Follow the Money: The Faces on Korean Won

By Adam Volle and Carl Hedinger

“Follow the money,” it is said, if you want to understand a country’s politics. Far fewer say to study the money, but more should. Learn about the faces on a country’s currency and you learn a lot more about the people who put them there – their self-image, their ambitions. Consider the bills and coins of today’s won (원), starting with the obvious: conspicuously absent are all of the modern state’s 20^th-century architects, in a clear repudiation of their dictatorial leadership. But then, notice that even though Koreans claim an almost 5,000-year-long history, all five of the historical figures chosen to represent them lived within just 200 years of each other, from 1398 to 1598.

That couple of centuries kicked off well with the birth of KING SEJONG, whose popularity in the public imagination currently stands at an all-time high. Sejong possessed the soul of a warrior – the concept did not seem to exist which His Highness could not somehow relate to sword-fighting – but he had the misfortune to be born in peacetime. After placating this part of himself with an expedition to rid the Korean coasts of pesky Japanese pirates, he turned his attention to the patronage of scholars who would make his name. While he was no ignoramus, Sejong’s genius clearly lay in his appreciation for genius; he recognized brilliant men like inventor Jang Yeong-sil and threw his support behind them, even when they lacked the theoretically necessary social status. This preference for merit over social class resulted in such sources of Korean pride as the world’s first rain gauge – to say nothing of the country’s first unique alphabet, Hangeul.

King Sejong’s portrait was introduced on the Korean won (first the ₩100, now the ₩10,000) by General Park Chung-hee in 1962, shortly after the dictator’s coup. By promoting Sejong and his legacy, the general’s new government not only fostered national pride, but also its own vision for Korea: a unified country asserting its own independent culture, secure against all foes, globally known for technological innovation.

Most Koreans approved of the choice. Some found more questionable the government’s ’07 decision to feature SHIN SAIMDANG on the first-ever ₩50,000 bill. Feminists detected in the choice of Korea’s “Wise Mother” a clear suggestion they should all become good moms too. The Bank of Korea defended itself by pointing out Saimdang’s other accomplishments, of which there were undeniably many. Granted an unusually high level of education by son-less parents, Shin Inseon adopted the pen name Shin Saimdang as a teenager and rocked Joseon’s art scene with her calligraphy and paintings of landscapes, fruits, flowers, and birds. Her work is still admired today.

Yet it’s admittedly difficult to contemplate Saimdang separately from her homemaking talent, since her household produced the famous scholar Yi I, also known as YULGOK. Her son’s passion was education, which he thought was desperately in need of some changes in the 16^th century. Yi saw generations of Korean students too focused on passing exams and not nearly focused enough on the real-world applications of their studies (sound familiar?). Two of his writings, School Standards and Objectives of School, steered students away from rote memorization of Neo-Confucian moral philosophy, and urged them to instead think critically about the potential in what they were learning; in short, to prioritize the material over the spiritual.

For his attempts at reform, the Bank of Korea has awarded Yi I the place of honor on its ₩5000 note. But before you suspect that constitutes endorsement, notice the gentleman displayed on the ₩1000: that’s YI HWANG, a contemporary who championed the opposite view. Yi Hwang was a world-class intellect himself. He wrote 45 works and received offers of employment from four successive kings. He had very little patience, however, with anyone he considered lacking his own commitment to good Confucian governance. King Jungjong tried to put the scholar’s fervor to good use by making Yi Hwang his amhaengeosa (암행어사), the secret royal investigator of corrupt officials, but Yi Hwang proceed to prosecute his fellow public servants so zealously that the king frequently had to protect them by giving him missions outside the capital. Frustration became mutual; Yi Hwang retired several times out of disgust at what he saw as royal corruption. When asked (as he always was) to return to government service, he frequently refused.

Unlike Yi Hwang, YI SUN-SHIN didn’t know how to say no to his country. Despite being unjustly arrested, demoted, and tortured by his own government on two separate occasions, the “heroic admiral” always agreed to its inevitable requests for him to serve again. Yi’s career is defined by his unparalleled naval defense of Korea against the Japanese near the end of the 16^th century. If Korean records are correct, he fought 23 battles and won them all, including one in which his boats were outnumbered 13 to 333. His brilliant tactics and superior equipment helped Korea cut Japanese supply lines and keep their reinforcements out of the war. Of particular note are the “turtle ships” he helped design, widely believed today to be the first iron-clad warships ever produced. A heroic death at the Battle of Noryang in 1598 assured his status as a Korean icon of patriotic duty, so that his countenance now lies engraved on the ₩100 coin to remind us of his example, so that we may, in yet another sense, follow the money.