Supplemental Notes

p.3

had the ear of an unbroken succession of U.S. presidents stretching back to Harry S. Truman

NoteThe 215 million figure is from Laurie Goodstein, “Billy Graham, A Pastor to Millions, Dies at 99,” New York Times, February 22, 2018, 1, citing a 2007 estimate by the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. In the summer of 1957, Rev. Billy Graham (1918–2018) held a four-month-long stand at Madison Square Garden, packing the arena nearly every evening. Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929–1968) opened one meeting with a prayer. The crusade, after being extended several times, lasted from May 15 to September 1, 1957, drawing a cumulative 2.4 million people, including even larger crowds for special one-night events at Yankee Stadium, Wall Street, and Times Square (David Briggs, “The Long Walk Home of Billy Graham,” Associated Press, September 9, 1991; and Andre Rodriguez, “The Last Crusade?” Asheville Citizen-Times, June 24, 2005, 1). Billy Graham spoke at the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow in June 1988 at the invitation of the Russian Orthodox Church, as part of celebrations to mark the one-thousandth anniversary of Christianity in Russia; Mikhail Gorbachev’s wife Raisa (1932–1999) and other top Soviet officials attended (“Christianity Honored in U.S.S.R.,” Chicago Tribune, June 11, 1988, 3; and Billy Graham, Just As I Am: The Autobiography of Billy Graham (London: HarperCollins, 1997), 547–48). By then, Rev. Graham had already visited the Soviet Union as a preacher in 1982 and 1984; he had also traveled to Moscow as a tourist in 1959, where he “prayed aloud that one day God would enable him to hold stadium meetings in that city” (“Billy Graham Experiences ‘Miracle in Moscow,’” Billy Graham Evangelistic Association press release, October 26, 1992). Strictly speaking, his 1988 talk at the Bolshoi Theatre was not part of a crusade, but Rev. Graham would return to Moscow for a crusade in 1992, just after the collapse of the Soviet Union; in 1991, he met with Gorbachev 1931-2022) and Boris Yeltsin (1931–2007) (“Billy Graham Meets Gorbachev, Yeltsin in Moscow,” Billy Graham Evangelistic Association press release, July 15, 1991), and during a two-week-long crusade in 1992, he spoke before an average crowd of 45,000 people each night at Moscow Olympic Stadium (“Billy Graham Experiences ‘Miracle in Moscow,’” Billy Graham Evangelistic Association press release, October 26, 1992).
p.3

American Christianity to the world, Rev. Graham—“America’s Pastor”—was it

NoteThe moniker appears to have come from George H.W. Bush (1924–2018) (Bruce Buursma, “Graham Begins Morality Drive in Washington,” Chicago Tribune, April 28, 1986, 3). The label also served as the title of a 2014 biography of Rev. Graham by Duke University historian Grant Wacker, America’s Pastor: Billy Graham and the Shaping of a Nation (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap, 2014).
p.3

Regardless of war, famine, genocide, and the horrors of this most brutal of ages

NoteDuring Rev. Graham’s first visit to Moscow, in 1959 as a tourist, he despaired of the possibility that he could pierce the Iron Curtain and preach in the socialist world. “For decades, it seemed as if that was one prayer God would never answer, an unrealistic pipedream that could never come true. The barriers were too great, the wall erected by Communism against religion too impregnable,” Rev. Graham wrote in his memoirs decades later. “Not that Communist officials would have welcomed me anyway, for I was an avowed and vocal anti-Communist, blasting Communism in one 1953 sermon as ‘the greatest enemy we have ever known’” (Graham 1997, 380–81). Indeed, he continued, he regarded Communism as “vehemently opposed to Christianity,” and “believed that the leaders of Communism, especially in the Soviet Union, had vowed world conquest” (Graham 1997, 381–82). But by the late 1970s, that’s exactly what happened. In 1977, Rev. Graham spoke in Hungary, and the following year in Poland—and then, from there, in virtually every country in the Eastern Bloc (Graham 1997, 475–89; and “Billy Graham, 1918-2018: Official Obituary,” Billy Graham Evangelistic Association memorial website, February 21, 2018). To be sure, Rev. Graham has not been free of controversy throughout his career. His willingness to preach in segregated settings won him critics in some corners, while others accused him of equivocation in his support for the civil rights movement (Wacker 2014, 102–36). In general, though, Rev. Graham was largely remembered The New Yorker, in eulogizing Rev. Graham’s death in February 2018, hailed him as “a vocal opponent of segregation [who] fought against cultural strictures and made room for a broad swath of political and religious views. Throughout the nineteen-fifties, he pushed for an agenda that was often as inclusive as that of the political left. He refused to segregate his crusades, and became friends with Martin Luther King, Jr., who asked that Graham call him by his childhood name, Mike. King credited part of his success to Graham’s support, public and private; as a result, the K.K.K. targeted Graham” (Eliza Griswold, “Billy Graham’s Striking Gospel of Social Action,” New Yorker, February 22, 2018). Rev. Graham, for his part, describes himself as a trailblazer on civil rights, recalling having torn down the ropes separating the white and black sections of one venue for his evangelistic crusades in Tennessee in 1953, and building a close relationship with Rev. Dr. King, among other things (Graham 1997, 426, 491).
p.3

Moscow in the aftermath of Japan’s defeat in World War II—hadn’t shown any signs of buckling

NoteThe use of the word revolution comes from British historian Timothy Garton Ash (1955– ), who titled his book on the collapse of the Soviet bloc We the People: The Revolution of ’89 Witnessed in Warsaw, Budapest, Berlin, and Prague (Cambridge, U.K.: Granta, 1990). The book was published in the U.S. as The Magic Lantern: The Revolution of ’89 Witnessed in Warsaw, Budapest, Berlin, and Prague (New York: Random House, 1990). In it, Ash argues that the popular movements there, though non-violent, should rightly be described as revolutions. “The change of government, no, the change of life,” was, he writes, “profound…By a mixture of popular protest and élite negotiation, prisoners became prime ministers and prime ministers became prisoners” (Ash 1990, 20).
p.3

as North Korea formally calls itself, had ruled without interruption for nearly a half century

NoteDuring his time in power, Kim Il Sung faced off against nine U.S. presidents, from Harry S. Truman (1884–1972) to Bill Clinton (1946– ), while Japan went through twenty-one prime ministers (Anna Fifield, The Great Successor: The Divinely Perfect Destiny of Brilliant Comrade Kim Jong Un (New York: Public Affairs, 2019), 5). “From the late 1950s until his death in 1994, Kim’s power was nearly unlimited, and he ruled his country longer than any other leader of the twentieth century,” writes Helen-Louise Hunter (1934– ), a longtime U.S. intelligence officer who was among the first to conduct an in-depth study of daily life in North Korea. “No leader has ever had so free a hand in shaping the destiny of his country, and it is fair to say that none has had greater success in creating a national society of his own design, quite unlike any other society, communist or otherwise” (Helen-Louise Hunter, “The Society and Its Environment,” in Robert L. Worden, ed., Korea: A Country Study, 5th ed. (Washington, D.C.: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, 2008), 61–131, here 70).
p.4

rival regime in South Korea picked up any signs that Kim’s rule was being seriously challenged

NoteLos Angeles Times journalist Barbara Demick described the benign growth on Kim Il Sung’s neck as “a glaringly visible goiter the size of a golf ball” (Barbara Demick, Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea (New York: Spiegel & Grau, 2009), 93). Longtime CNN correspondent Mike Chinoy (1952– ), who met Kim Il Sung twice, described it as “an enormous lump or tumor protruding from the right side of the Great Leader’s neck. It was the size of a large grapefruit and gave his otherwise sturdy frame a slightly distorted quality” (Mike Chinoy, China Live: Two Decades in the Heart of the Dragon (Atlanta: Turner, 1997), 315–16). One Korean-Canadian who met Kim Il Sung in 1989 recalled decades later: “All that comes to mind was the lump on the back of Chairman Kim’s head, which looked unusually large as he stood in front of me” (Song Kwang-ho, “Song Kwang-ho Kija ka Mannan Puknyŏk’-ddang 28—P’yŏngyang Aeguk Yŏlsa-rŭng e Chamdŭl’ŏ Issnŭn Pukmiju Kyop’o-dŭl” [The Northern Land Encountered by Journalist Song Kwang-ho (Part 28)—North American Koreans Resting at the Patriotic Martyrs’ Cemetery in Pyongyang], Wŏldŭ K’o’ri’an [World Korean], April 5, 2021).
p.4

Kim Il Sung’s power—and his remarkable cult of personality—only seemed to grow with time

Note“The cult came to attribute seemingly every aspect of life itself in North Korea to the thought and actions of Kim,” writes Indiana University historian Michael Robinson (Michael E. Robinson, Korea’s Twentieth-Century Odyssey: A Short History (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2007), 154). Iowa State University political scientist Young Whan Kihl argued in 1994, the year of Kim Il Sung’s death, that the North Korean leader’s cult was “certainly exceeding that for Mao Zedong in China and Joseph Stalin in the Soviet Union” (Young Whan Kihl [Kil, Yŏng-hwan], “The Cultural Dimension and Context of North Korean Communism,” Korean Studies 18 (1994), 139–57, here 147). “The adulation of Kim in North Korea greatly surpassed that of Stalin and Mao in their respective nations,” writes Jane Portal, a specialist in North Korean art at the British Museum (Jane Portal, Art Under Control in North Korea (London: Reaktion Books, 2005), 82). University of Illinois Chicago political scientist B.C. Koh (Ko Pyŏng-ch’ŏl高秉喆 1936– ), who was among the earliest Korean-American scholars to visit North Korea, predicted in 1970—years before Mao Zedong’s death and the designation of Kim Jong Il as Kim Il Sung’s successor—that, upon the North Korean leader’s death, a process of “de-Kimization” would follow, just as Nikita S. Khrushchev (1894–1971) had “de-Stalinized” the Soviet Union and as he suspected, correctly, that China would do in the post-Mao era. In North Korea’s case, however, Ko ventured, it might not be until a few years after Kim’s death “for the new leadership…to consolidate its political control” (B.C. Koh [Ko, Pyŏng-ch’ŏl], “Ideology and Political Control in North Korea,” Journal of Politics 32, no. 3 (August 1970), 655–74, here 672–73). What Koh couldn’t have counted on was Kim Il Sung, perhaps drawing a lesson from the dismantling of both Stalin and Mao’s cults, designating his son Kim Jong Il as his successor, allowing Kim Il Sung to avoid Stalin and Mao’s fate.
p.4

that citizens had pinned over their hearts, Kim’s image was the very iconography of the state

NoteSuk-Young Kim, a professor of theater and dance at the University of California at Santa Barbara, described Kim Il Sung’s image as being “omnipresent throughout North Korea, from gigantic photos and mural paintings adorning public squares to smaller images in private households—his omniscient gaze perpetually policing the activities of Pyongyang’s inhabitants” (Suk-Young Kim [Kim, Sŏk-yŏng], “Springtime for Kim Il-Sung in Pyongyang: City on Stage, City as Stage,” The Drama Review 51, no. 2 (Summer 2007), 24–40, here 25–6). “The only pictures that appeared on page one of the party newspaper, Nodong Sinmun, were pictures of Kim, either greeting foreign guests or talking with North Koreans in various parts of the country,” writes Helen-Louise Hunter (Helen-Louise Hunter, Kim Il-song’s North Korea (Westport, Ct.: Praeger, 1999), 15). Andrew Holloway, a British socialist who worked in Pyongyang for a year in the late 1980s editing translated propaganda, noted that the front page of the weekly English-language Pyongyang Times was “devoted to the President and always carries a picture of him with the week’s most important foreign delegation” (Andrew Holloway, A Year in Pyongyang (Published online by Aidan Foster-Carter, 2002), ch. 4). The badges pinned over the heart of every North Korean citizen serve as both a marker of identity—“showing that North Koreans belong to their leader”—and as a reminder that the Kims follow their people wherever they go (Jae-Cheon Lim [Im, Chae-ch’ŏn], Leader Symbols and Personality Cult in North Korea: The Leader State (London: Routledge, 2015), 32). They were also valued, wrote one foreign diplomat who served two stints in Pyongyang, as “a token that could almost be likened to a Western wedding ring” (Erik Cornell, North Korea Under Communism: Report of an Envoy to Paradise, trans. Rodney Bradbury (London: Routledge Curzon, 2002), 123). In recent years, they appear to have become more commoditized, with North Koreans owning several of them, and foreigners now apparently able to procure them with the help of a local—and a donation of about 100 euros (Colin Zwirko, “DPRK Loyalty Badges Now Easier to Obtain for Foreigners, but Come with a Price,” NK News, May 20, 2018).
p.4

visitors were shocked to hear the man hailed as nothing less than a god, the Sun of Korea

Note“Everyone you meet sprinkles his speech with straight-faced references to ‘our respected and beloved leader,’ ‘our great leader,’ ‘our fatherly leader.’ Everyone wears his jowly, unsmiling portrait on a gold-framed, enameled badge pinned to the left breast. Larger portraits and statues of the leader are everywhere,” American journalist Bradley K. Martin wrote after visiting Pyongyang in 1979. “Maybe around the second or third or fourth day, it starts to sink in that he is more—much more—than just a leader. He is immortal. He can be in more than one place at a time. He can provide his followers eternal life” (Bradley K. Martin, “A Messianic Aura Surrounds Kim Il Sung,” Baltimore Sun, July 8, 1979, K2). “The entire society revolves around the Supreme Leader, the ruling Kim, and his by now almost transcendental nature: he is infallible, unassailable, and the object of absolute loyalty” (Remco E. Breuker, “Setting the Background: Labour Conditions in the DPRK,” in Remco E. Breuker and Imke B. L. H. Van Gardingen, eds., People for Profit: North Korean Forced Labour on a Global Scale (Leiden, Netherlands: Leiden Asia Centre, 2018), 6–11, here 9).
p.4

North Korea’s official news agency recounted after flooding swept one rural county in 2007

NoteThe report was published in September 2007, after a series of floods hit North Korea’s eastern province of Kang’wŏn the previous month. The report praised the people for having protected the portraits of the two Kims rather than protect their own families, with citizens turning up at special evacuation shelters “carrying not their properties but the portraits of the President and the leader.” Some rushed into crumbling buildings “without hesitation to save portraits,” while one clothing factory worker carried more than 1,500 books carrying pictures of Kim Il Sung from a local government office “to a safe place through torrents of water at the risk of her life.” One peasant named Pak Jong Ryol (Pak Chŏng-yŏl) “lost his wife and child by landslide but saved the portraits,” while one food-processing factory worker named Kang Hyŏng-gwŏn “firmly took portraits in his hands in flood though his five-year-old daughter slipped down from his back” (“Spirit of Defending Leader with Very Life Displayed in Flood-hit Areas,” Korean Central News Agency, September 7, 2007).
p.4

the nation erected a gleaming sixty-six-foot-tall statue of him on a hill in the capital, Pyongyang

NoteHelen-Louise Hunter writes that the statue was gilded in gold in 1977, but then stripped again to bronze in 1978, in what she called “a rare admission to having exceeded acceptable limits in their national idolization of Kim” (Hunter 1999, 18). One source gives the amount of gold leaf used as 37 kilograms (Ko Su-sŏk, “Mansu-dae Ŏndŏk en 23m Kŭmbak Tongsang, Chŏngsin-jŏk Kusim-jŏm Sam’a” [A 23-Meter Gold-Plated Statue on Mansu Hill Serves as Spiritual Center], Chung’ang Ilbo [Central Daily News], June 11, 2017, 23).
p.4

“Korean ‘sun of the nation’ shines both day and night, and it is hard to escape his ubiquity”

NoteUniversity of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings (1943– ), a regular visitor to Pyongyang beginning in 1981, captures the omnipresence of the Great Leader: “Everywhere there is the ubiquitous Leader and the rising Son above, and a huge flock below that projects an astonishing uniformity in the mass pageants that the regime favors, or the stadium card displays that it puts on with unparalleled skill. Kim is everywhere” (Bruce Cumings, North Korea: Another Country (New York: New Press, 2004), 146–47). North Korea’s religious zeal can be seen as an extension of what several scholars have argued is Korea’s tendency throughout history to be “more Catholic than the Pope” in its adherence to foreign ideologies: It was more Confucian than Confucius’s home country of China, it embraced Christianity more enthusiastically than many of the countries that sent missionaries to Korea, and it took Stalinism far beyond where even Stalin himself took it. “Just as Korea pursued a purer form of Confucianism for a longer period than was the case in China, its homeland, so North Korea has carried the cult of personality to an extreme startling even to the Chinese,” writes University of California, Berkeley scholar Robert A. Scalapino (Robert A. Scalapino, “Foreword,” in Chong-Sik Lee [Yi, Chŏng-sik] and Se-Hee Yoo [Yu, Se-hŭi], eds., North Korea in Transition (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California, 1991), vii–xiii, here xi). Gen. Matthew B. Ridgway (1895–1993), who assumed command of the U.N. forces during the Korean War after Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s dismissal, described the North Korean officials he encountered at the armistice talks as utterly devoid of humor, “clearly determined to be more Communist than the Kremlin” (Matthew B. Ridgway, The Korean War (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1967), 201).
p.4

lay believers; the mere possession of an unauthorized Bible could mean imprisonment

NoteAuthorized Bibles, of course, exist, and can be found in Pyongyang’s state-sanctioned churches and house churches. The U.S. State Department, in its annual reports on international religious freedom, cite the work of international non-governmental organizations and North Koreans who have left the country, who “report that any religious activities conducted outside of those that were state-sanctioned, including praying, singing hymns, and reading the Bible, could lead to severe punishment, including imprisonment in political prison camps” (United States Department of State Office of International Religious Freedom, “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK),” International Religious Freedom Report for 2021 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of State, 2022), 10). Jeffrey E. Fowle, an Ohio maintenance worker, was detained in North Korea for nearly six months in 2014 for the crime of planting a bilingual Bible in the bathroom of a the Ch’ŏngjin Seamen’s Club, a restaurant in northeastern North Korea (James Pearson, “Bible Left in North Korean Sailor’s Club Triggered U.S. Tourist’s Arrest,” Reuters, August 1, 2014). John A. Short, an Australian missionary, was arrested for spreading “Bible tracts” in the Pyongyang subway system during a visit to North Korea earlier that year (“Apology of John Short, Citizen of Australia,” Korean Central News Agency, March 3, 2014). Ri Hyon Ok [Ri, Hyŏn-ok], a 33-year-old North Korean woman, was said by South Korean activists to have been publicly executed in 2009 for distributing Bibles in North Korea (United States Department of State Office of International Religious Freedom, “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK),” International Religious Freedom Report for 2011 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of State, 2012), 6). Also cited in Melanie Kirkpatrick, Escape from North Korea: The Untold Story of Asia’s Underground Railroad (New York: Encounter, 2012), 162–3. In a North Korean museum devoted to the Korean War, a Bible is displayed alongside other weapons that the U.S. used during the conflict (Kenneth Bae [Pae, Chun-ho], Not Forgotten: The True Story of My Imprisonment in North Korea, with Mark Tabb (Nashville, Tenn.: .W Publishing, 2016), 122). (Some regular visitors to North Korea have questioned this, and I have yet to see photos showing such a display.) When the leader of Youth with a Mission, a global evangelical group founded by an American missionary in 1960, called for the printing of seven million Korean Bibles, one for each family in North Korea, “to the DPRK, this was like a declaration of war,” writes Korean-American pastor and missionary Kenneth Bae (Pae Chun-ho 裴埈皓 1968– ), who was detained in North Korea for two years in the mid-2010s while working as a missionary for the organization (Bae 2016, 122).
p.4

them as jackals who subjected Koreans to vile human experiments and branded them with acid

This is a key plot point in what is perhaps North Korea’s most famous work of fiction, Han Sŏr-ya’s 1951 novella Jackals (Sŭngnyangi). The definitive English-language study of Han Sŏr-ya, North Korea’s leading propagandist in the early days of Kim Il Sung’s rule, is Brian Myers, Han Sŏrya and North Korean Literature: The Failure of Socialist Realism in the DPRK (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University East Asia Series, 1994). For more on Han Sŏr-ya, Jackals, and North Korea’s demonization of Western missionaries, see Act III, Chapter 30. For the branding with acid incident, which did indeed occur, see Act II, Chapter 15.
p.5

“not go to Jerusalem. Come rather to Korea. Do not believe in God. Believe in the great man!”

NoteAlso cited in Bradley K. Martin, Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty (New York: Thomas Dunne, 2004), 289; and Hunter in Worden 2008, 117. Martin describes the words as coming in a “pre-Christmas essay” by North Korea’s main party newspaper, the Workers’ Daily (勞動新聞 Kor. Rodong Sinmun). Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to track down any such essay in the newspaper during the Christmas 1980 season. Martin wrote in an e-mail exchange that he got the information not directly from the Workers’ Daily but rather from a translation supplied from either a U.S. or South Korean government organization that monitored North Korean media, known for many years as the Foreign Broadcast Information Service and housed under the Central Intelligence Agency (Author correspondence with Bradley K. Martin, June 2025). It’s possible that the service misidentified the outlet. TOUCHY ABOUT CHRISTMAS: In general, North Korea has long been touchy about Christmas and its observation in South Korea. In 1971, South Korea’s military lit up a large-scale Christmas display along the demilitarized zone separating the two Koreas at Aegi Peak (愛妓峰 Kor. Aegi-bong) in the South Korean city of Kimp’o (金浦). The 100-foot-tall display, which was in the sight lines of North Korean frontline troops, has been a frequent target of North Korean denunciations. On Christmas Eve 2012, for instance, North Korea’s state media outlet condemned South Korea’s then-President Lee Myung-bak (Yi Myŏng-bak 李明博 1941– ), a Presbyterian elder, for lighting up the Christmas display despite Pyongyang’s warnings, calling it “psychological warfare” that served as part of a broader “anti-DPRK smear campaign.” “The lighting disguised as a ‘religious service’ is an open challenge and an unpardonable provocation against the DPRK,” the article read (“KCNA Commentary Lashes Out at S. Korea’s Provocative Act,” Korean Central News Agency, December 24, 2012). The Christmas display was taken down two years later in 2014, only to be resumed again from a new location in 2023 (Jeongmin Kim [Kim, Chŏng-min], “South Korean City Rekindles Border Christmas Lights That Angered North Korea,” NK News, December 25, 2023).
p.5

Graham told reporters that he still didn’t know why the North Koreans had invited him

Note In an interview in Beijing before boarding his plane to Pyongyang, Rev. Graham told a Baltimore Sun reporter “that he still does not know why the North Korean government invited him last fall to make the ground-breaking trip” (Robert Benjamin, “North Korea Leaves the Door Ajar to Billy Graham’s Gospel Preaching,” Baltimore Sun, March 29, 1992, 3A). A day earlier, Rev. Graham told the Los Angeles Daily News in a phone interview that “he had no idea why North Korea approved his trip there,” saying: “We’re still trying to work that out in our own minds…It was a surprise to us, too” (“Graham Going to N. Korea,” Los Angeles Daily News, March 28, 1992). And in his memoirs, published in 1997, he wrote: “North Korea was the last place on earth we ever expected to go… we had been in a state of war with North Korea longer than with any other nation in our history” (Graham 1997, 616). Rev. Graham was playing coy, for beyond his familiarity with North Korea’s history, he had already spent months laying the groundwork for such a visit; by the time he arrived in Beijing, representatives of Rev. Graham had already traveled twice to Pyongyang for negotiations with government authorities (“Rev. Billy Graham to Make North Korea Speaking Tour,” Wall Street Journal, March 27, 1992, A16; and Graham 1997, 620). In his memoirs, published five years after this trip, Rev. Graham hinted that he was more aware of North Korea’s circumstances than he made known in public, writing: “Under President Kim…North Korea had become the most nonreligious nation on earth. President Kim had even proclaimed North Korea the first completely atheistic state in the world” (Graham 1997, xxii). Certainly, Rev. Graham was no babe in the woods when it came to dealing with socialist states. In his memoirs, he writes at length about the wariness he felt before his first trip to Moscow to preach, in 1982, in particular the likelihood that his presence would be used by the Soviet authorities to project a façade of openness (Graham 1997, 499–501). Kim Il Sung, for his part, told a visiting childhood friend living in the U.S. that he had agreed to meet the evangelist because “he had been informed that the Rev. Billy Graham was bringing a message from President Clinton” (Sohn Won Tai [Son, Wŏn-t’ae], Kim Il Sung and Korea’s Struggle: An Unconventional Firsthand History (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2003), 197).
p.5

he let on about the history of one of the world’s most isolated and least understood countries

NoteNorth Korea itself has effectively been cordoned off from the rest of the world to a degree unseen in human history, when one considers the duration and the size of its population. “Throughout the history of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, among the most striking features of the state has been its claim to an absolute information monopoly and total control of organized social life,” the United Nations wrote in a landmark 2014 report on human rights in the country (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 73). North Korea is not little understood because of a lack of interest. For decades, outsiders from near and far have gone to great lengths to try and better grasp the country and its people, with mixed success. This reflects, to a large degree, North Korea’s success in obscuring even basic facts about the country. Hwang Chang-yŏp (黃長燁 1923–2010), one of North Korea’s seniormost officials until his defection to South Korea in 1997, described Kim Jong Il telling his diplomats: “The most important thing is to put up a smoke screen to prevent the enemies from finding out what we have inside and to make good use of tactics to shroud our identity” (Hwang Jang Yop [Hwang, Chang-yŏp], The Problems of Human Rights in North Korea (Self-published translation, 2002), IV/3/4). North Korea remained opaque enough to the outside world that, in 1992, the same year Billy Graham headed to Pyongyang, even its population remained unknown to the outside world. Nicholas Eberstadt, a demographer and economist at the American Enterprise Institute, that year published a book-length monograph with Judith Banister, entitled simply The Population of North Korea, that concluded, using a range of indirect methods, that North Korea had about 21.4 million people as of mid-1990, when he traveled to the country to conduct fieldwork (Nicholas Eberstadt and Judith Banister, The Population of North Korea (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1992), xii–xiii). In that work, Eberstadt declared North Korea “a country of demographic mystery…Even such basic figures as the country’s total population have been a matter of uncertainty for decades” (Eberstadt and Banister 1992, 1). North Korea subsequently conducted a census in 1993 and then again in 2008, with the help of the United Nations Population Fund (“UNFPA Helps Plan and Monitor Successful DPRK Census,” United Nations Population Fund, February 15, 2010). North Korea said through its state media in March 2017 that it would conduct another census in 2018, though it was never conducted.
p.5

high school there, on a sprawling Presbyterian mission compound on Pyongyang’s west side

Note“Those were some of the most memorable years of my life, and many of my best friends over the years have been people who were classmates there,” she said during a visit to Pyongyang in September 1997, recalling skating on Pyongyang’s frozen rivers during the winter (“Ruth Bell Graham Comes Home to North Korea,” Billy Graham Evangelistic Association press release, September 22, 1997). Indeed, Rev. Graham dates his interest in North Korea to the many hours that he and his wife Ruth spent with her high school friends from 1930s Pyongyang. “After our marriage, the conversation would often turn to North Korea,” Rev. Graham wrote in his memoirs. “I could not get North Korea out of my mind or heart. It was far more than simply the personal challenge of going to a place where the Gospel was virtually unknown” (Graham 1997, 618). Indeed, when Henry Holley, Rev. Graham’s Crusade director for Asia, first proposed in November 1990 that the evangelist travel to North Korea, they agreed that “Ruth’s having attended high school in what was now the capital city might just be the key, and this turned out to be the case” (Graham 1997, 618-619).
p.5

so dominated by Christians, in fact, that it acquired a nickname: the “Jerusalem of the East”

NoteBilly Graham uses the moniker in his memoirs (Graham 1997, 617). For more on the origin of the “Jerusalem of the East” moniker, see Act I, Chapter 6. Some sources have pegged the proportion of the Christians in Pyongyang before the end of the Second World War as being as high as 80 percent (Paul Estabrooks, Escape from North Korea: A Desperate Quest for Food, Love and Life (Santa Ana, Calif.: Open Doors International, 2006), 76). One U.S. Army historian quotes Col. Charles R. Munske (1897–1985), who led the United Nations Civil Assistance Command Korea operations in Pyongyang during the Korean War, as estimating the city’s remaining population of roughly 300,000 people in December 1950, after the U.N. had captured the city, as being 85 percent Christian—including Presbyterians, Methodists and Catholics. Col. Munske estimated the original population of Pyongyang as being 625,000, with most of those who had fled having been sympathetic with the Communists, and thus less likely to be Christian (Charles H. Briscoe, “The UN Occupation of Pyongyang,” Veritas: Journal of Army Special Operations History 6, no. 1 (2010), 63–82, here 68, 78). More sober reckonings, including those by the missionaries in Pyongyang, generally peg the proportion far lower than this, generally between 25 percent and 40 percent, though most scholars point out that the influence of Christians in Pyongyang was far larger than their relative numbers would suggest. The 1,400 figure is from Presbyterian foreign missions secretary Arthur Brown, who called “the meeting in Pyongyang…probably the largest in the world, the attendance rarely falling below a thousand, and often rising to 1,400” (Arthur J. Brown, The Mastery of the Far East: The Story of Korea’s Transformation and Japan’s Rise to Supremacy in the Orient (New York: Scribner, 1919), 528). See also George T. B. Davis, Korea for Christ (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1910), 19.
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believers in the North into hiding—or across the thirty-eighth parallel to the U.S.-backed South

NoteThere were roughly 300,000 Protestants and 50,000 Catholics in the northern half of Korea at the time of Japan’s surrender in August 1945 (Michael Breen, Sun Myung Moon: The Early Years, 1920-53 (West Sussex, U.K.: Refuge Books, 1997), 82). In addition to those who went underground or fled to the south, many Christians in the north may also have recanted under duress or otherwise assimilated in order to take part in society. As a landmark United Nations report on North Korea human rights in 2014 concluded: “Although the practice of Christianity is not explicitly criminalized, effectively the authorities consider it a political crime…The Commission finds that there is no effective freedom of religious belief in the DPRK. Such belief is treated as basically incompatible with, and hostile to, the state-sponsored personality cult surrounding Kim Il-sung and his descendants” (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 71, 73). Put another way, “those following religion…are considered to pose a particular threat because their conduct challenges the monopoly on information and ideological formation asserted by the Workers’ Party of Korea and its leadership” (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 335). It described Christians as a class as being “victims of persecution…Their persecution is also shaped by an overall discriminatory environment where the DPRK vilifies Christianity in its propaganda and education, effectively prohibits the import and possession of religious materials, seeks to infiltrate underground churches, and subjects the few allowed to practise in state-approved churches to intense surveillance and severe restrictions on how they can practise their religion. Christians are also restricted to the bottom hostile class rungs of the Songbun system which adds additional layers of disadvantages to their experience of discrimination” (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 334–35). For more on North Korea’s sŏngbun system, that categorizes the population according to loyalty to the Kim dynasty, see Act III, Chapter 31.
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into a stronghold of the Christian faith and one of the world’s biggest exporters of missionaries

NoteTaking the two Koreas together over the past two centuries, writes James Grayson, a Korea historian and ordained Christian minister, “Korea is the only nation in Asia where Christianity has established itself during the past two hundred years as a significant component of the national culture” (James Huntley Grayson, Korea—A Religious History, rev. ed. (Oxford: Routledge Curzon, 2002), 2). The extent of South Korea’s Christianization has convinced many in the country that it is, like Israel, a nation chosen by God—in other words, “that Korea is the center of spiritual renewal and that Koreans will be the instruments through which the world will be saved” (Daniel J. Adams, “Church Growth in Korea: Perspectives on the Past and Prospects for the Future,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 79 (2004), 1–33, here 21). By 2010, South Koreans formed the second-largest flock of pilgrims traveling to the Holy Land (Sebastian C. H. Kim and Kirsteen Kim, A History of Korean Christianity (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 299). One scholar of Korean religions argues that, though less than one-third of South Korea’s population is Christian, “you cannot understand Korea’s modern religious culture unless you take into account the impact Christianity has had on how religion in general is defined today” (Donald L. Baker, “The Impact of Christianity on Modern Korea: An Overview,” Acta Koreana 19, no. 1 (June 2016), 45–67, here 45). At least one-quarter of the South Korean population of about 50 million considers itself Protestant or Catholic (Donald N. Clark, “The Missionary Presence in Northern Korea Before WWII: Human Investment, Social Significance, and Historical Legacy,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 234–53, here 234). MEGACHURCH MECCA: Seoul alone is home to two of the world’s largest Protestant churches: the Yŏ’ŭido Full Gospel Church (汝矣島純福音教會 Kor. Yŏ’ŭido Sunbok’ŭm Kyohoe), with more than 700,000 members as, and Yŏngnak Presbyterian Church (永樂教會 Kor. Yŏngnak Kyohoe), with its 50,000 members (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 20)—making it by 1992 the largest Presbyterian congregation in the world (Jin-Heon Jung [Chŏng, Chin-hŏn], “The Politics of Desecularization: Christian Churches and North Korean Migrants in Seoul,” in Peter van der Veer, ed., Handbook of Religion and the Asian City: Aspiration and Urbanization in the Twenty-First Century (Oakland, Calif.: University of California Press, 2015), 254–72, here 269, n. 17). As early as 1984, scholar Timothy S. Lee writes, Yŏ’ŭido and Yŏngnak churches, together with another Seoul church, Ch’ung-hyŏn Presbyterian Church, were, respectively, the world’s biggest church and its two biggest Presbyterian churches. South Korea also boasted the world’s largest Baptist church and the two biggest Methodist churches (Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], Born Again: Evangelicalism in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2010), 85–6). EVANGELISTIC EXPORTER: That fervency for the faith has transformed South Korea into one of the world’s biggest exporters of Christian missionaries. In 1999, Protestant churches in South Korea commissioned more missionaries than any other country, save the U.S., with more than 12,000 active missionaries around the world (Robert E. Buswell, Jr., and Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], “Introduction,” in Buswell and Lee, eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2006), 1–3, here 1–2). A front-page New York Times article in 2004 affirmed that the 12,000 South Korean missionaries, sent to more than 160 countries, was second only to the U.S.’s 46,000 missionaries and twice as many as the number of missionaries from the U.K. “It is the first time that large numbers of Christian missionaries have been deployed by a non-Western nation,” according to the article, which described the furtive efforts of South Korean missionaries in the Middle East (Norimitsu Onishi, “Korean Missionaries Carrying Word to Hard-to-Sway Places,” New York Times, November 1, 2004, 1). See also Jung H. Pak [Pak, Chŏng-hyŏn], “‘Not by Power nor by Might’: American Missionaries and the Spiritual Wars in Korea, 1885–1953” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2006), 240. By 2014, South Korea had 26,667 missionaries active in 170 different countries, according to the Korean World Mission Association (韓國世界宣教協議會 Kor. Han’guk Segye Sŏngyo Hyŏp’ŭi-hoe) (Tim Peters, “Adopting Acts 1:8 as a Mission Strategy for North Korea: An Overdue Paradigm Shift for the South Korean Church” (paper presented at the 14th Assembly of the International Association for Mission Studies, Seoul, August 13, 2016)). Rev. David Y. Cho (趙鏞基 1936–2021), the founding pastor of Yŏ’ŭido Full Gospel Church, had his own grand aspirations for world evangelism and, as early as 1964, embarked on a successful two-month preaching tour of the U.S., leading him to hatch plans to launch a world revival starting in Korea (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 217). Rev. Cho later withdrew his church from the main Pentecostal denomination in 1981 after disputes over his theology, and the Presbyterian Church of Korea two years later distanced themselves from Rev. Cho (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 229).
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in its own way, but with a set of symbols and rituals that revolved around one man: Kim Il Sung

NoteThe U.S. State Department, in its annual International Religious Freedom Report, has said for years that North Korea’s ideology seems “to resemble tenets of a state religion” (see, for example, United States Department of State Office of International Religious Freedom, “Korea, Democratic People’s Republic of,” International Religious Freedom Report for 2008 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of State, 2008). Gary Leupp, a longtime history professor at Tufts University, calls Kimilsungism the country’s “state religion” (Gary Leupp, “North Korea as a Religious State,” Dissident Voice, October 16, 2006). Korean American scholar Sonia Ryang, who was raised in the North Korean education system while growing up in Japan, and who first visited North Korea in 1981, notes the “religious aspect to the way juche is used in North Korea, with the elevation of the nation, the leader, and the party to a state of immortality and transcendence. Although other mass-mobilizing dictatorships, and even more mundane nationalisms, have a certain religious tinge as well, the worshipful fervor of North Korean official ideology is immediately striking to most outside observers…North Korea’s articulation of juche as a quasi-theological concept linked to the quasi-divine personage of Kim Il Sung [turns] the secular theory of state sovereignty back into theology” (Sonia Ryang, North Korea: Toward a Better Understanding (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2009), 43–44). One of the more thoughtful scholars on this topic, Kenneth Wells, defines religion as “the way in which humans connect all the otherwise disparate parts of their lives into one meaningful whole”—a characterization that would certainly fit for North Korea (Kenneth M. Wells, “The Place of Religion in North Korean Ideology,” in Susan Pares, ed., Korea: The Past and the Present: Selected Papers from the British Association for Korean Studies BAKS Papers Series, 1991–2005 (Folkestone, U.K.: Global Oriental, 2008), 248–61, here 248).
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the ideology and imagery of the system Kim had erected had much in common with Christianity

NoteThis insight has been made by many observers of North Korea. See, for example, a European diplomat who lived in Pyongyang for four years and who attests that for everyone in the country, “no matter how educated they are, the regime is like a religion…the people remain one hundred per cent religiously loyal to the regime” (Loretta Napoleoni, North Korea: The Country We Love to Hate (Crawley, Australia: UWA Publishing, 2018), 32–43, especially 40). For a deeper examination, see Act III, Chapter 32.
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Presbyterian missionary Eugene Bell, a Kentucky native who had first arrived in Korea in 1895

NoteRev. Graham arrived without his wife Ruth Bell Graham (1920–2007), who was recovering from back surgery (Associated Press, “Evangelist Graham invited to preach in North Korea,” Dallas Morning News, March 28, 1992, 43A). Ruth made her first visit in September 1997 (“Ruth Bell Graham Comes Home to North Korea,” Billy Graham Evangelistic Association press release, September 22, 1997). The missionary Eugene Bell (1868–1925) does not appear to have been closely related with L. Nelson Bell (1894–1973), the missionary father of Ruth Bell. One of the two descendants of Eugene Bell who joined the Rev. Graham delegation to Pyongyang in 1992, the scholar and medical doctor Stephen W. Linton (In Se-ban 印世潘 1950– ), later said he believed Kim Il Sung felt a special connection with Christian foreigners: “Although he founded the world’s most atheistic state, Kim Il Sung retained a certain sympathy for religious believers, particularly Christians” (Stephen W. Linton, “Life After Death in North Korea,” in David R. McCann, ed., Korea Briefing: Toward Reunification (Armonk, N.Y.: M.E. Sharpe, 1997), 83–108, here 89).
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“All they’re missing are the manger and the three wise men,” the preacher quipped

NoteMike Chinoy, at the time CNN’s correspondent in Beijing, accompanied Rev. Graham on the 1992 trip; Chinoy later wrote that Kim’s birthplace “resembled the nativity scene, to the point that members of Graham’s entourage jokingly called it Bethlehem” (Mike Chinoy, Meltdown: The Inside Story of the North Korean Nuclear Crisis (New York: St. Martin’s, 2008), 4). Chinoy had earlier traveled to Pyongyang in July 1989, where he met Kim Il Sung at a private residence outside Pyongyang; there, Chinoy showed the North Korean state founder photos of his family, shook his hand, and took photos with him (Chinoy 2008, 3–4). Chinoy, reflecting after his two trips, described North Korea as a “militant quasi-religious sect, a society nominally Communist but devoted primarily to worshipping the father, known as the Great Leader, and the Dear Leader who succeeded him” (Chinoy 2008, 2). Chinoy also noted “striking parallels…to primitive Christianity,” including the cruel punishment of heretics. “There was a father (Kim Il Sung), a son (Kim Jong Il), and a holy ideology (juche, or self reliance). People displayed their faith by wearing not crucifixes, but the ubiquitous Kim Il Sung buttons” (Chinoy 2008, 4). In an earlier book, Chinoy had compared North Korea to “a religious camp grafted onto a very conservative, inward-looking society steeped in Confucian traditions, where the purpose of life was to glorify the reigning deity, namely the Great Leader” (Chinoy 1997, 329). Bradley Martin, the American journalist who first visited Pyongyang in 1979, described the nativity scene at Man’gyŏngdae as “something like a cross between Abe Lincoln’s log cabin and the manger in Bethlehem” (Martin, “A Messianic Aura,” July 8, 1979). More recently, another writer has joked of the story of Kim Jong Il’s birth in a humble log cabin at the foot of Korea’s sacred Mount Paekdu: “All that is missing is the three kings and their camels” (Anne Penketh, “God Is Dead, Long Live Kim Il Sung,” The Independent (London), September 17, 2004, 32).
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favorite passage, John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son…”

Note Rev. Graham later preached too at the Catholic cathedral, where he was shown a Eucharist set sent to them by Pope John Paul II, and where Rev. Graham “spoke clearly on the love of God and the importance of faith in Christ” (Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, North Korean Journey: Billy Graham in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (Minneapolis: World Wide Publications, 1993), 35, 43).
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for Kim Il Sung’s immortality: “We Reverently Pray for the Eternal Life of Our Great Leader”

NoteThe text in Korean reads: “Widaehan Suryŏngnim ŭi Mansumugang ŭl Samga Ch’uk’wŏnhapnida,” or in Sino-Korean, “偉大한 首領님의 萬壽無疆을 三加祝願합니다.” The same slogan was plastered to the wall at the lecture hall on the campus of Kim Il Sung University, where Rev. Graham spoke to students on “The Influence of Religion on American Society” and laid out the basics of the Christian faith (Billy Graham Evangelistic Association 1993, 52–53). More interactions with North Koreans in Pyongyang, described by Rev. Graham’s camp as spontaneous in nature, are pictured and described on Billy Graham Evangelistic Association 1993, 59. The claims of informality and spontaneity should be taken with a grain of salt.
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a globe with white doves to his son Kim Jong Il, North Korea’s Great Successor and Dear Leader

NoteNorth Korea’s official media has portrayed these gifts from Rev. Graham as a testament to Kim Il Sung’s greatness. They were displayed alongside tributes from Fidel Castro, Muammar al-Gaddafi, and others. The North Korean publication Chollima (千里馬 Kor. Ch’ŏnrima), in 2001, described Rev. Graham as having “extolled General Kim Il Sung as the champion of amity, unity and peace for humanity,” offering a “rare ceramic dove.” “Americans hailed General Kim Il Sung as an extraordinary man who elicits a bow even from an anti-communist religious leader” (“Wi’in ŭl Urŏrŭ nŭn Inryu ŭi Ma’ŭmdŭl” [Hearts of Humanity Looking Up to Great Men], Ch’ŏnrima [Chollima] no. 2 (February 2001), 56). The crane is still on display at North Korea’s International Friendship Exhibition House (International Friendship Exhibition House: Gifts to President Kim Il Sung (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 2021), 186–87).
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“what might have been accomplished by this trip,” the evangelist said. “Only time will tell”

NoteRev. Graham expressed a similar sentiment in his memoirs, published five years later, in which he saw reasons for optimism: “Did the visit help the churches in some way? We had no firm way of knowing, of course, but we found it encouraging that the following January, President Kim included the two leaders of the Protestant and Catholic associations in the guest list for his annual New Year reception, the first time they had been given that kind of official recognition” (Graham 1997, 628).
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time before the anachronism in Pyongyang would be swept into the dustbin of history

NoteWith the Soviet Union crumbling in April 1991, Colin L. Powell (1937–2021), then Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, quipped to the Army Times newspaper: “I’m running out of demons. I’m running out of villains. I’m down to Castro and Kim Il Sung” (Fred Kaplan, “Powell Says Cuts Can be Made; Head of Joint Chiefs Says US is ‘Running Out of Demons,’” Boston Globe, April 9, 1991). Also quoted in Cumings 2004, 60.
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as something of a survivor—a lone, grim success story among the former Communist bloc allies

Note“The tide of anti-Communist revolutions in 1989–91 wiped out much of the Socialist camp…but Pyongyang was left almost untouched by these dramatic developments,” writes Russian historian of North Korea Andrei Lankov. “Whatever the hardships and sufferings of the North Korean populace, the country’s elite have some reason to see themselves if not as victors then, at least as extremely successful survivors” (Andrei Lankov, From Stalin to Kim Il Sung: The Formation of North Korea, 1945-1960 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 2002), vii).
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successions that flouted Communist orthodoxy and expectations for the country’s collapse

NoteBruce Cumings, writing in 1982, called the Kim-to-Kim succession “the first attempt ever to constitute a Communist dynastic system” (Bruce Cumings, “Corporatism in North Korea,” Journal of Korean Studies 4 (1982–1983), 269–94, here 272). As Princeton University political scientist Samuel S. Kim put it in 1991, the closest regional antecedents to the North Korean hereditary succession could be found recently “in anti-Communist Taiwan and Singapore and ‘democratic’ India” (Samuel S. Kim, “North Korea and the Non-Communist World: The Quest for National Identity,” in Chong-Sik Lee [Yi, Chŏng-sik], and Se-Hee Yoo [Yu, Se-hŭi], eds., North Korea in Transition (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California, 1991), 17–42, here 33). A similar point is made in Lucian W. Pye, “Leadership in the Three Confucian-Leninist Cultures,” in Robert A. Scalapino and Dalchoong Kim [Kim, Tal-ch’ung], eds., Asian Communism: Continuity and Transition (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California, 1988), 151–169, here 154). The only comparable attempt in the Communist world, Andrei Lankov wrote in 2002, come in Bulgaria, though in that case the sudden death of Todor Zhivkov’s daughter and “heir apparent” prevented such a plan from being carried out (Lankov 2002, 74). Lankov speculates that Kim’s decision to handpick his son as successor may have been to avoid the examples of Stalin and Mao, whose successors went on to denigrate, and in many cases override, their legacies (Lankov 2002, 74). After Lankov’s book was published, Raúl Castro (1931– ) took over control of Cuba from his older brother Fidel (1926–2016), though the personality cult around Fidel Castro is limited—his image was rarely seen in public places across the country, and the cult around Raúl is virtually nonexistent. In 2019, Miguel Díaz-Canel (1960– ), not a member of the Castro family, became the president of Cuba, though Raúl Castro remained the First Secretary of the Communist Party of Cuba. Washington Post journalist Anna Fifield, writing that year, also offers Haiti’s Duvalier family and Syria’s al-Assad clan, alongside Cuba’s Castro brothers and the Kim dynasty in listing out modern history’s “family dictatorships” (Fifield 2019, 5). Still, North Korea may stand apart with its two dynastic successions. “Aside from constitutional monarchies, North Korea became the only modern state to have undergone hereditary succession twice,” adds one South Korean scholar (Jae-Cheon Lim [Im, Chae-ch’ŏn], “North Korea’s Hereditary Succession: Comparing Two Key Transitions in the DPRK,” Asian Survey 52, no. 3 (May–June 2012), 550–70, here 550). A former ally of Kim Il Sung accurately predicted, more than a decade before it happened, that Kim Il Sung would only cede power upon his death, and that Kim Jong Il would become the first person to inherit the leadership of a socialist bloc nation (Lim Ŭn, The Founding of a Dynasty in North Korea: An Authentic Biography of Kim Il-sŏng (Tokyo: Jiyu-sha, 1982), 220). Hwang Chang-yŏp, for decades one of Kim Il Sung’s most trusted lieutenants before his defection to South Korea in 1997, described the Great Leader’s decision to pass control of North Korea to his son as one of his worst moves: “Transferring state power from father to son shows that they are guilty of the crime of turning the government, which belongs to the state and the people, into their private property,” he wrote (Hwang Jang Yop 2002, I/1/2). Hwang described earlier conversations with Kim Il Sung in which he seemed to suggest that he wouldn’t treat his children any differently. “But as his personal dictatorship continued and its political foundation strengthened, he became over-confident, believing that he could do anything he liked. More and more, he came to regard the government as his personal property,” he wrote. Hwang, who it should be noted continued to regard Kim Il Sung with a great degree of reverence even after his defection, surmises that, “if only Kim Il Sung had ruled only until the end of the 60s and died then, he would have gone down in history as a hero of the armed struggle against Japanese colonialism and a capable leader of North Korea” (Hwang Jang Yop 2002, II/1/4). More broadly, when comparing Kim Il Sung to his peers and their respective personality cults, Korean-American scholar B. C. Koh argued in 1991 that while Kim Il Sung’s cult of personality had “its antecedents and analogues in those of Stalin, Mao Zedong, Ceaușescu, Sadam Hussein, and others; in terms of scope, intensity, and duration, however, the Kim cult is second to none. Kim’s portraits, busts, statues, and putative words of wisdom are a permanent and ubiquitous fixture of the North Korean landscape; the mandatory wearing of the buttons bearing his portraits by North Korean citizens, a practice that has endured for nearly three decades, symbolizes both the intensity of the cult and the degree of regimentation in North Korea” (B. C. Koh [Ko, Pyŏng-ch’ŏl], “Foreign Policy Implications of Domestic Political Developments in the Two Koreas,” in Hong Yung Lee [Yi, Hong-yŏng] and Chung Chongwook [Chŏng, Chong-uk], eds., Korean Options in a Changing International Order (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1993), 92–107, here 93). As Kim Il Sung was no doubt aware in dealing with the church and thinking about succession, the downfall of Romania’s Communist leader Nicolae Ceauşescu (1918–1989) could be attributed, at least in part, to protests that flared up after a failed attempt to evict a Protestant pastor, László Tőkés (1952– ) (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 72). [[CEAUSESCU BIT ALSO IN ACT III]] Another scholar describes Kim’s cult as having surpassed “in grandiosity and sheer hyperbole the well-studied cults of Stalin, Mao, and Hitler, not to mention those of less important twentieth-century dictators such as Mussolini, Tito (Yugoslavia), or Nicolae Ceausescu (Romania)” (Robinson 2007, 154).
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to “blame the ideology as an incomplete theory which failed to find a solution to world affairs”

NoteAt the Sixth Congress of the Workers’ Party of Korea, held in October 1980, not a single mention of Marxism-Leninism was made, the Hungarian ambassador in Pyongyang noted in a telegram to Budapest the following month. Instead, he noted, the Workers’ Party declared that “its sole guiding principle” was Chuch’e, the ideology of Kim Il Sung, replacing the previous guiding principles—that is, Marxism-Leninism and Kim Il Sung’s “constructive application of Marxism-Leninism” (“Telegram from the Hungarian Ambassador in Pyongyang Etre Sándor,” November 11, 1980, trans. Imre Májer, Wilson Center Digital Archive).
p.8

Kim Il Sung was known, is said to have begun developing as a fourteen-year-old revolutionary

NoteThe Chuch’e Ideology (主體思想 Kor. Chuch’e Sasang) is more commonly rendered in English as Juche, and is pronounced “joo-CHAY.” For more on the Chuch’e Ideology and North Korea’s attempts to backdate its genesis to Kim Il Sung’s early teenage years, see Act III, Chapter 30.
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quasi-religious overtones, so much so that one scholar has dubbed it “the gospel of Chuch’e”

Note“The gospel of Juche called for nationalism and deification of nationalistic leadership. Indeed, this is the beginning of the cult of personality in North Korea,” political scientist Samuel S. Kim of Princeton University wrote in 1991, arguing that it had, by the 1980s, “degenerated into a hybrid mutant accentuating the worst features of Leninism-Stalinism and traditional Korean feudalism. It has become a creed to be worshiped and immortalized, not a normative guide to adaptive behavior (Samuel S. Kim in Chong-Sik Lee and Yoo 1991, 25, 32). North Korea’s main party newspaper, as one might expect, has a strikingly different view, describing Chuch’e Thought as “the acme in the history of human thought” (“Rodong Sinmun on Ideological and Moral Basis of Our-State-First Principle,” Korean Central News Agency, January 20, 2019). What does Chuch’e actually mean, though? The two Sino-Korean characters of Chuch’e, 主體, translate literally as “the main subject,” “subjectivity” or “the main body,” and the words are usually collectively rendered in English as “self-sufficiency.” According to a frequent American visitor who has traveled dozens of times to the country, North Koreans often translate the two characters as “master” and “body,” respectively, thus combining the two to mean “to master the body” (Author interview with James Banfill, DATETKTKTK). One scholar has described it as being, “at root a doctrine of national interest” (Robert A. Scalapino, “Introduction,” in Scalapino and Hongkoo Lee [Yi, Hong-gu], eds., North Korea in a Regional and Global Context (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1986), ix–xviii, here x–xi), and another, “a new and unique totalitarian system invented to justify the dynastic rule of Kim Il Sung and his family” (Sang-Woo Rhee [Yi, Sang-u], Chuch’e Ideology as North Korea’s Foreign Policy Guide,” in Scalapino and Hongkoo Lee 1986, 37–54, here 40). American scholar Bruce Cumings has, in an oft-quoted and oft-disputed characterization, described Chuch’e as being effectively impossible to truly grasp: “The closer one gets to its meaning, the more the meaning recedes. It is the opaque core of Korean national solipsism” (Cumings, “Corporatism in North Korea” (1982–1983), 289). Despite the fruitlessness of trying to grasp Chuch’e, Cumings does, in fact, offer a more straightforward conception of the idea in the very same article: “It seems to be used much like…a term defining an emotion that puts the nation first, or the Leader’s wishes first, in everything.” In short, with “its diffuse and all-purpose meaning,” Cumings argues, Chuch’e “appeals to nationalists of all persuasions” and is perhaps best understood as “an emotion masquerading as an idea” (Cumings, “Corporatism in North Korea” (1982–1983), 289). While Chuch’e had been hollowed out of any actual meaning, such that “the symbols of Juche have become a putatively omnipotent and omnipresent talisman bandied around everywhere in the DPRK,” in Samuel Kim’s words, it did convey, however faintly, “the yearning for national pride, self-identity, and independence. It is a principle of self-maximization for national identity…With Juche everything is possible; without it nothing can happen” (Samuel S. Kim in Chong-Sik Lee and Yoo 1991, 23–24, 32).
p.8

“the Great Leader, turning his ideology into a faith…and swearing unconditional loyalty to him”

NoteHwang Chang-yŏp was one of Kim Il Sung’s most trusted lieutenants, and widely credited as the architect of the Chuch’e Ideology, until he defected to South Korea in 1997. John Merrill, a longtime senior State Department official and later a Korea scholar at George Washington University, described Chuch’e in 1991 as having “been overlaid with a near religious aura” (John Merrill, “North Korea’s Halting Efforts at Economic Reform,” in Chong-Sik Lee and Yoo 1991, 139–153, here 144).
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ideology unlike any that had been seen in the annals of history—one that it called Kimilsungism

Note See Act III, Chapter 32. Kimilsungism in Korean is Kimilsŏngjuŭi (金日成主義). “We call the leader’s revolutionary thought Kimilsungism because the idea and theory advanced by him are original,” Kim’s son and successor Kim Jong Il declared in a 1976 speech. “Both in content and in composition, Kimilsungism is an original idea that cannot be explained within the framework of Marxism-Leninism. The Juche idea which constitutes the quintessence of Kimilsungism, is an idea newly discovered in the history of human thought” (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 34, n. 77, quoting Kim Jong-il, “On Correctly Understanding the Originality of Kimilsungism: Talk to Theoretical Propagandists of the Party,” 2 October 1976 (Pyongyang, Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1984)). It was in fact Kim Jong Il who, days after he was named the Great Successor in February 1974, proclaimed a campaign to “Kimilsungism-ize” all of North Korean society (Jae-Cheon Lim, “North Korea’s Hereditary Succession” (2012), 561, especially n. 28, citing Kim Jong Il, “On sahoe rul Kimilsong-chuui hwa hagi wihan tang sasang saop ui tangmyon- han myot kaji kwaop e taehayo” [On some present tasks of party ideological affairs to Kimilsungism- ize the entire society], February 19, 1974, Kim Chong-il sonjip, vol. 4 [Kim Jong Il’s selected works] (Pyongyang: Choson nodongdang chulpansa, 1994), pp. 8–29)).Another source renders this slogan in English as “Promotion of Kim Ilsungism throughout All Society” (Jin Woong Kang [Kang, Chin-ung], “Political Uses of Confucianism in North Korea,” Journal of Korean Studies 16, no. 1 (Spring 2011), 63–87, here 77). In September 1998, four years after Kim Il Sung’s death and six years after the removal of any mention of Marxism-Leninism from the North Korean constitution, a new revision established Kimilsungism as the state’s official ideology. Not everyone was convinced of Kimilsungism’s originality. As Iowa State University political scientist Kil Yŏng-hwan wrote around the time of the Great Leader’s death, “Kimilsungism resembles Maoism, the thoughts of Mao Zedong integrated into the theory and practice of the Chinese revolution” (Kihl, “The Cultural Dimension” (1994), 145). In time, the ideology expanded to include the Dear Leader, and came to be known as “Kimilsungism–Kimjongilism,” described in a landmark United Nations report on human rights in North Korea as the state’s “guiding ideology” (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 365).
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“yet to be invented,” in the scathing words of one scholar and regular visitor to North Korea

NoteUniversity of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings, who describes North Korea’s most over-the-top language as “Pyongyang pablum,” is today regarded as the U.S.’s most prominent left-leaning historian on modern Korea. Cumings, a former Peace Corps volunteer in South Korea in the late 1960s who made a name for himself in the 1980s by challenging the hitherto largely unquestioned idea in the West that North Korea started the Korean War in June 1950, adds in this passage: “DPRK ideologues would embarrass even Stalin in their absurd presumptions that the Juche idea contains the solution to all problems, winning ever-greater victories, all the time—and for all time” (Cumings 2004, 161).
p.8

“experimenter, architect, industrial management specialist, general and pingpong trainer”

NoteThis quoted list of attributes for Kim Il Sung is from American journalist Bradley Martin, writing after his first visit to Pyongyang in the summer of 1979. “Kim was called the great leader, the great suryŏng [the Great Leader], peerless patriot, national hero, ever-victorious iron-willed brilliant commander, an outstanding leader of the international Communist movement, an ingenious thinker, the sun of the nation, the red sun of the oppressed people of the world, the greatest leader of our time, and on and on,” writes longtime University of Hawaii historian Dae-Sook Suh (Sŏ Tae-suk 徐大肅 1930–2022) in his seminal biography of the North Korean leader (Dae-Sook Suh [Sŏ, Tae-suk], Kim Il Sung: The North Korean Leader (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 316). In another example of the abundance of titles heaped upon Kim Il Sung by his followers, a December 1972 article in North Korea’s Workers’ Daily praised the man as the “Peerless patriot, National Hero, Ever-Victorious Iron-Willed Brilliant Commander, One of the Outstanding leaders of the International Communist and Workers’ Movement, the Great Leader of our Party and of our people respected comrade Kim Il Sung, who founded the Marxist-Leninist Party—the Workers’ Party of Korea and the true state of workers and farmers—the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and steadily leads our Revolution on the way of victories” (as quoted in Fyodor Tertitskiy, “How the Kim Cult of Personality Came to Dominate North Korean Life,” NK News, December 7, 2018).
p.9

with a degree of adulation that, in the words of another biographer, “borders on fanaticism”

Note “His photograph is displayed ahead of the national flag and the national emblem; the song of Marshal Kim Il Sung is played ahead of the national anthem; the best institution of higher learning is named after him; the highest party school is also named after him; and there are songs, poems, essays, stories, and even a flower named after him,” writes one Kim biographer (Dae-Sook Suh 1988, 316). “In its absurdly inflated hero worship and its nauseating repetition the North Korean political rhetoric seems to know no bounds,” writes Bruce Cumings. “It seems impossible that anyone actually reads this mind-numbing prose that flows out in the millions of words” (Cumings, “Corporatism in North Korea” (1982–1983), 272).
p.9

socialist backers, precisely because it looked so little like Communism and so much like religion

NoteJung H. Pak, an Obama-era senior analyst at the Central Intelligence Agency-turned-State Department deputy assistant secretary during the Biden administration, described Kimilsungism as a “religion” in her Columbia University doctoral dissertation (Pak 2006, 10). This is not to say, of course, that professed Communists didn’t adhere to beliefs and practices that could be construed as religious. As Sung Chul Yang, a South Korean scholar and later the ambassador to the U.S., put it in 1981: “As Marx is the Messiah of Chinese Communism, Kim Il Sung is the apostle of Korean Communism. As Mao’s Red Book was once read and cited daily as the holy scriptures, so are Kim’s remarks and writings” (Sung Chul Yang [Yang, Sŏng-ch’ŏl], Korea and Two Regimes: Kim Il Sung and Park Chung Hee (Cambridge, Mass.: Schenkman, 1981), 181).
p.9

foreign source: Protestant Christianity, and in particular, postbellum American Presbyterianism

NoteThroughout the book, I will frequently use the words Christian, Protestant, and Presbyterian more or less interchangeably. Though I acknowledge the perils of conflating these terms, in the context of this work, “Christian” and “Christianity” almost always refer to Protestantism—with references to Catholicism explicitly labeled as such—while “Protestant” generally refers to Presbyterianism, sometimes alongside Methodism and other Protestant Christian denominations.
p.10

the ideological heritage his family had received from American Presbyterian missionaries

NoteRussian scholars Konstantin Tertitski and Fyodor Tertitskiy describe Kim Il Sung’s rise as “one of the most unusual events in the history of communist countries.” Unlike Mao Zedong, Ho Chi Minh and the leaders of the newly emergent Soviet bloc countries in Eastern Europe, whose first leaders were already well known before World War II, Kim “ascended to power as a relatively unknown figure…a former field commander of a partisan unit in Manchukuo and, from 1942, a captain of the Red Army” (Konstantin Tertitski and Fyodor Tertitskiy, “The Personal File of Jin Richeng (Kim Il-sung): New Information on the Early Years of the First Ruler of North Korea,” Acta Koreana 22, no. 1 (June 2019), 111-128, here 112).
p.10

system that was redolent of the Christian teachings and practices that he had been raised with

NoteOne of the most direct treatments of Kim Il Sung and the similarities between the North Korean state he oversaw and the Christian faith he was raised in is Thomas J. Belke’s Juche: A Christian Study of North Korea’s State Religion (Bartlesville, Ok.: Living Sacrifice, 1999). As the subtitle makes clear, Belke looks at North Korea and Chuch’e Ideology through the explicit lens of Christianity, in a text that is written for a Christian readership. As Belke declares in his preface: “My purpose in writing this book is to irreversibly rend the veil of secrecy that masks the Juche religious system—and to expose Juche for what it truly is. Also, this book is intended to equip the Church to pray for victory over the spiritual forces of darkness so God may deliver the people of North Korea from bondage” (Belke 1999, xiii). In contrast to Belke, the current work seeks merely to show, in the form of a historical narrative, how the Christian faith that permeated Kim Il Sung’s childhood influenced North Korea’s founder and the state he created, ruled over and left behind, while steering clear of any prescriptive judgments. Belke’s book, while accurately capturing many of the clear connections between Christianity and Chuch’e, also makes a number of confounding errors, for instance describing Kim Il Sung as dying in May 1994 (he died in July 1994), his mother as a Pentecostal Christian (she was Presbyterian), and senior North Korean political theorist-turned-defector Hwang Chang-yŏp repeatedly as Mr. “Yop” (Belke 1999, 3, 22–24). Belke also refers, erroneously, to Vladimir Lenin launching a de-Stalinization campaign after Stalin’s death in 1953 (Belke 1999, 173).
p.10

“—and unquestionably seemed to have been inspired by—the Christian one of the life of Jesus”

NoteErik Cornell (1930– ) joined Sweden’s diplomatic ranks in 1958 and served in a number of countries around the world, including twice as ambassador to Pyongyang and once as ambassador to Turkey. His 2002 book, North Korea Under Communism: Report of an Envoy to Paradise, trans. Rodney Bradbury (London: Routledge Curzon, 2002), is a valuable firsthand account of the country as Kim Il Sung’s cult of personality soared to unprecedented heights during the twilight of the Great Leader’s life.
p.10

“in intensity to the fervent support enjoyed by evangelical Christian denominations”

NoteSelig S. Harrison (1927–2016)’s interview with Kim Il Sung, together with another given to New York Times correspondent Harrison E. Salisbury (1908–1993) in May 1972, were the North Korean leader’s first direct interactions with mainstream Western news outlets. For more on this period, see Act III, Chapter 9. Selig Harrison’s interactions with Kim Il Sung also included a three-hour-long conversation with the Great Leader one month before his death in July 1994 (Selig S. Harrison, Korean Endgame: A Strategy for Reunification and U.S. Disengagement (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2002), 34).
p.10

wrote American scholar Robert Scalapino. “The man and the ideology have thus been fused”

Note Robert A. Scalapino (1919–2011) was an American scholar of East Asia who spent the bulk of his academic career at University of California, Berkeley. Together with Chong-Sik Lee (Yi Chŏng-sik 李庭植1931–2021), Scalapino published the sprawling two-volume opus, Communism in Korea, in the early 1970s.
p.10

“the thought of the leader is the absolute truth, and accordingly, it is the absolute ideology”

NoteLim Ŭn continues at length in this vein. “Christians believe in the Lord and that they will go to Heaven someday. Buddhists also believe they will reach the Paradise of Buddhism. However, believers of new ‘Juch’e’ religion have no reason to think of the future world after death, because they already have attained the right, provided by the ‘Certificate Card of Residence,’ to live in an earthly paradise where the ‘Sun’ of ‘Suryŏngnim’ shines, by swearing loyalty to ‘Suryŏng,’” Lim Ŭn wrote in 1982, referring to Kim Il Sung as “suryŏng-nim” (首領님), Korean for “Great Leader.” “They wear the badge of Kim Il-sŏng instead of the cross on the breast, and they are under an obligation to loudly read the ‘Creative’ doctrine night and day” (Lim 1982, 8). Kim’s birthplace “is designated as a ‘sacred place’ similar to Jerusalem,” his birthday came to be “celebrated as much as Christmas,” and his family was recast as “the sanctified family,” Lim sneered, employing an awkward English rendering, “the ‘Creative’ doctrine,” for Chuch’e Thought (Lim 1982, 249-250). Continuing in this vein, Lim Ŭn describes Kim’s demand for unstinting praise as “the same as religious commandments” (Lim 1982, 275). According to a postscript to Lim Ŭn’s work attributed to Seiji Yano, Lim Ŭn was “a leading supporter of Kim until the early 1960s” and published his book in exile after initially seeking asylum in the U.S.S.R. to escape one of Kim’s purges, having “barely escaped with his life” (Lim 1982, 325, 328). Historians have identified Lim Ŭn as the pseudonym of a man named Hŏ Un-bae (Lankov 2002, 50–51, n. 2), also known as Hŏ Chin (許真 1928–1997) (Sydney A. Seiler, Kim Il-sŏng 1941–1948: The Creation of a Legend, The Building of a Regime (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1994), 14). Seiler, an ordained Methodist pastor who served as a senior policymaker on North Korea under U.S. President Barack Obama, cautions against relying too heavily on Lim, whose English translation, undertaken by the then-militarist conservative South Korean government, is poorly done and replete with Cold War-era denunciations of Communism, though Seiler also notes that much of what was included in Lim’s book was later corroborated by other Soviet-Koreans and former Soviet officials (Seiler 1994, 14).
p.10

in 1989, put it more succinctly: “When I was in North Korea, I thought Kim Il-sung was God”

NoteThe remark is from Tong Yŏng-jun, who defected in 1989 after four years of study in Poland (as quoted in Martin 2004, 376–80). In a reflection of the power of the cult of Kim Il Sung is, Tong told American journalist Bradley Martin that, even after seeking asylum in the South, “still I’m moved by Kim Il-sung’s leadership” (Martin 2004, 380). Martin, an American journalist whose book on Kim Il Sung draws upon his decades of travels to Pyongyang and his interviews with defectors, also quotes another former North Korean named Ko Ch’ŏng-song, who said that he had “basically believed Kim Il-sung was a god, a savior” before fleeing in June 1993 (Martin 2004, 387). A third former North Korean quoted by Martin, Kim Kwang-ch’un, who defected by swimming across the Imjin River to South Korea in 1989, said that he too had “believed that Kim Il-sung was a savior…I did my utmost to be faithful to Kim Il-sung” (Martin 2004, 524).
p.10

as “the spiritual birthplace” of all Korean people, whether north or south of the dividing line

NoteThe quote is from one of the seminal hagiographic works on Kim Il Sung (Baik Bong [Paek, Pong], Kim Il Sung: Biography (I): From Birth to Triumphant Return to Homeland (New York: Guardian Books, 1970), 18). The writer, identified as Baik Bong, here calls Man’gyŏngdae “the spiritual birthplace of the 40 million Korean people,” referring to the combined population at that time of the two Koreas. Man’gyŏngdae (萬景臺) literally means “the Terrace of 10,000 Views.” The name of the purported author of this work, Baik Bong (Paek Pong 白峰), literally means “White Peak,” serving as a literary alternate name for Mount Paekdu (Paekdu-san 白頭山), the sacred mountain revered by Koreans as a symbol of nationhood. It was the rather unsubtle pseudonym for a Korean writer and admirer of Kim Il Sung in Japan, whose works were enthusiastically published and touted by Pyongyang (Dae-Sook Suh 1988, p. 2, n. 4). As historian Fyodor Tertitskiy writes, Kim Il Sung was in fact born in the nearby village of Ch’ilgol, though the North Korean leader considered Man’gyŏngdae to be his home—and officials made it a key part of his origin story (Fyodor Tertitskiy, Accidental Tyrant: The Life of Kim Il-Sung (Oxford, U.K.: Oxford University Press, 2025), 8, 61–62).
p.11

his hand, while his hagiographers spoke of his ability to teleport through space and read minds

NoteNorth Korea’s main state-media mouthpiece described how the future Kim Il Sung, in his teenage years, was able to cure an old woman of a disease merely by touching her: “His touches are remedies for any disease” (“New Revolutionary Stories,” Korean Central News Agency, February 6, 1998). His ability to read minds is captured in language such as a pair of state-media articles highlighted by University of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings: “Our people owe everything to Kim II Sung’s rare wisdom and stratagem, exceptional organizational ability and extraordinary revolutionary sweep. . . . With the great leader possessed of unexampled clairvoyance standing at their head, our people have always been able to fight” (Cumings, “Corporatism in North Korea” (1982–1983), 269, quoting Workers’ Daily [Rodong Sinmun], April 10, 1978; and Korean Central News Agency, April 13, 1978). For an example of Kim Il Sung’s purported ability to teleport, which is described in North Korea as the “art of shrinking the earth,” see “New House for Education through Trees Bearing Slogans Built,” Korean Central News Agency, February 13, 2012. For other examples of North Korean claims that Kim Il Sung could, for instance, walk on water, see Act III, Chapter 32.
p.11

“Forever”—an echo of Christ’s words of comfort to his disciples before ascending into heaven

Note Suki Kim (Kim Suk-hŭi 金淑姬 1970– ), a Korean-American writer, describes being taken by bus from Pyongyang to Mount Kŭmgang, a scenic mountain resort on Korea’s east coast, in 2011 and seeing from the road identical-looking settlements sparsely dispersed throughout the countryside, each with its own study hall for Kim Il Sung thought and Tower of Immortalization: “I would see, far in the distance, a group of identical houses, a bigger building with a Great Leader portrait that looked like a school, and a tall tower with the slogan OUR GREAT LEADER KIM IL-SUNG IS ETERNALLY WITH US. This same grouping of buildings appeared over and over” (Suki Kim, Without You, There Is No Us (London: Rider Books, 2014), 206). The towers are also sometimes rendered in English as “Immortality Towers” or “Towers of Eternal Life,” though English-language North Korean sources call them “towers of immortalization.” North Korea itself has said that the towers were built to inspire citizens to “pray for the immortality” of the Great Leader (Chris Springer, Pyongyang: The Hidden History of the North Korean Capital (Budapest: Entente Bt., 2003), 109). In Matthew 28:20, after his crucifixion and resurrection, Jesus comforts his disciples before ascending into heaven, telling them “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world” (KJV). Similarly, in John 14:16, Jesus tells his disciples: “I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever” (KJV), echoing the original inscription on the towers: “The Great Leader Comrade Kim Il Sung Will Be With Us Forever.” The parallels between Christ’s final words to his disciples and Kim Il Sung’s promise of his eternal presence to the people of North Korea was first pointed out to me by an American Christian humanitarian aid worker who has made dozens of trips to North Korea. Likewise, Rev. Ch’oe Chae-yŏng (), a left-leaning Korean American pastor who has traveled extensively in North Korea to document the country’s Christian heritage, has noted the striking similarities between descriptions of Kim Il Sung’s immortality and that of Christ, even suggesting that the comparison may be blasphemous. “At a glance,” Rev. Ch’oe writes, “the words on the Tower of Immortality appear to have been photocopied straight from Christian doctrine, and many Christians when they first read it are astonished” (Ch’oe, Chae-yŏng 2016, ch. 2). But Rev. Ch’oe ultimately concludes that the Towers of Immortalization are meant to be understood metaphorically—that even after Kim Il Sung’s physical death, the work that the Great Leader began continues to exist (Ch’oe, Chae-yŏng 2016, ch. 20). Rev. Ch’oe would gain become perhaps best known for his role in helping trigger a corruption investigation into NAMETKTK, the wife of South Korea’s then-President, Yun Sŏk-yŏl (Yoon Suk Yeol BIRTHYEARTKTK), in YEARTKTK.
p.11

that wed the zeal of a millennialist theology to the hyper-rational pursuit of nuclear weapons

NoteAndrei Lankov, a Russian scholar who during the 1980s studied at North Korea’s most prestigious university, Pyongyang’s Kim Il Sung University, has described the state as one that “has no equal in today’s world,” in large part because, as Lankov writes, “North Korea is run as if it is a cult” (Andrei Lankov, North of the DMZ: Essays on Daily Life in North Korea (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2007), 27, 70). By the 1970s, North Korea had established contacts with Rev. Jim Jones’ doomed settlement in Guyana (see Act III, Chapter 33). The evolution of North Korea’s ideology into something akin to a cult happened in parallel with the country’s pursuit of a nuclear deterrent. The country signed its first nuclear research cooperation pact with the USSR in 1959, and another with China shortly thereafter. By 1965, North Korea possessed a Soviet-designed research reactor, though by the 1970s, Pyongyang clearly began turning its focus toward nuclear weapons and away from energy production. The U.S. first detected nuclear testing in 1985 (U.N. Human Rights Council 2014, 37, n. 87). By the late 1980s, the Soviet-designed facilities at Yŏngbyŏn, north of Pyongyang, were producing weapons-grade plutonium (Demick 2009, 66).
p.11

then it would be one of the world’s largest, claiming roughly as many adherents as Judaism

NoteThe question depends in large part on how many of North Korea’s 25 million people one considers to be followers of Kim Il Sung. Judaism has about 20 million adherents around the world. The claim that the Chuch’e Ideology is a world religion roughly on a par with Judaism was made in 2007 by a now-defunct website called Adherents.com, identified as “a prominent U.S. religious research website.” The website listed North Korea’s religion as the tenth largest in the world, assuming that roughly 19 million of its 23 million people are believers (as cited in Korean Bar Association, 2012 White Paper on Human Rights in North Korea (Seoul: Korean Bar Association, 2013), 256–57, n. 36; and Kim Yong Hun [Kim, Yŏng-hun], “Juche Is Classified As a Major World Religion,” Daily NK English, May 10, 2007). American journalist Bradley Martin, quoting an unidentified European diplomat who served in Pyongyang more many years between the 1970s and the 1990s, estimated that roughly 90 percent of the population was made up of “true believers,” pointing to a relative absence of the snickering that could be found about the Communist leadership in the U.S.S.R. and East Germany (Martin 2004, 261). During one visit to North Korea, Martin recalls asking his guide about those in North Korea who didn’t “believe in the Great Leader.” “You don’t understand,” came the reply. “All our people believe in the Great Leader…There is no one in the country who doesn’t believe” (Martin 2004, 354). Han S. Park (Pak Han-sik 朴漢植 1939– ), a longtime professor of international affairs at the University of Georgia and a frequent interlocutor with North Korean diplomats and academics who arranged for Jimmy Carter’s first trip to Pyongyang in 1994, estimates that members of North Korea’s ruling Korean Workers’ Party are probably true believers, along with young people who were born under Kim Il Sung’s rule and thus raised from birth with a thoroughgoing ideological education—totaling roughly 20 percent to 30 percent of the North Korean population that can be considered “fanatic supporters of the Kim leadership,” Pak wrote (Han S. Park [Pak, Han-sik], “The Nature and Evolution of Juche Ideology,” in Han S. Park, ed., North Korea: Ideology, Politics, Economy (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1996), 9–18, here 17).
p.11

concluded after a visit to Pyongyang in 1989: “North Korea is not so much a nation as a religion”

NoteNicholas D. Kristof (1959– ), who was then the New York Times’ Beijing bureau chief, added: “A Westerner visiting North Korea inevitably feels like an atheist at a convention of evangelists. The faith expressed in the Great Leader and the Dear Leader seems so excessive that it cannot possibly be genuine, and yet everyone insists that it is.” In his article, Kristof also compared North Korea to the medieval church in Europe—populated by many true believers and a handful of heretics who are tortured and killed, with lavish construction projects lending prestige to the whole operation (Nicholas D. Kristof, “Great Leader to Dear Leader,” New York Times Magazine, August 20, 1989, 45). John Everard, who served as the U.K. Ambassador in Pyongyang nearly two decades later, described the country as “like a huge religious cult…a paradise run by demigods” (Everard, John 2012, location 3219). ​​“Nowhere else on earth does a government try with such vigour to oblige its citizens to live in a bizarre myth,” he added (Everard 2012, location 3198). In addition to his posting in Pyongyang between 2006 and 2008, Everard (1956– ) also served as U.K. ambassador to Belarus and Uruguay.
p.11

the year before. “It’s a society like the religious group at Waco,” Carter wrote that month

NoteAs quoted in Marion V. Creekmore, Jr., A Moment of Crisis: Jimmy Carter, the Power of a Peacemaker, and North Korea’s Nuclear Ambitions (New York: Public Affairs, 2006), 141–42, citing a handwritten note by Jimmy Carter, June 1994. Jimmy Carter (1924–2025) is referring here to David Koresh (1959–1993), the leader of the Branch Davidian cult in Waco, Texas, who was killed during a U.S. government siege of the cult’s compound in April 1993, roughly a year before Carter’s trip to Pyongyang. Sixteen years later, Carter, in a Washington Post op-ed, described Chuch’e as “the state religion” of North Korea (Jimmy Carter, “Listen to North Korea,” Washington Post, November 24, 2010, A15).
p.12

“Jesus, it reminded me of Kim Jong Il,” recalled Kim Sin-jo, who later became a Christian pastor

NoteKim Sin-jo (金新朝 1942–2025) later changed his name to Kim Chae-hyŏn (金在現). Kim Sin-jo noted other similarities: Christian small-group meetings reminded him of party cell meetings (黨細胞會 Kor. tang sep’o-hoe) and talk of repentance felt uncomfortably like self-criticism (自我批判 Kor. cha’a pip’an). Because of the similarities between the two, and the sense of betrayal he felt being raised to worship Kim Il Sung back home, he was initially reluctant to embrace the Christian God that Kim Il Sung had been raised to worship. “I was deceived by Kim Il Sung, who I could see, so how could I believe in a God that I can’t see?” (as quoted in Cho Kap-je and Chŏng Ho-sŭng, Kim Hyŏn-hŭi ŭi Ha’nŭ-nim [The God of Kim Hyŏn-hŭi] (Seoul: Kosigye, 1990), 191)
p.12

“easier,” she said. “I think you can even replace the name Jesus with the name Kim Il Sung”

NoteKim Hyŏn-hŭi (金賢姬 1962– ) once believed her life would be meaningless if Kim Il Sung were taken from her life (Philo Kim [Kim, Pyŏng-ro], “An Analysis of Religious Forms of Juche Ideology in Comparison with Christianity,” International Journal of Korean Unification Studies 11, no. 1 (2002), 127–44, here 130). “I had believed unquestioningly in Our Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, as the savior of North Korea,” Kim Hyŏn-hŭi wrote in her 1993 memoir, recalling how strange it seemed to pray to “a god that one couldn’t even see,” especially when compared to the way North Koreans venerated Kim Il Sung, “who was visible to us all the time” (Kim Hyun Hee [Kim, Hyŏn-hŭi], The Tears of My Soul (New York: William Morrow, 1993), 9, 127). After some time reading the Bible in South Korea, however, she added, “the Scriptures really touched my heart, even as a non-Westerner. I began to see evidence of God’s works in everything around me, and I felt comfortable calling myself a Christian” (Kim Hyun Hee 1993, 177).

p.15

old, was a local boy, born and raised in this city of nine thousand on the banks of the Ohio River

NoteAs Sammie Moffett’s hometown newspaper put it the following day, Moffett was “born and raised among us” (“Farewell Testimonial,” Madison Courier, December 2, 1889, 3). When Madison was formally incorporated by the state legislature in 1824, the city’s population was around 1,000 (Hillary A. Retseck, “Madison, Indiana’s Saddletree Industry and Its Workers, 1860-1930” (M.A. thesis, Indiana University, 2013), 30–31). By the end of 1889, Madison’s population had risen to about 8,900 people, according to census data from 1890 (U.S. Census Office, Population of Indiana in 1890, Bulletin no. 108 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1891).
p.16

Moffett & Sons, a fixture on Main Street selling hosiery, gloves, buttons, and other dry goods

NoteSamuel Shuman Moffett (1823–1892) was born on May 25, 1823 in Hagerstown, Md., the fifth of eight children born to Irish-born immigrant William M. Moffett and his wife Elizabeth Shuman. Samuel S. Moffett lost his father at the age of nine to cholera and became an orphan seven years later in 1838, when his mother died (Cathy Vallevieni, “Family Biography,” unpublished manuscript, 2010). Samuel S. Moffett is now buried with his wife Maria J. McKee at Springfield Cemetery in Madison (Cathy Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” unpublished manuscript, 2010). See also “Samuel Shuman Moffett” (1823-1892), Find A Grave, memorial #28805843. S.S. Moffett & Sons was the city’s oldest dry goods merchant, according to Samuel S. Moffett’s obituary in the Madison Weekly Courier. In all, Samuel S. Moffett operated the store for 45 years, first with his brother Thomas and later with his sons (“In Memoriam—S.S. Moffett,” Madison Weekly Courier, March 2, 1892 (MKC), via Sung-Deuk Oak [Ok, Sŏng-dŭk], ed., Samuel Austin Moffett Papers, Vol. 1: 1868–1894 (Seoul: Duranno Academy, 2011), 272). Madison’s general stores sold manufactured goods brought in by local merchants who traveled to big cities like Philadelphia and Baltimore, a practice that dates to at least the 1810s (Retseck 2013, 29–30). Samuel S. Moffett’s oldest son William M. Moffett began working in the store in 1870 at age 16 and became sole owner after his father’s death in 1892. William Moffett either sold or closed the store when he moved to Peoria, Ill. in 1905 (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010).
p.16

he was baptized in the local Presbyterian church and “polished the pew with his little breeches”

NoteThe Moffetts trace their roots to the Moffat clan in southern Scotland, which according to one version of family lore split along religious lines in the late seventeenth century into Moffat (Church of England), Moffet (Presbyterian, Church of Scotland), and Moffit (Catholic) lineages (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010). The first of Samuel S. Moffett’s line to arrive in America settled in the Baltimore area beginning in 1798; Samuel S. Moffett’s father William Moffett, “an earnest Christian and perfect gentleman” who was an elder in the Associate Reformed Church, initially owned slaves, but deciding that slavery was wrong sold or freed them around 1829 (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010). Samuel A. Moffett had some German heritage through Thomas Shuman, a great-grandfather on his father’s side; Shuman also owned slaves, but freed his in 1816 and 1820 (Cathy Vallevieni, “Presentation 2: Bowman-Shuman Ancestors,” unpublished manuscript, 2010). The Moffetts’ ancestors also included a Revolutionary War captain, William Paige of Ware, Mass. (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [James Moffett], February 21, 1922, San Rafael, Calif. (MKC)). Samuel S. Moffett’s father is buried in the churchyard at Hagerstown (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mother [Maria M. Moffett], June 9, 1888, Hagerstown, Md., in Oak 2011, 66).
p.16

out west, settling in Madison in 1847 and marrying the daughter of a wealthy saddlemaker

NoteSamuel S. Moffett initially moved to Cincinnati in 1844, where his brother James was established as a wholesale grocer (Vallevieni, “Family Biography,” 2010). Already, by the 1840s, Cincinnati had earned a reputation as a center of Presbyterianism (Cyrus McCormick III, The Century of the Reaper: An Account of Cyrus Hall McCormick, the Inventor of the Reaper (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1931), 78). Three years later, in 1847, the 24-year-old Samuel S. Moffett sailed down through the limestone bluffs of the Ohio River by steamboat to visit his cousins in Madison, Indiana; taking a liking to the place, he decided to stay—and to marry Maria J. McKee, the daughter of a wealthy saddle-maker (Vallevieni, “Family Biography,” 2010). Samuel A. Moffett’s maternal grandparents, the McKees, had arrived in Madison in 1925 (Cathy Vallevieni, “Presentation 3: McKee-Waugh Ancestors,” unpublished manuscript, 2010). The two were married at First Presbyterian Church by Rev. F. T. Brown on August 12, 1852 (Vallevieni, “Family Biography,” 2010, citing their marriage certificate). Like Samuel S. Moffett, Maria J. McKee had lost her father very early in life; she was just 11 months old at the time of the death of her father, who was in the saddlery business, a big Madison industry (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010).
p.16

boulevards, ornate Italianate façades, and orderly gridlike layout hinting at grand aspirations

NoteMadison had once been a city on the rise, blessed with an enviable position on the Ohio River trade route. Early attempts to trace the details around the founding of Madison ended in frustration. An 1889 history of Jefferson County, of which Madison is the county seat, lamented that “the early history of the town is, like that of the county, hard to get hold of. The absence of the county records, before the year 1812, makes it almost impossible, after the death of the early settlers, to establish any facts in regard to the early doings of the inhabitants. Almost every inquiry meets with different answers, which have been partially learned and largely deduced, and principally guessed at; so that the seeker after facts has a hard time to get them” (W. P. Hendricks, “Jefferson County,” in Biographical and Historical Souvenir for the Counties of Clark, Crawford, Harrison, Floyd, Jefferson, Jennings, Scott and Washington, Indiana (Chicago: John M. Gresham, 1889), 145–219, here 184). One later source, published in 1920, dates “the first white man’s cabin” in Madison having been built in the spring of 1808 by a man named William Hall, “who squatted on the land then belonging to the United States.” Madison was “laid out” in 1810 and the first sale of lots took place the following year; it was incorporated as a town on April 15, 1824 and incorporated again as a city in 1838 (Women’s Club of Madison, “The History of Madison,” Indiana Magazine of History 16, no. 4 (December 1920), 317–51, here 317–18). Whatever its exact origins, Madison’s prime location on the Ohio River between the boomtowns of Cincinnati, Ohio and Louisville, Ky., positioned it for rapid growth (Retseck 2013, 27). In 1836, Madison welcomed its first permanent wharf and its first steamboat yard, adding to its reliance on river traffic (Retseck 2013, 28–31). The construction of Indiana’s first state-owned railroad in the 1830s and 1840s, the Madison and Indianapolis Railroad, built in the 1830s and 1840s, brought in hogs to Madison’s booming slaughterhouses, turning the city into “the greatest porkopolis in the world at that date,” with hogs shipped through Madison “by the hundreds of wagon loads” (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 320; and Retseck 2013, 31–32). “Madison held a monopoly on the transportation situation,” according to one city history written in 1920. “Madison was situated on the crown of a horseshoe bend, bringing water craft far into the interior of the state, and from the south and east were easily sent over the railroad or over the various state roads into the interior” (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 320). Meanwhile, Madison boasted a thriving industry making saddletrees—that is, the frames of horse saddles—with a “Golden Age” in the first half of the nineteenth century (Retseck 2013, 27). One of the Moffetts’ neighbors, Cincinnati-born second-generation Englishman William W. Millar, was a saddletree manufacturer, business leader, and elder at Madison First Presbyterian Church (Retseck 2013, 66–67). So was Samuel A. Moffett’s own maternal grandfather James McKee, who had grown quite wealthy in the saddlery business (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010; and Vallevieni, “Presentation 3: McKee-Waugh Ancestors,” 2010). By the time the elder Moffett arrived in the mid-1840s, the city’s fortunes had begun to fade. Even before Indiana was granted statehood, local advocates for Madison lobbied in 1813 for it to be made the capital of Indiana Territory (Retseck 2013, 27). Instead, the capital was moved from Vincennes to Corydon. After Indiana was granted statehood in 1816, some locals continued to believe the town was destined to become Indiana’s capital, a worthy regional rival to upstream Cincinnati and downstream Louisville. By the time Samuel S. Moffett arrived, those hopes had been dashed; Indianapolis, a planned city on the windswept plains a hundred miles northwest of Madison, was designated the state capital in 1825. As new railroads were built linking Indianapolis to Cincinnati and Louisville, Madison began to fade in importance; trains needed to climb a steep grade to reach Madison, and the freezing over of the Ohio River twice in the 1850s, hurting confidence in the reliability of river transport. Rail freight revenue would peak in 1852, the rerouting of regional transport links neatly encapsulating Madison’s fortunes—bypassed by history (Retseck 2013, 31-34). For several years after the Civil War in the 1860s and 1870s, as Sammie Moffett was coming of age, Madison enjoyed a revival as “a national center of saddletree making,” temporarily boosting Madison’s fortunes (Retseck 2013, 2, 14-15, 53). By the early twentieth century, Madison already boasted many century-old buildings, “of brick and very substantially built” (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 318). Madison’s historic district was so picturesque that a 1945 propaganda film by the U.S. Office of War Information called The Town was shot there, depicting small-town America in rose-colored tones. In 1958, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Shirley MacLaine starred in Some Came Running, which was shot entirely in Madison and which garnered five Academy Award nominations. The well-preserved downtown persuaded one Chicago businessman, John T. Windle, to move to Madison in the mid-twentieth century and found a historical preservation society, Historic Madison Inc., in 1960, that continues to care for the downtown core of 133 blocks (Retseck 2013, 8). Today, the U.S. National Park Service classifies downtown Madison as a national historic landmark (Grace Schneider, “Downtown Madison Named National Historic Landmark,” Courier-Journal (Louisville, Ky.), April 12, 2006, 1).
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of five sons became as much a part of the church as its uncompromising brand of theology

NoteMadison’s First Presbyterian Church was established in late 1815 by Rev. William Robinson, with roughly 20 congregants (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 335; J. H. Barnard, “Sketch of Early Presbyterian Church in Indiana,” Indiana Magazine of History 21, no. 4 (December 1925), 300–10, here 304–5; and “Presbyterian Church Has Served Community for 200 Years,” Madison Courier, February 21, 2015). Rev. Robinson first came to Madison in December 1814, making him the second Presbyterian minister to take up residence in Indiana (Barnard, “Early Presbyterian Church” (1925), 304–05). The church was initially located in a brick building at West Street and Presbyterian Avenue (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 335). Samuel S. Moffett’s parents-in-law—that is, the parents of his wife Maria J. McKee—had been members of First Presbyterian Church since 1825, when they first moved to Madison from Liberty Township, Pa. (Vallevieni, “Presentation 3: McKee-Waugh Ancestors,” 2010). In 1846, just a year before the senior Moffett arrived in town, the members of Madison Presbyterian Church—as it was known at the time—erected its current single-room clapboard building, with a steeple, just steps from the Ohio River at the intersection of Broadway and West 1st Streets (Frank Miles, There’s No Presbyterian Church on Presbyterian Avenue: A History of the Madison Presbyterian Church on the Occasion of Its 175th Anniversary (Madison, Ind.: 175th Anniversary History Committee, 1990), 2, 25–27). Samuel S. Moffett’s obituary would later praise him as being of “spotless character” and one of the community’s “worthiest members, an upright Christian gentleman, whose place cannot be filled.” The senior Moffett, the obituary added, was “constant in attendance” at First Presbyterian Church (“In Memoriam—S.S. Moffett,” Madison Weekly Courier, March 2, 1892 (MKC), in Oak 2011, 272). Madison, with its position on the dividing line between free and slave states, was a staunch anti-slavery town, and First Presbyterian stood at the forefront of that effort (“Served Community for 200 Years,” Madison Courier, February 21, 2015; and Retseck 2013, 60–61). The issue of slavery wasn’t some abstract theological debate: Madison’s location on the Ohio River made the city an important stop on the Underground Railroad that ferried slaves to freedom in the north (“Served Community for 200 Years,” Madison Courier, February 21, 2015). “Madison’s location along the northern bank of the Ohio River, just a stone’s throw away from the slave state of Kentucky, made it a hotbed of abolitionist and Underground Railroad activity during the first half of the nineteenth century” (Retseck 2013, 60–61). One of First Presbyterian’s earliest ministers, Rev. James H. Johnson, took a firm stance against the mistreatment of the powerless, telling his congregation in the late 1820s—which included Sammie Moffett’s maternal grandfather James McKee, elected deacon in 1828 (Vallevieni, “Presentation 3: McKee-Waugh Ancestors,” 2010)—that God was punishing the community because the state had broken the Sabbath, because the U.S. had not acted in good faith toward the Native Americans and, most of all, because of the scourge of slavery (“Served Community for 200 Years,” Madison Courier, February 21, 2015). Some sources spell the preacher’s name as James Johnston (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 336). A later pastor, Rev. Frederick Brown, preached against the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, which required runaway slaves to be returned to the South (“Served Community for 200 Years,” Madison Courier, February 21, 2015). “Many good things have come to Madison and Jefferson county from its near neighbor, Kentucky, and notable among them was a supply of pioneer preachers, and after having breathed the free air of Indiana, they never went back,” wrote one historian (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 323). “As early as the 1820[s], Madison had the third largest population of blacks in the state, with most African Americans living, owning businesses, and gaining commercial success in the Georgetown neighborhood. Visitor[s] to Madison in the 1830s commented on residents’ involvement with the Underground Railroad and their white neighbors’ commitment to anti-slavery causes” (Retseck 2013, 60–61). In 1863, at the height of the Civil War, the Confederate general John Hunt Morgan (1825-1864) ravaged the region in a 46-day raid through Indiana and Ohio that laid waste to the nearby towns of Salem, Versailles, Dupont, and Vernon, only narrowly bypassing Madison (David L. Mowery, Morgan’s Great Raid: The Remarkable Expedition from Kentucky to Ohio (Charleston, S.C.: History Press, 2013, 12). Residents of Madison feared a similar fate, and 10,000 Union troops were dispatched to Madison to defend the town; ultimately, Madison was spared (“Served Community for 200 Years,” Madison Courier, February 21, 2015).
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that had taken root across the American Midwest in the mid-nineteenth century

NoteIn June 1828, one church member, Margaret Brisbane, was expelled from the church for dancing and attending a horse race (Miles 1990, 10). Perhaps unsurprisingly, when it came to matters of theology and biblical interpretation, the church was decidedly conservative. First Presbyterian Church was divided in 1833 by a debate over the role of free will in salvation; the hardline Calvinists, known as the Old School Presbyterians, rejected revivalism and the role of free will in salvation, while the New School Presbyterians, influenced by the thinking of the eighteenth-century revivalist preacher Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758), allowed for some free will in salvation. In 1834, three-fourths of First Presbyterian Church’s members left to start Second Presbyterian Church; Nancy McKee, Samuel S. Moffett’s mother-in-law, was one of just 35 theological conservatives to stay at First Presbyterian and help rebuild the church. The two churches reunited in 1921, but Samuel A. Moffett would have spent his childhood in the more theologically conservative First Presbyterian Church (Vallevieni, “Presentation 3: McKee-Waugh Ancestors,” 2010). For more on the divide between Old School and New School Presbyterians, which broke into the open across the American Presbyterian church in 1837, and its influence on the Korea missionaries, see Jaekeun Lee [Yi, Chae-gŭn], “McCormick Missionaries and the Shaping of Korean Evangelical Presbyterianism, 1888–1939” (Th.M. thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2010), 8–25. PIONEERING PRESBYTERIANS: Presbyterians were among the first white settlers of present-day Indiana, and as early as 1804, so-called “home missionaries,” distinct from the foreign missionaries who went abroad, were crossing over into Indiana Territory from neighboring Kentucky and Ohio, many fired up by a revival that had swept westward from New England (Edson 1898, 30–31). The first Presbyterian sermon preached in Indiana Territory was in 1805, in the home of its first governor William Henry Harrison, later the ninth president of the U.S. (Mary Baird, “Early History of the Presbyterian Church,” in A History of the Presbyterian Church, Charlestown, Indiana (Charlestown, Ind.: Brayfield & Boyer, 1899), 1–5, here 1). That first preacher was Thomas Cleland, the most popular Presbyterian pastor in Kentucky, who in 1806 established what is likely to have been Indiana’s first Presbyterian church (Hanford Edson, Contributions to the Early History of the Presbyterian Church in Indiana: Together with Biographical Notices of the Pioneer Ministers (Cincinnati: Winona, 1898), 39–40). See also Barnard, “Early Presbyterian Church in Indiana” (1925), 301. Another source describes Jesse Vawter, a migrant from Virginia, as the founder of the first church in Madison’s home county of Jefferson, Mount Pleasant Baptist Church, in 1807 (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 324–25). Harrison’s successor as governor, Thomas Posey, was a devout Presbyterian elder at First Presbyterian Church in Jeffersonville, Indiana (Edson 1898, 80; John T. Posey, General Thomas Posey: Son of the American Revolution (Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1992), 118; Lewis C. Baird, Baird’s History of Clark County, Indiana (Indianapolis: B.F. Bowen, 1909), 260; and Barnard, “Early Presbyterian Church in Indiana” (1925), 306). By the time of statehood in 1816, there were three Presbyterian ministers and four Presbyterian churches in Indiana (Edson 1898, 80). AT SIN’S FRONTIER: Despite the early arrival of Presbyterianism, there was still plenty of work for the home missionaries to do. One, arriving in Indiana’s first capital, Vincennes, in 1818, wrote of the city’s wickedness. “Every species of wickedness is committed on the Lord’s day, this day being devoted to it. May the good Lord have mercy and not destroy the city,” wrote the missionary, Orin Fowler (Edson 1898, 123). Indeed, according to one account, “between the years 1781 and 1851, Indiana was considered a missionary field, so few and far between were the churches. As many as sixty-three protestant missionaries were laboring here at one time among the settlers” (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 323–24). Southern Indiana, though the most populous part of the state, was by the late nineteenth century still about as wild and foreign and exotic and heathen as Wyoming or Colorado, wrote one historian (LeRoy J. Halsey, A History of the McCormick Theological Seminary of the Presbyterian Church (Chicago: McCormick Theological Seminary, 1893), 14). The missionaries in and around Madison sought to quickly change that. “As soon as log cabins were built, there was erected a family altar and around that altar gathered any who might be living near” (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 324). From the very beginning of Presbyterianism in Indiana, foreign missionary work was a hot topic, though not everyone was convinced of its merits: “Some felt they must send the glad tidings to heathen lands while others were bitterly opposed to it” (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 326).
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he was an elder, deacon, and, for a quarter century, superintendent of the Sunday school

NoteBy 1860, a little more than a decade after his arrival in Madison, Samuel S. Moffett was listed as the city’s sixteenth wealthiest resident (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010). The names of Samuel S. Moffett and his wife Maria M. Moffett remain engraved on the stained-glass windows of the church today (Miles 1990, 61; and Vallevieni, “Family Biography,” 2010).
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as pastors, including his fourth son, Sammie, born in 1864 at the height of the Civil War

NoteSammie was the seventh of Samuel S. Moffett and Maria J. McKee’s eight children, but two of them died at relatively young ages—James of scarlet fever at age six in 1862, and Nancy of diphtheria at age eighteen in 1873. Sammie was thus the fifth of their six surviving children—five of whom were boys (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010). “It was not surprising that two of his sons became Ministers,” said Edith Moffett Seaton, a granddaughter of Samuel S. Moffett’s sister Catherine Moffett, of the senior Samuel Moffett (as quoted in Vallevieni, “Family Biography,” 2010). In addition to Samuel A. Moffett, Samuel S. Moffett’s fifth son, Thomas C. Moffett (1869–1945), became a missionary to native Americans. Sammie grew up with his siblings at 428 Mulberry St., just around the corner from the family store. The home was originally built and occupied by the McKee family, and after Samuel S. Moffett’s marriage to Maria McKee in 1852, the quickly growing family moved in, with Maria’s mother Nancy living in the bottom floor until her death six years later in 1858 (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010). Samuel A. Moffett sold the house, at the intersection of Mulberry and 3rd Sts., in August 1913, following the death of her mother Maria the year before (Vallevieni, “Presentation 1: Scotland and Ireland Moffat-Moffett,” 2010). Some sources, including at times Cathy Vallevieni, a great-granddaughter of Samuel S. Moffett and a family historian, also give the address as having been 424 Mulberry St. (“Samuel Shuman Moffett” (1823-1892), Find A Grave, memorial #28805843).
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early letters hint at a lifelong curiosity about the world, religious faith, and his family roots

NoteSee in particular Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mother [Maria M. Moffett], June 4, 1888, Philadelphia, Pa. in Oak 2011, 60-64; and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mother, June 9, 1888 in Oak 2011, 66.
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a lifelong devotee of tennis, exchanging forehands with his brothers at the Madison Tennis Club

NoteSammie played with his brothers Robert, Howard and Thomas (Oak 2011, 58; and Cathy Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” unpublished manuscript, 2010). Samuel A. Moffett and his sons would remain tennis fanatics throughout their lives, all of them keeping up the sport into retirement. Baseball was another lifelong passion of the Moffetts. One missionary colleague of Moffett fondly recalled attending a baseball game with his stockbroker cousin and Moffett, who was on furlough, in New York in 1921. “I think I shall retain longest the mental photo I have of Dr. Moffett sitting with me on the bleachers in the Polo Grounds drinking pop and eating peanuts and yelling our throats sore for the New York Giants,” the missionary wrote. “From that day to this my cousin, the broker, has revamped his ideas about missionaries” (Charles L. Phillips, “Dr. Moffett in New York” booklet for Samuel A. Moffett’s birthday, January 25, 1934 (MKC)). In the winter, ice hockey was also a favorite pastime. For a photo of two of Samuel A. Moffett’s sons, Samuel H. Moffett and Howard F. Moffett, sporting the “P” of the Pyengyang Foreign School uniforms on a Pyongyang ice rink, see Robert Kim, “Miracle on Ice: The American Ice Hockey Team of Pyongyang,” American Pyongyang, January 10, 2018. Samuel H. was the starting goaltender and Howard a defenseman.
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and home of one of the U.S.’s first college campus Young Men’s Christian Association buildings

NoteHanover College, the first church school in Indiana, was a Presbyterian institution through and through, having been founded by the pastor of Hanover Presbyterian Church, with the assistance of members of the church congregation, longtime Hanover College president William A. Millis (1868–1942) wrote in a book celebrating the university’s centennial in 1927 (William Alfred Millis, The History of Hanover College, from 1827 to 1927 (Hanover, Ind.: Hanover College, 1927), 8, 79). From the very beginning, there was a theological seminary attached to the college (Millis 1927, 14). As at Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and other East Coast schools, Hanover and virtually all of Indiana’s earliest schools were created as offshoots of Presbyterian churches, with seminaries attached (Edson 1898, 228–29; and Halsey 1893, 22–23). In 1840, the seminary was moved to New Albany, Indiana, and, in 1857, moved to Chicago, where it became McCormick Theological Seminary (Millis 1927, 87). For at least the first century of Hanover College’s history, all its presidents were Presbyterian clergymen, with six of them having been hired while serving as a pastor and the men chosen in part for their preaching skills (Millis 1927, 55–56). “Presbyterianism is indigenous to the soil of Hanover,” Madison city historians wrote in 1920, with Hanover establishing its own Presbyterian church in 1820 (Women’s Club, “History of Madison” (1920), 339). As Millis writes, the very name of Hanover—for the college and, later, the town—owed its origins to the church, which predated the school and the town. Hanover Presbyterian Church was founded by Rev. Thomas C. Searle (1789–1821), a graduate of Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire. There, Rev. Searle had married a Hanover native before becoming an itinerant pastor in Indiana, setting up the congregation in what was then called Dunn’s Settlement, after Judge Williamson Dunn, a Presbyterian who had served as speaker of the Indiana House of Representatives. Dunn had donated land for the church, and Rev. Searle was made pastor of the Madison and Hanover churches. Rev. Searle started Hanover Presbyterian Church on March 4, 1820, with 23 members who had previously belonged to the Presbyterian church in Madison. Though Rev. Searle died just a year later in October 1821 at the age of thirty-three, his wife, who was popular among the early congregants, began referring to the church as Hanover, after her New Hampshire hometown, which then gave the name to the university and the town (Millis 1927, 13–14, 85, 291; Ruth P. Sutherland, “The James Dunn Family in Indiana Education,” Indiana Magazine of History 37, no. 2 (June 1941), 147-151, here 148, 150; A.Y. Moore, History of Hanover College (Indianapolis: Hollenbeck, 1900), 10-18; and Barnard, “Early Presbyterian Church in Indiana” (1925), 308). “AN INSTRUMENT OF THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH”: Millis noted that, though the school was never formally under church control except for a short period, Hanover College “has at all times been consciously and consistently an instrument of the Presbyterian Church” (Millis 1927, 90, 197). When Hanover College was first being conceived of in 1825, “for the broad domain of Indiana itself, and for all the region west and north of it, nothing existed in 1825 that could be called a seminary for the professional training of the ministry, and scarcely any classical academy that could as yet be dignified with the title of college” (Halsey 1893, 4). However, the decision was made for the seminary to be a separate institution, called the Indiana Theological Seminary, with its own board of directors, half elected by the Presbyterian Synod and the other half by the trustees of Hanover College (Millis 1927, 86–87). The school was “solemnly dedicated to God” on January 1, 1827, with six students meeting that day in a log cabin measuring 16 feet by 18 feet, on the property of the school’s co-founder, Rev. John F. Crowe (1787–1860) (Millis 1927, 12; and Edson 1898, 159). Though the six boys were not, as Rev. Crowe would later write, “pious,” by the autumn of 1828 a revival had spread throughout the settlement (Halsey 1893, 15–16). When Hanover Academy was upgraded to Hanover College in September 1832, Rev. Crowe was made the college’s vice president; his old pastor, Rev. James Blythe, was the inaugural president (Millis 1927, 18–19). Rev. Crowe, a Tennessee native, had arrived in Indiana in 1823 as a Presbyterian missionary after studying at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he was a member of the first graduating class in 1815 (Halsey 1893, 15; Edson 1898, 156–59; and Millis 1927, 18). Prior to crossing the Ohio River into the free state of Indiana, Crowe had edited the Abolition Intelligencer, “a bold and prudent opponent of slavery upon Kentucky soil,” which made him an object of scorn among slaveholders (Edson 1898, 158; and Millis 1927, 18). In Shelbyville, Ky., Rev. Crowe’s abolitionist and pro-temperance views “made him so unpopular” that he retreated north of the Ohio River to become pastor of Hanover’s Presbyterian church in 1823, and one of the original members of the first Indiana Presbytery (Millis 1927, 18; and Edson 1898, 159). Rev. Crowe had regarded the seminary as the most important of the educational institutions. “At the first,” Rev. Crowe later recalled, “the great and ultimate object of the founders of Hanover College was the education of young men for the Gospel Ministry; the Theological Department of the Institution was of course, in their estimation, its most important part” (as quoted in Millis 1927, 86). Indeed, Rev. Crowe had founded the school “primarily as a feeder to the Seminary. Its business was to provide the church with an adequate supply of ministers” (Millis 1927, 142). Another early historian of Hanover describes how “the primary object in the establishment of Hanover Academy and College had been the education of ministers of the gospel for the growing West” (Moore 1900, 60). Sunday school was mandatory for all Hanover College students (Charles Alling, Jr., diary, September 16, 1883, entry, Hanover College Duggan Library archives, Hanover, Ind.). In Hanover College’s first 18 years, more than half of its 92 graduates went on to become preachers (Millis 1927, 142). By 1927, 26 percent of the 1,335 undergraduate alumni had engaged in Christian ministry and missions work, excluding ordained graduates who went on to teach (Millis 1927, 260). Rev. John M. Dickey (1789–1849), one of Hanover College’s co-founders, “was always an earnest anti-slavery man. For several years he cast the only ballot in his township for Free-soil principles. By and by his convictions became so strong that, though he never introduced politics into the pulpit, privately and in debating societies he discussed the question, and ultimately won over nearly all his people to anti-slavery sentiments. Living on the border where runaway negroes were numerous, he fearlessly preached from such texts as, ‘Thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee’ (Deut. xxiii.: 15)” (Edson 1898, 77–78). Testimony of Rev. Dickey’s adherence to his principles came from no less an authority than Harriet Beecher Stowe, the famed author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, who praised Rev. Dickey as a man “who approached as near the apostolic ideal, in poverty, simplicity, childlike sincerity, and unconquerable, persevering labor, as it is possible to do,” and one of several “strong, fearless anti-slavery men…a loud, unsparing and never-failing testimony against any complicity with slavery in the Presbyterian church” (Harriet Beecher Stowe, Men of Our Times, or Leading Patriots of the Day (Hartford, Ct.: Hartford Publishing, 1868), 548). In a February 1876 letter, Stowe praised Rev. Dickey for having “advocated the cause of the slave in the day when such advocacy exposed one to persecution and bodily danger” (as quoted in Edson 1898, 78). Rev. Dickey was an active trustee of the college until 1837 (Edson 1898, 79). A PURPOSE-BUILT CAMPUS “Y”: Hanover College’s YMCA building was erected on September 24, 1870, replaced by a newer “grand building” in September 1883, when Sammie Moffett was an undergraduate there (Alling Diary, September 17, 1883 entry, Hanover College archives). Millis, the longtime president of Hanover College who penned a history of the school for its centennial in 1927, describes the Hanover College YMCA Building as “the first campus structure of its kind in the world,” followed the next year by a Young Women’s Christian Association branch (Millis 1927, 137, 239–40). Some sources, most notably Yale University scholar Clarence P. Shedd, writes that Princeton’s YMCA is the country’s oldest (Clarence P. Shedd, Two Centuries of Student Christian Movements: Their Origin and Intercollegiate Life (New York: Association Press, 1934), 167–68). In 2010, Hanover College’s library archivist, Douglas Denné, told the Madison Courier that the YMCA building at Hanover was the country’s first purpose-built college YMCA building: “Princeton University in New Jersey claims to have organized the first YMCA on a campus, but it was held in a re­purposed building…Hanover College was the first to build a structure on a college campus specifically for a YMCA in the world” (Pat Whitney, “New Use for Oldest College YMCA,” Madison Courier, April 10, 2010, 1). At a Hanover College YMCA meeting in November 1883, recalls one of Moffett’s classmates, the young men heard the story of the renowned Scottish missionary to Africa David Livingstone, and being told: “God would hold us to account if we did not do our duty” (Alling Diary, November 5, 1883 entry, Hanover College archives). The Hanover College building had been effectively abandoned and used for storage beginning in 1974, before being renovated and converted into an Environmental Science Education Center in 2010 (Whitney, “New Use,” Madison Courier, April 10, 2010). SCHOOL TIES: The Moffett family’s ties with Hanover College were deep. Sammie’s older sister Susann also attended Hanover College, graduating in 1889; she later married a pastor, Rev. David W. Moffat, who was descended from the same Scottish Moffat/Moffett ancestry, attended Hanover College, and served as pastor of Madison First Presbyterian Church, from 1866 to 1870 (Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010). Sammie’s older brother Howard S. Moffett served as a member of the school’s board of trustees for four decades, from 1906 to 1945, while his younger brother Thomas C. Moffett earned his bachelor’s and then his master’s degrees at Hanover, where he, like Sammie, was a member of the Phi Gamma Delta fraternity (Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010).
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only by the thought that they would “soon have to leave these scenes of placid enjoyment”

NoteThe classmate of Moffett’s, Charles Alling, Jr., entered the preparatory department of Hanover College in 1879 at the age of thirteen and graduated from the college six years later in 1885. He later became a lawyer and an alderman in the Chicago City Council, as well as a deacon and Sunday school superintendent at Chicago’s First Presbyterian Church (Alling Diary, foreword by Sarah McNair Vosmeier, Hanover College archives; and Andrew Stevenson, Chicago: Pre-Eminently a Presbyterian City (Chicago: Winona, 1907), 33). Alling lived a floor below Moffett in the college dormitory (Alling Diary, September 19, 1883 entry, Hanover College archives). Alling recalled debate nights where the Hanover boys pondered the taxing of alcohol to reduce drunkenness, or the awarding of government positions without respect to race (Alling Diary, October 5, 12, 1883, Hanover College archives). As Alling himself acknowledged, Hanover College, for all its idyllic beauty, was cloistered off from the real world. This was perhaps most evident when it came to matters of race. For all the abolitionist tendencies of Hanover College’s founders, the school for at least its first century didn’t admit African-American students (Millis 1927, 184). At one point, Alling writes in his diary of having attended what he called a “negro dance.” “They were all happy and dancing shiney-eye, etc. We were so interested in watching Them that we did not come home till one o’clock,” he wrote (Alling Diary, October 5, 1883, Hanover College archives). Frederick Douglass (1818–1895), the abolitionist and orator, visited Madison in September 1880, where he held a large outdoor rally in support of the Republican Party’s presidential candidate, James A. Garfield, just steps from Madison Presbyterian Church (“Republican Rally at Madison,” Cincinnati Enquirer, September 11, 1880, 2; and “Another Grand Rally!” Madison Evening Courier, September 11, 1880, 3). Both articles are cited in “Frederick Douglass Visits Madison, Indiana, September 1880,” in Hanover Historical Texts Collection, Hanover College History Department, Hanover, Ind. Despite the sense of being detached from the world beyond the campus gates, reality intruded in unexpected ways. One female student, Hallie Bright, a member “of the society crowd” at Hanover, died suddenly in September 1883; Alling recalls riding with Sam Moffett in a four-wheeled carriage to the cemetery, where they watched Bright’s coffin lowered into the ground. Moffett’s brother Rob was a pall bearer at the funeral, which “called forth sympathy and sadness from all of the young people of Madison,” in Alling’s words (Alling Diary, September 28, 1883, Hanover College archives).
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of biblical authority with his Sunday school teacher at nearby Hanover Presbyterian Church

NoteCharles Alling Jr., the classmate of Moffett and Baird, described Will Baird as “a good-hearted, whole-souled fellow” (Alling Diary, September 21, 1883, Hanover College archives). In the Sunday school class of a teacher that Alling identifies only as Mrs. Meyer, “I learned nearly all of what I know of the Bible. Let me record just here that I owe my religious inclinations to her faithful teachings more than any other human agency. Sam Moffett and I (who alas! have become so greatly estranged of late) used to carry on arguments with our teacher as profound as either could produce even now” (Alling Diary, May 26, 1884, Hanover College archives). It’s unclear what estrangement Alling is referring to in relation to Sam Moffett.
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captured the six-foot-one student looking skinny to the point of gaunt, and less than convivial

NoteThe description of Moffett’s height is from James S. Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (III),” Korean Repository 1 (March 1892), 75–85, here 75. The “ministerial group” phrase comes from a biography of William Baird written by his son Richard H. Baird, who later became a missionary to Korea himself (Richard H. Baird, William M. Baird of Korea: A Profile (Oakland, Calif.: Self-published, 1968), 2). Annie Laurie Adams, William’s future wife, was not a part of this “ministerial group,” moving “in a somewhat gayer crowd (not wild, really),” their son later wrote (Baird 1968, 2). Annie Adams was born in Greensburg, Ind., roughly 40 miles due north of Madison, and “grew up in a home of deep missionary interest.” She was convinced to become a missionary while attending a summer Bible school in Marion, Ind., and, after meeting William Baird at Hanover College, married him in November 1890, one month before sailing for Korea on December 18, 1890 (Arthur J. Brown, “In Re, Death of Mrs. William M. Baird,” Korea Mission Field 12, no. 11 (November 1916), 289–90). Another account describes Annie L. A. Baird becoming a missionary through the YWCA of Kansas and perhaps having met her husband at a Student Volunteer Movement convention (Baird 1968, 5; and Pak 2006, 33–34). Despite its deeply-ingrained Presbyterian piety, a history of Hanover College written in 1927 to mark the school’s centennial describes a culture of “very conspicuous…intoxication, gambling, profanity and rowdyism,” as well as “fighting, sometimes with the drawing of weapons” in Hanover’s early years, that had only begun to ease by the time Moffett and Baird enrolled in the 1880s (Millis 1927, 226–27). There is evidence, too, that Moffett wasn’t as much of a straight arrow as he let on. Fellow Hanover student Charles Alling Jr., in his diary, recalls his sister Kitty attending a dance with Sam Moffett, where “elegant waltzes” were danced (Alling Diary, October 26, 1883, Hanover College archives). Kitty Alling died of typhoid fever a decade later, aged twenty-nine. Sam Moffett’s brothers Rob and Howard also attended dances, though there were, notably, no drinks (Alling Diary, December 28, 1883, Hanover College archives). On another occasion, Alling recalls Sam Moffett taking a girl named Joic Hutchings by sleigh ride to a new year’s dance (Alling Diary, January 8, 1884, Hanover College archives). STRAIT-LACED FASTIDIOUSNESS: Still, despite these minor lapses in Presbyterian uprightness, one can get a sense of how austere Moffett and Baird would have to have been to be considered in the “ministerial group” at Hanover College. Stanley Coulter, a Hanover College student who graduated in 1871, described Sundays beginning with an hour of Bible class at 8:00 a.m., morning service at the village church at 10:30 a.m. and the Hanover president’s weekly sermon at 3:00 p.m., again at the church. At the afternoon service, Coulter recalled, each student “had an assigned seat and Faculty eyes spotted vacant places. Indeed, absence from any of the Sunday services was regarded as sufficiently serious to merit immediate Faculty consideration” (as quoted in Millis 1927, 271). Card-playing and dancing were forbidden, with the former leading to expulsion (Millis 1927, 279–80). For Korea missionaries of this generation, such strait-laced fastidiousness was virtually a prerequisite. Henry G. Appenzeller, one of Moffett and Baird’s earliest colleagues on the Korea mission field, was similarly predisposed. During Appenzeller’s college years, at the Reformed Church-run Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, Penn., he cultivated a “Puritanical” reputation as the scourge of the fun-loving crowd, as his biographer notes: “When hazing at Lancaster was carried so far that members of the tormented lower class were tied to trees, or butted against posts, Appenzeller rebelled…He not only refused to conform to the dictation of the bully, but he brought the matter to the faculty’s notice…He would not hesitate, if necessary, to turn ‘spy’ and ‘informer’ at the call of duty” (William E. Griffis, A Modern Pioneer in Korea: The Life Story of Henry G. Appenzeller (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1912), 72–73). In a description that could apply equally to Moffett and Baird, Appenzeller’s biographer writes that “no tobacco stupefied or added reek to breath, clothes, or physical structure, nor did alcohol stimulate or dull that alert brain. No strong coffee, drugs, or anything out of bottles or druggists’ vials were needed for daily or special tasks” (Griffis 1912, 63–64). Another missionary to the Koreans in Manchuria, a Canadian Presbyterian medical missionary named Stanley H. Martin from St. John’s, Newfoundland, was raised in a household with morals that were so Victorian that when his brother William saw playing cards on the ground, he ran to the other side of the street (Margaret Martin Moore, Martin of Manchuria: A Torch in the Storm (Bloomington, Ind.: WestBow Press, 2016), 2). One Canadian Presbyterian missionary, after four decades in Korea, returned home to New Brunswick in 1937, where he was appalled at the lasciviousness of his home country, where dancing, card-playing, and alcohol consumption were far more prevalent (Helen Fraser MacRae, A Tiger on Dragon Mountain: The Life of Rev. Duncan M. MacRae, D.D. (Charlottestown, P.E.I.: A. James Haslam, 1993), 213, 217). Whatever the truth about Moffett’s willingness to engage in uninhibited fun, the evidence is clear that he served as section chief of Tau Chapter of Phi Gamma Delta at Hanover College for several years, according to a 1939 article in Phi Gamma Delta’s alumni magazine (Arthur D. Cutler, “Tau Celebrates Diamond Jubilee: Seventy-Five Years of Uninterrupted History Are Rounded Out by Chapter at Hanover College,” The Phi Gamma Delta 61, no. 6 (April 1939), 571–78, here 574). Moffett and his family retained ties with the fraternity for decades. Sam Moffett’s nephew, Clinton Moffett, the son of his brother Howard, was a member of Hanover College’s chapter of the fraternity and took a leading role in the construction of a chapter house, which was completed in January 1911—“an event long dreamed of,” in the words of the 1939 article. “The house did much to enhance the fraternal, social and educational demands of the brothers…Much credit for the construction of the house belongs to the Moffett family” (Cutler, “Tau Celebrates Diamond Jubilee” (1939), 576). Clinton Moffett was chairman of the chapter-house committee, and it was funded in part with Sam Moffett’s money, in time for the fiftieth anniversary of the chapter’s founding in February 1914 (Clinton E. Moffett letter to Uncle Sam [Samuel A. Moffett], October 8, 1914 (MKC)). The most famous section chief of Tau Chapter of Phi Gamma Delta at Hanover College, however, is Michael R. Pence (1959– ), who graduated from Hanover in 1981 and went on to serve as Indiana governor before being elected vice president in 2016 alongside President Donald J. Trump during his first term as U.S. president. When Pence was serving as governor of Indiana, he appointed Eric J. Holcomb (1968– ), another former section chief of Tau Chapter of Phi Gamma Delta at Hanover College, to become Indiana’s lieutenant governor in February 2016 (Niki Kelly, “Pence Pegs Holcomb for State’s No. 2 Post,” The Journal-Gazette (Fort Wayne, Indiana), February 10, 2016, 1A). In November 2016, as Pence was elected vice president of the U.S., Holcomb won the state governorship.
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to earn his master’s degree, which he hoped would open the way to a career as a pharmacist

NoteMoffett’s salutatorian status is from Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010; and Eileen F. Moffett, Chronology: Samuel Austin Moffett (1852–1939), in the papers of Oak Sung-deuk, University of California, Los Angeles professor. Eileen F. Moffett (1928– ) was married to Samuel H. Moffett (1916–2015) and was thus Samuel A. Moffett’s daughter-in-law. Moffett’s chemistry teacher was likely A. Harvey Young, who was one of Hanover College’s longest-serving professors, teaching from 1879 until his death in 1926. Hanover’s then-president, Rev. William Millis, in his 1927 book marking the college centennial, praised Young both for his scholarly rigor and for his steadfast Christian faith, crediting him with “introducing into Indiana the practice of teaching chemistry by the laboratory method. His laboratory was the first in which the students had an opportunity to do individual experimentation. Harvey Young was a great teacher, and breathed deeply the spirit of scientific inquiry. His characteristic classroom admonition, ‘It is your privilege to investigate,’ reveals a sound pedagogy and the truly scientific spirit. The union of the scientific attitude with the most consistent loyalty to his Christ made Dr. A.H. Young one of the notable teachers of his day” (Millis 1927, 198, 204, 213). It’s unclear whether Prof. Young taught Moffett, but there’s good reason to think that he was a major influence, given Moffett’s interest in chemistry and Young’s strong Christian faith. Rev. Millis described Hanover’s faculty, no doubt with Young in mind, as possessing “a consuming zeal for saving boys for clean, vigorous, efficient, upstanding manhood. They were men of prayer, and faith, and good common sense” (Millis 1927, 285–86).
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the class’s top orator and who was also making plans to devote his life to missionary work

NoteWill Baird was two years older than Sam Moffett, born on June 16, 1862 (General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary of the Presbyterian Church (Chicago: Rogerson, 1900), 95). The village of Charlestown, roughly 30 miles down the Ohio River from Madison, was first laid out in 1806, and by 1808 there was a pastor preaching in and around Charlestown (Barnard 1925, 303). One writer described Charlestown in 1889 as a town of 1,500 people—“one of the most healthy and pleasant places” to live in the state, with “all that can be desired as a home…in its moral and religious aspects” (William Lee, “Clark County,” in Biographical and Historical Souvenir for the Counties of Clark, Crawford, Harrison, Floyd, Jefferson, Jennings, Scott and Washington, Indiana (Chicago: John M. Gresham, 1889), 1–24, here 11). For more on Charlestown, including its temperance movement, a short-lived seminary and its Presbyterian church, see History of the Ohio Falls Cities and Their Counties, Vol. II (Cleveland: L. A. Williams, 1882), 334–56). The Baird family had made a small fortune owning a mill in Charlestown, but fell on hard times after the Civil War, leading William Baird’s older brother John F. Baird, who was eleven years his senior, to work on farms and teach at local schools to fund Will’s education (Baird 1968, 2; and Pak 2006, 36). Not much was remarked upon about Baird’s mother, a homemaker described as “always quiet and unassuming” (Katie Piatt Bottorff, “Women of the Church,” in A History of the Presbyterian Church, Charlestown, Indiana (Charlestown, Ind.: Brayfield & Boyer, 1899), 14–16, here 16).
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older brother taught Christian evidences and other subjects as a professor at Hanover College

NoteWilliam Baird’s older brother John taught Latin, physics, astronomy, ethics, and Christian evidences at Hanover College from 1880 to 1890, before he retired to enter the ministry (Millis 1927, 199, 204; and Bottorff, “Women of the Church” (1899), 16).
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Foreign Missionary Society to raise funds for evangelism in Persia, India, Laos, and Japan

NoteThe Presbyterian church in Charlestown was founded in 1812, making it the second-oldest Presbyterian church in the state, after one established in Vincennes in 1806 (Baird, “Early History of the Presbyterian Church” (1899), 2; Edson 1898, 51; Moore 1900, 12; Barnard 1925, 304; and Lewis Baird 1909, 259). William Baird’s Charlestown church was closely linked to Samuel Moffett’s in Madison. For many years, the Charlestown church was the nearest Presbyterian church to Madison (Barnard 1925, 304). Rev. Daniel W. Fisher, president of Hanover College from 1879 to 1907, when Moffett and Baird were undergraduates there, appeared in an 1899 history of Charlestown Presbyterian Church, suggesting he attended or led the church (Bottorff, “Women of the Church” (1899), 15). Rev. Fisher was also at one time pastor of Madison Second Presbyterian Church (Alling Diary, September 16, 1883, Hanover College archives). The church in Charlestown was committed to foreign missions from its earliest days. “The missionary spirit—the evidence of a live church—has been active from the first,” and the church regularly took up public collections to finance Christian work in “heathen lands,” boasting a missionary fund as early as 1822, a historian of Charlestown Presbyterian Church, Mary Baird, noted approvingly in 1899. “How much has been done for the redemption of the world by her benefactions and the influence of her teachings the records of eternity alone can tell” (Baird, “Early History of the Presbyterian Church” (1899), 2–3). It’s unclear if Mary Baird was related to William. The Charlestown church’s Woman’s Foreign Missionary Society, which was meant to support women working as missionaries in these countries and other far-flung locales, was set up in 1873, when Will Baird was a young boy at the church (Anna Hikes Howard, “Woman’s F.M. Society,” in A History of the Presbyterian Church, Charlestown, Indiana (1899), 10). “BUZZED WITH MISSIONARY ACTIVITY”: Charlestown Presbyterian Church’s was far from the only women’s foreign missionary society established during this period. “Small towns, especially small towns in the Middle West, appeared to play a special role in the missionary enterprise,” Harvard University historian James Reed wrote in his exploration of the American missionary impulse during this period and its impact on East Asia. “In the Middle West, the Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist, and Congregational churches—where most self-consciously decent middle class citizens habitually worshiped—fairly buzzed with missionary activity. There a missionary on furlough could always find an audience” (James Reed, The Missionary Mind and American East Asia Policy, 1911–1915 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983), 21). More generally, the Presbyterian church as a whole had been among the first church hierarchies to embrace the cause of foreign missions. Rev. John H. Rice (1777–1831), a prominent pastor in Richmond, Va., had established Union Theological Seminary in the state in 1812 to help the Presbyterian Church produce more missionaries “to aid in the conversion of the world,” in the words of one church historian (James H. Smylie, American Presbyterians: A Pictorial History (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Historical Society, 1985), 63). By 1835, Presbyterian missionaries had established a girls’ school in Beirut, Lebanon—the first in the Ottoman Empire (Smylie 1985, 124).
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on the North Side of Chicago, a city quickly earning renown as a Presbyterian stronghold

NoteAlumni catalogues published by McCormick Theological Seminary show Moffett having enrolled for three years starting in the 1885–1886 academic year, graduating at the end of the 1887–1888 academic year (see, for instance, General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary 1900, 98). While Moffett was one year ahead of Baird at Hanover College, his decision to stay one more year to earn his master’s in chemistry meant they both left Hanover in 1885 to enter McCormick Seminary (Oak 2011, 28, preface by Sung-Deuk Oak; and Jaekeun Lee 2010, 54, n. 90). Their classmates included Daniel L. Gifford (1861–1900), who would later join them in Korea (General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary 1900, 96). FROM HANOVER TO CHICAGO: McCormick Theological Seminary traced its roots to Moffett and Baird’s undergraduate alma mater Hanover College, which established its theological department shortly after its foundation in January 1827. There, the theology school came to be known as the Indiana Theological Seminary, before moving in 1840, for financial and ideological reasons, to New Albany, Ind., where it was renamed the New Albany Theological Seminary (Halsey 1893, 74-75; and Herbert N. Casson, Cyrus Hall McCormick: His Life and Work (Chicago: A. C. McClurg, 1909), 162). However, the school floundered there, and the seminary moved again in 1859, this time to Chicago, under the auspices of Presbyterian business magnate Cyrus McCormick, where it was rechristened the Presbyterian Theological Seminary of the Northwest (Walter W. Moore, “The Life and Work of Cyrus H. McCormick,” Union Seminary Magazine 21, no. 3 (February–March 1910), 204–29, here 223–24; Halsey 1893, 1–2, 74–75; and James G. K. McClure, “Sketch of McCormick Theological Seminary,” in Stevenson 1907, 72–75, here 72). The seminary reopened in Chicago on September 1, 1859 (Halsey 1893, 85). Following McCormick’s death in 1886, the seminary was renamed McCormick Theological Seminary of the Presbyterian Church in its benefactor’s honor, before reverting to the Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Chicago in 1928 and, finally, assuming its current name: McCormick Theological Seminary (General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary of the Presbyterian Church (Chicago: McCormick Theological Seminary, 1912), frontispiece; Jaekeun Lee 2010, 42, n. 72; and Halsey 1893, 357, 368). In 1975, the seminary moved from Lincoln Park on Chicago’s north side to Hyde Park in the city’s south. “CLOSELY INTERWOVEN”—Despite its move to Chicago, the seminary maintained close ties to Hanover College—“so closely interwoven that they can never be dissociated,” in the words of McCormick Seminary historian Leroy Halsey (Halsey 1893, 13). As Halsey wrote in 1893, just a few years after Moffett and Baird had finished their studies at McCormick, “the young men of Hanover still come, in increasing numbers, to the Seminary at Chicago, to receive their final preparation for the service to which they are called of God” (Halsey 1893, 28–29). Rev. Daniel Fisher, President of Hanover College during Moffett and Baird’s undergraduate years there, served as President of McCormick Seminary’s board of directors (Halsey 1893, 411). In some ways, the seminary’s move to Chicago both enhanced the boomtown’s Christian credentials, while ensuring that seminarians—like Moffett and Baird—were immersed in a thoroughly Presbyterian setting. A 1907 book, Chicago: Pre-Eminently a Presbyterian City, acknowledged that while Presbyterians only accounted for only about one percent of the city’s two million people, they included many of the city’s most prominent businessmen, including the industrialist Cyrus McCormick; Cyrus McCormick Jr., heir to his father’s namesake business empire; retail merchant John V. Farwell Sr., who mentored department store pioneer Marshall Field; Marvin Hughitt, a railway magnate; and Henry Crowell, founder of the Quaker Oats Company (Stevenson 1907, 22–24). Presbyterians also dominated the city’s banking industry (Stevenson 1907, 29). Meanwhile, Chicago-born Fleming H. Revell (1849–1931), brother-in-law of Dwight L. Moody, a prominent and wildly successful revivalist preacher who made Chicago his base of operations, would establish an eponymous publishing house in the city, Fleming H. Revell Co., that would produce many of the most influential Christian books in this era—many of which are cited in this work (Stevenson 1907, 57; and Richard E. Day, Bush Aglow: The Life Story of Dwight Lyman Moody, Commoner of Northfield (Philadelphia: Judson Press, 1936), 84).
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theology took root as the school grew to become America’s largest Presbyterian seminary

Note“The enrollment for the session of 1892-1893 was two hundred and twelve, which placed the McCormick Seminary first on the list of Presbyterian seminaries in number of students” (Halsey 1893, 421). Another source gives the enrollment as being 230 seminarians in 1915, making it the largest Presbyterian seminary in the world (Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010). CYRUS H. McCORMICK: The incredible ambitions of McCormick Theological Seminary could be chalked up entirely to the seminary’s namesake, who towered over the city’s social and political life. In nineteenth-century Chicago, wrote Harvard University historian James Reed, “one would be hard-pressed to find a man more socially prominent than Cyrus McCormick” (Reed 1983, 102). As the first of the city’s big manufacturers, Cyrus H. McCormick (1809–1884) was a one-man economic stimulus for Chicago, helping to establish Chicago as “the principal wheat market of the world” (Casson 1909, 72–73). By the end of the Civil War, the McCormick family was the largest landlord in all Chicago (William T. Hutchinson, Cyrus Hall McCormick 1856–1884 (New York: D. Appleton-Century, 1935), 123–24). McCORMICK’S REAPER: McCormick became an early symbol of the emerging wealth being created in America’s vast heartland, having built a business empire around a mechanical reaper that earned him the moniker the “father of modern agriculture.” Though McCormick is largely forgotten today, at least outside Chicago, he was for a time one of America’s wealthiest and best-known businessmen (Casson 1909, 96; and Moore, “Work of Cyrus H. McCormick” (1910), 204–29). “No other one man so truly represented the dawn of the industrial era,—the grapple of the pioneer with the crudities of a new country, the replacing of muscle with machinery, and the establishment of better ways and better times in farm and city alike,” wrote journalist Herbert Casson, noting that, by the time of McCormick’s death in 1884, there were 500,000 McCormick machines in the fields (Casson 1909, v, 188). When McCormick showcased his reaper at the World’s Fair in London in 1851, it “astonished the Old World;” Louise-Napoléon Bonaparte of France, known to history as Emperor Napoleon III, was so impressed that he bought one. Abraham Lincoln’s Secretary of State William H. Seward called McCormick’s reaper a “National triumph,” declaring: “No General or Consul drawn in a chariot through the streets of Rome by order of the Senate, ever conferred upon mankind benefits so great as he who thus vindicated the genius of our country at the World’s Exposition of Art in the Metropolis of the British Empire” (Reuben Gold Thwaites, Cyrus Hall McCormick and the Reaper (Madison, Wisc.: State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1909), 249–50; and Casson 1909, 133–35). Abraham Lincoln’s Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, meantime, credited McCormick’s reaper with helping win the Civil War for the Union by freeing up young men in the north to fight without starving: “Without McCormick’s invention I fear the North could not win, and the Union would be dismembered,” Sec. Stanton said (as quoted in Thwaites 1909, 255). After the Civil War, McCormick’s reaper was credited by Stanton and others with having “carried permanent civilization westward more than fifty miles a year” (Moore, “Work of Cyrus H. McCormick” (1910), 206; and Thwaites 1909, 256–57). Lincoln himself was hired by one of McCormick’s business rivals as part of a patent lawsuit in 1855, alongside his future rival for the presidency, Stephen A. Douglas, and his future Secretary of War Edwin Stanton; on McCormick’s side was Lincoln’s future Secretary of State, William Seward (Casson 1909, 98–99). Cyrus McCormick III, writing in 1931, compared his famous grandfather to another transplant to Illinois, John Deere, who was inventing the first commercially successful steel plow in 1837 around the same time that Cyrus McCormick was refining his mechanical reaper (Cyrus McCormick III 1931, 65–66). McCORMICK’S MISSION: Like Moffett, McCormick was the descendant of Scottish Presbyterians and a devout “Old School” Calvinist who believed in the importance of self-denial and sobriety. McCormick became a Christian after attending a revival meeting at age twenty-five and favored the “muscular Christianity” of Romans 8—“We are more than conquerors through him that loved us” (Romans 8:37, KJV) (Casson 1909, 158–61). McCormick made it a personal mission to turn his adopted hometown of Chicago into a bastion of conservative Presbyterianism. Indeed, when deciding to move away from his native Virginia, McCormick chose Chicago as his new home “partly because of the strength of the local Presbyterianism” (Cyrus McCormick III 1931, 78). To that end, McCormick began unleashing his million-dollar fortune to set up “a newspaper to champion Democracy, a religious magazine to disseminate conservative Old School Presbyterianism, a Seminary to teach the same principles…to hold this pivotal region from radicalism,” as one of his biographers put it (Hutchinson 1935, 8–9). McCormick, responding in part to Dwight Moody’s forceful direct personal appeals, helped fund the construction of all three of the city’s YMCA buildings, the first two of which were destroyed by fire, including in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 (Hutchinson 1935, 302–4). McCormick also looked beyond America’s borders and became “a generous patron of the missionary cause” (Reed 1983, 102). While all of these efforts were dear to him, “the prime instrument” of McCormick’s influence in Chicago was the seminary that he succeeded in transplanting from New Albany, Indiana in 1859, and that would educate Moffett and Baird (Hutchinson 1935, 16). McCORMICK’S SEMINARY: In 1859, McCormick proposed $100,000 in endowments to the seminary—the largest-ever gift at the time to a seminary—which gave him the leeway to install the conservative Rev. Nathan L. Rice to a professorship, as well as Rev. Francis L. Patton, later President of Princeton University, as the Cyrus H. McCormick Professor of Didactic and Polemic Theology; McCormick’s opponents dubbed Patton a “16th Century bigot brought to the city by C.H. McCormick to extirpate heresy” (Hutchinson 1935, 20, 257–58). McCormick’s zeal for what his biographer called “the maintenance of ‘good old’ Presbyterianism against assaults by heretic or unbeliever” earned him a derisive nickname among his opponents—the “Presbyterian Pope” (Hutchinson 1935, 7, 40). McCormick Seminary historian Leroy Halsey, putting a more positive spin on McCormick’s revolution, wrote that the seminary’s “aim and its work have ever been to save the perishing, to educate the young, to bring souls to Christ, whether at home or on pagan shores” (Halsey 1893, 434–35). In 1883, shortly before Moffett’s arrival, the president of the seminary’s board of directors defended in a speech the “antique” brand of Presbyterianism practiced at McCormick: “Our church insists with such peculiar emphasis upon the purity of doctrinal teaching in her seminaries, and jealously guards against the intrusion of any teacher, or doctrine, that would corrupt the simplicity of the gospel” (Samuel J. Niccolls, “Introductory Address,” in Addresses at the Inauguration of Rev. Thomas H. Skinner, D.D., as Cyrus H. McCormick Professor of Didactic and Polemic Theology, and of Rev. Willis G. Craig, D.D., as Professor of Biblical and Ecclesiastical History, in the Presbyterian Theological Seminary of the Northwest, Chicago, Ill., Delivered in the Fourth Presbyterian Church, April 5, 1883 (Chicago: H.W. McCune, 1883), 5–12, here 6–7). In 1907, McCormick Seminary President James G. K. McClure reaffirmed the institution’s insistence on “the infallibility of the Bible as the teacher of life’s meaning and the interpreter of God to man,” and described the school’s mission as to cover “every sphere of evangelistic effort,” pointing to the missionaries McCormick had sent to far-flung lands like Korea, where they were “living lives of exemplary piety” (McClure, “Sketch of McCormick Theological Seminary,” in Stevenson 1907, 74–75). McCORMICK’S POLITICS: McCormick’s conservatism extended into the realm of politics. McCormick, a Virginia native and lifelong supporter of the Democratic Party, had owned three or four slaves—though he also remained lifelong friends with one of his freed slaves, Jo Anderson, who had been instrumental in the invention of the reaper (Hutchinson 1935, 4, 38; Casson 1909, 180–81; and Cyrus McCormick III 1931, 1). McCormick looked upon abolitionists with alarm, fearing that this “radicalism” would halt what otherwise would have been the South’s natural drift away from slavery and thus tear the country apart (Hutchinson 1935, 8–9, 38–39). One of McCormick’s hires for his namesake seminary, Presbyterian leader Rev. Nathan Rice, quoted from the Bible to argue that slaveholding was not a sin, and during the Civil War, McCormick fought for compromise with the South at almost any cost in order to preserve the Union—even as his reaper was credited with helping the Union win the war (Hutchinson 1935, 9, 37, 448; and Casson 1909, 191–92). McCormick’s willingness to tolerate slavery rubbed off on the seminary’s own reputation. Critics called McCormick Theological Seminary a “fortress of slavery,” and McCormick himself “pro-slavery” and even a “slave-driver” (Hutchinson 1935, 23, 50). Ultimately, as one of McCormick’s otherwise sympathetic biographers acknowledged, he was a man out of step with the times, fighting a losing battle (Hutchinson 1935, 41). After the Civil War, McCormick was unbowed, giving generously to Washington College, the Lexington, Va. university now known as Washington and Lee University—where Gen. Robert E. Lee served as president for the final five years of his life, following the defeat of the Confederacy (Hutchinson 1935, 289). Gen. Lee, for his part, was a fervent Christian in whom McCormick would have seen much to admire—namely, he was a strong supporter of the college YMCA who “dreaded the thought of any student going away from the college without becoming a sincere Christian” (Shedd 1934, 106–7). McCORMICK’S WIDOW: After McCormick’s death in 1884, his widow Nancy F. McCormick (1835–1923), known as Nettie, developed a reputation as one of the most generous patrons in American Presbyterianism, supporting missionary causes for the rest of her life. For instance, Nettie McCormick supported Union Theological Seminary’s move to Richmond in 1896 (Smylie 1985, 147). She also financed most of American evangelist John R. Mott’s travels around the world for the missionary cause (Basil Mathews, John R. Mott: World Citizen (New York: Harper & Bros., 1934), 146). When the Korea missionary William N. Blair, a graduate of McCormick Seminary, asked for a gift from Nettie McCormick to fund the construction of a dormitory in Pyongyang during a trip to the U.S. in 1909, he was impressed that she knew the names of all the missionaries in Pyongyang, and many others around the world. “I had no need to ask her for money. She raised the question herself. ‘Isn’t there something I can do for you?’ I told her about the Boy’s Academy and our need for a dormitory. She replied immediately that she would be glad to give the amount needed” (William Newton Blair, Gold in Korea, 3rd Ed. (Topeka, Kans.: H. M. Ives, 1957), 86–88). In December 1920, an 85-year-old Nettie McCormick donated $10,000 for the seminary in Pyongyang, following a visit by Samuel Moffett (Samuel A. Moffett postcard to J. [James Moffett], December 6, 1920 (MKC)).
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leaders feared their strict adherence to the Bible was coming under assault as never before

NoteDEFENDERS OF THE FAITH: Moffett and Baird would have seen themselves as defenders of conservative Presbyterian values against the liberal teachings of rationalism and modernism that were then gaining currency in the American church. As one South Korean historian has written, during the 1880s, “the seminary entered a more complex period, with open competition between a more progressive idea and a more conservative theological outlook. Thus the period in which the first generation McCormick missionaries to Korea attended the seminary was one of the most turbulent years in seminary history” (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 63–64). McCormick, who had died a little more than a year before the two young Hoosiers arrived in Chicago, had just been eulogized by the seminary as a great man who had erected a “bulwark” against the “varied powers of evil”—that is, the forces of “rationalism,” “materialism” and “Romanism” (Hutchinson 1935, 272–73). Seminary historian Leroy Halsey characterized the 1886-1887 academic year, Moffett’s second year at McCormick Seminary, as “one of increased prosperity, diligence and success in all the departments of Seminary work,” with 111 students enrolled. “The whole tone of the institution was healthful and hopeful in the promotion of spiritual life. An increasing interest in the cause of foreign missions was evidenced,” Halsey wrote, noting that seven members of the senior class that year were to become foreign missionaries for the Presbyterian church (Halsey 1893, 416–17). Moffett’s graduating class of 1888, meantime, produced seven fresh graduates set to become foreign missionaries, while the class of 1889 counted nine foreign missionaries among its 41 graduates, such that by 1893, Halsey could count more than 60 McCormick alumni in the foreign missions field (Halsey 1893, 422, 435–38). All told, McCormick men accounted for 17 of the 70 ordained American Presbyterians sent to Korea between 1885 and 1910 (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 43). The implications of this for Korea would be profound. As one left-leaning South Korean church scholar put it, the fact that so many missionaries had come from Cyrus McCormick’s “cradle of conservatism” meant that the breed of Christianity that would take root on the Korean peninsula “placed a profound emphasis on personal piety…rather than social responsibility” (Jooseop Keum [Kŭm, Chu-sŏp], “Remnants and Renewal: A History of Protestant Christianity in North Korea, with Special Reference to Issues of Church and State, 1945-1994” (Ph.D. diss., University of Edinburgh, 2002), 48). CONSERVATIVE CONCERNS: In a reflection of the concerns that permeated McCormick Seminary at the time, the seminary in 1887 created a new professorship of apologetics and missions. As Charles H. Mulliken, president of the seminary’s board of directors, later explained it: “On every hand our faith is attacked…Scientific men have set afloat theories which conflict with the Bible account of the Creation and the origin of man…there is a great deal of skepticism abroad in these days; most of it is leveled at Christianity. It is proud and persistent; its purpose seems to be to injure the church of God by striking at its very foundation” (Charles H. Mulliken, “The Charge,” in Addresses at the Inauguration of the Rev. John DeWitt, D.D., L.L.D., as Professor of Apologetics and Missions in the McCormick Theological Seminary of the Presbyterian Church, April 3, 1889 (Chicago: McCluer, 1889), 5–8, here 5–6). The incoming occupant of that new professorship, Rev. John DeWitt, declared the late 1880s “as critical, certainly, as any age has been” since before the reign of Constantine the Great for what he called “the vindication and propagation of Christianity as the absolute religion” (John DeWitt, “The Inaugural Address,” in Addresses at the Inauguration of the Rev. John DeWitt (1889), 9–36, here 9). Shortly before Moffett and Baird enrolled, Rev. Francis Patton, the later president of Princeton University, had wrapped up nine years as McCormick Seminary’s fiercely conservative chair of theology, where he took the lead in the so-called Swing Trial, one of the earliest salvos in the fight between fundamentalists and relativists (Halsey 1893, 298–99). In June 1884, a wealthy Chicago businessman, Tuthill King, endowed a new chair at McCormick Seminary, stipulating that the institution must not stray from its conservative principles and teach “anything contrary to sound Biblical doctrines, as held by the Presbyterian Church” (Halsey 1893, 385–86). In November 1887, Moffett’s final year at McCormick Seminary, Cyrus McCormick Jr. made clear in a speech that he would carry on his recently deceased father’s legacy, vowing to ensure the seminary remained “a defence against all so-called ‘progress of thought’ which aims insidiously at the simple truths of the Bible” (Halsey 1893, 408–9). Today, McCormick Seminary describes itself in strikingly different terms: “For 190 years, we have been a progressive leader within the Reformed tradition committed to fostering a community of Christian leadership that serve diverse ministries and congregations in a challenging and complex world,” the seminary declares on its website (“About McCormick,” McCormick Theological Seminary website). And Billy Graham, writing in 1997, described Chicago, an important early stepping-stone in his evangelistic career during the 1940s, as having become by the early 1960s “a center of social and theological liberalism” (Graham 1997, 368–69). EXPANSIONARY ERA: As dire as the situation appeared to McCormick’s ideological allies within the Presbyterian church in the 1880s, Moffett and Baird’s time was, in many ways, a good one to be enrolled at McCormick Seminary. The opening of a new building in September 1884, McCormick Hall, allowed for a jump in enrollment that included Moffett and Baird, and “gave stability and permanence to all that had hitherto been done,” in the words of seminary historian Leroy Halsey. “This was the turning point in its history and a new departure for the future” (Halsey 1893, 382).
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Moffett and Baird attended daily morning prayer meetings and mandatory worship services

NoteThe articles of constitution of the seminary in 1840 required every student to read the Bible, pray fervently, and meditate devoutly every day, and to only talk about religion on the Sabbath. Any professor who saw this not happening was to admonish the student (Halsey 1893, 506–7). And indeed, an 1887 photo captures a bright-looking Moffett seated next to Will Baird and three other members of McCormick Seminary’s prayer circle (Oak 2011, 59). Together, Moffett and Baird would take in lectures like one delivered at McCormick in March 1887 by Meade C. Williams, a small-town pastor in central Illinois who urged the soon-to-be ministers to build up personal relationships with the members of their flocks, much like the shepherd in Jesus’ parables knew each one of his sheep. “You cannot fulfil your ministry simply by your Pulpit work,” Williams told the young men (Meade C. Williams, The Pastor (Princeton, Ill.: Mercer & Dean, 1887), 2–5).
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his eight children in tow, challenging Moffett, Baird, and their classmates to join him

NoteRev. Willis G. Craig (1834–1911), a native of Danville, Kentucky, who began teaching at McCormick Seminary in 1882, was one of the seminary’s most influential professors, a theological conservative who taught Biblical and church history, and who sparked an interest among his students for foreign missionary work—Korea, in particular (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 65–66). As McCormick Seminary’s daily newspaper later explained, Rev. Craig “was passionately interested in Korean Missions. In 1888 he lost himself in his enthusiasm and volunteered to leave his Seminary position and take his eight children to Korea as a missionary if the whole class would volunteer. Incidentally the whole class of twenty members volunteered to go. The professor found it inexpedient to go, while many of the class did go. The professor remained in the Seminary and encouraged other students to go to Korea. It was as a result of this influx of McCormick men to Korea that…Korea has been our Seminaries [sic] special interest since that time” (“Pyeng Yang,” The McCormick Daily Bulletin no. 5 (March 22, 1939), 1; Robert Culver McCaughey, “A Survey of the Literary Output of McCormick Alumni in Chosen” (B.Div. thesis, Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Chicago, 1940), 30; and Jaekeun Lee 2010, 65–66). The historical record is, alas, silent on why Rev. Craig was so keen on Korea, nor does it explain why he couldn’t follow through on his wishes, though it may have been his advanced age or his sizable brood. MISSIONARY FERVOR: Korea aside, McCormick Seminary was burning with missionary fervor during these years (Halsey 1893, 345–46). Even before its move to Chicago, McCormick Seminary had, in its earlier incarnations, notched up a sterling record as a dispatcher of foreign missionaries. The first foreigner to emerge from the seminary was Rev. James M. Priest, a native of what is now Liberia in west Africa, who entered the seminary in 1840, when it was based in New Albany, Indiana; after graduating in 1843, Rev. Priest was sent by the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board to Liberia. Other early alumni went abroad as foreign missionaries to China, Japan, Siam, and Africa (Halsey 1893, 9). From 1871 to 1885, during which Moffett and Baird studied at the seminary, Arthur Pierson, one of America’s most prominent and vigorous advocates of foreign missions, served on McCormick Seminary’s board of directors, and was offered a job teaching theology there, which could also have helped drive interest in missions, imbuing these missionaries-to-be with a combination of “pietist-revivalist ideas with the American cultural mandate as God’s chosen nation” (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 24–25, 70–71; and General Catalogue, Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Chicago (Chicago: Melton, 1939), 14). The missionary fervor during these years can also be seen in the establishment of the seminary’s first professorship of apologetics and missions in 1887. John DeWitt, who two years later became the first to hold the position, declared missions “the distinguishing work of the Church of God. It is the end and aim of the Church’s establishment” (DeWitt, “The Inaugural Address” (1889), 14).
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who had developed a burning zeal to see the Christian gospel spread around the world

NoteRobert Wilder (1863–1938) and John Forman (1863–1917) were contemporaries of Moffett and Baird who, by the end of 1887, had visited 176 colleges and divinity schools across North America, collecting more than 2,000 volunteer pledges (Yeon-seung Lee [Yi, Yŏn-sŭng], “Between Nationalism and Internationalism: Yun Ch’i-ho and the YMCA in Colonial Korea” (Th.D. diss., Boston University School of Theology, 2011), 77–78). WILDER & FORMAN: Wilder was born in Kolhapur, India on August 2, 1863, the fifth and youngest son of Rev. Royal G. Wilder (1816–1887), by that time a missionary in India for nearly two decades, most recently under the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. By the time Robert Wilder was 10 years old in 1873, he had committed himself to missionary service. In 1878, three years after Royal Wilder moved the family back home to Princeton, N.J. in 1875 because of poor health, the elder Wilder had founded an influential Christian journal, the Missionary Review of the World (James A. Patterson, “The Legacy of Robert P. Wilder,” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 15, no. 1 (January 1991), 26–32, here 26). Robert Wilder, meantime, enrolled at the College of New Jersey—renamed Princeton University in 1896—as an undergraduate in 1881, two years after Woodrow Wilson had graduated as an undergraduate. John N. Forman, meantime, was born in Amritsar, India on July 11, 1863 to a missionary father, Charles W. Forman, who went to India as a Presbyterian missionary in 1847. Five of Charles Forman’s children returned to India later in life as missionaries. John Forman graduated from Princeton University in 1884 before enrolling at Princeton Theological Seminary for the next two years; in 1886, after two years at the seminary, Forman attended Rev. Dwight Moody’s student conference and seeded the Student Volunteer Movement. He decided not to finish at Princeton seminary, instead spending the rest of 1886 traveling the U.S. and Canada, drumming up interest in foreign missions, before himself sailing to India in January 1887 to spread the gospel. “There was not a preacher of Christ in India more faithful, more fruitful, and to our human sight more indispensable than he,” read his obituary in Princeton Alumni Weekly, drawing upon memorial by the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions (“Obituary—John Newton Forman ’84,” Princeton Alumni Weekly 18, no. 16 (January 30, 1918), 378). HUDDLED OVER A MAP: Though Wilder had committed his life to missions, the catalyzing moment, at least as it has since been memorialized, came one evening in 1883, when Wilder and Forman, then undergraduates at Princeton, were gathered at the Wilder residence. There, the elder Wilder “put before them the map of the world, pressed the need of an organized movement among young men to enter the regions beyond; and, while he left them to consider and confer, he withdrew into a neighbouring room to pray” (Arthur T. Pierson, The New Acts of the Apostles, or The Marvels of Modern Missions (New York: Coxton, 1894), 365–66). The two young men soon established the Princeton Foreign Missionary Society, which would meet frequently at the Wilder residence, where Royal Wilder would regale his son and his friends with stories of his own missionary days (Patterson, “Wilder” (1991), 26). Following his graduation from Princeton in 1886, Wilder attended Rev. Dwight L. Moody’s Mount Hermon conference that summer and then embarked on a tour of North American universities. In 1891, Wilder graduated from Union Theological Seminary and was accepted as a missionary to India for the Northern Presbyterians, but instead headed to Great Britain and Scandinavia to try and start a branch of the Student Volunteer Movement there (Patterson, “Wilder” (1991), 26). Forman, meantime, enrolled at Princeton Theological Seminary after finishing his undergraduate studies at Princeton in 1884. After a year traveling the country with Robert Wilder in 1886-1887, Forman sailed for India as a missionary in January 1887 (“Obituary—John Newton Forman ’84,” Princeton Alumni Weekly (1918), 378). Among the students that Wilder and Forman reached was Yun Ch’i-ho (尹致昊 1865–1945), an aristocratic young Korean who would become one of the most prominent Korean reformers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Yun had just arrived at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, when Wilder and Forman passed through; Yun would go on to help found the university’s Student Volunteer Mission Society (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 77–78).
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to American missionaries, spoke fervently about the urgency of devoting their lives to missions

NoteAccording to a document prepared by Eileen F. Moffett, the wife of Samuel H. Moffett and daughter-in-law of Samuel A. Moffett, as well as a timeline by University of California, Los Angeles historian Oak Sung-deuk, Wilder and Forman visited McCormick Seminary in the 1886-1887 academic year, during which Moffett, Baird, and Gifford all signed the Student Volunteer pledge (Oak 2011, 658; and Moffett, Chronology: Samuel Austin Moffett, in the papers of Oak Sung-deuk). See also Yi Chong-hyŏng, “Ma’p’o Sam’yŏl ŭi Saeng’ae wa Sayŏk” [Samuel A. Moffett’s Life and Ministry], in Ch’odae Hakjang Ma’p’o Sam’yŏl Paksa Naehan 100 Chu’nyŏn Ki’nyŏm Kang’yŏn-hoe [Lectures Commemorating the 100th Anniversary of Inaugural Headmaster Dr. Samuel A. Moffett’s Arrival in Korea] (Seoul: Changro-hoe Sinhak Taehak, 1990), 3–14, here 4. William Baird’s son similarly describes Moffett and Baird making their commitment to Korea after a Student Volunteer Movement meeting at McCormick Seminary (Baird 1968, 5). According to one historian, it was actually Horace Underwood who had visited McCormick in 1888 and inspired Moffett to become a Korea missionary (Pak 2006, 33, 90). This timeline, however, doesn’t check out; after Underwood first arrived in Korea in 1885, he didn’t return to the U.S. again until his first furlough in 1891, and then again in 1901 (Lillias H. Underwood, Underwood of Korea (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1918), 109–19, 213–14). If it was indeed Wilder and Forman, their appeal for young Christians to take part in “evangelizing the world” was filled with urgency. “The world can be evangelized—not converted, but evangelized—in the present generation,” Wilder declared in a message to college students in Northfield, Mass. “Do not hesitate to become foreign missionaries because of the needs of home work” (T. J. Shanks, ed., College Students at Northfield (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1888), 257–65).
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“We are willing and desirous, God permitting, to become foreign missionaries”

NoteNearly half of the 575 Protestant missionaries who arrived in Korea between 1885 and 1910, the critical first quarter-century of Protestant missions in the country, came under the auspices of the Student Volunteer Movement; 15 of the 17 McCormick Seminary graduates who sailed to Korea between 1888 and 1910, including Moffett, Baird, and Gifford, had done so as part of the Student Volunteer Movement (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 70). Most of these missionaries were, like Moffett, clustered in Pyongyang, including some of his closest confidants: William Baird, Graham Lee, William Swallen, and Charles Bernheisel, all Midwesterners who had been raised with a Christian education—and of whom much more will be said (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 47, 73). One scholar reckons that the “evangelical, premillennialist” Student Volunteer Movement sent roughly half of the missionary volunteers active in Korea during the early twentieth century (Hyaeweol Choi [Ch’oe, Hye-wŏl], Gender and Mission Encounters in Korea: New Women, Old Ways (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 2009), 54. In Korea, 107 of the 247 women missionaries who arrived during the first quarter-century of Protestant missions work were Student Volunteers, including Lillias Horton Underwood, Lulu Frey, Annie Adams Baird, and others (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 54).
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planet, committing themselves to a cause that would change the fate of an ancient kingdom

NoteAccording to Baird’s son Richard, a fourth member of Moffett, Baird, and Gifford’s graduating class at McCormick Seminary, named William Gardner, also sailed for Korea as a missionary, though he departed after just three months in the field, finding himself unable to acclimatize himself to the radically different environs of Korea (Baird 1968, 8). The McCormick Seminary alumni directories of 1900 and 1912 don’t mention anyone named William Gardner. In addition to Korea, other members of Moffett and Baird’s McCormick Seminary class of 1888 became missionaries to China, India, and Japan (Baird 1968, 5).
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Australia, and the United Kingdom, young men and women were signing the same pledge

