Science and Literature in Korea:
An Introduction
Dafna Zur and Christopher P. Hanscom
In one of the climactic scenes of the 1917 serial novel Heartless, protagonist Yi
Hyŏngsik exhorts his fellow travelers to go abroad, study, and return to strengthen
the incipient Korean nation with their knowledge.
“Science! Science!” Hyŏngsik exclaimed to himself when he returned to the inn and
sat down. The three young women looked at Hyŏngsik.
“We must first of all give the Korean people science. We must give them knowledge.” He stood up clenching his fists, and walked about the room.1
Commonly referred to as the first modern novel in Korean literary history, Yi
Kwangsu’s Heartless culminates—in terms of plot trajectory, character development, and message—in a declaration of the importance of science to the modernization of Korea. As Jongyon Hwang points out in this issue, Yi’s championing of
science “earned sympathy from the majority of reformers and educators captured
Christopher P. Hanscom is associate professor in the Department of Asian Languages and Cultures
at University of California, Los Angeles. He is the author of The Real Modern: Literary Modernism
and the Crisis of Representation in Colonial Korea (2013), a study of theories of language and modernist fiction in 1930s colonial Korea; coeditor of The Affect of Difference: Representations of Race in
East Asian Empire (2016), a collection of essays offering a new perspective on the history of race and
racial ideologies in modern East Asia; and coeditor of Imperatives of Culture: Selected Essays on Korean History, Literature, and Society from the Japanese Colonial Era (2013), a collection of translations of major literary critical and historical essays from the Korean colonial period.
Dafna Zur is assistant professor in the Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures at Stanford University. She has published articles on North Korean science fiction, the Korean War in North
and South Korean children’s literature, childhood in cinema, and Korean popular culture. Her book
Figuring Korean Futures: Children’s Literature in Modern Korea (2017) traces the affective investments and aspirations made possible by children’s literature in colonial and postcolonial Korea.
She has published translations in wordswithoutborders.org, The Columbia Anthology of Modern Korean Short Stories, and the Asia Literary Review.
Journal of Korean Studies 23, no. 2 (October 2018)
DOI 10.1215/21581665-6973266
© 2018 by the Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York
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by the Western notion of civilization.” While the novel does not make clear what
exactly Hyŏngsik meant by science, it seems to have stood as a general category
encompassing multiple disciplines that, as part of the enlightenment education
advocated by Korea’s early twentieth-century elite, would reform and modernize
Korea.
As Yi made clear, however, science was only part of the curriculum necessary to
awaken what he considered to be Korea’s sleeping multitudes. Arguably as important was the central role literature would play in the development of the modern
nation. In his critical essay “The Value of Literature,” Yi articulated the connections between science and literature. While he declared science to be the successor
to the premodern category of “knowledge” (hangmun), he elevated literature to the
position of science’s equal because of its unique ability to express the emotion of
the emerging modern subject. “Just as science, the fruit of human intelligence, is
indispensable to our life, so is literature,” Yi wrote in 1910, the year of Korea’s
annexation by Japan. He continued, “It is destined to live so long as our feelings
and emotions remain intact.”2
At the same time, Yi viewed literature as a way not only to express emotion but
also to stimulate it as a means of cultivating modern national subject-identities. “In
science,” Yi wrote in 1916, “we objectively examine the material aspect of things,
but literature evokes feelings of beauty, ugliness, happiness and sadness, all of
which make us feel that we are reading the depths of our own minds. . . . In literature, we do not study things; rather, we feel them.”3 Here, Yi demonstrated a shared
investment among early twentieth-century Korean writers in the exploration of the
private, interior spaces of the heart as sites where social interactions and their
authentic responses reveal themselves. “Science addresses our intellects, whereas
literature fulfills our emotion,”4 he wrote in a statement that both affirmed the Cartesian split of body and mind and hinted at the nationalizing potential of emotion.
This is not to suggest that either science or literature began with the inception of
the colonial modern; nor was Yi’s articulation of the relationship between science
and literature necessarily definitive. What is significant is how literature—in its function as that which both reveals and constitutes the modern national subject—enters
into a dialectical relationship with science as an objective exercise of knowledge
about the material world. Yi’s insight captured in the above quote (“In science we
objectively examine . . . but literature evokes feelings . . . ”) signals an important
moment in the development of literary politics on the peninsula, when “modern”
literature and science staked competing claims over which of the two could best
provide access to experience and knowledge of the world.
