or your life?”
“Life comes before money,” Nolbu cried. “How could money matter more?”
“Then pay five thousand nyang immediately.”
Nolbu paid.
Then he asked, “Please tell me about the next gourd.”
“One of them surely contains raw gold. Cut them all.”
So Nolbu cut again.
This time, wandering entertainers came out, beating little drums and making a terrible commotion. They rushed at him.
“At last! We have found you!”
They grabbed his arms and legs and tossed him into the air until his eyes rolled back and his organs seemed ready to fall out.
“If you want to live, hand over all your land deeds.”
Nolbu gave them every document.
Then he cut another gourd.
Out came gangs of ruffians, one after another—men with names like Tearer, Smasher, Stomper, Crooked One, Iron Fist, and Hard-Heart. They tied Nolbu to a tree with a clothesline and ordered the best beater among them:
“Hit him without mercy!”
They slapped him, kicked him, rolled him, twisted him, tore at him, and tortured him in every way. Even the son of an iron pestle could not have endured it.
“Save me!” Nolbu screamed. “If you want money, I will give money. If you want rice, I will give rice. If you want women, I will give women. Just spare my life!”
At last, one of the ruffians said:
“We are going sightseeing at Mount Geumgang, and we lack travel money. Pay five thousand nyang, or you die at once.”
Nolbu was so terrified he could not answer. He paid the money.
Even then, unable to abandon his greed, he crawled back up the hill, picked another gourd, and brought it down.
“Back and forth, saw away,” he urged the workers. “Pull the saw. Cut the gourd.”
When it split open, blind men from all eight provinces came rushing out, tapping their sticks and rolling their eyes.
“You wretch, Nolbu! Will you fly? Will you crawl? Where do you think you can go? We searched every mountain, every village, every alley, combing through the world with fine-toothed combs. Today, we have finally found you!”
They swung their sticks. Nolbu ran this way and that, but the blind men found him more accurately than men with sight. He could not escape.
“Good sirs,” he begged, “what is this? Spare me. I will do whatever you command.”
The blind men released him, chanted scripture, beat their drums, and then beat Nolbu like a stick striking a drum. Unable to bear it, he paid five thousand nyang.
Now nothing was left.
“There is not a single coin left in the house,” Nolbu thought. “All my property is gone. But since I have come this far, surely some good fortune must appear at the end.”
So he went back up the hill and brought down another gourd.
“This one is white and fine on the outside. Surely there must be treasure inside.”
He began to saw. Then he heard a thunderous voice from within:
“Bi-ro-ra! Bi-ro-ra!”
Nolbu thought some terrible disaster was coming and tried to run away. But the voice roared again:
“Why do you not cut the gourd? I am suffocating in here. Hurry!”
Nolbu trembled.
“You say ‘Bi.’ What kind of Bi are you?”
“I am Bi!”
“Do you mean Yang Guifei? At least tell me who you are before I cut further.”
“I am not that kind of Bi. I am Zhang Fei of Yan. If you do not cut this gourd, you will not be safe.”
When Nolbu heard the name Zhang Fei, his voice sank into his throat.
“What shall I do? I have no money left to offer. Now I can only die.”
One of the workers laughed.
“You may die for your sins, but why should I die? Say that again, and I will kill you first.”
So Nolbu finished cutting.
Suddenly, a great general leapt out. His face was black as ink, his eyes fierce, his jaw sharp, and he held a long spear high like thunder.
“You wretch, Nolbu! Since birth, you have been unfilial to your parents, hostile to your brother, and cruel to your relatives. Even if every hair on your body were plucked and counted, your sins would still be more numerous. Do you think Heaven is indifferent? The Jade Emperor sent me to cleanse your endless crimes. Endure it!”
With hands like giant onions, the general grabbed Nolbu by the neck and tossed him around like a toy.
Nolbu fainted, woke again, and begged for mercy. At last, the general pitied his miserable state.
“You deserve to be cut into pieces. But I spare you this once. From now on, do not mistreat your virtuous younger brother. Live in harmony with him.”
Then the general vanished.
Nolbu had suffered terribly, but when he gathered his senses and returned to the hill, two gourds still remained.
He brought one down.
“Back and forth, saw away. When this gourd opens, let gold and silver pour out like a landslide. Let me live like Heungbu!”
His wife, standing nearby, muttered:
“Let treasure come out, yes—but please, not a concubine like Heungbu’s.”
Nolbu scolded her immediately.
“We have lost our fortune and become beggars, and still you find room for jealousy? Be quiet and stand aside.”
They sawed the gourd open.
This time there was no sound from inside. Nolbu grew excited.
“No sound at all! This must be the lucky one!”
He looked inside. There was nothing there—only plain white gourd flesh. While Nolbu hesitated, one of the workers thought, “Every gourd so far has brought disaster. This one cannot be safe either.” Pretending to go relieve himself, he ran away.
Nolbu waited and waited, then finally split the gourd with an axe. Seeing that the white flesh looked edible, he ordered his wife to cook it.
Everyone in the house ate a bowl.
Afterward, Nolbu’s belly swelled, and he burped.
“That soup tasted excellent—dang-dong!”
His wife replied, “Yes, truly famous soup—dang-dong!”
The children cried, “Mother, the soup tastes good—dang-dong!”
Nolbu said again, “Now that I have eaten it, the dang-dong sound comes out by itself—dang-dong!”
Soon the daughter, the son, the servants, the wife, and every person in the household was saying “dang-dong, dang-dong,” as if someone were plucking a gayageum in every corner of the house.
Nolbu grew furious.
“I planted these gourds to become rich. I lost all my wealth, suffered every torment, was beaten half to death, and now my entire household has become a choir of dang-dong fools. What resentment! What injustice! Dang-dong!”
In rage, Nolbu grabbed a sickle and ran up the hill.
Under the vines, he found the final gourd.
It was as large as a great bell and seemed to weigh a thousand geun. The moment he saw it, Nolbu forgot all his anger. Greed flashed in his eyes again.
“Of course! This must be the treasure gourd. It is so heavy because it is full of gold. It was hiding under the vines so no one would see it. If I had known this was the golden gourd, I would have cut it first!”
He carried it down, singing happily.
“Good, good, how good this is!”
He sawed halfway through and peered inside. It looked completely yellow.
“I have struck fortune! Wife, come look. The inside is all gold!”
His wife sniffed.
“It is yellow, yes, but why does it smell so foul?”
“Foolish woman. Some gourds are riper than others. This one is fully ripe, that is why it smells. Keep cutting.”
They sawed further. Then, curious again, they sat facing each other and peered into the opening.
Suddenly, a fierce wind burst out from the gourd. A thunderous roar followed.
Then a stream of filth shot out like water from a pump.
Nolbu and his wife had no time to escape. They were struck by a storm of dung and knocked flat.
The stream poured out like ten thousand soldiers charging, as if it would push aside mountains and fill the sea. In an instant, Nolbu’s entire house—inside and outside—was filled with filth.
Covered from head to toe, Nolbu and his wife ran away, looking like lumps of yellow gold. From a distance, they turned back and saw their whole house buried.
Nolbu stomped his feet and lamented.
“Dear wife, what shall we do? I tried to gain wealth and lost everything. In the end, we are buried in filth and do not even have clothes to wear. How are we supposed to live now?”
The neighboring noblemen were furious because the filth had flowed into their homes as well. They ordered their servant to seize Nolbu.
The servant ran like a shot, grabbed Nolbu by the neck, dragged him back, and forced him to kneel before the gentlemen.
“You wretch, Nolbu! If you do not clean all the filth from our houses before sunset, you will die.”
Nolbu knelt on roof tiles, ordered his wife to bring five hundred nyang, hired every manure carrier he could find, paid them generously, and only after all the filth was removed was he released.
Nolbu and his wife had nowhere to go. They clung to each other and wept.
When Heungbu, living across the village, heard that his elder brother had been ruined, he hurried over with his servants. He brought Nolbu, Nolbu’s wife, and their children back to his own house.
Heungbu cleared the inner room and gave it to his elder brother and sister-in-law. He served them food and clothing generously and comforted them. Then he chose a fine site and spent a great fortune building them a new house exactly like his own. He gave them furniture, clothing, food, and everything they needed.
Even a wicked man like Nolbu was moved by Heungbu’s kindness. He repented of his past wrongs.
From then on, the brothers lived in harmony.
Heungbu and his wife enjoyed wealth, many children, and long life, living happily into their eighties. Their descendants prospered for generations, and all who heard the story praised Heungbu’s virtue.
And so his name did not disappear, even after a hundred years.

Everyone knows the surface theme of The Tale of Heungbu. Rewarding good and punishing evil. Good receives a prize, evil receives punishment. The kind younger brother Heungbu becomes rich because he treated a swallow with compassion, and the wicked older brother Nolbu receives retribution. The end.

My interest is this: Is Heungbu really good? And is Nolbu really evil? The story, conveniently enough, presents the evidence within the text itself.

When describing Nolbu, The Tale of Heungbu uses an unforgettable image. Ordinary people have five viscera and six bowels, but Nolbu has five viscera and seven bowels. He has one extra pouch, and that pouch is spite. In my view, this image means the following: Nolbu was born with his sense of compassion removed. For him, evil is not a choice. It is an organ.

One of the most famous thinkers in China once said that when anyone sees a child about to fall into a well, that person instinctively feels alarm and compassion, without any calculation of interest or reward. This feeling of compassion is the seed of morality that makes a human being human.

From this perspective, Heungbu is a human being who possesses compassion. He did not help the swallow in order to become rich. He did not calculate that the swallow would later repay him. He simply saw an injured creature and pitied it. His own life had already collapsed, yet he could not pass by the broken leg of a small bird. Heungbu’s goodness comes before reward. Nolbu, by contrast, appears to be a human being lacking compassion.

Human morality is usually explained in two ways: environment, meaning how one was raised, or heredity, meaning whom one was born from. But Heungbu and Nolbu are brothers born to the same parents and raised in the same house. Their environment is almost the same, and their bloodline is the same. Yet one is an embodiment of compassion, while the other is a monster deprived of it. This difference, which neither environment nor heredity can explain, can be explained by only one word, a kind of unrealistic, fantasy-like assumption: fate. Heaven gave one man six organs, and the other a seventh.

The story does not psychologically explain why Nolbu became that way. It does not say that he had childhood trauma, that social structure twisted him, or that a competitive environment made him evil. From the beginning, Nolbu is simply that kind of person. Heaven gave one man six organs, and the other a seventh.

The “flatness” of this story is both a flaw and its intention.

Is Heungbu really pure good? After being beaten and returning empty-handed, he lies to his wife. He says he was robbed by bandits, not by his brother. He also tries to kill a snake in order to save the swallow. He breaks promises, uses violence, and hides the truth.

Is Nolbu really pure evil? If we consider his refusal to divide property with Heungbu, that act can also be seen as an attempt to protect the livelihood of himself, his wife, and his household. Can we always say that opening the storehouse, taking food away from servants, and reducing the resources of one’s own household in order to share with a younger brother is unconditionally good? The act of protecting one’s family’s survival and property is not evil in itself.

Heungbu also performs acts that could be classified as “evil,” and Nolbu also performs acts that could be classified as “good.” Yet this story does not clearly separate action from being.

From the perspective of modern ethics, we should distinguish between action and being. Just because someone lied, we cannot say that the person’s entire being is evil. Just because someone acted selfishly once, that human being does not become the embodiment of evil. Actions can be commanded and corrected. “Do not do that” is a possible command. But being cannot be treated that way. “Do not be that kind of person” is, for someone already born that way, a metaphysically impossible command.

Yet The Tale of Heungbu deliberately blurs this distinction. Even if there are points where Heungbu’s individual actions may be flawed, the story sees him as a good being. Even if some of Nolbu’s individual actions can be partially defended, the story sees him as an evil being.

Heungbu’s actions generally have this structure: the range of beneficiaries is broad. It includes his family, the swallow, dying creatures, and later even the ruined Nolbu. Heungbu himself receives no benefit, or even suffers loss. Heungbu is a human being who expands his moral concern beyond himself.

By contrast, the range of beneficiaries in Nolbu’s actions is extremely narrow. It is usually limited to himself, his house, and his property. Everyone else suffers harm. He cheats people in the marketplace, fans the flames of a burning house, torments the weak, and monopolizes the family property. He makes the losses of others into material for his own gain, or satisfies his desires through the sacrifice of others.