NoteStories like Moffett and Baird’s abounded among the men and women who would later make up the Korea missionary corps. J. Robert Moose, then a student at Trinity College—today, Duke University—in North Carolina, recalls Robert Speer, one of the most prominent American advocates of foreign missions during this period, coming to campus to speak on behalf of the Student Volunteer Movement. “Up to this time I was quite sure of my call to preach, but had never felt that I had any call to the foreign field. In the first meeting which Mr. Speer held with the students he presented the needs of the foreign field declaring, that the least one could do was to think seriously on the subject,” Moose recalled. After Speer challenged Moose in an exchange after the talk, and following some personal introspection, Moose signed the Student Volunteer Pledge that very evening. “And that is how I came to be a missionary,” wrote the Southern Methodist, who would go on to serve in Korea for nearly three decades from 1899 to 1928 (“The Preparation of the Worker, or Why I Became a Missionary,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 1 (January 1914), 6–10, here 7). A. Jeannette Walter (1885–1977), a Methodist from Kansas, had steeled herself to resist the call of foreign missions. “I sang, ‘I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord—except across the sea—I’ll be what you want me to be—except a missionary,’” she recalled, riffing off the lyrics of a Christian hymn, “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go.” “I’d be a missionary if the Lord called me, but I hoped He wouldn’t call,” she wrote (“Preparation of the Worker,” Korea Mission Field (January 1914), 9). After an encounter with a Korean young man, however, Walter changed her mind, and spent nearly a quarter century in Korea, including a stint as the fifth principal of Ewha Womans University in Seoul (Heather A. Willoughby, ed., Footsteps Across the Frontier: 120 Years of Globalization at Ewha Womans University (Seoul: Ewha Womans University Press, 2006), 77). Robert A. Hardie (1865–1949), a Canadian medical student at the University of Toronto, recalled John Forman’s visit to his school’s YMCA in the late 1880s. “As he pointed out how much greater was the need for medical men in the foreign mission field than at home, it was perfectly plain to me that if I were going to practice medicine where ‘we could be most useful’ it must be in the foreign field. I volunteered that night, and when the matter was presented to my sweetheart, the logic of the situation appealed to her as it had to me. Before I had finished my course in medicine, we learned through the Missionary Review of the World of the recent opening to missionary effort of the Hermit Kingdom, and feeling that the need for medical work could not be greater in any other field than in this newly opened one, my wife and I decided to volunteer for this field,” he recalled (“Preparation of the Worker,” Korea Mission Field (January 1914), 7–8). Hardie ended up spending 45 years as a missionary in Korea, from 1890 to 1935, only returning home to retire at age seventy. For another account of Hardie’s decision, see Laura MacDonald, “‘Minister of the Gospel and Doctor of Medicine’: The Canadian Presbyterian Medical Mission to Korea 1898-1923” (M.A. thesis, Queen’s University (Kingston, Ont.), 2000), 18. MALCOLM FENWICK: Canadian missionary Malcolm C. Fenwick (1863–1935), considered the founder of Korea’s Baptist Church, was a twenty-six-year-old hardware business manager in July 1889 when he attended a missions conference at Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario. There, Fenwick, a native of Markham, Ontario, learned that English missionary Dr. John W. Heron had been imprisoned in Korea for preaching the gospel. In fact, Heron hadn’t been jailed, but had died of dysentery while doing medical missionary work. Whatever the truth, Fenwick was moved to head to Korea, but hesitated when he considered his lack of education. That changed by the third night of the conference, when Robert Wilder spoke, telling his listeners that, to a man dying of thirst in the desert, “an expensive cut-glass goblet” wasn’t necessary; all that was needed was “an old rusty, battered can.” “That simple illustration made me willing,” Fenwick later recounted. Four months later, he sailed for Korea, arriving in December 8, 1889; he would die there forty-six years later (Malcolm C. Fenwick, The Church of Christ in Corea (New York: Hodder & Stoughton, 1911), 13–14; and Kun Jae Yu [Yu, Kŭn-jae], “An Analysis of the Historical and Theological Identity of the Korean Baptist Convention: An Indigenous Charismatic Movement” (Ph.D. diss., University of Birmingham, 2014), 87-88). In between, Fenwick, who set up his base in the eastern port city of Wŏnsan, traveled to North America in 1893 to be ordained as a Baptist minister, returning to Wŏnsan in 1896 to found an independent mission called the Korean Itinerant Mission (MacDonald 2000, 17–18). Fenwick is now considered the father of Korea’s Baptist Church, having started some 250 churches over 45 years of missionary work among the Koreans (Kun Jae Yu 2014, 77, 80). For an overview of Fenwick’s early life, his ordination by missions advocate Arthur T. Pierson, his “pietistic fundamentalism” and his decision to come to Korea, see Kun Jae Yu 2014, 77–94. He would come to embrace Korean culture and customs, adopting Korean dress, eating only Korean food, living in a Korean house and finally, dying and being buried in Korea (Kun Jae Yu 2014, 118). CANADIAN CLUB: The University of Toronto was a particularly rich source of young idealistic missionaries ready to commit their lives to Korea. In all, four of the longest-serving Canadian Protestant missionaries to Korea—Hardie, Fenwick, James S. Gale, and Oliver R. Avison, all University of Toronto students in the 1880s who would spend the next four decades or more in Korea—committed their lives to the faraway kingdom after John Forman’s visit to the school in 1886. Shortly after the visit, student newspapers there began publishing appeals for students willing to dedicate their lives to missionary work in Korea and China: “Corea, last land opened to the gospel, calls loudly for help. Fifteen missionary souls wait the messengers of the Lord,” read one 1887 advertisement. In 1888, more than a hundred University of Toronto students said they were willing to volunteer to become missionaries (MacDonald 2000, 16–17).
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and Will Baird, the 1870s and 1880s were characterized by a dramatic broadening of horizons

Note“Until the 1880s and 1890s, foreign missions remained a minor concern of American churches. Till then, most missionary activity aimed at evangelizing the American West,” writes Harvard University scholar James Reed. It was only after the missionaries had spread the gospel throughout the Midwest and all the way to the Pacific Ocean, Reed writes, that “large numbers of Protestants direct their attention overseas. Able at last to take up the white man’s burden, Americans by the end of that century were making large contributions to that transnational religious movement, previously dominated by missionaries from the British Empire” (Reed 1983, 12). The end of the Civil War left many young idealistic American Christians of this era searching for a new cause. “With the freeing of the slaves and the salvation of the Union, America was looking for more people to save, more people to free. The spirit of the age was a missionary spirit” (Martha Huntley, Caring, Growing, Changing: A History of the Protestant Mission in Korea (New York: Friendship Press, 1984), 13).
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steam engine making it a commercial powerhouse—began asserting itself on the global stage

NoteScientific advancement offered wealth on a scale that hadn’t been seen before, as well as a sense of progress, adventure, and Western superiority. In practical terms, it also shrunk the world in ways that made foreign missionary work possible in a way it hadn’t been in the past. “For the first time we may say that the world is open before us,” declared John R. Mott, one of America’s best-known champions of foreign missions work, noting that the journey from New York to Shanghai would have taken 147 days in 1859; by 1904, thanks to steam, the same voyage could be completed in roughly three weeks (John R. Mott, The Pastor and Modern Missions: A Plea for Leadership in World Evangelization (New York: Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, 1904), 1, 8). “Steam has annihilated nine-tenths of the space of the world,” Mott wrote, with characteristic excitement. “Electricity has cancelled the remainder” (John R. Mott, The Present World Situation, with Special Reference to the Demands Made Upon the Christian Church in Relation to Non-Christian Lands (New York: Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, 1914), 97). That same year, in Kansas City, Mott described the moment, in his usual hyperbolic terms, as unprecedented, the first time in which, “in the Far East, in the Near East, in Southern Asia, in all parts of Africa, in the East Indian island world, in many parts of Latin America, as well as Latin Europe, and Greek Europe, doors were simultaneously as wide open as they are before the forces of the Christian religion today” (as quoted in Reed 1983, 10, citing Missionary Review of the World 27 (February 1914), 87, 102). A “SCIENCE OF MISSIONS”: In line with the intellectual background of these missionaries, as well as the technology- and innovation-fueled optimism of the age, missions advocates of this period began formulating what Gustav Warneck (1834–1910), a German missionary thinker, described as a “science of missions,” rooted in the belief that, as one historian put it, “mission problems were pretty much the same in every land. Such a science was needed if the missionary movement, after one hundred years of experience, was going to move forward and evangelize the world” (John F. Piper, Jr., Robert E. Speer: Prophet of the American Church (Louisville, Ky.: Geneva Press, 2000), 190–91). “By an inductive study of the facts and experiences of the past and present, the near and remote, it discovers the underlying principles which pervade the whole work,” wrote American pastor and theologian Rev. Edward A. Lawrence, reducing the evangelization of a country as vast as China to a mathematical formula: “In China one evangelist could reach fifty families a day. Then 1000 evangelists in 1000 days could reach 50,000,000 families, or the whole population of 250,000,000 souls” (Edward A. Lawrence, Modern Missions in the East: Their Methods, Successes, and Limitations (New York: Harper & Bros., 1895), 30, 34). At a historic missionary conference held in Edinburgh in 1910, Presbyterian missionary Robert Stewart, who served in Punjab, delivered a speech crunching the numbers to consider “scientifically” how many more missionaries were needed to win India for Christ; his answer was 8,000 (see W. H. T. Gairdner [Gairdner, William Henry Temple], “Edinburgh 1910”: An Account and Interpretation of the World Missionary Conference (Edinburgh: Committee of the World Missionary Conference, 1910), 76). As one historian of this period writes, many idealistic young Christian men and women “believed that the onward march of Western civilization made not only the Europeanization of Africa and Asia a possibility but also the Christianization of the entire world an inevitability” (A. Hamish Ion, The Cross and the Rising Sun: The Canadian Protestant Missionary Movement in the Japanese Empire, 1871–1931 (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1990), 215).
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leaders like Dwight L. Moody, perhaps the greatest preacher of the nineteenth century

NoteChristian missionary work dates to the Apostolic Age just after the crucifixion of Christ, but remained relatively subdued for many centuries, only reaching its peak around the time that Sam Moffett was studying theology at McCormick Seminary. During the Middle Ages, Catholic religious orders including the Franciscans, the Dominicans, and later the Jesuits had spread the Christian gospel across the world, as far as it was known to the Vatican. Martin Luther’s Reformation of the early sixteenth century, while sparking a vigorous and often bloody debate within Christendom, helped create a Protestant church whose focus was directed mostly inwards, at least for the first few centuries. In fact, many Protestants believed missionary work, on principle, to be theologically unsound. Arthur Pierson, a prominent American nineteenth-century advocate of missions work, later lamented how, after Luther’s religious revolution, “it took three centuries to bring the Reformed Churches to see that ‘the field is the world’” (Arthur T. Pierson, The Crisis of Missions: Or, the Voice Out of the Cloud (New York: Robert Carter & Bros., 1886), 291–92). 1700s AND 1800s: One of the first to expand the aperture was William Carey (1761–1834), an English shoemaker and Baptist believer who, reading the Bible, was convinced that the church had neglected Christ’s command to actively spread his good news to those who had yet to hear it. In 1792, Carey published a treatise arguing that Christians had a divine duty to spread the gospel to the heathens, and, in October that year, formed a group with likeminded Baptists, “The Particular Baptist Society for the Propagation of the Gospel among the Heathen.” The following year, Carey sailed to India and spent the remaining four decades of his life there, helping herald a dramatic shift in Protestant thinking. In Massachusetts in 1806, a small handful of undergraduates at Williams College in Massachusetts formed the U.S.’s first student fraternity devoted to foreign missions, sharing a burning desire to spread the Christian message to “dark Asia” (see Arthur T. Pierson, The Modern Mission Century: Viewed as a Cycle of Divine Working (New York: Baker & Taylor, 1901), 57; and Mott 1904, 185–86). In 1818, two American missionaries to India penned a pamphlet arguing that the church’s very duty was to send enough preachers of the gospel to instruct and save the whole world: “Eighteen hundred years ago, Christ gave to his disciples a most solemn charge to do this work. Why has it been so long neglected?” (Gordon Hall [uncredited], The Conversion of the World, or the Claims of Six Hundred Millions and the Ability and Duty of the Churches Respecting Them, 2nd ed. (Andover, Mass.: American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, 1818), 19). By the mid-nineteenth century, a crop of newly formed missionary societies appeared, with groups of believers in the U.S., Canada, the U.K., and Australia raising funds to sponsor and support missionaries in far-flung lands. At the start of the nineteenth century, there were six such Protestant missionary organizations; by the end of the century, there were 537. The missionary societies fueled a similar explosion in the number of missionaries, from about 100 foreign missionaries in 1800 to 15,460 a century later, many of whom were women (Mott 1900, 120–21). The late 1850s, just before Sammie Moffett’s birth in Indiana, marked a watershed for missions, writes the Scottish-born Anglican missionary and historian of missions Stephen C. Neill (1900–1984). The end of the Crimean War in 1856 ushered in a new period of peace and prosperity in Europe, while across the Atlantic Ocean a Second Great Awakening was sweeping across the U.S., fanning the flames of revival. In 1857, the legendary Scottish missionary David Livingstone’s Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa placed the urgency of missions front and center (Stephen Neill, A History of Christian Missions, 2nd ed. (London: Penguin, 1986, repr. 1990), 273–76). In New York, preacher Rev. Joel Parker exhorted the faithful: “It is the duty of Christians to evangelize the whole world immediately” (Mott 1900, 133–34). MANIFEST DESTINY: The optimism that made this period the golden age of Western missionary work was nothing short of a doctrine of manifest destiny for the Christian gospel. To leading Christian thinkers of the day like William E. Griffis (1843–1928), a Congregationalist minister from Philadelphia who had moved to Japan in the early 1870s and became an influential voice on Asia back home, the American navy’s rousing triumph over the Spanish at the Battle of Manila Bay in May 1898, thus opening the Spanish-American, had awakened Americans to new western vistas for expansion of the missionary effort: “For the people of the United States, the oceanic event of May 1, 1898, changed their view of the world. It made the Far East a Near West. Heretofore they had looked at the Chinas, the Indies, and the Pacific spice-world, eastward, as if through and beyond Europe. On that day perspective became prospect. Now they turn to see the whole Pacific through their western windows and at their own doors” (William Elliott Griffis, America in the East: A Glance at Our History, Prospects, Problems, and Duties in the Pacific Ocean, 2nd ed. (New York: A.S. Barnes, 1900), 1). “THE DIVINE MISSION”: Sen. Albert J. Beveridge (1862–1927), a contemporary of Moffett who represented Indiana from 1899 to 1911, was a full-throated advocate of expanding Christianity’s influence around the world, which he called “the divine mission of America.” “Almighty God…has marked us as His chosen people, henceforth to lead in the regeneration of the world,” Sen. Beveridge declared from the floor of the U.S. Senate. “The judgment of the Master is upon us: ‘Ye have been faithful over a few things; I will make you ruler over many things’” (“Policy Regarding the Philippines,” Albert J. Beveridge Speech in U.S. Senate, January 9, 1900, in United States Congressional Record, 56th Cong., 1st Sess., Vol. 33 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1900), 704–12, here 704, 711). Similarly, the uncovering of heretofore unreachable corners of the world presented a stark moral obligation to Christians, John Mott mused: “Why has God made the whole world known and accessible to our generation?” (John R. Mott, The Evangelization of the World in This Generation (New York: Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, 1900), 130). To Mott, the answer was clear: “The fact that our generation is the first to which the wide world has been laid open is itself convincing evidence that the time has come at last for the Church of Christ to undertake and to prosecute a campaign of evangelization on a scale literally world-wide in its sweep” (Mott 1904, 4). Arthur Pierson, another American advocate of foreign missions, surmised that God had actually kept parts of the world deliberately inaccessible for millennia, precisely so that His emissaries would be ready to bear the gospel when the way was finally open to them. “The Captain of our Salvation is blowing a blast on His bugle—everything echoes His command, Forward! Why do we delay?” he wrote. “When God set Canaan before His people, His word was: ‘Every place that the sole of your foot shall tread upon, that have I given unto you.’ That law is general. Every land of promise waits for possession, and possession hangs on appropriation…the way is open as never before for the Gospel chariot” (Pierson 1894, 29, 47). Though this language of foreordained conquest was wrapped in millenarian optimism—“The era of universal peace seems to be at hand,” Pierson wrote (Pierson 1894, 33)—later historians would come to see American Protestant work in Asia during this period in starkly different terms, namely as the “moral equivalent of imperialism” (Pak 2006, 6). Or, in the words of the esteemed twentieth-century historian Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. (1917–2007), “the missionary was an agent of the Western assault on non-Western societies” (Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., “The Missionary Enterprise and Theories of Imperialism,” in John K. Fairbank, ed., The Missionary Enterprise in China and America (Taipei: Rainbow-Bridge Book, 1974), 336–73, here 363).
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Chicago into a nexus of foreign missionary activity, just as Sam Moffett arrived in town in 1886

NoteDwight Lyman Moody (1837–1899), a rough-hewn farmer’s son and former shoe salesman from Northfield, Massachusetts, had moved to Chicago as a young man in hopes of striking it rich, though in the end he helped turn the Midwestern city into a nexus of foreign missionary activity—with the help of his patron, Cyrus McCormick. In 1886, the same year that Sam Moffett arrived in town to attend McCormick Theological Seminary, Moody founded the Chicago Evangelization Society with $10,000 in financial support from his friend Cyrus McCormick, hoping to inspire a generation of college-educated Americans to bring the Christian gospel to the remote corners of the world. After Moody’s death in 1899, the society was renamed the Moody Bible Institute of Chicago (Norman H. Camp, The Moody Bible Institute of Chicago: A Brief Historical Sketch (n.p., 1915), 3≠4). Roughly a decade earlier in 1867, Moody had likewise secured $10,000 from McCormick to build the first YMCA building in the U.S.—in their shared adopted home city of Chicago (William R. Moody, The Life of Dwight L. Moody (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1900), 116). Though a few YMCA branches had been established in the U.S. after a group of young men founded the organization in London in June 1844, the American outposts were “few in number and had gained little more than a foothold” before the 1860s; most of them disbanded during the American Civil War (William Moody 1900, 473). For more on the life of Moody, widely regarded as the greatest Christian evangelist of the nineteenth century, see Gamaliel Bradford, D. L. Moody: A Worker in Souls (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday Doran, 1928); Richard E. Day, Bush Aglow: The Life Story of Dwight Lyman Moody, Commoner of Northfield (Philadelphia: Judson Press, 1936); and William R. Moody, The Life of Dwight L. Moody (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1900). MOODY’S MESSAGE: Moody delivered a simple message of personal salvation aimed at one object: winning new believers to the faith. The world was going to hell, Moody preached in his charmingly brash and earthy style, and he pleaded with his listeners, who numbered in the tens of millions, to join the faithful “in the ark of refuge…in our journey to Heaven” (William Moody 1900, 247). Moody was a legendary evangelist, often confronting strangers on the streets and in saloons with the bluntest of opening lines: “Are you a Christian?” (William Moody 1900, 109, 112; Day 1936, 105; and Bradford 1928, 31–32). His brash style earned him a reputation as “Crazy Moody,” attracting thousands of passersby to hear him preach the Christian gospel each week (Day 1936, 74–75). Though Moody didn’t belong to any one denomination, he was as conservative as any when it came to questions of faith. Cyrus McCormick was an eager donor to Dwight L. Moody’s YMCA work, where Moody railed against “professors who tippled, used tobacco, went to the theatre, played billiards and other loaferish games. Should Christians be silent about such matters? No! a thousand times, No!” (as quoted in Day 1936, 110). On another occasion, Moody once wrote: “WHAT WE NEED TODAY IS MEN WHO BELIEVE IN THE BIBLE FROM THE CROWN OF THEIR HEADS TO THE SOLES OF THEIR FEET: WHO BELIEVE IN THE WHOLE OF IT, THE THINGS THEY UNDERSTAND, AND THE THINGS THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND!” (as quoted in Day 1936, 210) MOODY’S MINISTRY: After the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, Moody embarked on what would be the first of many transatlantic preaching tours to Great Britain, where he was a sensation, preaching before “an acre of people” each night in East London—285 meetings attended by 2.5 million people over the span of four months (Moody 1900, 244, 251). That two-year-long evangelistic campaign, which lasted from June 1873 to August 1875, winning over enormous crowds together with the Methodist organist and hymn-singer Ira Sankey, in what has been dubbed “the greatest revival since Pentecost” (Day 1936, 188–89). Upon his return home, Moody embarked on similar speaking tours across the U.S., winning renown with his direct message and unvarnished vernacular. When Moody died in 1899, John Mott delivered the eulogy at New York’s Carnegie Hall, recalling the “literally tens of millions” Moody had reached through his revivals (Mathews 1934, 106). Others declared that Moody had singlehandedly “reduced the population of hell by a million souls” (Bradford 1928, 16). “No man of the century left a deeper mark on his generation, or affected world-wide missions, directly or indirectly, more than this Massachusetts farmer’s son,” added the missions advocate Arthur Pierson (Pierson 1901, 207). In the roughly quarter-century between Moody’s first evangelistic campaign in 1873 and his death in 1899, Moody preached to an estimated hundred million people (Day 1936, 274). Posthumously, Moody was able to reach many more through his brother-in-law Fleming H. Revell, the foremost American publisher of mass-market Christian books during this period (Day 1936, 84), and through the many institutions that would bear his name—the Moody Bible Institute, the D. L. Moody Center, and Moody Publishers. Among those who admired and saw himself in a lineage that included Moody was Rev. Billy Graham, who described Moody as “the voice of the Holy Spirit” (Graham 1997, 26). Rev. Graham, writing in his memoirs, recalls, as a 21-year-old, hearing a prophetic word from a classmate: “‘The time is ripe for another Luther, Wesley, Moody, ______. There is room for another name in this list. There is a challenge facing us.’ I did not think my name was the one to be added to that list, but I did know that I was a human instrument and that God had chosen me to preach” (Graham 1997, 59–60). Like Moody, Graham was a transplant to Chicago, which served as an important launchpad for his evangelistic career (Graham 1997, 94). MOODY AND MISSIONS: Moody played a central role in stoking the late nineteenth-century American fervor for foreign missions—and had an indirect hand in the work in Korea. Samuel Moffett and his Korea missionary colleagues would later draw a direct line between their own work and the heyday of “noted saints” like Dwight Moody and British missionary to China J. Hudson Taylor (1832–1905), when “the spirits that set the pace for Christian work when Korea’s day dawned. How sweet their influence; how persuasive their call; how faithful and true their message…Who would not rise and be a missionary at such a time as this?” the pioneering Canadian missionary to Korea James S. Gale (1863–1937) recalled in 1934, the fiftieth anniversary of Protestantism in Korea. Gale recalled how, in Vancouver on the night in 1888 before he was to sail for Korea, Moody happened to be speaking in the city. “Quite unsought for, and quite unexpectedly, I was led before him. ‘What?’ he asked, ‘and whither?’ ‘A student volunteer for Korea.’ ‘Capital’ said the voice that thrilled all Anglo-Saxondom in those days. ‘I’ll pray for you.’ Dwight L. Moody!” (James S. Gale, “These Fifty Years: 1884–1934,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 10–12, here 10). Though the Student Volunteer Movement began with Robert Wilder, John Forman, and other student leaders, as one scholar has put it, “those roots might never have produced plants and fruit, had it not been for Moody. He was a towering figure, the leading evangelical Protestant of his day, with tremendous drawing power” (Piper 2000, 112). Much of the Christianity that would be brought to Korea in the 1880s was influenced by Moody and his brand of American evangelical Protestantism, which one scholar describes as “the confessionalist tradition of the Old School with their pietist commitment, and the revivalist inclination of the New School” (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 8).
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its emotional climax, one hundred students publicly committed their lives to missionary work

NoteThe conference, held in Mount Hermon, Massachusetts, near Moody’s hometown of Northfield in the summer of 1886, gathered 259 students from 89 colleges and universities, as well as John Mott and Robert Wilder, for a four-week meeting of prayer and Bible study—at the time the only international Christian conference for college students (Mott 1904, 186–87; Pierson 1886, 362–63; Shedd 1934, 242–47; Mathews 1934, 55; and Piper 2000, 113). Some sources give slightly different attendance figures. There, one Baptist missionary to China described the work of missions as “a war of conquest,” while Arthur Pierson gave a talk entitled: “All Should Go and Go to All” (Piper 2000, 113). Though the 1886 Mount Hermon meeting wasn’t explicitly focused on missionary work, per se, evangelism quickly became the central focus. The climactic meeting was held at a hill called Round Top, overlooking “a glorious panorama of rolling farm land, the broad sweep of the Connecticut River, and on the far-western skyline the Green Mountains of Vermont. In such a setting, at the sunset hour, it was not difficult to make life decisions” (Shedd 1934, 249). At this “Meeting of the Ten Nations,” students from countries around the world, including missionary children, delivered impassioned pleas for the Christian gospel in their nations. Wilder, representing India, urged his fellow attendees to consider devoting themselves to what he saw as the great need overseas (Patterson, “Wilder” (1991), 26). Others, including missionary children who had grown up in China and Persia and young men from Armenia, Japan, Siam, Norway, Denmark, Germany, and the native American tribes, also spoke, during a meeting that “proved to be the spiritual high-water mark of the conference. The effect was indescribable. Men went from that meeting alone or in little groups for prolonged prayer on the hillsides overlooking the river. It was a night of decision and destiny” (Shedd 1934, 261–62). The students finished the meeting by saying “God is love” in the language of his home country (Piper 2000, 113). “Seldom have I seen an audience under the sway of God’s spirit as it was that night,” Wilder later remarked (Piper 2000, 113). “Early in the meetings it became evident that a new and strange influence was at work from above,” Arthur Pierson wrote shortly after the conclusion of the meeting. “This is the finger of God,” some of the attendees said (Pierson 1886, 362–63). MOUNT HERMON’S LEGACY: That 1886 conference would develop into an annual student meeting that continues, in some form, to the present day. Robert Speer, later head of the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board, who attended the conference the following year as an undergraduate, recalled the poignancy of the meeting: “When that conference was over I was not sure whether I went back home on earth or above. I only knew there was a boy caught up if not into the seventh heaven, then into some third or fourth heaven where he heard and saw things which he could not utter” (Speer 1931, 11–14). Sam Moffett’s younger brother Tom, who attended in 1890, found himself similarly electrified hearing from missionaries to India. “Northfield was indeed a treat, and I shall not soon forget the impressions formed there and knowledge gained,” Tom Moffett gushed in a letter to his brother Sam. “The great enthusiasm of the conference was for foreign missions” (Thomas C. Moffett letter to Samuel A. Moffett, July 19, 1890, Madison, Ind. (MKC)). Tom Moffett later became a missionary to the native Indians in Arizona, New Mexico, and Oregon, and published two books: Thomas C. Moffett, The American Indian on the New Trail: The Red Man of the United States and the Christian Gospel (New York: Missionary Education Movement of the United States and Canada, 1914); and The Bible in the Life of the Indians of the United States (New York: American Bible Society, 1916). In his first book, Tom Moffett argued that white Americans needed to spend more time sharing the gospel with native Americans and less time romanticizing warfare with them (Moffett 1914, 31). “Redeeming the red man is a more hopeful and also a more interesting process than rifling him,” Tom Moffett wrote (Moffett 1914, xi). In July 1920, Samuel Moffett dropped his own son James off at the Mount Hermon School and was thrilled when, two years later, James stood up at a meeting at Mount Hermon to commit his life to spiritual work. Samuel Moffett urged his son to become a missionary and to “read the life of Livingstone again.” A decade later, in 1932, James M. Moffett (1905-1986) was ordained as a minister (Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010; Lucia Fish Moffett letter to Samuel A. Moffett, July 12, 1920, Pyengyang (MKC); Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [James M. Moffett], February 7, 1922, San Rafael, Calif. (MKC); Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [James M. Moffett], September 21, 1924, Seoul (MKC); and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jim [James M. Moffett], February 11, 1932, Pyengyang (MKC)).
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colleges and universities and sparking a zeal for foreign missions that spread “like a prairie fire”

NoteAfter the Mount Hermon conference in 1886, four students, including Robert Wilder and John Forman, were chosen to systematically visit universities and colleges across the country to “enkindle a holy zeal for the work of a world’s evangelization” (Pierson 1886, 362-363). The emergence of the Student Volunteer Movement in the late 1800s injected energy, enthusiasm, action, and “a steady stream of fresh recruits” into a “lethargic” church, as one writer later put it (Patterson, “Wilder” (1991), 26). When Robert E. Speer (1867–1957) took the reins of the organization in 1889, fresh out of Princeton University, he visited 110 colleges and universities in ten months, from Maine to South Dakota, and through the southern states (Piper 2000, 114). Meanwhile, John Mott, newly graduated from Cornell University, visited “hundreds upon hundreds” of universities and colleges across North America during these years, starting with a tour of Virginia, Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and the Carolinas with Robert Wilder in the spring of 1889. At one student conference at the University of Tennessee in the spring of 1889, Mott faced serious skepticism from the students, one of whom stood up to decry, in the name of modern science, “this hallucination” that Mott was preaching. The next day, Mott’s biographer writes, “a spiritual wave swept the meeting” and 30 men publicly declared their intention to become missionaries (Mathews 1934, 96–99). “Both in Britain and America, the universities and colleges and theological schools are becoming fountains of missions,” Arthur Pierson reported in 1894, describing the campaign as the “Modern Crusade” (Pierson 1894, 365–66).
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Prior to this period, educated Christians rarely became missionaries

NoteAs Frederick A. McKenzie (1869–1931), a Canadian journalist in Korea who befriended many of the Western missionaries, put it: “In old times men were often sent out because they were not clever enough to succeed at home. In some societies piety was allowed to take the place of ability. In recent years the wave of enthusiasm aroused by Moody, the evangelist, and Henry Drummond, the scientist, and men like Mr. Mott has altered that, and has given the work the pick of the brains of Scottish, American, and, to a lesser degree, English colleges” (Frederick A. McKenzie, The Unveiled East (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1907), 289). Arthur Becker, a Methodist missionary to Korea from small-town Michigan, remarked that while “some people back home mistakenly seem to think that missionaries are those who cannot get jobs and so are forced to do mission work,” the missionaries he encountered in Korea were “a very high type of select men and women, well-educated in colleges, universities and seminaries. I feel myself young, green, and inexperienced as compared with them” (Evelyn B. McCune and Heather M. Thompson, Michigan to Korea: Arthur Lynn Becker (Morrisville, N.C.: Lulu, 2009), 152). Missionaries in the field lamented what they called “the too common idea that foreign missionaries consist of those who could never succeed as ministers of the Gospel in the homeland” (“Rev. Thomas Edwin Wilson,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 2 (February 1918), 42). To be sure, many of the earliest missionaries from the U.S. hailed from the country’s top institutions of higher learning. Yale Divinity School professor Clarence P. Shedd’s 1934 history of student Christian activism, which recounts an early nineteenth century revival in religious fervency among American students, resulting in the formation of college Societies of Missionary Inquiry, and then student YMCAs. A seminal moment came with the so-called “haystack prayer meeting” at Williams College in August 1806, led by Samuel Mills; from the very beginning, the students were moved by the plight of Asia, and “what they believed to be the intellectual and spiritual darkness and moral degradation of these lands” (Shedd 1934, 51). The students formed a missions-minded group in 1808 that, reflecting the hostility to foreign missions even within the church at the time, used codewords to hide their discussions, fearing “the indifferent and hostile attitude of a Church which could see in foreign missions only overheated religious zeal and fanaticism” (Shedd 1934, 53). By 1812, the young men had created America’s first missionary-sending society, sending off five young men to Calcutta, India that year (Shedd 1934, 56–57), including one Williams student, Gordon Hall, who would later pen an influential manifesto to foreign missions. Mills himself sailed for Africa as a missionary in 1818, but died of disease later that year (Shedd 1934, 58).
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Ivy League graduates and all of them “convinced of the superiority of ‘Christian civilization’”

NoteThe “bright, young, well-scrubbed” remark is from Harvard University historian James Reed, who writes that, between 1905 and 1915, as millions of European immigrants landed at Ellis Island, “thousands of bright, young, well-scrubbed Protestant Student Volunteers sailed from San Francisco to build a Christian Civilization in Asia” (Reed 1983, 13). The “convinced of the superiority of ‘Christian civilization’” quote is from Sung-Deuk Oak [Ok, Sŏng-dŭk], The Making of Korean Christianity: Protestant Encounters with Korean Religions, 1876–1915 (Waco, Tx.: Baylor University Press, 2013), 306. Between 1905 and 1915, writes Reed, “the number of missionaries doubled, and the budgets of the mission boards doubled too. By 1915, there were nearly 10,000 foreign missionaries. Mission-board budgets totaled $17 million per year, and the value of mission property abroad exceeded $50 million. The statistics are impressive. One in every 1,500 adult Protestants was a foreign missionary” (Reed 1983, 13). A 1909 tally of the educational attainments of the Protestant missionaries engaged in educational work in Korea found 23 holding advanced degrees (“The Christian Educational Association of Korea,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 12 (December 1909), 216–18, here 216). For more statistics, see Robert E. Lewis, “The Vintage of the Colleges for the Foreign Field,” Missionary Review of the World, N.S. 24, no. 11 (November 1911), 838–39, O.S. 34, no. 11. THE BEST AND THE BRIGHTEST: While missionary work has at times been regarded as a profession for those with no other prospects (see previous note), missionaries during this period were among the brightest that the West had to offer—“the best type of British and American college and university trained men,” in the words of longtime Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board secretary Arthur J. Brown (Brown 1919, 498). In May 1887, James McCosh (1811–1894), a Church of Scotland minister then serving as president of Princeton University, expressed his surprise in the quality of young college graduates embracing missionary work: “Has any such offering of living men and women been presented in our age? Or in any age or in any country since the day of Pentecost?” (as quoted in Shedd 1934, 267). Almost all of them were college graduates at a time when less than two percent of the population went to college. According to a historical study of educational enrollment published by the U.S. Department of Education in 1993, some 157,000 Americans were enrolled in institutions of higher education in 1889–1890, representing 1.8 percent of the country’s population of 18- to 24-year-olds; by contrast, a century later, nearly 14 million American young people were attending college or above, topping 51 percent of the broader population (Thomas D. Snyder, ed., 120 Years of American Education: A Statistical Portrait (Washington: U.S. Department of Education, 1993), 76–77). Across Hanover College and other “church colleges” of the Midwest, Reed writes with some tongue in cheek, “the Student Volunteer Movement became the most prestigious campus activity. The church colleges even offered mission courses for academic credit; small wonder they regularly sent their Phi Beta Kappas off to China. In the Asian mission fields, the majority of the missionary body retained memories of a small town and a church college, not to mention tall sweet corn and new-mown hay. The Christian missionary, in this view, was provincial Midwestern society’s greatest gift to the world” (Reed 1983, 21). QUALITY OVER QUANTITY: Missions advocate John Mott, calling for more missionaries to East Asia in 1908, emphasized that “they must be men and women of ability, as well as of courage, character and consecration. This is vastly more important than numbers. We need those who will be statesmen. We need those with power to lead and inspire. We must have the pick of the universities, if they are to guide and mould the leaders of the new Far East” (John R. Mott, The Urgency and Crisis in the Far East: An Address Delivered Before the Student Volunteer Conference Held at Liverpool, England, January 2–7, 1908 (New York: Student Volunteer Movement, 1908), 18–19). Inspired by these pleas, young graduates of the world’s finest seminaries or medical schools shipped off with divine purpose to heathen lands where they would marry, build their families—and, in many cases, die, amid illness and persecution. The Presbyterian Church in Canada’s Regulations for Foreign Mission Work made clear that would-be missionaries were expected, “unless God in His providence directs otherwise, to devote themselves to this department of labour as their life work” (Presbyterian Church in Canada, Regulations for Foreign Mission Work (Toronto: Presbyterian Church in Canada, 1891), 5). The costs were great for many who devoted their lives to the foreign missions field. Many broke off engagements back home. Horace Underwood was set to marry a woman at home in America, but she didn’t share his desire to move abroad to be a missionary, and in the fall of 1888, within a few years of his arrival in Seoul, he was engaged to Lillias Horton (Lillias Underwood 1918, 80). Samuel Moffett spent so many years in Korea that his own children regarded America as a foreign country, such that his young son Howard, arriving by ship in California in 1921, exclaimed: “Papa, look at all the foreigners!” The Oakland Tribune published an article that captured the bewilderment that the Moffett family felt upon returning home that year. Sam Moffett “was amazed every 7 years when he returned for several months on furlough. When Sam went to Korea in 1890 there were no automobiles, electric trolleys, telephones, airplanes, radios, elevators, etc. Each time he came home, there were new inventions,” the article read, describing his shock at encountering an elevator for the first time: “We entered an elevator and then the whole charm for America was confined into this one mechanism. They forgot everything else and were I not possessed of some strength of purpose I am afraid we would still be in the lift riding up and down. As it was we rode enraptured for the indefinite period” (as quoted in Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010). The intellect and inquisitiveness of many of these missionaries led many to go on to publish the first translations and some of the finest early Western scholarship on many of the countries that they were sent to (Horace N. Allen, Things Korean: A Collection of Sketches and Anecdotes Missionary and Diplomatic (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1908), 171–72). Walter C. Hillier (1849–1927), the British consul general in Seoul from 1889 to 1896, said that much of what was known at all about Korea, for instance, was transmitted through missionaries. “It is to missionaries that we are assuredly indebted for almost all we know about the country; it is they who have awakened in the people the desire for material progress and enlightenment that has now happily taken root, and it is to them that we may confidently look for assistance in its farther development,” wrote Hillier, himself the grandson of Walter H. Medhurst, a pioneering English Congregationalist missionary to China (Walter C. Hillier, “Preface,” in Isabella Bird Bishop, Korea, and Her Neighbors: A Narrative of Travel, With an Account of the Recent Vicissitudes and Present Position of the Country (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1897), 4). CONVINCED OF CHRISTIANITY: Though many of the missionaries of this era were inquisitive about the missions fields they were sent too, many were also, as Sung-Deuk Oak writes, “convinced of the superiority of ‘Christian civilization.’” Samuel Moffett offers a case in point. The Indiana native might have allowed, grudgingly, that other religions offered some good ideas, but comparing Buddhism or shamanism to Christianity? “Never for a moment would I think of placing Christianity with other religions in one class for comparison. Other religions may be compared one with another but as God Himself is incomparable so is His truth incomparable. As there is but one God so there can be but one ‘Doctrine’ given by God. Christianity alone provides for salvation from sin and the change of heart without which no man can enter the Kingdom of God. Systems of worldly wisdom, of morality, of philosophy, however much of truth they may contain—if lacking in the one central supreme truth of Christianity cannot redeem men and hence fail in that which is the very essence and object of Christianity” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Robert LeRoy Haslup, June 29, 1896, Pyeng Yang (PHS 178/_/_) As Frank Ellinwood, the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board secretary at the time of Moffett’s arrival in Korea, put it, in strikingly triumphalist terms: “The time has come when the Church must not only be able to give a reason for the faith she professes, but must assign reasons why her faith should supplant every other” (Frank F. Ellinwood, Oriental Religions and Christianity: A Course of Lectures Delivered on the Ely Foundation Before the Students of Union Theological Seminary, New York, 1891 (New York: Scribner, 1892), 340). AGE OF OPTIMISM: This certainty in the sanctity of their cause meant that, while the Christian faith was under assault at the time from the ideas Darwin, Nietzsche, Huxley, Spencer, and Paine, not to mention socialism, anarchism, and other secular “isms,” this period was also, broadly speaking, “an age of optimism” for the Christian faith, in the words of Spencer J. Palmer, a Mormon missionary to Korea and scholar of religion in Asia (Spencer J. Palmer, Korea and Christianity: The Problem of Identification with Tradition (Seoul: Hollym, 1967), 49). In this way, some have characterized the mood within the American church as a Christian analogue to the broader idealism of the period, which included Andrew Carnegie’s philanthropic call to arms in 1889, the establishment of the Nobel Prize in 1895, and the hosting of international peace conferences at The Hague in 1899 and 1907 (Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, “Preface,” in Yi Tae-jin, Eugene Y. Park, and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), vii–ix, here vii). Writing in 1904, the American missions advocate John Mott, recalling the recent bequests by Alfred Nobel and Cecil Rhodes of their fortunes ($10 million and $30 million, respectively) to establish prizes aimed at recognizing and spurring on human achievement and scholastic excellence, wondered if there wasn’t a generous benefactor who could make a similar gift to further the evangelization of the world (Mott 1904, 105). William Jennings Bryan, the populist American statesman, former secretary of state under Woodrow Wilson and longtime Presbyterian elder, lavished praise on the missionaries’ sacred task: “The missionaries, physicians, and teachers who consecrate themselves to the advancement of Asia’s millions along Christian lines are as high-minded, as self-sacrificing, and, considering the great destiny of the race, as useful as any equal number of men and women to be found in any other part of the world” (“Foreign Missions—William Jennings Bryan,” Korea Mission Field 4, no 9 (September 1908), 129).
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life as an overseas emissary for Christ—”the last of the heroisms,” in the words of one preacher

NoteThe preacher is Phillips Brooks (1835–1893), a Boston Episcopalian who is perhaps best known for writing the lyrics of the Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem” (as quoted in Griffis 1912, 14). “No pastor can afford to be without a small, well-selected missionary library,” wrote James E. Adams, an American Presbyterian missionary to Korea from 1895 to 1923 (James E. Adams, The Missionary Pastor: Helps for Developing the Missionary Life in His Church (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1895), 3, 8). And during this period, there was no shortage of material for such a library. By 1901, wrote Arthur Pierson, another leading proponent of missionary work during this period, the proverbial bookshelves were already “loaded down with missionary books which combine all the fascination of history and poetry, romance and reality” (Pierson 1901, 251). John Mott, a prominent missions advocate, testified to the power of these missionary tales: “The reading of missionary literature has had a large part in leading men to become missionaries. This is especially true of the literature which presents the heroic lives and achievements of the missionaries and the urgent need and inspiring opportunities of the fields” (Mott 1904, 170). For one such account of missionary bravado, see R. Vernon, James Calvert; Or, From Dark to Dawn in Fiji (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1890). In the book, which follows the life of British Methodist missionary James Calvert, the conversion of a large proportion of Fiji’s population was presented as evidence that God could redeem even the world’s most “degraded” heathen (Vernon 1890, 6, 11). In another, entitled The Flaming Torch in Darkest Africa, William Taylor, an American missionary to Angola who Samuel Moffett had gone to see preach as a young man, told of crocodile worshippers who would offer babies as sacrifices to the reptiles (William Taylor, The Flaming Torch in Darkest Africa (New York: Eaton & Mains, 1898), 266). The periodicals were also important transmitters of these missionary ideals. The Missionary Review of the World, in particular, was founded in 1878 by Royal Wilder, the American missionary to India whose son Robert Wilder became an early leader in the Student Volunteer Movement (Patterson, “Wilder” (1991), 26). The publication was edited by Arthur Pierson until 1911 and by his son Delavan L. Pierson until 1916, when the publication ran into financial trouble. Robert Speer helped revive the publication until it finally folded in 1939 (Piper 2000, 415). The Gospel in All Lands, an illustrated missionary magazine, was first published in 1881 by Albert B. Simpson, a Scotch Presbyterian who, through his Christian and Missionary Alliance, helped send many missionaries abroad (George Palmer Pardington, Twenty-Five Wonderful Years, 1889–1914: A Popular Sketch of the Christian and Missionary Alliance (New York: Christian Alliance Publishing, 1914), 18). Simpson later started The Word, Work, and World (Pardington 1914, 30). According to Robert Speer’s biographer, every member of the Student Volunteer Movement was expected to subscribe to the Missionary Review of the World, and to own and have read Arthur Pierson’s The Crisis of Missions: Or, the Voice Out of the Cloud (1886), among other texts (Piper 2000, 120).
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in central Africa in the 1860s made him an icon of swashbuckling Victorian Christianity

NoteSamuel Moffett, for example, quoted William Carey’s most frequently cited quotation—“Expect great things from God”—to eulogize his fellow missionary, Horace Underwood (S. A. Moffett [Moffett, Samuel A.], “Fifty Years of Missionary Life in Korea,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 36–49, here 39). WILLIAM CAREY: William Carey came from a poor and fiercely abolitionist family in Northamptonshire, just north of Oxford and Cambridge, and early on found his fervency for evangelism sneered at by church leaders. “Young man, sit down. When God pleases to convert the heathen, He will do it without your help or mine,” Carey was said to have been told by his pastor, in a quotation that, while likely never actually uttered, nonetheless was widely repeated (Myron C. Noonkester, “Who Was William Carey? Missionary Encounters in Britain and Bengal Revisited,” lecture delivered at Mississippi College, November 5, 2001). The opposition that Carey faced within the church to his enthusiasm for missions work spurred him to pen a treatise, An Enquiry into the Obligations of Christians to use Means for the Conversion of the Heathens, in which the Religious State of the Different Nations of the World, the Success of Former Undertakings, and the Practicability of Further Undertakings, are considered, in 1792 (George Smith, The Life of William Carey, Shoemaker & Missionary (London: J. M. Dent, 1909), 23–24). Carey had originally set his sights on Tahiti or West Africa, but ended up sailing to India the next year, in 1793 (Smith 1909, 40–41). During Carey’s first two decades in India, he fought with the British East India Company, who regarded missionary work as bad for business in a nation of Hindus and Muslims, and it would take six years for him to win his first convert (Noonkester 2001; and Smith 1909, 96, 115). Nonetheless, he brought radical reforms to the country, and devoted the rest of his life to India, dying in Serampore, just north of Calcutta, in 1834, after more than four decades in the country. As the historian of missions Stephen Neill writes, while many Protestant missionaries came before, Carey “marks the entry of the English-speaking world on a large scale into the missionary enterprise,” his major contribution being to rebut the staunchly Calvinist viewpoint held by many Christians of the day that believed that God had already preordained the fate of the heathens and that there was nothing that could be done to alter their faith (Neill 1990, 222). Robert Glover, a missionary and historian, also regards Carey as the inaugurator of the “period of modern missions,” the seventh such major wave of missions since the first apostles of Christ (Robert Hall Glover, The Progress of World-Wide Missions, 4th ed. (New York: Harper & Bros., 1939), xx). DAVID LIVINGSTONE: David Livingstone (1813–1873), a Scottish doctor and Congregationalist, was perhaps the most famous missionary in nineteenth-century Christendom, attaining celebrity status in the Western world even as he lost contact with the outside world while exploring central and southern Africa. Livingstone, a staunch abolitionist, had been following in the footsteps of his father-in-law, Robert Moffat (1795–1883), a Scottish Congregationalist missionary to southern Africa. The Welsh explorer and journalist Henry M. Stanley’s “discovery” of Livingstone in modern-day Tanzania in 1871 with the words, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” electrified the Western world and elevated both men to legendary status back home (see, for example, Taylor, William 1898, 178–79). William Taylor, the American Methodist missionary to Africa that Samuel Moffett so idolized, considered Stanley’s meeting with Livingstone a divinely ordered sequence of events by “God-chosen men” to bring God’s providence to a despised continent, having “struck the keynote of the grand song of salvation of Africa’s millions” (Taylor 1898, 5, 188). Even after Stanley tracked him down, Livingstone refused to return to England, sensing that his mission wasn’t yet complete. “Death alone will put a stop to my efforts,” Livingstone had vowed a few years earlier (as quoted in Pierson 1894, 125). Arthur Pierson called Livingstone “heroic,” describing his death, of fever in May 1873 in what is now Zambia, “the new signal for the evangelization of Africa,” a continent that just a few years prior had been “marked on our maps ‘unexplored’” (Pierson 1886, 123–24). Following Livingstone’s death, while “in prayer for Africa,” Livingstone was buried at Westminster Abbey. “It was felt that no less a shrine than Britain’s greatest burial-place could fitly hold such precious dust” (Pierson 1894, 127, 247). Livingstone was valorized in death as the epitome of the Scottish missionary ethos, his last remarks before leaving home having been “Fear God and work hard” (Pierson 1894, 124). He was a fierce abolitionist who called slavery “the great open sore of the world” (Taylor 1898, 178). For more on Livingstone’s deep faith, amiable disposition and fierce opposition to slavery, see Neill 1990, 265–66. MY MISSIONARY HEROES: Livingstone’s example inspired a wave of missionary fervor, animating many of the men and women who would later sail for Korea. Malcolm Fenwick, a Canadian missionary to Korea for nearly a half-century from 1889 until his death in 1935, cited David Livingstone as “my missionary hero,” describing himself as having been riveted by missionary tales as a young man growing up outside Toronto (Fenwick 1911, 10–11; and Ion 1990, 32). Stanley H. Martin, another Presbyterian missionary to Korea, recalled hearing stories of missionaries including Robert Moffat and David Livingstone, “all heroes in pioneer Christian work” (Moore 2016, 3). Korea missionary T. Stanley Soltau (1890–1972), together with his twin brother David, were named for Henry Stanley and David Livingstone by their father, a missionary to Tasmania. Soltau’s entire family was steeped in missionary work: His father had been closely involved in the work of China missionary J. Hudson Taylor as well as Dwight L. Moody, and one of Soltau’s uncles had gone to Burma as a missionary, while another went to be a Protestant missionary in heavily Catholic France; a sister became a missionary to China, while Hudson Taylor dedicated Soltau and his brother as infants (T. Stanley Soltau, T. Stanley Soltau: Memoirs, Missionary to Korea (Unpublished manuscript, n.d.), 1–3). Underscoring the close ties in the world of Protestant missions during this period, Soltau’s father later moved to Chicago to teach at the Moody Bible Institute, while Soltau joined the Student Volunteer chapter at Northwestern University, entered Princeton Theological Seminary and had his sights set on becoming a missionary to China until the Korea missionary George S. McCune came to give a lecture (Soltau n.d., 5–8). He later married the sister of Arch Campbell, another Korea missionary, and the Soltau newlyweds headed out to Korea in 1914 (Soltau n.d., 8–9). John Mott, though not a missionary himself, was moved to become one of the period’s most vocal boosters of foreign missions work after reading Henry M. Stanley’s two-volume In Darkest Africa; Or the Quest, Rescue, and Retreat of Emin, Governor of Equitoria (London: Sampson Low, 1890) (Mathews 1934, 107). As for Robert Moffat, it’s unclear if he shared any familial ties to Samuel Moffett. But the young Hoosier would no doubt have been familiar with tales of Moffat’s missionary exploits. In one famous anecdote, Moffat was warned against traveling north from his base in Cape Town to meet with a tribal chief known as “the terrible demon of the Dark Continent” who would “murder him that he might make a drum-head of his skin and a drinking-cup of his skull.” Instead of being dissuaded, Moffat made the trip—and struck up an extraordinary friendship with the tribal leader (Pierson 1886, 211–12).
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Why You Should Go to Africa; China’s Millions; The Claims of India; The Needs of South America

NoteOther tracts sought to evoke a sense of embarrassment, comparing the church’s spending on spreading the gospel overseas unfavorably with the lavish amounts of money being splashed around in Gilded Age America. “It should bring the flush of shame to the face of the Bride of Christ to know that the average Christian congregation spends, each year, nearly fifteen times as much upon its own local expenses as it gives to the work of making her Lord known in the dark places of the earth,” one such tract chided (James Adams 1895, 21, 106). G. Sherwood Eddy (1871–1963), another leading missions advocate of the day, excoriated the American church for spending more money on “artificial flowers or for kid gloves” than on missions. “More money was puffed away in tobacco smoke by men of the country last year, than the Christians of the United States have given in a century to evangelize the rest of the world. The church and the world alike spend money on the things which they care for most. In a year when eighteen thousand dollars was spent for the racing of a crew, a hundred and fifty thousand in connection with a single football game, seventy thousand for a banquet, six hundred thousand dollars for a wedding, and while the private wealth of Christians steadily increased, our Mission Boards were left groaning under heavy debt” (George Sherwood Eddy, The Opportunity of the Hour: A Study of Christian Stewardship (New York: Student Volunteer Movement, 1900, 13).
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urged to preach at least twenty missionary sermons per year—virtually every other Sunday

Note“All preaching should bear on the world’s conquest. Let there be frequent allusions to missions,” suggested John Mott, citing the counsel of Frederick Temple (1821–1902), the then-recently deceased Archbishop of Canterbury and former Bishop of London (Mott 1904, 69). Mott’s mention here of “the world’s conquest” invoked a common trope during this period, and in the next breath, he added: “We shall be literally leading the forces into battle” (Mott 1904, 70). Just a few years earlier, Mott had told a YMCA convention in May 1899 that the group’s foreign missions work was no less than “a war of conquest,” describing the gathering in Grand Rapids, Michigan as “a great council of war” (John R. Mott, The Two Hundred Million Young Men in Non-Christian Lands: Abstract of an Address Given at the International Convention at Grand Rapids, Mich., in the Closing Meeting, Sunday Evening, May 28, 1899 (n.p., 1899), 2). The title of one book by the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank F. Ellinwood described the work of missions as, simply, The “Great Conquest.” “No prophecies of the Old Testament are clearer or more varied than those which predict the conquests of the Gospel and the establishment of Christ’s Kingdom over all nations,” he wrote, citing Psalm 72:8’s description of “a dominion that shall extend from sea to sea” (Frank F. Ellinwood, The “Great Conquest,” or, Miscellaneous Papers on Missions (New York: William Rankin, 1876), 7, 11). SERMON STRATEGY AND MAP METHODOLOGY: Mott encouraged pastors and church leaders to study great missionary sermons of the past, including William Carey’s “Expect Great Things from God, Attempt Great Things for God” and Rev. Phillips Brooks’ “The Heroism of Foreign Missions” (Mott 1904, 67–68). Many churches held monthly missionary meetings, where letters were read aloud from missionaries abroad—though only the dramatic bits, Mott counseled. “Such reading should be limited to brief extracts giving very striking incidents and facts” (Mott 1904, 70–73). Maps were indispensable, with coloration highlighting the forces of Christ arrayed against those of the Mohammedans, the Parsees, the Hindoos, and the other heathen varieties. Pastors were even offered practical advice on how to effectively mix paints to create maps of the world that could capture the curiosity of Sunday school children and spark an interest in going abroad (James Adams 1895, 109–11). “A map of the world, showing in colors the distribution of the different religions, should be hung in a conspicuous place,” Mott wrote (Mott 1904, 86). During this period, writes Harvard University historian James Reed, lay Christian leaders like John Mott “built a communications network reaching into most Protestant congregations on this continent. Sedulously cultivating ministers and missionary committees in local churches, they arranged for missionaries on furlough to visit as many congregations as possible during their year off, and encouraged churches to support specific missionaries. They made sure that religious newspapers, which reached most church members, contained ample news about missions, and they flooded the local churches with printed matter—missionary magazines, missionary pamphlets, missionary biographies, histories of particular mission stations, accounts of specific mission fields, missionary memoirs, books by domestic leaders of the missions movement—an immense middlebrow literature. They even used the modern science of advertising to promote their message, which was always the same: The world is turning to Christ, and, if you cannot see your way clear to go to the mission field yourself, then surely you will help support by your prayers and by your offerings those who have responded to Christ’s command” (Reed 1983, 12–13).
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with a slogan breathtaking in its ambition: “The Evangelization of the World in This Generation”

NoteIn her 2006 Columbia University doctoral dissertation, historian Jung H. Pak, who later went on to serve in senior intelligence and diplomatic positions in the Barack Obama and Joseph R. Biden administrations, named Arthur T. Pierson, Robert E. Speer, Arthur J. Brown, and “especially John Mott” as the leading champions of the American missionary enterprise during this period (Pak 2006, 30). Scholar Valentin H. Rabe (1930–2008) describes these men as “missionary statesmen known to the public and routinely associating with heads and ministers of state” (Valentin H. Rabe, “Evangelical Logistics: Mission Support and Resources to 1920,” in Fairbank, ed., The Missionary Enterprise in China and America, 56–90, here 68–69). Also cited in Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], Born Again: Evangelicalism in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2010), 84, n. 2. That many of the most prominent missions advocates in the Protestant world were Presbyterians was not a coincidence. During the Gilded Age, as one church historian has noted, “Presbyterians were highly visible and played important parts in the birth of America’s industrial society, supplying religious and political leadership and sanctions. Presidents, justices, and politicians, such as Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, William Strong, John Harlan, John Wanamaker, William Jennings Bryan moved naturally back and forth from life in government to that of the denomination” (Smylie 1985, p. 135). As Pak wrote, “the 1880s-1910s was a heady time when everyone from presidents of the United States, to Gilded Age financial giants like the Rockefellers, McCormicks and the Welches, popular magazines, to the local Sunday Schools and women’s temperance clubs championed foreign missionary work” (Pak 2006, 30). Benjamin H. Harrison, the U.S. president and grandson of William H. Harrison, for instance, was a staunch supporter of foreign missionary work, and presided over a ten-day missionary conference in April 1900 at New York’s Carnegie Hall, which was attended by more than 150,000 people, including 700 missionaries “fresh from those majestic labors on continents and islands all around the globe,” in the words of American missions leader Rev. Judson Smith (1837–1906), who attended (Piper 2000, 198). President William McKinley and New York Governor Theodore Roosevelt also spoke at the conference, as well as several Korea missionaries (Piper 2000, 197; and Ecumenical Missionary Conference, New York, 1900, Vol. I (New York: American Tract Society, 1900), 38–45). The younger Harrison, an Indiana Presbyterian who taught Sunday school at First Presbyterian Church of Indianapolis, assumed the U.S. presidency in 1889, the same year that Samuel Moffett sailed for Korea (Smylie 1985, 143). ARTHUR PIERSON: Arthur T. Pierson (1837–1911), a New York City native, Presbyterian pastor, and contemporary of Dwight Moody, was one of America’s most forceful advocates for foreign missions, and a mentor for the next generation of missions advocates, especially Robert Speer (Piper 2000, 33). One scholar has described Pierson’s influence on foreign missions as “overwhelming,” pointing to his prominent writings and his mentoring of Speer, Mott, and others (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 40-41). In a tribute to the influence he had on many Korea missionaries, in 1915 the missionaries broke ground on a “Pierson Memorial” just inside the West Gate of Seoul (“Notes and Personals,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 7 (July 1915), 210). JOHN MOTT: John R. Mott (1865–1955), a Nobel Peace Prize laureate who was one of the central players in the launching of the modern missionary movement, was never a missionary himself, but spent his career traveling the world drumming up support for foreign missionary work, establishing himself as a “new militant leader of the Christian students of the country,” in the words of Yale Divinity School scholar Clarence Shedd (Shedd 1934, 302–3). Harvard historian James Reed, in his work on the influence of missionary thinking on the U.S.’s East Asia policy, described John Mott as the “dominant figure of the missionary enterprise” and, less flatteringly, portrayed him as the chief spokesman of “the propaganda arm of the missionary enterprise” (Reed 1983, 10–11). Mott, raised in a devout Methodist family in Iowa, attended Cornell University, where he underwent a “revolutionary religious experience” at a YMCA meeting, became the head the YMCA’s college work in North America upon graduation, and immediately worked to put foreign missions work at the heart of the YMCA’s mission (Mathews 1934, 83–84, 91–94; and Shedd 1934, 290–94). “If mind and heart power are needed anywhere, surely it is to batter down the infidel systems of India and China which have been so firmly grounded by centuries of undisturbed existence,” Mott wrote in 1887, a year before his graduation from Cornell (as quoted in Shedd 1934, 297). By 1895, Mott had embarked on the first of his four round-the-world speaking tours, a 21-month journey that led to the formation of his World’s Student Christian Federation (Mathews 1934, 107, 113–17). By 1897, Mott had helped establish a YMCA presence in Tokyo, Seoul, Havana, and other cities across Asia and Latin America (Mathews 1934, 131–32). Mott didn’t stop in Korea during his 1895–1897 world tour, but spoke in Seoul to massive crowds during his next two round-the-world voyages, in 1901–1902 and 1912–1913. All the while, Mott penned books and spent time with Mohandas Gandhi, Leo Tolstoy, and Andrew Carnegie (Mathews 1934, 15). Mott developed a particularly close relationship with Woodrow Wilson during the first decade of the twentieth century, when Wilson was president of Princeton University; Wilson would later describe Mott as “a trusted friend of mine” (Mathews 1934, 146, 301). When Wilson resigned the university presidency to become governor of New Jersey in 1910, Mott was nominated to take up the post at Nassau Hall; Mott declined (Mathews 1934, 166). When Wilson, as president of the U.S., repeatedly requested that Mott serve as U.S. minister to China, Mott declined time and again; Wilson was personally wounded: “Mott’s decision was a great blow to me. I don’t know when I have been so disappointed” (Mathews 1934, 302, 435–36). Wilson eventually succeeded in persuading Mott to serve as an official representative to the de facto Mexican government in 1916 (see Mathews 1934, 302–3). Mott also joined a special diplomatic mission to Russia following the February Revolution of 1917 (Mathews 1934, 254). Wilson’s predecessor, William Howard Taft, had also lavished praise on Mott, who he said “would seem to have been trained by Providence” to lead the YMCA during the World War (Mathews 1934, 282). As Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Taft sent a letter to Turkish President Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (1881–1938) in January 1924, praising Mott as “one of the leading men of this generation in the United States,” writing: “No man stands higher in the United States than Dr. Mott” (Mathews 1934, 287). Unlike Wilson and others of the age, Mott took stands against racial superiority during his time. He blocked screenings of the controversial 1915 film The Birth of a Nation at YMCA centers, worked closely with African American civic leader Booker T. Washington and pushed hotels hosting YMCA conferences to open their door to African Americans (Mathews 1934, 308–9). In 1924, when the U.S. Senate passed a law putting quotas on the number of non-white immigrants, Mott cabled a protest to the White House and the State Department within 15 minutes of hearing the news (Mathews 1934, 313). In 1946, Mott was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for “the creation of a peace-promoting religious brotherhood across national boundaries.” Billy Graham regarded Mott as a “hero and model for his own life,” recalling how he had met Mott—“he was a giant,” Rev. Graham said—and an inspiration early on in his public ministry, according to Lon Allison, director of the Billy Graham Center at Wheaton College in Illinois, where Rev. Graham had studied in the 1940s (Lon Allison, “Standing With The Titans,” Wheaton 5, no. 5 (Autumn 2002), 19). ROBERT SPEER: Robert E. Speer (1867–1947) was a student missionary leader at Princeton University and a traveling secretary for the Student Volunteer Movement before serving as a Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board secretary for 46 years (Piper 2000, xiii–xiv). When signing the Student Volunteer Pledge at age 19, Speer told his father: “I should feel ashamed of myself if I stayed in this country while millions of heathen perish daily, and ‘their blood is on my head’…I am decided, Papa, I can’t do anything else” (as quoted in Piper 2000, 36). A few months later, Speer attended the Northfield conference in 1887, where he met Dwight Moody (Piper 2000, 42). Speer, inspired by Arthur Pierson, Robert Wilder, and John Forman, was a committed believer in the literal truth of the Bible (Piper 2000, 33-34, 69–70). YMCA: YMCA founder George Williams had founded the organization in London on June 6, 1844 to “better win our fellow young men for Jesus Christ,” in John Mott’s words (Mott 1899, 3). Evangelism was thus “the great work of the church” and an “obligation” of the YMCA, Mott thundered in May 1899. “What a colossal responsibility rests upon the Young Men’s Christian Associations of the Christian lands!…It involves the moral and spiritual destiny of two hundred millions of young men” (Mott 1899, 4, 11). Seven years after its founding in London, the YMCA had first been transplanted to the U.S. by a college student who had formed a YMCA in Boston in December 1851 (Shedd 1934, 93). The U.S.’s first campus YMCAs appeared in 1858 at the Universities of Michigan and Virginia (though as established above, the first purpose-built campus YMCA was at Hanover College); over the next two decades, more than 40 more were set up, and the first YMCA convention held in 1870, in Indianapolis, when Moffett was six years old (Shedd 1934, 94, 103, 120). A history of Hanover College describes Samuel Moffett’s alma mater as the birthplace of America’s campus YMCA movement. In the history book, published for Hanover College’s centennial in 1927, Prof. Joshua B. Garritt, who had taught at Hanover for half a century, described the establishment of a Society for Religious Inquiry at Hanover in October 1848, which was formally renamed the YMCA of Hanover College in 1869. When Hanover student Luther D. Wishard (1854–1925) transferred to Princeton University in 1875 after three years at Hanover, he brought with him the college YMCA (Millis 1927, 238–40). At Princeton, Wishard, an Indiana native who would emerge as a leader in intercollegiate Christian work, became acquainted with Woodrow Wilson (Shedd 1934, 123–26). S.V.M.: The Student Volunteer Movement, meanwhile, was affiliated from the very beginning with the YMCA and the YWCA, writes Yale Divinity School professor and historian Clarence Shedd: “From 1888 until the close of the World War the Student Volunteer Movement was recognized generally as expressing the united missionary conviction of the Student Young Men’s and Young Women’s Christian Associations; it was related to foreign mission boards as a recruiting agency, but primarily it served to stimulate missionary education and recruiting among students” (Shedd 1934, 275–76). John Mott was the inaugural executive chairman of the Student Volunteer Movement (Mathews 1934, 95). The “evangelization in this generation” motto was a controversial one, even at the time—not that it was necessarily meant to be taken literally, Mott explained. Instead, it was simply aimed at ensuring that the Christian gospel was properly presented to all the world’s people in the coming generation—an urgency that reflected the belief that Christ’s return was imminent (Mott 1900, 3, 23–27). “All men need Christ. We have Christ. We owe Christ to all men. To know our duty and to do it not is sin,” Mott wrote (Mott 1904, 47). Robert Speer, writing in 1902, similarly defended the movement’s dramatic watchword, concluding: “This watchword is all of these—short, striking, Scriptural and heroic” (Robert E. Speer, Missionary Principles and Practice: A Discussion of Christian Missions and of Some Criticisms Upon Them (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1902), 510–26, especially 512). Seventeen years later, after the end of World War I, Speer reaffirmed the imperative behind the slogan: “We need, and we never shall cease to need, the great moral and spiritual principles that were embodied in that idea” (Robert E. Speer, The Gospel and the New World (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1919), 154–69, especially 161). John F. Piper Jr., a historian at Lycoming College in Williamsport, Pa. and a biographer of John Mott, described the slogan as “the beating heart of the Movement,” and called it “the Protestant world’s most widely recognized and effective slogan,” though Mott himself credited Arthur Pierson with coining the watchword (Piper 2000, 126). For some missionaries during this period, such a watchword, if anything, would not have been bold enough. One, for instance, argued that the goal ought not to be “‘Worldwide evangelization!’ which accepts no further responsibility and awaits but little result” but rather “the motto ‘World-wide victory!’—the world for Christ; the church in every land; every church a witness for Christ; every church more and more triumphant, till Christ, through the church, shall rule over all!” (Lawrence 1895, 36–37).
p.19

“all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost”

NoteThe use of the phrase “Great Commission” to describe this command from Christ was popularized by J. Hudson Taylor (1832–1905), the pioneering missionary to the Chinese interior, who is credited with the quote: “The Great Commission is not an option to be considered; it is a command to be obeyed.” For the text of several of Taylor’s addresses at Dwight Moody’s conferences at Mount Hermon, see T. J. Shanks, ed., College Students at Northfield (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1888). Taylor “would have been at home in the Korean missionfield, ” writes Spencer Palmer: “In Taylor’s view of religion, only total commitment to Christ could save man in heavenly bliss, and from hell-fire” (Spencer J. Palmer, Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Hollym, 1967), 20).
p.20

—literally, “good news” in the original Greek—to every last hearer would hasten His return

NoteDuring the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the church in America was consumed with debates over eschatology, or the study of the end times. Many missionaries including Samuel Moffett were premillenarians, who believed the world was going to hell and that the most urgent task was to rescue as many souls as they could before Christ’s return. This belief was predicated on Matthew 24:14: “This Gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations: and then shall the end come.” Mott’s “evangelization in this generation” motto was not meant to be taken literally—it was aimed at ensuring the Christian gospel was properly presented to all the world’s people in the coming generation, reflecting the belief that Christ’s return was imminent (Mott 1900, 3, 23–27). Historians Kenneth Wells and James Grayson trace the revival of premillenarianism among American Protestants, and Presbyterians in particular, to St. Augustine of Hippo (AD 354–430), whose postmillenarian view dominated mainstream Christian thinking until the 1700s (Grayson, Journal of Korean Religions 2, no. 2 (October 2011), 85–87).
p.20

—”from Greenland’s icy mountains, from India’s coral strand,” as a popular hymn had it

NoteThe hymn, “From Greenland’s Icy Mountains,” was written in 1819 by Reginald Heber (1783–1826), an Anglican bishop and poet who died after three years in Calcutta. The student missionary leader Luther Wishard, a student at Hanover College who became friends with Woodrow Wilson at Princeton, quoted the hymn in making an appeal for more students to enter the mission field in 1879 (as quoted in Shedd 1934, 158). Arthur Pierson had reason to be optimistic about what he pronounced to be “the golden age” for Christian expansion: a century earlier, the cause of missions seemed “hopelessly, foolishly chimerical.” In Fiji, where there was not a single Christian when the first missionary arrived in 1835, just half a century later “there was not an avowed heathen left in all the large group of eighty inhabited islands” (Pierson 1901, 242, 305).
p.20

the spirit of the age: the uplifting of the world’s masses with the light of the Christian gospel

NoteRudyard Kipling’s poem “The White Man’s Burden” (1899) urged the U.S. to annex the Philippines. As American preacher Rev. Josiah Strong (1847–1916) put it in 1885, the Anglo-Saxon race, “as the great representative” of “a pure, spiritual Christianity” and of civil liberties, “is divinely commissioned to be, in a peculiar sense, his brother’s keeper” (Josiah Strong, Our Country (New York: Baker & Taylor, 1885), 161). Though the missionaries of this period are often regarded today as racist imperialists, their views were among the more progressive in the Western world at the time. Frank F. Ellinwood, the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board secretary, openly decried “a contempt for inferior races, which goes far to neutralize the missionary spirit” (Frank F. Ellinwood, The “Great Conquest” (New York: William Rankin, 1876), 13–14). Robert Speer similarly declared that “no one race is peculiarly dear to God nor peculiarly essential to his plans” and cited Acts 17:26 in declaring that God “hath made of one blood all nations of men” (Piper 2000, 330–31).
p.20

over the future of the Philippines, knelt in prayer to ask “Almighty God for light and guidance”

NoteFrank F. Ellinwood, the longtime Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary, regarded the U.S.’s colonization of the Philippines in 1898 as opening “new territory for Mission work,” describing it as “the call of Providence…and the opportunity at our door.” He argued it “was in effect a missionary war, for Missions are simply the current work of God’s providence for the redemption of the world” (F. F. Ellinwood, “The Diplomatic Situation From a Missionary Standpoint,” The Church at Home and Abroad 24, no. 143 (November 1898), 395). The Presbyterians were the first to establish a mission station in Manila in April 1899. On April 21, 1900, McKinley spoke at the Ecumenical Missionary Conference in New York’s Carnegie Hall alongside New York Governor Theodore Roosevelt and former President Benjamin Harrison, praising missionaries as “among the pioneers of civilization” (Ecumenical Missionary Conference, Vol. I (1900), 38–45).
p.20

“by God’s grace do the very best we could by them, as our fellow men for whom Christ died”

NoteAlso quoted in David Halberstam, The Coldest Winter: America and the Korean War (New York: Hyperion, 2007), 110. William Howard Taft, who served as American governor-general of the Philippines from 1901 to 1904 and made a high-profile visit to the Far East in 1905 as secretary of war, returned from Asia with an awakened sense of the importance of missionary work: “Until I went to the Orient…I did not realize the immense importance of foreign missions. The truth is, we have got to wake up in this country” (“Foreign Missions—William H. Taft,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 9 (September 1908), 129). Theodore Roosevelt told Harvard President Charles W. Eliot: “The Filipinos are not fit to govern themselves. They are better off in every way now than they have ever been before” (Roosevelt letter to Eliot, April 4, 1904, in Elting E. Morison, ed., The Letters of Theodore Roosevelt, Vol. IV (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1951), 767–70).
p.20

they regarded as an epochal life-and-death battle with eternal souls hanging in the balance

NoteOn this count, nobody could rival Arthur Pierson, who turned almost reflexively to military language to capture the stakes of the missionary cause. Writing in 1886, Pierson compared the missionary endeavor to a military assault, calling for “a grand campaign for Christ,” a “crusade” enlisting “the entire forces of the Christian church” for “the immediate occupation of all unoccupied fields” (Pierson 1886, 327). “The campaign for Christian Civilization became a kind of crusade between the years 1905 and 1915,” writes Harvard historian James Reed (Reed 1983, 13). An epochal conference of missionaries in Edinburgh in 1910 that included Samuel Moffett was described by one church leader who attended as a gathering of “representatives of the Church Militant” (W. H. T. Gairdner, “Edinburgh 1910” (Edinburgh: Committee of the World Missionary Conference, 1910), 16). In that vein, William Baird translated into Korean John Bunyan’s 1682 allegorical novel Holy War. Campus Crusade for Christ, founded at UCLA in 1951 and established in Korea in 1958, only more recently retreated from the language of crusade, renaming itself “Cru.” The Worldwide Evangelisation Crusade, founded in 1913, now goes primarily by WEC International.
p.20

Moody declared. “God has given me a life-boat and said to me, ‘Moody, save all you can’”

NoteIn the same sermon, Moody warned in dramatic fashion that “the trump of God may be sounded, for anything we know, before I finish this sermon” (Dwight L. Moody, The New Sermons of Dwight Lyman Moody (New York: Henry S. Goodspeed, 1880), 532). Moody’s influence could be seen in language adopted by Arthur Brown, who oversaw the Presbyterian church’s missions work in Korea for many years: “The world is a sinking ship, and the best that the church can do is to rescue as many as possible of the passengers” (Arthur J. Brown, The Mastery of the Far East (New York: Scribner, 1919), 542).
p.20

out the number of people in Asia and Africa dying without salvation, each second, each minute

Note“I shall never forget the hush which came over that great student conference in Nashville when Robert E. Speer stood before us with watch in hand and told us, minute after minute, how many human beings in Asia and in Africa were passing into eternity without hope,” recalled Rev. Ernest F. Tittle. “If only we had been there with our saving gospel before they died! Before the conference adjourned many of us had volunteered to go” (Ernest Fremont Tittle, A World That Cannot Be Shaken (New York: Harper & Bros., 1933), 50; also cited in Piper 2000, 135–36). Moffett himself clearly subscribed to this view: “Would that the commission for preaching the Gospel might be carried out and the Lord come again to put an end to the cruelties and injustice and sin of this world,” Moffett later wrote his son (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [James M. Moffett], September 21, 1924, Seoul (MKC)).
p.20

Western missionaries had begun, in the words of John Mott, “to lay siege to that great Empire”

NoteChina, with its enormous size, presented the epochal challenge of the age. “In China four hundred millions of the human race are perishing out of Christ,” declared Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank F. Ellinwood (Ellinwood 1876, 14). The first Protestant missionary to China was Robert Morrison, sent in 1807 by the London Missionary Society to Canton. In the American heartland from which Moffett and many of his colleagues came, “churches were the dominant social and cultural institutions. Here most Americans knowing anything at all about the subject first learned about East Asia. Asia was part of their religion,” writes Harvard historian James Reed (Reed 1983, 8). Hudson Taylor’s illustrated periodical China’s Millions, published beginning in 1866, reached a loyal readership. The Chinese language was said to have “4000 words for vices, passions, etc., and none for spiritual graces” (Lawrence 1895, 35).
p.20

“Japan, Korea, China, Manchuria…What religion shall dominate these changing people?”

Note“Or shall there be no religion?” Mott continued. “Talk about crises is certainly overdone, but will anyone, who is familiar with the facts, question that the present is the time of times for the Far East?” (John R. Mott, The Urgency and Crisis in the Far East (New York: Student Volunteer Movement, 1908), 1). One important factor animating the missionary effort was guilt over Western harms to Asia, particularly opium in China. Arthur Pierson noted that “England forced opium upon China, even at the cannon’s mouth,” yet also observed that “God used the opium war to unlock the Middle Kingdom” (Pierson 1886, 33, 91; Pierson 1901, 51–52). As Robert Speer wrote: “The same war which fastened the opium curse on China, opened the country to the missionary” (Robert E. Speer, Missions and Modern History, Vol. 1 (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1904), 21). In China, missionaries had been “a factor in the social regeneration of China,” suppressing age-old vices like opium and footbinding (Brown 1919, 472).
p.21

faith, the call of missions was the most noble and important that any human being could heed

NoteFor missionaries like Moffett, “they understood that their own work was of earthshaking importance,” writes one historian (Donald N. Clark, Living Dangerously in Korea (Norwalk, Conn.: EastBridge, 2003), 124–25). “Among the full-time professions, the missionary call was often viewed as the highest. Partly this related to the degree of personal sacrifice: anyone who would ‘give up’ home, family, friends, and country to go to a ‘heathen country’ to serve Christ was looked upon with a kind of holy awe usually reserved for saints” (Everett N. Hunt, Jr., Protestant Pioneers in Korea (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1980), 86). “We are living in the grand missionary age of history,” Arthur Pierson declared (Pierson 1886, 25).
p.21

Moffett was deeply stirred by the missionary spirit then sweeping through those schools

NoteFrom his early childhood in Indiana, missionary literature “planted the seed which in later life developed into a determination to devote his life to the fulfilment of the Great Commission” (Sydney Cope Morgan, “The Revival in Korea: A Talk with Dr. Moffett,” The Christian (July 28, 1910), 17 (MKC)). As James S. Gale, a colleague who accompanied Moffett on one of his earliest trips to Pyongyang, later recalled, the example of Dwight Moody and the China missionary Hudson Taylor inspired young Christian men across America to join the mission field in the 1880s: “Who would not rise and be a missionary at such a time as this?” (Gale, “These Fifty Years,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 10).
p.21

sermons from American missionaries recently returned from places like Angola and Burma

NoteMoffett was ordained at Madison’s First Presbyterian Church roughly a month after his graduation from McCormick Seminary in 1888, in the presbytery of New Albany, Indiana. He made the pilgrimage to Maryland with his younger brother Thomas and their father Samuel S. In Philadelphia, Moffett caught a sermon by William Taylor, the American missionary to Angola. He described one Sunday school in Philadelphia as “rather small and lifeless,” while complaining that the city appeared to lack any zeal for missionary work: “Philadelphia differs from all other large cities in that it has so many homes & comparatively so few foreigners that mission work as conducted in Chicago, New York, etc. is unknown here” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mother [Maria M. Moffett], June 4, 1888, Philadelphia, Pa. (MKC)).
p.21

—and by extension his own ancestors—as the product of the earliest foreign missionary work

Note“It is to the efforts of foreign missionaries that England, Germany, Scotland, and in fact the whole civilized world, is indebted for its present Christian civilization, for until the missionaries carried the light of the Gospel among them they were all in the darkness of heathenism,” Moffett told the congregation at his farewell ceremony in December 1889 (“Farewell Testimonial,” Madison Courier, December 2, 1889). Frank Ellinwood, the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary, had made a similar argument two decades earlier (Ellinwood 1876, 20–21).
p.21

“greatest privilege,” Moffett later wrote, extolling “the greatness and the honor of his calling”

Note“He cannot unduly magnify his office, for he is ‘the glory of Christ,’” Moffett added (Samuel A. Moffett, “Pre-Requisites and Principles of Evangelization,” in Counsel to New Missionaries—From Older Missionaries of the Presbyterian Church (New York: Board of Foreign Missions, 1905), 60).
p.21

met Frank F. Ellinwood, corresponding secretary of the Presbyterian board of foreign missions

NoteAfter graduating from McCormick in April 1888 and being ordained on May 8, 1888, in the presbytery of New Albany, Indiana, Moffett spent most of the 1888–1889 year working as a substitute pastor in rural Montrose, Missouri (population 600) and Appleton City, Missouri (population 1,000), roughly 80 miles from Kansas City. When he applied for his passport to the State Department on October 30, 1889, it was his old Hanover College classmate Charles Alling that signed the application as his witness (Oak 2011, 658; and Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010).
p.21

“of men,” and Moffett—earnest, and wholly devoted to soul-saving—was precisely that

Note“We want men who make no qualifications or reserves, and whose great aim is the conversion of men. Moffett seems to us all right,” wrote Rev. Ellinwood (Frank F. Ellinwood letter to Dr. Mitchell, September 4, 1889, New York, N.Y. (MKC)). Rev. Ellinwood, a native of Clinton, N.Y., was greatly shaped during his twenties by a revival in Rochester, N.Y., described by the eminent Presbyterian minister Rev. Lyman Beecher (1775–1863) as “the greatest revival of the Christian Era” (Mary Gridley Ellinwood, Frank Field Ellinwood: His Life and Work (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1911), 45). Rev. Ellinwood was a firm believer that “The Great Aim in Mission Work is the winning of souls to Christ, and every form of missionary work should keep this end steadily in view” (Mary Ellinwood 1911, 212).
p.21

leaving it to the missions board to decide—perhaps southern China, or somewhere else entirely

NoteThe locale in southern China that Moffett was close to being sent was Hainan Island, today the southernmost province of China. Not everyone was as open-minded as Samuel Moffett. T. Stanley Soltau had his sights set on Korea after hearing a talk by the Korea missionary George S. McCune while at Princeton Theological Seminary; when asked where he felt led, he answered “Korea” three times in a row, even when pressed (Soltau n.d., 9). Horace G. Underwood had originally set his sights on India; only after hearing “the simple story of these twelve or thirteen million without the Gospel” at a lecture on Korea while attending seminary did he change his mind. “It seemed almost as though I heard a voice saying ‘No one for Korea’” (Horace G. Underwood, “Reminiscences,” in Quarto Centennial Papers (Pyongyang: Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1909), 97–99).
p.21

“among us,” the local newspaperman wrote—was regarded without exception as a great loss

NoteMoffett would surely miss his family and friends back home; just a few months earlier in October 1888, the newly ordained Rev. Moffett had officiated his older brother Howard’s wedding in Madison. Friends and family of Henry Appenzeller, a Methodist missionary from Pennsylvania who arrived in Korea in 1885, were baffled by his decision to leave, with Appenzeller’s father finding himself “grieving” at the idea of his son “throwing himself away” (Griffis 1912, 88–89). The missionaries in Korea understood the stigma they faced: “He is believed to be a Christian, it is true, but one decidedly below par; as erratic and visionary; as lacking in common sense and balance” (“Editorial—The Foreign Missionary,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 3 (March 1914), 59).
p.21

boasted of the “great gratification” of a beloved alumnus entering the foreign missions field

NoteThe newspaper owner was Michael C. Garber and the college president was Daniel W. Fisher. For a similar account of one of Moffett’s peers telling the congregation back home about the burden on his heart to sail for Korea and share the Christian gospel, see Elizabeth A. McCully, A Corn of Wheat, or The Life of Rev. W.J. McKenzie of Korea, 2nd Ed. (Toronto: Westminster, 1904), 58–59.
p.21

“If so, they will prove a precious legacy to many a heart,” the Courier offered

NoteMoffett’s words, the Madison Courier reporter added, “will be long remembered by many who listened and who thought that peradventure they were ‘last words.’” As Moffett explained, echoing the language of the leading missions advocates of the day, he was merely following Christ’s final command and offering “this great balm which Christ brought down from Heaven for the healing of the nations.” “No meeting of similar interest has ever, we believe, been held in our city,” the Courier reporter wrote (“Farewell Testimonial,” Madison Courier, December 2, 1889).
p.22

“carry the Gospel to the heathen” in a small country on the other side of the world called Korea

NoteThough the word “heathen” was used far more widely in the nineteenth century, it was falling out of favor by the time of Moffett’s departure from Madison, and by 1912 was regarded as “a term of contempt” (Griffis 1912, 14). Even so, some converts didn’t shy away from the term. Yun Ch’i-ho, a prominent aristocratic convert to Methodism, wrote in a widely circulated statement at the time of his embrace of Christianity: “I was born in a heathen land. I was brought up in a heathen society. I was taught in heathen literature” (Warren A. Candler, T. H. Yun, of Korea and the School at Songdo (Nashville, Tenn.: Board of Missions, Methodist Episcopal Church, South, 1907), 8; and Hyaeweol Choi, Gender and Mission Encounters in Korea (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 2009), 35).

p.23

“being among them, a hazy notion that it is in the Greek Archipelago cropping up frequently” 

Note Isabella Bird Bishop (1831–1904), a preacher’s daughter from England, was a pioneering traveler, adventurer, and bestselling author who was “perhaps the most widely read of the early Western writers” on Korea, with Jack London, William Jennings Bryan, and likely George Kennan having “read Bishop’s book to get some understanding of the country that they were about to visit” (Métraux 2017, 29–30). For more on Bishop’s extraordinary life, see Anna M. Stoddart, The Life of Isabella Bird, 2nd ed. (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1907). was the first woman to become a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society.  PREACHER’S DAUGHTER: Isabella Bird was the daughter of a Birmingham, England pastor who preached temperance and Sabbath observance, as well as a distant relation of Christian abolitionist William Wilberforce (1759–1833). Bishop was a fervent backer of missionary work and a prolific writer, authoring a book on religion in America as well as other works on Hong Kong, on Hawaii, on Morocco, on the Ainu people of northern Japan, and, of course, on Korea, while also laboring to build a memorial for the Scottish missionary David Livingstone (Stoddart 1907, vi, 44, 47, 95). Her travels up the Han River that runs through Seoul, and the Taedong River that flows through Pyongyang, in the mid-1890s, were likely the first attempted by any Westerner (Bishop 1898, 5).  TRAILBLAZER: For a flavor of Bishop’s mold-breaking role in Victorian-era England, look no further than her induction into the Royal Geographical Society. Though the society today celebrates Bishop’s legacy with biographical teaching aids, Bishop was only grudgingly admitted as a fellow of the society after a flurry of controversy. Bishop had in 1884 been a founding member of the Royal Scottish Geographical Society in Edinburgh, which allowed women members, and made a fellow in 1890. But Bishop was denied a similar status in the more prestigious Royal Geographical Society in London, founded in 1830, on account of being a woman. After Bishop returned from Tibet in 1892, the London society invited her to give an address; she instead delivered her paper at a meeting of the newly opened London branch of the Scottish society. Following that lecture, the Royal Geographical Society agreed to grant reciprocal membership for fellows of the Scottish society, thus making Bishop one of the inaugural twenty-two women elected fellows to the Royal Geographical Society. However, no more women were admitted amid continued opposition from men in the London-based society, including by the British statesman Lord Curzon, who in 1893 wrote in The Times of London, “We contest in toto the general capability of women to contribute to scientific geographical knowledge. Their sex and training render them equally unfitted for exploration.” Resistance by Lord Curzon, who had himself traveled through Korea at about the same time as Bishop, shortly before he became viceroy of India, meant that no women were further admitted until 1913, nearly a decade after Bishop’s death. Incidentally, it was Lord Curzon who was serving in 1913 as president of the Royal Geographical Society, having changed his position on the matter in the intervening two decades (see Morag Bell and Cheryl McEwan, “The Admission of Women Fellows to the Royal Geographical Society, 1892–1914: The Controversy and the Outcome,” The Geographical Journal 162, no. 3 (November 1996), 295–312, here 295–98; and Sarah L. Evans, Innes M. Keighren, and Avril Maddrell, “Coming of Age? Reflections on the Centenary of Women’s Admission to the Royal Geographical Society,” The Geographical Journal 179, no. 4 (December 2013), 373–76, here 373–74). 
p.23

while still others were convinced that Korea was in Arkansas or in Africa or at the poles 

Note Underscoring the lack of knowledge in the West about Korea, the first chapter of Korea missionary Daniel L. Gifford’s 1898 book, Every-Day Life in Korea, was titled simply: “Where is Korea?” It is here that he refers to the notion of Korea being located “in the tropics” (Daniel L. Gifford, Every-Day Life in Korea: A Collection of Studies and Stories (Chicago: Fleming H. Revell, 1898), 12). The country was frequently referred to as “the Corea” or “the Korea,” probably because of the French Jesuits in Peking calling the country “La Corée” (William Elliot Griffis, Corea: The Hermit Nation, 4th Ed. (New York: Scribner, 1894), 3). To give one example, Ernst J. Oppert (1832–1903), a German Jewish businessman in Shanghai who visited the country in the 1870s, titled his book on the country A Forbidden Land: Voyages to the Corea. Oppert opened his book by noting the presence of “many people pretending to be called well educated in other respects, whose notions about the existence and the position of the country are so vague and indistinct as to make them search for the same somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Himalayas, or amongst the island groups of the Indian and Pacific Oceans” (Ernest Oppert [Oppert, Ernst], A Forbidden Land: Voyages to the Corea (London: Sampson Low, 1880), vii–viii). Arthur L. Becker (1879–1978), a Methodist missionary from Michigan moved to Korea in 1903 and would spend the next 45 years there, hadn’t even heard the word “Korea” before a Methodist bishop suggested that he go there as a missionary. “Some of my friends thought that Korea was one of the South Sea Islands,” he wrote in his diary, “where cannibals still ate missionaries if they could get one” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 52). In an unsigned Korea Mission Field editorial in December 1907 entitled “Where is Korea?” the missionaries mused on “widespread ignorance concerning the geographical location of this most active center of missionary operations.” One Korea missionary, addressing school children back home in America, asked his audience if they knew where Korea was. “Quick as a flash a little fellow said ‘Arkansas.’ That little boy represents quite a large number of active church members, who would be interested in missions, if they only knew something about some of the mission fields” (“Where is Korea?” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 12 (December 1907), 186–87). Africa, the Mediterranean and the poles were three of the first guesses for Korea’s location made by early Korea missionary Henry G. Appenzeller and his classmates at Drew Theological Seminary in New Jersey, according to his biographer (Griffis 1912, 83). Philip Jaisohn (Sŏ Chae-p’il 徐載弼 1864–1951), the first Korean to become naturalized as an American citizen, recalled giving an address at Princeton University shortly after his arrival to the U.S. in 1885, where he was asked: “Korea? Is that near Poland somewhere?” (as quoted in Korean Liberty Conference (Los Angeles: United Korean Committee in America, 1942), 66).
p.23

“Procuring a map, I learned that particular island was Corsica,” he later confessed

Note Malcolm Fenwick (1863–1935), a Canadian missionary to Korea for more than four decades, recalling his initial decision to move to Korea, writes: “Whenever missions were mentioned, I saw in my mental gallery a dark-visaged, dreadfully solemn-looking individual, standing under a palm tree with a Bible in his hand and a native holding a peculiar-shaped umbrella over his head, while around him were gathered the crowds listening to the gospel he was preaching. Of course, I supposed that every country where a missionary went was hot. I never dreamed, therefore, of finding four feet of snow in Corea for three months of the year. I thought that all countries missionaries went to had jungles infested with tigers…I…had in my possession two books about Corea, written by men who never saw the country; but somehow I did not seem capable of forming an intelligent idea of the land…Everything was hazy in my mind” (Fenwick 1911, 10–11). Frank Ellinwood, the Presbyterian foreign missions secretary, acknowledged that such stereotypes were common at the time because, as he wrote in 1892, “our missionary work has been symbolized…by a band of half-naked savages listening to a missionary seated under a palm-tree, and receiving his message with child-like and unquestioning faith” (Frank Ellinwood 1892, 3). Such anecdotes abounded among Western missionaries to Korea during this period. Lillias H. Underwood (1851–1921), one of the earliest women missionaries to Korea, wrote at the end of her career that, “even among the people of education and intelligence, not one in a hundred had more than heard of it, or had the faintest gleam of an idea where it was. Those who had heard anything had heard no good. It was the Coreè, an island somewhere near China where Jesuit priests who many years before had secretly effected an entrance had been caught, tortured and killed. The people, too, were supposed to be a wild sort of semi-savage, semi-barbarian race” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 35–36). J. Robert Moose, another Korea missionary, was surprised during a visit to a large church in Chicago to be sent off with an earnest prayer for his work on “the island of Korea.” “No, Korea is not a lonely island in the midst of the tropics, as many seem to imagine; neither is it a province of China nor of Japan,” he wrote (J. Robert Moose, Village Life in Korea (Nashville, Tenn.: Methodist Episcopal Church, South, 1911), 13–14). Some American missionaries in Korea found their friends back home confused about where Korea was; one guessed “a town in northern Michigan, or one of the central American states” (Annie Baird 1913, 100). Even by the 1910s and 1920s, things had evidently improved little. Mark Trollope, then the Anglican bishop in Korea, acknowledged that, while ignorance about Korea was understandable for many in the West, trade and commerce had expanded such that by 1915, “there is no longer any excuse for imagining that ‘Corea’ is the name of a South American republic or an island in the Greek Archipelago” (Trollope 1915, 3). A pamphlet published in 1921 by the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board complained that “‘Where is Korea?’ is a question still asked although two great wars have been fought largely in its territory within the last twenty-five years and more recently a war for independence has there been waged” (Pen Picture of the Chosen (Korea) Mission (New York: Board of Foreign Missions, 1921), 4). “When I first announced my intention of going to Korea I set my friends hunting bookshelves for atlases, some a little sneakingly, others in unashamed confession of ignorance,” recounted British teacher and journalist Henry B. Drake, who spent two years in Korea in the 1920s. “It was in the Black Sea, wasn’t it? And was it spelt with a C or a K?” (H. B. Drake [Drake, Henry], Korea of the Japanese (London: Bodley Head, 1930), 1–2) As late as the early 1940s, American researcher Andrew J. Grajdanzev reckoned that “there is probably no other country in the world with so large a population and so strategic a position that has received so little attention in Western literature” (Andrew J. Grajdanzev, Modern Korea (New York: Institute of Pacific Relations, 1944), 3). 
p.23

Anyone hoping for an accurate map of Korea was out of luck

Note British journalist Angus Hamilton and his cowriters, in a 1910 book on Korea, claimed that, “in the map of the empire prepared by the Jesuits at Pekin in the seventeenth century, the space now occupied by the Korean Archipelago was covered with the drawing of an elephant—the conventional sign of the ignorance of the cartographers of that time” (Angus Hamilton, Herbert H. Austin, and Masatake Terauchi, Korea: Its History, Its People, and Its Commerce (Boston: J. B. Millet, 1910), 3). That claim, though dramatic, doesn’t appear to be true. When the Italian Jesuit missionary Matteo Ricci (1552–1610) arrived in Peking in 1601, an encounter with a Korean man there led him to update his map of the world, adding the Korean peninsula to the second revised edition (David Chung [Chŏng, Tae-wi], Syncretism: The Religious Context of Christian Beginnings in Korea (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001), 5, n. 10). When the German Jesuit missionary Johann Adam Schall von Bell (1591–1666), who spent most of his life in Beijing, drew an updated map of the world in 1628, a copy of which made it to Korea, there were indeed an elephant, a rhinoceros, and other “strange wild beasts” drawn on the map to fill the unknown spaces (Mark Napier Trollope, “An Old Map and Its Story,” The Korea Magazine (September 1918), 386–96). But that map doesn’t appear to include an elephant over the Korean peninsula. Ernst Oppert, the German Jewish businessman in Shanghai, noted in his 1880 book that “there exists as yet no foreign map of the Corea which can lay claim to anything like correctness, and for this reason the author has abstained from attaching one to this work” (Oppert 1880, viii). The best map that Oppert was aware of at the time was one published by German cartographer August H. Petermann (1822–1878), which, to the modern untrained eye, isn’t terribly far off (Oppert 1880, viii; and August Petermann, China (Östl.Theil), Korea und Japan im Maassstabe von 1:7.500.000, map, 1872). Clearly, Petermann’s map wasn’t widely available, for many European maps, including those in early Dutch Bibles, portrayed Korea as an island rather than as a peninsula (William E. Griffis, Corea, Without and Within, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Publication, 1885), 9–10). George N. Curzon, the British explorer and later viceroy to India, writing in 1896, considered the only decent map of Korea one made from Russian sources (George N. Curzon, Problems of the Far East, New and Revised Edition (Westminster: Archibald Constable, 1896), 209). On Korea’s northern frontier with China, the terrain was so inaccessible to Westerners that, on a Royal Geographical Society map in the 1880s, “a chain of snowy peaks, 10,000 to 12,000 feet high, was inserted, which has been found to be purely imaginary,” in the words of Sir Henry E. M. James, a British colonial official in India who hiked the region with Francis Younghusband and Harry E. Fulford in 1886 and 1887 (H. E. M. James [James, Henry Evan Murchison], The Long White Mountain, or Journey in Manchuria (London: Longmans Green, 1888), viii–ix). 
p.23

“like a wedge between the seas of China and Japan,” one British writer remarked in 1872

Note Also cited in George M. McCune and Arthur L. Grey, Jr., Korea Today (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1950), 18–19. The problem, of course, was that Jesuit missionaries in China, offering to survey Korea, ran into opposition, while the Japanese, relying only on coastline surveying, were only able to make maps that were “neither so accurate nor so complete as it might be” (Percival Lowell, Chosŏn, The Land of the Morning Calm: A Sketch of Korea (Boston: Ticknor, 1886), 12–14). “It is hardly surprising that our maps of Korea should be inaccurate,” wrote the American explorer and astronomer Percival Lowell (1855–1916). “Where no one was allowed to land under pain of losing, not his theodolite alone, but his head,—an even more important instrument in the matter,—topographers were few” (Lowell 1886, 12). Norwegian writer Thomas Reinertsen Berg, in his history of maps, notes that, among sixteenth-century European cartographers, “Asia was a work in progress—the eastern areas of the continent were being redrawn almost every year” (Thomas Reinertsen Berg, Theater of the World: The Maps that Made History, trans. Alison McCullough (New York: Little Brown, 2018), 179). Part of the problem, Berg notes, is that “many believed that America and Asia were one and the same continent, meaning…you would simply return to the Atlantic if you sailed along the north side of the continent towards the west. On the Portuguese map from 1502, the easternmost coast of Asia continues east off the map, perhaps indicating that it connects to America somewhere beyond the parchment, and the same is true of two Italian world maps produced a few years later” (Berg 2018, 327–28). Beyond the challenges and mysteries of Asia, there was another possible reason for the cartographic inaccuracies during this period: Occasionally, cartographers would intentionally insert inaccuracies in order to thwart and confuse rivals that they suspected of plagiarism (Berg 2018, 212–13).  JUST LIKE HOME: As accurate information about the dimensions of Korea became more widespread, Westerners sought to make Korea more relatable to readers back home, frequently invoking comparisons to capture the scale of the peninsula. Early British diplomat William R. Carles described the Korean peninsula as roughly the size of England, Scotland, and Wales—and occupying the same latitudes (William R. Carles, Life in Corea (London: MacMillan, 1888), 113). Americans turned to geographies more familiar to themselves, comparing the size of the Korean peninsula to that of Minnesota, or Kansas, or Utah (Charles Allen Clark [Clark, Charles A.], The Nevius Plan for Mission Work (Seoul: Christian Literature Society, 1937), 64; Grajdanzev 1944, 8; McCune and Grey 1950, 16; and Shannon McCune, Korea’s Heritage: A Regional & Social Geography (Rutland, Vt.: Charles E. Tuttle, 1956), 4), with a latitude stretching roughly from Boston to Washington, D.C. (James S. Gale, Korea in Transition (New York: Eaton & Mains, 1909), 3). William Griffis, writing of Korea in 1885, looked to every corner of the U.S., describing it as being “shaped somewhat like Florida, but with the area of Minnesota and the physical features of California” (Griffis 1885, 10). To Samuel Moffett, Korea was a kingdom roughly twice the size of his own home state of Indiana—and spanning roughly the same degrees of latitude. One later Korean nationalist, seeking to direct the Western world’s attention to the far-away peninsula, urged his readers not to be fooled by Korea’s relatively modest size on the world map. Korea is, he wrote in 1947, “larger, both in area and population, than all of Belgium, Holland, Denmark, Switzerland and the Irish Free State combined” (Henry Chung [Chŏng, Han-gyŏng], The Russians Came to Korea (Seoul: Korean Pacific Press, 1947), 22). See also Westad 2021, 5. 
p.23

the few books on the country becoming obsolete almost as soon as they were published 

Note The most authoritative book on Korea in the West for many years, Corea, the Hermit Nation, first published in 1882, helped enshrine Korea’s most enduring moniker in the public imagination. By 1897, the book was in its sixth edition, having “held its own for a number of years as the most popular work descriptive of the peninsular kingdom” (“Ancient Korea,” Korean Repository 4 (December 1897), 458–63). But it was, as other early Korea travelers were quick to point out, written by a man who had never set foot in Korea and couldn’t speak the language—American William Elliot Griffis, a Civil War veteran, Congregationalist minister, and longtime Japan scholar (Carles 1888, 11; and Lisa Burnett, “Let Morning Shine Over Pyongyang: The Future-Oriented Nationalism of North Korea’s ‘Arirang’ Mass Games,” Asian Music 44, no. 1 (Winter–Spring 2013), 3–32, here 5, n. 2). It didn’t help that Griffis “worked closely with the government of Japan and later voiced his strong support for Japanese colonization of Korea, both in the United States and abroad” (Burnett, “Let Morning Shine Over Pyongyang” (2013), 5, n. 2). In a reflection of the dearth of information on Korea at the time, however, William R. Carles, a British diplomat to China who first traveled to Korea in 1883, praised Griffis for having tracked down six pages’ worth of sources upon which to draw (Carles 1888, v). In the latter half of the nineteenth century, wrote the American diplomatic historian Tyler Dennett, “books written by missionaries (including those of W.E. Griffis who, while not a missionary, occupied a similar position and view-point) were practically the only American source of any adequacy or accuracy for the formation of public opinion about China, Japan and Korea” (Dennett 1922, 558). “His authority was accepted by many,” adds another later scholar, and Griffis’ Corea, the Hermit Nation “became extremely popular and was widely read” (Andrew Malozemoff, Russian Far Eastern Policy 1881–1904: With Special Emphasis on the Causes of the Russo-Japanese War (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1958), 28). Today, Griffis is “largely forgotten today,” in the words of one later historian, though he was “arguably the best known and most respected scholar of Japanese and East Asian history and culture in the United States” and the country’s “first bona fide Japan scholar,” having taught science in Japanese schools, including the future Tokyo University, between 1870 and 1874, and in 1926 having been granted the Order of the Rising Sun, the first national decoration awarded by the Japanese government (Métraux 2017, 20, 205–7). In all, Griffis wrote 18 books and lectured widely on Japan and East Asia, having published The Mikado’s Empire (New York: Harper & Bros.) in 1876, one of the most influential English-language books on Japan for half a century after its publication (Métraux 2017, 206). Griffis’ outlook was decidedly missionary in flavor. He believed that Japan had to embrace Christianity in order to succeed in its modernization efforts, or else it would only secure for itself a “glittering veneer of material civilization” (Métraux 2017, 62). Scholar Hamish Ion describes Griffis as “an old Japan hand and a supporter of missions” whose prolific writings brought the cause of Christianity in East Asia to a wide audience in West (Ion 1990, xii). Writing in his own voice years later, Griffis described having spent eight years, from 1874 to 1882, digging up whatever facts and statistics he could on Korea and writing letters, editorials, newspaper articles, and encyclopedia entries on the kingdom, part of a broader effort to drum up evangelical and congressional interest in Korea (Griffis 1912, 83–84). In 1917, Griffis wrote of how he first became interested in Korea in 1871 when, while teaching in Japan, he traveled to Japan’s west coast and gazed across the Sea of Japan and “began praying for Korea that she might be open to the gospel and to human brotherhood” (William E. Griffis, “The Opening of Korea,” The Korea Magazine (November 1917), 506–10, here 506). Griffis didn’t visit the country, however, and only began to write his 1882 book after he had returned to the U.S. to pastor a church in Schenectady, N.Y. (Griffis, “Opening of Korea,” Korea Magazine (1917), 507–8). Though Griffis initially struggled to find a publisher who saw any commercial merit in the manuscript, he later mused on how his mission had succeeded. “Few things give more pleasure than to hear, even years afterward, from some faithful missionary, who, in its early days, read and was influenced by ‘Corea the Hermit Nation’” (Griffis, “Opening of Korea,” Korea Magazine (1917), 509). Griffis defended himself from criticism that he had never visited Korea himself by describing himself merely as a “compiler”: “The presentation of such a subject by a compiler, while shorn of the fascinating element of personal experience, has an advantage even over the narrator who describes a country through which he has travelled. With the various reports of many witnesses, in many times and places, before him, he views the whole subject and reduces the many impressions of detail to unity, correcting one by the other. Travellers usually see but a portion of the country at one time” (Griffis 1894, xv). Also cited in Métraux 2017, 208–9. 
p.23

had reached Korea as early as the ninth century, drawn by its gold, ginseng, and porcelain 

Note The ninth-century Arab geographer Ibn Khordadbeh (AD 820?–AD 913) was perhaps the first Western writer to mention Korea, having described nails, saddles, satin, and porcelain from the kingdom of “Sila,” a reference to the Silla [新羅 Kor. Sinra] kingdom that controlled the east coast of the peninsula, from Mount Paekdu in the north to modern-day Pusan in the south. Some Arab traders even settled in Korea, shipping ginseng, porcelain, and other goods back to Baghdad and Damascus (Griffis 1885, 10–11; Griffis 1894, 2; and George Kennan, “The Korean People: The Product of a Decayed Civilization,” The Outlook 81 (October 21, 1905), 409–16, here 410). 
p.24

imprisoned for more than a decade before sixteen of them escaped and told of their ordeal 

Note The crew of De Sperwer (The Sparrowhawk), a Dutch East India Company ship bound for Nagasaki, via Jakarta (then known as Batavia) and Taiwan (then known as Formosa), was shipwrecked off Korea in 1653. Thirty-six of the 64 men on board survived; of those, 16 men made it out of Korea alive in 1666. For an English translation of a firsthand account by Hendrik Hamel, the ship’s secretary, see Griffis 1885, 37–160; “An Account of the Shipwreck of a Dutch Vessel, &c.,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 9 (1918), 97–148; and Hendrik Hamel, Hamel’s Journal and a Description of the Kingdom of Korea, 1653-1666, trans. Jean-Paul Buys, 3rd Edition (Seoul: Royal Asiatic Branch Korea Branch, 2011). Hamel’s memoir, originally published in Amsterdam in 1668, fared well with European readers, and was translated into French, German, and English, in addition to four editions in Dutch (Wi Jo Kang [Kang, Wi-jo], Christ and Caesar in Modern Korea: A History of Christianity and Politics (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1997), 9, n. 1; Mark Napier Trollope, “Foreword,” Transactions (1918), 93–95); and David Chung 2001, 36–37, n. 14). The Dutch sailors were devout Protestants, suggesting that Koreans who interacted with them over their 14 years in the country would have been exposed to the foreign faith, though there is no evidence that any of them converted (Kang 1997, 9). 
p.24

East India Company ship—making him the first Protestant missionary to reach the peninsula 

Note Karl F. A. Gützlaff (1803–1851) was a pioneering Western missionary and explorer in the Far East during the mid-nineteenth century, albeit one of the most roguish and divisive figures during this period. One British writer and scholar of the late Victorian period described Gützlaff as “always posing as a genius; and those who knew him best put the least faith in him. He was not a man to be unreservedly trusted” (Stanley Lane-Poole, Sir Harry Parkes in China (London: Methuen, 1901), 39). Another British scholar painted Gützlaff as “a cross between parson and pirate, charlatan and genius, philanthropist and crook” (Arthur Waley, The Opium War Through Chinese Eyes (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1958), 233). Gützlaff was born in July 1803 in Pomeria—what is now northwestern Poland—and first posted abroad by the Netherlands Missionary Society as a twenty-three-year-old missionary to the Dutch East Indies, on the islands of Sumatra and Java. As Rutgers University historian Jessie Lutz writes, “Java was too confining for Gützlaff’s ambitions, though; China’s heathen millions called him” (Jessie G. Lutz, “The Legacy of Karl Friedrich August Gützlaff,” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 24, no. 3 (July 2000), 123–28, here 123–24). Gützlaff, “a brilliant linguist” in the words of the Yale University historian Jonathan Spence, traveled the southern coast of China in the clothes of a Fujian fisherman, handing out tracts translated into Chinese—and picking up the nuances of the various dialects so convincingly that “baffled Chinese…thought he was a foreign-born Chinese” (Jonathan Spence, God’s Chinese Son: The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom of Hong Xiuquan (London: HarperCollins, 1996), 20; and Lutz, “Gützlaff” (2000), 124). Gützlaff’s studies of Fujianese and classical Chinese aided him as he moved on to Bintan, Singapore, and Thailand. There, Gützlaff began work on a Thai-English dictionary and translated the Gospel of John into Thai, while also penning tracts in Chinese and Malay and evangelizing to the southern Chinese diaspora in the region. He would eventually publish translations of sections of the Bible into Thai, Chinese, and Japanese (Lutz, “Gützlaff” (2000), 123-124; Palmer 1967, 72; and Pierson 1886, 75). After the death of his wife and newborn daughter, Gützlaff in 1831 left the Netherlands Missionary Society, sailing for Tianjin as an independent self-funded missionary. Over the next three years, Gützlaff, together with a British businessman with the East India Company named Hugh H. Lindsay, sailed up and down China’s coast aboard the Lord Amherst, conducting reconnaissance “to facilitate mercantile enterprise, and to acquire information respecting those ports where commerce might be established,” in his later retelling (Charles Gutzlaff [Gützlaff, Karl F. A.], Journal of Three Voyages Along the Coast of China, in 1831, 1832, & 1833 (London: Frederick Westley, 1834), 153). Lindsay’s account can be found in Report of Proceedings on A Voyage to the Northern Ports of China in the Ship Lord Amherst (London: B. Fellowes, 1833), 215–59, 293–94.  A MIXED LEGACY: Gützlaff’s legacy would outlive him, rippling through the modern history of East Asia. One of his protégés was Sir Harry S. Parkes (1828–1885), his cousin by marriage and the British ambassador to Japan, China, and Korea during the 1860s, 1870s, and 1880s (Lane-Poole 1901, 29–42). Notably, Parkes played a key role in the outbreak of the Second Opium War in 1856. Equally fateful was Gützlaff’s role in the Taiping Rebellion of the 1850s and 1860s. In 1835, Gützlaff and an American missionary, Yale University alumnus Edwin Stevens, gave a set of tracts to Hong Xiuquan (洪秀全 1814–1865), who would later become convinced he was the younger brother of Jesus Christ and launch the Taiping Rebellion, a disastrous civil war that dealt a near-fatal blow to China’s Qing Dynasty (Spence 1996, 14, 20; and Lutz, “Gützlaff” (2000), 125). Gützlaff was also a close associate of the missionary who came to influence Hong Xiuquan the most, Rev. Issachar J. Roberts of Shelbyville, Tennessee (Spence 1996, 62). For more on the Taiping Rebellion, see later in this chapter. Though all missionaries in China were associated to some degree with the opium trade, given the East India Company’s pervasiveness in the country, Gützlaff, so eager to spread the gospel that he regularly joined opium smuggling runs as an interpreter to get around more of China, “participated more actively in the opium trade than other missionaries, and he became the stereotypical negative model” (Lutz, “Gützlaff” (2000), 124). Gützlaff continues to generate a mixed reaction today, in part because of his belief that “a higher law justified defying human restrictions on Christian evangelism”—for instance, serving as an interpreter for opium smugglers so that he could distribute Bibles and tracts in Chinese villages (Lutz, “Gützlaff” (2000), 123). Indeed, Gützlaff seemed to believe that even opium could be used to advance what he regarded to be the cause of sharing the Christian gospel. In Gützlaff’s view, writes Lutz, millions “were on the brink of damnation because they were ignorant of the Gospel, but dedicated, intrepid missionaries could bring them the message of salvation…Such unbounded optimism, pioneering bravado, and commitment to the great cause resonated in an expansive, self-confident Western society that was experiencing the Second Great Awakening” (Lutz, “Gützlaff” (2000), 124). For other accounts of Gützlaff’s life, see Waley 1958, 222–35; and Eui Whan Kim [Kim, Ŭi-hwan], “The Korean Church Under Japanese Occupation with Special Reference to the Resistance Movement Within Presbyterianism” (Ph.D. diss., Temple University, 1966), 37–39. 
p.24

and medicine, he didn’t stay long and failed in his quest to get a copy of the Bible to the king 

Note Karl Gützlaff stayed in Korea for one month beginning on July 17, 1832. During that time, Rev. Gützlaff sent two Chinese translations of the Bible and some tracts to the monarch, King Sunjo (純祖王 Kor. Sunjo-wang r. 1800–1834), along with some other gifts, but the king sent them back, saying he couldn’t conduct trade without first consulting China (Sherwood Hall, With Stethoscope in Asia: Korea (McLean, Va.: MCL Associates, 1978), 72–73; and Brown 1919, 500). Rev. Gützlaff may have spent some time in a coastal village in Hwanghae province called Sorae, which later would become perhaps the first community of Protestant Christian converts in Korea (Sherwood Hall 1978, 77–78). Other accounts of Gützlaff’s expedition can be found in Palmer 1967, 72; Eui Whan Kim 1966, 37–39; Sung Chun Chun [Chŏn, Sŏng-jun?], “Schism and Unity in the Protestant Churches of Korea” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1955), 27–28; and Keum 2002, 40. The best account, however, belongs to Gützlaff himself, who describes his journey to Korea in his own words in his 1834 travelogue, The Journal of Three Voyages Along the Coast of China, in 1831, 1832, & 1833. Though most of the travelogue is given over to recounting Gützlaff’s adventures in China, Formosa (Taiwan), the “Loo-Choo islands” (the Ryukyu Islands), and his residence in Siam (Thailand) of three years, he gives details of his one month in Korea, from his arrival and first encounter with the perplexed coastal dwellers, on July 17, 1832, in Gützlaff 1834, 316–56. There, he describes making first contact with the Koreans, who “were anxious to know how many kingdoms a ship must pass, in coming from England to Corea? Of how many cantons and districts the English dominions consist? ‘How far does your relation with China extend? Are you also tributary to the “middle kingdom”?’ On inquiry, we found that their whole system of government is on the Chinese model. They have the same examinations, the same ranks and offices” (Gützlaff 1834, 335). Gützlaff also succeeded in relaying the Christian gospel to them: “We had frequent opportunity of speaking to them of the Saviour of mankind, whilst we explained to them the time of the commencement of our Christian era. They heard and read repeatedly, that Jesus Christ, God over all, was also their Redeemer; but their affections were never roused. Such callousness of heart bespeaks great degree of mental apathy which seems to be very characteristic of the Coreans” (Gützlaff 1834, 339). Gützlaff’s efforts to share copies of the Chinese gospel were even less successful: “Several natives made the sign of beheading when we offered some trifles for their acceptance; others secretly pocketed some buttons, and one received a book, and immediately returned it, exclaiming, ‘pulga,’ which we interpreted to mean fire, or burn it! There was very little chance of giving books in a direct way” (Gützlaff 1834, 325). Even so, Gützlaff departed with optimism: “Can the divine truth, disseminated in Corea, be wholly lost? This I believe not: there will be some fruits in the time appointed of the Lord” (Gützlaff 1834, 339–40). Gützlaff mused that a missionary station could be set up on Cheju Island, concluding: “One thing is true, these islands are not inaccessible to Christianity” (Gützlaff 1834, 356). See also the parallel account given by Gützlaff’s travel companion (Report of Proceedings on A Voyage 1833, 215–59, 293–94). 
p.24

into the “Hermit Kingdom,” as Korea came to be known—but seldom got more than that 

Note The British statesman George Curzon wrote in 1896: “The name of Korea is one that, until the recent war, was still wrapped in so much mystery to the bulk of Englishmen at home…that there were but few places at that time appealing more strongly to the traveller’s thirst for the novel” (Curzon 1896, 85). William Griffis, describing the propensity of the earliest Western travelers to Korea to never return, mused darkly in 1885: “As with the lion’s cave in the fable, all the footsteps pointed one way—‘Nulla vestigia retrorsum.’ There are Dutch, French and American graves in Corea” (Griffis 1885, 13). American businessman and astronomer Percival Lowell, who had succeeded in traveling to—and returning from—Korea in 1883, described the kingdom as being so remote and so fantastic at the time that visiting was “like a fairy tale come true.” Recalling the trip a quarter-century later, Lowell wrote: “It was my fortune to visit this land…at a time when to do so savoured of romance. For nothing then could have been more out of the world…than this secluded, cut off corner of it” (Percival Lowell, “Introduction,” in Hamilton et al. 1910, ix–xiv, here ix). The practice of outsiders extrapolating much from fleeting “rare glimpses” of Korea continues to this day—so much so that the words “rare glimpse” have themselves become a much-mocked trope of Western journalism regarding North Korea. Though now regarded by some as derogatory, “Hermit Kingdom,” or “Hermit Nation,” was perhaps the most oft-used sobriquet for Korea during this period, along with the more lyrical—albeit equally hackneyed—“Land of the Morning Calm,” or “Land of the Morning Freshness.” University of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings, describes “a self-sufficient Hermit Kingdom” as “an ancient Korean ideal” (Cumings 2004, 150). See also Bruce Cumings, Korea’s Place in the Sun: A Modern History, Updated Edition (New York: W. W. Norton, 2005), 137. 
p.24

and Korea, in 1886, he peered over into the forests below “and wondered what lay within” 

Note Andrews incorrectly gives the date of the ascent as taking place in 1879. In fact, Sir Francis Younghusband (1863–1942), then a British Army lieutenant, made the journey with colleagues Sir Henry E. M. James and Harry E. Fulford in 1886—the first such ascent by Europeans, according to Swedish adventurer Sten Bergman, who himself climbed the mountain in 1935 (Sten Bergman, In Korean Wilds and Villages, trans. Frederic Whyte (London: Travel Book Club, 1938), 71). The men began from the Manchurian side, where they dropped in on the Scottish missionaries who had recently set up a base there (Christie 1914, 71). Younghusband would later became best known for the key role he played in shaping the history of modern Tibet, leading a British invasion of the Tibetan plateau in 1903–1904 (George Seaver, Francis Younghusband, Explorer and Mystic (London: John Murray, 1952), 201–61). Incidentally, for Western missionaries of this period, Tibet sat alongside Korea as the last kingdoms to be penetrated by the Christian gospel (Gifford 1898, 128). 
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Where facts about Korea were scarce, half truths and outright fictions filled the void 

Note Frederick McKenzie, a Canadian journalist in Korea, describes how the lack of information about Korea made it “the centre of many marvels. It was stated that in Korea the horses were 3 feet high; that there were fowls with tails 3 feet long, that the tombs of the kings were made of silver and gold, and the bodies of the dead studded with precious stones; and that there were hills of silver and mineral resources of fabulous value” (Frederick A. McKenzie, The Tragedy of Korea (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1908), 6). British diplomat Joseph H. Longford (1849–1925), who penned several books about Japan, where he was posted for three decades starting in 1869, used the Latin phrase omne ignotum pro magnifico (“everything unknown is taken as grand”) to describe the grand fictions that would come to envelop the “hermit kingdom,” with Korea’s reputation as an El Dorado the prime example (Joseph H. Longford, The Story of Korea (New York: Scribner, 1911), 373–74). For one such example, see A. Henry Savage-Landor, Corea or Cho-Sen, the Land of the Morning Calm (London: William Heinemann, 1895). In that work, Savage-Landor (1865–1924), an English adventurer, painter, and writer who first arrived in Pusan in late 1890, wrote that, on the Korean peninsula, “you will observe faces much resembling the Thibetans and Hindoos, and if you carry your observations still further you will find all over the kingdom, mostly among the coolie classes, men as black as Africans, or like the people of Asia Minor” (Savage-Landor 1895, 45–46). The book was given a withering review by Homer B. Hulbert, the pioneering American missionary to Korea, in the pages of the Korean Repository, eviscerating everything from the title of Savage-Landor’s book to some of the purported observations of the “callow artist” while traveling in the country: “The author should have spent his time in ascertaining facts rather than in imaginative excursions” (Homer B. Hulbert, “Book Review,” Korean Repository 2 (June 1895), 230–31). Hulbert and his colleagues similarly derided other writers for describing the Korean people as “blue eyed, flaxon haired” people who ate their meals with knives and forks—claims that the Korean Repository editors dismissed as being “entirely innocent of any evidence of scientific investigation” (“Literary Notices,” Korean Repository 2 (July 1895), 271–74, here 271–72). Later that year, the editors of the Korean Repository again took aim at the Korea imagined by outsiders: “There is Korea the unknown, located somewhere in China, or Japan, adjacent to Java or southwest of Africa…Then there is the Korea of the adventurer with coffins of gold and tombs bursting with treasure” (“The Real Korea,” Korean Repository 2 (September 1895), 345–50, here 345). To his credit, Ernst Oppert, a German-Jewish adventurer who was among the targets of criticism for suggesting that Koreans may have been descended from Europeans, walked back his claim after traveling through Korea’s interior (Oppert 1880, 9–10). Oppert, however, would continue to remain a controversial figure in this period, precisely because of his ties to claims of “coffins of gold” (see later in this chapter). 
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so large that “the metallic wealth of Corea will affect the monetary equilibrium of the world” 

Note The quote here comes from William Griffis, who quotes an American named Frank Cowan (1844–1905) who had visited the eastern Korean port city of Wŏnsan in 1881: “With respect to gold, I am of the opinion that next of the countries on the golden rim of the Pacific, after Peru, California and Australia, to disturb the monetary equilibrium of the world, will be Corea. From Fusan to Genzanshin [Wen-shan], a distance of three hundred and ten miles, the geologic structure is not incompatible with the theory that the whole region is productive of the precious metal” (Griffis 1885, 243–44). Despite his breathless claims about Korea’s mineral wealth, the American Frank Cowan “was a prankster and wasn’t above perpetrating a fraud,” writes Robert Neff, a contemporary historian. Cowan, a surgeon, making an around-the-world trip in 1881, talked his way onto a Vladivostok-bound Japanese steamship making brief stops in Pusan and Wŏnsan, and talked himself off the ship for a brief sojourn, after which he made his sweeping pronouncement on Korea’s likely vast gold reserves (Robert Neff, “Frank Cowan lands in Korea,” Korea Times, February 7, 2012). Ernst Oppert may have helped seed the idea of El Dorado on the Korean peninsula, writing in 1880 that gold was so plentiful there that it appeared as dust in riverbeds, though he was quick to add that the government executed those who were found to pan for gold (Oppert 1880, 171). That idea was amplified by William Griffis, who cited a belief in China that the royal coffins in the tombs of Pyongyang were made of solid gold (Griffis 1894, xvi, 392). The British journalist Angus Hamilton, writing in 1904, quoted a German geologist named Knochenhauer declaring that gold existed “in every river in the kingdom” (Angus Hamilton, Korea, 2nd Ed. (London: William Heinemann, 1904), 217). The Chosŏn court may have inadvertently fueled even more speculation by forbidding the mining of its metal resources, for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention from Qing China—namely, that the Qing court, already demanding heavy tributes in gold and silver, would demand even more if it knew of Korea’s mineral wealth, in the words of one later scholar (Martina Deuchler, Confucian Gentlemen and Barbarian Envoys: The Opening of Korea, 1875–1885 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1977), 4, n. 15). An alternate explanation is simply that the Koreans, suspicious of the earth spirits, feared extracting minerals from the earth (Homer B. Hulbert, The Passing of Korea (New York: Doubleday, 1906), 408). Isabella Bird Bishop was skeptical: “The mineral wealth of Korea is a vexed question. Probably between the view of the country as an El Dorado and the scepticism as to the existence of underground treasure at all, the mean lies” (Bishop 1898, 17-18). Whatever the truth, many in Korea certainly believed it. Bishop noted that, along tributaries of the Taedong River that runs through Pyongyang, a great number of locals were engaged in gold washing (Bishop 1898, 334–35). Fraudulent or not, the idea persisted for decades, and later scholars cited these rumors of boundless gold in Korea, transmitted through Peking, as a major impetus for the first Europeans to defy Korea’s seclusion laws (McCune and Grey 1950, 18–19). By 1920, perceptions of Korea’s mineral wealth were ratcheted down to a level more commensurate with reality, as one Westerner noted that year: “At the time when Korea was a Hermit Nation and her gates were closed against the curious and the covetous, she was regarded as an El-dorado, a dreamland of untold wealth. The unknown is always fascinating, and men’s conjectures made the mysterious peninsula a Croesus amongst the lands of the East. Today the gates are open, and men who go in and out have found that some at least of the stories were fables and idle dreams. The roads are not laid with gold, nor are diamonds the pebbles of the field” (Joseph W. Graves, The Renaissance of Korea (Philadelphia: Philip Jaisohn, 1920), 44). Still, Korea does indeed boast large enough reserves of gold, copper, and iron ore that in the early twentieth century, an American gold-mining concession was established in the northern Korean town of Unsan (雲山). Though the late-nineteenth century portrayal of Korea in the West as an El Dorado was largely overblown, suspicions about Korea’s gold wealth persisted for many more decades yet. According to one story, Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping caught a glimpse of Kim Il Sung’s gold-covered statue during a visit to Pyongyang in the late 1970s and questioned whether the North really needed all the aid it was requesting; the statue was promptly stripped of its gold-foil (see Act III, Chapter 33). For more on Korea’s gold deposits, see “Korea:—A Plea and a Growl,” Korean Repository 1 (May 1892), 133–42, here 138–42; and Charles W. Campbell, “A Journey Through North Korea to the Ch’ang-pai Shan,” Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society and Monthly Record of Geography 14, no. 3 (March 1892), 141–61, here 151, 160. 
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population varied wildly to the point of absurdity, from 250,000 people to more than 16 million 

Note William Griffis cites both the 250,000 estimate—a figure so preposterous that Griffis felt compelled to append a “(!)” of astonishment after presenting that number—and the 16 million estimate, which he attributed to a Japanese reporter from the Tokyo Hōchi Shimbun (報知新聞), citing an 1881 census (Griffis 1894, 299). The wide range, Griffis remarked, underscored just how “random” and “worthless” those figures were (Griffis 1894, 299). In 1892, the editors of the Korean Repository, an early scholarly journal of all things Korea, published a piece entitled simply: “What is the Population of Korea? A Symposium,” featuring contributions from three writers, including the missionaries Henry Appenzeller and James Gale, the latter of whom wrote: “It is a subject on which intelligent natives differ as widely and as violently as foreigners can ever hope to.” Appenzeller estimated 7.2 million, and another unnamed “Subscriber” offered a back-of-the-envelope guess of 8 million, though he or she added: “I fear the exact population will remain an open question for some time” (“What is the Population of Korea? A Symposium,” Korean Repository 1 (April 1892), 112–15). Later that same year, another contributor to the Korean Repository launched into another inquiry, noting that while “I have been given estimates varying from 5,000,000 to 29,000,000,” he pegged the real number at somewhere around 28 million (“Korea:—A Plea and a Growl (Continued.) Population,” Korean Repository 1 (September 1892), 278–85). The next month, the Repository editors took a third attempt at the question, concluding, perhaps unhelpfully, that “nearly all who have given the subject any attention agree upon one point, namely that a definite figure cannot be reached at present” (“Data on the Population of Korea,” Korean Repository 1 (October 1892), 312–14, here 312). Precision had not yet improved by 1901, when one writer expressed the range as between 8 and 16 million (Harlan Page Beach, A Geography and Atlas of Protestant Missions: Their Environment, Forces, Distribution, Methods, Problems, Results and Prospects at the Opening of the Twentieth Century, Vol. 1: Geography (New York: Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, 1901), 238–39). In 1906, missionary-historian Homer Hulbert called a recent official census figure of roughly 5 million people “manifestly absurd” (Hulbert 1906, 107). Later historians have described official Japanese censuses conducted in 1906, 1907, and 1908 as having counted 9.78 million Koreans, 9.64 million Koreans, and 8.80 million Koreans, respectively, though whatever the true numbers, the task was far from straightforward, particularly with women strictly confined to the inner quarters (Todd A. Henry, “Sanitizing Empire: Japanese Articulations of Korean Otherness and the Construction of Early Colonial Seoul, 1905–1919,” Journal of Asian Studies 64, no. 3 (August 2005), 639–75, here 654). Emily G. Kemp (1860–1939), a British explorer who visited Korea during this period, estimated a Japanese census that had been conducted in 1904 as undercounting the population by roughly 10 million people since the Koreans, fearing the census was a prelude to taxation, largely evaded the census takers (Emily G. Kemp, The Face of Manchuria, Korea and Russian Turkestan (New York: Duffeld, 1911), 63). Indeed, a census in early 1910 indicated a population of about 18 million people (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, April 4, 1910, Pyeng Yang (PHS 282/240/42)). J. Robert Moose, a Southern Methodist missionary to Korea, pointed to the breadth of estimates, from 8 to 15 million, to highlight just how little was still known of Korea (Moose 1911, 16). It wasn’t just Westerners who were exasperated. The fact that even the Korean government didn’t seem to know how many Koreans there were became a political issue and a source of angst. One early nationalist Korean newspaper complained in September 1898 that the range of estimates, from 5 million to 12 million to 20 million, was “pathetic.” “In a modern nation, it need not be said that it is crucial to check the number of lives and deaths,” the newspaper’s publishers wrote (“Hojŏk P’yedan” [“The Evils of the Family Register”], Tokrip Sinmun (September 9, 1898), 1, cited in Andre Schmid, Korea Between Empires, 1895-1919 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), 101). ((CAN LOOK THIS UP MYSELF—TOKRIP SINMUN)) 
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Even the Chinese and Japanese were kept at arm’s length by their aloof neighbor 

Note While Europeans could perhaps be forgiven for knowing little about Korea by the early 1870s, what was remarkable to Westerners at the time was that, “if we turn to Chinese sources, we meet with equal ignorance plus an entire and characteristic indifference. Confident in self-gratulation on the allegiance to his sacred Majesty the Son of Heaven which modern Corean rulers have found it convenient to profess, the Chinese have never manifested a desire to become intimately acquainted with this, their nearest neighbor,” one Westerner wrote in 1872 (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review 136, no. 278 (October 1872), 299–335, here 300–1). Ernst Oppert, after making three journeys into Korea in the 1860s, complained in 1880 about “the meagre and scanty information imparted to us by Chinese and Japanese sources,” calling it “a strange and almost unaccountable fact…that Corea, placed between two large empires like China and Japan, has hitherto been considered of so little importance, that hardly anything positive is known of it.” He added: “Nearly all we have yet been able to learn about Corea has been collected from Chinese and Japanese sources; the information derived from these does not, however, go beyond the seventeenth century, and confines itself mainly to the historical and political connexion with these countries” (Oppert 1880, 2, 4). William Griffis, meantime, remarked that, “even the Chinese and Japanese of the Middle Ages, except in war-time or in the retinues of diplomacy, rarely saw the inside of Corea” (Griffis 1885, 13). As John Ross, a pioneering Scottish missionary to Manchuria, wrote in his History of Corea (1891), Chinese historians effectively ignored Korea for centuries. “The historians of the ‘Centre’ of the Universe treat of their barbarous neighbours only when the latter come into contact with the Chinese government by tribute or by war,” he wrote (John Ross, History of Corea, Ancient and Modern (London: Elliot Stock, 1891), 1). This is despite the fact that Korea, in the words of one contemporary historian, “by the late nineteenth century was Beijing’s most important and closest tributary” (Gordon H. Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’? Whose ‘Treachery’? Race and Civilization in the Unknown United States-Korea War of 1871,” Journal of American History 89, no. 4 (March 2003), 1331–65, here 1340). For similar remarks, see James S. Gale, Korean Sketches (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1898), 194; McCune and Grey 1950, 18–19; and Young Ick Lew [Ryu, Yŏng-ik], “Yüan Shih-k’ai’s Residency and the Korean Enlightenment Movement (1885–94), Journal of Korean Studies 5 (1984), 63–107, here 65. 
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-mystical powers, but for most Chinese, the lands beyond the Yalu River were terra incognita 

NoteDuring the Chosŏn and Ming dynasties in Korea and China respectively, Korean kings sent at least three missions each year to Peking—one at Lunar New Year, one for the Chinese emperor’s birthday, and one for his heir apparent’s birthday—though there were also missions for winter solstice and whenever Korea wanted to send thanks, condolences, or congratulations. As Yale University historian Odd Arne Westad writes, “it was often the Korean kings who pushed for more tribute missions, in order to cement their relations with the Ming”—to the point where the Ming Emperor Jiajing had to tell the Koreans to temper its enthusiasm; all told, the Ming court received at least 611 major tribute missions from Korea in the first two centuries of its rule, beginning in 1368 (Westad 2021, 43–44).   UTTERLY INSCRUTABLE: Despite the contact and interchange that the tribute missions fostered, the Chosŏn court took measures to shield the Ming and Qing dynasty from learning too much about their country, in part because, Westad argues, the Korean kings “feared the influence and direction that heterodox views from China could provide for disgruntled inhabitants of Chosŏn” (Westad 2021, 45). Thus, for Western diplomats in Peking in the late Qing dynasty, the arriving Koreans remained utterly inscrutable. “As a rule, two missions came each year from Corea: the one bearing tribute, and the other to receive the almanac for the coming year, and carry it back to their own country,” reported William Carles, the British diplomat to China from 1867 to 1901 who lived in Korea in the early 1880s. “Year after year we met them in Peking, and it seemed as though time would never bring them any closer to foreigners like ourselves. As far as we could see at that time, they were divided into two distinct classes—the official and the menial; but neither master nor man ever had a smile or word for us” (Carles 1888, 2). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, writing in 1908, described the arrival of the Korean delegation in Peking each year as the “one annual event [that] never failed to arrest the attention of Europeans there. During the winter months a large party of strangers would arrive, men of odd dress and unfamiliar speech. Their long, thickly padded robes were tied with short strings, not buttoned like the Chinese, and their outer garment was parted in the middle, instead of the Chinese style, on the right hand. Their dress resembled that of the Pekin folk before the Tartars had come, many centuries earlier, and they took off their shoes on entering a room, like the Japanese. They wore extraordinary hats, often of gigantic size, made of horse-hair or of bamboo, and their hair was tied in a knot on the top of their heads” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 1). Though the Europeans tried to interact with the visiting Koreans, their efforts were largely in vain: “At the end of forty days, the embassy and its followers returned, back over the great Pekin road, where splendid towers had been built centuries since to mark their annual march—back over the high pass of Motienling, where the world seemed stretched out beneath their feet, past the line of stakes, built to separate China from its neighbour, under the shadow of the now decaying cities of refuge, and through the dreaded bandit belt of the Yalu. Then they were swallowed up again in the darkness and mystery of their own land” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 2).  WORTH ITS WEIGHT: “As to the merits of Corean ginseng, the Chinese, at any rate, had no doubts. Where vitality was becoming extinct from age, or strength had been reduced by long illness, ginseng was employed with equal faith and success, and the drug, if of the best quality, was worth almost its weight in gold,” British diplomat William Carles wrote (Carles 1888, 3). “Whether the root actually possesses any therapeutic properties is a disputed point; but the Chinese have implicit confidence in its virtues, and so long as that exists the demand for it will continue,” wrote Sir Alexander Hosie, the first British diplomat posted to Manchuria (Alexander Hosie, Manchuria: Its People, Resources and Recent History (London: Methuen, 1901), 191). The value of ginseng was such that, when the Qing court in Peking sent Henry F. Merrill (1853–1935), an American working for the Chinese Maritime Customs Service, to Korea in October 1885 to help the Chosŏn court with modernizing reforms, Merrill succeeded in boosting revenues by stepping up cultivation of ginseng for export while suppressing smuggling (Deuchler 1977, 177). Ginseng had once grown plentifully in the wild in Manchuria, though the Qing, recognizing its value, established a strict monopoly and a Ginseng Office (管蔘局 Ch. Guanshen-ju) in 1745 to oversee the ginseng trade; it kept the monopoly in place through the 1850s, prohibiting entry to the mountainous areas without an official permit (Seonmin Kim [Kim, Sŏn-min], Ginseng and Borderland: Territorial Boundaries and Political Relations Between Qing China and Chosŏn Korea, 1636–1912 (Oakland, Calif.: University of California Press, 2017), 2–3, 78). The commercial value of ginseng was so powerful a draw that Koreans frequently crossed the Yalu and Tumen rivers to harvest it anyway, creating diplomatic headaches for the Chosŏn court and prompting the Qing and Chosŏn courts to create a no-man’s land along their border to prevent such incursions (Seonmin Kim 2017, 3). By the nineteenth century, wild ginseng had virtually disappeared from Manchuria (Seonmin Kim 2017, 17). For a contemporary booklength treatment of the topic, see Seonmin Kim’s Ginseng and Borderland. 
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centuries with Koreans at the southeastern port city of Pusan, but likewise kept their distance 

Note This is, of course, an oversimplification. As Kuno Yoshi (1865–1941), a professor at the University of California, Berkeley, put it in his planned three-volume history of Japanese expansionism on the Asian mainland, “Japan’s desire to expand on the continent has been manifested again and again for more than a thousand years. In the early centuries of her national life, Japan frequently came into conflict with China, Korea usually being the victim, until, finally, Korea found herself annexed to Japan” (Yoshi S. Kuno, Japanese Expansion on the Asiatic Continent: A Study in the History of Japan with Special Reference to Her International Relations with China, Korea, and Russia, Volume I (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1937), xv). Kuno traces this history back into the mists of time, when Japan, under the legendary third-century Empress Jingū (神功皇后 Jp. Jingū Kōgō), “guided by divine inspiration,” launched an invasion of Korea’s three kingdoms, which “found it impossible to cope with this sudden invasion, and surrendered without a battle,” thus securing “the greatest and most glorious national accomplishment in the history of Japan,” for which the empress for centuries was honored, most notably on a Japanese banknote first issued in 1881 (Kuno 1937, 2–3). To be clear, no Chinese or Korean records describe Jingū’s alleged exploits, which are today treated largely as myth. Even so, there are Korean records of Japanese coastal attacks between 50 B.C. and 500 A.D. (Kuno 1937, 5), and most modern historians regard the Japanese, under its Yamato government, as having established a relationship with the southwestern Korean kingdom of Paekje—that is, until the allied Tang-Silla (Sinra) forces of China and southeastern Korea vanquished Paekje and expelled Japan from the peninsula in a decisive battle in 663 A.D. (Kuno 1937, 25–26). Later on, during the fourteenth century, Korea’s proximity to Japan made it a frequent target of Japanese pirates: “The government being unable to afford protection from the pirates, the people deserted their homes and fled to the mountainous districts, thus converting the greater part of the districts along the coast into a No Man’s Land” (Kuno 1937, 71). And, as with its relations to the Chinese court in Peking, the Koreans also sent tribute missions to the Japanese capital in Tokyo (then known as Edo). “To avoid collisions with her neighbours, Corea consented to send tributary missions to Pekin and Yedo, which were more flattering to the pride of China and Japan than burdensome to the Corean exchequer,” writes one diplomat-historian (Vladimir [Volpicelli, Eugenio Zanoni], The China-Japan War, Compiled from Japanese, Chinese and Foreign Sources (New York: Scribner, 1896), 36). For a booklength examination of the impact of the 1590s Japanese invasions on relations between the two neighbors, see JaHyun Kim Haboush, The Great East Asian War and the Birth of the Korean Nation (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016). 
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of trees and maintaining a desolate forty-mile-wide buffer with China along the Yalu River 

Note As one scholar has put it, “the Korean court carried out a seclusion policy exceeding in rigidity that of China” (Chong-Sik Lee [Yi, Chŏng-sik], The Politics of Korean Nationalism (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1965), 12–13; and Mary C. Wright, “The Adaptability of Ch’ing Diplomacy: The Case of Korea,” Journal of Asian Studies 17, no. 3 (May 1958), 363–81). To ward off any Chinese adventurers motivated by dreams of a Korean El Dorado, the Korean king penned a letter to the court in Peking describing Korea as a land of meager resources. “We do not produce gold or silver, pearls or jade. Nor have we an abundant supply of rice, grain, cloth or silk” (as quoted in Andrew Changwoo Nahm [Nam, Ch’ang-u], “Kim Ok-kyun and the Korean Progressive Movement, 1882–1884” (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1961), 17). Measures to more clearly segregate Korea from China accompanied the establishment of the Qing Dynasty in 1636, when the Manchus began construction of a “willow palisade” (柳條邊 Ch. liutiaobian) along its frontier with Korea, a series of trenches with willow trees planted on top and bound to one another, in what can be seen as a softer variation on the ancient Great Wall (Marion Eggert, “A Borderline Case: Korean Travelers’ Views of the Chinese Border (Eighteenth to Nineteenth Century),” in Sabine Dabringhaus and Roderich Ptak, eds., China and Her Neighbours: Borders, Visions of the Other, Foreign Policy, 10th to 19th Century (Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1997), 49–78, here 66). Shannon B. McCune (1913–1993), a Korea-born geographer and the son of Pyongyang-based American Presbyterian missionaries, described the willow palisade as “a wall of stakes” (Shannon McCune, “Physical Basis for Korean Boundaries,” Far Eastern Quarterly 5, no. 3 (May 1946), 272–88, here 273), while contemporary historian Seonmin Kim has described the willow palisade as “a physical array of gates and outposts enforcing the ban on unauthorized access to the northeastern region” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 157).  AS UNINVITING AS POSSIBLE: Whatever physical form the Chosŏn court’s barriers took, “she has built not a Great Wall of masonry, but a barrier of sea and river-flood, of mountain and devastated land, of palisades and cordons of armed sentinels,” William Griffis wrote in 1894. “Not content with the sea-border she desolates her shores lest they tempt the mariner to land” (Griffis 1894, 7). American diplomat William F. Sands (1874–1946), who was based in Seoul from 1897 to 1904, wrote years later that “the local explanation of the deforestation is typical of Korean ways: the coasts were made as uninviting as possible to discourage strangers” (William F. Sands, Undiplomatic Memories: The Far East, 1896–1904 (London: John Hamilton, 1931, repr., Seoul: Royal Asiatic Society Korea Branch, 1990), 30).  NO-MAN’S LAND: The arrangement along Korea’s northern border with China appeared to serve both courts well. When a Manchurian official proposed building a guard post on the Qing side in 1745, Chosŏn King Yŏngjo (英祖王 r. 1724–1776) objected, citing the longstanding prohibition on any settlement or cultivation of the no-man’s land and calling it “a well-designed plan by the virtue of the imperial court” to forestall any possibility of trouble between the two sides; in Peking, the Qing emperor Qianlong (乾隆帝 r. 1735-1796) assented (Seonmin Kim 2017, 1-2; and William W. Rockhill, “Korea in Its Relations with China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 13 (1889), 1–33, here 20). China maintained a similar uninhabited strip of territory along its Amur River frontier with Russia (Malozemoff 1958, 19). Along the Yalu River, the width of the no-man’s land was given as 100 li by King Yŏngjo in a letter to Qianlong (Seonmin Kim 2017, 97–98). A hundred li is roughly equivalent to 33 miles. British diplomat William Carles described the buffer as being 40 miles wide (Carles 1888, 198), while William Griffis described the no-man’s land as being alternatively “twenty leagues wide” or “sixty miles wide” (Griffis 1894, 7, 182). Jack London, the American writer who traveled to Korea in 1904, wrote in his 1915 novel The Star Rover: “Beyond the Yalu, forty miles wide, was the strip of waste that constituted the northern frontier and that ran from sea to sea. It was not really waste land, but land that had been deliberately made waste in carrying out Cho-Sen’s policy of isolation. On this forty-mile strip all farms, villages and cities had been destroyed. It was no man’s land, infested with wild animals and traversed by companies of mounted Tiger Hunters whose business was to kill any human being they found. That way there was no escape for us, nor was there any escape for us by sea” (Jack London, The Star Rover (New York: Macmillan, 1915), 202). By comparison, the modern-day inter-Korean demilitarized zone is about four miles wide.   THE LAST VESTIGE OF INSULATION: It should be noted that, by the time Carles and London were traversing this frontier, things had already begun to change. In 1793, the Chosŏn court under King Chŏngjo decided to develop the land on the southern bank of the Yalu River for settlement (Seonmin Kim 2017, 74). In 1875, the senior Qing statesman Li Hongzhang (李鴻章 1823–1901), citing the menace of piracy after a complaint from the Korean king, sent a gunboat up the Yalu River, flushed out the outlaws and squatters who had populated this no-man’s land, and, finding the land fertile and the Yalu navigable, suggested to the court in Beijing that China develop the land right up to the northern banks of the river (Griffis 1885, 204; Griffis 1894, 182; Carles 1888, 198; and Vladimir 1896, 43). Seoul agreed—on condition that any Chinese trespassers into Korea be executed—while imposing a similarly draconian penalty for any of its citizens that should dare to cross over into China (Griffis 1894, 182). Carles notes, however, that after the 1875 repossession of the no-man’s land by China, “some of the restrictions on intercourse between the two peoples were removed,” adding: “Coreans now are at liberty to travel in Manchuria under passport, to import goods thither from Corea, and to bring down produce under transit passes” (Carles 1888, 199). By extending the Chinese border right to the Yalu, Griffis wrote, “the last vestige of insulation was removed, and the shocks of change now became more frequent and alarming. By contact with the living world, comatose Corea was to be galvanized into new life” (Griffis 1894, 421). As a result of this decision to open up the no-man’s land, the Chinese were able to establish four centers of government on the north side of the Yalu River, including at Andong (安東), known today as Dandong (丹東); Kuandian (寬甸); Huanren (桓仁); and Tonghua (通化) (Carles 1888, 206).  THE YALU FLOWS: The name of the Yalu River (鴨綠江Kor. Apnok-gang), literally “duck green,” was said by some to refer to the deep blue-green color of the water, though more likely its origins are in the Manchu language, and have little to do with the Chinese characters later assigned to it. Even after the Yalu River became traversable to people from both sides, a deep cultural divide persisted. Shannon McCune, the American geographer and Korea-born son of American Presbyterian missionaries to Pyongyang, described the Yalu River in 1946 as more than a mere political boundary, but rather a river that “marks a definite cultural break. On each side the cultural streams came in different directions and met at the river. On the Korean side the farmers grow rice, on the Chinese, wheat. The house types and village arrangements are quite different. There is the obvious contrast of language and administration. In fact, one is tempted to say that the cultural differences are as sharp as black and white, for the Koreans wear white clothes and the Chinese dark blue” (Shannon McCune, “Korean Boundaries” (1946), 277). Thomas T. Meadows (1815–1868), the British consul in the northeastern Chinese city of Yingkou (then known as Newchwang), described the stark contrast between the two banks of the Yalu River: “The left or Corean bank is cultivated and studded with cities, villages, and farmhouses. The Chinese side is an uninhabited belt of forest” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 314). 
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which sent back any Koreans found in China, ensured the peninsula’s near-hermetic isolation

Note After some Koreans had crossed the Yalu River into Qing territory in 1864 and harvested timber, leading to a clash, King Kojong apologized profusely—“I am frightened and ashamed, and there is no way I can be forgiven”—while the Qing Emperor promised to meet Korea’s timber needs (as quoted in Joshua Van Lieu, “Chosŏn-Qing Tributary Discourse: Transgression, Restoration, and Textual Performativity,” Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review 7, no. 2 (November 2018), 326–63, here 333–34; and Westad 2021, 42–43). In 1672, Chosŏn began putting in place severe punishments for Koreans who trespassed into Manchuria, decreeing the beheading of anyone convicted three times; in 1686, it beefed up those rules to impose decapitation on anyone caught even once (Seonmin Kim 2017, 62). On the Qing side, the Kangxi Emperor (康熙帝 r. 1661–1722) decreed that anyone caught in the prohibited area would have both Achilles tendons cut (Seonmin Kim 2017, 84). The policy of refoulement, a foreshadowing of the modern-day practice between the People’s Republic of China and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, was agreed to by the Qing emperor Qianlong at the request of the Chosŏn king. “The rulers of Chao-hsien have long been devoted to us, and have ever shown due reverence; now as the king is apprehensive lest any of the rebels escape, we have informed him that we would adopt measures for preventing any of them entering China surreptitiously,” Qianlong declared in 1777. “Any Korean arrested will be handed over to the authorities of his country to be dealt with” (Rockhill, “Korea in Its Relations” (1889), 19). After a joint Manchu-Chosŏn survey of the sources of the Yalu and Tumen Rivers in 1712, a dividing line was finally set between the two sides that was strictly enforced. As University of Toronto scholar Andre Schmid notes, “this was not conceived as a frontier with buffer zones or transitional areas but understood as a distinct line. Local populations were expected to observe this line: according to the dynastic laws, if you crossed over it, you would be decapitated; your head would be stuck on a pole along the border to dissuade others; and your entire family would be made slaves” (Schmid 2002, 206–7; and Daniel Gomà, “The Chinese-Korean Border Issue: An Analysis of a Contested Frontier,” Asian Survey 46, no. 6 (November–December 2006), 867–80, here 869). According to William Griffis, a Chinese who crossed the Yalu into Korea in 1883 was decapitated (Griffis 1885, 282–83). 
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required to return to their respective zones, with violators subject “to the severest penalty”

Note The “Gate of Korea” or the “Gate of Koryŏ” (高麗門 Kor. Koryŏ-mun), also known as the “Border Gate” (邊門 Kor. Pyŏn-mun) or the “Gate of Wooden Stakes” (柵門Kor. Ch’aek-mun), was located about 25 miles north of the Yalu River, at the foot of Phoenix Mountain (鳳凰山 Ch. Fenghuangshan, Kor. Ponghwang-san). The market was known as the Zhamen Market (柵門後市 Kor. Ch’aekmun Husi Ch. Zhamen Houshi) (Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], Marginality and Subversion in Korea: The Hong Kyŏngnae Rebellion of 1812 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007), 82; and Kim Hŭng-su, “Chojung Chŏpgyŏngji Yŏhaenggi— Apnokgang, Tumangang e Kada” [Traveling the China-Korea Border Region—Going to the Yalu and Tumen Rivers], Kidokgyo Sasang [Christian Thought] 717 (September 2018), 30–48, here 34). The village, then known as Phoenix City (鳳凰城 Ch. Fenghuangcheng, Kor. Ponghwang-sŏng), is today the aptly named village of Bianmen (lit. “Border Gate”), in China’s northeastern Liaoning province (Kang Chong-gwŏn, “Koryŏmun: Sŏbuk ch’ŏngnyŏn dŭl, kidokgyo wa chŏbsokhada” [Gate of Korea: Northwest Youth and Contact with Christianity], Ije Yŏgi Kŭ Nŏ’mŏ [Now Beyond Here] 1 (Autumn 2014), 154–58, here 155). William Griffis, the American pastor and writer, described the location as being 50 miles beyond the Korean border on the Chinese side, at the Border Gate (邊門) (Griffis 1894, 180). As Korea University historian Seonmin Kim writes, “if Tsushima and Pusan were the contacting locations between Chosŏn Korea and Tokugawa Japan, it was Fenghuangcheng and Shengjing where Qing China and Chosŏn Korea met” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 106). Shengjing (盛京) was one of the names of modern-day Shenyang. Kim describes the first Qing gate, known as the Ch’aek-mun, as being located along the Willow Palisade, 30 li away from Phoenix City; the no-man’s land (閑區Kor. han’gu) north of the Yalu River was 90 li, Kim writes (Seonmin Kim 2017, 110). For a contemporary description of a visit to the “Gate of Korea,” see Kim Hŭng-su 2018, 30-48; and Pak Chae-ch’an, “The Historic Site of John Ross’ First Meeting with Citizens of Chosŏn” [Chon Rosŭ ga Chosŏn-in Ch’ŏŭm Mannan Yŏksajŏk Hyŏnjang], Kukmin Ilbo, July 4, 2017. This Gate of Korea is not to be confused with one that made up the city walls of Liaoyang, a city just south of Shenyang towards the Korean border, through which the Korean envoys would pass en route to Peking for their annual tribute missions (Kemp 1911, 42).  TRADING PLACES: Some sources say the trade fair was held once annually, while others say it took place two, three, four, or five times a year. British diplomat Thomas T. Meadows, who was based in the northeastern Chinese city of Yingkou (then known as Newchwang) and who visited the border region in 1863, described the location of the trade fair as being “a gate-town consisting chiefly of inns for the accommodation of the Coreans, who come thrice annually across the Ya-loo and the forest-belt to trade; once during the third moon, once during the ninth, and a third time during the twelfth. On each occasion the legal trading period is one month, but presents to the Chinese mandarins may extend the period for ten days should a good business render the making of presents advisable. The Chinese mandarins come from the city of Fung-hwang, situated about ten miles to the west” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 314). Italian diplomat-historian Eugenio Volpicelli described the fair as being held once a year, after which any Chinese subject found in Korea was subject to capital punishment (Vladimir 1896, 35). Another Western writer from the period describes the fair as occurring thrice annually (Graves 1920, 18), though William Rockhill, an American diplomat in late-nineteenth century Peking, described the trade fair as taking place twice a year, in the second and eighth months (Rockhill, “Korea in Its Relations” (1889), 21). Contemporary historians offer equally disparate answers. One says the Chosŏn and Ming courts agreed on a frequency of three times a year in 1401, timed with the thrice-yearly tribute missions from Seoul to the Chinese capital; Korean embassies traveling to Beijing would rest at Ŭiju for several days as they rested, registered, restocked, and then made the two-day journey across the no-man’s land to the gate on the other side, where they were then individually checked in a highly ritualized procedure (Eggert, “A Borderline Case,” in Dabringhaus and Ptak 1997, 64, 66–68). Another writes that the Gate of Korea was opened each year between March and June, for three weeks in August, for six weeks in September-October, and during December, according to the lunar calendar (Kang Chong-gwŏn, “Koryŏmun” (2014), 155). Another contemporary source, which dates the roots of the Gate of Korea trade to 1660, asserts that the market was opened four or five times per year, though it was never formally approved and flourished in part as a spillover from the annual pilgrimages made by the Chosŏn court to Peking, with the main Korean products being gold, ginseng, paper and silk, in exchange for Chinese medicine, jewelry and shoes (Ch’oe Chu-hŭi, “Ch’aekmun Muyŏk (柵門貿易),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). One scholar has described the markets as “irregular trading posts,” which had been active since the beginning of the eighteenth century, replacing an early foreign-trade market, though they were frequently shut down to manage currency inflows (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 82). The American William Griffis estimated the annual value of trade at the market as being more than $500,000, though without citing any sources (Griffis 1894, 180). 
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was able, for centuries, to keep the world at bay, allowing it to turn almost entirely inward 

Note “For centuries, only the wild beasts, fugitives from justice, and outlaws from both countries, have inhabited this fertile but forbidden territory,” wrote the American writer William Griffis. “Occasionally, borderers would cultivate portions of it, but gather the produce by night or stealthily by day” (Griffis 1894, 8). Similarly, smugglers would take their chances, ferrying ginseng and other goods over the Yalu River at risk of execution (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 82–83). Otherwise, this no-man’s land was, at least prior to 1875, a “great desert zone,” wrote William Carles, the British diplomat to China and Korea during this period (Carles 1888, 198).  NO WONDER: Westerners were amazed at the degree of Korea’s self-isolation, but had little trouble empathizing. “Is it any wonder that Korea developed a distrust of peoples and powers outside of her own borders? The only world she had known was that composed of China and Japan and from both of these she had suffered terribly. Between them, like a nut in the crackers, she had been crushed and bruised again and again,” wrote one Western writer, who described Korea’s isolationist instinct as one of “self-imprisonment…seclusion and mystery” (Graves 1920, 18). Added scholar-missionary James Gale: “Her entrance into foreign life has been through a hideous nightmare, beginning with the Tong-haks, continuing through the Japan-China war, and closing with the murder of the Queen. No wonder the Queen questioned the success of international fraternities” (Gale 1898, 195). See also George W. Gilmore, Korea From Its Capital: With a Chapter on Missions (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Publication and Sabbath-School Work, 1892), 14. Gilmore was an 1883 graduate of Princeton University who, together with Homer Hulbert and Dalzell A. Bunker, fellow students at Union Theological Seminary in New York, came to Seoul in 1886 to teach English to future Korean bureaucrats under the auspices of the government. Though the arrangement didn’t last long, Hulbert and Bunker would later return to Korea as missionaries (Gifford 1898, 177–78; and Dennett 1922, 569). 
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author of one influential book on Korea in 1894. “Corea cannot long remain a hermit nation” 

NoteGriffis, in his second book on Korea, referred to the kingdom as “the last outstanding and irreconcilable scoffer among the nations”—though one that could no longer resist the tide of Western diplomacy, commerce and telegraph lines (Griffis 1885, 11). In a similar vein, Canadian missionary James Gale, who arrived in Korea in 1888 and stayed for the next four decades, declared in 1898 that “Korea’s continuance as a hermit is no longer possible” (Gale 1898, 195). 
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—the source of the nation’s modern English name—Korea had paid tribute to China 

NoteThe name “Korea,” or “Corea” as it was referred to in English for many years, came from the name of the dynasty, Koryŏ (高麗 Ch. Gaoli), that ruled Korea from 918 A.D. to 1392 A.D. The name Koryŏ (pronounced koh-RYEOH) was itself a tribute to the earlier Koguryŏ (高句麗 Ch. Gaojuli) dynasty that ruled northern Korea and large swaths of Manchuria between 37 BC and AD 668, and that represents the greatest geographical footprint of any Korean kingdom. According to William Griffis, the “Corea” name came into the Western language through Portuguese missionaries who arrived in Japan in the sixteenth century, and wrote home of “Coria,” based on the Japanese pronunciation Kōrai (Griffis 1885, 11).
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Korea had embraced with an eagerness that outshone even the old sage’s descendants in China

Note“The Korean looks at China’s ruler not as the suzerain of his king, but as the head of the great family to which he belongs,” American diplomat William Rockhill wrote from Peking in 1887, quoting the Qing Emperor Kangxi’s backhanded expression of endearment in 1706 that Korea “is among the outer barbarians the country which approximates the closest to China in its literature and customs” (Rockhill, “Korea in Its Relations” (1889), 5, 18). Rockhill wrote this in 1887, but it wasn’t published until 1889. In traditional Korean thinking, even the king of Korea was not qualified to worship Heaven; only the Chinese emperor was allowed to do so (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 49). In 1723, the year after Kangxi’s death, the Qing court regarded Chosŏn, the successor Korean state to Koryŏ, as such an obedient tributary state that its annual tribute was reduced as a sign of favor (Rockhill, “Korea in Its Relations” (1889), 16–17). When the Lutheran missionary Karl Gützlaff first attempted to engage with Koreans along the peninsula’s west coast in 1832, the locals told him “that Corea, being a dependent state, had no will of its own, but implicitly obeyed the will of the sovereign of the Celestial Empire”—that is, China (Report of Proceedings on A Voyage 1833, 294). Gützlaff, in reply, “refuted this assumption of vassalage, proving, from their own authority, that they were only a tributary nation. They were ashamed themselves that they had humbled themselves in the eyes of foreigners, in order to have a pretext for refusing them to trade” (Report of Proceedings on A Voyage 1833, 294). In reality, writes Yale University historian Odd Arne Westad, ties between China and its vassal states were often “unclear and ambiguous,” and “clear lines of definition were often avoided” (Westad 2021, 12). However, among the 15 countries that now border China, Westad writes, Korea was China’s “closest and most constant neighbor,” and “the worlds of philosophy and religion overlapped to such an extent that it is sometimes hard to say where Korea ended and China began” (Westad 2021, 5–6). Thus, Westad argues, “the best way to express the relationship in Chinese terms is to call it something along the lines of ‘closest neighbor’ or ‘most favored vassal’” (Westad 2021, 14). As late as the 1880s, the Qing and Chosŏn courts continued to use the language of tribute and vassalage in their interactions with one another, with both sides referring to Qing China as the “superior” country (大國 Kor. taeguk) and Chosŏn Korea as the “inferior” country (小國 Kor. soguk) (Schmid 2002, 210). In other cases, Koreans would refer to their kingdom as the Eastern Nation (東國 Kor. Tongguk) and East of the Sea (海東 Kor. Haedong), which positioned itself within a China-centric world order (Deuchler 1977, 2). As far as Confucianism goes, the Chosŏn dynasty’s embrace of the Chinese philosophy was such that “by the early part of the sixteenth century, much of the most poignant debate on neo-Confucian theory took place in Korea” (Westad 2021, 26). As one Korean put it, “the thoughts of Confucius, Mencius and Chu Hsi infiltrated deeper into the mind of the people of Korea than the people of China” (Lim 1982, 5). “In her relationship to China, Korea stood for centuries as the most perfect example of the…Confucian order,” adds another scholar (M. Frederick Nelson, Korea and the Old Orders in Eastern Asia (Baton Rouge, La.: Louisiana State University Press, 1946), xiv).
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were transmitted across the Korea Strait to Kyushu and up through the Japanese main islands

Note For example, Buddhism was likely brought to Japan in the sixth century AD by Korean missionaries, “whose efforts met with such spectacular success, that this has been called the most successful evangelistic effort which the world has ever seen,” in the words of one Western writer (Graves 1920, 10–11), prefiguring by more than a millennium the wave of Christian fervor that would wash over Korea. Japanese records attest to this flow of ideas, from China through Korea and Tsushima to Kyushu (George Trumbull Ladd, In Korea with Marquis Ito (New York: Scribner, 1908), 169; Seiji G. Hishida, The International Position of Japan As a Great Power (New York: Columbia University Press, 1905), 186). 
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Koreans for centuries scoffed at the Japanese, whom they regarded as an inferior “midget race” 