The term science (kwahak), as Kim Sŏnggŭn points out, comes from the phrase,
“kwagŏ chi hak”—to study for the civil service examinations in premodern East
Asia.5 The neologism was first coined in Meiji Japan, when it meant something
closer to the nineteenth-century sense of Wissenschaft as “all academic knowledge
(the natural and social sciences as well as the humanities).”6 As Kim observes, at
the turn of the century, science and philosophy were still viewed as a single
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discipline, and in the Korean language, this discipline was referred to very broadly
as hangmun. Kim points out that in James Scott’s English-Corean Dictionary of
1891, for instance, science and philosophy are treated interchangeably, defined as
“the study of things and nature”; and in James Scarth Gale’s Korean-English Dictionary of 1897, philosophy was to “inquire into the nature of things; to understand
natural science.”7 The division between ch’ŏrhak (philosophy) and ihak (physics)
took place early in the twentieth century, but it was not until the dictionaries of the
1910s that the term kwahak (science) was separated from hangmun (general
knowledge). Terms such as scientific (kwahaksŏng) or scientist (kwahakcha)
also appear around this time.8
It was during the first two decades of the twentieth century—the period coinciding with the publication of Heartless—that the term science was uncoupled
from literature, each becoming a category that reflected a specialization of fields
and the attachment of value as both Western and normative. The present issue of
the Journal of Korean Studies aims in part to investigate how the relationship between the terms science and literature has developed and shifted over time, linked
to the formation of the modern, the rise of the nation-state, colonial relations (between Japan and Korea and between Korea and the West), and global narratives
about the material world and the function of literature. The collected essays show
how science and literature are terms that can be applied in specific national contexts
while simultaneously deriving authority from their supposed universality.9 Science
and literature may stake out separate territories, yet both are sites where power is
defined, reproduced, and contested. As Hiromi Mizuno writes, “what counted as
scientific differed, depending on who spoke of it and for what political purpose.
Labeling something ‘scientific’ is not a mere definitional practice but also political
and ideological.”10 This issue points to ways that discourses of science both shape
and are dependent on the political and ideological structures that promote and are
promoted by them.
The same may be said of literary discourse, and the recently published threevolume series Literature and Science (Munhak kwa kwahak), edited by Jongyon
Hwang, has provided a compelling intervention in the knotted association of literature and science on the peninsula. The series shows that Korea’s twentiethcentury modern transformation was shaped as much by discourses of the sciences
(natural, human, and social) as by political ideologies. Yet while science has often
been linked to the rise of modernity and colonialism in nineteenth- and twentiethcentury East Asia,11 less attention has been called to the way in which science—as
field(s) of inquiry, as method, as authoritative discourse—was evoked, incorporated,
embraced, rejected, negotiated, and even transformed by new concepts of literature
that would, within newly formed theories of the organization of language and
knowledge that took science as their foundation, yield its modern form.
Literature—which, as Raymond Williams notes, has its own social history12—is,
as Gillian Beer writes, “produced within the conditions of expectation marked out
by current scientific understanding of the physical world.”13 This would seem to
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indicate that literature is subject to, or circumscribed by, the scientific disciplines.
Literature, according to this logic, is comprehensible because it refers to recognizable
(physical and psychological) characters that operate in conceivable (spatially and
temporally logical) settings and timescapes. But elsewhere, Beer argues that, despite
their sworn allegiance to objectivity and their commitment to communicate information with limited linguistic excess, the scientific disciplines cannot but be structured by limitations imposed by language. She rejects the idea that science is
merely presented “as though literature acted as a mediator for a topic (science)
that precedes it and that remains intact after its re-presentation.”14 Science is transformed through the medium of language and narrative, and its language can therefore be subjected, like literature, to interpretive analysis.
Gunderson observes that, as social beings whose perceptions are shaped at least
partially by social structures, we cannot claim to have independent access to the
real, biophysical environment. Recognizing that nature is socially mediated, as the
Frankfurt school critics did, helps disrupt the assumptions that human-nature relations are static and predetermined.15 Beyond the shared linguistic medium and
narrative form of scientific and literary enterprises, then, many of the essays in
this thematic issue concern the limits of perception and expression that face science and literature.