If everyone followed Nolbu’s mode of action, “Only I and my group may benefit, and it does not matter if everyone else suffers harm,” society could not be maintained. No one could trust anyone else, and promises, transactions, and family relations would collapse. By contrast, Heungbu’s maxim is generally this: “Even if I suffer loss, I do not pass by a being in pain.” If everyone lived completely like Heungbu, the cost to individuals could become large, but at least social trust and reciprocity could be maintained.

What matters is that even if Nolbu’s mode of action, whether it is a matter of being or of action, cannot be accepted, it would still be a considerable leap to define Nolbu himself as evil on that basis alone. A community can endure a certain number of those who do not obey, and even a certain amount of deviation can contribute positively. The problem is ratio. Some modes of being may be tolerable variations when they remain a minority, but once they exceed a certain ratio, they become a danger that can destroy society as a whole. If everyone lies, language loses its meaning. If everyone breaks promises, contracts cannot exist. If everyone tries to exploit the goodwill of others, goodwill itself disappears. Therefore, good and evil may be less a fixed essence than a function of critical ratio.

Thought experiment

Suppose there is a society in which 105 people are born male and 100 people are born female in the state of nature.

Most members of this society believe that human beings bringing more human beings into the world is a good thing.

In this society, the combined number of gay men and men who choose not to marry is 5.

In this state, there are almost no people who perceive the existence of gay men and men who choose not to marry as an obstacle to the reproduction of society.

For some reason, the combined number of gay men and men who choose not to marry rises to 50 out of 105.

It is likely that those who are neither gay nor committed to non-marriage will begin to raise their voices in criticism of such people.

What should be noted is that these 50 people have caused no direct harm to others compared to when there were only 5 of them. They still have not slapped anyone’s cheek, and they have taken nothing from anyone. What has changed is not their action, but their ratio. Nevertheless, criticism may begin. The criterion by which a mode of being is marked as dangerous may not be whether it harms someone, but whether the community can survive if it becomes universal. This is the uncomfortable point we face when, as in the story, being and action are blurred.

What the story performs is a preemptive marking of Nolbu. Since Nolbu is already an “evil person,” he is evil regardless of whether the ratio has crossed a threshold or not, and there may be little reason to ask, “Was Nolbu really evil?” Those who refuse reproduction have not yet been marked. To attach the name “evil” to a mode of being that had not been evil requires considerable social mobilization, and that process usually produces conflict and confusion.

Here, Nolbu’s wife may be an important figure. When Heungbu enters the kitchen and begs for a spoonful of rice, Nolbu’s wife strikes him on the cheek with a rice paddle. When Nolbu tries to become rich by using the swallow, she too suggests finding a swallow with a broken leg. Yet the wife is never described as a person born with a “spite pouch.” If Nolbu’s evil is an essence, then the fact that his wife, who does not possess that essence, shares the same behavioral pattern means that this pattern does not remain inside one person’s organ. It is transmitted and learned. In other words, the variation that had remained below the critical ratio when it was only Nolbu is increasing to two through his wife. Nolbu’s wife is the visible signal that the ratio is actually rising. The fact that the story binds Nolbu and his wife together as a pair and punishes them in the same way can be read as a preventive fear of this increase. A variation that could be endured when it was one becomes two, then three, and may cross the threshold. Fear of that possibility. The preemptive marking of Nolbu is precisely the way that fear operates: removing it in advance before the ratio is exceeded.

If we consider the background of the story, its setting is a society with an unusually strong continuity of settled agriculture. The people of that country regard 2333 BCE as the beginning of that continuity, apart from whether this is historically factual, it is a way for the community to understand itself as a group that has long endured, and they take strong pride in a single ethnic continuity handed down over time. The core of a settled agricultural community is, so to speak, a repeated game. One deals with the same neighbors for a lifetime, across generations. People share waterways, cooperate during farming seasons, and continue to encounter one another through marriage, ancestral rites, and village reputation. In such an environment, one betrayal can make one’s reputation follow not only oneself but even one’s descendants. The long-term cost of betrayal is astronomical. Therefore, the trust expressed by “If I help you, you will help me” becomes an extremely valuable resource, and Heungbu’s strategy, broad reciprocity and universal cooperation, is likely to prevail in the long run.

By contrast, imagine an environment with high mobility. A place where one can deceive someone once and then leave without paying the cost of reputation. In such a place, Nolbu’s strategy can produce local gains. Of course, this is not a matter of ethnic essence. To say that agricultural peoples are good and nomadic peoples are evil would be a very comfortable and lazy explanation. The variable seems not to be ethnic essence, but the repetition and mobility of the game.

Interestingly, this may not have much to do with historical period either. Even in modern big cities, online spaces, and hyper-dense anonymous societies, selfish behavior that betrays trust can sometimes receive positive rewards. If there is no need to meet again, no need to take responsibility, and a way to avoid reputational costs, Nolbu’s strategy remains effective.

The essentialization in The Tale of Heungbu, the idea that fate was given by heaven, may in fact have been the most efficient device for preserving the equilibrium of this repeated game. If those who disturb the equilibrium can be filtered out at the level of being before action, that can work very advantageously for maintaining a cooperative equilibrium. The reward of the blessed gourd is the inclusion that brings the cooperator into the community, and the retribution against Nolbu is the exclusion that filters out the betrayer. The same logic may apply to both.

A closed state in which the inflow and outflow of new ideas are relatively limited, and which is itself close to equilibrium. A society that preserves its cooperative equilibrium by not admitting, from the beginning, those who will leave and those who will not repay. In such a society, preserving that equilibrium may function as good. But if the act of judging someone in advance as “a person who will not repay” and filtering that person out is itself “bad,” then how can we not suspect whether the person defined as “bad” by that judgment is really a bad person?

The Republic of Korea currently appears to be going through considerable noise in the process of political power being realigned. I think a significant part of KPOP’s success as a form of cultural invasion is based on its “political harmlessness.” Korean popular fantasy does not look like nationalist propaganda. It implicitly rests on the image of Korea as a politically stable, institutionally mature, modern, and harmless democratic country. It is mostly wrapped in love, friendship, growth, appearance, dance, melody, fandom, and consumable emotions. However, if the current situation continues for several years, the balance of power in global soft power may also change.

In the June 3 local elections held this year, there was a shortage of ballot papers. It was too serious to be dismissed as a simple administrative mistake. Some polling stations ran out of ballot papers, and some voters had to wait. Citizens raised questions about the fairness and credibility of the election, demanding that the vote counting be stopped, that a revote be held, and that those responsible be identified. At the scene, voices also continued to call for an official response from the National Election Commission while shouting “election fraud.” In response, the National Election Commission stated on June 4 that “this matter does not constitute grounds for postponing the election or holding a revote under the Public Official Election Act,” and that “it is impossible to stop the vote counting currently in progress.” According to the final results, the Democratic Party of Korea, now the ruling party, won 12 out of the 16 major metropolitan mayor and governor races nationwide, gaining a major advantage. Compared with the 2022 local elections, when the People Power Party, then the ruling party, won most of the metropolitan races, this means the political landscape has changed dramatically.

A major related event that can be considered in connection with this is that, before this, the Republic of Korea experienced martial law for the first time in 45 years on December 3, 2024. Former President Yoon Suk Yeol, a member of the People Power Party, declared martial law on December 3, which was an unprecedented event in the post-democratization era. Martial law troops were deployed to constitutional institutions, including the National Assembly and the National Election Commission. One of the justifications was the election system and allegations of election fraud. What kind of calculation could have led him to think that allegations of election fraud might justify martial law?

If I analyze this and try to reconstruct his logic as generously as possible, it would look like this.

1. The opposition party, the Democratic Party of Korea, is a force that gained power through election fraud. (ASSUMPTION)

2. The National Election Commission is an independent constitutional institution, so external independent verification is necessary.

3. But if the opposition party really is the beneficiary of election fraud, that same opposition party would try to block verification of the National Election Commission.

4. In that case, normal investigation and verification could be blocked from within the system.

5. If so, allegations of election manipulation would not merely be allegations, but a national crisis that paralyzes administrative and judicial functions.

6. Therefore, the election system should be forcibly verified through martial law, and if substantive evidence of election fraud is found in that process, the legitimacy of martial law would also be strengthened after the fact.

This logic has a closed structure. Its core premise is the assumption that “the opposition party is a force that gained power through election fraud.” If this assumption is true, Yoon Suk Yeol’s actions could look not like a simple rampage, but like an emergency action to reclaim the constitutional order. Conversely, if this assumption is false, Yoon’s martial law becomes a dangerous rampage that used military force to pressure constitutional institutions.

But here, the limitation is clear.

It begins from an unproven premise. If the assumption that “the opposition party gained power through election fraud” is true, his actions may appear to be a restoration of constitutional order. But if that assumption has not yet been proven, mobilizing military force becomes a structure in which the conclusion has been decided in advance and the evidence is searched for afterward.

Unfortunately for him, what Yoon Suk Yeol found was not substantive evidence that the opposition party had committed election fraud. The strongest card he had was the security vulnerability of the National Election Commission’s system. The fact that there were vulnerabilities in the NEC’s computer network and vote counting system is a serious issue. However, vulnerabilities belong, literally, to the realm of possibility. They are not the substance that proves election fraud itself. The fact that a door is poorly secured is different from the fact that someone actually opened that door, entered, and committed a crime. According to reports at the time, the Constitutional Court rejected requests for server inspection, document production, and fact-finding regarding the National Election Commission on the grounds of insufficient relevance and necessity to the impeachment trial.

A possible counterargument is this. If actual evidence of manipulation can only be found by opening the servers and original data, how is one supposed to bring evidence if those servers and original data cannot be opened? If one says at the same time, “There is no evidence, so it cannot be accepted,” and “Opening it to obtain evidence is also prohibited,” then it cannot be proven.

When the normal legal order cannot save the state, who decides the exception? Of course, only when the fact that the normal legal order cannot save the state is unmistakable and self-evident enough for everyone in the world to agree.

Former President Yoon Suk Yeol’s martial law led to his impeachment, and the Constitutional Court pointed to both procedural defects, such as inadequate State Council deliberation and insufficient public notice, and substantive defects, namely that no war, armed conflict, or comparable national emergency had actually occurred.

“
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비상계엄은 위와 같은 위기상황이 현실적으로 발생하였으나 경력(警力)만으로는 이를 수습할 수 없는 경우에 병력으로써 기존질서를 유지·회복하기 위하여 선포할 수 있는 것이므로, 위기상황이 발생할 우려가 있다는 이유만으로 사전적·예방적으로 선포할 수는 없고, 공공복리의 증진과 같은 적극적 목적을 위하여 선포할 수도 없다(헌재 1996. 2. 29. 93헌마186 참조).
...
2024헌나8 대통령(윤석열) 탄핵 결정문 中
“

In my view, regardless of whether the Constitutional Court was on the side of the opposition or the ruling party, it was almost impossible for it to accept as a correct assumption the proposition that “the opposition party is a force that gained power through election fraud” within the closed logic of “because the opposition party gained power through election fraud, it must be proven that the election was fraudulent.” And I think it would have been beneficial for the Court to approach that proposition very conservatively. No matter how strong the suspicion may be, and no matter how much there may be a “security vulnerability,” which belongs to the realm of possibility, if the use of military force to neutralize constitutional institutions without substantive evidence is accepted, it increases the possibility that a second or third person in power could suspend democracy at any time based only on arbitrary suspicion.

The Constitutional Court judged the unconstitutionality of martial law, but it did not independently verify the election system to a degree that would satisfy the public. After Yoon was eventually impeached, the matter seemed to pass by like a mere incident that left only suspicions behind. However, with the ballot paper shortage in the June 3 election and the incompetence of the National Election Commission, or suspicions about something worse than incompetence, major doubts have once again emerged, and attention is now focused on what will happen next.

For Korea’s cultural invasion project to continue prospering, it seems that Korea will have to either cover this foul-smelling content with a lid as tightly as possible to hide the smell, or make it into something that is no longer foul. KPOP is supposed to be clean, after all. And trying to prove that it is not clean probably would not feel very entertaining either.

TAI LUNG: I have come home, Master.

SHIFU: This is no longer your home. And I am no longer your master.

TAI LUNG: Yes. You have a new favorite. So where is this… Po? [chuckles] Did I scare him off?

SHIFU: This battle is between you and me.

TAI LUNG: So… that is how it’s going to be?

