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This Chuseok holiday will be my 10th since I started working in Korea, but in fact I first joined a Korean family for the annual autumn gathering back in 1995, soon after my arrival in Korea for one year of Korean language study. Over the last 10 years Chuseok has changed as an experience in my wife's family, as it has for many Korean families. I would even go as far as to say we are facing a crisis of sorts as to whether this holiday will continue to be meaningful to the next generation, or will even continue in the future.
Ten years ago, my mother-in-law spent hours preparing the fruits and foodstuffs for the ancestors of Chuseok, paying careful attention to the layout of the offerings based on Korean interpretations of Zhu Xi's prescriptions for family rituals.
The process involved most family members and created a mood of reverence and an awareness of the past, a consideration of the presence of those from previous ages, who still impact us today, whether or not we are aware of it.
My mother-in-law meticulously carved pears, arranged dried persimmon, dried fish, peeled chestnuts and "tteok" dough on plates, and placed candles and other utensils to form a visually pleasing harmonious landscape unifying the restrained consumption of food with the memories of the past.
I joined with the other family members in offering incense to deceased family members and we felt in that moment that we were not individuals, but part of a long and complex tradition.
But things have changed as Korean society is driven increasingly by a ruthless consumer culture that leaves no space for contemplation and has no use for reverence for the past as a means of achieving greater awareness. Chuseok has decayed into a marketing strategy for products.
These days, my aged mother-in-law conducts the "jaesa" rituals in the morning, in a simple, abbreviated manner. It has been years since I participated in that process. Not a word is exchanged about the ancestors and the reverent silence which was so large a part of Korean culture has disappeared.
Now the holiday has become a celebration of consumption: eating food, and then eating more food. The children watch television and adults gossip about forgettable topics in a desultory manner. Not a word is spoken about the past and little attention paid to the details of the food itself or even to each other. The spirit of reverence and of thankfulness has been lost.
These days some family members do not come at all. It was once so important a holiday that everyone, even from overseas, had to be there and affirm the unity of the family. Today meetings with friends, or even homework assignments, are sufficient to warrant missing the whole event, or most of it.
The entire holiday has been transformed into a celebration of immediate satisfaction and of momentary possession. In a real sense Chuseok has now the complete opposite meaning that it once held. It does not open the mind to the efforts of the generations of people before us who created our experience, or remind us that we are not just individuals but a mix of strands from our families going far back into the past.
I enjoyed the jaesa rituals of the Chuseok holidays because they were simple, unadorned, processes that affirmed our relationship with those who came before us and with our family members. Taking the time to appreciate the simplest actions of daily life was for me a refreshing and necessary shift in life.
If we want to revitalize Chuseok, perhaps we need to consider its inherent value. We must understand that less is more and that simple acts can have more spiritual significance than tables crowded with things to consume. We need to take some time to talk about our family history so the young feel those ancestors are real for them and become aware of their place in the great chain of being.
Finally, we need to bring nature back into the equation. The harvest should be real, and we should take time to walk in the mountains, go to farms to get the vegetables for Chuseok and remind ourselves of our position in this fragile world.
Emanuel Yi Pastreich is a critic of literature, technology and international affairs. He teaches at Kyung Hee University and works at the Asia Institute. Contact: epastreich@gmail.com.
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