Note The term for “midget race,” pronounced wae’in in Korean (倭人), continues to be used in Korea and China as a derogatory term for the Japanese people. There were far more colorful labels, too, including “nation of the dwarf slave” (倭奴國 Kor. wae’no’guk), as well as “island savages” (島蠻 Kor. to’man) and “dwarf bastards” (倭놈 Kor. wae’nom) (Gale 1909, 35). More than disdain, though, many in Korea during the Chosŏn period didn’t even deign to think much about Japan. “What is striking is how little attention was paid to Japan in the first half of the Chosŏn dynasty,” writes University of Toronto historian Andre Schmid. After Japan’s invasions of Korea in the late sixteenth century, Korea began paying more attention to its island neighbor—but only to depict it as “uncultured and violent” (Schmid 2002, 103).  DOWN THE CHAIN OF DISDAIN: The Chinese, for their part, were said to look down on the Koreans as old-fashioned (Beach 1901, 239). Beach personally shared many of those views, having made a short visit to the peninsula during his time as a China missionary, finding the Koreans to be “remarkably dirty and shabby,” in the words of one scholar (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 97). William Carles, the British diplomat in Beijing who traveled extensively in Korea in the early 1880s, describes how, though the Koreans used Chinese characters, “the style of composition, though correct, is extremely antiquated, and Chinese words bear as a meaning, not that of the present day, but that attached to them a thousand years since” (Carles 1888, 312). That antiquated use of Chinese, he continued, was an apt metaphor for the propensity of Koreans to cling anachronistically to Chinese customs. “The peculiar cap and belt, now worn by Coreans at court, are the same as that which was introduced from China in the Tang dynasty,” he wrote (Carles 1888, 312).  NO TRIBUTE: The Japanese, though looked down upon by Koreans and Chinese alike, were more than happy to go their own way. When Ming dynasty founder Zhu Yuanzhang (朱元璋 1328-1398), ruling as the Hongwu Emperor (洪武帝 r. 1368-1398), took the throne, he issued edicts to Annam (central Vietnam), Cochinchina (southern Vietnam), Korea, and Japan demanding that they recognize Ming superiority; the next year, three of them—the exception was Japan—sent tribute to the Ming court in modern-day Nanjing (Kuno 1937, 82–83). 
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nineteenth century, however, all three countries’ ruling dynasties were showing signs of wear 

Note TWIN DYNASTIES: Ties between China and Korea were strengthened in the late fourteenth century, when, within decades of one another, new dynasties established themselves in Nanjing and Seoul. In China, after roughly a century of Mongol rule under Kublai Khan’s Yuan dynasty (元朝 1271–1368), Zhu Yuanzhang vanquished the Yuan in 1368 and declared, as Emperor Hongwu, the founding of his Great Ming Empire (大明 1368–1644). When Yi Sŏng-gye (李成桂 1335–1408) turned on and defeated the Koryŏ dynastic house in Korea in 1392, it was the Hongwu emperor who suggested the name that the new Korean kingdom would adopt: Chosŏn (朝鮮 Ch. Chaoxian), a name that evoked one of Korea’s earliest sobriquets, the Land of the Morning Calm (Han Young-woo [Han, Yŏng-u], “Kija Worship in the Koryŏ and Early Yi Dynasties: A Cultural Symbol in the Relationship Between Korea and China,” in Wm. Theodore de Bary and JaHyun Kim Haboush, eds., The Rise of Neo-Confucianism in Korea (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), 349–374, here 358–59; and G. H. Jones [Jones, George H.], “Historical Resumé of the Youth’s Primer,” Korean Repository 2 (April 1895), 134–39, here 139). Incidentally, the Chosŏn dynasty, founded 24 years after the establishment of China’s Ming dynasty, would finally expire in 1897 with the establishment of the Great Korean Empire (大韓帝國 Kor. Taehan Cheguk), one year before the demise of the Qing dynasty. See Act I, Chapter 7.  BIG BROTHER, LITTLE BROTHER: For the next two centuries, China’s Ming empire (1368–1644) and Korea’s Chosŏn kingdom (1392–1910) embraced neo-Confucian values, strengthening big-brother-little-brother ties that acknowledged the Ming emperor as the center of a Sinitic world order that shunned outsiders as subordinate supplicants (Westad 2021, 33–38). Both the Ming and Chosŏn dynasties were formed “as a reaction against the whirlwind of change that the Mongol conquests had subjected the region and much of the world to,” writes Yale historian Odd Arne Westad (Westad 2021, 8). Even so, the relationship didn’t start off on the right foot, with the Ming’s founding Emperor Hongwu initially suspicious of Korea’s new Chosŏn dynasty (Westad 2021, 33–35). As the years went by, however, Chosŏn’s fealty to the Ming deepened to the point where the sixteenth-century Ming Emperor Jiajing (嘉靖帝 r. 1521-1567) complained about the Koreans’ overzealousness in sending tribute missions to Beijing (Westad 2021, 43). It was thus during the Chosŏn and Ming dynasties that Koreans began to speak of relations with China as “serving the great” (事大 Kor. sadae), which provided Korea with “a way of giving significance to the Chosŏn regime by portraying it as a uniquely close associate of the most powerful state around” (Westad 2021, 35–36). After the Ming’s demise in 1644, the Chosŏn dynasty, which would endure on the Korean peninsula for another two and a half centuries, struggled to manage its fragile relationship with the Manchu Qing dynasty in Beijing.  RESCUING LITTLE BROTHER: When the samurai Toyotomi Hideyoshi unified Japan and launched a series of devastating invasions of Korea in the 1590s, it was the Ming that stepped in to rescue the Chosŏn dynasty. In the early seventeenth century, the Ming and the Chosŏn fought side by side against the marauding Manchus emanating from the vast grasslands of the northeast Asian steppe, though it didn’t go particularly well. In 1618, Nurhaci (1559–1626), the khan of the Jurchens, later known as the Manchus, launched a rebellion against the Ming and commanded Chosŏn not to intervene. After a lively debate at the Chosŏn court in Seoul, the king decided to come to the aid of Ming China, who after all had rescued Korea from the Japanese two decades earlier. The combined Chosŏn and Ming troops, however, were crushed by the Jurchens outside Beijing in the spring of 1619. In 1627, the Jurchens then launched an invasion of Korea, capturing Pyongyang and forcing the Chosŏn King Injo (仁祖王 r. 1623–1649) to renounce his ties with the Ming and pay tribute to the Jurchen capital at Shenyang (then known as Mukden) (Westad 2021, 57–58; and Nelson 1946, 78–81). But after the Manchus withdrew, King Injo almost immediately switched Chosŏn’s allegiance back to the Ming, driving the Manchu envoys out of Seoul and resisting any cooperation with the Manchus. Chosŏn’s stubbornness would trigger further retribution from the Manchus. In December 1636, Nurhaci’s son, the founding Qing Emperor Hong Taiji (皇太極 1592–1643) sent a punitive expedition into Korea, personally leading his troops into Seoul and forcing the King Injo to kowtow to him in a humiliating ritual on February 24, 1637. King Injo, wearing the blue robes of a commoner, prostrated himself three times and kowtowed nine times before the Manchu emperor, who was dressed in imperial yellow and seated on a gold-draped throne, turned over the Ming-issued imperial seal and swore allegiance to the Qing (Westad 2021, 60; and Haboush 2016, 122). The ceremony, after which the Manchu leader Hong Taiji took the Korean crown prince as a hostage, was “the only one that a Korean king performed to a foreign ruler in recorded history, [and] imprinted an indelible sense of shame on the entire Korean political body” (Haboush 2016, 17). For pioneering missionary-historian John Ross’s account of the incident, see Ross 1891, 284–86. The site where the humiliating ceremony took place on the banks of the Han River, is located in a section of Seoul now occupied by a large Korean Japanese entertainment-and-shopping complex called Lotte World, where the monument to the ignominious moment still stands today. The stele, now regarded as a symbol of national humiliation, was once thrown into the Han River, though today, it is on display in Seoul’s Chamsil neighborhood, not far from the site of the 1988 Summer Olympics. Less than a decade after that moment of ignominy, in 1644, the Manchus had also captured Beijing, and the last Ming emperor, the 33-year-old Chongzhen (崇禎帝 r. 1627–1644), hanged himself from a tree behind the Forbidden City.   A NEW OLDER BROTHER: For Chosŏn, the rise of the Qing and their conquest of the Ming caused a wave of soul-searching in Seoul: “Koreans felt not only a deep ideological and cultural bond to the Ming—whom they regarded as the leaders of Confucian civilization, membership in which was the kernel of their identity—but also felt indebted to the Ming for the military assistance that they had received during the Japanese invasions,” writes Columbia University historian JaHyun Kim Haboush (Haboush 2016, 121–22). Indeed, though the Qing were in charge in China, “the Chosŏn elites lived in an imaginary Ming order,” writes one scholar, describing how Chosŏn officialdom “privately despised the Manchus as barbarians” (Seonmin Kim 2007, 9). “Although Ming help in those dark years was not motivated by pure altruism, the Koreans came to remember it with special gratitude,” writes Martina Deuchler, a Swiss historian of Korea. Chosŏn only grudgingly paid tribute to China’s new Manchu rulers, and many officials remained secretly loyal to the Ming, doubting that the barbarian Manchus could truly live up to Confucian values and fulfill the mandate of Heaven (Deuchler 1977, 2; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 10). Even after the Qing had toppled the Ming, the Chosŏn court contemplated siding with anti-Qing rebels and built a temple to honor the Ming emperors in 1704—six decades after the Ming’s demise (Westad 2021, 62). Thus, it can be said that the Chosŏn dynasty was never more than a grudging vassal to the “barbarian” Manchu dynasty. Animated by its deep adherence to neo-Confucianism, the Chosŏn elite regarded the Qing as illegitimate and began to regard itself as the true torchbearers for Confucian virtue, even going so far as to dress in Ming-style robes (Westad 2021, 63). For a look at how Korea came to look upon the U.S. as a “big brother” after the signing of the two countries’ 1882 treaty, see John Edward Wilz, “Did the United States Betray Korea in 1905?” Pacific Historical Review 54, no. 3 (August 1985), 243–70. 
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establishing a Taiping Heavenly Kingdom that ruled nearly half of China in the 1850s 

Note The Taiping Rebellion is widely regarded as the world’s bloodiest civil war, lasting a decade and a half, leading to the deaths of more than 20 million people and nearly bringing down the Qing empire—all in the name of a pseudo-Christian ideology that was built upon what Yale University historian Jonathan Spence called “random acts of translation” (Spence 1996, xxiv). Robert M. McLane (1815–1898), the U.S. commissioner to China in the early days of the rebellion, called the Taiping belief system a “monstrous misapprehension of scriptural truth” (Spence 1996, 208). As described earlier, it was Karl Gützlaff, the Prussian missionary who became the first Protestant missionary to visit Korea, who handed the Christian tract that would set Taiping leader Hong Xiuquan on his fateful spiritual and political journey (see footnote above). For more on the Christian underpinnings of the peasant Hong Xiuquan’s religio-political ideology, see Neill 1990, 243–45; and Eugene Powers Boardman, Christian Influence Upon the Ideology of the Taiping Rebellion: 1851–1864 (Madison, Wisc.: University of Wisconsin Press, 1952). The most popular English-language account of the uprising is Jonathan Spence’s God’s Chinese Son: The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom of Hong Xiuquan (London: HarperCollins, 1996).  DIVINE PROVIDENCE: Some missionaries saw divine providence in the establishment of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom (太平天國 Ch. Taiping Tianguo), and Western missionaries “for the most part greatly sympathized” with the Taipings, writes historian Tyler Dennett. “For the Manchu government the missionaries had scant respect, and the sovereignty and integrity of the Empire seemed to them much less important considerations than the opening of doors to evangelization…Theirs was not a very farsighted policy” (Dennett 1922, 563). One American Baptist missionary, Rev. James L. Holmes, was giddy after visiting Hong Xiuquan in his capital, reasoning: “It has struck a blow at the idolatry and superstition of China,” (Speer 1904, 37, n. 4). John L. Nevius (1829–1893), a China missionary whose philosophy on missionary work greatly influenced Samuel Moffett and the Korea missionaries, maintained a hopeful view of the Taiping rebels as late as 1860, four years before it all came crashing down, describing Hong Xiuquan’s followers as “the instrument of punishing this nation for its long continued and gross idolatry,” and excusing the Taipings for their heresies, since they had just emerged from heathendom (Speer 1904, 48–49). Rev. Issachar J. Roberts of Shelbyville, Tennessee, who played a key role in Hong Xiuquan’s spiritual awakening, traveled to Hong’s capital and was offered an appointment as the Taipings’ foreign minister by his former pupil-turned-Heavenly King; Rev. Roberts declined, though he did don the yellow robes and the crowns of the Taiping kings and senior officials, later serving as an interpreter for Hong’s prime minister and accepting a title “similar in rank to that of a British Marquis” (Yuan Chung Teng [Deng, Yuanzhong], “Reverend Issachar Jacox Roberts and the Taiping Rebellion,” Journal of Asian Studies 23, no. 1 (November 1963), 55–67, here 63–64; and Dennett 1922, 564). Rev. Roberts, described by scholar Teng Yuan Chung (鄧元忠) as “an uncompromising Fundamentalist in his religious beliefs,” later left Nanjing in disappointment and disgust: “His religious toleration, and multiplicity of chapels, turn out to be a farce, of no avail in the spread of Christianity—worse than useless” (Teng, “Issachar Jacox Roberts” (1963), 56, 66). For more on Western missionaries’ initial optimism towards the Taiping rebels, see Boardman 1972, 3–4. Ultimately, the Taiping experience would sour many Chinese on any appeal that the foreign faith might have once had (Curzon 1896, 299).  PARALLEL PEASANT PROTESTS: The parallels between China’s Taiping Rebellion and Korea’s own Tonghak Movement four decades later are many; in both cases, a charismatic, disgruntled peasant tapped into the mystical with influence from Christianity, at a time of great dynastic weakness. For more, see Act I, Chapter 5. 
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its days were numbered—“the sick man of Asia,” as the chattering classes in Europe dubbed it 

NoteFor just one example, see William H. T. Gairdner (1873–1928), a British missionary to Egypt, who, writing in 1910, mused: “China, with one-fourth of the human race, was (it seemed) on the verge of dissolution, and the only question seemed to be whether she was to become a far-eastern Turkey, the Sick Man of Asia, or was to be partitioned among the Powers of the West” (Gairdner 1910, 10). The prominent Chinese reformer Liang Qichao coined the phrase “sick man of Asia” (東方病夫 Ch. dongfang bingfu) to apply to the Qing empire, adapting it from the “sick man of Europe” label that had been applied by the European press to refer to the Ottoman Empire. Liang was particularly depressed after China’s defeat to the Japanese in 1894–1895 (Orville Schell and John Delury, Wealth and Power: China’s Long March to the Twenty-First Century (New York: Random House, 2013), 93–95).  WRACKED BY MILLENARIANISM: The Taiping Rebellion, as damaging as it was to the Qing dynasty’s fortunes, was but one of several millenarian movements that arose in China during the nineteenth century, reflecting structural weaknesses that would eventually topple the Manchu dynasty. One of the most prominent such teachings in nineteenth-century China was the White Lotus Society (白蓮社 Ch. Báiliánshè), which was really a scattered and amorphous grouping of discontents who had converted to a centuries-old syncretic and millenarian teaching of a savior who would bring about the fall of the hated ruling dynasty and “usher in a new and perfect world in which all people found salvation through their faith and their faith alone” (Susan Naquin, Millenarian Rebellion in China: The Eight Trigrams Uprising of 1813 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1976), 1–2). As with the Protestant missionaries to Korea and China, the believer, once convinced of the imminent calamities to come, the White Lotus followers “did not simply sit back and wait for the millennium to arrive. Their certain knowledge of this imminent apocalypse drove them to convert and save as many people as possible. As the terrible day approached, they distributed special charms, identifying signs (banners, clothing, headgear, for example), and other protective devices which, leaders assured their followers, would save all believers” (Naquin 1976, 17). For more on the Eight Trigrams uprising of 1813, a notable example of the “common…phenomenon of the religiously inspired peasant rebellion” in Qing-era China (Naquin 1976, 2), see Susan Naquin’s Millenarian Rebellion in China: The Eight Trigrams Uprising of 1813 (1976). 
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Korea’s ruling Chosŏn dynasty, if anything, was even sicker

Note With his rise in 1392, Chosŏn’s dynastic founder Yi Sŏng-gye ushered in a golden age of economic prosperity and intellectual dynamism. The Chosŏn dynasty began in a spirit of “Puritan simplicity,” in the words of one American missionary-historian, in which honesty and integrity—and an extreme segregation of the two sexes—prevailed (Homer B. Hulbert, The History of Korea, vol. 1, rev. ed., ed. Clarence Norwood Weems (1905; repr., London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1962), 329). Also cited in Graves 1920, 14. As another writer, Manchuria-born Korean David Chung put it, for its first century in power, the Chosŏn dynasty “seemed to have been destined for prosperity.” It replaced a decaying and corrupt Koryŏ Dynasty, which Chung said had fallen under “the monstrous power of Buddhism,” and invigorated Korea: “Human rights were greatly upheld. Land reform was enforced, depriving the nobility of the privileges of land ownership” (David Chung 2001, 23-25). But it didn’t last, and the centuries of inward-looking complacency that followed left Chosŏn vulnerable to external threats. The Chosŏn dynasty’s declining fortunes could be seen in the official census figures, as the population expanded twentyfold in the four centuries between 1404 and 1807, from 360,000 people to 7.6 million people, only to decline precipitously over the next century to 1904, when the population was 5.7 million people (Joungwon Alexander Kim [Kim, Chŏng-won], Divided Korea: The Politics of Development, 1945–1972 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976), 11).  PICTURESQUE IMBECILITY: By the late nineteenth century, Chosŏn Korea had clearly fallen on hard times, and it’s hard to decide which Western visitor to Korea during this period was most savage in his or her assessment of the kingdom’s prospects. The British statesman Lord Curzon, writing in 1896, described Korea as a country of “corrupt though picturesque imbecility” (Curzon 1896, viii). His contemporary, Henry Norman, described Korea as “a kingdom pauvre, perdu, et impuissant” (Henry Norman, The Peoples and Politics of the Far East: Travels and Studies in the British, French, Spanish and Portuguese Colonies, Siberia, China, Japan, Korea, Siam and Malaya (New York: Scribner, 1895), 590). Henry J. Whigham (1869–1954), another British traveler to Korea, declared that “the Korean has absolutely nothing to recommend him save his good nature. He is a standing warning to those who oppose progress. Some one has said that the answer to Confucianism is China; but the best and most completely damning answer is Korea…If it seems a hopeless task to lift the Chinaman out of his groove, it is a hundred times more difficult to change the habits of the Korean” (H. J. Whigham [Whigham, Henry James], Manchuria and Korea (London: Isbister, 1904), 185). The Koreans, others noted, dressed in the same style as that of fifteenth-century China, and “the Chinese, who are the embodiment of conservatism, call the Koreans ‘old-fashioned’!” (Gilmore 1892, 136–37) One Japanese writer described China and Korea as “the two ‘sick’ nations of the Far East” in 1905, describing China as “the ‘sick man’ of the East, a companion of the ‘Korean invalid’” (Hishida 1905, 256, 258).  ONE RIVER, TWO PEOPLES: The early missionaries, sailing down the Yalu River that divided China from Korea in the late 1880s, were struck by the visible contrast presented to them on opposite shores of the river. “The Korean peasants’ huts were of mud, straw thatched; the Chinese houses of brick or stone, roofed with tile…It was easy for the passing traveler to see which country bore the greater appearance of prosperity and thrift” (L. H. Underwood [Underwood, Lillias Horton], Fifteen Years Among the Top-Knots, or Life in Korea (Boston: American Tract Society, 1904), 81). James Gale, too, noted the stark difference between the two neighbors. “Only the Yalu divides these two, and yet they differ vastly. Dress, occupation, food, language, everything was new to us. Korea, idle or asleep; China, strange to say, awake and busy!” (Gale 1898, 90; and Gale, “To the Yaloo (III),” Korean Repository (1892), 75). Little changed over the course of the next quarter-century, as another missionary, drifting down the Yalu in 1909, remarked on the striking contrast: “The differences between the two sides of the river are most marked. On the Chinese side are splendid farms, large well built houses, thriving villages, many horses and wagons, large droves of pigs and sheep. On the Korean side are the miserable ill-shaped poorly constructed houses, few villages and small, shiftless farming, no stock and no wagons. Of the hundreds and hundreds of boats on the Yalu more than nine tenths are Chinese and the commerce is Chinese. The Chinese boatmen do not even know the names of villages on the Korean side and they take freight for a Korean port reluctantly. One marvels that the two races keep so close to their own side of the river. It is astonishing that the Koreans haven’t adopted from the Chinese much that is good. Why such a marked difference?… One answer we hear is that the Koreans have been oppressed and robbed by their own officials, that thus thrift and industry have been stifled and that from now on we may expect a change. It is to be hoped so” (Harry A. Rhodes, “Down the Yalu on Raft and Boat,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 6 (June 1909), 93–97, here 96–97). See also Florence J. Murray, At the Foot of Dragon Hill (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1975), 21. The American writer Jack London, traveling northward from Seoul to Pyongyang and over the Yalu River into Manchuria in 1904, described the striking contrast. “To achieve a correct appreciation of the Chinese the traveler should first sojourn amongst the Koreans for several months, and then, one fine day, cross over the Yalu into Manchuria,” London wrote. “Everybody worked. Everything worked. I saw a man mending the road. I was in China.” He goes on: “The Korean is the perfect type of inefficiency—of utter worthlessness. The Chinese is the perfect type of industry” (Jack London, “The Yellow Peril,” San Francisco Examiner, September 25, 1904, in King Hendricks and Irving Shepard, eds., Jack London Reports: War Correspondence, Sports Articles, and Miscellaneous Articles (New York: Doubleday, 1970), 340–43). To be fair, London’s racism extended to the victorious Japanese as well. It should also be noted that Korean intellectuals largely agreed with this downbeat Western assessment of Korea’s fortunes. “How has it come about that in all the world, Korea is the weakest, Korea is the poorest, Korea is the basest, and Korea receives the least respect from others?” one Korean nationalist wrote in 1897 (Schmid 2002, 37, citing Tokrip Sinmun, February 23, 1897).  METAPHORS FOR MEDIOCRITY: The Hwangsŏng Sinmun newspaper, a pioneering Korean-language newspaper, described Korea during these years variously as “a sick body,” as a “flimsy ship crossing a raging river” and “an old house threatening to collapse,” describing the Korean people as “a fish in a boiling cauldron” as the country was being “shot on four sides by arrows” (Schmid 2002, 23). Schmid, a University of Toronto historian, notes that “the sick-body metaphor was especially popular” in Korean newspapers during the late Chosŏn period. As the South Korean scholar Alexander J. Kim argued decades later, though the Chosŏn dynasty ultimately lasted for 518 years, “it was ripe for regeneration at least 250 years before it was given the final coup de grace by the Japanese in 1910” (Joungwon Kim 1976, 11). 
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a ruling house, the Yi clan, that had been in power for nearly half a millennium, dating to 1392 

Note This point of continuity and homogeneity is made by the Korea missionary and historian James Gale, making the point that “Korea remained a single undivided kingdom from 669 A.D. till August, 1910, twelve hundred and forty-one years,” with just two changes in the ruling dynasty, from Silla (Sinra) to Koryŏ in 918 A.D. and again from Koryŏ to Chosŏn in 1392 (James S. Gale, “The Missionary Outlook in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World 43, no. 2 (February 1920), 117–22, here 117). See also Carter J. Eckert, Ki-baik Lee [Yi, Ki-baek], Young Ick Lew [Ryu, Yŏng-ik], Michael Robinson, and Edward W. Wagner, Korea Old and New: A History (Seoul: Ilchokak, 1990), 407. Underscoring the historic homogeneity of the Korean peninsula, “no ethnic minority of significance has lived in Korea for centuries,” noted Gregory Henderson, a former U.S. diplomat to Seoul (Gregory Henderson, Korea: The Politics of the Vortex (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968), 19).  IT BEGAN IN CHŎNJU: The House of Yi traces its ancestral roots to the southwestern Korean city of Chŏnju, and was thus known as the Chŏnju Yi clan (全州 李氏 Kor. Chŏnju I’ssi), though the dynastic founder Yi Sŏng-gye was born in the northeastern city of Hamhŭng. In that way, Yi’s heritage was not too dissimilar from that of Kim Il Sung, whose ancestors were based in Chŏnju before migrating north—in the Kim clan’s case, to the Pyongyang area (see Act II, Chapter 10). In March 1999, during a visit to northeastern Korea, second-generation leader Kim Jong Il ordered repairs and renovations to Yi’s ancient residence and ancestral shrine (Kim Jong Il: Biography 3 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 2008), 262).
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of Korea, which left the royal palace in ashes and wiped out one fifth of the population 

Note The loss of one-fifth of Korea’s population is from Henry Chung [Chŏng, Han-gyŏng], The Case of Korea: A Collection of Evidence on the Japanese Domination of Korea, and on the Development of the Korean Independence Movement (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1921), 41. The detail about the royal palace reduced to ashes is from Hulbert 1906, 114–15.  SAMURAI SUBJUGATION: Toyotomi Hideyoshi (豐臣 秀吉1537-1598) was one of the most consequential men in the history of Japan and, indeed, of all Asia. Hideyoshi’s invasions of Korea during the 1590s remain an epochal event in the histories of Japan, Korea, and China, and remains to this day deeply etched in the collective Korean psyche. Korea only managed to survive the invasions by the intervention of the Ming state. Even so, the two allies barely fended off Japan, and “only the death of Hideyoshi saved them from inevitable military calamity,” as University of California, Berkeley scholar Kuno Yoshi put it in his planned three-volume history of Japanese expansionism on the Asian mainland. Indeed, the Chinese and Korean militaries were so weakened by the Hideyoshi invasions that, when the Manchus began their rise decades later, the Chosŏn quickly surrendered while the weakened Ming state was only able to hang on until 1644 (Kuno 1937, 174; and Eckert et al. 1990, 148). For more on the Manchu subjugation of Korea and China, see the following footnote. For more on the Hideyoshi invasions, see Act I, Chapter 7. Columbia University historian JaHyun Kim Haboush (Kim, Cha-hyŏn 金滋炫 1940–2011) called the war “the First Korean War” or “the Great East Asian War,” one that was “by far the largest war known to the world in the sixteenth century; in East Asian memory, it remained unequaled in scale until the Second World War” (Haboush 2016, 1).
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in an even more precarious position—and even less willing to engage the outside world

NoteAfter the destruction of Korea’s south during the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s and then the destruction of the northwest under the Manchu invaders in the 1630s, writes scholar John Jorgensen, “the awe and prestige of the Chosŏn dynasty had been lost” (John Jorgensen, trans. and annot., The Foresight of Dark Knowing: Chŏng Kam nok and Insurrectionary Prognostication in Pre-Modern Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2018), 130). The turmoil of the Japanese and Manchu invasions of Chosŏn Korea and Ming China between 1592 and 1644 didn’t exactly encourage Korea, already one of the most isolated countries in the world, to pursue more intercourse with the outside world. After the Manchu conquest, Korea pulled back even further from the world, banning its fishermen from sailing on the high seas so as to not provoke the Qing court, and forbidding the sharing of any information about the country to outsiders. By the dawn of the eighteenth century, Korea had restricted its dealings with Japan to the southeastern port city of Pusan and, walled off from China by the no-man’s land along the Yalu River, sent tribute missions to Peking as little more than a defensive measure; beyond that, for the Chosŏn court, there simply weren’t any other foreign relations to speak of. “Her initially difficult relations with the Manchu made a minimization of contact politically desirable,” writes Martina Deuchler, a Korea historian at SOAS University of London. The Chosŏn court “had no reason to admit into their well-balanced world those countries that threatened to undermine the system with their ‘heterodox ideas’” (Deuchler 1977, 4–5). 
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power, blocking rivals from accumulating wealth and mobilizing spies to sniff out discontent

Note See Frederick A. McKenzie, Korea’s Fight for Freedom (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1920), 17. At court, factionalism sapped the court of vitality, prompting purges that discarded otherwise talented statesmen (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 8). With the elevation of King Sunjo to the throne in 1800, writes historian John Jorgensen, “surveillance and a network of informants worthy of the Stasi was instituted and a narrow Neo-Confucian orthodoxy was enforced,” prompting “revolts large and small in every corner of the kingdom” (Jorgensen 2018, 169). 
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of Koreans labored with no hope of advancement—a system “indistinguishable from castes” 

NoteUniversity of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings, in another work, describes feudal Korea as being “one of the most class-divided and stratified societies on the face of the earth, almost castelike in its hereditary hierarchy,” and cites a seventeenth-century scholar, Yu Hyŏng-wŏn, who wrote that 80 percent to 90 percent of the population at the time were slaves, a range that Cumings writes “was certainly an exaggeration but indicative of the scope of the institution” (Cumings 2004, 128–29). Methodist missionary George H. Jones estimated “the lower masses of the people” accounted for more than 90 percent of the population, while another 300,000 people, he estimated, were actual slaves (George Heber Jones, The Bible in Korea, or, The Transformation of a Nation (New York: American Bible Society, 1916), 3).  THE YANGBAN: The aristocrats were known as yangban (兩班), which literally means “two ranks,” referring to the “east group” (東班 Kor. tongban) of civilian elite and the “west group” (西班 Kor. sŏban) of military elite (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 6). The yangban’s purported role, writes historian Carter Eckert, “was to fashion an ideal Confucian polity through the moral cultivation of Chosŏn’s people. The yangban who thus enjoyed the special privilege of governing, together with its many attendant benefits, could not be other than elitist. They pursued various strategies to protect their status and limit their numbers” (Eckert et al. 1990, 108–9). In reality, the yangban were, as a rule, privileged and lazy to the extreme. “They seem destitute of any object,” wrote Isabella Bird Bishop. “Supreme helplessness is the conventional requirement.” Bishop was stunned to find during her four visits to the country that “a yang-ban carries nothing for himself, not even his pipe…Yang-ban students do not even carry their books from their studies to the classroom” (Bishop 1898, 46, 101–2). One son of a yangban, born in 1905 in southeastern Korea, later recalled: “My father had no job when I was born. He was a Confucian scholar, a ‘superior man’ (sŏnbi), so it was beneath his dignity to engage in any menial wage-earning work. In fact, you might define sŏnbi as a person who doesn’t work. When it rains and the roof leaks, he sits there in his room with the rain pouring on his head” (Hildi Kang, Under the Black Umbrella: Voices from Colonial Korea, 1910–1945 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), 24). The hereditary system of aristocratic privilege effectively persisted through to 1945, more than five and a half centuries after the founding of the Chosŏn dynasty. Historians in the two Korean states that appeared after 1945 have generally been united in portraying the yangban as a parasitic noble class.  AN AMIABLE GOAT: The yangban, added American adventurer George Kennan, could be described as “a mixture between a Quaker and an amiable goat” (Kennan, “Decayed Civilization,” (1905), 410). Also cited in Métraux 2017, 92. One Western visitor, arriving in 1919, describes walking on the streets and seeing “at many doorways…the inevitable lazy men, smoking long pipes and gazing into dreamland” (Elizabeth Keith and Elspet Keith Robertson Scott, Old Korea (London: Hutchinson, 1946), 15). “You see his extravagance,” wrote Scottish Canadian missionary Duncan M. MacRae, “in the number of servants he has under him even so far as to lighting his pipe…Anything that has work connected with the man’s life degrades him. You should see how soft their hands are” (MacRae 1993, 52). “Much as my patience has been tried in China,” wrote William Carles, the British diplomat in Peking who spent a year and a half in Korea between 1883 and 1885, “I have never seen anything there to equal or even approach the waste of time in Corea” (Carles 1888, 125). Another Western observer dubbed the yangban the “most indolent of Far Eastern aristocrats,” lambasting his “ridiculously pompous gait, the personification of supercilious swagger” (Diósy 1898, 84–85).  LONG FINGERNAILS: To underscore their lack of utility, many yangban grew their fingernails out long as a symbol of privilege. “He has tried hard to impress me with the fact that he is a scholar and therefore knows naught of labor. He has silently been saying ‘l do not work,’” the Presbyterian educator George S. McCune wrote of one such aristocrat. “The ‘long finger-nail doctrine’ is the bane not only of Korea but of other lands and the Korean youth is awakening to the fact that he must work” (George S. McCune, “Hand Training Necessary as Well as That of Head and Heart,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 1 (January 1918), 7–10, here 7). Physical labor was very much needed in Korea at this time for agriculturally, there was no mechanization to speak of, leaving early Western visitors to marvel at farming still done by hand. “We felt that we were suddenly transplanted to the Middle Ages,” wrote Horace Underwood, who arrived in the 1880s (Horace G. Underwood, The Call of Korea: Political, Social, Religious (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1908), 34). Also quoted in Pak 2006, 13. It was precisely to counter this mentality that the Korea missionaries, steeped in the muscular Christianity of the time, started work-study programs at their church schools, putting their students to work in farming, carpentry and metalworking. “When we see our graduates put into practice the things they have learned not only in the class room but in this ‘breaking off the long finger-nail’ department of their training we feel that the results are well worth the effort. The Korean youth needs just this,” McCune wrote (McCune, “Hand Training,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 10).  EMPTY EDUCATION: The ruling system’s single-minded emphasis on Confucian erudition cultivated elites who could, after a lifetime of struggle and devotion, master Chinese characters—but not much else. All the more vexing, writes one historian, was the fact that Confucianism, “an extreme dogma intent on producing a nation of saints had created practically the opposite” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 7). George T. Ladd (1842–1921), an American Congregationalist minister and a former Yale University philosophy professor, found the yangban lacking in intellectual curiosity, despite their great learning. “With the high-caste Hindu a Westerner of reflective mind will, of course, have many intellectual interests in common. With the Korean Yang-ban, except in the very rarest cases, there can be no common interests of this kind. The problems of life and destiny, the Being of God, the constitution of the universe, the fundamental principles of ethics, politics, and law are of little concern to him” (Ladd 1908, 156–57). James Creelman, a New York World correspondent who traveled to Korea in the mid-1890s and interviewed the king, declared himself deeply impressed by the Koreans’ proud history and regal bearing—but stunned by their ignorance. “Nowhere else in the world have I seen such magnificent specimens of physical manhood. The ordinary European is a pygmy among the tall, straight, powerful Coreans. An indescribable gravity and dignity of manner lends itself to the impressive grace and strength and the noble features of this ancient race. As the men become old they grow long beards, which add to their naturally majestic bearing. Yet the Coreans are the emptiest-headed, most childlike, and most generally foolish people among civilized nations. They are the grown-up children of Asia” (James Creelman, On the Great Highway: The Wanderings and Adventures of a Special Correspondent (Boston: Lothrop, 1901), 56).  INBRED AND ISOLATED: The yangban married almost exclusively amongst themselves and monopolized access to education and the social, economic, and political privileges that education unlocked (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 10). “They even lived in separate quarters of Seoul and in the villages in the countryside, not in the towns” (Eckert et al. 1990, 109). Naturally, as their yangban privileges begat ever more opportunities unavailable to others, the gulf between aristocrats and commoners, both by blood and by culture, widened over the centuries (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 11). Centuries of domination by this “aristocratic leisure class,” with its inveterate resistance to outside ideas, enervated the ruling dynasty, leaving Korea, by the mid-1800s, a languishing nation on shaky footing (Daniel L. Gifford, A Forward Mission Movement in North Korea (New York: Evangelist Press, 1897), 7). The gap was widened even by language in the grammatical hierarchy of the Korean language, as the missionary Robert Moose wrote in 1911: “Not only does he use the low forms of speech when addressing other people, but he requires other people to address him in the high forms of speech. Thus the very language itself is a means of ever widening the chasm that separates the classes living in the same little village” (Moose 1911, 103).  STERILE AND STAGNATED: Writing about this inglorious period in Korean history decades later, the Pyongyang-born American scholar and diplomat George M. McCune used the adjectives “disintegrated,” “backward,” “sterile,” “stagnated,” “meager” and “medieval”—all within the space of three short sentences (McCune and Grey 1950, 19). “The Korean economy at the end of the nineteenth century was at the end of a long period of extreme decadence,” scholar Kim Chŏng-wŏn writes, quoting from John K. Fairbank: “Rural poverty, exploitation by landlords, removal of land from taxation, nepotism, corruption among officials, weak government, famine, pestilence, and banditry—these became the Korean way of life” (Joungwon Kim 1976, 11, citing John K. Fairbank, Edwin O. Reischauer, and Albert M. Craig, East Asia: The Modern Transformation (Boston, 1965), pp. 462-463). “Toward the end of the Korean regime it was not only politics that were corrupt,” Yi Kwang-su, the celebrated Korean novelist wrote in 1918. “Industry and finance were disorganized. As education was neglected, and administration rotten, social morals were indescribably corrupt. The whirlwind of extravagance, selfishness, dishonesty and jealousy swept over the nation. Officials openly practiced bribery, favoritism and cruelty. People sank deep in debauchery. Even children indulged in gambling. Slaves were sold and bought…When I think of what I heard and saw in my childhood, I can’t help trembling” (Yi Kwang-su [Yi, Kwang-su], “The Benefits Which Christianity Has Conferred on Korea,” trans. T. H. Yun [Yun, Ch’i-ho], Korea Mission Field 14, no. 2 (February 1918), 34–36, here 34).  AN UNSUSTAINABLE REGIME: By the time Yi Kwang-su was writing, the yangban system had grown unsustainable. After centuries of yangban privilege, there simply weren’t enough official government posts for all the heirs, which left many of them “living parasitically on the more successful members of their families,” in the words of one scholar (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 7). As the scholar Kim Chŏng-wŏn notes, “by the end of the fifth century of Yi rule, even the wealthiest persons in Korea, at the apex of the political system, were impoverished to the extent that they had to be concerned about their day-to-day subsistence” (Joungwon Kim 1976, 12). Not that this would make them consider any other course of action. As one Catholic priest, Marie-Nicolas-Antoine Daveluy (1818–1866), remarked of the yangban after arriving in Korea in 1845, “even if they were in poverty, they would rather die of hunger than work to earn the necessities. They also live by means of robbery, fraud and extortion. The largest number of them are addicted to gambling, drunkenness and debauchery” (Charles Dallet, Histoire de L’Église de Corée, Tome Second [History of the Church of Korea, Vol. 2] (Paris: Victor Palmé, 1874), 387, as translated in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 7). [[CQ]]  A CONTRARIAN VIEW: Adrian Buzo, an Australian diplomat-turned-scholar of Korea, argues that the emphasis on the backwardness of late Chosŏn Korea is overly simplistic and negative, pointing to signs of dynamism within Korean society. “Compared with the almost constant warfare in Europe and Eurasia during this period, Choson suffered only one brief, albeit highly destructive, invasion from Japan during 1592–98 and two brief punitive Manchu raids in 1627 and 1636…The ‘Hermit Kingdom’ tag was itself a Western invention, and that Choson was not conspicuously more isolationist than either China or Japan at this time” (Adrian Buzo, The Making of Modern Korea (London: Routledge, 2002), 8–9). After the devastation of Korea during the Japanese invasions of the 1590s, for instance, an intellectual movement dubbed “practical learning” (實學Kor. sirhak) sought to address real-world problems and to reform the country by abolishing slavery and encouraging scientific research (Bruce Cumings, “Historical Setting,” in Robert L. Worden, ed., Korea: A Country Study, 5th ed. (Washington, D.C.: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, 2008), 3–58, here 23; and Grayson 2002, 130). Though sirhak scholars remained ever on the margins, they did provide a source of new ideas, and the first Koreans to embrace the Catholic faith in the late eighteenth century considered themselves part of this school (Grayson 2002, 142).
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But stirrings of major changes were becoming apparent in the Far East 

Note The very term “Far East” didn’t come into common use until about 1895 (Curzon 1896, ix–x). It was primarily a creation of the Japanese, who envisioned “the East” (東洋 Jap. Tōyō) as “an imagined collective…devised for the purpose of replacing the Sinocentric international order with a new East Asian order under Japan’s leadership” (Suh Young-hee [Sŏ, Yŏng-hŭi], “An Chunggŭn and the Genealogy of Modern Korea’s Discourse on Peace in the East,” in Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 41–61, here 43–44). 
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evident than in Japan, whose shoguns watched China’s Opium War defeats with apprehension

Note Japan, like Korea and China, wasn’t particularly interested in the outside world. Feuding clans had clashed for centuries for control of the Japanese islands and, following the “brief, costly, and unsuccessful” invasions of Korea in the 1590s, Japan’s interest in the outside world was virtually nil (Peter Duus, The Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea, 1895–1910 (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1995), 1). During the Tokugawa shogunate (德川幕府 Jp. Tokugawa bakufu), which stretched from 1603 to 1867 following the Hideyoshi invasions, three generations of shoguns—Tokugawa shōgunate founder Tokugawa Ieyasu (德川 家康 1543–1616) and his successors—steered Japan toward a seclusion policy known as sakoku (鎖国)— literally, “locked nation”—one that is still credited within Japan today as bringing “three hundred years of peace and prosperity”—though it was in fact 264 years in length (Yoshi S. Kuno, Japanese Expansion on the Asiatic Continent: A Study in the History of Japan with Special Reference to Her International Relations with China, Korea, and Russia, Volume II (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1940), 1–2). The Chinese, though isolated, had at least sent a sizeable diaspora into Southeast Asia beginning in the sixteenth century. In Japan, though, Europeans were dismissed witheringly, and eventually tolerated only just barely, confined to a tiny manmade island in Nagasaki harbor called Dejima (出島)—literally, “Exit Island”—beginning in the early seventeenth century. There, to keep out the Catholic faith that so many of them insisted on propagating within Japan, only Dutchmen who were willing to stomp on images of Jesus and the Virgin Mary—thus testifying that they had renounced Christianity—were allowed to inhabit the island; the practice, started in the 1630s, was not abandoned until 1857, after a protest from the Dutch government (Kuno 1940, 90–91). 
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Commodore Matthew Perry’s “black ships,” which sailed into Edo Bay in 1853, causing alarm

Note The attempt at adopting Western technologies was rankaku (蘭學)—literally “Dutch learning,” after the foreign residents on Dejima.
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fueled by religious groups prophesying cataclysmic events and messiahs claiming deliverance

Note UPTICK IN UPRISINGS: The scholar Joungwon Alexander Kim gives a slightly different list, tallying up the “major revolts” as taking place in 1812, 1813, 1816, 1862, 1863, and then the Tonghak rebellion in 1894, of which more will be said later (Joungwon Kim 1976, 11). Scholar Chung-shin Park, meanwhile, describes 70 uprisings in 1862 alone (Chung-shin Park [Pak, Chŏng-sin], Protestantism and Politics in Korea (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2003), 118). Historian John Jorgensen opts for the vaguer “many uprisings” between 1860 and 1893, though when it comes to bursts of local anger at taxmen, a particular concern during his period, he counts 52 such uprisings between 1880 and 1893 alone (Jorgensen 2018, 177–78). Another scholar tallies up 65 rebellions in 55 regions of the country between 1862 and 1893 (Dong-no Kim [Kim, Tong-no], “National Identity and Class Interest in the Peasant Movements of the Colonial Period,” in Hong Yung Lee [Yi, Hong-yŏng], Yong Chool Ha [Ha, Yong-ch’ul], and Clark W. Sorensen, eds., Colonial Rule and Social Change in Korea, 1910–1945 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2013), 140–72, here 146). For a more general description of the surge in political unrest during this period, see also William E. Henthorn, A History of Korea (New York: Free Press, 1971), 220–22. Whatever the precise accounting around the number of rebellions, the Chosŏn court did little to make things better; when poor harvests caused a famine that further decimated the country in 1865, the Chosŏn court began spending heavily to rebuild the royal palace, a vanity project that emptied the state coffers. “This enormous task was at last completed, but at terrible cost. It ruined the finances of the country, debased the national currency, and set in motion a train of economic blunders which had lamentable results” (Hulbert 1906, 115).  “A CONSPICUOUSLY MILLENNARIAN SPIRIT”: As the seams of the polity came apart in the late nineteenth century, writes one scholar, “various types of religious movements appeared. Korean society, which had once been integrated by a sole value system, began to diversify in terms of religion and culture” (Ro Kil-myung [Ro, Kil-myŏng], “A Sociological Understanding of Korean New Religions,” in Kim Sung-hae and James Heisig, eds., Encounters: The New Religions of Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Royal Asiatic Society, Korea Branch, 2008), 117–42, here 121). For more, see also Ro Kil-myung [Ro, Kil-myŏng], “New Religions and Social Change in Modern Korean History,” Review of Korean Studies 5, no. 1 (June 2002), 31–62, here 35–36. Indeed, “religious groups became the leading organizers behind several uprisings,” writes the Korean-American scholar Albert Park, pointing to new religions like “Namhak, which promised a new heaven on earth that would stamp out chaos and contradictions, and Chŭngsan, which predicted that changes would lead to the establishment of a utopian kingdom in Korea” (Albert L. Park, Building a Heaven on Earth: Religion, Activism, and Protest in Japanese-Occupied Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2015), 23). “Landless peasants, exploited working masses, and petty officials in various localities took up arms against the government in rebellion and riots. False prophets arose everywhere and the prestige of Confucian ethics fell to the ground. Little wonder that the growth of the number of Catholics was astonishingly rapid” (Nahm 1961, 157). One modern historian of religion describes a “striking religious revitalization” that began in mid-nineteenth century Korea, which “inhaled a conspicuously millenarian spirit” (Lukas Pokorny, “Korean New Religious Movements: An Introduction,” in Lukas Pokorny and Franz Winter, eds., Handbook of East Asian New Religious Movements (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2018), 231–54, here 237). Another scholar, writing specifically about this period in Korean history, argues that “a sign that a society is in the throes of cultural distortion is the appearance of millennial expressions, expressions that yearn for the end of the status quo and predict the establishment of a new and better order” (Timothy Lee 2010, 2). One particularly notable 1811 rebellion in northwestern Korea was fueled in part by a geomancer and rebel leader named Hong Kyŏng-rae (洪景來 1780–1812), whose pseudo-Daoist claims of possessing supernatural powers were convincing enough that, even after his death, Hong’s followers believed he was still alive and mounted another series of failed uprisings (David Chung 2001, 93). For more on Hong Kyŏng-rae and his rebellion, see Act I, Chapter 4. 
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in an enlightened dynasty to replace the decadent existing one, after five centuries of rule 

Note While many theories have circulated about a purported author and a date of writing of The Records of Chŏnggam (鄭鑑錄 Kor. Chŏnggam-rok), none is conclusive; the text was ruthlessly suppressed by the ruling court, and was secretly passed among the people (Hwang Sŏn-myŏng, “Chŏnggam-rok (鄭鑑錄),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). “Because the prophecies in such books were very complex, with many omissions and misprints, various interpretations and subsequent manipulations of the content were possible” (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 95).  OBSCURE ORIGINS: Scholars believe that the first elements of the Chŏnggam prophecies were written shortly after the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s, which the text was purported to have “predicted” (Jorgensen 2018, 13). A similar theory dates back to the late sixteenth century, when a rebel named Chŏng Yŏ-rip (鄭汝立 1546–1589), created a folk song that prophesied the downfall of the Yi clan and the rise of a Chŏng clan. It may have been Chŏng who also put together The Records of Chŏnggam (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 96). Despite the murky provenance of the text, The Records of Chŏnggam was for centuries a persistent thorn in the side of the Chosŏn dynasty, inspiring one antidynastic conspiracy in 1688 and another in 1697 before gaining momentum during the reign of King Yŏngjo (英祖王 r. 1724–1776), when a revolutionary plot was uncovered at the rate of roughly one every three years (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 97). Another scholar says that the first copy of The Records of Chŏnggam was said to have first surfaced in 1785, though the ideas were likely spreading as much as two centuries earlier (Chong Bum Kim [Kim, Chong-bŏm], “Preaching the Apocalypse in Colonial Korea: The Protestant Millennialism of Kil Sŏn-ju,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr. and Timothy S. Lee, eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2006), 149–66, here 157; and Grayson 2002, 205, n. 2). The Chosŏn dynasty, correctly fearing the subversive power of the text to inspire rebellion, burned the books (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 157–58). Yet another scholar traces the origins of The Records of Chŏnggam to a booklet called Kam’s Revelations (鑑訣 Kor. Kamgyŏl) that first predicted the demise of the Chosŏn dynasty after five centuries of rule, though it wasn’t until 1739 that the Chosŏn official archives first describe The Records of Chŏnggam (Seungyop Shin [Sin, Sŭng-yŏp], “Text Beyond Context: Power, Discourse, and the Chŏng Kam nok in Colonial Korea,” Journal of Korean Religions 11, no. 1 (April 2020), 123–53, here 126). Another scholar traces the first mention by the Chosŏn court of the Chŏnggam prophecies to 1748, when alleged rebels in the central Korean city of Ch’ŏngju were arrested for posting references to the prophecy on a wall; in a reflection of the seriousness with which the case was treated, King Yŏngjo personally questioned the rebel leader, Yi Chi-sŏ (Sung-Deuk Oak [Ok, Sŏng-dŭk], “Images of the Cross in Early Modern Korea: The Geomantic Prophecy of the Chŏnggam-nok and the Protestant Flag of the Red Cross, Journal of Korean Religions 1, nos. 1–2 (September 2010), 117–61, here 119). In 1782, another conspiracy was reported in which the rebels, aristocratic revolutionaries, confessed to having been inspired by The Records of Chŏnggam (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 119; and Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 127).  A NEW WORLD ORDER: The definitive English-language study of The Records of Chŏnggam is John Jorgensen, trans. and annot., The Foresight of Dark Knowing: Chŏng Kam nok and Insurrectionary Prognostication in Pre-Modern Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2018). In his introduction, Jorgensen, a scholar of Korean religion, describes The Records of Chŏnggam as “the collective name for a disparate group of manuscripts written predominantly in Chinese…They uniformly purport to be predictions about the change from the Yi dynasty to a new dynasty, usually said to be led by a so-called true man surnamed Chŏng. They predict the rise of a new, utopian political order under a new dynasty, usually preceded by many disasters, especially war and famine…As texts of prognostication, they are typically phrased in vague language not dissimilar to the language of works such as those attributed to Nostradamus…They were not static, set texts, but fluid propaganda pieces circulated underground. Thus, none are dated. They have no provenance or identifiable author or copyist, and no owners’ names or seals are attached…The Chŏng Kam nok is both the name of a single text and the general name for a group of similar texts” (Jorgensen 2018, 3–10). Jorgensen says that the earliest definitive evidence of such a text can be dated to 1739 (Jorgensen 2018, 200–1).  A “TRUE MAN” FROM THE SEA: The Records of Chŏnggam purported to be the record of a conversation between someone named Chŏng Kam (鄭鑑) and another named Yi Tam (李湛), describing how the Chosŏn dynasty’s Yi family would be replaced by the Chŏng dynasty, which would in turn be supplanted by a Cho lineage and finally by a Pŏm dynasty, ruling from Chŏnju—the same southwestern Korean city to which the Chosŏn Yi dynasty traced its roots—for 600 years (Anders Karlsson, “Challenging the Dynasty: Popular Protest, Chŏnggamnok and the Ideology of the Hong Kyŏngnae Rebellion,” International Journal of Korean History 2 (December 2001), 253–77, here 257; and Grayson 2002, 205, n. 2). The “Wonder Man” (異人 Kor. I’In ), or “True Man” (真人Kor. Chin’In), was said to be named Prince Chŏng To-ryŏng (鄭道令), and was said to be the one who would usher in the new Chŏng dynastic line (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 94). Sun Joo Kim, a Harvard University historian, links the term Chin’In to Daoism and Buddhism, where a person who had attained the true way, or Dao (道), was identified as just such a Chin’In—“a man of extraordinary qualities” (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 95). “To-ryŏng,” in pure Korean characters, means “youngster,” “bachelor,” or “lad,” such that Chŏng To-ryŏng can simply be interpreted as “Young Master Chŏng” (Jorgensen 2018, 180). Amid a search for potential messiahs that could fit the Chŏnggam prophecies, one tempting candidate—fitting the bill of an external force emerging from an island in the sea—was Zheng Chenggong (鄭成功 1624–1662), the Japan-born Ming Dynasty loyalist also known as Koxinga (國姓爺 Ch. Guoxingye), whose conquest of Taiwan from the Dutch has made him a modern-day nationalist hero in the People’s Republic of China (Jorgensen 2018, 131–32). Zheng Chenggong, whose surname in the Korean pronunciation is the same Chŏng as that of the Chŏng To-ryŏng, and his fierce opposition to the Qing also would have resonated with those who wanted to see the demise of the Chosŏn dynasty, which had initially opposed the Qing but later come to accept its ascendancy. Centuries later, the Rev. Mun Sŏn-myŏng (Moon Sun Myung文鮮明 1920–2012), the founder of the Unification Church, would point to The Records of Chŏnggam to argue that “the Korean people have long cherished a messianic hope, nurtured by the clear testimonies of their prophets” (Exposition of the Divine Principle (New York: Holy Spirit Association for the Unification of World Christianity, 1996), 309)—all to point to the conclusion that the Messiah would arrive in Korea, in the form of Rev. Mun.  “ESCHATOLOGICAL AND APOCALYPTICAL”: Anders Karlsson, a Korea scholar at SOAS University of London, argues that The Records of Chŏnggam was not, strictly speaking, millenarian since the prophesied reign of the Chŏng family “was not to be an everlasting Utopia…Their rule will not bring millennial salvation” (Karlsson, “Challenging the Dynasty” (2001), 256–57). Thus, Karlsson argues that rather than “millenarian,” the ideology of The Records of Chŏnggam—despite using the phrase malse (末世), literally “the end of days”—was different from that underpinning Western eschatology and should thus be described as “revolutionary,” with its believers regarding the current age as a degenerate one that needed to be morally renewed rather than believing that the world itself was coming to an end (Karlsson, “Challenging the Dynasty” (2001), 258–59). Harvard’s Sun Joo Kim likewise argues that the term “millenarianism,” which refers more narrowly to “the hope for an impending, supernaturally inspired, marvelous betterment of life on Earth before the End,” and which “must imply religious motivations and goals,” doesn’t quite apply to The Records of Chŏnggam, given the absence of explicitly religious motivations. Instead, Kim prefers the terms “eschatological and apocalyptical,” arguing that “the utopia that Korean believers sought was to be realized in this world, by establishing a new dynasty under the rule of a new royal family” (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 94–95, 176). Another scholar argues that the text’s main message, of “a curse on the ruling class and the collapse of the Joseon Dynasty…went far beyond an aspiration for a new world. It had great potential to serve as an ideology of a social reform movement by converging people’s desire for doing away with the old system and establishing a new one” (Ro, “Korean New Religions” (2008), 121).
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particularly in the restive northwest, despite attempts by the Chosŏn court to smother it

Note “CAUGHT ON LIKE WILDFIRE”: The Records of Chŏnggam “caught on like wildfire, initially in the northwestern part of the peninsula and then in the south,” writes University of Wisconsin-Madison historian Seungyop Shin (Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 127). Shin described The Records of Chŏnggam as an “underground text” that collected various “enigmatic narratives” and was “deeply embedded in the popular beliefs of the Korean people,” spread “by word of mouth across the country from the eighteenth through the twentieth centuries” (Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 123–24). Over the course of many centuries, the text’s arcane and inscrutable words “could adapt so well to the changing circumstances of society…like a living force that was able to continuously embrace alterations and additions to its content and form” (Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 131). “Although most people had no access to the book due to its scarcity, or if they had read it, they did not fully understood its allusive meanings, the radical millenarian message of the Chŏng Kam nok was spread by word of mouth so broadly that even some foreign settlers believed that the current order would collapse and a new Chŏng dynasty would arise after great disasters befell the land,” Shin writes (Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 128). Shin refers specifically to a diplomatic banquet held by Beijing’s senior official in Seoul, Yuan Shikai, in February 1889, which even Western and Korean officials steered clear of, having caught wind of a Chŏnggam-related prophecy that suggested that, three years prior to the downfall of the Chosŏn dynasty—that is, three years before the 500th anniversary of the dynasty, in 1892—a Chinese general would install a new king in Korea and exile the royal family to Cheju Island, leaving bloodshed in its wake. French Minister Victor Collin de Plancy noted that the diplomats who did attend showed up in military uniform, in case of an uprising, describing the ominous whispers to “the prophecies of Nostradamus” (Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 128–29). The prophecy was widespread enough in Korea that the missionaries and diplomats in Seoul, though having only just arrived several years earlier, were keenly aware of it. “In the Korean government proper, no changes of importance took place and the old incumbents are still in favor,” the editors of the Korean Repository wrote in January 1892, reviewing the year that had just passed. “And this notwithstanding the sweeping prophecy that this, the 500th year of the reigning dynasty, should be its last” (“1891—Retrospect,” Korean Repository 1 (January 1892), 31–34, here 31).  WAITING FOR THE MAN: “Neither a religious movement nor a political program crystallized around this text,” writes historian Timothy S. Lee. “But its diffused impact was considerable, as it helped to instigate many a popular uprising.” It also, in Lee’s words, showed that even before the first Protestant missionaries arrived with their vision for the country, “Koreans themselves were ardently searching for a new moral order” (Timothy Lee 2010, 2–3, 7). “Exactly because the contents of such prophetic texts were antidynastic and could serve the intentions of rebels, the state prohibited the possession and transmission of them and burned them to exterminate this heterodox tradition,” writes Harvard University historian Kim Sŏn-ju. Even so, “subversive books such as the Chŏnggamnok not only survived but gained popular support, reflecting the wishes of the people for a better life under new leadership” (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 95). “Such a romantic name and fame of one who had not yet appeared…had caught the fancy of many and captured imaginative appeal of the populace for several generations,” wrote one Korean whose family was enraptured by The Records of Chŏnggam in the late nineteenth century. “Indeed, the people were looking for and longing for Prince, Jung-Do-Ryung, as did the Israelites of old for the Messiah” (Easurk Emsen Charr [Ch’a, Ŭi-sŏk], The Golden Mountain: The Autobiography of a Korean Immigrant, 1895–1960, ed. Wayne Patterson, 2nd ed. (Urbana, Ill.: University of Illinois Press, 1996), 38, 42–43). Kim Ku, a prominent Korean nationalist and key figure in twentieth-century Korean history, recalled in his memoirs not only the rumors of a Chŏng To-ryŏng who would appear to “proclaim a new nation under a new social dispensation,” but also rumors of a “man of truth” (真人) who would appear (Jongsoo Lee [Yi, Chong-su], trans., Paekpŏm Ilchi: The Autobiography of Kim Ku (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 2000), 33–34).  CHŎNGGAM AND THE CROSS: In one fascinating twist, many Koreans during this period came to see Christianity as the fulfillment of the prophecy contained in The Records of Chŏnggam (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 117–61). The notion that Christianity could be the fulfillment of the prophecy contained in The Records of Chŏnggam was based in part on the text’s enigmatic reference to “the 10 auspicious places” (十勝之地 Kor. sipsŭng chiji), a land of refuge and salvation. For many Koreans during this period, the wooden cross that was erected over many Protestant churches, and the flags of St. George’s cross that some churches planted outside, resembled the Sino-Korean character for “10” (十), in a way that clicked for the geomantically- and glyphomantically-minded—indeed, the Sino-Korean word for the Christian crucifix is sipjiga (十字架), or “‘number 10’ frame” (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 117–61). “The Chinese graphic letter 十 represented not only the shape of the cross, but also the number ten. Therefore, the empty cross of Protestantism was easily connected with the number ten of the Chŏnggam-nok in their interpretative method of glyphomancy,” writes Sung-Deuk Oak, a scholar of Korean religion at the University of California, Los Angeles, referring to some Korean Christians (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 132). As Prof. Oak notes, many believers of The Records of Chŏnggam converted to Catholicism, seeing similarities in Christian messianic eschatology and regarding the Catholic missionaries as a fulfillment of The Records of Chŏnggam’s prophecy of people in blue clothing (青衣 Kor. ch’ŏng’ŭi) arriving on foreign ships and promising a messianic “true man” (真人chin’in) who would usher in a new dynasty of peace (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 120–21). One Confucian aristocrat converted to Christianity in 1893, believing the crucifix at the center of the foreign faith as the fulfilment of the Chŏnggam prophecy of “the 10 auspicious places” (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 134). Another, Yi Sŭng-ryun, joined the Presbyterian church in 1894, believing Christ to be the promised Chŏng To-ryŏng of The Records of Chŏnggam; he later used creative glyphomantic readings to reinterpret the biblical figure of Abraham and urge his fellow Koreans to embrace the foreign faith—an “intellectually implausible” interpretation that was nonetheless published in the Horace Underwood-edited Christian News (그리스도新聞 Kor. Kŭrisŭdo Sinmun), Prof. Oak writes. “He interpreted a foreign book, the New Testament, from the perspective of a more familiar book, the Chŏnggam-nok. The two books combined to show the Koreans the way of salvation and hope for the millennial kingdom” (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 135–36). 
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Catholicism was beginning to circulate widely, causing further anxiety among the Chosŏn rulers

Note Nobody seemed to know exactly when or how this foreign teaching first reached the Korean peninsula. The Catholic missionary St. Francis Xavier (1506–1552) first reached Japan in 1549, landing at Kagoshima, and within a decade the Jesuits had won tens of thousands of Japanese converts, mainly on the southern island of Kyūshū, closest to the Korean peninsula (Kuno 1940, 4). In the late 1560s, Father Gaspar Vilela, a Portuguese Jesuit missionary to India and Japan, began making plans to establish a mission in Korea, but died in 1572 before he could bring them to fruition (James Huntley Grayson, “A Quarter-Millennium of Christianity in Korea,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr. and Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2006), 7–25, here 8; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 14). When the Japanese invaded Korea in the 1590s, Christianity had penetrated Japan to the degree that one of the generals leading the charge was a Catholic convert, Konishi Yukinaga (小西 行長1555– or 1558–1600), baptismal name Augustine, commanding a large force of other Catholics (Ross 1891, 271; and Jieun Han [Han, Chi-ŭn], and Franklin Rausch, “The Society of Jesus and Korea: A Historiographical Essay,” in Robert A. Maryks, ed., Jesuit Historiography Online (Brill, 2017)—sent, it was said, by a Japanese court keen to rid itself of a prominent adherent to the fast-growing foreign heterodoxy (Ross 1891, 271; Sands 1931, 37; and Kemp 1911, 84–85). If that was the intention, it didn’t work. Gen. Konishi, known to history as the “Christian general,” asked the Jesuits to send a priest to accompany him to Korea, and Father Gregorio de Céspedes (1551– or 1552–1611), a Spanish Jesuit, landed in Pusan as a chaplain with the invading Japanese army, likely becoming the first Catholic priest—and indeed, the first recorded European—to set foot on the Korean peninsula (see Longford 1911, 217–18; Graves 1920, 48; Grayson 2002, 140; “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 302; and Samuel Hawley, The Imjin War: Japan’s Sixteenth-Century Invasion of Korea and Attempt to Conquer China (Seoul: Royal Asiatic Society Korean Branch, 2005), 392). Alas, Father de Céspedes was only in Korea for about six months, and wasn’t able to interact with many Koreans; even so, he did manage to baptize Japanese soldiers and administer the sacraments among the troops—at least until the Japanese court, learning of Father de Céspedes’ presence, summoned Gen. Konishi back to Japan (Charles Dallet, Histoire de L’Église de Corée, Tome Premier [History of the Church of Korea, Vol. 1] (Paris: Victor Palmé, 1874), 2–4; Juan Ruiz-de-Medina, The Catholic Church in Korea: Its Origins, 1566–1784, trans. John Bridges (Rome: Istituto Storico, 1991), 50–53; and Hawley 2005, 392–94). Gen. Konishi’s rival general, Gen. Katō Kiyomasa (加藤 清正 1562–1611), was “an ardent Buddhist, and hated Christians and their doctrine with a bitter hatred” (Longford 1911, 151). Confusingly, some sources describe both generals, Konishi and Kato, as “converted Roman Catholic generals” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 13, citing Otis Cary, A History of Christianity in Japan: Roman Catholic & Creek Orthodox Missions, p. 509). It may have been Gen. Katō that objected to Father de Céspedes’ presence and had him sent back. While in Korea, Gen. Konishi took a Korean wife who is now believed to be the first Korean covert to the faith; she took the baptismal name Julia and returned to Japan with the general (Tudor, Daniel, The Impossible Country, ch. 4). All told, the Japanese brought some 50,000 Koreans to Japan as slaves (Sangdo Choi [Ch’oe, Sang-do], “Placing and Displacing Martyrdom: Martyr-Making in the Protestant Church in Korea” (Ph.D. diss., University of Edinburgh, 2012), 63). In 1596, four years after the initial invasion, one Portuguese Jesuit, Luís Fróis (1532–1597), reported that some 300 of the Koreans taken back to Japan were being instructed by Jesuit missionaries in Nagasaki, many of them becoming enthusiastic converts in the process (Han and Rausch 2017, citing Dallet 1:283–84) and Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 8–9). In total, some 7,000 Koreans converted to the faith in Japan, nine of whom were later beatified and 11 of whom were made martyrs (Sangdo Choi 2012, 63; and Haboush 2016, 76-77, especially N. 7). One of the Korean converts, an aristocrat named Vincent Kwŏn (1581–1626) who came to the faith through the influence of Gen. Konishi’s wife Marie, later tried to return to Korea as a Jesuit missionary but was executed (Grayson 2002, 140; Griffis 1894, 122–23, 148; Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 5; and Han and Rausch 2017). Some sources have credited Gen. Konishi with shielding the Jesuit missionaries from persecution launched by the Japanese court (Longford 1911, 151; and Palmer 1967, 97)—at the behest of Hideyoshi (David H. James, The Rise and Fall of the Japanese Empire (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1951), 37). Gen. Konishi died a few years later in the decisive Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, which led to the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate; because Gen. Konishi’s faith forbade him from committing hara-kiri, he was instead decapitated (Griffis 1894, 146). Efforts to evangelize Korea continued after the Hideyoshi invasions. In the 1610s, Father Juan de Domingo, a Dominican missionary in the Philippines, tried to enter Korea twice (Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 9). A more durable channel of transmission came through China, where Matteo Ricci, the renowned Italian Jesuit missionary, met some Koreans upon first arriving in Peking in 1601, after which he added the Korean peninsula to a revision of his world map (David Chung 2001, 5, n. 10). In 1644, as the Manchus were sweeping aside the Ming dynasty in China, Chosŏn crown prince Sohyŏn (昭顯 1612–1645), the son of King Injo, in captivity in Peking, had met with a German Jesuit missionary named Johannes Adam Schall von Bell (1591–1666), who greatly interested the young heir in Catholicism. Alas, Sohyŏn died shortly after his return to Seoul under mysterious circumstances. For more details on the close bond between Schall and the crown prince, see Trollope, “An Old Map and Its Story,” Korea Magazine (1918), 386–96. After Sohyŏn’s death, the religious books that the crown prince had brought home were quickly sent back to Beijing, “due to the superstitious rumours that the prince’s death was caused by the books and people he brought from China” (Sangdo Choi 2012, 63). Despite the crown prince’s untimely death, writes Korean religion scholar David Chung, “Korean visitors to the capital city of China were often drawn to the strange men from the West…led by their own curiosity” (David Chung 2001, 5). It is unclear whether any of these early contacts led to any lasting spread of the faith within Korea, and by 1715, Catholic missionaries were expelled too from China, after the Qing emperor Kangxi objected to the Vatican’s opposition to Confucian ancestral rites. 
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had brought back books and crucifixes from Jesuit missionaries in the Qing Chinese capital

NoteMany of these first Catholic converts were members of the neo-Confucian school of practical learning known as sirhak (實學), which rejected the abstruse metaphysics of doctrine in favor of real-world pragmatism. Many of these sirhak scholars, out of favor with the mainstream neo-Confucianism of the day, were more inclined towards fresh ideas, like the Catholicism that was flowing into Qing China. While they were “ambitious and qualified people,” in the words of one scholar, they were “politically deprived” and therefore more willing to embrace the foreign faith (Palmer 1967, 44–45; and Westad 2021, 65). In 1784, one of these sirhak scholars, Yi Sŭng-hun (李承薰 1756–1801), traveling to Peking on the imperial mission, was baptized as Peter—embodying hopes that he might serve as the foundation stone of the church in Korea—and returned home bearing crucifixes, religious literature and sacred images (Grayson 2002, 142; Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 9; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 21). In 1789, another early believer, Yun Yu-il (尹有一1760–1795), baptismal name Paul, had traveled to Peking to seek guidance on basic theological questions, such as whether they could perform their own sacraments in the absence of any representative from the Vatican. By then, there were already roughly 1,000 Catholic believers in Korea, Yun reported to the bishop in Peking, who “told them to desist in their arrangements, but he issued no reprimand since it was understood that the Koreans were doing what they thought was right” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 25). One Portuguese priest, Jean dos Remedios, attempted, unsuccessfully, to enter Korea in 1791 (Griffis 1894, 353; and Nahm 1961, 48).  KOREA’S FIRST MARTYRS: The Chosŏn dynasty, which by 1791 had been in power for four centuries, was in no mood to tolerate the dangerous rival ideology. That year, in a bid to wipe out the new foreign faith, the Chosŏn court launched the first of a series of brutal persecutions. As in China, the clash in Korea came over the question of Confucian ancestral rites and when another early convert, Yun Chi-ch’ung (尹持忠1759-1791), baptismal name Paul, destroyed his family’s ancestral tablets, authorities deemed it a crime “one hundred times worse than rebellion” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 27). The significance of the protest from Yun and another early Catholic, Kwŏn Sang-yŏn (權尙然1750– or 1751–1791), baptismal name James, was, in the words of scholar Donald Baker, “more than just the first explicit call for religious freedom in Korea. It was the first time any group had explicitly stated that there were limits to the legitimate exercise of state authority” (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 57). Under torture, Yun refused to recant, declaring ancestor worship a sin against God, thus becoming one of the first Catholic martyrs in Korea. He was executed near Chŏnju’s P’ungnam Gate (豐南門 Kor. P’ungnam-mun), his family’s house destroyed, and his relatives banished or enslaved; any further refusals to honor ancestors was deemed to be tantamount to a profession of faith in Catholicism and was duly punished by the state. Far from squelching the faith, this first of Korea’s five great Catholic persecutions—the Sinhae Persecution of 1791 (辛亥迫害 Kor. Sinhae Pakhae)—lent the subversive foreign creed an aura of legitimacy; a towel soaked with Yun’s blood was smuggled to Peking as a holy relic and the execution ground turned into a secret pilgrimage site (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 27–28). Though some sources regard Yun as Korea’s first Christian martyr, at least one scholar, James Grayson, counts the first martyr as having been Kim Pŏm-u (金範禹 ?–1785, 1786, or 1787), who died under torture, though Grayson calls the cousins Paul Yun Chi-ch’ung and James Kwŏn “the first martyrs executed for belief in Catholicism” (Grayson 2002, 142–43; and Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 10).  “TOO DIZZY TO LOOK STRAIGHT AT IT”: To be sure, many of the Koreans who first encountered the Catholic faith during the annual tribute missions to Peking struggled to understand the teachings. One Korean scholar named An Chŏng-bok (安鼎福 1712–1791), encountering the faith, rejected it as useless; Jesus was concerned only with the hereafter and “tantalized people with promises of heaven if they did good and threatened people with hell if they did evil.” In contrast, An continued, “our Sages fostered a concern for what was best for everyone. Therein lies the difference” (as quoted in Franklin D. Rausch, “Dying for Heaven: Persecution, Martyrdom, and Family in the Early Korean Catholic Church,” in Charlotte Horlyck and Michael J. Pettid, eds., Death, Mourning, and the Afterlife in Korea: Ancient to Contemporary Times (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014), 213–36, here 218–19). Still, An came away with a certain admiration for Catholicism, which he noted “has been in China for a long time, and the rumor of it we have heard for many years.” An readily acknowledged that Western missionaries “surpass us…in their knowledge and understanding of the principles of nature…They can measure the heavens and reckon up the seasons; make all sorts of delicate instruments of wonderful precision; can make great guns that are able to shoot to the 9th heaven and overspan 80 li. Is this not wonderful? Whenever they enter a country they immediately learn its language and soon speak it” (“A Korean’s View of Christianity,” The Korea Magazine (June 1917), 262–68, here 263–64). Decades later, Kim Ro-san, an early nineteenth-century diplomatic envoy to Peking, came away with a far stronger initial reaction, having been taken aback upon entering the Orthodox church on the grounds of the Russian diplomatic office: “When opening the curtain and entering inside, I saw a dead man hanging on the opposite wall. Generally, on the wall, there is a cross-shaped wood panel on which a man is nailed at the head, legs, and arms. It looks like the punishment of tearing a person tied to a cart limb from limb, and the skin of the man is white. His skin, flesh, nails, and hair look alive and I cannot tell whether the naked body is real or not. Red blood pours out and drips down from the nailed parts of his body from head to foot, as if he were dead just a few moments ago and did not yet get cold; I felt too dizzy to look straight at it” (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 125; and Westad 2021, 67, citing Shin Ik-Cheol, “Perceptions of the West in Chŏson Travel Accounts: Chŏson Encounters with the ‘West’ in Beijing,” SOAS-AKS Working Papers in Korean Studies (London: SOAS, 2009), 12).
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in subsequent decades to the foreign faith, drawn to its creed of equality before God

Note SELF-EVANGELIZED: James Grayson calls the Korean church “self-evangelized from the beginning” (Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 9, 13; and Grayson 2002, 142). Another calls the beginnings of the Catholic Church in Korea “surely…one of the most singular stories in religious history” (Gari Ledyard, “Kollumba Kang Wansuk, an Early Catholic Activist and Martyr,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr. and Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2006), 38–71, 38). Others have referred to Catholicism’s “spontaneous birth” in Korea, “without direct evangelization” (David Chung 2001, 3). As Alexandre de Gouvea, the Portugal-born bishop of Peking at the time, wrote in an August 1798 letter, later published as De Statu christianismi in Regnum Coreae Mirabiliter Ingressi (“On the Status of Christianity Miraculously Entered into the Kingdom of Korea”), the introduction of Christianity to Korea in such a way was a “miracle” (as quoted in David Chung 2001, 4). These early converts embraced the faith on their own, “just as the Wise Men from the Orient after studying the ancient prophecies followed the star which led them to Bethlehem,” the French bishop Jean de Guébriant told Pope Pius XI in May 1924. “To them as well appeared a mysterious light which shone on the writings that had providentially fallen under their perusal” (as quoted in David Chung 2001, 3–4).  EQUALITY BEFORE GOD: As Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors put it: “It is clear that what attracted Koreans to Catholicism was above all its creed of equality, its tenet that the whole of humankind are alike the children of God. It must have been a moving experience for chungin and commoners to be able to number themselves among God’s children and worship Him on a basis of equality with the yangban. For women as well, Catholicism surely had a corresponding appeal” (Eckert et al. 1990, 183). University of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings makes the same point, arguing that Catholicism “attracted commoners above all by its creed of equality” (Cumings in Worden 2008, 24). 
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Yalu River into Korea; six years later, he was executed after his discovery by the Chosŏn court

NoteThree years after the first great persecution in the Sinhae year of 1791, the bishop in Beijing, Alexandre de Gouvea, responding to repeated entreaties from the Korean believers for a priest to lead them in the sacraments, sent a Chinese priest, the Suzhou-born Zhou Wenmo (周文謨 1752–1801 Kor. Chu Mun-mo), baptismal name Jacobus (also given as Jacques Tsiou and Jacques Vellozo), over the Yalu River in 1794. According to one scholar, Father Zhou tried for roughly 10 months to enter Korea along the long border, but didn’t succeed until December 23, 1794 (Nahm 1961, 48–49). In the end, Father Zhou was smuggled across the Yalu River into the northwestern Korean border city Ŭiju in the guise of a horse-handler and, traveling by night, arrived in Seoul in time to celebrate Easter Sunday Mass in April 1795; he stayed in the home of Kang Wan-suk (姜完淑 1761–1801), baptismal name Kollumba (sometimes rendered as Columba or Colombe), an aristocratic woman convert to Catholicism living in the Korean capital. Under the guidance of Father Zhou, the church grew to as many as 10,000 members by the beginning of the nineteenth century (Grayson 2002, 143; Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 10; Kevin N. Cawley, “Dangerous Women in the Early Catholic Church in Korea,” in David W. Kim, ed., Religious Transformation in Modern Asia: A Transnational Movement (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2015), 76–97, here 85–86, 92; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 28–30). For biographical sketches of Kollumba Kang, see Ledyard, “Kollumba Kang Wansuk,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 38–71; and Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 84–87.  “COME TO DIE WITH THEM”: Father Zhou, who became a priest later in life and didn’t arrive in Korea until he was 42 years old, struggled with the Korean language. Even so, he was able to set up an underground organization, the Society for Illuminating the Way (明道會 Kor. Myŏngdo-hoe), and worked with early convert Chŏng Yak-jong (丁若鍾 1760–1801), baptismal name Augustine, to compile a catechism, Essentials of Catholicism (主教要旨 Kor. Chugyo Yoji), which survived subsequent waves of persecution, growing in popularity through the nineteenth century and into the twentieth century (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 215–16, 221). Augustine Chŏng was tortured and executed during this 1801 persecution (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 218). In an unusual historical twist, Augustine Chŏng’s brother, Chŏng Yak-yong, would be extolled as a paragon of virtue by Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il as a model of Korean learning, urging the North Korean public to systematically study his writings (see Act III). Father Zhou commanded fierce loyalty from his Korean flock, who helped him flee, suffered torture rather than divulge his whereabouts and, in one case, even dressed up as Zhou to be arrested in his place; all told, he managed to evade detection for six years (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 221–22; and David Chung 2001, 6). After having been shielded from arrest for some time by his parishioners, including the female convert Kollumba Kang, Father Zhou finally surrendered himself, declaring: “I, too, am a Catholic. I have heard now that the Chosŏn government has issued strict orders outlawing Catholicism. A lot of innocent people have been killed because of this. My staying alive will not help them at all. Therefore I have come to die with them” (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 222, citing Dallet, Han’guk Ch’ŏnjugyohoesa, 1:477–478 ((CLEAN UP)); and Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 85–86). Some sources say the Chosŏn court killed 100 or more Catholics in a quest to capture Father Zhou, though one American scholar has only found detailed information for eight such executed believers (Franklin D. Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts: Justifying Violence Against Catholics in Late Chosŏn Korea,” Acta Koreana 15, no. 1 (June 2012), 43–71, here 46–47).   BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS: Kollumba Kang and along another early Korean Catholic woman convert, Yi Sun-i (李順伊1779-1802), baptismal name Ludgarda or Luthgarde, were also executed during this persecution (Ledyard, “Kollumba Kang Wansuk,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 57–60; and Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 87). Two of Ludgarda Yi’s pre-execution letters have survived (Deberniere Janet Torrey, “Transcendence and Anxiety in the Prison Letters of Catholic Martyr Yi Suni Ludgarda (1779–1802),” Religion & Literature 47, no. 3 (Autumn 2015), 25–55; and Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 87–92). Father Zhou, along with Kollumba Kang, Ludgarda Yi, Paul Yun Chi-ch’ung, and more than 100 other martyrs, were beatified by Pope Francis during a visit to South Korea in August 2014 (Jonathan Cheng, “Korea’s Self-Made Christians Get Their Moment,” Wall Street Journal, August 14, 2014; and Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 94). Some sources describe a second Chinese priest, Father Liu Fang-ji (柳方濟 1795–1854 Kor. Yu Pang-je), baptismal name Pacificus, as having entered Korea in 1833, though he left in 1836 “in disgrace” (Andrew Finch, “The Pursuit of Martyrdom in the Catholic Church in Korea Before 1866,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 60, no. 1 (January 2009), 95–118, here 99).
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priest, ordained in Shanghai, was likewise put to death by Chosŏn authorities in 1846

NoteThe priest, Kim Tae-gŏn (金大建 1821–1846), baptismal name Andrew, was a second-generation believer whose own father was executed for his belief in the foreign faith. Andrew Kim was baptized in his teenage years and traveled to the Portuguese colony of Macau, where he received seminary training. After studying in the Philippines, Andrew Kim was ordained in Shanghai by a French Catholic bishop, Jean-Joseph-Jean-Baptiste Ferréol, and returned to his home country to become the country’s first native-born priest. But two years later in 1846, Andrew Kim, too, was executed. Kim was canonized by Pope John Paul II during a papal visit to Seoul in 1984, and is now the patron saint of Korea.
p.26

had launched seven major persecutions against Catholicism, executing thousands of converts

NoteHistorians differ on enumerating the major persecutions, though the first six referred to here, each named for the year in which the persecutions took place, are the Sinhae Persecution of 1791 (辛亥迫害 Kor. Sinhae Pakhae), the Sinyu Persecution of 1801 (辛酉迫害 Kor. Sinyu Pakhae), the Ŭlhae Persecution of 1815 (乙亥迫害 Kor. Ŭlhae Pakhae), the Chŏnghae Persecution of 1827 (丁亥迫害 Kor. Chŏnghae Pakhae), the Kihae Persecution of 1839 (己亥迫害 Kor. Kihae Pakhae), and the Pyŏng’o Persecution of 1846 (丙午迫害 Kor. Pyŏng’o Pakhae). This was followed by the final and largest persecution of all, the Pyŏng’in Persecution of 1866 (丙寅迫害 Kor. Pyŏng’in Pakhae).  A SECOND PERSECUTION: The 1801 Sinyu Persecution began with the execution of Father Zhou by the Chosŏn court. News of Father Zhou’s execution prompted an early Korean convert to Catholicism named Hwang Sa-yŏng (黃嗣永 1775–1801), baptismal name Alexius, to write a secret letter on a sheet of silk that could be rolled into a robe calling for Rome to send military troops to Korea to enforce freedom of religion. “The Holy Doctrine is proclaimed all over the world and all peoples of the world sing praises for the holy virtues of Catholicism and emulate each other to promote the work of sanctifying the world. As for the miserable beings of this land, there is no doubt that we are also the children of the Lord on High. Only because of the geographical situation of the land in the far corner, unfortunately, we became the latest hearers of the doctrines,” Hwang wrote in his “silk letter” (帛書 Kor. paeksŏ) to Rome, lamenting Father Zhou’s execution and calling for a Western armada to force the Chosŏn court to allow Catholicism (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 222–23). “The persecution of this year was beyond our thought in the day and dream in the night. If these extremity persists we are afraid that the blessed name of Jesus may be erased from this eastern land forever.” Hwang’s letter was meant to be carried secretly to Alexandre de Gouvea, the Catholic bishop in Beijing, but was discovered by the Korean authorities; Hwang was convicted of “great sedition and depravity” and given the gravest sentence possible—death by slicing, which was carried out just outside Seoul’s city walls (Grayson 2002, 143; Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 49; Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 219–20; Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 35; and David Chung 2001, 7–9). The execution ground is now memorialized in a park, Sŏsomun Park (西小門公園 Kor. Sŏsomun Kong’wŏn), surrounded by high-rise towers in central Seoul. At roughly the same time, several Catholic believers, led by Yu Hang-gŏm (聊恆儉1756–1801), baptismal name Augustine, reached out to the Portuguese king in hopes of winning more freedoms for Korean Catholics (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 34). The Sinyu Persecution was ordered by Queen Chŏngsun (貞純王后 Kor. Chŏngsun Wanghu), who served as regent to the 10-year-old King Sunjo (純祖王), who ascended to the throne upon the death of his father in 1800 (Grayson 2002, 143; and Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 10). For more on the debate at court in 1801, during which one official argued successfully that capital punishment was the only proper response to the foreign creed, see Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 218–19. William Carles, the nineteenth-century British diplomat to China and Korea, visiting Ŭiju and the Korean cities on the south side of the Yalu River nearly a century later, remarked on how much death could have been avoided if the Catholic missionaries had avoided Ŭiju altogether. “We wondered why the guides, who risked death in introducing the missionaries into Corea, did not take them to some point on the river high above Wi-ju, where a fishing-boat could have brought them over without attracting attention” (Carles 1888, 200). Scholar James Grayson calls the Sinyu persecution “a watershed in Korean Catholic history, marking the end of the scholarly church of the aristocracy and the beginning of the persecuted underground church of the people” (Grayson 2002, 143–44). The Chosŏn court wrote to the Chinese emperor in Peking to describe how the Catholics had used the chaos around the death of the Korean king and the establishment of a regency to spread their faith “like a flood or raging fire” (Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 50).   A THIRD AND FOURTH PERSECUTION: After the first two major persecutions of Catholics, the two smaller ones that followed in 1815 and 1827, far from suppressing the faith, only spurred on more church growth. Korea became a vicariate apostolic of the Société des Missions Étrangères de Paris (Paris Foreign Missions Society) in 1831, and it sent several missionaries into the country shortly thereafter, often under daring circumstances (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 99; and Han and Rausch 2017).  IN FUNERAL GARB: In 1836, a French priest, Pierre Philibert Maubant, accompanied by five Korean Christians, crossed the Yalu River on ice before crawling on their hands and knees through a sewer-drain into the city of Ŭiju. The next winter, another priest, Jacques Honoré Chastan, followed dressed as a Korean mourner (Brown 1919, 494). Many Catholic priests would enter Korea in exactly this fashion. “Anyone can wear this disguise, so complete is it. An enormous hat made of bamboo slips…, a horsehair net or cincture to keep up the hair…, a coarse cap underneath the hat…, a lap or veil over the face…, &c., &c., form such an admirable disguise that discovery from glances by bystanders is rendered next to impossible,” said Robert J. Thomas, the pioneering Welsh missionary, writing shortly before his death in 1866 (as quoted in Neff, Robert, ed., “Robert Thomas’s First Trip to Korea,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 88 (2013), 153–77, here 164). For more on how Catholic priests could use Korean mourning garments to sneak into the country, see “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 316–17. As late as 1880, French missionaries continued to have to sneak into Korea. Bishop Gustav Charles-Marie Mutel (1854–1933), was originally sent to Korea in 1877, but wasn’t actually able to get into the country until three years later in 1880, when he snuck into Korea, following three years in Manchuria studying the language and researching the deaths of early Korean Catholic converts, with the aim of preparing them for beatification. After being summoned back to France in 1885, he returned to Korea in 1891, where he was given a lavish welcome by Korean Catholics; he spent the remaining four decades of his life in Korea (Franklin D. Rausch, “The Bishop’s Dilemma: Gustave Mutel and the Catholic Church in Korea, 1890-1910,” Journal of Korean Religions Vol. 4, No. 1 (April 2013), 43–69, here 45–46). In Korea, these French Catholic missionaries found a vibrant community of believers, the persecutions apparently having had the effect of energizing the subversive creed; by 1838, the missionaries tallied up roughly 9,000 converts, accounting for approximately one in every thousand Koreans (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 38).  A FIFTH PERSECUTION: In 1839, the Korean court launched another major persecution in which whole families of Catholics were arrested and executed together, arguing that Christ’s execution as a criminal and that the faith’s acceptance by women and commoners made it a kind of fanaticism. That year, one Catholic convert, Chŏng Ha-sang (丁夏祥1795–1839), baptismal name Paul, himself the son of a believer who was killed in the 1801 persecution, argued in a defense of the Catholic faith that the Ten Commandments were superior to Confucius’ teaching since they dealt not just with outward conduct but with the state of the human heart (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 40–41). This Kihae Persecution took direct aim at the person of Jesus, questioning whether he was a demonic spirit and ridiculing the idea that his death on the cross could bring blessing (Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 56–57). For the full text of the Chosŏn court’s edict against Christianity in 1839, which expressed revulsion at how “Jesus died a most terrible death…they regard his terrible death as a source of joy,” see “Korean Edict Against Christianity,” The Korea Magazine (November 1917), 488–95, especially 494. It was after the Kihae Persecution of 1839, when some 117 converts were executed or died in prison and three French missionaries were beheaded in Seoul, that, as one scholar writes, that “the Church entered a second period of sustained growth” (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 99, 104; and Westad 2021, 72).
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killings only appeared to strengthen the foreign teaching and drive it deeper underground

NoteTrying to suppress Catholicism, declared one noted Confucian scholar, “is like hitting ashes with a club. The more you strike, the more they rise up. Though the King wants to put a stop to it, in the end, there is nothing that can be done.” The scholar, Yi Ka-hwan (李家煥 1742–1801), had many family members convert to Catholicism, and he himself came to embrace aspects of the foreign faith before later renouncing it (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 213). Alas, his abandoning the faith didn’t spare Yi his life, and he was executed as a Catholic anyway during the 1801 suppression (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 219). As Franklin Rausch writes, Yi’s remark highlighted how, “despite numerous government persecutions in which Catholics were tortured and killed, this religious community continued to rebuild itself” (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 213). According to historian Donald Baker, there were some six thousand Catholics in Korea in 1836, growing to twelve thousand by 1854 and to 23,000 in 1865, despite successive rounds of persecution (Donald Baker [Baker, Donald L.], “Sibling Rivalry in Twentieth-Century Korea: Comparative Growth Rates of Catholic and Protestant Communities,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr., and Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), 283–308, here 288). By 1855, Korea’s Catholics tallied some 13,638 converts, and by 1884, the arrival of the first Protestant missionaries in Korea, there were some 17,577 Korean converts to Catholicism (Sherwood Hall 1978, 73, 76). In 1882, about six years after the end of the last and greatest persecution, there were 12,500 Catholic believers in Korea, according to another source (Grayson in Buswell and Lee 2006, 12). [[STATS]]  “A CULT OF MARTYRS”: As scholar Andrew Finch writes, “the first century of the Catholic Church in Korea was characterised by recurrent and often severe persecutions,” which allowed “a cult of martyrs” to be developed from the very beginning of the church’s history in Korea. An awareness of the execution of earlier Korean Catholics “clearly existed, and these sacrifices stood as examples for others to emulate, and provided hope and encouragement to those facing torture and possible execution,” this scholar writes, calling “recurrent and often severe persecution…one of the defining features” of the early history of the Catholic church in Korea (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 95, 100, 111). Martyrdom had become so deeply woven into the experience of the early Korean Catholic church that, within a few years, believers came to accept if not welcome torture and martyrdom, with even official Chosŏn court records remarking “on the equanimity and willingness with which Christians could face the prospect of imprisonment, torture and death” (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 100). Franklin Rausch of Lander University in South Carolina writes of how the Chosŏn court actively portrayed Catholic converts as akin to “birds and beasts,” the better to portray them as “dangerous beasts needing to be slaughtered” (Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 44). In April 1839, the Queen Regent, known posthumously as Sunwŏn (純元 1789–1857), remarked that the Catholic converts “regard death as a glory: savages and animals never come to such a thing” (as quoted in Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 100). As Finch writes, no fewer than 21 of the martyrs of the Kihae Persecution of 1839 had family members either exiled or executed in earlier persecutions, principally the Sinyu Persecution of 1801 (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 111). Finch argues that a wide awareness of the high likelihood of martyrdom, far from serving as a deterrent to prospective Catholic converts, may actually have been a draw: “The sacrifice and stigma involved in church membership actually strengthened group solidarity by mitigating the ‘free-rider ’problem, creating a strong organisation with a highly committed membership” (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 115).
p.27

royal line that stretched back to the founding of the Chosŏn dynasty in the fourteenth century

Note The sudden death of King Ch’ŏljong (哲宗王 1831–1864 r. 1849–1864) was, in the words of William Griffis, “the signal for fresh palace intrigues” (Griffis 1894, 373). See also Hulbert 1906, 114. Ch’ŏljong had been a 19-year-old “farmer and remote relative of the royal family” when he was catapulted onto the throne upon the death of the previous monarch, King Hŏnjong (憲宗王 r. 1834–1849), who didn’t appoint an heir; Ch’ŏljong, “untrained for court life and unaccustomed to luxury…drank himself to death” (Jorgensen 2018, 169). One French Catholic missionary to Korea, Bishop Siméon-François Berneux, wrote of King Ch’ŏljong’s death: “As almost all the kings of this country die, in consequence of the excesses of a licentious life; no one has bemourned him” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 320, quoting Vie de Berneux, p. 327).  
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of the royal family was chosen as the next king, taking the name Kojong upon his accession

Note For a biography of King Kojong, especially his childhood years, see “His Majesty, the King of Korea,” Korean Repository 3 (November 1896), 423–30. King Kojong (高宗王 r. 1864–1907) was born Yi Myŏng-bok (李命福 1852–1919). Though he was only a distant relation of King Ch’ŏljong, he was a direct descendant of King Yŏngjo (英祖王 r. 1724–1776). He was flying his kite in his father’s compound when he received the summons calling him to take the throne, according to a missionary-penned obituary published shortly after his death (“The Late Prince Yi,” The Korea Magazine (February 1919), 50–52, here 50). The accession was far from auspicious. “When the boy King assumed the throne, the rule of Korea passed from one group of scheming and selfish courtiers to another, the ignorant, reckless, and ambitious regent prince and his immediate family,” as one Korean American political scientist put it later (Channing Liem [Im, Ch’ang-yŏng], America’s Finest Gift to Korea: The Life of Philip Jaisohn (New York: William-Frederick Press, 1952), 10). 
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—and he wasn’t shy about exercising the privileges that came with his son’s royal mandate

Note The Prince Regent was born Yi Ha-ŭng (李昰應 1820–1898), and was 44 years old when he gained effective control of the kingdom. The title “Prince Regent” (大院君 Kor. Taewŏn’gun) wasn’t unique to Yi Ha-ŭng, but he is so closely associated with the title that he has become virtually synonymous with the term in Korean history, akin somewhat to his contemporary in China, the Empress Dowager Cixi (慈禧皇太后 1835–1908 Ch. Cixi Huangtaihou). In South Korea today, this particular Prince Regent is typically referred to by historians as the Hŭngsŏn Prince Regent (興宣大院君 Kor. Hŭngsŏn Taewŏn’gun).
p.27

man of iron will—“perhaps the last really strong man to appear on the stage of Korean politics” 

Note “His main characteristic was an indomitable will, which took the bit in its teeth and swept on to the goal of its desire irrespective of every obstacle, whether of morals, economics, politics or consanguinity,” the missionary Homer Hulbert added (Hulbert 1906, 114). Though Hulbert anointed the Prince Regent “the last really strong man” in Korean politics, subsequent events in the twentieth century would see many more “strong men” take the stage. 
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put it, his rule was one of “ruthless slaughter,” sparing not even members of his own family

Note Missionary Edwin Wade Koons (1880–1947) attributes the first quote to an unnamed “Korean writer,” while also noting, in a paraphrase of the Homer Hulbert quote in the previous sentence: “A foreign writer calls him the last strong man in Korean History” (E. W. Koons [Koons, Edwin Wade], “Notes on a Half-Century of Korean History,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 4 (April 1919), 76). The “bowels of iron” quote also appears in “His Majesty, the King of Korea,” Korean Repository (1896), 425; and Brown 1919, 28. The “ruthless slaughter” quote is from Brown 1919, 28. The iron bowels and stone heart were stored in a compact but imposing frame, as the missionary George H. Jones, who met him shortly before his death, later described him: “About five feet six inches in height he impressed the beholder as a man of more than ordinary power and looked a leader of men” (Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George Heber], “The Taiwon Kun,” Korean Repository 5 (July 1898), 241–50, here 241). Also cited in Frederick McKenzie 1908, 13. This murderous tendency would not have made the Prince Regent unique in the annals of Chinese and Korean history, where for centuries bloody scheming among regents, dowagers, crown princes and usurpers was de rigueur—though there is little question that the Prince Regent was an able practitioner of royal intrigue. For a description of the Prince Regent’s execution of his son, see Brown 1919, 28. For the attempt on the life of his daughter-in-law and her family, see Act I, Chapter 3. 
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seeking to solidify his still tenuous influence, closed Confucian schools and destroyed shrines

Note The Prince Regent shut down hundreds of Confucian academies across the country, regarding them as a potential threat to his power (Grayson 2002, 136; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 45).
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superstitious regent that the blood of ten thousand people would be required to secure his rule

Note In addition to Catholicism’s status as a heterodox teaching that officially ran afoul of the kingdom’s Confucian principles, few would miss or speak up for the Catholics, making them a ripe target for the Prince Regent, writes William Sands, a U.S. diplomat in Seoul from 1897 to 1904 (Sands 1931, 147–48). This was a surprising move despite the Prince Regent’s staunch conservativism, since Catholicism had managed to take root even within his own household. According to the Journal of the Martyrs (致命日記 Kor. Ch’imyŏng Ilgi), published in 1895 under the guidance of French Catholic missionary Bishop Gustav Charles-Marie Mutel (1854–1933), documenting the history of the martyrs of this extermination campaign, the Prince Regent’s wife, his servant, and his son’s wet nurse were all said to have been Catholic converts, with the latter two not spared from the bloodshed (Kim Chong-hak, Hŭngsŏn Taewŏn’gun P’yŏngjŏn: Kŭndae Ihaeng-gi Chosŏn Chŏngch’i-sa ŭi Imyŏn [A Critical Biography of the Hŭngsŏn Taewŏn’gun: The Hidden Side of the Late Chosŏn Dynasty’s Political History During the Transition to Modernity] (n.p.: Sŏn’in, 2021), 81–87). Bishop Siméon-François Berneux, a French Catholic missionary to Korea, similarly wrote that the Prince Regent’s wife, the mother of King Kojong, “has knowledge of religion. She has learnt a part of the catechism, recites some prayers every day, and has caused me to be asked for masses of thanksgiving for the accession of her son to the throne.” Even so, Berneux cautioned, “I doubt her becoming a Christian. The Queen Regent belongs to the Tcho family, famous in Corea for its hatred of the Christians” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 320, quoting Vie de Berneux, p. 327). For more on the Prince Regent’s wife and her relationship with Catholicism, see Nahm 1961, 3. In addition to his mother, the young King Kojong’s wet nurse was a Catholic whose baptismal name was Martha Pak (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 45). One distant member of the ruling Yi clan, Yi Yun-ha (李潤夏 1757?–1793), baptismal name Matthew, converted to Catholicism in 1791 and brought his whole family into the faith as well (Rausch in Horlyck and Pettid 2014, 223). Another member of the royal family was accused of having helped smuggle the Chinese priest Father Zhou Wenmo into Korea, while one senior official, Ch’ae Che-gong, was said to have aided the Catholics (Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 53). 
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torture and execution of nine French missionaries—far surpassed that of any of its antecedents 

Note NO-FATHER-NO-KING: Historians call the 1866 wave of Catholic killings “the Great Persecution,” an attempt, writes one historian, “to eradicate once and for all the pernicious influences of Western culture as symbolized by the strange Catholic doctrine” (Grayson 2002, 146). Scholar Andrew Finch, in conducting a study of martyrdom in the early Korean Catholic church, describes the Great Persecution of 1866 as being in a category all its own, unlike any of the ones that preceded it. In earlier waves of Catholic persecutions, Finch writes, “the simple fact of being a Christian did not necessarily bring a martyr’s crown.” Not so in 1866, where “the wholesale and indiscriminate bloodletting of the period sets it apart in scale and character from the preceding persecutions” (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 101–2). For the Prince Regent, “the man with ‘the bowels of iron and the heart of stone’ was content with no half-measures. A merciless war of extirpation was waged against the heretical sect,” wrote the British statesman and traveler Lord Curzon (Curzon 1896, 184). See also Timothy Lee 2010, 5. The derision of Catholicism as a “no-father-no-king” (無父無君 Kor. mubu mugun) creed is from Oak 2013, 20. Indeed, the view that “the Christians were apparently advocating the subversion of basic Confucian principles of social order” was the heart of the issue for Chosŏn Korea, making Catholics’ refusal to perform the Confucian rites “an act tantamount to treason,” in the words of one scholar (Sherwood Hall 1978, 71–72; and Timothy Lee 2010, 4). Catholicism’s spread across the Confucian countries of East Asia forced the Vatican to consider whether ancestral worship rituals were a civic or a religious rite. If the latter, the rite couldn’t coexist alongside worship of the Christian God. The Jesuits, who entered China with a commitment to what is nowadays referred to as “cultural sensitivity,” sought to find common ground with the Qing court, regarding the ancestral rites as civic in nature. It was the arrival of the more uncompromising Dominicans and Franciscans that forced the issue (Robert Jay Lifton, Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism: A Study of “Brainwashing” in China (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1989; originally published New York: W. W. Norton, 1961), 231–33). In November 1704, Pope Clement XI (1649–1721) issued a decree effectively forbidding Confucian ancestral rites by Catholic converts—thus putting Chinese and Korean converts to Christianity in the position of having to reject their Confucian upbringings and state ideologies. “Not until 1939, 235 years after the initial decree, did Rome finally reverse its decision” (Lifton 1989, 233). One of the first acts that led the Qing court to take on Hong Xiuquan, the leader of the Taiping Rebellion that nearly took down the dynasty, was Hong and his followers’ destruction of Confucian ancestral tablets (Spence 1996, 68). In Seoul, the Prince Regent, looking to China, would only have found little reason to deviate from the example set in Peking. The Taiping Rebellion was but one of “a wave of rebellions…all inspired by religious visions,” and the various Christian and Muslim uprisings in China during this period “proved the nefariousness of Western religions and convinced many Koreans that missionaries and converts were the advance troops of foreign-made confusion,” writes Yale historian Odd Arne Westad (Westad 2021, 71–72).  A FATEFUL SNUB: Interestingly, in addition to the Prince Regent’s own familial ties to Catholic inquirers and converts, there are signs that the Prince Regent himself had once been receptive to opening Korea to the foreign creed. Bishop—and later Saint—Siméon-François Berneux, the French Catholic missionary executed during the 1866 persecution, recounted how the Prince Regent’s posture towards Catholicism went from openness to opposition in 1865. Late that year, when Russian ships began seeking trade with Korea, the Prince Regent reached out to Bishop Berneux with a deal in mind: “If I could get rid of these foreigners for him he would grant us religious liberty.” Bishop Berneux, however, told the Prince Regent that, “notwithstanding all my desire to be of service to the king, being neither of the same nation nor of the same religion with the Russians, I could have no influence whatever over them” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 321, quoting Vie de Berneux, p. 327). See also Kim Chong-hak, Hŭngsŏn Taewŏn’gun P’yŏngjŏn: Kŭndae Ihaeng-gi Chosŏn Chŏngch’i-sa ŭi Imyŏn [A Critical Biography of the Hŭngsŏn Taewŏn’gun: The Hidden Side of the Late Chosŏn Dynasty’s Political History During the Transition to Modernity] (n.p.: Sŏn’in, 2021), 81–87. Whether it was this snub or some other reason, in the following weeks, the Prince Regent’s attitude toward Catholicism had changed dramatically. On February 23, 1866, Bishop Berneux was arrested and tried three days later by the Prince Regent himself. He was dragged to the banks of the Han River, stripped and executed, along with eight other French missionaries (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 321–23). Of the three remaining French missionaries still in Korea, one of them, Father Félix-Claire Ridel, managed to cross the Yellow Sea “on board a diminutive and leaky junk, manned by eleven native converts,” before reaching Yantai (known then as Chefoo) on July 7, 1866. Upon reporting on the incident to the French naval commander in Tianjin, Adm. Pierre-Gustave Roze (1812–1883), the French consul in Beijing complained to the Qing court and then ordered a punitive expedition against Korea (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 323–24). Father Ridel, prior to his flight from Korea, had handwritten a plea for help in French, delivered by hand by Korean Catholic converts to Ernst Oppert, the German-Jewish adventurer who had landed on Korea’s western coast that year on the second of his three voyages to the country (Oppert 1880, 220–25). Some historians say that the Prince Regent’s conservative counselors pushed him towards the 1866 persecution (Eckert et al. 1990, 195). During a visit to South Korea in May 1984, Pope John Paul II (1920–2005) canonized 103 Korean martyrs, including many victims of the 1866 persecution, in the largest-ever canonization ceremony and the first one ever to be held outside of Rome (Grayson 2002, 175). For more on Saint Berneux, see Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George Heber], “Simeon François Berneux, Bishop and Martyr,” Korean Repository 5 (March 1898), 81–91.   A BLOODY LEGACY: For the Prince Regent, his legacy will forever be entwined with the 1866 persecution of Catholics. The Methodist missionary George H. Jones, writing shortly after the Prince Regent’s death in February 1898, wrote that his legacy “has been blighted by the massacre of the Roman Catholic Christians. His memory cannot be exonerated from the guilt of that terrible crime. A man of blood he was, and the story of the wholesale murder of innocent men, women and children is a tale of the blackest heathenism. It is said he afterwards regretted it. We hope he did for the story still rings with the cries of slaughtered babes and the anguished lament of brutally murdered maidens. It was the greatest blunder of his life and no adequate explanation has been offered of the reasons for engaging in it” (Jones, “The Taiwon Kun,” Korean Repository (1898), 246). 
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others trade; some pursued an opening for the Christian gospel, while others came to plunder

Note “A giant wave of commercial and territorial expansionism, intensifying the international struggle for power, struck at the walls of isolationism and seclusionism in the Far East,” scholar Andrew Nahm wrote in 1961, looking back at this period. “It was, therefore, an idle fancy for Korea to believe that it alone could remain undisturbed by forces which had brought both China and Japan to heel” (Nahm 1961, 2). 
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Confederate surrender in Durham, North Carolina, effectively ending the American Civil War 

Note The General Sherman has been frequently conflated with the similarly named SS General Sherman, an ironclad schooner that had served as a blockade runner for the Union forces during the Civil War (for examples, see Philip Gourevitch, “Letter from Korea: Alone in the Dark,” The New Yorker, September 8, 2003, 55–75, here 55; and Robert S. Kim, Project Eagle: The American Christians of North Korea in World War II (Lincoln, Nebr.: Potomac Books, 2017), 4). It’s possible that the ships are one and the same. Robert Kim says that the General Sherman that sailed to Pyongyang had been captured and repurposed by the U.S. Navy after serving as a blockade runner for the Confederacy, before later being sold to a British firm in the Chinese port city of Tianjin (Robert S. Kim 2017, 4). Gen. William T. Sherman (1820–1891), a native of Ohio, was raised as a Catholic. 
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copies of the New Testament translated into Chinese—the written language of Korean scholars

Note Rev. Robert Jermain Thomas (1839–1866) was born in Rhayader, Wales on September 7, 1839—not September 7, 1840, as some sources have it—to a Congregationalist minister named Robert R. Thomas (1810–1884) (Oh, M. W. [O, Mun-hwan], “The Two Visits of the Rev. R. J. Thomas to Korea,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 22 (1933), 95–123, here 97–98; and Sangdo Choi 2012, 80). On June 4, 1863, the younger Rev. Thomas, just 23 years old, was ordained at his father’s church near Abergavenny, Wales, which was named—like the church that Samuel Moffett attended while attending college—Hanover Church (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 98–99). At least one source describes Rev. Thomas, incorrectly, as a Scotsman (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 10). One contemporaneous Korean report describes Rev. Thomas as having a “long face, yellow hair, black whiskers and mustache. Gray coat, felt hat, black and tweed trousers, black leather shoes,” with a pistol on one side and a sword on the other (as quoted in David Chung 2001, 47, an English translation of P’yŏng’an Kamsa Yi Yongsang Ch’igye [Report of Yi Yongsang, Governor of P’yŏng’an Province]). Another source described the young Rev. Thomas as “age 36, seven feet and five inches tall, yellow hair, black beard, grey clothes, felt hat, black shoes, a British subject”—though this description should be taken with a grain of salt (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 115–16). Rev. Thomas was also a natural linguist who could speak Russian like a native speaker, and who quickly picked up Chinese (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 100). Rev. Thomas initially went to China as a representative of the London Missionary Society of China, and the Congregational Church later described him as having “mastered nearly all the European languages before he left England,” part of his desire to be a missionary—“the grand purpose of his life” (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 107).  REV. THOMAS’ FIRST BIOGRAPHER: Much of what we know about Rev. Thomas comes from O Mun-hwan (M. W. Oh吳文煥 1903–1962), a Korean Presbyterian elder who, having heard of Rev. Thomas as a child from his grandfather, who remembered seeing Rev. Thomas decades earlier, made it his life’s mission to research Rev. Thomas’ contributions to Korean Christianity. Over the course of eight years between 1925 and 1933, O wrote more than 3,000 letters to Rev. Thomas’s family and friends and visited nearly 200 elderly people in western Korea who had met Rev. Thomas (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 97). In the process, O was later accused of puffing up some of Thomas’s accomplishments. O presented his findings on Rev. Thomas, who he called “the first, and so far the only, Protestant martyr in Korea,” in a presentation before the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society on May 6, 1932 (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 97–123). 
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interest in Korea after arriving in Chefoo, a Chinese port city facing Korea across the Yellow Sea

Note Rev. Robert J. Thomas married Caroline Godfrey in the summer of 1863; that same summer, he graduated and was ordained, and the newlyweds promptly departed for Shanghai in July 1863, arriving in December that year—just weeks before Samuel Moffett’s birth in Indiana—to start his career as a missionary. However, she died just months later in March 1864 to complications from childbirth (Sangdo Choi 2012, 80–81). Rev. Thomas, who was then twenty-four years old, abruptly moved to Chefoo (芝罘 Ch. Zhifu), a small fishing village just outside the walled city of Yantai (煙臺) on the Shandong peninsula. Chefoo was an ideal outpost for dealing with Korea; the British treaty port city, which became the site of a British consulate in 1861, faces the Korean peninsula across the Yellow Sea (Robert Nield, China’s Foreign Places: The Foreign Presence in China in the Treaty Port Era, 1840–1943 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2015), 51–52). In Chefoo, Rev. Thomas began working with a Scottish Presbyterian missionary, Rev. Alexander Williamson, a colleague with whom he was already exceptionally close. The two young missionaries had sailed together from England to Shanghai, and after the death of Thomas’s wife, Rev. Williamson urged him to direct his sorrow into missionary work; it was under these circumstances that Rev. Thomas was reappointed to the London Missionary Society in 1865 (Sangdo Choi 2012, 81; and Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 101). A slightly different chronology is offered by scholar Kang Wi-jo, who describes Thomas as leaving Scotland in July 1865 for Shanghai, and later transferring to Chefoo and then deciding to travel to Korea, arriving in Hwanghae province in September 1865—a very tight deadline for so much travel (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 10–11). One source describes Rev. Thomas as representing the National Bible Society of Scotland (Palmer 1967, 72–73).
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There, Thomas met two ginseng traders from Chosŏn who had converted to Catholicism

Note The London and China Telegraph, from which many of the details in this section are based, was published from the British capital three times a month and aimed to summarize the mail as it arrived from the Far East. The Robert Thomas letters were first identified, edited, and annotated by South Korea-based historian Robert Neff (see Neff, “First Trip to Korea” (2013), 153–77). Neff mistakenly refers to the newspaper as the London and China Telegram.  THE GINSENG TRADERS: In his articles, Rev. Thomas wrote that one of the Korean men, identified only as “Yang-ga,” had become a Catholic convert four decades earlier, while the other Korean, an educated man named “Kinga” who could write Chinese “with great ease,” had converted five years earlier (“The West Coast of Corea. (From a Correspondent at Peking.),” The London and China Telegraph 8, no. 210 (May 28, 1866), 283–85, here 283). O Mun-hwan names one of the two Korean men as Kim Cha-p’yŏng (金子平) (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 104), while another names the other man as Ch’oe Sŏn-il (see Sangdo Choi 2012, 81, n. 88). Some sources assert that Rev. Thomas met the two Koreans at the Chefoo home of Rev. Williamson (Harry A. Rhodes, ed., History of the Korea Mission, Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1884–1934 (Seoul: Chosen Mission Presbyterian Church U.S.A., 1934), 71; and Blair 1957, 13). O Mun-hwan gives a slightly different version of events, writing that, in Chefoo, Rev. Thomas had been working temporarily at a trading company while waiting for the London Missionary Society to approve his change of location, and had met the two Koreans before introducing them to Rev. Williamson, inviting them to afternoon tea at his friend’s house (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 101). American missionary-historian Harry A. Rhodes describes the two Korean men as salt smugglers, though it’s entirely possible that they were smuggling both salt and ginseng (Rhodes 1934, 71; and Baird 1968, 231).   A CATECHISM OF PURE KOREAN: The two men had with them a catechism written in pure vernacular Korean letters and helped Rev. Thomas learn enough of the language to communicate the gospel (“West Coast of Corea,” London and China Telegraph, May 28, 1866, 283). Even so, Thomas conceded, he could only understand about one-fourth of what the Koreans were saying, though that ratio improved when they started talking about Biblical events (“West Coast of Corea,” London and China Telegraph, May 28, 1866, 283). As the faith was driven ever deeper underground, its spread relied more and more on the written word. More often than not, Catholic texts were circulated in the easier-to-read vernacular, pure Korean letters, rather than in more complex literary Chinese characters (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 51, 53). For more on the vernacular Korean alphabet and its key role in the spread of Christian ideas and nationalistic feeling, see Act I, Chapter 8. 
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Chefoo in September 1865 on a nearly three-month trek along the coast of northwestern Korea

Note The two Korean ginseng smugglers had told Rev. Thomas that there were 11 Catholic missionaries in the Seoul area and the court no longer dared to persecute the believers for “the Christians were too numerous” (“The West Coast of Corea. (Continued from Our Last.),” The London and China Telegraph 8, no. 211 (June 6, 1866), 306–7, here 307). One Korean who Rev. Thomas met in Korea, named Pak San-dal, had become a Catholic a year before, and prostrated himself before the Welshman, thinking him a Catholic priest. “I immediately undeceived him,” Rev. Thomas wrote (“The West Coast of Corea. (Continued from Our Last.),” The London and China Telegraph 8, no. 212 (June 11, 1866), 325–27, here 326). During his three months in Hwanghae province (黃海道Kor. Hwanghae-do), Rev. Thomas likely spent some time in the village of Sorae, which today is recognized by many Korean Christians as a “cradle of Protestant Christianity in Korea” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 77–78).
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“very hostile to foreigners,” he succeeded only in convincing a few “to accept a book or two”

Note “As these books are taken at the risk of decapitation, or, at least, fines and imprisonment, it is quite fair to conclude that the possessors wish to read them,” Rev. Thomas wrote (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 102).
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“the Chinese in the arts. Is it worth while to open such a country? Poor, effete little country”

NoteThe full quote reads: “As immoral as the Japanese, without their bright intelligence, they walk and dress like people did in the Ming dynasty; are centuries behind the Chinese in the arts. Is it worth while to open such a country? Poor, effete little country” (“West Coast of Corea,” London and China Telegraph, May 28, 1866, 280). 
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that first encounter only whetted the young missionary’s appetite for another assay

NoteFollowing the trip, Thomas wrote the London Missionary Society: “I am well acquainted with the coast of the two western provinces of Corea and have made numerous vocabularies and dialogues in the colloquial of the capital, which will be useful in any future negotiations with that people” (Robert J. Thomas letter to Rev. Arthur Tidman (secretary of the London Missionary Society), January 12, 1866, Peking, as reproduced in Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 102–4). 
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undertaken against Korea’s Catholics, resulting in the execution of several French missionaries

Note For more on the execution of the French missionaries, see “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 318–25. It was also in January 1866 that Rev. Thomas heard back from the London Missionary Society, telling him that he had been accepted for reappointment, though as a missionary to China, not to Korea (Sangdo Choi 2012, 81–82). 
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and signed on to serve as an interpreter for a planned French investigatory expedition

NoteHenri de Bellonet, France’s chargé d’affaires to Beijing, called for an invasion of Korea to avenge the death of the French priests (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 324; and Min Kyoung-bae [Min, Kyŏng-bae], “National Identity in the History of the Korean Church,” trans. Yi Sun-ja, in Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], ed., Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Korean Scholar Press, 1996), 121–43, here 124).
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Thomas quickly agreed to join the crew of another Korea-bound ship, the General Sherman

Note William Griffis writes that Rev. Thomas had originally planned to travel to Korea on an expressly missionary voyage on behalf of the Scottish National Bible Society, but changed his plans when he learned of the General Sherman, joining the trip “against the advice of his friends, who suspected the character of the expedition” (Griffis 1894, 391, n. 2). With persecution raging in Korea, representatives of the London Missionary Society in Beijing similarly disapproved of Rev. Thomas’ decision to join the voyage to Korea. “But he was determined to go and did not consider the risks, thinking only of the chance thus offered to get an entrance for the Gospel into Korea” (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 113–14). Historian Robert Neff argues convincingly that Rev. Thomas’s eagerness to join the General Sherman may have been prompted by a sense of competition with Ernst Oppert, the German-Jewish businessman in Shanghai, who was seeking to open up trade in Korea on behalf of Jardine, Matheson & Co. (怡和洋行 Ch. Yihe Yanghang), the storied British trading house. Oppert had already made one unsuccessful trip to Korea for this purpose, and had headed out again in 1866 on an English steamer called the Emperor, which was off the coast of Korea when Rev. Thomas boarded the General Sherman (Neff, “First Trip to Korea” (2013), 176–77; and “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 328). Rev. Thomas’s experience may have been very different if he had sailed with the French, who, as William Griffis writes, entered East Asia’s two peninsular kingdoms—Indochina and Chosŏn—first as missionaries and then as would-be military conquerors, succeeding in securing a foothold in modern-day Vietnam and failing in Korea (Griffis 1885, 9).
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on July 29, 1866, loaded with cotton cloth, glass, tin-plate, and other goods for sale in Korea

Note Missionary-historian James Gale describes the ship as “a dark-colored foreign ship with many ropes hanging from its masts” (James S. Gale, “The Fate of the General Sherman,” Korean Repository 2 (July 1895), 252–54, here 252). The General Sherman was “freighted with an assortment of merchandise specially selected with an eye to Corean requirements” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 328). American Commodore Robert Wilson Shufeldt (1822–1895), who was sent to investigate the General Sherman incident and who played a key role in the eventual establishment of diplomatic ties between Korea and the U.S., described the ship as carrying “muskets, powder, and other articles which were contraband and had evidently sailed on a marauding expedition” (Henry G. Appenzeller, “The Opening of Korea: Admiral Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository 1 (February 1892), 57–62, here 58). One later left-leaning journalist, Australian Wilfred G. Burchett, wrote that the General Sherman’s American captain, Preston, told the Koreans: “Though our ship appears to be a warship, we entertain no ill designs. We are interested only in peaceful trade” (as quoted in Wilfred G. Burchett, Again Korea (New York: International Publishers, 1968), 168–69, footnote). Burchett doesn’t provide the source of his information. The British company to which the General Sherman was consigned to was called Messrs. Meadows & Co. It’s almost certain that the company belonged to John A. T. Meadows (1817–1875), a former British official in China who quit in frustration and “became a leading figure in the mercantile community in Tientsin,” according to the annotated diaries of the longtime British customs official in China, Robert Hart (1835–1911); Meadows was a self-described “freethinker” who married a local woman, steered clear of missionaries, and was generally skeptical of the Bible (see Katherine F. Bruner, John K. Fairbank, and Richard J. Smith, Entering China’s Service: Robert Hart’s Journals, 1854–1863 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1986), 39–40, 60, 127, especially n. 80 (footnote on 357). Meadows’ better-known older brother, Thomas T. Meadows (1815–1868), was the British consul in the northeastern Chinese city of Yingkou (營口), then known as Newchwang (牛莊), and had hosted Rev. Thomas during an earlier trip to Korea and through Manchuria in late 1865 (Thomas letter to Tidman, January 12, 1866, as reproduced in Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 102–4). Thomas Meadows had visited the Taiping capital of Nanjing in April 1853, bringing along Sir S. George Bonham (1803–1863), then the governor of Hong Kong, just weeks after Hong Xiuquan had conquered Nanjing and set up his base there (Teng, “Issachar Jacox Roberts” (1963), 59).
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pushed up the river to Man’gyŏngdae, a riverside village on the outskirts of Pyongyang 

Note William Griffis writes that the crew of the General Sherman brought aboard a Chinese junk captain who agreed to lead the foreign ship up the river. After two days, the junk captain bade the General Sherman farewell and returned to Chefoo, where he was questioned by Messrs. Meadows & Co. (Griffis 1894, 392) At least one source says that Rev. Thomas succeeded in handing out copies of the Christian scriptures to Koreans along the banks of the Taedong River during the approach to Pyongyang (Blair 1957, 14).  THE GATE OF THE HASTY DEATH: According to James Gale, the General Sherman first dropped anchor at a place known forebodingly as the Gate of the Hasty Death (急死門 Kor. Kŭpsa-mun), located on the border between P’yŏng’an and Hwanghae provinces, and sent a message to Pak Kyu-su (朴珪壽 1807–1877), the governor of the northwestern Korean province of P’yŏng’an, who warned him that any trade with foreigners would have to be conducted through the king in Seoul. Ignoring this, the General Sherman pushed on “and came up as far as Mangyungdă, a hill some twelve li from Pyeng Yang” (Gale, “Fate of the General Sherman” (1895), 252). “Mangyungdă” refers to Man’gyŏngdae (萬景臺), now celebrated by North Korea as the birthplace of Kim Il Sung. Samuel A. Moffett gives the backstory on the haunting name, the Gate of the Hasty Death, which traces its origins to the Kija founding myth. As he drifted down the Taedong River in the mid-1890s, Moffett’s boatmen rowed their oars to an entrancing song that, the Indiana missionary later learned, referenced Kija’s first approach to Pyongyang in 1122 BC. At the time, the legend went, Kija hastily executed two boatmen who had disregarded his orders to stop near the foot of Chŏngbang Mountain, where Kija hoped to establish his capital. When he found, in hindsight, that the boatmen’s hunch was correct about where to row, he was convulsed with sorrow for having killed the two boatmen, christening the entrance to the stretch of the Taedong River that reaches Pyongyang as “Gate of the Hasty Death” (急死門 Kor. Kŭpsa-mun). In the article where he recounts this tale, Moffett also credits Kija with laying out Pyongyang’s original street greed, in the shape of the Chinese character for a well (井 Kor. chŏng)—ironic given the lack of wells in the “boat city.” “The sites of the walls which surrounded the city are still distinctly seen and the streets are laid out today as they were 3000 years ago,” Moffett wrote (Samuel A. Moffett, “Legend of the Hasty Death Gate,” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 414–15). See also Charles F. Bernheisel, “Something About Kija (箕子),” The Korea Magazine (June 1918), 244–49.  A MIDNIGHT MEETING: At one point, O Mun-hwan recounts, Rev. Thomas, under cover of the night, met with nine residents of a small village, all of whom had converted to Catholicism and who had hoped that Rev. Thomas could help give them deliverance after the persecution aimed at French missionaries. Though Thomas tried to tell them that he was neither French nor Catholic, the Koreans continued to remain hopeful; instead, most of them were later executed for having interacted with the foreigner (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 116–19). It’s unclear if this village refers to Man’gyŏngdae or another village. At Man’gyŏngdae, O recounts, the villagers built a wall to protect themselves from the foreigners, and, with the local authorities warning against interacting with the foreigners, “the atmosphere between the natives and the supposed invaders was charged with electricity” (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 119).
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the Taedong’s notorious shifting tides and end up stranded on a mud flat not far from the city

Note This sequence of events is described by Pak Kyu-su, grandson of a famed Chosŏn dynasty scholar then serving as governor of P’yŏng’an province. For an English translation of P’yŏng’an Kamsa Pak Kyu-su Changgye [Report of Pak Kyu-su, Governor of P’yŏngan Province], see David Chung 2001, 44–46. See also Griffis 1894, 392–95; and Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 119.  THE KIDNAPPING: The kidnapping of the police captain, Yi Hyŏn-ik, took place on August 27, 1866 (Yang 1981, 12, citing Ching Young Choe, The Rule of Taewongun, pp. 110-112; and Sangdo Choi 2012, 120). Missionary-historian James Gale describes the official, who he identifies as an adjutant named Yi, boarding the ship several times, bearing a gift of flours and eggs and delivering a message informing the crew of the General Sherman that the officials would have to seek the king’s word before any decision was made. At some point, Gale writes, the crew of the General Sherman indeed took Yi prisoner, prompting a full-fledged battle (Gale, “Fate of the General Sherman” (1895), 252–53). Another account says that Rev. Thomas and the crew of the General Sherman had a friendly interaction with the governor of P’yŏng’an province after going ashore before reaching Pyongyang, but aroused alarm when they “detained” five Koreans while sailing onwards towards the ancient city. Two of the Koreans drowned while trying to get off the ship, according to this version (Blair 1957, 14).  RAM’S HORN ISLAND: For a time, it appears that the General Sherman anchored on Yanggak Island (羊角島 Kor. Yanggak-do), literally “Ram’s Horn Island” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi [Biography of Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik] (Pyongyang: Chosŏn Rodong-dang Ch’ulpan-sa, 2004), 8). Yanggak Island is the current site of one of Pyongyang’s best-known hotels, the Yanggakdo Hotel (羊角島國際호텔 Kor. Yanggak-do Kukje Hot’el), which has been popular with tourists since its opening in 1995. Otto Warmbier (1994–2017), an American university student and tourist to North Korea, was arrested during his stay at the Yanggakdo Hotel during the New Year’s Day holiday in 2016, and eventually died, sparking an international incident. For an English translation of Pak Kyu-su’s account of the General Sherman docking on the Yanggak Island, see David Chung 2001, 44–46.  THE TAEDONG FLOWS: British journalist Angus Hamilton wrote in 1904 of the Taedong River’s unusual ebbs and flows: “The formation of the Ta-dong inlet is irregular; many indentations, which mark the outline of the anchorage, become mud flats at low water” (Hamilton 1904, 185–86). In the case of the General Sherman’s fateful voyage, writes James Gale, heavy rains in the region had swollen the Taedong River to unusual heights and encouraged the General Sherman to surge ahead until they reached Yanggak Island, before the receding tide left the ship “hopelessly fast in the mud” (Gale, “Fate of the General Sherman” (1895), 252–53). The missionary editors of the Korean Repository, writing in 1897, noted that around Pyongyang, “the current is swift and there is great rise and fall of tides. The tides come up as far as Pyeng-yang. As a natural consequence the bottom of the river in many places is in a constant state of transition” (“The New Ports,” Korean Repository 4 (September 1897), 345–48, here 345). The notorious shifting tides was one major reason that, more than a century after the General Sherman incident, Kim Il Sung launched one of Korea’s grandest engineering projects, a dam that was completed in 1986 after five years of construction work, and which is now known colloquially as the West Sea Barrage (西海閘門 Kor. Sŏhae Kapmun).
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more numerous Koreans, who had set several boats alight and aimed them at the foreign ship

Note The five Westerners were three Americans—the ship’s owner Preston, who was aboard the ship “making a voyage for health”; the master, a Mr. Page; and the mate, a Mr. Wilson—and two Britons, a young Englishman named George Hogarth who served as the supercargo and Rev. Robert Thomas, the latter of whom joined, according to Griffis, “as a passenger to improve his knowledge of the [Korean] language” (Griffis 1894, 391; and “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 328). One source describes Mr. Page as a Dane (Yang 1981, 31, quoting Pow-key Sohn et al., The History of Korea, pp. 192-193). American Commodore Robert Shufeldt, following his investigation into the General Sherman incident, writes of “a Certain Captain Preston, who was well known as an adventurer and who was the only American citizen on board,” describing the crew as being otherwise composed of one Englishman and a crew that was entirely Chinese (Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 58). The main extant Korean record of the General Sherman incident, the Pyongyang Gazette (平壤志 Kor. P’yŏngyang-ji), describes Rev. Thomas as “the head (or leader) of the ship” (Sangdo Choi 2012, 82).  A TWO-WEEK-LONG SHOWDOWN: The showdown between the General Sherman and the locals lasted for two weeks, according to O Mun-hwan (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 120). As Pak Kyu-su, the provincial governor, put it later: “There has been no other vessel so insistent…As they were from a far-away land we expected that they could show us some courtesy and leave in peace…Yet they did not leave…There seems to be no other way now but to destroy them” (see David Chung 2001, 44–46). When the locals finally sent the burning pine boats towards the General Sherman, Rev. Thomas and other members of the crew jumped ashore, where “they were met by the soldiers ready to pierce them with their spears” (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 120).  FLAMING BRUSHWOOD: The plan to set boats alight and send them towards the General Sherman was executed by Pak Ch’ung-wŏn, a Korean “drill sergeant,” in the words of James Gale (Gale, “Fate of the General Sherman” (1895), 253–54). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie describes Pak’s move to send flaming brushwood towards the General Sherman as an idea that “made himself for ever famous.” According to McKenzie, the first set of burning boats did nothing and the second was pushed aside by the General Sherman’s crew, but the third one succeeded, leaving the crew “almost suffocated by the stench and vapour of the burning sulphur and saltpeter” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 7–8). More than a half-century later, memories of this incident remained vivid. Western missionaries, writing in June 1917, described how “there are Koreans still living in the city of Pyeng Yang opposite the point where the ill-fated ship was stranded who claim to have been eye witnesses to the tragedy. According to their testimony, rafts were loaded with brush wood, set on fire and launched on the river above the steamer. The receding tide carried them down upon the doomed ship” (“Admiral Shufeldt’s Visits to Korea,” The Korea Magazine (June 1917), 243–48, here 243–44). For another version of events, see Griffis 1894, 392–95. Griffis mentions one report that says the ship was set on fire, though he also mentions another that said that the crew were decapitated (Griffis 1894, 392). A modern retelling of the incident in the New Yorker adds other tantalizing details, albeit with unclear sourcing, telling of four days of fighting and finally the launching of burning barges by the Koreans, forcing the foreign intruders to jump into the river, whereupon they were dismembered and displayed as trophies (Gourevitch, “Alone in the Dark,” The New Yorker, September 8, 2003, 55–56).
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Chinese-language New Testament onto the shore before he, too, was captured and executed 

Note During the chaos, Rev. Thomas “kept on with his sacred task of distributing the Scriptures from the boat, for which purpose he had come, and which he thought he must accomplish by all means,” according to O Mun-hwan, who likely embellished some details in his quest to portray Rev. Thomas as a martyr. “He humbly knelt down before the soldier waiting for him, begged him to accept the Bible, and shut his eyes to pray. The soldier hesitated to execute him, but at last he had to do his duty, and so Mr. Thomas gave his life for the Gospel” (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 120). O, who describes the executioner as having been wracked with guilt afterwards, also names several men who claimed to have received the books distributed by Rev. Thomas, and to have become Christians because of it (see Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 97–123). Indeed, when Samuel Moffett first arrived in Pyongyang in the early 1890s, many locals said that the books his assistant Han Sŏk-jin was selling were the same as the ones that the foreigner—that is, Rev. Thomas—had brought decades earlier (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 121).  REV. THOMAS’S FINAL RESTING PLACE: Rev. Thomas’s remains are believed to be buried on Ssuk Island (쑥섬 Kor. Ssuk-sŏm), a small island in the Taedong River (Stella Price, God’s Collaborator: Kim Chin-kyung’s Story (London: Nafec, 2014), 101). O Mun-hwan gives the name of Ssuk Island as “Sook Syum” (蓬萊島 Ch. Penglai-dao) (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 121). For the establishment of a Christian-run university near the site of Rev. Thomas’ death in modern-day Pyongyang, see Act IV.  A MARTYR IS BORN: After his death, Rev. Thomas was extolled as a martyr and celebrated for decades afterwards by Korean Christians and Western missionaries to Korea, and remains a popular figure in the South Korean church today. One Western missionary, Floyd E. Hamilton, writing in 1927, described how “Thomas held out the Bible and urged the man to take it. The man refused, and Mr. Thomas kneeled on the sand, clasped his hands, closed his eyes and apparently prayed to God, for the soldier afterwards stated that his lips were moving though he could not understand what he said. Then opening his eyes, he smiled at the soldier and again urged him to take the book. The soldier, who had been trying to get up courage to kill the kneeling man, at last steeled his heart and killed him” (Floyd E. Hamilton, “The First Protestant Martyr in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 23, no. 9 (September 1927), 181–185, here 185; and Sangdo Choi 2012, 122). As theologian Rev. Eui Whan Kim wrote a century after the incident, Rev. Thomas was “cut to pieces, but not before he had given out some copies of the Bible. His efforts were not in vain in the long run, for through the reading of these Bibles in later years, several men were brought to Christ” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 40). Ch’oe Sang-do, a scholar focused on martyrdom in the Korean Protestant church, notes that Rev. Thomas’ death was not regarded as a martyrdom at least for the first three decades, and a committee led by Samuel Moffett in September 1912 never got around to the task of investigating Rev. Thomas’ death. It wasn’t, in fact, until O Mun-hwan in 1926 that Rev. Thomas was first reimagined as a martyr, writes Ch’oe (Sangdo Choi 2012, 125–26). O, a graduate of Pyongyang’s Presbyterian-run Sungsil Academy, was teaching at the Presbyterians’ girls’ school in Pyongyang at the time (Sangdo Choi 2012, 44). O may have been motivated in part by competition with the Korean Catholics, who could count hundreds of martyrs who had been killed for their faith by the time of the General Sherman’s expedition. In July 1925, the Vatican beatified the first Korean Catholic priest, Andrew Kim Tae-gŏn, which may have spurred O’s attempts to extol Rev. Thomas (Sangdo Choi 2012, 128). Separately in 1925, the colonial Japanese government in Korea established its main Shintō shrine in Seoul, ramping up pressure on the Korean Protestant church, again giving Protestant church leaders another reason to seek to bolster the morale of their flock (Sangdo Choi 2012, 128–29). For more on the Japanese Shintō shrine controversy, see Act II, Chapter 21. In 1926, Rev. Thomas was “tentatively designated” as a martyr by the Protestant church and formally elevated in 1984, during celebrations to mark the centennial of Protestantism’s arrival in Korea (Sangdo Choi 2012, iii). The designation of Rev. Thomas as a martyr that year—as Pope John Paul II came to Seoul to canonize 103 Catholic martyrs—was driven “less, it seems, to express faith but rather to compete with Roman Catholicism” (Sangdo Choi 2012, 5).  DOUBTING THOMAS: Scholar Ch’oe Sang-do, in his University of Edinburgh doctoral dissertation on the topic of Korean Protestant martyrdom, is skeptical about claims that Rev. Thomas was a martyr—that is, someone killed for practicing his faith. Ch’oe writes that “his death was the result of the clash between the military of the Chosun government and an American armed trading vessel. It did not result from any religious deeds, such as the distribution of Bibles, against political authority. He was killed as a foreigner, perhaps as a trader, sailor or invader, but not as a missionary” (Sangdo Choi 2012, 82–83). In fact, Ch’oe goes so far as to argue that Rev. Thomas was killed as “a consequence of his activities as the leader of invaders” (Sangdo Choi 2012, 126). L. George Paik (Paek Nak-jun 白樂濬 1895–1985), a pioneering historian of Korea’s Protestant church, similarly described O’s account as “highly eulogistical,” noting the then-contemporaneous efforts to erect memorial church at the purported site of his death (Paik, L. George [Paek, Nak-jun], The History of Protestant Missions in Korea, 1832–1910 (Pyeng Yang, Korea: Union Christian College Press, 1929), 42, n. 144; and Sangdo Choi 2012, 122–23). Another modern historian, Yi Man-yŏl, has likewise decried the martyr-making around Rev. Thomas, calling it “a naïve attitude of interpreting history” (Sangdo Choi 2012, 130).
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the crew of the General Sherman was, perhaps, seeking to ransack the royal tombs nearby

Note Indeed, Rev. Thomas himself had joked earlier that “it would only fatigue the reader were I to mention the names of all the places which are said to produce the precious metals” (“West Coast of Corea,” London and China Telegraph, May 28, 1866, 284). The portrayal of Rev. Thomas as a fortune-hunter is undermined by the obvious sincerity of his Christian missionary impulses. More convincing is the official assessment of Thomas’s trip: That he went “in order to perfect his knowledge in the language, so as to be able to translate the Scriptures into that language, and establish a Protestant mission in that dark land” (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 107, citing the Mission Year Book of the Congregational Church for 1868).  THOMAS OR OPPERT: Historian Robert Neff argues that the idea of Rev. Thomas as a gold-obsessed bounty hunter was likely a conflation of the Welsh missionary with Ernst Oppert, who indeed embarked on a grave-robbing expedition in April 1867—Oppert’s third and final trip to Korea (Neff, “First Trip to Korea” (2013), 176–77). Oppert, in his 1880 book, describes planning his first trip to Korea at the behest of James Whittall, managing partner of Jardine, Matheson & Co.—Oppert calls it simply “the largest British firm in China.” The trip, in the early 1860s, took place aboard a steamer called the Rona piloted by Jardine Matheson’s Capt. James Morrison, making a five-day-long reconnaissance trip on the way to Yingkou (then known as Newchwang) (Oppert 1880, 179–80). (Jardine Matheson’s interest in Korean gold could be seen in the fact that the company’s first representative in Korea, one B. A. Clarke, landed at Inch’ŏn in the summer of 1883, and threw himself into a pursuit of mining ventures (Deuchler 1977, 189). Within a year, Jardine Matheson opened a mine in the eastern province of Kangwŏn with 50 miners (Deuchler 1977, 189; and William F. Collins, Mineral Enterprise in China, rev. ed. (Tientsin: Tientsin Press, 1922), 156)). Oppert’s description of this voyage and his first encounters with Korean villagers and officials, including an exchange of herring for glass bottles, the demonstration of a revolver and a music box, and some drunken revelry, is told in Oppert 1880, 181–207. Oppert’s second trip, aboard the paddle boat Emperor, was staffed by a handful of Europeans, as well as more than a dozen Chinese and other “Manillamen,” and armed with several large guns and lances (Oppert 1880, 212–13). Two years after a second voyage in which Oppert failed to persuade the court in Seoul to open itself to foreign commerce and intercourse, Oppert returned for a third and final trip with a French Jesuit priest, who he identifies only as Monseigneur Féron, who he describes as the provicar of the Korean mission for about a decade, having lived in the country up until the time of the persecution against the French missionaries (Oppert 1880, 295). The priest appears to be Stanislas Féron (1827–1903), who served as a missionary in Korea from 1857 to 1866, and again from 1900 to 1903. Oppert says that Msgr. Féron, a reasonable and thoughtful man, had proposed to him stealing imperial relics so as to force the Prince Regent, a superstitious and unreasonable man in Msgr. Féron’s telling, to force him to come to the table. Though Msgr. Féron acknowledged that his plan was unconventional, the aim was very much conventional—namely, in Oppert’s words, “to open the kingdom of Corea to the world” (Oppert 1880, 303). Thus, on the steamer China, helmed by a Captain Moeller, Oppert, Msgr. Féron, and several dozen European, Chinese, and other sailors departed from Shanghai for the mouth of the Han River, armed with the draft text of a provisional treaty to be signed by the Korean government (Oppert 1880, 303, 321–34). Their adventures, however, ended abruptly when one of the crew had stolen a calf, which prompted a volley of shots from the Koreans, forcing Oppert, Msgr. Féron and his men to retreat (Oppert 1880, 317–21). The failure of the mission also prompted Oppert to later offer “a renewed expression of regret that it has not been crowned with the desired success—a result which at the time would likely have gained him the approval of those who have tried, by accounts amusing as well as ludicrous by the utter ignorance they displayed on the affair, to disparage the proceedings” (Oppert 1880, ix). Pak Kyu-su, the Korean official in charge of Pyongyang during the General Sherman affair, also oversaw the response to the third Oppert expedition, which some sources date to 1868. For a first-person account from the Korean side, see “Oppert’s Raid in 1868,” The Korea Magazine (April 1919), 147–50. Other accounts of the third Oppert expedition add in further details, including the presence of an American named Jenkins who accompanied Oppert (Diósy 1898, 83, footnote). The Italian diplomat-historian Eugenio Volpicelli writes that the expedition ended in failure, with Oppert and his conspirators foiled by unfavorable tides and a stone slab at the tombs that their shovels couldn’t penetrate (Vladimir 1896, 39–41). Scholar Andrew Nahm described Msgr. Féron as having fled Korea during the persecution in 1866, though he makes clear that Oppert’s motivation was primarily “to rob royal tombs among which happened to be that of the father of the Regent” (Nahm 1961, 9–10).  “THE CUPIDITY OF SHADY COSMOPOLITAN ADVENTURERS”: Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, writing in 1908, described stories of how “the tombs of the kings were made of silver and gold, and the bodies of the dead studded with precious stones; and that there were hills of silver and mineral resources of fabulous value,” all of which “naturally served to excite the cupidity of shady cosmopolitan adventurers around Shanghai.” McKenzie adds that Jenkins was later put on trial by American consular authorities in Shanghai, though he was ultimately acquitted on a lack of evidence (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 6–10; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 19–20). American diplomat Everett Frazar (1834–1901) wrote that Oppert may have been imprisoned for two years (Everett Frazar, Korea, and Her Relations to China, Japan and the United States: A Paper Read Before the New England Society, of Orange, New Jersey, In Music Hall, November 15th, 1883 (Orange, N.J.: Chronicle Book and Job Printing Office, 1884), 10). An account of the tale by Clarence Greathouse, an American who was an official advisor to the Korean court, can be found in Savage-Landor 1895, 10–15. See also “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 330–31.
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with the nation on a hair-trigger after the execution of the French Catholic priests in February

Note The notion that the General Sherman was mistaken for French pirates is plausible, given the tensions between France and Chosŏn Korea that followed the1866 Catholic persecution and the killing of French priests, which culminated in a military clash on Kanghwa Island, which sits at the mouth of the Han River that flows through Seoul into the Yellow Sea, in October–November 1866, just weeks after the General Sherman incident. Another source suggests the Koreans thought they had attacked a British vessel, and had reported as much to China (Kim, Ki-hyŏk, Opening of Korea: A Confucian Response to the Western Impact (Seoul: Yonsei University Press, 1999), pp. 18-19). William Sands, a U.S. diplomat in Seoul beginning in 1897, said that by the time of the General Sherman incident, many Koreans had been conditioned to regard any foreign boat as a pirate ship. “Korea had been so ravaged for hundreds of years by the Chinese and Japanese that there was nothing strange in the Koreans’ fear of foreigners and their determination not to admit them,” he wrote. “They began to believe that all Western foreigners were pirates” (Sands 1931, 147).  A PLEASANT SURPRISE: That said, just weeks prior to the General Sherman incident, two other American ships had been treated with some degree of humaneness by the Chosŏn court. In June 1866, an American schooner called the Surprise had been shipwrecked off the coast of Hwanghae province; in that case, the Prince Regent had ordered the American men to be well treated and escorted all the way over the land border at Ŭiju, where they were given a banquet and delivered across the border into China (Griffis 1894, 391; and “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 328). Another American vessel, called the San Francisco, ended up in Pusan’s harbor around this time as well, and in both cases, “the Korean government treated the crews kindly, and helped them to leave Korea” (Nahm 1961, 6–7, citing Foreign Relations of the United States, 1867, Pt. I, No. 124, p. 426).  
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schooner had erred by ignoring the authorities’ warnings and provoking an angry mob response 

Note Washington dispatched the USS Wachusett to Korea in January 1867, and later the USS Shenandoah, to investigate the fate of the General Sherman. The captain of the USS Wachusett was Commodore Robert Shufeldt, who would later play a key role in establishing diplomatic relations between Korea and the U.S. In a first-person account given to Methodist missionary Henry G. Appenzeller in January 1887, Cdre. Shufeldt was asked to investigate the situation while docked in Hong Kong and, following Rev. Thomas’s own path, stopped off in Chefoo to pick up a Chinese pilot and an American Presbyterian missionary, named Rev. Hunter Corbett, before sailing across the Yellow Sea to what he believed to be the mouth of the Taedong River (he was actually 30 miles south) and dispatching a letter to the Korean king “expressing my surprise at the barbarism of the act” (Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 58). In his letter, Cdre. Shufeldt reminded the king of the Koreans’ humane treatment of the American schooner, the Surprise, that had been “transported…with great care to the boundary of China” (Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 58). The dispatching of the USS Wachusett came after Anson Burlingame (1820–1870), the U.S. minister in China, sent a request for more information through the Qing government—to no avail (see Yang 1981, 12). For an account of the trip recalled a half-century later by Rev. Hunter Corbett, who served as Cdre. Shufeldt’s interpreter, see F. M. Beck, “Interpreting for Captain Shufelt [sic],” The Korea Magazine (May 1917), 239–40. Commodore Shufeldt eventually departed the Korean coast without an answer, though the USS Shenandoah, under the command of Captain John C. Febiger, succeeded in sailing up the Taedong River and receiving a copy of the Korean court’s reply to Cdre. Shufeldt’s letter—a letter that “was so statesman-like in its character, and bore such intrinsic evidence of the truth of its statements that both Captain Febiger and I were convinced that the attack upon the General Sherman was made by an unauthorized mob under strong provocation” (Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 59–60). The timing of the USS Shenandoah mission is variously given as being in the spring of 1867 (Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 59); 1868 (Yang 1981, 12); and 1869 (Griffis 1894, 183). Taken together, however, William Griffis portrays the Shufeldt and Febiger missions as largely unsuccessful, though he notes that the two ships managed to survey some of the Korean coastline, naming a Wachusett Bay in Hwanghae province and a Shenandoah Inlet at the mouth of the Taedong River, though neither name is in wide usage today (Griffis 1894, 183, 186). The missionary-scholar James Gale goes further, arguing that the Chosŏn court’s explanation to the two American naval officers was downright deceptive. According to Gale, the decision to crack down on the General Sherman mission was ordered by the Prince Regent, who, fearing another Catholic incursion, was said to have told officials: “If they do not go at once have them killed” (Gale, “Fate of the General Sherman” (1895), 253). Another source dismisses as “vague and wholly incredible” the assertion from the Chosŏn court in its letter to Capt. Febiger and again to the Chinese court in Peking, that the General Sherman had “wantonly seized and detained a high Corean official, and…’rent to pieces with their cannon’ the native trading junks, thus rousing to a pitch of irrepressible fury the passions of the multitude, by whom, it was hinted, and not by their rulers, the vessel and all on board had been destroyed” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 329).
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To this day, what happened with the General Sherman remains unknown

Note After a close study of the General Sherman incident that included a meeting with the Chosŏn embassy to China, the secretary of the U.S. legation in Peking, Samuel W. Williams (1812–1884), concluded that “the evidence goes to uphold the presumption that they invoked their sad fate by some rash or violent act toward the natives”—possibly during a quarrel with the natives after running aground (Griffis 1894, 394). William Carles, the British diplomat who traveled to Pyongyang in the early 1880s, pressed several locals for an account of what had happened and was told that the provincial governor had initially sent gifts of food to the ship, but denied the General Sherman permission to trade; when, after 10 days, the American ship fired on the Koreans, the locals had retaliated, eventually setting the ship on fire after it ran aground (Carles 1888, 171–72). American Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller, making the first trip by a Protestant missionary to Pyongyang in April 1887, found nobody in the city willing to discuss the General Sherman, even more than two decades after the fact: “When the American pioneer inquired about his unfortunate compatriots on the schooner General Sherman,” Appenzeller’s biographer writes, “every mouth in Ping Yang became as an oyster closed” (Griffis 1912, 150). The American missionary to Korea William Baird, after an inquiry of his own, including an interview with a Christian convert who was present at the time of the incident, said that the steamer had violated the law in sailing up the river without permission, and that the crew had further broken the rules by detaining a magistrate who had gone on board the ship (Brown 1919, 42). Church historian and Korea missionary Roy Shearer, writing a century after the incident, concluded that, “while Thomas’ mission was honorable, the mission of the crew was not, and one cannot blame the Korean people for protecting the sacred tombs of their past monarchs by attacking and burning the ship” (Roy E. Shearer, Wildfire: Church Growth in Korea (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 1966), 39). 
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hung from the gates of Pyongyang, as a warning to any who would disturb Korea’s peace

Note The Methodist missionaries W. James Hall and W. Arthur Noble both described seeing the anchor and the chains of the General Sherman hanging as trophies from the Great East Gate of Pyongyang, a likely reference to the Taedong Gate (W. Arthur Noble, Ewa: A Tale of Korea (New York: Eaton & Mains, 1906), 50; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 130). Another source describes them as having been hung on the “Water Gate” of the old city wall (McCune and Thompson 2009, 282). The historian Donald Clark, a son and grandson of Korea missionaries, describes the chains as being hung from “the superstructure of the two-story Taedong Gate, P’yŏngyang’s traditional front door” (Donald Clark 2003, 122). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie says that the anchor chains were still there on the south gate of Pyongyang’s walled city when he was last in the city (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 8).  Though the General Sherman incident was the most dramatic reason for the Prince Regent’s rejection of the outside world, Ernst Oppert’s grave-plundering expedition didn’t help either, and “caused the anti-foreign party to clamor for the Regent to institute a rigid seclusion policy” (Nahm 1961, 6).
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No, however, was the only answer that the Korean court of 1866 was prepared to offer

NoteWhen German Jewish businessman and adventurer Ernst Oppert sailed up the mouth of the Han River toward Seoul around this time, on the second of his three mid-1860s voyages to Korea, he sent a message to the Chosŏn court that sought “to open an intercourse, for commercial and other purposes, between your country and other nations” (Oppert, Ernst 1880, 276–78). Oppert was told in response that Chosŏn could not make such a decision with the Chinese emperor’s approval, and asked Oppert to approach Beijing with his offer, to which Oppert angrily told his interlocutors, with some prophetic truth, that “the time will come sooner or later, when it [Korea] will have to listen to the sound of cannon instead. Neither in size nor in power can your country compare to China or Japan, and both these countries have been compelled to admit foreigners; how much less will you be able to resist our demand for opening Corea, when the western powers are determined to enforce the same?” (Oppert 1880, 287–88)
p.31

—to issue another edict calling on Koreans to annihilate the foreigners’ faith once and for all

Note Initially, it looked like the American and French militaries would launch a joint expedition against Korea (Nahm 1961, 9). “This plan, happily, was abandoned,” wrote Gen. Matthew Ridgway, who succeeded Gen. MacArthur as head of United Nations Command during the Korean War eight decades later (Ridgway 1967, 4–5). Instead, the French Adm. Pierre-Gustave Roze assembled a squadron consisting of a frigate, two corvettes, and four gunboats. In an echo of the General Sherman incident, two of the French gunboats sailed up the Han River in late September 1866 and anchored for a few hours outside Seoul’s city walls, where a large crowd gathered to gawk at the foreign vessel and where local official told the foreigners: “Now that you have seen the river and the mountains of this insignificant little kingdom, please have the goodness to leave” (Chris Marker, Coréenes, trans. Brian Holmes (Columbus, Ohio: Wexner Center for the Arts, The Ohio State University, 2009), 1; and “Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 325). Unlike in the General Sherman incident, however, the French reconnaissance team withdrew before making a next move, which came in mid-October 1866. At that time, Adm. Roze and his more than 500 men arrived at Kanghwa Island, at the mouth of the Han River, where a brief military engagement led to the death of several dozen men and the seizing of some silver ingots, before the French turned back to Shandong province. “The exultation of the Coreans on this triumph over the first European invaders of their sacred soil may be easily imagined” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 325–27). Some sources give the number of troops involved in Adm. Roze’s attack on Kanghwa Island as 1,400 troops (Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 61–62). Adventurer Ernst Oppert describes later asking Adm. Roze about the expedition; Adm. Roze replied: “J’ai obtenu tout ce que je voulais obtenir”—“I obtained everything that I wanted to obtain”—to which Oppert, snidely, remarks: “In what this consisted I, and I believe everybody else, has been at a loss to find out to this hour” (Oppert 1880, 102, n. 1).
p.31

“No quarter was to be given; neither age nor sex nor condition was to weigh in the balance”

Note Hulbert estimates that this Pyŏng’in Persecution, which lasted between 1866 and 1870, saw some 20,000 Koreans slaughtered for their faith (Hulbert 1906, 118). The persecution turned so bloody that Korean converts sought refuge aboard the French ships, according to Henri Zuber (1844–1909), a member of the expedition who would later become a celebrated painter back home. According to Zuber’s diary, five Korean Catholics who had snuck aboard the French ships told their listeners of the brutality of the Chosŏn court’s campaign, “massacring mercilessly all the Christians, men, women and children” (Brother Anthony of Taizé, trans. and ed., “Henri Zuber’s Day-by-Day Record: An Unpublished Account of the 1866 French Expedition,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 90 (2015), 71–93, here 91).
p.31

holding their headless bodies over the water to pour their blood into the Han River below

Note With each beheading, the executioners were said to cry, “It is done” (Paik 1929, 37, citing Dallet, p. 532). Also cited in Huntley 1984, 7. “Decapitation Mountain” is the literal meaning of the hill, which to this day is called Chŏldu-san (切頭山), sitting on the edge of a densely developed commercial and residential district in Seoul’s Hapjŏng neighborhood. The site was established as an execution ground by the Prince Regent, who declared that he would use the blood of Catholic converts to cleanse the contamination that had been brought to Chosŏn Korea by the foreign faith. Mother Teresa (1910–1997) visited Decapitation Mountain during a visit to South Korea in May 1981, while Pope John Paul II made a pilgrimage during his visit in 1984. For Mother Teresa’s visit, see “‘Tajŏngdagamhan Han’guk’in e Kamdong’” [“I’ve Been Touched by the Kind Korean People”], Chosŏn Ilbo [Chosŏn Daily], May 7, 1981, 8. For Pope John Paul II’s visit, where he was greeted by thousands of Korean Catholics, some of them descendants of the executed Catholics dressed in period dress and chanting “Long Live the Pope” and “Long Live the Martyrs,” see “Ka’nŭn kos Mada Uri-mal ‘Ch’anmi Yesu’” [Everywhere He Went, He Said “Praise Jesus” in Korean], Chosŏn Ilbo [Chosŏn Daily], May 4, 1984, 3.
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Similar bloodletting took place along the Taedong River in Pyongyang 

Note Missionary James Gale, traveling to Pyongyang in 1914, described coming across a memorial stele erected to extol the Pyongyang magistrate Chŏng Chi-yong (鄭志鎔) for having purged the city of Catholicism in 1866 (J. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “A Missionary Retrospect. (From the Annual Report of 1913–1914.),” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 9 (September 1914), 261–71, here 266). The stele lamented the rapid transmission of the Catholic faith within Korea—“worse than the Noahic Deluge itself or an invasion of wild beasts,” as James Gale translated it—and praised Chŏng Chi-yong for having “had the mob club the leaders to death and throw their bodies into the Lai-tong River. He burned their books and ground their crucifixes to powder. Then and there he taught the remaining misguided ones the true meaning of loyalty to the king and faithfulness to parents, so that they were moved to tears, repented, and became a new people.” Gale, reflecting on the decades that had passed since 1866, was thankful for Korea’s receptiveness to the once-foreign teaching. “How powerless is this stone tablet to-day and what a meaningless thing it seems,” Gale wrote, though he also worried about the Korean converts growing too complacent, as fears of martyrdom faded into the distance (Gale, “A Missionary Retrospect,” Korea Mission Field (1914), 266). Similarly, a 1936 article in the Korean nationalist newspaper the Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily] describes perhaps the very same memorial stele, erected in a Buddhist temple in Pyongyang and venerating Chŏng Chi-yong for having, in the name of the Confucian sage Kija, repelled Catholicism, whose harm was said to have been “worse than that of tsunamis and wild beasts” (Kwŏn, Chik-ju, “Yugyŏng Manrok (5)” [Random Notes on the Willow Capital, Part 5], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], August 9, 1936, 7).
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“river have been defiled,” the royal proclamation read. “Their blood should wash out the stain”

Note William Griffis renders it so in slightly awkward English: “It is for the sake of these Christians that the barbarians have come just here. It is on account of these only that the waters of our river have been defiled by western ships. It behooves that their blood should wash out the stain” (Griffis 1894, 386). As Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown wrote years later, the General Sherman affair had convinced the Koreans that “foreigners were barbarians and that the less that was seen of them the better” (Brown 1919, 43).
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couching his offer as one of “Christiandom”—combined with the threat of force

Note Adm. John Rodgers (1812–1882), the son and father of distinguished American naval officers, was close friends with—and indeed, related to through marriage to—Commodore Matthew Perry, and Adm. Rodgers had closely studied his predecessor’s opening of Japan in 1853, so much so that one historian has called Adm. Rodgers’s tactics in Korea “virtually identical to those Perry had used in Japan” (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1339). Adm. Rodgers saw his mission in explicitly Christian terms, regarding America and the Christian countries of the West—he spelled it “Christiandom”—as bringing civilization to “a semi-barbarous, irresponsible and perfidious monarch” (as quoted in Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1358, citing John Rodgers letter to Secretary of the Navy George M. Robeson, July 1, 1871).  CIVILIZATION, COMMERCE, “CHRISTIANDOM,” CONQUEST: Whether the expedition was primarily one of amity and commerce, or one of force and conquest, can be discerned by the fact that Adm. Rodgers had at his disposal the U.S. Asiatic Squadron, with five heavily armed warships armed with 85 cannons and 1,230 sailors and marines—roughly double the size of France’s 600-man force five years earlier (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1338; and Robert S. Kim 2017, 5). Another historian describes the naval force as consisting of “two gunboats, four steam launches, twenty landing boats, and 759 men, of which 651 were to constitute the landing party” (Gary D. Walter, “The Korean Special Mission to the United States of America in 1883,” Journal of Korean Studies 1, no. 1 (July–December 1969), 89–142, here 91; and E. M. Cable [Cable, Elmer M.], “United States-Korean Relations, 1866–1871,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 28 (1938), 1–230, here 91). One historian has thus described the objective of Adm. Rodgers’ naval mission as being “to invade Korea” (Yang 1981, 12). (As stated above, Adm. Rodgers, for his part, saw his mission in explicitly Christian terms.) Tyler Dennett, a Congregationalist minister-turned-diplomat historian, comparing Adm. Rodgers’ and Cdre. Perry’s efforts, described the Korea expedition as being “as much of a failure as most imitations are” (Dennett 1922, 453).  ANOTHER WOULD-BE PERRY FOR KOREA: Adm. Rodgers wasn’t the only one who saw Korea as a chance to replicate the success of Cdre. Perry’s 1853 expedition. By the time of Adm. Rodgers’ expedition, several other attempts had been made—in addition to the USS Wachusetts and USS Shenandoah missions—to open trade relations with Korea, or to demand answers for the General Sherman incident. In April 1868, George F. Seward (1840–1910), the U.S. consul-general in Shanghai and later the U.S. minister to China, sent a letter to his uncle William H. Seward (1801–1872), secretary of state under Abraham Lincoln and then Andrew Johnson, offering “to proceed to Corea in order to ask an official explanation of the Sherman Affair, and to negotiate, if possible, a treaty of amity and commerce similar to those with China and Japan” (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 90, citing George F. Seward letter to William H. Seward, April 24, 1868). Six months later, in October 1868, George Seward again wrote his uncle, outlining his hopes “to procure information of the loss or destruction of the American schooner General Sherman” and to seek an “indemnity or satisfaction therefore,” as well as to seek a commercial treaty (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 90–91, citing George F. Seward letter to William H. Seward, October 14, 1868). Nothing appears to have come of that idea, but in May 1870, Frederick F. Low (1828–1894), a wealthy businessman and former governor of California who was then serving as U.S. minister to China, sailed past Korea on an exploratory trip, after which he wrote Secretary of State Hamilton Fish (1808–1893) that “Corea is more of a sealed book than Japan was before Commodore Perry’s visit” (as quoted in Griffis 1894, 405). See also Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1335. Nearly a year later, in March 1871, Low sent a message to the Chosŏn court through China’s de facto foreign ministry, known as the Zongli Yamen (總理衙門), informing the Prince Regent that America was to send a naval expedition to open diplomatic negotiations with Korea—that is to say, Adm. Rodgers’ naval mission (Deuchler 1977, 111; and Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1338). Given that Cdre. Robert Shufeldt had recently concluded that the Korean court had played no role in the General Sherman incident, he came to regard Adm. Rodgers’ punitive expedition as a grave error, one that Cdre. Shufeldt would seek to rectify roughly a decade later by finally succeeding in establishing diplomatic ties with Korea (Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 60).
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The Korean government summarily dismissed the offer