SHIFU: That is how it must be.

TAI LUNG: I rotted in jail for twenty years because of your weakness!

SHIFU: Obeying your master is not weakness!

TAI LUNG: You knew I was the Dragon Warrior! You always knew… But when Oogway said otherwise, what did you do? What did you do?! NOTHING!

SHIFU: You were not meant to be the Dragon Warrior! That was not my fault!

TAI LUNG: Not your fault?! Who filled my head with dreams?! Who drove me to train until my bones cracked?! Who denied me my destiny?!

SHIFU: It was never my decision to make! TAI LUNG: It is now. Give… me… the scroll!

SHIFU: I would rather die!

TAI LUNG: All I ever did, I did to make you proud! Tell me how proud you are, Shifu! Tell me! TELL ME!!!

SHIFU: I… have always been proud of you. From the first moment, I’ve been… proud of you. And it was my pride that blinded me. I loved you too much to see what you were becoming… What I… was turning you into. I’m… I’m sorry.

TAI LUNG: I don’t want your apology. I want my scroll!

There are no secret ingredients

Tai Lung was given a name by Shifu. He was given expectations. He was probably told he had a gift for kung fu.

If you allow it to settle, the answer becomes clear

Kung fu is its own end, but it also has a use. It is useful for pleasing Shifu. And pleasing Shifu is its own end, but it too has a use, as the ground that gives value to an abandoned life. Becoming the Dragon Warrior is a joy in itself, but it also pleases Shifu, and it is useful for confirming the rise and fall of the ego.

our battle will be legendary!

The good thing about becoming the Dragon Warrior is that you are respected. If you wanted to become a doctor, would it be in order to be respected, or in order to save people?

Who filled my head with dreams?!

At first he does kung fu to please Shifu. Then he sets out to become the Dragon Warrior and complete what Shifu hoped for. When he fails, Shifu is disappointed.

I don’t want your apology. I want my scroll!

Now that purpose is no longer needed. Now Tai Lung wants the means to the purpose. Tragically, the content of that means is “there are no secret ingredients.” And that sits badly with the path by which the means had become a purpose of its own. Tai Lung waited his whole life for the certificate, and the certificate he finally received read, “There is no certificate.”

Oh come on, son. Let’s get back to work.

Ok.

Po is named the Dragon Warrior at the very moment he gives kung fu up. There are no accidents in this world. Tai Lung tried to hold on to the scroll to the very end, and so he receives “nothing at all.” Po receives the scroll he let go of, and finds 'himself.’

If we live a life, it too will carry a use. Pleasure, rapture, joy, delight, happiness, good cheer, excitement, self-realization. But if life is its own end, then what reason is there for it to stop being a life, simply because it guarantees nothing good, simply because it has dealt us a fate we never wanted?

At the UFC event on May 9, Sean Strickland defeated Khamzat Chimaev and became champion. Sean Strickland is a fighter with a pussy-like style who, whether three years ago or now, shows the same monotonous strategy and movements that generate absolutely no sense of anticipation, which is the exact opposite of his mic work. But if we give this fight a bit of context and a few points to watch, it might become fairly interesting.

The appeal of middleweight lies in the fact that it is not too massive, while still allowing us to watch monsters with perhaps the most masculine and ideal physiques a human being can have compete with the most evolved fighting techniques. After Anderson Silva’s seemingly eternal reign of nearly seven years came to an end, the division entered something like a Warring States period.

Then Israel Adesanya appeared, and with his refined kickboxing technique, he seemed to be building a long-term regime while raising fan interest again.

Long and sharp limbs, a unique sense of distance, and showmanship on top of that. He brought middleweight back into the global mainstream.

Pereira had already defeated this Adesanya twice in another kickboxing organization before entering the UFC, and that same Pereira put Sean Strickland to sleep in the first round with that “unreasonable left hand.”

After that,

Adesanya lost to Pereira.
That Adesanya lost to Sean Strickland.
That Sean Strickland lost to du Plessis.
That du Plessis lost to Chimaev.
That Chimaev lost to Strickland.

The expectation that “if A beats B and B beats C, then A must be stronger than C” does not seem to work very well in MMA.

What we commonly call mixed martial arts, or MMA, is usually understood on the surface as “a combination of boxing, wrestling, jiu-jitsu, Muay Thai, and other martial arts.” But this explanation seems only half correct. Strictly speaking, each of those individual martial arts is already another kind of “mixed martial art,” formed by bringing together similar branches and lineages. It might be fairer to say that what we generally call MMA is a competition rule set that permits almost all attacking methods from those mixed martial arts, as well as a system of adaptation, training, and fight strategy built in response to that rule set.

The usefulness of this integrated rule system is that it provides something like a standardized index, or rating. Just because A always beats B when they fight directly, that does not necessarily mean A is an absolutely superior being. If B can beat many other contenders whose styles are favorable matchups for his own system and maintain a higher global “rating,” then from the perspective of the system as a whole, B may be evaluated as the more valuable fighter. MMA plays the role of arranging ratings within a web of stylistic matchups.

Sean Strickland seems to enjoy displaying his masculinity with that distinctive phlegmy voice of his. But contrary to his rough and unfiltered speech, his actual appearance in the fight seems quite different. Strickland’s strategy is extremely simple and fixed. He stands upright, closes off his face with a Philly shell defense, and endlessly flicks out his lead-hand jab from range, wearing away at his opponent’s stamina and mentality.

As Tom Aspinall put it:

I’ve sparred Sean Strickland recently and I’ve got a little bit of a closer look on what he does well. He’s got a very very unorthodox style and he’s like quite a difficult style to work out. He will stand in this weird upright, it’s like a Philly shell, he using his shoulder there... yeah kind of thing. But his defense is unorthodox. When people are throwing punches at him, he’s twitching this way and he’s constantly on the move. He’ll stand straight up at you and he’ll just walk you down, he’ll just close that distance.

...

It would probably be better to give up the expectation that Sean will hit some new technical breakthrough and evolve meaningfully as a fighter. One might think, “Wouldn’t he become stronger if he added wrestling?”

In my view, that does not seem very plausible. It overlooks the physical law that human stamina is limited. Offensive wrestling consumes an enormous amount of energy, and that would mean destroying the very thing Strickland is best at and most confident in: the continuity of his long-range pussy jab. In other words, Sean seems to be a human being who has reached an “extreme,” a “local maximum,” within the ecosystem of his own body. If Sean learns wrestling, it would probably be sprawls learned in order to defend takedowns while continuing to use that “long-range pussy jab.” And it may be precisely because of that stubborn optimization that he was able to beat Chimaev.

Just as Sean has reached his own “extreme,” Chimaev is also another kind of “extreme,” refined through optimization after optimization. The same goes for other fighters. Sean has shown an inferiority complex toward Pereira in interviews several times, but to be fair, since Adesanya beat Pereira, and Sean beat that Adesanya, it might be reasonable to say that they are all within a similar spectrum in terms of ability.

Coldly speaking, Sean cannot overwhelmingly subdue all of these fighting machines. Instead, there is one thing Sean is good at: social media activity that does not seem to be constrained by “social desirability bias.”

Example:

I think fat shaming is always ok. there is nothing worse than being next to fat smelling mother fucker. and the most human thing you can do is telling a fat smelly motherfucker to put down the fork.

A good MMA fighter must be able to attempt a takedown when his punches are not working. Sean Strickland seems to be copying and applying that tactical principle from inside the Octagon to his entire life and career. If we think about his survival strategy, maybe even his “pussy jab” might start to look fairly interesting?

A famous Japanese writer once had one of his characters say,

If you’ve read The Great Gatsby three times or more, you can be my friend.

But I’ve decided not to finish the novel. On purpose.
And I’m still not sure whether it’s a good idea to write about it.

Reading a passage like No. 3 is extremely irritating. When I read it, what happens inside my head is roughly this:

1. An object is given (the valley of ashes.)

2. Then an attribute of that object is given (ashes grow there like wheat.)

3. Then I have to figure out how that attribute constitutes the object.

   (What does it even mean for ashes to grow like wheat, and what does that have to do with the valley of ashes?)

Toward the end, that suspicion is almost resolved.

(Ah, I think. So there are cars and people there, and the ashes are covering them.)

But then, at the very end, another unresolved task is assigned to me. What does it mean, physically and symbolically, that their “obscure operations” are screened from sight?

That will have to be resolved in the next paragraph. And the next paragraph will assign its own task, while also connecting multidimensionally with other parts of the novel and performing its own function within them.

By the time I read No. 3, I begin to dimly realize that something similar has already been repeated many times. For instance, in No. 2, the phrase “self-sufficiency” is given. But the word does not seem self-sufficient in itself. It is not entirely clear what it means for Miss Baker to be “self-sufficient.” What I know is that the narrator describes her as “self-sufficient” because she is balancing an object on her head while paying almost no attention to him — or pretending not to pay attention to him.

A similar word, “complacency,” appears again a few paragraphs later. This time, it appears in the scene where Tom is speaking with confidence about civilization and race. The two words are not the same, but they are not completely unrelated either. So each time those words appear, I have to update my sense of what kind of feeling has been newly assigned to them.

When reading No. 2, the task is not limited to No. 2 alone. Gatsby’s existence, the white supremacist book, and the symbolic significance of the narrator immediately dismissing Daisy’s whispering as “gossip” are all already in motion at the same time. In fact, all of this unfolds on top of the track laid down in No. 1, in a self-similar form that is both independent and dependent, both content and form at the same time. All of this is narrated through the mind of the narrator.

And that narrator says, “Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.”

To me, this feels like an underline deliberately drawn by the author. It is extremely blatant. To think that “reserving judgment gives one hope” is itself not a suspension of judgment. The contradiction is clumsily exposed in the very next sentence. And as long as the contents of the work are filtered through the narrator’s narration, the reader has no choice but to place everything on the largest track of all: how reserved is this narration, really?

Very cunningly, the author uses a highly elaborate rhetorical technique. More precisely, the intensity and length of description fluctuate wildly. And the scenes that are described at excessive length greatly amplify my suspicion. It is as if someone fires a very loud gunshot, making me focus on the trajectory of that bullet, while I am struck by another bullet — one that had already been fired, or will be fired later, from another direction and at another speed.

My guess is that the aesthetic pleasure of this novel comes from holding and tracing that dense web of meanings and connections inside one’s head. To use an analogy, it is like watching Optimus Prime’s transformation scene in slow motion, over and over again. At first, you do not understand it. But then you begin to wonder: when the arm becomes a wheel, what are the legs doing? How does this physically make sense? And you find it fascinating.

But the essential difference lies in the novel’s own internal contradiction.

“If you’ve read The Great Gatsby three times or more, you can be my friend” feels like a kind of elitism: only those who can hold that intricate multi-layered complexity in their heads and savor it aesthetically are allowed in. At the same time, it also feels like a sense of kinship with “slightly inadequate human beings” — human beings who cannot think about the design flaw, or who have decided not to think about it; human beings who believe they are reserving judgment precisely by failing to reserve judgment.

After all, as long as we are born human.

As long as we are standing on the track of No. 1, we cannot help being a little inadequate.

TYWIN: Tyrion? Put down the crossbow. Who released you? Your brother, I expect. He always had a soft spot for you. Come, we’ll go and talk in my chambers.
TYWIN: This is how you want to speak to me? Shaming your father has always given you pleasure…
TYRION: All my life you’ve wanted me dead.
TYWIN: Yes. But you refused to die. I respect that… even admire it. You fight for what’s yours. I’d never let them execute you. Is that what you fear? I’d never let Ilyn Payne take your head. You’re a Lannister. You’re my son.
TYRION: I loved her.
TYWIN: Who?
TYRION: Shae.
TYWIN: Oh, Tyrion… Put down that crossbow.
TYRION: I murdered her. With my own hands.
TYWIN: It doesn’t matter.
TYRION: It doesn’t matter?
TYWIN: She was a whore!
TYRION: Say that word again.
TYWIN: And what? You’ll kill your own father in the privy? No. You’re my son. Now, enough of this nonsense.
TYRION: I am your son, and you sentenced me to die. You knew I didn’t poison Joffrey, but you sentenced me all the same. Why?
TYWIN: Enough. We’ll go back to my chambers and speak with some dignity.
TYRION: I can’t go back there. She’s in there.
TYWIN: What, are you afraid of a dead whore?
(Tyrion shoots the first crossbow bolt)
TYWIN: You shot me. You’re no son of mine.
TYRION: I am your son. I have always been your son.