Many of the essays collected here point out the link between literature and science as modes of knowing the world as well as the capacity of literature and science to structure perceptions. Science applies a certain rationality to the world,
systematizing reality in making it legible. But literature performs a similar framing. “As we have known since Aristotle,” Jacques Rancière writes, “fiction is not
the invention of imaginary worlds. It is first a structure of rationality: a mode of
presentation that renders things, situations or events perceptive and intelligible; a
mode of liaison that constructs forms of coexistence, succession and causal linkages
between events, and gives to these forms the characters of the possible, the real or
the necessary.”16 Not only does literature share with science the role of making the
world “perceptive and intelligible,” but fiction encodes that reality in a form that
creates a foundation for the historical and social sciences. “For fiction is not fantasy
as opposed to the rigour of science,” Rancière continues. “Instead, it is what supplied the latter with a model of rationality”—more specifically, “the principle that
declares the construction of a verisimilar causal sequence more rational than the
description of facts ‘as they occur.’”17 Here we again see the logic of a language
that delivers not only “facts” but also, through language’s organization in narrative,
the causal relations that make those facts intelligible to the reader or observer.
The essays in this thematic issue address the status of science and literature as
discourses, as ways of talking about the world that perform a logic of verisimilitude. They do not find that one discourse has absolute authority or unilateral
influence over the other. It is not only science—with its accompanying forms
of rational thinking and its technologies of knowledge and organization—that permeates literature in transforming the relationship of humans to the natural world.
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It is also language—in its susceptibility to power, its resistance to fixed meaning,
and its narrative organization—that works on science. Together, science and literature reflect a larger sensibility, as Hwang notes in his introduction to this issue:
one that emerges from the modern dislocation of belief and knowledge, is shaped
by history and culture, and contains both the particular and the universal. The authors thus address the discursive nature of literature and science, their relationship
to each other and to power, and the ways in which literature and science make the
modern world intelligible. Each essay addresses a locality viewed across a particular stretch of time (colonial, postwar, North, South, contemporary, future) and
engages with the attendant local politics of representation that ties a way of knowing the world to a mode of expression.
In his introduction, Hwang takes just such a historical view of the relationship
between literature and science in modern Korea. In explaining the circumstances
under which science came to justify social development in Korea in the form of
social Darwinism, he contextualizes the cult of science among prominent Korean
writers as well as their growing skepticism. He paints in broad strokes writers’
engagement with scientific discourse through literary trends (such as naturalism,
realism, Marxism, and modernism) and their attendant politics, recalling how science functioned as an imperialist discourse from which colonial Koreans could
not be free. Hwang’s introduction opens the conversation about the persistent connection between literature and science in modern Korea, and points to its reverberation and formulations in the works of Korea’s great poets and writers.
Several of the authors in the issue focus on the homology between literature and
science as modes of framing reality, working toward an understanding of the relationship between empirical and aesthetic modes of truth telling. In his rereading of
the works of poet, essayist, and fiction writer Yi Sang (1910–37), John H. Kim
places a “radically obscure” modernist poetics side by side with the supposed
mechanical objectivity of photography. Kim finds that it was aerial photography
in particular that shaped the way that Yi engaged with and manipulated the space
of the page—an “aerial view” that functioned to transcend the social and political
realities of colonial Korea—while also examining “the confrontation between the
epistemic regime of scientific knowledge and the personal truths of subjective
experience.” On one hand, we have the positivist optimism of the modern, the
supposition that the photograph yielded “the surface of things as they really
were”; on the other, a persistent questioning of visual perception and the possibility of meaning, a “fear over the inadequacy of human language and subjectivity
as arbiters of truth,” and the alienation of the subject removed from an anthropocentric point of view. These two contrasting aspects in the article come together in
the phrase “blind sight”—on one hand, the abstract, dehumanized mechanical objectivity of the aerial photograph, and on the other, the “opacity and illegibility” of
Yi’s poetry that “actively works against any all-encompassing cartography” of either inner or outer landscapes. Kim’s examination of scientific technique and poetic practice conceptualizes the relationship between objectivity and subjectivity
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in a period of assimilatory colonization, drawing new lines of influence between
literature and the political.