Note“THAT CANNOT BE”: On May 31, 1871, three low-ranking Korean officials visited the USS Colorado, the flagship in Adm. Rodgers’s fleet, and told the Americans that “the king had read Low’s letter from China and that, although he desired friendly relations with the United States, he had no interest in meeting or negotiating any treaties” (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1345). In other words, Griffis writes, “Korea was satisfied with her civilization of four thousand years, and wanted no other” (Griffis 1894, 13–14). Low’s message to the Koreans was only very reluctantly passed along to Seoul by the Chinese, and Seoul’s rebuff was still on its way back to Low in China by the time of Adm. Rodgers’s arrival in Korea (Deuchler 1977, 111). According to one source, Adm. Rodgers’ arrival did little to change the attitude of the Prince Regent, who wrote the Americans “a few laconic sentences”: “Do you want our land? That cannot be. Do you want intercourse with us? That cannot be either” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 333).  LIKE OLDER BROTHER, LIKE YOUNGER BROTHER: In a sense, Korea was simply following the lead of its big brother, China, which under the Qing dynasty had carried on the long tradition of regarding itself as the Middle Kingdom, the center of a world order that stretched from Vietnam to the Ryūkyū islands, the Tibetan highlands to the Korean peninsula. When George Macartney arrived in Beijing at the head of the famed first British mission to China in 1793, at the height of Qing China’s glory under the Qianlong Emperor, his request for diplomatic and trade ties was rebuffed in unequivocal terms that made clear China regarded the visitors as unworthy supplicants—barbarians beyond the reach of Chinese enlightenment. At least, that’s the standard historical narrative, as presented by influential Harvard University historian John K. Fairbank. Other historians, chiefly Oxford University historian Henrietta Harrison, have argued that, in fact, Qianlong did not summarily rebuff Macartney because of his refusal to kowtow, as has been widely believed. Nor was Qianlong high-handed and short-sighted (see Henrietta Harrison, “The Qianlong Emperor’s Letter to George III and the Early-Twentieth-Century Origins of Ideas about Traditional China’s Foreign Relations,” American Historical Review (June 2017), 680–701). Whatever the specifics, a rejection of the British it was—and the Koreans were certainly paying attention. The Chosŏn tributary mission to Beijing in 1795, to mark the abdication of the Qianlong Emperor, learned of Macartney’s appeal to the Qing court, and of Qianlong’s response, two years earlier (Westad 2021, 67).
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Rodgers launched a punitive two-day assault at the mouth of the Han River leading to Seoul

Note The U.S., apparently unwilling to take no for an answer, told the Korean delegation that it would send a surveying party up the Han River towards Seoul and that if they were attacked, “force would be met by force,” according to American accounts (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1345). After a series of skirmishes and bloody hand-to-hand combat between the Americans and the Koreans, Adm. Rodgers and Frederick Low, the U.S. minister to Peking, continued to insist in their correspondence with the Korean king that they were seeking only friendly relations with the Koreans (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1356). At one point during the exchange with the Americans, the Korean king passed along a letter to Low detailing the fate of the General Sherman (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1352, n. 41).
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it was an overwhelming victory for the Americans, who killed hundreds while losing only three

NoteAdm. Rodgers, in a dispatch to the Secretary of the Navy George M. Robeson (1829–1897) from Korea on June 23, 1871, claimed that the U.S. killed 243 Koreans and seized 481 artillery pieces and other small arms, all while losing three men and suffering nine wounded (“The Corean Affair—Detailed Account of the Treacherous Attack of the Coreans on Our Launches,” New York Times, July 17, 1871, 8). Later scholarly studies also mention the capture of 20 Korean prisoners, while putting the actual death toll on the Korean side as being perhaps twice Adm. Rodgers’s estimate (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1333–34, 1355; and Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 91).  “WITH POWDER AND BALL”: Stanford University historian Gordon H. Chang calls it perhaps the U.S.’s largest overseas armed conflict in the half-century between the end of the Mexican-American War in 1848 and the beginning of the Spanish-American War in 1898, noting that the conflict marked “the first time that American ground forces actually seized, held, and raised the American flag over territory in Asia, initiating a long and traumatic tradition of American military involvement there” (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1333–34). Chang’s detailed account of the military conflict offers multiple perspectives (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1346–57). The American missions advocate Robert Speer similarly noted in 1904 that the battle had the dubious honor of making Korea “the one Asiatic nation, prior to our participation in the relief of Peking, with which we have waged war” (Speer 1904, 359–60). William Griffis, reflecting roughly a decade and a half after the battle, wrote: “For the first time in the history of our country the Stars and Stripes waved over an Asiatic fortress captured by the military forces of the United States. Within forty-eight hours the naval battalion had captured five forts, fifty flags and four hundred and eighty-one pieces of artillery” (Griffis 1885, 202). Despite the jingoistic tone, Griffis was far from exultant over the battle, calling for a more compassionate and evangelistic Christian approach as the Hermit Kingdom tiptoed into the age of globalization. “With powder and ball,” Griffis wrote, “six hundred heathen households were made desolate by American arms. Now let us begin the holy war of love…Let our peaceful warfare now be with burning zeal, fed by the fuel of a holy fire” (Griffis 1885, 298).  COMMEMORATING VICTORY: To commemorate the battle, the Americans named the Kanghwa Island citadel Fort McKee for Hugh McKee, a 27-year-old American naval officer who was among the American dead (Griffis 1885, 203); three U.S. Navy ships would eventually be named for him. During the fighting, the Americans captured the Koreans’ massive sujagi (帥字旗)—literally, the battle flag emblazoned with the Sino-Korean character for “commanding general”—and displayed it aboard the USS Colorado. The flag, which for years was housed at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Md., was loaned to the South Korean government in 2007 after a request from a visiting cultural delegation and put on display in Seoul’s National Palace Museum and then the Kanghwa History Museum, where it has remained (Bradley Olson, “Korean Flag to be Returned on Loan Basis,” Baltimore Sun, October 11, 2007, B1; and Kwak Yŏn-su, “Loan Period Extended for US-Captured Joseon-Era Flag,” Korea Times, September 29, 2022).  THE ORIGINAL “FORGOTTEN WAR”: At the time, the significance of the short skirmish, which took place on June 10 and 11, 1871, was “widely appreciated” by the American public, writes Stanford historian Gordon H. Chang, though today, “few, if any, American students (and only a small minority of American diplomatic historians) know anything about the 1871 events in Korea. It is, for Americans today, an unknown war” (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1332-33). The dismissive language of battling the heathens echoed that used by Adm. Rodgers, who had an exceedingly low view of Koreans, and Asians more generally (see Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1339–40). The New York Times, in similarly withering language, described Adm. Rodgers’s expedition as a “Speedy and Effective Punishment of the Barbarians” (“The Corean Affair,” New York Times, July 17, 1871). Also cited in Brandon K. Gauthier, Before Evil: Young Lenin, Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, Mao, and Kim (Chicago: Tortoise Books, 2022), 18. Similarly, the editorial board of one nativist newspaper in central Pennsylvania said it would “take it for granted” that the U.S. Navy would avenge the “massacre of Americans” (as quoted in Brandon Kyle Gauthier, “The Other Korea: Ideological Constructions of North Korea in the American Imagination, 1948–2000,” Ph.D. diss., Fordham University, 2016), 17–18, citing “Massacre of Americans,” Raftsman’s Journal (Clearfield, PA), November 14, 1866, 2). To be sure, many Americans at the time were critical of the expedition, including Horace Greeley, whose New York Tribune penned a sarcastic editorial, “Civilizing the Coreans,” slamming the entire encounter: “What right [do] we have in Corean waters…how much easier it is to go to war than to get out of it” (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1359, citing New York Daily Tribune, July 17, 1871). Low’s own chief assistant later decried the incident as an arrogant and deliberate provocation of the Koreans (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1358).    Even so, the Prince Regent proclaimed victory, believing the Americans would never return  As historian Gary Walter writes, Adm. Rodgers’s assault “had not accomplished a thing other than to convince the Koreans that they could successfully defend themselves against the forced opening of their country. The Koreans felt that they had defeated the American force” (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 91). Indeed, the elated Prince Regent penned short couplet celebrating the victory of light of the East over the darkness of the West:   “The smoke and dust of the vessels of westerners cover the world with darkness/  But the great light of the East enlightens it throughout eternity” (Paik 1929, 56; Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1361; and Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 91–92). The Chosŏn court’s belief that it had triumphed over the Americans was premised on the belief that the foreigners were seeking to seize territory from Korea or conquer the kingdom, neither of which happened (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1360–61). Even today, the conflict is regarded in both North and South Korea as a “glorious victory over a demoralized enemy” (Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1332). The Prince Regent’s “successful repulsion of the French in 1866 and the Americans in 1871 proved to the Koreans that the seclusion policy was effective and gave them a false sense of security and preparedness,” writes another historian (Deuchler 1977, 5). William Sands, the U.S. diplomat who arrived in Seoul roughly three decades after both battles, described the sense of victory that Chosŏn still cherished: “The object of both the French and American naval expeditions remained confused in the minds of Koreans, and in spite of their losses they believed that they had beaten off two Western fleets” (Sands 1931, 90).
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“favor making a treaty sell their country. Let this be a warning to ten thousand generations”

Note Other translations can be found in Hulbert 1906, 119; Eckert et al. 1990, 197; Gale 1909, 128; Chang, “Whose ‘Barbarism’?” (2003), 1361; Griffis 1894, 437; Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 48; Samuel Hugh Moffett, The Christians of Korea (New York: Friendship Press, 1962), 156; and W. Carl Rufus, “Anti Foreign Tablet,” The Korea Magazine (November 1917), 496). According to one source, the tablet in Seoul was made in 1866 and erected in 1871 (Rhodes 1934, between 64 and 65; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 10). Another source says only that the tablets were put up in Seoul in 1871 (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 14). The monuments, called Steles Rejecting Conciliation (斥和碑Kor. ch’ŏkhwabi), were placed around the Korean peninsula; that they numbered in the “many thousands” is from Griffis 1894, 437.
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General Sherman’s anchor chains still hung from the gates of Pyongyang’s ancient walled city

NoteREJECTING CONCILIATION: The Methodist missionary George Jones, writing in 1898, noted that “these tablets did not remain many years and were finally removed, being buried, it is said at the places where they stood” (Jones, “The Taiwon Kun,” Korean Repository (1898), 247). In Seoul around this time, Isabella Bird Bishop located one such tablet next to the Great Bell on Chong-ro (鐘路), the main thoroughfare just outside the royal palace in central Seoul (Bishop 1898, 41). One stood in a conspicuous location in Pyongyang as late as 1921, according to Nakarai Kiyoshi, a member of the Japanese colonial government in Korea. The Prince Regent, Nakarai wrote, “caused a stone monument bearing an inscription glorifying its accomplishment to be erected at a conspicuous spot in Pyongyang. It still stands there and is a monument of those dark days of Korea” (Nakarai Kiyoshi, Relations Between the Government and Christianity in Chosen (n.p.: Educational Affairs Bureau, 1921), 5). Roughly three dozen of them still exist today, some in their original locations.   EXTERMINATIONS AND RUMORS OF EXTERMINATIONS: Political scares were a constant during this period. In late 1900, widespread rumors of an imperial edict to kill all Christians in the name of Confucius spooked the missionary community, and forced Western diplomats to intervene. The secret circular, supposedly sent from the Seoul court to all magistracies across the country, ordered the extermination of the “unclean doctrine” of the Western missionaries on the 20th day of the 10th month of the lunar calendar—December 6, 1900 (Baird 1968, 72). The American missionary Horace G. Underwood, who caught wind of the rumors while traveling in Haeju, Hwanghae province, sent coded telegrams in Latin to his colleagues Samuel Moffett in Pyongyang and Oliver Avison in Seoul to warn about the rumored massacre of Westerners. Underwood was relatively well versed on Latin, having translated the Latin Bible, but also had to brush up on one or two points by consulting with his son’s Latin grammar textbook. “The Latin telegram, as soon as deciphered, was carried to the Legation, where at first its news was scouted as impossible and incredible, but those who knew Dr. Underwood best remembered that he was not an alarmist or ready to believe or pass on mere rumors”—particularly after the butchering of Christian missionaries during the Boxer uprising in China (Lillias Underwood 1918, 199–201). After Horace Allen, the pioneering missionary who was by then an American diplomat in Seoul, protested to the throne, King Kojong quickly denied any knowledge of it, and December 6, 1900, came and went without any bloodshed (Baird 1968, 72). By May 1902, Baird wrote home to counsel his family against believing the various whispers of uprisings and rumors of expulsions of the Christian missionaries that they were reading about. “I do not know what you hear at home about them. But they are seldom as alarming as they sound,” Baird wrote his brother. “We have become used to these things and expect nothing to come of them” (William M. Baird letter to Brother [Baird, John F.], May 30, 1902, Chikugogawa Maru, Near Chinnampo, Korea (MKC)).

p.32

“veritable wonderland of Alice,” or “to an unknown planet,” as one American missionary put it

Note“When I first entered Korea,” one of Korea’s earliest foreign residents told the Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, “it seemed as though I were stepping out of real life into the veritable wonderland of Alice. Everything was so fantastic, so very different from any other part of the world, so absurd, so repulsive, or so bizarre, that I had to ask myself, time after time, whether I was awake or dreaming” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1908, 25). Methodist missionary Lillian M. Swearer (1872–1955), who arrived in Korea in 1906, likened the transition, from the U.S. mainland to Hawaii to Japan and finally to Korea, to visiting another planet. “Could one go to sleep in New York and awake in Seoul he would think that he had been transported, during his dreams, to an unknown planet so great would be the change in scenery, people, and customs,” she wrote. “After leaving the Golden Gate the first stop at Honolulu presents many new sights but also many familiar ones in the way of homes and people…The next stopping place, Japan, is much stranger to us and prepares us in part for the last step over the Korean Strait, but still here we recognize many appurtenances of the Planet Earth on which we have formerly lived” (Mrs. W. C. Swearer [Swearer, Lillian M.], “First Impressions in a Strange Land,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 1 (January 1907), 13–14). Everett Frazar, an American diplomat and merchant who first sailed to Korea in 1883 with Lucius H. Foote (1826–1913), the first U.S. minister to Korea, described the allure of a country so remote as to be like a distant world. “To my mind Korea seemed to be the only country under the sun not yet opened up, and understood by the people of the United States, and Europe—in reality the ‘Ultima Thule,’” he told an audience in New Jersey the following year (Frazar 1884, 3). Even so, Frazar marveled at how it took just three and a half months to get from New York to Japan in the early 1880s, when a similar trip that he had made from Boston to Shanghai in 1858 took him about six months (Frazar 1884, 5). The alienness of Korea to Westerners of this period was such that, as one missions writer put it in 1895 after visiting China and Korea, in a passage on China that could just as easily be applied to Korea: “They swarm about you. They seem to rush in upon you through every pore. You see and hear and smell and breathe nothing but Chinamen. The whole three hundred and three millions of these beings seem to weigh you down and crush you. Are these the men whom our brothers are sent out to convert?…It dawns upon you, with sometimes overwhelming force, that you have not merely entered among a countless mass of strange human beings, but that you are face to face with an alien civilization, vast, complex, mysterious” (Edward A. Lawrence, Modern Missions in the East: Their Methods, Successes, and Limitations (New York: Harper & Bros., 1895), 59).
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April 1885 as one of the first Presbyterian missionaries to the newly opened kingdom of Korea

NoteHorace G. Underwood (1859–1916) was born in London, England, and studied in France for two years as a boy, emigrating with his family to the U.S. in 1872 after his father met financial misfortune (Lillias Underwood 1918, 22). Unlike his business-minded brother John T. Underwood, Horace had his mind set on becoming a minister and a missionary from the age of four (Lillias Underwood 1918, 23, 30). As a teenager, Underwood made it a practice to attend three or four worship services each Sunday, and, like Dwight Moody, handed out tracts in the saloons of the roughest neighborhoods of Union Hill, N.J. (now Union City, N.J.) (Lillias Underwood 1918, 23). Horace Underwood graduated from New York University in 1881 and enrolled that year at the Dutch Reformed Theological Seminary in New Brunswick, N.J., the country’s oldest seminary, where he impressed other students with “the earnestness and concentration of purpose in his face” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 26). There, Underwood was deeply impressed by the head pastor of his church in New Brunswick, whose revivalist sermons “had the staid and at one time rather cold, old church at white heat crowded to overflowing” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 28).  TYPEWRITER MAGNATE: Like Cyrus McCormick, John T. Underwood (1857–1937) was not the inventor of the device that would make him wealthy and famous, but made his name and fortune improving and marketing the device while fending off patent challenges from rivals (Lillias Underwood 1918, 18). John’s father, also named John, had started the typewriter business, and made advances in printing ink, typewriter ribbons, and the like (Lillias Underwood 1918, 25–26). When John’s younger brother, the Korea missionary Horace G. Underwood, faced health issues in 1906, the missionary traveled to Switzerland and the south of France to recuperate, later working in the Paris office of his brother’s typewriter company and winning a large order from the French government (Lillias Underwood 1918, 262–63). See also Donald Clark 2003, 14. The Underwood clan was quite a global family for its time, with members scattered around the world—India, Africa, Australia, and Brazil (Lillias Underwood 1918, 36).  A GIANT OF PRESBYTERIAN MISSIONS: Rev. Frank F. Ellinwood (1826–1908) was a giant in the history of American Presbyterian missions during the latter half of the nineteenth century, serving as secretary of the foreign missions board of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. (the Northern Presbyterians) when Samuel Moffett was sent out to Korea. Indeed, it was Rev. Ellinwood who urged an immediate opening of a mission station in Korea, despite skepticism by some of his colleagues (Huntley 1984, 15).
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magnate took an immediate liking to Moffett and agreed to underwrite his work there

Note“I have today been down to Mr. Underwood’s to introduce to him Mr. Moffett, whom we all like and whom he likes, and whom we have agreed to recommend that the Board shall assign to Korea at our meeting on Monday next. Mr. Underwood is deeply interested in the work,” Ellinwood wrote (Ellinwood letter to Mitchell, September 4, 1889).
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December 25, 1889—the first Christmas Day that he would spend apart from his family

NoteThe International Date Line had only been established five years prior in October 1884, at the International Meridian Conference in Washington. I wasn’t able to find records describing how Moffett got from Indiana to the West Coast, but he sailed from the continental United States on December 16, 1889, arriving at Yokohama, Japan, on January 3, 1890 (Oak 2011, 658). For many of the missionaries to Korea, the journey to the Far East was itself full of its own trials and revelations. Scottish Canadian missionary Rev. William McKenzie (1861–1895), who sailed to Korea in late 1893, traveled by rail to Vancouver, where his fastidiousness about keeping the Sabbath meant that, when Saturday night came, he disembarked the train in a remote place, then evangelized to the drunkards there until tears were running down their cheeks—a story that, spurious or not, spoke to the missionary ethos of the era (see McCully 1904, 65–67). Before sailing from Vancouver, Rev. McKenzie prayed, in evocative language that Moffett surely would have concurred with: “Henceforth may Korea be the land of my adoption. May I live and work there many a year for the glory of God, and may my dust mingle with theirs till the great trumpet shall sound, when Death shall be swallowed up in Life!” (McCully 1904, 68) When Rev. W. James Hall (1860–1894), a Methodist medical missionary and another close colleague of Moffett in these early years, sailed across the Pacific Ocean from Vancouver to Yokohama in November 1891, he reported 77 passengers in the first and second saloons, 25 of whom were missionaries, with another 300 Chinese in steerage. “I never met a more consecrated band than the missionaries on board. We are already cemented together as one great family, and it will be a trial to separate. Denominational lines are lost sight of, and we have only one aim, the glory of God and the salvation of souls,” Rev. Hall wrote. Also aboard was the British governor of Hong Kong, who attended a Bible study session (Rosetta Hall 1897, 239–40, citing a letter from Rev. Hall to the Athens Reporter, his hometown newspaper in southern Ontario). Upon crossing the ocean, some missionaries making this voyage recalled catching their first glimpse of the Far East—a snow-capped Mount Fuji, visible from miles out at sea (Moore 2016, 55). Many of the missionaries were given elaborate farewells. Rev. Henry Appenzeller, the early Methodist missionary to Korea, was sent off by the entire student body of his Madison, N.J., seminary at the railway station before he sailed off, regaled with the hymns “Blest Be the Tie That Binds” and “Shall We Gather at the River?” (Griffis 1912, 89–90)
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future colleague and rival Horace Underwood, by then a four-year veteran in the Korea field

NoteA PRINCE AND A REFORMER: Moffett describes the first Korean man he met as “Prince Pak Yung Ho” (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 36). That is almost certainly a reference to Pak Yŏng-hyo (朴泳孝 1861–1939), a prominent late Chosŏn dynasty modernizer and radical reformer. Though born a commoner, Pak Yŏng-hyo was indeed a prince by the time Moffett landed in Yokohama, having married the daughter of the Chosŏn King Ch’ŏljong (r. 1849–1864), whose death had opened the door for King Kojong—and for Kojong’s father, the Prince Regent, to seize power (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup of 1884: A Reassessment,” Korean Studies 6 (1982), 105–24, here 115). By the time of Moffett’s arrival in the Far East, Pak had already made his mark in the annals of modern Korean history, having converted to Christianity and taken a lead in pressing modernizing reforms in late Chosŏn Korea, having served as an envoy to Japan, started a Korean newspaper, and helped launch an ill-fated coup attempt, known to history as the Kapsin coup (Wells 1984, 92–93; and Wells 1990, 47). Pak Yŏng-hyo first traveled to Japan in July 1881 as part of a pioneering Korean mission to its more advanced island neighbor, and the delegation, “wearing their stiff, black horse-hair hats and official robes of white silk, attracted much attention as they passed through the streets” (Clara Denison Loomis, Henry Loomis: Friend of the East (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1923), 78). In 1882, Pak created the yin-yang motif known as the t’aegŭkki (太極旗) that served as the Korean flag until Korea’s annexation in 1910, and which lives on today in modified form as South Korea’s flag (Frank Hoffmann, Berlin Koreans and Pictured Koreans (Vienna: Praesens, 2015), 108; and Schmid 2002, 79). Following the failed Japan-backed Kapsin coup of December 1884 (see later in the chapter), Pak, one of the coup leaders at age 23, hastened to the Japanese legation and, the following day, boarded a Japanese steamship in disguise, “narrowly escaping arrest” as his father was executed (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 55–56; and Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup” (1982), 115).  A CHRISTIAN REFUGE: In Japan, Pak hid out for a time with Rev. Henry Loomis, a Presbyterian missionary with the American Bible Society, according to Rev. Loomis’s daughter Clara, herself a Japan missionary for 36 years; Clara renders Pak’s name variously as “Pak Yan Hio” and “Pok Yong Hio” (Loomis 1923, 84–86). After arriving in Nagasaki in December 1884 and then moving onto Tokyo, Pak Yŏng-hyo and two other prominent young Korean reformers—Philip Jaisohn and Sŏ Kwang-bŏm—enraged at Japan’s lack of follow-through in support for the Kapsin coup and inspired by the American missionaries they met in Japan, resolved to sail to the U.S., landing in San Francisco in April 1885 (Liem 1952, 29–31). Pak hoped to “absorb modern knowledge” in the U.S, though in the end, he stayed just seven months, due to a combination of financial constraints and the language barrier (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 33–34). Another source dates Pak’s stay in America to just three months (Liem 1952, 33). After his short sojourn in the U.S., Pak returned to Japan, with Rev. Loomis again taking him in. Pak would spend roughly the next decade in Japan, and in a later letter to Rev. Loomis thanked his American friend for his “kind protection,” adding: “I have outlived a thousand deaths, and now thank my Lord for this with tears” (as quoted in Loomis 1923, 86). As a result of Pak’s exposure to Christian ideas, he had in 1888 submitted a “Memorial on Domestic and Political Reforms” to King Kojong, calling for Korea, “still in a state of unenlightenment, like an imbecile or fool, a drunkard or lunatic, and without knowledge of world affairs,” to advance women’s rights, among other things (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 31–32). One scholar writes that Pak’s concern for women as “an important segment of the people whose happiness and stability was key to a strong nation,” was likely the product of Pak’s interactions with American missionaries, including the Methodist William Scranton and his mother Mary F. Scranton, the founder of Ewha Womans University (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 33).  A MEETING WITH THE PRINCE: Thus, when Moffett arrived in Yokohama in January 1890, he was greeted by both Pak Yŏng-hyo and Rev. Henry Loomis (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 36). After the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–1895 and a brief period of reform that followed, Pak Yŏng-hyo was invited back to Korea by the Japanese, serving in various senior roles, including as minister of home affairs. In Seoul, Pak saw the U.S. as well-positioned to play a role in modernizing Korea, given the U.S.’s geographic distance from Korea, which he believed made it less threatening than nearby Japan, China, and Russia. “What our people need is education and Christianisation. Through your missionaries and your mission schools you could educate and elevate our people,” Pak told one American interlocutor. “Your missionaries have already done good work in Korea. Our old religions sit lightly, and the way to Christian conversion is open. An army of Christian teachers and workers should be placed in every section of our country. Our people should be educated and Christianised before they undertake any constitutional reform” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1908, 54). But after yet another turn of events, pro-Japanese leaders like Pak were forced to flee and Japanese influence waned in Seoul (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 42–43). Toward the end of his life, Pak was able to return to Korea, by that time occupied by the Japanese, and retire (Loomis 1923, 86). Because of his close association with the Japanese throughout his life, Pak Yŏng-hyo was eventually reviled as a traitor. It didn’t help that Pak later adopted a Japanese name, Yamazaki Eiharu (山崎 永春), served in Yi Wan-yong’s infamous pro-Japanese cabinet, and was made a member of Japan’s House of Peers (Ku Sŏn-hŭi, “[Inmul Paro Pogi 2] ‘Sise rŭl Pogo Issnŭn’ Kaehyŏkga Pak Yŏng-hyo,” Naeil ŭl Yŏ’nŭn Yŏksa 3 (October 2000), 149–57, here 150; and Hoffmann 2015, 108). Interestingly, one of Pak Yŏng-hyo’s disciples was An T’ae-hun, the father of An Chung-gŭn, a Korean nationalist who is revered today for killing Japanese statesman Itō Hirobumi (Yumi Moon [Mun, Yu-mi], “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier: Popular Movements in the Northwestern Provinces, 1864–1904,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 181–215, here 181, n. 2).
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optimism that Japan was on the cusp of a wholehearted embrace of Christianity was in the air

NoteMEET THE UNDERWOODS: Moffett hadn’t planned to spend two weeks in Yokohama, but the steamer for Korea had just left shortly after he had arrived in Japan. He used the two weeks to tour Japan, get acclimatized to life in the Far East, and to meet Horace G. Underwood, and his new bride Lillias Horton Underwood (1851–1921); Moffett would work with the Underwoods for the bulk of his career, though not always harmoniously—their different views on missions work sparked many years of acrimony between them (see Act II, Chapter 7). “I am very glad of the delay as it gave me an opportunity to see something of the work in Japan and also to get pretty well acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Underwood,” Moffett wrote (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 28, 1890, Seoul (PHS 179/8/1)). In a separate reminiscence four decades later, Moffett recalls being taken to a Japanese prayer meeting. There, he said, “I began my missionary career with a short talk to a group of Japanese Christians” (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 36). The Underwoods were temporarily in Yokohama overseeing the publication of a Korean-to-English, English-to-Korean dictionary, the first in existence (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 36).  CULTURE SHOCK: The arrival in Japan helped soften the transition from the industrialized West to the isolated Chosŏn kingdom; even so, Japan could deliver quite a culture shock to the Westerner, even after decades of reforms under the Meiji government. One Canadian missionary, passing through Japan en route to Pusan in 1921, found herself disoriented by “the sound of the wooden clogs, worn by nearly everybody, …so loud as to make conversation difficult. The smells of fish cooking mingled with that of sweat and sewers, together with several undiagnosed odors, were overpowering. This was the Orient. How could we react or adjust to it? Never had we seen such crowds of humanity” (Murray 1975, 4–5). One common element in their writings is a sense of pity towards the Japanese for their religious beliefs: “I will never forget the first time I saw men and women bowing at a great heathen temple and realized they were worshiping idols of wood and stone,” wrote Margaret Martin, the wife of the Canadian medical missionary Stanley H. Martin. Watching a young Japanese woman pray at a small shrine “was one of the most pitiful things that I have ever seen” (Moore 2016, 57). W. James Hall, a Methodist medical missionary and close friend of Moffett, arrived late in 1891, where he was fascinated by rickshaws (“It seemed very peculiar at first to be drawn about the city by a man, but we soon got accustomed to it”) and took pity upon the Shintō worshippers in Tokyo (“Here, ‘The heathen in his blindness/Bows down to wood and stone,’” he wrote, quoting a popular hymn among the missionaries) (Rosetta Hall 1897, 241–43, citing a letter from Hall to the Athens Reporter). Scottish Canadian missionary William McKenzie, arriving in Yokohama en route to Korea in November 1893, used his time in Japan to visit the great Buddhist and Shintō sites, all the while singing the Christian doxology and redoubling his commitment to the Christian cause (McCully 1904, 70).  ON THE CUSP: When Japan stopped enforcing its anti-Christian laws after the Meiji Restoration, American missionary John T. Gracey (1831–1912) called the country “ripe for the Christian religion as no other is on the globe” (as quoted in Pierson 1886, 103–4). In May 1883, a series of large meetings of Japanese Christians at Tokyo’s Ueno Park (上野公園 Jap. Ueno Kōen) sparked widespread hopes of a coming Christian boom—“not, at the time, a forlorn hope,” in the later words of one historian (Ion 1990, 12). In February the following year, Rev. Charles S. Eby, a Canadian missionary to Japan, delivered a speech at the Tokyo and Yokohama Missionary Conference, which was published as the optimistically titled The Immediate Christianization of Japan: Prospects, Plans, Results (1884). In it, Rev. Eby declared: “There is only one other spot under heaven to be compared with our possibilities and our responsibilities in Japan, and that place is India. India won for Christ and the world might soon be won. Japan won for Christ, and the Orient will soon be won” (C. S. Eby [Eby, Charles S.], The Immediate Christianization of Japan: Prospects, Plans, Results (Yokohama: The “Japan Mail,” 1884), 3). Also cited in Ion 1990, 93. As late as 1896, the British statesman Lord Curzon cited rampant speculation among Westerners that Japan might soon adopt Christianity as a state religion, though Curzon himself remained unconvinced (Curzon 1896, 49).  HIDEYOSHI AND THE FAITH: By the time he came to power in the late sixteenth century, Hideyoshi had grown deeply suspicious of Catholicism, which “practically constituted a kingdom by itself” in parts of Kyūshū, where “powerful Christian feudal lords frequently requested Christian priests to accompany them on their military campaigns. When the campaign was successful and the enemies’ lands were occupied, the Christian lords usually destroyed Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines and ordered the people to embrace Christianity; in this way some of the Christian feudal lords in Kyushu acted as if they went to war to take their enemies’ lands in the name of the Christian God” (Kuno 1940, 11–12). Hideyoshi overturned his predecessor Oda Nobunaga (織田信長 1534–1582)’s relatively conciliatory policies towards the foreign faith, destroying the Catholic base in Kyoto and expelling all foreign and native-born priests to Nagasaki in 1585 (Kuno 1940, 8–9). Hideyoshi declared his first anti-Christian law in July 1587, destroyed churches, and exiled or crucified priests—a persecution that only encouraged more priests to sneak in and continue the work (Kuno 1940, 13–15; and Neill 1990, 136–37). However, during his invasions of Korea, Hideyoshi had little choice but to rely not only on the Christian general Konishi, but “several other feudal Christian lords of Kyushu commanded one or another of the nine divisions of Hideyoshi’s army, and included among their men their Christian followers,” thus helping rehabilitate to some degree Christians’ standing in Hideyoshi’s eyes (Kuno 1940, 16–17).  TOKUGAWA AND THE FAITH: At least at first, Tokugawa shōgunate founder Tokugawa Ieyasu inherited the seclusion policy from his predecessor Hideyoshi’s anti-Christian law of 1587, though he initially neither enforced nor repealed it, allowing for Jesuit, Franciscan, and Dominican priests to restore much of their earlier influence in Nagasaki, Osaka, and Kyoto (Kuno 1940, 23–24). By 1611, 58 of Japan’s then 66 provinces “had come under the dominating influence of Christianity,” with there being between one and two million Christians by the early 1610s (Kuno 1940, 23–24). As Christianity’s influence rose, an increasingly alarmed Tokugawa proclaimed his own anti-Christian law in 1612, having “decided upon the extermination of Christianity in Japan” (Kuno 1940, 43–44). However, this new persecution also failed to dim the fervor of the country’s remaining Catholics (Kuno 1940, 45–46). In 1614, a new edict condemned Christians for worshipping a convicted criminal as their “Savior” was put into nationwide effect, with tortures so cruel as to shock anyone who would consider committing to the faith (Kuno 1940, 47–49). Between 1614 and 1638, the persecution would only increase in intensity, until the faith “was practically blotted out” (Kuno 1940, 49). During this persecution, the practice of putting to death any potential believers who refused to renounce their faith by trampling on images of Jesus and the Virgin Mary was begun (Kuno 1940, 57). From 1614 to 1635, Japan executed some 280,000 Christian converts, though even this failed to stamp out the faith, such that ever-more drastic measures were required (Kuno 1940, 65–66). In 1637–1638, an uprising of some 20,000 armed farmers, based around a charismatic 16-year-old Japanese boy named Amakusa Shirō (天草 四郎 1621–1638), baptized as Geronimo, in Shimabara, near Nagasaki, who was said to be the Second Coming of Christ, was brutally put down, and reinforcing the Tokugawa shōgunate’s fears of the Christian faith (Kuno 1940, 72–80). By 1643, Tokugawa wiped out the Christian faith, pushing believers underground for the next two centuries. The Meiji reformers, while establishing Shintō as the national faith, doubled down on the Tokugawa’s anti-Christian edict, persecuting Christians until 1873 (Sangdo Choi 2012, 72). When Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood visited Japan in 1874, he could still see public postings in Tokyo threatening “death to all believers in the Christian faith,” though the edict was all but a dead letter by that point, with tens of thousands of Christians in the country by then (Mary Ellinwood 1911, 67). 
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missionary in Korea, who had just sent off Korea’s first diplomatic delegation to the U.S.

NoteFor more on Horace N. Allen (1858–1932), who had left his missionary posting in Korea to work, for roughly two years, in the employ of the Korean government, ferrying the first 10-member delegation of Koreans to Washington in September 1887, see Fred H. Harrington, God, Mammon & the Japanese: Dr. Horace N. Allen and Korean-American Relations, 1884–1905 (Madison, Wisc.: University of Wisconsin Press, 1944), 83, 228–41. While in Washington in 1889, Allen convinced the Koreans to attend an Easter church service (Harrington 1944, 85). Allen returned to Korea shortly thereafter and worked briefly as a Presbyterian missionary again, in Pusan and Inch’ŏn (then known as Chemulp’o), before joining the American diplomatic corps in August 1890.
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aboard a tiny rocking vessel, the band of young missionaries crossed the choppy strait to Korea

NoteMoffett later described the vessel as a “little rocking tub known as the Ohwara Maru” (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 36). The boat was probably the same Owari Maru (尾張丸) that conveyed William Baird to Korea a year later in February 1891 (Baird 1968, 7; and W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “Incidents of Early Missionary Life,” Korea Mission Field 26, no. 8 (August 1930), 156–160, here 156). In those early days, ships sailing between Japan and Korea—“such an out of the way place”—were few and far between, and sometimes months would go by before a missionary could catch a ride across the strait to the Korean peninsula (Lillias Underwood 1918, 38). Lillias Underwood described her husband Horace’s ship from Nagasaki to Inch’ŏn in April 1885 as being “a crazy little steamer, not larger than a respectable tug” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 39).
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at the port city of Pusan, just fifty miles from Japan on the southeastern coast of the peninsula

NoteAmong those missionaries who got their first taste of Korea in Pusan (釜山) were Rosetta Sherwood Hall, who arrived in October 1890 (Sherwood Hall 1978, 27). Though Isabella Bird Bishop would come to regard Korea fondly, her first impressions of Korea—which, in her case, came in Pusan—were, in a word, “miserable,” with “narrow dirty streets,” “low hovels built of mud-smeared wattle,” “irregular ditches containing solid and liquid refuse,” “mangy dogs and blear-eyed children, half or wholly naked, and scaly with dirt” and topped off with “stenches which abound” (Bishop 1898, 27).
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immediate promise in Korea: it was a barren-looking place, devoid of greenery on the coasts

NoteFIRST IMPRESSIONS OF EARTH: Lillias Horton, as she was known before her marriage to Horace Underwood, described her first sighting of Korea in March 1888 as being colored by disappointment at “the monotony of the scene,” with “dreary mud flats, instead of a sandy beach, …reeking and slimy along the water’s edge” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 1). “As the traveler steams along the shore he is impressed with the barrenness and desolation of the land,” wrote another American missionary during this period, albeit to northern China (Beach 1901, 237). Lillian Swearer, wife of Korea missionary Rev. Wilbur Swearer, riding the train from Pusan to Seoul after her arrival in 1898, recalls her first impression of the country’s interior as being “depressing, so barren and treeless, and even the little patches of cultivated land in the valleys, so small and irregular, suggested poverty and wretchedness” (Mrs. W. C. Swearer, “First Impressions,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 13). “The visitor usually comes from Japan, and the contrast is painful,” added Arthur Brown, the longtime Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary, who traveled to Korea in 1901 and again in 1910 (Brown 1919, 46).   “FILTHINESS, DEMORALIZATION, LAZINESS”: Few were more scathing than American adventurer and writer George Kennan (1845–1924), the namesake of his better-known relative, the Cold War diplomat George F. Kennan (1904–2005), who described the journey from Japan to Korea in downright withering terms: “The first thing that strikes a traveler in going from Japan to Korea is the extraordinary contrast between the cleanness, good order, industry, and general prosperity of one country, and the filthiness, demoralization, laziness, and general rack and ruin of the other” (George Kennan, “Korea: A Degenerate State,” The Outlook 81 (October 7, 1905), 307–15, here 307). Also quoted in Métraux 2017, 17. George Ladd, an American Congregationalist minister and a prominent advocate of Japanese rule of Korea, saw in Seoul’s unruly streets a symbol of a disordered society—not that the Koreans themselves were aware of their backwardness. “To the imagination of the ignorant populace of Korea, who can have no conception of what real civic beauty and decency are in these modern days, and who are accustomed to express themselves with Oriental hyberbole, Hanyang is the ‘Observation of all Nations,’ ‘the King’s city in the clouds,’ ‘a city that spirits regard and ghosts conceal’; and to be hailed as the ‘Coiled Dragon and the Crouching Tiger’” (Ladd 1908, 21–22). Hanyang (漢陽) is one of Seoul’s alternate names.  BEYOND FIRST IMPRESSIONS: Many who stayed longer came to appreciate, and love, Korea, its landscapes, and its people. While American diplomat William Sands conceded that the picture of barren desolation was precisely the impression the Koreans sought to convey to first-time visitors, who they hoped would not linger long, he found during his seven years in Seoul was delighted to find that “the interior had real charm” (Sands 1931, 30). “My first journey produced the impression that Korea is the most uninteresting country I ever traveled in,” Isabella Bird Bishop wrote of her first visit in 1894, recalling “the feeling of distaste which at first it undoubtedly inspires” (Bishop 1898, 5). That said, Bishop would come to feel great affection for Korea as the years passed since her initial arrival at Chemulp’o on March 1, 1894. “Korea took less hold on me than any country I ever travelled in. It is monotonous in every way, and the Koreans seem the dregs of a race—indolent, cunning, limp, and unmanly,” Bishop wrote in a private letter (Stoddart 1907, 276). By the end of 1894, after spending four months in the country and being forced to flee the country during the Sino-Japanese War, Bishop “longed to go to Korea” again. After returning to Korea in January 1895 for the second of four stints in Korea, she declared herself thoroughly enamored with the country. “Korea has taken more hold on me in a week now than in five months before,” she wrote in a letter home. “I find it quite impossible to tear myself away” (as quoted in Stoddart 1907, 293). By January 1897, when Bishop left Korea for the last time, she confided in a letter home: “I am far more at home in Tokyo and Seoul than in any place in Britain except Tobermory, and I very much prefer life in the East to life at home” (as quoted in Stoddart 1907, 331). “It is with great regret that I take leave of Korea,” she wrote the following year. “The distaste I felt for the country at first passed into an interest which is almost affection, and on no previous journey have I made dearer and kinder friends, or those from whom I parted more regretfully” (Bishop 1898, 459).
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clad head to toe in white clothing so immaculate it put to “shame pearls and snow flakes”

Note“IRRESISTABLY FASCINATING”: Ernst L. Peerman, a Southern Methodist missionary, described his first glimpse of the Koreans: “There they are, standing there on the wharf, dressed in their quaint white garments; their pantaloons large, baggy, bloomerlike, with no attempt at a fit; their coats long and flowing, reaching below the knees; their shoes or sandals made of rice straw or of wood; and on their heads a black hat shaped like a stove pipe and with a narrow flat brim, or else a large hat made of rice straw and the size of a parasol. Seen from the exterior, they are uncouth and strange looking” (E. L. Peerman [Peerman, Ernst L.], “First Impressions of Korea,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 7 (July 1907), 103–4). Lillian Swearer described a similar sensation: “The first glaringly new impression was made by the white (?) clothing of the Koreans who stood about to receive us. I had heard of their style of dress but needed the actual sight to realize the strangeness of it” (Mrs. W. C. Swearer, “First Impressions,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 13). “Yes, everybody dresses in white in Chosen. It is quite true that when a coolie has worn his white suit for three months without a change it would be in the bounds of truth to call it slightly colored; but never mind, it has been white, and that is sufficient,” J. Robert Moose, a missionary who arrived in Korea in 1899, wrote. “All people wear white in Korea” (Moose 1911, 55). William Sands, a young U.S. diplomat, arriving in early 1897 to serve as first secretary of the legation in Seoul, recalls being struck by the men “watching, immovable, all dressed alike in baggy quilted cotton trousers and long dingy white cotton coats to the heels” (Sands 1931, 29). British correspondent Angus Hamilton praised the look, which he said gave the men “the stolid dignity of their appearance and their stately demeanour…The white-coated, white-trousered, white-socked, slowly striding population is irresistibly fascinating to the eye” (Hamilton 1904, 43–44). Missionaries like Ellasue Wagner (1881–1957), who arrived in Korea in 1904, later lamented the increasing propensity of Korean men to adopt Western-style dress. “If they could only know how much better looking, how elegant is the dainty silk or spotless linen of Old Korea, compared to the other ugly, tight, dark garments, they would be slow to adopt this graceless monstrosity from the Occident,” she wrote. “Nowhere on earth can one find a costume more dignified, more majestic, than that of the Korean gentleman” (Ellasue Canter Wagner, Kim Su Bang and Other Stories of Korea (Nashville, Tenn.: Methodist Episcopal Church, South, 1909), 62, 65). Similarly, missionary-historian James Gale, while mocking the national costume as “the most extravagant and, withal, useless garb that one could imagine for a land subject to extremes of temperature, as this peninsula is; but it is a dress that carries in every fold ancestral associations, and has come to be thought the most dignified and becoming outfit in the world” (Gale 1898, 210). See also Grajdanzev 1944, 35, n. 38; Drake 1930, 20; Hulbert 1906, 437; and Roy Andrews, “Exploring Unknown Corners of the ‘Hermit Kingdom,’” National Geographic Magazine 36, no. 1 (July 1919), 24–48, here 47.  PERMANENT MOURNING: The missionaries were never fully able to account for Koreans’ propensity to wear white, in contrast to the Chinese in their navy blues and the Japanese, primarily clad in black. One prevalent theory was that white was the color of mourning in Korea, and with death and disease so rampant, one’s Confucian duty to remain clad in white for three years following the death of the king, or a close relative, meant that it just made more sense to remain dressed in white all the time. Horace Allen remarked that once, following the death of three kings in a decade—this appears to have last happened in the 1450s—and the great expense of having to change outfits so frequently, “tradition has it…that, to be ready for the caprice of their kings in the future, the people adopted white as the national color” (Horace Newton Allen, Korea: Fact and Fancy (Seoul: Methodist Publishing House, 1904), 20). For similar takes, see Brown 1919, 64; Moose 1911, 174; Soltau n.d., 10; and Frederick Palmer, With Kuroki in Manchuria (New York: Scribner, 1904), 37).
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Few Westerners could forget their first sighting of this distinctive national costume

NoteThe peculiarity of a nation clad fully in white invited a plethora of metaphors. To some, the robes were reminiscent of sleepwear. One early traveler, the American explorer and astronomer Percival Lowell, recounting his initial arrival in Chemulp’o in December 1883: “Very early morning it seemed it must be; for the people of the country whom one could make out moving about on shore looked all to be clad in their night-clothes, long white cotton garments of the usual non-committal nocturnal cut as to age, sex, or previous condition of sleepitude” (Lowell, “Introduction,” in Hamilton et al. 1910, x). Missionary M. Alice Fish, who would meet and marry Samuel Moffett in Korea in June 1899, recalls having heard in advance about the Korean predilection for white, but still being stunned by the sight when she arrived at Chemulp’o in 1897. “Although I knew something about their costume I had not realized what the effect would be en masse,” she wrote. “I could think of nothing but a throng of children, dressed in white frocks and sent out to play” (Mary Alice Fish letter to Father and Mother, December 10, 1897, Seoul (MKC)). Isabella Bird Bishop compared the white-clad Koreans she first spotted on the shore as “white objects resembling pelicans or penguins,” a description that acknowledged the sartorial habit of pairing white robes with the tying up of men’s long hair under black, broad-brimmed horsehair hats—a look that Bishop declared “grotesque” (Bishop 1898, 26–27). For one mythical explanation of feudal Korea’s obsession with headgear, see Jas. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “Korean History (Translations from the Tong-gook T’ong-gam),” Korean Repository 2 (September 1895), 321–27, here 322. One Swedish traveler, arriving by train in Korea from Siberia in the 1930s, remarked that, “in the dim mist they moved about like ghosts” (Sten Berman, In Korean Wilds and Villages, trans. Frederic Whyte (London: Travel Book Club, 1938), 20). Perhaps no Western visitor during this period was quite as dismissive as George Kennan, an author and lecturer who was a distant cousin of his younger namesake, the influential American diplomat George F. Kennan. The elder Kennan, writing in 1905, dismissed the Korean people’s national dress as “fantastic and unbecoming…They look so much like clowns in a circus, or minor characters in a comic opera, that it is difficult to take them seriously” (Kennan, “Product of a Decayed Civilization,” Outlook (1905), 409). See also Grajdanzev 1944, 35.
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would later recall his initial impression of the “people in white…like another race of beings”

NoteAlso cited in “Incidents of Early Missionary Life, W. M. Baird, D.D.,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 411–12. Baird caught his first sight of Korea, around Pusan, on January 29, 1891. The remark about the resurrection is from Sir Henry Norman (1858–1939), a British journalist who wrote for the London Pall Mall Gazette and the New York Times, among other publications, and who traveled to Korea in the 1890s. “Everybody is in white robes, and even though a man has only one suit in the world, it is clean,” he writes (Henry Norman 1895, 344–45).
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but it’s unlikely it differed from that of a close missionary friend, who arrived a few years later

NoteRev. William John McKenzie was born July 15, 1861, in Nova Scotia and, in his own words, “nearly became an infidel” before joining the YMCA and feeling the calling to Christian ministry, according to one sympathetic biographer who writes: “The voice of God had made itself heard in this soul” (McCully 1904, 9–14). Like so many others, Rev. McKenzie was influenced deeply by missionary heroes like Robert Moffat, the Scottish missionary to Africa and father-in-law of David Livingstone (McCully 1904, 19). McKenzie, while working as a missionary in Labrador, was so impressed by a book from the 1887 World Student Missionary Conference on Korea that he decided he would work there as a missionary—even though the indebted Canadian Presbyterian Foreign Missions Committee couldn’t come up with funding, forcing him to pay his own way as an independent missionary (Huntley 1984, 115). Rev. McKenzie established himself in the village of Sorae, in the northwestern province of Hwanghae, though he died by suicide in 1895, less than two years after his arrival, following a bout of malaria that he apparently attempted to cure with “huge doses of quinine” before losing his mind (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (July 1895), 277–80, here 277; and J. Hunter Wells, “A Trip into Whang Hai Do,” Korean Repository 2 (August 1895), 307–9). Rev. McKenzie’s death inspired a number of Canadians to move to Korea and carry on his work (Horace Underwood 1908, 141–42). Among them was Duncan M. MacRae (1868–1949), a Scottish Canadian missionary who ended up serving four decades in Korea. Rev. MacRae was particularly moved after the residents of Sorae village wrote a letter to the Presbyterian Church in Canada calling for the sending of more missionaries (see MacRae 1993, 9–10). Another was Robert Grierson, the first Canadian Presbyterian medical missionary to Korea (Laura MacDonald, “‘Minister of the Gospel and Doctor of Medicine’: Dr. Robert Grierson, Physician Missionary to Korea, 1898–1913,” in Historical Papers: Canadian Society of Church History, ed. Bruce L. Guenther (Edmonton, Alberta: University of Alberta, 2000), 23–41, here 25–26). “McKenzie’s death became a part of the mythology surrounding missionary work in Korea. To Presbyterians in the Maritimes, McKenzie had died a martyr’s death,” writes one missionary historian (Ion 1990, 33). The mythology was possible, perhaps, because of initial reports of Rev. McKenzie’s demise in the Presbyterian Witness, a Canadian church newspaper, which initially characterized his death as one of malaria and typhoid fever; the missionary Grierson didn’t learn the truth until after he arrived in Korea (MacDonald, “Dr. Robert Grierson” (2000), 26, citing “Rev. W. J. McKenzie,” The Presbyterian Witness, August 24, 1895, 265; and MacRae 1993, 30). For a book-length biography on William J. McKenzie, see Elizabeth A. McCully, A Corn of Wheat, or The Life of Rev. W. J. McKenzie of Korea, 2nd ed. (Toronto: Westminster, 1904). For a shorter version, see Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “Rev. Wm. J. McKenzie: A Memoir,” Korean Repository 2 (August 1895), 295–98.
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now known as Inch’ŏn, on Saturday January 25, 1890—Sammie Moffett’s twenty-sixth birthday

NoteThe whole journey, from Japan’s main island to Seoul, took more than a week in those days. William Baird, Moffett’s college friend, who became a Presbyterian missionary to Korea a year after Moffett in January 1891, said it took him eight days to travel from Kobe to Chemulp’o, with stops in Nagasaki and Pusan (Baird, “Early Missionary Life,” Korea Mission Field (1930), 156). Chemulp’o (濟物浦) was formally opened to foreign trade on January 1, 1883, when it was but a hamlet of 15 houses, not far from the old prefectural town of Inch’ŏn (仁川), which had a slightly larger population of roughly 175 people and three tiled buildings—that of the local Confucian shrine and the homes of the prefect and his deputy (Deuchler 1977, 178). One British diplomat, arriving in the spring of 1883, described the town’s commerce as restricted to “a Korean who sat in front of his cabin with a scanty stock of straw shoes, eggs, and dried persimmons displayed on a mat before him” (Deuchler 1977, 188). By the end of 1883, 63 Chinese traders had opened shops in Chemulp’o, while the Japanese presence amounted to roughly a hundred shops, including Mitsubishi Steam Navigation Co. and the bank Daiichi Ginkō (第一銀行) (Deuchler 1977, 180, 182, 188). A European-style Japanese consulate towered over the town’s smaller buildings, which included warehouses and a planned hospital that would have opened by the time Moffett arrived (Deuchler 1977, 182). Writing in 1904, the British journalist Angus Hamilton described a community in Chemulp’o of Japanese, Chinese, Britons, French, Germans, Italians, Russians, Greeks, Portuguese, Hungarians, and Dutch (Hamilton 1904, 18). The names Chemulp’o and Inch’ŏn are sometimes used interchangeably; the name Chemulp’o lives on today in a subway station in Inch’ŏn. Inch’ŏn would later become known as the site of General Douglas MacArthur’s famed amphibious landing in 1950 (see Act III, Chapter 28). Today, it is home to South Korea’s main international airport, one of the world’s busiest.
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and after a round of greetings, brought the new arrivals back to the capital by chair and pony

NoteThree missionaries—John W. Heron, Daniel L. Gifford and his wife Mary Hayden Gifford—were there at Chemulp’o to greet the new arrivals. Only one member of the Presbyterian mission, Heron’s wife Harriet Gibson Heron, hadn’t made the journey (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 36). Chemulp’o was linked to the capital both by road and by the Han River. Though the road was crowded with ponies and oxen carrying people and cargo, it was still the more desirable option because of the uncertainties of the tide. By the time Moffett arrived in 1890, the road had been widened in anticipation of increased traffic following the opening of Chemulp’o to foreign trade, and the journey could be done in roughly four hours with a good horse (Deuchler 1977, 183). Even so, the ride was rarely smooth. William Baird, who arrived at Chemulp’o a year after Moffett, was shocked when his college classmate, receiving him at the port in February 1891, presented him with his ride to Seoul: “A Korean pony was brought to the door, saddled, and when I asked what that was for I was informed that I was to ride that to Seoul. It looked to me more like a large calf than a horse, and I felt sure that my feet would drag on the ground. My first reaction was, ‘I cannot ride on that thing’…We started and all was going well until at the descent of a slippery hill the pony fell forward and I fell over his head” (Baird, “Early Missionary Life,” Korea Mission Field (1930), 156).
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almost frozen riding a small steamboat “about the size of a bath tub” across the frigid river

NoteThe Seoul population number comes from Deuchler 1977, 183. An estimate in 1892 pegged the population of Seoul at somewhere between 250,000 and 400,000 (Gilmore 1892, 51). A census taken in February 1897 found the population of Seoul within the city walls to be 144,636 (Bishop 1898, 38, n. 1), though Bishop later warns about undercounting (Bishop 1898, 76, n. 1). As discussed in Act I, Chapter 2, population figures during this period varied widely and were hardly reliable.   CROSSING THE HAN: How Moffett actually crossed the Han River in January 1890 remains unknown. Perhaps he crossed by boat, and perhaps he simply walked across the frozen river, Moffett, retrieving William Baird at Chemulp’o in February 1891, led his college classmate across the icy Han on foot, though the boatmen, looking for a way to make money even with the river frozen, had broken up the ice near the shore and then charged pedestrians a regular ferry-boat fare to walk across planks that they had laid (Baird, “Early Missionary Life,” Korea Mission Field (1930), 156). The description used in the main text here comes from Patsy Bolling Reynolds, who arrived in Seoul in similar conditions as a newly-wed twenty-four-year-old missionary in November 1892, and was greeted on the banks of the Han River by the then-twenty-eight-year-old Samuel Moffett (Patsy Bolling Reynolds letter to Hattie, November 4, 1892, Seoul (MKC, citing Reynolds Papers, Presbyterian Church Historical Archives, Montreat, N.C.). When Canadian medical missionary Oliver R. Avison landed in Korea in 1893, it was again Moffett who greeted the new arrival, waiting with a broad flat sampan to bring him ashore. After the sampan guide demanded an extortionate sum to bring the men ashore, Moffett then tricked one of the coolies, with whom he was familiar, to carry him to shore. “The boatmen seeing they were beaten, immediately capitulated and followed the bold leader to the landing place and we were soon on our way to Seoul,” Avison recalled, regarding the incident as a prime example of “the quickness of decision and promptness of action characteristic of the now noted missionary leader, which have enabled him to accomplish what he has done for Korea and the cause of Christ” (O. R. Avison [Avison, Oliver R.], “When We Were Younger,” Korea Mission Field, 15, no. 3 (March 1919), 57–60, here 58).
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where Moffett spent his first night in the country he would call home for the next half century

NoteBy the time of Moffett’s arrival in Seoul, the Chinese made up the largest proportion of foreigners within the walled capital, having set up twenty-two firms selling foodstuffs, kerosene, and foreign cloth, as well as an ancestral hall (中華會館 Kor. Chunghwa Hoegwan) (Deuchler 1977, 189).
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alleys of low-rise huts, beating and starching the white cotton robes that so dazzled newcomers

NoteTAP-TAP-TAP: One missionary account described the ubiquitous pounding of sticks as a “rat-a-tat-tat” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 6), while another transcribed the sound as a “constant ‘whack-et-te-whack’” of the laundry sticks” that would often stretch on past midnight (Moose 1911, 57). The sound was heard “throughout the whole night…and to one who has lived long in the country it means much,” wrote the early missionary-turned-American diplomat Horace Allen (Allen 1904, 22). Added the British politician and journalist Henry Norman: “After sunset all Seoul rings with the dactylic tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap of these domestic voices of the night, as with the incessant cry of a million strident insects” (Henry Norman 1895, 345). “They beat in time, as though to a tune, and dextrously change the paddle from one hand to the other without losing a stroke,” added missionary George Gilmore (Gilmore 1892, 164). “The only sound which breaks the stillness of a Seoul night is the regular beat of their laundry sticks,” Isabella Bird Bishop wrote. “Every brookside has its laundresses squatting on flat stones, dipping the soiled clothes in the water, laying them on flat stones in tightly rolled bundles and beating them with flat paddles…Bleached under the brilliant sun and very slightly glazed with rice starch, after being beaten for a length of time with short quick taps on a wooden roller with club-shaped ‘laundry sticks,’ common white cotton looks like dull white satin, and has a dazzling whiteness which always reminds me of St. Mark’s words concerning the raiment at the Transfiguration, ‘so as no fuller on earth can white them’” (Bishop 1898, 45, 339).  THE BURDEN OF WHITE: “There is luxury in the idea of white working garb, but heaven help the washerwomen!” wrote one Western visitor. “Turn where one might in Korea, at every stream, creek and runnel were to be seen groups of women and small girls battering the family linen” (Keith and Scott 1946, 13, 16). “In a country where soap is not known to the natives, and where none the less the men wear white clothing and expect that the outer robe at any rate shall be spotless, the labour entailed upon the women is immense,” wrote William Carles, the British diplomat and early visitor to Korea. “All day long, and through the earlier hours of the night, the women seem to be engaged in this process, which consists simply of beating the cloth on a flat board with a wooden ruler” (Carles 1888, 42). “Brown mud walls, brown roofs, brown roadways, whether mud or dust, while humanity is in black and white,” Isabella Bird Bishop wrote (Bishop 1898, 50).  SMELL OF DEATH: The foul odor was a byproduct of cholera, which swept through Seoul and other Korean cities with frightening regularity. Rosetta Sherwood Hall, an early Methodist medical missionary to Korea, described one outbreak in 1886, “when thousands died in Söul and the gates of the city were never closed—to allow the unending procession of the dead to pass under them” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 219). “There is nothing beautiful to be seen in Seoul,” one Westerner, arriving in Seoul for a few months in 1890, stated derisively. “If your nose happens to be of a sensitive nature, do not forget to take a bottle of the strongest salts with you” (Savage-Landor 1895, 92).
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missionary community, was conducted without hymn-singing, for fear of attracting attention

NotePaejae Academy (培材學堂 Kor. Paejae Hakdang) was founded by Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller and given a royal charter and its name, translated variously as the “Hall for Rearing Useful Men” and the “Academy for Cultivating Talent,” on February 21, 1887 (Huntley 1984, 41–42, citing Henry G. Appenzeller diary, February 21, 1887, housed at Burke Library Archives, Union Theological Seminary, New York,). At the time, there were 67 students at the school (Huntley 1984, 88). Rev. Appenzeller was clear about the evangelistic goals of the educational institution: “I want the students who come here to get converted,” he wrote (Huntley 1984, 42, citing Henry Appenzeller letter to Bishop Moore, June 11, 1901). Indeed, Rev. Appenzeller baptized his first Paejae student, Pak Chung-sang, in July 1887, another in October, and two more in December (Huntley 1984, 42). Paejae Academy graduated many influential figures from his period in Korean history, including Syngman Rhee, the Methodist convert and future first president of South Korea.
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words of Isabella Bird Bishop, who came to know Moffett over her many visits to the country

NoteLillian Swearer, the wife of Methodist missionary Rev. Wilbur Swearer, sought to capture the chaos and energy of the Seoul streetscape after her arrival in Seoul in 1898: “The street scenes are an unending source of interest: the mingling of men and animals in such confusion; the oxen with their bulky loads; the shaggy little ponies; men dragging or pushing heavy loads; others carrying great burdens; still others loitering about with apparently nothing to do except to smoke their long pipes; women with coats worn over their heads; boys and girls dressed so much alike that it is hard to distinguish between them; all these present a scene very new and strange” (Mrs. W. C. Swearer, “First Impressions,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 13). The American writer Jack London, arriving in Seoul for the first time in February 1904, similarly marveled at “the narrow, crowded streets…bulls and bullock carts, trains of Korean pack-ponies, soldiers afoot and ahorse, a swarm of children, apathetic Koreans too lazy to get out of the way, blocked traffic, jams, plunging and rearing of many horses” (Jack London, “Trip to Ping Yang,” February 26, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 32–38, here 36). The Presbyterian missionary Lillias Horton, later the wife of Horace Underwood, was one of several Westerners to compare Seoul to “a vast bed of mushrooms, since none of the Korean houses are built more than one story high” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 4). “The villages are squalid collections of mushroom hovels. The streets are crooked alleys” (Griffis 1912, 111).
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alleys filled with “vile holes or green, slimy ditches” and “its ankle-deep mud and its foulness”

NoteThe stenches and utter lack of hygiene appalled the Western missionaries. “Everything in connection with these houses is fearfully unsanitary, and many of them are filthy and full of vermin. All sewage flows out into the unspeakable ditches on either side of the street,” wrote the Presbyterian medical missionary Lillias Horton Underwood, with the mud and filth sometimes piling up as high as the belly of a horse (Lillias Underwood 1904, 5; and Lillias Underwood 1918, 40). “There are pools of green, slimy, stagnant water that would start the ague running up and down the spinal columns of the board of health in any Western town; but not so here,” added another missionary (Moose 1911, 67). “In the hot, wet months of July and August, a Korean city becomes a steaming cesspool of malodorous slime,” wrote Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown, who visited Korea several times (Brown 1919, 47). Japanese writers during this period were similarly appalled, describing Seoul as a city filled with “the foul smell of human and animal feces,” in the words of one scholar (Henry, “Sanitizing Empire” (2005), 651).  ROSETTA SHERWOOD HALL: “Seoul is the meanest looking most filthy city I ever saw—the dirt of the streets is something not to be described,” wrote Rosetta Sherwood Hall, an American medical missionary who arrived in 1890 (Sherwood Hall 1978, 49, citing a letter dated October 10, 1890). Though Hall found the city mean and unwelcoming, she found the Koreans themselves wonderful. “Her people seem waiting for the ‘Good News’ that the missionaries of Christ bring. Indeed you are sometimes stopped upon the street and thanked for coming so far to tell ‘Chosen saram’ about God and Jesus Christ, His Son. They are an extremely grateful people, always anxious to do something in return for any favor shown them” (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 52). Rosetta Sherwood Hall (1865–1951), an American doctor who arrived in Korea in October 1890, was the second Western woman medical missionary to arrive in Korea, after Meta Howard, who started the country’s first hospital after coming to Korea in 1887, treating several thousand women and children before being forced to return to the U.S. in 1889 because of poor health (Sherwood Hall 1978, 26–27). Hall, in contrast, would stay in Korea for 45 years; her son Sherwood Hall would also become a missionary. Rosetta Sherwood, as she was known before she married the Canadian Methodist missionary W. James Hall in June 1892, had been inspired to become a missionary by Mary Lyon (1797–1849), the founder of Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, now Mount Holyoke College, a passionate supporter of missions work who helped turn Holyoke into a major source of women missionaries during the latter half of the nineteenth century. One of Lyon’s speeches, Sherwood later recalled, “has ever influenced my whole life, and I would that it may thus be used to influence every girl and young woman who may read this. It is: ‘If you want to serve your race, go where no one else will go, and do what no one else will do’” (as quoted in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 55). In Korea, Hall threw herself into work for the blind, having long felt a conviction to help the blind and deaf, and being inspired by her husband’s first convert in Pyongyang, a man named O Sŏk-hyŏng (“O Syok-Hyong”) whose daughter was blind (Sherwood Hall 1978, 144).
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the lives of many a Western missionary in those early days—not to mention countless Koreans

NoteAmong the missionaries who died within just a few years of arrival were John Heron (1858–1890), W. James Hall (1860–1894), William McKenzie (1861–1895, albeit to suicide), Daniel Gifford (1861–1900), Henry Appenzeller (1858–1902, albeit by drowning), and Graham Lee (1861–1916). Others left early for health reasons, including the pioneering American woman medical missionary Meta Howard (1862–1930) in 1889. During an unusually warm winter in 1902–1903 that wreaked havoc on the missionaries as a whole, the Bairds lost their newborn, Arthur, to influenza, and their other son Richard “was dangerously sick for many days” before pulling through (William N. Blair letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, February 2, 1903, Pyengyang (PHS 280/233/16)).  HENRY APPENZELLER: The Methodist Rev. Henry Appenzeller, a tall and striking Pennsylvania native who arrived in 1885, lost significant weight during his time in Korea, and struggled frequently with his health—so much so that he was ordered by his colleagues to leave Korea twice to recuperate. Over his 14 years in Korea, Rev. Appenzeller had gone from the very picture of hale and hearty to frail and fragile: “On his arrival in Korea in 1885, he was 5’11½” tall, weighed 200 lbs., was ‘rugged and muscular,’ with brown hair and gray eyes. At the time of his first furlough in 1892, he was 31 years old and weighed 140 lbs. In 1900, at the time of his second and final furlough, he was 42 years old, weighed 131 lbs., was gray and bent, and his best friends did not recognize him” (Huntley 1984, 22; and Griffis 1912, 213–14). One close colleague, William Scranton, later described him as “bent in form, worn in features and an old man, though only in middle life” (as quoted in Griffis 1912, 253). Rev. Appenzeller ultimately died by drowning after a shipwreck off the western coast of Korea in 1902.   GRAHAM LEE: Graham Lee, one of Moffett’s closest companions on the mission field in Pyongyang, realized in February 1910, after 17 years in Korea, that the feverish pace of the work was taking a grave toll on his health. “It seems that too many of the reserves have been drawn upon and the account is about checked out,” he wrote (Graham Lee letter to Arthur J. Brown, February 17, 1910, Pyeng Yang (PHS 282/240/20)). He left Korea in the spring of 1912 and died on December 2, 1916. His fellow missionaries wrote him a tribute in “Rev. Graham Lee, D.D.,” Korea Mission Field 13, no. 4 (April 1917), 86–90. Lee, a member of the Princeton University class of 1889, received a tribute from his college graduating class following his death (After Thirty Years: The 1919 Record of the Class of 1889, Princeton University (New York: John Bingham, 1919), 84–86). For a final letter from Lee to Moffett, see Graham Lee letter to Samuel A. Moffett, September 22, 1916, Gilroy, Calif., as reproduced in Korea Mission Field 13, no. 4 (April 1917), 90.  MOFFETT’S LOSSES: Moffett himself suffered much of this loss, as those around him succumbed to sudden illness. Perhaps the first loss he suffered was the death, in 1893, of one of his first helpers, Paek Hong-jun (白鴻俊 1848–1893). “Paik is not a highly cultured man and is lacking somewhat in the more refined manners and sensitiveness of our Seoul evangelist, but is rather a hearty, rough, good-natured, companionable fellow,” Moffett wrote. “His depth of feeling was manifested in his broken voice and tearful eyes as he led in prayer at the last celebration of the Lord’s Supper” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Our Korean Evangelists,” The Church at Home and Abroad 12, no. 68 (August 1892), 142–44, here 142). Also cited in Oak 2011, 292–94. As Paek struggled with the tuberculosis that would soon take his life, Moffett was deeply moved by “Paek the Disciple” and his continued devotion to the faith: “For several months he has been too weak to do more than lie upon his couch in the ‘sarang’ and bear witness to all comers of the power of the gospel to sustain and comfort in affliction, but in doing this I believe he is doing more in his illness than he ever did before,” Moffett wrote (Samuel A. Moffett, “Report of Work in Pyeng An Province—Pyeng Yang, Eui Ju, Kou Syeng (Presbyterian Mission (North) Annual Meeting),” October 1893, Seoul (PHS 180/11/P)). Paek today is hailed as the first Korean Protestant martyr (Sangdo Choi 2012, 78), though Choi, a scholar who has studied closely the process of martyr-making in the Korean Protestant church, argues that this valorization of Paek as a martyr is based on dubious grounds, with little evidence that Paek died “while working as an evangelist” (see Sangdo Choi 2012, 83–85). Nonetheless, the heartbreak was real—and it would continue, for in the span of just a few days in the spring of 1900, in a pair of unexpected deaths, Moffett’s personal assistant, a certain Mr. Yi, and the best man at his wedding, Daniel Gifford, both died—the latter, “suddenly, alone in the country” (Sallie Willison Fisher Swallen letter to Sister, April 20, 1900, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). In August 1902, Moffett himself contracted malaria (Maria Jane McKee Moffett letter to Samuel A. Moffett, August 2, 1902, Madison, Indiana (MKC)). He would continue to battle “his old enemy malaria” for years to come (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Father and Mother, February 23, 1910, Pyeng Yang (MKC)), and suffered too from eye problems that he was unable to read or write for three weeks in mid-1908, coming in the middle of what Moffett regarded as “the most strenuous year I have had” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mother, June 13, 1908, Pyengyang (MKC)). Moffett’s own wife Alice was suddenly struck in July 1912 with a severe case of dysentery, which also cost the couple the loss of a stillborn daughter on the afternoon of July 4 that year (Alice Fish Moffett letter to My Dearest, June 30, 1912, Pyengyang (MKC); and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mother [Maria J. Moffett], July 6, 1912, Pyengyang (MKC)). Alice’s condition deteriorated quickly from there, and she died days later, on July 12, 1912 (Cyril Ross letter to Samuel A. Moffett, July 13, 1912, Kangkay, Korea (MKC); and William B. Hunt letter to Arthur J. Brown, July 14, 1912, Pyeng Yang (PHS RG 140-3-3/32)). “Her loss to Korea is incalculable,” the editors of the Korea Mission Field wrote (“Notes and Personals,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 8 (August 1912), 228).
p.34

“only read about”: typhoid, typhus, leprosy, diphtheria, malaria, tuberculosis, cholera, smallpox

Note“Korea was full of disease,” recalled William Sands, a U.S. diplomat who arrived in Seoul in 1897. “Typhoid and typhus were endemic. Smallpox was so common that we lost all fear of it. Contagious eye diseases gave the mission doctors more practice and skill than they could get in a lifetime at home, and once in a while cholera swept down on us from China like a hurricane” (Sands 1931, 184). The missionary James Gale, arriving in Seoul in 1888 amid a smallpox epidemic, saw corpses piled high outside the walls of the capital (Rutt 1983, 12–13). As UCLA historian Oak Sung-Deuk notes, “cholera epidemics hit Korea in 1886, 1890, 1895, 1902, 1903 and 1905; and smallpox plagues from 1899 to 1903” (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 121). For more on disease in Korea during this period, see O. R. Avison [Avison, Oliver R.], “Disease in Korea,” Korean Repository 4 (March 1897), 90–94; and O. R. Avison [Avison, Oliver R.], “Disease in Korea, II,” Korean Repository 4 (June 1897), 207–11. In those early years, it was far from settled whether, for instance, the peoples of Asia were cut from the same cloth as those in the West, nor was it a given that Westerners could even live in the tropics without succumbing to disease. The Irishman Benjamin Kidd gained international attention for his work, entitled Social Evolution, which argued that the Christian faith was an engine of human progress, and urged its spread around the world (Benjamin Kidd, Social Evolution, rev. ed. (New York: Macmillan, 1894). At the same time, Kidd promoted the idea that the white man was incapable of living in the tropics. William Griffis, an American Congregationalist minister and one-time resident of Japan, rebutted the notion in his book, America in the East: A Glance at Our History, Prospects, Problems, and Duties in the Pacific Ocean. In a chapter entitled “Can the White Man Live in the Tropics?” Griffis acknowledged that “many regions in the tropics are like a steam-bath, and the heat and moisture together are oppressive apparently beyond the power of the Anglo-Saxon to endure,” but pointed to the British in India, Jamaica and Sierra Leone and the Dutch in Java to conclude otherwise (William Elliot Griffis, America in the East: A Glance at Our History, Prospects, Problems, and Duties in the Pacific Ocean, 2nd ed. (New York: A.S. Barnes, 1900), 47–48).
p.34

his arrival in Korea, while the British consul general and vice consul lost three servants to illness

NoteThe consul general was William G. Aston (1841–1911), a Japan expert who was sent to Korea as the U.K.’s first consul general, though he lasted just one year. The vice consul was William R. Carles (1848–1929), a pastor’s son from near Stratford-upon-Avon who served as a British diplomat in China between 1867 and 1901. Carles visited Korea for the first time in 1883 and returned for a residency as Vice-Consul for some months beginning in April 1884 (Brother Anthony of Taizé, “The Life of William Richard Carles,” (Seoul: Sŏgang University, n.d.)). As Carles wrote in this account, “malarious fever and jaundice were very prevalent, and any weakness of the lungs developed at an alarming rate” (Carles 1888, 101–2). The missionary who died 17 days after his arrival is only identified as a “Dr. Rankin” (Charles F. Bernheisel, The Rev. Charles F. Bernheisel’s Missionary Diary, trans. In Soo Kim [Kim, In-su] (Seoul: Qumran, 2004), 415 (December 27, 1902, diary entry)). Less than two months later, and within the space of a few weeks, the Pyongyang missionary community would also lose two newborn children—one in the Baird family, another in the family of medical missionary J. Hunter Wells (Bernheisel 2004, 418 (February 12, 1903, diary entry)).
p.35

epidemic in 1895, the missionaries in Seoul tallied more than three hundred dead each day

NoteAn earlier cholera outbreak in 1886 led Seoul residents to display pictures of cats all over the city, a response to the Korean folk belief that the disease was caused by a rodent having entered the body (Griffis 1912, 196).
p.35

predicted that he and his McCormick Seminary classmate Daniel Gifford wouldn’t last long

NoteUnderwood was right to be concerned about Gifford, who died of dysentery on April 10, 1900 ( “Gifford, Daniel Lyman,” Yanghwajin Foreign Missionary Cemetery website, n.d.). Daniel L. Gifford (1861–1900) was born in Elgin, Ill. and studied at Amherst College in Massachusetts before graduating from McCormick Seminary in Chicago, alongside Moffett and Baird, in 1888. Rev. Gifford arrived in Korea that same year, but suffered from poor health from the very beginning. He was forced to return home in 1896, returning again two years later. Both Rev. Gifford and his wife, Mary Hayden Gifford, became ill while itinerating in southwestern Korea in 1900 (General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary 1912, 67; and Jaekeun Lee 2010, 53). Before his death, Rev. Gifford succeeded in publishing a translation of a book about Christ, “very simple so that the youngest and most uneducated can readily understand it” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 440–41, here 440).
p.35

“of his kind that you can send the better, but if possible send men of stronger constitution”

NoteOf Moffett in particular, Underwood wrote, “Mr. Moffett’s tendency is rather to work too hard & not spare himself and hence more care must be shown” (Horace G. Underwood letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 10, 1890, Nam Han, Korea (PHS 175/3/28), a continuation of the letter that Underwood began to Ellinwood on August 4, 1890). Underwood was evidently not the only missionary with such concerns. A retrospective article in Korea Mission Field in 1915 described Moffett as “a young man, gently nurtured, evidently, in some home of comfort in the Far West.” “The question was raised in more than one mind as to just how long his delicately appearing physique would stand the onset of germs, and a frontier life in a land like this,” the unsigned piece read (“An Appreciation,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 4 (April 1915), 97–98, here 97). Though Underwood was right to be concerned about Rev. Gifford, Moffett actually outlasted Underwood, who died on October 12, 1916, at age 57, strained and exhausted by an internecine fight among the missionaries about their educational policy (Donald Clark 2003, 132, n. 19). See also Arthur J. Brown, “The Rev. Horace Grant Underwood, D.D., LL.D.,” Korea Mission Field 13, no. 2 (February 1917), 31–34. The sudden death of Rev. Underwood, the dean of the Seoul mission, came as a great shock to many; his funeral was held in Brooklyn three days later (Arthur J. Brown letter to the Chosen Mission, October 27, 1916, New York, NY (PHS collection, documents of the Board of Foreign Missions—Korea records)).  “LET HEALTH BE SACRIFICED”: As for Moffett, the Hoosier was 75 years old when he died in 1939. Though Moffett was surely aware of how failing health could shorten one’s missionary career, absolutely nothing—not even a missionary’s own physical well-being—came before getting the Word of Life to the dying heathen. “Nothing is of first consideration but the one thing, the getting of the gospel to the people, and if to accomplish this the sacrifice of health is necessary, let health be sacrificed—yea, life itself—but come what may, preach the gospel, and see to it that the great commission is obeyed,” Moffett wrote (Moffett in Counsel to New Missionaries 1905, 74).
p.35

In any case, Moffett was more concerned with the spiritual condition of the country

Note“There was a deep conviction and a firm resolve, backed by wisdom and sound good sense, that here was his life’s calling, and he never stopped to count the ghosts on the way or any other dangers real or apparent,” read a later article in the missionary periodical Korea Mission Field, celebrating Moffett’s twenty-fifth year in Korea. “The laws of sanitation, the reasonable associations of cause and effect, the general knowledge that is the heritage of everyone Western born were left behind, as he set his face to enter the unknown region of Korea’s spiritual and mental existences” (“An Appreciation,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 97).
p.35

in a letter to Ellinwood three days after his arrival, having moved in temporarily with Gifford

NoteOther missionaries coming to Korea had a similar reaction. As Duncan M. MacRae, a Scottish-Canadian missionary who first arrived in Korea in September 1898, put it while taking in his new surroundings: “It was a heathen sight—heathenism meeting death and who was there to give comfort—what did they know of the life beyond, did they know that in death there is life…?” And, the next day: “The thought of the Koreans & the loads they carried on their backs weighed as a burden on me when I thought of the load of sin that rested on each soul my heart was moved, my soul cried out in agony for them & for the first time since leaving home the tears rolled down my cheeks” (as quoted in MacRae 1993, 18–19, citing Duncan M. MacRae letter to aunt and uncles, September 6, 1898, and Duncan MacRae diary, September 7, 1898, entry). American Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller, who arrived in Korea five years before Moffett, acknowledged the challenge upon first landing: “May He who on this day burst asunder the bars of death break the bonds that bind this people and bring them to the light and liberty of God’s children,” he wrote in his diary (Pak 2006, 27, quoting H. G. Appenzeller April 1885 diary entry, Union Theological Seminary, New York, NY). The American Congregationalist pastor and writer William Griffis went further in his 1912 biography of Rev. Appenzeller, describing pre-missionary Chosŏn Korea as a place of “pagan barbarism…Old Korea was a domain of fear and in it dwelt twelve million slaves” (Griffis 1912, 7, 36).
p.35

“how the first impression can be aught else than that the people do greatly need the gospel”

NoteMoffett was quick to add that, having only just arrived, his understanding of the situation was “subject to very sudden changes…as the impressions are modified by enlarged knowledge and experience…I have been here less than two months yet have received a great many impressions, but they are of course the result of a very superficial survey of the people and country, the Mission and its work” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 18, 1890, Seoul (PHS 179/8/2)).
p.36

Moffett’s assessment was hardly unique among his colleagues

NoteAs one South Korean scholar later noted, “Westerners first observed Korea when it was at the ugly end of a long period of decline,” which locked in a perception both inside and outside the country of Korea as being “a decadent society” that needed to be discarded entirely in favor of a radical reimagination of what it meant to be Korean (Joungwon Kim 1976, 12). Back home the Christian literature at the time, informed in large part by the impressions of the first Western missionaries, portrayed Korea as “overlooked, neglected, and despised…a thoroughly heathen country. Its people were as blind and bigoted in their idolatry as any on the face of the earth” (Methodist Bishop W. F. Mallalieu, “Introduction,” August 18, 1897, in Rosetta Hall 1897, 7). “In 1900, it was rare to find a Western observer who did not see Korean society as backward and stagnant,” writes the Australian diplomat-turned-scholar Adrian Buzo, who notes that this oversimplistic image “has been enthusiastically promoted by mainstream nationalist historiography in both Koreas”—serving presumably as a useful foil for the modernizing advances that their governments purported to represent (Buzo 2002, 5).
p.36

Korea was an utterly areligious place, with no temples of any size in the major cities

NoteFIRST IMPRESSIONS: The idea that Korea was a nation without religion was virtually a consensus view stretching back to the mid-seventeenth century, when one of the earliest Westerners to get a detailed look at Korea—Dutch sailor Hendrik Hamel spent 13 years there between 1653 and 1666 when he and his crewmates shipwrecked off Cheju Island—described the nation as effectively areligious. “For their belief, they are of opinion that he who lives well shall be rewarded, and he who lives ill shall be punished. Beyond this they know nothing of preaching nor of mysteries, and therefore they have no disputes of religion, all believing and practicing the same thing throughout the kingdom. The religious men offer perfumes before an idol twice a day and on festivals; all the religious of a house make a noise with drums, basins and kettles,” Hamel wrote (see Griffis 1885, 131). For his part, William Griffis, a nineteenth-century American Congregationalist pastor and writer on Korea and Japan who offered a translated and annotated of Hamel’s 1668 account of his years in Korea, judges Hamel’s description of Koreans’ areligiosity as being “too sweeping a generalization” (Griffis 1885, 131, n. 2). Karl Gützlaff, the first Protestant missionary to arrive in Korea, in July 1832, largely would have agreed with Hamel: “We never discovered in their houses any traces of idolatry, nor did we ever witness them performing any religious rites. From all it appears that they are a very irreligious nation, and by no means anxious to become acquainted with the salutary doctrines which may afford consolation in life and death” (Gützlaff 1834, 338–39). Rev. John R. Wolfe, an Irish missionary based in the southeastern Chinese city of Fuzhou, visiting Korea in the mid-1880s, similarly declared: “I was much interested and surprised at not seeing an idol or an idol-temple in the country anywhere, or in the City of Seoul. The people seem to have no love for idols, and they erect no temples to the gods. There is not a temple in the entire capital, and, practically, the Koreans have no system of religion at all” (J. R. Wolfe, “A Visit to Korea,” The Foreign Missionary 44, no. 4 (September 1885), 161–63, here 162).  “A NATION WITHOUT A RELIGION”: Missionary literature during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries echoed this point: “Korea is unique in that she apparently is a nation without a religion,” wrote one (Belle J. Allen, ed., A Crusade of Compassion for the Healing of the Nations: A Study of Medical Missions for Women and Children (West Medford, Mass.: Central Committee of the United Study of Foreign Missions, 1919), 120). “Korea has no religion,” added another. “This is a sweeping statement, I know, and one that is susceptible of a great deal of dispute, but I believe that in the main it is true” (Louise J. Miln, Quaint Korea (New York: Scribner, 1895), 226–27). See also Miln 1895, 50–51, 113. An early visitor noted that “there is not a single religious building in the whole of Söul” (Lowell 1886, 182). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie described the Koreans as “a singularly non-religious people” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 29). “Throughout the country the evidences of public worship are few and far between. One who is familiar with the innumerable temples in Japan, China, and Siam, is at first disposed to regard Korea as a land without a religion,” wrote the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary, visiting in the late 1910s (Brown 1919, 17, 81). Horace Underwood, who conducted a deeper analysis of religion in Korea, didn’t see any reason to disagree. “Certainly they do not seem very religious. They have very few temples and shrines. We do not see them thronging these, or devoting much time, thought, or money to public or private worship,” he wrote. “Their old forms of religion appear to us to retain very little hold upon them, compared with the superstitions of the Africans and the devotees of India, Thibet, China, or even Japan” (Horace Underwood 1908, 77). The missionary George W. Gilmore described Korea’s religions not as absent, but merely as lackluster, having “attained neither the intensity of growth which it has reached in China nor the luxuriance it shows in Japan.” Quizzing native Koreans on why they offered ancestral sacrifices, “the uniform answer has been, ‘No, we neither apprehend evil nor anticipate good; it is law, it is custom, to do this.’ We have been able to elicit no other answer” (Gilmore 1892, 185–88). “The visitor to Korea at first fails to see any visible signs of religious life among the people… there is nothing in the capital that looks like a temple,” pioneering missionary Henry Appenzeller wrote in 1902, though ultimately, he too argued that this was largely a misconception (Henry G. Appenzeller, The Korea Mission of the Methodist Episcopal Church (New York: Open Door Emergency Commission, 1902), 12).  A MORE NUANCED VIEW: When the Koreans practiced ancestral rites, added the missionary James Gale, “that he has a clear understanding of their purport, is exceedingly doubtful” (Gale 1898, 68). Even so, Gale concluded, the idea of Korea as an areligious place was a gross misunderstanding (Gale 1898, 213–18; and Gale 1909, 67–69). Isabella Bird Bishop, for one, described two massive Buddhist statues on the main road between Seoul and Pyongyang, just north of the capital (Bishop 1898, 286). Modern scholars don’t depart markedly from this more nuanced view. University of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings noted that the Chosŏn dynasty’s strict commitment to neo-Confucianism pushed Buddhism, the state religion of the preceding Koryŏ dynasty, and other religions out, thus leaving “effectively…a secular society,” with some folk religion, shamanism and fortune-telling surviving on the fringes of society (Cumings in Worden 2008, 16). University of British Columbia historian Donald Baker has argued that the missionaries’ understanding of what constituted religion “excluded most traditional religiosity in Korea at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th. Consequently, Western observers had difficulty accepting Korean religions as actual religions, and most Koreans didn’t see their interactions with supernatural entities or their attempts at self-cultivation as religious” (Don Baker [Baker, Donald L.], “A Slippery, Changing Concept: How Korean New Religions Define Religion,” Journal of Korean Religions 1, no. 1/2 (September 2010), 57–83, here 63). “Before the nineteenth century, Koreans believed in many gods and other supernatural entities. They did not believe in a Supreme Being, in a God with a capital G” (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 48). Baker writes that the word now used for “religion” (宗教 Kor. chonggyo) was a neologism coined in Japan to conform to Western sensibilities and wasn’t used in Korea until the early twentieth century (Don Baker [Baker, Donald L.], “Creating the Sacred and the Secular in Colonial Korea,” Journal of Korean Religions 12, no. 2 (October 2021), 69–103, here 71).
p.36

heads carved into wooden “devil posts” planted outside Korean villages to ward off evil spirits

Note“The entrance to our village is guarded by a group of wooden posts, the tops of which are carved into the form of faces which, judging from their hideous appearance, would frighten off the bravest of the spirits. On these devil posts, as they have been named, are often seen bits of paper, strips of cloth, and bunches of human hair which have been tied there as offerings to the spirits” (Moose 1911, 194).
p.36

“as Satan looked upon his work, there can be no doubt that he pronounced it all very good”

NoteMissionary Lillias H. Underwood, in a similar vein, wrote in 1904 that the evil spirits that in the Korean imagination haunted the villages “in common with Satan himself must be propitiated with prayers and sacrifices, beating of drums, ringing of bells and other ceremonials too numerous to mention” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 9).
p.36

“licentiousness and immorality universal; corruption and oppression everywhere,” one wrote

Note“Poverty is general. Woman is held in low esteem, life and property are insecure, and political intrigue of every form is practised,” the missionary, Henry Appenzeller, wrote (Appenzeller 1902, 18). Similarly, wrote one unnamed Korean contributor to the Korean Repository in November 1895: “Behold Korea, with her oppressed masses, her general poverty, treacherous and cruel officers, her dirt and filth, her degraded women, her blighted families—behold all this and judge for yourselves what Confucianism has done for Korea” (“Confucianism in Korea,” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 401–4, here 403). Also quoted in Donald Clark 2003, 37. As for shamanism, Horace Underwood considered it “the most obstinate enemy that the missionaries have to meet in Korea” (Horace Underwood 1908, 90).
p.36

cloak covering her entire body, as photographed by Jack London in 1904 (Huntington Library)

NoteThe portrait is entitled “Korean Woman,” and was taken circa 1900. It is catalogued as “JLP 447 Album 9, Jack London Papers” at The Huntington, San Marino, Calif.
p.37

“are as sheep without a shepherd, lost in the wilderness, ‘faint and hungry, and ready to die’”

NoteHere, Lillias Underwood is quoting scripture: “When he saw the multitudes, he was moved with compassion on them, because they fainted, and were scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherd” (Matthew 9:36, KJV). She finishes the thought on an optimistic, gospel-inflected note: “And so when the gospel comes, it finds many weary souls, ready to take Christ’s yoke upon them and find his rest” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 10).
p.37

“Indolence is a national characteristic. The Korean is content to take life as easily as possible”

Note“ANGLO-SAXONS WOULD NOT TOLERATE IT”: For similar remarks, see Brown 1919, 35. “The prevailing wretchedness is so great and the impoverishment of the land so hopelessly increasing that one wonders how long human nature could endure such a state of society,” Brown wrote on another occasion. “Anglo-Saxons would not tolerate it a month” (Brown, Arthur J. [Brown, Arthur Judson], Report of a Visitation of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions (New York: Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1902), 3).   ARTHUR J. BROWN: Arthur J. Brown (1856–1963), a native of Holliston, Massachusetts, and the son of a Union soldier killed in the Civil War, served as administrative secretary of the foreign missions board of the Northern Presbyterian Church (Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A.) while Frank F. Ellinwood was the corresponding secretary, and served as general secretary over a long career that stretched from 1895 to 1929, with responsibility for the Korea missionaries. Brown has been described as “one of the most powerful spokesmen for the American foreign mission” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 11). Arthur Brown was also head of the Foreign Missions Conference of North America, an umbrella organization for missions work (Reed 1983, 126). During his career, Brown carved out an early reputation for preaching on social issues of the day, while staking out a position as “an indefatigable champion of union churches” (R. Park Johnson, “The Legacy of Arthur Judson Brown,” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 10, no. 2 (April 1986), 71–75, here 71, 74). Brown traveled to Korea twice with his wife, making the overland journey from Seoul to Pyongyang in the spring of 1901 and visiting again in 1910 (McCune, “Fifty Years of Promotion,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 28; Charles F. Bernheisel letter to the Christian Endeavorers of Chicago Presbytery, May 30, 1901, Pyeng Yang (PHS 280/231 (part 2)/64); and Bernheisel 2004, 335 (May 11, 1901, diary entry)).   “THESE PEOPLE ARE HUMAN BEINGS”: Even for some sophisticated Westerners, it took all the strength of their cognitive powers to see that the “Asiatics” were, like them, people. “Yet these people are human beings; with all their eccentricities they are men,” wrote Percival Lowell, a Harvard University-educated scientist, businessman, and diplomat who traveled extensively in Korea and Japan. “Physically we cannot but be cognizant of the fact, nor mentally but be conscious of it. Like us, indeed, and yet so unlike are they that we seem, as we gaze at them, to be viewing our own humanity in some mirth-provoking mirror of the mind, —a mirror that shows us our own familiar thoughts, but all turned wrong side out” (Percival Lowell, The Soul of the Far East (New York: Macmillan, 1911), 3). At best, the missionaries believed, the Koreans were noble savages, living simple lives of little ceremony. “He seldom washes, has no second change of clothing, no carpets or slippers. He eats any kind of food, sleeps on the roadway when night overtakes him, and lies down to die with as little ceremony as he lives” (Gale 1898, 69–70). “The people gaze with open mouth at any unusual sight, and seem at times bereft even of mother-wit,” missionary George Gilmore added. “Only as one comes to…see their readiness to appreciate our advantages over them, and to become aware of the fact that there is good material in both country and people, does the possible value of Korea to the world become manifest” (Gilmore 1892, 18). Isabella Bird Bishop was no missionary, though she was a devoted Christian, and her initial assessment of the Korean people was brutal: “They have the Oriental vices of suspicion, cunning, and untruthfulness, and trust between man and man is unknown…The arts are nil” (Bishop 1898, 13–14, 18).
p.37

to newcomers that Korea itself suffered from a deficiency of civilization and enlightenment

NoteOne of the most shocking things for Western visitors to Korea in this period was that many Korean women were only known as “the daughter of so-and-so” or “the wife of so-and-so.” “A Korean girl is called by her ‘baby name’ until she is married, somewhere between the ages of twelve and sixteen, after which she is nameless until she becomes a mother, when she is known as the mother of such a child,” wrote the pioneering American medical missionary Rosetta Sherwood Hall (Rosetta Hall 1897, 177). One of the first Korean women that Hall encountered upon arriving in Korea in October 1890 was a woman that she called “Pung Sun Omani which means Pung Sun’s mother, Korean women having no names of their own” (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 41). Another missionary, a Southern Presbyterian from Kentucky, recalled some of the women’s names she had encountered over her years in Korea: “The woman with the broken tooth,” “The woman with a wart on her nose,” “So and So’s mother,” “No. 1,” “No. 2” and one girl who was called “Enough” because she was the third daughter in the family (Anabel M. Nisbet, Day In and Day Out in Korea (Richmond, Va.: Presbyterian Committee of Publication, 1919), 30). Russian visitors were no less shocked. One, traveling through Korea in 1869, declared himself stunned by the Korean woman’s “amazing” namelessness, while another, in 1895, called the deprivation of names “humiliating and insultingly subordinate.” A third concluded: “No woman is as disenfranchised and voiceless a creature as the Korean woman. The Korean woman is a slave in the full sense of this word, a humiliated being, who does not even have her own name!” (as quoted in German Kim and Ross King, “The Northern Region of Korea as Portrayed in Russian Sources, 1870–1913,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 254-294, here 274)  EVIDENCE OF DEPRAVITY: Women’s lack of social status, and their lack of names, was more than a curiosity for Western missionaries and visitors—it reflected what they regarded as Korean society’s deep moral deficiencies. “Any estimate of a people’s condition which fails to give proper weight to the treatment it accords its women is…necessarily imperfect,” wrote Margaret B. Jones, the wife of the Methodist missionary George H. Jones, in February 1895, who saw in the mistreatment of women a perfect symbol of the shortcomings of the Korean state. “But she is only a woman. Why should she know anything beyond cooking and sewing? So say the Koreans” (Margaret B. Jones, “The Korean Bride,” Korean Repository 2 (February 1895), 49–55, here 49, 52). “The chief test of the civilisation of a people,” wrote a Presbyterian missionary in Manchuria in 1896, “lies in its treatment of woman” (Mrs. Duncan M’Laren, [M’Laren, E. C.], Missions of the United Presbyterian Church: The Story of Our Manchuria Mission (Edinburgh: United Presbyterian Church, 1896), 69). The Koreans, “ignorant and degraded…seem to think the greatest honour that can befall a woman is to be the mother of somebody. There is no doubt they are very uncivilized and need a great deal of enlightenment,” wrote Lillias Underwood (L. H. Underwood [Underwood, Lillias Horton], With Tommy Tompkins In Korea (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1905), 15). To one influential American adventurer and writer of this period, the fact that Korean men simply referred to their wives as “‘kechip’ (female) or ‘kosiki’ (what-d’-ye-call-her)” served as evidence of Korea’s decadence and depravity (Kennan, “A Decayed Civilization,” The Outlook, October 21, 1905, 411).  “DIVINELY COMMISSIONED”: If Koreans’ treatment of women was a mark of depravity, it only reaffirmed the necessity of Christian enlightenment. Josiah Strong, an American church leader and a vocal advocate of missions work, wrote in a widely read 1885 work that the Anglo-Saxon was “divinely commissioned” to lead the world, in part because of the Christian religion honored and elevated women, a mark of high civilization (Strong 1885, 5, 161). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 21. For the pioneering Scottish missionary to Manchuria John Ross, Christianity was a remedy for women’s place in Korean and Chinese society. “In Corea, a woman living or dead, has no name of her own, but is called Mrs so and so,—the name of her husband,” Rev. Ross wrote in 1891. “It is an undoubted fact that Christianity alone can place women in China and Corea,—in number more than all European women,—in their proper social position; Christianity alone can confer upon them the dignity of that position, and enable them to perform its duties pleasantly and beneficially to wield its influence. And if women demand, as they are justified in demanding, the removal of all real inequalities between the sexes in western lands, should Christian women not be more earnest still in their endeavours to ameliorate the wretched condition of those eastern women, whose state is now of such a nature, that their earnest prayer is, that in the next life they may be born men? Only Christianity can save them” (Ross 1891, 352–53).
p.37

seclusion that the missionaries regarded as stricter than China’s and nearly as austere as India’s

NoteCOMPARISONS TO INDIA: As Louise J. Miln (1864–1933), an American novelist who visited Korea in the early 1890s, wrote: “It has been very often said that the position of woman is more deplorable in Korea than in any other civilized or semi-civilized country. And I have comparatively little to urge against the statement. Certainly woman’s life seems narrower in Korea than in either China or Japan, or in Burmah, or Siam, or in India. Socially and politically, in Korea, woman simply does not exist. She has not even a name” (Miln 1895, 75–76). Isabella Bird Bishop, one of the first Westerners to spend significant amounts of time in Korea, described Korea’s women as “very rigidly secluded, perhaps more absolutely so than the women of any other nation” (Bishop 1898, 47). “Though not so secluded as the women of India, still the women of Korea have not the freedom of their Japanese sisters,” wrote Southern Presbyterian missionary Anabel Nisbet (Nisbet 1919, 34).  BLAME IT ON CONFUCIUS: Responsibility for the pushing out of women from Korea’s public sphere has frequently been laid at the feet of the founders of the Chosŏn dynasty, and their adherence to a strict Confucianism that privileged men over women (Cumings in Worden 2008, 16). “The best answer of what Confucianism has done for Korea is the Korean woman’s face,” William Griffis wrote in 1912. “Sodden, sullen, forbidding, it tells a story of cruelty and woe” (Griffis 1912, 97). The Chosŏn rulers may also have been motivated by a zeal to undo the policies of the preceding Buddhist Koryŏ dynasty, where “women were free to join seasonal outings, go to Buddhist temples, mingle with men in the streets, and even bathe naked in an open stream in the summer”; under the Chosŏn dynasty, Korean women were confined to the inner chambers of the home (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 47–48). It was said that the seclusion and covering up of women was a response to rape that had become such a widespread problem that even Buddhist priests were preying on women (Hamilton 1904, 48–49; Hamilton et al. 1910, 37–38; and Bishop 1898, 341).  CLOISTERED AT HOME: Whatever the reasons, Korean women were out of sight and out of mind during the half-millennium of the Chosŏn dynasty. Suk-Young Kim, a scholar at the University of California, states simply that “women were by and large not an integral part of public discourse prior to the twentieth century” (Suk-Young Kim [Kim, Sŏk-yŏng], Illusive Utopia: Theater, Film, and Everyday Performance in North Korea (Ann Arbor, Mich.: University of Michigan Press, 2010), 205). “Women and men lived separately in inner and outer chambers, respectively, using different closets and bathrooms. The social intercourse between the two genders was largely proscribed,” writes one contemporary scholar (John Lie, “The Transformation of Sexual Work in 20th-Century Korea,” Gender and Society 9, no. 3 (June 1995), 310–27, here 311).
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—covered up with just their faces showing—before a midnight bell restored the general order

Note“The pitch dark streets presented the singular spectacle of being tenanted solely by bodies of women with servants carrying lanterns,” Isabella Bird Bishop wrote following her four visits to Korea (Bishop 1898, 47). Even when they did go out, the women covered their faces with veils, in what some early travelers considered a metaphor for Korea’s impenetrability—and which one American explorer said gave “a suggestion of Mohammedan modes” (Andrews, “Exploring Unknown Corners,” National Geographic (1919), 26–27, including photos). In some parts of the country, including Seoul, the women wore a bright green garment that they used to cover their faces (Allen 1904, 19; and Carles 1888, 26–28). In the ancient Koryŏ capital of Kaesŏng (開城), roughly halfway between Seoul and Pyongyang, the women wore “white sheets gathered round their heads and nearly reaching their feet” (Bishop 1898, 294).  THE MONSTROUS HATS OF PYONGYANG: In Korea’s northwest, in and around Pyongyang, the coverings were more extreme. In one village north of the city, Isabella Bird Bishop described encountering women wearing “monstrous hats like…wicker garden sentry boxes,” which were seven feet long and “shroud the figure from head to foot” (Bishop 1898, 345). William Carles, the British diplomat who was so taken aback at the dress of women in Seoul, was dismayed by what he saw in Pyongyang: “There seemed to be a passion among the poor people for enormous basket hats; but those of the women were gigantic, and required both hands to keep them in position. One which I measured was three and a half feet long, by two and a half feet wide, and its depth was two and a half feet” (Carles 1888, 173). He added: “When not wearing these hats, the women wore a white veil or garment, instead of the green-sleeved cloak which is thrown over the head in Soul, and, owing perhaps to the more becoming dress, they certainly looked less ill-favoured than their sisters in the south” (Carles 1888, 173–74). Missionary Robert Moose, visiting Pyongyang, quipped that the local costume “so completely hides the wearer that a man does not know his own wife when he meets her on the street” (Moose 1911, 118). Sherwood Hall (1893–1991), the Korea-born son of W. James and Rosetta Sherwood Hall, Methodist missionaries to Pyongyang, grew up in the northwestern city beginning in the 1890s, and recalls playing hide-and-seek outside the huge hats stacked up outside the church sanctuary. “In the North, the ladies wore very large basket-like contraptions. These covered up their heads, but were supported by their hands. If a man came into view, all the lady had to do to hide her face was to tilt the hat forward over her head” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 194).  “A MOST UNPLEASANT IMPRESSION”: In many cases, though their faces were covered, “the skirt is a great baggy petticoat attached to a broad waistband which begins about six inches below where the jacket ends. Between the two there is nothing—nothing, that is to say, except six inches of dirty brown skin, just those parts of the body being exposed which all other women in the world prefer to conceal. The effect is disgusting” (Henry Norman 1895, 345). Others agreed that the effect was “disgusting” (Horace Underwood 1908, 60), while another described it as “a most unpleasant impression of Corean women” (Carles 1888, 28). Still others were more diplomatic: “Their ideas of modest display are somewhat different from those obtaining in the West” (Hamilton et al. 1910, 177). See also Frederick McKenzie 1908, 29.
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Bishop, during her four journeys through Korea, never saw a girl older than the age of six

Note“Girl children, even among the very poor, are so successfully hidden away, that in somewhat extensive Korean journeys I never saw one girl who looked above the age of six,” Bishop wrote. Even the Korean queen, during a conversation with the English traveler, confided that she “knew nothing of Korea, or even of the capital” (Bishop 1898, 341). “One may travel from one end of Korea to the other without ever seeing a native lady,” added one early Western traveler (Diósy 1898, 277). William Carles, a British diplomat who made his first visit to Korea in 1883, caught only distant glimpses of women scurrying away to cover (Carles 1888, 19). When his delegation did finally encounter some women, they were wearing, he remembered, “a green mantle over their heads, the folds of which were drawn over the face, leaving only the eyes exposed,” and all hurried into the nearest home when encountering the foreign men (Carles 1888, 26–28).  UNSEEN AND UNHEARD: Korean women were not merely invisible; they were also not to be spoken of in polite company, Bishop found. “No allusion must be made by a visitor to the females of the household. Inquiries after their health would be a gross breach of etiquette, and politeness requires that they should not be supposed to exist” (Bishop 1898, 340). Missionary George Gilmore similarly came to believe that women were not only to not be seen, but weren’t even talked about, as if they didn’t exist: “The cardinal point of social etiquette is that the ladies of a household are not to be seen, and, so far as conversation about them is concerned, are not supposed to exist,” he wrote. “His conversation does not, unless he is a near relation or on the closest terms of intimacy, allude to the ladies of the house” (Gilmore 1892, 98–99).
p.37

Western resident reasoned, but the average Korean regarded a boy as worth ten times a girl

Note“What is woman in Korea!” one Korean woman lamented to a missionary. “After the dogs and pigs were made, there was nothing left to be done, so woman was created lowest of the low!” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 73) Canadian missionary Florence Murray describes witnessing the birth of a newborn daughter, highlighting how deeply engrained the prejudice against girls was, even into the 1920s: “As soon as it was born, the mother anxiously asked, ‘What is it? What is it?’ ‘Only a girl,’ replied the women in disgusted chorus. ‘A useless thing has been born,’ said the disappointed mother. ‘The baby’s father will be very sorry’” (Murray 1975, 112).  “LITTLE BETTER THAN SLAVES”: The first Westerner to spend a considerable amount of time in Korea—Dutch sailor Hendrik Hamel spent 13 years there between 1653 and 1666 when he and his crewmates shipwrecked off Cheju Island—was stunned at the treatment of women. “To say the truth,” Hamel wrote of Korean men, “they make no great account of their wives, and use them little better than slaves, turning them away for the least faults” (see Griffis 1885, 140). The typical Korean man, added the missionary-scholar James Gale, “has a profound contempt for woman…She is a subject altogether beneath the consideration of a member of the male sex” (Gale 1898, 189).
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responsible for preparing meals—and relegated to the most squalid rooms in the house

NoteDINING APART: One member of the Korean embassy to the coronation of Tsar Nicholas II in Moscow in May 1896, writing home about the experience of traveling abroad for the first time and sitting down to a Western meal in New York City, wrote of the “exquisite anguish I experienced the first time I took my seat at table amidst ladies. By way of explanation, I must say here, that, according to foreign custom, ladies do sit at table with gentlemen. The same custom allows ladies to talk at the table and I assure you, they do talk” (T. H. Yun [Yun, Ch’i-ho], trans., “The Korean Abroad,” Korean Repository 4 (March 1897), 104–7, here 104–5). The missionary James Gale, staying at a Korean home in the Hwanghae province village of Sorae for three months, remarked that he never once saw the women who cooked all his meals for a quarter of the year (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 54). American diplomat William Sands, posted to Korea during these years, added: “Meal time is any time the master wants his food. It is the women’s business to see that he gets it promptly” (Sands 1931, 32). O Ch’ŏl-ho, a convert to Christianity in Hwanghae province who became a Christian in the mid-1930s, recalls how the practice didn’t even begin to change, at least in his household, until around then, since “Father was beginning to accept Western ideas” (Chulho Awe [O, Ch’ŏl-ho] and Herbert F. Webster, Decision At Dawn: The Underground Christian Witness in Red Korea (New York: Harper & Row, 1965), 58). The extent to which this practice was deeply ingrained in Korean society can be seen in the fact that, as late as the 1990s, some North Korean families still ate separately: “At mealtime, the women would huddle together over a low wooden table near the kitchen, eating cornmeal, which was cheaper and less nutritious than rice, the preferred staple of North Koreans. The father and son ate rice at their own table. ‘I thought this was just the way life naturally is’” (Demick 2009, 13–14).  SQUALOR FOR MOTHER: In general, the finest rooms in the house were also reserved for men. When American missionary Horace Underwood visited the home of a progressive, wealthy Korean Christian in the early 1890s, he was appalled to see how poor the living conditions were for women in the inner quarters (Horace Underwood 1908, 53). Underwood had been asked by his host to enter the inner quarters (안房Kor. anbang) to meet his old mother. “The ‘anpang’ almost beggars description,” Underwood later wrote. “No oiled and clean floor, nothing but the bare mud top of the ‘kang.’ Nothing but dirty and smoky paper that had lost most of its translucency on the windows and uncovered mud walls. Of course there were some straw mats upon the floor, but they were of the cheapest and much worn” (Horace Underwood 1908, 53–54).
p.37

—underscoring their subservience, with beatings common and silence their “first duty”

NoteActually, their first duties as wives were arguably worse, and for many brides “their wedding day [was] a time to weep” (Huntley 1984, 74). For a watercolor portraying a weeping Korean bride, deemed by some “the most tragic figure of old Korea,” see Keith and Scott 1946, 24.  YABU: The idea that “yabu”—either a corruption or a dialectal variant of the more commonly used “yŏbo”—had a demeaning edge to it is incongruous to modern speakers of Korean, for whom “yŏbo” (여보) is widely understood to be a term of affection between spouses. In Chosŏn-era Korea, however, the term was often used in the literal sense, with “yŏbo” being a contraction of “yŏgi poda,” literally, “look here” (Hong Yun-p’yo, “‘Yŏbo’ ŭi Ŏwŏn” [The Etymology of “Yŏbo”], Kukrip Kug’ŏ-wŏn [National Institute of the Korean Language], n.d.).
p.37

as “a useful machine to provide for the wants of the man,” as one early Western visitor wrote

Note“The woman in Korea is merely a useful machine to provide for the wants of the man,” wrote British general and traveler Alfred E. J. Cavendish (1859–1943), who visited Korea in the early 1890s. “The husband may keep concubines or indulge in others forms of vice, but the wife must be chaste under pain of death; her part is to bear children, to rise early, to get to bed late, to keep the fields, gardens, house, and stables in order, and, in short, to be the woman of all work” (A. E. J. Cavendish [Cavendish, Alfred E. J.], Korea and the Sacred White Mountain: Being a Brief Account of a Journey in Korea in 1891 (London: George Philip & Son, 1894), 83). “The mother, practically from the beginning, is a nobody in the household, and is looked upon as a piece of furniture or a beast of burden by the husband,” added another early Western traveler (Savage-Landor 1895, 81). Women in Korea were either “the tool or convenience of man,” wrote a third (Beach 1901, 240). While widows weren’t allowed to remarry, widowers, after a few months of mourning, could remarry (Longford 1911, 44–45). As one Swedish traveler to Korea found, Koreans would mourn their fathers for three years, their mothers for two years, and their wives not at all, since after her death a new one could be quickly found (Bergman 1938, 128–29, including a photograph).
p.37

were available for young men, schooling was nonexistent for girls, regarded as a waste of time

Note“Woman is regarded theoretically as man’s inferior, and her proper attitude in his presence is one of submission and subjection. She is kept in seclusion, given no intellectual training,” wrote the Methodist missionary George Jones (Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Status of Woman in Korea,” Korean Repository 3 (June 1896), 223–29, here 223). “There are no schools whatever for the education of girls. The little they may chance to learn comes from their mothers,” the editors of the Korean Repository wrote (“Korean Schools,” Korean Repository 1 (February 1892), 37–40, here 37). The belief that girls didn’t need to be educated was so deep-seated that, even as late as the 1920s, many Koreans still believed that educating girls was a waste of time and resources. “Girls don’t need to learn such things…It will all be wasted,” Yi Ok-bun (“Yi Okpun”), born in 1914 in South Ch’ungch’ŏng province, remembers her mother saying (Hildi Kang 2001, 42).
p.37

a task horse—“a drudge, till she can transfer some of the drudgery to her daughter-in-law”

NoteThus, Bishop wrote of the average Korean woman during this period, “at thirty she looks fifty, and at forty is frequently toothless” (Bishop 1898, 340). For more on Korean women’s lowly status in Chosŏn dynasty-era Korea, and the missionaries’ attempts to uplift their place in society, see Act I, Chapter 6.
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the regent allowed his son to be paired off with a young woman from the powerful Min clan

NoteThe bride that the Prince Regent selected was the niece of his wife. Born Min Cha-yŏng (閔茲暎 1851–1895), she was known in English as Queen Min, and is most commonly referred to today in South Korea as Empress Myŏngsŏng (明成皇后 Kor. Myŏngsŏng Hwanghu), reflecting her posthumous elevation to Empress after the formal declaration of the establishment of the Korean Empire in 1897, shortly after her death. Though the Prince Regent had chosen the young teenage woman “to insure to himself a long lease of power as regent, and later as the practical shaper of the country’s policy…time showed how sadly he was mistaken” (Hulbert 1906, 114). Queen Min belonged to the Yŏhŭng Min clan (驪興 閔氏 Kor. Yŏhŭng Minssi), one of the most powerful political dynasties in Chosŏn Korea; many influential figures in late nineteenth century Korea share this surname, as will be seen in the pages to follow.
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ruler akin to Elizabeth I, and others denigrating her as conceited, superstitious, and corrupt

NoteA STEELY RULER: Westerners who got to know Queen Min were impressed at her poise and her intelligence. “This Min princess was a remarkable woman in every way. She was intelligent and educated,” wrote William Sands, the American diplomat in Seoul. “A woman of character and unbending will, and a politician far beyond her years and sex, she became from the first a formidable adversary to the regent. She may have been coached by her father, but if so he certainly had good material on which to work” (Sands 1931, 63). The comparison to Elizabeth I was made by the Korean independence activist Henry Chung. “She was a woman of iron will, of intense patriotism, and of astute judgment,” he wrote (Chung 1921, 44). Isabella Bird Bishop extolled “her thoughtful kindness, her singular intelligence and force, and her remarkable conversational power” (Bishop 1898, 255). The missionary Annie E. Bunker, who had a long-running personal relationship with the queen, described her as “a superior woman” who “impressed one as having a strong will and great force of character, with much kindliness of heart. I have always received the kindest words and treatment from her and I have much admiration and great respect for her” (Annie E. Bunker, “My First Visit to Her Majesty, The Queen,” Korean Repository 2 (October 1895), 373–75). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie described her as “a little, pale-cheeked, thin-faced woman, kind to her friends and implacable to her foes” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 55). Stephen Bonsal (1865–1951), an American diplomat in Seoul in the mid-1890s and later a Pulitzer Prize-winning historian who also served as Woodrow Wilson’s private translator at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, described Queen Min as “a gallant little woman who would not be bullied or even browbeaten…She was an outstanding one and put to shame the chicken-hearted king, her husband” (Stephen Bonsal, Suitors and Suppliants: The Little Nations at Versailles (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1946), 224).   CONCEITED, SUPERSTITIOUS, CORRUPT: For less flattering portrayals of Queen Min as “arrogant and corrupt,” see, for example, Donald Keene, Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852–1912 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), 517. The prominent Japan-based writer William E. Griffis portrayed Queen Min as “an absolute slave to superstition…ever ready to seek favour alike from sorcerers, wizards, Buddhist priests or Confucian bigots, in order to secure her ends, personal, feminine, maternal, political, or patriotic. By far the strongest character in the palace, she overshadowed in ability her husband—one of the weakest of weak men” (Griffis 1912, 50–51). Queen Min’s embrace of folk religious beliefs “probably raised Shamanism as a cult to the highest place of prestige it had ever enjoyed” (Palmer 1967, 16). Another writer describes Queen Min as “a strong-willed, clever woman, with much power over her weak-minded husband, but she had not used her power consistently for the improvement of the kingdom, nor had she supported steadily any one party or policy…As a result she came to be hated by the people of both parties, who saw in her an obstacle in the way of their own access to the king” (Loomis 1923, 88). Yuan Shikai (袁世凱 1859–1916), dispatched by Peking to oversee Korea in the 1880s and later the first president of the Republic of China, derided King Kojong as a “dim-witted monarch” who was henpecked by his “obstinate and stubborn” wife (Lew, “Yüan Shih-k’ai’s Residency” (1984), 82). “Queen Min’s lavish spending on her superstitious religious practices imposed heavy financial burdens on the government,” writes one historian (Nahm 1961, 167).
p.38

outmaneuver the Prince Regent and formally end his father’s regency and rule in his own name

NoteThough Kojong announced his intention to take the throne for himself in 1873, historian Michael E. Robinson gives the date of the Prince Regent’s retirement as 1874 (Robinson 2007, 16). The American missionary-turned-historian Homer Hulbert portrays the Prince Regent’s withdrawal from court politics as a decision borne of frustration at attempts to push him out of power. “This was so successful that in 1873 he shook off the dust of Seoul from his shoes, and retired to a neighbouring town in disgust. A new era was now opened” (Hulbert 1906, 119–20). See also Nelson 1946, 152. Sung Chul Yang, a South Korean scholar and later diplomat, describes King Kojong reaching the age of maturity as representing not so much the downfall of the Prince Regent so much as the rise of Queen Min—and “an irrevocable setback” of the Prince Regent’s policy of seclusion (Yang 1981, 13). As another historian notes, the Yŏhǔng Min clan to which Queen Min belonged, was often a “nakedly self-interested…political force during this period,” and when Kojong ended his regency, “the Min family sought to take advantage of their connection to the throne after his retirement” (Robinson 2007, 16).
p.38

brother; it exploded upon opening, killing the queen’s brother, mother, nephew, and others

NoteThe most detailed recounting of this incident comes from a historian named Hwang Hyŏn (黃玹 1855–1910), known by his pen name Maech’ŏn (梅泉). Hwang’s account doesn’t definitively establish that the Prince Regent had ordered the assassination, but he is widely regarded as the mastermind of the plot. According to Hwang’s account, the subsequent investigation, launched by Queen Min, led to the arrest of a man surnamed Chang (張), who was a retainer of a man who had formerly served the Prince Regent (Chŏng Tong-ho, ed., Ch’ongram Maech’ŏn Ya-rok [Comprehensive Edition of the Private Records of Maech’ŏn] (Seoul: Pŏmmun-sa, 2020), 37–38). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, in his retelling of the incident, pins the blame on the Prince Regent for having sent a box to Prime Minister Min Sŭng-ho, Queen Min’s adopted brother, which exploded upon opening. McKenzie also describes a separate incident in which an unexplained explosion destroyed part of the queen’s bedroom, said to have been set off by gunpowder placed there by a servant of the Prince Regent (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 15). Queen Min also blamed the Prince Regent for having caused the miscarriage of her first child, through the gift of some suspicious ginseng during her pregnancy (Cho Sŏng-mun, Myŏngsŏng Hwanghu rŭl Ch’aj’asŏ [Searching for the Empress Myŏngsŏng] (Yŏju, South Korea: Yŏju Munhwa-wŏn, 2000), 38).
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first modern treaties—with Japan in February 1876, and then with the U.S. in May 1882

NoteFor an English translation of the Japan–Korea treaty of February 26, 1876, and a supplemental treaty, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 269-275. For more on the U.S.–Korea treaty of 1882, see Deuchler 1977, 121. For a full text of the 1882 treaty in English and in Chinese, see Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 116-127.  FATHER AND SON: King Kojong signed the agreement with Japan over the objections of his father, the retired Prince Regent (Deuchler 1977, 42). And in general, where his father was suspicious of foreigners, Kojong was willing to work with them. He quickly surrounded himself with much older reform-minded advisors such as Pak Kyu-su (朴珪壽 1807–1877), who despite presiding over the torching of the General Sherman in 1866 as governor of P’yŏng’an province had nonetheless emerged as a forward-thinking pragmatist; and Yi Yu-wŏn (李裕元1814–1888), who like Pak had considerable experience outside Korea (Deuchler 1977, 12–13). King Kojong had foreign newspapers translated for him so that he could keep up with developments outside Korea, and diligently read reports from returning envoys, peppering them with questions that grew more sophisticated as the years went by (Allen 1904, 25; and Deuchler 1977, 14). Horace Allen, the pioneering American missionary-turned-diplomat in Seoul, regarded the king, with whom he dealt directly, as being “quick of perception and very progressive” (Allen 1904, 25). Another American official dispatched to help Korea with reforms during this period between 1886 and 1890 portrayed King Kojong as a lone voice of progressive and Christianizing reform, surrounded by conservative elements. “The King’s character for universal kindness may have been mistaken for weakness; even some of his subjects say His Majesty is too kind for the good of the public service. His habits are those of perfect sobriety and industry, and being progressive in his nature he is constantly seeking information which will aid him in directing his subjects into those paths that lead to the higher planes of civilization which have done so much to humanize and christianize the Western world. Unfortunately in this great work, the King, with a few exceptions stands alone. Those who are in sympathy with Western progress are, as a rule, without influence or following, while those who possess both, adhere to the tradition of the past with a loyalty worthy of better things” (O. N. Denny [Denny, Owen N.], China and Korea (Shanghai: Kelly & Walsh, 1888), 29–30). “The King has always been very accessible foreigners,” wrote one missionary. “His Majesty is affable and unceremonious, always kindly addressing more or less conversation to each person admitted…The disposition of the King is kindly and amiable…He is certainly a merciful ruler, and sincerely desirous of the welfare and advancement of his country” (“His Majesty, the King of Korea,” Korean Repository (1896), 427–428, 430).  SENSING AN OPENING: Though King Kojong would be remembered by some as a relatively simple-minded monarch who despite his good intentions was unsuited for the times, Martina Deuchler, a leading historian of the period, cites the signing of the treaty with Japan in 1876 as evidence of King Kojong’s commitment to a break with the past, even if the circumstances of the treaty were less than ideal for Korea (Deuchler 1977, 48). “The arrogance of seclusion had disappeared, and the king approached foreign policy with more sophistication and pragmatism than his father had,” writes Deucher, who argues that King Kojong ultimately failed in his attempts to reform and modernize Korea in part because the Prince Regent’s impassioned defense of Confucian norms had “won him lasting fame” among Korea’s still-numerous conservatives, giving them a figure to rally around as they resisted Kojong’s attempts at reform (Deuchler 1977, 221). Either way, sensing the shifting mood in Seoul, some Western diplomats began to glimpse the possibility of an opening. As early as 1874, German diplomats, having heard of the Prince Regent’s retirement, urged their newly unified government to strike a treaty—or force a treaty—to open Korea. Max von Brandt (1835–1920), the German minister in Tokyo, made a trip to Pusan aboard the warship Hertha, while the German consul at Yingkou (then known as Newchwang), in China, advocated for a Commodore Perry-style direct challenge; in the end, Berlin did neither (Deuchler 1977, 109).  GETTING TO KNOW YOU: The first proposal in Washington to establish diplomatic ties with Korea came as early as 1845, from Rep. Zadock Pratt of New York (Nelson 1946, 110–11; and Deuchler 1977, 110). Though that effort was abortive, a renewed effort began in April 1878, when Sen. Aaron Sargent of California introduced a resolution calling on President Rutherford Hayes to “appoint a commissioner to represent this country in an effort to arrange, by peaceful means and with the aid of the friendly offices of Japan, a treaty of peace and commerce between the United States and the Kingdom of Corea”; the bill didn’t pass before the Senate adjourned (Griffis 1894, 428; and Deuchler 1977, 111). That same year, the U.S. Navy sent Commodore Robert W. Shufeldt on a round-the-world voyage aboard the USS Ticonderoga, part of its mission being to open trade with Korea. The Ticonderoga landed at Pusan on May 14, 1880, where Shufeldt asked the Japanese consul there to make an introduction to the Korean court—both to explain the attacks on the Korean forts in 1871 and to seek an opening for a commercial treaty (Griffis 1894, 428; and Nelson 1946, 138–40). Commodore Shufeldt, who had visited Korea in 1867 and who opposed the 1871 naval expedition against Korea, tells the story in his own words in Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 57–62.  “I AM THE KING OF COREA”: When Qing Chinese statesman Li Hongzhang learned of Shufeldt’s struggles to get an audience with the Chosŏn court, he invited Shufeldt to China and, on August 25, 1880, Shufeldt arrived in Tianjin, where he was met by Li and began working out the details of a treaty between America and Korea. Thus, in a foreshadowing of Korea’s political fate being shaped by outsiders beyond the Korean peninsula itself, “the peculiarity of the Korean-American Treaty is that it was composed not on Korean soil by Korean negotiators and an American representative, but in China in almost total secrecy by Li Hung-chang, his Chinese assistants, and Commodore Shufeldt” (Deuchler 1977, 113–14). As the historian Kenneth Wells writes, Li told the American minister in Beijing: “I am the King of Corea whenever I think the interests of China require me to assert the prerogative” (as quoted in Wells 1984, 96; and Wells 1990, 49). It was not the first time that a treaty that dictated Korea’s future would be negotiated by the Chinese, nor would it be the last. During the Hideyoshi invasions of Korea in the 1590s, the peace talks were held between Ming China and the Japanese, “with the Koreans more or less excluded from the process” (Westad 2021, 54). And in April 1885, just three years after the U.S.-Korea treaty, the signing of the Tianjin Convention between China and Japan helped to determine Korea’s fate—without any input from the Koreans (see Act I, Chapter 5).  STANDING AN EGG UPON ITS END: Everett Frazar (1834–1901), an American diplomat to Korea, hailed Li Hongzhang as “that greatest of Chinese statesmen,” and described him as being, “in reality, Prime Minister of China, Senior Guardian of the Emperor” (Frazar 1884, 42). See also Nelson 1946, 135. According to another historian, Li sought to convince Shufeldt to formally acknowledge China’s supremacy over Korea; with Shufeldt refusing to assent to making an international treaty with a dependent state, Li handed Shufeldt a letter, signed by King Kojong, that made clear Korea was “an autonomous dependency of China” (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 94). Though Li attempted to include a clause in the treaty that claimed Korea as “a dependent state of the Chinese Empire,” Shufeldt fired back that including such a line in the treaty “would be equivalent to placing Korea under the joint protection of China and the United States”—an argument that largely carried the day (Dennett 1922, 459–61). Commodore Shufeldt recalls the treaty negotiations involving much backchanneling with China, and with much scheming from Li Hongzhang “to make an American Treaty for the benefit of China” (as quoted in Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 61). Opening Korea for foreign commerce, declared Commodore Shufeldt, “was as easy a thing to do, as for Columbus to stand his egg upon its end”—that is to say, it wasn’t easy at all (as quoted in Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 62).  “DANCED FOR JOY”: Once the haggling was done, Commodore Shufeldt sailed to Korea aboard the USS Swatara to formalize the treaty with the Koreans, “landing at the present site of Chemulpo, and without any display of force,” where he signed the treaty “to the tune of Yankee Doodle” (Appenzeller, “Shufeldt’s Account of It,” Korean Repository (1892), 62). Interestingly, Shufeldt said in one widely republished interview that the Korean people were similar in appearance to Native Americans, a resemblance that he said “is sufficiently close to justify the belief that Corea furnished the material to populate this country originally”—a quote that either suggests a sense of affinity and respect for Korea, or, as historian Brandon Gauthier has interpreted it, a “call for manifest destiny on a global scale,” in which “Koreans were a new type of ‘noble savage’ in need of ‘civilization’” (“Commodore Shufeldt, Speaking of the Coreans,” Chicago Daily Tribune, August 12, 1882, 4). Also quoted in Gauthier 2016, 19. It wasn’t until January 9, 1883, that Congress ratified the treaty. The first U.S. minister to Korea, Lucius Foote, arrived at Chemulp’o aboard the USS Monocacy on May 13, 1883, and offered the first American salute to the Korean flag on May 15, 1883, with the exchange of ratification documents taking place in Seoul on May 19, 1883 (Deuchler 1977, 165; Griffis 1885, 214–15; and Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 94). William Griffis notes that the very same USS Monocacy had participated on the American capture of Korea’s fortress on Kanghwa Island in 1871 (Griffis 1885, 215). In Washington, President Chester Arthur proclaimed the treaty on June 4, 1883 (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 94). On the ten-hour overland journey to Seoul, Foote later recalled, “thousands were congregated upon the hillsides to watch our approach.” That the U.S. had appointed Foote as “Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary” was regarded in Tokyo as evidence that the U.S. regarded Korea as an independent state, separate from China (Deuchler 1977, 165). King Kojong, for his part, was pleased by the treaty; he “danced for joy” when Foote arrived in Seoul, regarding it as a “wedge to free Korea from Chinese domination” (Nahm 1961, 146; and Eckert et al. 1990, 204). Despite the signing of these treaties, isolationists remained a powerful force (Wells 1990, 27). Even so, for the U.S., writes Tyler Dennett, the Congregationalist minister-turned-diplomatic historian, the opening of Korea, which he states followed “no less than ten efforts to open Korea,” “was by far the most important political action undertaken by the United States in Asia until the occupation of the Philippines in 1898” (Dennett 1922, 450, 520).
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Germany (1883), Russia (1884), Italy (1884), France (1886), and Austria-Hungary (1889)

NoteWith the flurry of treaties, writes American missionary-historian Homer Hulbert, “Korea was now a recognised member, in good and regular standing, of the family of treaty powers” (Hulbert 1906, 123). The rush to establish diplomatic relations with Korea was such that even the Qing Chinese government in Peking, “not trusting that Korea would honor its avowed special relationship, signed a detailed commercial treaty with Korea at the end of the decade” (Robinson 2007, 10).
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Strictly speaking, the U.S.-Korea treaty didn’t allow for missionary work

NoteLi Hongzhang, the senior Qing official who helped negotiate the U.S.–Korea treaty of 1882, made a point of stipulating the exclusion of Christian missionaries in a draft. But Chester Holcombe (1842–1912), chargé d’affaires at the American legation in Peking and a former Presbyterian missionary to China who was deeply involved in the negotiations, helped to ensure that such a clause was not written into the treaty (Dennett 1922, 459, 520, 556–57, 568). With no explicit anti-Christian clause in the final version of the treaty, there remained some ambiguity around the legality of American missions work in Korea (Wells 1990, 27). Four years later in 1886, the French insisted on a clause that would explicitly allow Catholic missionaries into Korea, though they were like the Americans only able to wrest ambiguous allowances for some proselytization (Deuchler 1977, 127; and Eckert et al. 1990, 204). Still, there was enough of an opening that, by 1888, a year after France ratified its treaty with Korea, construction had begun on a Catholic cathedral in Seoul (Griffis 1894, 453). And by 1890, as Horace Allen later wrote, “the anti-foreign law had by common consent become a dead letter” (as quoted in Wells 1990, 28).
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opened kingdom of Korea, sent $6,000 to the U.S. Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions

NoteDr. Horace N. Allen (1858–1932), a native of Delaware, Ohio, was a strict Calvinist, with a “stern Puritan theology” (Harrington 1944, 4). Like other missionaries to Korea, Allen had grown up in a milieu of intense missionary zeal. When he graduated in 1881 from “mission-conscious” Ohio Wesleyan University in his hometown of Delaware, just north of Columbus, “reform crusades of one sort and another were arousing interest in mission work…The college paper carried news of alumni in the field,” including Ohio Wesleyan graduates spreading the gospel in India, China and Latin America, among them the founders of the first Methodist theological college in Asia and Beijing’s Yenching University (燕京大學 Ch. Yanjing Daxue) (Harrington 1944, 4–5). Allen’s arrival in China was far from his smooth. Allen and his new bride, Frances Messenger, didn’t reach their intended destination, Beijing, because of his wife’s ill health, and a series of snubs and setbacks led them to flee to Shanghai, “completely miserable and thoroughly defiant” (Harrington 1944, 5–6). As a result, Allen immediately sought another posting and cast his eyes to Korea; the Presbyterian board, however, was initially cool to the idea, and it would be several months before circumstances lined up to allow Allen to go (Harrington 1944, 6–8). Another source describes Allen seeking to leave China “because of his dislike of the opium-addicted Chinese” (Wi Jo Kang [Kang, Wi-jo], “The Presbyterians and the Japanese in Korea,” Journal of Presbyterian History 62, no. 1 (Spring 1984), 35–50, here 35).  A DONATION FROM BROOKLYN: Either way, Allen’s ticket out of China came in the form of the monetary donation from a New York resident named Daniel W. McWilliams, who was managing the estate of Frederick Marquand, a recently-deceased New York City jewelry magnate who had donated lavishly to Presbyterian causes (Brown 1919, 501; and “Frederick Marquand’s Will,” New York Times, September 23, 1882, 8). American missionary Lillias Underwood offers a slightly different retelling, in which McWilliams, of the Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church, had read an article by a church leader arguing against opening a mission station in Korea. McWilliams, weighing a donation, asked Frank F. Ellinwood, the missions board secretary, to show him whether the time was indeed right or not for Korea; Ellinwood, having just secured the interest of a young Rev. Horace Underwood in going to Korea, convinced McWilliams that the time was ripe, and McWilliams cut a cheque for $6,000 (Lillias Underwood 1918, 35). The key moment took place over lunch between Ellinwood and McWilliams (see McCune, “Fifty Years of Promotion,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 21–22). Allen, being already in Shanghai, would get to Korea several months before Rev. Underwood, however. Rev. Underwood’s arrival was also delayed by a trip across the Atlantic: “Mr. Underwood’s brothers decided that if he must go to those dark regions perhaps never to return, he should at least take a trip to England and bid a long goodby to all his kin on the other side” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 36). Yet another version of the story of the donation is given by missionary-historian Martha Huntley. In this version, McWilliams is David W. McWilliams, not Daniel McWilliams, and his initial gift—of $6,000—was donated at the urging of Frank Ellinwood, who was eager to open Korea as soon as possible, though his superiors at the missions board advised caution. Ellinwood then selected John W. Heron to be the first Presbyterian missionary in Korea, although Horace Allen and Horace Underwood arrived in Korea sooner (Huntley 1984, 15). By then, Rev. George W. Knox (1853–1912), an American Presbyterian missionary based in Japan, wrote his foreign missions board in New York pleading for action, in a letter published in the January 1884 issue of Foreign Missionary: “Is no one ready for this opening in Corea? A missionary school, started at once would have every promise of the highest success” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 13–14). Though various versions of the story are given, Ellinwood was instrumental in the opening of Korea, and when he died in 1908, one of the plaudits the New Yorker received from the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board was his foresight in pushing rapidly into Korea after the country was opened to U.S. diplomacy (Mary Ellinwood 1911, 243–45). Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown specifies the sum as $5,000, while Allen biographer Fred Harrington pegs the sum at $7,000 (Brown 1919, 500–1; and Harrington 1944, 7). Regardless of the precise amount, it would be worth more than $100,000 today.
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Upon receiving the gift, the board sent a cablegram to China with a single word: “Corea”

Note“This cablegram was the first voice from Protestant Christendom to molest the age-old heathenism of Korea. It was destined to wake the echoes from end to end of the kingdom,” one missionary wrote nearly two decades later, with no shortage of melodrama (Ellen C. Parsons, Fifteen Years in the Korea Mission (New York: Willett, 1900), 1).
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Horace Allen departed as quickly as he could

Note“As quicky as he could,” however, still meant a few months. When the cablegram arrived in late July 1884, Allen’s wife had just gone into labor, and “it was two months before the new appointee felt that he could leave his wife to make a tour of his new territory” (Harrington 1944, 8). Korea missionary George S. McCune, writing years later, adds more detail: “Why was Dr. Allen restless in China? Why did he write that letter June 6, 1884 to Joseph Hass of the Korean Customs service inquiring whether the services of a physician were needed and the letter of June 8th, to the Foreign Board asking for appointment to Korea, requesting a cable reply? Prayers were ascending. Allen answered. The first ‘preacher,’ a physician, was found; he left Shanghai September 14th and arrived in Seoul the 20th” (McCune, “Fifty Years of Promotion,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 23–24).
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-the-world voyage to America and Europe, meeting twice with President Chester A. Arthur

NoteAccording to historian Gary Walter, the “special mission of friendship” was dispatched in accordance with the signing of the 1882 U.S.–Korea treaty (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 89). The journey was aimed not only at improving ties with the U.S., but also at securing loans and advisers. The idea for the journey appears to have been suggested to Kojong by U.S. Minister Lucius Foote (Deuchler 1977, 204).  GREAT AMERICAN ROADTRIP: The group received a red-carpet reception upon its arrival in San Francisco on September 2, 1883, then proceeded across the country by the Central and Union Pacific Railroad, first to Chicago and then to Washington, where they were received by Ensign George C. Foulk, later to serve as the U.S.’s top diplomat in Seoul (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 101–3). The Koreans then headed north to New York, where they met with President Chester Arthur and Secretary of State Frederick T. Frelinghuysen (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 103; and Eckert et al. 1990, 204). In New York, William Griffis, the American Congregationalist minister and prolific author of some of the earliest English-language books on Korea and Japan, hosted members of the Korean delegation at his home in Schenectady, where he was serving as pastor of First Reformed Church. There, they shared “a most delightful evening,” during which Griffis, who had never visited Korea but whose writings had nonetheless helped shape many early Western views of the country, pumped the Koreans for information on “a number of moot points” and tried to learn more about Korean Christianity (Griffis 1885, 216, n. 1). After a short trip to Boston, the Korean delegation was greeted with a 15-gun salute at the Brooklyn Navy Yard by the USS Colorado, which had led Adm. John Rodgers’ attack on Kanghwa Island in 1871 (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 103–4, citing New York Times, September 25, 1883). The delegation then returned to Washington for a second meeting, this time at the White House, with President Arthur and Secretary of State Frelinghuysen, on October 13, 1883 (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 107). In his annual address to Congress weeks later, on December 4, 1883, President Arthur lavished high-sounding words on Korea, declaring that “we seek no monopoly of its commerce and no advantages over other nations, but as the Chosenese, in reaching for a higher civilization, have confided in this republic, we cannot regard with indifference any encroachment on their rights” (as quoted in Nahm 1961, 214). After this American sojourn, three of the mission members, including Min Yŏng-ik, traveled onto Europe and the Suez Canal, while another four took the train back to San Francisco for the transpacific return journey back to Korea (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 107–8; and Deuchler 1977, 204). Another, Yu Kil-jun, stayed behind in Boston with Edward S. Morse, who had spent a number of years in Japan; Yu thus became the first Korean student in America (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 108–9, citing New York Times, November 8, 1883). Meanwhile, Ensign Foulk led Min Yŏng-ik and his companions through Europe, stopping in Marseilles, Paris, London, Rome, Cairo, Aden, India, Sri Lanka (then known as Ceylon), Singapore, Hong Kong, and Nagasaki, before finally arriving at Inch’ŏn on May 31, 1884 (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 109). Foulk, according to one American historian, “completely won the confidence of the king” (Dennett 1922, 478).  PRINCE MIN: Min Yŏng-ik (悶泳翊 1860–1914) was, in the words of one historian, “the first Korean envoy to the United States and one of the most powerful figures in Korea” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 20–21). Min Yŏng-ik, who was actually an adopted nephew of the queen, was just 25 years old at the time he was chosen to lead the mission; when he departed in July 1883, he had only just recently survived an assassination attempt launched by supporters of the Prince Regent; he had fled to Japan disguised as a Buddhist monk (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 96). Historian Carter Eckert describes Prince Min as one of several Korean reformers during this period who “favored a gradualist approach,” envisioning any changes coming with the help of Qing China (Eckert et al. 1900, 208).  A PROGRESSIVE QUARTET: Prince Min’s deputy on the mission to America was Hong Yŏng-sik (洪英植 1856–1884), a son of a senior minister who, at 28 years old, was a progressive and close friend of King Kojong (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 97). Two other members of the mission—Sŏ Kwang-pŏm (徐光範 1859–1897) and Yu Kil-jun (俞吉濬 1856–1914)—had enrolled at Japanese reformer Fuzukawa Yikichi’s Keiō Academy (慶應義塾 Jp. Keiō Gijuku), now known as Keiō University (慶應義塾大学 Jp. Keiō Gijuku Daigaku) and Japan’s oldest Western-style school of higher learning (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 98). Yu Kil-jun, who was among the Korean “reformists who had converted to Protestantism,” stayed behind to attend high school in Massachusetts before embarking on his round-the-world return journey to Korea in 1885, just in time for him to be associated with the Kapsin coup of December 1884, led by Japanese-backed Korean reformers (Kyung Moon Hwang [Hwang, Kyŏng-mun], “Country or State? Reconceptualizing Kukka in the Korean Enlightenment Period, 1896–1910,” Korean Studies 24 (2000), 1–24, here 10–11; and Wells 1984, 92–93). A book that Yu wrote about his time in the West, entitled “Observations from Travels to the West” (西游見聞 Kor. Sŏyu Kyŏnmun), was published in 1895 and banned the following year; nonetheless, it became an influential text among Korean reformers, with whole passages of it apparently copied and published in leading pro-reform Korean newspapers for the next decade and a half (Hwang, “Country or State?” (2000), 11). Among Yu’s observations was that the Western civilizations valued women’s education and treated women better than at home, though he stopped short of advocating for Korea to do the same (Hyaeweol Choi [Ch’oe, Hye-wŏl], “‘Wise Mother, Good Wife’: A Transcultural Discursive Construct in Modern Korea,” Journal of Korean Studies 14, no. 1 (Fall 2009), 1–33; here 5). This core four of the Korean mission thus ranged between the tender ages of 23 and 28; all four had traveled outside of Korea, were close to King Kojong and were relatively progressive (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 99). For a full list of the 10 members of the “Chosunese Special Mission,” which included Min Yŏng-ik as “Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary,” Hong, Sŏ, Yu, and four other Koreans of which little is known, as well as an interpreter and one American, see Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 131.   PIONEERING BOSTONIAN: The Korean delegation was accompanied by an American, Boston native Percival Lowell, a noted astronomer and Japanologist who the Korean mission had hired as foreign secretary and counsellor while stopping over in Tokyo, and who would go on to write an early book about Korea (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 101). Lowell accompanied the Koreans to San Francisco, arriving in September 1883, then took them to Washington, New York, and Boston, where he welcomed the delegation into his home (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 103). Lowell then joined four of the delegates in sailing to Seoul, arriving in December 1883 (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 108). King Kojong invited Lowell to stay the winter as his guest (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 110). Lowell thus broke ground in at least three different ways, according to University of California, Santa Barbara scholar Hyung Il Pai: Lowell was the first to bring a Korean delegation to Washington, the first Westerner invited by the Korean king to Seoul as a royal guest, and the first to take photos of the Korean king (Hyung Il Pai [Pae, Hyŏng-il], “Visualizing Seoul’s Landscapes: Percival Lowell and the Cultural Biography of Ethnographic Images,” Journal of Korean Studies 21, no. 2 (Fall 2016), 355–84, here 355, 360). “As the first American diplomat armed with a camera,” Pae writes, Lowell produced 25 photographs that “had given Americans their first glimpses of a far-off ‘Hermit Kingdom’” (Pai, “Visualizing Seoul’s Landscapes” (2016), 355, 363). Lowell is perhaps best remembered today for having helped shape American views about the planet Mars (Adam Kirsch, “Still Dreaming of Martians,” The Wall Street Journal, February 20, 2021, C4). In 1960, Lowell would even find his way into North Korean science fiction for his contributions to Mars research (Dafna Zur, “Let’s Go to the Moon: Science Fiction in the North Korean Children’s Magazine Adong Munhak, 1956–1965,” Journal of Asian Studies 73, no. 2 (May 2014), 327–351, here 341).
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“I have returned into the dark again; I cannot as yet see my way clearly, but I hope to soon”

NoteAMAZED BY AMERICA: Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 138–39, quoting Lucius Foote message to Secretary of State Frederick T. Frelinghuysen, June 17, 1884. Elsewhere, historian Gary Walter quotes Prince Min telling King Kojong that the U.S., with the vastness of its land and the diligence of its people, “is not comparable with other countries” (as quoted in Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 109). Though Prince Min was “fascinated with their ideas,” any who looked to the young royal for hope was “disillusioned only too soon,” writes one historian, for “his awareness of such need…was overshadowed by the family interests of his own” (Nahm 1961, 159–60; and Deuchler 1977, 204). Homer Hulbert, a missionary-historian who arrived in Korea shortly after this time, similarly concluded that “Min Yong-ik was the one important member of the Min faction who favoured radical reform, but on his return to Korea the clan feeling proved too powerful, and he gradually went over to the other side” (Hulbert 1906, 124). Min wasn’t the only Korean impressed by the U.S. Hong Yŏng-sik, another member of the mission, described America as “a light so bright as to dazzle” him (Hilary Conroy, The Japanese Seizure of Korea: 1868–1910—A Study of Realism and Idealism in International Relations (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1960), 126, quoting Lucius Foote message to Secretary of State Frelinghuysen, October 16, 1883).   A DIPLOMATIC REVOLVING DOOR: As for Lucius H. Foote (1826–1913), the pastor’s son didn’t last long in his posting in Seoul, resigning after Washington downgraded his post from “Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary” to the rank of “Minister Resident and Consul General” in July 1884, a year after his arrival; Foote, “bitterly disillusioned,” resigned before being recalled on a “leave of absence” (Dennett 1922, 475; and Nahm 1961, 217). Foote abruptly left Korea on the day after Christmas 1884, leaving the U.S. diplomatic mission to George Foulk, the 28-year-old junior naval attaché who had accompanied the Korean mission of 1883–1884 through Europe—at least until February 1886, when the Korean-speaking Foulk too left his post (Deuchler 1977, 166–167; Conroy 1960, 183–84; and Robert S. Kim 2017, 7). Foulk’s successor, William H. Parker, wasn’t much better; Parker was a drunkard who, in Foulk’s words, “has been intoxicated during a considerable part of his residence here. Korean and Foreign officials ceased to visit him . . . Americans came to the American legation for advice and found the minister drunk” (Conroy 1960, 184, n. 35). As another historian of this period writes, Parker was often “as drunk as any mortal man can be. He had swilled in public till his knees had buckled under him and then had carried on in the privacy of his own room. There were days when the envoy could not pull his rum-soaked frame from bed, and when he did stagger to his feet it was only to drink some more” (Harrington 1944, 206). Despite his violent drunkenness, Parker was—perhaps surprisingly—a “Christian gentleman,” in Horace Allen’s words, who allowed the missionaries to gather at his diplomatic offices on Sunday mornings and thus “worship well within the law” (Harrington 1944, 51). With Parker incapacitated, Foulk—who had fallen in love with Japan and married a Japanese woman—was ordered to return to Seoul until the arrival of a replacement, W. W. Rockhill, after which time Foulk moved to Japan, dying from ill health caused by overwork just six years later, at age thirty-seven (Harrington 1944, 15–16). Stability was elusive until Hugh A. Dinsmore arrived as Minister Resident and Consul General in April 1887 (Deuchler 1977, 167, n. 49; and Robert S. Kim 2017, 7). The problem was that Korea was far down the list of priorities for the State Department and the U.S. government more broadly. “In so remote a spot we only guessed at home policy by the daily papers which arrived six weeks to two months late, and guided our activities by what the editors might think,” wrote U.S. diplomat William F. Sands, who arrived in Seoul a decade later in 1897 (Palmer 1967, 58, citing Sands, William 1930, p. 56). ((CITE ORIGINAL)) For a full table of the various U.S. diplomatic envoys to Korea in the final two decades of the nineteenth century, see Dennett 1922, 705–7.
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minister who was so impressed that he donated money to start missions work in Korea

NotePrince Min’s encounter with Rev. John F. Goucher (1845–1922)—an active Methodist layman and a strong proponent of world missions—on a Union Pacific train was entirely by chance (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 87). The Korean delegation was traveling to Washington at the time to meet with and present its diplomatic credentials to President Arthur; Rev. Goucher was so excited by the possibilities in Korea that he immediately committed his financial backing to the enterprise of Methodist missions there (Sherwood Hall 1978, 79–80). Rev. Goucher donated $2,000, which became part of a special $5,000 appropriation at the Methodist Missionary Society’s 1883 annual session to open a mission in Korea (Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church, Sixty-Sixth Annual Report of the Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church for the Year 1884 (New York: Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church, 1885), 204). By the time Rev. Goucher made his donation to the cause of Methodist missions in Korea, the Methodist-run Christian Advocate weekly magazine had published more than a dozen articles on Korea, yielding donations that “ranged from two gifts of $1,000 to $9 from a nine-year-old girl in California” (Huntley 1984, 16). Rev. Goucher’s name today adorns Goucher College, a Towson, Maryland-based liberal arts college founded in 1885 as the Women’s College of Baltimore City.
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in June 1884, telling King Kojong of the church’s desire to open schools and hospitals in Korea

NoteRev. Robert S. Maclay (1824–1907) and his wife sailed from Nagasaki on June 13, 1884, arriving at Pusan on June 20 and then Chemulp’o on June 24, where they met with U.S. Minister Lucius Foote and his wife. Rev. Maclay’s meeting with King Kojong was arranged by Kim Ok-gyun (金玉均 1851–1894), a Buddhist and late Chosŏn dynasty reform advocate, who met Rev. Maclay in Japan in July 1884 before his December 1884 coup attempt and talked about the setting up of mission schools in Korea (Wells 1990, 27; Harrington 1944, 12–13; and Chung-shin Park 2003, 21, 119–20). William Griffis gives the date of Rev. Maclay’s visit, incorrectly, as June 1883 (Griffis 1912, 54). Rev. Maclay, a longtime Methodist missionary to Asia who was superintendent of the Northern Methodist mission in Japan and who had spent considerable time in China, would not actually end up serving as missionary to Korea (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 62). Instead, the sixty-year-old Rev. Maclay would return to the U.S. a few years later to retire.   “SO LONG AS IT WAS PROTESTANT”: Rev. Maclay’s efforts to “spy out the land” for opportunities for Christian work “fulfilled the highest expectations of those interested,” the Methodist Church concluded in its annual meeting that year. When Rev. Maclay presented a written proposal to King Kojong, the king cordially accepted— “so long as it was Protestant. The difference between Romish and Protestant missionaries is, happily, quite clear to the mind of this monarch” (“Notes From the Wide Field—Africa, China, Corea, Polynesia,” Missionary Herald 80, no. 12 (December 1884), 521–24, here 523; Methodist Episcopal Church 1885, 204–5; and Oak 2013, 21). King Kojong’s curious insistence on Protestant teachers and doctors may have reflected his wariness toward the Catholics that his father had persecuted so mercilessly. It may also have reflected some understanding of the differences between the teachings of the Protestants and Catholics. Kojong’s inclination towards Protestantism may also have been the result of an 1840s Chinese book that circulated widely in Korea, and which explained the Protestant Reformation in Europe. Kojong would reaffirm his support for Protestant—and in particular Methodist—missionary work in Korea in the years to follow. In 1892, King Kojong, during a meeting with a visiting Methodist Bishop William X. Ninde (1832–1901), “asked that many more Americans be sent out to help his people,” according to Rev. W. E. Towson, a Methodist missionary in Japan who participated in the meeting (Candler 1907, 19, quoting W. E. Towson letter to Warren Candler, June 15, 1895). Another similar meeting took place between King Kojong and Bishop Ninde, William B. Scranton, and Horace Underwood on February 4, 1895, during which the Korean monarch expressed appreciation for the good work done by the “teachers,” as he called the missionaries, concluding: “Send more teachers” (Appenzeller 1902, 10; and “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (February 1895), 78). Indeed, there was an agreement between Kojong and Rev. Maclay that the Methodists’ work in Korea would be focused on medical and educational work, the church noted in its annual report: “Dr. Maclay believes it better to begin in educational and medical work, using no disguise as to the ultimate object being evangelization” (Methodist Episcopal Church 1885, 204). Indeed, the Catholics didn’t open their first general hospital in Korea until 1936, the result being that “Protestant Christianity quickly began to be identified with modernity” (Baker, “Sibling Rivalry,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 291).  “TOLERATION IS A REALITY”: Because of exchanges such as this, many missionaries during this period came to regard Kojong as an ally, if not openly friendly toward Christianity then at least forbearing of it. “Toleration in religious matters has marked the reign of His Majesty,” the missionary editors of the Korean Repository wrote in November 1896. “Not only has no one been interfered with, but on more occasions than one, the King has given distinct and direct encouragement to missionaries, or as he terms them, ‘teachers’” (“His Majesty, the King of Korea,” Korean Repository (1896), 430). “The King’s attitude towards Christian Missions is very friendly, and toleration is a reality,” Isabella Bird Bishop wrote (Bishop 1898, 256).
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proved just a short trip, Horace Allen came to stay, arriving in Seoul on September 20, 1884

Note Rev. Allen’s first impression of Korea was, like many of the other Westerners who arrived in this era, far from promising: “A motley place of slab shanties, mud huts, shacks, and fresh earth,” he called it (as quoted in Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 36).
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“with a jutting Wellingtonian nose and peaked, flaming-red, aggressive beard”

NoteWilliam Sands would later work for Rev. Allen after he left the mission to become a diplomat, posted to Seoul. Samuel H. Moffett, the son of the pioneering missionary, described Allen as “a red-headed six-footer” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 36). Rev. Allen’s biographer Fred H. Harrington described him as a six-foot tall “lean, red-haired doctor” (Harrington 1944, 4). He continued: “Some liked the missionary’s towering height, his vigorous appearance, and his glance of keen intelligence, but none ever called him handsome. A bony frame, receding reddish hair, sharp features stamped with a petulant expression, these did not combine into a pretty picture” (Harrington 1944, 42).
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“to remain if the American Minister had not appointed Dr. Allen physician to the legation”

NoteHere, Lillias Underwood quotes an unspecified report of the Presbyterian foreign missions board.
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And so it was that Allen would serve as a diplomatic physician, rather than as a missionary

NoteUpon his arrival in Seoul in September 1884, Allen “was at once appointed physician to the U.S. Legation and later, to the British, Chinese and Japanese Legations. Since the treaties did not provide for missionary work, these appointments allowed Dr. Allen to establish legal residence in Seoul, not as a missionary, but as a physician” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 80). Allen bought a house in Seoul and moved his family there in October 1884 (Sherwood Hall 1978, 80). Fred Harrington, Allen’s biographer, dismissed U.S. minister Lucius Foote as “a party hack indifferent to the diplomacy of China and Japan” who “was not noted for his hospitality” and regarded Korea as “filthy beyond endurance.” But, approaching his sixties and with a wife in ill health, Foote did have “great need for a doctor,” which led him to embrace Allen (Harrington 1944, 9, 11–12).
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as Protestant Christianity’s first evangelist on the Korean peninsula would prove providential

NoteIt was, to be sure, not a very deceptive ruse. “The clumsy camouflage fooled no one. Even the muddle-minded monarch of Chosen knew that Allen was a Christian worker—and he was not the first to hear the news” (Harrington 1944, 12). As diplomatic historian Tyler Dennett notes, “in China, Japan and Korea the American missionary introduced himself by subterfuge which was accompanied by the tolerance and indulgence of native officials” (Dennett 1922, 559–60).
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attempt at an official banquet, gravely wounding Prince Min Yŏng-ik, the queen’s nephew

NoteFor a detailed English-language historical account of the events of December 4, 1884, see Nahm 1961, 267–86; and Palmer 1967, 56–57. The banquet in Seoul, on the evening of December 4, 1884, was to celebrate the opening of Korea’s national post office, part of a modest set of reforms set into motion during this period. The first postmaster was Hong Yŏng-sik, who had just a year earlier returned from having joined Prince Min on the first official Korean diplomatic mission to the U.S. (see Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 97–113). Hong was made a commander of the palace guard in the short-lived revolutionary government that followed, before being killed a few days later, on December 7, 1884, when the rebellion collapsed (Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 112–13). American minister Lucius Foote was also at the banquet, along with Yun Ch’i-ho, a Christian convert to Methodism of which more will be said later (Donald N. Clark, “Yun Ch’i-ho (1864–1945): Portrait of a Korean Intellectual in an Era of Transition,” Occasional Papers on Korea 4 (September 1975), 36–76, here 39). The evening was, in the words of one Korean American writer, a “bleak, moonless night” in Seoul. During the post office banquet, kisaeng girls entertained the guests and the wine flowed until, at one point, someone cried out “Fire! Fire, at the Royal Palace!” which then gave the rebels cover to kill cabinet ministers (Liem 1952, 22–24).
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into action, rushing over to treat him and then nursing him back to health over three months

NoteIn the initial chaos, Paul Georg von Möllendorff (1847–1901), a Prussian adviser to King Kojong between 1882 and 1885, rushed to Prince Min’s side and found that he was still alive. At that point, U.S. minister Lucius Foote called for Horace Allen and, together with von Möllendorff and British consul-general William G. Aston, carried the wounded Korean prince to the Customs Office, where Allen treated him throughout the night, the prince only showing signs of improvement at dawn (Nahm 1961, 277, 282). Allen had been strolling around Seoul in the snow with his wife when the palace guard found him and urgently summoned him to Prince Min’s rescue (Pak 2006, 69). Homer Hulbert describes the rescue operation taking place at von Möllendorff’s home (Hulbert 1906, 125). The following day, Foote in a telegram to the U.S. secretary of state described Prince Min’s “face and clothing covered with blood, which was streaming from seven or eight ghastly wounds. The utmost consternation ensued” (Conroy 1960, 154, citing Lucius Foote telegram to Secretary of State Frelinghuysen, December. 5, 1884). Another missionary described Prince Min’s wounds as being “over sixty in number, all superficial, but included the excision of an eyeball, the lopping off of an ear, and many incisions” (“Medical Books Needed,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 7 (May 1906), 131–33, here 131). Despite the ongoing political chaos all around them, Allen said later that he never thought of leaving: “We couldn’t if we would, and we wouldn’t if we could. I came to do just such work. I can’t leave these wounded people” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 502). Allen was an admirer of Prince Min, calling him “the greatest man in Korea next to his ruler,” and there were plenty of close calls in his recovering, which caused “much anxiety and peril” (Allen 1908, 70). Prince Min later rewarded Allen with 100,000 copper coins, a grand sum at the time (David Suh [Sŏ, Kwang-sŏn], The Korean Minjung in Christ (Hong Kong: Christian Conference of Asia, 1991, repr. 2002), 19-20).
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After that, Allen became, in the words of a colleague, “the most famous man in the capital”

NoteAfter the incident, “from this time on medical calls were so frequent that Dr. Allen rarely found it possible to get a full night’s sleep” (“The Beginnings of Medical Work in Korea,” Korean Repository 1 (December 1892), 353–58, here 356). Despite his newfound influence, Allen initially vowed to “stay out of politics” before realizing that “his prestige might help the church. Why not use the court connection if it would aid the Christian cause?” (Harrington 1944, 44). In no time at all, Allen would rush headlong in the opposite direction—recognizing, as Allen’s biographer writes, that “it pays to be court favorite in a state where royal rule is absolute…So it was that the youthful Allen, no star student in America, no leading light in China, reached the peak in Seoul, stood face to face with royalty” (Harrington 1944, 42–43). Allen regarded himself as in an enviable position with regard to the Korean court, fueling his belief—not shared by all of his fellow missionaries—that the best path to the success of the Christian gospel in Korea was through the government elite: “I am without doubt the strongest foreigner in the country so far as influence with the king is concerned,” Allen declared to Frank Ellinwood in August 1887 (Huntley 1984, 39, citing Horace Allen letter to Frank Ellinwood, August 22, 1887). By then, Allen had already been made “a nobleman of the second rank” by the Korean crown in a ceremony on October 28, 1886, conferring on him a title given to but a few foreigners at the time, and that, according to Allen, gave him “real rank as I am nominally governor of a district north of here” (Huntley 1984, 43, citing Horace Allen letter to Frank Ellinwood on October 28, 1886). ((CITE ORIGINAL?))
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radical of Korea’s progressive agitators and strengthening the court’s pro-China conservatives

NoteThe coup plotters killed cabinet members, seized King Kojong, and issued a string of decrees in the monarch’s name, naming a new cabinet and unveiling a 14-point proclamation on December 5, 1884, that abolished social classes, among other political and socioeconomic reforms (Liem 1952, 22–24; and Deuchler 1977, 208). By the following day, December 6, 1884, the coup started to come undone when the conservative Chinese general, Yuan Shikai, surrounded the headquarters of the reformers, who then fled to the Japanese legation and then onto Inch’ŏn, where they boarded a boat to Japan (Liem 1952, 25–28). In Japan, some of the coup plotters came under the protection of the American Presbyterian missionary Rev. Henry Loomis, who supplied them with letters of introduction to settle in the U.S. (Loomis 1923, 84). Meanwhile, the Korean public, crying “Death to the Japanese!” began attacking the Japanese in the capital (Conroy 1960, 155, citing Lucius Foote telegram to Secretary of State Frelinghuysen, December 17, 1884). For the second time in three years, the Japanese legation was burned down, forcing the Japanese to flee again. Amid the chaos, “it seemed for a time as though all foreigners might be massacred. The American Minister and the British and German Consul-Generals retired to Chemulpho” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 35). For a first-person account from a Westerner in Seoul, the German captain F. H. Mörsel, see F. H. Mörsel, “The Emeute of 1884,” Korean Repository 4 (June 1897), 212–19.  INSPIRED BY IDEALS: As University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho notes, all of the major reformers involved in the attempted coup—Kim Ok-gyun, Pak Yŏng-hyo, Hong Yŏng-sik, Sŏ Kwang-bŏm, and Philip Jaisohn, most of whom will figure later in this narrative—“had all been abroad and had come to the realization that Korea needed urgently to transform herself by adopting Western ideas and technology” (Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup” (1982), 105). Still, Ch’oe writes that the failed insurrection “totally besmirched the image of the enlightenment movement in the eyes of the Korean people…Thus the enlightenment movement was short-lived in Korea; its premature death was due to its leaders’ blunders. The movement never even had the opportunity to elucidate its ideals to the Korean people before it was wholly discredited” (Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup” (1982), 108, 111). It also removed from the scene all of the most prominent reformers in Korea, who were either killed or exiled, at a critical time for Korea (Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup” (1982), 114–15).   A “DISASTROUS” LEGACY: Most historians agree with Ch’oe’s assessment of the Kapsin coup of 1884. “The reform government lasted only two days. Its impact on the domestic scene was slight; its international repercussions were disastrous,” writes one (Deuchler 1977, 211). Another likewise dismisses the 1884 coup as one of several “short-lived palace upheavals staged by a handful of headstrong, youthful, and ill-prepared political activists” (Vipin Chandra [Chandra, Vipan], “An Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe (Advancement Society) of Korea,” Occasional Papers on Korea 2 (March 1974), 43–72, here 45). “The bloody tactics of the coup besmirched the image of reform in the eyes of officials and the public alike,” writes a third (Michael E. Robinson, Cultural Nationalism in Colonial Korea, 1920–1925 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1988), 21). Yet another describes it as a revolt “carried out by a handful of aristocrats. The aristocratic revolution had no popular support. The revolutionaries not only neglected to propagate their ideas among the people, but they also overlooked the importance of military support in a successful revolution” (Nahm 1961, 325). Interestingly, North Korean historiography would later come to regard the Kapsin coup in a positive light—as “the first ever bourgeois reform in Korea carried out by a reformist group intent on modernization, thus giving a boost to the history of the nation,” in the words of Kim Jong Il (Kim Jong Il: Biography 1 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 2005), 126).  YUAN SHIKAI’S MOMENT: Another implication of the Kapsin coup was the opening that it created for Yuan Shikai (袁世凱 1859–1916), the up-and-coming Chinese military and government official who would later earn a permanent place in the annals of Chinese history. Yuan, just twenty-five years old at the time of the events of December 1884, would go on to greater infamy as the first president of the Republic of China nearly three decades later. Foreigners in Seoul were far from impressed by Yuan. One, the missionary and educator George Gilmore, called him “a typical Oriental, of no special ability, but with an abnormal amount of cunning and duplicity,” accusing Yuan of pompousness, having “shown his contempt and insolence by riding in his chair inside the palace grounds, a thing never done by a native Korean,” while also plotting a scheme to kidnap the king and allow for Chinese intervention (Gilmore 1892, 261–63). Historian Andrew Nahm described the newly arrived Yuan as a “twenty-four year old, opium-smoking, hard-drinking, short-tempered general” (Nahm 1961, 184).
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But for the missionaries, the Kapsin coup proved a godsend