Tywin taught Tyrion that a Lannister pays his debts. This teaching presupposes that Tyrion exists as a being who shares the same purpose and identity as a Lannister. When Tywin says “You are my son,” what he is asserting is the impossibility of a survival instinct that would lead one to kill oneself. And when Tyrion attempts to kill him and Tywin responds “You’re no son of mine,” this too is consistent with the same logic.

Nevertheless, Tyrion is able to kill Tywin — by recognizing an asymmetry: that despite sharing the same identity, everything impure and degrading — the body of a dwarf, humiliation, contempt — is concentrated solely upon himself. These negative attributes appear metonymically as the privy. All waste produced by an organism must be processed only within a designated, segregated compartment. And naturally, what has once been expelled need hardly be looked at again.

Tywin must remain the creator of a flawless system. Flawlessness demands that its own attributes apply under all circumstances — even when the content of those attributes betrays the system itself. Tyrion fires the bolt. He returns the pure Lannister principle, “a Lannister pays his debts,” exactly as it is. Therefore, by killing Tywin, Tyrion either proves that he is indeed a son of Lannister, or at the very least, by performing an act that contains no internal contradiction, secures one piece of evidence for his own existence:

I am your son.

Below this point follows a ‘kind postscript’ that irreversibly damages the aesthetic completeness of the analysis. I genuinely do not wish for you to read it.

Q. 셰이를 배제함으로써 이 텍스트가 확보하려는 것은?

I was waiting for a woman I met on MEEFF at a metro station square. It was one of the stations on the Ring Line. Her profile had about nine photos. There’s a crude joke that says women are divided into those you’d “bow in gratitude to eat” and those you’d “just eat”—I figured she was somewhere in the middle. Besides, I liked that she had been quite assertive in her texts before we met.

She didn’t show up at the scheduled time. I smoked a cigarette while watching the people pass by. One good thing about Russia is that you can smoke almost anywhere on the street. Also, East Asian faces are common enough that you aren’t automatically categorized as a complete stranger. At the same time, young women are very favorable toward my ethnicity and country. And, of course, I could enjoy a certain sense of economic superiority. I decided to wait leisurely, mentally rehearsing my repertoire for the day.

The woman was about ten minutes late. Ah, now I understood. She had a hawk nose. Cheekily enough, she hadn't exposed her nose directly in any of those nine photos. I figured I should show a little grace. As I approached, I realized she was at least 5cm taller than me.

“Почему ты так опоздала?” (Why are you so late?)

She didn’t seem to expect that question. She looked quite flustered and rambled on about the metro being delayed or something. To show I wasn’t actually attacking her, I said in a playful tone, “Я никогда не видел, чтобы русские девушки приходили вовремя.” (I’ve never seen Russian women arrive on time.)

As expected, she started grumbling cutely, acting as a representative for all Russian women. I felt the ice-breaking was a success. By now, she surely realized I had met quite a few Russian women recently.

We went to a mid-range buffet called Moo-Moo. It was just before dusk. I remembered what a Russian woman once told me: her friend, who worked part-time, ate KFC for every meal, so even though she worked hard, she could never save any money. She probably meant it as a lesson that working hard is meaningless if you spend money recklessly. When I replied, “Isn’t the job itself the problem if it doesn’t even pay enough for a decent meal?” she burst out laughing in agreement. It wasn’t really funny. It was closer to a miserable reality though.

This woman seemed quite satisfied with Moo-Moo. I maintained the stance that “providing a meal for a lady is only natural” without actually saying it. This was one of the strategies I used in Russia: appealing to being clean, smart, non-violent, polite, and kind to women.

The woman asked me, “Ты приехал в Россию, чтобы найти жену?” (Did you come to Russia to find a wife?)

I told her honestly that since I was an exchange student, that was a responsibility I couldn’t take on. I added that I had a Russian girlfriend recently but we broke up.

“Почему?” (Why?)

Now I had to trust myself. Lying in a foreign language is twice as hard. Besides, this conversation sequence wasn’t going exactly as I had rehearsed.

“У меня мало денег, а она просила меня покупать всякие вещи.” (I don’t have much money, and she kept asking me to buy her things.)

“Какие вещи?” (What things?) she asked back.

I knew this answer was crucial. Depending on what I said, she would decide in her mind who was in the wrong.

“Ювелирные изделия.” (Jewelry.)

I was grateful I knew that word. She seemed convinced. Then she began what I call “safe talk”—how love isn’t about material things, and so on. Following my “repertoire,” I made her laugh, triggered her sympathy, and felt us getting closer—physically as well. It seemed almost certain she had never seen a foreigner do a Putin impression before. I monitored her reactions closely. It was getting late. I asked if she wanted to go to the hotel with me. She whined cutely that she couldn’t because her dad wouldn’t allow it. I took her hand, brushed it against my crotch, and said:

“Смотри. Он уже мокрый. Ты должна взять на себя ответственность.” (Look. It’s already wet. You have to take responsibility.)

She felt the stain on my cotton pants—precum from an erection that had since subsided. She burst out giggling and blamed me. “Подожди секунду. Я напишу папе.” (Wait a second. I’ll text my dad.)

When we stepped outside, the weather was quite chilly and dark. Seeing the lime-green sign of Azbuka Vkussa, she said to me, “Давай зайдем туда. Мне нужно кое-что купить.” (Let’s stop in there. I need to buy a few things.)

“Что?” (What?)

“Влажные салфетки и еще кое-что.” (Wet wipes and some other stuff.)

I knew Azbuka Vkussa was quite expensive, and it felt like a waste of money. “У моего отеля тоже есть магазин. Нам придется возвращаться назад, если пойдем туда.” (There’s a store next to my hotel too. We’d have to go out of our way to go there.)

She wasn’t too pleased but decided not to go against me. There was no one on the street, and the wind was blowing so hard it was difficult to hear each other. I wrapped my arm around her waist and toyed with her as much as I wanted. She occasionally laughed softly, telling me I was crazy. We entered the store. They didn’t have wet wipes. So we bought some stiff tissues. She looked quite dissatisfied.

“Should we buy something to eat?” I had no idea what Russian women ate in these situations. She picked out some strange mussels soaked in liquid. It was the kind of food I wouldn’t have dreamed of buying with my own money, but I paid without complaining.

She didn’t want to have sex with the lights on. I held her close, my chest pressed against hers, and thrust repeatedly. After some time, she asked:

“Можно я буду сверху?” (Can I be on top?)

I didn’t really like that idea. “Еще немного.” (A little longer.)

Her cowgirl style was typical of tall people—instead of a “spider cowgirl” with knees up, she kept her knees folded and her center of gravity toward the back. However, the aesthetic beauty of her pelvis and the parallel lines of her abdomen were dazzling. Unable to contain myself, I pinned her down so she couldn’t move and thrust hard from below. This woman was likely the one with the best body I would ever have sex with in my life.

“Почему грудь разная?” (Why are your breasts different sizes?)

“Да, мне делали операцию в детстве, думаю, с тех пор она изменилась.” (Yes, I had surgery as a child; I think it’s been different since then.)

After enjoying her body to my heart’s content, I lay on my side with my head propped up on my left hand, caressing her.

“Хочу курить.” (I want to go smoking.)

“Я пойду с тобой.” (I’ll go with you.)

She didn’t smoke, but she seemed to want to cool off. She acted even more affectionately toward me. I found her black leather jacket even less appealing than I did before the sex. I treated her with a moderate amount of attention, laughing occasionally as I smoked. Then she said:

“Если у нас будет ребенок, он будет умным и высоким.” (If we have a child, they will be smart and tall.)

I knew I would remember that phrase for a very long time. Nevertheless, I smiled and played along.

When we returned to the hotel, she wanted to eat the food we bought. She opened the lid of the container but didn’t eat much. Instead, she seemed to prefer watching me eat. I amused her by playfully slurping down those mussels in an instant.

It must have been past midnight. I started feeling uncomfortable. While touching her body with my right hand, the words just came out.

“Извини.” (I’m sorry.)

“За что?” (For what?)

I didn’t know what to say. There was no way to explain it convincingly. Not even in my mother tongue.

“Ни за что.” (Nothing.)

The next day, my girlfriend told me that her family was going down to the dacha for a week, so we should spend the whole time at her place. I had to make a decision. I showed the chat records I had with the other woman to Alan, who was in the bed opposite mine.

“Как мне сказать ей, чтобы мы больше не виделись?” (How do I tell her to stop seeing me?)

“Просто скажи, что у тебя нет денег.” (Just say you have no money.)

I felt like punching that annoying Uzbek face.

I thought about it for a long time. Then, in a long message, I wrote almost the entire truth to that woman. She replied with a simple “Ладно” (Okay) and never contacted me again. Just as my girlfriend suggested, I went to her apartment and spent a week there, and afterward, I was invited to the dacha where I spent about four months with her family.

1.
Saruman: Smoke rises from the mountain of Doom. The hour grows late and Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard seeking my counsel. For that is why you have come, is it not… my old friend?
Gandalf: Saruman.
Saruman: You are sure of this?
Gandalf: Beyond any doubt.
Saruman: So, the Ring of Power has been found.
Gandalf: All these long years it was in the Shire, under my very nose.
Saruman: Yet you did not have the wit to see it. Your love of the halfling’s leaf has clearly slowed your mind.
Gandalf: But we still have time. Time enough to counter Sauron if we act quickly.
Saruman: Time?! What time do you think we have?
Saruman: Sauron has regained much of his former strength. He cannot yet take physical form, but his spirit has lost none of its potency. Concealed within his fortress, the Lord of Mordor sees all. His gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth and flesh. You know of what I speak, Gandalf… a great Eye… lidless… wreathed in flame.
Gandalf: The Eye of Sauron.
Saruman: He is gathering all evil to him. Very soon he will summon an army great enough to launch an assault upon Middle-Earth.
Gandalf: You know this? How?
Saruman: I have seen it.
Gandalf: A Palantír is a dangerous tool, Saruman.
Saruman: Why? Why should we fear to use it?
Saruman: The hour is later than you think. Sauron’s forces are already moving. The Nine have left Minas Morgul.
Gandalf: The Nine!
Saruman: They crossed the River Isen on Midsummer’s Eve, disguised as riders in black.
Gandalf: They’ve reached the Shire?!
Saruman: They will find the Ring… and kill the one who carries it.
Gandalf: Frodo!
Saruman: You did not seriously think that a hobbit could contend with the will of Sauron? There are none who can.
Saruman: Against the power of Mordor there can be no victory. We must join with him, Gandalf. We must join with Sauron. It would be wise, my friend.
Gandalf: Tell me, friend… when did Saruman the Wise abandon reason for madness?!
Saruman: I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly. But you… have elected… the way of… pain!

2.
Frodo: It’s a pity Bilbo didn’t kill him when he had the chance.
Gandalf: Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many.
Frodo: I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.
Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring. In which case, you were also meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought.
Gandalf: Oh! It’s that way.
Merry: He’s remembered!
Gandalf: No, but the air doesn’t smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose.

3.
Gandalf: I am Saruman… or rather, Saruman as he should have been.
Aragorn: You fell!
Gandalf: Through fire… and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside.
Gandalf : Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life-age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I’ve been sent back… until my task is done.
Legolas / Aragorn: Gandalf…
Gandalf: Gandalf? Yes… that’s what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name. I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now… at the turn of the tide.

Saruman and Gandalf are transcendent beings. They are Maiar sent to Middle-earth—divine entities who have taken the form of men.

However, Gandalf the Grey has yet to achieve true transcendence. When Saruman proposed joining Mordor at Isengard, it was a piece of realpolitik born from acknowledging the sheer imbalance of power. It was a calculated “preservation of order”—provided, of course, that one holds the perspective that “lesser” beings like Hobbits or Men have little intrinsic value. Instead of analyzing or refuting this logic, Gandalf displays an emotional backlash: “Since when did Saruman the Wise abandon reason for madness?” This is not cold analysis; it is a manifestation of betrayal, moral superiority, a will to power, and judgment. This “Ego” is what binds Gandalf. He is trapped in the dualism of “I” and “You,” “Our side” and “The Enemy,” consumed by personal worry for Frodo and the condemnation of Saruman. Saruman is right; Gandalf’s mind is indeed “slowed.”