Dafna Zur’s essay continues in this vein, showing that science, no matter its
apparent objectivity or universality, never comes to us unmediated. Zur examines
the dissemination of science through fiction and nonfiction during North Korea’s
recovery from the devastation of the Korean War. She notes that even as science
and technology played central roles in the economic and sociopolitical development of the nation, they also inflected understandings of the relationship between
humans and nature and between individuals. As a technology and a way of knowing,
science required rhetorical intervention—an attempt to exercise control over both the
interpretation of and the sense of purpose around scientific developments. In Zur’s
argument, while science is the object of ideological and moral machinations, it was
the moral vision expressed in narrative that was most crucial in promoting science’s
full potency and the “right” sort of progress. As with J. Kim’s work, Zur’s essay
exposes a structural homology between science and narrative that asks us to consider how the two are mutually implicated in the emergence of a moral stance and
an accompanying subject—of the state, of science, and of language.
Haerin Shin’s essay also develops the connection between science and literary
works, examining the relationship between the social, the individual, science, and
morality in aesthetic expression. According to Shin it is the social that suffers
from pathological ailments here, and in her analysis of Young-ha Kim’s 2013 The
Mnemonics of a Murderer she finds that the collective symptoms of the failed vision
of the organic nation are expressed metaphorically in psychopathy and dementia. In
one sense, the novel’s depiction of pathological conditions reflects “a deep-seated
discontent with the growing chasm of socioeconomic inequalities that betray the
triumphant reclamation of prosperity in the posteconomic-crisis era of the new
millennium,” and Shin reveals a historically specific etiology stemming from a
systemic failure to remember properly—a delusional ignorance at the core of fantasies of modernization and progress. Yet the literary work does not simply borrow the viewpoint of medical science in figuring contemporary social disillusionment and disorientation of post-IMF and postmillennial South Korea. Literature is
also a “critical reflection on and an inspiration for reality,” a discursive framing of
the world that can either promote or dispel an illusion of health and wholeness of
the (social) body. Both literature and science are technologies of understanding,
and Shin’s close reading of Kim’s fiction traces the figural connections between
the two.
Other essays focus less on the overlap between science and literature as methods of appropriating reality and look to literature, in its very adoption of scientific
themes or motifs, as a repository of resistance against that reality. Namkyung
Yeon’s piece is one example of this approach, focused on the increasingly prevalent appearance of posthuman forms in South Korean fiction. As she notes, such
science-fictional themes do not simply reflect contemporary reality but—echoing
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Shin’s treatment of Kim’s fiction—operate as a kind of critique of discourses of
modernity. At the same time, these “posthuman” works compel a rethinking of the
reader’s all-too-humanist present, characterized by boundaries of gender, age, and
class, and Yeon adopts a discourse of future-oriented critical posthumanism in her
approach to the critical potential of short fiction by Pae Myŏnghun and Yun
Ihyŏng. From a literary historical perspective, Yeon’s work aims to shift science
fiction from the confines of genre fiction and into the Korean literary tradition of
resistant and so-called properly political literature, which has most often been literature deemed realistic.
Sunyoung Park’s essay discusses the long-term influence of science fiction in
South Korea from the 1960s through the 1990s, linking up with Yeon’s rehabilitation of the genre and providing points of comparison with Zur’s theorization of
the relation between science and technology and narrative representation in North
Korea. Park begins by identifying an early positivist moment in South Korean
science fiction in the postcolonial 1960s in which science and technology were
regarded in state discourse as holding a “utopian promise of development and
modernization for the nation.” Arguing that historical change drove transformations in the literary field, Park finds that in subsequent decades, science fiction
shifted from the utopian to the dystopian under political dictatorship and forced
industrialization and took on a critical and resistant role with regard to the technoscience of developmental modernity. Park notes the multiple lines of influence
among the scientific, the social, and the literary and shows how literature influences and is influenced by the complex historical nexus of the social and the technological. Critical science fiction is, Park notes, as much indebted to countercultural social mores as it is to scientism per se.
Benoît Berthelier in a sense extends Park’s argument, seeing science itself as a
set of cultural practices that is historically produced. His consideration of selfidentified science fiction works allows him to observe how the genre engaged
with alterity not as the postcolonial other but rather “as a multitude of lexical
and discursive peculiarities . . . made possible or visible by science.” He thus
demonstrates how science fiction worked to foster awe toward a field critical
to North Korean postwar development as well as how it was mobilized to excite
national pride, alleviate anxieties over diminished human agency, and assimilate
themes from Hollywood and Japanese detective fiction. Berthelier suggests that
the developments in North Korean science fiction over the last seven decades
owe as much to the experimental character of the genre and its embrace of the
speculative as they do to its support of North Korean ideology.