NoteGeorge Gilmore called “the dramatic circumstances under cover of which Dr. Allen…secured an entrance and a sure footing for Christian work at the capital” nothing short than an act of “providence” (Gilmore 1892, 292). Samuel H. Moffett, son of the pioneering missionary, wrote later that “it was Allen’s miracle of healing that first began to remove the aura of menace that clouded the image of the foreigner in the Korean mind” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 156). One Korean theologian, channeling a widely held view among Korean Christians in the century since the incident, described the near-death of Prince Min, and Horace Allen’s presence that night, as “a God-given opportunity” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 46). 
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country that had for centuries restricted medicine and education to the sons of the aristocracy

Note“Dr. Allen, who had saved the life of Prince Min and served so faithfully in caring for the wounded, was in high favor with the King and Queen. When he therefore asked to be given a building to use as a Government Hospital, supported by Government funds, his request was granted” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 82). It turns out that the building granted to him for the royal hospital was none other than the home of Hong Yŏng-sik, the postmaster general whose celebratory banquet the coup attempt took place at, and who died in the melee (Sherwood Hall 1978, 82). The hospital, with Allen in charge and bearing the patronage of the king, was opened on February 25, 1885, as the “House of Extended Grace” (廣惠院 Kor. Kwanghye-wŏn) (Brown 1919, 502). Sherwood Hall translates the name as the “Widespread Relief House” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 82). Whatever one called it in English, its name would be changed just a few weeks later to the “House of Universal Helpfulness” (濟眾院 Kor. Chejung-wŏn). Another source gives the opening date as April 9, 1885 (Harrington 1944, 47). The hospital is now a part of the Yonsei-Severance medical system in Seoul (Harrington 1944, 119–20).
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ship also carrying Henry G. Appenzeller, a twenty-seven-year-old Methodist from Pennsylvania

NoteUnderwood’s appointment to Korea came on July 28, 1884, just six days after Horace Allen was sent to Korea from his posting in China (Huntley 1984, 20). The two young missionaries, “the one short, the other tall”—Underwood was more diminutive in stature—were carrying a copy of the four New Testament gospels translated into Korean by a Chosŏn aristocrat who had converted to the faith after moving to Japan, and who earnestly sought the introduction of the Christian faith into his homeland (Huntley 1984, 15). For more on this early convert and Bible translator, Yi Su-jŏng (李樹廷1842–1886), known to the missionaries by the Japanese name Rijutei. When Horace Underwood was sailing to Korea, the political uncertainty in Seoul was still high. “Everywhere the same gruesome tales about Korea met him: the persecutions of Roman Christians, the barbarous character of the people; no trees, no singing birds, no flowers; the recent terrible émeute in Seoul when the little band of revolutionists and Japanese had to fight their way to the shore and barely escaped with their lives” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 39–40).  HENRY APPENZELLER: The Methodist Henry G. Appenzeller (1858–1902), from Pennsylvania, is the subject of a 1912 biography by the Japan-based writer William E. Griffis. Griffis, employing language typical of the time, described Appenzeller in almost messianic terms, arriving in a backwards and benighted place: “The coming of a live, typical, American Christian in 1885, into the mysterious secrecy of an inhospitable hermit kingdom, the abode of cruelty, oppression, mental darkness, ignorance and disease, was like an invincible sunbeam” (Griffis 1912, 7). Also aboard the ship with Revs. Underwood and Appenzeller was Henry’s wife Ella (Donald Clark 2003, 14). Rev. Appenzeller, after arriving in Korea, decided that the political instability in Korea was too perilous for him and his pregnant wife, and they left Korea again for Japan four days after their arrival, on April 9, 1885, only returning for a second time in June, landing on June 20, 1885 (Lillias Underwood 1918, 40; and Daniel M. Davies, “Henry G. Appenzeller: Pioneer Missionary and Reformer in Korea,” Methodist History 30, no. 4 (June 1992), 195–205, here 201–2). The Appenzellers’ baby girl, Alice Rebecca, was the first American to be born in Korea; she later became president of Ewha Womans University in the 1920s and 1930s (Davies, “Pioneer Missionary and Reformer” (1992), 202). Rev. Appenzeller’s theology, at least upon his arrival in Korea, can be described as uncompromising, with Catholicism and other world religions regarded as diversions from the true faith (Daniel M. Davies, “Building a City on a Hill in Korea: The Work of Henry G. Appenzeller,” Church History 61, no. 4 (December 1992), 422–35, here 424, citing a sermon that Rev. Appenzeller preached in Philadelphia on October 1, 1883, entitled “The Power of the Cross”). Rev. Appenzeller did, however, come to develop more of an appreciation for other faiths during his time in Korea, though none that could, like Protestantism, offer salvation (Davies, “Building a City on a Hill” (1992), 424, citing a sermon that Rev. Appenzeller preached in Seoul on February 3, 1889, entitled “The Treasure in Earthen Vessels”). Rev. Appenzeller died in June 1902, drowning in a sinking boat off the western coast of Korea while trying to rescue a Korean girl aboard the ship (Griffis 1912, 279).  AN EASTER MIRACLE: “The significance of the fact that Underwood and Appenzeller arrived in Korea on Easter Sunday in 1885, despite the vagaries of trans-Pacific travel in the late nineteenth century and the confusion that accompanied the establishment of the International Date Line, did not escape these profoundly religious and idealistic young Americans,” Jung H. Pak, a historian who later served as a senior intelligence officer and diplomat in the Obama and Biden administrations, wrote in her Columbia University doctoral dissertation (Pak 2006, 27). As it happens, 1885 was the same year that the Southern Presbyterian Church, the American Society of Friends, and the Evangelical Protestant Missionary Society of Germany-Switzerland, set up in neighboring Japan (Otis Cary, A History of Christianity in Japan: Protestant Missions (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1909), 180).
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followed in June 1885 by the English-born Presbyterian doctor John Heron and his wife, Harriet

NoteJohn W. Heron (1858–1890) had actually been the first Presbyterian missionary assigned to Korea, though he wasn’t able to arrive until after Horace Allen and Horace Underwood had already established themselves in Seoul—a fact that Underwood himself acknowledged late in life (Underwood, “Reminiscences,” in Quarto Centennial Papers (1909), 97). Also cited in Sung Chun Chun 1955, 33. Heron, born in Derbyshire, England, to a Congregationalist minister father, moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, at age fourteen; after graduating with a medical degree from the University of Tennessee, he arrived in Korea in June 1885 at age twenty-nine, having just married (Rutt 1983, 16). Heron’s time in Korea would be brief; he caught dysentery and died in July 1890 after contracting the disease from a patient he was treating (Kim Tong-gŏn and Kim T’ae-su, “Chejung-wŏn I-dae Wŏnjang He’ron (John W. Heron, M. D.) ŭi Saeng’ae” [The Life of John W. Heron, the Second Director of the “House of Universal Helpfulness”], Ŭisahak [Korean Journal of Medical History] 9, no. 2 (December 2000), 205–11, here 211). For an obituary, see Daniel L. Gifford, “John W. Heron, M. D.,” Korean Repository 4 (December 1897), 441–43. Heron’s death, the first of a foreigner in Seoul, led to the creation of a cemetery for foreigners in western Seoul (Rutt 1983, 18). Yanghwajin Foreign Missionaries Cemetery (楊花津外國人宣教師墓園 Kor. Yanghwajin Oeguk’in Sŏn’gyo-sa Myowŏn) is located in what is now the Hapjŏng (合井) neighborhood of Seoul, along the banks of the Han River, next to Decapitation Hill (切頭山 Kor. Chŏldu-san), where the Chosŏn court had executed Catholic converts during the persecutions of the nineteenth century. Some of the most prominent members of the most storied American missionary families are buried there today, including three generations of Underwoods, as well as Appenzellers, Bairds, and Clarks (Pak 2006, 248–49).
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Annie J. Ellers, a teacher and doctor from Michigan, arrived the next summer

NoteAnnie J. Ellers Bunker (1860–1938), as she would be known after her marriage, had initially been inspired after meeting a missionary to Persia, deciding to follow in her footsteps before hearing an urgent call for missionaries to Korea (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 55). Ellers landed in Seoul on July 5, 1886, at the age of twenty-six. She married the missionary Dalzell A. Bunker (1853–1932) and served in Korea until her death fifty-two years later, in 1938. She too is buried at Seoul’s Yanghwajin Foreign Missionaries Cemetery. Other early arrivals during this period include George H. Jones (1867–1919), a native of Utica, N.Y., who arrived in Seoul in September 1887, making him the third Methodist missionary to Korea—and, at twenty years of age, the youngest male missionary ever sent to Korea. He died in 1919, after having spent more than two decades in Korea (W. A. Noble [Noble, W. Arthur], “Dr. George Heber Jones—An Appreciation,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 7 (July 1919), 146–47). According to one source, all of these early American missionaries—Heron, Ellers, Underwood, and Appenzeller—initially arrived as employees of the royal court rather than as missionaries, helped by Horace Allen’s good offices (Harrington 1944, 49).
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clustered primarily in the capital and the eastern harbor cities of Pusan and Wŏnsan

NoteThough Americans accounted for 69 percent of all the Protestant missionaries in Korea between 1884 and 1945, a total of ninety-eight Canadian and eighty-five Australian missionaries served alongside them, according to one tally, collectively accounting for 12 percent of the 1,529 Protestant missionaries in Korea (see Jaekeun Lee 2010, 6). By the early days of the Protestant missionary work in Korea, Pusan had emerged as a base for Australian Presbyterians, who set up there. The first missionary to move permanently to Wŏnsan was Dr. William B. McGill (1860–1918), a Methodist from Colorado, who moved there with his family in 1893 (Huntley 1984, 114). Wŏnsan (元山), on the east coast of the Korean peninsula, was a prized harbor but never succeeded in becoming a serious center of commerce, despite its “spick and span” and “clean beyond compare” appearance, with most trade bound for Seoul or Pyongyang flowing to Inch’ŏn after the opening of the western port to foreign trade in 1883 (Deuchler 1977, 184–85). Wŏnsan was known as Gensan to the Japanese and Yuensan (Yuanshan) to the Chinese, and the harbor as Broughton Bay, after a British naval officer named William R. Broughton (1762–1821). “This bay is the only useful harbour on the whole six hundred miles of coast; but to make up for the deficiency, it is one of the finest harbours in the world” (Henry Norman 1895, 324–25). The Russians, who called the northern arm of the harbor Port Lazareff, had considered running the Trans-Siberian Railway all the way there (Henry Norman 1895, 165–66; and Stoddart 1907, 283).
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physicians to Queen Min—a sign of the royal favor that the missionaries would come to enjoy

Note“No group of foreigners ever enjoyed greater intimacy at the court of an Asian state than did the American missionaries during the last quarter of the nineteenth century,” writes one scholar (Spencer J. Palmer, ed., Korean-American Relations: Documents Pertaining to the Far Eastern Diplomacy of the United States, Vol. 2: The Period of Growing Influence, 1887–1895 (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1963), 5). Also cited in Pak 2006, 74. That was especially true of the many woman missionaries to Korea. A preponderance of women was not peculiar to Korea; by 1890, the number of women missionaries around the world had surpassed that of men (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 58). Lillias Horton, later Lillias Horton Underwood (1851–1921), arrived in Korea in 1888 and quickly struck up a friendship with Queen Min when they first met in the fall that year; when she and Horace Underwood married on March 13, 1889, the queen sent her several ponies carrying a million Korean coins (Lillias Underwood 1904, 34). “During the fall and winter of 1894 and 1895 the queen sent for me very often, asking many questions about foreign countries and their customs, and chatting most affably. Frequently we dispensed altogether with the formality of an interpreter,” recalled Lillias Underwood, who, ever the missionary, looked for an entrée to share her faith. “I asked the prayers of the missionaries that an opportunity to speak to the queen about Christ might be given me, and that I might realize it and make the best use of it.” Underwood got her chance on Christmas Eve 1894, when the queen asked about “our great festival,” which allowed Underwood to tell the story of “the little babe that was laid in a manger, of the lost world to be redeemed, of the one God who so loved the world.” Queen Min, according to Underwood, “listened intently, and with deep interest, turning from time to time and repeating it in a most animated and sympathetic way to the king and prince, who did not understand my accent so well” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 114). Annie Ellers also won the trust of the royal court, and shortly after her arrival in Seoul in July 1886 became a personal doctor to the queen (Brown 1919, 503). The third of the early arrivals in Korea was Meta Howard (1862–1930), a native of Albion, Michigan, who joined the Methodist mission after graduating from medical school; she arrived in Korea in 1887 and opened a women’s hospital in early 1888, the country’s first. However, she left the country in 1889 after suffering from poor health (Brown 1919, 503; and Biographical Review of Calhoun County, Michigan (Chicago: Hobart & Mather, 1904), 439–40). Among the men, John Heron also enjoyed a close relationship with the royal court, and was lavished by King Kojong with gifts, including gold headband rings and a double crane breastpiece, signifying the highest honors in the Korean court (Rutt 1983, 16). More dubiously, Heron, after curing another Min cousin of the queen, was gifted a carload of dancing girls, “14 of them between the ages of 16 and 18, who arrived one day in 14 palanquins carried by 56 bearers” (Huntley 1984, 50).
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mission field, setting up union schools and hospitals and coordinating evangelistic campaigns

NoteUNITY IN THE FOREIGN FIELD: Between the 1880s and the end of the 1910s, “almost all professed Protestants during this era believed in the basic tenets of evangelicalism: the centrality of the Bible, the importance of the born-again experience, the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and the duty of holy living,” writes historian Jung H. Pak (Pak 2006, 31–32). On the foreign missions field, in particular, she adds, the shared sense of mission not only brought together Methodists, Presbyterians, and those from other denominations; it also served as a unifier, aligning salvation-minded evangelists like Moffett and Baird—for whom the world to come was preeminent—with proponents of the “social Gospel”—that is, those Christians for whom improving the world as it is was of paramount importance. “It seemed possible to recreate in Korea…a solidified Christianity, untainted by the rampant denominationalism and sectarianism of the United States” (Pak 2006, 40–41). The American Presbyterian missionary William N. Blair, writing decades later, credits what he calls “the happy fellowship of our two denominations” as a critical factor in the growth of Christianity in Korea. “While our compounds were largely separate, we were united…in our medical work and for years in our higher educational work and in evangelistic campaigns of various kinds” (Blair 1957, 135). Perhaps the best evidence of the compatibility of the two varieties of Protestantism is the fact that many of the Korea missionaries could toggle between the two. Oliver R. Avison, a Canadian Methodist and medical missionary, spent his years in Korea representing the Presbyterians (Laura MacDonald 2000, 19). Henry Appenzeller, the Methodist missionary, had come to the faith in a Presbyterian church (Pak 2006, 40). And Horace Underwood, during an early conflict with his Presbyterian colleagues in Seoul, threatened in September 1886 to resign from the Presbyterian mission and join the Methodist one (Rogers, Brice nd, p. 6, citing Sung-Deuk Oak Trans. Horace Grant Underwood Papers Vol I 1885-1892 (Seoul: Yonsei University Press, 2005), 385–93). ((CITE ORIGINAL/OAK IF I CAN, SINCE DON’T WANT TO CITE ROGERS)) And in Korea, the Presbyterians and Methodists often worked and socialized together. By the time Protestant missionaries gathered in Edinburgh in 1910 for a global conference that would mark the high point of Western missionary work, “there had been little discussion of theology,” writes missions historian Stephen Neill. “There had seemed to be little need for it, when all were at one on all the fundamentals…there was practical unanimity” (Neill 1990, 417–18).  A HISTORY OF PAINFUL SPLITS: Of course, that wasn’t always the case, and unity did not hold on all matters. Both the American Presbyterian and Methodist denominations were split between competing northern and southern branches that reflected the divides over the American Civil War, while the so-called “Old School”–“New School” divide split the Presbyterians along theological issues such as free will, salvation, and revivalism. The Old School–New School rupture was healed after a gathering in Pittsburgh in 1869, while the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. (Northern Presbyterians) and Presbyterian Church in the U.S. (Southern Presbyterians) “entered into fraternal relations” in 1883 (Smylie 1985, 107). Still, though the bitterest fighting had mostly healed by the 1880s, the northern and southern factions of the Methodist Episcopal Church wouldn’t reunite until 1939, and the two Presbyterian churches not until 1983. Before coming to Korea for more than three decades of missionary work from 1909 to 1940, Clarence N. Weems saw in small-town Kentucky how bitterly divided America could be between Presbyterians and Methodists (see Robert S. Kim 2017, 61). And things weren’t always harmonious between the two churches in Korea, where they would occasionally compete for influence in the countryside—at least until an agreement to carve up the peninsula into various spheres (see Blair 1957, 33–34, 41).  NO LOVE FOR THE CATHOLICS: And a special word needs to be made for relations between Protestant and Catholic missionaries in Korea. Though the Protestants were generally appreciative of the Catholics’ pioneering efforts in Korea, and the great persecutions they had endured, considerable suspicion remained. As one Yonsei University historian of Catholicism in Korea has written, “anti-Catholicism had long been a part of Protestant-dominated American culture, with the Catholic Church frequently presented as a foreign, authoritarian institution that would use its control over its flock to enslave free American Protestants and destroy their liberty. Members of the Society of Jesus were often depicted as agents of the Vatican, embodying in themselves the ruthless cunning, immorality, and thirst for domination of the ‘Roman Church’” (Han and Rausch, “Society of Jesus” (2017)). While writers like Congregationalist minister William Griffis castigated Catholics as “Iscariots,” he also expressed hope that “future Christian missionaries in Corea, whether of the Greek, Roman, or Reformed branch, will teach Christianity with more of the moral purity inculcated by its Founder” (Griffis 1894, 376). Of course, Protestantism in Korea benefited greatly from the foundation that its Catholic forerunners had laid, at such great cost, catapulting it past Catholicism to become the dominant strain of Christianity in Korea (Baker, “Sibling Rivalry,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 286). “With both Catholics and then Tonghak already talking of One God before the Protestants arrived, the Protestant message did not sound as strange as it might otherwise have” (Baker, “Sibling Rivalry,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 290). In particular, argues Donald Baker, a historian of Korean religion, Catholic converts fought arguably the toughest fight, challenging what he calls Chosŏn Korea’s “ritual hegemony”—that is, the monopoly it claimed over how the people worshipped (Baker, “Sibling Rivalry,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 286–87).  RHYTHMS OF “THE WORK”: Foreign missionaries generally followed a standardized cycle of responsibilities. Each year, for instance, Korea missionaries from the two denominations would gather, generally in Seoul, to deliver annual reports, sort out priorities for the year—and sneak in a few games of baseball. Every seven years, missionaries returned home for yearlong furloughs, giving them a chance for rest, fundraising, and reconnecting with family. “The Furlough, like Sunday, is sacred. It occurs once in seven years,” the missionaries proclaimed in August 1914 (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 8 (August 1914), 225). To be sure, there was typically very little actual rest on furlough. “A vacation in America is not all rest and refreshment, as may be inferred from the fact that while I was supposed to be resting I made at least seventy [addresses] in the home churches,” William Baird wrote after his 1899-1900 furlough. “The fact that one is always expected to speak or take some part in every prayer meeting or any other meeting at which they may be present, makes the missionary’s year at home a full one” (“Report for 1899 and 1900: W. M. Baird, Pyeng Yang, Korea,” in Kim Yong-jin, ed., The Missionary Reports of William M. Baird, Vol. 1 (Seoul: Korean Christian Museum at Soongsil University, 2016), 320). During Samuel Moffett’s furlough in 1906–1907, he won election as moderator of the New Albany presbytery in his native Indiana, traveled to Chicago to drum up interest in Korea missions at his alma mater, McCormick Theological Seminary, and secured a $5,000 pledge from an unnamed donor to finance the construction of a seminary building in Pyongyang (Arthur J. Brown letter to Samuel A. Moffett, September 27, 1906, New York (PHS 283/242 (part 3)/56); Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, October 22, 1906, Madison, Indiana (PHS 281/236/124); and Arthur J. Brown letter to the Korea Mission, November 8, 1906, New York (PHS 283/242 (part 3)/63)). “Eleven addresses in 8 days is keeping me pretty nearly as busy as I am in Korea,” Moffett remarked in an April 1907 letter, from Los Angeles (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, April 17, 1907, Los Angeles (PHS 281/237/76)). Many graduates of McCormick Theological Seminary serving in Korea used their furloughs to return to their alma mater in Chicago to urge more seminarians to commit their lives to missionary work in Korea; the pitches were frequently successful and led to a steady string of McCormick men dedicating their lives to Korea. For example, William Blair, who would serve in the Pyongyang mission from 1901 to 1942, made the decision for Korea after a visit to McCormick by the furloughed missionary William L. Swallen in 1901 (Blair 1957, 19). Horace Underwood, for his part, was responsible for several missionaries committing to work in Korea during a furlough-year tour of America’s colleges in 1891 (Lillias Underwood 1918, 109–19). In October 1891, Underwood joined Robert Speer and Yun Ch’i-ho, a prominent Korean convert to Methodism, in addressing a conference in Nashville that convinced three Southern Presbyterian seminarians to dedicate their lives to missionary work in Korea: Lewis B. Tate (1862–1929) of McCormick Seminary, and William D. Reynolds (1867–1951) and William M. Junkin (1865–1908) of Union Theological Seminary in Richmond, Va. The three men together formally inaugurated the Southern Presbyterian Church’s mission in Korea in 1892, spending thirty-three, forty-four, and sixteen years as missionaries to Korea, respectively, with Junkin’s service cut short only by death (Lillias Underwood 1918, 111–12). Horace Underwood did more than convince these men to devote their lives to Korea; the Southern Presbyterian church was only able to open its mission in Korea with funding from Underwood and his typewriter magnate brother John Underwood. The story is told in detail in L. B. Tate [Tate, Lewis B.], “Opening of the Mission,” Korea Mission Field 17, no. 11 (November 1921), 224–25; and Nisbet 1919, 17–19. For more on that fruitful Nashville conference, see Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 96–102. On the same journey, Underwood traveled to Toronto, where he persuaded Oliver Avison to come to Korea; Avison would serve in Korea for forty-two years as the head of Severance Hospital, then and now the most prestigious hospital in the Korean capital (Lillias Underwood 1918, 113–14). During a later furlough in 1900, Underwood spoke on missions at Carnegie Hall and delivered the baccalaureate sermon for New York University’s Commencement Sunday (Lillias Underwood 1918, 213–14). For the text of Underwood’s April 27, 1900, address at Carnegie Hall, see Ecumenical Missionary Conference, New York, 1900, Vol. II (New York: American Tract Society, 1900), 301–5.
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heading into the surrounding countryside on itinerating trips to spread the gospel in the villages

NoteUnlike Christian missions work in Japan, which focused overwhelmingly on urban areas, the missionaries in Korea used their city bases primarily to travel extensively into the countryside in search of souls to save. The Presbyterian foreign missions board made a conscious effort from the beginning to ensure that missionaries reached the most remote parts of the country. “We want to open a new station in Korea and hope to avoid the mistakes that have been made in some fields by the policy of over centralization,” as one Presbyterian foreign missions secretary wrote William Baird. “We must distribute the missionaries throughout their whole field, that they may be near to the people and that the whole country may be more quickly evangelized” (Baird 1968, 104, citing an undated article by William Baird entitled “The Opening and Early History of Fusan Station”). Because of missionaries’ later start in Korea, “some twenty years after the work had begun in Japan, and long after missionary endeavour had commenced in China, the missionaries in Korea were able to take advantage of accumulated missionary experience. Thus, from the beginning, missionaries in Korea approached their mission work more scientifically than had the pioneers in either Japan or China” (Ion 1990, 13–14). The Methodists, for instance, created a system of nine “circuits” in 1892 that missionaries would itinerate on, with one missionary—George H. Jones—devoted full time to the task (Huntley 1984, 113–14). As a result of efforts like these, by 1904, two decades after Horace Allen’s arrival, the Presbyterians had mission stations in Seoul, Pusan, Pyongyang, Taegu, and Sŏnch’ŏn—chosen as “natural trade and political centres” from which the missionaries could set up bases to spread the gospel (Pak 2006, 90–91). By the following year, 1905, the Korea missionaries had used this system of itinerating circuits to build a network of 321 churches and 470 “preaching places” across the peninsula (Horace Underwood 1908, 148). For a nice exposition of the importance that the Korea missionaries placed on itinerating, and its attendant dangers, see Graham Lee, “Itineration: Its Necessity, Methods and Sacrifices,” in World-Wide Evangelization: The Urgent Business of the Church—Addresses Delivered Before the Fourth International Convention of the Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, Toronto, Canada, February 26–March 2, 1902 (New York: Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, 1902), 486–89.  THE COMFORTS OF THE STATION: It took fortitude for the missionaries to head out into the countryside, given all the dangers and discomforts—particularly as the larger mission stations became developed. As the number of missionaries and foreigners grew in Pyongyang, Seoul, and the other major cities, so did the temptation grow for missionaries to cloister themselves in the expansive missionary compounds, and to grow haughty and distant from the Koreans themselves. “In the capital city where Westerners are congregated in comparatively large numbers the Missionary is in danger, not necessarily of leaving his regular work undone, but of allowing all or nearly all of his time for social activities to be given to his Western friends,” wrote medical missionary Oliver R. Avison in 1919. “This is a natural and easy process and it is also a pleasure-yielding procedure but, if followed, it loses to the Missionary a point of contact with the people to whom he has consecrated his life that would yield a hundred fold in missionary results” (Dr. and Mrs. O. R. Avison [Avison, Oliver R. and Mrs.], “The Value of Social Contract in Mission Work,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 7 (July 1919), 137–38, here 137). Moffett too warned against this temptation, calling the missionaries to get deep into the lives of the people they had crossed the ocean to work amongst. “We must cultivate a real love and sympathy, not an abstract interest, in the heathen as so many people to be converted, baptized and reported upon as so much in the way of mission assets, but a living, real, close, sympathetic touch with individuals with a view to the transforming of their lives through a personal faith in Christ,” Moffett counseled. “This is something which cannot be feigned; it must be real, for heathen are like children in that they know intuitively whether you love them” (Moffett in Counsel to New Missionaries 1905, 64).  LETTERS HOME: As the missionaries traveled around the countryside, they recorded what they saw and felt, and sent them back in letters to their foreign missions boards and to family members and home churches. This missionary correspondence, especially with the foreign missions board secretaries, serves a major source for this work. The secretaries of the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions in New York included Frank F. Ellinwood (1826–1908), Arthur J. Brown (1856–1963), and Robert E. Speer (1867–1947), who made frequent round-the-world trips to visit the various mission stations. While Speer primarily oversaw Europe, India, Africa, and Latin America, Arthur Brown was primarily responsible for China, Japan, and the rest of Asia (Piper 2000, 150). Shortly after Moffett’s arrival in Korea in 1895, the foreign missions board of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A.—that is, the Northern Presbyterians—moved into a modern office building in Manhattan, at 156 Fifth Avenue (Smylie 1985, 150). For a brief history of the Northern Presbyterian foreign missions board, see Piper 2000, 146–48. For a description of the role of the missions board secretary, and short profiles of the Canadian Methodist and Presbyterian missions board secretaries during this period, see Ion 1990, 24–25.
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threat of disease, the roads were dreadful and the countryside filled with tigers and other perils

NoteLONELY, DANGEROUS, FRUSTRATING: Travel around Korea was hazardous in those days. “The traveler in Korea must first of all provide himself with an unlimited supply of patience,” Samuel Moffett began one article in November 1892 (Samuel A. Moffett, “Suggestions on Travelling in Korea,” Korean Repository 1 (November 1892), 325–30, here 325). Donald Clark, a descendant of Northern Presbyterian missionaries to Korea, describes the work of the early missionaries as exactly “as promised: lonely, often dangerous to health and safety, and invariably frustrating” (Donald Clark 2003, 13). “It rained steadily for a week before starting,” one missionary recalled. “The rivers were up to our chins, and we not only had to ford them ourselves but induce frightened natives to do so” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 513). Brown doesn’t name the missionary. Methodist missionary W. James Hall describes a trip from Seoul to Pyongyang in 1892, along one of the best-established routes in Korea, as taking place “over rough roads, fording streams and climbing mountains” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 254, quoting a letter from W. James Hall to The Christian Herald, December 16, 1892). The American writer Jack London, traveling along that same “royal road” from Seoul to Beijing roughly a decade later, was far more disdainful: “Indeed a royal road, and yet, to the western eye and judgment, a bog hole and a travesty of what he has understood ‘road’ to mean. The least rain and it is a river of mud” (Jack London, “Royal Road a Sea of Mud,” March 5, 1904, Ping Yang, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 42–47, here 42). For more vivid recollections on the grueling life of the itinerant missionary in the early days of Korea work, see Blair 1957, 21–28.  MODEL T’S AND MOTORCYCLES: Sometime in the 1910s, the missionaries began buying Ford Model Ts, including Charles A. Clark, a Presbyterian missionary who transferred from Seoul to Pyongyang in 1922 after two decades in the capital (Donald Clark 2003, 118–19). Around 1913, Harley-Davidson motorcycles began to be sold in Korea, and one missionary, the Northern Methodist Victor H. Wachs, bought the country’s second motorcycle in order, as he put it, “to itinerate the rocky trails of North Pyeng An Do” (Victor H. Wachs, “Itinerating on Motorcycle,” Korea Mission Field 12, no. 9 (September 1916), 194–96, here 194). His fellow missionaries, at first reluctant, joined him with enthusiasm, until by 1916, “I am a conservative of the conservatives. My fellow missionaries are selling their 1915 models and buying 1916 models, while I am still disturbing the silence of the hills with the original pioneer” (Wachs, “Itinerating on Motorcycle,” Korea Mission Field (1916), 194).  TIGERS AND STORIES OF TIGERS: Then there were tigers—or at least, stories of tigers, which were pervasive during this period. During the reign of the Prince Regent in the mid-nineteenth century, the main road between Seoul and Pyongyang passed through tiger-infested forests. “As long as the slaughter by these beasts did not average more than one man a week, the people thought it could be borne; but when the number killed in this way rose to one or two a day, they applied to the Tai Won Kun, and permission was given to cut down the forest” (Ladd 1908, 120). When Isabella Bird Bishop arrived for the first of her four journeys to Korea during the 1890s, she described hearing recent tales of tigers and leopards being found on the loose within the city walls of the capital, Seoul (Bishop 1898, 38). Though she never saw any such creatures herself in the wild, she recounted hearing “the constant repetition of tiger stories, the terror of the villagers, the refusal of mapu and coolies to travel after dark, the certainty that in several places the loss of life had been recent, and that even in the trim settlement of Won-san a boy and child had been seized the day before I arrived and had been eaten on the hillside above the town” (Bishop 1898, 73). As an old proverb that she heard often put it: “The Korean hunts the tiger one half of the year, and the tiger hunts the Korean the other half” (Bishop 1898, 127). As a result, some of the early missionaries traveled through the countryside with handguns (MacRae 1993, 29). The tiger threat lasted well into the twentieth century, sometimes requiring villagers to set out inducements to lure the large felines. “Country villages frequently have a tiger trap of logs at each end of the main street, and in the winter time these are baited with a live animal,—pig for choice,” wrote American missionary and educator Homer Hulbert (Hulbert 1906, 21). Residents of one village in South Kyŏngsang province, in the far southeast, would sometimes use puppies as tiger bait, tying the dog to a wooden column holding up a collapsible stone wall (Hildi Kang 2001, 25). During the 1920s, missionaries in Korea’s remote northeast recalled being kept awake by the distant howling of wild animals in the hills, which they suspected were wolves, hyenas, or tigers (Murray 1975, 20). Western travelers in the mid-1930s described tigers, leopards, lynxes, and bears roaming around northern Korea (Bergman 1938, 38, 65–66, 77–78, 121–23). For more tiger tales, see “A Tiger,” Korean Repository 2 (April 1895), 140–42; Savage-Landor 1895, 99–102; and Griffis 1912, 136–37.  A HARROWING HONEYMOON: When Lillias Horton, a medical missionary from Albany, N.Y. who arrived in Korea in March 1888, embarked on a honeymoon across the countryside with her new husband, Horace Underwood, in March 1889, “it was freely and frequently predicted, that if I came back at all, it would be in my coffin,” she recalled (Lillias Underwood 1904, 35; and Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 56). The top U.S. diplomat in Seoul, Hugh Dinsmore, was so opposed to their honeymoon plans amid a bout of anti-foreign sentiment that he only issued them passports on the condition that they not teach or baptize (Huntley 1984, 54). In the end, the newlyweds examined roughly a hundred Koreans and baptized thirty-three of them at Ŭiju, in northwesternmost Korea (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86). “No European woman had, as yet, ever traveled in the interior of Korea, and not more than four of five men had ever ventured ten miles outside the walls, except to the port. Tigers and leopards were known to exist in the mountains; the character of the natives was not well understood by most people; contagion in the inns, the rudeness of mobs, the difficulty of obtaining good water, no means of speedy communication with Seoul, the necessity at times of long marches, were all possible dangers, but were greatly overestimated,” Underwood later recalled. “It seemed to me no honeymoon so rich in delight could ever have been planned before” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 35). The Underwoods weren’t the only Korea missionaries who used their honeymoon to win more souls to Christ. When the Methodist medical missionaries W. James and Rosetta Sherwood Hall married in 1892, they went to Shandong province for their honeymoon, where they met “a great many missionaries to China,” including Rev. Jonathan Goforth (1859–1936), who would later take a great interest in the work in Korea (Rosetta Hall 1897, 331).
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several ponies to carry the coinage for buying basic goods—“money enough to sink a ship”

NoteThere was a dizzying number of different currencies in circulation in Korea, most of it consisting of shabbily made coins of copper, iron, and bronze, all bearing uncertain and generally minuscule values that fluctuated wildly. German Jewish businessman and adventurer Ernst Oppert, writing in 1880, described the Korean copper coin, punched with a square hole in the middle, as being worth 1,100 to one Mexican dollar, or about four shillings sterling. That said, Oppert acknowledged that he didn’t quite understand the system, despite going to great lengths to try and nail down the specific value of Korean weights (Oppert 1880, 146–48). For an extended, and rather confusing, description of the state of Korean financial transactions by Jack London, written after he traveled through Korea in the early months of 1904, see Jack London, “Travel in Korea,” March 10, 1904, Sunan, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 63–73, here 68–72. See also Brown 1902, 2.  “MONEY ENOUGH TO SINK A SHIP”: What was certain was that anyone traveling around Korea needed a lot of the coinage. For a striking photo of a Western journalist with mounds of copper coins—“money enough to sink a ship”—see The RussoJapanese War: A Photographic and Descriptive Review of the Great Conflict in the Far East, Gathered from the Reports, Records, Cable Despatches, Photographs, etc. of Collier’s War Correspondents (New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1905), 89. “A sum sufficient for a month’s journey would require an extra pony or two for its transportation,” Samuel Moffett wrote in 1892 (Moffett, “Suggestions on Travelling,” Korean Repository (1892), 327). Isabella Bird Bishop described the local currency as trading at the nominal rate of 3,200 coins to the dollar, requiring six men, or a pony, to carry thousands of coins worth roughly £10. “This coin is strung in hundreds on straw strings, and the counting of it, and the carrying of it, and the being without it are all a nuisance,” she wrote (Bishop 1898, 66–67). British politician and journalist Sir Henry Norman traveled across the width of Korea with four ponies—one of which carried 15,000 heavy bronze coins, worth roughly 20 Mexican dollars (Henry Norman 1895, 326). “A Korean dealer needed a number of servants to carry the strings of cash necessary to make even the smallest purchase” (Deuchler 1977, 74).   A VOLATILE COIN: The coin, which roughly translated was called the “standard circulating coin” (常平通寶 Kor. sangp’yŏng t’ongbo, Ch. changping tongbao), also suffered from massive swings in value, dropping from 400 copper cash to one Mexican dollar in the spring of 1883 to roughly 520 copper cash in the summer of 1883 (Deuchler 1977, 195). According to the editors of the Korean Repository, the native Korean currency, known as copper “cash,” had plunged in value from 1,500 to 2,100 to the Japanese dollar in 1890, and in 1891 had slid even further, to as low as 3,300 to the Japanese dollar; meanwhile, the silver dollar (the yen) was so prized by Koreans that they would snap up any that became available and lock it away (“1891—Retrospect,” Korean Repository (1892), 32). To get a sense of how troubled Korea’s economy was at the time, and how volatile the currency was, traders at the port in Inch’ŏn would offer quotations for “(1) Government nickels; (2) first-class counterfeits; (3) medium counterfeits; and (4) those passable only after dark” (Whigham 1904, 192). “The famous gibe of a British Consul in an official report, that the Korean coins might be divided into good, good counterfeits, bad counterfeits, and counterfeits so bad that they can only be passed off in the dark, was by no means an effort of imagination,” the Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote around this time. “It was necessary, when one received any sum of money, to employ an expert to count over the coins, and put aside the worst counterfeits” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 111–12). As a result of the frustrations of carrying so much coinage, Bishop wholeheartedly endorsed one Japanese reform that had taken root by the mid-1890s: the use of the “superb” silver yen that obviated the need to “carry a load of cash” (Bishop 1898, 305). By 1895, the Methodist missionary W. James Hall was denominating his “Pyong Yang Fund,” for acquiring and repairing buildings, in yen (Rosetta Hall 1897, 124).
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simple singing of a hymn, or by preaching a sermon in broken Korean and handing out tracts

NoteA SONG OR A “JINGLE-JANGLE”: “The majority of a street chapel audience are the rawest kind of heathen,” wrote Korea missionary Daniel Gifford, a McCormick classmate of Samuel Moffett and William Baird who described the singing of a foreign hymn as being enough to bring in curious listeners. “The windows and door facing the street have been opened wide. Just inside the door he and his helper, with possibly another Christian or two, have taken their stand. The old familiar strains of ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee,’ and ‘What Can Wash Away My Sins?’ joined to not unmelodious Korean words, have rung out upon the street. In a very few minutes a crowd has gathered, curious to know the meaning of the unfamiliar sounds” (Gifford 1898, 150–51). Similarly, Arthur Becker, a Methodist missionary who arrived in Korea in 1903, would typically head out on his itinerating circuit, announcing his arrival in a small village by singing a hymn with his Korean assistants. “I would usually have to lead and give volume as my helpers were as yet rather weak on tunes. I am not much of a singer myself but my voice is strong and I could bellow out. This always pleased the natives and they always asked for more” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 162, citing an Arthur Becker letter from October 31, 1903, published by the Reading (Mich.) Hustler). Methodist medical missionary Rosetta Sherwood Hall, who arrived in Korea in 1890, slung bells around the necks of the ponies that she rode into the countryside. With “quite a ‘jingle-jangle,’” she wrote, “we created no small sensation as we passed through the towns and villages, bringing forth such exclamations as, ‘Po ra! Po Ra!’ (See! See!) from the curious onlookers” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 189). Her husband, Methodist missionary W. James Hall, used a similar method while itinerating through the countryside: “The little sliding doors of his room would be pushed back so that outsiders could see and hear. He would be seated on the floor and begin by singing a hymn. Eager faces would soon be at the door, some of the bolder would venture in; at the close of the hymn the room would be filled, and in a short time the windows and doors would be crowded with quiet listeners. At the close of his simple Gospel sermon, he would ask each individual if he would become a follower of Christ. As he pointed out each face they were compelled to say yes or no” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 338). Similarly, in Manchuria, John Ross, the pioneering Scottish Presbyterian missionary to the Korean population in northeast China, found that “everywhere great crowds rushed towards the foreigner, whenever he appeared. Everywhere the crowds were polite, though intensely curious” (John Ross, Mission Methods in Manchuria (Edinburgh: Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier, 1903), 33). Ross describes his street preaching practices in detail in Ross 1903, 45–67. The crowds in Korea could frequently be far more freewheeling and rambunctious than what the missionaries were used to back home, as one missionary recalled. “After one has been in America and has spoken in churches where the order of service is dignified and where people sit in front of you listening attentively with absolutely nothing to distract from the preacher, one gets a decided shock to go to the country, and on a Sunday morning while he is preaching, having finished the introduction to his Sermon and launched courageously out into paragraph 1, section 2, of his discourse, with everybody quiet and listening, to have some late coming farmer pop through the door and march up in front of the pulpit and greet the Preaching pastor after this fashion: ‘Nim Moksa, chinji chapsesimnaika?’ which means, ‘Most honorable Preacher, have you had your breakfast?’” wrote missionary Charles L. Phillips. “Of course he knows you are up and dressed and have had your breakfast or you wouldn’t be standing there, but that’s his way of greeting. We have asked him not to do this way in church, but he will ‘revert to type’ now and then” (C. L. Phillips [Phillips, Charles L.], “‘Back on the Job,’” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 3 (March 1918), 54–56, here 55).  PASSING TRACTS: The handing out of tracts was a big part of the pitch as well. Moffett recounted how, after one Bible study class in the Pyongyang suburb of Sun’an in 1896, three of the men got their hands on a set of tracts and, “each starting in a different direction, proclaimed the good news in all the villages of that and adjoining districts…The requests for visits began to pour in on us so fast that we were simply dazed. These requests grow more and more importunate and we do not know how to meet the demands” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Report of the Training Class,” October 1896, Seoul (PHS 180/11/Korea Mission Reports)). Sometimes, the fruits of their labor wouldn’t be apparent until years later. Moffett, passing through the city of Anju, about 40 miles north of Pyongyang, had spoken with an old man and left him a copy of the Gospel of Mark in 1893. “For six years he has been reading and re-reading it,” Moffett wrote in 1899. When the man learned of a church having been set up five miles from his village, he began attending, and when Moffett visited the church, the old man—along with six fellow villagers—asked to be received as baptismal candidates (as quoted in Parsons 1900, 15). “It is not altogether easy to begin without language, yet, with a very few words at command, one can distribute tracts, do street preaching to individuals, or gather up children and teach them Bible verses and prayers,” counseled Annie Baird, the wife of William Baird (Annie Baird 1913, 49).
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struggled to get a moment of peace from the inquisitive Koreans, even when trying to sleep

NoteWilliam Baird, reminiscing on his initial years in Korea in the early 1890s, described the violent curiosity of the Koreans towards Westerners, particularly women and babies: “There was no controlling the crowds. They would break in the gates, tear open the doors, and overturn the water-jars in the yard to see the strange foreigners.” Of his wife, Baird added: “It was not considered safe for her to walk the streets. When she went out it was only in a Korean chair, or covered by a large hat such as the Korean women then wore. The most of the crowd were just curious and so insistent on seeing everything that it often became difficult to live and breathe” (W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “Incidents of Early Missionary Life (Continued from the August Number),” Korea Mission Field 26, no. 9 (September 1930), 177–81, here 179–80). Also cited in “Incidents of Early Missionary Life (Continued from the August Number), W. M. Baird, D.D.,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 425. Pyongyang missionary Charles F. Bernheisel, an Indiana native who traveled around the Pyongyang countryside shortly after his arrival in Korea in 1900, describes being “followed by curious crowds everywhere” in his diary (Bernheisel 2004, 325 (October 31, 1900, diary entry)). “These people have never before seen a Westerner & so are extremely curious. From time of my arrival to bed time I was not left alone a minute except when I ate dinner & supper, & then they had to be invited to go out,” he wrote at another stop two years later (Bernheisel 2004, 365 (March 7, 1902, diary entry)).  FIRST FOREIGNERS: Missionary Charles A. Clark, making a trip in 1906 to Kangnŭng, on Korea’s east-central coast, was treading in territory so untouched by foreigners that the people there gaped at him open-mouthed “in blank amazement” as he presented the Christian gospel. “I doubt if ten Christians have ever set foot in some of those counties. It was like darkest Africa,” he wrote (C. A. Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “In Territory Still Untouched,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 1 (January 1907), 14–16, here 15). In northeastern Korea, where foreigners were similarly scarce, Canadian Presbyterian missionary Duncan MacRae brought his wife Edith with him to the city of Hamhŭng for the first time in 1901. When they entered the walled city, the locals demanded that the foreign women be made available for everyone to view—with stones hurled at the missionaries until they complied. When the women stepped out into an open area, “the sight which greeted them was almost unbelievable. Every roof top, for as far as the eye could see, was crowded with people; the courtyard was filled to capacity with more curious onlookers and those who had not been able to squeeze in were standing on ladders leaning precariously against the frail straw fence surrounding the compound. All was quiet as long as the two foreign women were in view. For the rest of the day they remained in the yard while Mr. Cha and Duncan spoke to the people with messages from the Gospel” (MacRae 1993, 932). The American writer Jack London, traveling through Korea in 1904, found that, “in some of these villages, I am the first whiteman, and a curiosity. I showed one old fellow my false teeth at midnight. He proceeded to rouse the house. Must have given him bad dreams, for he crept in to me at three in the morning and woke me in order to have another look” (Jack London letter to Charmian Kittredge, February 15, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 11). Worse, he found a few months later in the northwestern Korean city of Sun’an, became something of an around-the-clock show for the curious locals: “The first of the audience arrives before breakfast and in wonder and amaze watches me turn out and wash,” he wrote. “Each doing of mine is duly noted and before nightfall is spread to the remotest recesses of the hills. Some of my actions are greeted with shouts and exclamations. There is a constant discussion going on as to why I do this or that; but my star performance is shaving. When Manyoungi brings the hot water and I lather my face the street blocks up. The marching troops have to force their way through” (Jack London, “How the Hermit Kingdom Behaves in Time of War,” Korea, March 12, 1904, Sunan, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 73–77, here 74). In one colorful example, an American explorer traveling near Mount Paekdu on the Chinese-Korean border in 1919 inadvertently disrupted a funeral with his mere presence: “As soon as I appeared the corpse lost all its attraction, and every man in the entire assembly rushed outside to get a look at me…So long as I remained near the house the funeral was forgotten” (Andrews, “Exploring Unknown Corners,” National Geographic (1919), 42).  COOING AT BABIES: Western babies were the biggest attraction of all, as the Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller found: “His house at once became a magnet to many who had resisted all his approaches. ‘We must see the baby’ was the sufficing excuse of strangers from near and far.” To that end, the paper walls of Korean homes and guesthouses “were as full of eyes as the cherubim of Ezekiel. One’s nerves were a long time in getting used to such a battery of peeping Toms and keyhole Pollys” (Griffis 1912, 125–26, 149). Rosetta Sherwood Hall, a Methodist medical missionary, bringing her newborn son to Pyongyang in the spring of 1894, found that the crowds of curious gawkers were such that in the house they were occupying, “the two rooms were packed so full that none could stir. The only way to get them to go out seemed for me to go myself upon the morrow and let them see by the courtyard full. This I did, and saw the courtyard packed full four different times, probably at least 1500 women and children” (Hall, Sherwood 1978, p. 131). Her husband W. James Hall also tells the tale (see Rosetta Hall 1897, 272–73, quoting a letter from W. James Hall to the Christian Herald). For a first-person account by their baby, Sherwood Hall, who later went on to become a Korea missionary, see his memoirs, With Stethoscope in Asia: Korea (1978). He describes being born in Seoul on November 10, 1893, likely as “the first white child to be taken to live in the northern interior of the country” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 9).
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“when we fancied ourselves quite alone, to see all those holes filled with hungry eyes”

NoteThe comparison with being a caged animal in zoo was one that several missionaries reached for in trying to describe the sensation of being the focus of everyone’s attention. Louise Ogilvy Morris (1881–1943), a missionary to northern Korea, recounts a similar experience while itinerating in a village called “Heui Chyun” (probably Hŭich’ŏn) in 1906, where she described herself as “the animal in the cage”: “There is doubt if Barnum’s circus ever caused the excitement at home that we did in that city” (Mrs. C. D. Morris [Morris, C. Louise O.], “The Animal in the Cage,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 9 (July 1906), 177–78). A similar tale is told by the Southern Presbyterian missionary Anabel Nisbet in southwestern Korea: “I can well understand by no foreign missionary ever wants to go to a zoological garden to see the animals. We all know just exactly how the monkeys feel at the starting, gaping, chattering crowd of sight-seers” (Nisbet 1919, 23–24).  ALONE IN A CROWD: Ironic though it may seem at first blush for a group of people so closely watched, loneliness was a constant companion for many missionaries, particularly in the farther flung mission stations. “We are the only foreigners here and consequently it is lonely,” wrote Rev. Charles D. Morris (1869–1927), a Northern Methodist missionary who in October 1905 opened a mission station in the northwestern city of Yŏngbyŏn—today the home of North Korea’s main nuclear facility. Despite the isolation, Rev. Morris was encouraged by the prospects for evangelism that he saw all around him. “The people are awakening to the great need of education and are demanding teachers who teach something besides the Chinese classics” (C. D. Morris [Morris, Charles D.], “A New Station,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 2 (December 1905), 28–29, here 28). Likewise, Methodist W. James Hall, writing in 1893, told the Union Gospel News back home: “It is not the dangers, hardships, or privations of a missionary life which are hard to bear; it is separation from friends, far away from those whose hearts beat in unison with ours, as we are obliged to travel alone in the interior. No one to sympathize—our own hearts overflowing with love to those who look upon us with suspicion and give no love in return. What feelings of utter loneliness comes over the soul” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 266, quoting W. James Hall’s letter to the Union Gospel News, September 18, 1893). Canadian missionary Malcolm Fenwick once described himself as “lonely beyond all expression—the kind of loneliness which only missionaries can understand” (Fenwick 1911, 91).
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“When the missionary was seen coming at the horizon, everyone would run to greet him”

Note“It was like a holiday at the church when a missionary came to visit,” recalled Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik (韓景職 1902–2000), who grew up roughly thirty miles northwest of Pyongyang in the early years of the twentieth century (Han Kyŏng-jik, My Gratitude, trans. Inseong Lee [Yi, In-sŏng] (Unpublished manuscript, 2010), 24). Han would go on to become a prominent political and religious leader in northern Korea before fleeing to the South after 1945, where he rose to become perhaps the most respected figure in the Presbyterian church. For more on Rev. Han’s life, see Act III. “The word that a moksa was coming seemed to have been spread abroad for the streets were lined with people who when they saw me coming said, ‘The Jesus doctrine is coming.’ A great crowd of boys and men followed me to the church where a lot of men were already assembled awaiting our coming,” the Pyongyang missionary Charles F. Bernheisel wrote during an itinerating trip around the Pyongyang area in February 1902 (Bernheisel 2004, 362 (February 20, 1902, diary entry)). “The visit of the pastor is turned into a holiday in most Korean villages,” Carl Kearns, a missionary in northwestern Korea, wrote in 1906. “I think I must have ridden on most of the wedding saddles and eaten my dinner in front of most of the wedding screens in that district” (C. E. Kearns [Kearns, Carl E.], “Itineration,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 12 (October 1906), 225–26, here 225). 
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had demonstrated, medical work could open doors otherwise closed off to foreigners

NoteIn addition to the “House of Universal Helpfulness,” the Presbyterian-run hospital that Horace Allen had won the right to operate after saving Prince Min’s life, the Chosŏn court extended royal recognition to another American missionary-run hospital, the “Universal Relief Hospital” (施病院 Kor. Si Pyŏngwŏn), as it was officially translated, founded by William B. Scranton (1856–1922), a Methodist medical missionary who had arrived in 1885. By the summer of 1888, Dr. Scranton’s hospital was attracting nearly as many patients as Dr. Allen’s, with some 5,500 patients that year (Huntley 1984, 98). For a list of the explosion in medical missionary work taking place in Korea during the 1890s, see Huntley 1984, 99.   “GAINING A FOOTHOLD”: As one Korea missionary and church historian put it, the Presbyterian mission regarded medicine “not so much as a Christian service of love, but as a way of gaining a foothold in this land where a Church could be produced” (Shearer 1966, 203–4). “The doctor could go where the preacher’s way was closed,” another medical missionary explained (Hugh H. Weir, “The Place of Medical Mission Work in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 7 (July 1914), 191–93, here 191). Medical work was thus not valued so much for the healing itself, “but due to the trust it gained for the missionaries so that they could more expediently bring the Christian gospel to their patient” (Laura MacDonald 2000, 44–45). A pamphlet published by the Presbyterian Church in Canada in 1891, Regulations for Foreign Mission Work, made this point abundantly clear, requiring that any would-be medical missionary prove his or her “missionary zeal, Biblical knowledge, aptitude in teaching, and ability to acquire the language of the people to whom he may be sent…The medical missionary is expected to teach the Word of God and to seek the salvation of men, devoting his time and energies to this work as far as compatible with the discharge of strictly professional duties” (Presbyterian Church in Canada 1891, 4–5). Samuel Moffett captured this mindsight perfectly. Itinerating in the northwestern city of Ŭiju in the fall of 1892, Moffett watched in awe as a colleague, Northern Presbyterian medical missionary Cadwallader C. Vinton (1859–1936), treated more than 400 patients “and did a great deal to open up more homes to me and to gain the good will of many who had not before come under my influence.” As impressed as Moffett was, though, he reaffirmed that the main goal remained the saving of souls: “I cannot speak too highly of the advantage of coupling the medical and evangelistic work, where the former is made a means to the latter and not an end in itself” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank Ellinwood, September 6, 1892, Seoul (PHS 179/8/24)).
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by natives seeking relief from their ailments—whether or not they were actually doctors

Note“So vigorous was the activity of American medical missionaries that soon all Americans travelling in the back lands were assumed by the country people to be physicians, and no one could escape trying his hand at simple cures. All Americans were missionaries to them, and all missionaries were men of science,” William Sands, an American diplomat in Seoul beginning in 1897, recalled. “Many of the medical missionaries merited the popular conception of their powers. All known diseases and many then unknown in the Wester were prevalent. Any physician could get more practice in his daily life than he possibly could at home, and they did not spare themselves” (Sands 1931, 90). Methodist medical missionary W. James Hall, after arriving in December 1891, was daunted by the expectations placed upon him: “They have great faith in the foreign doctor. They believe him capable of curing all diseases that are brought to him, if he will. Those who have been blind from infancy expect to receive their sight, the deaf to hear, and the dumb to speak” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 251, quoting a letter from W. James Hall to The Christian Herald, July 28, 1892). The missionaries had arrived in a country where traditional belief led many Koreans to “believe that disease is caused by a demon that enters the body, therefore they most frequently use a needle in order that the evil spirit may find an exit,” wrote another early missionary (Frederick S. Miller, The Neglected Provinces of Korea (New York: Willett, 1903) 6).  QUININE AND CHRIST: In the 1890s, missionaries, working with U.S. wholesalers to manufacture a cheap quinine to combat the spread of bogus medicines circulating in the countryside, attached a small tract to every bottle, spreading the Christian gospel deep into the interior. Methodist doctor E. Douglas Follwell recalled once treating a baby whose mother had been instructed to kiss a donkey to heal her child. “The medical missionary has not only to heal sickness, but to try and remove gross ignorance and superstition regarding disease and to combat the danger of quacks selling foreign medicine but knowing nothing of its use,” he wrote in 1905. “Particularly is this the case with regard to opium and antifebrin” (E. D. Follwell [Follwell, E. Douglas], “Hall Memorial Hospital Dispensary,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 1 (November 1905), 5–7, here 5). While the missionaries sought to combat the spread of questionable medicines, they also acknowledged the role that merchants of these bootleg medical treatments could play in spreading the Christian gospel. Indeed, the first Bibles had come into Korea through what one scholar has called “peddlers of quack medicines,” of which Sŏ Sang-yun was the first (David Suh 1991, 29–30). For more on Sŏ Sang-yun and his brother. In another example, the Methodist medical missionary W. James Hall, itinerating in the countryside, left some medicine and snippets of the Bible with a suffering patient, who several weeks later had not only been healed, but had also read the Bible every day, telling the other four hundred residents of his village about his healing. “They met together every day to hear the good Book read. The people flocked into our room and remained until nearly midnight, listening with the deepest interest to the story of salvation and inquiring the way to God. They pleaded with me to remain with them, and I was very sorry that I could not” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 252, quoting W. James Hall letter to Christian Herald, July 28, 1892).
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from its bloodiest Catholic persecutions, however, such hopes remained mostly aspirational

NoteThough the laws prohibiting missionary work in Korea appeared to be “a ‘dead letter’ and not enforced at the time Protestant missionaries arrived in the country,” writes church historian Roy Shearer, “Presbyterian missionaries, too, were not unanimous in their readiness to launch out with direct evangelism” (Shearer 1966, 168). There were plenty of reasons for caution. When missionaries Henry Appenzeller and Horace Underwood traveled to Pyongyang from Seoul in May 1888, the top U.S. diplomat in Seoul, Hugh Dinsmore, summoned them back to the capital, having received a cable from the Korean authorities demanding that the U.S. rein in its missionaries, calling it objectionable to the government and unauthorized by the treaty. “It becomes my duty to request that you will refrain from teaching the Christian religion and administering its rites and ordinances to the Korean people,” Dinsmore wrote. For the next several months, until September 1888, the missionaries refrained from holding any religious meetings (Rhodes 1934, 22; Sherwood Hall 1978, 83–84; Huntley 1984, 51–52; and M. F. Scranton [Scranton, Mary F.], “Woman’s Work in Korea,” Korean Repository 3 (January 1896), 2–9, here 6). In the summer of 1888, widespread rumors of the foreign missionaries seizing Korean children to eat and use in gruesome experiments led to what missionary-historians have dubbed “the so-called Baby Riots,” during which missionaries couldn’t be seen out on the streets for fear of attack (Rhodes 1934, 22–23; Sherwood Hall 1978, 85; and Huntley 1984, 51–52). Despite the uncertainty and ambiguity, some missionaries were ready to try their luck. In October 1890, just two years after the “Baby Riots,” Underwood asserted that “we have found no proof whatever that the Koreans officials are not prepared to admit the preaching of the Gospel. On the contrary, a deputy governor of a province and a deputy magistrate of a city, as well as a number of smaller officials are seeking baptism” (Shearer 1966, 43, quoting Horace G. Underwood letter to the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board, October 21, 1890, Seoul).  BOLDNESS AND CAUTION: The aggressive approach of Underwood and other like-minded colleagues left missions board secretaries back home in New York torn between some missionaries’ “energy and aggressiveness” and the caution being urged by others like John Heron (Ellinwood letter to Mitchell, September 4, 1889). As a diplomat, Horace Allen was wary of missionaries pushing the envelope in their evangelistic zeal. Of Underwood in particular, Allen once wrote: “His rashness gives us anxiety” (as quoted in Pak 2006, 72, citing Horace N. Allen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 13, 1891, PHS). Moffett himself was a leading proponent of a policy of boldness. While he acknowledged in 1892 that “caution is needed because we have no treaty right to live there and we must simply gain the good will of the people and win the right to stay,” he argued in the same letter that the urgency of the missionaries’ task, the saving of souls, argued against taking too prudent of a stance. “We cannot go in with a man who has no tact or who has not sufficient knowledge of the language to know what is going on about him,” Moffett wrote. “Successful entrance upon Pyeng Yang demands more, in my judgment, upon the man than upon anything else,” leaving no doubt who he had in mind (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 6, 1892).
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Prince Regent loomed over the political scene, occasionally succeeding in squelching change

NoteFor instance, the Prince Regent, back from his exile in China in 1885, joined forces with the Japanese in 1893 in an attempt to try and dislodge his son from power—and may have had a hand in fomenting the Tonghaks that brought events to a head the following year (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 38–39; and Brown 1919, 28). James Creelman, a New York World correspondent who interviewed the Prince Regent shortly before his death, in the late 1890s, described him as a charismatic man who, in spite of his famed conservatism, had by that time come to support, at least rhetorically, the opening up of Korea to more intercourse with foreigners. “He shook hands with me like an American politician. In spite of his seventy-eight years, his voice was trumpet-like. His laugh was a roar, accompanied by a convulsion of his whole body. ‘We are ready to open Corea to the world,’ he said, as he ordered tea to be set before us. ‘The country can no longer be kept sealed to foreigners. But this change is too sudden. Corea is a peculiar country…’” (Creelman 1901, 71–72). Creelman noted how odd it was to hear such words from a man who had, just decades earlier, “beheaded hundreds of innocent Christians to gratify his hatred of the ‘Western barbarians’” (Creelman 1901, 72–73). For an assessment of the Prince Regent’s complex legacy, written by a Methodist missionary shortly after the Korean royal’s death, see Jones, “The Taiwon Kun,” Korean Repository (1898), 241–250.  LAST OF THE ANTI-CATHOLIC EDICTS: The signing of treaties with the Western nations in the 1880s triggered a particularly fierce backlash; in 1881, seven hundred Confucianists presented a memorial to the king protesting the presence of foreigners, prompting Kojong to issue an edict calling for the suppression of Catholicism. Though the edict wasn’t enforced, and would prove to be the last such decree against the foreign faith, uncertainty lingered throughout the decade (Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 63–65; and Griffis 1894, 431). Though by 1881 “the days of state-sponsored violence against Catholics were over,” writes historian Franklin Rausch, the anti-Catholic edict of 1881 was “likely designed as a rhetorical flourish to please conservative Confucians”—and introduced just enough ambiguity to give missionaries and their churches back home pause about pushing the envelope (Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 65).
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“by Tuesday night have their heads cut off,” wrote one American advisor to Korea in the 1880s

NoteThe quote here is from Percival Lowell, the astronomer and Japanologist who accompanied the first Korean mission to the U.S. and Europe after the signing of the U.S.–Korea treaty in 1882. For years after Moffett’s arrival in 1890, the missionaries continued to fret that, with Kojong’s position precarious, they might yet be expelled, or worse. When Samuel Moffett arrived in early 1890, the official prohibition on such activity was still taken seriously enough that missionary Harriet Heron would only furtively hold Sunday-night “gospel talks” at her home, with up to thirty women attending (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 18, 1890). In those early days, practicing the faith in secret was difficult, if not impossible; walls and doors in Korean houses were made of paper, and the presence of foreigners aroused considerable attention. But as the faith grew, without overt resistance from officials, worship services “soon became semi-public,” one historian notes (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 67–68). As for baptisms, the missionaries conducted them in secret for years, not reporting publicly any statistics until 1888, “lest there be official reaction either from the Korean government or the United States Legation in Korea” (Shearer 1966, 42). In late 1889, the Korean authorities refused to grant permission to the missionaries to open up a boys’ school, for fear that “it would be turned into a school for teaching Christianity,” according to missionary Daniel Gifford, who cited the explanation of Owen N. Denny (1838–1900), the American customs inspector then employed by the Chosŏn government (Daniel L. Gifford letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 8, 1889, Seoul (PHS 175/3/51)). “In view of the general situation, evangelistic activities began very cautiously. The religious services were limited to the missionary community and each time the gathering was announced to the government in order to avoid all possible misapprehension” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 45).
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like Moffett, were eager to push the envelope—to the dismay of American diplomats

NoteWhile Korea’s initial treaty in 1876 with Japan was explicit in confining foreigners to treaty ports, the country’s subsequent treaties loosened some of those restrictions, though not in ways that were clear to all (Robinson 2007, 10). The zeal of some missionaries, who constantly pushed the envelope, for example by expanding into Korea’s interior in the early days of the treaty system, posed a headache for local officials and foreign diplomats. William Sands, an American diplomat in Seoul from 1897 to 1904, recalled how missionaries might cut down a village tree in the name of ending devil worship; at other times, local Christians of different denominations or churches would get into bitter fights. “Some missionary would…assume for himself a semi-diplomatic status and would usually extend the same privilege to the natives who formed part of his household, as teachers, catechists, or servants. His house would thus assume by custom the status of an embassy,” Sands wrote. “All kinds of loose fish would join up in a mission because of the protection it gave” (Sands 1931, 92–93). William Sands (1874–1946) was certainly sympathetic to the missionaries’ larger cause. Sands was a Catholic who led a group called Catholics for Korea who after Japan’s defeat in 1945 called on the U.S. government to extend full independence to newly liberated Korea (Pak 2006, 140). Still, Sands’ diplomatic duties meant that he frequently found himself caught in a dilemma in dealing with missionaries pushing the envelope into the Korean interior. Leaving the missionaries to their own devices might “expose them to any ebullition of the lawless,” he wrote, though “to protect them exposes their spiritual mission to the reproach of prostitution to political ends” (Sands 1931, 88). In January 1887, when Horace Allen—the pioneering Presbyterian missionary-turned-American diplomat—caught wind of Horace Underwood baptizing Koreans in secret, he wrote a harsh letter warning Underwood that conducting such an undeniably Christian rite at a time of continued ambiguity over the laws on religious work was dangerous. “You are in danger of totally ruining the present work and future prospects of yourselves and others and of laying the men liable to persecution and destruction. This is missionary work proper,” Allen wrote. “As it is in violation of the laws of this country, I cannot as a Korean official give my consent to the proceeding,” he added, referring to a title he had been given by the Korean government (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 43).  SCORN FROM THE MERCHANTS: Certainly, the missionaries’ willingness to test the limits of what was possible in Korea did not win them many friends among the foreign businessmen, journalists, and other adventurers in the country, many of whom were disinclined to look with favor upon the missionaries. Western businessmen in Korea came to resent the perceived recklessness of the missionaries, Sands wrote, with their pious bearing and their willingness to skirt local laws—and to circumvent the duties and commissions they hoped to earn importing foreign goods into Korea (Sands 1931, 94–95). “The visitor to the Far East who spends his time mainly around treaty ports will quickly acquire an abundant stock of anti-missionary stories,” wrote one journalist. “There is, in the Far East, unfortunately, a gulf between the average missionary and the average commercial man” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 288). British journalist Angus Hamilton, writing in 1904, urged more oversight over the overzealous missionaries, including “vigorous restrictions [to] chasten this vigorous, polemical proselytism…We have passed through one terrible anti-Christian upheaval in China, and, if we wish to avoid another such manifestation, it is necessary to superintend all forms of missionary enterprise more closely,” he wrote, emphasizing the importance of finding a solution that could “ensure the safety of the individual zealot, and be agreeable to the general comfort of the community…The blind perseverance of the missionary has frequently brought about the simultaneous baptism and crucifixion of the convert” (Hamilton 1904, 267–69). Writing six years later, Hamilton lashed out at what he called the missionaries’ “reckless and profligate” pursuit of martyrdom in the Far East, which he called “an outrage upon modern civilization” (Hamilton et al. 1910, 120–21). Even some who would later become missionaries themselves had earlier declared themselves repulsed by missionaries. “They were all big-headed and prouder than Atlas had a right to be. And so it was with a great deal of misgiving that l finally decided to become a volunteer for the foreign field, and with even more misgiving did I actually come” (W. P. Parker, “Shocks and Shock Absorbers,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 2 (February 1918), 37–38, here 37).  MUTUAL DISDAIN: Of course, the mistrust ran both ways, with many missionaries regarding the businessmen and traders as competitors for influence in the newly opened countries. Part of the reason the American missionaries were so keen to get into Korea after the 1882 treaty between the U.S. and Korea was a fear that the opportunity would be lost if unscrupulous opportunists beat them to the punch. As one missionary in China, Rev. Gilbert Reid, put it in 1884: “Foreigners are already pressing into the capital and ports, and some, with their disreputable lives, would do immense harm to our western civilization, unless at once counteracted by the pure, benevolent, intelligent activity of Christianity” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 13–14). The mutual animosity between missionaries and merchants was something to behold, as British statesman George Curzon wrote in 1896: “One of the most striking phenomena of English-speaking society [across Asia] is the absolute severance of its two main component items, the missionaries and the merchants, neither of whom think or speak over favourably of the other, and who are rarely seen at each other’s table. The missionary is offended at what he regards as the mere selfish quest of lucre; the merchant sneers at work which is apt to parade a very sanctimonious expression, and sometimes results in nothing at all” (Curzon 1896, 419).  CHARACTER REFERENCES: The scorn heaped upon missionaries was such that others felt compelled to step in and speak on behalf of the evangelists. William Sands, the American diplomat in Korea during this time, was a rare exception in regarding the missionaries—“mainly from our small towns and all quite ‘100 per cent.,’” in his words—as “exceptionally fine people,” even if they disapproved of “the card playing and cocktails, the horse racing and dancing, of the official lot as next door to the seven deadly sins” (Sands 1931, 91, 95). Sands regarded the missionaries as “great-hearted men and women” whose “sincere convictions have revolutionized the Korean’s attitude toward foreigners in general” (Sands 1931, 97). As another observer put it, “I hold no brief for the missionary. But I have seen much of the work being done here and I know the men who are doing it. Picture to yourself the saintliest man of your acquaintance—the man whose character is so far above reproach that no man has ever questioned it even in his own mind the man who, filled with the spirit of Christianity, lives his religion every day of his life; the man who asks nothing else but opportunity to devote all his talents and all his energies to unselfish labor in his Master’s service. Think of that man, and you have the American missionary in Korea as I know him to be” (as quoted in Arthur Judson Brown, “The Korean Conspiracy Case” (Northfield, Mass.: Northfield Press, 1912), 10).  CHINA AND JAPAN: A similar dynamic was playing out in China, where missionaries pushed into the country’s interior even amid considerable legal ambiguity about such activity. “The aggressiveness of the American missionaries in their disposition to force the opening of the empire is notable. It is entirely in accord with what had been the prevailing spirit in missionary cycles from the beginning,” writes historian Tyler Dennett. “The most awkward feature of the open violation of the laws of the empire was that regardless of whether their activities were lawful or not, the missionaries were exempted from Chinese jurisdiction by extraterritoriality” (Dennett 1922, 559–63). Though foreign missionaries in China and Korea sought the explicit backing of their home governments, official diplomatic protection was a double-edged sword that meant that “Christianity was, in a measure, like opium, being imposed upon China without the consent of the people. The Chinese were free to abstain from either, but they were not free to prohibit them” (Dennett 1922, 574). Broadening the lens to include Korea and Japan, Dennett concludes: “Much harm and little good has come from governmental patronage and protection of missionary work; and the missionary renders the most enduring service to the people among whom he labors when he separates himself farthest from political concerns” (Dennett 1922, 576). In Japan, foreigners were confined to treaty ports until 1899 (Cary 1909, 253).
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little risk in doing the same, often couching their actions in the language of manifest destiny

NoteWhile they would frequently run into trouble, the most aggressive missionaries pushed out into the interior anyway, and before long, writes one historian, “treaty limits lost much of their original purpose of containing the foreigners within the narrow confines of the treaty ports” (Deuchler 1977, 186). One key breakthrough was the France–Korea treaty of 1886, in which the Korean government lifted its prohibition on Christianity in 1887 under pressure from Paris, which fought to secure a treaty clause extending official toleration to the Western faith (Donald Clark 2003, 14–15; and Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts” (2012), 65). By 1894, the situation had improved to the point where George Gilmore, an early educator and missionary, could write that, while the treaties in force at that time forbade evangelization, “the government does not interfere with missionary work, beyond warning missionaries now and again not to push forward their cause too openly” (Gilmore 1892, 127–28). See also Shearer 1966, 168.
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difficult a task they faced in presenting their message of salvation through a crucified Christ

Note“Early Protestant missionaries, one may argue, found a more anti-Western, anti-Christian atmosphere in Korea than in other Asian countries,” writes Park Chung-shin (Pak Chŏng-sin朴正信 1949–2018), a Korean church historian whose father was a prominent conservative Presbyterian church leader (Chung-shin Park 2003, x, 18). The foreign faith remained an object of suspicion in Korea well into the twentieth century—at first because of its inherent conflicts with the ruling Confucian orthodoxy, but soon thereafter because so many of the political reform movements challenging the Chosŏn court and then the Japanese colonial government were promoted and led by Christian converts. Unlike the earlier French Catholic missionaries, the American Presbyterians taught Western values, such that “natives were Westernized and liberalized to such a degree that they were to be found in every liberal reform movement, which at that time was synonymous in Korea with rebellion and revolution,” wrote American diplomat William Sands, based in Seoul during these years. As a result, Sands noted, the American missionary schools developed reputations as “hotbeds of revolution”—a not-unreasonable conclusion for the authorities to make, he acknowledged (Sands 1931, 91). These tensions will be developed much more fully in Act II.
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obstacles were manifold, not least of which were legitimate fears of persecution and execution

NoteThe first Korean Protestant to be baptized in Korea is believed to be Ro Ch’un-gyŏng (盧春京), also known as Ro To-sa (盧道士). Ro, who was Horace Allen’s Korean teacher, had at first professed a lack of interest in the forbidden foreign religion. But, apparently intrigued by the Bibles in Allen’s home, he took home Chinese translations of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke; after reading the still-forbidden volumes in secret through the night, Ro declared to Underwood that he found the Christian gospel “good and grand.” “You’ll have your head cut off it they find you reading that book,” Allen told him. But Ro insisted and approached Horace Underwood about baptism. “You are going contrary to the law of your country. If you take this step there will be no turning back,” Underwood told him. Ro was secretly baptized by Underwood, with the assistance of Appenzeller, at the Underwood residence in Seoul, on July 11, 1886 (Lillias Underwood 1918, 53–55; Harrington 1944, 69; Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 38; Shearer 1966, 38; Wells 1990, 28; and Timothy Lee 2010, 10). The early missionary and educator George Gilmore, who witnessed the baptism, described the secrecy of the ceremony: “No other Koreans were present. Care was taken lest any of the servants or native callers should intrude upon the service, and thus endanger the secrecy of the administration” (Gilmore 1892, 305). The story is also told by American missions scholar Edward Lawrence, who reports that the baptism was conducted in such secrecy that, by the time Lawrence arrived in Seoul roughly four weeks later, “not even his own family as yet knew of his change…I found the missionaries pondering the question of his safety” (Lawrence 1895, 264–65).
p.43

“he would be decapitated if the government knew he had such a book in his possession”

NoteThe Korean teacher of William J. McKenzie, a Scottish Canadian missionary who arrived in Korea in 1893, became a believer but kept it secret from his family and others (McCully 1904, 83).
p.43

“with one, specially a religion of restraint and sacrifice which has no worldly good to offer”

Note“The religion the Korean would accept is one which would show him how to get money without working for it,” Bishop wrote dismissively (Bishop 1898, 64–65). In the same vein, she added later in the same work: “It was impossible to have a formal service with people who had not the most elementary ideas of God, of prayer, of moral evil, and of good. It was not possible to secure their attention…They were destitute of religious ideas” (Bishop 1898, 350). George Ladd, an American Congregationalist minister and Yale University philosophy professor with a rather low view of the Korean people, disagreed with Bishop’s characterization of a Korean indifference to religion, believing that Koreans did indeed have their own native religion, though he regarded the religion as being merely “a low form of spiritism—largely, devil-worship.” “Among the so-called civilized nations of the world there is probably not another where the prevalent native religion is of a more depressing and degrading character than in Korea” (Ladd 1908, 390).
p.43

“of scarce a dozen people…many of us able to stammer only a few words of the language”

Note“Missionaries were endeavoring to communicate totally new ideas to a people who had been made sodden and apathetic by an inheritance of centuries of rank heathenism. It is difficult for Americans, who have been familiar with the gospel from infancy, to realize how hard it is for the people of the Far East to understand the new conceptions which Christianity inculcates,” wrote Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown. “The superstition-clouded Korean listened dully and thought the missionary ‘a setter forth of strange gods.’ If the intellectual Athenians mocked St. Paul when he preached to them Christ and the resurrection, what could be expected of the darkened Koreans?” (Brown 1919, 506)

p.44

treaty port, and urged the establishment of a mission station there “as soon as it is opened”

NoteFROM “HPYENG YANG” to “PHYONGYANG”: Moffett’s orthography here highlights just how difficult it was for foreigners, including the missionaries, to agree on how to pronounce and spell the name of the city, which went variously by Pyeng Yang, Phyöng-yang, Hpyeng Yang, Hpingyang, Phong Yang, Ping Yang, Pyng Yang, Phyengyang, Pieng’an, Peng-yang, and Ping An, among other variants. Official modern North Korean orthography renders the city name as Phyongyang, academic Korean spells it P’yŏngyang, and South Korea’s official system mandates Pyeongyang, while modern Chinese pinyin spells it Píngrǎng. This work renders the spelling as Pyongyang, the most commonly observed English spelling of the city, and one that captures the pronunciation reasonably well. In general, in this work, I have stuck to the practice established by Priscilla Ewy, an amateur American historian and descendant of Korea missionaries, who writes: “Place names that have sometimes had multiple spelling changes over the years have generally been included as originally written to reflect the era in which they were recorded. Further, the missionaries who heard the names, wrote them as they heard them resulting again in a great variety of spellings, particularly of the smaller towns. We hope that they may be recognizable in the presented form” (Priscilla Welbon Ewy, The Opening of the Andong Presbyterian Mission, 1909–1911: From the Papers of Sadie and Arthur Welbon (Self-published manuscript, 2016), 11). “Hpyeng Yang” was Moffett’s first attempt at spelling the name of his future home city after getting his first look at the city in September 1890. By the time of his next visit, he had already apologized for that “unpronounceable” rendering, promising Ellinwood that he would stick by the easier-on-the-Western-tongue “Ping An” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, February 11, 1891, Seoul (PHS 179/8/11)). After a further rethinking, Moffett eventually settled on “Pyeng Yang.” The pioneering missionary Rev. Robert Thomas spelled the name of the city where he would eventually meet his grisly end as “P’ing Jang Yu,” though that was based merely on the Korean ginseng traders that he was communicating with while surveying the coast of Hwanghae Province in 1865, a year before he would arrive there himself (“West Coast of Corea,” London and China Telegraph, May 28, 1866, 284). For his part, Horace Underwood counseled Westerners, unhelpfully, to pronounce Pyongyang as “P’yang” (Horace Underwood 1908, 41). That guide may have informed Emily G. Kemp, a British Baptist adventurer who visited Korea around this time. She spelled it “Pyöng Yang (written Ping Yang by the war correspondents, and universally pronounced Piang)” (Kemp 1911, 67). Daniel L. Gifford, Moffett’s McCormick classmate, joked that while the city was “by far the most important city in the north of Korea,” nobody could agree on how to write out its name, with “half a dozen forms of spelling” (Gifford 1897, 5). More than half a century later, during the Korean War, this would become a real problem for the U.S. Air Force, who struggled to differentiate Pyongyang from Pyonggang, site of a North Korean airfield, and Pyongyong, “a town of no especial importance on the railway north of Pusan. Alternate place names appeared on different maps,” wrote one Air Force historian, requiring military officials to “demand that all names and villages be accompanied by identifying geographical coordinates” (Robert F. Futrell, The United States Air Force in Korea, 1950–1953, rev. ed. (Washington, D.C.: United States Air Force Office of Air Force History, 1983), 65).   FROM “SAWULL” TO “SOLE,” AND BEYOND: Seoul, though simpler, had its own challenges. One early Western writer tried to describe its pronunciation as “Say’-ool, Shay’-ool, or Say’-oor” (Griffis 1894, 189). George Curzon, the British statesman, spelled it Söul, but added that he had “never met two persons, even scholars, who pronounced the name in exactly the same way. Seoul, Syool, Sawull, Sowul, are among the more popular phonetic transliterations” (Curzon 1896, 118). Henry Drake, an English resident of Korea in the late 1920s, described the pronunciation as “Seyool, Sowl, Sool, Sole” (Drake 1930, 75). Of the nation itself, some foreigners spelled it “Chaou-seen,” or “Keaou-le” (“Chosŏn” and “Koryŏ,” respectively) (Gützlaff 1834, 316). The exasperated editors of the Korean Repository, writing in April 1895, note that “the word for the Capital is already spelled in three different ways, Seoul, Soul, and Söul and now our Japanese friends come along and add still another—Sole” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (April 1895), 153–60, here 155). Others included Séoul and Sául (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 308). Ernst Oppert spelled it variously as Saoul, Saŏul, and Saŭl (Oppert 1880, 30, 188). Wŏnsan (known and spelled variously as Gensan, Juensuan, Onesan, and Wonsan) and Ŭiju (Euijou, Aiejiu, Aichow, and others) presented their own challenges, William Baird noted in a highly technical May 1895 article in Korean Repository, calling for an effort to standardize the many confusing romanizations. “I can imagine the reader’s chagrin at finding the name of the same city spelled in three or four different ways,” Baird wrote. “More than one public and private appeal has been made to us that we reach some common standard of romanizing Korean words in order that the outside world might know what we are writing about” (W. M. Baird, “Romanization of Korean Sounds,” Korean Repository 2 (May 1895), 161–75, here 161). Early complaints about the lack of standard romanization can also be found in “Korea, or Corea—Which?” Korean Repository 1 (February 1892), 66. “We wish it distinctly understood that we cannot be held responsible for the spelling of Korean proper names,” the editors of the Korean Repository wrote in January 1895. “We invite discussion of this subject and hope some standard may be reached” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (January 1895), 39–40). The seriousness with which the missionaries took this was impressive. “On the invitation of the editors of The Repository a number of those interested in romanization met at the house of Rev. H. G. Appenzeller to discuss this ‘burning question.’ It was unanimously decided after a heated debate lasting over an hour and participated in by all present that the character 아 is ordinarily best rendered by a. No decision was reached as to the rest of the alphabet” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (November 1895), 441).
p.44

in the Pyongyang region, led by a French priest disguised as a Korean, living just outside the city

NoteThe distance that Moffett gives is seventy ri (里), which works out to about twenty-five miles. Despite the rumors of Catholic believers, and the long history of underground Catholic believers in Korea, the persecution led by the Prince Regent in the late 1860s had so wiped out any remnants of the faith that the earliest Protestant missionaries in Korea “found almost no trace of them. The Roman Catholic Church in Korea, as such, had virtually ceased to exist” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 33–34). Samuel A. Moffett, reminiscing on this time three and a half decades later, described how he was “assigned all of Korea north of Seoul as my parish” within a month of his arrival in Seoul (Samuel A. Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field 21, no. 3 (March 1925), 51–55, here 51). That Moffett was assigned all the territory north of Seoul reflects either great confidence from the Presbyterian mission in the determined young man, a strong interest on Moffett’s part to focus on the heretofore neglected northern half of the country, or simply a lack of resources in those early days. Most likely, it reflected a combination of all three factors.
p.44

Here, the young Hoosier sensed, was opportunity

NoteOn July 24, 1890, Moffett wrote in a letter to the Presbyterian foreign missions board that the northwest was “our most promising province,” citing the earlier work of the Scottish Presbyterian missionaries across the Yalu River in northeastern China. Though Moffett was clearly keen to take up the task of opening Pyongyang, he was also happy to volunteer the Canadian missionary James Gale, who had arrived in Korea in late 1888 and who Moffett believed was well equipped for the job, given his ability to live “according to the Korean manner” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, July 24, 1890, Seoul (PHS 179/8/4)).
p.44

in the national mythology than Pyongyang, “the cradle of ancient Korean civilization”

NotePyongyang (平壤 Kor. P’yŏngyang) literally means “flat soil” or “peaceful soil.” “There is probably no other place in the country that has more legend, romance and history connected with it,” wrote the missionary editors of the Korean Repository in 1897 (“The New Ports,” Korean Repository (1897), 345). “Around Pyöng-yang still lingers a host of romantic associations, historical and legendary,” wrote one early British journalist (Hamilton 1904, 185). 
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and spread across northwestern Korea and Manchuria, with its capital at Pyongyang

NoteTan’gun (檀君), which can be translated as the “Sandalwood Sovereign,” is still revered today in both Koreas as the quasi-mythical progenitor of the Korean people. Since so much of Tan’gun’s founding tale is shrouded in mythology, it’s unclear exactly where this ancient capital, known as Asadal (아사달), was located, though many sources—including official North Korean sources—describe the city as being situated near present-day Pyongyang (see Successive Names of Korea and Their Derivations (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 2009), 2–3). Daniel Gifford, who translates Tan’gun as the “Sandal Prince,” writes that, according to legend, “he made his earliest home in Pyeng-yang, where to this day there is a temple to his honor” (Gifford 1898, 24). The Comprehensive Mirror of the Eastern Kingdom (東國通鑑 Kor. Tongguk T’onggam), a sweeping historical text compiled in the fifteenth century, also establish Tan’gun’s capital as being situated in modern-day Pyongyang (Gale, “Translations from the Tong-gook T’ong-gam,” Korean Repository (1895), 321). Whatever the case, Korean accounts credit Tan’gun with having reigned over the Old Chosŏn Dynasty for a period of either 1,017 or 1,048 years (H. G. Appenzeller [Appenzeller, Henry G.], “Ki Tza: The Founder of Korean Civilization,” Korean Repository 2 (March 1895), 81–87, here 81–82). During that millennium of rule, the leaders and subjects of this ancient kingdom would not have called their dynasty Old Chosŏn (古朝鮮 Kor. Ko Chosŏn, 2333 BC?–108 BC), but rather, simply Chosŏn (朝鮮), though most scholars today refer to the original Chosŏn dynasty as Old Chosŏn, or Ancient Chosŏn, to avoid confusion with its later namesake, which ruled from 1392 to 1910. The literal meaning of the Sino-Korean characters 朝鮮 is the source of one of Korea’s longtime monikers, “the Land of Morning Calm.”  A SECOND CHOSŎN DYNASTY: When Yi Sŏng-gye, the founder of the later Chosŏn dynasty, was deciding on a name for his new kingdom in 1392, it was the Ming emperor who suggested Chosŏn, calling it “rich in tradition and most beautiful,” in tribute to Kija’s original Old Chosŏn Dynasty (Nelson 1946, 71). North Korea’s official history omits the detail about the name coming from Ming China, saying only that Yi Sŏng-gye chose the name to hark back to the early Korean state “in order to raise its prestige” (Successive Names of Korea 2009, 8). According to the North Korean account, the later Chosŏn dynasty, which Pyongyang today regards as an illegitimate dynasty, chose its dynastic name and held memorial services for Tan’gun “to justify its usurpation of power and emphasize on its ‘orthodoxy’” (Successive Names of Korea 2009, 48). The alternatives that Yi Sŏng-gye considered included the Hwaryŏng (和寧) Dynasty, named after the place where Yi had been born in the northeastern Korean province of Hamgyŏng (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 358–59). The Koryŏ (高麗) dynasty that Yi Sŏng-gye overthrew had likewise named itself after an illustrious earlier dynasty—in that case, the ancient Koguryŏ (高句麗) kingdom whose territory stretched deep into modern-day Manchuria and the Russian Far East.  DEEP INTO MANCHURIA: Like the Koryŏ dynasty, Old Chosŏn was said to have controlled large swaths of northwestern Korea and Manchuria, making it an ideal dynasty to celebrate, particularly for twentieth-century Korean nationalists harboring irredentist dreams of reclaiming lost historical territories in the (Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], “Introduction: Thinking Through Region,” in Sun Joo Kim, ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 3–17, here 8). The twelfth-century Buddhist monk Myoch’ŏng (妙清 ?–1135) argued that all the land believed to have once been ruled by Tan’gun, including large swaths of Manchuria, should belong to Koryŏ, and during the reign of the later Chosŏn dynasty King Sejo (世祖 r. 1455–1468), a historian named Kwŏn Nam (權擥 1416–1465) extended his conception of Kija’s territory to include the Liaodong peninsula in Manchuria (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 364). Perhaps the best-known proponent of Korean irredentism today was the early twentieth-century historian Sin Ch’ae-ho (申采浩 1880–1936), though he was also joined by such figures as nationalist historian Pak Ŭn-sik (朴殷植 1859–1925), who briefly led the Korean Provisional Government in Shanghai in the mid-1920s, and Ch’oe Nam-sŏn, a later Catholic convert who would win renown for penning the Korean Declaration of Independence in 1919 (Schmid 2002, 232–36). Henry Em, a historian at University of California, Los Angeles, notes that Sin described the geographic length of the Korean nation as roughly ten times the usual “3,000 li” formulation, thus absorbing—at least rhetorically—almost all of Manchuria into the Korean nation (Henry H. Em [Im, Hŭng-su], “Nationalism, Post-Nationalism, and Shin Ch’ae-ho,” Korea Journal 39, no. 2 (Summer 1999), 283–317, here 295). By defining the Korean nation as the descendants of the legendary Tan’gun, Sin regarded Manchuria as an integral part of the Korean nation (Em, “Nationalism, Post-Nationalism” (1999), 298).
p.44

granted a fiefdom and sent to the Korean peninsula as a bearer of enlightened civilization

NoteIn contrast to Tan’gun and his more obviously mythical origin story, Kija (箕子) was presented not as a direct descendant of heaven, but rather as a noble transplant from China.  REFUSING AN EVIL KING: Kija—also rendered in English as Chi-tzu, Jizi, Kitse, Kitsü, Ki Tza, and Kitsu, in addition to the Latinized form Kicius—was said to have been the Great Teacher in the court of King Zhou (商紂王 r. 1075 B.C.-1046 B.C.), the tyrannical last king of the Shang dynasty (商朝 c. 1600 BC–1046 BC), the quasi-legendary second dynasty of ancient Chinese history. King Zhou was a Nero- and Herod-like tyrant who resisted the sage advice of his counselors and, at one point, ordered the heart of one of them to be ripped out for sport (Griffis 1894, 11–12; and Gifford 1898, 24). Perhaps the most notorious recounts an anecdote in which King Zhou created a pond filled with liquor (see, for example, Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 82). According to one version of the Kija tale, presented in Korea’s official history books in the fifteenth century, Kija was related to King Zhou, while another prominent book of history from 1581 described Kija as the tyrant’s Great Teacher (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 365, 369). Either way, when Kija spoke out against the king’s immorality, King Zhou had him imprisoned, according to the Real Records of Kija (箕子實記 Kor. Kija Silgi), published in 1581 by Confucian scholar Yi I (李珥 1536–1584) (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 369).   REFUSING A VIRTUOUS KING: After the ouster of the corrupt King Zhou and the downfall of the Shang, the new Zhou dynasty (周朝 1046 BC–256 BC) that came to power would become one of the longest-lasting and best-regarded dynasties in Chinese history, having produced many of the country’s philosophical giants and serving as a paragon of virtue for the Confucian scholars. The founder of the new dynasty, the virtuous King Wu (周武王 r. 1046 BC–1043 BC), invited Kija to stay on, hoping to engage the sage’s services. However, when Kija refused, in line with Confucian notions of loyalty, King Wu instead deciding to enfeoff Kija in what is now Korea, with a mandate to spread Confucian values. This, at least, is the version of the Kija story as presented in Comprehensive Mirror of the Eastern Nation (1485), the influential official history that paved the way for the Kija-centric history that the Protestant missionaries first encountered when they arrived in Chosŏn-era Korea (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 365–66; and Gale, “Translations from the Tong-gook T’ong-gam,” Korean Repository (1895), 321). In an earlier version of the Kija tale, which became standard during the early fifteenth century, Kija, despite his disdain for the deposed king, refused the new job out of a sense of deference to his former master and left for Korea on his own—a version of the Kija tale that would be emphasized by later nationalist historians, to emphasize Korea’s independence from China (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 361). By the writing of the Condensed History of the Three Kingdoms (三國史節要 Kor. Samguk-sa Chŏlyo) in 1476, the prevailing version of the story portrayed Kija as having been granted Chosŏn as a fiefdom from King Wu—thus binding Kija closer to the Chinese state (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 364). According to the Real Records of Kija (1581), King Wu visited Kija in prison, asking the sage if he did the right thing in destroying the Shang dynasty; Kija, virtuous to the end, didn’t answer, but explained the Way of Heaven to the new king, emphasizing impartiality as the most important attribute (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 369; and Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 83).  “A CHINESE REFUGEE”: Though the historiography around Kija was contested throughout the centuries, by the time of the missionaries’ arrival, the Westerners came to regard Kija as “a Chinese refugee,” in the words of George M. McCune, a Pyongyang-born son of missionaries who later became a scholar and diplomat (McCune and Grey 1950, 9). Kija was said to have arrived in Pyongyang by sailing up the Taedong River with an army of five thousand men in order “to found Phyöng-yang and Korean civilization,” as Isabella Bird Bishop described the prevailing legend being recounted at the time of her arrival (Bishop 1898, 355). Other missionary-historians describe Kija as coming to Korea with five thousand followers, either in 1122 BC or 1109 BC, clad in white and riding a white horse (Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 83; and Gale, “Translations from the Tong-gook T’ong-gam,” Korean Repository (1895), 321). William Griffis, the prominent early American writer on Korea, suspected that Kija may have settled initially in the Sungari Valley along the border of modern-day China and Russia before expanding to the south (Griffis 1894, 15).  SHROUDED IN MYSTERY: Much of the Kija tale remains unresolved. Pyongyang Presbyterian missionary Charles Bernheisel, writing in 1918, noted that the idea of Kija having “found the city of Pyengyang and lived here is a tradition that has come down through the ages. The historical traditions, such as there are, seem to favor this theory more than any other one. But how did he get here? By what road did he travel? Did he come overland from the north or by water from the west? Here again there is a variety of opinion” (Bernheisel, “Something About Kija,” Korea Magazine (1918), 245–46). Bernheisel continued by comparing different accounts of Kija’s fabled approach to Pyongyang, concluding that he had likely arrived by sea somewhere south of Inch’ŏn, then followed the coast north until he entered the mouth of the Taedong River and found the island—really a rocky promontory in the river—called Ch’ŏl-do (鐵島), literally “Iron Island,” where, visiting and talking to the locals, there was a monument to “Holy Kija” and a deep well there. When one of Kija’s followers urged him to seek a location further inland to set up his city, owing to the turbulence of the waters, Kija was said to have executed him—and then later to have realized the wisdom of the advice he received, eventually moving upriver to the present location of Pyongyang and commemorating his hastily-executed follower (Bernheisel, “Something About Kija,” Korea Magazine (1918), 246–48). For more on the execution of his follower, see above footnotes on “The Gate of the Hasty Death.”
p.45

reforms, introducing metal coinage and teaching the natives agriculture, the arts, and filial rites

NoteCIVILIZING THE NINE WILD TRIBES: The “semi-savage people” were, adds British diplomat Joseph Longford, “nine wild tribes who dressed in grass, lived under the trees in summer and in holes in the earth in winter, and fed on berries” (Longford 1911, 52). Rev. John Ross, the pioneering Scottish missionary to Manchuria, speculated in his History of Corea (1891) that the nine wild tribes there “were doubtless of the Tungusic people around them. But whence they came, and when they emigrated, history will never inform us” (Ross 1891, 9–10). At least one source credits Tan’gun with having civilized the “nine wild tribes” of Korea (Sherwood Hall 1978, 54).  SILKWORMS AND ETIQUETTE: Kija is credited with having brought enlightening Confucian reforms with him to the savage land. “Kitsu is said to have taught Chaosien propriety or etiquette (li), uprightness or integrity (yi), agriculture, the rearing of silkworms, the spinning of silk and its weaving. He established eight laws, which were so well observed that theft was unknown, no house was barred, no store locked, and no woman unfaithful” (Ross 1891, 10). According to the Korean history books, Kija brought over “eight laws of the kingdom” that, at least according to James S. Gale’s translation, read like an ancient Korean analogue to the biblical Ten Commandments, featuring laws like “Thou shalt kill a murderer,” “Thou shalt not commit adultery” and “Thou shalt not lie” (Gale, “Translations from the Tong-gook T’ong-gam,” Korean Repository (1895), 322). Further, Kija was credited with transcribing and formalizing the Korean language. “We are told in the histories that when Kija…entered in 1122 B.C.,” wrote Horace Underwood, “he found a species of civilization, and it is affirmed that he reduced the language of the people to writing. As to what this writing was, we cannot state, as there are no specimens of it extant” (Horace Grant Underwood [Underwood, Horace G.], The Religions of Eastern Asia (New York: Macmillan, 1910), 96).
p.45

with digging was said to weigh more than water drawn from any other well in the kingdom

Note“Koreans affirm that a jar of its waters weighs a pound more than a similar amount of water from any other well in the land” (Hulbert 1906, 289–90). Kija’s Well was dug south of where Pyongyang’s city walls would later appear, and it sat amidst streets laid out in grid form, “marked out on the plain with almost the regularity of a Western American town,” which remained in place until the Chinese army dug them up for earthworks during the Sino-Japanese War of 1894-1895 (Hulbert 1906, 289).
p.45

wrote one early Western missionary-historian of Korea. “He was the King Arthur of Korea”

NoteThat was far from the only analogy the early missionaries and Western diplomats turned to in order to capture Kija’s historical stature. James S. Gale described Kija as “a sort of Christopher Columbus and George Washington combined, [who] crossed the Yalu, bringing civilization and deliverance with him” (Jas. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “A Trip Across Northern Korea,” Korean Repository 4 (March 1897), 81–89, here 81; and Gale 1898, 127). “What Shakespeare is to Stratford, and King Alfred was to England, Ki-tze was to Korea and is to Phyöng-yang. Though he lived 3000 years ago, his memory is fresh in the name of every part of the city. His grave is kept in good repair, his portrait hangs in a shrine dedicated to his memory, and the standard of land measurement which he introduced is marked out by the same roads and dykes that he traced out,” wrote the British diplomat William Carles, who visited the city in 1884 (Carles 1886, 299). “His colossal figure dominates the early history of Korea much as Abraham dominates that of the Hebrews,” added Arthur Brown, a Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary (Brown 1919, 22).
p.45

Though the origin story bordered on fairytale, in some sense, it hardly mattered

NoteThough the Kija tale was less mystical, and thus more credible to Westerners than the legend of Tan’gun, many were nonetheless skeptical of the veracity of the story. Typical of the views were those of Rev. John Ross, the early Presbyterian missionary, historian, and linguist of Korea based in northeastern China, who described the Kija myth as “not impossible, but it is to be received with suspicion” (Ross 1891, 11). “The story of Ki-tsze’s migration does not wholly satisfy rigid examination, but it is probable,” William Griffis, the prominent early American writer on Korea, ventured (Griffis 1885, 17). The existence of Kija is still looked upon with considerable skepticism by contemporary scholars. The South Korean history Han Young-woo says flatly that tales of Kija “are based on legends and one can hardly accept them as facts” (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 349–50).
p.45

making him an object of veneration—and the very foundation for ties between China and Korea

NoteKija’s place in the Confucian canon was such that references to him could be found in Confucius’ Analects (論語 Ch. Lunyu), the Book of Changes (易經 Ch. Yijing), the Book of Documents (書經 Ch. Shujing), the Record of the Grand Historian (史記 Ch. Shiji), and many other Chinese canonical texts. In Korea, Kija had already become “an object of reverence” during the Three Kingdoms period (57 BC–AD 668), worshipped alongside the sun and the stars, and had “become a part of the national set of Koguryŏ’s beliefs” by the time Koguryŏ moved its capital to Pyongyang in AD 427. During the subsequent Koryŏ and Chosŏn dynasties (918–1897), Kija was “not only…regarded as a historical personage but Kija worship played an important role in political ideology and scholarship” (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 349–51). Kija’s stature was such that King Sejong (世宗王 r. 1418–1450), the Chosŏn dynasty’s most revered monarch, set up tablets to Kija in Pyongyang in the first year of his reign (Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “Historical Notes on the Reigning Dynasty,” Korean Repository 3 (September 1896), 343–49, here 347). Sejong later set up a national shrine for Tan’gun, also in Pyongyang, in 1429 (Eckert et al. 1990, 126; and “Korean Literature,” The Korea Magazine (July 1918), 293–302, here 294).
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was at least tied to the one that it regarded as the fountainhead of culture and civilization

Note“From the lofty height of thirty centuries of tradition, which to them is unchallenged history,” wrote American writer William Griffis, “they look with pitying contempt upon the upstart nations of yesterday, who live beyond the sea under some other heaven” (Griffis 1894, 13). Indeed, when foreigners reached out to Korea in the nineteenth century seeking commercial and diplomatic ties, the rebuffs typically came accompanied with a reaffirmation of Korea’s loyalty to the principles of Kija (Griffis 1894, 14). If the Kija myth was true, Korea’s civilization had the longevity of ancient Egypt, Griffis wrote (Griffis 1894, 13). The missionary George H. Jones noted that Kija’s accomplishments came “800 years before Alexander conquered the world, 500 years before Confucius taught, 400 years before the Isaiah prophesied, 100 years before King David sang…the days when Egypt was in her glory, Greece occupied by rude savage tribes, and Rome still 400 years in the distance” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 129). British journalist Angus Hamilton described Kija as a contemporary of Kings David and Solomon from Old Testament times (Hamilton 1904, 188). The power of the Kija myth was such that, when King Kojong declared the foundation of a Great Han Empire (大韓帝國 Kor. Taehan Cheguk) in 1897, the name itself may have been derived from worship of Kija, writes one scholar, though the ascendant variant of the Kija myth at that time portrayed Kija as an independent man, not a vassal of the Zhou Dynasty’s founder (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 350).
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in the minds of many Koreans over the course of centuries, as the true capital of the nation

NoteMissionary James S. Gale, one of the first Westerners to pass through the city, described Pyongyang as being “all sacred ground” (J. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository 1 (February 1892), 51–56, here 51; and Gale 1898, 82). Korean nationalist Henry Chung, citing Kija’s association with Pyongyang, called the city the “Mecca of Korea” (Chung 1921, 33). The association between Korea and Kija was such that some early Western writers described Korea as “the Country of Kija” (Griffis 1912, 18–19). When William Carles, a British diplomat who lived in Korea during the 1880s, visited Pyongyang, he was struck by the citizens’ evident pride in the “almost sacred” association with Kija. Inscriptions over gateways and public offices, Carles remarked, “almost all…allude to him in some manner or other,” which, Carles remarked, was evidence of “the respect and love in which his memory is still held” (Carles 1888, 161). Carles was taken to a site at which Kija was said to have established a system of standard measurements used to divide land thousands of years ago, which had been faithfully preserved and marked with a tablet covered in ancient Chinese inscriptions (Carles 1888, 169–70). “For three thousand years the patriarch has rested undisturbed with the rise and fall of succeeding dynasties,” wrote Methodist missionary W. Arthur Noble. “Toward this well-tended mound ten millions of people turn their eyes in worshipful reverence” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 343). The notion of Kija having settled on the site of his capital guided by stars can be found in Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 83. For a collection of fables and other tales associated and set in Pyongyang published by the North Korean state, see Tales of Pyongyang (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1988).
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riveting drama in the nation’s history, earning it a reputation as “the great battlefield of Korea”

Note“All through Choson’s history Ping-yang has been the battlefield of a large proportion of the most desperate conflicts that have taken place on Korean soil,” wrote one missionary (Miln 1895, 259). William Griffis described the Taedong River that flows through the center of Pyongyang “the Rubicon” of Korean history, though somewhat contradictorily in a later work, he describes the Yalu River as “Korea’s Rubicon” (Griffis 1894, 182–83; and Griffis 1912, 23). Missionary James Gale marveled about “all the wonders of the ages, that the ancient walls of Ping yang have enclosed and looked down upon—wonders that have included the splendors of the Tangs, the Hans, the Mings; wonders that are known nowhere but in the tinted and highly-colored East” (Gale 1909, 221). Pyongyang, wrote the Italian diplomat-historian Eugenio Volpicelli in 1896, “has played an important part in the history of the country. For some time the capital of ancient Corea, which extended far north of its present limits, it was the constant object of Chinese attacks by land and sea when the Celestial emperors were engaged in war with their small neighbour. It marked the farthest northern advance of the Japanese armies during the invasions of Hideyoshi, and the Chinese victory gained at Mount Mok-tan (Peony), on the north side of the city, saved China and Corea from the Japanese armies” (Vladimir 1896, 144).  AN ITALIAN “VLADIMIR”: Vladimir was the pseudonym of Eugenio Zanoni Volpicelli (1856–1932), sometimes given as Zenone Volpicelli, an amateur linguist and cultural and military historian of East Asia who served as the Italian consul in Hong Kong from 1899 to 1919 and was also likely dispatched to serve in Korea, where he helped broker the treaty between Chosŏn Korea and Italy in 1884 (see Angelo Paratico, “Eugenio Zanoni Volpicelli—An Italian Sir Edmund Backhouse?” (Angelo Paratico, “Eugenio Zanoni Volpicelli—An Italian Sir Edmund Backhouse?”, paper read at the Hong Kong Branch of the Asia Society, October 8, 2013; Franco Pratesi, “Unmasking an Italian Chameleon” (British Go Association website, n.d.); and David Prager Branner, “Introduction: What Are Rime Tables and What Do They Mean?”, in David Prager Branner, ed., The Chinese Rime Tables: Linguistic Philosophy and Historical-Comparative Phonology (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2006), 1–34, here 22).
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apex of Korea’s geographical expansion—established their capitals in, or near, Pyongyang

NoteTHE END OF KIJA’S DYNASTY: The last descendant of Kija to occupy the throne, Kijun (箕準 or 基準 r. 208 BC–194 BC), was overthrown by a duplicitous soldier fleeing from the Han dynasty’s conquest of neighboring China, a subject of the kingdom of Yan (燕) named Weiman (衛滿 Kor. Wiman 227 BC–?), who marched on the capital of Pyongyang in 194 BC and made himself king (H. B. Hulbert [Hulbert, Homer B.], “The Origin of the Korean People, I.,” Korean Repository 2 (June 1895), 219–29, here 221; Griffis 1894, 16; and Nelson 1946, 23). During Weiman’s conquest of Pyongyang, Kijun was forced to flee across Pyongyang’s Taedong River by boat with a few supporters (Hulbert, “Origin of the Korean People, I.” (1895), 221). Thus, the first “Chinese invasion” of Korea took place under Kija, and the second under Weiman (Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 85). Most sources describe Weiman as keeping his capital in Pyongyang, which he renamed Wanggŏm-sŏng (王儉城) or Wanghŏm-sŏng (王險城), (Jones, “Historical Resumé,” Korean Repository (1895), 138; Gale, “Translations from the Tong-gook T’ong-gam,” Korean Repository (1895), 322; Hulbert, “Origin of the Korean People, I.” (1895), 221; and Nelson 1946, 23). Other sources have placed Weiman’s capital as being on Manchuria’s Liaodong peninsula—among them later North Korean historians, who during the 1960s and 1970s appeared to find political advantage in situating the capital of this Chinese dynasty not in Pyongyang, but rather somewhere far to the west, deep in northern China, towards modern-day Beijing (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe [Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho], “Reinterpreting Traditional History in North Korea,” Journal of Asian Studies 40, no. 3 (May 1981), 503–23, here 506–8). This sleight of hand strengthened the notion of a Pyongyang that had always been in Korean hands, freed of the Kija legend and now too of the Lelang colony (Ch’oe, “Reinterpreting Traditional History” (1981), 508–9). It also opened the door for the possibility of irredentist claims for Korea’s rightful control of parts of Manchuria. By the 1990s, however, North Korean historiography appears to have reversed course yet again, identifying Pyongyang as the modern-day site of Wanggŏm-sŏng—a shift that suggests that it was more important to North Korea that Pyongyang’s bona fides as the capital of the first Korean state was more important than introducing the risk of acknowledging its subsequent fall to Han Chinese troops. “Previously it was believed that…the walled Wanggom, the capital of ancient Korea was in the Liaodong district, but it was confirmed that its capital was Pyongyang. This shows that Pyongyang, which was one of the cradles of humanity, was the birthplace of the Korean nation and the capital of ancient Korea, the first ancient state in Korea. It bespeaks of the time-honoured history of Pyongyang” (Tangun: Founder-King of Korea (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1994), 22-23). See also Tangun (1994), 53–54; and Successive Names of Korea 2009, 9–11. For more on this rewriting of history, see the following footnotes.  A CHINESE COLONY IN PYONGYANG: When the Old Chosŏn dynasty was finally overthrown in 108 B.C. by Emperor Wu (漢武帝 r. 141 BC–87 BC) of China’s Han dynasty (漢朝 194 BC–AD 220), one of the colonies that the Chinese monarch established, called Lelang (樂浪 Kor. Rakrang), had its capital in, or near, modern-day Pyongyang (McCune and Grey 1950, 10; Rinn-Sup Shinn [Sin, In-sŏp] et al., Area Handbook for North Korea (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1969), 31; and Cumings in Worden 2008, 6). The colonies are rendered as jun in Korean (郡) and are also often translated as “commanderies” or “prefectures.” The Lelang legacy can still be seen in modern-day Pyongyang, where the large district south of the Taedong River retains the name Rangrang District (樂浪區域 Kor. Rakrang Kuyŏk). For details on the archaeological artifacts discovered at the Lelang site during the Japanese colonial period, see “Ancient Korean Remains I,” The Korea Magazine (August 1918), 354–56.  KOGURYŎ CAPITAL: Sometime after the northern Korean kingdom of Koguryŏ (高句麗37 BC–AD 668) succeeded in destroying Lelang in AD 313, Koguryŏ moved its capital to Pyongyang in AD 427 (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so Pukhan Kyohoesa Chipp’il Wiwŏn-hoe [North Korean Church History Writing Committee of the Korean Christian History Research Institute], Pukhan Kyohoesa [North Korean Church History] (Seoul: Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so, 1996), 58; and Tangun (1994), 67). The Koguryŏ court was set up at Anhak Palace (安鶴宮 Kor. Anhak-gung), at the southern foot of Mount Taesŏng (大城山 Kor. Taesŏng-san), in the northern suburbs of modern Pyongyang; by the sixth century, the city had expanded the southwest, to include Peony Point (牡丹峰 Kor. Moran-bong) (Panorama of Pyongyang (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 2014), 13-14; and Benjamin Joinau, “The Arrow and the Sun: A Topo-mythanalysis of Pyongyang,” Sungkyun Journal of East Asian Studies 14, no. 1 (April 2014), 65–92, here 69). Prior to that, Koguryŏ had its capital at Kuknae-sŏng (國內城), on the northern banks of the Yalu River, in the modern-day Chinese city of Ji’an (集安), in present-day Jilin province. In July 2004, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, better known as Unesco, added to its World Heritage List the Koguryŏ tombs in both China, near Ji’an, and in North Korea—marking the North’s first ever designation under Unesco (“13 More Properties Added to World Heritage List at 2004 Committee Session,” United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization website, July 2, 2004).
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setting for a series of dramatic repulsions of invasions that felled an imperial Chinese dynasty

NoteChina’s Sui dynasty (隋朝AD 581–AD 618) fell to the Tang dynasty (唐朝 AD 618–AD 907) in large part due to the second Sui emperor, Yang (隋煬帝 r. AD 604–AD 618), whose obsession with conquering Koguryŏ led to no fewer than four failed invasions, each time falling short of capturing the Koguryŏ capital at Pyongyang. At one point, writes missionary-historian Homer Hulbert, “three hundred thousand of them crossed the river and marched on Pyeng-yang, but they were drawn into an ambush and cut down by the thousands. The remainder fled, but lost their way and were destroyed one by one, so that of those three hundred thousand men only seven thousand went back across the Yalu alive” (Hulbert 1906, 72–73). See also Vladimir 1896, 12–13. One of the Korean military heroes of this period, Korean general Ŭlji Mundŏk (乙支文德 ?–?), is revered today in Korea, with one of Seoul’s central thoroughfares named for him. For a modern North Korean recounting of Ŭlji Mundŏk’s heroics in repulsing the “foreign aggressors”—the fact that they are Chinese is not emphasized, presumably because of Pyongyang’s close ties today with Beijing—see Renowned Figures in Korean History (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 2019), 12–13.
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Pyongyang after another assault on the city, thus ending seven centuries of Koguryŏ rule

Note According to legend, the Chinese couldn’t take Pyongyang even with land and naval forces totaling one million men—that is, until a series of foreboding omens, including nine tigers slipping within the city walls, the waters of the Taedong River turning to blood, and a portrait of the mother of Koguryŏ’s dynastic founder sweating blood (Mrs. D. L. Gifford [Gifford, Mary H.], “Places of Interest in Korea,” Korean Repository 2 (August 1895), 281–87, here 284). The eventual capture of Pyongyang in AD 668 by an alliance of China’s Tang empire and the southeastern Korean kingdom of Silla (Sinra新羅 57 BC–AD 935) cleared the way for the supremacy of Silla over most of the Korean peninsula for the next several centuries. While Silla was the first to unify the peninsula, its rule only reached as far north as Pyongyang and the Taedong River, blocked from expanding further northward by Parhae (渤海 AD 698–AD 926), a successor state to the Koguryŏ dynasty (Cumings in Worden 2008, 11; Michael C. Rogers, “P’yŏnnyŏn T’ongnok: The Foundation Legend of the Koryŏ State,” Journal of Korean Studies 4 (1982–1983), 3–72, here 17; Sherwood Hall 1978, 63; and Nelson 1946, 49). Pyongyang itself had been destroyed in the Tang-Silla conquest of Koguryŏ, and for the next two centuries, Pyongyang fell into a period of relative dormancy as Silla ran the nation from its capital in Sǒrabŏl (西羅伐), modern-day Kyŏngju (慶州), in the far southeast (Joinau, “The Arrow and the Sun” (2014), 69). Even today, North Korea—which has questioned the legitimacy of southeastern kingdom of Silla and denounced its alliance with Tang China as traitorous—makes clear that the demise of Koguryŏ was the result of “invasion by foreign forces” (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 14).
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importance, placed a large garrison in the city, which he decreed his western capital

NoteKOREA’S FIRST UNIFIER: The founding king of the Koryŏ dynasty was Wang Kŏn (王建 877–943), known to history as King T’aejo (太祖王 r. 918–943). Wang Kŏn rose to power as a military commander under a Buddhist monk-turned-dynastic founder named Kung’ye (弓裔 r. 901–918), who named his short-lived kingdom Later Koguryŏ (後高句麗 Kor. Hu Koguryŏ), before changing it to Koryŏ and then T’aebong (泰封). After Wang Kŏn ousted Kung’ye in a coup, he chose the name Koryŏ for his new kingdom, which later defeated the other kingdoms on the Korean peninsula to achieve what some historians—including those in North Korea today—regard as the first true unification of the entire Korean peninsula; the southeastern kingdom of Silla, typically regarded by South Korean historians as the first to unify Korea, never ruled north of Pyongyang. Before being swept off the scene, Kung’ye—an avowed admirer of Koguryŏ—had vowed to avenge the destruction of Pyongyang by Silla, charging Silla with having “neglected and left bushes to overgrow the area. I will surely take my revenge” (as quoted in Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 28). Wang Kŏn, too, sought to revive the glories of the Koguryŏ, but instead chose to place his capital at Kaesŏng (開城), known at the time as Kaegyŏng (開京), almost certainly because it was the power base of his own familial ancestors (Jorgensen 2018, 50–51). Despite choosing Kaegyŏng for his capital, Wang Kŏn clearly valued Pyongyang. He pushed the boundaries of the Korean state northward to the Ch’ŏngch’ŏn River, halfway between Pyongyang and the Yalu River, and declared Pyongyang his secondary capital, known as Sŏgyŏng (西京), or the “Western Capital” (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 17).   “ALMOST PERFECT GEOMANTICALLY”: Wang Kŏn was greatly concerned with geomancy, and Pyongyang, in the words of Dutch historian Remco Breuker, was “almost perfect geomantically. Behind it, and to the sides, it was protected by high mountain ranges that joined the Paektu mountain range. In front, the Taedong River flowed, embracing a wide plain. P’yŏngyang was, then, almost impregnable and its history in ancient and medieval times shows that successive rulers and dynasties recognized the virtues of its location” (Remco Breuker, “Forging the Truth: Creative Deception and National Identity in Medieval Korea,” East Asian History 35 (June 2008), 1–73, here 39). Wang Kŏn clearly understood all this, and despite choosing a less geomantically auspicious city for his capital, “the deficiencies of Kaesŏng were apparently alleviated by the king residing periodically in Seoul and P’yŏngyang” (Jorgensen 2018, 50–51; and Breuker, “Forging the Truth” (2008), 38, 56). When he died, Wang Kŏn left instructions in his purported will, the Ten Injunctions (訓要十條 Kor. Hun’yo Sipjo), emphasizing Pyongyang’s geomantic advantages. One of them, the fifth injunction, was devoted entirely to the importance of Pyongyang, instructing his Koryŏ successors to make four journeys a year to the Western Capital, and to spend at least 100 days there a year in order that “peace and prosperity will be secured” (Breuker, “Forging the Truth” (2008), 36–37). Wang Kŏn himself had gone there at least ten times, and sought to repopulate the city after its devastation (Breuker, “Forging the Truth” (2008), 37–38). Though Breuker argues that the Ten Injunctions were likely actually penned by a court official under Wang Kŏn’s grandson, King Hyŏnjong (顯宗王 1009–1031), the eighth king of Koryŏ, the Koryŏ dynasty’s strong affinity for Pyongyang was unmistakable. The question of whether to relocate the capital to Pyongyang seems to have been a perennial preoccupation of the Koryŏ dynasty rulers, many of whom, heeding their dynastic founder’s injunction, recognized the importance of Pyongyang and considered moving the capital there, including Chŏngjong (定宗王 r. 945–949), Sŏngjong (成宗王 r. 981–997), Mokjong (穆宗王 r. 997–1009), Hyŏnjong (顯宗王 r. 1009–1031), and Ŭijong (毅宗王 r. 1133–1146) (Jorgensen 2018, 56; Breuker, “Forging the Truth” (2008), 38; and Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 14). King Mokjong, in an attempt to associate Pyongyang with the splendors of ancient China’s Western Zhou Dynasty (西周 1045 BC–771 BC),  renamed the city Hogyŏng (鎬京), to match that of the ancient Western Zhou capital (Breuker, “Forging the Truth” (2008), 38).  A SECONDARY CAPITAL: “The Western Capital never lost its strategic importance and Koryo’s most capable and trustworthy military commanders customarily served there. As a consequence, the military commander of P’yongyang wielded considerable domestic influence,” Breuker writes. “It was not just for the quelling of external threats that the Western Capital was important; the possibility of rebellion emanating from there was always present” (Breuker, “Forging the Truth” (2008), 38–39). The fifteenth Koryŏ monarch, King Sukjong (高麗 肅宗 r. 1095–1105), spent three months in Pyongyang in 1102, and decreed that Kija’s tomb be found there and turned into a shrine (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 352). King Sukjong had consulted a geomancer who cited a book of prophecy that said that the Koryŏ dynasty should move its primary capital to Seoul, to be called the “Southern Capital” (南京 Kor. Namgyŏng), establish another capital at Pyongyang—“an auspicious place”—and retain its current capital at Kaesŏng, spending one third of the year in each capital; doing so, the prophecy foretold, would result in the kingdom receiving tribute from three dozen countries (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 353; and Jorgensen 2018, 58–59). Sukjong, by no means the favorite to succeed to the throne—he became monarch when his nephew, King Hŏnjŏng (獻宗王 r. 1094–1095), abdicated—had plenty of reason to favor Pyongyang. Sukjong found some legitimacy in a mysterious purple cloud that is said to have appeared above his tent while he was in Pyongyang in 1092 (Jorgensen 2018, 58). Sukjong’s successor, King Yejong (睿宗王 r. 1106–1122), also favored the city, undertaking a major expansion program to build up the city and elevate its status (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 92–93). North Korean historians today emphasize the importance that the Koryŏ dynasty attached to Pyongyang, noting that “its rulers began restoring Pyongyang prior to laying out its capital and made it the second capital.” Even before it set up its capital in Kaegyŏng, “in September 918 they had already started the reconstruction of Pyongyang. The reconstruction of Pyongyang was the first great project since the birth of Koryo. The Koryo rulers set great store by Pyongyang” (Successive Names of Korea 2009, 40; and Tangun 1994, 68).
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after the suggestion was rebuffed, the monk launched a bloody rebellion

NoteThe monarch was the Koryŏ King Injong (仁宗王 r. 1122–1146), and the “mysterious monk” was Myoch’ŏng (妙清 ?–1135). When the king sided with another faction that favored keeping the capital in Kaesŏng, Myoch’ŏng and his allies set up a government in Pyongyang. Though Myoch’ŏng would be killed within weeks of the rebellion, the “extremely heavy fighting” would go on or another year, at “great economic and social cost” to the Koryŏ dynasty. “The suppression took a long time and swallowed so many resources that even the south of the peninsula was said to suffer heavily from the civil war” (Remco Breuker, “O Fleeting Joyes of Paradise, or: How Nativism Enjoyed Its 15 Minutes of F(r)ame in Medieval Korea,” in Mark Teeuwen and Henk Blezer, eds., Buddhism and Nativism: Framing Identity Discourse in Buddhist Environments (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2013), 229–57, here 233, 243, 247).  MYOCH’ŎNG’S MESSAGE: Myoch’ŏng had King Injong under his spell largely based on the monk’s purported ability to perform miracles; his demand for the move of the capital to Pyongyang was based on dreams of recapturing the glories, and the vast territories, of the Koguryŏ dynasty, a vision that would entail northward military conquest (Rogers, “P’yŏnnyŏn T’ongnok” (1982–1983), 19; and Jorgensen 2018, 56). King Injong, it appears, had been further moved to reconsider the placement of the capital in part because the palace in Kaesŏng had been struck by lightning, an ominous sign from the heavens (“Kim Poo-sik (金富試) (1075–1151 A.D.),” The Korea Magazine (June 1917), 256–258, here 257). “The geomantic view that P’yŏngyang was a preferable site for the dynastic capital had been held from the beginning of the Koryŏ dynasty. Whenever a natural disaster hit the country or a political power struggle caused chaos in society, some officials and geomancers argued that the terrestrial forces of Kaesŏng were exhausted and that transfer of the capital to P’yŏngyang was needed,” writes Harvard University historian Sun Joo Kim, who describes how Myoch’ŏng and other high-ranking officials tried to convince King Injong to move the capital to Pyongyang, citing Buddhist, geomantic, and Daoist theories to make the case (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 93).  AN AMBITIOUS “MONK”: John Jorgensen, a historian of Korean religion, notes that Myoch’ŏng may not actually have been a Buddhist monk, though he was “a specialist in ritual” and had learned enough Buddhist geomancy to package what Jorgensen describes as Myoch’ŏng’s “nativist ideology against foreign influence” (Jorgensen 2018, 55–56). Dutch historian Remco Breuker is similarly skeptical of Myoch’ŏng, regarding him less as a Buddhist monk and more as a charlatan usurper with a particularly nativist view of Koyrŏ—that is, he believed that, at a time when Koryŏ was seeking to maintain its traditional vassal relations with the Song Chinese court and to coexist with the fast-expanding Jurchen-led Jin dynasty, that Koryŏ should instead defeat the Jin in battle and reclaim the hegemony that the earlier Korean kingdom of Koguryŏ had enjoyed in Manchuria. Breuker argues that religion had little to do with Myoch’ŏng’s rebellion, and that even Myoch’ŏng himself was but a front for a court faction that wanted to shift power to Pyongyang (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 233–34, 242–43). This faction, Breuker writes, saw in Myoch’ŏng—a charismatic geomancer—an opportunity to defeat the faction led by Kim Pu-sik (金富軾 1075-1151), the staunch Confucianist official then in favor in the Koryŏ Dynasty court, who favored a more centralized, rational and pluralistic approach to the world, coexisting with and recognizing as superior the powerful Jin Dynasty (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 242–46, 253). To that end, Myoch’ŏng declared a new state called Taewi (大為), with the regnal name of Ch’ŏn’gae (天開) and declared his intention to defeat the Jurchens, though he also urged Koryŏ to elevate the king to emperor, thus putting him at least on the same level as the Jin emperor and establishing himself as the only Son of Heaven (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 233, 245–49). At the same time, he propagated prophecies that if Koryŏ moved its capital to Pyongyang, which was of better geomantic value—that is, where “the earth force had not been exhausted”—the dynasty would be rejuvenated and three dozen states would come to pay tribute to it, echoing an earlier prophecy attributed to an earlier Buddhist monk, Tosŏn (道詵 827–898) (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 244, 249; and Jorgensen 2018, 58–59).  STUNT MAN AND TAN’GUN TALE-TELLER: To make his point, Myoch’ŏng also turned to some elaborate stunts, like sinking a large rice cake filled with oil into the Taedong River, then spreading a rumor that “a divine dragon swimming in the Taedong River was spitting out five-coloured oil”—purportedly a heavenly omen of Pyongyang’s spiritual value (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 236, 251). The plot was foiled by a skeptical diver who fished out the rice cake, though another stunt in which music and voices seemed to waft down from heaven during a royal banquet appeared to have worked (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 251). Jorgensen writes that it may have been Myoch’ŏng who first propagated the idea that Tan’gun, the legendary progenitor of the Korean people, first descended to earth at Mount Paekdu, having effectively borrowed the sanctity of the mountain from the Jurchens, who had long worshipped it as their holy mountain (Jorgensen 2018, 56). Myoch’ŏng, who harbored irredentist ambitions for the Koryŏ dynasty to reclaim all the territory said to have been ruled by Tan’gun, stretching into Manchuria, had wanted to move the capital north to Pyongyang, where Tan’gun’s capital was said to be.  MYOCH’ŎNG’S END: Myoch’ŏng’s rebellion was ultimately put down by his rival, the Confucian scholar-general Kim Pu-sik, who wanted to keep Koryŏ in harmony with China, and thus to not make a play for Manchuria (David Chung 2001, 162). Kim Pu-sik counseled the king against the move and was later put in charge of putting down Myoch’ŏng’s rebellion; later, in retirement, Kim Pu-sik wrote The Historical Records of the Three Kingdoms (三國史記 Kor. Sam’guk Sa’gi), published in 1145 and the oldest surviving chronicle of Korean history (“Kim Poo-sik,” Korea Magazine (1917), 257–58). Kim’s historical record extolled Kija’s achievements and even included a passage in which Confucius, so impressed by Kija’s accomplishments in Korea, expressed his desire to go live in Korea—even if he had to sail on driftwood to get there from his native Shandong province (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 354–55). Kim Pu-sik was especially resented by the northwesterners not only for putting down a rebellion that sought to make Pyongyang the capital, but also because he was seen as one of the primary “engineers of regional discrimination,” arranging for the execution of one top literary talent from Pyongyang (Yoo-seung Jang [Chang, Yu-sŭng], “Regional Identities of Northern Literati: A Comparative Study of P’yŏngan and Hamgyŏng Provinces,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 62–92, here 82).  MYOCH’ŎNG’S LEGACY: The failure of Myoch’ŏng’s rebellion greatly tarnished Pyongyang’s reputation (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 18). Sin Ch’ae-ho, a nationalist Korean historian who was greatly influential in the twentieth century, interpreted Myoch’ŏng’s defeat by Confucianists who wanted to retain good relations with Korea’s more-powerful neighbors in China as the beginning of Korea’s decline as a glorious nation (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 233). Pyongyang continued to have a hold on the Korean imagination. Less than four decades later, Pyongyang’s regional commander, a man named Cho Wi-ch’ong (趙位寵 ?–1176), launched a rebellion of his own; this rebellion took nearly two years to pacify, and even then left a nettlesome presence for the Koryŏ rulers around Mount Myohyang for years thereafter—a reflection of northern antagonism to the rulers to the south (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 18). And in the fourteenth century, a Rasputin-like former Buddhist monk named Sin Ton (申旽, also known as P’yŏnjo 遍照 1323–1371), having taken over the levers of government from Koryŏ King Kongmin (恭愍王 r. 1351–1374), attempted to move the capital again from Kaesŏng to Pyongyang, citing the Buddhist monk Tosŏn’s book of prophecy about the decline of Kaesŏng’s geomantic advantages (Jorgensen 2018, 68). The Chosŏn dynasty prophetic texts known as The Records of Chŏnggam described geomantic vitality as flowing from the Kunlun Mountains (崑崙山), the mythological pillar of heaven, through Mount Paekdu and to Pyongyang, which would be the capital for a thousand years before shifting to Song’ak (松嶽)—that is, modern-day Kaesŏng—and then Hanyang (漢陽)—that is, modern-day Seoul (Jorgensen 2018, 208). In the mid-1880s, a group of Korean reformers and revolutionaries had pushed to move the nation’s capital to Pyongyang (Horace G. Underwood letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 8, 1887, Yokohama, Japan (PHS 174/2/16)). As recently as the late 1890s, Pyongyangites continued to be gripped by legends and folklore, for instance of a dragon having appeared in the city in the fall of 1897 (E. Douglas Follwell, “Pyeng-yang Legends,” Korean Repository 4 (December 1897), 449–51). That appears to be an echo of the twelfth-century rebel Myoch’ŏng’s story that an auspicious dragon had appeared in the Taedong River (Breuker in Teeuwen and Blezer 2013, 236, 251). After Japan had colonized Korea, established the puppet state of Manchukuo and occupied large swaths of mainland China, one Japanese lawmaker, Akagi Kakudō (赤木 格堂 1879–1948) argued for Japan to move its imperial capital from Tokyo to Pyongyang, the better to oversee Japan’s ambitions as the predominant power in mainland Asia (Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], “The Phantasm of the Western Capital (Sŏgyŏng): Imperial Korea’s Redevelopment of P’yŏngyang, 1902–1908,” International Journal of Asian Studies 12, 2 (July 2015), 167–91, here 185–86).
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invaded Korea in the 1590s, his troops made it to Pyongyang before being beaten back

NoteRETREAT TO PYONGYANG: The later Chosŏn dynasty (朝鮮朝 1392–1897) had established its capital at Seoul, which was then known as Namgyŏng (南京), or the “Southern Capital”; Pyongyang, reduced in stature, saw its population slide to 30,000 (Joinau, “The Arrow and the Sun” (2014), 69). Still, it was in Pyongyang where, in July 1592, the invading Japanese army of Toyotomi Hideyoshi (豐臣 秀吉 1537–1598) cracked the back of Korean resistance—at least initially. As the Japanese troops swept up the peninsula from Pusan, King Sŏnjo (宣祖王 r. 1567–1608) was forced to flee Seoul on June 9, 1592, arriving in his new temporary capital of Pyongyang four days later: “Leaving in haste with minimal preparation, the court seems to have been a pathetic sight: it crossed the Imjin River in torrential rain and complete darkness, the whole retinue, including the king, rain drenched and famished” (Haboush 2016, 30, 105–6). After Seoul’s fall, the royal court decided that even being in Pyongyang wasn’t secure enough, and promptly decamped northward towards the Yalu River—over the protests and outright resistance of the “lawless and riotous” people of Pyongyang, who feared abandonment (Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Japanese Invasion, V. The Fall of Pyöngyang,” Korean Repository 1 (June 1892), 182–88, here 185–86). Sure enough, Japan captured Pyongyang, and the news of “the fall of this city, the ancient capital of the kingdom and a strong fortress, spread terror through all Corea and the Chinese province of Liao-tung” (Vladimir 1896, 26–27). Though the Chosŏn court pleaded with China for military support, the Ming court in Beijing, tied up with a rebellion in northwestern China, sent only a token force, led by Gen. Zu Chengxun (祖承訓 ?–?). In August 1592, Gen. Zu launched a surprise night attack on the army of Gen. Konishi Yukinaga, the Catholic convert who was then occupying Pyongyang as one of Hideyoshi’s top generals. Gen. Zu’s troops, riding in on cavalry during a storm and “fighting with long spears in the narrow, muddy streets of Pyeng Yang,” were quickly annihilated by Gen. Konishi, serving as a wake-up call to the Ming Emperor Wanli (萬歷帝 r. 1572–1620), who now realized the grave threat that Japan posed to China itself (Kuno 1937, 156; Haboush 2016, 94; Griffis 1894, 106; and Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Japanese Invasion, VI. China to the Rescue,” Korean Repository 1 (July 1892), 217–22, here 217).  MING CHINA TO THE RESCUE: Ming China dispatched its top general Li Rusong (李如松 1549–1598), fresh off having put down a rebellion in northwestern China, to China’s northeast with a large force of some forty thousand men and a mandate “to preserve the old territory of Kija,” in China’s words—a major expeditionary army that prompted King Sŏnjo to “burst into a wail” of celebration (Haboush 2016, 96, 98). As with China’s entry into the Korean War more than 350 years later as the North Koreans were pushed back to the Yalu River by Gen. Douglas MacArthur, the war’s tenor changed entirely with the entry of the Ming Chinese forces. “After the Chinese Army of forty thousand led by Li Rusong arrived to assist Chosŏn toward the end of 1592, the volunteer army lost much of its significance as a military force,” writes historian JaHyun Kim Haboush. “From 1593 the main battles were fought by the allied forces of Chosŏn and Ming, to which the volunteer army units functioned as auxiliary or service units” (Haboush 2016, 71). See also Westad 2021, 50–52.  FEIGNED NEGOTIATIONS: Initially, however, Gen. Li was furious to learn that a Chinese official named Shen Weijing (沈惟敬1537–1597) had opened peace negotiations with Japan after the rout of the initial Ming forces at Pyongyang in August 1592; Gen. Li called for Shen to be arrested and executed (Kuno 1937, 161–62; and Jones, “VI. China to the Rescue,” Korean Repository (1892), 217–20). In Pyongyang, Shen and Gen. Konishi had drafted tentative terms that would have drawn a boundary at the Taedong River, handing the bottom two-thirds of the Korean peninsula over to Japanese rule while preserving the northernmost third to the Koreans, with a wooden post to be erected ten miles north of Pyongyang to serve as a kind of temporary demilitarized zone while the two sides would engage in fuller peace talks in Seoul (Kuno 1937, 158–61). Incensed though he was, Gen. Li saw an opportunity in the peace negotiations. In January 1593, Gen. Li and his men crossed the frozen Yalu River into Korea, and quickly reached the outskirts of Pyongyang. There, they posed as Chinese imperial peace negotiators, tricking Gen. Konishi into preparing an elaborate welcome; instead of peace negotiators, Gen. Konishi was met with a surprise attack by Zha Dashou (查大受 ?–?), one of Gen. Li’s generals. Despite the rude surprise, Gen. Konishi—as he had half a year earlier during Gen. Zu’s ambush—fought valiantly, holding out for three days before ultimately retreating to Seoul (Kuno 1937, 162). Another source describes how, as Gen. Li approached, Gen. Konishi was initially determined to stand his ground in the face of the numerically superior Chinese army, hunkering down on Peony Point (牡丹峰 Kor. Moran-bong), the hill overlooking central Pyongyang from the north, before finally retreating in the night (Vladimir 1896, 29). Either way, Gen. Li and his 43,000 troops took Pyongyang on February 8, 1593, killing some eight thousand Japanese while losing just eight hundred Ming soldiers, it is said (Haboush 2016, 89–90). When the Ming forces pushed their advantage, however, pursuing the retreating enemy at full speed, the Japanese were again able to turn the tables and rout the Chinese army, forcing a demoralized Gen. Li, who nearly died in battle, back to Pyongyang, newly convinced of the need to sue for peace as quickly as possible (Kuno 1937, 163–64).
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place in the Korean imagination as “the last stronghold” of resistance against foreign invaders

Note“As the Tai-dong river and Phyöng-yang marked the extreme limit of Japanese military operations during the celebrated invasions of the 16th century, the defeat of the Japanese fleet may be considered the turning-point of the war,” wrote one later historian (Vladimir 1896, 27). Another source calls Pyongyang “the place where struggle against the invaders to recover occupied territory took place” (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 64). For the Koreans, Gen. Li’s triumph at Pyongyang was so stirring that, in the words of William Carles, a British diplomat who was posted to Korea in the mid-1880s, “the Coreans attributed it in great part to the interposition of the God of War, who, as they say, manifested himself with his battalions and struck terror into the hearts of the Japanese. Temples were erected to his honour all over the country, and Li Ju-sung was treated as the saviour of Corea,” Carles writes. During his visit to Pyongyang, Carles was taken to a monument to the God of War, where an accompanying building displayed frescoes of Gen. Li’s heroics in Pyongyang three centuries earlier (Carles 1888, 161–62, 164–65). Pyongyang also holds a special place in Korean history in that it was after the Japanese had reached the old northern capital in mid-1592 that the Koreans began to organize themselves into spontaneously-organized guerrilla bands known as “righteous armies” (義兵 Kor. ŭibyŏng) (Gifford 1898, 37). The “righteous armies” would later play a major role in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Korean history (see Act I, Chapter 7).
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center in Seoul, and thus, according to Confucian precepts, disconnected from civilization itself

NoteAs Harvard University historian Sun Joo Kim writes, “any land far from the center was deemed to be less civilized than the center itself” (Sun Joo Kim in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 10). Discrimination against northwesterners began as early as the tenth century AD under the Later Koguryŏ kingdom (AD 901–918) (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 28).
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to call for a single-minded focus on the city: win Seoul, and the rest of Korea would follow

Note“Success here means success everywhere,” Henry Appenzeller declared. “As in Italy all the roads lead to Rome, so in Korea everything leads to Seoul, and everybody longs to go to Seoul…What Seoul does, what Seoul thinks, the country does and thinks” (Appenzeller 1902, 11–12). The early Western writer William Griffis made the same point with a comparison to France: “If, as the French say, ‘Paris is France,’ then Seoul is Corea…Seoul is ‘the city,’ and all the rest of the peninsula is ‘the country’” (Griffis 1894, 233). William Sands, the American diplomat in Seoul, disagreed with this sentiment only in the degree, writing: “Seoul is to Korea much more than Paris is to France” (Sands 1931, 38). The missionary Charles A. Clark compared Seoul’s centrality in the Korean imagination to the way “the devout Mohammedan looks at Mecca,” writing that Seoul “is not merely the capital. It is the heart of all things” (Charles Allen Clark [Clark, Charles A.], First Fruits in Korea: A Story of Church Beginnings in the Far East (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1921), 45). The missionary J. Robert Moose wrote: “Truly Seoul is the soul of Korea. Here is the center of life, social, political, and otherwise. All roads lead up to Seoul. Mark the word up, for no Korean ever thinks or speaks of the capital of his country in any term but up” (Moose 1911, 48–49). “The heart of every Korean is in Seoul,” added Isabella Bird Bishop. “To the Korean it is the place in which alone life is worth living” (Bishop 1898, 60). See also Cavendish 1894, 23–24.
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hinterland where tiger hunters, armed with matchlock guns, killed fearsome creatures

NoteThe wild northern periphery served as a frontier in the Korean imagination, an uncivilized place full of uncouth and miscegenated barbarians far from the refinement and culture of those in the center of power (Sun Joo Kim in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 10). Jack London, who arrived in Korea as a war correspondent in 1904, later immortalized “the Tiger Hunters of Pyeng-yang” in his 1915 science fiction novel The Star Rover, describing the hunters as “the fiercest and most terrible fighting men of which Cho-Sen could boast” (Jack London, The Star Rover (New York: Macmillan, 1915), 180).  “BARREN AND ALMOST IMPENETRABLE”: One early Western explorer described northwestern Korea as “the haunt of the wild beast, barren and almost impenetrable,” writing of its vast primeval forest: “It is practically untouched by Western civilisation…Its groves of pines and firs, and acres of woods, recall the time when Northern Korea was one vast forest,” he added (Hamilton 1904, 187). Though Westerners had managed in one fashion or another to explore most of the peninsula by the mid-1880s, the British diplomat William Carles, who lived in Korea for several months beginning in 1884, noted that the northern half of the peninsula had remained undisturbed, as far as he knew, by Europeans. “Of the eight provinces of Corea, those in the south and centre had by this time been explored by one or two gentlemen,” Carles wrote in 1888, “but the furthest point north yet reached by any one in European dress was Phyöng-yang, which lies about half-way between Soul and the north-west frontier of Corea” (Carles 1888, 108–9). The missionary James Gale, after walking through the northwest in February 1891, described the region as “a wilderness full of demons, rags, dogs, unburied dead, vermin, squalor, filth and whatnot” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 4 (April 1909), 56–57, here 57). This all changed with time, particularly as outsiders recognized the value of its primeval forests, which had been undisturbed for centuries. By the 1930s, deforestation had taken such a toll that the Japanese colonial authorities had to launch mass afforestation efforts (Berman 1938, 23–24).
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since these people were, after all, “not up to the standard” of the capital’s Confucian elite

NoteOne Catholic priest, Bishop St. Marie-Nicolas-Antoine Daveluy (1818–1866), after his arrival in Korea in 1845, channeled the conventional view of northwestern Koreans as being “stronger, more savage and more violent than the other Koreans. There are very few nobles among them, and consequently very few dignitaries. It is thought that they are the secret enemies of the dynasty, and so the government, while it humors them, watches over them closely and always dreads an insurrection on their part which would be extremely difficult to overcome” (as quoted in Dallet, Tome Premier (1874), clx). Daveluy—whose name is sometimes rendered as Antoine-Marie-Nicolas Daveluy or Marie Antoine Nicolas Daveluy—was martyred in 1866 and canonized by Pope John Paul II in 1984. The translation is from University of Pennsylvania scholar Yi Chŏng-sik, though Yi incorrectly cites the excerpt as coming from Dallet’s second volume. Yi describes Daveluy’s view, though written by a Westerner, as something that “can be taken to reflect the opinions of Koreans of the period” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 15).  DALLET AND DAVELUY: Charles Dallet (1829–1878)’s two-volume French-language history of early Catholic work in Korea served as a key text for many of the first foreign residents of Korea. Still, like the American Congregationalist minister and writer William E. Griffis, Dallet never set foot in Korea, having served as a missionary to India until he was forced back to France for poor health, after which he taught at the seminary of the Société des Missions Etrangères de Paris (Han and Rausch, “Society of Jesus” (2017)). Dallet based his books largely on translations of accounts of martyrdom in Korea that Bishop Daveluy had gathered during his time in the country, between 1857 and the early 1860s, as well as a diary kept by Bishop Laurent-Joseph-Marius Imbert (范世亨Kor. Pŏm Se-hyŏng 1796–1839) between January and May 1839 (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 102; Baker, “A Slippery, Changing Concept” (2010), 63–64; and Han and Rausch, “Society of Jesus” (2017)). “Although Dallet is properly responsible for the text we have,” writes one historian, “it is usually Daveluy speaking when we cite Dallet” (Ledyard, “Kollumba Kang Wansuk,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 38, n. 1). As scholars Jieun Han and Franklin Rausch write, the main theme underpinning Dallet’s history is “one of martyrdom” (Han and Rausch, “Society of Jesus” (2017)).
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dynasty many years to bring the northern fringes of the Korean peninsula under its control

NoteAs one scholar notes, “for a peninsular nation like Korea, the eastern, southern, and western limits of the nation, with the exception of a few islands, were relatively unambiguous” (Schmid 2002, 199–200). The north, however, was different. “The northern boundary of the ‘Korean’ territory has changed over history as much as the notion of ‘Korea’ itself” (Eggert, “A Borderline Case,” in Dabringhaus and Ptak 1997, 49–50). At least until the late Koryŏ dynasty (918–1392), the northern quarter of the Korean peninsula remained outside the control of the court.   CHOSŎN’S CONTESTED NORTHERN BORDER: And though the Chosŏn dynasty shortly after its ascension declared itself the legitimate authority over all of Korea, which it regarded as reaching right up to the Yalu and Tumen Rivers, the reality was more complicated (Hwang Kyung Moon [Hwang, Kyŏng-mun], “From the Dirt to Heaven: Northern Koreans in the Chosŏn and Early Modern Eras,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 62, no. 1 (June 2002), 135–78, here 141–42). One of Chosŏn dynasty founder Yi Sŏng-gye’s first acts as ruler was to send his son, the future King T’aejong (太宗王 r. 1418–1422), up to the very far northeastern corner of the Korean peninsula, to which the family could trace its distant ancestral roots, though Hwang calls the declaration “little more than a land grab” for a dynasty that harbored hopes of reclaiming territory in Manchuria that had historically been controlled by the Koguryŏ and Parhae dynasties (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 142). Despite such efforts, the northern border “fluctuated wildly” for centuries, particularly in the northeast, the most remote part of the boundary and one that resembled “a multicultural frontier” (Sun Joo Kim in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 8; Kenneth R. Robinson, “Residence and Foreign Relations in the Peninsular Northeast During the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 18–36, here 18; and Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 64–65). In practical terms, the area “could be claimed by whichever organized political power that had the means to defend it”—among them, the independent Jurchen (女真 Kor. Yŏjin) and Khitan (契丹 Kor. Kyedan) tribes active in the region (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 141–42; and Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 362–63). Many Jurchens lived in communities south of the Tumen River, in modern-day Hamgyŏng province, but weren’t subjects of the Chosŏn monarch, unlike the Koreans who lived there (Robinson in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 18, 21, 33).  RECLAIMING THE NORTHERN FRONTIER: The effort to formally incorporate the upper reaches of what we now know as Korea under Chosŏn dynasty control didn’t begin until the early fifteenth century (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 141). To do so, the Chosŏn dynasty had to take on the Jurchen and Khitan tribes active in the region. In the 1430s, the revered fourth monarch of the dynasty, King Sejong, began constructing fortresses along the northern border—what became known as the Six Forts (六鎮 Kor. Yukjin) of the Tumen and the Four Outposts (四郡 Kor. Sagun) along the Yalu (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 143). Even after the establishment of these garrisons, “the northern area near the border of Jurchen was especially unstable, and there were frequent battles” (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 64–65). And even after the Chosŏn court made crossing over the Yalu and Tumen rivers punishable by death, the border remained leaky, as Koreans crossed over into Manchuria and Jurchens flowed into Korea (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 142). During the reign of Qing Emperor Shunzhi (順治帝 r. 1644–1661), China, concerned about the porousness of the border, constructed seventeen gates over the span of roughly six hundred miles and manned them with troops (Kang, “Koryŏmun: Sŏbuk Ch’ŏngnyŏn-dŭl” (2014), 155). The border uncertainty was perhaps most unsettled along Korea’s northeastern border with China, in a region that came to be known as Jiandao (間島 Kor. Kando), a no-man’s-land that was heavily populated by Korean settlers but claimed by both China and Korea. A boundary stone erected by the two sides in 1712 did little to clarify things—a dispute over which river the engraved agreement referred to meant that each side regarded Jiandao as its possession (see Hyun Ok Park [Pak, Hyŏn-ok], Two Dreams in One Bed: Empire, Social Life, and the Origins of the North Korean Revolution in Manchuria (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2005), xiii, n. 5). Jiandao would play a big role in modern Korean history. For more, see Act I, Chapter 8.
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the royal court launched a massive resettlement campaign, starting with slaves and soldiers

NoteThis “moving the people” (徙民 Kor. samin) policy was overseen by the Board of War (兵曹 Kor. Pyŏng-jo), underscoring the primacy of military concerns in this decision, which took on more importance as rising Jurchen strength led to an increasing number of raids (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 144–45). When the half-measure of sending up soldiers and slaves failed to produce the desired results, tens of thousands of Koreans living primarily in the southern halves of the P’yŏng’an and Hamgyŏng provinces were enlisted. King Sejong also sought to move residents of Korea’s southern provinces to the north, but these efforts largely failed (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 144). One Hamgyŏng province scholar, Mun Tŏkgyo (1551–1611), hailed from a family that had moved up to the northeast from the southeastern province of Kyŏngsang six generations earlier, probably to take a post as a garrison commander (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 65). However, the first exiles to Hamgyŏng province largely clustered in the southern half of the province because the north had not even been explored until the early fifteenth century (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 67). Though there was a clear reluctance by many Koreans to move to the north, the Kija shrine in Pyongyang played a key role in boosting the morale of these forced migrants, reassuring some that they were moving not to the frontier, but to a storied center of (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 362–63).
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clustered along the barren frontier only fixed the typecast against the “suspicious” northerners

NoteThe remark, which scholar Kyung Moon Hwang renders as “suspicious and fawning,” was made by the Minister of Rites in 1429 (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 149). Even the Chosŏn monarch at the time, King Chungjong (中宗王 1506–1544), scoffed at the “foolish and naïve” (愚惑 Kor. uhok) northerners, while other officials derided them as “stupid” and “easily deceived” (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 149). Attempts by subsequent Chosŏn kings to end discrimination against northerners failed. In 1685, the relatively powerful nineteenth Chosŏn monarch, King Sukjong (肅宗王 r. 1674–1720), sought to increase the number of northerners serving in senior government positions, complaining that Korea had forgotten the principle of “selecting talented men without bias” (入賢無方 Kor. ip’hyŏnmubang). “How can there be such discrimination in appointment?” he complained (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 159). It didn’t work. The Royal Secretary dismissed the idea, declaring in 1687 that the northerners were unlettered and thus useful only for military or commercial purposes (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 150–51). The entrenched aristocrats—primarily from Seoul or the neighboring provinces and content to monopolize the plum positions in government—“stifled the implementation of his orders at every turn,” and in subsequent years “blocked anything but the occasional appointment” (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 159–60). Sukjong’s son, King Yŏngjo (英祖王 r. 1724–1776), carried on his father’s failed efforts, even compiling his own personal list of northerners to consider for promotion, though his efforts were mostly focused on the military (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 160).
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Korea’s fiercest warriors, reflecting the soldierly background of many forced transplants

NoteWhile the noblemen, scholars, and officials were clustered in the Seoul area, “when fighting is to be done, in time of war, the government usually calls on the northern provinces to furnish soldiers” (Griffis 1894, 192). One of Chosŏn Korea’s most prominent Confucian scholars—Yi Hwang (李滉 1501–1570), better known by his pen name T’oegye (退溪), a native of Korea’s southeast whose face adorns South Korea’s 1,000-wŏn note and who is the namesake of a major thoroughfare in Seoul—compared the northwesterners to Korean horses: “not as tall as people from other provinces but…brave and fearless…loyal to the end. Their toughness and wildness were sometimes close to brutality” (as cited in German Kim and King, “Korea as Portrayed in Russian Sources,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 266). P’yŏng’an province, in the northwest, was regarded as an especially martial place, home to the best troops on the peninsula; that led to warnings that if the court continued to mistreat northwesterners, they were risking an armed rebellion (Jung Min [Chŏng, Min], “The Shadow of Anonymity: The Depiction of Northerners in Eighteenth-Century ‘Hearsay Accounts’ (kimun),” in Sun Joo Kim, ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 93–115, here 93–96). The northern provinces’ reputation for aggressiveness and belligerence was made manifest in rates of violent crime and homicide that were much higher than in the rest of the country, even well into the twentieth century (Mark E. Caprio, “Images of the North in Occupied Korea, 1905–1945,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 295–326, here 312). In 1926, 47.8% of all violent crime was committed in the northern provinces; North P’yŏng’an province had twice as many homicides as any other province that year, according to Japanese police records (as cited in Caprio in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 312). It is perhaps no surprise that, under the Japanese colonial authorities, many northern Koreans ended up working as police officers: “The thousands of Koreans now attracted to police services were almost always of the lower classes, frequently from the northern provinces. Many had the fanaticism of the Untertan” (Henderson 1968, 80). See also Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 169–70.  “THE PACIFIC PROVINCE”: Ironically, as the missionaries later pointed out, the name of P’yŏng’an province (平安道 Kor. P’yŏng’an-do) literally translates as “peace and quiet.” American pastor and writer William Griffis dubbed P’yŏng’an the “Pacific Province,” referring to the literal meaning of the characters, though he acknowledged that, given its bloody history, it was anything but peaceful (Griffis 1894, 179). In reality, P’yŏng’an province, like all Korean provinces, was named for the first characters of two of its major cities, in this case Pyongyang (平壤) and Anju (安州) (“The Opening of Mission Work in Pyeng-yang,” Korean Repository 4 (September 1897), 351–53, here 351).
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“especially the people of Seoul. The elders always spoke of them maliciously and disparagingly”

NoteEven well into the twentieth century, those old stereotypes held fast. Kang Pyŏng-ju (1910–1986), a northwesterner who enrolled at a prestigious high school in Seoul in 1924, reports that out of hundreds of applicants, only three students were accepted from the three northwestern provinces. “These city kids constantly made fun of us country kids,” Kang recalled (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 52; and Hildi Kang 2007, 163). George M. McCune (1908–1948), a scholar of Korea born to missionary parents in Pyongyang, wrote of how “it is a commonplace in Korea for a ‘southerner’ to characterize the northern Korean as uncouth, uneducated, and a troublemaker.” And the contempt was mutual, McCune wrote. “The ‘northerner,’ on the other hand, is often contemptuous of his southern neighbor whom he believes to be lazy, effete, lacking in ambition and a scheming rascal” (McCune and Grey 1950, 58). In 1950, U.S. News & World Report described northern Koreans as being “tough, hardy mountaineers, well suited to guerrilla war,” and “mainly mountain villagers, hardy folk, more warlike than the rice-growing South Koreans” (“North Korean Target: Cold and Tough,” U.S. News & World Review 29 (October 13, 1950), 22–23, here 22). Also cited in Caprio, “Images of the North,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 321.  “A MAGICAL RING”: The speaker in the quote given in the main text is Peter Hyun (Hyŏn Chun-sŏp 玄駿燮 1906–1993), a Hawaii-born Korean whose father was involved in the Korean independence movement. Hyun, who spent his earliest years in Seoul, describes his mixed feelings towards Pyongyang as a train that he is riding with his family in the late 1910s to China stops in Pyongyang (Peter Hyun [Hyŏn, Chun-sŏp], Man Sei! The Making of a Korean American (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 1986), 79–80). In spite of the negative feelings towards Pyongyang expressed by some of his elders, “the call of the Pyongyang Station had a magical ring. I remembered from my earliest childhood listening to the elders talking about Pyongyang: the Pyongyang people, Pyongyang foods, Pyongyang customs, and so on…My heart throbbing with excitement, I got up and looked out the window…When the train began to move, I was glued to the window trying to see every bit of the legendary city” (Hyun 1986, 79–80). Later, at a Korean nationalist school in Shanghai, Hyun recalls being punished by his teachers for discriminating against Koreans from other parts of the country. “If you hate Choi because he is from the north, and he hates you because you are from the south…Then there’s no hope for the Koreans!” he recalls being told (Hyun 1986, 137). Hyun planned to become a minister and studied religion at DePauw University in Indiana before changing course to work in theater, dabbling in socialism, opening a liquor store, being subpoenaed by the House Committee on Un-American Activities, and marrying twice (Nikolas Huot, “Peter Hyun (1906–1993),” in Guiyou Huang [Huang, Guiyou], ed., Asian American Autobiographers: A Bio-Bibliographical Critical Sourcebook (Westport, Ct.: Greenwood Press, 2001), 135–39, here 136).
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thus inadvertently creating a pocket of egalitarianism in an otherwise deeply stratified country

NoteThe lack of an entrenched aristocracy “allowed northern society to develop atop a relatively clean slate,” in the words of historian Kyung Moon Hwang, even as the exclusion of elites from the forced migration policy strengthened the aristocracy in the southern half of the peninsula (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 147, 149).
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nearly impossible, as in the south, where landlords emerged, dominating poor tenant farmers

NoteWilliam Baird, who would spend more than three decades in the northwest after starting his missionary career in the southeast, believed the lack of rice fields in the north made the northerners an “intelligent, active, energetic kind of human beings,” in contrast to the southerners (Oak 2013, 228, citing William M. Baird letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, May 22, 1897). While Korea is mountainous throughout the peninsula, the most rugged terrain has always been in the north. Missionary James Gale, who was based in the northeastern city of Wŏnsan for several years, recounted a Korean saying that he had often heard: “Over the hills, hills again, hills without number” (Gale 1898, 11). The landscape in the north was harsh enough that some northern Koreans practiced a slash-and-burn style of agriculture that earned them a reputation as “fire-field people” (火田民 Kor. hwajŏn-min), relatively unrooted from any particular plot of land (Ki-baik Lee [Yi, Ki-baek], A New History of Korea, trans. Edward W. Wagner (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard-Yenching Institute, 1984), 253). This dichotomy between an arable south and a rugged north, McCune and Grey write, helps explain why land reform north of the thirty-eighth parallel under the Soviets in 1946 was so much better received and easily executed than it might have been in the south—landlords who would lose out and thus resist such reforms were fewer in number, while the prevalence of powerful landlords in the south suggested a more moderate policy would be wise (McCune and Grey 1950, 59–60). For more on this, see Act III, Chapter 26.
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low-level migrants, prisoners, and other riffraff, “melded into a great mass of commoners”

NoteIn this less rigidly stratified society, slaves were freed and blended in with the peasants, and even Jurchens managed to work their way into society (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 150, 175). Women too played an equal and often greater role in agriculture in the north (Caprio in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 307). Those in the Seoul aristocracy knew better than to intermarry with northerners, and even those northerners who performed well on the civil service examinations couldn’t rise any higher than a county magistrate. “The northern people thus have not been able to stand as equals with the aristocracy,” wrote the author of one eighteenth-century almanac (as quoted in Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 139–40). Though there were exceptions, they were rare enough that they could be listed individually in the almanac.
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through success in the all-important civil service examinations, they would be disappointed

NoteThe regional discrimination was all the more curious because the Chosŏn dynasty had been founded in 1392 by a man, Yi Sŏng-gye, who hailed from the backwaters of northeastern Korea (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 15). Yi was a native of a village north of Wŏnsan called Hwaryŏng (和寧), later renamed Yŏnghŭng (永興) and known today in North Korea as Kŭmya County (金野郡 Kor. Kŭmya-gun). He was a general in the Koryŏ dynasty in 1388 when he was sent to fight the new Ming dynasty rulers in China, only to turn around at the Yalu River and instead overthrow the Koryŏ dynasty—a pivotal moment in Korean history. After Yi Sŏng-gye formally extinguished the Koryŏ dynasty in 1392 and rechristened himself the Great Progenitor (太祖 Kor. T’aejo) of the new Chosŏn dynasty, he decreed that no northerners would serve in high government posts (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 139–40). Historian Kyung Moon Hwang notes that while King T’aejo’s exact wording referred to “northwesterners” (西北人 Kor. sǒbuk’in) the better English translation is “northerners,” reasoning that “west” referred traditionally to the northwestern province of P’yŏng’an and the “Western Capital” of Pyongyang, while “north” typically referred to the northeastern province of Hamgyŏng (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 139, n. 5). It is unclear why King T’aejo, himself a northerner, made such a decree. Hwang suggests that Yi Sŏng-gye was either keen to suppress any potential military rivals from the north, or that he may have done this as a way of winning the favor of the southern aristocracy (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 140). Whatever the motive, one Korean cultural almanac compiled in the early 1700s stated flatly that, true to the king’s wishes, no one from the P’yŏng’an or Hamgyŏng provinces had served in any senior bureaucratic posts for the more than two centuries that the Chosŏn dynasty had been in power by that point (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 139–40).
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northwesterners were systematically denied prominent positions in government