While lost and contemplating in the Mines of Moria, Gandalf preaches to Frodo. He tells Frodo—who wished Bilbo had killed Gollum—not to be too eager to deal out death in judgment. He says that even the very wise cannot see all ends, and that all we have to decide is what to do with the time given to us. Yet, the man giving this sermon is the same one who recently branded Saruman’s choices as “madness.”

Immediately following this, as if struck by an epiphany, he finds the path. It seems he realized that the very essence of his sermon applied to himself. He had branded Saruman as evil. He had been lingering, hesitant to face the Balrog. He was a man telling another not to do the very thing he himself was doing.

The suggestion that Gandalf feared the Balrog appears repeatedly. His long pause at the crossroads likely wasn’t because he was lost. Given how effortlessly he leads the company to the Bridge of Khazad-dûm once they are surrounded, it is highly probable he knew the way all along. What he could not decide was not the direction, but whether to confront his fear. He was searching for a way to solve the problem without having to face the Balrog.

When he suddenly announces that “the air doesn’t smell so foul” and finds the path, it isn’t the result of a logical calculation. It is the moment he lets go of his attachment to the outcome. It is about following intuition—“following his nose.” He finally makes the decision to tear down the boundaries of the “I” he had constructed. This is the beginning of transcendence.

And at the end of that path, what he had sought to avoid was waiting. Gandalf fights the Balrog, defeats it, and dies.

The Gandalf who faced the Balrog is no longer “Gandalf.” Upon his return, he speaks of darkness taking him, of straying out of thought and time, and of days that felt as long as an age of the earth. These expressions signify the complete collapse of a human cognitive system bound by time and space. In this process, the individual ego of “Gandalf” has weathered away and vanished. Only a faint sense of purpose remains—a state of having a purpose, yet being without personal desire.

When Aragorn calls out “Gandalf,” he replies: “Gandalf? Yes… that’s what they used to call me.” He remembers the name, but the sense that the name belongs to him is faint. The continuity with his former self has been severed.

He no longer moves out of personal ambition to defeat Sauron or private concern for his friends. He has become a mere proxy of the universal will, deployed to balance the scales of the world. Gandalf has become the First Cause. He is a phenomenon in itself, beyond the need for doubt. Like the sun rising or the wind blowing, Gandalf the White has entered a state of existing simply because he must be there.

In other words, he is a transcendental.

“Pijangpajang.” It means that both sides are in the same position. Usually this expression is used to neutralize the other person’s criticism, in the sense of, “What gives you the right to blame someone else?” The reason the tu quoque fallacy is considered a fallacy is that, instead of addressing the content of the other person’s argument, it talks about the other person’s completely unrelated qualifications. But when examining the other person’s content is meaningless, it may not be a fallacy. In that case, it is not a distraction from the point, but the only factual statement one can make.

The Dragon King wants to kill the rabbit for the sake of his own survival, and the rabbit deceives the Dragon King for the sake of his own survival. Their motive is the same. And in the face of that motive of survival, there is no authority within this narrative that can judge which life is more valuable. The Dragon King asserts the superiority of his own life by saying, “I have received the mandate of Heaven,” but that is a justification he grants to himself, not a standard the rabbit has ever agreed to. There is, however, something that makes that authority seem real: the many soldiers surrounding the rabbit.

Because the Dragon King has power, he can state his desire in its raw form. Because the rabbit lacks power, he cannot dare say directly, “I do not want to die, so you just die instead.” So he is forced into an extraordinary act of cunning. The strategy the rabbit chooses is to disguise his own desire in a completely different form.

The rabbit’s real message is, “I do not want to die, so you die instead.” But if he says that directly, he dies. So he translates this message into the Dragon King’s own interest. “If you send me back, I will bring you the liver.” He creates a structure in which the rabbit’s survival becomes identical with the Dragon King’s recovery. He changes the statement from “Spare me” into “Your Majesty must spare me if Your Majesty wishes to live as well.” Now killing the rabbit becomes an act that harms the Dragon King himself. When one cannot pursue one’s own desire directly, one inserts that desire into the other person’s system of desire.

The rabbit uses a “genius mirroring strategy.” He returns to the turtle exactly what he himself suffered at the turtle’s hands. In the previous Episode 3, the turtle identified the rabbit’s sensitivity to gain as the deification of his self-narrative. “Sir, you are fit to become a high minister.” The rabbit reacts to this immediately. He realizes that he has been driven into danger because he could not make a balanced judgment about his own lack. What the rabbit identifies in the Dragon King is a sensitivity to loss, an extreme sensitivity to any choice that might contribute even slightly to his own death. Interestingly, the turtle had a hidden and dirty premise: “If it serves the goal, then deception is permitted.” Even that the rabbit copies and reflects back in exactly the same way. The logic of pijangpajang is not operating only at the level of content, “I do not want to die, so you die instead,” but is being reflected equally at the level of methodology.

When the turtle says, “Let us cut open his belly,” this is essentially a warning that says, “That creature may be using the same method we ourselves use.” But for the Dragon King to accept this warning, he would have to acknowledge, “Deception is a possible strategy,” while at the same time saying, “But when the other side uses it against me, it is unjust.” That is not logically sustainable.

Saying that one cannot revise the premise is an explanation at the level of logic. But what actually operates in this work is not logic but desire. The real reason the Dragon King fails to recognize the rabbit’s fraud is not that he is unable to revise a contaminated premise, but that he does not want to revise it. If we look again at the core structure of the previous commentary, the reason the rabbit failed to recognize the turtle’s fraud was not logical incompetence. The rabbit had a truth-speaker in the form of the fox, and logically he had enough reason to suspect. But he did not suspect, because to do so would collapse the narrative of “me becoming the prime minister of the Dragon Palace.”

The Dragon King is the same. He had a truth-speaker right beside him in the form of the turtle. But in order to accept that truth, he would have to face the possibility that “we might cut him open and find no liver.” And once he faces that possibility, he arrives at the conclusion, “I may die.” In other words, the fundamental motor here is desire.

The process by which the creatures of the underwater palace are deceived by the rabbit’s sophistry is not mere “stupidity.” It is a catastrophe that shows how a deductive system collapses when it encounters an unfamiliar and contaminated assumption, a false premise. The Dragon King and his ministers are full of deductive confidence, the confidence that “all principle is unified.” They try to derive judgment from authority and order they already regard as true, and when an unfamiliar proposition enters, they do not verify it through open observation but instead patch it into their existing authority. The rabbit injects into the underwater palace’s deductive engine the completely new but plausible false premise of “the detachability of the liver,” borrowing the logic of the moon and the tides. This is an entirely new proposition about an entirely new species, one the creatures of the Dragon Palace have never encountered before. They have never seen a rabbit as a species, nor have they ever verified the physiology of land animals. The only “verification” they perform is to order that the rabbit’s three rear holes be inspected, but that is not really open observation. It is going to confirm a conclusion that has already been decided.

Deduction, by its very structure, pairs well with authority. Deduction asks about validity. Deductive reasoning is, at its core, a true-or-false mode of thought. True or false, right or wrong. If a ruler were to say that something is correct with an 80 percent probability, his authority would not stand very well, because when it actually happened, when probability collapsed into reality, there would still have been a chance that he was wrong. But it is also difficult for a ruler to display every possible case and show everyone experimental results proving that something happened eight times out of ten. A ruler only needs to say, “This is correct.” And the reasons why it is correct can always be brought in later, from anywhere. What decides that is a kind of power.

What the rabbit does after gaining power is rather cute and insolent. He begins trying to decide, with his own mouth, what accords with principle. He looks at the ridge-beam inscription in the genealogy and says, “The expression ‘the dragon’s bones’ is not appropriate, so it would be better to replace the character for dragon with the character for whale.” A prisoner who, only a moment ago, had to stick out his belly and receive the knife is now evaluating the appropriateness of the words hanging in the Dragon King’s palace. The authority to determine which words are correct and which are incorrect is precisely the act of relocating the source of principle to oneself. And the Dragon King simply nods and says, “Indeed, your words are right.” Because it is the word of the benefactor who will bring him the liver. When power moves, principle moves with it.

This structure is actually repeated once more at the end of the work, in the scene where the rabbit wraps up his droppings and sends them to the turtle as medicine. After surviving the Dragon King’s deceptive logic, the rabbit uses that exact same deceptive logic on the turtle. “My droppings are a miraculous medicine that reduces fever.” Structurally, this is identical to the Dragon King saying, “Your death is an honor.” It is the force that wields power. It is rhetoric that packages something worthless as something valuable. What is amusing is that the Dragon King actually eats it and recovers. If the Dragon King had not recovered, then the story would end neatly with “a lie is a lie.” But he does recover. A false prescription that begins from a false premise actually works. What does not accord with principle ends up functioning in reality.

This ending touches the greatest intellectual tension of the late Joseon period. Neo-Confucianism begins from principle. The promise of that system is that if one investigates the principles of all things, one will arrive at correct action and correct results. But what this work shows is a world in which principle was correct, yet the result was wrong, the Dragon Palace’s deductive system could not filter out the rabbit’s false premise, and a world in which principle was wrong, yet the result was right, the rabbit’s droppings actually become medicine.

At the end, the narrator states directly: “If one who bears the name of human is not even equal to a rabbit or a turtle, how could that not be shameful? Let all remember this.” What, exactly, is this narrator telling us to remember?

“By the order of Heaven, I have guarded the southern seas, sent rain to humankind, and bestowed grace upon the creatures of the waters. Then, by chance, I fell ill, and it was said that only by eating a rabbit’s liver could I recover. Therefore my loyal palace official captured you and brought you here. If I remove your liver and eat it, and my illness is cured, I shall never forget your merit. I will have your portrait painted and remembered for ages, build a memorial hall in your honor, and inscribe my name so that your grace may be passed down to my descendants for ten thousand generations. If by sacrificing your one life you save mine, will that not be a worthy deed? So do not grieve in the slightest—simply bare your belly and accept the knife.”

The rabbit did not answer. Instead, he lifted his head, looked at the Dragon King, and let tears fall. Seeing this, the Dragon King felt pity, thinking that the creature seemed to be dying innocently because of him. Yet since death was unavoidable, he sought at least to comfort him with gentle words.

“Do you weep because you are sorrowful?”
“Not at all. I do not weep because death is sorrowful. I weep because I cannot die.”

The Dragon King, puzzled by this absurd answer, asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“I shall explain. A miserable little life like mine is of no account in the human world. At any time I might become an eagle’s meal, or a hunter’s side dish. If I were to die that way, who would ever know that I had lived in this world? But if my liver were taken out and used to cure Your Majesty’s illness, then my name would be remembered for ages. And if, in addition, Your Majesty would have my portrait painted and build a memorial hall for me, what greater honor could there be? But this foolish creature came here without bringing his liver, and that is why I weep with such bitterness.”

The Dragon King burst into laughter. “What a fool you are. Even a lie should at least be plausible if you wish someone to believe it. Your body is here—how can you claim that the liver inside your belly did not come with you?”

Instead of answering, the rabbit merely looked upward and smiled. Seeing this, the Dragon King asked again, “Do you smile because your deceit has been exposed and you have nothing left to say?” Only then did the rabbit reply. “I have plenty to say. But seeing one as exalted as Your Majesty so ignorant, I cannot help but laugh. Your Majesty commands transformations at will, rises into the heavens, summons clouds, sends rain, and knows the principles of heaven and earth in every detail. Yet do you not know that rabbits can remove and replace their livers as they please? Even children gathering firewood know this. How can one such as Your Majesty be so ignorant? The moon waxes until the full moon, then wanes again after it has passed. That is why people have long linked rabbits with the changing moon. The tides of the sea too advance and retreat, swelling at one time and diminishing at another. Our rabbit livers are like the moon and like the tides. Before the full moon we keep them inside our bellies; after the full moon we take them out and set them aside, so that their energy may fill and empty, advance and withdraw in constant rhythm. That is why our livers make such fine medicine. If they remained always inside us like the livers of other beasts, why would anyone specifically say that rabbit liver is precious? On the fifteenth day of this month there was a gathering of mountain beasts. Before going there, I removed my liver, wrapped it in a banana leaf, and hung it high on the branch of a pine tree atop the mountain. To put it back into my belly, I must wait until the first day of next month. But since I met the special palace official at the gathering and came here directly with him, how could I possibly have brought my liver?”

Hearing this, the Dragon King found the reasoning almost convincing. If only he had asked the immortal more carefully about the matter of rabbit liver when the medicine was first prescribed. But regret was of no use now. Still wishing to confirm it, he questioned the rabbit once more.