Chung-kang Kim illustrates how a mainstream sci-fi flick originally targeting an
audience of children constituted the type of top-down ideological propaganda that
was part of a South Korean Cold War cult of technology. She argues that while
global Cold War ideologies were central to the South Korean political consciousness and drove cultural production at the time, they were met with resistant readings
evoking the darker side of science experienced by Korean victims of the atomic
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bombs, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. While she locates the film The
Great Monster Yonggari squarely within the Cold War discourse, her exploration of the process of production (as a Korean-Japanese-American collaboration),
coupled with her discovery of divergent versions of the film, points to multiple
subject positions that the film tried to address. By doing so, she demonstrates that
the triumphant developmentalist narrative of science and technology was undermined in the very genre that was best suited to celebrate it.
Yoon Sun Yang similarly locates a resistance to a regime of scientific thinking
in the literary work—here, the collusion between medical science and colonial
power. Yang observes a trend in early twentieth-century Korean fiction that depicts young men suffering in isolation who arrive at a cure for, or at least an understanding of, their affliction through a process mediated by medical diagnosis.
Rather than read these works as part of the emergence of the universal modern
individual empowered by science, she points to the ways in which these narratives
reveal the imprint of Japanese imperialism and modernity on the interiority of
colonial Korean subjects. She argues not only that medical discourses expanded
authors’ toolkits for writing gender and sexuality but that fiction illuminates the
complicity of writers and doctors in the medical/colonial gaze. Fiction achieved
this by underscoring the embeddedness of language and narrative in social relations.
As Jongyon Hwang writes, the foundational role of the natural and human sciences “was by no means less influential than the role of state ideology or print
capitalism in the formation of modern literature.”18 Working together, these essays
draw on previous work in science and literature studies to show that the history of
modern Korean literature must be considered alongside a history of the reception
of Western science.19 Yet while the attempt to more fully understand the role of
science in the formation of modern Korean literature has yielded exciting and
original Korean-language scholarship of late, this issue suggests an intervention
of a different sort. The collected essays as a whole move beyond the influence of
science on literature, drawing our attention to the ways literature and science, like
politics, claim the authority to represent reality in language, to identify and order
the world. The authors reveal that by rethinking the intersection of science and
literature, we may find that modern Korean literature has served to question
and challenge scientific claims to truth and that our ongoing task is to recognize
the power of narrative in bringing an aesthetic and affective intelligibility to the
world.
NOTES
The guest editors wish to thank the anonymous reviewers, who so carefully read over and
commented on these essays, and Jooyeon Kim at the Journal of Korean Studies for her
support and assistance in producing this thematic issue. The issue originated as a workshop
held at Stanford University in November 2016, sponsored by the Korean Literature
220 Dafna Zur and Christopher P. Hanscom
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Association and LTI Korea, the Stanford Humanities Center, the Program in Science, Technology, and Society, the Patrick Suppes Center for History and Philosophy of Science, and
the Center for East Asian Studies at Stanford University.
1. Quoted in Lee, Yi Kwang-su and Modern Korean Literature, 340.
2. Yi, “Value of Literature,” 287.
3. Yi, “What Is Literature?,” 293.
4. Ibid.
5. Kim, “‘Kwahak’ iranŭn Ilbonŏ ŏhwi ŭi Chosŏn chŏllae,” 423–24.
6. Phillips, “Francis Bacon and the Germans,” 378.
7. Kim, “‘Kwahak’ iranŭn Ilbonŏ ŏhwi ŭi Chosŏn chŏllae,” 431. For a broader discussion of the translation of conceptual words in dictionaries of the early twentieth century, see
Hwang H. and Yi, “Pŏnyŏk kwa chŏnt’ongsŏng.”
8. Kim, “‘Kwahak’ iranŭn Ilbonŏ ŏhwi ŭi Chosŏn chŏllae,” 432–33.
9. Mizuno, Science for the Empire, 2.
10. Ibid., 4–5.
11. See for instance Ch’a, “Sasil, pangbŏp, chilsŏ.”
12. See Williams, Keywords, 183–88.
13. Beer, “Science and Literature,” 783.
14. Beer, “Translation or Transformation?,” 81.
15. Gunderson, “Environmental Sociology and the Frankfurt School 2,” 73.
16. Rancière, Lost Thread, xxxi.
17. Ibid., 9.
18. Hwang, J., Munhak kwa kwahak 1, 7.
19. Ibid., 12.
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