NoteDENIED ENTRY: By the end of the 1800s, northerners accounted for 23 percent of those who passed the rigorous official civil service exam (文科 Kor. mun’gwa), compared to roughly three percent in the sixteenth century (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 156). During the Chosŏn dynasty, Chŏngju (定州), a northwestern Korean town of roughly ten thousand inhabitants north of Pyongyang, produced more successful civil-service examination takers than anywhere else in Korea, including Seoul (Breen 1997, 15; and Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 157). When it came to winning government posts, however, it was a different story altogether. “Regardless of how fervently the northern literati dedicated themselves to imitating their southern counterparts in the absorption of Confucian learning and ritual, and regardless of how wealthy they became or how high their local status rose,” writes historian Kyung Moon Hwang, “they could not gain the benefits of being part of the country’s aristocratic elite” (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 157–58). Between 1800 and 1863, only one native of P’yŏng’an province succeeded in making it into the senior Chosŏn bureaucracy, even though the province churned out more successful civil-examination candidates than any other province over this stretch, with the possible exception of Seoul itself (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 160). Over the subsequent three decades leading up to the abolishment of the civil-service examination in 1894, the situation didn’t improve much for P’yŏng’an natives; only two made it to senior bureaucratic positions during this period, one holding a ceremonial role for just two weeks and the other being a distant descendant of a previous Chosŏn king (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 160–61). In northeastern Hamgyŏng province, the picture was equally glum; until the end of the nineteenth century, only two civil-service examination passers were given a post higher than vice minister (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 80). Part of the reason for the exclusion of the northerners may have been their literary prowess, which made them “the most powerful competitors” of the more entrenched southern Koreans eyeing those same government positions (Sun Joo Kim in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 11–12). As this situation persisted, it grew ever harder for northern Koreans to break through. “The absence of nobles in the north and the exclusion of northerners from higher office reinforced each other,” Hwang writes. “The people of the north never gained acceptance into the ruling structure of the country” (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 140–41). The sense of grievance was compounded by northwesterners’ pride in the cultural accomplishments of their home region, which after all had been the adopted home of Kija, the vaunted progenitor of Korean civilization (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 68).  A FLOURISHING PRINT CULTURE: Evidence could be seen in the print and book culture that developed around Pyongyang during the Chosŏn dynasty. Pyongyang and northwestern Korea’s proximity to China meant that imported books could circulate more freely there, and the city became an important center for artists, writers, and other men of learning, while the Pyongyang district office produced various metal and wooden types and published several multivolume tomes that were part of national publication projects (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 79, especially n. 57). One northwestern scholar, Kim Chŏm (金漸 ?–?), was so distressed that the talents of the P’yŏng’an people might never appreciated that he compiled a volume of the region’s best literature entitled A Talk on Poetry from the Western Capital (西京詩話 Kor. Sŏgyŏng Sihwa), which he published in 1728 (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 83–84).  HALF THE COUNTRY DISCARDED: The elites in the capital treated northerners, one scholar complained, “as though Heaven does not cover us, Earth does not embrace us, the Sun and Moon do not shed their light upon us, and frost does not fall on us” (as quoted in Sun Joo Kim 2007, 47). Like other disgruntled northwestern scholars, the writer, early nineteenth-century scholar Paek Kyŏng-hae (朴慶楷 1765–1842), tied the region’s glories to Kija and proclaimed the northwestern pronunciation of Korean as the correct one (Kim 2007, pp. 55-57). Yi Ik (李瀷 1681–1763), a reform-minded Confucian scholar from outside Seoul, had similarly complained: “Half of the country is cut off and discarded” (as quoted in Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 79). Yi Ik tried to convince the court that “one of the most urgent agendas is to employ talented northerners and assign them into fitting positions” (as quoted in Jung, “The Shadow of Anonymity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 95–96). “By the late eighteenth century,” Harvard University historian Sun Joo Kim writes elsewhere, “political discrimination against people from P’yŏngan was solidly entrenched in Chosŏn political culture, and contempt toward the people of P’yŏngan had become widespread even among people of low social status” (Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], “Negotiating Cultural Identities in Conflict: A Reading of the Writings of Paek Kyŏnghae (1765–1842), Journal of Korean Studies 10, no. 1 (Fall 2005), 85–120, here 103).   “AN ARMY OF OCCUPATION”: Rather than find themselves in positions of power, northerners were overseen by magistrates dispatched from Seoul who not only looked down on the grubby northern yokels but sought to extract bribes from them while pocketing central government relief funds sent north during periods of famine (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 158). One magistrate sent to P’yŏng’an province in the late seventeenth century described local officials in a memorial to the throne as descendants of slaves, while demeaning local Confucian scholars as unfilial bandits, sparking an uproar from the northwestern literati and an appeal to the royal court (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 82–83). One senior official, dispatched to P’yŏng’an province as a governor in the late eighteenth century, grudgingly allowed that the northwesterners had indeed fared well at the civil-service examination, but was quick to add that their strong performance was only attributable to their superficial, calculated efforts to score well—not to any meaningful grasp of Confucian orthodoxy (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 158). To many northwesterners, the southern aristocrats were no different from “an army of occupation.” “When not in open rebellion,” writes Richard Baird, “they sought by quiet collective action among themselves to mitigate or nullify its exactions” (Baird 1968, 229–30). Worse yet were the royal undercover agents sent to smother signs of dissent in P’yŏng’an province, where the ruling elite fretted about “restlessness among the populace” (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 77–78).
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smuggling, trading, and generally hustling on the edges of legality to earn a living

Note“In lieu of abandoning officialdom at the central court, they instead relied on their economic base to foster a new unique culture,” one scholar writes of northwestern Koreans during this period (Jung, “The Shadow of Anonymity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 97). This unique culture involved smuggling of ginseng, silk, opium, and other goods between northwestern Korea and China. Alexander Williamson, an early Scottish missionary who was among the first Westerners to interact with Koreans, wrote in 1870 about the “large amount of illicit traffic…between the ports on the east of Shan-tung and Corea; the traders have signals which are faithfully observed, and Manchester cloth and other foreign articles thus find their way from Che-foo into the country” (Alexander Williamson, Journeys in North China, Manchuria, and Eastern Mongolia; With Some Account of Corea, Vol. II (London: Smith, Elder, 1870), 310). When Samuel A. Moffett first traveled to the northwestern border city of Ŭiju, he was surprised at the extent to which opium trafficking played a role in the economy, and in society. “A visit to the Northern city of Euiju on the Chinese border, reveals the fact that the Opium habit is rapidly making its way among this people and that unless steps are taken to prevent its increase it bids fair to become as great a curse to the Koreans as it has become to the Chinese,” Samuel Moffett wrote during a visit to the city in 1892. “In Euiju I was told by Koreans that the vice is established with many and is fast becoming a habit with hundreds, it having been introduced by the Chinese merchants trading there” (S. A. Moffett [Moffett, Samuel A.], “Correspondence—To The Editor of The Korean Repository,” Korean Repository 1 (January 1892), 35). As Moffett and his fellow missionaries soon came to realize, these trade routes would prove useful transmission channels for the spread of Protestant Christianity. The economy in northwestern Korea “depended largely upon the production of ginseng and silk that were traded in China,” writes one church historian. “This trade route was used for the early spread of Protestant Christianity into Korea” (Keum 2002, 30). “Perhaps the greatest single factor in facilitating the entry of Christianity in Whanghae and Pyongan Provinces was the general acceptance of smuggling as a way of life in these two Provinces,” adds Richard Baird, the Korea-born son of American missionary William M. Baird and himself a second-generation American missionary to the country (Baird 1968, 230–31).
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sent to the northwest in the 1700s, he was stunned by the opulence of the nouveaux riches

NoteThe elites in Seoul disdained commerce, prizing scholarship and official government posts, thus leaving northwestern Korea alone to flourish as a nascent stronghold of enterprise and capitalism. Though doing business was lowly regarded in traditional Confucian orthodoxy, the accumulated wealth in the northwest had, by the nineteenth century, offered natives of P’yŏng’an province a newfound stature to muscle their way into the circle of the Seoul elites (Sun Joo Kim in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 12).  GETTING RICH OFF TRIBUTE MISSIONS: P’yŏng’an province’s strategic location along the tribute route for the three-times-a-year diplomatic missions between Seoul and Beijing played a key role in the growing wealth in northwestern Korea. While the diplomatic missions were a big burden for the region, they also meant “the creation of a variety of trading opportunities for Qing and Chosŏn merchants” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 106; Kwon Naehyun [Kwŏn, Nae-hyŏn], “Chosŏn–Qing Relations and the Society of P’yŏngan Province During the Late Chosŏn Period,” in Sun Joo Kim, ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 37–61, here 37–38, 42; Sun Joo Kim in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 12; and Westad 2021, 44). As the moneymaking opportunities grew more lucrative, the Chosŏn tribute missions bulged to nearly seven hundred people as “uncounted individuals were able to slip into the embassy entourage” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 107–8). With a full round trip taking at least four months and three such missions a year, the trading missions could be mistaken for a permanent, year-round system of trade (Seonmin Kim 2017, 108–9). Indeed, writes Korea University historian Seonmin Kim, “it was the profits from the trade along the embassy’s journey that made the tribute mission possible; the practice of the embassy visits would have been impossible without the substantial amount of silver gained from trade with Qing merchants. In other words, the trade and the tribute embassy existed in a symbiotic relationship, neither being possible without the other” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 120). As the years went by, the royal court began noting the appearance of elite merchant families all along the annual tribute route to Beijing, many of them having gotten rich off doing business with China. An early eighteenth-century almanac declared Pyongyang and Anju, two key northwestern hubs of the China trade, the wealthiest cities in Korea, apart from the capitals of the two most recent dynasties, Seoul and Kaesŏng (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 152).
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Another response was remonstrance and rebellion

NoteIn the northeast, where the natives of Hamgyŏng province faced many of the same obstacles to advancement as those in the northwest, the answer to discrimination was simply to try harder to fit in. For example, the Hamgyŏng literati would often portray themselves not as natives of the northeast, but as descendants of southern literati who had been exiled to Hamgyŏng province, stressing their connection to the central aristocracy (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 80, 86–87). Not so in northwestern Korea, where frustrations at the stacked system led to “deep-rooted anger and a pervasive confrontational attitude” toward the central elite, and an attempt by the P’yŏng’an literati to play up their own scholarly traditions “to put their culture on a par with that of the central elites” (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 82–87). In some cases, the northwestern Koreans even began to regard themselves as belonging to a different state altogether than the one controlled by the bureaucracy in Seoul (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 163).  SATIRICAL POEMS AND EXAMINATION BOYCOTTS: Northerners wrote satirical poems mocking the arrogant central bureaucrats and organized mass campaigns to boycott the annual civil-service examinations. For instance, one early sixteenth-century scholar in Pyongyang named Hong Sŭng-bŏm wrote a poem mocking an aristocratic literatus named So Se-yang (蘇世讓 1486–1562), who was seen as a chief proponent of the discriminatory system (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 82). In another case, in 1714, more than 160 civil-examination takers from P’yŏng’an province, angered by a remark from a central bureaucrat named Yi P’il-hŭi, a royal secret inspector sent to the province who dismissed northwestern Koreans as “barbarians and beasts,” submitted a joint petition to the crown and then boycotted a portion of the official government examination, refusing to enter the testing hall (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 163–64; and Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 82–83). In another case, from 1781, an insult from a minister overseeing the military—he asked, sarcastically, what use the northwesterners were, and questioned if they could even read—earned a royal expression of regret to the P’yŏng’an people, but even then the northwestern scholars refused to apply for the civil-service examination, thus escalating the situation until the monarch, King Chŏngjo, punished the rebels (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 83). In 1806, northern scholars filed a petition to the throne, citing Kija and Tan’gun’s mythical roots in Pyongyang, as well as Chosŏn dynasty founder Yi Sŏng-gye’s heritage in northeastern Korea, to argue against the bureaucracy’s dismissal of northerners as “inferiors” (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 164).
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“the ancient home of Kija and Tan’gun, a place of refined manners and brilliant culture”

NoteThe charismatic northwesterner was Hong Kyŏng-rae (洪景來 1780–1812), born in a county roughly thirty miles southwest of Pyongyang and whose frustrations mirrored those of his home region at large (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 159). Hong’s family had once been members of the aristocracy, making him a “fallen yangban” (Eckert et al. 1990, 186). “His frustration found its expression in dissatisfaction with the Seoul-appointed rulers of the local administration in the P’yŏngan area. The people were readily aroused by his charges of government maladministration, and a policy of exclusion of north-westerners from government appointments” (Palmer 1967, 83). One of the financiers of Hong’s rebellion was Yi Hŭi-jŏ (李禧著 ?–1812), a wealthy but disgruntled northwesterner whose attempts to enter the ranks of the nobility were similarly frustrated by regional discrimination (see Kwon in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 57–58, n. 46).  INVOKING TAN’GUN AND KIJA: An English translation of Hong Kyŏng-rae’s written appeal to the people of northwestern Korea, invoking the legacies of Kija and Tan’gun, can be found in Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 162-163. One section of the manifesto reads: “The court has treated P’yŏngan territory no differently from funeral plots (墳土). What is worse, even the slaves of powerful aristocratic families ridicule P’yŏngan people. How could we not be resentful?…For the past four centuries have the people of P’yŏngan done anything to betray the court?” (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 163) Harvard University historian Sun Joo Kim translates this line as reading: “The central government abandoned P’yŏngan Province as one abandons rotten earth…How unfair and what a source of resentment this is for the people of P’yŏngan Province!…In the last four hundred years of the Chosŏn dynasty, have the P’yŏngan people ever turned their backs on the government?” (as quoted in Sun Joo Kim 2007, 15). In addition to the feelings of discrimination, other motivating factors driving the Hong Kyŏng-rae rebellion included economic grievances and a belief in mystical prophecies, though historian Kyung Moon Hwang ultimately concludes that discrimination against northerners was the primary driving force (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 161–62). Sun Joo Kim similarly writes that, while the Hong Kyŏng-rae rebellion was later interpreted through the lens of class conflict, “not class, but the social and political discrimination that the P’yŏngan residents faced in the late Chosŏn is the most persuasive explanation for the rebellion…The rebels—both leaders and rank-and-file soldiers—identified themselves as northerners rather than as representatives of any one economic class or social status group” (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 173–74). Paek Kyŏng-hae, the Chosŏn scholar-official from P’yŏng’an province who, despite remaining loyal to the dynasty that he served, nonetheless sympathized greatly with the rebels’ cause, as Sun Joo Kim finds in a separate study of Paek’s diary. “The language and expressions that Paek uses are very close to those used by the rebel leadership at the time of the rebellion, despite the fact that Paek stood with the court during the rebellion itself,” Kim writes (Sun Joo Kim, “Negotiating Cultural Identities” (2005), 86). Like the rebels, Paek complained in a letter to the court in 1802 of discrimination against northwesterners and celebrated P’yŏng’an’s status as the home of Kija and Tan’gun, with his language “almost identical” to that of the rebels a decade later (Sun Joo Kim, “Negotiating Cultural Identities” (2005), 95). Harvard University historian Carter Eckert similarly views the rebellion as being one primarily aimed at ensuring “that discrimination against the populace of P’yŏngan province must end” (Eckert et al. 1990, 186). For a monograph-length study of the Hong Kyŏng-rae rebellion, see Sun Joo Kim’s Marginality and Subversion in Korea: The Hong Kyŏngnae Rebellion of 1812 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007).
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captured eight county seats in the province before the insurgency was quashed

Note TAPPING CHŎNGGAM PROPHECIES: To rally his supporters, Hong Kyŏng-rae relied heavily on the prophecies of the mystical Chosŏn Dynasty text The Records of Chŏnggam, which Harvard University historian Sun Joo Kim describes as “a collection of prophetic writings that prognosticate the future of the Chosŏn dynasty by relying on geomancy and other supernatural omens, such as earthquakes, eclipses, and comets” (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 94). Historians Anders Karlsson and John Jorgensen separately describe Hong Kyŏng-rae and his lieutenants spreading the word that the rebellion was being led by “a true man sent from Heaven” named Chŏng Che-min (鄭濟民)—in this case, a man surnamed Chŏng whose name literally means “the savior of the people”— perhaps originating from the base of a mountain in southeastern Korea, or perhaps born in the northwestern city of Sŏnch’ŏn, later a Christian stronghold (Karlsson, “Challenging the Dynasty” (2001), 265–71; and Jorgensen 2018, 170). The touch of the divine appears to have worked. “How blessed it is that a savior (sŏngin) who can save the world was born,” one rebel manifesto read, referring to the notion of a P’yŏng’an-born divinity who had entrusted his home region with raising an army against the Chosŏn dynasty (as quoted in Sun Joo Kim 2007, 99). The sŏng’in (聖人) mentioned in the rebel manifesto—which can be rendered as “savior” or “holy man”—was said to be named Chŏng Chin’in (鄭真人), literally a “True Man” surnamed Chŏng. For more on this version of The Records of Chŏnggam prophecy, see Sun Joo Kim 2007, 100. The mystical elements of Hong Kyŏng-rae’s appeal are also described in David Chung 2001, 93; and Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 157–58, which directly credits The Records of Chŏnggam with inspiring both the Hong Kyŏng-rae rebellion of 1811 and the later Tonghak movement of 1894. To many Koreans, the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s and the Hong Kyŏng-rae rebellion were fulfillments of the Chŏnggam prophecies, foreshadowing the decline of the Chosŏn dynasty (“Chŏnggam-rok,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). For more on The Records of Chŏnggam and its fateful role in modern Korean history, see Act I, Chapter 5. While Hong and his followers appeared to have been primarily driven by anger at discrimination against northwesterners, they also clearly propagated the overthrow of the Chosŏn Dynasty (Karlsson, “Challenging the Dynasty” (2001), 262–71; and Jorgensen 2018, 171).  A DEADLY REBELLION: The eight county seats captured by Hong Kyŏng-rae included Chŏngju, the northwestern Korean mecca of civil-examination scholars and later a major center of Christian activity. Despite a strong military response from the Chosŏn army, Hong’s besieged insurgents managed to hang on for three months in Chŏngju (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 161; and Eckert et al. 1990, 186). And even after the crushing of the rebellion, the Chosŏn court was bedeviled by continuing rumors that Hong Kyŏng-rae hadn’t died, and was still lurking out there (Eckert et al. 1990, 186; and David Chung 2001, 93).  P’YŎNG’AN VERSUS EVERYBODY: Needless to say, such rebellions only fueled mistrust of the northwesterners among the Seoul aristocrats. By the 1880s, the relative dearth of “nobles or official dignitaries” in the northwest had fueled a perception among the official aristocracy that, far from being loyal to the regime, the northerners were “believed to cherish enmity against it. The government keeps vigilant watch over them, repressing the first show of insubordination, lest an insurrection difficult to quell should once gain headway” (Griffis 1894, 183). With the fundamental resentments unresolved, northwesterners banded together in solidarity at their shared exclusion from the corridors of power, even as the northwest emerged in the modern era as the vanguard of Korea’s efforts to enter the industrial era. The formation of the Northwest Educational Association (西北學會 Kor. Sŏbuk Hak-hoe) in 1908 gathered modernizers from the northwest, knocking down barriers based on social background in the name of taking the lead in promoting public education and “patriotic enlightenment” for the nation (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 170–71). “The same people from Seoul and the three southern provinces, who for centuries despised us and treated us as if we were barbarians, now tremble and concede, ‘Today those who stand at the forefront of civilizational progress are the northerners,’” one member of the study society, a prominent nationalist and Hwangju native Pak Ŭn-sik, wrote in its inaugural monthly magazine, comparing northerners to “someone who has been scooped up from the dirt and raised to the path toward heaven” (as quoted in Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 171). Institutions like the Northwest Educational Association were used to trumpet their academic triumphs and also to highlight the northwest’s special connection to Kija and the founders of the nation (Schmid 2002, 48–49).   GRUDGING RESPECT: Though it would take time, “the advancement of modern education in the northwestern provinces was later nationally acknowledged” (Moon in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 187–88). In Seoul, the Capital Gazette (皇城新聞 Kor. Hwangsŏng Sinmun) offered a grudging admiration of the northwest, praising P’yŏng’an province in one February 1908 article as the place where most of the country’s books and newspapers were sold, and most of the schools founded (Schmid 2002, 48–49, citing Hwangsŏng Sinmun, February 25, 1908). Some of Korea’s most celebrated literary figures of the early twentieth century hailed from the northwest, including Yi Kwang-su (李光洙 1892–1950) and Kim Tong-in (金東仁 1900–1951) (Ross King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity: P’yŏngan Christians, Korean Spelling Reform, and Orthographic Fundamentalism,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 139–80, here 165). Yi Kwang-su would emerge as one of the most prominent intellectual figures in early twentieth century Korea (see Act I, Chapter 6). 
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inspiring visitors to rapturous odes—a tradition that continued into the late nineteenth century

NoteTwo of the Koryŏ Dynasty’s best-known poets, Chŏng Chi-sang (鄭知常 ?–1135) and Kim Hwang-wŏn (金黃元 1045–1117), penned odes to the beauty of the city—or, in Kim Hwang-wŏn’s case, failed to pen verse worthy of the city’s splendor. One tale, still recounted in North Korea today, describes Kim struggling for hours to capture the view from Pubyŏk Pavilion (浮碧樓 Kor. Pubyŏk-ru), atop Pyongyang’s Peony Point, before breaking down in tears, snapping his brush in two and declaring: “My talent is too poor to describe the scenic beauty of Pyongyang” (Renowned Figures in Korean History 2019, 72–75). After British diplomat William Carles visited in 1892, he declared it “by far the most interesting and perhaps the most beautifully situated town that I have seen in Korea” (Carles 1886, 299). British Museum historian Jane Portal incorrectly attributes this remark to Charles W. Campbell, another British diplomat who wrote of his travels through Korea during this period (Portal 2005, 31). The Western missionaries described the scenery in the areas surrounding Pyongyang as “beautiful and in some places, even grand” (“The New Ports,” Korean Repository (1897), 345). “One could hardly wish for more genial surroundings,” another visitor gushed. “Pyeng Yang lies in one of the garden spots of Korea” (“City of Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 10 (October 1907), 150–52, here 150–51). “Lovely, with the sunshine gilding her hilltops,” Methodist W. Arthur Noble wrote in a 1906 novel recounting the experiences of the first Westerners in Korea, calling Pyongyang, in an odd turn of phrase, “the dictator of elegance for the East.” “The scene inside the city was all animation, not the wild rush that I have since observed in American and British concessions of the Chinese ports, but a dignified moderation of which the East has always been proud” (Noble 1906, 48–50).
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plains of “blue and violet melting into a blue haze, the crystal waters of the river…bluer still”

Note“The city has a magnificent situation, taken advantage of with much skill, and at a distance merits the epithet ‘imposing,’” Isabella Bird Bishop wrote in the full quote, describing plains of “blue and violet melting into a blue haze, the crystal waters of the river…bluer still” (Bishop 1898, 310). In addition to the blues and the violets, Bishop described how “brown-sailed boats drifted lazily with the stream, and above, the grey mass of the city rose into a dome of unclouded blue” (Bishop 1898, 310). She added more colors to the palette in a 1901 speech where she described Pyongyang as “a great commercial centre in a very green and fruitful country and grain-producing neighbourhood” (as quoted in Stoddart 1907, 308). 
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“Great Unity,” and its modestly named tributary, the Pot’ong River, literally “Ordinary River”

NoteGREAT UNITY: The name of the Taedong River (大同江 Kor. Taedong-gang) is a reference to the idea of “Great Unity” or “Great Peace” (大同 Kor. Taedong, Ch. Datong), a concept with a long history in Chinese philosophical thinking, roughly akin to the Western idea of utopia. The Taedong River, which originates in the central mountain range that forms the spine of the Korean peninsula, empties into the Yellow Sea. One Western writer, describing the Taedong River in 1892, called it “a very fine river, indeed a magnificent river” (“Korean Ports,” Korean Repository 1 (July 1892), 206–11, here 211). Contemporary American historian Donald Clark described Pyongyang’s situation as being “on a majestic S-curve in the course of the Taedong River” (Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 237). Shannon McCune, the Sŏnch’ŏn-born son of Presbyterian missionaries and later the head of the geography department at Colgate University, explained the name of the Taedong River as meaning “confluent stream”—an apparent reference to the literal meaning of the Sino-Korean characters, which can be interpreted as meaning “great confluence” (Shannon McCune 1956, 142). The origins of the name of the Pot’ong River (普通江 Kor. Pot’ong-gang), which literally means “Ordinary River,” are unknown, perhaps befitting its humble moniker.  ON HOUSEBOATS UNDER BLUFFS: Whether majestic or mundane, the missionaries rhapsodized about the beauty of the rivers, which they sailed up and down on in houseboats during the summers. “At frequent intervals there are great over-hanging bluffs hundreds of feet high. At one place there is a cave at the water’s edge sufficiently large to admit at one time several of the largest boats on the river. There are beautiful springs bubbling forth from the sides of the cliffs that furnish most refreshing draughts of the purest and most sparkling water. If the season is not too dry there are various water-falls breaking over the cliffs and adding much to the scenic beauty of the landscape,” the Pyongyang missionary Charles F. Bernheisel wrote in 1914 (Charles F. Bernheisel, “House-Boating on the Taidong,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 8 (August 1914), 226–27). In the winter, the two rivers would freeze over and could be traversed by foot (see Samuel Moffett’s letter as published in “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (April 1895), 156–57).
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a key artery for junks bearing cotton, beans, animal hides, and silk to the Yellow Sea

Note P’yŏng’an province’s mineral riches were well known to Westerners from the very beginning of Korea’s opening to the outside world—and indeed served as one of the main drivers of outsider interest in the country. Pyongyang lay near deposits of gold and iron ore, as well as extensive and untapped beds of anthracite coal (Bishop 1898, 355; Gilmore 1892, 200; and Hamilton et al. 1910, 281). Samuel Moffett describes Pyongyang’s role in harvesting and trading of tobacco, grain, and silk (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, September 15, 1890, Hpyeng Yang, Korea (PHS 179/8/7)). “The resources of Pingyang in coal alone would be sufficient inducement to open the port to trade, to say nothing of gold or other more visionary minerals; and in agricultural products the country is sufficiently rich to warrant the hope of a profitable mart being established there” (“Korean Ports,” Korean Repository (1892), 211). Horace Allen, the pioneering missionary-turned-diplomat, exerted considerable effort to help secure a gold-mining concession at Unsan (雲山), just north of Pyongyang, for American financiers (Harrington 1944, 144–67; and J. Hunter Wells, “Gold Mines and Mining,” Korean Repository 4 (August 1897), 291–93). In 1897, Seattle businessman Leigh S. Hunt established the Oriental Consolidated Mining Co., and by 1903, there were some 70 Westerners working at the mines, making them almost certainly the largest collection of Westerners in Korea at the time, the missionaries aside (Harrington 1944, 160–61). Medical missionary Rosetta Hall and her children, traveling through the area north of Pyongyang in 1900, found a state of wretched squalor and alcoholism at the American-run gold mines (Rosetta Sherwood Hall, “A Country Trip in Korea,” The Gospel in All Lands 21 (November 1900), 494–97). By 1939, the Americans, having made a fortune during the Japanese colonial period, saw the writing on the wall as the Pacific War intensified and sold to the Japanese, just two years before Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor (Harrington 1944, 167). 
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authorities to set up sentries who would light signal-fires warning of approaching ships

NoteThe Taedong River was a tempting entry point to Korea for sailors from China, since the mouth of the river was just 80 miles from the Chinese ports of Yantai (煙台), known then as Chefoo, just across the Yellow Sea on the Shandong peninsula (Brown 1919, 6). Isabella Bird Bishop writes of the Taedong River’s role in conveying the riches of northwestern Korea to the Yellow Sea (Bishop 1898, 355–56).
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economic, historic, and cultural center of P’yŏng’an province and its 900,000 inhabitants

NotePopulation estimates varied widely during these years, as has been discussed earlier. The figures of 75,938 people for Pyongyang, and of 887,480 for all of P’yŏng’an province, come from Carl Christian Göttsche (1855–1909), a German geologist then based at the University of Tokyo (東京大学 Jp. Tōkyō Daigaku), who after much pestering of city officials during an 1884 visit, managed to squeeze out this information, which came from a census taken early that decade. British diplomat William Carles, who also visited Korea around this time, noted a strong tilt in the data towards men, who accounted for about 55% of the provincial population and roughly 57% of the city population—a detail that officials attributed to the fact “that girls were not nursed with the same care as boys through the illnesses of childhood” (Carles 1888, 168–69). Samuel Moffett, during his visit to Pyongyang a few years later in March 1892, estimated the city’s population at between seventy thousand and a hundred thousand people, with the surrounding region home to roughly two million people (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 17, 1892, Seoul (PHS 179/8/22)). Methodist Henry Appenzeller, writing that same year, estimated the population of Pyongyang as being about 75,000—a guess he reaffirmed a decade later (“What is the Population,” Korean Repository (1892), 113; and Appenzeller 1902, 24). William Griffis suggested a much higher number in 1894, citing sources giving the number of houses in Pyongyang as 293,400, with roughly 175,000 men on the muster roll available for combat (Griffis 1894, 183). In 1895, Rosetta Sherwood Hall described Pyongyang as a city of a hundred thousand (Rosetta Hall 1897, 408, quoting from Rosetta Hall, “A Plea For Korea’s Evangelization,” Christian Herald, December 5, 1895).
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trees that Kija was said to have planted and that, to this day, line the city’s streets and rivers

NoteFor a description of Pyongyang’s historic role as Korea’s “Western Capital” (西京 Kor. Sŏgyŏng or 西都 Kor. Sŏdo), see above footnotes. The “Kija’s City” or “Kija City” (箕城 Kor. Kisŏng) label was a lyrical alternate name for the city that, naturally, highlighted the ancient Chinese sage’s historical connection to the city. The “Willow Capital” (柳京 Kor. Ryugyŏng) moniker dates to the thirteenth century, according to official North Korean sources, a reference to one of the city’s most striking features (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 6). When Methodist Henry Appenzeller arrived on horseback in April 1887, he recalled a lovely approach to the white-walled city, with “a long avenue of trees, which then skirted the river banks” (see Griffis 1912, 147). The same description appears in Gale, James S., “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository (1892), 51). Several missionaries recount the tale of Kija’s role in planting the willow trees (Hulbert 1906, 13; and Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 84). Today, the Ryugyŏng moniker is best known as the name of the unfinished pyramidal hotel that has towered over Pyongyang since the late 1980s. Pyongyang still boasts plentiful willow trees, particularly along the banks of the Pot’ong River. 
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at its base and Changdae Hill commanding a prominent position in the center of the old city

NoteThe literal meaning of the two Sino-Korean characters, p’yŏng (平) and yang (壤), that make up Pyongyang’s name, can be translated as “flat soil” or “peaceful soil.” North Korean sources further offer a pure Korean name for the city: “Puruna” (부루나), which apparently also means “a flat land” (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 12). Other sources have rendered the city’s name as meaning “field and stream.” Despite the city’s name, Pyongyang was, as Isabella Bird Bishop wrote after visiting in the 1890s, “an undulating plateau” (Bishop 1898, 314). The most dramatic peak was the one that the Western missionaries dubbed, with alliterative aptitude, Peony Point (牡丹峰 Kor. Moran-bong), referring to the literal meaning of the Sino-Korean name. Peony Point, which played a pivotal role in some of Pyongyang’s historic battles, boasts wooden pavilions that remain today. The British journalist Angus Hamilton, given a tour of the city by Japanese officials in 1908, described the view from Peony Point as “a glorious panorama of the valley of the Tai-dan-gan [Taedong River]…before one looking north and south, whilst to the east and west undulating cultivated plains extend to the foot of the mountain ranges” (Hamilton et al. 1910, 187). Kim Myŏng-sun (金明淳 1896–1951), a pioneering Korean woman writer born in Pyongyang to a kisaeng mother and educated in Christian missionary schools, painted an idyllic picture in a 1917 short story: “The sun set in the west over Moran Peak, and the soft waves rippling around Nŭngna Island turned golden” (Kim Myŏng-sun, “A Girl of Mystery (1917),” in Yung-Hee Kim [Kim, Yŏng-hŭi], trans., Questioning Minds: Short Stories by Modern Korean Women Writers (University of Hawai‘i Press, 2010), 15–23, here 19). Less dramatic hills included Mansu Hill (萬壽臺 Kor. Mansu-dae), which can literally be translated as Longevity Hill, where Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il’s largest bronze statues stand today; and Changdae Hill (章臺峴 Kor. Changdae-hyŏn), which would become the home to Pyongyang’s greatest church.
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-foot-high white-stone city walls, Pyongyang was effectively a fortified castle ringed by a moat

NotePyongyang was effectively ringed by a moat and further encased by thirty-foot-high white stone city walls, built between AD 552 and AD 593, which divided the city into inner, central, outer, and northern compartments, punctuated with 15 large gates and various smaller ones (M. V. Singh, The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea: An Earthly Paradise for the People (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1988), 4). For the dates of the construction of Pyongyang’s city walls, see Kim Pusik [Kim, Pu-sik], The Koguryŏ Annals of the Samguk Sagi, 2nd ed., eds. Edward J. Shultz and Hugh H. W. Kang, trans. Kenneth H. J. Gardiner et al. (Seongnam [Sŏngnam], South Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press, 2012), 181; and Yang Si-ŭn, “Koguryŏ-sŏng Yŏn’gu” [A Study of Koguryŏ Fortresses] (Ph.D. diss., Seoul National University, 2013), 89. North Korean sources give the dates of the construction of Pyongyang’s city walls, known as the Chang’an Walls (長安城 Kor. Chang’an-sŏng), to the latter half of the sixth century, during the Koguryŏ dynasty (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 14). Isabella Bird Bishop described the walls as standing twenty feet high (Bishop 1898, 314), while one Korean visitor described the city walls as “a big stone wall some thirty to forty feet high, built on the steep bank and rocky cliff…strong and very picturesque” (Charr 1996, 59). James Creelman, an American journalist who covered the Sino-Japanese War in Korea in 1894, declared himself impressed by the imposing city walls. “A thousand years ago Ping Yang was the strongest city in Asia,” he wrote. “Its walls are thick and its gates massive and well placed on the plain” (Creelman 1901, 33–34). Methodist missionary George H. Jones describes the two rivers as forming “a mighty moat” (Jones, “The Fall of Pyöngyang” (1892), 186).
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as the traditional front door to the city, standing on a bluff towering over the Taedong River

NoteOfficial North Korean sources describe the current Taedong Gate (大同門 Kor. Taedong-mun) as having been built in 1635, though it was restored after the Korean War (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 217–18). George T. Ladd, an American Congregationalist minister and advocate of Japanese rule in Korea, described the Taedong Gate as “the finest thing about [Pyongyang’s] ancient fortifications,” which he otherwise derided as “useless” after an April 1907 visit, urging that they be torn down (Ladd 1908, 98, 100). Easurk Charr (Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk 車義錫 1895–1986), who grew up in a small village in northwestern Korea, described the feeling of visiting Pyongyang as a boy and seeing the Taedong Gate for the first time: “The arched gateway was about ten feet high and twice as wide, wide enough for horsemen to ride four abreast. And the iron-clad gate, hinged on both sides of the dark gateway and swung back to the wall, looked very old and rusty. And, then, some forty feet further back, there was the inner gateway with the inner gate left open like the outer gate. Looking up, I saw the huge tower set firmly atop the gateways. ‘What a gate!’ I exclaimed” (Charr 1996, 61). To both sides, for two and a half miles, the city walls ran parallel to the river, past the army barracks to the north of the Taedong Gate, where Charr recalled the bugle would blare each Saturday as soldiers conducted drills (Charr 1996, 91–92).
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Pyongyang’s famous lookout points, where ancient wooden structures kept watch over the city

NoteA BUDDHIST CITADEL: Isabella Bird Bishop, who was visiting Pyongyang around this time, described the city walls as being “in excellent repair” (Bishop 1898, 314). From Peony Point, the Ŭlmil, Pubyŏk, and Chŏngryu Pavilions and the Temple of Eternal Brightness kept watch over the city from seven hills, a legacy of the country’s Buddhist heritage. Presbyterian missionary J. Hunter Wells, who lived in the city for two decades starting in 1895, described there being seven hills in the city, on which there were “deserted temples, neglected shrines and vacant schools” (J. Hunter Wells, “Pyeng Yang,” Korean Repository 4 (February 1897), 57–59, here 58). The northern hills in particular were the traditional base of the Buddhists, as scholar-missionary James Gale noted after a visit in the 1890s: “Among the hills to the north are the Buddhists. Here they have a citadel of temples commanding an excellent view of the river. Its beauty and strength of situation gives one an idea of the power Buddha once possessed in Chosön,” wrote (Gale 1898, 82; and Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository (1892), 51). British journalist Angus Hamilton, given a tour by the Japanese authorities in October 1908, described how “the north-western portion of the city wall runs irregularly up the hillsides, is still in a very fair state of preservation, and rises some 15 to 20 feet above the level of the slopes outside” (Hamilton et al. 1910, 186–87).  PEONY PAVILIONS: The Ŭlmil Pavilion (乙密臺 Kor. Ŭlmil-dae) faces out to the northwestern land approach to the city, while the other two pavilions look out over the northeastern river approach. One Western missionary, writing in June 1917, remarked on how the Pubyŏk Pavilion (浮碧樓 Kor. Pubyŏk-ru), which he called the Blue Pavilion, still stood nearly eight centuries after Kim Pu-sik, the Koryŏ dynasty scholar-official who fended off Myoch’ŏng’s rebellion in Pyongyang in AD 1135, wrote a poem that year about the beauty of the pavilion (“Kim Poo-sik,” Korea Magazine (1917), 258). “It has been repaired at times, but the main pillars and beams have evidently been there since about 1100 A.D.,” a colleague wrote the following year. “It saw the days of the first Crusade and the good St. Bernard. Koryu must surely have been a powerful nation with hammer and trowel to build as she built” (“Antiquarian Study,” The Korea Magazine (January 1918), 2–5, here 2). It was at the Pubyŏk Pavilion that Koryŏ dynasty poet Kim Hwang-wŏn, after struggling for hours to pen a poem worthy of the vista, snapped his brush in two and declared: “My talent is too poor to describe the scenic beauty of Pyongyang” (Renowned Figures in Korean History 2019, 74–75). The Ch’ŏngryu Pavilion (清流亭 Kor. Ch’ŏngryu-jŏng) was said to have dated to the ancient Koguryŏ dynasty, though it was rebuilt in the eighteenth century and then heavily damaged during the Korean War. The date of the construction of the Temple of Eternal Brightness (永明寺 Kor. Yŏngmyŏng-sa) is unknown, but the temple was destroyed during the Korean War.  SEVEN STARS: At the foot of Peony Point, the Seven-Star Gate (七星門 Kor. Ch’ilsŏng-mun), guarding the city from northern offensives, had been the scene of some of Korean history’s most ferocious battles. The gate was the scene of a great battle in AD 1010, when the Khitan-led Liao dynasty invaded Koryŏ-era Korea (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 219). The gate also played a key role during the Japanese Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s, and again in the decisive Battle of Pyongyang of September 1894 during the First Sino-Japanese War. While Ch’ilsŏng-mun literally means “Seven-Star Gate,” Ch’ilsŏng is also the name of the Big Dipper constellation; some translations thus render the name as the “Big Dipper Gate.” By the time of the missionaries’ arrival, the area around the gate had a different reputation. Kim Tong-in (金東仁 1900–1951), a Pyongyang native and novelist, writing in his classic 1925 short story “Potatoes” (Kamja), tells of a farmer’s wife who turns to prostitution to make ends meet in 1920s Pyongyang. Kim described the area just outside the Seven-Star Gate as a “shanty area” that “was a breeding ground for all that is tragic and violent in this world…fighting, adultery, murder, theft, prison confinement” (Kim Tong-in, Potatoes, trans. Kevin O’Rourke (Seoul: Asia Publishers, 2014), 9).
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abutting its namesake river, opened onto a fertile rolling plain dotted with apricot orchards

NoteIsabella Bird Bishop gives us the description of the city wall on the west side of Pyongyang, though she also noted traces of a far more expansive western wall encapsulating a city that was larger than it was by the time Bishop visited in the 1890s (Bishop 1898, 314). Donald Clark, the third-generation descendant of American missionaries to Korea, describes the apricot orchards, citing the recollections of his grandfather, Presbyterian missionary Charles A. Clark, from his first trip to Pyongyang in the summer of 1903 (Donald Clark 2003, 22). The dating of the Pot’ong Gate is murky and at times contradictory. Official North Korean sources, perhaps seeking to embellish its history, dates the gate to the sixth century (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, p. 219). Other sources date the construction of the Pot’ong Gate (普通門 Kor. Pot’ong-mun) to AD 997 (Springer 2003, 70). The missionary editors of James Gale’s The Korea Magazine, writing in January 1917, declared the then-recently-restored Pot’ong Gate, which they described as having been built around AD 960, the oldest extant building in Korea by at least four centuries, ahead of Seoul’s Great South Gate (南大門 Kor. Namdae-mun), formally known as the Gate of Worshipping Ritual (崇禮門 Kor. Sungrye-mun) (“Questions and Answers,” The Korea Magazine (January 1917), 29). The following year, the editors offered a slightly different timeline, describing the Pot’ong Gate as having been built in the days of the Koryŏ King Sŏngjong (成宗王 r. 981–997) (“Antiquarian Study,” Korea Magazine (1918), 3). The Pot’ong Gate was destroyed during the Korean War and rebuilt in 1955 (“North Korea Travel Guide: Potong Gate,” Koryo Tours, December 17, 2018).
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ancient pine trees guarding the grave of the revered sage, was a favorite refuge for reflection

NoteKija’s Forest (箕子林 Kor. Kija-rim) was a favorite refuge of many of Pyongyang’s Christian converts, including Kim Il Sung’s father (see Act II, Chapter 9) and Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, perhaps the most prominent pastor in post-division South Korea with roots in northern Korea (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 53). One source says that while Kija’s actual resting place is unknown, “tradition says his shoes were found on a hill some distance to the north of Pyeng Yang. Here a large mound was thrown up, and here sacrifices continue to be offered to the spirit of the sage. The spot is kept sacred” (Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 86). As for the Kija Palace (箕子宮 Kor. Kija-gung), which sat in the area south of the city walls known as the Outer City (外城 Kor. oesŏng), it formed the center of a community of those claiming to have descended from the original founder. “These ancients look upon present rank as but a ghost of nobility. Like the Jews, they feel that they are still the chosen people” (Gale 1898, 83; and Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository (1892), 52).
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said to have been delineated by Kija himself, running parallel to the Taedong River

Note “The main street ran parallel with the river and is used to this day,” Henry Appenzeller wrote in March 1895. “The outlines of other streets are still marked, crossing each other at right angles, thus showing a regularity unknown in any city of Korea to-day—one or two straight streets in a city not being sufficient to disprove the correctness of this statement” (Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 83–84). That main street still exists today, known for years as Stalin Street before it was renamed Victory Street (勝利距里 Kor. Sŭngri Kŏri). Appenzeller’s praise for the neatness of the grid system in one section of the modern city should be weighed against the assessment of visitors like James Creelman, an American journalist who covered the Sino-Japanese War in Korea in 1894. From the banks of the river on the east, Creelman wrote, Pyongyang’s “crooked streets ascend gradually to the west and north, ending in steep precipices, crested with castellated stone walls overlooking the valley” (Creelman 1901, 33–34). American pastor and scholar George Ladd similarly described the streets within the city walls as being, “with one or two exceptions, narrow, winding, and made disgusting by foul sights and smells. Here there has been little or none of that widening of thoroughfares and superficial cleaning which has given a partial relief” in the capital, Seoul, wrote Ladd, looking down with disapproval from the hilltop home of the Methodist missionary W. Arthur Noble during an April 1907 visit to the ancient northwestern capital (Ladd 1908, 98). How to explain the disparity of the gridlike street formation supposedly laid out by Kija and the crooked streets that Westerners found in the 1890s? Presbyterian missionary J. Hunter Wells, who lived in Pyongyang for two decades from 1895 to 1915, offers one possible explanation, describing in 1897 how “its fine roads” had by reduced to “mere paths at present, but showing well what perfect ones, all at right angles, they once were” (Wells, “Pyeng Yang,” Korean Repository (1897), 58). The other explanation is that Kija’s gridlike layout covered just one small portion of what would grow to become the Pyongyang that the first Westerners encountered.  “NARROW AND FILTHY”: James Gale and Samuel Moffett, arriving in early 1891, described the streets of Pyongyang to be “as usual narrow and filthy, and crowded with shops of native wares” (Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository (1892), 51). Arthur Becker, a Methodist missionary who arrived in 1903, recorded in his diary his first impressions of Pyongyang: “The main thoroughfare is a muddy, evil-smelling stream during the rainy season, as there is no paving of any kind” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 152). American journalist Frederick Palmer, visiting the following year, declared Pyongyang “a town where the human being lives as filthily as only one other animal, the swine, will,” with the city in desperate need of a sewage system and soap for all the grubbily clad Koreans (Frederick Palmer 1904, 36–37). Though the city’s filthy, narrow, unpaved lanes were an eyesore, visitors like Isabella Bird Bishop could point to small delights that set Pyongyang “something quite apart from the ordinary meanness of a Korean city,” including “pine-clothed knolls” and temples and monasteries that she said “make a goodly show” (Bishop 1898, 311, 314). 
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selling bamboo-fiber hats, cast-iron rice pots, dried cuttlefish, and several varieties of seaweed

NoteThe list of goods on offer is drawn from Easurk Charr, a young Korean resident who first arrived in Pyongyang in the 1890s, and Emily G. Kemp, a British traveler and writer (Charr 1996, 61–63; and Kemp 1911, 68). The description of Pyongyang as “perhaps the busiest city in Korea” is from James Gale, who during the 1890s crisscrossed the Korean peninsula multiple times—”twelve times, by different roads, and at different seasons of the year” (Gales 1898, 82, 127).
p.49

a restaurant selling Pyongyang’s famous cold noodles, sat near the center of the walled city

NoteCh’a Ŭi-sŏk translates the name of the restaurant as the House of Eight Gables (八角집 Kor. P’algak-jip), a purveyor of Pyongyang’s famous cold noodles (冷麵 Kor. naengmyŏn) (Charr 1996, 63). Son Wŏn-il (孫元一 1909–1980), the founder of South Korea’s navy, of whom more will be said later, recalled a famous cold noodle restaurant sitting near a major intersection by Pyongyang’s Taedong Gate (Son Wŏn-il, “Na ŭi I’ryŏk-sŏ” [My Personal Story], Han’guk Ilbo (serialized from September 29 to December 21, 1976), October 7, 1976).
p.49

city from Hideyoshi’s Japanese invaders, with colossal figures placed around the central altar

NoteThis temple, together with a nearby “large and wealthy Buddhist monastery,” give some lie to the common notion among missionaries that Korea was an areligious country devoid of spiritual life (Bishop 1898, 319).
p.49

Taedong River, old proverbs and the names of adulterers were carved into the ancient stone

NoteThe twelve-ton Pyongyang Bell was recast in 1726, following the fire in 1714 (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 220–21; and Portal 2005, 121). The Pyongyang Bell Pavilion (平壤鐘閣 Kor. P’yŏngyang Chonggak) was built in 1827. Next to the Pyongyang Bell stood the Ryŏn’gwang Pavilion (練光亭 Kor. Ryŏn’gwang-jŏng), which dates to the sixth century (Panorama of Pyongyang 2014, 218). Decades after it was damaged during the Korean War, restoration efforts were undertaken in the 2010s by Michael Spavor, a Canadian businessman and tour operator who traveled extensively to North Korea (Jon Dunbar, “China, Release Our Friend,” Korea Times, December 20, 2018). On the Ch’ŏngryu Wall (清流壁 Kor. Ch’ŏngryu-byŏk), which ran north of the Taedong Gate along the river, the names of philanderers were carved into the wall (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 53). George Ladd, the pro-Japanese American minister who visited in April 1907, describes seeing men inscribing the names of people on the riverbank bluffs along the Taedong, though with a slightly different tone than Han Kyŏng-jik—and with an extra dose of derision: “At different heights of the banks, standing on projecting ledges or on platforms, men were cutting inscriptions upon the rocky sides in Chinese characters. These were designed to celebrate for future generations the virtues and successes of living merchants and magistrates; but these workmen of to-day were only adding a few more to the much more numerous inscriptions commemorating the otherwise forgotten and, for the most part undoubtedly, really ignoble dead” (Ladd 1908, 100).
p.49

boatlike outline gave it one of its most common monikers of the period, the Boat City

NoteThe moniker was said to have been given by Kija, who first noticed this and forbade the digging of any wells in the boat-shaped city, lest it capsize (Gale “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository (1892), 51; and Brown 1919, 14). John Jorgensen, a modern scholar of Korean religion, dates the first mention of Pyongyang “having the topographic shape of a boat” to an early eighteenth-century scholar, Yi Chung-hwan (Jorgensen 2018, 59, n. 328). As Methodist W. Arthur Noble wrote in 1906, “the north end of the city, located high on a ridge of rocks that lined the river, turned upward like the stern of our boat. From that point the wall swept gracefully downward along the riverside, and in the distance seemed again to rise exactly like the prow of our boat” (Noble 1906, 48).
p.49

wells within Pyongyang, which officials hoped would prevent the city from sinking or capsizing

NoteJames Creelman, a Western journalist who visited Pyongyang in 1894, regarded the belief in Pyongyang as a “boat city” as representative of the contradiction between the Koreans’ long history and proud bearing and what he regarded as their “abstract scholasticism and demonology. They are credulous almost beyond belief. A white-bearded, spectacled Solomon, who can recite whole poems from the Chinese classics, will tell you gravely that there are not more wells in Ping Yang, because the city is an island and, if too many holes were cut in the bottom, it might sink” (Creelman 1901, 57). Methodist missionary W. Arthur Noble suspected that fear of digging wells in the Boat City was really driven by concerns about sickening the population with poorly dug wells. “If the water had been of a better quality the prohibition would never have been,” he wrote (Noble 1906, 49). Evidently, this prohibition didn’t extend to Kija, who dug his famous well in the city. 
p.50

became a hallmark of Pyongyang, leaving its streets in a perpetual state of slippery muddiness

NoteIsabella Bird Bishop notes that the water was carried in American kerosene tins, through a “Water Gate” that was “at all hours of the day carried with water-carriers” (Bishop 1898, 311). Missionary-scholar James Gale described the “peculiar gait” of the water carriers (Gale 1898, 82), while Pyongyang resident Easurk Charr later recalled the city streets being left “wet and muddy” (Charr 1996, 62). One former Korean Christian resident of Pyongyang recounts a saying that the water in the Taedong River, “the sweetest and tastiest water known in the land…was the water that made the sons and daughters of Pyeng Yang, who drank out of this river, the strongest, smartest, and bravest people of the country” (Charr 1996, 58–59).
p.50

quick to add, consisted of a reputation for wickedness that spanned antiquity and modernity

NoteMethodist missionary George H. Jones, an early visitor to Pyongyang, described the people there as being “proud of the hoary age and wickedness of their town” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 129). One of the first Korean converts in the city, O Sŏk-hyŏng, later described Pyongyang before the arrival of the missionaries as “this wicked city of Pyong Yang. It is the nature of Pyong Yang people to throw stones. They worship idols, and other unnecessary things; and they don’t know how to help one another” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 391). J. Hunter Wells, a Presbyterian medical missionary in Pyongyang, contrasted the city’s scuzzy reputation to its vaunted history: “Of the grandeur and glory which was once this proud city’s boast we see now nothing but demoralization and decay” (Wells, “Pyeng Yang,” Korean Repository (1897), 57).
p.50

with its dancing girls, brothels, gambling parlors, and saloons, “the Sodom of Korea”

NoteOne Methodist missionary who had been among the first Westerners to visit Pyongyang described a city in which “two houses out of every three were saloons and the city was known as the wickedest city in Korea” (“Rev. W. A. Noble, Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 12 (October 1906), 230). Another Methodist, medical missionary E. Douglas Follwell, described Pyongyang as “a city of great wealth, splendor, and wickedness” (Follwell, “Hall Memorial Hospital,” Korea Mission Field (1905), 5).
p.50

officials “from the King down to the lowest official…to give fascination to their feasts”

NoteTHE KISAENG: Korea’s kisaeng (妓生) were invariably compared to the geisha (芸者) of Japan, and like the geisha of Japan, the practice was officially confined to entertainment, though there was always the hint of prostitution around the practice. Isabella Bird Bishop, for one, regarded the kisaeng as free of any indecency. “Their dancing, like that of most Oriental countries, consists chiefly of posturing, and is said by those foreigners who have seen it, to be perfectly free from impropriety,” she reported (Bishop 1898, 352). Horace Underwood attested to the dress of the kisaeng being “perfectly modest” (Horace Underwood 1908, 60). His wife concurred: “Although on several occasions at the palace I have seen dancing girls in these entertainments, I have never beheld anything at such times in their actions that was improper or even undignified. Their motions are graceful, usually slow, circling around hand in hand or in various combinations of pretty figures. They wear high-necked and long-sleeved jackets or coats, and long skirts, the figure quite concealed by the fashion of the dress.” Even so, she added: “These girls are, alas! as depraved as women can be. Like those of their class in all countries, they are the most pitiable and hopeless of women,” sold off by their poor parents without any say in their future (Lillias Underwood 1904, 93–94). Other early Western travelers, however, suggested that prostitution was a part of the kisaeng’s repertoire (Curzon 1896, 130; Griffis 1912, 164; and Diósy 1898, 278). William Sands, a U.S. diplomat who served in Tokyo before Seoul, described kisaeng as being similar to geisha, but with no social standing: “The love affairs of famous geishas was their discretion. No Korean of rank would imagine a love affair with a kisang” (Sands 1931, 198). Interestingly, the kisaeng were often the best educated women in Chosŏn Korea, and other upper-class women feared being mixed up with kisaeng if they were skilled in writing (C. Sarah Soh [So, Chŏng-hŭi], The Comfort Women: Sexual Violence and Postcolonial Memory in Korea and Japan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 5). Contemporary scholars note that, in the absence of commercial prostitution, the kisaeng of feudal Korea were organized by the state as entertainers who were often taken as concubines by aristocrats, with their roots stretching back to as early as the Silla (Sinra) period beginning in the late seventh century and becoming more institutionalized over time; by the late Chosŏn dynasty, there were some twenty thousand to thirty thousand kisaeng in Korea, writes John Lie, a sociologist at the University of California, Berkeley (Lie, “Transformation of Sexual Work” (1995), 312). Lie notes that lower-ranking kisaeng did indeed engage in sex work, while higher-ranking ones performed at state functions and waited on senior officials. “Kisaeng were not simply sexual workers but performed a variety of functions, ranging from medical work to needlework” (Lie, “Transformation of Sexual Work” (1995), 312).  “QUITE A CENTRE FOR DANCING GIRLS”: Whether deserved or not, some of the earliest Protestant missionaries, including Moffett and Baird’s seminary classmate Daniel Gifford, wrote that Pyongyang’s “reputation for being the wickedest city in the country” stemmed in part from “the fact that the city was famed the whole country over for the number of its fair but frail dancing-girls” (Gifford 1897, 6). “It is almost certain that they are the prettiest women in Korea, and, although the order is extensive and the class is gathered from all over the kingdom, the most beautiful and accomplished gisaing come from Pyöng-an,” wrote a British journalist (Hamilton 1904, 54). “The most beautiful and accomplished gesang come from Pyeng Yang which is quite a centre for dancing girls,” wrote Horace Allen, the missionary-turned-diplomat (H. N. Allen [Allen, Horace N.], “Some Korean Customs—Dancing Girls,” Korean Repository 3 (October 1896), 383–86, here 385). See also Frazar 1884, 21; Hulbert 1906, 357; and Wagner 1931, 87–93. As late as the late 1930s, becoming a kisaeng was still desirable in Pyongyang, and finding a school for training kisaeng was easy (see Soh 2008, 88–89). And, as late as 1950, Edgar S. Kennedy, a member of the United Nations’ International Refugee Organization, recalls the first course of a meal appearing along with “kettles of warm rice wine…and the Kesang (Kee Sang, Gesang) girls” (Edgar S. Kennedy, Mission to Korea (London: Derek Verschoyle, 1952), 91). The other city famous for its kisaeng, Kanggye, was also located in P’yŏng’an province (H. E. Blair [Blair, Herbert E.], “The Alexander Sampson Rest House,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 10 (August 1906), 184–85)—and indeed, it was widely believed that most of Pyongyang’s kisaeng were originally from Kanggye (David Suh 1991, 12–13).   CELEBRATED HEROINES: Despite the ambiguous place of kisaeng in Korean society, some of Korean history’s most celebrated heroines were drawn from this class of women. Though she was not from Pyongyang, one of the Chosŏn dynasty’s most famous folk characters, Ch’unhyang (春香), was a kisaeng, highlighting the key role that the entertainers played in the Korean imagination. One who was from Pyongyang was Kye Wŏl-hyang (桂月香 ?–1592), who according to the oft-recounted tale slept with a Japanese general during Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea in 1592—only to have a Korean general cut off his head. For the deed, Kye was executed (see, for example, Suk-Young Kim 2010, 214–15; and E. Douglas Follwell, “Pyeng-yang Folklore,” Korean Repository 5 (July 1898), 253–55). For a modern North Korean retelling of the story, which puts the spotlight on the Korean general, Kim Ŭng-sŏ, see Renowned Figures in Korean History 2019, 48–50. In modern North Korea, a monument to Kye Wŏl-hyang stands in Pyongyang today, while a television miniseries was created for her in 2011 (“Kye Wol Hyang and Korean Geishas,” Koryo Tours, November 21, 2017). Another popular tale told of a patriotic kisaeng named Chu Non-gae (朱論介 1574–1593) who was said to have seduced a Japanese general during Hideyoshi’s invasion before throwing herself over a cliff with the Japanese commander in tow (see, for instance, Wagner 1931, 92–93; and Roderick Random, “Nonga, Chinjoo’s Brave Woman,” Korean Repository 5 (November 1898), 412–15).
p.51

had grown to become “a very rich and very immoral city,” Isabella Bird Bishop lamented

Note“The city was thronged with gesang, courtesans, and sorcerers, and was notorious for its wealth and infamy,” she added (Bishop 1898, 346). Methodist missionary George H. Jones, who traveled to Pyongyang with W. James Hall shortly after the latter missionary’s arrival in Korea in December 1891, described Pyongyang as “large, prosperous, and enterprising; a great overgrown city, unclean physically, mentally, and morally, internally and externally, and noted for its rough, ragged, rabid mobs” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 129).
p.51

drumbeat of the mudang, or shamanesses, who performed exorcisms on behalf of the ailing

NoteIn the northern half of Korea, the mudang (巫堂) were known more politely as mansin (萬神)—literally, “ten thousand spirits” (David Suh 1991, 91).
p.51

hundreds of people hurling deadly projectiles at one another, causing fatalities all around

NoteAn entire article on the topic can be found in “The Korean Stone-Fight,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 3 (March 1915), 84–87. “The Koreans are the most expert stone throwers in the world,” wrote British diplomat Joseph Longford, who visiting Korea in 1875 aboard an English man-of-war, was told to go away, with the warning that huge piles of stones gathered on the beach there “were ready to welcome any one who attempted to approach” (Longford 1911, 226, n. 1). “Korean villagers are expert stone throwers and still use the sling with great accuracy at long distances. Stone fights are a common sport between villages till the first death or serious casualty on either side,” recalled U.S. diplomat William Sands, who arrived in Seoul in 1897. “One had a complete picture in miniature of the religious wars of Europe, with the village scallawags thumping each other heartily in the cause of rival clergymen, for the sake of the particular side on which the butter was spread for them” (Sands 1931, 93, 155). William Carles, a British diplomat who traveled through Korea in the 1880s, described how, “at certain times of the year leave is given them to fight, and for about three days a war of stones is carried on between the townsmen and country-folk. If a man is killed, his death is regarded as an unavoidable accident, and the authorities take no notice of it. On one of these occasions Kim, my interpreter, had received a blow on the head, which had laid him up for two months, and left a big dent in his skull” (Carles 1888, 172–73). One hallmark of conversion to Christianity was not joining in in the stone fights, and admonishing others to refrain too (Charles Clark 1921, 195–96).
p.51

“fond of this dangerous sport as Americans are of base-ball,” one missionary wrote

NoteMissionary-historian Homer Hulbert, the source of this quote, described the surreal sight of watching 25,000 Seoul residents traveling out by electric tram to watch a spring stone fight in 1906; he traced the origins of the game back seven centuries, “when it was invented for the delectation of an imbecile King” (Hulbert 1906, 276–78). Though stone-throwing was a national pastime, it was the Pyongyangites that stood out for their stone-slinging prowess. “In Pyengyang the people are such accurate stone-throwers that it is impossible to come at hand to hand conflicts as they do in Seoul. They merely stand a long way off and throw stones” (“Korean Stone-Fight,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 85). Pyongyang men were also notorious for employing their skulls in fights. Young boys in the city, it was said, were trained to knock their heads first against pebbles and gradually work their way up to rocks the size of human heads, so as to make the skull as hard enough to use for headbutting (see Hyun 1986, 136).
p.51

regarding Pyongyang as a “bustling, stirring, man-defying and heaven-defying city”

NoteThough Rev. Appenzeller made this remark after a visit to the city in May 1896, this was far from his first visit to the city; in fact, he was a frequent presence in Pyongyang over the years. Though there have been some claims that others were the first to visit Pyongyang, the historical record makes clear that—with the possible exception of Rev. Robert Thomas aboard the ill-fated General Sherman in 1866—Appenzeller was the first Protestant missionary to travel to the city, making the initial trip on horseback with John H. Hunt, a customs officer in Pusan, arriving on April 24, 1887 (Griffis 1912, 135, 147; and Appenzeller 1902, 24). During that first visit, the Americans were welcomed for an audience and later a dinner with “the white-robed governor,” at whose home “a few foreign objects were visible and the ticking of an American clock sounded homelike” (Griffis 1912, 148). In addition to his April 1887 trip, Rev. Appenzeller returned to Pyongyang the following spring with Horace Underwood and later made a third trip with William Scranton in October 1889 (Huntley 1984, 117). By 1890, five Protestant missionary journeys to Pyongyang had been made (“Opening of Mission Work,” Korean Repository (1897), 351–52). Rev. Appenzeller declared himself impressed with the strength of Pyongyang and its people, “free and independent, full of energy and spirit” (Appenzeller 1902, 24) and after his first visit urged the opening of a station there “at once” (Oak 2013, 227, citing Henry G. Appenzeller letter to E. W. Gilman, August 8, 1887). Even so, Rev. Appenzeller’s visits to Pyongyang only strengthened his belief in the centrality of Seoul, where he would serve all of the seventeen years that he would spend in Korea, until his death in 1902. Strong as they were, natives of Pyongyang took their cues from Seoul, Appenzeller believed, thus making the capital the proper focus for missionaries: “The objective of Christian effort should be to take the capital for the Lord Jesus Christ,” he wrote (Appenzeller 1902, 12).
p.51

three times before Moffett arrived in Korea—in 1887, in 1888, and, on his honeymoon, in 1889

NoteHorace Underwood’s three visits to Pyongyang came in 1887, during a northwestern trip that took him to Kaesŏng, Anju, Kanggye, Haeju, and Ŭiju; in 1888, just to Pyongyang; and in 1889, with his new bride through Pyongyang, Ŭiju, and Kanggye (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS); and Lillias Underwood 1904, 33).
p.51

“waste of heathenism” with little sense that the people were much interested in their message

NoteLillias Underwood, looking back fifteen years later at her mistaken first impression after Pyongyang had blossomed into the crown jewel of the Korea mission field, wrote: “Oh, if one prophetic vision might have been granted us of what was to be in such a few years! If we could have seen those dreary and heart-sickening wastes of humanity transformed into fields of rich grain waiting in harvest glory for the sickle, if we could have seen the hundreds now gathered yearly into the garner, how our hearts would have burned within us! ‘But the love of God is broader than the measure of man’s mind,’ and though we saw visions and dreamed dreams, we hardly dared hope they would all be fulfilled. God kept the future hidden as a sweet surprise,” she wrote (Lillias Underwood 1904, 47). Her new husband Horace Underwood did, however, detect several glimpses into the bonanza that was to come in Pyongyang. In March 1887, Underwood had written a letter to the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions in New York urging the opening of a station in Pyongyang—though Underwood was motivated by little more than denominational competition amid expectations that the city would soon be opened up for foreign residence. “If we do not go in, the Methodists will,” Underwood warned. Beyond that simple competitive reason, however, Underwood struggled to articulate the virtues of Pyongyang, describing the city as “larger than Seoul” (which wasn’t accurate) and as a promising place for manufacturing and mining (Underwood letter to Ellinwood, March 8, 1887). A year later, in 1888, Underwood had received some positive early reports of conversions, but feared that they were exaggerated (Lillias Underwood 1904, 34).
p.51

It was, Rev. Underwood declared, “the worst city in Korea”

NoteWhen the Underwoods arrived in Pyongyang on their honeymoon in 1889, they found in the ancient northern city a new element of menace that wasn’t present in the rest of the country, where they had been gawked at and followed. In Pyongyang, a large crowd trailed them within the city walls, “growing ever more annoying and demonstrative, till its dimensions and behavior were altogether too much like a mob” as innkeepers turned away the newlywed foreigners one after another, until the Underwoods nearly resolved to spend the night in the streets. In the end, the Underwoods did find a roof to sleep under, though they needed a local magistrate to hold back the crowds, who the Underwoods agreed to see in small, ordered groups. “I could with no comfort or safety go out even in a chair to see the town, for if I so much as peeped out, some one caught sight of the foreign woman, and at once a crowd gathered which made it impossible to move or to accomplish anything,” she recalled (Lillias Underwood 1904, 46).
p.51

“most hopeless part of Korea…a veritable cage of evil birds from all time…the vilest of the vile”

NoteIn his 1904 novel The Vanguard: A Tale of Korea, a thinly fictionalized account of the missionaries’ efforts in Korea, James Gale painted a vivid picture of Pyongyang as a dark den of sin: “It was night in the city of Ping-yang, dark and forbidding. A few straggling lights were seen passing here and there through the narrow streets. There were long weird calls heard from the Yamen, repeated at intervals, and drums rattling in prayer to the devils down on the river. Somebody was dead over the way, and there was desperate weeping, ‘I-go! I-go!’ Drinking dens everywhere made night hideous” (James S. Gale, Vanguard: A Tale of Korea (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1904), 18).
p.51

missionaries, Henry Appenzeller and Homer B. Hulbert, a Congregationalist from Vermont

NoteHomer B. Hulbert (1863–1949), a native of New Haven, Vt., and a graduate of Dartmouth College and Union Theological Seminary in New York, didn’t come to Korea in 1886 as a missionary, but rather to teach in the Korean government’s English-language school (Donald Clark 2003, 33; Brother Anthony of Taizé, ed., Discovering Korea at the Start of the Twentieth Century: Articles from the First Volumes of the Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society Korea Branch (Seoul: Royal Asiatic Society Korea Branch, 2011), 3–4; and Griffis 1912, 249). Though Hulbert had arrived in Korea to help organize and teach at the government school, he resigned in 1893 to become a Methodist missionary (Sherwood Hall 1978, 300–1). See also “Education Twenty Years Ago,” The Korea Magazine (August 1917), 337–44, especially 341–43. In time, Hulbert would become one of the first Western scholars of Korean history and culture, writing frequent articles for the Korean Repository and the Korea Review and penning two books on Korean history (Donald Clark 2003, 33; and Brother Anthony 2011, 3–4). The Korean Repository suspended publication in December 1898 and never resumed, prompting Hulbert in 1901 to found another similar cultural publication, the Korea Review, which ran until 1907 (Brother Anthony 2011, 7–8). Interestingly, Hulbert was initially a supporter of Japan’s influence in Korea and debated publicly the virtues of Japanese influence with Horace Allen, who believed Korea would flourish better under Russian domination; Hulbert would come to change his views on the Japanese around 1905 (Brother Anthony 2011, 8). After that, he became one of the most vociferous advocates of Korean independence (see Act I, Chapter 7). In 1949, an eighty-six-year-old Hulbert returned to Korea at the invitation of South Korea’s inaugural president Syngman Rhee, arriving in Seoul to a massive crowd; however, Hulbert died a week later on August 5, 1949. Hulbert was buried at the foreigners’ cemetery at Yanghwajin in the modern-day Seoul neighborhood of Hapjŏng, on the banks of the Han River (Brother Anthony 2011, 9–10). For a thumbnail biography of Hulbert, see Changsoon Kim, ed., The Culture of Korea: Racial Background, Sketch of Geography, History of Korea, Religion, Literature, Art, Science, Music, Economic Background, and History of Revolutionary Movement (Los Angeles: Korean American Cultural Association, 1946), 97. 
p.51

packed in tight with strangers on the floors of Korea’s grimy, tick-infested village inns

NoteThe men departed Seoul on August 29, 1890, and arrived after a six-and-a-half-day horseback journey that included a day of Sabbath rest in Kaesŏng, known at the time as Songdo (松都)—literally, the “pine capital.” A few days later, the men executed a perilous crossing of a flood-swelled creek that nearly washed them away, near the city of Hwangju (黃州) (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 15, 1890; and Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 51). Jack London, traveling through Hwangju in 1904, described it as “an ancient walled-city of an estimated population of 30,000, beautifully situated on the right bank of the Namchlion River” (Jack London, “Over the Pekin Road on the Way to the Yalu,” March 7, 1904, Ping Yang, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 54–60, here 57).  ROACH MOTEL: All the while, Moffett and his companions had to contend with the much-feared Korean inns. “Unless one is able to bear 6 different kinds of little creatures on him at one time without scratching himself; and willing to sleep with Koreans and on their old blankets,” wrote one of Moffett’s contemporaries, the Scottish Canadian missionary Duncan MacRae, “they should seriously consider the question of coming to the foreign field” (MacRae 1993, 37, citing Duncan M. MacRae letter to Edith MacRae, December 12, 1898). The American explorer Roy Chapman Andrews describes his first night in a Korean “hotel” as an experience “I shall never forget, for the ordinary house is inhabited by an extraordinary variety of insect pests. Lice, bed-bugs, fleas, cockroaches, and spiders literally swarm under the matting and over the walls, making the night unbearable to any one save a native” (Andrews, “Exploring Unknown Corners,” National Geographic (1919), 28). It wasn’t merely the insects that one had to be careful of while staying in a Korean inn during this period. One Westerner who traveled across Korea for several months in 1890 and 1891 described Korean inns as being “patronized only by the scum of the worst people of the lowest class, and whenever there is a robbery, a fight, or a murder, you can be certain that it has taken place in one of those dens of vice” (Savage-Landor 1895, 91). See also Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Korean Inn,” Korean Repository 4 (June 1897), 249–53; Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository (1892), 54; and Bergman 1938, 47–48, 68.
p.52

“From this point the view of river, plains and mountains is grand,” he declared

NoteMoffett’s first glimpse of Pyongyang was promising, coming through “a large plain of growing crops.” That first evening, however, was not as grand. The three men hunkered down at a room with the city magistrates, where they were badgered all night by curious local officials intrigued by the strange-looking foreigners. The next day, they moved to a private inn run by a local named Kim Sŏn-dal (“Kim Sun Tal”), where they were fed well but slept surrounded by “dirt and filth, donkeys, chickens, ducks and pigs” and struggled even to stand upright in their room, “dark, dingy and smoky…the sides being about three feet high” (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 51). W. James Hall, the Methodist medical missionary with whom Moffett would work hand in hand during these early years, first entered Pyongyang on March 14, 1892, with winter still in full swing. As his travel companion and fellow Methodist missionary George H. Jones recalled a few years later, the Taedong River was “frozen two feet thick, and on this carpet of ice we crossed into the great city of Pyong Yang” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 129).
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found “bad moral conditions,” a city that very much lived up to its sordid reputation

Note“A DESPERATELY WICKED CITY”: “Pyeng Yang is a desperately wicked city, thoroughly given over to immorality. The things I have learned of it on this trip are simply horrible beyond all description,” a twenty-six-year-old Moffett wrote in June 1893, after his sixth trip to Pyongyang (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, June 6, 1893, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/33)). By then, he had seen quite a bit to disturb him in Pyongyang, including on his first and second trips to the city, where he recalled seeing “some boys in their play dragging through the main streets an old man who had died during the night. People were laughing at them as they dragged the corpse along. On another occasion a murderer in prison was demanded by the relatives of the murdered man. He was given up to the mob. They led him to a little knoll not far from the centre of the city, and hacked him to pieces with knives.” Moffett was quick to add that “these, of course, were exceptional instances, but they were an indication of the public sentiment which prevailed” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 21). Moffett told the same anecdote on a separate occasion, where he added: “This was heathenism, dark, dense heathenism, unrelieved by the light of the gospel” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Visions of the Foreign Field—Korea,” in Charles Edwin Bradt, Men and the Modern Missionary Enterprise: History, Call, Addresses, Deliverances, Conferences and Deliberations of the First Inter-Synodical Foreign Missionary Convention for Men, Held at Omaha, Nebraska, February 19–21, 1907 (Chicago: Winona, 1907), 50–56, here 50–51). Writing a few years later in 1896 of Korea in general, Moffett invoked the first chapter of the Book of Romans to describe his new home, saying that the epistle’s description of the rotten state of humanity—“being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents” (Romans 1:29–30, KJV)—painted “a perfect picture of the state of mind and morals in Korea.” Moffett believed that Koreans had “given themselves so completely to the service of the devil” that God Himself had decided to deprive them of knowledge of his existence—that is, at least until Moffett’s arrival (Moffett letter to Haslup, June 29, 1896, Pyeng Yang). Moffett would later describe the city as “the most wicked city in Korea…enveloped in heathen darkness, not a Christian within 150 miles” (Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010, citing Moffett’s personal report, 1933).  EVIL ALL AROUND: To be sure, Moffett’s condemnation of moral depravity wasn’t limited to Korea, with the general descent into sin evident all around the world—even in America and in Scotland, the ancestral home of the Moffett clan and the birthplace of Presbyterianism. During a trip to Scotland in June 1910 to attend a global evangelical conference, Moffett was perturbed by the sin that he saw all around him. “On Saturday night there is so much drunkenness & quarreling. Oh! for the time when we shall have a new heaven & new earth,” Moffett wrote his wife, days before he visited the nearby town of Moffat, Scotland (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Alice My Dearest [Moffett, Alice F.], June 26, 1910, Stirling, Scotland (Waverley Hotel) (MKC)). Moffett’s old friend William Baird, too, lamented what he regarded as the deplorable state of American morals. “The secular newspapers read by the people of Indiana are about the most degrading reading I know anything about. The so-called religious papers of America, especially of the Indiana region, can hardly be called religious,” Baird wrote in December 1895 to his brother back home (William M. Baird letter to John F. Baird, December 4, 1895, Fusan, Korea (MKC)).
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greeted the first Protestant missionary to reach Pyongyang roughly a quarter century earlier

Note“Did Moffett…seeing those chains 24 years later, think he might become the next Protestant martyr in Pyengyang?” Samuel Moffett’s daughter-in-law, Eileen F. Moffett, wondered to herself more than a century later in January 1997, as she and her husband, Moffett’s son Samuel H. Moffett (1916–2015), touched down in Pyongyang for a visit—the first chance for the younger Samuel Moffett to his birthplace in more than six decades. While Eileen Moffett concluded that his father-in-law was undaunted by the anchor chains and the prospect of martyrdom, she notes that “he was driven out of the city six times in one year” (“A 62-Year Wait,” Christian Friends of Korea (Black Mountain, N.C.) Summer 2022 newsletter, 1–2).  “NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN”: When Horace Underwood, preparing to head out to Korea in the early 1880s, visited the offices of the London Missionary Society, one of the officials there, upon hearing of Underwood’s intended mission field, remarked: “Korea, Korea; let me see, I believe we sent a man out there some twenty years ago and he was never heard from again”—a reference to Rev. Robert Thomas’ fateful voyage on the General Sherman (Lillias Underwood 1918, 36).
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convinced was his great task for the cause of Christ: “To open and occupy Pyeng Yang”

NoteHe used the language again in Moffett, “Report of Work in Pyeng An Province,” October 1893 (PHS). According to this author’s count, Moffett’s nine trips to northern Korea between his arrival in Korea and the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War in the summer of 1894 took place in: (1) August 29, 1890–October 10, 1890; (2) February 24, 1891–May 21, 1891; (3) September–November 1891; (4) May 6, 1892–September 1892; (5) March 6 1893–late March/early April 1893; (6) May 15, 1893–roughly June 10, 1893; (7) September 1, 1893 until the Presbyterian mission’s annual meeting in Seoul in October 1893; (8) November 11, 1893–April 30, 1894; and (9) May–August 1894. The total distance of 4,200 miles is roughly equivalent to walking from one coast of the continental U.S. to the other, and then halfway back. The trip count and distance covered were calculated by University of California, Los Angeles historian Sung-Deuk Oak (Oak 2011, 32-33). This count includes travels that he made beyond Pyongyang into Manchuria; it may also include a separate trip that Moffett made to Kongju, in southern Korea, from December 1892 to January 1893.
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where—in a Confucian practice adopted by the early missionaries—inquirers could stream in

NoteHenry Appenzeller headed farther north, while Homer Hulbert returned to Seoul. The Sino-Korean word sarang (舍廊) is a homophone for the more common pure Korean word sarang (사랑), or “love.” In this case, the reception room known as the sarang, also known less confusingly as the sarang-bang (舍廊房), was common in Chosŏn-era Korea, albeit one that was restricted to male visitors. The missionaries quickly adopted the practice as a convenient entry point into Korean society. “All the early missionaries maintained sarangs. Every mission compound had one, separate from the missionary residences and close to the entry from the street. Here missionaries and Korean secretaries were always present to meet interested inquirers or the idly curious,” wrote Richard Baird, the son of William Baird and himself a later missionary to South Korea. One of William Baird’s first requests to the Presbyterian mission board was for money to build a sarang at his home in Pusan (Baird 1968, 28–29). Moffett, for his part, found that “direct contact with the people, living in the midst of them, meeting them every day and all day, entering into their lives, and having them enter into mine” was “the true secret of missionary success” (Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., Fifty-Seventh Annual Report of the Board of Foreign Missions (New York: Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1894), 159). Also cited in Oak 2013, 278. See also Shearer 1966, 46–47; Gale 1909, 107; and Robert T. Oliver, Syngman Rhee: The Man Behind the Myth (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1954), 3.
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but quickly thereafter out of a genuine interest in the teachings of this strange visitor

NoteThe Methodist missionaries W. James Hall and George H. Jones, traveling to Pyongyang in March 1892, found themselves experiencing a similar bout of success: “From morn till night we were besieged by visitors, and to one and all we preached the truth, cared for the sick, and spent a busy, happy week,” Jones wrote. “In the five days that we were there we accomplished our object, and left sufficient social dynamite in the form of over one hundred volumes of Christian books to effect the moral regeneration of that wicked city” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 130).
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Korean teacher, a Seoul scholar who timidly helped the American answer his guests’ inquiries

NoteMoffett reported living with his Korean teacher, identified only as “good old Yee Syobang” (Yi Sŏ-bang?) and a servant boy, at a daily expense of $1 for all three of them. While Yi wasn’t a trained missionary or even a Christian, he had learned enough of the Christian gospel to help with inquirers—though he was timid at first, only “reluctantly explain[ing] a little of the book and why I had come to Korea” (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korean Mission Field (1925), 52).
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found himself “exciting considerable interest”—some of it good-natured, some of it menacing

NoteMoffett was greatly impressed by the order that Kija had brought to Pyongyang three millennia earlier. Writing in the context of the destruction of the city a few years later in 1894 during the Sino-Japanese War, Moffett in April 1895 praised “the ancient symmetry” and “the regularly laid out streets of the ancient capital of Ki-Ja…this ancient site of Korea’s most ancient capital” (as quoted in “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (April 1895), 156–57). For a lightly fictionalized, and highly idealized, account of Moffett’s early days in Pyongyang, see the passage in James Gale’s novel The Vanguard: A Tale of Korea (Gale 1904, 25-31).
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threw stones as he climbed the hill that would later host the grandest church in all of Asia

NoteMoffett quoted the Koreans as remarking on his height and calling him a “black devil” (색검은놈) (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 52). He later told a visiting writer: “In the years 1890 and 1891, when I passed along the streets the common remark I overheard was: ‘Look at this black rascal! Why did he come here? Let us kill him’” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 21). He tells the tale again in Moffett, “Visions of the Foreign Field,” in Bradt 1907, 50–51. Moffett, of course, was not the only Westerner during this period to find that merely walking out on the streets of a Korean city or village would elicit stares—or worse. “A tiger shown on the street could not have excited such curiosity,” one early Methodist missionary wrote of the attention lavished upon the visit of such a “strange apparition” as a foreigner in Pyongyang (Noble 1906, 59). W. James Hall, the Methodist medical missionary and close colleague of Samuel Moffett, describes walking through the streets of Pyongyang with “throngs of Koreans gathered to see the foreigner” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 255, quoting W. James Hall letter to The Christian Herald, December 16, 1892). See also Blair 1957, 17.  “SHOWERS OF STONES”: As discussed above, stone throwing was an alarmingly common practice in the northwest. During his second trip through the northwest in the early months of 1891, Moffett and his travel companion James Gale had stones hurled at them several times. “Fortunately they did not throw with the same precision that they do in Whanghai and so we are here to tell our story,” Gale joked of one shower of stones they received in a small town north of Pyongyang called Kasan (嘉山) (Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (II),” Korean Repository (1892), 52). W. James Hall, making one of his first journeys to Pyongyang in 1892, described being taken out on the Taedong River by a fisherman: “We had just got out into the deep water, when showers of stones came from behind the wall and fell all around us. If one had struck us or the frail fishing skiff, serious results might have followed” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 255–56, quoting W. James Hall letter to The Christian Herald, December 16, 1892). While taking a walk around Pyongyang a few years later, Dr. Hall recounted being harassed by some drunkards, who tried to force him to drink from a jug of liquor, and when he resisted, one of the men picked up “a stone as large as my head” and nearly killed him with it (W. J. Hall [Hall, W. James], “Pioneer Missionary Work in the Interior of Korea,” Chinese Recorder and Missionary Journal 25, no. 7 (July 1894), 314–16, here 316). Also reproduced in Rosetta Hall 1897, 268–72. See also Sherwood Hall 1978, 122. In the northeastern city of Hamhŭng, the Canadian Presbyterian missionary Duncan MacRae and his wife found rocks thrown at them so often that, after three days of it, they decided to leave the city (MacRae 1993, 93). When one early Korean Christian convert moved with his family to a village near Pyongyang, the locals, thinking they had converted to Catholics, hurled stones at them, while calling them names. “One of the missiles, which was a fist-sized dried red clay mud, harder than a rock itself, landed squarely on my mouth, piercing my upper lip against my front teeth. It knocked me down on the ground, bleeding and crying” (Charr 1996, 72–73). Another missionary recalls a rain of stones descending on a church service he presided over, as drunkards hurled rocks through the windows, and across the pulpit (Charles Clark 1921, 200). The missionaries would soon grow accustomed—as accustomed as one can be—to the casting of stones at them. The obituary for Samuel F. Moore described the Northern Presbyterian missionary, “seen almost daily with Bible and tracts, standing at the junction of the main thoroughfares of the city, preaching to a good crowd and selling the books to all who would buy, while at intervals a stone would come over the heads of the listeners to warn him that some at least did not approve of his doctrine” (“A Faithful Missionary,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 4 (April 1907), 57–58). Moffett himself told a visitor in 1910 rather matter-of-factly that “we were stoned now and then by the mob, but without serious injury” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 22).
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remarked in a September 15, 1890, letter, ten days after reaching the old northwestern capital

NoteFrom the very beginning of Korea’s interactions with the outside world, the distinct character of the northwesterners was frequently noted by Western visitors. As one historian has noted, one of the most consistent remarks made by foreigners about the northwest during this period was of the “more vibrant, restless” people in the region (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 135–37). After traveling through Korea a few years earlier in 1891, the British travelers Alfred E. J. Cavendish and Henry E. F. Goold-Adams, concluded: “The Northern Koreans are not the same race, I am certain, as the Southern, for they are not the same idle, good-for-nothing set, but, on the contrary, are as hard-working and industrious as possible” (Cavendish 1894, 180). “As one gets farther north the character and physiognomy of the natives change completely. They are taller, finer, and much more pleasant to deal with,” Goold-Adams wrote (H. Goold-Adams [Goold-Adams, Henry E. F.], “A Trip to the Mont Blanc of Korea,” Korean Repository 1 (August 1892), 237–44, here 243). One Russian Orthodox priest, Khrisanf Schetkovskii (1869–1960) regarded northern Koreans as far more likely to embrace the Christian faith than Koreans from Seoul, who he regarded as timid, unargumentative and desperate to please, changing their beliefs “like gloves.” In contrast, Schetkovskii wrote, the northern Koreans that he had met were prideful, dignified, argumentative and free-minded. “One notes among the latter a strong tendency to the critical method of thinking; among the former—credulity and dullness,” he wrote (as quoted in German Kim and King, “Korea as Portrayed in Russian Sources,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 267). S. V. Nedachin, a Russian who had spent time in Korea, described the Koreans in 1913 as “a God-fearing people susceptible to Christian teaching,” and was “optimistic about the potential for the Orthodox church to attract new believers into its fold” (as quoted in German Kim and King, “Korea as Portrayed in Russian Sources,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 258). The American missionaries came away with the same feeling. Henry Appenzeller called the Koreans of the northwest “free and independent, full of energy and spirit” (Appenzeller 1902, 24). Rev. Graham Lee, another American missionary who would later become one of Moffett’s dearest friends, deemed northwesterners “more enterprising than Seoul Koreans” when he first visited the ancient northwestern capital two years later (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, December 22, 1892, Seoul (PHS 179/8/27)). Daniel Gifford, Moffett’s McCormick seminary classmate, offered a similar assessment, writing in 1897 after a trip to the northwest: “The people are handsome, spirited, energetic, with much force and strength of character, which makes them a power either for good or evil” (Gifford 1897, 6).
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“to occupy this point just as soon as it is possible,” he told his missions board in New York

NoteIn the meantime, Moffett proposed, the mission should appoint someone to visit Pyongyang three times a year from Seoul with a Korean evangelist, staying three or four weeks at a time to instruct the local believers; perhaps after a trip or two, Moffett added, the mission could buy a Korean house for roughly $300 to house the missionary on his journeys north and to serve as a permanent place of worship for the Pyongyang converts (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 15, 1890). By the time he left the city, Moffett had found just the place, a house of about 160 square feet that could be bought for about $300 or $400 (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, October 20, 1890, Seoul (PHS 179/8/8)). The board approved a $400 appropriation for this purpose, and though Moffett again examined the property during his second journey to Pyongyang a few months later and found that the property cost less than $400, “we have not yet a reliable man to put in charge” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 25, 1891, Eui Ju, Korea (PHS 179/8/14)).
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wilder, more uncouth, and more entrepreneurial than the Koreans they encountered elsewhere

NoteSeen from the other side, one Southern Presbyterian missionary from Tennessee, working in southwestern Korea, acknowledged the “marked difference” between northern and southern Koreans. The southern Korean, she wrote, “for many of his faults and weaknesses remind me of ye olde tyme Southern gentleman, of antebellum days. He has all the hospitality of our famed Southland. He will crowd out his own to take in the stranger” (Nisbet 1919, 79).
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his conviction that the northwest was where the missionaries ought to devote their attention

NoteAfter boarding a boat from Pyongyang down the Taedong River to Chinnamp’o (鎮南浦), Pyongyang’s traditional port town on the Yellow Sea—today known simply as Namp’o (南浦)—and then traveled down the western coast of the peninsula. Moffett rounded out his six-week trip with stops in Haeju and Kaesŏng (then known as Songdo) on the way back to Seoul (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, October 20, 1890).
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—“middle class” Koreans who he predicted would “become the ‘back-bone’ of new Korea”

NoteMoffett’s letter to Ellinwood doesn’t actually name Sorae, but rather the surrounding county of Chang’yŏn (長淵郡 Kor. Chang’yŏn-gun). Still, the two locations were close enough to be used interchangeably, with the name of Sorae being the far better-known one in Korean church history. Sorae (소래) is also known as Songch’ŏn (松川) (Chung-shin Park 2003, 123, n. 26; and 126). It was said that Sorae had been visited by Karl Gützlaff, the Prussian Protestant missionary who visited in 1832, and Robert Thomas, the Welsh missionary, in 1865 (Sherwood Hall 1978, 77–78; Rhodes 1934, 70–71; Baird 1968, 230–31; and Neff, “First Trip to Korea” (2013), 155). But, as it turns out, most of the believers that Moffett encountered in Sorae were fruits of the labor of a Scottish missionary in Manchuria named Rev. John Ross, of which more will be said in the coming paragraphs.
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to convert themselves to the faith, even before he and his colleagues could preach it to them

NoteSuch stories would become commonplace all over Korea during these early years. As the missionary Charles A. Clark passed through one town, he “noticed a flagstaff, such as churches have, set up in the courtyard of the village saloon. We stopped and asked the owner if there was a church there, and he said there was. On being questioned, he said no foreigners or helpers had been there, but that a certain man named Choi had gone up to Seoul and heard the doctrine in Dr. Gale’s church. He bought books, came back home told his neighbors what he had heard, and they formed themselves into a church, electing Mr. Choi as their ‘chairman.’ They met regularly every fifth day morning, market day, after all the trading was over, and they read the Bible and prayed as best they knew how. Poor, groping souls! eager for something, needing something, and yet not knowing what it was, and no one had yet come to teach them. They didn’t even know there was anything incongruous about prayer-meetings held in a saloon” (C. A. Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “Not Unpromising Now,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 10 (August 1906), 198–200, here 199). The Pyongyang missionary Charles F. Bernheisel described in April 1901 the baptism of an old husband and wife from a remote village about twenty miles outside of Pyongyang that had never been visited by a missionary, but who, with a translation of the Book of Matthew, “had studied & were led to believe. Their examinations were as clear as could be & showed what the Holy Spirit is doing for this people” (Bernheisel 2004, 333–34 (April 21, 1901, diary entry)).
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in Korea for roughly a century despite the best efforts of the Chosŏn court to snuff them out

NoteHorace N. Allen, in the first missionary letter to the Presbyterian foreign missions board on October 1, 1884, estimated the number of Catholic converts in Korea at twenty thousand, and reported a meeting just days earlier between U.S. minister Lucius Foote and seven French priests and a bishop, all of whom had come to see him in Seoul disguised as mourners, “wearing huge hats as large as an umbrella” (as quoted in Baird 1968, 12). When William Baird was itinerating near Andong, in southeastern Korea, shortly after his arrival in the country, one Korean, apparently mistaking Baird for a Catholic priest, prostrated himself before Baird; it was only when Baird said that he wasn’t a priest that the man got up (Baird 1968, 35).
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dozens of Protestant converts awaiting baptism in a village in the northwest—that is, in Sorae

NoteIt was, in fact, these Koreans that Moffett had stopped by Sorae to try and meet. For a reconstruction of the initial interaction between the Sorae Koreans and Horace Underwood, see Arch Campbell [Campbell, Archibald], The Christ of the Korean Heart (Berne, Ind.: Falco, 1954), 100–1. Rev. Jooseop Keum, a left-leaning South Korean church scholar, has thus contrasted what he describes as a more theologically conservative “Southern Route” for Protestantism into Korea, versus a more socially engaged “Northern Route” that he regards as more authentic. The “Northern Route,” Rev. Keum posits, came in through the Scottish Presbyterian missionary Rev. John Ross, who first spread the Christian gospel into Korea through the northwestern Korean merchants crossing the border into Manchuria. This breed of Protestantism emphasized self-propagation of the faith, a commitment to social reform and the earthy Korean dialect of the country’s oppressed northwest. In contrast, Rev. Keum argues, the “Southern Route” came through the aristocratic Rijutei and this contacts with the conservative American Presbyterians Underwood and Moffett, which was more reliant on foreign missionaries’ leadership and a prioritization of the hereafter over the here and now (Keum 2002, 42–49).
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“have become believers in Christ,” Moffett marveled in a letter after returning to Seoul

Note Moffett, in the same letter, described the conversion of some Koreans to Protestantism, apparently without the presence of any Protestant missionaries in the country, “one of the most remarkable works of grace known in foreign missions” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 27, 1891, Seoul (PHS 179/8/18)).
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Manchuria in 1872 as one of the first emissaries of the Christian gospel in northeastern China

NoteRev. John Ross (羅約翰 Ch. Luo Yuehan 1842–1915) was born on July 6, 1842, near the village of Balintore, north of Inverness, in northeastern Scotland (James H. Grayson, “The Legacy of John Ross,” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 23, no. 4 (October 1999), 167–72, here 167). Other sources have given slightly different details for his birth date and birthplace. For an obituary of Rev. Ross by the Korea missionaries, see R. T. T., “Rev. John Ross, D. D., of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 11 (November 1915), 314–15. For an image of John Ross, see Ross 1903, 192–93.  FROM SCOTLAND TO MANCHURIA: Ross, a member of the missions-focused United Presbyterian Church of Scotland, first decided to become a missionary after attending a talk for students in 1868, when he was sixteen years old; for three years, he debated with himself whether to focus his missionary efforts on Scotland’s own Gaelic community, or sail to India or China (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168). Ross was appointed a missionary in February 1872, when he was twenty-nine, ordained as a minister in March and married that same month (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168; and David J. Cho [Cho, Tong-jin], The Mission: Innovation from Westernization to De-Westernization and Then Globalization (Euiwang, Korea [Ŭiwang, South Korea]: East-West Center for Missions Research & Development, 2012), 538–40). In August 1872, Rev. Ross arrived at Yantai, then known as Chefoo, on China’s Shandong peninsula, but finding it well-populated with missionaries, set his sights on Manchuria almost immediately upon his arrival in Chefoo (M’Laren 1896, 20–21). The decision to relocate to Manchuria was made at the urging of Alexander Williamson (1820–1890), then the head of the Scottish Presbyterian mission in Chefoo; Rev. Williamson had already traveled to Manchuria and saw much promise there (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168). Thus, the very same month he arrived at Chefoo, Rev. Ross and his wife M. A. Stewart sailed for the Manchurian port city of Yingkou (營口), then known as Newchwang (牛莊 Ch. Niuzhuang), arriving on August 23, 1872 (M’Laren 1896, 20–21; Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168; and David Cho 2012, 538–40). Rev. Ross would prove so successful in Manchuria that, within a few years, the two men would disagree about whether to move their hub of missionary work to Manchuria from the Shandong peninsula; though Rev. Williamson resisted the move, Rev. Ross’s proposal eventually carried the day (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 169).   PIONEERS OF THE MANCHURIAN STEPPE: The missionary entry to Manchuria had been made possible by the Treaties of Tianjin of 1858, signed during the Second Opium War, which opened up Newchwang, among other port cities, to foreign trade and settlement. As Japanese scholar Hoshino Tokuji wrote decades later, describing the economic impact of the opening of Newchwang on Manchuria more generally, “the opening of Newchwang…opened, to begin with, this practically forbidden land to the world, in itself a great contribution. Secondly, it opened new markets for the Manchurian produce which resulted in a great development of the entire basin of the Liao” (Hoshino Tokuji, Economic History of Manchuria: Compiled in Commemoration of the Decennial of the Bank of Chosen (Seoul: Bank of Chosen, 1921), 23). For a thumbnail history of Newchwang’s history as a treaty port, see Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 16–23. At the time, Newchwang was the only city open to foreign residence in the Manchu homeland (M’Laren 1896, 28). As in Korea, however, foreigners could travel into the countryside with a passport (M’Laren 1896, 28). Though Rev. Ross was the first Scottish Presbyterian missionary to Manchuria, an Englishman, Rev. William C. Burns, had sailed from Tianjin for Newchwang five years earlier, in 1867, but he died just a few months after his arrival (M’Laren 1896, 9–10). When Rev. Ross’s wife, too, died shortly after the birth of their son Drummond Ross in February 1873 and shortly after the couple’s arrival in March 1873, she was buried next to Burns (M’Laren 1896, 28; and Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168). When Rev. Ross arrived in Newchwang, there was also an Irish Presbyterian medical missionary named Joseph M. Hunter there (M’Laren 1896, 21). The Irish and Scottish Presbyterian missions in Manchuria would eventually merge in 1891 (F. W. S. O’Neill [O’Neill, Frederick W. S.], The Call of the East: Sketches from the History of the Irish Mission to Manchuria, 1869–1919 (London: James Clarke, 1919), 32, footnote). French Catholic priests had also had a presence in Shenyang (then known as Mukden) for decades, arriving in 1838 and operating by the 1880s a cathedral, schools, orphanages, a seminary, and a nunnery (Christie 1914, 18–19). But though there were “distinctively Roman Catholic villages with many Christians of the fifth and sixth generations,” the priests generally steered clear of conspicuous proselytization work. “In the cities the priests do not seem to conduct any open aggressive propaganda, but come and go among their own people, and live quietly in their own compound, a little world in itself” (Christie 1914, 19).  “GRASP OF ELEVEN LANGUAGES”: When Rev. Ross arrived in 1872, “the attitude of the natives was strongly hostile” (Mott 1900, 80). But Rev. Ross had a gift for learning languages, and within a year of his arrival, the Scotsman was hosting chapel services in Chinese at his home for roughly thirty natives every day (M’Laren 1896, 28–29). At the same time, with the aid of a teacher, Rev. Ross had studied the classics of Confucianism, before moving to a Daoist village to try and understand the country’s second major religion (David Cho 2012, 454, 538). When Ross moved to Shenyang, he studied Buddhism, the country’s third major religion, under a local monk (David Cho 2012, 499–500). James H. Grayson, a Methodist missionary to Korea and a scholar of Korean religion at the University of Sheffield, praises Rev. Ross’s “grasp of eleven languages”—including his native Gaelic, English, Chinese, Manchu, and Korean—his contributions to Bible translation and to Western understandings of Chinese history and religion, particularly in Manchuria (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 167).   ROSS’S LEGACY: By 1910, Rev. Ross’s ill health had forced him to retire and return to Scotland in 1910; there, he attended the historic World Missionary Conference being held that year in Edinburgh (see Act I, Chapter 8). Splitting his retirement between Edinburgh and his home village of Balintore, he served as an elder at Edinburgh’s Mayfield United Free Church until his death in 1915, when he was buried in nearby Newington Cemetery (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 170). In 2006, Rev. Ross’s church—after a series of mergers now called Newington Trinity Church—unveiled a plaque in his honor, with Korean families in attendance (“The Revd Dr John Ross,” Newington Trinity Church website, April 23, 2025). Today, the church remains a pilgrimage site for many Chinese and South Korean Christians, with “many dropping in to pray, take photos, and shed moving tears of genuine thanksgiving” (Eric Foley, “Today’s Most Effective North Korean Missionary: A 19th Century Scot,” The Voice of the Martyrs Korea blog, November 12, 2019). On the Isle of Skye in northwestern Scotland, Portree Parish Church, where Ross had served prior to leaving for China as a missionary, a plaque was unveiled in his honor in June 2010, by the church and by Yŏngrak Presbyterian Church in Seoul, founded by Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, a native of northwestern Korea who became one of Korea’s most celebrated Presbyterian preachers of the twentieth century (see Act III, Chapter 25). Meanwhile, at East Gate Church (東關教會 Ch. Dongguan Kyohoe) in Shenyang, a plaque marks the location where Rev. Ross first undertook his Korean-language translation of the Bible. 
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“as was then practicable, with the object of seeing what could be done to introduce the gospel”

NoteMARKET TOWN: By the end of 1874, Ross had traveled around southern Manchuria and set up two mission stations deeper inland, finding himself impressed by the “intellect and power” of the people there (M’Laren 1896, 29). More significantly, Rev. Ross learned that there were thousands of migrants from the nearby kingdom of Chosŏn, living in the valleys of southern Manchuria, just north of the Yalu River that marked the frontier with Korea (M’Laren 1896, 125). Many more Koreans, though living in Chosŏn, were spending considerable time in China, smuggling ginseng, salt, timber, and other goods over the Yalu and across the Yellow Sea. When the prominent Presbyterian minister Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik moved to Sin’ŭiju in September 1933 to pastor a church there, he found that even then, many people living in the city were “directly and indirectly involved in smuggling,” the temptations of which were great given a persistent price differential between Sin’ŭiju and Andong, on the Chinese side of the Yalu (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 124). Rev. Ross, arriving at Fenghuangcheng (鳳凰城), “the last Chinese town on the way to Corea,” a town he estimated as having a population of twenty thousand and a brisk trade in the Chinese alcoholic spirit baijiu (Ross called it “samshoo”) (J. Ross [Ross, John], “Visit to the Corean Gate,” Chinese Recorder and Missionary Journal 5, no. 6 (November–December 1874), 347–54, here 347–49). Elsewhere, Ross describes the market trade as being centered around a jadelike green rock (Ross 1903, 17). Either way, the so-called “Corean Gate” was a tiny village with a building housing several customs officials and a gate through which the trade was to flow, and which could be locked at will. “Thus the collectors can at once close out the Corean and Chinese worlds,” Rev. Ross wrote (Ross, “Visit to the Corean Gate,” Chinese Recorder (1874), 350). From there, a long row of elm trees demarcated the dividing line between China and the no-man’s land that buffered Korea, though Ross, gazing southward, described the nearest Korean town as being some twenty li (roughly seven miles) from the Yalu River—and being visible from the neutral ground (Ross, “Visit to the Corean Gate,” Chinese Recorder (1874), 350–51). Ross described the market at the Gate of Korea being opened four times a year, for roughly half the year in total (Ross, “Visit to the Corean Gate,” Chinese Recorder (1874), 353–54).  “THEIR QUESTIONS WERE ENDLESS”: When Rev. Ross finally had a chance to meet the Koreans, he found them intensely curious about him—and reluctant to say anything about themselves and their government. “With the purpose of ascertaining as much about themselves and their country as possible, I permitted them the most perfect freedom in entering my room at the inn. They began to drop in at 8 A.M., and desisted only at 10 P.M., when they retired to rest. Naturally curious to see the ‘foreigner,’ and to learn what they could about western countries, their questions were endless. But in return for my abundant information to them, I got none” (John Ross, “The Christian Dawn in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World N.S. 3, no. 4 (April 1890), 241–48; O.S. 8, no. 4, here 241). Ross did, however, describe meeting an outlaw Korean who made a living selling quack Korean medicines, likely a reference to Yi Ŭng-ch’an, of whom more will be said shortly (Ross, “Visit to the Corean Gate,” Chinese Recorder (1874), 352–53).
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the Gate of Korea, where Chinese and Korean merchants gathered to trade several times a year

NoteIt took Ross seven days to reach the Gate of Korea, traveling due east by foot from his base at Newchwang (M’Laren 1896, 122). Rev. Ross himself writes that, “actuated by the double desire of becoming acquainted with the country east of Newchwang, and of ascertaining what could there be learned about the Coreans, I undertook a journey eastwards in the autumn of 1873, at the season of the principal fair of the year…Arriving early on Saturday afternoon, I went out, as was my wont, with bundles of books. The books were in great demand, and hundreds of Gospels and booklets were sold to the curious crowd” (Ross 1903, 16–17). Some sources say Rev. Ross first arrived at the Gate of Korea in October 1874, visiting again in April–May 1876 (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168; Timothy Lee 2010, 10; Pak, Hye-jin, “Paek Hong-jun (白鴻俊),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture; and Pak, Chae-ch’an, “The Historic Site of John Ross’ First Meeting with Citizens of Chosŏn” [“Chon Rosŭ ga Chosŏn-in Ch’ŏŭm Mannan Yŏksajŏk Hyŏnjang”], Kukmin Ilbo, July 4, 2017). The disparity can perhaps be explained by Martha Huntley, a Korea missions historian and South Korea missionary, who writes that Rev. Ross traveled to the border region in the fall of 1873 and again a year later; it was during the second visit that he encountered Yi Ŭng-ch’an, the Korean who would teach him and his colleague and brother-in-law John MacIntyre the Korean language (Huntley 1984, 44). Either way, Rev. Ross likely learned about the Gate of Korea from Rev. Alexander Williamson, the Scottish Presbyterian missionary in Yantai, who had traveled to the Gate of Korea in 1865 and 1867 to distribute tracts, finding the Koreans there eager to purchase the Bible booklets (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 11–12; David Cho 2012, 540; Timothy Lee 2010, 10; and Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168).   FROM THOMAS TO WILLIAMSON TO ROSS: A few years before his visit to the Gate of Korea, Rev. Williamson had spent a significant amount of time with Robert J. Thomas, the Welsh missionary who would die on his voyage to Pyongyang aboard the General Sherman in 1866. Williamson and Thomas had sailed together from England to China, and Thomas had lived with Williamson in Shanghai. In Yantai, Thomas introduced two Korean Catholics to Williamson (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 101; and Yun Kyŏng-no [Yun, Kyŏng-ro], “The Relationship Between Korean Catholics and Korean Protestants in the Early Mission Period,” trans. Yi Sun-ja, in Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], ed., Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Korean Scholar Press, 1996), 7–37, here 8–9). Williamson, in his memoirs, describes some of his earliest encounters with the Korean embassy to Beijing, returning home through Manchuria in April 1866: “They said they had some of our religious books and knew a little of their doctrine, and I offered them some more; the chief man refused them, politely telling the great lie that ‘he did not understand the Chinese characters’; but some of the others accepted them. They would have a difficulty in getting them smuggled through the Corean gate; but, if in earnest, no doubt they would succeed” (Williamson 1870, 134). In October 1867, traveling with his brother James towards the Gate of Korea, Williamson described landscapes that “resembled…the Highlands of Scotland; so much so as sometimes to startle us by its likeness” (Williamson 1870, 179). Arriving at the market, which was open at the time, they distributed their books, which found a generally welcome reception, though “some sent their servants back after our carts to return them” (Williamson 1870, 180). “The Coreans were curiosities themselves, with their conical wire hats, their white linen, cotton and silk robes, and other varieties of costume,” he wrote (Williamson 1870, 181–82). When he got there, Williamson struggled for some time to find the famous “Gate of Korea” and the palisades that marked off the no-man’s land around Korea. He was disappointed to find that the Gate of Korea was “a small house with an opening through it, at the end of the street, not larger than a labourer’s cottage” (Williamson 1870, 182). As for “the grand palisades so obtrusively marked in the maps,” Williamson found “a few stakes of wood about three feet high, intertwined with some kind of willow, and which extended only a few yards on the north and south of the house” (Williamson 1870, 182). Williamson learned that the market was opened three times a year—on the third, ninth, and twelfth months of the Chinese calendar (Williamson 1870, 183). He also learned from the Koreans that there were two other “gates” where commerce with Chinese was permitted—one near Hunchun, on Korea’s northeastern border with China, and a third, the location of which Williamson doesn’t give except to say that it was “now hardly anything else than a military station” (Williamson 1870, 310). In 1869, three years after Robert Thomas’s death in Pyongyang in 1866, Williamson’s younger brother James, who was attached to the London Missionary Society, was murdered near Tianjin in August 1869 (Williamson 1870, 92, footnote). Williamson also later argued for the U.S. and U.K. militaries to send a naval force to forcibly open Korea, and “use the power God has given them to open up countries which are stupidly and ignorantly closed against them like Corea” (Williamson 1870, 310–12). Also cited in Sangdo Choi 2012, 79. Williamson thus served as a link between John Ross and his pioneering missionary efforts, and the ill-fated journey of Robert Thomas aboard the General Sherman. See also William Canton, A History of the British and Foreign Bible Society, Volume 5 (London: John Murray, 1910), 214.
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to proceed farther, Rev. Ross settled for convincing a Korean man to teach him the language

NoteBEYOND HERE LIES NOTHIN’: At the Gate of Korea, one of Ross’s colleagues later wrote, “here every obstacle was put in the way of his farther progress. He was not allowed to cross the river Ya-lu, and enter the forbidden land. He found that there were officers stationed at stated distances all along the river, to prevent any person crossing the frontier by day or night. He could not even hire a boat to sail on the river, in order to get a better view of the unknown country” (M’Laren 1896, 122). Even a decade later in 1884, when John Ross’s colleague Dugald Christie traveled through the Manchurian countryside, he could get no further than the Yalu River (Christie 1914, 66–68). As Christie writes, the Koreans were just about the only foreigners who the Manchurians had regularly encountered, though the attitude was largely one of contempt. “Everyone knew and despised the Koreans, and most people in the towns had also some idea that there was another country beyond Korea called Japan, inhabited by a race of dwarfs, who, of course, must also be under the suzerainty of the ‘Son of Heaven’” (Dugald 1914, 83). Indeed, most Manchurians didn’t give so much as a thought to the Hermit Kingdom: “The Korean border was not two hundred miles away from Moukden, but no one in Manchuria cared what happened there” (Dugald 1914, 84).  FROM LANGUAGE CLASSES TO BAPTISM: With no further progress possible, Rev. Ross searched for a man to teach him Korean; by then, Rev. Ross, having acquired basic skills in Chinese and Manchu, decided that the most promising route to evangelizing Korea was by translating the New Testament into Korean (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168). Finding a Korean who was willing to teach him the language was no easy task. As Ross himself wrote in 1878, “while yet strangers Coreans are unwilling to acknowledge the existence of a written national language, always declaring that they write only Chinese; and when it is known to exist they are unwilling to teach it, and more unwilling to write words in it. This is of course because of their jealousy of foreigners, and their fear that the latter are yearning to acquire their hilly lands” (John Ross, “The Corean Language,” The China Review, or, Notes and Queries on the Far East 6, no. 6 (May–June 1878), 395–403, here 396). “The people even denied having any language or literature of their own, so afraid were they of the consequences,” one of Ross’s colleagues later recounted (M’Laren 1896, 123). The man that Ross eventually convinced was in dire straits; his name was Yi Ŭng-ch’an (李應贊 ?–?), and he was a Korean merchant from the northwestern Korean border city of Ŭiju (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 168; David Cho 2012, 538–40; and Palmer 1967, 73). Yi was deep in debt after a shipment of goods he was transporting across a river capsized (Ross, “Christian Dawn in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World (1890), 242; M’Laren 1896, 123; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 56). Yi was desperate enough to agree to work as Ross’s Korean-language helper—provided they met at night and somewhere away from town (M’Laren 1896, 123; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 56)., Yi was eventually baptized by John Ross’s brother-in-law, Rev. John MacIntyre, and is believed by some scholars to be the first Korean Protestant (Huntley 1984, 44; and Timothy Lee 2010, 11). In fact, Rev. MacIntyre likely baptized four Koreans in Shenyang in 1876: Yi Ŭng-ch’an, Paek Hong-jun (白鴻俊 1848–1893), Yi Sŏng-ha (李盛夏or 李成夏 ?–?), and Kim Chin-gi (金鎮基 ?–?) (Moffett, “Our Korean Evangelists,” Church at Home and Abroad (1892), 142–44); Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS); Wi Jo Kang 1997, 11–12; Timothy Lee 2010, 11; “Paek Hong-jun,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture; and Chu Ch’ae-yong, “A History of the Protestant Church in Korea from a New Perspective,” in Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], ed., Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Korean Scholar Press, 1996), 145–59, here 145). MacIntyre, a native of Baillieston, just outside of Glasgow, reached Yantai in January 1872 (M’Laren 1896, 17). MacIntyre had become Ross’s brother-in-law by marrying Ross’s sister Catherine, who had hurried out to Yingkou (then known as Newchwang) in 1873 to care for Ross’s newly motherless baby (M’Laren 1896, 39). Within four years, the Scottish Presbyterian mission in Manchuria had grown by another four colleagues, and the widower Ross had remarried (M’Laren 1896, 38).  PAEK HONG-JUN: Paek Hong-jun was a minor Korean official in Ŭiju who first learned of the Christian religion during a chance encounter with the Scottish missionaries while on a visit to Mukden in the early 1870s. Originally, Paek was so intrigued by the missionaries’ tallow candles that he took one back to Korea with him—along with copies of portions of the New Testament translated into Chinese. Captivated by the Christian scriptures, Paek soon gathered around him several friends who studied the texts with him. Two or three years later, in 1876, Paek returned to Mukden with three of his friends and, after a few days, the four men were baptized by Rev. MacIntyre, making them the first Koreans to receive the rite as Protestants (Moffett, “Our Korean Evangelists,” Church at Home and Abroad (1892), 142–44). Also given in Oak 2011, 292–94. From then on, Paek effectively became a missionary to his own people, smuggling Christian books and tracts into Ŭiju; twice at the border, Paek was imprisoned, beaten, and threatened with death (Moffett, “Our Korean Evangelists,” Church at Home and Abroad (1892), 142–44). Another source says that Paek penetrated into Ŭiju, Sakju, and Kanggye in 1883, winning over about ten believers and holding what is believed to be the first Protestant meeting in Korea (“Paek Hong-jun,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). When Horace Underwood and a visiting John Ross gathered a group of Korean believers in Seoul in September 1887, Paek was made an elder alongside the pioneering Korean Christian Sŏ Sang-yun, of which more will be said; it was at Paek’s invitation that Horace Underwood traveled to Ŭiju in 1889 for his honeymoon to baptize thirty-three Koreans in the Yalu River (The Saemoonan Presbyterian Church Historical Archives, 2nd ed. (Seoul: Saemoonan Presbyterian Church Historical Archives, 2011), 5; Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 40; Shearer 1966, 86; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 66). Paek Hong-jun would later become one of Samuel Moffett’s first assistants, guiding Moffett and Gale on their 1891 trip through northwestern Korea; he was arrested in 1892 by Min Pyŏng-sŏk, the governor of P’yŏng’an province, and died in prison the next year in his mid-forties (“Paek Hong-jun,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture).
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“Korean valleys” of southern Manchuria, where thousands of Korean migrants had settled

NoteTRANSLATING THE NEW TESTAMENT: As Rev. Ross picked up the language, he and Yi Ŭng-ch’an began translating, with the help of other Koreans, portions of the New Testament into Korean (Ross, “Christian Dawn in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World (1890), 242–44; David Cho 2012, 538–40; and Baird 1968, 51). In addition to Yi Ŭng-ch’an, four other Koreans worked with Rev. Ross on the translation: Paek Hong-jun, Kim Chin-gi, Yi Sŏng-ha and Sŏ Sang-yun—that is, the first baptized Koreans (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 7). One source describes Ross and his Korean partners starting with the Gospel of Luke, which soon became a source of curiosity. “Rumors of a special book being printed in Manchuria reached Seoul and underlings attached to the annual embassy bringing tribute to the Chinese court soon began dropping in to check on its progress,” writes one historian of the Korea mission (Huntley 1984, 44). When Rev. Ross headed home to Scotland on furlough in 1879, he brought with him translations of the first six books of the New Testament (M’Laren 1896, 123). With funding from some friends at home, along with the Bible Society of Scotland, Ross printed thousands of copies of the Gospels of Luke and John in Korean (M’Laren 1896, 123–24; and R. T. T., “Rev. John Ross,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 314). “In 1881 the gospels of St. Luke, and St. John, the first gospels to be printed in Korean, came from the press. This was followed by Acts in 1883 and in 1887 the whole New Testament was published” (R. T. T., “Rev. John Ross,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 314). The first Korean translation of the New Testament was published through the British and Foreign Bible Society in 1887 (Hugh Miller, “A Visit to West Kando,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 11 (November 1918), 227–30, here 227). Ross also published a Korean-language textbook, one of the first, in 1877, and wrote a history of Korea that was published two years later (R. T. T., “Rev. John Ross,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 314; and David Cho 2012, 499–500). In all, Yi Ŭng-ch’an was said to have helped Ross with translating and publishing the Corean Primer (1877), The Corean Language (1878), the Bible Catechism (耶穌聖教問答 Kor. Yesu Sŏnggyo Mundap) (1881), and Outline of the New Testament (耶穌聖教要領 Kor. Yesu Sŏnggyo Yo’ryŏng) (1881) (Timothy Lee 2010, 10–11). For a full list of Ross’s published works, see Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 172.  SENDING THE BIBLE INTO THE “KOREAN VALLEYS”: As historian James H. Grayson writes: “The importance of the Ross version of the New Testament in the history of the Korean church cannot be overstated. Portions of it circulated in the Korean communities in Manchuria and in the Korean peninsula well before the arrival of foreign missionaries in 1884 and 1885; and it was the only complete translation of the New Testament until 1906” (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 169; and Grayson 2002, 156). Korean farmers had begun crossing the Yalu River into Manchuria in large numbers during the mid-nineteenth century, despite prohibitions by the Qing Manchu rulers of China, driven by famine and taxation (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 33). By 1872, the number of Koreans that had settled around the Hun River (渾江 Ch. Hunjiang), on the north side of the Yalu River, had reached around seven thousand, many of them having fled during a famine in 1869 and 1970 and who had adopted Qing hairstyle and clothing, earning the derisive nickname of “fake Qing subjects” (假胡 Ch. jiahu, Kor. kaho) (Seonmin Kim 2017, 139). Upon his return from furlough in the early 1880s to Shenyang, where Ross had now relocated, the Scotsman began training Korean converts as evangelists; one convert, who had been baptized in Mukden, was supplied with the translated gospels and tracts and sent home to the “Korean valleys” of southern Manchuria (M’Laren 1896, 38–39, 125; and Oak 2013, 245). When the man returned to Mukden several months later, he had not only succeeded in selling the books, but reported that a number of the villagers in the “Korean valleys” wanted to be baptized. Delighted, Rev. Ross sent the man back into the Korean valleys with more gospels and tracts (M’Laren 1896, 125–26). The Scottish Presbyterian missionaries in Manchuria also found great success more generally with the Chinese population in the northeast, owing to the influx of migrants from other parts of the country. In a remark that could apply as much to the Korean converts in Manchuria as the Chinese believers, the Scottish missionary Dugald Christie wrote in 1914: “Men who have been transplanted from various parts of China do not naturally hold on firmly to their old local superstitions and beliefs. Where so many experiences in life are new, a new religion does not seem so impossible” (Christie 1914, 74–75). The prospects were so bright that, in 1875, Ross’s brother-in-law Rev. John MacIntyre, who was working as a missionary at Yantai (then known as Chefoo), crossed the Bohai Sea to join Ross in the growing work in Manchuria, throwing himself into the translation work (M’Laren 1896, 30, 123).
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on the Korean peninsula—including in Sorae, where one of Rev. Ross’s translators had settled

NoteAmong the residents of Sorae were a pair of self-taught, orphaned brothers—Sŏ Sang-yun (徐相崙 1848–1926) and Sŏ Sang-u (徐相佑 1852–1938), later known as Sŏ Kyŏng-jo (徐景炸)—who had been earning a living in the early 1870s conducting smuggling operations in the Sino-Korean border region, before their conversion to Christianity (Baird 1968, 51–52). The description of the Sŏ brothers and other Korean converts having “kindled a flame” is from Norman Whittemore, a Presbyterian missionary in northwestern Korea (N. C. Whittemore [Whittemore, Norman C.], “The Call of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 12 (December 1913), 326–29, here 326). For a short account of Sŏ Sang-yun’s early encounters with the missionaries and his pioneering role in spreading the Christian gospel, see Timothy Lee 2010, 11–12.  FROM CONVERTS TO EVANGELISTS: The self-taught Sŏ brothers boasted a dramatic conversion story. When elder brother Sŏ Sang-yun was stricken by a serious illness during a trip to China, he sought treatment from the missionaries in Shenyang. Rev. MacIntyre visited Sŏ frequently in the hospital, and asked him to read the scriptures with him, but Sŏ had refused; after he was discharged without any medical fees, Sŏ “became ashamed of his former refusal” and started reading the literature that Macintyre had given him—a copy of the Christian scriptures, translated into Chinese. As Sŏ read, he found himself intrigued and, shortly thereafter, in 1876, returned to Mukden to be baptized by John Ross (Moffett, “Our Korean Evangelists,” Church at Home and Abroad (1892), 142–44; Baird 1968, 51–52; and David Cho 2012, 540–42). At some point, Sŏ Sang-yun, who had helped Rev. Ross translate the first Korean New Testament in the 1870s, began slipping into Korea to distribute copies of the translated texts, in a foreshadowing of a practice that continues today in and out of North Korea (Baird 1968, 51–52). In 1883, however, Sŏ was discovered at the border crossing on the Yalu River with translated sections of the New Testament, and imprisoned and threatened with death; as fate would have it, two old friends, now prison wardens, intervened to help him escape (Ellasue Wagner, “Through the Hermit’s Gate with Suh Sang Yun,” Korea Mission Field 34, no. 5 (May 1938), 93–96, here 94–95). See also Palmer 1967, 73; and M’Laren, E.C. 1896, 126. Another version of the story has three Koreans from Ŭiju crossing the Yalu River to study Chinese medicine from a teacher who, it turned out, was a Christian. The teacher handed the Korean students a copy of the Book of Luke, and soon became Christians. But while trying to bring copies of the Bible back into Korea, two of them were caught and beheaded, so the third unbound his Bible and used it as a rope on his return to Korea (David Cho 2012, 497). As one missionary wrote of the dangerous task: “Some of the unbound books were tied up in bundles, as used up official papers were, and carried into Korea by traders from Moukden and of this Dr. Ross wrote to the British and Foreign Bible Society, which bore the expense of this pioneer work: ‘This work is at present not altogether free from risk’” (R. T. T., “Rev. John Ross,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 315). Some 140 years later, missionaries in South Korea have republished an updated version of Rev. Ross’ translation of the Gospel of Luke (路加福音全書 Kor. Nuga Pok’ŭm Chŏnsŏ) and smuggled it into North Korea (Eric Foley, “The Ross Bible Re-Enters North Korea 140 Years After It First Arrived,” The Voice of the Martyrs Korea blog, May 30, 2023).  TO SORAE (AND SEOUL): Seeing the need to keep a low profile, Sŏ Sang-yun and his younger brother Sŏ Sang-u relocated at some point to the isolated coastal village of Sorae, in Chang’yŏn county, Hwanghae province, with the help of their smuggling network (Baird 1968, 51–52). Once there, they likely used this network to keep in touch with the Scottish missionaries in Mukden (Baird 1968, 230–31). The arrival of the Sŏ brothers in Sorae led to nearly the entire town converting to the new foreign faith and setting up a church in 1883, telling their fellow villagers: “We have found the Messiah” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 11–12; Brown 1919, 510; and David Cho 2012, 540–42). Thus, this remote village became, improbably, the “cradle of Protestant Christianity in Korea” (Paik 1929, 139; Sherwood Hall 1978, 77–78; and Baird 1968, 51–52). The church in Sorae asked John Ross to travel to their village to officiate a baptism ceremony there, though that never came to pass (David Chung 2001, 14). Around 1885, Sŏ Sang-yun, who was regularly making the roughly hundred-mile journey from Sorae to Seoul to furtively sell copies of his Christian books, tracked down the recently-arrived missionary Horace Underwood, who was stunned to learn that there were dozens of eager Korean believers waiting in a remote coastal village waiting to be baptized (Moffett, “Our Korean Evangelists,” Church at Home and Abroad (1892), 142–44; and Baird 1968, 51–52). Underwood, cautious about running afoul of government prohibitions against traveling into the interior, demurred. In 1887, Sŏ Sang-yun returned to Seoul, this time making the 220-mile journey with some companions. John Ross, who Sŏ had been urging for years to visit Seoul, also made the journey to the Korean capital, where the Scottish missionary, together with Underwood and Heron, took the Korean men into Underwood’s home and questioned them about their knowledge about the Christian faith, before baptizing one of them and electing two as church elders (Horace G. Underwood, “The ‘To-day’ from Korea,” Missionary Review of the World, N.S. 6, no. 11 (November 1893), 813–18, here 816–17, O.S. 16, no. 11; Ross, “Christian Dawn in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World (1890), 246–248; Paul S. Cha [Ch’a, Sŏng-gwang], “Unequal Partners, Contested Relations: Protestant Missionaries and Korean Christians, 1884–1907,” Journal of Korean Studies 17, no. 1 (Spring 2012), 5–37, here 13; and Shearer 1966, 43). Underwood was so secretive about the ceremony that it took place behind closed doors, with Homer Hulbert standing guard at the door (David Suh 1991, 28; Huntley 1984, 44, citing John W. Heron letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, September 1887). “I accompanied him and his medical colleague, when the darkness had fairly enmantled the city. Crossing the wide main streets, which, like all those eastern city streets, are unlit, we were guided by a Korean, with a small lantern, among narrow lanes till at last we were ushered into a small, open courtyard, whose gate was opened to our knock. A gentle tapping at a paper window secured our entry into a room, where we found a company of fourteen well dressed, intelligent-looking men,” Ross recounted three years later. “One of these was baptized that night, but the principal business was the election by the others of two men to be their elders”—that is, Sŏ Sang-yun and Paek Hong-jun (Ross, “Christian Dawn in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World (1890), 247). Ross’s 1890 article was reprinted in John Ross, “The Christian Dawn in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 33, no. 7 (July 1937), 134–39. That evening, September 27, 1887, is now regarded as the founding of what would become Saemun’an Church (새門안教會 Kor. Saemun’an Kyohoe)— the first Presbyterian church in Seoul, and one that still stands today as among the largest in the South Korean capital (see Saemoonan Presbyterian Church Historical Archives 2011, 5, 7). On the trip, Ross recounts being told there were more than three hundred believers in the city (Ross, “Christian Dawn in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World (1890), 246–248).  A CHRISTIAN LEGACY: Though Underwood was willing to baptize in Seoul, he declined his Korean visitors’ request to travel to Sorae. When, months later, yet another convert from Sorae sought out Underwood for baptism, and urged him to travel to Sorae, the missionary finally relented, applied for a passport, and headed out with medical supplies and tracts. He spent a week in Sorae, preaching, praying, and baptizing four more men (Horace Underwood, “The ‘To-day’ from Korea,” Missionary Review of the World (1893), 816–17; Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 13; Timothy Lee 2010, 11–12; Baird 1968, 51–52; and Shearer 1966, 43). Underwood later described the Sorae believers as people “tempered with the Christian spirit” (Huntley 1984, 44, citing Horace G. Underwood letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 29, 1887). In the fall of 1890, Moffett, making the return journey on his first journey to Pyongyang, passed through Sorae. In 1895, Underwood returned to Sorae to dedicate a new church building on July 3—the first built and paid for entirely by Koreans (Baird 1968, 14, 51-52). In subsequent years, Sŏ, “naturally cheerful, with a bright sparkle in his eye,” would come to serve as Moffett’s “chief helper in all work,” serving over the years “in almost every possible capacity” (Moffett, “Our Korean Evangelists,” Church at Home and Abroad (1892), 142–44; and Baird 1968, 52). The younger brother, by then known as Sŏ Kyŏng-jo, was baptized in 1887 in Seoul, and in 1907 became one of Korea’s first seven ordained Presbyterian pastors (Huntley 1984, 45–46).
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up churches of their own; there, the two Scottish missionaries baptized seventy-five Koreans

NoteOther sources give slightly different numbers and dates (see Whittemore, “Call of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field (1913), 326; Wi Jo Kang 1997, 11–12; David Cho 2012, 499–500; and “Paek Hong-jun,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Rev. Ross, having learned of a remarkable revival taking place in the Korean valleys of southern Manchuria, embarked on a trip there in December 1884 with another Scottish missionary, Rev. James Webster; they arrived at their first village to a generous reception from roughly thirty native Koreans (M’Laren 1896, 126–27). Upon returning home early in 1885, the two men could but “stand still and see the salvation of God,” as Webster put it (as quoted in M’Laren 1896, 127). In the summer of 1885, Ross had baptized another twenty-five men (Oak 2013, 245–46). Over the next decade, John Ross baptized “probably…several hundred Koreans” (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)). On a return trip to the Korean valleys in 1897–1898, the missionaries found “over 600 heads of families who professed to be Christians…Some had been waiting for seven or eight years for admission to the Christian church and offered to pay for teachers if they could be sent to them” (R. T. T., “Rev. John Ross,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 315). In December 1898, another missionary, a Scottish Presbyterian based in Manchuria named J. Miller Graham, described an itinerating trip to the Korean valleys, where he found “many inquirers” at a placed called Wangqingmen (“Wang-ching-men”), at “the old boundary of what used to be No-man’s-Land, or the buffer territory between Koreans and Chinese.” In Tonghua on Christmas Day that year, the missionaries baptized thirty-three Chinese and six Koreans (J. Miller Graham, East of the Barrier, or, Side Lights on the Manchuria Mission (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1902), 115–17). Traveling further into the Korean valleys, they found large pockets of Koreans that had never been visited by foreigners, but where whole groups of them were “bonâ fide inquirers into the ‘doctrine’” (Graham 1902, 118–19). The missionaries were also astonished to find the Koreans building a church of their own (M’Laren 1896, 127). Several sources place one Korean church being constructed sometime in the mid 1880s in a village near the city of Ji’an, the site of the ancient capital of the Koguryŏ dynasty on the northern shores of the Yalu River (David Cho 2012, 540–42). The church may have been built by Kim Ch’ŏng-song (金青松 ?–?), a seller of medicine in the Korean valleys who was baptized in Shenyang in 1882 by the Scottish missionaries (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 58).
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translations of the Bible freely circulating in southern Manchuria—and on the Korean peninsula

NoteTRANSLATING TRACTS: The first Chinese translation of the Bible was published in 1823, and by 1870, around the time that the first Koreans were encountering Christian missionaries in China, roughly eight hundred Christian tracts and books had been published in Chinese, including The Pilgrim’s Progress—all of which were in circulation through traveling book peddlers, and all of which could be read and understood by educated Koreans (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 54–55). There is little question that these translations had an impact; in China, The Pilgrim’s Progress, translated into Chinese in 1853, was a favorite of Hong Xiuquan, whose Taiping Heavenly Kingdom controlled large swaths of Qing China in the mid-nineteenth century (Spence 1996, 280–82). Yonsei University scholar Michael Kim describes how Christian books published in China had reached Korea well before Korea’s first modern treaty in 1876 (Michael Kim, “The Trouble with Christian Publishing: Yun Ch’iho (1865–1945) and the Complexities of Cultural Nationalism in Colonial Korea,” Journal of Korean Religions 9, no. 2 (October 2018), 139–72, here 142). As historian Sung-Deuk Oak notes, by 1875, some eight hundred Chinese Protestant tracts had been published, rising to more than a thousand in 1890, many of which found their way into Korea. One of the tracts brought into Korea by Rev. Ross and widely circulated among early converts was Evidences of Christianity (天道溯源, Ch. Tiandao suyuan, Ko. Ch’ŏndo sowŏn), published in 1855 by Rev. William A. P. Martin (1827–1916), an Indiana Presbyterian who had studied theology at the New Albany Theological Seminary, later McCormick Theological Seminary, graduating in 1849—thirty-nine years before Samuel Moffett. Rev. Martin’s tract was also influential with Korean converts in Japan, including Rijutei (Yi Su-jŏng) and Kim Ok-gyun. “Chinese Protestant literature prepared the ground for the rapid growth of Protestantism in Korea by explaining Protestantism to Koreans in terms congenial to them” (Sung-Deuk Oak [Ok, Sŏng-dŭk], “Chinese Protestant Literature in Early Korean Protestantism,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr., and Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), 72–93, here 72–74). In May 1883, one Korean man—a Pyongyang native named Ryu Ch’un-ch’ŏn—brought about a thousand copies of the translated Gospels of Luke and John to sell in Pyongyang, before the arrival of the first missionaries, according to one source (see Yu Kwan-ji, “P’yŏngyang Chikhal-si: Uri ŭi Sion” [Pyongyang City: Our Zion], Kidokgyo Sasang [Christian Thought] 702 (June 2017), 162–70, here 164–65). In 1892, Samuel Moffett translated one tract, Scottish Congregationalist missionary William Milne’s Dialogues Between Two Friends Zhang and Yuan (張袁兩友相論 Ch. Zhang-Yuan Liangyou Xianglun), which had been a best-selling tract in China for many years, and which proved a success In Korea, too, where its fourth edition published in 1905 (see Oak in Buswell and Lee 2006, 79).   A FLOOD OF TRACTS: Between 1882 and 1887, writes one scholar, translations of the Gospel of Luke, Acts, and eventually the entire New Testament, circulated in Korean homes (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 29). Between 1883 and 1886, no fewer than 15,690 copies of John Ross’s translation of the Christian gospels had made it into Korea, “made up into bundles, unbound, they might be carried into the country without detection,” according to the missionary Hugh Miller (as quoted in Davis 1910, 53–54). By the missionaries’ calculations, there were roughly 29,000 translations of the Bible in circulation in the country in 1902, by which time the entire New Testament and much of the Old Testament had been translated (Appenzeller 1902, 33).  AUTODIDACT BIBLE CONVERTS: Rev. John Ross was enthusiastic about handing out Chinese translations of the Christian scriptures and tracts to whoever would accept them. The texts appear to have gotten around, for not long thereafter, two Koreans showed up in Newchwang looking for Rev. Ross, seeking to learn more of what they called the “doctrine” (M’Laren 1896, 122–23). The Scottish missionaries in Manchuria would regularly hear from far-flung Christian communities who were carrying on their own worship without any guidance or help from the missionaries. “It was most curious to see men coming daily from remote regions asking for some one to go and instruct them in the ‘Jesus doctrine,’ for ‘they had learned as much as they could without a teacher’” (Bishop 1898, 202). In 1900, the missionaries of Pyongyang station reported discovering two new groups in remote valleys, where the missionaries had never been but where local converts had already set up their own buildings and begun meeting regularly for worship (Baird 1968, 126, citing Pyongyang Station Report for 1900). ((CITE ORIGINAL)) It’s unclear when the first Protestant church was established in Korea—that is, south of the Yalu River. Sorae has a good claim on the title, though others were founded around this period as these early Korean believers in Manchuria brought the Christian message over the Yalu River. In Ŭiju, where Paek Hong-jun and Yi Sŭng-ha, another of the first converts and Bible translators, had begun sharing the gospel as early as 1879, a small congregation of eighteen Korean believers had established a church by 1885 in the northwestern border city (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 58). Sometime in the early 1880s, a separate group of Korean believers had set up a congregation in Ch’osan (楚山), in the modern-day North Korean province of Chagang, roughly eighty miles upriver from Ŭiju on the Yalu (David Cho 2012, 500). As noted elsewhere, during his first two weeks in Pyongyang in the fall of 1890, Moffett had found three baptized men in the city, as well as three other “reported believers” and friends of these initial six converts (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 15, 1890). When Horace and Lillias Underwood passed through Ŭiju on their honeymoon in 1889, they found roughly a hundred Koreans who had been instructed by the Sŏ brothers and who were eager to be baptized, though the Underwoods found, upon examining them, that many of them “had no inkling of what Christianity really is” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86). Ultimately, the newlyweds accepted thirty-three of the men for baptism, taking them across the river to China to be baptized (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86; Oak 2013, 227; Baird 1968, 232; Sherwood Hall 1978, 86; and Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)). The baptism service, “a very solemn and deeply felt occasion to us,” was the largest batch of baptisms that the Underwoods had ever overseen, “or after that, for some years” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86–87). When the Underwoods returned to Pyongyang eleven years later in September 1900 for the first time since their honeymoon, they were blown away by what Lillias Underwood described as “the wonderful evidences of the power and goodness of God.” She added: “How could we ever shrink or doubt, or fear again, or do aught but ascribe ‘glory and honor, dominion and power, to him who sits upon the throne and to the lamb for ever’” (Underwood 1904, 231). Thus, about a century after the first Koreans converted to Catholicism, the Protestant faith entered Korea in the late nineteenth century in much the same way: traveling Korean officials and merchants from northwest Korea, bringing the message back to their closed country. In fact, the path that Protestant Christianity followed into Korea was the same one through which Buddhism, Confucianism, Daoism, and Roman Catholicism had earlier been transmitted from China (Oak in Buswell and Lee 2006, 73).
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ambitious three-month trip in which Moffett would survey all of northern Korea, his new parish

NoteMoffett had learned about John Ross’s activity among the Korean people in Manchuria prior to embarking on his first trip to Pyongyang in the fall of 1890. In fact, Moffett was motivated to make that journey to the northwest in part because of what he had heard about Rev. Ross’s work. Before setting out for his trip, Moffett wrote Frank Ellinwood in New York that “Ping An is our most promising province as most of the work of Mr. Ross & of the colporteurs has been done there” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 24, 1890). The work of John Ross and his brother-in-law John MacIntyre was so successful that, by the 1890s, it was not just attracting the attention of Moffett, Underwood, and the Korea missionaries. For Western advocates of a vigorous global missions campaign, Manchuria by this point was being held up as a quintessential success story for missionaries around the world—evidence that, through just a small handful of devoted missionaries, God could bring salvation, within a single generation, to a land three times as large as the British Isles (Mott 1900, 79). John Mott, the American missions crusader, cited statistics showing just three converts in Manchuria in 1873, when the work was new, reaching four thousand baptized church members by 1895 and nineteen thousand by the end of 1899 (Mott 1900, 81). By 1899, Mott notes, referring to the Songhua River: “In all Manchuria south of the Sungari River no large town and but few hamlets remain untouched by the Gospel” (Mott 1900, 83). “Who can doubt,” Mott wrote, that “in Manchuria such a people could be evangelized within a generation?” (Mott 1900, 85) Rev. Ross died in Edinburgh on August 7, 1915, having retired five years earlier (R. T. T., “Rev. John Ross,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 314).
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missionary James Gale and two pack-ponies loaded with blankets, books, and other supplies

NoteAlso joining Moffett and Gale was the early Korean convert Sŏ Sang-yun, a servant boy that they called “Keumdoli,” and a feisty little terrier. The pack-ponies, meantime, were so loaded down “that scarce anything could be seen of them but the eight legs beneath,” Gale wrote (J. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “To the Yaloo and Beyond (I),” Korean Repository 1 (January 1892), 17–24, here 17–18). For James Gale’s humorous ode to the Korean pony, see Jas. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “The Korean Pony,” Korean Repository 2 (May 1895), 176–181. See also Nisbet 1919, 21. Gale, meanwhile, described Sŏ Sang-yun, revered in the South Korean church today as a pioneering convert, as “a Korean of considerable talent and culture…awe-inspiring” and dignified. “His monstrously padded clothes, and huge black spectacles gave him the appearance of a double-eyed Cyclop” (Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (I),” Korean Repository (1892), 17–18). On this wintry journey, the men covered roughly 350 miles on foot, preaching the Christian message in every city, town and village along the way (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 25, 1891).  JAMES SCARTH GALE: By the time of their trip, Moffett and Gale, a year apart in age and both bachelors in the field, had become best of friends (Rutt 1983, 19). James Scarth Gale (1863–1937), a native of Alma, Ontario, about sixty miles west of Toronto, was a student at the University of Toronto in the 1880s when he was inspired by a talk by a visiting Dwight L. Moody, according to his biographer C. Richard Rutt (1925–2011) (Rutt 1983, 7). In 1887, Gale was further inspired by a visit from Robert P. Wilder and John N. Forman, the two Princeton missions evangelists, who capitalized on “a great wave of missionary volunteer enthusiasm” already stirring the Canadian city (Rutt 1983, 10). In all, a number of the men that joined Gale in the Korea mission field were Torontonians, including Malcolm Fenwick and Robert Hardie, who arrived in 1889 and 1890, respectively (Rutt 1983, 24). After Gale graduated in June 1888, he met and prayed with the China missionary Hudson Taylor, who was on a visit to Canada, and then again with Dwight Moody, who was in Vancouver as Gale headed west for his posting in Korea (Rutt 1983, 12). Gale originally arrived in Korea as a missionary for the YMCA but formally changed his affiliation to the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. in August 1891 with the support of the three McCormick men in Korea—Moffett, Baird, and Gifford (Rutt 1983, 21). A year after Moffett and Gale’s trip to the north, Gale married John W. Heron’s widow Hattie, though there were whispers that Moffett might have made the move first (Rutt 1983, 22). Evidently, there were no hard feelings, for in 1897, Gale traveled to Madison, Indiana, to stay at the Moffett home while the two old friends were on furlough, and Moffett fought to win Gale an exemption to be ordained as a member of the presbytery of New Albany, Indiana, where Moffett himself had been ordained; Moffett himself participated in the examination process and in Gale’s ordination service on May 13, 1897 (Rutt 1983, 30; and Brother Anthony 2011, 11). Gale, on his second furlough in the summer of 1906, traveled to Washington, D.C., where he met with President Theodore Roosevelt and was welcomed by the city’s mayor and John Marshall Harlan (1833–1911), a member of the Supreme Court (Rutt 1983, p. 45). Gale took a great interest in Korean culture, literature, and history, and played a major role in translating into Korean the Bible, as well as John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, the first Western literary work to be translated into Korean (Rutt 1983, 26–27). Gale was also the first secretary of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, a scholarly group that still exists today (Rutt 1983, 38). For more on the history of this group of amateur scholars—four of the seventeen men at the founding men were missionaries—see Brother Anthony 2011, 1–3. For another thumbnail biography of James Gale, see Ion 1990, 32.
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“are as yet very suspicious of foreigners and afraid of Christian books,” Moffett wrote

NoteGale later described the approach to Pyongyang, “through an avenue of trees skirting the bank…full of picturesqueness” (Gale 1898, 81–82). However, once in Pyongyang itself, Gale found a pagan and filthy city (Rutt 1983, 19). For a colorful description of scents and sounds outside the house that Moffett would occupy near the Taedong Gate in Pyongyang, see Gale 1904, 25–26. In this lightly fictionalized account, Willis is a stand-in for Moffett.
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pushed on to the northwestern border city of Ŭiju, on the southern banks of the Yalu River

NoteThe men arrived in Ŭiju (義洲) on March 20, 1891 (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 25, 1891). Moffett later estimated Ŭiju’s population at the time as being between twenty and thirty thousand, and that of the wider region, including the surrounding villages, at between half a million and a million (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 17, 1892). James Gale described Ŭiju as “a modest town pleasantly situated looking south over the Yalu…a quaint, old-fashioned place, and might be called an Asiatic Antwerp” (Gale 1898, 89). On the road between Pyongyang and Ŭiju, the men stopped in the city of Anju, where Moffett recalled encountering “crowds of curious sightseers from whom there was no escape.” “One of the greatest trials of travel in Korea is the almost absolute impossibility of attending to any business privately,” he continued. “If not surrounded by a crowd, the inns being public houses, you may be sure there is a listening ear at the door, or a peering eye at some hole in the paper window, and their curiosity to know not only a foreigner’s but each other’s business, is unlimited.” The intense curiosity from the locals showered upon the foreigners was a nuisance, but Moffett, Gale, and Sŏ Sang-yun used the interest to their advantage, turning every intrusion into a chance to spread the Christian gospel. In the next town, Moffett and Gale met with a room full of men, “while a number of women gathered in an adjoining room listened and peeped through cracks in the wall” (Samuel A. Moffett, “An Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald and Presbyter, January 13, 1892, and January 20, 1892, via Sung-Deuk Oak [Ok, Sŏng-dŭk], ed., Samuel Austin Moffett Papers, Vol. 1: 1868–1894 (Seoul: Duranno Academy, 2011), 238–55, here 242). Along the way, the missionaries sold Chinese translations of the scriptures and of the tracts they had written and translated into the local Korean vernacular; some inquirers “asked where we lived and promised to hunt us up when they went to Seoul,” Moffett wrote (S. A. Moffett [Moffett, Samuel A.], “Evangelistic Tour in the North of Korea,” The Church at Home and Abroad 10, no. 58 (October 1891), 329–31, here 329).
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found himself and his Korean assistants deluged with visitors “morning, afternoon & night”

NoteIn Ŭiju, Moffett worked with a local helper, Paek Hong-jun, who together with Sŏ Sang-yun would preach to inquirers until 2:00 a.m., as Koreans converged on Ŭiju from the surrounding countryside, where they had heard word of the arrival of the preachers of the foreign faith (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tour in the North,” Church at Home and Abroad (1891), 330). On his first Sunday in Ŭiju, Moffett counted thirty Korean worshipers (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 25, 1891). By the second Sunday, he had administered the Lord’s Supper—also known as Holy Communion, or the Eucharist—to ten baptized Koreans, and received baptismal requests from fifteen more men, ten of whom were from Kusŏng (龜城), a town roughly fifty miles to the southeast (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tour in the North,” Church at Home and Abroad (1891), 330).
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“that they have heard of it for 20 years…We ought to reap this harvest which is now ready”

NoteHe added in the same letter, writing of Ŭiju: “Whoever first sends a foreigner here will of course naturally give instruction to these Christians” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 25, 1891). Moffett was especially surprised to see even some lower government officials there professing their faith. The missionaries sent a “nicely bound copy of the Chinese New Testament” to the chief magistrate of the city and, when they dined with him a few days later, the official pulled out the Bible to discuss it with them (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tour in the North,” Church at Home and Abroad (1891), 330). Indeed, Moffett was so impressed by the progress of evangelistic work in Ŭiju upon first visiting that he declared it “a far more urgent case” than Pyongyang, and urged the opening of a mission station in the border city (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 25, 1891). Moffett had changed his mind again by late November 1891: “My own conviction is that the city of Ping An not Eui Ju is the place to permanently occupy using the house just purchased in Eui Ju as a temporary residence until Ping An is opened as a treaty port,” Moffett wrote (Moffett to Ellinwood, November 27, 1891). In the end, the mission station in Pyongyang was opened many years before Ŭiju, where the local believers had to later petition the Presbyterian Church to open a mission station.
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aspire toward—a fast-growing body of local inquirers packed into a modest chapel building

NoteThe mention of four days spent in Shenyang is from Moffett, “Evangelistic Tour in the North,” Church at Home and Abroad (1891), 330). Shenyang (瀋陽), then known as Mukden, was a city of about three hundred thousand at the time, with wide, unpaved streets that were, in the words of one missionary living there at the time, “in shocking condition,” and “crowded all day long with eager, busy throngs” (M’Laren 1896, 31). Dugald Christie, a Scottish Presbyterian missionary based in the city, described Manchuria’s “governmental, literary, educational, and commercial capital” as boasting a population that was heavily skewed toward men, who had generally left their wives back in the home provinces (Christie 1914, 16–17). Getting to Mukden took six days as Moffett and his companions bounced in carts over roughly 150 miles of “as rough and stony a road as one can find anywhere” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tour in the North,” Church at Home and Abroad (1891), 330; and Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 248–49). Another Manchuria missionary described travel, typically in springless oxcarts over rough, potholed roads, as being so bumpy that “your teeth are nearly shaken out of your head, and your breath out of your body” (M’Laren 1896, 25). Once in Mukden, however, Moffett found himself spiritually inspired. “Their beautiful, large church, built in Chinese style, and filled every Sunday with an audience of from three to five hundred native Christians, was both a surprise and an inspiration to us,” Moffett wrote (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 249). Moffett and Gale, with their Scottish roots, delighted in spending time with the Scottish missionaries. “The fact that they were Scotchmen sanctified the whole city, for there is no land like ‘bonnie Scotland,’ not even China or America,” Gale later wrote (Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (III),” Korean Repository (1892), 80). Moffett, as was his wont, also found time to slip in some games of tennis with the Scottish missionaries (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 249).
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For a wide-eyed new missionary barely a year in the field, it was an inspiring sight

NoteWhen Rev. Ross and his fellow Presbyterians first arrived in Manchuria in the early 1870s, Shenyang had been a “stronghold of idolatry,” and rumor had it among the city’s inhabitants that converts to the foreign faith had in fact been turned into slaves of the Westerners, through the use of a pill or powder. But regular visits by Ross and his colleague and brother-in-law John MacIntyre, and two native evangelists that moved to the city, gradually attracted inquirers—though many would only come to visit the missionaries “Nicodemus-like,” under cover of darkness. When the missionaries finally succeeded in securing the use of a public space to serve as a chapel, so many Chinese showed up that there was not enough room for everyone to sit, though, to be sure, as many people came to denounce the faith as to embrace it, but the Scotsmen encouraged the debate “and interrogations and denunciations would go on till the defiant Confucianist would be obliged to desist for want of breath” (M’Laren 1896, 31–33). By 1878, the Mukden church had expanded to fifty-two baptized members, including one old man who declared: “Though they drag me with cart ropes, they shall not pull me away from my Saviour Jesus” (M’Laren 1896, 36). With the work growing in Mukden, the missionaries opened up more chapels in the city and started a medical clinic, where each patient was given a tract to take home (M’Laren 1896, 38–39, 59). Meantime, the missionaries expanded their work to the south, the north, and back to Ross’s original home in Newchwang (Yingkou), where the Scottish missionaries had set up primary schools that were open to believer and non-believer alike (M’Laren 1896, 33–34, 39–40, 47–50). By 1891, the year that Moffett arrived in Shenyang, the Scottish Presbyterian mission in Manchuria had grown further with the arrival of several more missionaries: one in 1888, another two in 1890, and, finally, a brother-sister duo who arrived in April 1891, the same month that Moffett was in Mukden (M’Laren 1896, 57–58). An independent Manchurian presbytery was created in 1890; its first act was to conduct and record all meetings in Chinese (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 170). In addition to the work he did in evangelism, Bible translation and scholarly research, Ross also helped to set up a theological education program in northeast China, starting in 1887 and culminating in the establishment of a theological college in Mukden in 1898, of which Ross was the long-serving inaugural principal (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 169). During the nearly four decades in which Rev. Ross guided missionary policy in Manchuria, the church there established three universities, two hospitals, seven churches, and eighteen mission headquarters (David W. Kim, “From Manchuria to the Korean Peninsula: The Scottish Impact in Late Nineteenth Century Korea,” in David W. Kim, ed., Religious Transformation in Modern Asia: A Transnational Movement (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2015), 50–75, here 63). In addition to the inspiration of seeing Rev. Ross’ missionary work in Mukden, Moffett was also struck by the enormous potential for the Korean people to engage in foreign missionary work of their own. Watching Sŏ Sang-yun preach to inquirers while traveling in China, Moffett remarked: “As we saw him preaching to a large crowd of Chinese, gathered about him in the inn, we thought of the prediction which many have made, viz: that Korea will become a great factor in the evangelization of China,” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 250).
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“our own work there will be as far advanced as that in Manchuria,” Moffett later recounted

NoteFrom Shenyang, the three men headed east to Tonghua (通化) and then back south through the mountainous foothills and valleys around Mount Paekdu—the “Korean valleys” that, though sitting on the Chinese side of the border were already largely populated by Koreans. After crossing through the “immense forests” on the Yalu River and back into Chosŏn around Kanggye (江界), they headed south through Changjin County (長津郡 Kor. Changjin-gun) and into the northeastern Korean province of Hamgyŏng—a region so barren, sparsely populated, and destitute of food, as Moffett put it, that the men dubbed it “Starvation Camp,” subsisting primarily on boiled oats, millet, and dandelion soup. Rounding out their inaugural tour of Moffett’s new territory, Moffett, Gale, and Sŏ Sang-yun came down the east coast into Wŏnsan and then across Kang’wŏn province back to Seoul. In all, the trip lasted from February 25 to May 18, 1891, taking Moffett, Gale, and Sŏ from Seoul to Pyongyang, Ŭiju, Shenyang, Hamhŭng, Wŏnsan, and back to Seoul, almost entirely on foot (Oak 2011, 202–3). As demanding as the travel was, it was also exhilarating for the ambitious young missionary, who even then could sense a foretaste of future glory. “We found them ready to listen and time and again we found men eager to know more and with the Chinese Bible and our evangelists the pure gospel was taught to a great many. The seed was sown. I doubt not there will be fruit,” Moffett wrote upon his return to Seoul (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, May 21, 1891, Seoul (PHS 179/8/15); Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 52–53; and Moffett, “Evangelistic Tour in the North,” Church at Home and Abroad (1891), 329–31).
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perhaps too inquisitive: “Their curiosity was so great we could hardly get a half hour alone”

NoteBefore the year was through, Moffett was back in the north, for a three-month trip focused on the northwestern border city of Ŭiju. Shortly after departing Seoul in September 1891, Moffett, traveling with the missionary Hugh M. Brown (1867–1896)—a Presbyterian medical missionary who died in 1896, five years after making this trip—found reasons for optimism. At one village, the two men encountered an old Korean man who, having gotten hold of one of Underwood’s tracts, intercepted the missionaries, “eagerly desiring to know more.” In Pyongyang, where Moffett stayed for just three days this time, he was able to enroll four Koreans for baptism—“the first evidence that the wedge which has entered here is being driven in.” On the road to Ŭiju, he found even more interest in the gospel message. “From Ping An to Eui Ju we found many eager listeners,” Moffett wrote in an article upon his return. In Ŭiju, where Moffett spent nearly a month, he found himself “busy from morning till night meeting all classes of people.” Stopping in the nearby town of Kusŏng on the return journey south, Moffett found an old man and his son who, having earlier converted to the faith, had begun spreading the gospel “so faithfully…that there were nearly 20 men in various villages desirous of being baptized” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Korea—Good News from the North,” The Church at Home and Abroad 12, no. 68 (August 1892), 149–50, here 150). Also reproduced in Oak 2011, 298–302.
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“interest, fearing persecution,” while others sought him out only “in order to get financial help”

NoteMoffett, in the same letter to Ellinwood, added: “I think without question that most of the men who have been baptized there were seeking more temporal gain and that 1/2 of the 30 or more have no interest whatever in the gospel. I should say that not more than 10 give evidence of being Christians and some of these have little courage to endure ridicule” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 6, 1892). Moffett was, of course, well attuned to this reality. During his own second trip to northern Korea in early 1891, Moffett found that while there was much curiosity from the natives, very few were yet ready to be publicly identified with the new foreign faith. “Work here is in its first stage, and while there are a number quietly searching the truth, there is great reluctance to—in any public way—identify oneself with the foreigner who brings the truth,” Moffett wrote after his return then (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 242). Moffett added later that, in smaller towns and villages, “there is far less suspicion and a great readiness to listen…the people of the larger cities seeming to be in great fear of persecution or social ostracism.” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 242–44). During this fourth trip to the north in the summer of 1892, Moffett traveled by land from Seoul to Ŭiju via Pyongyang, then crossed over into China, visiting Newchwang (Yingkou), as well as Chefoo (Yantai), on China’s Shandong peninsula, from which Robert Thomas, Alexander Williamson, and many of Moffett’s other predecessors reached the first Koreans. He then crossed over by sea to Chemulp’o, now known as Inch’ŏn, and back to Seoul. The journey lasted four months, from May 6 to September 5, 1892 (Oak 2011, 314–15). Though Moffett found a mixed reception in northwestern Korea, by the autumn of 1893, Moffett was finding a somewhat greater willingness to be publicly identified with the faith. One old man in Kŭmch’ŏn (金川), just north of Kaesŏng on the road from Seoul to Pyongyang, “has become a marked man in the village because he has given up all demon worship, prays only to God, and constantly studies and teaches the ‘Jesus doctrine.’ They say he is ‘mad’ but it is a madness which fills him with joy and peace.” Meanwhile, in Pyongyang, “a goodly number of Nicodemus-like men have sought me privately,” Moffett added, referring to the biblical story of the rich man who sought out Jesus in secret at night for fear of being publicly identified with the teacher (Moffett, “Report of Work in Pyeng An Province,” October 1893 (PHS)).
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where he had set up his sarang, and discussed among themselves seizing and beating Moffett

Note“I came seriously near being mobbed,” Moffett recalled (Samuel A. Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Eui Ju and the North,” October 1895 (PHS 179/8/58)). The incident took place in Sakju (朔州), a small Korean town roughly forty miles upriver on the Yalu from Ŭiju. It’s not known exactly which dates he was in Sakju, but August 1892 seems most likely (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 6, 1892). Another missionary, Daisy R. Kearns, described Sakju as having “always had the reputation of being a very wicked little city, about one third of its inhabitants being soldiers and dancing girls” (Mrs. C. E. Kearns [Kearns, Daisy R.], “Atop a Pack Pony,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 4 (February 1906), 63–64, here 63).
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“as our experience with our enrolled membership has been far from satisfactory,” he wrote

Note“RICE CHRISTIANS”: Moffett’s words reflect a larger concern that would haunt missions work in countries the world over. By the time Korea had been opened to missionary work, the insincere convert—a phenomenon common to the region, in India, China, Burma, and beyond—had earned a derisive nickname, the “rice Christian,” to reflect the primary upside that some natives saw in deciding to join the church. “I suspect every Chinaman who applies for baptism—every one,” a Scottish missionary in China, a Dr. McKay, would tell visitors (as quoted in Lawrence 1895, 69). For a discussion of the “rice Christian” phenomenon in Manchuria, see Christie 1914, 111–15. In Korea, some Catholic missionaries, who watched the Protestants’ flock multiply even as theirs languished, suspected that many of the Korean converts to Presbyterianism were less than genuine—essentially “rice Christians” (see Clark 2010, 248–49). Though not employing the pejorative directly, Moffett knew a “rice Christian” when he saw one: “I have met some of those ‘thousands’ who are ready to become Christians and their idea is that by becoming Christians (my disciples) they are to be fed and clothed by us all their lives and spend their time in lazily studying the Bible,” he wrote Ellinwood in 1892 (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 9, 1892, Seoul (PHS 179/8/25)).  PREACHING SINCERITY: Underscoring Moffett’s focus on salvation and what he regarded as a genuine conversion experience, the young Indiana native’s sermons during this period were uncompromising and urgent, pressing his listeners, Moody-like, towards sincere repentance. In one address during these early years, Moffett preached from Christ’s parable of the ten virgins in Matthew 25—five of whom had been caught unprepared for the return of the long-delayed bridegroom, and thus found themselves locked out of the wedding banquet—ending with a forceful call for “yielding to Christ” (William M. Baird, Diary of William M. Baird, 1892.5.18–1895.4.27, ed. Lee Sang-kyu [Yi, Sang-gyu] (Seoul: The Korean Christian Museum at Soongsil University, 2013), 136 (August 7, 1893, diary entry)). The sermon, preached on Sunday August 6, 1893, came during Moffett’s first trip to Pusan that summer to see William Baird, his old classmate and friend.   “SEEKING THE LOAVES AND FISHES”: Moffett’s colleague Graham Lee, writing shortly after his arrival in Korea, was of the same mind about “rice Christians”: “I believe a missionary could baptize any number for a dollar apiece, but to get men who really and truly want to follow Christ is difficult” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, December 22, 1892). When the Underwoods had traveled to the northwestern border city of Ŭiju in 1889 to follow up on reports of dozens of fresh converts, they found after meeting with roughly a hundred of them that most “had no inkling of what Christianity really is, but supposed it was a philosophy, fine and good, no doubt, which if adopted would bring them in touch with rich and influential foreigners, and find them speedy employment as teachers, helpers and what not” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86). In the end, the Underwoods only baptized thirty-three men, who they believed to be the most sincere, though, she later acknowledged, “it is well-nigh impossible not to make mistakes” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86). In the southeast, William Baird was also keenly alert to Koreans seeking out the missionaries with ulterior motives. Of three men who professed the faith and urgently asked for baptism, Baird wrote in his annual report for 1893–1894, “for a long time I had no reason to think that their profession was not genuine, but after a time events proved that they were all deceivers seeking the loaves and fishes” (William M. Baird, “Evangelistic Report of Pusan Station for 1893-94,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 251). As a result, Baird made it a personal policy to never ask any Koreans if they wanted to be baptized, but to rather wait for Koreans to ask (William M. Baird, “Evangelistic Report of Pusan Station for 1895,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 262). If anything, Baird was pushing for a culling of church membership rolls, and urged his fellow missionaries to systematically go through their lists of church members with a view to dropping “unworthy members” (William M. Baird, “Evangelistic Report: W. M. Baird, Seoul, 1899,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 278). One Pyongyang missionary, William B. Hunt (1869–1953), rejected nearly half of those who had applied for baptism, citing a lack of “adequate knowledge of the fundamentals of the Christian faith” (Shearer 1966, 125–26, citing William B. Hunt letter to the Board, December 1, 1897). Other missionaries were less bothered by the Korean inquirers’ ulterior motives—at least at first. “A man cannot very well desire what he knows nothing about,” James Gale reasoned (Gale 1898, 246–47).  “NOT A PARTICLE OF DOUBT”: Ultimately, the missionaries’ insistence on the authenticity of their charges’ conversions produced the desired result. By the end of 1898, Moffett wrote the missions board in New York, with absolute conviction: “I have not a particle of doubt as to the genuineness of this work,” though he also allowed: “That we make some mistakes I know full well—, that some people deceive us I am equally sure—, that in some cases we have moved too fast I grant—, but that we are in theory and in practice conservative, that we are not and have not been eager for numbers, that we are seeking for and praying for every safeguard around the work I am perfectly confident…I care not how skeptical one may be, he could not hear and see the testimonies I have seen and heard in these months in the various sections of our field—he could not experience this and believe otherwise than that this is genuine work” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Robert E. Speer, December 1, 1898, Sun Chun, North Korea (PHS 179/8/85)). For a controversy in which one missionary, Malcolm Fenwick, accused another, Horace Underwood, of baptizing Koreans almost randomly to inflate the numbers, see Huntley 1984, 63–65. Fenwick later apologized for his article, though he didn’t retract the allegation. Huntley, a missionary-historian, cited widespread evidence that the missionaries were otherwise extremely careful about not baptizing anyone who wasn’t fully committed, concluding that Fenwick’s story was false.
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the great potential in Korea, the work was difficult, often mundane, and frequently maddening