“How can you, having no hands, take a liver in and out of your belly?”

“A rabbit has a separate opening through which the liver comes out. If we merely tense our belly, the liver slips out through that opening, and if we swallow it through the mouth, it goes back in.”

“Do you truly mean to say that there is a separate opening from which the liver comes out?”

“There are three openings in my backside. Through one I pass stool, through another I pass urine, and through the third I pass my liver.”

The Dragon King ordered his attendants to examine the rabbit’s rear. When they looked, there did indeed appear to be three openings. Only then did the Dragon King believe the rabbit’s words and ask, “If your liver is not here, how then am I to cure my illness?”

“If Your Majesty will trust me, then send me back to land. Once I return to the mountains, I shall bring not only my own liver, but many others belonging to the rabbits who have hung theirs up alongside mine.”

The turtle was left speechless, and the rabbit’s life was spared.

Lying there beside them and listening to the exchange between the Dragon King and the rabbit, the turtle felt as though his heart were collapsing. He had suffered beyond words to bring that creature this far. Worse still, though he had never even met the rabbit’s wife, how could he possibly go and find her? No matter how he thought about it, he could not believe this talk of a rabbit traveling without its liver. Even if he had to return to land and capture another rabbit, it seemed better first to cut open this one’s belly and see for himself. So he addressed the Dragon King:

“There is no record in history that a rabbit can remove and replace its liver, nor does such a claim accord with reason. Cut open this creature’s belly, and if there is truly no liver inside, then I myself shall go out again and bring back another rabbit. But first, Your Majesty, cut open this one and see.”

The rabbit realized that if the Dragon King accepted the turtle’s words, he was certain to die. Somehow, he had to silence the turtle. Turning toward him, the rabbit rebuked him sharply.

“I had refrained from reporting all that you have done to the Dragon King, bearing it only because of the affection born of the long journey we suffered together across ten thousand li of sea. But you become more unruly by the moment. When you first met me in the mountains, it happened to be the full moon, the very day when hundreds of my kin remove their livers all at once. If you had revealed your true purpose then, I would have chosen several among those hundreds whose medicinal power was strongest. But instead, you concealed your heart and deceived me, saying that I was to enter office in the underwater palace. That was your first wrongdoing. And now you would commit another? The Dragon King’s illness is grave, and either you or I must go out and fetch the liver if he is to be cured. Yet instead of thinking how to obtain it, you scheme only to kill me. And if you cut open my belly and there is no liver there, then what will you do? Even if you return to the mountains, word will already have spread that I went to the underwater palace to enter service. Which rabbit would so much as glance at you then? In that case, not only will you fail to get a rabbit—you may not even save your own life. And how then will the Dragon King’s illness be cured? You speak without any thought for what comes before or after, uttering only nonsense. And you call yourself a loyal subject? No—not a loyal subject, but a disgrace that would ruin the kingdom. As for me, even if I die here, I shall have no grievance. Go on, then—cut open my belly. Yes, cut it open!”

The rabbit thrust out his belly boldly again and again, while the turtle, having no answer, merely crouched there blinking his eyes. From above, the Dragon King saw that the rabbit’s words fit the situation all too well.

The Dragon King looked around at the ministers of the court and asked, “What should be done about this matter?”

The Minister of Justice, the Gray Mullet, stepped forward and said, “When guilt is difficult to determine, it is said that punishment should be made light, and when sentence is passed, the accused should be pitied. We cannot know for certain whether this rabbit truly has its liver or not. If we rashly cut open its belly and there is no liver, then we will have failed in mercy toward the accused. Therefore, Your Majesty, do not cut open his belly.”

The Minister of War, the Trout, also came forward and added, “It is said that if one uses fine bait, there will always be fish that bite. Since we have already decided not to kill him, let us soothe the rabbit’s heart and win him over.”

The Dragon King resolved to follow this advice. Changing his expression and forcing a smile, he scolded the special palace official and greatly honored the rabbit.

“Master Rabbit’s words are entirely correct. It was my own foolishness not to speak plainly from the beginning. Had I explained the matter in full, it would have ended well for both sides. I shall not dwell on what has already passed. Attend to Master Rabbit and escort him to a place of honor.”

No sooner had the words been spoken than the palace attendants rushed down and helped the rabbit up. Full of swagger, the rabbit lifted his forepaws like a monkey and trotted forward on his hind feet. When he came up beside the Dragon King, a special seat had already been prepared for him. The Dragon King then addressed him once more with renewed courtesy.

“Though water and land are different realms, your great reputation has long been known. I had wished to pay you a visit myself, yet instead I have caused you to come all the way to this underwater palace. I am truly ashamed.”

The rabbit replied with a show of dignity.

“Reputation? It is hardly worth mentioning. Still, it astonishes me that some immortal should have spoken my name.”

“How many days will it take you to return to land, fetch your liver, and come back?”

“If the water route is eight thousand li, then with the special palace official carrying me day and night without rest, it will take four days. And once we reach land, if I carry him to the mountain day and night, it will take three more. Seven days to go, seven days to return—allowing generously, I shall be back within fifteen days.”

The rabbit is feasted and freely toys with the ministers of the underwater palace.

The Dragon King, overjoyed, held a great feast in honor of the rabbit. Splendid folding screens were set up, and beautiful music filled the hall. Lovely maidens danced gracefully holding little bells, and young singers sang in clear voices. Cheerful music played without pause, while wine and food overflowed in abundance. Though arranged in haste, the feast was no less grand than the celebration held when the palace was first completed.

The frivolous rabbit drank his fill, and as the wine rose to his head, he began dancing with the heavenly maidens, speaking impudently.

“Leave aside my liver—even a mere kiss from me would let you live three or four hundred years without trouble.”

The maidens, intrigued, all came running one after another to kiss the rabbit.

After all manner of mischief, the rabbit lifted his head and looked toward the wind-wall of the palace hall, where the ridge-beam inscription was hanging. Seeing it, he affected the air of a connoisseur.

“In the opening phrase of that inscription, it says, ‘The dragon’s bones were hung to serve as the beam.’ But since this is the Dragon King’s palace, the words ‘dragon’s bones’ do not seem appropriate.”

The Dragon King was startled and at once replied, “Indeed, you are quite right. Master Rabbit, please amend it with better characters.”

“It would be best to replace the character for dragon with the character for whale. But since bringing back the liver is urgent, I shall attend to that after I return.”

At last the feast came to an end, and as the rabbit took leave of the Dragon King, the king, seeking to flatter him, turned to the ministers and asked, “Master Rabbit’s merit is beyond measure. Once he returns with the liver, what office should be granted him, and what reward would suffice to repay his grace?”

The Minister of Personnel, the Perch, answered, “Master Rabbit’s talent is extraordinary. Grant him a noble title, appoint him to high office, and place him among the greatest advisers of the court.”

The Minister of Revenue, the Puffer Fish, quickly added, “Titles and offices alone will not be enough to repay Master Rabbit’s great merit. You should grant him rich land as well—broad fields by a great lake, with all the grass and fruit they produce.”

But the rabbit, deliberately feigning humility, said, “If only Your Majesty eats my liver and your illness is cured, then nothing else matters to me. I shall be satisfied with that alone.”

Having finished his farewells, he passed out through the gates of the Dragon Palace together with the special palace official, and at last felt a great weight lift from his heart: now, surely, he would live.

“Hurrying here, we passed by without even knowing what place was what. But today, do not do that. Tell me in detail whatever I ask along the way, and in return I shall give you a piece of fine liver so that you too may live long.”

Again the rabbit rode on the turtle’s back and came out onto land.

The turtle thought to himself that his life now depended on the rabbit. It would be best to obey him meekly. So he agreed, and the rabbit, delighted, began asking about everything he saw, while the turtle answered with all that he knew.

“What is that place we just passed over there?”
“That is a famous terrace celebrated in old poems.”

“And what is that over there?”
“That is another place beloved by poets, where people speak of mist, distance, and sorrow.”

“And that over there?”
“Those are rivers long associated with parting and lament.”

“And what about that?”
“That is a splendid pavilion praised for its sunset and river view.”

So the two went on, asking and answering about everything they saw, perfectly in step with one another. One asked, the other replied, and while they exchanged words back and forth, they crossed the wide sea and at last reached land. Once ashore, the rabbit went ahead and the turtle crawled along behind him.

The turtle was returning to the Dragon Palace, and the rabbit was returning to the mountains.

The rabbit burned with resentment and longed to demand a full accounting of the turtle’s crime. Yet if he made a mistake and those hard jaws clamped onto his leg, dragging him back into the water, that too would be disastrous. So he suppressed his anger and simply walked on in silence. After they had gone a long way, until the sea could no longer be seen, the rabbit suddenly leapt up onto a rock and shouted at the turtle.

“You wretched turtle! If I were to reckon up your crime, even killing you would not satisfy my anger. If the Dragon King had not been as gullible as he was, or if I had not possessed such quick wit, my precious life would surely have become the spirit of one wronged beneath the waves. They say that fish and beasts of the land are about equally foolish, but from what I have seen, scaled creatures are far more foolish than those with fur. How could a liver attached inside the belly be taken in and out at will? When I think of what you did, I ought to drag you into the mountains, gather all my companions, boil you alive, dip you in vinegar pepper paste, and make you the main dish at a great feast with white liquor. Still, when I consider it carefully, I cannot say that the blame is yours alone. What you did, you did for your king, so I will not rebuke you too harshly. And besides, I rode on your back across that vast sea, so in memory of the hardships we shared together in danger, I shall spare your life. Know that, and be on your way.”

As though bestowing some great favor, he went on speaking at length, then added,

“I promised to send your Dragon King a good medicine, and how could a gentleman such as I break his word? It is said that my droppings are effective in reducing fever, so people gather them and give them to sick children. Judging by your king’s complexion, the heat had risen to his face and dimmed his eyes. If he eats my droppings, his illness will be cured. Take them back and feed them to him.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than he produced a great many pellet-like droppings. Wrapping them carefully in leaves, he loaded them onto the turtle’s back and tied them there with vine, and so the turtle carried them back to the underwater palace.

Having entered the very place of death and barely escaped with his life, then returned once more to the place where he had lived—how joyful the rabbit was. Hopping along, he began boasting to himself.

“Many famous heroes of old chased glory far from home, only to die before they could ever return. But I, thanks to my marvelous talent, deceived the Dragon King with nothing but my tongue at the very brink of danger, and crossed the waters back again. How wonderful, how wonderful—how dear is my homeland! The blue mountains and clear waters remain unchanged, just as I remember them. That green peak wrapped in white clouds is where I used to sit and play, and those fruit trees covered in vines are where I used to gather fruit. Uncle Raccoon Dog, have you been well? Brother Badger, are you keeping well? Never think of seeking office, and never think of moving away. When one enters office, the body is endangered; when one leaves home, one’s fate turns harsh. Let us remain here among these familiar blue mountains and moonlit winds, among our old companions, and enjoy ourselves together day and night.”

Meanwhile, the turtle returned to the underwater palace carrying the rabbit’s droppings. Just as the rabbit had said, the Dragon King ate them and recovered from his illness. Thus the turtle came to be honored as a loyal subject, while the rabbit, it is said, followed the immortal up to the palace on the moon and has been preparing medicine there ever since.

Though the rabbit and the turtle are nothing but insignificant creatures, their loyalty and remarkable wisdom are said to be no less than that of human beings, and many songs were made about them and spread throughout the world. If a person, bearing the name of man, proves inferior to a rabbit or a turtle, would that not be shameful? Take heed, all of you.

The turtle is not simply blurting out random falsehoods. He is running a second mind inside his own head, a simulation of the rabbit’s mind.

What he demonstrates cannot be adequately described as mere loyalty. Through sheer observation, he instantly picks up on a few crucial data points: that the rabbit responds to the honorific “Master,” and that he is vulnerable to forms of lack such as the desire for recognition and the dream of upward mobility.

When information is processed fluently, people are more likely to accept it as true. The turtle overwhelms the rabbit’s critical thinking with a smooth, uninterrupted narrative that leaves no room for objection.

The Dragon King, meanwhile, sets the wrong KPI from the start.

In what should have been an interview for the task “Who is capable of bringing me the rabbit’s liver?”, he instead asks, “Who is most loyal to me?” The turtle gets the job by offering the bizarre logic that “my ancestors ate the flesh of loyal subjects.”