NoteBy 1892, eight years after the arrival of the first Protestant missionary in Korea, this initial despair had made its way back to New York, where Frank Ellinwood, the Presbyterian foreign missions secretary, despaired over the lack of concrete progress in the new mission field. “We must not expect great spiritual results in Korea,” Ellinwood wrote Moffett in late 1892 (as quoted in Moffett letter to Ellinwood, November 9, 1892). To another missionary based in the Korean capital, Ellinwood acknowledged that he felt “disheartened with regard to the outlook” (as quoted in Daniel L. Gifford letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 2, 1892, Seoul (PHS 177/4/60)).
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a near-endless series of pleas from Moffett and his colleagues for New York to send more men

NoteThe Presbyterians couldn’t seem to stanch a rapid turnover in their medical missionaries, with disease and other setbacks preventing the mission from retaining a regular doctor on staff. “I do not understand the Lord’s dealings with us with reference to our physicians,” Moffett wrote Ellinwood in June 1893. “We have lost one after another and are continually deficient in our supply” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, June 6, 1893). The first medical missionary to Korea, John Heron, died of dysentery in 1890, just five years after his arrival, making him the first missionary to die in Korea; the first woman medical missionary, Meta Howard, had left in 1889, just two years after arriving, due to poor health. Shortly after Moffett wrote his lamentation, he lost W. James Hall, a Methodist medical missionary and close associate, who died of typhus in November 1894 (see Act I, Chapter 5).
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his colleagues, whose sharp elbows and strong personalities resulted in a string of ugly disputes

NoteInterpersonal tensions flared almost from the moment that the first Protestant missionaries set foot in Korea, with Horace Allen and William B. Scranton—two of the first arrivals—falling out over medical work (Huntley 1984, 25). In 1886 and 1887, less than two years after the inauguration of Protestant missionary work in the country, “squabbling…almost destroyed the Presbyterian mission,” writes one missionary-historian (Huntley 1984, 29). By December 1889, just five years after the arrival of the first Protestant missionary—and just as Moffett was delivering his farewell address to Madison First Presbyterian Church as he prepared to set sail for Korea—the pioneering missionary John Heron was on the verge of resigning from the Presbyterian mission, incensed by what he regarded as Horace Underwood’s pushiness in his missionary methods. “Mr. Underwood’s views of work are very different from mine…[and] of every other missionary in Korea, save Mr. and Mrs. Underwood,” Heron wrote in a huffy letter to Frank Ellinwood (John W. Heron letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, December 30, 1889, Seoul (PHS 175/3/59)).  HORACE ALLEN VERSUS EVERYBODY: Horace Allen, whose heroic rescue of Prince Min in December 1884 had paved the way for the establishment of Presbyterian and Methodist missionary work in Korea, proved to be the first among equals when it came to bristliness, clashing almost non-stop with his colleagues. Reading Horace Allen’s personal correspondence more than a century later, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that Horace Allen himself was the primary cause of much of the disharmony in Seoul’s missionary community during these early years of evangelistic work. Moffett, for one, had no hesitation in identifying Allen as the primary bearer of “the spirit of strife & division,” telling Frank Ellinwood exactly that six months into his tenure in Korea (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 24, 1890). Stated plainly, Allen was an unpleasant, prickly, and divisive man, given to snide snickering and sniping at others behind their backs (Baird 1968, 20). Even Allen’s own biographer, Fred Harrington, who might otherwise be inclined to sympathize with his subject, criticized Allen’s “overwhelming self-assurance, the quick temper, the sharp tongue, and the unforgiving spirit,” which caused him “trouble all his years” (Harrington 1944, 4). “Think-skinned, he often took offense where none was intended; short-tempered, he sometimes blurted out insults which he did not mean. And when his views were challenged, he neither yielded nor forgave,” Harrington writes (Harrington 1944, 6). As a result, Harrington concluded, the missionaries in Seoul were “a wrangling group of ordinary mortals. The frowns outweighed the smiles, there was backbiting in place of harmony, and sulking selfishness instead of enthusiastic cooperation” (Harrington 1944, 72). Allen was particularly vicious in his dealings with John Heron. As Martha Huntley, a missions historian and later missionary to South Korea who has detailed these early years of bickering, captures the bitterness between the two men: “The Allens refused to allow the Herons and Underwood to draw water from the well located on Allen property, though other water was inconveniently located and dangerous to drink. There were wrangles over horses, who could use the stables, and the cost of stable repairs”—and so on (Huntley 1984, 32–34). At one meeting-turned-confrontation in January 1886, mere months after the men’s arrival in Korea, Allen called Underwood “a hypocrite and a tattler” to his face, and Heron “an envious pouting man. They were taken aback. Couldn’t deny my special charges. We ended with a prayer meeting,” Allen later wrote in his diary (Huntley 1984, 33, citing Horace Allen’s January 22, 1886, diary entry). Later that year, Allen derided Heron as lazy—“He does not study”—and Underwood as having “much leisure” time on his hands, declaring: “Mission work is a farce” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 18, citing Horace Allen’s September 5, 1886, diary entry). The endless infighting between Allen, Heron, and Underwood dragged in George C. Foulk, the U.S. consul-general in Seoul, and the longtime Japan missionary James C. Hepburn (1815–1911), creator of the Hepburn romanization system (Huntley 1984, 37–38). In a letter to Frank Ellinwood urging the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary to block a housing request by missionary Cadwallader C. Vinton and his wife, Allen writes: “Some of the new people seem extravagant in their wants. None, though, compare with the Vintons. They have never been suited with anything. Now I have nothing against him—personally, we are friendly, but…this suicidal move he now contemplates is too bad and I cannot help sending you my prompt and urgent protest. Don’t grant this request. You will regret it” (Horace N. Allen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 5, 1893, Seoul (PHS 177/4/1)). Nor did Allen restrict his barbs to missionaries. In a rant against Owen N. Denny, an American judge engaged by the Korean court as a customs official, Allen told Ellinwood in a letter: “You say you are glad I am friendly with Judge Denny. I am not. I have refused to shake hands with him or to return his call. I could not so demean myself. I said in illustration that he and his wife seemed to regret the unnecessary pains they had taken to injure me and were the first to come, but I am sorry you got the idea that I would ‘bootlick’ him” (Horace N. Allen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 5, 1891, Seoul (PHS 175/3/1)).  AND IN WALKS MOFFETT: Upon arriving in Korea in January 1890, Moffett found to his dismay that he was almost immediately embroiled in a missionary community riven by political infighting. Even after Allen became the secretary of the American legation in 1890—he would spend the rest of his years in Korea as a representative of the U.S. government—Allen continued to show up at mission meetings, to the great annoyance of Moffett and Underwood, who regarded the mixing of church and state affairs as inappropriate. “Now he is here in Seoul in an official position and has not even notified the mission of any change or of what he intends to do,” Underwood complained in a letter to Frank Ellinwood. “He comes to our meeting as though a regular missionary and yet his time is entirely at the disposal of the U.S. Minister” (Underwood letter to Ellinwood, August 4, 1890). On August 11, 1890, just seven months after Moffett first disembarked at Chemulp’o, he signed a letter with Horace Underwood and Daniel Gifford calling on the missions board to formally fire Allen: “We cannot consent to Dr. Allen holding a purely political position at the same time that he is a member of the Mission…we request that the Board will require him to resign either his position as a member of the Mission or as Secretary of Legation” (Horace G. Underwood, Daniel L. Gifford, and Samuel A. Moffett letter to the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church, August 11, 1890, Seoul (PHS 175/3/32)). Allen shot back with a series of combative letters to the Presbyterian missions board, decrying “the most outrageous lies about me”—particularly from the wife of John Heron “and her little clique.” Allen was particularly upset that the missionaries had apparently refused him permission to visit the hospital that he had started after rushing to heal Prince Min just a few years earlier, since it was attached to the Presbyterian mission. “It was very humiliating,” Allen griped. For his part, Allen argued that holding the dual roles would allow him to use his official position to aid the church’s work, though he also huffed: “Really it matters little. I like this legation work. The Minister is old and sick most of the time. I will doubtless be Chargé d’Affair [sic] much of the time. It gives me immense importance with the Koreans, all of which helps the missionaries” (Horace N. Allen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 11, 1890, Seoul (PHS 175/3/32)).  ENEMIES TO THE GRAVE: When John Heron died of dysentery in July 1890, Moffett pinned the blame less on disease and overwork than from stress and infighting: “Irritated & worried & grieved beyond expression at the thought that his motives were questioned, his consecration doubted & his work misunderstood, his mental conflicts more severe from the fact that he was proud spirited wore him out” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, December 28, 1891, Seoul (PHS 179/8/20)). Heron, on his deathbed, refused Allen’s medical assistance while Heron’s widow lashed out at Allen; Allen called Heron’s death a “special reward for past conduct” (Harrington 1944, 91–92). After Heron’s death, Allen remained cordial with his widow, at least in public, as far as Moffett could tell. “His relations with Mrs. Heron while naturally not those of an intimate friend are perfectly pleasant and free from all ‘gossip,’” Moffett wrote in July 1891 (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, July 2, 1891, Seoul (PHS 179/8/16)). Behind the scenes, of course, Allen didn’t hold back, sniping at the missionaries in letters to Ellinwood in New York: “I sometimes think Mr. Hulbert is worse than cracked,” Allen wrote Ellinwood in one letter, taking a jab at missionary Homer Hulbert. “He evidently does not mean to do harm but he does a great deal, nevertheless” (Horace N. Allen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, April 8, 1903, Seoul (PHS 280/233/46)).  ON THE VERGE: In August 1890, Moffett expressed his disappointment to Frank Ellinwood in New York: “My first six months on the Mission field have brought me many an unanticipated experience,” the twenty-six-year-old Moffett wrote. “I trust we are not always to spend our energy and thought in settling difficulties, explaining misunderstandings and planning to avoid complications…I certainly hope that by the time I become a voting member of the Mission we shall be free from all political complications” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 12, 1890, Seoul (PHS 178/8/6)). Horace Underwood, then and now the first among equals in the Seoul mission of the Presbyterian church, was so distraught over the infighting that he nearly quit Korea altogether in early 1894. Though Moffett hoped Underwood wouldn’t leave, he didn’t seem particularly bothered by the prospect, and two decades later, the two men would end their relationship on a sour note of discord. “I sincerely hope that U[nderwood] will not leave the Mission under any circumstances but if he does, the Lord’s work will go on just the same,” Moffett shrugged in a letter to his McCormick Seminary classmate Daniel Gifford (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Daniel L. Gifford, February 24, 1894, Eui Ju, Korea (MKC)).
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Moffett, for his part, won over many with his good cheer

NoteMoffett’s optimism could border on the excessive but likely served him well during these early years of petty bickering and infighting. As historian Sung-Deuk Oak writes: “His generous and irenic spirit often helped to preserve unity of the church when it was threatened” (Oak 2011, 28). When William D. and Patsy B. Reynolds, Southern Presbyterian missionaries who would be close lifelong friends of the Indiana missionary, first arrived in Seoul in November 1892, they found themselves on the receiving end of Moffett’s exuberance. “You should have seen how that Mr. Moffett flew around helping us!” wrote Patsy Reynolds, describing Moffett, tall and slender, as the “peppiest” of the pack. “That Mr. M just took us southerners under his wing. He helped select our names (ours is Yi), engaged our teachers, cook and gateman, helped to buy wood, coal, chickens and eggs—in fact, did everything for us except eat and sleep.” Reynolds’ description of Moffett’s endearing hospitality, almost extravagant in its eagerness to help, is stunning: “You would have though he was accustomed to waiting on a helpless wife, but poor fellow, he is a bachelor! Some girl is missing a good husband…He saw what a small supply of food we had for the six of us, so he about emptied his store room into ours, saying he would not need anything as he was going away up north to a place called Pyeng Yang. He also found out that Mary and I knew very little about cooking, so he had his cook make us a wonderful Floating Island pudding and brought it down two miles to our home” (Reynolds letter to Hattie, November 4, 1892). Writing more than four decades later, Patsy’s husband, William Reynolds, described Moffett as the consummate “missionary statesman,” largely rising above the petty spats of the missionary community: Moffett, “tall, lithe, fair, with winsome smile, ringing voice, and hearty handshake…has never lost his hold upon the hearts of our Mission,” Reynolds wrote (William Davis Reynolds [Reynolds, William D.], “Early Memories of Moffett as Man and Missionary,” booklet for Samuel A. Moffett’s birthday, January 25, 1934 (MKC)). Humility and a reluctance to engage in sniping of his own also helped. “A conception of own’s own weakness and consciousness of his own mistakes and ignorance as to what is best necessarily leads one to be cautious in writing adversely or critically of other missionaries and their work,” Moffett wrote Ellinwood in April 1894 (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, April 14, 1894, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/43)).
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“His spirits are always bright,” Baird wrote in 1893, declaring him “an ideal missionary”

Note“There is no one in Korea who is truer and heartier in the work. I wish that Underwood with all his fire and zeal were as true-hearted and level-headed,” William Baird wrote his brother in August 1893 (William M. Baird letter to John F. Baird, August 15, 1893, Fusan, Korea (MKC)). While Baird was hardly neutral, he regarded Underwood as being “very erratic” and pushy (William M. Baird letter to John F. Baird, October 30, 1893, Seoul (MKC)). Moffett reciprocated the warmth to Baird, pushing at the annual Presbyterian mission meeting in October 1893 to get Baird elected as chairman. Moffett failed, Baird reported, “he being elected by a majority of three votes” (William Baird letter to John Baird, October 30, 1893).
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Presbyterian mission’s annual meeting in June 1890, Moffett was given a leadership position

NoteIn a retrospective first-person article written thirty-five years later in 1925, Moffett described how, just weeks after his arrival in Seoul, “additional honors were thrust upon me.” “Within a month I was Chairman of the Mission, head of an Orphanage,—the only boys’ school in the Mission,—and was assigned all of Korea north of Seoul as my parish” (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 51). It’s not clear if he means that he was made chairman of the entire Presbyterian mission in Korea; either way, he was given much responsibility for a newly arrived twenty-six-year-old. It should be noted that such rapid advancement wasn’t possible in larger, more established missions like in China. In contrast, in the early years in Korea, much of mission policy was being set by relative newcomers to the field. Even so, in perhaps the ultimate testament to Moffett’s agreeability, Horace Allen took pains to exclude Moffett from his August 1890 diatribe against his myriad detractors, describing the Indiana native as “a sincere and impressionable man” who had been swayed by the other missionaries’ unfair slander. “It will take a long time to eradicate the wrong impressions held of me by the new people here,” Allen stewed (Allen letter to Ellinwood, August 11, 1890). Moffett echoed the sentiment: “My personal relations with him are as cordial and pleasant as any one could ask,” Moffett told Ellinwood in July 1891 (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 2, 1891).
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once in the field itself, far from the petty squabbles of Seoul, Moffett was much more at ease

NoteWhen he headed out for his second journey to the north in February 1891, Moffett described a sensation of elation: “We began the next morning’s tramp with light hearts, feeling that we had left behind us all the petty annoyances and vexations incident to the necessary routine of mission finances, buildings, schools, etc., and that before us were three months of language study, evangelistic work and direct contact with the people” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 238).
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mission in Seoul, it was decided to formally open Pyongyang as a new mission station

NoteSamuel Moffett, Graham Lee, and William Swallen were formally appointed to the officially opened Pyongyang mission station in 1893, though later that year Swallen was reassigned to Wŏnsan, according to a report delivered at the end of 1894. Shortly thereafter, Graham Lee returned to America to get married (Lee in his report called his wedding “special business”), returning again to Korea in spring the next year, while Moffett headed up to Pyongyang for a stay of roughly seven months, until May 1894 (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)).
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fellow graduates of McCormick Seminary—William L. Swallen of Ohio and Graham Lee of Illinois

NoteThat both William Swallen (1859–1954) and Graham Lee (1861–1916) were members of McCormick Seminary’s Class of 1892 was hardly a coincidence; the two men had been recruited by Underwood during a furlough trip home that year (Huntley 1984, 63). The two men arrived in Korea before the end of 1893, Swallen specifically in September 1892. For thumbnail biographies of the two men, see Jaekeun Lee 2010, 55–57.  WILLIAM SWALLEN: Swallen, the youngest of nine children of Swiss immigrants to America, offers his own autobiographical sketch in William L. Swallen, “Forty-Eight Years of Service in Korea, 1892–1940,” Korea Mission Field 37, no. 2 (February 1941), 18–24. There, he gives his birthdate as March 24, 1859, while his death on May 8, 1954, is marked on his gravestone (“William Leander Swallen (1859–1954),” Find A Grave, memorial #36766014). Swallen, during seminary, recalled wanting “to go out to the heathen,” but was also deathly “afraid of being asked to go to Africa. One place I did not want to go to was Africa.” Swallen was instead led to Korea after reading an article by Samuel Moffett and, after meeting Moffett, “he clinched the question and I volunteered to go” (as quoted in F. S. Miller [Miller, Frederick S.], “Reminiscences by Some of the Senior Missionaries,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 50–55, here 54).   GRAHAM LEE: Lee, born on June 2, 1861, in Rock Island, Ill., had worked as a cattle rancher and trained as a plumber before deciding to become a pastor. After graduating from Princeton in 1889, he studied at Hartford Seminary for one year before transferring to McCormick Seminary, where he graduated after two further years of study and shipped out to Korea (After Thirty Years 1919, 84–85). Though Lee’s time in Korea was relatively short, marred by illness that eventually took his life, he was the Pyongyang Presbyterians’ main architect and musician, and among the most well-liked members of the mission. He brought the first bicycle to Korea and was a good hunter and fisherman (After Thirty Years 1919, 85). His facility with tools came in handy when Jack London, traveling through Pyongyang in 1904, needed help with horseshoes (London, “Over the Pekin Road,” in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 56). Lee died on December 2, 1916 (After Thirty Years 1919, 85–86). For a photo of Graham Lee with his wife and four children, see Nate Kornegay, “Modifying Joseon Architecture (1884–1905),” Colonial Korea: Early Modern Architecture in Korea blog, June 18, 2019.
p.56

“in Him to open the way and prepare the hearts of the people to welcome our presence”

NoteOn a more mundane level, Moffett also pleaded with Ellinwood in the same letter to approve a $1,000 appropriation so that they could purchase a property in Pyongyang, a key step for “the opening and occupation” of the city (Samuel Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, February 1, 1893, Seoul (PHS 179/8/28)).
p.56

this time not as transient visitors but with hopes of establishing a permanent presence

NoteThe plan was to buy a house there that they could occupy for a year or two, before returning in the fall with provisions for a more permanent stay (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, February 1, 1893). The March 6, 1893, departure is in Oak 2011, 660. Graham Lee says the three Presbyterian men left Seoul two weeks after the Methodists’ W. James Hall departed in “the last week in February” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, April 13, 1893, Gensan, Korea (PHS 179/8/30)), while Daniel Gifford said later that the three men left for Pyongyang “about the 1st of March” (Daniel L. Gifford, “Report of the Committee on Narrative,” October [19?], 1893, Seoul (PHS 180/11/KK)). As usual, the travel was difficult—but the signs of curiosity encouraging. On their journey up to Pyongyang from Seoul, with the missionaries hunkered down for the night in a village forty miles south of Pyongyang, in “two dirty little rooms which were not nearly as clean as many a horse stable I’ve seen,” Graham Lee pulled out his guitar to play a song. Before he knew it, the room was filled with curious listeners, with children poking holes in the paper walls to take in the impromptu show; each song was followed by a request for “just one more,” stretching deep into the evening. Later the next afternoon, after Moffett and Sŏ Sang-yun had preached for a time, Lee recalled, “they began to ask for the guitar. I couldn’t find any excuse so the concert began. It was the same old story of ‘just one more’ until they about tired me out” (Graham Lee letter to Mother, March 19, 1893, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).
p.56

checked into a cramped room in a filthy inn, located directly adjacent to a horse stable

NoteLife wasn’t easy at the inn. But the city surroundings were lovely. “I’m sure I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful place in which to live when the hills and fields are all in green,” Lee wrote his mother. “Wait a few years and you will see the model mission station in Pyeng Yang” (Lee letter to Mother, March 19, 1893). The “Korean helper” mentioned here is Sŏ Sang-yun, one of Korea’s pioneering converts and evangelists. For more on Sŏ Sang-yun, see above note.
p.56

quacking of donkeys, dogs, and ducks outside, it was, in Lee’s words, nothing short of miserable

NoteThe four men were obliged to share a small room, eight feet by sixteen feet, “packed in like sardines” along with eight horseloads’ worth of belongings. Outside, the constant braying and barking and quacking of a donkey, two dogs and three ducks kept them awake; inside, bed bugs and fleas tormented the “miserable” missionaries, while Sŏ Sang-yun battled an infestation of worms. “Twice I’ve had to get up at night and yell at a dog barking in front of the door before I could go to sleep,” Lee wrote his mother (Lee letter to Mother, March 19, 1893). The Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, arriving in Pyongyang late at night by boat one evening in 1903, recalls entering the city gates, where “we were welcomed by the barking of innumerable dogs, so I thought that the whole city was being awakened” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 139).
p.56

“a beautiful little hill,” in Lee’s description, which could serve as an initial foothold in the city

NoteThe purchase, which Lee gives as being for $330 silver, was done through their Korean helpers Sŏ Sang-yun and Han Sŏk-jin (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). In an article written three decades later, Moffett gives the date of the purchase of site outside the West Gate, probably just a bit earlier than in reality, as February 1893 (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 53). Moffett and Baird’s seminary classmate Daniel Gifford later described the house as a “property bought for their helper outside the city” (Gifford 1897, 8). Graham Lee’s letter to his mother likewise states that “the house we are trying to buy is outside the west wall of the city near the foot of a beautiful little hill” (Lee letter to Mother, March 19, 1893). Though Lee describes the house as being just outside the West Gate, Pyongyang’s unusual layout of city walls meant that there wasn’t simply one set of walls encircling the city; instead, the city walls had several layers, making it difficult to ascertain the precise location of some of these sites. However, the main Presbyterian compound was situated within the Pot’ong Gate, which still stands today just inside the Pot’ong River, but outside the Chŏnghae Gate (靜海門 Kor. Chŏnghae-mun), which can be translated as the “Gate of Calm Seas”—and which is almost certainly what the missionaries were referring to when they wrote of Pyongyang’s “West Gate” (see Sŏul Yŏksa Pakmul-gwan [Seoul Museum of History], 3·1 Undong 100 Chu’nyŏn Ki’nyŏm T’ŭkbyŏljŏn—Sŏul kwa P’yŏngyang ŭi 3·1 Undong [March First 100th Year Anniversary Special Commemorative Exhibition—March 1st Independence Movement in Seoul and Pyongyang] (Seoul: Seoul Museum of History, 2019), 146). Moffett later described the house as “a small tile house and an adjoining field, located where our Women’s Bible Institute now is” (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 53). Another Presbyterian missionary, Sadie N. Welbon (1872–1925), traveling to Pyongyang in the autumn of 1900, describes the missionary compound as being outside the West Gate, located on a hillside “very pleasantly situated in a large settlement away from the Koreans. The houses from the outside have the appearance of well-to-do Korean buildings, but within are more modern, large, comfortable and homelike” (Sadie Nourse letter to Friends and Supporters, October 9, 1900, Eul Yul, Korea, as quoted in Ewy, Priscilla Welbon, Arthur Goes to Korea: The Early Life of Arthur Garner Welbon and His First Years as Missionary to Korea, 1900–1902 (Self-published manuscript, 2008), 98).
p.56

“garden purposes,” Lee wrote. “We were all on the mountain top over our delightful prospects”

NoteIn his letter to Frank Ellinwood, Graham Lee described the property as being “near enough to have plenty of access to the people and far enough away to be rid of all the horrid smells of the city” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). There may have been a good reason for the ease with which the missionaries were able to secure the property. As it turns out, the site they had chosen, which sat just inside the Pot’ong Gate, was located in one of Pyongyang’s poorest sections—and one where beheadings and other executions typically took place. “To the people of Pyongyang, it was a terrible, uninhabitable place,” writes Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, a Christian convert who grew up near Pyongyang and later lived there, before becoming one of twentieth-century Korea’s most prominent preachers and, eventually, the chairman of the Samuel Austin Moffett Memorial Committee. “However, to a foreign missionary, it was a quiet, attractive place that was vacant despite its bargain price” (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 60–61). Similarly, Canadian missionary Duncan MacRae, who was stoned by the locals during his efforts to win a foothold in the northeastern city of Hamhŭng, had to build his first church on a site that was believed to be haunted, and thus faced less resistance from local residents (Murray 1975, 88).
p.57

Hall, a newly arrived Irish-Canadian doctor, to secure a house in the old northwestern capital

NoteWhen Moffett first set foot in Pyongyang in the fall of 1890, shortly after arriving in Korea, the only Sunday worship service was one organized by the Methodists, with eighteen Korean men in attendance. By then, the Methodist mission had also hired local men to work in Anju, just north of Pyongyang, and in Ŭiju, on the Chinese border (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 15, 1890). It is unclear which Methodist missionary had led the way in Pyongyang, but several candidates are possible, including frequent visitors Henry Appenzeller and George H. Jones. However, it was William James Hall (1860–1894) who the Methodist mission first assigned to Pyongyang.   SINGULARLY DEVOTED TO “SOUL-WINNING”: W. James Hall, who went by his middle name, was, like Moffett, a pious believer, as his widow Rosetta Sherwood Hall recounted in a booklength account of his disease-shortened life (Rosetta Hall 1897, 1–118). Hall, an Irish Canadian who came to the faith at age fourteen, recalls his conversion being “as clear as the noonday,” his widow wrote (Rosetta Hall 1897, 24). From that moment onwards, Hall’s singular concern was with what he called “soul-winning.” “O, what dark days! Going out into eternity without having won a single soul for Christ. I could not bear to harbor the thought,” Hall wrote as a young man, according to his pastor in Ottawa (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 24–26). Hall’s decision to become a missionary, like so many in that era, was made after a visit to his school, Queens University in Kingston, Ontario, by John Forman, the Princeton alumnus and India-born son of missionaries whose fervor for the gospel helped turn the Student Volunteer Movement into a vibrant engine of nineteenth-century missions work; in February 1887, Hall was one of twenty-one Queens students who signed the Student Volunteer Pledge (Rosetta Hall 1897, 55). Hall had also organized the first YMCA at Queens University and attended Dwight L. Moody’s annual summer school in Northfield, Massachusetts that year (Rosetta Hall 1897, 49–50, 55–56).  NORTH BY NORTHWEST: W. James Hall first arrived in Seoul on December 16, 1891, nearly two years after Moffett’s arrival (“Record of Events,” Korean Repository 1 (February 1892), 68). Hall first ventured to northwestern Korea just a few months later, in March 1892, traveling with fellow Methodist George H. Jones, who had arrived five years earlier, stopping off for about five days in Pyongyang on the way to the border city of Ŭiju, (Sherwood Hall, 92–94). On this first trip to Pyongyang, Hall, like Moffett, was deeply impressed by the natives’ eagerness to hear the missionaries’ message. Jones wrote about how, upon the two young men’s arrival in Pyongyang on March 14, 1892, they opened a book counter in a store that was willing to receive them, and sold eighty Christian books in a single day: “This brought down an edict from the governor of the province prohibiting the sale. But this didn’t worry us much, and we kept right on selling. We attempted to organize a class for instruction, but it proved abortive, for as soon as we left the men that joined disappeared” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 130). From Pyongyang, the two men traveled up to Ŭiju along “the great Söul-Peking turnpike,” where they spent another week or so doing missionary work before Hall returned to Seoul and Jones continued northward into Manchuria (Rosetta Hall 1897, 130). When it came time for Hall to write a detailed report, he concluded that Pyongyang was the obvious place to open a new mission station, quoting from Moffett and Graham Lee’s own reports. Part of the appeal, Hall wrote, was the challenge of winning over Pyongyang, with its notorious reputation and “its violent mobs which took to stoning whatever people or institution incurred their displeasure” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 96).  DISPATCHED TO PYONGYANG: At the Methodists’ annual meeting that year, the missions board elected to send Hall to Pyongyang—but to keep his wife Rosetta Sherwood Hall at the Woman’s Hospital in Seoul, where she was working as a physician. The decision to send James Hall to Pyongyang was made despite the fact that, as his son later recounted, “the ban which prohibited foreigners from residing in the interior was still in effect and death was still the penalty for teaching Christianity” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 104–5). The challenge, far from daunting Hall, seemed to excite him, visiting Methodist Bishop Willard F. Mallalieu later recalled: “The soul of Dr. Hall was all aflame with a restless desire to leave the comparatively comfortable surroundings of the Mission Compound at Soul, and make a way into the regions beyond,” he wrote (Methodist Bishop W. F. Mallalieu, “Introduction,” August 18, 1897, in Rosetta Hall 1897, 8; and Rosetta Hall 1897, 122–23). Hall made a second trip to Pyongyang in the fall of 1892, traveling with Graham Lee, who was making his first sojourn to the city that would become his future home (Lee letter to Ellinwood, December 22, 1892). On that trip, Hall saw plenty to encourage him in Pyongyang. “Last spring when I first visited Pyong Yang an edict was issued prohibiting the buying of our books. This fall I have sold over six hundred copies of Christian books without the slightest opposition. The people appear to be anxious to buy and read. They are manifesting a deep interest in Christianity, and we are looking for glorious results” (W. J. Hall letter to the Editor of the Christian Herald, December 16, 1892, as reproduced in “In Heathen Korea,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 9 (September 1909), 156).
p.57

two houses, and offered one for the Presbyterians to use until they bought their own

NoteA REAL-ESTATE DEAL: During his second trip to Pyongyang in the fall of 1892, James Hall acquired a house through a local man, a Mr. Song, whose son Hall had treated and healed. Hall was to pay the final sum shortly after the new year in 1893 and take possession of the house, which was located, as Graham Lee put it, “in a splendid locality” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, December 22, 1892; and Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). For what it’s worth, James Gale later described the house as being located “in the worst part of the city” (Gale 1898, 252). Hall, in a December 5, 1892, letter to his wife, described Mr. Song as being well-connected with the governor, and as having offered two rooms in his spacious home to Hall and to Graham Lee, and then offering to sell another house to him for $780 (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 107). Graham Lee had stayed at this house during his first visit to Pyongyang in late 1892, and Hall had offered to share it with the Presbyterians Moffett and Lee until they had secured a house of their own (Lee letter to Ellinwood, December 22, 1892; Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893; and Lee letter to Mother, March 19, 1893). “It certainly looks to me as if we could go into Pyeng Yang without the least trouble provided we go in quietly,” Lee wrote after this first visit to the north. “This opening that Dr. Hall has made is going to be very helpful to us, I think, in gaining an entrance also” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, December 22, 1892).  A HOME FOR DANCING WOMEN: Hall and Lee’s optimism proved to be misplaced. In fact, the house that Hall had bought from the grateful Mr. Song was already priced at about $800, several times the market rate; when Mr. Song raised the price again, Hall gave up on the purchase (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). In February 1893, Hall—now making his fourth trip to Pyongyang—snapped up a different pair of houses inside the West Gate of Pyongyang—that is, the Chŏnghae Gate—in the name of his helper (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893; Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 53; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 108–12, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s March 28, 1893, diary entry). The two houses were dubbed the “Tree House” and the “West Gate” property (Rosetta Hall 1897, 123). One of the buildings appears to have been an active kisaeng house, as James Hall wrote after securing the house for his use during his seventh visit to Pyongyang, in January 1894: “It had been used as a home for dancing girls, and was still being used for the same purpose. After some difficulty they consented to give up the house. The following two nights the house was vigorously stoned by a band of men who had been accustomed to spend their evenings there, but had now been defeated in their evil purposes” (Hall, “Pioneer Missionary Work,” Chinese Recorder (July 1894), 314). As James Hall’s widow Rosetta Sherwood Hall, also a medical missionary, put it: “This ‘dancing school’ was not simply a place where girls were taught to dance the ‘light fantastic.’ Rather, young and attractive girls were sold to these houses by their impoverished parents and became ordinary prostitutes” (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 122–23). It took Hall several days before he finally succeeded in “dissolving the house of wickedness” and evicting the dancing girls, upon which time he moved into the home of his Korean teacher, a Mr. Ro (Sherwood Hall 1978, 124).
p.57

Everything, Lee wrote, was “quite comfortably fixed and all seemed quiet and serene”

NoteThe Presbyterians, newly arrived and reassured by the governor’s supposed word of approval, moved into one of the Methodists’ two newly purchased houses on March 20, 1893: “Tomorrow we expect to move into other quarters. The Methodist mission has lately bought a house and they have given us the privilege of living in it until we can buy ours” (Lee letter to Mother, March 19, 1893).
p.57

perhaps countenance short visits by the foreign devils but not any attempt to move in for good

NoteHere, Sherwood Hall is citing his mother Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s April 29, 1893, diary entry. As Rosetta Hall wrote in her diary, her husband James’s attempt to register the purchase of the two properties in the name of his Korean assistants was a pretty thin fig leaf. “The Governor knew very well of Dr. Hall’s relation to the purchase, and his plans for medical work there, and because they wanted the Doctor, he winked at it, and gave him his protection,” she wrote. The problem came when Moffett and Lee, who weren’t doctors, attempted to buy properties, too; at that point, she writes, the governor appears to have changed his mind and ordered them to return their deeds (Sherwood Hall 1978, 112–13, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s April 29, 1893, diary entry). James Hall compounded the error by making no secret of his intention to move permanently to Pyongyang as soon as he could. Further exacerbating the situation was another misjudgment by Hall in choosing as his helper and interpreter a man that Graham Lee quickly judged to be a “rice Christian,” with “no more true religion about him than a stone.” This man, a certain Mr. Yu— the missionaries spell the man’s name as “Mr. You”—further spread word around town to the effect “that the foreigners were coming up to Pyeng Yang, that they were going to buy up all the fine sites, put up big houses and change the whole city.” “In fact this man was bad morally, and he did much to hinder the work,” Lee wrote (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). Yu’s rumors did little to endear the strange foreigners to the Pyongyang authorities, though the missionaries were much comforted when they got word that the governor of Pyongyang had declared his approval of the foreign religion, saying that the missionaries “cured the sick and helped the poor and that if anyone molested them he was to be reported to the governor.” The missionaries learned later that the message was hardly as reassuring as they had come to believe. Rather, “it simply told the people not to move away because the foreigners were in that part of the city” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). It should be remembered that Pyongyang’s only other major incident involving Westerners was the General Sherman incident, which had taken place less than three decades earlier. Adding to the problems, Dr. Hall, while staying with his Korean teacher, a Mr. Ro, was confronted by roughly twenty Pyongyangites, who demanded that Hall make a financial offering to “the spirit of Pyong Yang”—a demand that the devout Dr. Hall quickly rejected: “We have nothing to do with your spirit and we will not give it money, for we worship the true, living God who made us and you, and wants your worship too” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 396–98, citing the testimony of Mr. Ro). James Hall also tells the story himself in Hall, “Pioneer Missionary Work,” Chinese Recorder (July 1894), 314–16.  GOVERNOR MIN: Samuel Moffett identified the governor as a member of the ruling Min clan, whose most prominent member was the queen (Samuel A. Moffett, “The Work of the Spirit in North Korea,” Missionary Review of the World N.S. 8, no. 11 (November 1895), 831–37, here 832, O.S. 18, no. 11). Though Moffett doesn’t identify him by name, he is almost certainly referring to Min Pyŏng-sŏk (閔炳奭 1858–1940), who was appointed governor (觀察使 Kor. kwanch’al-sa) of P’yŏng’an province in November 1889 (Yi Ŭn-hŭi, “Min Pyŏng-sŏk (閔炳奭),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture. Nearly a century later, in 1978, the official North Korean history would villainize the Min clan as arrogant aristocrats “who boastfully called Pyongyang ‘a wing of the Min house.’ They oppressed and robbed the people mercilessly. Under their protection the landlords incessantly harassed their sharecroppers” (The Mother of Korea: Biographical Novel (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1978), 11).
p.57

“as large as one’s fist went whizzing past my ear” as he and Lee walked through the streets

NoteMoffett describes the incident and the near-miss with the stone, which he says happened in the morning on what he calls “West Gate street,” in a pair of pieces written in 1925 and 1936—decades after the fact (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 53; and Samuel A. Moffett, “Early Days, Part I,” Korea Mission Field 32, no. 1 (January 1936), 4–7, here 4). Given the time that had elapsed, some of the details should be treated with caution, especially since they don’t seem to appear in Moffett’s contemporaneous writings. In 1911, another missionary recounted the incident like so: “The aim was poor so no harm was done, but had it struck home, there would have been no sympathy for the foreigner in the hearts of the crowd of roughs who looked on” (Julia Martin, “Three Pictures,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 6 (June 1911), 171–72). The stone throwing was but the most tangible manifestation of the souring mood in Pyongyang towards the foreigners. As the authorities caught wind of the situation, they first moved to arrest the Korean men who had sold the two houses to James Hall’s local helper, in violation of the treaty limiting foreign residence to the established treaty ports (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893; and Samuel A. Moffett, “A New Mission Station at Pyeng Yang, Korea,” The Church at Home and Abroad 14, no. 80 (August 1893), 107–8, later reproduced in Oak 2011, 434–38).  MOFFETT’S DUPLICITY: Moffett tried to convince the governor that there was no violation of the treaty because the transactions were conducted between Koreans, but that line of reasoning went nowhere; the governor apparently refused to see him (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). Of course, Moffett’s argument was only valid according to a narrow reading of the letter of the law. As the missionaries knew, “Pyeng Yang is not an open port and in consequence foreigners have no rights there except those given by passport. On a passport a man can live in an inland town eleven months in a year if he wants to but he cannot buy property,” as Lee wrote his mother a few weeks later (Graham Lee letter to Mother, April 21, 1893, Gensan, Korea (MKC)). Swallen, the third Presbyterian missionary assigned to Pyongyang, was also uncomfortable with the duplicity from the start, and wasn’t afraid to express his displeasure to Ellinwood. “From the start—I took issue with Mr. Moffett as to the principle. I believed, and still even more strongly hold the same opinion, that to purchase property in that way is not to deal frankly with the Koreans. It resolves itself into this: when we speak to each other we say we have bought property, but when we speak to a Korean we say we did not purchase,” wrote Swallen, who had left Pyongyang before any of the troubles began, declaring himself “unwilling henceforth to try to open any new station in that way” (William L. Swallen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, May 29, 1893, Seoul (PHS 177/4/35)).  MOFFETT PROTESTS (TOO MUCH): Despite his later protestations, Moffett does not emerge from this incident looking good. He later justified the process by deflecting the blame onto the Koreans for their alleged lack of respect for an individual’s right to buy and sell property. “Although I represented to the official that these men had violated no Korean law, I soon found that the official’s will is law, so far as Koreans are concerned, and that a native has no rights which the official is bound to respect—not even the right to buy or sell property” (Moffett, “A New Mission Station,” Church at Home and Abroad (1893), 107). In his annual report to the mission that year, Moffett went to great lengths to assert his belief that he had done nothing wrong: “In no respect did we…violate either law or treaty nor was there the slightest deception practiced. We did not state publicly what were our plans and purposes nor was there any reason to do so. The transaction on our part was a bona fide purchase of property by a Korean according to Korean law…I wish to make clear that there was nothing to which official or moral exception can be taken” (Moffett, “Report of Work in Pyeng An Province,” October 1893 (PHS)). In August 1894, Moffett similarly told Ellinwood: “I want my own acts to be free from any cause of complaint on the part of officials Korean or American. Especially I want the Board to put absolute confidence in me to the extent of believing that under no circumstances will I do that to which any moral exception” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 27, 1894, Seoul (PHS 179/8/47)).  TWO FORGED DEEDS: With public pressure mounting and Hall having left Pyongyang for Ŭiju with the deeds to the two Methodist properties inside the West Gate, Hall’s helper Mr. Yu forged two false deeds and turned them over to their original owners (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). “Nice mess all around, wasn’t it!” Graham wrote afterwards (Lee letter to Mother, April 21, 1893). The demand soon followed for the Presbyterians to do the same, and Moffett and Lee promptly turned over the deeds for their property outside the West Gate (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893).
p.57

demanding that the missionaries leave, prompting Lee to reach for the rifle hanging on the wall

NoteGraham Lee’s letter to Ellinwood describes the confrontation at the door as taking place in the evening (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). In Lee’s letter to his mother, written roughly a week later, he describes the crowd gathering outside their door at 6:00 a.m. (Lee letter to Mother, April 21, 1893) Decades later, perhaps misremembering and exaggerating some details, Moffett wrote: “The mob gathered—two or three hundred men in number—with angry shouting and threatening gestures. We looked out and saw the courtyard full of men and Lee reached for his shotgun, not understanding what was said nor what might happen” (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 53; and Moffett, “Early Days, Part I,” Korea Mission Field (1936), 4).
p.57

Moffett and his companions soon made themselves scarce, with Moffett returning to Seoul

NoteMoffett also used his captive audience, naturally, to give an explanation of the Gospel. When he confronted the magistrate the next morning, the official denied having sent the men the night before, and promised to Moffett to release the Koreans who had been arrested in relation to the property purchases (Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893; and Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 53). There, the situation sat for a while, as the missionaries dispersed: James Hall to Ŭiju, Swallen to Hwanghae province, Lee to Wŏnsan, and Moffett back to Seoul.
p.58

returned to Pyongyang for a sixth time, “confident that our first repulse was only temporary”

NoteMoffett made this sixth trip to Pyongyang, a twelve-day stay in the city in May-June 1893, with Lewis B. Tate (1862–1929), a Southern Presbyterian missionary (Gifford, “Report of the Committee on Narrative,” October [19?], 1893 (PHS); and Moffett, “Report of Work in Pyeng An Province,” October 1893 (PHS)). Moffett gave the tally of six Pyongyang visits in an August 1893 article, after the trip (Moffett, “A New Mission Station,” Church at Home and Abroad (1893), 107). Before heading out, Moffett told Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank F. Ellinwood that he was “confident that our first repulse was only temporary and due entirely to indiscretion in making known to unreliable Koreans what were our plans” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, May 8, 1893, Seoul (PHS 179/8/31)). Indeed, by October 1893, the missionaries were able to look back on that initial repulse with humor: “About the 1st of March a band consisting of Brothers Moffett, Lee & Swallen, shot-gun in hand, in martial array, started for the taking of the city of Pyeng Yang. They evidently met a Tartar in the Governor of the place, for they returned straggling in, one from one direction, another from another, and still a third never returned at all, or to be strictly accurate, did not return until the time of the Annual Meeting. However, it is but just to say that they were only defeated, not vanquished” (Gifford, “Report of the Committee on Narrative,” October [19?], 1893 (PHS)).
p.58

rumblings about a looming confrontation between the Japanese and Chinese armies

NoteIn addition to the gathering military storm clouds, Moffett could detect an ominous shift in how Pyongyang residents regarded the missionaries. During the Presbyterians’ absence, two members of the Anglican Society for the Propagation of the Gospel had arrived in Pyongyang, stirring anger with their indelicate methods. It isn’t clear what these men did; Moffett only notes that they “treated the people and especially the boys most rudely and called forth threats of driving them out of the city” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, June 6, 1893). The Anglican group was founded in London in 1701 by Thomas Bray under a Royal Charter as the foreign missions arm of the Church of England, and today is known, after many name changes, as USPG, the United Society Partners in the Gospel. For a history of the Church of England’s early missionary work in Korea, see Trollope 1915, 26–115.
p.58

he quietly received inquirers, preaching one Sunday in early June to roughly twenty Koreans

NoteANOTHER TRY: Daniel Gifford, the Korea missionary and McCormick classmate of Moffett and Baird, described the purchase of the property in a report that year (Gifford, “Report of the Committee on Narrative,” October [19?], 1893 (PHS)). He also describes the church’s location and structure in Gifford 1897, 8–9. See also Hong Man-ch’un, P’yŏngsŏ Nohoe-sa [History of Western P’yŏng’an Presbytery] (Seoul: Nŭlbich’, 1998), 648; Chin Chi-hun, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae wa P’yŏngyang Changdae-hyŏn Kyohoe” [The Expansion of Missions and Pyongyang Changdae-hyŏn Church], Sŏnggyŏng kwa Kogohak [Bible & Archaeology] 89–90 (2016), 222–47, here 244; and Oak 2013, 277. According to church historian Hong Man-ch’un, the house was purchased from a man named Hong Chong-dae (洪鐘大 ?–?), and was located next to Aeryŏn-gak (愛蓮閣), also known as Aeryŏn-dang (愛蓮堂), a traditional pavilion near the Taedong Gate (Hong Man-ch’un 1998, 648).  HAN SŎK-JIN: Unlike the previous time, Moffett affirmed, the purchase of the home was truly for his helper; by the fall of 1893, the helper had moved his family into the home from Ŭiju, where they had been living (Moffett, “Report of Work in Pyeng An Province,” October 1893 (PHS); and Oak 2013, 277). The helper that Moffett refers to is Han Sŏk-jin (韓錫晉 1868–1939), who had first met Moffett during his spring 1891 trip with James Gale to Pyongyang, Ŭiju, and Manchuria. “The two missionaries were standing on a hill behind the town, looking over the Yalu river to the mountains of Manchuria, when a smiling young Korean approached and talked with them about the historic movement of culture from China through Uiju into Korea. Then he accompanied them to their lodgings, and they spoke of Christianity,” Gale’s biographer writes. The next year, 1892, Moffett baptized Han in Ŭiju, and Han dedicated the rest of his life to the church, eventually rising to become moderator of the Korean Presbyterian Church (Rutt 1983, 19).  A FIRST SUNDAY WORSHIP SERVICE: On June 4, 1893, Moffett presided over his first Sunday worship service there, before twenty Koreans (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, June 6, 1893; and Oak 2013, 277). Moffett also found success strolling just outside Pyongyang’s city walls and setting up a summertime sarang under a big tree, where they drew large crowds, preached and sold books (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, June 6, 1893).
p.58

for the third time in a year, this time to “perfect arrangements for securing a larger house”

NoteIn the meantime, he moved into Han Sŏk-jin’s house near the Taedong Gate, next to a Korean scholar who was friendly when sober but when drunk would go on angry rampages against the “foreign devil,” once armed with a hatchet, “breaking down the door and ready to break my head also, had he not been seized by my helper and cook” (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 54).
p.58

“I am ready to say that while we have not opened it I am ‘occupying’ it,” he told his colleagues

NoteMoffett was specific in predicting in this report that he could formally open Pyongyang Station by May 1894, asking for a separate appropriation to be made for the as-yet-unopened station for 1894 and 1895 (Moffett, “Report of Work in Pyeng An Province,” October 1893 (PHS)).
p.58

duties in Seoul—“finally,” he exclaimed—so that he could turn his full attention to Pyongyang

NoteAt about the same time, Moffett’s Methodist colleague W. James Hall was also sent by his mission to Pyongyang—albeit with a far more cautious approach, having internalized the lessons of the earlier setbacks. In Hall’s case, he had also just become a father, and was eager to spend more time with his wife and newborn son in Seoul; all of this persuaded him that it would be better to lay low for the time being and not aggravate the situation in the northern city, coming and going until he gradually become a fixture in town. Dr. Hall’s Methodist colleague, medical missionary William B. Scranton, was more aggressive, telling Hall he should plan to return to Pyongyang to build a Western-style house for his family to move into in the spring. Following this advice, Dr. Hall headed up on January 10, 1894, with the newly arrived independent Scottish Canadian missionary William J. McKenzie. But when Dr. Scranton arrived in Pyongyang in February, he came to agree with Hall that “the persecution of the Christians was still a grim reality and that progress could only be made in small steps” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 127–29).
p.58

to live what he called “a nomad’s life until such time as residence here seems advisable”

NoteMoffett spent the winter of 1893–1894 in the house, “this time being quite unmolested by the officials of the city,” according to Daniel Gifford, who described the location of the house as being situated “inside the East Gate, near the present site of the Pyeng Yang church.” “The winter was spent by Mr. Moffett and his helper in daily work, which could hardly be called preaching so much as familiar conversation with individuals or groups of men wherever they met them, whether in Mr. Moffett’s room, where most of the work was done, or upon the streets in and around the city” (Gifford 1897, 8–9).
p.58

to Pyongyang in four years, his sarang was bustling, so much that he felt himself “besieged”

NoteThis article is also reproduced in Oak 2011, 558. For this trip, Moffett departed Seoul in November 1893, spending Christmas in Pyongyang and reaching Ŭiju before returning to the capital in the spring of 1894 (Oak 2011, 506–7).
p.58

“so it is every day. Just how much of this kind of life I can stand I don’t know,” Moffett wrote

Note“Am kept pretty busy every day—talking with people and except in early mornings can have little time to myself,” he added in the letter (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Daniel L. Gifford, December 14, 1893, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).
p.59

“from early morning until midnight has there been that I could hardly get time to rest or eat”

NoteThe missionaries James Hall and William McKenzie, arriving in Pyongyang in January 1894, found Moffett “living alone in Pyong Yang, and in true Korean style. Mr. McKenzie was impressed with his simple and economical living,” McKenzie’s biographer writes. “Mr. Moffett had been here for two months without hearing from the outside world, and was happy indeed at the coming of his two brothers” (McCully 1904, 92). McKenzie would later emulate Moffett, relocating to a rural village in Hwanghae province and adopting Korean dress and customs (Young-sik Yoo [Yu, Yŏng-sik], “The Impact of Canadian Missionaries in Korea: A Historical Survey of Early Canadian Mission Work, 1888–1898” (Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 1996), 400–2). For more on William J. McKenzie, see Supplemental Notes for Act I, Chapter 3.
p.59

“to distribute tracts and to make my presence more widely known,” he reported, cheerfully

Note“There are now in this region hundreds of people reading the tracts and discussing the gospel story,” Moffett wrote in this letter (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 12, 1894, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/40)). In a report at the end of that year, Moffett described how he spent “one or two hours every alternate afternoon either on the river bank or in the outskirts of the city, talking to groups of men and selling or distributing tracts. By this latter work the gospel was widely proclaimed and my presence made known so that a constant stream of inquiring visitors was secured” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Evangelistic Report,” December 1894, Seoul (PHS 180/11)).
p.59

brave enough to show up to Moffett’s meetings were “marked men in the neighborhood”

NoteThe full quote: “The great mass of people, as usual, look upon the truth with suspicion, ridicule and hatred…Those who come have been subject to scorn and ridicule and marked men in the neighborhood. When it became known that some of them had identified themselves with us and openly professed to their friends that they were ‘Jesus doctrine’ men, every effort was made to laugh them out of it” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 12, 1894).  When James Hall and William McKenzie visited Moffett in Pyongyang, the three men would walk through the city, where they were subject to name-calling (“sometimes amusing, sometimes ugly”) and to the “unpleasant salute of stones.” “A walk through the city revealed a terrible state of immorality and utter wickedness, even for a heathen population,” McKenzie’s biographer writes. “Sin indeed abounded, and the trio of heartsick missionaries found themselves growing earnest in prayer that more helpers might be found for the stupendous task that faced them” (McCully 1904, 93–94).
p.59

to lure him back to the bottle, the innkeeper’s conversion caused a stir across Pyongyang

NoteAlso cited in Oak 2013, 277–78. The man, Ch’oe Ch’i-ryang (崔致良 1854–1930), was, in Moffett’s words, “a tall, slender man, ‘hail fellow well met’ with everyone, given to loud talking, drinking, gambling and a vicious life generally, always ready for a joke and yet addicted to loud quarreling with any and every one. As an inn-keeper and business man he was very shrewd and able, but was always wasting his earnings in wine, gambling and immorality, and he made his home very miserable” (as quoted in Gifford 1898, 163). Another missionary refers to him as Ch’oe Ch’o-si, “who kept a saloon in the city with a blue flag split down the middle to show that he had liquor to sell” (see Blair 1957, 17). Ch’oe converted to Christianity under the guidance of Moffett’s Korean assistant Han Sŏk-jin while the missionary was away in Seoul in 1893 (Oak 2013, 277–78).   “A NEW CREATURE”: After his conversion, Ch’oe was made “the butt of all the jokes and ridicule and abuse which could be heaped upon him.” “Day after day they came tempting him, insisting that he should drink with them according to Korean custom and roundly abusing him as false to his friends,” Moffett told Ellinwood in his letter. “Time and again has he fled from them, coming in here that he might not yield and that he might gain strength in prayer.” Ch’oe’s wife and brother “ridiculed” his conversion as a “crazy” decision, Moffett added, but were also delighted that he had given up, mostly, his affinity for alcohol (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 12, 1894). Despite the mockery, Ch’oe remained true to his adopted creed. “Always an outspoken man, he met all this abuse most bravely, and frankly confessed that he was ‘doing the Jesus doctrine,’” Moffett recounts elsewhere. “Old friends and comrades in evil conspired to make him again fall into sin, visiting him and doing all they could to lead him to gamble and drink.” Ultimately, however, Ch’oe “had, through his faith in Christ, become indeed a ‘new creature.’ He had given up his adultery, drunkenness and gambling, his fighting in the home and on the street, and he had caused his home-coming, from day to day, to become a pleasure to his wife and children, instead of a cause for fear” (as quoted in Gifford 1898, 164–65). For a longer version of Ch’oe’s conversion story, see Gifford 1898, 163–69.
p.59

“this man’s conversion the news of the gospel has been widely scattered,” Moffett wrote

NoteFROM REPROBATE TO MODEL CITIZEN: “Mr. Chay is one of the best-known Christians in Pyeng-yang, and his marked reformation has done much to commend the Gospel to the people of that vicinity,” Moffett said (as quoted in Gifford 1898, 169). Moffett’s colleague Daniel Gifford, for his part, called Ch’oe Ch’i-ryang “a notable example of the power of the Gospel to change a reprobate into a decent God-fearing man” (Gifford 1897, 17). Within a decade, Moffett described how Ch’oe had gone from being a drunken innkeeper to a model citizen. Ch’oe and many of his relatives, Moffett wrote in 1907, “are Christians, and he is one of the most respected men in the city, a deacon in the church and the leader and teacher of a group of Christians across the river…He is one of the wealthiest men also, for thirteen years of application to business has enabled him to amass a fortune, and he is one of the most liberal contributors to every good cause” (Moffett, “Visions of the Foreign Field,” in Bradt 1907, 52–53).  WALLPAPERED WITH REV. THOMAS’S BIBLE: According to one possibly apocryphal tale, Moffett, after arriving in Pyongyang, stayed at Ch’oe’s inn and was surprised to find the walls lined with pages of the Chinese Bible—a common wallpapering technique of the time—that appeared to have come from Bibles that Robert J. Thomas, the Welsh missionary who sailed to Korea aboard the ill-fated General Sherman in 1866, had scattered on the shore before his execution (Hong 1998, 648; and Chin, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae” (2016), 240). According to O Mun-hwan, an early Korean Presbyterian elder and amateur historian of Rev. Thomas’s life, an eleven-year-old Ch’oe Ch’i-ryang, captivated by the sighting of the General Sherman, “went down to the river banks with his uncle to see the foreigners, and brought back three copies of the Scriptures” (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 122). O writes further that a clerk in the local prefectural office, Pak Yŏng-sik (朴永植 ?–?), gathered all of the Bibles that Rev. Thomas had scattered after officials issued an edict demanding residents turn in any foreign literature they had received, and had the pages used for wallpapering—which Ch’oe Ch’i-ryang later purchased (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 122). A similar story, which ought also to be taken with skepticism, has it that Rev. Thomas’s killer had used the pages of the missionary’s Bible to wallpaper his home, leading to the conversion of his nephew—who later graduated from the missionary-run Sungsil Academy and went on to help revise the Korean Bible (Luther Martin and Eugene Bach, Crimson Crucible: Underground Christians in North Korea, 2nd ed. (Blountsville, Ala.: Fifth Estate, 2013), 34).   “CHEAP PAPER”: One thing that is not in dispute is that Koreans indeed liked to buy cheap Bibles in order to use their pages as wallpaper. William Baird, itinerating in the southeastern Korean city of Kongju in October 1893, found that the only customers for his Bibles were those who wanted to use the pages of scripture to reinforce their thin paper walls ahead of the oncoming winter: “The people said they did not care to buy books since they had finished papering their walls,” Baird lamented. “We could see that the walls were papered with religious books. Some of them last year’s calendars—bought, I presume, from Moffett on his trip last year to Kongju” (Baird 1968, 41, citing William W. Baird’s October 7, 1893, diary entry). By 1907, the missionaries realized that they had to price their Bibles higher so as to discourage natives from buying the scriptures for this purpose (“Cheap Paper,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 6 (June 1907), 87–88). Similarly, in Manchuria, the pioneering missionaries Revs. John Ross and Alexander Williamson, selling their Bibles as they traveled, “distributed many waggon-loads all over the three provinces of Manchuria.” As Ross writes, “though I have not been able to trace any special results in the way of intelligent understanding of those Scriptures, it is impossible to believe that the distribution was wholly without effect. Some books then purchased I have seen in houses a quarter of a century afterwards” (Ross 1903, 119–20).
p.59

provisional members of the church who could, after a year’s probation, become full members

NoteStandards for such so-called “catechumens” were kept very high by the Korea missionaries, requiring Sunday observance and strong prayer life and prohibiting ancestral worship, gambling, concubines, alcohol, and tobacco (C. A. Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “Fifty Years of Mission Organization Principles and Practice,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 56–67, here 57). Also cited in Jaekeun Lee 2010, 90–91. See also Oak 2013, 277–78.
p.59

to a class for boys, while on Sunday evenings his helper conducted another worship service

NoteThe assistant was Han Sŏk-jin. Another source describes three worship services taking place on Sundays and a prayer meeting being held every Wednesday (Kang Kyu-ch’an, Kim Sŏn-du, and Pyŏn In-sŏ, P’yŏngyang Nohoe Chigyŏng Kak Kyohoe Sagi [A History of Each Church in the Pyongyang Presbytery] (Seoul: Kwangmunsa, 1925, repr. Seoul: Han’guk Kidokgyosa Yŏn’gu-so, 2013), 25–26).
p.59

stretching on and on as the Korean congregants called for more singing and more prayer

NoteJames Hall and William McKenzie, visiting Pyongyang in January 1894, found that “the eagerness of converts to have a share in the services made it often difficult to close them, so much singing was desired and so many wished to pray, and all voluntarily” (McCully 1904, 93).
p.59

and celebrated Communion with his first eight men in Pyongyang—“a joyful day,” he remarked

Note“A HAPPY DAY”: Reflecting on the moment months later, Moffett declared it “a happy day to my native helper and myself, for we have been longing and praying for conversions, and for some signs of the Spirit’s work in the hearts of Koreans” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Life at a Korean Outpost,” The Church at Home and Abroad 15, no. 89 (May 1894), 373–74, here 374). Also reproduced in Oak 2011, 558. Moffett added in his annual report that year that the eight men had been taught by Han Sŏk-jin for several months before Moffett’s arrival in the city, and had been under Moffett’s own daily instruction for two months before their baptism (Moffett, “Evangelistic Report,” December 1894 (PHS)). According to one source, the baptized men included Chŏn Chae-suk, Mun Hŭng-jun, Yi Tong-sŭng, Cho Sang-jŏng, Han T’ae-gyo, and Pak Chŏng-guk (Kang et al. 2013, 26). Slightly different lists can be found in Oak 2013, 278; and Hong 1998, 648. Oak notes that two of the baptized men, including Ch’oe Ch’i-ryang, were around forty years old, while the others were in their twenties (Oak 2013, 278). Daniel Gifford later described the baptism ceremony as involving only seven men (Gifford 1897, 10). Kang Kyu-ch’an gives the date, incorrectly, as January 5, 1894, a Friday (Kang et al. 2013, 26).  PYONGYANG’S FIRST BAPTISM: Whether these eight men were the very first Koreans in Pyongyang to be baptized into the Protestant faith is unclear, but likely true. Methodist missionary James Hall described baptizing two men at a Sunday service in Pyongyang sometime in the spring of 1894 (Hall, “Pioneer Missionary Work,” Chinese Recorder (July 1894), 316). Though Hall doesn’t give a precise date, it would almost certainly have come after Moffett’s January 7, 1894, baptismal ceremony, since Hall had only departed Seoul for Pyongyang on January 10, 1894, arriving after a seven-day journey (Hall, “Pioneer Missionary Work,” Chinese Recorder (July 1894), 314). During Hall’s short stay in Pyongyang—he returned to Seoul in mid-March 1894—he reported having started a boy’s school with thirteen boys, studying the catechism in the morning and studying Chinese and the Korean vernacular alphabet the rest of the day. “Everything is going on smoothly and I am daily making friends and winning the confidence of the Koreans,” Hall wrote his wife in February 1894, adding that several Koreans would soon be baptized. “I think we are in Pyong Yang to stay” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 129–30, quoting W. James Hall letter to Rosetta Sherwood Hall, February 1894). The school that Hall started, now known as Kwangsŏng Middle School (光成中學校 Kor. Kwangsŏng Chunghakgyo), is still operating today, albeit in Seoul (Sherwood Hall 1978, 155, n. 8).  A NOTABLE CONVERT: In addition to these eight men, another notable early convert was Song Rin-sŏ (宋麟瑞 1867–1930), a Confucian-educated native of the Pyongyang region who practiced Buddhism and Daoism, and who first appeared at Moffett’s sarang in June 1893, planning to confront the foreigner who had dared come to his city to lead Koreans away from Confucianism. When Moffett surprised him by greeting him warmly, Song felt embarrassed and left with copies of some of Moffett’s tracts; by early 1894, after several months of visits from Moffett’s helper Han Sŏk-jin, Song resolved to give up his Buddhist and Daoist texts (Speer 1902, 390–92). Before long, Song had joined Moffett as an assistant, entering the seminary in 1902, graduating with the first class in 1907, and then serving as a pastor of Pyongyang’s South Gate Church (Oak 2013, 280, n. 36; and “Narrative Report of Rev. W. L. Swallen for October, November, December 1907,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 3 (March 1908), 43–44).
p.59

“The Lord has thus been working even in this the most wicked city of Korea”

NoteThough Moffett was buoyant at the success he had seen thus far, he nonetheless remained chastised by the challenges of the past year, understanding the situation to still be fragile, and told Ellinwood that he didn’t yet have the confidence to move out of his inn and thus publicly signal his intention to stay (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 12, 1894).

p.60

and that of Methodist missionary James Hall, had been arrested, imprisoned, and beaten

NoteW. James Hall, the Irish Canadian Methodist medical missionary, had returned to Pyongyang with his wife, Rosetta Sherwood Hall, the day before, on May 7, 1894. The Halls had gone to bed that night “in peace and happiness,” before being awoken at 2:00 a.m. and informed that Hall’s assistant Kim Ch’ang-sik, as well as Moffett’s assistant Han Sŏk-jin, had been arrested, beaten, and imprisoned. “They said they did not dare beat Dr. Hall so they took Chang Sik in his stead,” Kim Ch’ang-sik’s wife informed the Halls. When James Hall visited Kim Ch’ang-sik, one of his Korean companions, a Mr. O, was also detained (Sherwood Hall 1978, 132–33, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s diary; and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, July 30, 1894, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/45)). The magistrates, finding the name of Song Rin-sŏ, a prominent practitioner of Buddhism and Daoism who had converted to Christianity, on the church membership list, he was also imprisoned, beaten, and sentenced to death (Samuel A. Moffett, “An Educated Ministry in Korea,” in Charles Edwin Bradt, Men and the Modern Missionary Enterprise: History, Call, Addresses, Deliverances, Conferences and Deliberations of the First Inter-Synodical Foreign Missionary Convention for Men, Held at Omaha, Nebraska, February 19–21, 1907 (Chicago: Winona, 1907), 137–41, here 140). See also Oak 2013, 279–80. Daniel Gifford later described the incident as “the persecution ever memorable in the history of the work in Pyeng Yang” (Gifford 1897, 10). For a detailed account, see Gifford 1897, 10–18. While all this drama was transpiring in Pyongyang, Moffett had returned to Seoul, where he was meeting with diplomats (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 30, 1894).  “THE ‘PAIN’ WAS TAKEN AWAY”: Kim Ch’ang-sik (金昌植 1857–1929), an early believer from Pyongyang, converted to the faith after a visit to Seoul in the early 1890s, where he came across the missionaries in a chance encounter. Seeing Chinese translations of the New Testament in a missionary’s home, he took a copy back to read on his own, upon which he told a missionary that “‘he felt a pain in his heart.’ The more he read the worse the pain grew. He went to the missionary. Confession, repentance, faith and prayer were prescribed and observed. The ‘pain’ was taken away; he was saved from sin” (Appenzeller 1902, 29–30). A similar account can be found in Brown 1919, 507. Kim Ch’ang-sik was ordained as a deacon by the Methodists in May 1901, making him the two Korean man ordained into the Protestant ministry; by the time he retired in 1924, he was said to have founded 125 churches (C. D. Morris [Morris, Charles D.], “Rev. Kim Chang Sik, M. E.,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 7 (July 1910), 176–77, here 177; Paik 1929, 294; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 102). For a short biography of Kim Ch’ang-sik, see Morris, “Rev. Kim Chang Sik,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 176–77. And for a picture of him, see the cover of the July 1910 issue of the Korea Mission Field.
p.60

scrambled back to Pyongyang “post haste,” where he “found things in pretty serious shape”

NoteThe British legation was involved because of W. James Hall’s Canadian nationality, though it’s not clear if the diplomatic entreaties made a whit of difference to the Pyongyang authorities. As Hall wrote in a letter at the time, “the governor is a relative of the queen, a powerful family here in Korea, and it began to look as though he were not going to pay any attention to the telegram from the foreign office” (W. J. Hall [Hall, W. James], “Pioneer Missionary Work in the Interior of Korea,” Chinese Recorder and Missionary Journal 25, no. 9 (September 1894), 431–33, here 432). See also Rosetta Hall 1897, 272–281; Sherwood Hall 1978, 138; and McCully 1904, 127–28. Before departing Seoul for Pyongyang, Moffett sent a telegram to James Hall that read, simply, “Joshua, first chapter, ninth verse” (Hall, “Pioneer Missionary Work,” Chinese Recorder (September 1894), 432). The verse referenced, which Rev. Hall would have known by heart, reads: “Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest” (KJV).  THE SCRAMBLE NORTH: Moffett rushed back up to Beijing together with Scottish Canadian missionary William J. McKenzie. As it turns out, by the time Moffett and McKenzie arrived in Pyongyang, the Korean assistants had all been freed. “They came in eight-men chairs, but said it was a mistake. They could have gotten here sooner on horseback,” Rosetta Hall wrote in her diary. Even so, she wrote, “we were very glad to welcome them. As Doctor said, he had had the care of both churches upon him and he was very glad to share the responsibility” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 141–42, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s May 19, 1894, diary entry). Moffett told Ellinwood that the hot emotions were the result, he believed, of the Pyongyang authorities, who he wrote in the letter were “doing all they could to make it unpleasant & dangerous for foreigners here.” In his meetings with the governor, Moffett, recognizing that insisting on the sanctity of property rights was not the wisest line of argument to pursue, “took his stand upon the fact that contrary to treaty his employee had been mistreated” (Daniel L. Gifford letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 13, 1894, Seoul (PHS 178/5/44)).
p.60

hurling stones, while rumors swirled that the king had called for the beheading of all Christians

NoteOn the evening of May 10, 1894, Rosetta Sherwood Hall wrote in her diary, “suddenly there came a stone hurled evidently by someone who saw me standing there as there was a light in my room. It struck an earthen jar, breaking it, just in front of the window. It made such a crash, just like breaking a glass window, that it quite startled us all” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 136–37, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s diary). By that point, the Pyongyang authorities had served an official order, sealed with three official stamps and written in Chinese characters, ordering the Halls to vacate the house, saying that the many curious visitors were causing a great disturbance and decrying the missionaries’ teachings—both Catholicism and Protestantism—as being “very bad” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 134–35, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s diary). At the same time, the authorities ordered that water supplies be cut off to the foreigners, with the city’s famous water-carriers instructed not to bring supplies to Hall’s residence (Hall, “Pioneer Missionary Work,” Chinese Recorder (September 1894), 432; and Gifford 1897, 13). On the following morning, May 11, 1894, the Halls were approached by a servant of Pyongyang’s governor, who said that the British and American diplomats in Seoul had met with King Kojong over the turmoil in Pyongyang, and that—at least according to the governor’s servant—Kojong and the Western diplomats agreed that missionaries ought not to be in Pyongyang, and that the king had ordered Pyongyang’s governor to behead all Christians that day (Sherwood Hall 1978, 137–38, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s diary). “We did not know the moment a mob might be upon us,” as W. James Hall put it in a letter at the time. “We were the only foreigners in a city of one hundred thousand heathen” (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 138).
p.60

while Moffett’s and Hall’s assistants were bound with a red cord that denoted a death sentence

NoteAs Moffett recalls, the two Korean men were reading Christ’s words in Luke 12:4—“Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do” (KJV)—when the police burst in on them (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 44–45; and Davis 1910, 22). “Word came summoning them before the acting-magistrate of the city. Apparently it meant that they were to be executed. They were brought before him and made to kneel in his presence,” writes Daniel Gifford, who adds that the two Korean converts were placed in “the death cell, where criminals soon to be executed are confined,” and fastened into stocks with their feet stretched far apart, “in such a manner as to cause them intense pain” (Gifford 1897, 11–14).
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to disavow the faith: “God loves me and has forgiven me my sins; how can I curse him?”

Note According to W. James Hall, Kim Ch’ang-sik “was imprisoned, had his feet wedged in stocks for two days and nights, was stoned and almost beaten to death, but would not give up Christ” (as quoted in Morris, “Rev. Kim Chang Sik,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 176). Moffett’s assistant Han Sŏk-jin was similarly defiant, according to one account: “The governor roared, ‘Don’t you know, ignorant and rebellious citizen, that it is a treasonable crime to embrace the foreign religion or to believe in foreign God forbidden by his majesty’s decrees? The crime is punishable by death! But, however, if you will now point at your God and revile him in my presence, I will set you free. Will you do that and live, or die a traitor’s death?’ Han Chosey stood up and said boldly, ‘If your Excellency will revile God, perhaps I would. But who would revile God, the Creator, whose children we all are, and by whose grace we all breathe and have our being?’ (Charr 1996, 74–75). Rosetta Sherwood Hall writes that Kim Ch’ang-sik’s treatment appeared to be far worse than that of Han Sŏk-jin and the Methodists’ Mr. O because Kim refused to renounce his faith when pressed by the authorities. While encouraged by Kim Ch’ang-sik’s boldness, Hall had all but resigned herself to an unhappy ending by the morning of May 11, 1894, writing: “All continue to say that Chang Sik and Han will be beheaded today for having preached the Gospel. Our Koreans are all downcast, bewailing their coming to Pyong Yang” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 137–38, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s diary). 
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released, “mangled and half-dead,” the two men were chased home by locals heaving stones

NoteAfter more beatings and demands that they cut ties with the foreigners and their faith, the local authorities received the order from Seoul to free the prisoners (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 30, 1894; and Brown 1919, 507). It’s not clear why the authorities relented, though it may have been the Korean converts’ defiance or the behind-the-scenes diplomatic efforts by the Western diplomats in Seoul. Most likely, it was a combination of the two, with the British and American diplomats sending a flurry of telegrams: “Unless Governor defies America and England, you have nothing fear,” read one telegram to the anxious missionaries in Pyongyang (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 139). Whatever it was, it worked. “About 7 P.M. poor Chang Sik came staggering in. He lay down on the floor, could scarcely speak, was limp and cold, and suffering extremely. Said he had been stoned all the way home by order of that Captain Kim’s son, the servant of the Governor,” Rosetta Hall wrote in her diary, noting that the stoning appeared to have been prompted by Kim Ch’ang-sik’s refusal to the very end to stop preaching the Jesus doctrine—even after the Pyongyang governor had been given the order to release the man. “He said though some might think it a bad doctrine, he knew it was good, and would live it and teach it. The Magistrate commanded him to deny Jesus and to blaspheme God. He said he couldn’t do it” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 139–40, citing Rosetta Sherwood Hall’s diary). The missionary Daniel L. Gifford wrote of the incident three years later: “As they started to go an official servant, who had been one of the prime movers in the persecution, set up the cry, ‘They are all Christians, and no matter if they are killed.’ Thereupon the whole pack of yamen-runners started after them with stones. Two of the Christians escaped down side streets and were not pursued; but Mr. Kim, Dr. Hall’s helper, was stoned all the way home, and staggering into the presence of Dr. Hall, sank to the floor nearly lifeless” (Gifford 1897, 15). Another account is given in Appenzeller 1902, 30.   METING OUT PUNISHMENT: After the incident, John M. B. Sill (1831–1901), the U.S. minister to Seoul, saw to it that the governor of Pyongyang punished those who had attacked the Christians, and the Korean men who had instigated the attacks on Moffett were forced to pay an indemnity of $500 (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)). Missionary Daniel Gifford describes the amount as 500 yen, or about $250 (Gifford 1897, 18). The central government, too, recalled the troublesome governor of Pyongyang—“these heathen officials of this heathen city,” Lee later wrote (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)). Instead, Seoul sent a more amenable, and apparently pro-Japanese, man in his place (Gifford letter to Ellinwood, August 13, 1894). The incident, which appeared to be a total victory for the missionaries, elicited some jingoism from the Americans: “The heathen in Pyeng Yang have been taught a lesson they will not soon forget and in the future will be exceedingly chary of interfering with the rights of one who takes refuge under the stars and stripes,” Graham Lee wrote in December 1894, months after the persecution (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)). Moffett engaged in his own triumphalism in a November 1895 article for the Missionary Review of the World, writing: “The Lord heard us, and soon, through the mediation of the God-fearing American Minister, meted out punishment to the persecutors, and compelled the haughty Min to return the money which had been extorted” (Moffett, “Work of the Spirit,” Missionary Review of the World (1895), 832). Indeed, the governor’s servant and the magistrate in Pyongyang were to be punished in Moffett’s presence, they learned, though it’s unclear if such a punishment was ever actually carried out (Sherwood Hall 1978, 147). Eventually, the magistrate was banished by Governor Min, ending up just south of Pyongyang in the city of Haeju, where James and Rosetta Hall’s son Sherwood later worked as a Methodist medical missionary, treating both the magistrate’s son and grandson. “It was now the Christians’ turn to wreak vengeance on their former persecutors. But you Christians have shown only love and kindness, as your care of my son and grandson have demonstrated,” the younger Dr. Hall recalled the man saying to him more than two decades later (Sherwood Hall 1978, 351).  “READY TO OBEY ALL LAWS”: Despite the victory, the prize that Moffett craved the most—the opening of Pyongyang to foreign residence—remained elusive. By May 1894—when Moffett had earlier predicted the official opening of Presbyterian mission station in Pyongyang would be accomplished by—Moffett was instead writing a letter to U.S. minister Sill, seeking to enlist Washington’s help in pushing for an opening in Pyongyang: “You will find us ready to obey all laws and treaty provisions in every respect and ready to make reparations wherever and whenever we may contravene them,” Moffett pleaded. As for that unfortunate incident with the deeds and the returned properties from a year earlier, Moffett remained cautious: “Should the Korean Government raise any questions as to this property may I ask for an opportunity to meet and talk with you about it before the Legation gives to the Government the facts as I have presented them to you” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to John M. B. Sill, May 25, 1894, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). In the meantime, Moffett planned to travel back and forth between Pyongyang and Ŭiju, “remaining in the province as long as a passport allows and my health holds out” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 12, 1894).
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Moffett couldn’t have been happier, regarding the persecutions as temporary setbacks

Note“I have a dozen things to make me rejoice and feel encouraged when I see the way in which these men have come out, the way they pray, their willingness to learn and their readiness to submit to all sorts of ridicule and abuse,” Moffett had written his seminary classmate Daniel Gifford earlier in the year (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Daniel L. Gifford, February 1, 1894, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).
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“There will certainly come a harvest of souls of which I believe we are reaping the first-fruits”

NoteIn a letter to Frank Ellinwood two months later, Samuel Moffett predicted that the tide would soon turn for him and for Christ’s message in Pyongyang: “It takes a great deal of courage for a Korean to become a sincere follower of Jesus making open profession but the day is not far off when His disciples will be numerous enough to encourage each other and to so strengthen each other as that they will be able to endure the more easily the ridicule and scorn and opposition of the world,” Moffett wrote. “Then a great many secret, but timid, believers will declare themselves” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 16, 1894, Eui Ju, Korea (PHS 179/8/41)). W. Arthur Noble, the Methodist missionary, had a similarly optimistic view after the release of Moffett and Hall’s assistants by the Pyongyang authorities: “It was with deep, solemn gratitude that the missionaries returned to their work, realizing that the epoch had changed and that the faithfulness of Dr. and Mrs. Hall had ushered in a new era…The long-struggled-for opening was at last secured” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 345).
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Korea by the early 1890s was a political powder keg

NoteOne Westerner, writing in 1889, described Korea as “the question of the hour,” not for its commercial value, which he dismissed as “contemptible,” but because of its importance as a pawn in regional geopolitics (Chesney Duncan, Corea and the Powers: A Review of the Far Eastern Question (Shanghai: Shanghai Mercury Office, 1889), Preface). Interestingly, Chesney Duncan (1854–?)—of which little is known, other than that he worked briefly for Korea’s customs service in the 1880s—saw the fight over supremacy in Asia as being one between Russia and Britain, omitting the U.S. and Japan entirely (Duncan 1889, 2).
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that by the 1890s included Japan, Russia, the U.K., the U.S., and the historical hegemon, China

NoteTHE PIVOT AND THE CROSSROADS: William Griffis called Korea “the pivot of the future history of Eastern Asia” (Griffis 1894, 441), and Joseph Longford echoed the “pivot” language in his 1911 book (Longford 1911, v), while Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown called Korea “the strategic point in the mastery of the Far East” (Brown 1919, v). As Columbia University scholar Wm. Theodore de Bary notes, Korea throughout its history played a critical role in East Asia’s history, serving as a pivot “without challenging China’s claim to be the Central Kingdom, or dreaming, as Japan at times has done, that it could become the dominant power in Asia” (Wm. Theodore de Bary, “Introduction,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 1). Theologian Rev. Eui Whan Kim, comparing Korea during these years to the Holy Land of biblical times, turned to a different metaphor, describing Korea as “being at the crossroads of the East…‘the Palestine of the Orient’” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 4). Roy Appleman, the U.S. Army’s official historian of the Korean War, similarly described Korea as lying “at the point where the Russian, Chinese, and Japanese spheres meet—the apex of the three great power triangles in Asia” (Roy E. Appleman, South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1961, repr. 1992), 1). As one contemporaneous Korea-based Canadian journalist succinctly summed up Korea’s predicament: “Japan wanted it to ensure the safety of her territories and to give her people a field for expansion. Russia desired it because here she could find safe and open ports for the terminus of her already projected Trans-Siberian Line. But there was one power in the way. China possessed a somewhat nebulous suzerainty over Korea” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 34–35).
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who feared that a power vacuum on the peninsula could be seized upon by one of their rivals

NoteMartina Deuchler, a leading historian of Korea between 1875 and 1885, writes that the Chosŏn dynasty’s manifest weakness by 1880 had created fears among its neighbors of a dangerous “power vacuum that might attract forces outside Japan’s and China’s control” (Deuchler 1977, 85). That said, at least one contemporaneous Western observer saw the competing claims on Korea as a source of stability: “For centuries a bone of contention between China and Japan, Korea finds her safety in the jealousy between these two countries” (Cavendish 1894, 37).
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whom Japan shared a relationship “as close as lips and teeth,” was now hopelessly backward

NoteThe “lips and teeth” metaphor (唇齒相依 Ch. chunchixiangyi) is frequently invoked today to describe the relationship between the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and the People’s Republic of China—and is sometimes erroneously credited to Mao Zedong—but actually predated the existence of either nation-state by millennia. The “lips and teeth” analogy dates back to ancient China and the Chronicles of Zuo (左傳 Ch. Zuozhuan), a classic Chinese historical text from the fourth century BC that includes a story about two ancient Chinese kingdoms that were closely allied; when one fell, the other’s demise quickly followed. In 1880, an influential Chinese treatise urged Beijing to cultivate ties of “lips and teeth” with Korea (Griffis 1894, 430). During the Boxer Rebellion in 1899–1901, the Qing emperor Guangxu (光緒帝 r. 1875–1908) sent a telegram to the Meiji emperor in Japan pleading for help, describing the relationship between China and Japan as being “as close as lips and teeth” (as quoted in Keene 2002, 559). In an August 1919 pamphlet written by a Chinese student in the U.S. warning about Japanese aggression, F. C. Sze, a student at the University of Wisconsin, writes: “China and Japan, being of a kindred race, ought to be able to get along amicably together. Their relations are essentially those of the lips to the teeth. ‘Destroy the lips,’ to use the famous Chinese metaphor, ‘and the teeth are cold’” (F. C. Sze, Is Japan a Burning Menace to the World’s Peace? (Champaign, Ill.: Publicity Bureau of the Chinese Students in the University of Illinois, 1919), 2). See also Duus 1995, 21–22.
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a military advisor to Tokyo during these years, “a dagger pointed at the heart of Japan”

NoteThe Cologne-born advisor, Maj. Gen. Klemens Wilhelm Jacob Meckel (1842–1906), was a veteran of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–1871, which deeply impressed Meiji Japan. Tokyo sent four samurais to observe the war, who were “deeply impressed by the strength and battle tactics of the Prussian military” (Keene 2002, 204–5). Though Meckel stayed in Japan for just three years, from 1885 to 1888, he effectively reshaped the modern Japanese military along Prussian lines. In Meckel’s mind, what made Korea so dangerous was its inability to defend itself from outsiders, thus inviting a strong Western power to dominate it and thus threaten Japan—hence, the dagger analogy (Duus 1995, 49).  PONIARDS, ARROWS, SHUTTLECOCKS, FENCES, SPRINGBOARDS, HAMMERS: Meckel’s metaphor was but one among a number of colorful and memorable analogies employed by writers, scholars, and political leaders of this period. Frederick Palmer (1873–1958), an American foreign correspondent who was a friend and informal advisor to Theodore Roosevelt, quoted Yamagata Aritomo (山縣 有朋 1838–1922), the two-time prime minister of Japan and a leading advocate of military action, comparing Korea to “a poniard pointing at the heart of Japan” (Frederick Palmer 1904, 15; and Métraux 2017, 110). Roosevelt had praised Palmer as “our best war correspondent” and welcomed him to Washington in early 1905 to receive a personal update on the status of the Russo-Japanese War; Roosevelt peppered him with a fusillade of questions before confiding that he was planning to “make peace” between the two sides (Métraux 2017, 111, 127–28). Arthur Brown, for his part, quoted “an intelligent Japanese” comparing Korea to “an arrow pointed at the heart of Japan” (Brown 1919, 153). In another work, Brown described Korea as “the broad highway from Japan to Manchuria, to China, to Russian territory, to the international opportunities that Japan covets and the international dangers that she fears” (Brown 1912, 24). British Lord George N. Curzon, writing in 1896, called Korea a “shuttlecock among the nations” (Curzon 1896, 188). Fukuzawa Yukichi (福澤 諭吉 1835–1901), a prominent Meiji reformer, described Korea as Japan’s security “fence” (as quoted in Mark E. Caprio, “Marketing Assimilation: The Press and the Formation of the Japanese-Korean Colonial Relationship,” Journal of Korean Studies 16, no. 1 (Spring 2011), 1–25, here 5). “For Japan, everything depends upon Korea,” mused American writer Walter E. Weyl (1873–1919), who visited Korea under Japanese auspices in 1917. “To lose Korea is to lose Japan’s causeway to Asia, to surrender all dominion over the continent, to sink again to the status of a small island power. If, on the other hand, the Koreans can be converted to become loyal Nipponese, Japan will have straddled the sea, and will have one foot planted firmly on the mainland” (Walter E. Weyl, “An Experiment in Denationalization,” Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine 75, no. 3 (March 1920), 243–46, here 243–44). American scholar Andrew Grajdanzev, writing in 1944, noted that, in the prior half-century, Japan had regularly used Korea as a “springboard” to attack China and Russia—at least four times each, by his tally, not counting minor incidents (Grajdanzev 1944, 281). Cho Sun-sŭng (趙淳昇 1929–2022), a scholar and later South Korean legislator, described Korea not only as a dagger pointed at Japan, but as “a hammer ready to strike at the head of China”—the point being that, however you looked at it, Korea’s geography played a large role in determining its historical geopolitical fate (Soon Sung Cho [Cho, Sun-sŭng], Korea in World Politics, 1940–1950: An Evaluation of American Responsibility (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1967), 5).  FLESH AND BONES: More fleshy metaphors were also regularly employed. One colorful analogy posited Korea as “a ready bone” dangling tantalizingly “between the open, snarling mouths of Ah-man and Yamamato,” referring to China and Japan, respectively (Miln 1895, 293–94). China, by contrast, was “now like a lump of meat surrounded by dogs,” Japanese statesman Itō Hirobumi told senior Korean officials in May 1907 (as quoted in Stewart Lone, “The Japanese Annexation of Korea 1910: The Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity,” Modern Asian Studies 25, no. 1 (February 1991), 143–73, here 145). A famous late-nineteenth-century Japan woodblock print presented Korea as a tiger with its left paw on Japan (Mark E. Caprio, Japanese Assimilation Policies in Colonial Korea, 1910–1945 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2009), 87). An American military historian described Korea as “thrust[ing] down toward Japan, like an arm joined to the shoulder of Korea” (Futrell 1983, 62). Robert T. Oliver, a close friend and publicist of Syngman Rhee, quoted a mid-twentieth century description of Korea as “the thumb of Asia,” an analogy that described the shape of the Korean peninsula, as well as its importance to all of Asia—“if the thumb is injured, the whole hand loses its power” (Robert T. Oliver, Verdict in Korea (State College, Pa.: Bald Eagle Press, 1952), 33). Gen. Matthew Ridgway, who succeeded Douglas MacArthur as head of the U.N. Command during the Korean War, similarly compared Korea to “a small fat thumb” protruding from the Asian continental landmass (Ridgway 1967, 2).
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energetically set about reordering Japan’s politics, military, society, and foreign relations

NoteMutsuhito (睦仁 1852–1912), who wasn’t known as the Meiji Emperor (明治天皇 Jp. Meiji-Tennō r. 1867–1912) until after his death, was a relatively weak leader, writes his biographer Donald Keene, allowing the modernizers around him to put their stamp on the country, in what became known as the Meiji Restoration (明治維新 Jp. Meiji Ishin) (Keene 2002, xiii). Meiji was only fifteen years old when he read out the edict formally restoring imperial rule in Japan, replacing his fiercely anti-foreign father, the Kōmei Emperor (孝明天皇 Jp. Kōmei-Tennō r. 1846–1867). During his two-decade-long reign, Kōmei had prayed for a “divine wind” (神風 Jp. kamikaze) to destroy the foreign barbarians then seeking to open Japan to trade, which he regarded as “a pollution of the Divine Land” (Keene 2002, 38, 43). With the new Meiji Emperor installed, however, change was in the air, beginning with the capital city, which was gradually moved to Tokyo—known until 1868 as Edo—from Kyōto (Keene 2002, 178, 189). In 1872, the country switched to the Western Gregorian calendar, even making Sunday the official day of rest starting March 1876—a move that the court took despite fears of “being called subservient to the Christians” (Joseph H. Longford, The Evolution of New Japan (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 1913), 1; and Keene 2002, 221, 257). Korea wouldn’t follow suit until two decades later, on January 1, 1896 (see “The Official Gazette,” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 438–39). Japan’s transformation was, in the words of Isabella Bird Bishop’s biographer, “a metamorphosis unequalled in thoroughness since Roman days and swifter far than any national change chronicled by historians” (Stoddart 1907, 100). That said, not everything Western was embraced so quickly. Even as they adopted other changes, the new Meiji government retained on public noticeboards around the country a strict prohibition against the Christian faith: “The evil sect called Christian is strictly prohibited. Suspicious persons should be reported to the proper officers and rewards will be given” (as quoted in Longford 1913, 34). It wasn’t until the Iwakura Mission of 1871–1873 that Japanese reformers, sailing to the other side of the globe, recognized the importance of permitting Christianity if they were to win the trust of the Western world; Ōkubo Toshimichi (大久保 利通 1830–1878) and Itō Hirobumi (伊藤 博文 1841–1909), two of the young men on that mission, of which more will be written later, urged the Meiji court to lift its prohibition on the faith (Dennett 1922, 567). In 1873, the government reversed its earlier edicts proscribing Christianity. As missionary Otis Cary (1851–1932) describes it in his 1909 history of Protestantism in Japan, “the year 1873, was a turning-point in the history of Christianity in Japan. The attitude of the Government suddenly changed” (Cary 1909, 97).
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1877—many of Japan’s new leaders were champing at the bit for a more activist foreign policy

NoteMuch of this new thinking was influenced and even copied from the Western imperialism that was ascendant at the time (Duus 1995, 2). The very idea of seizing an overseas colony was an utterly alien concept in Japan until the opening of the nation, and even then, it was only “based on a hazy understanding of what the Westerners were doing,” writes Peter Duus, an eminent scholar of this period. “It is no coincidence that until intrusions by the Russians in the late eighteenth century and by the British and the Americans in the early nineteenth century, the notion of overseas colonies found no place in Japanese political discourse” (Duus 1995, 2). Historian Mark Caprio differs somewhat, noting that some Tokugawa-era Japanese thinkers had advocated for Japanese expansion, stretching as far south as Australia. Even so, Caprio writes, Meiji Japan’s leaders were eager to have the country jump on “the colonial expansion bandwagon” (Caprio 2009, 20, 49).
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acquiring colonies, and the new leadership in Tokyo sought to learn from the imperial playbook

Note“The Meiji leaders, who avidly monitored world politics, crafted their expansionist policies along Western lines, deployed the same gunboat tactics to establish domination in Korea, and appealed to the same legal justification to legitimize it,” Duus writes (Duus 1995, 424). Over the course of the nineteenth century, European nations would acquire overseas possessions more than eight times the size of Europe itself (Duus 1995, 2). Between 1876 and 1915, a period that the British Marxist scholar Eric J. Hobsbawm dubbed “the Age of Empire,” roughly one-quarter of the world’s was carved up as colonies among the U.K., France, Germany, Belgium, Italy, the U.S., Japan, and Portugal (E. J. Hobsbawm [Hobsbawm, Eric J.], The Age of Empire, 1875–1914 (New York: Vintage, 1989), 59).
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a high-level diplomatic mission for a two-year study of the U.S., U.K., France, and Germany

NoteThe Iwakura Mission (岩倉使節団 Jp. Iwakura Shisetsu-dan) of 1871–1873 was not the first or only such mission, but it was the best known. “For the last thirty years the best part of the nation has been quietly but steadfastly studying and working to rise to the level of the foremost nations of the earth,” an Italian diplomat in East Asia wrote in 1896. “The youth of Japan have been exploring the whole world in search of everything which might contribute to the welfare and greatness of their country. Every steamer to Europe and America had Japanese passengers of every class, all bent on study and self-improvement” (Vladimir 1896, 332–33). The Iwakura Mission was proposed and promoted by Guido Verbeck (1830–1898), a Dutch Reformed missionary in Japan and close advisor to the Meiji government (Dennett 1922, 559). “Participants on the Iwakura Mission that left Japan in late 1871 on a world tour were well aware of the extent of European expansion at the time” (Caprio 2009, 19). In addition to Itō and Ōkubo, the fifty-member Iwakura Mission delegation included experienced diplomats, but also young students and even a six-year-old girl, Tsuda Ume (津田 梅 1864–1929), who stayed behind in the U.S., eventually graduating from Bryn Mawr College and being baptized as a Christian before returning to Japan in 1882. The mission’s namesake Iwakura Tomomi (岩倉 具視 1825–1883) came from a noble family; his image later graced the 500-yen banknote for nearly half a century until its discontinuation in 1994.
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of nationhood by rallying the people around the monarch, a concrete symbol of sovereignty

NoteSome of the delegation members believed that turning the monarch into a symbol had allowed even a small country like the Netherlands to retain its independence (Duus 1995, 15). “Even a little country like Holland remains independent among the powers and submits itself to no other power. That is because the people’s hearts, high and low, are united in revering their monarch and loving their state,” Iwakura marveled in 1869 (as quoted in Duus 1995, 15). (This appears to have been a misreading by Iwakura, since the Dutch pronounced themselves a republic in 1581 and didn’t get a king until Napoleon Bonaparte installed his younger brother Louis I in 1806. In 1815, the Netherlands got its first king, William I, roughly a half-century before the Iwakura Mission departed. Many thanks to Jacco Zwetsloot for this clarification.) As to military superiority, the difference between the weak and strong was apparent to the Meiji reformers. “In the early seventeenth century the Japanese had thrown the Spanish, the Portuguese, and even the English out of their country without much fear of retaliation, but Commodore Perry and his four black steamships posed a threat that threw the country into a panic” (Duus 1995, 6).
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unfamiliar with the rules of the global order as crafted in London, Paris, and Washington

NoteFor a booklength examination of Meiji Japan’s adoption and mastery of the language of international law to advance its interests, see the work of historian Alexis Dudden, in particular her monograph Japan’s Colonization of Korea: Discourse and Power (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2005). “Within an astonishingly short period of time, the Meiji government wrested the privilege of defining legal concepts away from China and conferred on Japan the status of being Asia’s twentieth-century arbiter of power,” writes Dudden, now a historian at the University of Connecticut (Dudden 2005, 4). The historian Peter Duus also makes this point, noting that Japan attempted to impose its own unequal treaties on Qing China as early as 1870, albeit unsuccessfully, and on Korea in 1876 (Duus 1995, 4–6, 14–15). “By fixing our goals on an overseas land, we shall make advances in developing all sorts of practical skills and technology; and we shall wash away our undesirable practices of spying on one another, criticizing and reproaching each other,” wrote Kido Takayoshi (木戶 孝允 1833–1877), a Meiji samurai and statesman who was one of the members of the Iwakura Mission (as quoted in Duus 1995, 33). Like Kido, many other Japanese leaders of this period were convinced of the necessity of foreign conquest for their country’s wellbeing. “What glorified the nation glorified the national populace, no matter how dimly that glory was reflected in their own lives. Victories over the ‘natives’ in far-off lands placed the low and powerless in the metropolitan society above the high and mighty in the colonial domains” (Duus 1995, 4). Qing China was not above an unequal treaty, forcing upon Chosŏn Korea the lopsided Sino-Korean Maritime and Overland Trade Regulations on October 4, 1882 (Lew, “Yüan Shih-k’ai’s Residency” (1984), 67). Still, it was Japan that excelled at mastering this new tool, signing a string of new and revised treaties in the latter half of the 1890s with countries all around the world, from the U.S. and Italy to the Congo Free State and Peru—and in the process claiming to have undone the unequal treaties of the past and establishing Japan as a full-fledged member of the international community of nations. “By the revised treaties, concluded with western nations on an equal footing, and with the absolute abolition of the foreign consular jurisdiction, Japan has been admitted into the ‘family of nations’ as a competent member and a subject of international law,” one Japanese scholar wrote in 1905. “Although Japan is different, racially and religiously, from the Occident, her healthy assimilation of western civilization made the occidental states recognize her as eligible to the ‘family of nations’” (Hishida 1905, 145–152). “One is often struck,” Duus writes, “by the absence of doubt about the appropriateness of imperialism as a policy or as a way of life…Hardly a voice was raised in protest against a program of expansion. Disputes revolved around the speed, direction, and management of expansion, not its legitimacy, which was no more questioned than was the legitimacy of steam-driven machinery or constitutional systems” (Duus 1995, 12).
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and serve as Japan’s first prime minister—a position he would hold four separate times

Note Itō Hirobumi was a towering figure in Meiji Japan’s history, and also in Korea’s modern history.   One scholar describes him as “a towering figure in Meiji politics” (Christine Kim, “Politics and Pageantry in Protectorate Korea (1905–10): The Imperial Progresses of Sunjong,” Journal of Asian Studies 68, no. 3 (August 2009), 835–59, here 839). One historian described him as “one of the most important political figures in Meiji Japan. He framed the Japanese constitution of 1889, shaped the structure of Japan’s banking system, and served as prime minister multiple times” (Franklin D. Rausch, “Visions of Violence, Dreams of Peace: Religion, Race, and Nation in An Chunggŭn’s On Peace in the East,” in Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 63–83, here 66). Alexis Dudden describes him as “arguably the most powerful politician of the era,” the “George Washington of Japan” Dudden 2005, 18). Daniel Holtom, an American scholar of Japan, described Itō as the man “who more than any other individual Japanese subject was responsible for the contents of the Constitution” (Daniel Clarence Holtom, “The Political Philosophy of Modern Shintō: A Study of the State Religion of Japan” (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1922), 181). Historian Koshiro Yukiko called Itō one of the “patriarchs of Japanese colonialism in Korea” (Yukiko Koshiro, “Eurasian Eclipse: Japan’s End Game in World War II,” American Historical Review 109, no. 2 (April 2004), 417–44, here 421).  SMUGGLED TO THE U.K.: Born Hayashi Risuke (林利助) in Chōshū domain (長州藩 Jp. Chōshū-han), at the southwesternmost tip of Japan’s main island of Honshu, his early family history was filled with poverty, adoption, and an eventual renaming to Itō Hirobumi. Despite a childhood of deprivation, Itō quickly became one of the worldliest of the Meiji statesmen, having been “among the first to be sent by the Chōshū domain for study abroad. He also joined the Iwakura Mission as a vice ambassador in the early 1870s, and toured Europe in the 1880s to research constitutional law” (Caprio 2009, 71). In 1863, Itō and four other young men, including Inoue Kaoru (井上 馨 1836–1915), a later foreign minister, were selected by local leaders in Chōshū domain to travel to the U.K. in 1863 to study (see Longford 1913, 116; and Alwyn G. Davies, “Alexander Williamson and the Modernisation of Japan,” Science Progress 98, no. 3 (2015), 276–90, here 281). Though the five young men were sent by local leaders, they had to be smuggled out of Japan, which was still under a strict prohibition on maritime travel in and out of Japan (海禁 Jp. kaikin)—thus making their departure from Japan, under disguise, an “adventurous exploit,” in the words of British statesman George Curzon (Curzon 1896, 21–22). Joseph Longford, a longtime British diplomat in Japan, describes Itō and his comrades sneaking out of the country in May 1863, risking the death penalty, learning English during their year in the U.K., and then hurrying back a year later as the Chōshū domain began attacking ships from the U.K., the U.S., and other Western countries at Shimonoseki (Longford 1913, 116–17).
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Japan’s one major foreign adventure: the Hideyoshi invasion of the peninsula in the 1590s

NoteToyotomi Hideyoshi (豐臣 秀吉 1537–1598), born to a peasant family, would become known as Japan’s “Great Unifier” and as the “Napoleon of Japan,” with a conviction “that he had been born with the destiny of becoming the ‘Ruler of the World.’” His grandiose designs included subduing not only Korea and China but all of Asia, including India, Persia, and the Philippines—ambitions that would not be matched until the 1930s (Kuno 1937, 141–49; and Palmer 1967, 53). One scholar described Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea, though ultimately unsuccessful, as representing “the emergence of a new force and a new world vision” (Haboush 2016, 2). The plan, as far as Hideyoshi saw it, was simple: Occupy the Korean capital in Seoul and then the Chinese capital in Peking, installing the Japanese emperor there while setting himself up in Ningbo, a coastal Chinese city that was particularly prosperous at the time (Kuno 1937, 147–49). For a map of the empire that Hideyoshi had in mind, see Kuno 1937, 148. The problems for Hideyoshi began from the outset, when his attempts to enlist the Koreans in his world-beating effort went awry. After the Koreans rebuffed the Japanese, Hideyoshi erupted in anger. As another Western writer put it, “this was before the days of the use of correct and ponderous phraseology in diplomatic correspondence, and the historians tell us that the Korean final reply to the Japanese demand, was not merely definite, it was even bold and derisive, lashing the haughty War-lord Hideyoshi to fury and causing a speedy invasion” (Graves 1920, 16). For Japan’s sixteenth-century proposal of a military alliance with Korea, which Korea declined, see Haboush 2016, 27–29. For a detailed account of the Chosŏn court’s rejection of Hideyoshi’s advance and the subsequent invasion of Korea, see Kuno 1937, 143–45, 300–4.
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as long as anyone could remember, had essentially been one of China- and Korea-like seclusion

Note“The fact that Japan was not aggressive toward Korea, or anyone, during the whole Tokugawa era, 1600–1868, even though Hideyoshi had demonstrated in the 1590’s that conquest of Korea was militarily feasible, precludes our assuming any such simple explanation as…‘Japan always had her eye on Korea,’” writes one historian (Conroy 1960, 7–8). On the other hand, as University of California, Berkeley professor Kuno Yoshi (1865–1941) argued in his planned three-volume history of Japanese expansionism on the Asian mainland, Japan sought to conquer Korea even before fully consolidating rule on Japan’s own home islands—a history that stretches back into the very beginnings of Japanese mythology. According to legend, the mythical third-century Empress Jingū (神功皇后 Jp. Jingū-Kōgō), after receiving divine instructions, urged her husband to invade Korea before subduing the Kumaso tribe in southern Kyūshū. When Jingū’s husband, Emperor Chūai (仲哀天皇 Jp. Chūai-Tennō), ignored her advice and attacked the Kumaso, he was killed in the first battle, whereupon his widow invaded Korea and subdued the three Korean kingdoms of Silla (Sinra), Paekje, and Koguryŏ without so much as a fight (Kuno 1937, 2–3). Thus, at least according to Japanese legend, “Japan extended her authority to the Asiatic continent before she had brought the whole of Japan proper under her rule” (Kuno 1937, 25–26). John Delury, a scholar of modern China and Korea, has argued that while the three nations’ seclusion may have been true in specific contexts, such as avoiding exposure to Western influence, there was plenty of engagement and interaction within the Asian nations. My thanks to John for this feedback.
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“or less advanced society or state unable to defend itself against outside intrusion”

Note“To put the matter crudely,” writes American historian Peter Duus, “a successful policy of imperialism requires an available victim—a weaker, less organized, or less advanced society or state unable to defend itself against outside intrusion” (Duus 1995, 21).
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and the Russians were nipping not only at the edges of Qing China but also of Japan itself

NoteIn addition to longstanding disputes over the Kuril and Sakhalin islands to Japan’s north—known in Japan as the Northern Territories (北方領土 Jp. Hoppō Ryōdo) and Karafuto (樺太), respectively—the Russians landed a warship in 1861 on the Japanese island of Tsushima (对馬), just off the coast of the southwestern island of Kyūshū and just a stone’s throw from the southeastern Korean port city of Pusan, seeking to establish a naval base there (Duus 1995, 33).
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Japan’s more coolheaded leaders were urging war with Russia over disputed Sakhalin Island

NoteThe senior official, Ōkubo Toshimichi, argued that a fight over Sakhalin would “rouse the hearts of the people of the realm” and reassert “imperial prestige” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 30).
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two countries’ relationship would have to change in accordance with the new “law of nations”

NoteDuus dates the approach as having been made by a retainer of the Sō clan (宗氏 Jp. Sō-shi) in Tsushima, who approached the Korean authorities at Pusan in late 1868, though some other sources date the dispatching of the Meiji envoy to January 23, 1869 (Xu Yong, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia and An Chunggŭn’s Peace in the East,” in Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 21–39, here 28–29; and Keene 2002, 219). As scholar M. Frederick Nelson writes: “To the Japanese, who could not but be aware of the ancient relationship between the Middle Kingdom and the peninsula, the Western idea of sovereign statehood was a convenient tool with which to start the process of breaking the bonds uniting Korea and China” (Nelson 1946, 126).
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with a bitter denunciation: “We no longer consider each other friends but enemies”

NoteSpecifically, Japan’s proposed reordering would put its emperor (皇 Jp. kō) above the Korean king (王 Kor. wang) in the Confucian system (Deuchler 1977, 6; and Duus 1995, 30–31). One source dates the Meiji letter requesting a reordering of tributary relations to 1871 (Palmer 1967, 53). “The Meiji government, confident that it was acting in accordance with the new ‘law of nations’ introduced by the Westerners, saw itself as simply adjusting the relationship to the new domestic political situation” (Duus 1995, 30–31). As one Japanese scholar put it in 1905, reflecting a view in Tokyo that would have infuriated the Chosŏn court in Seoul, “Korea, though she had long held a vassal relation to Japan and China, gradually neglected her duty to Japan” (Hishida 1905, 163). Perhaps unsurprisingly, Korea’s Prince Regent certainly didn’t see it that way, and though Pak Kyu-su, governor of P’yŏng’an province during the General Sherman incident and a relatively progressive court advisor, counseled the king to disregard the perceived slight and make peace with Japan, the Prince Regent would have none of it (Deuchler 1977, 18). “We no longer consider each other friends but enemies,” the Prince Regent wrote in a biting missive rejecting Japan’s demand for tribute. “After having been so friendly with Japan, and being repaid with treachery, we never can be friendly again” (as quoted in Longford 1911, 298; and Graves 1920, 21). The full text of the letter can be found in Longford 1911, 297–99; and Palmer 1967, 53–54. Korea’s dismissal of Meiji Japan, borne of anger, triggered an even more violent eruption of fury in Tokyo. As historian Hilary Conroy writes, “the wrath that consumed Japan’s Great Council of State over the Korean issue was fierce beyond all proportion to the question at hand” (Conroy 1960, 18). Also cited in Baird 1968, 16.  NOBODY’S VASSAL: In fact, the historical record makes clear that Korea had never subordinated itself to Japan, at least not for a millennium or more. As University of California, Berkeley scholar Kuno Yoshi wrote: “None of the Chinese, Japanese, or Korean histories contains any record to the effect that Korea was tributary to Japan after the middle of the seventh century” (Kuno 1937, 21, 243). Still, the 1870s weren’t the first time that such a perceived protocol slight had prompted hostilities between Korea and its neighbors. The Hideyoshi invasions of Korea in the 1590s had been prompted too by Japanese anger that the Koreans didn’t, in Hideyoshi’s view, properly recognize their subordinate status to the Japanese (Haboush 2016, 15–16; and Griffis 1894, 89). After Hideyoshi’s death in 1598 and the end of his Korea invasions, successor Tokugawa Ieyasu sought to restore ties with Korea, agreeing in 1609 and in 1617 to apologize to Korea and to punish those responsible for desecrating Korean royal tombs. The 1617 agreement, in particular, referred to the Japanese and Korean kings as equals, below the status of China. Thus, “Japan entered into peace with Korea by humiliating herself even to lowering her national standing and dignity” (Kuno 1940, 281–82). In a separate incident—not involving the Japanese, but also highlighting Korea’s refusal to subordinate itself to anyone but the Han Chinese—the Chosŏn court in Seoul rejected a demand by the Manchus in the early seventeenth century to acknowledge their suzerainty; that refusal prompted the Manchus to launch a devastating invasion in 1636, with the future Qing dynastic founder Emperor Hong Taiji personally in the lead (Eckert et al. 1990, 150). The victorious Manchus then forced the Chosŏn king to pay tribute to Hong Taiji on the banks of the Han River in Seoul; the memorial stele still remains today, sitting near the Lotte World amusement park.
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questions of the early Meiji years, involving nearly every major figure of this pivotal period

NoteAccording to University of Pennsylvania historian Hilary Conroy, the debate over invading Korea (征韓論 Jp. Seikan-ron) was the defining debate of the early post-Meiji years: “The argument split the Restoration leadership, which had hitherto operated as a closely knit group, squarely down the middle. It resulted in assassinations, riots, and rebellions, including a full-scale civil war,” and even inspired a three-act drama (Conroy, Hilary 1960, pp. 18-19). Conroy quotes a Japanese historian, Hatada Takeshi, who wrote that, during the 1870s, “the whole country seethed with the conquer Korea argument” (as quoted in Conroy 1960, p. 82). As Conroy and others have argued, however, the debate was not so much over whether or not to invade Korea, but when to invade (Conroy 1960, p. 20). The perceived slights that eventually whipped the Meiji leaders into a frenzy are tallied up in Keene, Donald 2002, p. 230. It took place in the Great Council of State (太政官 Jp. Dajō-kan), an ancient Japan government decisionmaking body that was briefly revived after the Meiji Restoration, before being replaced by the cabinet.
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“subduing Korea,” even volunteered to offer himself up in death in hopes of provoking war

NoteSaigō Takamori (西鄉 隆盛 1828–1877), the samurai leader from Kagoshima who helped birth the Meiji Restoration before turning against it and launching the Satsuma Rebellion (西南戦争 Jp. Seinan Sensō), was a man of firm ideals when it came to Korea, which in the words of historian Hilary Conroy “may be described simply and emphatically as pro-war, pro-conquest, pro-expansion” (Conroy 1960, 31). Columbia University historian Donald Keene describes Saigō’s decision to launch the rebellion in 1877 as having been prompted by frustration over not being sent to Korea to start a war (Keene 2002, 270).
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plans, with the question quickly shifting from whether to make a move on Korea, to when

NoteINVASION SCHEMES: As early as 1869, just a year after the Meiji Restoration, a Japanese official named Moriyama Shigeru (森山 茂 1842–1919) drew up plans to occupy the Korean island of Ulrŭng (鬱陵島 Kor. Ulrŭng-do). Though the plan was never executed, it helped Moriyama gain a foreign ministry position, from which he later had a close hand in shaping Korea policy (Duus 1995, 32). That same year, in 1869, the Japanese sent a “fact-finding mission” to Korea, led by an official named Sada Hakubo (佐田 白茅 1833–1907) and including two other hawkish officials, including Moriyama, the Ulrŭng island plotter (Duus 1995, 34). Sada had long believed that it was Japan’s destiny to reassert what he believed was its historical dominance of Korea, and upon the mission’s return in spring 1870, Sada argued for an immediate war to annex Korea—primarily to answer the perceived insolence of the Koreans, but also as a way to fend off incursions into Korea by the Western powers and to tap into Korea’s rich natural resources. “If Imperial Japan passes this great opportunity to the foreigners, will lose our lips as a consequence, and one day our teeth will surely suffer from the cold,” Sada argued, imagining Korea as the lips that protected the teeth, Japan (Duus 1995, 34–35). The Sada mission’s report included detailed intelligence on Korea’s military assets and laid out an elaborate plan for a military expedition, which foresaw ten Japanese battalions landing near Inch’ŏn to capture Seoul while other forces would take on the north and south of the peninsula, in an operation that would take just fifty days to wrap up—at least in Sada’s reckoning (Duus 1995, 35). “At this time when there is fear of civil war in our country, if we undertake the Korean expedition and make the bitter cup of samurai grievance spill,” Sada wrote in his memorial to Japan’s foreign ministry, “we can massacre Korea with a single stroke, polish our military system, and demonstrate to the world the imperial glory (kōi)” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 35–36). No sooner had the Sada mission returned than another prominent Meiji leader proposed in May 1870 to send a gunboat mission to Korea to negotiate a new treaty—or to start a war (Duus 1995, 36). The leader of this mission was to have been Kido Takayoshi; after his hawkish recommendations were rebuffed, Kido offered to resign as imperial councilor. The next year, he joined the Iwakura Mission to the West (Duus 1995, 36). Numerous though these “Subdue Korea” schemes were, Duus cautions against overinterpreting the influence of these plotters, which represented “at best a minority view” within the Meiji elite during these years, he argues (Duus 1995, 38). Even so, war plans for Korea were already being taken seriously enough that by July 1871, a prominent samurai committed hara-kiri outside the Imperial Council Building, urging against a punitive attack on Korea (Conroy 1960, 29–30). And in March 1872, a foreign ministry official named Maruyama Sakuraku (丸山 作楽 1840–1899) was arrested for furtively organizing a “Subdue Korea” party to raise funds in hopes of arming a private warship for an assault on Korea (Conroy 1960, 30). By June 1873, Tokyo was openly revisiting the question of dispatching a military expedition to Korea; a Japanese mission to China that month concluded that the Chinese wouldn’t intervene to help Korea in the event of a Japanese invasion (Duus 1995, 39–40; and Keene 2002, 228–29).  GUN-SHY: With all of this plotting in the background, the “Subdue Korea” debate finally took place on October 14 and 15, 1873, in the Great Council of State. “Will the goal of hostilities be the acquisition of territory, or will it simply be to chastise the Koreans?” the leaders asked (Duus 1995, 41). Ōkubo Toshimichi, one of the most prominent of the Meiji leaders and a member of the recently returned Iwakura Mission, argued forcefully against attacking Korea: “We must not hurry to begin war. Of course, we cannot overlook the arrogant attitude of Korea, but we have no clear reason to attack Korea” (as quoted in Conroy 1960, 48). See also Caprio 2009, 54. This decision to not attack at the time was driven less by some higher moral principle than by concerns that Japan’s army and navy weren’t yet sufficiently prepared for a full-fledged war, and that domestic stability was the foremost priority for the still-young Meiji government (Keene 2002, 233). The navy minister, in fact, threatened to resign if war were declared, while the army was deemed ill-equipped for the fight. As Iwakura Tomomi himself told the emperor: “It is not more than four or five years since the Restoration, the foundation of the nation is not very solid, political institutions have not yet been well organized, and, though internal security seems to be maintained, there is no telling what trouble may occur” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 42). The Meiji emperor likely made the final decision not to invade Korea (Keene 2002, 231–34). The reaction to this decision was immediate. On January 14, 1874, Iwakura—who was regarded as a dove in the “Subdue Korea” debate—was attacked and nearly killed by unruly advocates of attacking Korea, while Ōkubo Toshimichi, who also opposed an imminent attack on Korea, had to put down pro-“Subdue Korea” uprisings near Fukuoka (Conroy 1960, 51). And while the decision set aside the prospect of war for the time being, Japan’s samurai class continued to champ at the bit, calling for either an immediate invasion of Korea or preparations for an eventual attack on China, Russia, or Germany (Keene 2002, 239–40).
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landed men at the mouth of the river linking Seoul to the Yellow Sea, in search of provisions

NoteThe vessel was the Un’yō (雲揚), which historian Martina Deuchler notes didn’t appear to have authorization for any military engagements (Deuchler 1977, 23). In 1871, just a few years prior to the Un’yō expedition, Kanghwa Island (江華島 Kor. Kanghwa-do)—the island where the Un’yō landed—had been the scene of the deadly battle between the French and the Koreans (see Act I, Chapter 2).
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fortifications, killing thirty-five Korean troops and burning down several houses in the firefight

NoteAs Peter Duus writes, “if the Japanese vessel was not looking for trouble, it was certainly not trying very hard to avoid it” (Duus 1995, 44). Donald Keene goes further, saying that the Kanghwa incident was “deliberately expanded into a crisis by Japanese officials who used it as an excuse for demanding concessions from the Koreans” (Keene 2002, 254). One historian compares the Un’yō’s expedition with Saigō Takamori’s earlier offer to get himself killed as a pretext for war with Korea (Dudden 2005, 51). Indeed, Admiral Enomoto Takeaki (榎本 武揚 1836–1908), the Japanese envoy to Russia, saw a clear casus belli and, predicting Russia and China would remain on the sidelines, called for Japan to consider seizing Seoul and subjugating the entire peninsula (Deuchler 1977, 25). When Japan sent a senior official, Mori Arinori (森 有礼 1847–1889), to Beijing, the British ambassador there, Sir Thomas F. Wade (1818–1895), regarded that as a telltale sign “that an expedition on Corea is determined on,” and that Mori was seeking “to ascertain whether objection to the expedition would be taken by England, or any other foreign country” (Deuchler 1977, 27). Wade was, of course, correct. In Tokyo, American minister John A. Bingham (1815–1900) predicted to Washington that “war may be declared by Japan against Corea” and urged a strict neutrality (as quoted in Deuchler 1977, 25). The Koreans, for their part, were comparatively speaking, oblivious to the larger geopolitical forces at work. After all, Martina Deuchler notes, not a single Japanese was killed, nor was the ship hit, when the Koreans had fired at the Japanese vessel; Deuchler suspects that the Koreans didn’t even realize until later that they had fired upon a warship (Deuchler 1977, 23–24).
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decades earlier, was to push through a treaty rewriting diplomatic ties between the two nations

NoteThe Japanese official was Kuroda Kiyotaka (黑田 清隆 1840–1900), who was sent as “Minister Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary” to Seoul (Duus 1995, 46). In 1888, Kuroda would succeed Itō Hirobumi as the second prime minister of Japan. Like Commodore Perry’s own power play in Edo Bay, Japan’s November 1875 mission was backed with military muscle, in the event of any rebuffs or insults (Duus 1995, 47; and Dudden 2005, 51). The move was so reminiscent of Commodore Perry that the Japanese newspapers compared Kuroda to Perry (Duus 1995, 47). And in 1905, a Japanese scholar framed the November 1875 mission in unmistakably Perry-esque terms, writing that Tokyo, “after many patient struggles, making the tactics of Commodore Perry and Townsend Harris their own…finally succeeded in concluding a treaty of amity and commerce” (Hishida 1905, 395–96). Still, as historian Donald Keene notes, though the Japanese public outrage at the Koreans was real, “the badly equipped little fleet was by no means as impressive as the ships Commodore Perry had brought to Japan” (Keene 2002, 255–56). Historian Hilary Conroy describes the Kanghwa Island expedition as a limited triumph for the anti-“Subdue Korea” lobby, given the relatively modest scope of the military incident and its eventual settlement (Conroy 1960, 67).
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with sovereign rights—that is, a nation that was no longer under the thumb of China

NoteDuring the protracted negotiations, the Koreans said that they had fired on the Japanese only because the latter had been dressed in European-style uniforms (Woonsang Choi [Ch’oe, Un-sang], The Fall of the Hermit Kingdom (Dobbs Ferry, N.Y.: Oceana Publications, 1967), 6–7). Also cited in Keene 2002, 256–57. The treaty was signed at China’s urging, and over the objections of Korea’s then-retired Prince Regent. As tokens of the settlement, the Japanese presented the Koreans with a cannon, a six-shooter, a pocket watch, a barometer, and a compass—“strikingly like those the Americans had given the Japanese when the first treaty between the two nations was signed” (Keene 2002, 257).
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the European powers—a fact that the Chosŏn court came to realize only after the ink was dry

NoteThe Japanese wanted the right to trade in Pusan, to travel freely in Korea’s interior, and to survey Korean waters. As historian Peter Duus notes, “the treaty granted the Japanese many of the same privileges in Korea that were regarded as an affront to ‘national dignity’ at home” (Duus 1995, 48). Korea, which hadn’t yet been initiated into the ways of the Western-developed system of international law, didn’t initially realized that the terms of the treaty meant that it had to open more ports, and to allow Japanese diplomats to take up residence in its capital (Deuchler 1977, 49). Worse for Seoul, a supplemental treaty a few months later went even further, giving Japanese the right to buy Korean goods at a favorable exchange rate and waiving all tariffs on Japanese imports and exports (Duus 1995, 48). Korea opened its second port to Japan in 1880, when it allowed for settlement in the eastern port of Wŏnsan (Deuchler 1977, 67). “As the Western Powers had done with herself, so did she now, without one particle of compunction, induce Korea to sign away her sovereign rights of executive and tariff autonomy,” British diplomat and scholar Joseph Longford wrote in 1913 (Longford 1913, 105). By getting into the imperialism game itself, Japan found that it could “escap[e] its aggressors by becoming an aggressor itself” (Louise Young, Japan’s Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of Wartime Imperialism (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1998, repr. 1999), 23).
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ties with its peninsular neighbor and establishing Tokyo as the new, unquestioned master

Note“The treaties Korea concluded with Western nations tied her at last to the legal structure of the ‘unequal treaties’ which the West had begun imposing upon the Far East in 1842,” historian Martina Deuchler adds. “The anomaly of the Korean case was that this process was started by Japan and finished with the help of China, both of whom suffered under the inequities of the same system. Japan had driven the first wedge into the eastern front of the Chinese world order; China presided over the distribution of treaty favors to Western powers” (Deuchler 1977, 127). The 1876 treaty opened the way for foreign countries, starting with Japan, to open up diplomatic compounds in Seoul, which historian Michael Robinson argues “acted as a wedge opening the country to new intellectual and cultural influences” (Robinson 2007, 10). Indeed, as Korean-American historian Yi Chŏng-sik put it in 1965, the years between 1876 and 1905—that is, from when Japan forced Korea to sign this treaty until the establishment of Japan’s protectorate over Korea three decades later—“are probably the most important period in the history of modern Korea” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 19).
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turn its gaze to Korea and urged King Kojong to negotiate treaties with the Western powers

NoteALARM IN BEIJING: As recently as the late eighteenth century, Japanese maps had labeled Hokkaidō and Okinawa—known then as the Ezo and Ryūkyū kingdoms, respectively—as “neighboring countries,” marked in different colors on maps (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 26). The Ryūkyū kingdom (琉球国 Jp. Ryūkyū-kuni), in particular, had long paid tribute to the Qing court in Beijing. But following the swallowing up of Ezo and Ryūkyū in the 1860s and 1870s, Japan appeared to cast aside any misgivings about such niceties. “Relying on cunning tricks, Japan is trying to master the Orient,” Chinese statesman Li Hongzhang asserted in 1879. “Judging from the circumstances, we believe that she will surely turn her expansionist design to Korea in some future day” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 50). Li had already grown alarmed five years earlier in 1874, when Tokyo launched a punitive expedition on Taiwan, the island known then as Formosa, warning his foreign office, the Zongli Yamen (總理衙門), that Tokyo’s real prize was Korea, which he regarded as a direct threat to the Manchu homeland (Deuchler 1977, 29). In fact, until the annexation of the Ryūkyū kingdom as Okinawa prefecture (沖縄県Jp. Okinawa-ken) in 1879, China had largely been indifferent to Korea. After the loss of its one-time tributary state to Japan, however, the Japanese had “showed the Chinese that no region within Japanese reach was inviolable” (Deuchler 1977, 86; and Duus 1995, 50). As historian Young-ick Lew writes, “this marked an historic departure from the traditional Chinese policy of noninterference, in favor of a new interventionist policy” (Lew, “Yüan Shih-k’ai’s Residency” (1984), 65). In Beijing, the British ambassador urged Chinese officials to steer Korea towards signing treaties with Western nations so as to avoid being swallowed up by Japan (Deuchler 1977, 86–87).  A POLICY FOR KOREA: One argument that gained influence in Seoul was a treatise published in September 1880 by a Chinese scholar entitled A Policy for Korea (朝鮮策略 Ch. Chaoxian Celüe), which argued for Korea to maintain only distant relations with Japan while establishing closer ties with China and America in a dramatically shifted world order in which Beijing was no longer at the center (Deuchler 1977, 88–89). The scholar, a Guangdong native named Huang Zunxian (黃遵憲 1848–1905), summed up his recommendation as “intimate relations with China, association with Japan, and alliance with America” (Deuchler 1977, 88). Huang also regarded Russia’s growing presence in Asia with grave concern. Historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors also cite the influence of Zheng Guanying (鄭觀應 1842–1922), another late Qing thinker from Guangdong province, who argued that Western political institutions, not merely Western technologies, were needed (Eckert et al. 1990, 202). Just as consequentially for the Korea missionaries, Huang, citing China’s own experience, portrayed the Protestantism of the Americans as preferable to the Catholicism of the French, citing his belief that Protestantism made a rigid separation of church and state and was thus less likely to cause a political disturbance (Wells 1990, 27; and Oak 2013, 20–21). King Kojong’s progressive advisors apparently agreed, because they recommended to Kojong that Korea needed to overcome its fears of “heterodox teachings”—that is, Christianity—and strike treaties with the West against the dual threats of Russia and Japan (Deuchler 1977, 91).
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signed its treaty with the U.S. and, by the end of 1883, similar pacts with the U.K. and Germany

NoteThe Corean-American Treaty of Amity and Commerce was signed at Inch’ŏn after its negotiation in Tianjin by U.S. Commodore Robert W. Shufeldt and China’s Li Hongzhang, who was brought into the process at the request of King Kojong (Eckert et al. 1900, 203; and Palmer 1967, 54). For a full text of the treaty, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 276–81. McKenzie, a Canadian journalist in Korea, writes that the treaty was signed in Wŏnsan, not Inch’ŏn, on May 22, 1882, with ratifications exchanged in Seoul roughly a year later, on May 19, 1883. For Li Hongzhang, the signing of the U.S.-Korea treaty helped ease some of his alarm over whether Japan, having annexed the Chinese tributary state of Ryūkyūs, would be coming next for Korea (Lew, “Yüan Shih-k’ai’s Residency” (1984), 65–66). For Commodore Shufeldt, the signing of the U.S.-Korea treaty was “the great purpose of his life” (Dennett 1922, 459). Still, it would be one that went largely unappreciated back home. Unlike Commodore Perry in Japan, who secured far fewer concessions, Commodore Shufeldt “received neither honour nor recognition at Washington” for striking the treaty with Korea (Griffis 1912, 82; and Griffis, “Opening of Korea,” Korea Magazine (1917), 509). The treaty would also be one that would serve as a bone of contention between Washington and Seoul for decades to come. Korean nationalists would invoke the terms of the 1882 treaty again and again, urging the U.S.to exert its “good offices,” as outlined in the document, and intervene on Korea’s behalf. As University of Indiana historian John E. Wilz writes, Korean nationalists “had come to view the United States as Korea’s elder brother, and according to the Confucianist ethical system that animated their thought, an elder brother was obliged to protect his younger brother” (Wilz, “United States Betray Korea?” (1985), 244). In short, by signing the 1882 treaty, the U.S. had effectively supplanted China as the primary guarantor of Korea’s interests. “We feel that America is to us as an Elder Brother,” King Kojong told the American missionary-turned-diplomat Horace Allen in 1897 (as quoted in Wilz, “United States Betray Korea?” (1985), 248–49). For the full text of the November 26, 1883 treaty between the U.K. and Korea, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 282–95. For more on this period, see also Kirk W. Larsen, Tradition, Treaties, and Trade: Qing Imperialism and Chosŏn Korea, 1850–1910 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2008).
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Korea, it was decided, could not be allowed to attain its independence independently

NoteDuring the 1870s, writes historian Peter Duus, the Meiji leaders had initially taken more of a hands-off approach, attempting to convince Korea about the wisdom of following in Tokyo’s path without direct intervention (Duus 1995, 52). But by the 1880s, the Koreans could no longer be trusted to enact the necessary changes on their own, the Japanese decided. Of course, its interest in Korean politics was not merely altruistic, Duus adds. “Not only would it enable Korea to resist foreign intrusion, which was in Japan’s direct interest, but it would also offer Japan the opportunity, as a conduit of change, to play a larger role on the peninsula” (Duus 1995, 51).
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startling changes afoot in Japan—steamships, photographs, trains, telegraphs, and Westerners

NoteThe head of the mission, Kim Ki-su (金綺秀 1832–?), was shocked to see, upon arriving in Pusan to depart for Japan in May 1876, a Japanese steamship, writing in his diary that “even in his dreams he had never seen anything like this ship with its two sails and a chimney,” as Deuchler writes. As impressed as he was, Kim Ki-su returned home unconvinced that Korea ought to follow Japan’s path, regarding the sights he saw as irrelevant to his country, according to one account (Deuchler 1977, 52–53). For an alternative account, which describes Kim Ki-su as influencing King Kojong and other open-minded officials of the need for reforms, see Nahm 1961, 72–74.
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1881 that led to the establishment of one of Korea’s earliest newspapers, the Seoul Trimonthly

NoteLEARNING FROM NEIGHBORS: Kojong was fully aware of Korea’s backwardness, telling a representative from Beijing in August 1880 that he knew his country’s weaponry was old and useless (Deuchler 1977, 99). The following year, in 1881, the Chosŏn court sent thirty-eight students and artisans to visit the Qing dynasty’s Xigu Arsenal (西沽武库 Ch. Xigu Wuku), outside Tianjin, to study Western armaments (Robinson 1988, 20; and Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup” (1982), 112). At the same time, the Korean court dispatched at least two such missions to Japan in 1881. One mission, sent early in the year, was known as the “Gentlemen’s Tour Group” (紳士遊覽團 Kor. Sinsa Yuram-dan), led by Korean reformer Kim Ok-gyun and including more than sixty young men, including Philip Jaisohn, of which more will be said in the coming pages (Liem 1952, 17). According to Martina Deuchler, the mission, from May to August 1881, was “a secret inspection mission,” conducted with great furtiveness (Deuchler 1977, 101). The results of the mission were also not exactly what Japan had in mind. Addressing King Kojong in October 1881 upon their return, the members of the delegation largely described Japan as untrustworthy and agreed on the need for self-strengthening—but only to fend off Japan (Deuchler 1977, 102; Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup” (1982), 112–13; and Caprio 2009, 14).   A SECOND MISSION TO JAPAN: Several of the younger members of the Korean diplomatic mission, including Kim Ok-gyun and Pak Yŏng-hyo, visited Japan again in the winter of 1881–1882 to secure the support of Japan’s leaders, including Itō Hirobumi (Duus 1995, 53; and Robinson 1988, 21). There, the Koreans met with Fukuzawa Yukichi (福澤 諭吉 1835–1901), who had joined Japan’s first diplomatic mission to the U.S. in 1859 and whose image now adorns Japan’s 10,000 yen banknote. Fukuzawa was one of the most outspoken pro-Western voices in Meiji Japan, and a pioneer in Japan’s Westernization process, founding Keiō Academy (慶應義塾 Jp. Keiō Gijuku) in 1858—now known as Keiō University (慶應義塾大学 Jp. Keiō Gijuku Daigaku), it is Japan’s oldest Western-style school of higher learning—and introducing Japanese readers to Western political concepts with early bestsellers like 1866’s Conditions of the West (西洋事情 Jp. Seiyō Jijō), which was published two years before the Meiji Restoration. When it came to Korea, Fukuzawa regarded Japan as its neighbor’s “teacher of civilization,” and upon watching the young Korean reformers was filled with hope, and struck with a whiff of nostalgia for Japan’s own recent embrace of the Western world (Caprio 2009, 14; Duus 1995, 53; and Conroy 1960, 133). Fukuzawa “continued to serve for some time thereafter as an intellectual haven for Korean enlightenment figures” (Hwang, “Country or State? Reconceptualizing Kukka” (2000), 10). Fukuzawa was initially fiercely opposed to Christianity. After founding his influential newspaper, the Jiji Shimpo (時事新報), in 1882, Fukuzawa devoted nearly issue to denouncing the foreign faith, fearing that young Japanese men would embrace the foreign faith and turn on Japan (Cary 1909, 157–58). By 1885, Fukuzawa was openly advocating that Japan “make it publicly known that Japan is a Christian country,” even if it wasn’t true. Others followed in Fukuzawa’s wake, making similar arguments and even suggesting the Meiji Emperor be baptized to make it more convincing (Cary 1909, 174).  KOREAN GRAND TOUR: Kojong’s support for these overseas missions meant that, “by the first decade of the twentieth century the study-trip abroad, especially to Japan, had already become a kind of extended Korean version of the nineteenth-century British Grand Tour for the children of the wealthy,” underscoring the massive influence that Meiji Japan had on Korea’s understanding of modernization, including of capitalism (Eckert 1991, 34). Indeed, as Eckert writes, “it is thus only after 1876 that we can begin to speak seriously of the growth of Korean capitalism” (Eckert 1991, 1–5).  SEOUL TRIMONTHLY: The Hansŏng Sunbo (漢城旬報), which was published roughly once every ten days and can roughly be translated as the Seoul Trimonthly, was started in 1883 by Pak Yŏng-hyo, with the help of a Japanese educator and adviser, Inoue Kakugorō (井上 角五郎 1860–1938), who accompanied the Koreans back to Seoul; Inoue later described his mission as being “to make Korea move toward civilization” (Duus 1995, 55; and Conroy 1960, 137). The Hansŏng Sunbo was published under the auspices of the Korean crown, exclusively in traditional Chinese script (Deuchler 1977, 202–3). Though the Hansŏng Sunbo is often cited as Korea’s first modern newspaper, the very first newspaper published in the country was a Japanese newspaper, the Chōsen Shinpō (朝鮮新報), which began publishing on December 10, 1881 in Pusan (Albert A. Altman, “Korea’s First Newspaper: The Japanese Chōsen Shinpō,” Journal of Asian Studies 43, no. 4 (August 1984), 685–96, here 685). For a brief thumbnail history of Korea’s nineteenth-century newspapers, see Caprio, “Marketing Assimilation” (2011), 3.
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they saw as a betrayal of traditional Confucian values in favor of heretical foreign teachings

NoteA drought that hit Korea in the summer of 1882, the same summer that Korea signed its first Western treaty, with the U.S., proved to conservatives that allowing in foreigners had tempted fate: “It is the anger of heaven against us,” the people said in whispers. “We have admitted foreigners, and this is the result” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 16; and Griffis 1894, 437). During this protest in the fall of 1880, the scholars denounced Huang Zunxian, saying that his countenancing of the Christians’ doctrine made him a heretic to Confucianism (Deuchler 1977, 104).
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the Japanese minister ordered the building set aflame as the diplomats fled for Inch’ŏn

Note“The military riot of 1882 was caused by the wretched treatment of the troops, whose rice was mixed with sand in order that one of the high officials might line his pockets” (Hulbert 1906, 122). See also Robinson 1988, 20. As the rioting broke out on July 23, 1882, Japanese minister Hanabusa Yoshitada (花房 義質 1842–1917) fled to Inch’ŏn and boarded a British ship, the Flying Fish, to Nagasaki, while Queen Min herself barely fled in time (Nahm 1961, 34–35). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie credits Koreans with setting flame to the legation, and with killing five of the fleeing Japanese (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 17). In the ensuing melee, now known as the Im’o Mutiny (壬午軍亂 Kor. Im’o Kunran), the scheming Prince Regent, who may have had a hand in fomenting the chaos, attempted to retake power, before he was shunted off to Tianjin by the Chinese—apparently lured onto a ship with the promise of a lavish banquet (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 27; and Duus 1995, 53–54). The Prince Regent would remain in China for the next decade, before his next political comeback (Wells 1984, 96, n. 12).  YUAN IN CONTROL: Yuan Shikai, the conservative Chinese general and later central figure in modern Chinese history, made his debut in Korean peninsular affairs during this 1882 incident (Hulbert 1906, 123). Yuan, alas, “had no use for Korean reformers and instead blocked the slightest sign of Korean nationalism” (Cumings, “Historical Setting,” in Worden 2008, 26). Even so, Yuan, in the words of one historian, “accomplish[ed] his mission…impressively”—at least insofar as the aim was to keep Korea firmly in Beijing’s pocket (Lew, “Yüan Shih-k’ai’s Residency” (1984), 72). In October 1883, the Chinese, without any consultation or approval by the Korean government, sent a trade commissioner to Seoul, who promptly posted an “astonishing notice” on one of the gates of the city, declaring that “Korea has been dependent upon China since the time Kuichi was appointed King of Chosen, several thousand years ago…Korea is a dependency of China”—apparently referring to Kija (Dennett 1922, 475–76).
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very uprising that necessitated Horace Allen’s medical intervention on Prince Min’s behalf

NoteThe Kapsin coup (甲申政變 Kor. Kapsin chŏngbyŏn) of December 1884 was the émeute, to use the French term most often used in subsequent years, in which Horace Allen, the Ohio Presbyterian, healed Prince Min to such great effect for the missionary cause. The coup leaders, who included Kim Ok-gyun, Sŏ Kwang-bŏm, and Pak Yŏng-hyo, were inspired by the Meiji Restoration and also many of the new ideas, Christian or otherwise, that were circulating among Korea’s young educated elite (Nahm 1961, 129–30). The historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors called them “firm believers in the principle of equality” who “sought to abolish class distinctions, reform the political process by following the model of Japan’s Meiji Restoration, and achieve genuine national independence for Korea by ending China’s interference in Korean affairs. They believed that their goals could be achieved only by extraordinary measures” (Eckert et al. 1990, 208–9).   THE RINGLEADER: The acknowledged leader of the coup attempt, Kim Ok-gyun, was, in the words of one Korean-American scholar, “distinguished in appearance, versatile in talents, and of highly pleasing personality, Kim was the envy of Seoul society. He could sing as well as play on the kayakum (a musical instrument) better than any professional entertainer of the day; he was among the best in calligraphy, in painting, and in poetry. Wherever he went he was the center of the party, and when ever he opened his mouth his audience was spellbound” (Liem 1952, 14). Kim Ok-gyun introduced his circle of intellectual confederates to a Buddhist monk who had traveled in Japan and China—highly unusual for nineteenth-century Korea—and brought them books on Western history, science and art, which were then read in secret (Liem 1952, 15–16). Prior to the émeute, Kim Ok-gyun had gone to Japan in 1883 to secure a loan; he failed in that, but brought back gunpowder. As China and France grew engulfed in conflict over Vietnam in 1884, the radicals saw an opportunity to push China off the Korean peninsula once and for all, and launched, in concert with Philip Jaisohn, their coup attempt on December 4, 1884 (Eckert et al. 1990, 209–10). “The news of open warfare between the French and the Chinese over Tongking excited the Japanese leaders, who saw ‘the opportunity for which [we] have been waiting quietly for some time,’ namely to check Chinese ambitions in Korea” (Nahm 1961, 203; and Keene 2002, 390). One source notes that Kim Ok-gyun received a copy of the Chinese Bible from Rev. Henry Loomis, an American Presbyterian missionary in Japan, in 1882, and “set himself earnestly to study the new religion,” later vowing to Rev. Loomis and other Western missionaries in Japan that he would “open the door” to Christianity “in two or three years” (Loomis 1923, 82). Kim Ok-gyun himself, however, “never declared himself a Christian,” though he did play a key role in helping the Methodists open up missionary work in Korea in 1884 (Loomis 1923, 83).
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years, the Japanese legation was burned to the ground as Tokyo’s envoy escaped to Inch’ŏn

NoteThe radicals’ fourteen-point plan—a foreshadowing of Woodrow Wilson’s own famous proclamation, so fateful in modern Korean history—was promulgated at Seoul’s Ch’angdŏk Palace (昌德宮 Kor. Ch’angdŏk-gung), “aimed to establish an independent and efficient modern state with an egalitarian social order, to replace the oligarchic, yangban-centered sociopolitical structure of the Chosŏn dynasty” (Eckert et al. 1990, 210–11). As one historian put it, the coup leaders had planned to implement the reforms through King Kojong, but were undermined by a lack of foreign recognition, or support from the public or the military; it also didn’t help that Kim Ok-gyun was relying heavily on the Japanese, thus undercutting the patriotic appeal of his campaign (Robinson 1988, 21). As Japan and China came to the precipice of war, the British and the Russians stepped up their military posture; the British sent four naval vessels to an island off the south coast of the Korean peninsula (Deuchler 1977, 214). In the end, the coup collapsed after three days (Deuchler 1977, 209; and Dennett 1922, 478–79). As in the 1882 uprising, Yuan Shikai played a role in putting down this unrest as well, recapturing the palace and forcing the 130 Japanese in the city to flee to Chemulp’o (Dennett 1922, 478–79). In the aftermath, Japanese minister Takezoe Shinichirō, fled home, setting fire to the legation before his flight (Dudden 2005, 56).  HUNTED DOWN AND DISMEMBERED: After the failed Kapsin coup of December 1884, Kim Ok-gyun was hunted down by the Chosŏn court for treason and fled to Japan, though he was later asked to leave the country by the Japanese government. When Kim refused, he was exiled to the remote island of Ogasawara in August 1885 (Nahm 1961, 318). Eventually, in March 1894, Kim Ok-gyun decided to travel to Shanghai, having been lured there by a fellow Korean named Yi Il-sik who led Kim to think that he would receive a pardon from Li Hongzhang (Nahm 1961, 320). In fact, it would be Yi Il-sik who would ultimately finance Kim Ok-gyun’s assassination, on March 27, 1894, in his Shanghai hotel room, by a monarchist named Hong Chong-u. Hong was later promoted to high office under King Kojong; Kim Ok-gyun’s body, meanwhile, was taken back to Seoul, where he was executed at Yanghwajin—incidentally, the site of a major Catholic persecution and the site of a major foreign missionary cemetery—his body dismembered and his limbs put on display with a notice: “The Arch-Conspirator and Traitor, Ok-kyun, was Executed On This Day at Yanghwajin” (Nahm 1961, 321–22; Frederick McKenzie 1920, 40–41; and Dennett 1922, 486–87).  A MIXED LEGACY: The historical legacy of the December 1884 émeute is a mixed one. While many historians have sympathized with the rebels’ aims, the short-lived nature of the uprising has been chalked up to avoidable tactical failings and a general impatience with a more moderate pace of change. Hugh Cynn, a Korean Christian convert and later the headmaster of the Methodists’ Paejae Academy, writing in 1920, derided the “impatient” rebels as having “adopted a wrong method,” seeking an easy solution rather than doing the time-consuming work of “build[ing] up a strong and healthy constituency which will ultimately overwhelm the conservatives who favored China” (Hugh Hueng-wo Cynn [Sin, Hŭng-u], The Rebirth of Korea: The Reawakening of the People, Its Causes, and the Outlook (London: Central Board of Missions and Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1920), 143–44). The American missionary and historian of Korea Homer Hulbert offered a similar assessment, writing that while the radicals’ modernizing vision was a good one, they had yet to assemble a true constituency to back their program. “They were far ahead of their times, and what they desired was the very best thing for Korea,” Hulbert wrote. “They thought that it was a case of ‘now or never,’ in which opinion they were mistaken” (Hulbert 1906, 121). According to the Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, the 1884 coup plotters themselves later came to share this view. “‘We were very young,’ they say…They learned wisdom in exile” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 41). For a laudatory study of Kim Ok-gyun, see Andrew Changwoo Nahm [Nam, Ch’ang-u], “Kim Ok-kyun and the Korean Progressive Movement, 1882–1884” (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1961). “The assassin’s bullets which ended Kim Ok-kyun’s life not only curtailed the growth of progressivism at its budding stage in Korea, but also crushed the hope for Korea’s existence as an independent nation,” he writes (Nahm 1961, v). For years afterwards, Japanese intellectuals continued to remember Kim Ok-gyun as a hero—the sole member of Korea’s elite willing to take dramatic action against the Chosŏn dynasty’s decay, in their view. That Kim Ok-gyun was not only ignored, but hounded and killed—and his killer rewarded—represented “the end of the possibility for autonomous change in Korea,” writes Andre Schmid, a sympathetic University of Toronto historian (Schmid 2002, 127). After annexing Korea in 1910, Japan forced Korea to issue an imperial rescript restoring honor to Kim Ok-gyun and his fellow coup plotters (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 41).
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ascendant again but feeling the mounting societal pressures, enacted a few piecemeal changes

NoteIn April 1885, Japan and China—just months after teetering on the precipice of war over the events in Korea signed the Convention of Tianjin (天津條約 Ch. Tianjin Tiaoyue), with no input from the Koreans (Deuchler 1977, 216). In a bold power play, Itō Hirobumi negotiated the agreement entirely in English. “English was the language of countries with which both Japan and China had difficulties at the time,” as one historian put it. “By speaking English, Itō confirmed Japan’s desire to change forever the order of the regional discourse of power” (Dudden 2005, 55). With war averted, the Chinese, still with the upper hand in Korea, enacted fragmentary reforms, including the introduction of gas lighting and the creation of a national mint (Duus 1995, 59). Thus, as historian Bruce Cumings notes, Seoul became “the first city in East Asia to have electricity, trolley cars, a water system, telephones, and telegraphs all at the same time” (Cumings 2005, 132). Also cited in Balázs Szalontai, Kim Il Sung in the Khrushchev Era: Soviet-DPRK Relations and the Roots of North Korean Despotism, 1953–1964 (Washington, D.C.: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2005), 4.
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attempts at reform, including shutting down the Seoul Trimonthly just a year after its founding

NoteAfter the shutting down of the newspaper, its backers relaunched the broadsheet as the weekly Hansŏng Chubo (漢城周報), or the Seoul Weekly, with the first issue appearing in January 1886 with the more progressive and radical mixed script of traditional Chinese characters and the vernacular Korean alphabet (Deuchler 1977, 202–3, n. 9). But in 1888, Korea’s Qing backers shut down that newspaper too, though financial difficulties may have also played a role (Duus 1995, 59; and Deuchler 1977, 203, n. 9).  CHINA IN COMMAND: More broadly, the tug-of-war for influence on the Korean peninsula after the December 1884 émeute appeared to end with the triumph of the Chinese. The decade that followed, between 1884 and 1894, “may be passed over without much comment,” the missionary and historian Homer Hulbert wrote in 1906. “They witnessed a continual encroachment by China upon Korea’s independence, and a hopeless acquiescence on the part of the latter” (Hulbert 1906, 126). As Hulbert tells it, Queen Min was a champion of progress and modernization who, after outmaneuvering his scheming father-in-law, the arch-conservative Prince Regent, worked with King Kojong to steer Korea in a more modernizing direction. But attempts by pro-Japanese Korean radicals to expedite reforms and, they feared, seize power, alarmed the Mins, who then “in pure self-defence…turned to the Chinese for help. This was the beginning of the end” (Hulbert 1906, 121). Owen Denny, an Ohio-born pioneer to Oregon who was appointed by China as customs inspector to Korea in 1885, describes a power play by the court in Beijing to reassert full control over every aspect of Korean affairs. “In view of such a long train of cruel, unjust, and tyranical [sic] conduct…China’s professions of friendship for Korea under the claim of vassalage become simply monstrous in their sincerity,” Denny wrote (Denny 1888, 26–27). Despite Denny’s efforts to “keep Korea out of the clutches of China,” Beijing continued to tighten its grip on affairs in the Korean court, Hulbert writes (Hulbert 1906, 127). For more on Denny’s life, see Denny 1888, 1; and Dennett 1922, 482–83.  CUT OFF FROM THE WORLD AGAIN: With the Chinese in charge, Korea saw a quick end to Korea’s attempts to engage with the outside world. After a series of diplomatic missions to China, Japan, and the U.S. between 1880 and 1884, the following decade saw nothing of the sort as Yuan Shikai—the Qing empire’s ambitious twenty-six-year-old imperial resident of Seoul, who would later gain infamy as the first president of Republican China—sought to restrict Korea’s contact with the outside world, writes historian Young-ick Lew, adding that the only Korean overseas delegation during the decade that followed was a ten-man musical troupe sent to the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893. Yuan “feared that enlightened and well-educated Koreans would turn against China in cooperation with Korea’s treaty nations” (Lew, “Yüan Shih-k’ai’s Residency” (1984), 87, 90). Carter Eckert and his coauthors generally concur, noting that, following the April 18, 1885, Convention of Tianjin, which withdrew both Japanese and Chinese troops from Korea, the decade from the mid-1880s to the mid-1890s was something of “a dark age for the Korean enlightenment movement,” squelching any hope that Korea could effectively catch up with the modern world. For this, Eckert and his coauthors blame Yuan (Eckert et al. 1990, 212–13). From the time of his arrival in Seoul, Yuan regarded himself as a class apart from the rest of the diplomats in the Korean capital: “He demanded and received permission to be carried in his chair, accompanied by his attendants, through the central gate to the palace when he came for audience with the king, while the other representatives were compelled to leave their chairs at the gate and walk more than half a mile to the hall of audience” (Dennett 1922, 476). Such haughtiness did little to endear the Chinese to the Koreans. As historian Tyler Dennett writes, “the increase of Chinese influence in the peninsula was as much resented as the coming of the Japanese had been” (Dennett 1922, 477).
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strength in Korea, in preparation for a more forceful challenge to China’s grip on the peninsula

NoteIn a reflection of the more assertive views gaining currency in Tokyo after the failure of the failed coup of December 1884, the year 1885 saw two prominent Meiji thinkers, Fukuzawa Yukichi and Tarui Tōkichi, call for outright annexation of Korea, though Tarui’s book wasn’t published until 1893 (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 29–30). Japan was freer to pursue a more aggressive policy in Korea in part because their concerns over a conflict with Russia had faded after an agreement with St. Petersburg in 1875 over the status of Sakhalin and the Kuril Islands, and because the squelching of the Satsuma Rebellion in 1878 ended one particularly fierce domestic dispute (Duus 1995, 60).
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intelligence officials came to a startling conclusion: Japan could take on China, and it could win

NoteA few years earlier, Japan had begun collecting military reconnaissance on the Qing forces, and, as China’s reform efforts stalled in the 1880s, Japanese intelligence officials came to a conclusion: Japan could take on China, and it could win.  The reconnaissance efforts had begun in 1879, by which time Japan had even drawn up potential war plans for a three-pronged attack on China that could target Dalian in the north, Fujian in the south, and, eventually, Beijing itself (Duus 1995, 61, n. 75). Kawakami Sōroku (川上 操六 1848–1899), a senior military strategist in the Japanese military, had spent most of the 1880s preparing for a showdown with China, and in 1893, returned from a reconnaissance tour of Korea and China concluding that Japanese forces could push China out of Korea once and for all (Duus 1995, 65). “Nothing would be more popular to-day among the masses in Japan than a war with China, in which, if fought on anything like equal terms as to position, victory would almost surely rest with Japan,” George Gilmore, a missionary and teacher in Seoul, wrote in 1892—two years before the outbreak of hostilities—with a prescience that was uncommon among Westerners in the region, most of whom believed that China would defeat Japan in a hypothetical war  (Gilmore 1892, 14).
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had to move quickly: Western powers could seize Korea and use it to directly threaten Japan

NoteJapanese prime minister Yamagata Aritomo, in his 1890 memorial to the throne, declared that the Trans-Siberian Railway would intensify competition for East Asia’s natural resources, which increasingly looked like “a pile of meat among tigers” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 64). This, incidentally, was also the view in St. Petersburg, where senior Russian official Sergei Witte (1849–1915) described the mounting tensions between Japan and China as “the consequence of the construction of the Siberian Railway” (as quoted in David J. Dallin, The Rise of Russia in Asia (London: Hollis & Carter, 1950). 36).
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in 1892, urged caution, preferring to reserve force of arms only for the direst of scenarios

NoteAfter the failed coup of December 1884, Itō Hirobumi won a debate within the Japanese legislature against the hawkish factions, who urged a war with China (Nelson 1946, 204). As historian Tyler Dennett put it, “every time when the subject was brought forward, in 1872, 1877, 1882, 1884, and in 1894, some clear-sighted leaders had pointed out the political inexpediency of taking Korea” (Tyler Dennett, Roosevelt and the Russo-Japanese War: A Critical Study of American Policy in Eastern Asia in 1902–5, Based Primarily Upon the Private Papers of Theodore Roosevelt (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday Page, 1925), 98).
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the demise of the increasingly brittle dynasty that had ruled Korea since the fourteenth century

NoteIn addition to persistent rumors that Hong Kyŏng-rae, whose rebellion in northwestern Korea had so rattled the Chosŏn court in 1811, was still alive, the increasingly wobbly royal family faced a string of uprisings and rebellions during the nineteenth century that foreshadowed the existential threat they would face from the Tonghak Uprising in the 1890s (see Eckert et al. 1990, 186–87).
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writings and widespread reports of witchcraft, miracles, and ghosts in and around Pyongyang

NoteThe widespread belief in and practice of mysticism transformed northwestern Korea during this period into “a place of rampant heresy and heterodoxy” (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 77–78). In late nineteenth-century Chosŏn Korea, there were plenty of clairvoyants to choose from. In October 1890, Korean officials rounded up the followers of one prophetess who, pleading immaculate conception, believed that the son born to her would be the future divine ruler of Korea. According to missionary-turned-diplomat Horace Allen, the woman was to be cut open with a Caesarean section; “if the contents of her womb prove to be of divine origin the wound will be sewed up and the pregnancy will go to term. If carnal, then the woman loses her head. I think it will prove to be a tumor which will be considered as the conception of the Devil” (Horace N. Allen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, September 18, 1890, Seoul (PHS 175/3/41, 1890)). It’s not known what came of this case.  THE COMING MAITREYA: Many of the prophecies were rooted in the belief of the coming advent of the Maitreya, the Buddha of the future (彌勒菩薩 Kor. Mirŭk Posal), a teaching that had long been popular in northwestern Korea. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Maitreya-linked prophecies gained the most traction during times of social turmoil in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century, when Korea was swept by famine and disease. In 1688, for instance, a Buddhist monk prophesied the end of the Chosŏn dynasty, replaced by a new Maitreya era; the Chosŏn authorities eventually put down the rebellion. In 1758, a female shaman who claimed to be the Maitreya Buddha gained followers until the Chosŏn authorities arrested and executed her (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 151, 158). The latter half of the eighteenth century, in particular, was dominated by “outbreaks of Buddhist millenarianism, as individuals appeared claiming to be the future Buddha, Maitreya. Both the intellectual quest for a monotheistic deity to provide a moral compass and the popular desire for a saviour figure to ward off a rising tide of evil and suffering may have done much to prepare the ground for the introduction of Catholicism” (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 98). The apparent comfort that many in P’yŏng’an province had with Buddhism and other heterodoxies stood in sharp contrast to northeastern Hamgyŏng province, where the literati were obsessed with maintaining Neo-Confucian order (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 78, n. 51).
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Chŏnggam and its ominous prediction of the Chosŏn dynasty’s demise sometime around 1892

NoteFor more on The Records of Chŏnggam (鄭鑑錄 Kor. Chŏnggam-rok), see Act I, Chapter 2. For the northwestern Korean origins of the prophetic text, see Jung, “The Shadow of Anonymity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 97. Because of the slippery nature of the Chŏnggam prophecies, not all of them gave the Chosŏn dynasty exactly five centuries to work with; some said that the dynasty would meet its demise after three centuries or four centuries (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 94). Still, by the turn of the twentieth century, with pestilence, war, famine, and death prevalent in Korea, many believed that the promised end of days—or at least the end of the Chosŏn dynasty—was at hand. Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic convert to Methodism, wrote in his diary in November 1902 that “every Korean seems to think these are the last years of the present dynasty” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, November 29, 1902, entry). Also cited in Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 122).
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blended elements of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism with bits of Chŏnggam prophecy

NoteSAVIOR OF THE IGNORANT: Ch’oe Che-u (崔濟愚), or “the Savior of the Ignorant,” was the chosen name of a man born Ch’oe Che-sŏn (崔濟宣 1824–1864)—a no less portentous name that translates to “Save and Proclaim” (Paul L. Beirne and Carl F. Young, “Tonghak/Ch’ŏndogyo,” in Lukas Pokorny and Franz Winter, eds., Handbook of East Asian New Religious Movements (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2018), 255–78, here 256–57). Some of Ch’oe’s followers gave him another name, referring to him as the “Savior of the World” (濟世主 Kor. Chese-ju) (“The Si-ch’un and Ch’un-Do Churches (Tong-Hak),” The Korea Magazine (April 1918), 160–65, here 165). Like Hong Xiuquan, whose Taiping Rebellion was at the peak of its power in China when Ch’oe Che-u experienced his initial revelation in 1860, Ch’oe had been barred from higher office in the all-important government civil service examination (Beirne and Young, “Tonghak/Ch’ŏndogyo,” in Pokorny and Winter 2018, 256). Ch’oe Che-u saw the establishment of his new religion “as a form of nationalistic resistance against invading imperialism,” particularly of the Western nations who were overrunning Asia militarily during this period—defeating Qing China in the two Opium Wars and indirectly inspiring the Taiping Rebellion (see Kim Sung-hae, “The New Religions of Korea and Christianity,” in Kim Sung-hae and James Heisig, eds., Encounters: The New Religions of Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Royal Asiatic Society, Korea Branch, 2008), 1–29, here 7–8). Ch’oe, watching the events transpire in China, was inspired by the possibility that Westerners had received the Mandate of Heaven, and created his Tonghak movement sometime around 1860, claiming to have received revelations from the Lord of Heaven (Westad 2021, 73). Presbyterian missions leader Robert Speer, comparing the Taiping and Tonghak movements, described the Tonghak uprising as being “of very similar character, but so totally independent of it that it may be doubted if the Tong Haks had ever heard of the Tai-pings” (Speer 1904, 359). Ch’oe’s chosen name referred to the unsaved and the ignorant, and many of the Christian missionaries regarded Tonghak believers as hapless indeed. As the Scottish-Canadian missionary to Korea William J. McKenzie wrote from his base in rural Hwanghae province in 1894, the Tonghak teaching “spreads here among the ignorant and vicious, particularly the poor. The object seems to be to make an easy living” (as quoted in McCully 1904, 165).  A BLENDING OF FAITHS: Part of Tonghak’s appeal was that it was intimately tied to several belief systems that already had wide currency in Korea—and carried a number of striking resonances with China’s Taiping teachings. One Korean, whose family became Tonghak followers in the 1890s before later embracing Christianity, explained Tonghak’s appeal by pointing to Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism: “There was good in all three of them…why not just combine them all into one and call it Dong-Hak?” (Charr 1996, 36–37) One scholar places Tonghak alongside China’s Taiping Heavenly Kingdom and Japan’s Hirata Atsutane Shintōism as examples of nineteenth-century syncretism in the region (David Chung 2001, xii). Another scholar highlights the similarities between Tonghak, which “as a chiliastic movement…resembled the Chinese Taip’ing movement, but was more xenophobic and harboured bitter hatred of Catholics (elements of whose doctrines it nevertheless had borrowed)” (Wells 1990, 24). For another account of the syncretism that drove Ch’oe Che-u, see Speer 1904, 361–63. University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik also compares the Tonghak rebellion to the Taiping and Boxer uprisings that bookended the Korean disturbance, noting that both the Tonghak and Taiping movements were founded by failed civil service examination takers who built their followings on foundations of religious doctrine (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 20–21).
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arrested and ultimately executed in 1864, it was on suspicions that he was a Christian convert

NoteCh’oe Che-u here risks protesting too much. There is little doubt that Ch’oe had become acquainted with Roman Catholic teachings (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 32). The central revelation that would form his doctrine came to him while he was being treated by Catholic missionaries during a bout of delirium, and the word he used for the supreme sovereign, Ch’ŏnju (天主), literally the “Heavenly Master,” was the Catholic word for God. When Ch’oe came to naming his teaching, he called it Tonghak (東學), or “Eastern learning, an apparent attempt at ensuring that nobody confused it with Sŏhak (西學), or “Western learning”—that is, Catholicism (Sherwood Hall 1978, 74). This move did little to fool later scholars. “Although he asserted that he had taken the best precepts of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism so as to oppose ‘Western Learning’ (Catholicism) with ‘Eastern Learning,’ his doctrine included elements from Catholicism and also embraced features of popular shamanistic beliefs” (Eckert et al. 1990, 187). The Korean American scholar Yi Chŏng-sik lists five ideologies that he regards as being essential inputs to Tonghak teachings: Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism, and Catholicism, along with elements of native Korean shamanism (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 21). The Italian diplomat-historian Eugenio Volpicelli, writing in 1896, was struck by Tonghak’s many debts to Catholicism (Vladimir 1896, 59). In fact, writes Korean American scholar Albert Park, Ch’oe did subtly acknowledge his debt to Catholicism, saying that he “stated that it was a mixture of many religions in that it melded together tenets from other systems of knowledge, such as Catholicism and Confucianism, to produce a religion that truly addressed the needs of the people” (Albert Park 2015, 26). Tonghak’s chanted mantras and supernatural claims played a central role in its rapid rise—as did its assertion that the turning wheel of time had brought near the day when these goals might be achieved. It was this millenarian aspect that led the government to view with alarm the spreading popularity of the Tonghak faith” (Eckert et al. 1990, 187–88).  EXECUTED AS A CATHOLIC: In the end, when Ch’oe was executed in 1864, it was as a Catholic believer (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 44; Kim Sung-hae, “New Religions of Korea,” in Kim Sung-hae and Heisig 2008, 11–12; Timothy Lee 2010, 6; Huntley 1984, 8; and Don Baker [Baker, Donald L.], Korean Spirituality (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008), 79). One source describes Ch’oe’s execution in 1864 as coming amid the broader Catholic persecution that swept Korea in the mid-1860s, without which Ch’oe may well have lived (“Ch’un-Do Churches (Tong-Hak),” Korea Magazine (1918), 162). Whatever the case, as scholar Donald Baker notes, “if he had not preached monotheism, Ch’oe Cheu might have been able to escape the government’s wrath. Most of what he taught his followers was not new” (Baker 2008, 81). It was Ch’oe’s use of the term Ch’ŏnju, for instance in his teaching to “serve the Lord” (侍天主 Kor. sa Ch’ŏnju), that aroused suspicions that Tonghak was no more than Catholicism in disguise (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 21–22; and Kim Sung-hae, “New Religions of Korea,” in Kim Sung-hae and Heisig 2008, 12). In its rites as well, Tonghak appeared to borrow a page from Catholicism. In 1878, Tonghak’s leader started a new ritual, the most important in the Tonghak faith—a weekly worship service that included a sermon, the singing of songs, and silent meditation, capped off by the drinking of holy water (Albert Park 2015, 34). By the 1890s, under second-generation Tonghak leader Ch’oe Si-hyŏng (崔時亨 1827–1898), the religion became more systematized, with the compilation of the Bible of the Tonghak Doctrine (東經大全 Kor. Tonggyŏng Taejŏn) and a hymnal, and the establishment of a system of “’parishes’ and…a hierarchy of church leadership” (Eckert et al. 1990, 216).  A RECHRISTENED FAITH: Tonghak was formally renamed Ch’ŏndogyo (天道教) in 1905, with its new name christened “in imitation of the Christian sects which had called themselves ‘Ch’ŏnjugyo’” (天主教)—that is to say, Catholicism—according to one scholar of Korean religion. At the same time, Ch’ŏndogyo began building church-like worship halls and holding Sunday worship services, featuring hymns and sermons (Baker, “A Slippery, Changing Concept” (2010), 70). Ch’ŏndogyo’s main building, the Ch’ŏndogyo Central Temple (天道教中央大教堂 Kor. Ch’ŏndo-gyo Chung’ang Tae Kyohoe), was completed in 1921 in central Seoul, in the Western style, where Christian-style services are held every Sunday morning (Baker 2008, 82–83; and P’yo Yŏng-sam, “Ch’ŏndogyo Chung’ang Taegyodang (天道教中央大教堂),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture).
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—though Tonghak also promised followers invincibility from bullets and from death