That has nothing to do with the actual skills required: deception, persuasion, or the ability to survive on land.

If the turtle had been loyal but lacked verbal cunning, he would not even have managed to start a conversation with the rabbit. He would have been eaten by the mountain beasts before accomplishing anything. The Dragon King sent out a “faithful servant,” but by luck that servant also happened to possess the talents of a natural-born con artist.

This is not a matter of moral virtue. It is a matter of cognitive skill.

The Dragon King’s real assignment is “deceive the rabbit and bring him here,” but the question he effectively asks is, “How loyal were your ancestors?” Systems demand legitimacy. Reality demands technique. The turtle is a deceptive technician who bridges that gap with remarkable precision.

It would be too simplistic to treat the rabbit, who falls for all this, as nothing more than a fool.

What happens to him is a much more intricate process in which self-deception is produced by the interplay between lack and the desire to see only what one already wants to believe.

The scene where the rabbit first mistakes the turtle for a pot lid or a lump of cow dung is not merely comic. It shows the rabbit’s first lack: he knows almost nothing about the underwater world.

A second lack is that, within mountain society, he does not really have a name. He is just one more frivolous little creature. When the turtle addresses him as “Master Rabbit,” that functions as proof of social existence. Before asking the rabbit to give up his liver, the turtle first feeds him something like a narcotic: a social identity.

A third lack emerges more directly. The rabbit asks whether there are any officials in the underwater court who are educated, and whether any of them are large in stature. To the turtle, those questions would have sounded like this: “I am afraid they will look down on me because I am not well educated,” and “I have always had a complex about my small size.”

The turtle’s response there is excellent.

“There are none.”

In one move, he soothes the rabbit’s anxieties and reinforces the fantasy that in that world he could become a unique and incomparable being. With every question, the rabbit’s escape route narrows, and the turtle’s net grows tighter.

The rabbit’s deepest tragedy lies in his groundless self-confidence.

He probably spent his life thinking, “I am this clever, I speak this well, so why do the mountain beasts look down on me?” Then the turtle appears and tells him, “You have the qualities of a minister greater even than the tiger.”

The rabbit’s mind receives this as a truth finally discovered. It is the final confirmation of the self-image he has been waiting for his entire life. The rabbit is deceived by the turtle, but at the same time he sells himself over to the lie he has always wanted to believe, borrowing the turtle’s voice to do it.

What is interesting is that the turtle works by assuming a certain universality, and those assumptions turn out to be correct.

“Surely the underwater world, like the mountain world, has situations where capable people are not properly recognized.”
“Surely high office comes with privilege.”
“Surely even in the mountains there is some equivalent of office and rank.”

In the previous episode, the abalone produces an accurate image of the rabbit on the basis of a groundless memory from a previous life. Here, a similar pattern repeats itself. The turtle does not know these things for certain. He simply projects the logic of his own world outward, and it works.

The rabbit does the same thing. Instead of studying the specificity of the underwater world, he projects onto it the grammar of the mountain world that he already knows.

The premises offered by the turtle, that power is sweet, that ability ought to be rewarded, that there exists a heroic narrative in which one leaves home and succeeds elsewhere, all sound so universal and self-evident to the rabbit that he fails to see the specific purpose hidden inside them, namely that he is being brought there to surrender his liver.

The turtle’s fraud succeeds precisely because universality really does operate. The mountain world too has hierarchy, lack, and a desire for recognition. These exist as premises no one even thinks to question.

In other words, this work says, “Do not trust principles,” while the very basis of that warning is the fact that principles really do work. For a work to satirize universality, universality has to exist. And because it exists, the object of satire is precisely the person who is fooled by it.

The message “question the principle” itself stands on top of the actual functioning of principle. I think this concretely shows the major tension in this work, the same tension I mentioned in the previous commentary, between principle and efficacy.

When the turtle speaks about the Dragon Palace, when the rabbit speaks about the mountain, and when the turtle rebuts the rabbit’s description of mountain life, it is hard to say that any of it is simply false.

The turtle speaks of the splendor and safety of the Dragon Palace, safety at least in the sense that there are no tigers there. The rabbit speaks of the beautiful four seasons in the mountains. What each of them hides is only the reverse side of that landscape.

In that sense, what they offer is selective truth.

We reconstruct the world by gathering fragments of appearances, the fragments each of us wants to see. The turtle gives the rabbit exactly the fragments he wants, and the rabbit eagerly pieces them together into his own ruin.

By this point, the rabbit is already moving in a fixed direction.

His lack, his self-confidence, the turtle’s selective truths, and even the scarcity effect of “this offer will not remain open forever” all converge into a single line of movement. He is no longer deciding whether to go. He is only resolving his last remaining anxieties one by one.

“There will not be danger, right?”
“They will not look down on me, right?”

The turtle understands this, which is why his answers grow shorter and shorter.

In this story, the fox is the only one who speaks the truth, at least from the observer’s standpoint.

“Water is dangerous by nature. Official life is no small danger either. If you go, you will die.”

There is no lie in what the fox says. And yet truth fails.

Earlier, the bear accurately identified the core problem in the mountain assembly, but changed nothing. Speaking correctly in public and actually moving the order of things are entirely different matters. The fox is a variation on that same theme. Truth can neither change the system nor save a friend.

The fox can only say, “Do not go.” He cannot offer an alternative. He cannot say, “You can become prime minister. You can enjoy wealth and glory. There is a world where your worth will be recognized.”

What the fox is really saying is probably this: “It is better to stay here and go on being ignored.”

The turtle does not even feel the need to refute him head-on. He says, in effect, “That fox once asked me to take him along, but I refused because his heart was rotten. He is only trying to stop you now because he wants your place for himself.”

To contaminate the motives of the one speaking truth: this is the most efficient way to neutralize truth without ever having to refute it.

Everything the rabbit imagined about the Dragon Palace was made entirely of language. Wealth and glory came from the turtle’s mouth alone. The rabbit had seen none of it with his own eyes.

But now, for the first time, physical reality rises before him.

Endless water. A scene so vast that he cannot tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. This is the first moment when he confronts, sensorially, what he has actually agreed to.

By now the turtle’s answers are openly flimsy. And still the rabbit accepts them. He has already turned the fox into an enemy. He has already heard back from the turtle a humiliating picture of mountain life. Most of all, to abandon the narrative of “I will become a great minister in the Dragon Palace” would mean returning to being a nameless mountain creature once again.

Then the soldier tells the rabbit the whole truth.

The Dragon King is ill. The rabbit’s liver is needed. That is why the turtle came to capture him. And the soldier adds, “What I cannot understand is you. If it was obvious you would die by coming here, why did you abandon your homeland and follow him all this way?”

The soldier is speaking to the rabbit, but the question is really addressed to the audience.

Can we honestly be sure that we are not riding on the turtle’s back ourselves?
Or are we, too, in the middle of delivering our own livers, deceived by the universal premises we wanted to believe in?
What is your answer?

“Good sir, Master Rabbit.”

The rabbit, by nature playful and somewhat frivolous, was also small in stature, and thus no one in the mountains treated him with respect. Even creatures as small as mice and squirrels would casually call out to him, “Rabbit! Rabbit!” as if addressing a child.

Having spent his whole life being looked down upon, he was beside himself with delight when someone suddenly addressed him with the refined title “Master.” He began hopping excitedly, his whole body trembling with joy.

“Who might you be over there? Who is it that calls for me? For what purpose do you seek me? Are you looking for a companion to play go? A drinking companion? Do you call me to go admire the full moon? Or to enjoy a boat ride?”

Babbling whatever came to mind, he hopped this way and that as he approached.

The cunning turtle, wishing to observe the rabbit’s nature, withdrew his head completely and lay still, indistinguishable from a mere object. When the rabbit came closer, he saw no one - only what appeared to be a lump of stone.

“What is this? A dried cow dung? Or a broken pot shard?”

As he puzzled over it, a sudden fear struck him.

“Oh no - this is bad! A hunter must have set down his gun and gone to relieve himself. In such times, the best strategy is to run away at once!”

Startled by his own imagination, the rabbit fled.

The turtle thought to himself, This is a disaster. After finally finding a rabbit, could he simply let it escape? All his efforts would be for nothing. Slowly, he raised his head and called out once more:

“Good sir, Master Rabbit.”

This time, the rabbit did not leap, but approached slowly, step by step. As he came nearer, he saw the Turtle’s head emerge - something that had not been there before. It was both strange and unsettling. Keeping his distance, the rabbit asked,

“I have lived in these mountains for a long time, yet I have never seen a creature like you. How do you know me, and why do you call me that way?”

The turtle replied,

“As the old saying goes, ‘Is it not a joy when a friend comes from afar?’ And yet, when a friend calls to you from afar, you do not even come closer, but instead treat him as a stranger - how discourteous.”

Hearing this, the rabbit found the words reasonable. The creature before him looked unusual, and his manner of speaking was refined. He came closer, sat down beside him, and asked,

“Who might you be?”

Such praise was far beyond what the rabbit had ever received. Though grateful, he could hardly believe it.

“How could you say that I surpass the bear or the tiger?”

The turtle replied at once, as if he had been waiting for the question.

“Judging by your appearance, you possess the qualities of a great minister who could assist a ruler in bringing about a peaceful world. Your bright eyes reveal intelligence that grasps the principles of heaven and earth. Your eloquence recalls the greatest envoys of old, and when you occasionally doze, one is reminded of those legendary strategists whose minds never slept. Among all the animals of the mountains, none surpasses you. If you were to enter our underwater palace, you would surely become a prime minister or a great general, enjoying wealth and honor.”

Hearing this, the rabbit felt that the turtle’s words matched him perfectly. Yet he worried - having never studied literature, what if there were others in the underwater kingdom more skilled in writing?

“How many among the ministers of the underwater palace are skilled in letters?”

That concern was eased. But now another worry arose - his small stature.

“Are there any tall ministers in the underwater palace?”

Hearing this, the rabbit began to think rather highly of himself. He possessed ambition and eloquence, and if there were no scholars or tall officials in the underwater palace, then by any measure he would not fall short. Still, the thought of leaving his beloved mountain home made him hesitate.

“It would indeed be good to go with you. But how could I forget the joy of freely roaming these beautiful mountains?”

The shallow-minded rabbit, intending to deceive the turtle, began boasting about the beauty of the mountains - yet all of it was exaggerated or false.

“In spring, flowers bloom across the mountains in splendid beauty. In summer, one gazes upon white clouds rising above the peaks and escapes the heat in cool mountain streams. In autumn, the red leaves are even more vivid than spring blossoms. In winter, one admires plum blossoms blooming in the snow - such solitary beauty is unmatched.

Listening to this, the turtle was astonished. I must break his spirit, he thought, and casually asked:

“That is quite an exaggeration. Do you think that because I live in water, I know nothing of life in the mountains? Shall I tell you the truth of your miserable existence?”

With that, the turtle turned and began to crawl away without looking back.

Startled, the rabbit hurried after him.

“Wait, sir, Master Turtle! Why are you in such a hurry?”

As the turtle continued on, the rabbit followed closely.

“If I go to the underwater palace, will there truly be no such dangers?”

The rabbit pleaded once more,

“Even if I go, let me at least bid farewell to my friends in the mountains.”

Toward the Sea

With every question the rabbit asked, the turtle skillfully deflected and guided him step by step forward. At that moment, a meddlesome young fox suddenly leapt out from behind a bend in the mountain path and called out

“Rabbit, where are you going?”

The words sounded plausible enough. The rabbit, swayed by the fox’s warning, turned to the turtle and said,

“I cannot go. You should go on alone. They say that once one enters official service, one can no longer live freely and may die unjustly in the end. Why should I travel so far only to die?”

The turtle thought to himself that the fox had ruined everything at the very last moment. Quietly, he began to drive a wedge between the fox and the rabbit.

“Hm, so that is your good friend? If he himself has no fortune, how could he ever recommend it to another?”

Making an excuse, the turtle turned and began crawling down the mountain without looking back. The rabbit hurried after him and asked,

“What do you mean, he has no fortune?”

The rash rabbit believed him at once and cursed the fox.

“That fox has always behaved that way. No matter what anyone says, I will follow you, sir.”

The two of them descended the mountain together, and after traveling for some time, they arrived at the seashore. The rabbit looked out and was astonished. Blue waters surged endlessly, stretching all the way to the horizon, so vast that he could not tell where the sea ended and the sky began. Startled, he asked,

“Is all of that water?”

The turtle leapt into the sea and floated lightly upon the water, swimming as he spoke.

“Where is it deep?”

The rabbit laughed as though he understood everything.

“Are you swimming?”

Acting clever, the rabbit decided to test it first. Keeping his front paws on the shore, he dipped only his hind feet into the water. In an instant, the turtle rushed forward, seized the rabbit’s hind legs, and dragged him in. The rabbit fell with a splash and swallowed a great deal of seawater.

Whether the rabbit liked it or not, the turtle hoisted him onto his back, floated on the waves, and pressed steadily onward. The rabbit, soaked through and riding on the turtle’s back, was in a miserable state. It was as though he were mounted on a galloping tiger - no easy matter to get down even if he wished to. And as he remained there, the fleshless part between his legs rubbed painfully against the turtle’s hard shell, until the pain became unbearable.

“Sir Turtle, is there no tavern nearby?”

The turtle answered indifferently,

“If you ride long enough, you will learn the trick of it.”

The rabbit’s thighs hurt terribly, but worse still, his stomach churned until he thought he might die. Like a man overcome by seasickness on a boat, he vomited everything inside him, down to bitter fluid, while the turtle teased him shamelessly.

“Very good. Once you reach the Dragon Palace, fine pills will enter that stomach day and night, so it is best to empty out all the mountain fruits you have eaten and cleanse yourself thoroughly.”

And yet the rabbit did not say that he wished to return to the mountains. Enduring with all his strength, he traveled on for a long while, and little by little he became accustomed to it, until his fear began to fade. Only then did the scenery of the underwater world unfold before his eyes.

With the sturdy gait of a sedan bearer, the turtle at last arrived outside the crystal gate of the Dragon Palace. The fish soldiers guarding the gate bowed upon seeing him and asked,

“Have you returned safely? And have you captured the rabbit?”

With that, the turtle went inside. But when the rabbit heard this, he knew that something was terribly wrong. Quietly, he asked the soldiers,

“For what purpose has the rabbit been brought here?”

Hearing this, the rabbit realized that death was indeed upon him. He sat there blinking, lost in thought. Before long, a great commanding cry rang out from within the palace, and all the ministers of the underwater kingdom gathered. In an instant, soldiers bearing flags, spears, and swords lined the hall. Huge whales and enormous fish stood like pillars on either side, while salamanders and serpentine creatures leapt before and behind holding banners aloft.

In such a fearsome atmosphere, the rabbit was brought in. Surrounded by those great-bodied creatures, he looked no larger than a fist.

To understand the structure of that joke, it helps to know something about the status system of the period. As one example, let us think about ilcheon jeokcheon (一賤則賤), one of the systems by which the nobi class was reproduced.

Ilcheon jeokcheon was a terrifying law under which a child became a slave if even one parent was a slave.

From the late Goryeo period through the era of Mongol interference, the population declined and labor became desperately needed. For the ruling class, slaves were assets. That is why this mechanism, which increased the number of slaves as quickly as possible, was preserved into the early Joseon period.

The turtle’s logic is an extreme extension of this bloodline determinism. “Even if our blood was never mixed, I ate their flesh, so my very root is loyal!” This claim acts as a mirror held up to Joseon ideology, mocking its obsession with lineage and blood.

But by the late Joseon period, when The Tale of the Rabbit was widely enjoyed, this once-solid logic of bloodline was beginning to crack under the pressure of cost-benefit calculation. That turning point was the implementation of the nobi jongmo-beop (奴婢從母法), the law that made a child follow the status of the mother.

The more slaves there were, the fewer commoners there were to pay taxes. There were also fewer people available for military service, which weakened national defense. Slaves did not pay taxes. For the sake of governing the state, King Yeongjo pushed through a law declaring that if the mother was a commoner, the child would also be a commoner.

Here a paradox emerges. This was an age in which yesterday’s slave could become today’s commoner, and purchased genealogies, called gongmyeongcheop, were everywhere. Audiences had already experienced for themselves that bloodline was something mutable, something that could be changed at any time by the needs of the state or by money.

Against that historical background, how would the turtle’s desperate flattery have looked? The world was already being reorganized according to cost-benefit calculation and practical ability, yet the turtle was still enthusiastically imitating the logic of the old order, saying, in effect, “My ancestors ate such-and-such, and therefore I am this kind of being.” To the audience, he must have looked like stupidity in its purest form.

The turtle tries to show loyalty by perfectly internalizing the logic of the system, but the audience already knows that the system itself is a fiction, and so this becomes a moment that gives them a sense of intellectual superiority as they laugh at him.

That audience is an essential element of pansori. It is not simply that the singer performs and the audience shouts interjections like “Eolssigu!” or “Good!” The singer reads the audience’s reactions and adjusts the speed and depth of the story in real time. The fact that the original text inserts explanations such as “Zhuge Liang was the legendary military strategist of Shu during China’s Three Kingdoms period, and he is used as a symbol of exceptional wisdom and strategy” is evidence of that. The laughter that burst out in the turtle’s scene, too, could only fully resonate on the basis of a shared historical sensibility among the people gathered there that day, namely, the felt unreality of bloodline logic.

Now let us think about the next episode, the scene in which they somehow produce a perfectly accurate picture of a rabbit they have never seen. The turtle has decided to obtain the rabbit’s liver, so he must go look for a rabbit. But there is a problem: no one in the underwater palace has ever seen a rabbit. An abalone offers information by appealing to an entirely groundless theory of reincarnation, saying, “In my previous life, I was a pheasant.” He then passes along what he claims to remember to a mermaid who is a painter. The mermaid, having understood the result of that language as best she can, forms an image or concept of it in her mind and transfers it into a painting. Strangely enough, the rabbit in the picture is exactly what a real rabbit looks like.

This process is, so to speak, a total mess. There are far too many points at which error might arise. First, the claim “I was a pheasant in a previous life” is not the kind of experience universally shared by all subjects of perception. So regardless of what result it may eventually produce, it functions first as an assumption that everyone agrees not to question. Next, the abalone passes his inner image on to the mermaid. The possible error here is that even if he really had seen a rabbit because he truly was a pheasant in a past life, he might still have described it poorly and conveyed it incorrectly. And even if everything had worked properly up to that point, the mermaid might have lacked the interpretive ability to reconstruct in language the representation that existed in the abalone’s mind, and so might have misunderstood him. Even if, by some very small chance, she understood the abalone’s language correctly, her painting skills might still have been so poor that what emerged was something not at all rabbit-like. And yet after all those assumptions piled on top of assumptions piled on top of assumptions, what comes out in the end is, somehow, a real rabbit picture.

When we think about something, we can divide our thinking into function and principle. From the perspective of principle, attention is focused on correct reasoning and legitimacy. Truth ought to be derived through a transparent and proper process. Seen from that perspective, the abalone’s claim about having been a pheasant in a past life is suspicious information, lacking evidence and impossible to verify. From that point of view, the picture ought to be a fundamentally defective result from the very start.

But the work brazenly presents us with an accurate picture of a rabbit. For some people, what matters is whether it actually works. It is not their main concern whether the abalone really was a pheasant or whether the mermaid understood him properly. In the end, if the turtle takes that picture up onto land and the real rabbit and the picture match, then that entire ridiculous process is justified as a successful black box.

Interestingly enough, the figures in this underwater palace have never seen a rabbit even once. Since not a single one of them has actually seen a rabbit, there is no one who can judge whether the picture is correct or incorrect. Everyone is simply believing what they want to believe. What gives this scene its flavor is the irony layered on top of that ridiculous collective certainty: the picture really does turn out to be right.

At this point, I would like to introduce a passage that sharply reveals the thought of Park Ji-won, one of the important Silhak thinkers of Joseon.

“When Heaven created human beings, it made them into four kinds, and among them the seonbi is the most noble. The seonbi is also called a yangban, and there is nothing more profitable than that. He does not farm, does not trade, and if he merely skims through a few books, at best he passes the higher civil service examination, and at worst he is guaranteed at least the rank of jinsa. ... First he drags over the neighbor’s cow and makes it plow his field, then he drags over the villagers and makes them weed it. Who would dare look down on me? And if anyone should do so, even if I were to pour lye into his nose, seize him by his topknot, swing him around, and slap his face, he would not dare resent me.”
From Park Ji-won, Yangbanjeon

This ferocious satire of Park Ji-won shares much with the episodes in The Tale of the Rabbit.

In truth, the original purpose of Neo-Confucianism was not bad at all. It was meant to build an elaborate system through which one could achieve moral completion by cultivating oneself and then govern the world peacefully on the basis of that moral character. To value orthodoxy and correct principle was a powerful tool for maintaining social order.

But over time, this system was corrupted. As with the yangban Park Ji-won describes, all that remained was the representational shell of the “scholar,” while the substance disappeared, leaving only strained logic and violence for the sake of preserving privilege. The attitude that says, “Because I am a yangban, my word is law,” calls to mind the abalone’s logic when he says, “Because I was a pheasant in a past life, my memory is therefore the rabbit.”

In a situation where Neo-Confucianism had collapsed into suffocating verbal wrangling and empty argument, Silhak emerged with tremendous momentum.

Silhak thinkers say this: “No matter how noble the process pretends to be, what use is it if it starves the people and sickens the country?” This scene from The Tale of the Rabbit shows exactly that point through satire and humor in a way that even people without extensive formal education could grasp. The abalone’s information is absurd, and the mermaid’s understanding is doubtful, but the “rabbit picture” they produce nonetheless becomes the only practical tool capable of curing the king’s illness.

In the end, this picture mocks the old logic of an earlier age, the logic that clung to stale pretense and “poured lye into people’s noses,” and shows how “true knowledge is that which helps the world, even if its origin is lowly.”

English-speaking viewers may have found the scene where the turtle meets the pond turtle somewhat contrived. But Korea has a distinctive way of confirming identity. Koreans do not simply ask for a surname when they first meet. They ask, “Which Kim clan are you from?” referring to one’s bon-gwan, or “Which branch and which generation of the lineage are you from?” Bloodline in Korea is a vast network that begins with an ancestral founder from hundreds of years ago and spreads across the country. People may forget about this network in everyday life, but the moment they confirm that they share the same root in a strange place, a powerful feeling of “we-ness” can suddenly erupt. In the past, a family that lost out in a power struggle might be sent into exile, or one branch might settle elsewhere when life grew difficult. Even so, when they meet again, they still know enough to identify the place from which that branch came, the address, so to speak, by which they can confirm it.

The work places these two scenes side by side in a very clever way. In one, bloodline is used instrumentally, as in, “My ancestors ate the flesh of loyal ministers, and therefore I too am loyal.” In the other, that very same bloodline causes someone to open his heart and offer help to a total stranger. The work places the two together and leaves the judgment to the audience.

The work seems to show, through the gathering of the animals in the mountain, how a failing system actually operates. The purpose of the gathering is to solve a crisis, but what actually happens is that they decide who should sit in the highest seat, confirm who possesses how much dignity and face, and identify the internal victims whose resources can be taken away. The tiger, who bears the responsibility of protecting the members of the group, outwardly adopts a fair and principled stance, but in the face of the new violence represented by human beings and firearms, he cannot produce any real solution. The work reveals how ridiculous authority becomes once it has lost all practical effectiveness.

The passage in which the raccoon dog condemns the hunting dogs is also interesting. The hunting dogs have the same outward form as beasts, yet they have been incorporated into the order of human beings and now pursue their own kind. And yet the animals fear the hunters themselves while pouring out their anger only on the hunters’ tools, the dogs. This shows the tragedy of people at the bottom coming to hate one another because they cannot solve the real problem.

The fox who appears here is, so to speak, a false pragmatist. He steps forward as though he is going to solve the crisis, but what his action actually amounts to is nothing more than squeezing the blood out of the weak in order to fill the belly of the strong. It is not pragmatism at all, but brutal extraction carried out in the name of solving a shared crisis.

The bear alone speaks to the heart of the matter, but he changes nothing, and instead only earns the fox’s resentment. Saying what is right in a public forum and actually moving the order of things are completely different matters. The bear is a being with morality but without strategy.

What the turtle does in this exhibition of collective incompetence is, on the contrary, rather clever. He lies flat, says nothing, and watches how the system actually works. Then, when he approaches the rabbit, he does not address him as he really is, but first wraps him in the kind of social representation he would like to hear.

Was the turtle’s strategy the right one? How will the rabbit respond in the next part?