NoteA RADICAL EGALITARIANISM: Like Catholicism, Tonghak thrived in highly stratified Korea precisely because it “proclaimed an equality for all human beings that transcended social status or class” (Eckert et al. 1990, 187). The Tonghaks “raised issues of social equality and economic equity that were unique in the history of Korean peasant rebellions” (Robinson 1988, 23). “Ch’oe promulgated an egalitarian creed which stated that the Neo-Confucian hierarchical structure was no longer relevant to Korea and should be replaced by a religion that respected all people as equal, and within which distinctions based on gender, age, education, wealth, and hereditary status had no place. In brief, Ch’oe not only challenged the Neo-Confucian structure, but advocated its dissolution” (Beirne and Young, “Tonghak/Ch’ŏndogyo,” in Pokorny and Winter 2018, 255). As Donald Baker writes, Ch’oe’s teachings “offered hope that the hierarchical structure of Korean society would soon be transformed into something more egalitarian” (Baker 2008, 82).  BEADS AND CHANTS: Like the messianic Taipings, the Tonghaks wore “beads around their necks, matchlocks slung over their shoulders and swords and spears in their hands, chanting the Dong-Hak creed and singing their battle song” (Charr 1996, 41–42). The Tonghaks’ battle song was even called the T’aep’yŏng-ga (太平歌), which can be translated as the “Song of the Taiping.” And, prefiguring the Boxer rebellion that would overrun northern China at the end of the nineteenth century, the Tonghaks preached a mystical belief in immunity from death and bullets (see Lillias Underwood 1904, 127). The Boxer movement’s mysticism, in turn, prefigured in many ways the Christian revivals that would stir Korea and Manchuria in 1907. “Strange movements, passes, and contortions were practised until the devotee fell down in a fit or trance, sometimes uttering unknown words and uncouth sounds, said to be the language of the spirits which now entered into him. When he rose he was a true Boxer, and invulnerable. Superstition and imitation worked also on the susceptible nervous temperament of the Chinese, and many fell down because they believed they would, and because their neighbours did” (Christie 1914, 134–35). Indeed, writes University of Vienna professor Lukas K. Pokorny, “the millenarian theme so powerfully enunciated by early Tonghak leaders…had a veritable lighthouse effect, conceptually energising a plethora of other new religious developments with a consonant millenarian tenor that flows through…to this day” (Pokorny, “An Introduction,” in Pokorny and Winter 2018, 238).  ENIGMATIC MANTRAS AND AMULETS: One enigmatic mantra from the Chŏnggam prophecies—弓弓乙乙 (Kor. kunggung’ŭl’ŭl), which purported to offer a coded key to shelters where one could seek refuge in times of chaos—“had a significant impact on Tonghak,” perplexing founder Ch’oe Che-u (Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 127–28; and Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 120). Ch’oe tapped further into the Chŏnggam teachings by writing songs and creating paper amulets that directly referenced the prophecy (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 133). The plotters of the initial uprising in southwestern Korea whose members later became leaders of the Tonghak movement further “believed that they had received a mandate to establish a new dynasty at Mount Kyeryong”—an idea drawn from the Chŏnggam prophecies—and likely believed that Tonghak leader Chŏn Pong-jun (全琫準 1855–1895) was the “True Man” of which the Chŏnggam prophecies spoke (Jorgensen 2018, 179–80). For the Chŏnggam prophecies and their influence on Tonghak founder Ch’oe Che-u, see Pokorny, “An Introduction,” in Pokorny and Winter 2018, 237–38; and Jorgensen 2018, 179–80.  IMPERVIOUS TO BULLETS: Roughly a decade before the Boxers in China made similar claims, Tonghak followers had come to believe that mastering the teaching could make them impervious to bullets. As the Scottish Canadian missionary William J. McKenzie, who was living in rural Hwanghae province, noted in an 1894 letter: “All sorts of inducements are held out to the candidate for the study of its mysteries. They will never get sick; in battle cannot be shot, as shots are changed to water; no fear of war. Twenty-one letters are swiftly repeated, magic papers are swung about, twitchet shakes are performed when the magic paper is eaten, which is a sure guarantee against death and all kinds of trouble” (as quoted in McCully 1904, 166). For many Koreans, this was the Tonghak teachings’ most powerful draw: The promise of magical powers. When those attributes were exposed to be false, many quickly dropped out (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 32–33). See also Speer 1904, 370–75; and “Seven Months Among the Tong Haks,” Korean Repository 2 (June 1895), 201–8, here 204. Though the author of this latter piece is unidentified, it was written by missionary William J. McKenzie. The Tonghaks were far from the first Korean peasant rebels to believe in a mystical invincibility. The Hong Kyŏng-rae rebellion of 1811 was also animated by such beliefs, which were reinforced by some sleight of hand by Hong. For instance, Hong claimed to have been immune to bullets, ordering his followers to remove the bullets from their rifles before firing at him, convincing onlookers who praised him as “the true general” (道真將軍 Kor. tojin changgun). Other followers of Hong Kyŏng-rae claimed to be able to fly or leap high in the air, or to cause hail to rain down from the heavens (Karlsson, “Challenging the Dynasty” (2001), 270).
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encountered the Western faith were drawn to it because of its likeness to Tonghak doctrines

NoteWilliam J. McKenzie, a Scottish-Canadian missionary to Korea who had close contacts with a number of Tonghak followers during his years in a remote village in Hwanghae Province, concluded that the teaching “has much of Christianity in it,” so much so that he considered it a good possible stepping-stone to the Christian faith (as quoted in McCully 1904, 183–84). Writing anonymously in June 1895, McKenzie described how quickly Tonghak gained followers, including from his own flock—underscoring the crossover appeal of Tonghak and Christian teachings: “Thousands joined in a day, several who attended our meeting in the morning were on the warpath in the evening. Great were the promises and bright the prospects of the initiated. They struck a very effective chord in the Korean’s heart” (“Seven Months Among the Tong Haks,” Korean Repository (1895), 202–3).  “A HEAVENLY WORLD”: To hear it from the Koreans themselves, the draw was obvious. Kim Ku, a prominent conservative Korean nationalist, recalled first hearing a scholar’s passing remark about the Tonghak teaching’s spirit of equality, which appealed instantly to the young man, who had suffered discrimination under the traditional civic examination system of Chosŏn Korea. Hearing the scholar’s remarks about “treating everyone fairly without regard to his social status or wealth,” Kim was instantly moved: “When I heard these words, I felt as if I had come to a heavenly world” (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 35). Kim also recalled rumors of a Tonghak teacher named Ch’oe To-myŏng (崔道明), whose followers could enter a room without opening the door, fly and disappear instantaneously (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 33–34). Kim quickly became a spiritual leader in the Tonghak movement, attracting thousands of followers, many of whom believed that he had magical powers, like being able to walk on air (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 36–37). After the Tonghak uprising was put down in 1894, many of the rebels embraced Christianity, Kim Ku being perhaps the most prominent among them (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 159, n. 61). One young Korean named Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, whose family had joined the Tonghak movement before later converting to Christianity, described how Tonghak doctrines tapped into Koreans’ hopes for that promised messiah, Prince Chŏng To-ryŏng (Charr 1996, 38). “What a romantic name! Why, it sounds like Prince Jung-do-ryung himself whom we’ve been looking for all this time!” Ch’a’s uncle, a geomancer, exclaimed. As Ch’a came to realize: “The people were looking for and longing for Prince Jung-Do-Ryung, as did the Israelites of old for the Messiah, to come to claim the kingship of the land and enthrone himself in his new capital” (Charr 1996, 42). Ch’a recalls his uncle retreating with some other followers to a little shack on a cliff to recite Tonghak mantras—“Believe in the heavenly lord the creator, forgetting never and knowing all things,” and the like—which made clear, he said upon further reflection, its similarities to the Christian faith, “the very foreignism which it professed to abhor” (Charr 1996, 39). As the scholar Kim Chong-bŏm puts it, “the identification of Jesus with Chŏng To-ryŏng seems to have been widespread among the early Protestant converts” (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 159). Around Mount Kyeryong (鷄龍山) in Ch’ungch’ŏng province, where Chŏng To-ryŏng was believed to establish his new dynasty after vanquishing the Chosŏn dynasty, a number of new religions have continued to spring up, combining elements of Christianity and the Chŏnggam prophecies, many of them portraying Korea as the center of a new heavenly order (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 160).  “BRAVE BUT PATHETIC”: Though the Korea missionaries could hardly agree with substance of the Tonghak teachings, they could admire one key insight of Ch’oe Che-u’s that brought the movement widespread success in late Chosŏn-era Korea: “He realized that Korea was soul sick and the times called for a spiritual remedy,” in the words of one later Korea missionary (Huntley 1984, 8). Presbyterian Charles Clark looked upon Tonghak followers with pity, describing the teaching as a sign of humanity’s groping for Christ—“just another brave but pathetic effort of the human spirit by its own outreach of reason trying to find its God,” as he put it (Charles Allen Clark [Clark, Charles A.], Religions of Old Korea (Seoul: Christian Literature Society of Korea, 1961), 172). Also cited in Pak 2006, 88. For an early account of Tonghak’s religious roots and nature from Western missionary eyes, see William M. Junkin, “The Tong Hak,” Korean Repository 2 (February 1895), 56–61.  CHRISTIAN CROSSCURRENTS: If there was a similarity in the appeal between Tonghak and Christianity and their appeals to equality and the supernatural, it may not have been accidental. As with Christianity, the Tonghak teachings were replete with “messianic overtones” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 79). Another scholar suspects, meanwhile, that Tonghak’s emphasis on equality may well have been drawn from the first chapter of Genesis (Kim Sung-hae, “New Religions of Korea,” in Kim Sung-hae and Heisig 2008, 15). If nothing else, it should be pointed out that, for all of Ch’oe Che-u’s stated opposition to Christianity, “the affirmative reasons for its profound attraction in Korea from the 1870’s onward are almost identical with those which made Protestant Christianity acceptable,” writes American scholar of religion Spencer Palmer. “Many of the advantages enjoyed by [Tonghak] were identical with those of Christianity. Both religions offered equality and opportunity to Korean social groups who were suffering under discrimination” (Palmer 1967, 93–94). In fact, Tonghak was only the first manifestation of the profound changes that the arrival of Christianity had on Korean thought, particularly in relation to religion. “When Christianity in the form of Catholicism took root in Chosŏn in the late eighteenth century, it introduced lasting and dramatic changes to Korea’s religious culture,” writes the scholar Donald Baker, pointing in particular to “the concept that religious communities should not only be exclusive, they should also be confessional (bound together by a set of shared beliefs) and congregational (they should meet regularly for communal worship)” (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 51).
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the removal from government of the Min family, whom they blamed for opening up Korea

NoteIn 1892, the governor of Ch’ungch’ŏng province—in south-central Korea—became the first to outlaw Tonghak, kickstarting a broader official campaign against the religion. By then, Tonghak boasted some 300,000 members gathered in 339 congregations across Korea (Albert Park 2015, 36). “The Tonghak movement had become distinctly political, aiming at the overthrow of the Min oligarchy and at driving out all foreign intruders,” writes Carter Eckert and his coauthors. “The Tonghak uprisings of 1894 constitute the largest scale peasant insurrection in Korean history…with the egalitarian dream of abolishing the yangban class system” (Eckert et al. 1990, 217, 221). Some of the banners being hoisted by Tonghak followers during this period read “Reject Japan and Repel the Foreigners” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 26). In this sense, writes one historian, the Tonghak movement was a conservative rebellion, akin to the Satsuma Rebellion in Japan and the Boxer Uprising in China, and at least initially, reluctant to rebel against the court (Conroy 1960, 229–30). One irony is that the uprising, for all its anti-foreigner sentiment, actually opened the door for Japan to further entrench itself in Korea (Yang 1981, 20). Many Westerners in Seoul believed that the Prince Regent, a chief rival of the Min clan who was at this time long out of power but eager to find a way back in, played some role in fomenting the Tonghaks, in alliance with the Japanese. As Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie put it, “in the spring of 1894, the Tong-haks, in some mysterious fashion, acquired a number of good weapons, and advanced towards Seoul, capturing town after town” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 38–39).
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a particularly large following, ordered the arrest of anyone “studying strange doctrines”

NoteAnd the Tonghaks multiplied quickly. As one young Korean whose family turned to Tonghak before embracing Christianity put it: “How fast the movement grew! It grew like the green things in the river valley in summer time and its followers multiplied like the waters in a flood season” (Charr 1996, 37). The Tonghaks’ growth was particularly pronounced in and around Pyongyang, writes historian Albert Park. “Between 1860 and 1863, Ch’oe attracted a large following in the P’yŏngyang region and southern parts of Korea. Ch’oe’s proselytization campaigns greatly concerned government officials” (Albert Park 2015, 31–32). Church historian Roy Shearer similarly writes that Ch’ŏndogyo, “even though it originated in the south, had more believers in the north, as did Shamanism, while Confucianism and Buddhism seemed stronger in the south of Korea” (Shearer 1966, 31).
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the golden opportunity that Meiji leaders had been seeking to expand their influence in Korea

Note“The opportunity desired by the Japanese expansionists was very conveniently given by the Tonghak rebellion,” writes historian Yi Chŏng-sik, describing the greatest historical legacy of the Tonghak movement as “the excuse given the Japanese government to put its troops into Korea—the first step toward continental expansion” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 33, 35–36). Lee cites the memoirs of Hayashi Tadasu (林 董 1850–1913), a vice foreign minister, who recounted militarists in Tokyo seeing in the Tonghak uprising an opportunity to “send as many troops to meet them in Pyongyang. After winning the battle in Pyongyang, we may conclude a peace treaty and place Korea under our influence” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 37). The idea that Japan had long been eyeing Korea and saw the Tonghak tumult as an opportunity is not a universally held view. Lee’s University of Pennsylvania colleague, Hilary Conroy, argues that Japan didn’t set its sights on expelling China from Korea until early July 1894 (Conroy 1960, 254). Whether or not Japan was looking to exploit a political crisis, it acted quickly once the opportunity presented itself. Thus, as Lee writes, “the Tonghak rebellion of 1894–1895 was both a symptom and a cause of change” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 19–20). As one Korean put it to a missionary, “the relations of China and Japan had become petroleum, and the Tong Hak was the match” (as quoted in Junkin, “Tong Hak,” Korean Repository (1895), 56). Robert Speer, musing a few years later on what Tonghak founder Ch’oe Che-u wrought, declared: “Little did Choi Chei Ou dream when he founded his new religion thirty-five years before, that his influence would radically change the destinies of these three peoples” (Speer 1904, 378–79).
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send troops in the spring of 1894, the Japanese responded by dispatching soldiers of their own

Note“SUBDUE KOREA” REDUX: As tensions rose in Seoul, Meiji leaders in Tokyo engaged in a fresh round of debate over whether to “Subdue Korea,” as they had done two decades earlier. In a reflection of just how fevered the war cry had become in Japan by 1894, even Uchimura Kanzō (內村 鑑三 1861–1930), a Christian evangelist and pacifist, published an English-language article in August 1894 called “Justification of the Corean War,” describing a military campaign as a righteous war “to decide whether Progress shall be the law in the East…or whether Retrogression” (as quoted in Keene 2002, 481). Uchimura, born in Tokyo to a samurai family, had made his name as a liberal Christian thinker. He converted to Christianity at seventeen, studied at Amherst College in Massachusetts, and won renown for refusing to bow before a portrait of the Meiji emperor in 1891 (Jieun Han [Han Chi-ŭn], “A Christian Pacifist: An Chunggŭn’s Christian Ethics and Armed Struggle,” Journal of Korean Religions 9, no. 1 (April 2018), 131–58, here 141–42). True to his inclination towards restraint, prime minister Itō Hirobumi counseled caution, holding out hope that Korea, perhaps with the joint supervision of China and Japan, could enact a slate of modernizing reforms in Seoul to professionalize the government bureaucracy, create an independent and transparent judicial system, reform and regularize management of the government coffers, upgrade transportation and communication networks, overhaul the educational system, and build up a more modernized military corps. Itō thus proposed reaching out to Beijing in hopes of coordinating a political intervention in Seoul (Duus 1995, 72–73). It was also during this debate that the idea of establishing a protectorate began to gain traction as a middle ground between outright annexation and a more passive posture (Duus 1995, 80). Ultimately, the stalemate “was not to deter the Japanese military staff from carrying out its preëstablished designs.” Tokyo then ordered Ōtori to put troops in Seoul, “upon whatever excuse might be available” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 37–40).   TILTING TOWARDS WAR: Militarists in the government were not the only players pushing Japan towards war. Also playing its part was the Japanese press, which in the words of one scholar “encouraged the government…prepared the homeland for the battles to come, and then led the chorus of cheers that rose with every victory” (Caprio 2009, 60). Though Prime Minister Itō used his great sway with the Meiji emperor to nudge the monarch towards opposing war, Itō eventually came around to the idea (Keene 2002, 482). Japan’s willingness to escalate the tensions in Korea may have driven by domestic political instability. That year, the legislative Diet was dissolved by the emperor, triggering a second general election in 1894. “The outbreak of war in the summer of 1894, and the sense of national patriotism which it aroused in no ordinary degree, had the effect for a time of stifling these dissensions” (Curzon 1896, 29). As one diplomatic historian later wrote, Japan by June 1894 found itself in a precarious domestic political situation, such that “a foreign war would be a very welcome diversion to the repeated interference of the Diet in the affairs of government” (Dennett 1922, 497–98).  ESCALATING TO DEESCALATE: Japan and China dispatching their troops to Korea had the effect of calming the situation, at least in the short term, with neither side apparently eager to see the standoff escalate. As the Tonghak threat subsided, on June 11, 1894, Ōtori Keisuke (大烏 圭介 1833–1911), the top Japanese envoy to Korea, met with China’s imperial resident in Seoul, Yuan Shikai, to negotiate a troop withdrawal; four days later, the two sides agreed to keep only a minimal military presence in Korea—250 Japanese men at Inch’ŏn, to the west of the capital, and four hundred Chinese soldiers at Asan, to the south of Seoul (Duus 1995, 68). It was around this time that Britain proposed that the two sides withdraw their troops and effectively divide Korea into Japanese and Chinese spheres of control, in what one scholar has called “the first time that a partition of Korea was advocated by a great power” (Dallin 1950, 37).
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sent troops to occupy Seoul, seize King Kojong, and establish a new, pro-Japanese government

NoteSee “A Retrospect,—1894,” Korean Repository 2 (January 1895), 29–36, especially 33; and “Reminiscences of July 23, 1894,” Korean Repository 3 (July 1896), 293–97. Japan posted soldiers along the Chong-ro (鐘路), named for the Posin’gak Bell Pavilion (普信閣) stationed then and now along the main thoroughfare in the capital, and placed artillery pieces on the slopes of South Mountain (南山 Kor. Namsan), to the south of Seoul’s ancient city walls (Duus 1995, 74–75). The Japanese installed Kojong’s father, the Prince Regent, to serve as head of government, despite his suspicion of the Japanese, largely because of his stature and his opposition to Queen Min (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 41). The Japanese proposed a slate of reforms for Korea that would have overhauled the civil service bureaucracy, the national coffers, the court system, the military, and the educational system. The whole slate of twenty-six reforms is given in Vladimir 1896, 335–37. Historian Yi Chŏng-sik gives the number of reform articles as twenty-seven (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 40–41).
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with Chinese and Japanese reinforcements flowing into Korea, a full-blown war had ignited

NoteTwo naval engagements between the Chinese and Japanese took place on July 25, 1894—the date typically given as the start of the war. “The war thus began de facto, on July 25, without a declaration on either side, but declarations were formally issued by Japan and China on August 1 and 2, respectively” (Hishida 1905, 175).
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become clear to the Western missionaries in Korea that the Tonghak crisis was growing dire 

NoteIndeed, within Western expatriate circles in Asia, “it was freely predicted in the treaty ports and also abroad that war between China and Japan was rapidly approaching,” historian Tyler Dennett writes, with the London Spectator writing in September 1882, for example, that “the outbreak of hostilities between China and Japan is one of the most likely events to happen within the next few weeks”—with China widely predicted to emerge triumphant (Dennett 1922, 468, citing London Spectator, September 2, 1882). Still, few in neighboring Manchuria could have foreseen how deep and long-lasting the troubles in Korea would prove. “Few dreamed that these seemingly insignificant disputes in an insignificant country were to be the prelude to the strife of nations which was to rend Manchuria again and again,” Scottish Presbyterian missionary Dugald Christie wrote from his perch in Shenyang (then known as Mukden). Reflecting on the war decades later, Christie believed that, whatever the proximate cause of the hostilities, Japan would have found a pretext to oust China from Korea: “The Japanese had for years been preparing to assert themselves, and to get the upper hand in Korea. We know now that had this occasion not served, another would soon have been found” (Christie 1914, 84).
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“has been wild with excitement,” Moffett wrote his missions board secretary from Pyongyang

Note“I came up here from Seoul two weeks ago during the midst of all sorts of rumors about a rebellion in the South and numerous troubles in the North,” Moffett wrote in June 1894. “I found the country and the people here very restless and anxious” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, June 6, 1893).
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however feeble, as the provincial governor arranged for the city’s kisaeng to flee the city

NoteMoffett, though no military expert, was less than impressed. “Just before the coming of the Chinese I made a circuit of the City wall, noting these stone piles, the bows and arrows and the old fashioned Korean gatling guns—one of which I still possess as a ‘curio.’ With such weapons the Korean governor expected to meet the Japanese army with all its modern equipment of long range guns” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Early Days, Part I,” Korea Mission Field 32, no. 1 (January 1936), 4–7, here 5).
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“of a vehicle, animal or boat, on which to escape before the Japanese should surround the city”

NoteAccording to Moffett, the Chinese soldiers “robbed the people of their homes, their rice and rice kettles, and their wives even” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 30, 1894). Isabella Bird Bishop, the English adventurer, wrote that “there was scarcely one stone left upon another that had not been thrown down. The troops used the roofs, the beams, the joists, and windows—all the woodwork, in fact—for their bivouac fires, and had destroyed the city without war” (as quoted in Stoddart 1907, 308–9). Anyone without topknots, including Buddhist priests, were in danger of being beheaded as Japanese spies (Gifford 1897, 19).  VISIONS OF 1592: The fleeing residents of Pyongyang may have been motivated in part by the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s, when the then-Chosŏn king, Sŏnjo, fled from Seoul to Pyongyang, to escape the advancing Japanese troops. As the Japanese army threatened Pyongyang, Sŏnjo insisted that he would remain in the city—only to then be forced to flee the city and head further north to the Yalu River, a reversal that was devastating for morale and may have been in the backs of Pyongyangites’ minds. Historian JaHyun Kim Haboush tells the tale: “Wanting to stop this flight by soldiers and residents in order to mount some kind of defense, Sŏnjo, accompanied by the crown prince, had to assure residents that the government would guard the city. When the Japanese Army was seen on the banks of the Taedong River, which flowed through the city, a certain portion of the royal entourage began to leave. Even women and children screamed: ‘If you were going to leave us behind, why did you deceive us by bringing us back within the walls to make of us food for the enemy?’” (see Haboush 2016, 106)
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“to occur I am sure I know not. People here are getting scared and fleeing by the hundreds”

NoteGifford was down in Seoul, already safely under Japanese control. The letter likely didn’t get to Gifford until much later, however. On July 23, 1894, three days before Moffett had written his letter to Gifford, the Japanese had cut the telegraph wires and by August 1, 1894, Presbyterian missionary Cadwallader C. Vinton reported to Frank Ellinwood that they had heard nothing from Moffett “for nearly a month.” “We hope soon to see him here, but he may be in the hands of Chinese troops or of that governor,” Vinton wrote (Cadwallader C. Vinton letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 1, 1894, Seoul (PHS 178/5/41)).
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While he declared himself “not…scared a bit,” Moffett certainly didn’t have a death wish

NoteIt was not that Moffett wasn’t concerned. In a letter to his former classmate Daniel Gifford, Moffett made clear that he understood the risks of staying, reassuring Gifford that “if the Japs come from Seoul and the Chinese from Eui Ju as they are reported doing and meet here for a battle possibly I too will get up and run” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Daniel L. Gifford, July 26, 1894, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). But even with war erupting, Moffett was already thinking ahead to the end of hostilities and a time when he could focus again, uninterrupted, on the more urgent work of saving souls. “I hope to hear before long that all is quiet and settled to the good of the Koreans and when the summer is over and Annual Meeting comes round,” Moffett added in his letter to Gifford. “We will have a good time talking over things and preparing for a new campaign under more favorable circumstances” (Moffett letter to Gifford, July 26, 1894).
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remained cloistered indoors “for fear of being taken for a Japanese and shot on the spot”

Note This was not an idle concern. As odd as it may sound, during his first visit to Pyongyang four years earlier in September 1890, Moffett was often mistaken for a Japanese. “The people greatly dislike the Japanese and their manner toward me changes as soon as they know I am an American and not a Japanese,” Moffett wrote at the time (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 15, 1890). 
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“done all I could and that they desired that I should leave in order to secure my own safety”

NoteIt was only after having been told that he had proven his devotion, Moffett recounted, that “I could leave without any neglect of duty” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, August 27, 1894). For a lightly fictionalized account of Moffett’s decision to stay in Pyongyang, and then finally to depart, see Gale 1904, 95–96.
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make the perilous journey across the battle lines, reaching Seoul to the cheers of his colleagues

NoteMoffett’s former classmate Daniel Gifford tells the tale: “Mr. Moffett’s first contact with the Japanese lines nearly proved disastrous. His party was crossing a stone bridge in the dusk of the evening, when suddenly out of a neighboring house rushed four Japanese soldiers, who in an instant of time, with a click, click, click, click, brought to bear their guns upon the party. Needless to say, the company stopped short, in danger of being shot for Chinese scouts. The faces of the guard wore a look of astonishment, over the barrels of their guns, as the tall form of Mr. Moffett, crowned by a tall, white, pith hat, loomed up out of the chair in which he had been riding. A parley was held. Their officer was called, and then his interpreter, who happily proved a Japanese druggist from Pyeng Yang, who knew Mr. Moffett. As the result of his mediation a pass was procured” (Gifford 1897, 19–20). Making his way through two hostile army camps was easier said than done, but once Moffett had established his American identity to all, he recalled “I met with courteous treatment from both Chinese and Japanese” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, August 27, 1894). The Japanese minister later gave the missionaries credentials to pass through the Japanese battle lines (Graham Lee letter to Father, September 30, 1894, Seoul (MKC)).
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“personal danger, and would not leave his little ‘flock’ until sure he had the Lord’s orders to go” 

Note“I count it a great privilege to be associated with such a man in my work out here,” Lee added in this letter   (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 27, 1894, Seoul (PHS 178/8/46)).
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diplomats in Seoul explicitly forbade the missionaries from preaching the gospel in Pyongyang

NoteMoffett here explicitly identifies the British consul general as having forbidden any explicit proselytizing in Pyongyang. Moffett identified the diplomat as “Mr. Gardiner,” a reference to Christopher Thomas Gardner (1842–1914), “a diplomat of thirty years’ experience in China,” according to Daniel Gifford (Gifford 1897, 14). Gardner served as the acting consul general for the U.K. in 1894 while Walter Hillier was on furlough (“W. C. Hillier,” Korean Repository 3 (October 1896), 416). It is not clear how the British consul general would have had any direct jurisdiction over Moffett and his activities in Pyongyang, given Moffett’s American citizenship, but the U.S. and U.K. diplomats likely would have wanted to work in sync with one another.
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Chinese empire and the brash Japanese upstarts would end in certain victory for the Qing

NoteOne Japanese economist, writing in the early 1920s, recalled how “the military strength of China was at that time as much over-estimated as that of Japan was under-estimated, and the writer remembers a war between China and Japan being compared to a struggle between a whale and a shrimp” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 24). The comparison conjures up an oft-used metaphor in Seoul today that casts the Korean peninsula as a shrimp caught between two whales—in this case, referring to China and Japan. Before the war, added a European diplomat, “it was fashionable to deride [Japan] as a country of ridiculous little beings, who aped everything though with such inconsistent levity that no permanent results could be expected from their childlike imitations; the country which was supposed to possess but a ‘veneer’ of civilisation was found by the astonished world to possess an army and a navy which could rank with the same institutions of Europe and America. Her victories were the more conspicuous, because so unexpected…People…were irresistibly moved to laughter by the idea of little Japan…daring to grapple with the Chinese Empire,” wrote the diplomat, using the pen name Vladimir. Many Westerners, consumed with the notion of an awakening China, as Napoleon was once said to have warned, were “blinded…to what was really happening, the awakening of Japan” (Vladimir 1896, 1–2, 8).
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“mean…probably a much better state of things for Korea,” William Baird wrote that summer

NoteIn Seoul, wrote Presbyterian missionary Cadwallader Vinton: “We all hope for a cleaner administration than that of the past, and one under which this downtrodden people may have some incentive to rise” (Vinton letter to Ellinwood, August 1, 1894).
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countryside, raiding Christian churches and beating one Scottish missionary to death

NoteThe missionary, a colleague of John Ross named James A. Wylie, had arrived in the spring of 1888, serving in Yingkou (Newchwang) and Shenyang (Mukden) before moving to Liaoyang, where he was killed in August 1894 by a band of Manchu soldiers. The soldiers had been dispatched from Jilin City to the war front and were staying at an inn near where the chapel where Wylie was preaching. “They…proceeded to Mr. Wylie’s compound, but could not gain admittance. In the meantime Mr. Wylie communicated with the Yamen, and, receiving no reply, he unfortunately started himself to seek help. Soon, alas! it reached the soldiers’ ears that a foreigner was in the street; they quickly sought Mr. Wylie out, and, in spite of Deacon Liu’s intervention, they savagely attacked him, ultimately leaving him for dead” (M’Laren 1896, 57, 106). In part because of this incident, the British consul ordered women missionaries, and later the men as well, to withdraw to the port city of Yingkou (M’Laren 1896, 110).
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they regarded as befitting of the high ideals of civilization that Tokyo frequently invoked

NoteJames Creelman (1859–1915), a foreign correspondent for Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World, wrote: “The Chinese fired on the Red Cross, violated hospitals, beheaded sick soldiers, tortured prisoners to death, and used the white flag of peace to cover treachery, while the Japanese tenderly nursed Chinese captives and risked their lives to rescue the enemy’s wounded. Japan covered herself with glory. I can bear witness to scenes of kindness and forbearance that shamed the military history of Europe” (Creelman, James 1901, p. 33). Creelman was a Montreal-born foreign correspondent who covered the Sino-Japanese War for the New York World. Creelman, a classic “yellow journalist,” wrote for the New York Herald, Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World, and William Randolph Hearst’s New York Journal, among others, covering the Spanish-American War in Cuba and interviewing Sitting Bull, Pope Leo XIII, and Leo Tolstoy.
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established themselves in the city weeks earlier, allowing them to lay elaborate earthworks

Note“There were miles of new fortifications,” Creelman added. “Many of the walls were fifteen feet high, and it is hard to understand how troops with energy enough to work such a miracle of construction could be driven from their vast fortress by an attacking force of only ten thousand men” (Creelman 1901, 34–35).
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But when the better disciplined Japanese troops arrived, none of that mattered

NoteThe Japanese took their reconnaissance work seriously, sending a team secretly from Seoul to scout out Chinese movements in the northwestern Korean city for nine days, while also attempting to destroy a Chinese telegraph station, which required one brave sergeant to swim across the Taedong River before having to retreat amid a hail of Chinese bullets (Vladimir 1896, 121–22). The Japanese were able to conduct such reconnaissance missions in part because of a clause in the 1882 Japan-Korea treaty, which allowed for Japanese military officers to travel through Korea—which only Chinese nationals had been able to do up to that point (Shigeru Kobayashi, “Japanese Mapping of Asia-Pacific Areas, 1873–1945,” Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review 1, no. 1 (May 2012), 137–71, here 146–48).
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hours, resulted in a stream of troops scaling the northern city walls and streaming into the city

NoteThe early-morning assault was a foreshadowing of the offensive that Kim Il Sung to launch the Korean War on June 25, 1950. The Japanese three-pronged attack included “a furious cannonade” aimed at Chinese forces on Peony Point (Moranbong), along the northern edge of Pyongyang’s ancient city walls (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, October 22, 1894, Seoul (PHS 179/8/49); and Vladimir 1896, 150).  ŌSHIMA VS. ZUO: Leading the troops was Gen. Ōshima Yoshimasa (大島 義昌 1850–1926), whose great-great-grandson Abe Shinzō (安倍 晉三 1954–2022) would, more than a century later, become Japan’s longest-serving prime minister. Ōshima’s lead-from-the-front approach would leave him wounded early on. “He had shown the most reckless bravery,” wrote Italian scholar-diplomat Eugenio Zanoni Volpicelli. “During the heat of the action, he had ridden up to the flag of one of the regiments and declared to the soldiers he would die there unless they took the forts” (Vladimir 1896, 152–53). On the Chinese side, Gen. Zuo Baogui (左寶貴 1837–1894) had occupied several pavilions in the northern hills of Pyongyang, seeing them as key to his forces’ survival (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894; and Bishop 1898, 316–17). Gen. Zuo, a Muslim Hui general highly regarded for his military prowess, was personal friends with many of the Western missionaries in Shenyang, where he was based. Scottish Presbyterian Dugald Christie described the man he called “General Tso” as becoming “our good friend and remained so ever afterwards, being many a time of great help to us” (Christie 1914, 28). When Gen. Zuo was ordered by Beijing to engage the Japanese in Korea, he bid farewell to Christie—and with a sense of foreboding, for he was aware of just how poorly trained his troops were compared to the Japanese. “He came first to bid me good-bye, not with a light heart,” Christie recalled. “He had trained his men to the best of his knowledge and equipped them as well as he could, and they would follow him to the death; but he knew how poor was his best compared to the modern organization of the Japanese army, and he was fully aware of what was hidden from us, the lack of cohesion among the Chinese forces and Generals. ‘This is different from fighting brigands,’ he said. ‘I am not likely to return.’ And he was right” (Christie 1914, 84–85). Isabella Bird Bishop called Zuo “the commander of the best-disciplined and best-equipped cavalry brigade in the Chinese army.” Visiting Pyongyang after the battle that would claim the general’s life, Bishop took photos of the battle site to later share with his widow and family in Shenyang (Bishop 1898, 315). Zuo is not to be confused with Gen. Zuo Zongtang (左宗棠 1812–1885), a senior Qing official and namesake of the American Chinese culinary specialty known as General Tso’s chicken.  THE DECISIVE MOMENT: The Chinese forces were able to hold their positions for a few hours after the Japanese launched their assault, but by around 8:30 a.m., four hours into the fighting, the Japanese soldiers had breached the city walls and begun streaming in through the Hyŏnmu Gate (玄武門 Kor. Hyŏnmu-mun) (Vladimir 1896, 155). For a detailed account of this moment, see Vladimir 1896, 155–58. Zuo Baogui appears to have been let down by his subordinates. According to Italian diplomat Volpicelli’s account, Zuo’s fellow generals advocated during a September 14 meeting for a retreat from Pyongyang, and “it was only owing to the angry expostulations of Tso-pao-kuei that any defence was made” at all. “When Tso died Phyöng-yang lost its only brave defender, and all officers and soldiers were only anxious to escape as rapidly as possible” (Vladimir 1896, 160–61). Dugald Christie, who received an account of the battle from a Chinese cavalry captain involved in the fighting, gives a similar account, writing that—after agreeing to Zuo Baogui’s plan to hold the line in Pyongyang—several top Chinese generals nonetheless withdrew their men shortly before the fighting began, leaving Gen. Zuo to hold the line alone even as “thousands of Chinese and Manchu soldiers were within reach.” Zuo, losing the gunner at his side, took up the gun himself until he was shot in the leg and killed shortly thereafter (Christie 1914, 92).  PANIC SETS IN: After Zuo was killed, just inside the Seven-Star Gate in Pyongyang’s north, his panicked men faked a surrender and then ran for their lives. “From all I could see and learn their leaving was not a retreat but a mad rush with every man for himself,” Graham Lee wrote after visiting the battlefield just weeks later (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894; and “A Visit to the Battle Field of Pyeng Yang,” Korean Repository 2 (January 1895), 10–14, here 11). See also Bishop 1898, 316; Vladimir 1896, 160–62; and Keene 2002, 487. The fake surrender is described by New York World correspondent James Creelman, who covered the battle (Creelman 1901, 48–50). Zuo’s death in Pyongyang convinced many in Shenyang that it was time to flee, Christie wrote. “There was great mourning and fear in Moukden when it was known that our good General was dead, the one man who could protect Manchuria. High and low united in respect and love for him, and for us it was the loss of a personal friend” (Christie 1914, 93).
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before the fighting began and only returned months later to survey the wreckage with Moffett

NoteIsabella Bird Bishop was in Korea when the Tonghak rebellion broke out, and women were ordered out of the country. Bishop evacuated in July 1894, four months after her initial arrival in Korea, upon the urging of the British vice consul, a Mr. Wilkinson, boarding a Japanese steamer to the Chinese city of Yantai (then known as Chefoo) with no change of clothes, passport, or money. Bishop spent the next few months traveling through Manchuria and eventually making her way to Vladivostok, where she spent time with the Koreans in the Russian Far East (Stoddart 1907, 284–92). After injuring her right arm on the way to Shenyang, she learned to write with her left hand, with which she wrote most of the manuscript for her widely read Korea and Her Neighbours, a work that is liberally quoted here (Christie 1914, 72). “She endeared herself to us all, and ever afterward she remained a staunch friend to us and our work,” Shenyang missionary Dugald Christie wrote, adding that Bishop donated money to the missionaries there, who in turn named part of their medical college for her (Christie 1914, 72). Korea and Her Neighbours sold exceptionally well upon its initial publication in January 1898, with the reviews all “monotonously favourable” and a second edition ordered up within ten days; there were five editions in all (Stoddart 1907, 344–45).
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“merry with the dancing girls of Ping Yang” right up until the evening before Japan’s assault

NoteNew York World correspondent James Creelman, who covered the battle, captured the misplaced priorities of the Qing generals: “Everywhere on the broad walls were crimson and yellow banners hundreds and hundreds of them. Each of the six Chinese generals displayed an immense flag, its size indicating his rank. The flag of General Yeh, the commander-in-chief, measured thirty feet and bore a single character representing his name. That flag now belongs to the Emperor of Japan,” Creelman wrote. When the Japanese were five miles outside Pyongyang, they could watch, through a telescope, “the Chinese officers strutted up and down the walls, preceded by their individual flags, while drums beat and trumpets sounded defiance” (Creelman 1901, 35–36). The kisaeng didn’t help, he continues. As the Japanese army approached, Creelman writes, “the Chinese generals made merry with the dancing girls of Ping Yang, renowned throughout Asia for their grace and beauty. All was pomp by day and revelry by night. The Chinese soldiers broke into the houses of timid Coreans, and treated their wives and daughters shamefully. Drunkenness and debauchery ran riot, and while the generals caroused with the dancing girls, the whole city was looted. Hell seemed to be let loose” (Creelman 1901, 36). George Curzon, writing two years later, was similarly disdainful. The Chinese troops that Japan faced were “not a disciplined army but a rabble of tramps; she was opposed, not by fire, but by fireworks. The Chinese resistance was in nine instances out of ten a farce that would have been laughable had it not been piteous,” Curzon wrote, describing the Qing commanders as “nincompoops.” “They have no idea of marching or skirmishing, or of bayonet or musketry practice. The only recruiting test is the lifting to the full stretch of the arms above the head of an iron bar, from the ends of which are hung two stones, weighing 9½ stone the pair” (Curzon 1896, 325, 364).
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They proved no match for the efficient Japanese 

Note“The Chinese met the advancing Japanese, beating gongs, waving banners, and firing their old blunderbusses,” according to one account of the battle. “The Japanese replied with a hail of bullets and shells. The result was appalling” (Brown 1919, 124). “Chinese cavalrymen came riding to the charge with fans and perfume bottles, while a servant brought up the rear with a Winchester rifle,” added James Gale (Gale 1898, 84). “Whatever else the Chinese soldiers who tried to hold Pyeng Yang may be, they certainly did not prove themselves to be good fighters,” wrote American missionary Graham Lee, who arrived in the city weeks after the battle. “From what we saw, it looked as if most of the positions had been evacuated without a struggle” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894; “Visit to the Battle Field,” Korean Repository (1895), 10–14.  OILED-PAPER UMBRELLAS: Most shocking for Western observers were the paper umbrellas that the Chinese soldiers produced as “the sky darkened and rain fell. To the amazement of the Japanese soldiers, the Chinese troops planted huge oiled-paper umbrellas on the walls of their forts to keep them dry while they fought. In every direction Chinese umbrellas could be seen, glistening like turtles on the earthworks” (Creelman 1901, 45–46). Graham Lee, who arrived in Pyongyang shortly after the battle, confirms the spectacle: “I saw many paper umbrellas which had been cast aside by their fleeing owners and it was interesting to note that a portion of a Chinese soldier’s outfit was a clumsy paper umbrella. I also saw many bamboo pikes tipped with iron points very frail and very useless as weapons of modern warfare, and also I picked up as a relic of the battlefield a large two-handed sword with a blade about two feet in length and a handle about four: a heavy, awkward, useless weapon. As I saw these things I began to realize one of the reasons why the Chinese army was not able to hold Pyeng Yang. They were armed with good guns to be sure, but they were also loaded down with a lot of useless trumpery which was worse than useless in time of battle. Imagine a modern soldier trying to fight and at the same time trying to shield himself from the rain with a big clumsy paper umbrella” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894). Lee, recounting the scene again later in the Korean Repository, wrote: “It is almost beyond the comprehension of a Westerner that a soldier should carry as part of his equipment a fan to cool his heated brow, and a paper umbrella to shield his devoted head,” the Presbyterian missionary Graham Lee wrote after visiting the battlefield. “The Chinese were armed with good guns, as the Krupp cannon, and modern rifles among the trophies of war testify, but they were also loaded down with a lot of trumpery which was worse than useless in time of battle” (“Visit to the Battle Field,” Korean Repository (1895), 12).  “RAW RECRUITS, STRAIGHT FROM THEIR FARMS”: Scottish missionary Dugald Christie, who watched the Chinese troops receive their crash training in Shenyang before continuing to the war front in Korea, was appalled by the lack of preparation of the men that the Qing was sending to Korea. “Many were raw recruits, straight from their farms, or sturdy beggars swept in from the streets, who halted for a week or two here to be drilled before starting for the front,” Christie wrote, in disbelief. “Rifles were put into the hands of youths who had never seen a gun, and there was neither time nor teacher to instruct them. There were not nearly sufficient weapons of one make, so some companies had old rusty muzzle-loading muskets, or ancient Chinese matchlocks, or even bows and arrows, and many were armed after the ancient fashion with a short sword and a long wooden lance with a red tuft at the end. The chief thing these lancers practised was to make a simultaneous lunge forward, thrusting out their bristling lances and yelling ‘Dza!’ which means stab. On asking why they made so much noise, we learned that it was to frighten the enemy…It was pathetic to see these poor deluded fellows preparing to be mown down by modern fire. When their short training was over, they marched cheerfully to their doom, clad in the gay unserviceable soldiers’ garb, bright red jacket with large round target on chest and back, every tenth man carrying a pole with a streaming red flag” (Christie 1914, 85).  “A SLAUGHER OF HELPLESS CREATURES”: Missionary James Gale gives a withering account of the Chinese fighters: “The Chinese in hopeless confusion, fifty thousand of them at once, trampled each other in a wild rush for the North Gateway, intending to take the shortest and surest route for China. But some one had lost the key and there was no egress. Back they came for the South Gate like so many beasts in stampede, only to be mowed down in all directions. It was not a battle, but a slaughter of helpless creatures who had not intelligence enough to plan an escape, much less a campaign in modern warfare” (Gale 1898, 83–84). See also Brown 1919, 124. James Creelman, the New York World correspondent, was only slightly more charitable: “The Manchurians fought magnificently as individuals. Nothing could be finer than the courage with which they faced the terrible volleys of the Japanese infantry, but the moment a charge was made they ran like frightened animals, tearing the uniforms from their bodies and dropping their weapons” (Creelman 1901, 42–43). For a firsthand account by an unnamed Korean, see “The Battle of Pyeng Yang—As Seen by a Korean,” Korean Repository 2 (September 1895), 350–53.
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the plain to the main road linking Seoul to Beijing, many with their favorite kisaeng in tow

NoteThe Chinese retreated so quickly and hurriedly, Bishop recounted, that “they were mown down in numbers as they ran down the steep hill, falling face foremost with their outstretched hands clutching the earth” (Bishop 1898, 316–17). Bishop, describing the dreadful scene, reconstructs how “the Japanese had girdled the plain with a ring of fire. Mr. Moffett, who was there three weeks later, described the scene even then as one of ‘indescribable horror.’ Still, there were ‘mounds’ of men and horses stiffened in the death-agony, many having tried vainly to extricate themselves from the pile above them. There were blackened corpses in hundreds lying along the Peking road, ditches filled up with bodies of men and animals, fields sprinkled with them, and rifles, muskets, paper umbrellas, fans, coats, hats, swords belts, scabbards, cartridge boxes, sleeves, and everything that could be cast away in a desperate flight strewing the ground” (Bishop 1898, 317). Creelman, the New York World correspondent, described the Chinese attempt to escape: “When the cavalry were within two hundred feet, the earth seemed to open and vomit smoke and flame, as the united Japanese infantry and artillery opened fire upon the doomed horsemen. Horses and riders went down together, and were hurled in bloody heaps (Creelman 1901, 46). The Chinese attempted to make one last stand near the ferry pier, holding out for ten hours before the Japanese broke through again (Bishop 1898, 318). “The Chinese had to run the gauntlet of the Japanese fire,” writes Italian scholar-diplomat Eugenio Volpicelli, estimating that some 1,500 Chinese soldiers were killed “in that dreadful night of disorderly flight.” “The work of slaughter lasted the whole night up till morning, and the light of day revealed the sickening sights of war” (Vladimir 1896, 161). Fierce fighting also erupted at Kija’s Tomb north of Pyongyang’s walled city, leaving the once-sacred site “riddled with bullets and damaged by shell, and on its floor are great dark stains, where, when the fight was over, the Japanese wounded lay in pools of blood” (Bishop 1898, 318–19). Even as they fled for their lives, the Chinese troops hardly acquitted themselves well, James Creelman wrote. “As the Chinese retreated through the valley they cut the heads and hands from the Japanese dead,” he recounted. “They broke into the Japanese hospital quarters, butchered and beheaded the wounded men, and swept to the north with their dancing girls and bloody trophies” (Creelman 1901, 50).
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In all, roughly 5,000 Chinese men were killed, versus just 250 on the Japanese side

Note“Blood, blood everywhere on the walls, in the rippling river, on the green hillsides, in the flowering valleys. Blood trickling over gravestones, blood dashed against the walls of the ancient temples, blood on the rocks, blood on the roof-tops everywhere,” James Creelman later wrote (Creelman 1901, 44–45). Some accounts put the Chinese deaths at two thousand, along with six hundred prisoners taken and many more wounded (Vladimir 1896, 162). The reported number of 250 Japanese casualties, meanwhile, may have been an overstatement; when the Japanese erected a stele to honor their war dead in 1895, they tallied the losses at just 168 men (Bishop 1898, 318). In addition to burying their own men, the Japanese also honored Gen. Zuo Baogui with a monument to their adversary, having “recognized in General Tso a foeman worthy of their steel” (Christie 1914, 92–93). Isabella Bird Bishop, who also knew Gen. Zuo personally, described the simple round obelisk erected in his honor as “a graceful tribute to their ablest foe” (Bishop 1897, 316).
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wrote one Western diplomat. “The strongest city of Corea had been taken in a day”

NotePyongyang, as ever, proved itself to be the central pivot of Korean history, Italian scholar-diplomat Eugenio Volpicelli added: “With the battle around Phyöng-yang the Corean campaign may be said to have finished; no further resistance was offered…While the Japanese invasion of the sixteenth century stopped at Phyöng-yang—which marked their last great victory—in the war of the nineteenth century the battle of Phyöng-yang was only the first of a series of brilliant and unexpected victories” (Vladimir 1896, 163).
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arriving on October 6, 1894, three weeks after the showdown in the old northwestern capital

NoteAccording to Moffett, the three colleagues left Seoul fifteen days after the September 15, 1894, battle, traveling for roughly six days before entering Pyongyang’s city walls on a Saturday. For the first four days of travel, Moffett reported, it was hard to tell that any battle had been fought at all: “The people were all about their usual occupations, harvesting, plowing, etc.” But the picture soon began to change over the next three days, as the country swarmed with Japanese soldiers where Korean villagers had once been. “As we passed smoldering ruins in several villages and began to see dead horses & cattle strewn around with the general disorder attendant upon abandoned camps, we realized that we were…on the outskirts of a battle field,” he wrote (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 1, 1894, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/50)).
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“battle and you can imagine how horrible must have been the sight and how fearful the stench”

Note“The dead that fell near the city have nearly all been covered but those that were killed some distance away are still unburied. In one place I counted over twenty bodies literally piled one on top of another lying as they had fallen,” Graham Lee continued. “Truly war is a frightening thing where men kill each other like that and leave the bodies of their vanquished foes without a sign of burial” (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894). James Creelman, the New York World correspondent, painted a similar scene: “The scene was horrible beyond words to tell, and the streams on either side of the valley road were red with Chinese blood…The scene around the city was ghastly. For miles the ground was littered with dead men and horses…Thousands of birds of prey were feeding on the dead lying among broken lances, overturned cannons, heaps of camp wreck, torn banners, swords, and dead horses” (Creelman 1901, 48, 51–52). In the aftermath of the battle, Creelman and another journalist, Frederick Villiers of the London Standard, explored Pyongyang with Samuel Moffett, Graham Lee, and James Hall (Rosetta Hall 1897, 294; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 150). The only Koreans around were those carrying provisions for the Japanese army, Moffett and Lee recounted (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894; and Moffett letter to Ellinwood, November 1, 1894). The “broken, burnt and shattered” language, meanwhile, is from James Gale, who visited later. “The city of Ping-yang was broken, burnt and shattered. No one would have recognized it, the gentry were gone, ancestral tablets were lost, graves were desecrated,” he wrote. “The old city had been hammered and pounded. Bodies, still unburied, were lying in the streets…death was everywhere” (Gale 1904, 98–99).
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Moffett, for his part, was devastated

Note“We have visited the scenes of the various conflicts in the battle and such a sight I hope never again to see,” Moffett wrote as he wandered the ruined city. “How it makes one long for the time when wars shall cease, when the Prince of Peace shall come to rule & reign over a regenerated earth” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, November 1, 1894).
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more would die from disease as the war dead, left in the sun, fed an outbreak of typhus fever

NoteIsabella Bird Bishop, who toured the city with Moffett, lamented Pyongyang’s fate, with “four-fifths of its houses destroyed, streets and alleys choked with ruins.” In despair, she added, “everywhere there were the same scenes, miles of them, and very much of the desolation was charred and blackened, shapeless, hideous, hopeless” (Bishop 1898, 312–13). She estimated Pyongyang’s prewar population as being somewhere between 60,000 and 70,000 (Bishop 1898, 346). See also Brown 1919, 15.
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which by this point was polluted by dead soldiers and animals, spreading the pestilence further

NoteLillias Underwood noted the large number of horses in the Taedong River (Lillias Underwood 1904, 112). Moffett, meanwhile, found piles of dead horses along a path in the pine woods nearby (Bishop 1898, 316).
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“The city will not likely be really re-inhabited for many months or a year,” Moffett wrote

NoteMoffett added: “This is well, for the atmosphere is foul from the decomposition of the dead bodies of horses, cattle & men slain in battle, many of them lying unburied” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, November 1, 1894). Graham Lee, writing in January 1895, surmised that even in the spring and summer of 1895, it would not be safe to remain in Pyongyang: “Pyeng Yang is going to be a very unhealthy place on account of those hundreds of unburied dead lying scattered everywhere. It will be a year or more before the atmosphere of Pyeng Yang is free from pollution” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 11, 1895, Seoul (PHS 179/8/52)).
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where they had left their belongings, it was “as if a Wester cyclone had passed through it”

Note“Of Moffett’s things there was absolutely nothing left but the stove which some wretch had smashed and a few tracts scattered everywhere which had been pawed over and tramped over and kicked about,” Lee reported (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894). Meanwhile, Japanese soldiers “were carrying off the last of the wood laid in for winter,” Moffett wrote in a separate letter, estimating that he had $700 worth of property looted (Bishop 1898, 313).
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behind and even welcomed in a Japanese Christian doctor attached to the advancing army

Note“Through his influence bad Japanese soldiers with looting propensities were kept out,” Lee wrote of James Hall’s Korean helpers. Meanwhile, the family of Moffett’s assistant Han Sŏk-jin had huddled together at home and “all escaped injury, the Lord being their protector,” as Moffett recounted. When Han heard rumors of Koreans being put to death, Han tried to escape with his family but returned after learning that the rumor wasn’t true (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, November 1, 1894). Some women who remained in the city also found refuge in Han’s home (Moffett, “Evangelistic Report,” December 1894 (PHS)).
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“it never looked so hopeful as now. I am so glad we are here, and know God will protect us”

NoteA week later, Hall exuded more of the same optimism: “The hymns of praise that less than a year ago, when sung, brought cursing and stones upon us from the surrounding neighborhood, are now listened to with delight…They buy our books and seem far more deeply interested in the Gospel than I have ever seen them before” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 303, quoting a letter from W. James Hall on October 17, 1894).
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He contracted typhus on the ride home and died on November 24, 1894

NoteThe date of death is given by Samuel Moffett in an article he wrote in Hall’s honor. “We all suffered from malaria,” Moffett wrote, though he added, “this seemed to have taken more serious hold upon the doctor” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Pioneer Work in Korea—Dr. Hall’s Work Completed,” Chinese Recorder and Missionary Journal 26, no. 2 (February 1895), 84–86). Also reproduced in Rosetta Hall 1897, 304–7. See also Gifford 1897, 23; and Oak 2011, 662. Lillias Underwood, writing about James Hall years later, described how other missionaries had “not only loved, but reverenced Dr. Hall, and we felt that he possessed a larger share of the Master’s spirit than most of us. His very entrance into a room seemed to bring the Lord nearer…His face beamed with a celestial light, and without his ever assuming to be in any way better than others, we all felt he was a holy man” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 113). For another obituary, see W. Arthur Noble, “Obituary: The Late William J. Hall, M. D.,” Korean Repository 2 (January 1895), 37–38.  PREMONITIONS OF MARTYRDOM: James Hall had premonitions of death while struggling to open Pyongyang to foreign missionary work, though he had expected death would come through government persecution, not disease. As the people of Pyongyang confronted the missionaries at one point, a year or two before his death, Hall had said: “If it is God’s will to open up this city by the sacrifices of one life, I am not unwilling to be that one” (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 337). As it appeared Pyongyang’s governor would execute the missionaries’ assistants, and perhaps the missionaries themselves, in May 1894, Hall mused: “It seemed to us that the time had come for religious toleration for Korea, and God would require the lives of some of his children to secure it. We were ready to die for His cause” (see Rosetta Hall 1897, 276, quoting an undated letter from James Hall to the Christian Herald). Hall’s last words to his wife were to say that he felt no regret at having gone up to Pyongyang. “I did it for Jesus’ sake,” he said. “He will reward me” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 157, citing a Rosetta Sherwood Hall letter to a friend). Alas, James Hall’s death did not mark the end of the tragedies for the family. James and Rosetta’s second child, Edith Margaret Hall (1895–1898), died a few years later in May 1898 (Sherwood Hall 1978, 176).   HALL’S LEGACY: Eulogizing Hall in 1897, Methodist Bishop Willard Mallalieu predicted that, as a result of Hall’s work, “there will surely be hundreds of thousands of Christians in Korea”—a prescient prediction, though his prediction that “the name of this noble, saintly, Christlike soul will be everywhere cherished and honored” was less accurate; Hall’s legacy has mostly been forgotten (Mallalieu, “Introduction,” in Rosetta Hall 1897, 9). Korea missions historian Roy Shearer, evaluating the divergent fortunes of the Presbyterians and Methodists in northwestern Korea decades later, could only wonder how different the results might have been had James Hall not died when he did. “The Presbyterian Church started to grow rapidly about 1895, and its main strength came from the area around Pyongyang,” Shearer wrote. “Had Dr. Hall lived, the foundations of a Church able to reproduce itself rapidly in the Methodist areas of northwest Korea might have been built” (Shearer 1966, 180–81).

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his colleague Graham Lee there, word spread quickly through the city and into the countryside

Note“From all the surrounding villages people began to come back—coming straight to our chapels, with their little loads on their backs, eagerly inquiring as to the situation,” Moffett wrote his colleagues in New York roughly three weeks after his arrival in Pyongyang. “Day after day they came in, rejoiced to see us and saying that as soon as they heard we had arrived they felt it would be safe to return.” Mixed with the joy of being able to return home again, however, was despair at the obliteration of their once-proud city, Moffett wrote: “Poor, helpless, simple yet wicked people…our hearts go out in sympathy to them as they come back and see the punishment meted out to their city. Their houses are stripped of everything and the doors and windows gone, used for firewood. Japanese merchants are in possession of their business places, while block after block of houses is a smoking ruin and dead cattle lie in the streets. All is confusion while the Korean offices & people find themselves helpless in the hands of a foreign power.” With the remaining Japanese soldiers still in possession of not only business places but also in many cases squatting in homes, the missionaries sought out the new governor of Pyongyang, and the ranking Japanese general, to petition for the Koreans’ homes to be returned to their original owners. “We were most courteously received but little could be done for the people,” Moffett reported. “We have gained the good will and friendship of the new Governor by our evident interest in the Koreans” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, November 1, 1894). Moffett tells the story again fifteen years later in Davis 1910, 25. Throughout that first trip back to Pyongyang after the decisive battle, “the movements of the missionaries were watched with breathless interest, and the day they returned to Seoul a large number of men packed up their little bundles and left the city too, so timorous were they and such confidence did they place in the judgment of the foreigner” (Gifford 1897, 22).
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The Westerners, eyed with suspicion before the war, were now seen in a new light

Note“Even men who had before opposed them now showed a friendly spirit,” Daniel Gifford wrote. “Previously the attitude of mind of the people of the city had been rather distant and suspicious; but now in the light of the sufferings they had experienced during the war, their eyes were opened to recognize the disinterestedness of the missionaries” (Gifford 1897, 20–23). The death of James Hall from typhus fever only added to the sense that the missionaries were willing to risk their lives for the Koreans, Arthur Brown wrote. “The Koreans then realized for the first time that the American missionaries were the best friends they had. Public sentiment began to change” (Brown 1919, 508). “Both the Chinese who fled and the Japanese who occupied posed as the friends of Korea, and all this wreck and ruin was brought about not by enemies, but by those who professed to be fighting to give her independence and reform,” Isabella Bird Bishop added (Bishop 1898, 313). For similar sentiments expressed by the missionaries, see Horace Underwood 1908, 145; and Gale 1904, 101.
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“had only a speaking acquaintance with Mr. Moffett, seemed overjoyed to see us,” Lee wrote

Note“The Korean Christians of Pyeng Yang will not soon forget the object lesson of trust taught them by their spiritual teacher,” Graham Lee wrote in the same letter, referring to Moffett. Mixed in with the admiration was much misinformation. “The report soon spread through the country that we had arrived, and of course developed into all sorts of rumors, one of which was that ten thousand foreigners had come to Pyeng Yang to make the Japanese and Chinese stop fighting” (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)).  SPREADING THE WORD TO THE TROOPS: As it happened, Moffett and his colleagues were not the only American missionaries who saw in the fighting an opportunity to spread the Christian gospel. Henry Loomis, the American missionary in Japan, won approval from Prince Komatsu Akihito, a relative of the Meiji emperor, to distribute copies of the Christian scriptures among the eighteen thousand Japanese soldiers; Rev. Loomis eventually presented a Bible as well to Itō Hirobumi, then Japan’s prime minister (Loomis 1923, 100–2).
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become home to the largest Presbyterian missionary compound the world would ever see

NoteA PROVIDENTIAL PURCHASE: Even at that early date, with few believers and manifest challenges around him, “as he walked through the narrow city alleys and stood on the top of the old city walls, he had visions of church sites all over the city…what has come to be probably the largest mission station in the world,” declared Charles L. Phillips, a Presbyterian missionary colleague of Moffett. “He stood on the city wall and arranged, even in those early days, for the purchasing of nearly all the land that our station now occupies, over 100 acres” (Charles L. Phillips, “Samuel A. Moffett—‘The Looking-Up-the-Road Man,’” Korea Mission Field 30, no. 5 (May 1934), 99–101). In fact, Moffett didn’t buy up all that land at once, colleague Charles A. Clark clarifies, instead “buying it piece by piece and turning it over to the board at cost, section after section, as it was needed” (Charles Allen Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “A Great Pioneer Missionary Retires,” Pyengyang News, 1, no. 2 (March 1934) (MKC). Donald Clark, the grandson of Charles Clark and a Korean missions historian, affirms that Moffett, over time, “accumulated more than 120 acres of contiguous land” (Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 239). Whatever the precise timing of the land purchases, by the time October 1894 was out, Moffett and Lee were the proud owners of the property outside Pyongyang’s West Gate that had eluded them for a year and a half, as well as another house they’d been trying to purchase. The “West Gate” that the missionaries frequently referred to was not the Pot’ong Gate, which still stands today as the western gateway to central Pyongyang, but rather the Chŏnghae Gate, which has long been destroyed (see Act I, Chapter 4). J. Hunter Wells, a Presbyterian medical missionary who lived in Pyongyang for two decades starting in 1895, described the Presbyterian compound as sitting “just outside one of the small water gates”—a reference to the West Gate (Wells, “Pyeng Yang,” Korean Repository (1897), 58). See also William N. Blair, “Samuel A. Moffett: On His Seventieth Birthday,” The Presbyterian [Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. General Assembly] 104, no. 15 (April 12, 1934), 6.  THE ART OF THE DEAL: “Both fields and house were sold at a low price as the owners were very glad to get what they could for them,” Lee reported to Frank Ellinwood (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894). Moffett, in his own letter to Ellinwood, recounted how, after deciding they wanted to buy the house, “we soon had a man on the hunt for the owners who were glad to sell. A bargain was soon made and we now have the property which from the beginning we had selected as the desirable site for our Mission” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, November 1, 1894). Daniel Gifford, narrating the sequence of events three years later, wrote of how “Messrs. Lee and Moffett repurchased the property which gave them such an excellent location and ample building space outside the city gate, which…they had returned to the original owners a year before” (Gifford 1897, 23). Moffett had been careful about selecting the site, on a small hill outside the West Gate where the Chinese had erected a fort. “The site is an admirable one just outside the wall west of the city on a little hill. It is well situated for work but far enough from the city to be away from bad smells and filth,” Lee wrote (Lee letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1894; and Lee letter to Ellinwood, April 13, 1893). There, for $399.43, the missionaries now had a site big enough to build “three big mission compounds,” complete with “a delightful view of a wide fertile valley”—“a perfect garden spot” filled with fruit trees: plums, peaches, apricots and pears. The purchase also included a large tile house on the hill, which is “not very elegant, to be sure, but plenty good enough to remodel into a home for the Pyeng Yang station,” Lee added. “This of course is only the first cost of the property. There will have to be spent several hundred dollars yet on the place to make it inhabitable.” Lee, painting a lovely picture, described how “a little stream winds along at the base of the hill and empties into the Tai Tong some three or four miles below” (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS); and Graham Lee letter to Mother, February 9, 1895, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).
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“the war is over and the people return to the city, there is going to be a grand opportunity”

Note“This trip to Pyeng Yang showed many of them that we are truly their friends and they will be more ready to give us an attentive hearing,” Lee wrote in that same report (Lee, “General Report of the Pyeng Yang Station,” December 1894 (PHS)).  CAUSE FOR CELEBRATION: Feeling satisfied with their first foray back to Pyongyang, Moffett, Lee, and Hall departed the city in early November 1894 to celebrate the holidays, leaving behind one baptismal candidate, a Mr. Yi, to watch over their newly purchased property outside the West Gate, where he was instructed to hold services each Sunday. Moffett’s main assistant Han Sŏk-jin, meantime, was left in charge of the Christian work at his home by the Taedong Gate, which Moffett calls the East Gate, and which Graham Lee later described as the location of the first Presbyterian church in the city (Moffett, “Evangelistic Report,” December 1894 (PHS); and Graham Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895, Seoul (PHS 180/11/Annual Meeting report). Like Lee, Moffett could look back at the end of a tumultuous 1894 with some satisfaction at his gains. Even so, the goal of formally opening Pyongyang remained frustratingly out of reach. In a year-end report to the mission, Moffett reported fifty-two baptized men and women under the care of the Presbyterians in the northwestern province of P’yŏng’an—all of them baptized that year. Moffett could also feel secure in his first baptismal class of eight men, who had received the rite nearly twelve months earlier in January, expressing confidence in the strength of their convictions: “From the first, when they began to attend services, they were subject to petty persecutions, had the finger of scorn pointed at them, were reviled and ridiculed. They stood this bravely and in the face of it made public profession of their faith. In the spring, during my absence in Eui Ju, they were more sorely tested, were more widely and more publicly held up to scorn, were threatened with death and the rumor soon became general that the Christians were to be put to death. They believed that their lives were in danger but with two exceptions they attended services as usual, and one more was baptized and added to their number,” Moffett wrote with approval. Through the persecutions of May 1894, none of the eight men renounced the faith; instead, Moffett reported, the men “continued to come day after day and Sunday after Sunday, not knowing when they might again be arrested, beaten, put in the stocks or beheaded.” Not everyone would prove as faithful, however. Following the official crackdown on the Christian faith in the middle of 1894, Moffett wrote, one class of early believers in one of the villages near Pyongyang—Moffett does not name the village—“speedily disbanded and renounced all intention of identifying themselves with the Jesus doctrine.” Even so, Moffett added, three of the men had continued to meet in secret every Sunday for prayer and Bible study, and headed into Pyongyang to quietly meet with Moffett (Moffett, “Evangelistic Report,” December 1894 (PHS)).
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in mid-January 1895 with aspirations of making their long-hoped-for move to the city

NoteThis January 1895 trip to Pyongyang, made with Southern Presbyterian missionary Lewis B. Tate (1862–1929), was meant to be a brief preparatory visit ahead of the hoped-for permanent move; the decision to make the northward journey in the depths of winter was based on hygiene considerations. “The Spring thaws render the place uninhabitable. The many bodies only partially decayed will in the spring make the atmosphere so foul that it will be unsafe to stay and Dr. Hall’s death has impressed upon us the necessity for care,” Moffett wrote (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 12, 1895, Seoul (PHS 179/8/54)). Despite the dramatic changes in recent months, Pyongyang remained closed to foreign residence. “I don’t know when we will move up here, but we will do so just as soon as we can,” Graham Lee wrote his mother, expressing optimism that the date could come by “next summer” (Lee letter to Mother, February 9, 1895).
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the death and devastation that, five months after the Battle of Pyongyang, still filled the city

NoteMoffett, Lee, and Tate arrived on January 24, 1895 (Lee letter to Mother, February 9, 1895). Upon arriving, the three men headed immediately to their newly purchased property outside the city’s West Gate. Moffett described their lives in those first days as “sort of Communistic…sitting room, dining room, kitchen, store rooms, cots, tables, chairs, books, bicycles, servants, etc., etc., are common property until our quarters are enlarged” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, February 1, 1896, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/70)). The three men also spent their days in the Korean fashion, with paper windows and an oil paper floor, beneath which were heating flues that kept the homes toasty even in the depths of winter. “We sit on the floor, sleep on the floor and very nearly eat on the floor,” Lee told his mother. For meat, they hunted game (Lee letter to Mother, February 9, 1895). Isabella Bird Bishop, visiting the house that year while on her third trip to Korea, describing a rustic frontiersmen scene in an idyllic setting, located “outside the city wall, through some farming country to a Korean house in a very tumble-to-pieces compound.” Inside the missionary house, Bishop wrote, the room had “three camp-beds, three chairs, a trunk for a table, and a few books and writing materials,” with mud walls lining “the length and width of a N.W. Railway saloon carriage” (Bishop 1898, 311–12).
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“a few hundreds,” and filled with a toxic stench that Moffett called “the poison of Pyeng Yang”

NoteThe “few hundreds” figure is from William B. Scranton, “Missionary Review of the Year: The Methodist Episcopal Mission,” Korean Repository 2 (January 1895), 15–19, here 17. Also quoted in Oak 2013, 276. By January 1895, “in Pyeng Yang only one house in a hundred is occupied,” one of the missionaries—perhaps Moffett or Lee—wrote (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (January 1895), 39–40). Isabella Bird Bishop described Pyongyang as “a prosperous city of 80,000 inhabitants reduced to decay and 15,000” (Bishop 1898, 312). Bishop elsewhere gives the pre-battle population of Pyongyang at roughly 60,000 or 70,000 (Bishop 1898, 346). See also Brown 1919, 15. Italian diplomat Eugenio Volpicelli numbered the presumably post-battle population as 20,000 (Vladimir 1896, 144). [[STATS]]  CITY OF DEATH: “Pyeng Yang is well nigh a deserted city. During the battle or just before—all the Koreans ran off to the country, and as yet very few have come back to remain,” Lee told his mother. “The Koreans are still afraid that the Chinese army will be back and they don’t intend to risk getting in between the two armies again.” With few signs of life in the abandoned city, the missionaries found themselves in more macabre company: “Every day we take a walk somewhere and we hardly ever go out without running onto a dead Chinaman,” Lee wrote (Lee letter to Mother, February 9, 1895). As James Hall’s death underscored, the ruined northern capital remained dangerously toxic for human inhabitation. Hall, before his death, wrote on October 8, 1894: “The stench is terrible and the sight indescribable” (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 150). Despite the harrowing conditions, Moffett was loath to squander such a grand opportunity for the winning of souls. “I hear of many who in their times of sore trial and distress are turning to the gospel with attentive ears and teachable hearts. I fully believe that the Lord will get great glory to Himself out of all these troubles,” Moffett wrote Ellinwood. “So far as possible, I want to be on the ground that He may make use of me as one of His instruments” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 12, 1895).  BAKING IN THE SUMMER SUN: After three months in the city, Moffett returned to Seoul in April 1895, but was back again in May 1895—at least until an outbreak of cholera in early July, as dead bodies from the nearly year-old battle baked in the summer sun. “Poor Pyeng Yang!” Moffett wailed. “The war had left her desolate enough but now her condition reminds me of the prophecies of the destructions upon Ninevah and Babylon” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 21, 1895, Seoul (PHS 179/8/45a)). Moffett himself had caught a fever, and John Sill, the American minister in the capital, had telegraphed Moffett urging him to return to Seoul as quickly as possible (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, August 21, 1895). Moffett in this letter to Ellinwood doesn’t give the exact date of his departure from Pyongyang, but Graham Lee wrote later that the date was “about” July 1, 1895. Lee also gives the dates of Moffett’s return to Seoul in April 1895 and his return to Pyongyang in May 1895 (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)).  CHOLERA, THIGH BONES, AND PELVISES: The cholera epidemic was made worse, Lee reported, by the Japanese policy of simply throwing the sick outside the city walls to fend for themselves. After a year of war and turmoil, the missionaries regarded the plague and pestilence tearing through Pyongyang as nothing short of divine retribution for the city’s sins: “Is it not time for us to pray, ‘O Lord, is it not enough? Wicked though she be, has not Pyeng Yang suffered enough?’” lamented Graham Lee, who, even two years after the fighting, still regularly came across “a shell or thigh bone or something like that” while crisscrossing the city (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)). Isabella Bird Bishop, for her part, found a city that still looked very much like a war zone, nearly a year after the last soldier had been killed. “In my walks over the battlefield, though the grain of another year had ripened upon it, I saw human skulls, spines with ribs, spines with the pelvis attached, arms and hands, hats, belts, and scabbards,” she wrote (Bishop 1898, 318). As it spread into the surrounding villages, cholera killed one convert who Moffett had been preparing to baptize—and forced Moffett, again, to put off plans for a permanent occupation of Pyongyang (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, August 21, 1895). The cholera spread as far as Ŭiju in the far northwest, where even Moffett’s own helper, who he names as “Kim Koan Keun,” had been forced to join his fellow citizens in fleeing into the mountains (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Eui Ju and the North,” October 1895 (PHS). “We are not quite settled in P.Y. as yet although for a year we have been just on the eve of permanent and fairly comfortable establishment of ourselves there,” Moffett lamented. Because of his own concerns about disease, Moffett’s colleagues were urging him to return to the U.S. on furlough to recover; Moffett waved the suggestion aside, vowing to himself to not return home until the Pyongyang Station had been fully established. “I am trusting that a few weeks of comparative rest in the mountains near Seoul will put me in fair shape again” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, August 21, 1895).
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by how, surrounded by desolation, the Koreans of Pyongyang had flocked to the foreign faith

NoteAfter spending a week in war-ravaged Pyongyang, it was evident to Bishop that “a very great change” had come to “that most wicked city” (Bishop 1898, 346; and Isabella Bird Bishop letter to Frank Ellinwood, December 5, 1895, Seoul, published as “Another of God’s Challenges,” The Church at Home and Abroad 19, no. 112 (April 1896), 317). While the city had well earned its notoriety, some of the city’s most disreputable people, “men shunned by other men for their exceeding wickedness, were leading pure and righteous lives,” Bishop wrote—“so changed as to be a wonder to their townsmen” (Bishop 1898, 346–47; and “Another of God’s Challenges,” Church at Home and Abroad (1896), 317). Bishop was moved in particular listening to one Korean man share how his eighty-year-old father, meeting Moffett on the road “and hearing from him ‘some good things,’ had gone home saying he had heard ‘good news,’ ‘great news,’ and had got ‘the Books,’ and that he had become a Christian, and lived a good life, and had called his neighbors together to hear ‘the news,’ and would not rest till his son had come to be taught in the ‘good news,’ and take back a teacher” (Bishop 1898, 348). Such stories prompted Bishop to urge the missions boards back home to send evangelists as quickly as possible. “I have been much moved by the piteousness of Pyeng Yang—four-fifths of which is now but blackened ruins—and its openings to the gospel. Who knows how long this may last” (“Another of God’s Challenges,” Church at Home and Abroad (1896), 317). Bishop had some idea of what she was talking about, having visited some 145 mission stations between 1889 and 1897 (Isabella Bird Bishop, “Missionary Hardships,” Korean Repository 5 (January 1898), 20–21). As Bishop told listeners in a 1901 address: “I do not think there is any part of the world where the Gospel is making such rapid progress as in this poor, dark, oppressed, demon-worshipping Korea” (as quoted in Stoddart 1907, 310).  ONE FAMILY’S TALE: Indeed, the chaos in northwestern Korea eventually brought many people into Pyongyang, where they encountered Moffett and his message of Christian salvation. One member of a family that had been forced from its home village in northwestern Korea by the ravages of the war traveled to Pyongyang, where he encountered a man that he called “Mah-Moksa” (馬牧師), or Pastor Ma—Rev. Samuel Moffett. Until the tumult of the past year, the Korean man, a geomancer, had been a follower of the Tonghak movement, but now he had found a new doctrine, he told his family with conviction upon his return from Pyongyang. “Hopelessly we have been groping in the dark and in vain we have been looking for a Savior from a wrong direction. I was one of them. So were you all,” the man’s nephew, Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, recalled him saying. “Now I found the real and true Savior of our people and of all mankind who is called Yesu Christo. He was born of Virgin Mary in a small village of Bethlehem in the land of Judea nearly two thousand years ago” (Charr 1996, 46). The boy recalls his uncle regaling the family with tales of Pyongyang itself, where the missionaries taught a modern education while healing the sick with “the Bible in one hand and the medicine case in another.” The next spring, the family agreed, they would pack up their things and move permanently to Pyongyang (Charr 1996, 51–52). The Ch’a family actually moved to a small village about six miles east of Pyongyang called So’u-mul (“Sho-Woo-Mool”), or Cow’s Well, where they were derided as Catholics, but from where they could walk to church in Pyongyang every week, setting out on foot before the sun had risen (Charr 1996, 56–58).
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“groups round the candles on the floor, groups in the doorways, and every face was aglow”

NoteBishop described the meetings as taking place “in the dilapidated extra-mural premises occupied by the missionaries” (Bishop 1898, 347). She gave an alternate contemporaneous account in a December 1895 letter to Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood: “As I looked on those lighted faces so different from the ordinary apathy of the Korean expression, and on some now ‘washed and sanctified’ who I had been told were among the vilest of men in that vilest of cities, I felt that the old and oft-described Gospel of Love, judgment to come, love, atonement and forgiveness, has lost nothing to its transforming power” (“Another of God’s Challenges,” Church at Home and Abroad (1896), 317).
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squeeze in ever more people, while snapping up properties in the city as they became available

NoteThis property near the Taedong Gate, which was owned by Moffett’s assistant Han Sŏk-jin, sat about one mile, or a twenty-minute walk, away from the larger property outside the West Gate. By this point, the house, had, for all intents and purposes, become the main center for the missionaries’ religious work; here, Moffett met with inquirers, conducted Sunday worship services, and baptized converts. “A placard is posted which calls attention to the fact that the church room is open every day for any who may wish to enter it for prayer, meditation, scripture reading or study, while the sarang is open not only for religious but also for social or secular conversation, something after the order of the public room in a Y.M.C.A. at home,” Moffett wrote in an October 1895 report to headquarters (Samuel A. Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” Pyeng Yang Station Report, October 1895 (PHS 179/8/60)).  “CENTRAL CHURCH”: It was around October 1895 that Moffett for the first time called the building by the name that it would become known: as the “Central Church” for Pyongyang’s Presbyterians (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1895 (PHS)). The word “central” was certainly appropriate: the property sat within the old walled city, not far from the historic Taedong Gate that looked out over the Taedong River; with the purchase of additional land and buildings there, the missionaries now possessed “right in the heart of the city a most valuable piece of property, large enough to be used for a church school, dispensary and manse” (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)). Grandiose as the name was, the Central Church was in fact rather tiny at first, consisting of a small room, eight feet by twelve feet, and Moffett was already looking for ways to squeeze in more inquirers. Moffett explained that the first baptisms had taken place in that small room, but that the second year, they moved into a larger room in the same house, measuring eight feet by sixteen feet, before eventually occupying the entire house, which was capable of seating about 250 people (as quoted in Davis 1910, 26).  WEST GATE CHURCH: As the missionaries expanded the “Central Church” location, Moffett during his two-month stay in Pyongyang in May and June 1895 acquired a parcel of land and two small houses just outside Pyongyang’s West Gate, directly adjacent to the site he had bought in October 1894. Just as importantly, Moffett was able to buy another parcel of land, along with the buildings on it, right next to the Taedong Gate property that had been purchased in the name of his Korean assistant Han Sŏk-jin, and that Moffett had been staying in and using as his sarang on some of his previous journeys to Pyongyang (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS); and Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1895 (PHS)). The two land purchases were made “with private funds,” Lee added, without elaborating or disclosing the cost of the properties. Lee did note, however, that all this land was “exceedingly cheap on account of the war and is worth many times the price paid for it” (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)).
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“crowding us beyond our power to look after it properly,” Graham Lee wrote in October 1895

NoteAfter spending January to April 1895 and then May and June 1895 in Pyongyang, Moffett and Lee had, by September 1895, grown antsy in Seoul, being kept away from their chosen station for three months. “A little more patience and a little more waiting and a little more putting up with our present cramped quarters,” Lee wrote, adding: “But it is all right and in the Lord’s good time we will get where we belong, for we feel sure the Master has work for us in Pyeng Yang” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, September 11, 1895, Seoul (PHS 179/8/57)).  FEARS FADING: In their eagerness to move permanently into Pyongyang, Moffett and Lee began to muse: Perhaps they didn’t really have to wait for Pyongyang to be officially opened as a treaty port; the Japanese appeared to be pushing ahead with their designs on the city even without a treaty agreement, and the Americans were tempted to do the same. “I feel sure that the Japanese intend to remain there and if they remain, then we are going there to remain too, for our minister will see that we are granted every privilege that the Japanese have,” Graham Lee wrote in that same letter (Lee letter to Ellinwood, September 11, 1895). At the same time, the Korean court’s opposition to Christianity also seemed to be fading. Yun Ch’i-ho, a Korean aristocrat who had converted to the faith, wrote to a Southern Methodist leader in the U.S. in May 1895 that “the Korean government, as it is now, is not hostile to Christianity” (as quoted in Candler 1907, 17). The missionaries were also encouraged by reforms in the spring of 1895 allowing Buddhist monks to enter the capital for the first time in hundreds of years as “presaging a purpose to refuse the use of the powers of government to suppress or interfere with the right of private judgement in the matter of religion” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (June 1895), 235–40, here 239).   “HEARTS FILLED WITH JOY”: Finally, in mid-September 1895, Moffett headed north with Graham Lee and J. Hunter Wells, a newly arrived medical missionary, who would remain in Pyongyang for the subsequent two decades. “The physician so long prayed for, hoped for, looked for, had at last come and our hearts were filled with joy and thanksgiving to God for His answer to our prayers,” Lee wrote (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)). For the next two weeks, it was all joy again in Pyongyang: Koreans from all over the city, and from the surrounding countryside, showed up to see the missionaries, to learn, and to be baptized. The missionaries baptized seven men in Pyongyang and another five in the northwestern suburb of Sun’an, while accepting many more as catechumens—that is to say, provisional members of the church who, after a year’s probation, could become full members. “Our hearts were made most happy by the outlook” (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)).
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whose eagerness to spread the gospel far outstripped their ability to administer the work

NoteAs Samuel Moffett explained in October 1895, “more than a score of men have taken books and visited other cities and villages, preached Christ, gathered groups of inquirers, started them to assembling on the Sabbath, and instructed them as far as they could do so. From these villages one and another has come in, sought us out, listened to the truth and gone back more interested and more determined to forsake sin and serve Christ. From these villages the calls received are growing so numerous that we must ask for help in looking after this growing work” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1895 (PHS)). Moffett describes the appeals for missionary support as coming from Ŭnsan (“Eun San” 殷山), Sŏnch’ŏn (宣川), Maengsan (孟山), and Koksan (谷山). By the time Moffett made this report, other missionaries had already begun to beg headquarters for more emissaries of the Christian gospel to be sent to Korea. Rosetta Sherwood Hall, who arrived in 1890, remarked in one of her first letters home: “In Seoul there are scarcely twenty-five missionaries, counting missionaries’ wives. What are they among a million people?” (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 53). Horace Underwood expressed similar sentiments (Huntley 1984, 48–49, citing Horace G. Underwood letter to James C. Hepburn, February 6, 1888).
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villages across northwestern Korea pleading for more teachers, each signed by dozens of men

NoteOne letter, sent to the Presbyterian foreign missions board in New York calling for more missionaries in Korea, came with an extra dollop of sincerity, as Bishop recounts: “One old man, with his forehead in the dust, prayed like a child that, as the letter bearing to New York an earnest request for more teachers was on its way, ‘the wind and sea might waft it favorably,’ and that when it was read the eyes of the foreigners might be opened ‘to see the sore need of people in a land where no one knows anything, and where all believe in devils, and are dying in the dark’” (Bishop 1898, 348–49).
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Review of the World in November 1895. “The work is growing faster than we can follow it”

NoteIn the same article, Moffett mentions requests to visit three other places, though he didn’t know that he’d have enough time to make those trips. Another man had walked eighty miles, Moffett added, arriving that same day that he was writing his article, to learn more about the doctrine that the strange foreigners were preaching. “Inquirers come in daily from all over the two provinces saying they have heard of this doctrine from the men who were scattered from here,” he added (Moffett, “Work of the Spirit,” Missionary Review of the World (1895), 835). Graham Lee, too, felt the strain. “We are simply swamped with work…Every day enquirers keep coming in and the work grows apace,” he wrote Ellinwood in January 1896 (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 27, 1896, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/69)). Lee wrote a separate letter begging Robert Speer, his classmate at Princeton University and now a secretary at the Presbyterian foreign missions board, working under Frank Ellinwood, for more workers: “In our province there are now sixteen places where people meet every Sabbath to worship God and every one of these sixteen places are very desirous that we should visit them as soon as possible. These places are scattered through a territory some 800 miles long and about 100 miles wide, and Mr. Moffett, Dr. Wells and I are the only missionaries for this territory. In this district there must be a population of nearly 3,000,000 people so you see our parish is not a small one. Beside the sixteen places where regular meetings are held there are about thirty other places that have given us most urgent invitation to come and teach them the gospel” (Graham Lee letter to Robert E. Speer, December 27, 1895, Seoul (PHS 179/8/64)). Both Lee and Speer graduated from Princeton, then known as the College of New Jersey, in 1889, a class of 150 men (After Thirty Years 1919, Forward, 65, 84–86). See also General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary 1912, 90.  A REQUEST IGNORED: For Moffett, if there were to be new men coming to Korea, the strong preference was for a theological conservative who, like Moffett, Baird, and Gifford, had attended McCormick Seminary. “Is there not such a man in the senior class of McCormick Seminary before whom you can lay this appeal and who will start at once for Korea?” Moffett asked Ellinwood in January 1896 (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 21, 1896, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/67)). Moffett and his colleagues were thus stunned when the missions board decided in 1899 to assign new missionaries to the unresponsive southern Korean city of Taegu, where the missionaries “maintained that growth was forthcoming”—growth that never quite materialized. Incensed, the Pyongyang missionaries countered: “Growth is already upon us and in proportion to those seeking to become Christians the missionary staff is very slim” (Shearer 1966, 133).
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“know how I have longed for this and I cannot say how grateful I am that it is accomplished”

NoteBehind the scenes, recalled William Sands, an American diplomat in Seoul and a close advisor to Kojong, described the decision to open Pyongyang as a difficult one for the king, who had initially promised Horace Allen that he would do so, before reneging under pressure from powerful conservatives in Pyongyang, from which the king recruited “his best fighting troops.” In the end, Sands, “determined to let in the sun and fresh air” to one of Korea’s wickedest cities, prevailed upon the king to follow through on his initial promise, he recalls (Sands 1931, 129). Because Sands didn’t arrive in Seoul until 1897, Moffett’s declaration of Pyongyang’s opening in January 1896 may have been premature; it is also possible that Sands, writing decades later in 1931 and perhaps seeking to claim more credit than he perhaps deserved for Pyongyang’s opening, mangled the chronology. Either way, as Martha Huntley, a historian of Korea missions put it, “no other city was more difficult or took so long to enter as ancient, wicked Pyongyang” (Huntley 1984, 117).
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faith in the country, inaugurating a period of church growth virtually unrivaled in history

NoteThe growth over this period was so dramatic that the missionaries themselves asked: “Are not these people going too fast?” Their answer was a cautious no: “One cannot tell these people to go slowly,” the Presbyterian missions board concluded in 1900. “Their advances must be met on the assumption that they are made in good faith. Yet we must not shut our eyes to the fact that, if uninstructed, these people, while professing Christianity, are liable not only to fall into serious errors themselves, but to lead others into . . . lamentable mistakes” (as quoted in Shearer 1966, 50, citing Annual Report of the Board (New York: 1900)). Missionary James Gale, distilling a view held by missionaries and later historians alike, argued that the Sino-Japanese War had destroyed many Koreans’ “revered ideals of the past which freed the mass of people from the bondage to old customs and habits as well as superstitions.” “All the foundations of their former lives were knocked out from under them, and so when the missionaries came back, the poor Koreans flocked around them desperate in their need for comfort, and hopes stirred once more” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 195–96). Thus, in hindsight, the missionaries would come to regard the first, relatively fruitless, decade of missions work in Korea as one of preparation for the harvest that followed. “The first ten years of mission work, terminating in 1894, the year of the war, was a period of preparation. We were learning Korean, and, what is still more important, Koreans,” Daniel Gifford wrote (Gifford 1898, 134).  A BREAKTHROUGH IN CHINA: A similar, though less dramatic, dynamic was playing out in China, which had even more to lose from the Middle Kingdom’s displacement as the hegemonic power center in East Asia. “During the four years from 1896 to the spring of 1900, it was flood-tide for the Christian Church in Manchuria, a tide which gained strength year by year,” Scottish Presbyterian missionary Dugald Christie wrote from Shenyang. “The country was shaken to its foundations. Never again could it sleep the sleep of the centuries. The people began to grope after light” (Christie 1914, 110). “The Celestial Empire awoke from sleep and was ashamed. Why had the tiny Dwarfs gained such an easy victory? Was it not because they had adopted foreign methods and European education?” wrote another missionary. “The haughty pride, which had hitherto been their curse, began to crumble to pieces…Before the war, the tide was already flowing in our favour. But it was after the war that the rush came” (O’Neill 1919, 31–32).
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show for it; by the end of the following decade, that number had exploded to more than 12,500

NoteStatistics for this period are not hard to come by, but can vary widely, given the differences in tabulating the figures and classifying them by church denomination, time frame, and geographic area. Counting converts could also differ depending on one’s definition of conversion, whether it be church membership, baptism, or otherwise. Across the country, the Presbyterians by 1901 boasted 4,784 members and 17,559 catechumens and adherents, while the Methodists reported 1,296 church members and 4,559 probationers across forty-seven churches, at least according to the Methodist Henry Appenzeller (Appenzeller 1902, 31–32). By 1908, the ranks of Methodist communicants had multiplied to nearly 25,000 across Korea (Gale 1909, 227). In northern Korea in particular, according to another set of data, the number of Methodist converts jumped to 2,151 members in 1905, from just fifty-one in 1896 (Shearer 1966, 175). In 1907, there were some 2,000 churches in Korea and roughly 100,000 adherents, according to one report, though without specifying denominational affiliation (“Extracts from Annual Report of the Korean Religious Tract Society,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 4 (April 1907), 61). For a big table of statistics from September 1908, see “Table of Statistics for the Year Ending June 30, 1908,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 9 (September 1908), 141. See also Shearer 1966, 224–25, which offers a table showing the number of Presbyterian communicants between 1886 and 1942, divided by province and ordered by year. The Catholics were enjoying great growth as well; by 1909, the number of believers in Korea had doubled over the preceding decade to 87,270 (Brown 1919, 497).
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“were snowballing. The beginning of a tremendous indigenous movement was under way”

NoteAs one later church historian put it, the gains in northwestern Korea were modest at best between 1889 and 1895. “They even look like a slow start, common all over Korea. Only in 1895 did the Church start its rapid growth in this province and continue its astounding ascent,” church historian Roy Shearer wrote seven decades later (Shearer 1966, 108–10). Shearer quotes Daniel Gifford, who in 1896 described the Christian gospel as having “spread like wildfire” (Shearer 1966, 143, citing Daniel L. Gifford letter to the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church, U.S.A., September 1, 1896). Moffett could see the growth firsthand in Pyongyang. Where there were just a small handful of believers in the city before the war, there were now 120 baptized Christians and four hundred catechumens in the city, Samuel Moffett wrote Frank Ellinwood in May 1896 (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, May 4, 1896, Seoul (PHS 179/8/73)). Elaborating in his annual report that year, Moffett gushed: “There has been but little in the way of disappointment, almost everything giving us reason for greater and greater rejoicing” (Samuel A. Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” Pyeng Yang Station General Report, October 1896, Seoul (PHS 180/11/1896 Reports)). Horace Underwood put it in even more striking terms when, that same month, he remarked on how there was so much winning in Korea that it had almost gotten tedious: “It might almost be said of one’s reports as they are read from year to year as was said of the Spanish reports of Cuban affairs and the Cuban War, ‘There is the usual monotony of success and victory.’” Turning to other metaphors, he added: “All things go forward with progress in geometric and not arithmetical ratio…The main difficulty is to keep pace with the work as it advances” (Horace G. Underwood, “Evangelistic Report,” October 1896, Seoul (PHS 180/11/1896 Reports)).
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by a spontaneous force, to sing the doxology—“Praise God from whom all blessings flow”

NoteDuring the October 1896 annual meeting of the Presbyterian missionaries, held in Seoul, multiple reports were presented by Graham Lee and Horace Underwood. Their colleague J. Hunter Wells, an American Presbyterian medical missionary to Pyongyang, described the response in a November 3, 1896, letter: “I would like to refer again to the Pyeng Yang reports. At the end of the reading of them the audience with one accord sang Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow, and the Mission involuntarily resolved itself into a prayer meeting of praise and thanksgiving. Mrs. Bishop was present and made some remarks which she closed with these strong words: ‘It [that at Pyeng Yang] is the most wonderful work I have ever seen in connection with the Gospel.’ Such a sentence coming from such an observer and one whose sympathies are naturally with her own church in England, and one who has seen more of mission work in Asia than any other person, are surely strong words” (J. Hunter Wells letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 3, 1896, Chemulpo, Korea (PHS 178/6/53)). James E. Adams, the brother of Annie Baird, who arrived in Korea in 1895 as a medical missionary, offered a similar account of the meeting in a November 11, 1896, letter, describing the report from the Pyongyang missionaries as being “like a wind of Pentecost”: “We all felt that we were beginning to hear the rustling in the treetops in our own fields and that the same mighty power of God would soon be manifested in each of our individual fields. I cannot but believe that not as a province or two but as a country we are on the brink of a remarkable spiritual outpouring” (as quoted in Baird 1968, 62). Moffett himself, fresh off that triumphant gathering in Seoul, put it thus to Frank Ellinwood: “Our Annual Meeting this year was a very rich treat—the presence and guidance of the Spirit of God being very markedly the distinguishing feature. We had every reason to rejoice and be glad for the Lord has certainly given us a rich harvest this year” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, November 14, 1896, Yokohama, Japan (PHS 179/8/78)). The moment was also commemorated in the Presbyterian foreign missions board’s 1897 report: “The annual Meeting of the Mission held in October last was one of thrilling interest. Mrs. Isabella Bird Bishop, whose well-known appeals have stirred many readers, was present and evinced a lively interest in the proceedings. All felt that the spirit of God pervaded the place” (Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., Sixtieth Annual Report of the Board of Foreign Missions (New York: Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1897), 137). A similar scenario played out, too, at a special meeting of the missionaries in Seoul from October 9–11, 1895, to mark ten years since the arrival of the first Protestant missionaries in Korea. In that case, the singing of the doxology came after missionary Cadwallader Vinton read a paper on the statistical gains during the first decade of missions work (“The Decennial Anniversary,” Korean Repository 2 (October 1895), 394–96, here 396).
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that simply becoming a church member was “quite an ordeal,” sometimes taking many years

NoteThe process, and even the vocabulary, of becoming a baptized Christian believer in Korea during this period was daunting and not always consistent. Korea missionary and church historian Roy Shearer offers a helpful glossary: “adherents” is the broadest category, including those who are baptized, as well as inquirers, catechumens, and communicants. An “inquirer” is one who attends church regularly. A “catechumen,” or “probationer,” is someone who pledges to lead a Christian life and regularly attends worship services while preparing to become a church member. A “communicant” is an advanced catechumen who becomes a full member of the church after an examination of his or her faith, and who is then baptized. Thus, a person became a member of the Korean church by starting out as an inquirer, who might after a period of church attendance be admitted as a catechumen—that is, a provisional member of the church who, following a year’s probation, could become a full member (Horace Underwood 1908, 145).  COUNTING CATECHUMENS: Lillias Underwood defined a catechumen as “those who have applied for baptism, have put away their heathen customs, are trying to live as Christians, but who had not yet been baptized and received as full church members” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 190). Daniel Gifford described catechumens as “applicants for baptism” (Gifford 1897, 10). On another occasion, he explained: “When the session, or itinerating minister with sessional powers, feels reasonably sure that a given person is a Christian, then, with certain public ceremonies in the church, the man is enrolled as a ‘catechumen,’ or applicant for baptism. He thereupon joins the catechumen class, with a prescribed course of study in the Bible and certain Christian books” (Gifford 1898, 141). Catechumens were those who had been committed to the faith for at least six months and had passed an examination (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 294). Catechumens were also known as “probationers” or “inquirers,” and referred to those “having given hopeful evidence of conversion and of a desire for baptism” (C. C. Vinton [Vinton, Cadwallader C.], “Statistics of the Protestant Churches in Korea,” Korean Repository 2 (October 1895), 382–85, here 383). Contemporary scholar Paul Cha describes catechumens as “those who had formally declared a desire to enter the church. However, before becoming a catechumen, they first had to win approval of the missionary in charge of the region. If accepted, they needed to acquire a catechism, Bible, and other religious tracts to study. Typically within a year, catechumens were subjected to another examination. During this second examination, a missionary would seek to determine whether they held a doctrinal grasp of Christianity. In addition, the missionary would inquire of local church leaders whether the examinees had demonstrated a moral transformation as manifested by their actions. If they passed, catechumens were then baptized and finally considered ‘full-church members.’” Thus, Cha writes, “becoming a full-fledged member of the church was not as simple as informing a missionary one wanted to convert. Conversion was difficult” (Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 12, 14). The catechumen had to adhere to a seven-point list of rules that included strict Sabbath observance, no ancestor worship, no liquor or tobacco, and no slackness in religious duties (Clark, “Principles and Practice,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 57). For more on the catechumen system, see Clark 1937, 126–27.  CONFUSING CLASSIFICATIONS: Communicants, meantime, had been catechumens for at least a year and had passed “a searching examination before baptism” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 294; and T. Stanley Soltau, Korea: The Hermit Nation and Its Response to Christianity (London: World Dominion Press, 1932), 41–42). For a sample of the questions asked in a catechumen examination and a baptismal examination, see Nisbet 1919, 67–69. Some variants existed. Some defined the term adherent as referring to were “those who attend services and are members of Christian families and friendly to Christianity”—that is, committed adult believers leading consistent Christian lives (Lillias Underwood 1918, 195, footnote; and Frederick McKenzie 1907, 294). Horace Underwood defined a communicant as a baptized adherent and a probationer as an adherent (Horace Underwood 1908, 148; and Chung-shin Park 2003, 29).  IT STARTS WITH READING: Regardless of the terms, some things were clear. “If a new believer was illiterate, he first had to learn to read; then he had to become an inquirer and was instructed for six months, after which he was examined. If he did well, he entered the second stage. Before being baptized, he had to show an understanding of the Christian faith and prove he had preached to others” (Murray 1975, 89). “The education of the whole church, all its membership, young and old, literate and illiterate, is being undertaken systematically,” Presbyterian missionary William B. Hunt reported in 1910. “The textbook is the Bible” (as quoted in Shearer 1966, 55). By the 1890s, a Korean convert had to first attend, and graduate from, a catechumen class where they were schooled in the basic tenets of the faith, before winning approval from a missionary to be enrolled in a further six-month course. At that point, the convert was then re-examined on Bible knowledge and asked to offer proof that they had shared the faith with others and were observing the Sabbath, while abstaining from alcohol, tobacco, gambling, and other vices, before finally being baptized (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 74–75). Before being admitted as a member of the church, the typical Korean convert to the Presbyterian Church had to pass through three probationary grades. He had to renounce practices deemed to be pagan and idolatrous, including ancestor worship, a key rite in Confucianist Korea, and in many cases was put through three rounds of study in the catechism—a long series of question-and-answer that laid out the basic tenets of the faith. All the while, “his life was closely watched, and the testimony of his neighbors taken,” as a prelude to baptism; after baptism, he was expected to lead others to the faith before being granted formal church membership (David Cho 2012, 23–24).
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“enter the church at home,” one American church leader remarked after a visit to the country

NoteThe remark was made by William T. Ellis, a church elder and correspondent for several newspapers in New York and Philadelphia (as quoted in Charles G. Hounshell, “Korea’s Message to the World,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 10 (October 1912), 309–11, here 311). Korean Christians, added Western journalist Frederick McKenzie, were so serious about living by the teachings of the Bible that, “if it were enforced in some older Christian communities, would cause a serious contraction of the church rolls.” “From the first, the Koreans showed themselves to be Christians of a very unusual type. They started by reforming their homes, giving their wives liberty and demanding education for their children. They took the promises and commands of the Bible literally and established a standard of conduct for church members which, if it were enforced in some older Christian communities, would cause a serious contraction of the church rolls” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 208–9). Contemporary church historian Jaekeun Lee sums it up: “Presbyterian missionaries in Korea had a stricter standard of the church membership than that of the average contemporary church in their home country” (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 89).
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twice during this period, they “put to shame a multitude of the Christians of the West”

NotePUT TO SHAME: The idea that the Korean Christians put to shame the Western Christians was an oft-repeated remark among the foreign missionaries. Horace Underwood wrote in 1908 that the Koreans’ response to the Christian gospel “has startled the Christian world. Their zeal and activity in preaching, their generosity in contributing of their hard-earned means toward their own church buildings, their primary and higher schools, home and foreign missions, almost put to shame the Christians of America” (Horace Underwood 1908, 6). Two years later, Underwood told the visiting George T. B. Davis (1873–1967), a missions advocate from Philadelphia, that “the Koreans really put Western Christians and missionaries to shame by their simple, childlike faith in God” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 15). Davis himself remarked that “the Korean Christians pray with a fervor and faith that puts believers in Western lands to shame,” adding: “They think little of spending all day or all night in prayer. Sometimes they will kneel for hours on the frozen ground on the mountain side agonizing with God for the outpouring of His Spirit, and for the salvation of the lost” (Davis 1910, 10). By the dawn of the twentieth century, writes the historian Sebastian Kim, Korea’s Christians had proven themselves to be “ethical-spiritual overachievers” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 83). One missionary in southwestern Korea described sermons being preached by native Korean converts that were “so admirable I would like to have it translated, sent home, and published.” The missionary, Eugene Bell, singled out a certain Mr. Pyŏn, who he wrote “recently preached a sermon on repentance that was one of the very strongest sermons on that subject I ever heard” (E. Bell [Bell, Eugene], “Done by the Native Christians,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 8 (June 1906), 142–44, here 144). Stanley H. Martin, a Canadian Presbyterian missionary to the Koreans in Manchuria, returning home for a year of furlough in the early 1920s, lamented the quality of the Christian teaching available in Canada: “One rarely hears a real sermon but lots of lectures. We miss the spiritual life of the Koreans, and will be glad to get back home again” (as quoted in Moore 2016, 173).  WHO’S THE HEATHEN NOW?: American Congregationalist and scholar George Ladd, after visiting Pyongyang in 1907, was so astounded by what he saw there that it gave him a new perspective on the idea of Korea being a “heathen” nation. During a meeting with the missionaries in Pyongyang, Ladd mused, it did not “seem incongruous when prayer was offered that the ‘home land’ might receive in its present great need some of the blessings which were being experienced in heathen Korea. For I had long been of the opinion that if the word ‘heathen’ is to be used with that tinge of moral and intellectual opprobrium which usually attaches to it, all so-called Christian countries are in some important respects very considerably entitled to the term” (Ladd 1908, 96–97). Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown similarly wondered whether the churches back in America would even be qualified to remain operational if they were held to the standards of the Korean church. “I am inclined to think that the standard of qualifications for the eldership insisted on in Korea would, if adopted at home, promptly disband a majority of our sessions,” he wrote in 1902. “Perhaps some of our American sessions ought to be disbanded” (Brown 1902, 15). Also cited in Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 22.  I GO TO EXTREMES: An oft-repeated observation points out that the Koreans, already in many senses “more Confucian than the Chinese,” became “more Christian than the Americans.” “Altho Confucianism originated in China, the Koreans have out-Chinesed the Chinese in practicing its precepts” (Blair 1957, 10). As the late nineteenth-century British diplomat to China and Korea, William Carles noted at the time, China had such an immense influence on Korea that better editions of classic Chinese works had been published in Korea than in China itself” (Carles 1888, 312). After 1945, the Koreans north of the thirty-eighth parallel proved themselves “more Communist than the Soviets,” according to Andrei Lankov, who notes that in many aspects such as its treatment of political criminals, “the North Korean government has out-Stalined even Stalin himself” (Lankov 2007, 185). When it came to persecuting the Christian church, Lankov writes: “As usual, the Korean Stalinists outdid Stalin himself: even in the worst days of Josef Stalin’s rule, a handful of churches remained open in Soviet cities, and some priests avoided the gulag, more often than not through cooperation with Stalin’s secret police” (Lankov 2007, 207). As the historian of Korea missions Martha Huntley put it in 1984, “it is not surprising that a people who ‘out-Chinesed the Chinese’ and in recent years ‘out-Communist the Communists,’ should not also ‘out-Christian the Christians’” (Huntley 1984, 130).
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the zeal of the Korean Christians, particularly in the northwest, dispelled this first impression

NoteEarly Western visitors to Korea regularly derided the local population as lazy. To take one example, British journalist Angus Hamilton, writing in 1910, described Koreans as “peculiarly proficient in the art of doing nothing gracefully…their constitutional incapacity makes it appear as if there were little to do but to indulge in a gentle stroll in the brilliant sunshine, or to sit cross-legged within the shade of their houses. Inaction becomes them” (Hamilton et al. 1910, 34). Even more damning was American correspondent Frederick Palmer, who derided the Koreans as a “characterless, listless” and even “sexless people, begetting wonder that the race has not long ago ceased reproduction” (Frederick Palmer 1904, pp. 31-32). Palmer, one of America’s most accomplished foreign correspondents, believed that Japanese rule was Korea’s only hope for surviving in the modern world that was then emerging (Métraux 2017, 110–11). Similarly, adventurer, writer and Theodore Roosevelt confidante George Kennan, in the highly racialized language of the day, dismissed the Koreans as “apathetic, slow-witted, lacking in spirit, densely ignorant, and constitutionally lazy . . . a level little above that of Hayti or San Domingo” (Kennan, “A Degenerate State,” Outlook (1905), 307). To be sure, many Korean intellectuals could hardly disagree with these criticisms. Chang Chi-yŏn (張志淵 1864–1921), a prominent newspaper editor for the pioneering Capital Gazette, in 1906 penned an essay enumerating five “sicknesses” plaguing the Korean nation, one of which was laziness; to make his point, Chang quoted the words of a Japanese writer, who declared that “the laziness of Koreans cannot be seen elsewhere in the world” (as quoted in Schmid 2002, 128). Before long, however, the Western missionaries found good reason to disagree with these tropes. “The Koreans bear a reputation for laziness which the writer believes they do not wholly deserve,” Horace Underwood wrote in 1908. “The retainers, ‘clients’ and dependents of the court and the courtiers in the capital, the loafers in the ports, and the sons of the rich gentry are, we believe, largely responsible for this bad name” (Horace Underwood 1908, 48). He makes a similar point in H. G. Underwood [Underwood, Horace G.], “‘Korea’s Crisis Hour,’” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 9 (September 1908), 130–32.
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“to be made for the Gospel and the Gospel for the Korean Christian,” one missionary remarked

NoteThe quote is from Canadian American missionary W. Carl Rufus (1876–1946), a Methodist, who mused that it perhaps not so much their fervency that so impressed the missionaries but rather the purity and simplicity of their faith: ”The unquestioning way that Koreans accept the teachings of the gospel and their unsophisticated way of literally applying these principles to daily life, encourage us to believe that Christian conduct may be realized more quickly here than in many so-called Christian lands” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 294).
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“revived, but this is exactly what happened,” added another. “Everywhere people are praying”

NoteArthur Brown, who in his role as Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary traveled to churches all over the world, was particularly struck by the intensity of the Korean believers’ prayers. “It is worth going far to hear Korean Christians pray,” Brown wrote after visiting the Korean peninsula in 1902 and 1909. “They bow with their faces to the floor and pour out praise, confession, and supplication as those who know what it is to have daily audience with God” (Brown 1919, 528). Brown was particularly impressed by the scene he witnessed in the tiny northwestern town of Sŏnch’ŏn, population ten thousand, where he counted 1,200 people filling up the church on a Wednesday evening prayer meeting. “It would be extraordinary if 1,200 American church members came out on prayer-meeting night in any city in the United States,” Brown remarked (Brown 1919, 528). The population of Sŏnch’ŏn is from T. Stanley Soltau, a missionary there (Soltau n.d., 10). “The missionaries admit that the Korean Christians outdistance them in prayer,” wrote Jonathan Goforth, a Canadian missionary based in northern China who visited Korea. “It is common for them to spend half the night in prayer” (Jonathan Goforth, When the Spirit’s Fire Swept Korea (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1943, repr. Elkhart, Ind.: Bethel Publishing, 1984), 21). One British diplomat, who visited Pyongyang in 1910, marveled at the city’s massive midweek prayer meetings: “Is there any single church in all England or Scotland that can boast of a similar mid-week congregation?” (Longford 1911, 293–94) “The Korean Christian is a man of prayer,” added Southern Methodist missionary Charles S. Deming. “It is marvellous how soon after conversion the Christian will take part in public prayer” (C.S. Deming [Deming, Charles S.], “The Korean Christian,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 8 (June 1906), 152–54, here 153).
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scriptures, reading the Bible in its entirety dozens of times and memorizing large swaths of it

Note  “The Korean church is a Bible-saturated church. It is read and quoted at all Christian gatherings,” wrote Methodist missionary George H. Jones. “The Bible is present in Korea in the spirit and life of an ever-increasing number of the Korean people. It is in the hearts of the Christians; they know its message and honor and value it. They memorize its passages to a far greater extent than is the case in America, and some of them can outquote even their missionary teachers” (Jones 1916, 7–8).  HUNGRY HEARTS: As early as 1889, just five years after the arrival of the first Protestant missionaries, the Underwoods had encountered on their travels in northwestern Korea a man who could recite “the number of chapters and verses in the Old and New Testament (Chinese, of course), the number of characters, the number of times the name of God and Christ occur, and a variety of similar facts” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86). Other missionaries described the astonishment they felt at the curiosity and hunger for Bible knowledge that the early Korean converts displayed. When William Baird visited a village church near Pyongyang in 1898, the believers there had “exegetically studied,” or done a close critical reading of, the Gospel of Mark, conducting lessons amongst themselves on sin and salvation—without any help from the missionaries (Baird 1968, 128, citing William Baird’s report in October 1898). “Sometimes the missionary will be visited by one who, in the study of a Gospel, has marked in a note book all the passages which he could not understand, and an hour or two will be spent in explaining the Scripture,” Methodist missionary Charles Deming wrote. “One blind man at Songdo, whose son is his eyes, has committed the entire Gospels, and not only can repeat them consecutively, but can recall any verse of any chapter that is requested. Another is a class leader who has also thoroughly acquainted himself with the Word and can repeat Luke’s Gospel and the Acts. The third is that of a colporteur, who is so thoroughly acquainted with the Word that he will locate any verse that is quoted. How few in Christian homes in America know their Bible as well. The rush and incessant whir of our western life may afford some disadvantages to the quiet and constant study of the Word, which are eliminated in this land of the ‘Morning Calm’” (Deming, “The Korean Christian,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 153).  HERCULEAN FEATS OF ERUDITION: “Many of the people have read the whole Bible ten times, twenty, thirty, or forty times,” wrote Pae Min-su (裴敏洙 1896–1968), a Korean Christian nationalist leader who will figure largely in the narrative. Pae recalls one church elder in Pyongyang who he said could recite any Bible verse from memory, no matter how obscure. At one church conference in Pyongyang, the elder challenged a gathering of roughly a thousand young Korean Christians to test him. “We never asked him John 3:16; we asked him about thirty of the most unpopular verses, but he could memorize and recite any chapter or any verse,” Pae recalls (Pai, Minsoo [Pae, Min-su], Who Shall Enter the Kingdom of Heaven? (Wheeling, W.Va: Self-published, repr., Seoul: Yonsei University Union Theological Seminary, 2002), 373). Some displays of Biblical erudition were, of course, “rather useless,” in Lillias Underwood’s words (Lillias Underwood 1904, 86). William Baird, while living in Korea’s southeast, attempted to guide some older scholars towards reading the scriptures. Instead, he found, one of them simply memorized the first five chapters of the Book of Matthew in Chinese, though without apparently absorbing much of it (“Evangelistic Report of Pusan Station for 1895,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 260). Others, however, took to heart the words they were memorizing. One missionary, describing a Korean convert’s ability to recite the entire Sermon on the Mount as “a feat of memory and nothing more,” was surprised to be told that, far from simply memorizing the words, the man had already incorporated the instructions, one by one, into his daily life (Gale 1909, 193–94). In any case, it wasn’t as if the missionaries were above their own herculean displays of Bible knowledge. Lillias’s own husband Horace had, in his childhood, memorized the entire book of Hebrews, and was able to recite it “backward and forward,” or call up any chapter or verse at will (Lillias Underwood 1918, 21). The Korea missionaries also didn’t appear to do much to dampen the Korean converts’ fervor for plowing their energies into such “rather useless” feats of memory. One Korean Christian growing up in the 1930s later recalled the Korean churches holding Bible memorization contests, pitting congregants against one another in friendly competition as they vied to deliver, word for word, whole chapters of the Bible. The boy in question, Kang Sang-uk, placed first in his church in the northwestern city of Chŏngju, perfectly reciting all thirty-nine verses of Romans 8 (Hildi Kang, Family Lineage Records as a Resource for Korean History: A Case Study of Thirty-Nine Generations of the Sinch’ŏn Kang Family (720 A.D.–1955) (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 2007), 204). The missionaries in Manchuria recorded similar feats of Bible memorization. One prominent convert, a blind man, threw himself into his new faith with alacrity. “When a text was announced—say 2 Corinthians IX. 6—he would at once begin to repeat the words from that exact verse” (Christie 1914, 119). For more, see Christie 1914, 117–22.  IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT: The missionaries were equally amazed by Korean converts’ prayer practices, which included a propensity to wake up in the still of the night to prostrate themselves in hours of prayer. While visiting one church under Moffett’s care in Hwanghae province in February 1898, Graham Lee found himself awoken early in the predawn hours by the sounds of prayer. “The zeal of these people is surprising,” Lee wrote. “Long before daylight in the morning they could be heard singing, praying, and studying in the next room. The same songs might be heard through the day until late at night” (Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., Sixty-Second Annual Report of the Board of Foreign Missions (New York: Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1899), 168). Also quoted in Oak 2013, 289. While visiting a different church in Hwanghae province in February 1901, Pyongyang missionary Charles Bernheisel found himself awoken “nearly every morning…at about four o’clock by the voices of those who commenced their study at that early hour. Again in the evening the same process was kept up till about ten o’clock” (as quoted in Oak 2013, 289). Another missionary, writing a decade later, watched as five hundred Koreans attending a revival campaign in the southern city of Taegu turned up every morning for 5:00 a.m. prayer meetings before the regular sessions began. “Two mornings at that hour did me up, but the Koreans kept it up regularly for the whole seven days,” she wrote, adding that she was told by one believer: “Every body can get up an hour earlier to pray anytime.” As the missionary, Anna Rae Mills, noted, “people who believe in prayer like that are not satisfied with once a day,” and she watched the church fill up again at 1:30 p.m. every day before an afternoon of evangelism, and again at 6:30 p.m. before the evening meeting. “Prayer dominated everything,” she exclaimed (Anna Rae Mills, “A Letter from Taiku,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 1 (January 1911), 10–14, here 10). And in 1922, another missionary, attending a revival meeting in the remote northeast, was awoken at 2:00 a.m. by singing in the church, with a meeting beginning at 4:00 a.m. “I have to confess that I do not like to get up at such unearthly hours but the prayers of the Koreans do my soul good,” Hobbs wrote. “The Koreans can pray!” he exclaimed (Thomas Hobbs, “A Trip in the Kaw Saw Valley,” Korea Mission Field 28, no. 1 (January 1922), 20–21, here 20). Hobbs was attending a revival led by the Korean evangelist Kim Ik-du, who would later play a key role in the North Korean church (see Act III, Chapter 27). The fervency would become a hallmark of Korean Christianity up to the present day. Kang Sang-uk, a Christian boy growing up in the northwestern city of Chŏngju in the 1940s, recalled being woken by his parents every morning at 4:30 a.m. to go to church and pray. “We returned home around 6:00 and went to work. Every morning” (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2007, 204). Rev. Billy Graham, writing in 1972, described his first visits to Korea in 1952 and 1956: “I was astounded to find Christians getting up two hours before daylight, and gathering in their churches for prayer, Bible reading and testimony. The scenes I witnessed there have stayed with me through the years, and have had a great impact on my personal, spiritual life” (Billy Graham, “Foreword,” in Kurt Koch, Victory Through Persecution, trans. Anthea Bell (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Kregel Publications, 1972), no page number).  RELAYS AND CACOPHONIES: In some cases, the Koreans would organize themselves into prayer relays, with each hour of the day parceled out, such that there was always someone praying at any given moment—evidence, in the words of one missionary, that “Korean Christians had the type of faith that moved mountains” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 349). Other times, Korean believers would pray out loud, muttering individual prayers in what appeared to the missionaries at first to be an unruly cacophony, but which they quickly came to appreciate as “thrilling beyond description, producing an effect greater even than united song” (George Heber Jones and W. Arthur Noble, The Korean Revival: An Account of the Revival in the Korean Churches in 1907 (New York: Board of Foreign Missions of the Methodist Episcopal Church, 1910), 39). The practice is still widely practiced in the South Korean and Korean diaspora church, where it is known as simultaneous prayer (通聲祈禱 Kor. t’ongsŏng kido). For a vivid description of the practice, see David Suh 1991, 120–21. 
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to Korea, pronounced the Christians there “among the greatest Bible students in the world”

NoteFrom the beginning, Moffett and his colleagues had placed a special focus on reading and memorizing God’s Word—and the Koreans responded. “If there are any other Christians in the world who are more familiar with the Bible than the Korean Christians, I have not had the privilege either of meeting them or of hearing about them,” Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown wrote from New York (Brown 1919, 526). “It was said that no other Christians in the world knew their Bibles better,” writes one historian of the Korean church (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 114). “The Korean Christians read the Book of Books day and night, and they are among the greatest Bible students in the world,” Philadelphia evangelist George T. B. Davis wrote after traveling to Korea in 1909 (Davis 1910, 51). Davis pointed in particular to the members of the girls’ Sunday school class at Pyongyang’s main Methodist church, some of whom had memorized four thousand verses of the Bible in one year, and two of whom who had committed to memory the entire New Testament—minus the book of Matthew, which they were working on—over that span of time (Davis 1910, 51; and Mrs. Davis [Davis, Rose H. Fox], “The Bible Success Band,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 4 (April 1910), 93–94, here 94). The latter article is attributed to “Mrs. Davis,” who appears to be Davis’s wife, Rose Helen F. Davis (1904–1981).  BIBLE POCKETS AND MUSLIN CASES: The Koreans so treasured the Bible that many of them added pockets to their jackets sized to fit the Bible societies’ Korean translations of the New Testament, which became known as the “Bible pocket” (Jones 1916, 18). Adds one early Korean convert: “Pocket-size New Testaments were very popular, because they were very convenient to carry and read whenever they had a chance. It was just like daily bread which everyone should taste everyday” (Pai 2002, 102). Even before the development of the “Bible pocket,” the Korean Christians found other ways to physically manifest their reverence for the Christian scriptures. One missionary, writing in 1906, described how Korean Christians “always take the Book to church with them, and to protect it from wear, they carry it in a little muslin case, in which there is also room for the hymnbook and Sabbath-school papers” (Deming, “The Korean Christian,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 153). “They love the Book so much that most of them wrap up their New Testament, or put it in a bag, and carry it with them wherever they go. The women and girls usually tie their Testament and hymn book round their waist. Men, women and children commit large portions of the Bible to memory,” George Davis wrote (Davis 1910, 51). The legacy would last more than a century. In the late 1980s, it became something of a trend for South Korean Christians to not only read the Bible cover to cover, but to copy it out by hand as a kind of spiritual discipline (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 277).  CONFUCIAN TRADITIONS: The strong emphasis that Moffett and his fellow missionaries put on the sanctity of the Bible was well-suited to a country where Confucian traditions had already instilled a deep reverence for the written word of the ancient sages. “Bibles are not given away in Korea, nor sold for a small fraction of their cost, but fetch the full cost of their production. Yet, in spite of the Korean’s poverty, so great is the demand that last year when the Bible Committee had ordered a new edition of 20,000 copies of the New Testament, the whole edition was sold before a word had been printed,” Horace Underwood remarked in 1908 (Horace Underwood, “‘Korea’s Crisis Hour,’” Korea Mission Field (1908), 131). Indeed, one scholar explicitly compares the early Protestant missionaries to Korea as fundamentalists who, “like the Neo-Confucianist gentry…were strictly orthodox, resistant to new theological ideas, and used only one text”—in the case of the missionaries, the Bible (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 10). In that respect, the Korean converts were well positioned to transfer their fealty to the literality of the Confucian texts that they had revered to the new scriptures. Many Christians, particularly the elite, became Christians through literature, reciting it aloud and committing it to memory (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 88).
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and old, male and female, Christian and otherwise—with their first taste of a formal education

NoteIn one village on Samuel Moffett’s itinerating circuit, a boy there remembers the founding of a modern school by the Indiana missionary, called the True Light School (真光學校 Kor. Chin’gwang Hakgyo). Though not a Christian, the boy’s father, after much consideration, sent him to True Light School rather than the traditional one teaching the Confucian classics “so that I would learn contemporary studies.” There, the boy received an education that instilled in him a love of God and nation, pairing Bible teaching and the singing of hymns with lessons in Korean history (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 26). That boy, Han Kyŏng-jik, would later become one of northern Korea’s most storied preachers. He recalled his teacher being Hong Ki-ju (洪箕疇 ?–?), who had attended Taesŏng School in Pyongyang, founded by the nationalist orator and Christian convert An Ch’angho (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 26). Hong Ki-ju later became a Methodist pastor and, after the surrender of the Japanese in 1945, joined the official North Korean church (see Act III, Chapter 27). For older Koreans, missionary-led classes instructed men, and more importantly women, in the Bible and, by extension, in basic literacy. The Methodist missionary Mary F. Scranton, founder of what is today known as Ewha Womans University, started the first Sunday School for women as early as January 1888, when early Korean converts asked the missionaries: “We are being taught, why should not our wives learn the doctrine also” (Scranton, “Woman’s Work in Korea,” Korean Repository (1896), 5). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 69–70.  HANDMAIDEN TO RELIGION: The missionary fervor for education in Korea was an extension of efforts being undertaken back home in America. As American settlers moved west across the American landmass in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Presbyterians set up theology schools on the western frontier, beginning as early as 1794. “Wherever Presbyterian ministers went they established schools, education being the handmaiden to religion,” writes one church historian. “They believed that such schools were essential for the Christianizing and civilizing of the West into which Americans were swarming” (Smylie 1985, 62, 64).
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to attend the largest and best-known conference at Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church

NoteA CRASH COURSE IN LITERACY: The winter Bible classes, known simply as “Bible study meetings” (查經會 Kor. sagyŏng-hoe), were set during the agricultural off-season in January, in part to compete with the annual Lunar New Year holiday, when Koreans would engage in what some missionaries derided as “idolatrous festivities.” The winter Bible Institute was a two-week crash course in literacy in the native Korean alphabet, chockful of singing and Bible memorization contests (Clark 2003, 181). It was especially attractive “for the benefit of those men who are anxious to equip themselves for effective service as Christian workers, but cannot hope to take the full seminary course”; one ten-day session in 1912 attracted 772 men, William Baird’s wife Annie reported (Annie Baird 1913, 79–80).  WILDLY POPULAR: The first such class was held in 1898, with twenty-five Korean Christians invited—and roughly a hundred showing up, all with their own rice and some having traveled from a hundred miles away to attend. Within a decade, the class was attracting nearly a thousand attendees (Shearer 1966, 127–28). According to another source, some women showed up with babies on their backs, while two women had walked more than two hundred miles to attend. One called it “one of the happiest successes ever permitted to us,” and by 1902, there were 302 attendees (Huntley 1984, 79, citing Charles F. Bernheisel letter, December 13, 1902). Shearer offers other numbers showing that, by 1909, the Northern Presbyterians boasted eight hundred Bible classes in the country with an aggregate attendance of fifty thousand people (Shearer 1966, 55–56). “Where but in Korea would 400 men, most of them poor farmers, leave their homes and occupations to walk anywhere from 5 to 50 miles and back in December weather…and spend a week or 10 days at their own expense, simply that they may study the Bible and learn and teach the Way of Life?” asked one Pyongyang missionary (E. W. Koons [Koons, Edwin Wade], “The Winter Class for Men,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 3 (March 1907), 40). See also Blair 1957, 134–35.  EVENING EVANGELISM: The conferences always paired the theoretical with the practical, with mornings of Bible study followed by afternoons in which the believers headed out, two by two, into Pyongyang to preach (Shearer 1966, 128–29). After a full day of lessons, Baird wrote in amazement following the annual Bible classes in Pyongyang in 1898, the northwestern believers—“aggressively evangelistic,” he called them—would station themselves at the city walls or on the main thoroughfares, or head into the surrounding villages, to preach and to sell books (Baird 1968, 130, citing William Baird report from October 1898). See also Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, March 9, 1905, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/235/45). “What a zealous set of men these are! It would do your heart good to see the mass of them as they go in the evening to Central Church, some with lanterns, most of them without lanterns,” wrote George S. McCune of the winter classes in Pyongyang in 1906–1907. “Immediately the room full of men was filled with voices lifted to God in prayer. I am sure that most of the men in the room were praying aloud. It was wonderful! No man prayed with a loud voice, and yet, if you would listen, you could distinguish between the different ones” (G. S. McCune [McCune, George S.], “The Holy Spirit in Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 1 (January 1907), 1–2). The next year, so many men showed up for the winter class—850 men in all—that every church building, including even the hospital and men’s waiting rooms were pressed into service (“Incidents from the Firing Line,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 2 (February 1908), 20–21). This was despite temperatures that fell regularly below –14 degrees Fahrenheit (–25 degrees Celsius) (“News Notes,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 2 (February 1908), 24). The annual winter conference in Pyongyang would take over and consume the city, as the Presbyterian and Methodist churches held evening meetings for the public every night for three weeks. Each afternoon, before the service began, the city’s Christians would fan out across the city, two by two, inviting as many of the city’s people as they could to attend that evening’s meeting. “The result was wonderful,” wrote one missionary, the pastor of the Pyongyang South Gate Church. “Each night hundreds attended church for the first time. As many as fifty rose and confessed faith in Christ in a single evening. Night after night the interest continued. The whole city was talking of nothing else” (William N. Blair letter to Our Friends in Solomon, Kansas, March 12, 1905, Pyengyang (MKC)).  “NO WORD OF COMPLAINT”: The Bible classes were especially popular with women, who saw in the conferences a unique opportunity to be educated. One missionary recalls a women’s class in the northwestern town of Sŏnch’ŏn attracting hundreds of women from the countryside. “We were not at all prepared to see 400 women come. Our present buildings are much too small to accommodate our own congregation of 300 women, and what to do with these from the country was a question. We managed by using every available outbuilding and one of the residences near by for class rooms. Then we spread mats at all doors and windows and those who could not get in listened from the outside…It was an inspiring sight to see that vast assembly of white clothed, white turbaned women looking at us few foreigners” (Mrs. C. E. Kearns [Kearns, Daisy R.], “The Record Class,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 6 (April 1906), 103–4). In 1913, reported another missionary, some walked “three hundred li, and not a few had burdens of clothing, books, and babies on their backs” with “no word of complaint that the way was too long, the roads too rough, or the burdens too heavy, but with joyful faces and cheerful words of greeting” (Olga P. Shaffer, “Yeng Byen Women’s Bible Class,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 11 (November 1913), 284–86, here 284). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 67). Additional conferences were also often held in the summer. Special classes for women were especially popular, with Bible women recruiting hundreds of illiterate women for the short introductory Bible courses (Clark 2003, 174).
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Gospel of Mark, rendered into a difficult language that they were only just learning themselves

NoteThe translation of the Gospel of Mark, led by Horace Underwood and Henry Appenzeller, drew upon earlier translations into Greek, Hebrew, Latin, French, German, Chinese, and English; the Gospel of Mark was chosen because it was the shortest of the four gospels (Lillias Underwood 1918, 46–50). Underwood was so dedicated to the work of Bible translation that, suffering ill health in the summer of 1915, Underwood continued to push himself into the work; his wife blames his lack of rest for his death the following year, at age seventy-seven (Lillias Underwood 1918, p. 47). During this period, the missionaries were in a race to translate as much as they could and supply the Korean population, hungry for more reading material, with Christian literature. “What Luther did for the German language, Christian missions are doing for the Korean…Korea is at the stage where England was in the days of Wycliffe” (Frances J. Baker, A Woman Doctor in the Land of Morning Calm: A Sketch of Dr. Rosetta Sherwood Hall (Boston: Woman’s Foreign Missionary Society, Methodist Episcopal Church, 1904), 2–3). Luther’s German translation of the Bible, first published in 1522, is seen as a key turning point in the spread and development of the German language within the Roman Empire, much like the King James Bible of 1611 and its impact on the English language. John Wycliffe (1328–1384) was an early advocate of translating the Bible into vernacular English. See also W. D. Reynolds [Reynolds, William D.], “Bible Translation in Korea,” Korean Repository 3 (December 1896), 469–74.  PRINTING PRESSES: The distribution of the translated material was facilitated by the arrival in 1886 of the printing press of the Catholic Church’s Sacred Book Publishing House (聖書出版所 Kor. Sŏngsŏ Ch’ulp’an-so), which was brought to Seoul from Nagasaki, and which soon began churning out Korean-language books. The Protestants, meanwhile, set up the Trilingual Press, later renamed the Methodist Publishing House, in 1888, as well as the Korean Religious Tract Society in 1890; the following year, the Anglican Church set up a printing press in Seoul (Michael Kim, “Trouble with Christian Publishing” (2018), 142–43).  DICTIONARIES AND ROBINSON CRUSOE: In addition to translating works explicitly aimed at spreading the Christian gospel, many of the missionaries threw themselves into literary and historical exploration of Korea and its culture, establishing institutions like the Royal Asiatic Society Korea Branch, which persists to this day. Reading the works of James Gale and Homer Hulbert, and the early journals that they started, including the Korean Repository (1892–1898), The Korea Magazine (1917–1919), and the Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (1900– ), gives a sense of the breadth and depth of their scholarly interests, ranging from archaeology and folklore to grammar and other esoterica. Indeed, writes one historian, “missionaries became the first Westerners to systematically study Korean history, culture, and language; their work formed a growing Orientalist literature on Korea, with its curious mixture of exotica, condescension, critique, and praise that subsequently shaped attitudes about Korea in the West for several generations” (Robinson 2007, 11). By 1897, Gale had compiled a 1,160-page Korean-English dictionary, the “Han Yöng Cha Työn” (漢英字典 Kor. Han-Yŏng Chajŏn) (“Gale’s ‘Korean-English Dictionary,’” Korean Repository 4 (April 1897), 150; and “Editorial Department,” Korean Repository 4 (August 1897), 308–13). University of British Columbia historian Donald Baker calls Gale “perhaps the most astute Western observer of Korean culture in the early 20th century” (Baker, Donald 2010, p. 64). In addition to translation of Christian works like The Pilgrim’s Progress, Gale also translated into Korean classic English-language fiction as Swiss Family Robinson, Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Ross King, “James Scarth Gale and the Christian Literature Society (1922–1927): Salvific Translation and Korean Literary Modernity,” in Won-jung Min, ed., Una aproximacion humanista a los estudios coreanos (Santiago, Chile: Patagonia, 2014), TKTK–TKTK). As Ross King, a University of British Columbia scholar, notes, the missionaries were sincerely interested from the very beginning in the finer details of the Korean language and its origins, such that, “by the 1880s, some of the Western research had become quite sophisticated…In almost all cases, the Western scholars expressed deep admiration for the ingenious design of the Korean script” (Ross King, “Western Protestant Missionaries and the Origins of Korean Language Modernization,” Journal of International and Area Studies 11, no. 3 (2004), 7–38, here 14). Tyler Dennett, a Pulitzer Prize-winning American diplomatic historian at Johns Hopkins, Columbia, and Princeton universities and himself a former Congregationalist minister, wrote in his 1922 tome Americans in Eastern Asia that, throughout the latter half of the nineteenth century, “books written by missionaries…were practically the only American source of any adequacy or accuracy for the formation of public opinion about China, Japan and Korea. During the greater part of the nineteenth century Americans looked upon Asia through the eyes of missionaries” (Dennett 1922, 558). China, where missionaries had established themselves long before than in Korea, was home to some of the first literary contributions by missionaries in the region. Elijah C. Bridgman (1801–1861), the first American Protestant missionary to China, founded the first journal of sinology, the Chinese Repository, in 1832, and published an influential Chinese-language history of the U.S., A Brief Account of the United States of America (美理哥合省國志略 Ch. Meilige Heshengguo Zhilüe) in 1838 (Dennett 1922, 559). The Chinese Repository was a major inspiration behind the Korean counterpart that Homer Hulbert and other missionaries would found in Seoul in the 1890s.
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Korean was finished by John Ross, the Scottish Presbyterian missionary in Mukden, in 1887

NoteROSS’S VERSION: Ross was able to complete the translation with the help of Paek Hong-jun, Yi Ŭng-ch’an, Yi Sŏng-ha, and Kim Chin-gi (“Paek Hong-jun,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Ross’s devotion to his task was herculean, as one scholar has noted: “Ross dedicated his 30s and 40s to the translation project, during which time he lost four children in the mission field” (David W. Kim, “Scottish Impact,” in David W. Kim 2015, 57). In addition to the translation of the Bible, John Ross was also responsible for writing the first history of Korea in the English language, 1879’s History of Corea: Ancient and Modern with Description of Manners and Customs, Language and Geography; Maps and Illustrations, which he published while on furlough in Scotland (Timothy Lee 2010, 11). Ross wrote that book in part because of his belief that events in Manchuria would determine the larger course of developments in the wider region, penning a two-volume history based on Chinese-language sources that told the story of Korea and of the Manchus (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 169). As one might imagine, these two books took up so much time that Ross was reprimanded by the Presbyterian missions committee for having neglected the work he had been sent to China to do (Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 169). For a list of Ross’s writings, see Grayson, “Legacy of John Ross” (1999), 172.  RIJUTEI’S VERSION: At about the same time, American missionary Henry Loomis, based in Yokohama, worked with the Korean Yi Su-jŏng, known by the Japanese name Rijutei, to translate the Gospels of Mark and Luke into Korean, though according to one source only the translation of Mark was published (“The Translation of the Scriptures,” Korean Repository 2 (May 1895), 195–97). In 1884, Rijutei’s translation of the Book of Mark was published in Japan, and later brought to Korea by Horace Underwood and Henry Appenzeller (Timothy Lee 2010, 10–11). Other sources say that Rijutei helped to translate all four books of the gospel into Korean, which Underwood and Appenzeller brought to Korea in 1885 (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 7; and Huntley 1984, 14). Adams misspells Loomis’s name, and misidentifies the year that Underwood and Appenzeller arrived in Korea as 1884. Whatever the details, “to have such whole-hearted participation in Bible translation by a Korean, ‘indigenized’ Scripture from the beginning, was a promise of great things to come in the relationship of the Korean believers to the Bible,” writes Korea missions historian Martha Huntley. She quotes Loomis, in a May 1883 letter, describing Rijutei as being “almost too good to be true,” a promising foretaste of the prospects for the Christian gospel in Korea (Huntley 1984, 14–15, citing Henry Loomis letter to Dr. Gilman [Gilman, E. W.], May 30, 1883, Yokohama, as reproduced in H. Loomis [Loomis, Henry], “The First Korean Protestant in Japan,” Korea Mission Field 33, no. 7 (July 1937), 139–41).  A TRADITION OF MARTYRDOM: Yi Su-jŏng (李樹廷1842–1886), or perhaps Yi Kyu-t’ae (李圭泰), known to the missionaries by the Japanese name Rijutei, was an aristocrat from southwestern Korea. Rijutei studied under the Japan-based missionaries Revs. Robert S. Maclay, a Methodist, and George W. Knox, a Presbyterian (Sherwood Hall 1978, 78). Rijutei had been baptized by a Japanese pastor in April 1883, and worked with Henry Loomis, who was representing the American Bible Society in Yokohama at the time. Rijutei met Horace Underwood while the American was awaiting the next ship to his new mission field in Korea in early 1885; there, Underwood began learning the Korean language from Rijutei (Lillias Underwood 1918, 38). See also Grayson 2002, 156; Paik 1929, 70, n. 70; Loomis, “First Korean Protestant,” Korea Mission Field (1937), 139–41; and Horace G. Underwood letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, July 11, 1899, Seoul (PHS 179/7/111). Perhaps more dramatically, one of Rijutei’s own relatives, and a close friend, had been brutally executed just eighteen years earlier for having converted to Catholicism. The relative had been tied with rope to a cross, whereupon his arms and legs were cut off and then his head. Rijutei was aware of the dangers of being a follower of the “Jesus religion” in Korea, telling the missionaries in 1883: “No Corean can become a Christian except at the risk of his life.” Yet, he did in fact return to Korea in 1886, not long after the first missionaries arrived, and was executed in May that year (Huntley 1984, 14).  LOOMIS AND RIJUTEI: For a booklength biography of Henry Loomis by his daughter Clara, with details on Rijutei’s life, see Clara Denison Loomis, Henry Loomis: Friend of the East (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1923). Rev. Loomis arrived in Yokohama in 1872, at a time when there were ten baptized Protestant converts in all of Japan, with the two other foreign missionaries there engaged in furtive Bible translation (Loomis 1923, 29). According to Clara Loomis, Rijutei had first learned of Christianity from a member of the Pak Yŏng-hyo-led Korean mission to Tokyo in July 1881. One of Pak’s fellow envoys met a Japanese agricultural expert named Tsuda Sen (津田 仙 1837–1908) at his home, and was struck to read a Chinese scroll inscribed with the text of the Sermon on the Mount on his wall. When Tsuda offered the scroll to the Korean official, the latter turned down the offer, citing the prohibition on Christianity in Korea, but he later told the story to his friend, Rijutei. Rijutei, who was a scholar at the royal court in Seoul, accepted an offer to teach Korean at the Imperial University in Tokyo, whereupon he found Tsuda and learned about the Christian faith, eventually making his way to Rev. Loomis (Loomis 1923, 78–79). After translating the Gospel of Mark with Rev. Loomis in 1883, Rijutei became involved in working with Japan to establish a liberal party in Korea, and when he returned home in May 1886, he was executed by the Chosŏn court (Loomis 1923, 80). According to another source, Rijutei went to Japan in 1882 on a Korean government-sponsored mission, with the intention of studying agriculture; instead, he was influenced by Tsuda, the early convert to Christianity, and American missionaries in Japan (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 88). In March 1884, less than a year after he was baptized, Rijutei’s plea to “the churches in America” to begin missionary work in Korea was published by the Missionary Review of the World (Huntley 1984, 14). In August 1884, Rijutei sent an urgent appeal to the American church through Henry Loomis calling for them to send a woman missionary teacher to Korea to begin educating Korean women. Rijutei later worked as a translator to Robert Maclay, the Japan-based Methodist missionary who had made one of the first missionary voyages to Korea, in 1884 (see Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 88). For a piece written by the man himself, see Rijutei, “Korean Manners and Customs,” The Foreign Missionary 44, no. 4 (September 1885), 166–67.  FROM NORTH AND SOUTH: When Underwood and Appenzeller arrived in Korea with Rijutei’s translation of portions of the New Testament, they were surprised to find that a Korean translation—John Ross’s translation with Sŏ Sang-yun—was already circulating inside the country (Palmer 1967, 73). Thus, the first Bible translations to make it into Korea were the John Ross translation of the Gospel of Luke, printed in 1882 and coming in from Manchuria in the north, and the Rijutei translation of the Gospel of Mark, printed a few years later and coming in from Japan in the south (Sherwood Hall 1978, 78).
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missionaries and Korean believers in 1900; a version of the full Bible followed a decade later

NoteSamuel H. Moffett, the son of the pioneering missionary and a scholar of Korea missions history, dates the completion of the New Testament translation to 1900, calling it the missionaries’ “greatest literary achievement…only sixteen years after the arrival of the first missionary” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 47). One South Korean scholar, writing in 1980, declared: “The han’gŭl Bible was the greatest event in the history of the Korean language” (as quoted in King, “Korean Language Modernization” (2004), 11).   “A GOOD LITERARY VERSION”: Initially, at a meeting in Seoul of Korea missionaries to form a Bible translation committee on February 7, 1887, the missionaries had considered the idea of simply revising John Ross’s version, which contained spelling errors and provincialisms, but ultimately decided against it (“Translation of the Scriptures,” Korean Repository (1895), 195–96). Indeed, as one scholar writes, Ross’s first translation, while a landmark, “lacked polish,” and was inferior in quality to the 1900 translation, which was “a good literary version” (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 30). When the new translation was completed, a ceremony was held at a church in Seoul on September 9, 1900, to celebrate the occasion, with missionary-turned-diplomat Horace N. Allen delivering the address (Griffis 1912, 192). See also W. D. Reynolds [Reynolds, William D.], “How We Translated the Bible into Korean,” Union Seminary Magazine 22, no. 4 (April–May 1911), 292–303, here 297. Another source describes a very similar-sounding ceremony held on September 9, except in Pyongyang, with eight hundred people and the U.S. minister present (Canton 1910, 217). Annual celebrations are now held in Pyongyang on September 9 to mark the founding of the North Korean state (see Act III). This 1900 version, of course, could be further improved, and it took another six years of polishing before a final authorized version was finished. Even as these Korean translations were being prepared, educated Koreans could, of course, simply read the Chinese translation, as educated Koreans had been doing for centuries with Confucian and Buddhist texts (Oak 2013, 221–22). The full Bible translation—with both the Old and New Testaments—was completed on April 2, 1910, following five and a half years of dedicated work from scratch, according to Pyongyang Presbyterian William Reynolds, who was involved in the translation work (Reynolds, “How We Translated the Bible,” Union Seminary (1911), 292). For more on the history of this version, see Reynolds 1911, Reynolds, “How We Translated the Bible,” Union Seminary (1911), 299–300. See also Davis 1910, 54.
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wares by sharing stories “about Christianity and the Bible and the world outside their village

NoteThe itinerant booksellers were known as “colporteurs,” though the Sino-Korean equivalent, maesŏ’in (賣書人), was more straightforward, translating literally as “bookseller.” As one historian has put it, “the colporteurs were more than travelling salesmen. In an unobtrusive, but evidently effective, way they formed a team of evangelists who penetrated regions otherwise beyond the reach of churches” (Wells 1990, 88). Wells quotes one missionary with the Bible Society in Korea, who described the colporteur’s travels as taking him “along the high road to big towns and country seats, or over the mountain passes and rough hill-paths to villages and hamlets scattered here and there. He visits the markets, meets the crowds gathered to barter and sell . . . and he goes from house to house in sparsely populated places, speaking heart to heart with the lonely farmer” (Wells 1990, 88). “They traveled the whole country on foot. They didn’t sell the whole book, for that would be too expensive for the country people. First they translated the book of Mark into Korean, and then the other Gospels. The people would buy the Bible piece by piece, one book this time around, and another book the next time the Bible salesman came around,” writes one northern Korea-born pastor from this period. “People who were interested would invite him in and listen to what he had to say about Christianity and the Bible and the world outside their village” (David Suh 1991, 16–17). For one account of the colporteur’s ability to reach deep into the Korean interior, see a pamphlet written by Methodist missionary Elmer M. Cable, see Cable, E. M. [Cable, Elmer M.], A Korean’s Dream and What Came of It (New York: Missionary Society, Methodist Episcopal Church, 1914).
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broadly among Korean converts, who were, in the words of one missionary, “born preachers”

NoteHerbert E. Blair (1879–1945), a Presbyterian missionary, added in this passage: “The Koreans are not only active at personal evangelism but they have shown amazing ability as platform speakers…men, women, parents and children do not seem to hesitate even before great audiences” (Herbert E. Blair, “Fifty Years of Development of the Korean Church,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 117–33, here 126).   “UNCEASINGLY ACTIVE”: Even without any leading by the missionaries, Korean converts took it upon themselves to spread the gospel far and wide, writes Methodist Henry Appenzeller. “Acquaintances, friends and relatives are sought, importuned and reasoned with on righteousness, temperance and judgment to come. They succeed in their efforts” (Appenzeller 1902, 36). Colleague W. Arthur Noble added: “They did not pause in their work till the whole city, every house and every individual, had received an exhortation and an invitation. These several facts prove that in perseverance, self-denial, intelligent activity, and Christian fervor they are second to none” (W. A. Noble [Noble, W. Arthur], “Korean Decadence,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 9 (July 1906), 176). “The Korean Christian possesses a passion for soul-winning not found in Western lands,” George T. B. Davis (1873–1967), a missions advocate from Philadelphia, wrote in a book after visiting Korea (Davis 1910, 10). “They take as naturally to missions as a duck takes to water!” wrote another missionary (“Editorial Pages: Spiritual Gymnasia,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 7 (July 1915), 183–84). “The Koreans make very energetic Christians,” wrote Alice Butts, a Presbyterian missionary in Pyongyang. “When he is converted he does not sit down and enjoy it all by himself, but goes out and tells others about Him. The result is new groups of believers are often formed where a missionary has never been” (Alice M. Butts letter to Auntie McIntyre [McIntyre, Lucy A.], November 16, 1907, Pyengyang (MKC)). The “Him” here refers to God. “The Korean Christians are unceasingly active. A tract is accepted, a book is bought, a meeting is attended, an impression made, a desire to know more aroused,” missionary James Gale added. “But they do not stop here. Acquaintances, friends, and relatives are sought, importuned, and reasoned with on righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come. Some of the leaders are making noble sacrifices for the spread of the Word. In the cold of winter and in the heat of summer; in the crowded city and at the country market; in the library of the Confucian scholar and in the comfortless wayside inn; in the lonely country farmhouse and in the privacy of the inner room, where the women are secure from molestation, they bear glad and cheerful testimony to the power of Christ to save from sin” (Gale 1909, 191–92).  “FRIEND, WILL YOU NOT BELIEVE?”: Robert Speer, describing a trip through Korea with a Confucian scholar named Yi Yŏng-min (“Ye Yung Min”) who had converted, wrote of how “he preached Christ to every soul he met. All day long he trudged along singing, usually, ‘Nothing but the blood of Jesus,’—in Korean, of course—until he overtook another traveler, when he would at once begin, ‘Friend, will you not believe in Jesus Christ?’…After the weary journey of the day…we would see him in the moonlight squatting on his heels, Korean fashion, with a circle of listeners around him to whom he tired not of speaking of the guilt of human sin and the preciousness and power of his Redeemer” (Speer 1902, 388–89). This was also true of Christian converts in Manchuria, the pioneering Scottish Presbyterian John Ross found. “The Christian in Manchuria is ever a preacher. Wherever he is, by day or by night, he is ready to expound Christianity to his fellow-countrymen, be they friendly or hostile, interested or indifferent, whether they curse him as a ‘foreigner’ or treat him with respect as a ‘teacher.’ By means of these ordinary, unpaid, and unassuming preachers—men going about on their own business—the majority of our people receive their first Christian impressions” (Ross 1903, 77–78).  EVANGELISM AS TICKET OF ADMISSION: The missionaries insisted on evangelism not only as a natural outgrowth of conversion, but almost as a prerequisite for entrance into the church. “It has become the universal rule in Korea that the ticket of admission to membership in the Christian Church is another soul won to Jesus Christ,” the Methodist missionary George H. Jones wrote (George Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Korean Passion for Souls,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 1 (January 1909), 10–11, here 10). “It is harder to get into the Korean Church than to enter the church at home,” one visiting American journalist, witnessing an examination for church membership, exclaimed. “Often this question is asked the applicant for church membership. ‘Have you led a soul to Christ?’ If this test were put to Christians in Christian lands how many would be able to stand?” The speaker is William T. Ellis, as quoted in Hounshell, “Korea’s Message,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 311. “Every one of the Protestant Church members were supposed to be evangelists,” explained one early Korean convert, describing it as the “secret” behind the explosive growth of Christianity in Korea. The Korean Christian “was supposed to read his Bible daily, pray; attend his church regularly; take at least one non-Christian to his church; and contribute about one tenth of his income to his church” (Pai 2002, 102). By 1893, the Presbyterian mission in Korea had made it a matter of formal policy to focus their efforts on training up converts who could conduct evangelism—rather than trying to reach the Koreans directly themselves with the gospel message: “The mass of Koreans must be led to Christ by their own fellow-countrymen: therefore we shall do well to thoroughly train a few as evangelists rather than to preach to a multitude ourselves” (Presbyterian Church U.S.A. Annual Meeting minutes, January 24, 1893, Seoul (PHS 177/4/4, 1893)). Not only was the message more persuasive coming from a fellow Korean, but it fit well with the principles of self-support that Moffett and Underwood so heartily championed, while relieving the burden on Korea’s overstressed missionaries, who were thus freed up to baptize believers, build up schools and handle more nettlesome issues.
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“in the groups of believers springing up all over the territory and organize them into churches”

NoteThe missionary speaking here, Rev. William C. Swearer (1871–1916), a Methodist from Pennsylvania, added in this passage: “The little group composed of the man and his family baptized in an obscure village was the first of a mighty host; for the work begun there has spread into five provinces and now, as it stands on our rolls, numbers 298 groups (besides a number that are not yet counted) enrolling 16202 believers. Daily new groups are coming into existence and pleading for guidance and instruction” (W. C. Swearer [Swearer, Wilbur C.], “Gospel Progress,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 6 (June 1907), 85–86).
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the conversion of a family patriarch often led the entire extended clan to attend church

NoteFAMILY FLOWS: “In Korean society, when the patriarch received Christian baptism, he quite naturally brought his whole family into the Church in the New Testament pattern,” writes church historian Roy Shearer (Shearer 1966, 118). In this way, the Christian faith benefited from traditional Confucian hierarchies. “This great movement to Christ that we see in the Pyongan Provinces of the northwest…flow[ed] unimpeded along the web of family relationships. A father became a Christian, led his wife, and then his sons and daughters and sons-in-law, into a conviction that Christ was their answer” (Shearer 1966, 149). Shearer gives several examples in Shearer 1966, 145–49. “The Gospel story has flowed along family channels,” added Presbyterian Herbert Blair. “Children have carried the news to their homes; women have relayed the message over the court-yard walls and discussed the new doctrine as they have beaten out their washing, squatting by the village brooks” (Blair, “Fifty Years of Development,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 124). One Korean whose family had converted to Christianity in the late 1890s after his uncle embraced the faith, recounted his uncle, a former itinerant geomancer, propagating Christianity aggressively wherever he went. “And he was not alone in doing that, for I, too, and every Christian, did the same, and every Christian was a missionary to his fellow countrymen. Is it any wonder, then, that Christianity spread by leaps and bounds in Korea?” he recalled (Charr 1996, 60–61). The trend was discernible as early as 1895, when missionary Cadwallader C. Vinton reported fifty baptized infants and 55 entire families enrolled (Vinton, “Statistics of the Protestant Churches,” Korean Repository (1895), 384). See also Huntley 1984, 125; and Murray 1975, 172. The dynamic carried echoes of early Catholic converts in Korea in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, who often embraced the faith together. During the persecutions, married couples often embraced martyrdom together, while in other cases, parents and children, siblings, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces were executed together, a fact that one scholar writes “hints at other wider family relationships which could encourage and support confessors” (Finch, “Pursuit of Martyrdom” (2009), 104).
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“not able to withstand the ‘persecution’ as they called it of being constantly urged to believe”

NoteBaird was describing a group of believers in Sun’an (順安), roughly 15 miles north of Pyongyang and now the site of North Korea’s main international airport. Over the years, many diplomats, missionaries, and war correspondents passing through Sun’an were impressed by the spirited inhabitants of the city. William Carles, the British diplomat, had visited Sun’an in the mid-1880s, which he described as “a town of about 700 huts” with friendly—perhaps overly friendly—locals. While there, he was followed by so many curious locals that any attempt to hunt wildfowl was foiled. “The whole neighbourhood was so interested in my doings that it was impossible to get near any birds.” When he invited the locals to share a pipe in the evening, half a dozen showed up, including the head man of the village (Carles 1888, 178). In April 1895, shortly after the nearby Battle of Pyongyang, converts in Sun’an set up what Graham Lee called “the first church in Korea ever bought or built entirely with Korean money”—though it’s possible that the church in Sorae deserves that honor. “Here has grown up an earnest group of Christians,” Lee wrote with approval (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)). When Baird spent a week in Sun’an in November 1897 for a weeklong training class, he was deeply impressed by how “unfailingly eager” his listeners were for Bible study—including “an exegetical study of the books of Hebrews and Galatians” for advanced learners. The Koreans in Sun’an woke up before dawn to pray and sing and study, often continuing until late into the night, poured all their savings into covering the church’s expenses and helped one another rid themselves of emblems of spirit worship at their homes (“Report on Training Classes, Pyong Yang Station 1897–98, by W. M. Baird,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 312–16). Jack London, who spent some time in Sun’an while covering the Russo-Japanese War in 1904, described it as a town of “four or five thousand inhabitants, and is practically deserted”—at least during the war (London, “How the Hermit Kingdom Behaves,” in Hendricks and King 1970, 73).
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possessions to the church with such enthusiasm that some reduced themselves to poverty

Note“Men will not hesitate to reduce themselves to poverty, in order to support the Church,” wrote one Korean convert (David Cho 2012, 24–25). Methodist missionary W. Carl Rufus, in his annual report for 1908–1909, described the sacrifice that Korean believers made to a church-building campaign: “In order to build churches I have seen many put mortgages on their own homes or give up their precious wedding rings. Poorer people pledge work” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 293–94). Samuel Moffett, too, enumerated the many ways in which “women have given their wedding rings, their hair, their ornaments…The stories of self-sacrifice and liberality which might be told in connection with this phase of the work would fill a volume” (Samuel A. Moffett, “The Place of the Native Church in the Work of Evangelization—A Paper Read at the World Missionary Conference,” Union Seminary Magazine 22, no. 3 (February–March 1911), 226–35, here 233).
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sanctuary, yelled out their pledges while standing outside in biting temperatures of 0°F (–18°C)

Note“It was intensely interesting to stand before that audience and watch the thoughtful faces of many of the men as they were making up their minds as to how much they were able to subscribe, and it was amusing to have some of the men who, not able to find room in the building owing to the large congregation, come around to the door just back of us and call out through the door the amounts of their subscriptions,” Moffett wrote in the same letter. “Their zeal must have kept them warm for the day was intensely cold” (Samuel Moffett letter to Frank Ellinwood, February 6, 1900, Pyengyang, Korea (PHS 280/231/2)). Moffett and other missionaries insisted on the principle that Korean Christians finance construction of their own church buildings, so as to build up self-sufficiency rather than rely on the largess of foreigners. In the northwestern city of Anju (安州), Presbyterian missionary William N. Blair recalls telling his eager new converts that they would have to pay for and build their own church—a policy that resulted in initial disappointment, but eventual pride. “I tell you it meant not ten times, not a hundred times; but a thousand times more to them than if I had provided it for them,” Blair wrote. “We have learned in Korea that the only way to get a self-supporting, self-respecting church on the foreign field is to make it self-supporting from the beginning” (Blair 1957, 32–33). As a result, by 1908, all but two of Korea’s 188 Presbyterian churches were self-supporting (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 58). The policy was credited with nurturing in Korean Christians a sense that the church was an indigenous, and not a foreign, institution, and lessened the criticisms found in other countries like India and China, of “religious imperialism” (Huntley 1984, 128–129). As we shall see in Act II, however, these criticisms nevertheless haunted the Korea missionaries.
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to the subcontinent, “some of the women sending their solid silver rings to be turned into cash”

NoteThe Indian famine of 1896–1897, which claimed at least one million lives as it spread across the subcontinent, was given wide coverage in Horace Underwood’s newly-founded Christian News and the Methodist-run Korean Christian Advocate, eliciting sympathy from Korean converts, who donated money and jewelry to the relief cause (“Korean Sympathy for India,” Korean Repository 4 (May 1897), 196–97; and “More Sympathy for India,” Korean Repository 4 (June 1897), 238). One church in Hwanghae province took up collections not only for famine-stricken India but also for Armenians suffering under the Turks (H. D. Underwood [Underwood, Horace G.?], “Principles of Self-Support in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 6 (June 1908), 91–95, here 92). “The world lauds the American people for their readiness to give their money to help philanthropic causes. We boast of it as a mark of civilization. But I stand ready with this and other facts to challenge any people, whether white, brown, yellow, or black, to show a better record than the Korean,” wrote W. Arthur Noble, in a piece on what he called “Korean decadence” (Noble, “Korean Decadence,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 176). Another colleague, Robert Moose, declared: “I have not seen people in any other country who are more liberal in their contributions to the Church than the members of our village Church” (Moose 1911, 210).
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—some of whom had earlier insulted them, scorned them, or even plotted their murders

NoteFresh off his first furlough to America, Moffett returned to Korea in early 1898, returning to Pyongyang on a bicycle that he rode from Seoul (Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010). Upon returning to the ancient northwestern capital, Moffett was gratified to find that, during his absence, the new converts included “some who had formerly been bitter opponents with whom I had repeatedly talked of the gospel and who now came to me with glad faces saying they wanted to take back all the abuse and insult offered me in days past,” as he told Frank Ellinwood in a letter (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, April 6, 1898, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/83)).  CHICKENS AND EGGS: It wasn’t just ordinary denizens of Pyongyang, but also the governor of Pyongyang, too, as Rosetta Sherwood Hall found. While the governor in 1894 had presided over the persecution of her husband, W. James Hall, as well as Moffett and Graham Lee, Rosetta Hall found the new governor far more favorably disposed towards the Christian message just a few years later—particularly after Rosetta Hall, a medical missionary, healed the governor’s wife. The governor sent Rosetta Hall a hundred eggs and three chickens as a show of gratitude and named the Methodists’ newly opened dispensary in Pyongyang as the “Women’s Dispensary of Extended Grace.” “We are beginning our work under quite a different relationship with the present governor than with the former who favored our persecution in ’94,” Rosetta Hall wrote in 1898 (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, p. 181). That same year, Hall oversaw the construction of a new children’s ward for the dispensary—Pyongyang’s first two-story building, named the Edith Margaret Memorial Wing in honor of Hall’s deceased infant daughter (Sherwood Hall 1978, 182).
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one became the first missionary sent out by Korea’s own indigenous Presbyterian church

NoteOne of the men, Yi Ki-p’ung (李基豐 1865–1942), became a missionary to Korea’s southern Cheju Island, sent by Samuel Moffett in 1907 (see Act I, Chapter 8). The Korean man who had stoned James Hall in 1894 was healed of mercury poisoning more than a decade later in 1906 by Hall’s successor, E. Douglas Follwell; the Pyongyang man enrolled his son in a Christian missionary school (E. D. Follwell [Follwell, E. Douglas], “Medical Practice in Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 8 (June 1906), 149–50, here 150). Methodist missionaries George H. Jones and W. Arthur Noble, writing about a revival meeting in 1907, described how many of the Koreans weeping and wailing in anguish in the church sanctuary had once sought to murder the missionaries. “As the missionaries listened to the confessions of some of these men, they could hardly credit their ears. Some men in these meetings confessed that there had been times in their lives when in the awful hatred of their hearts they had concealed knives in their clothing and followed missionaries for days at a time seeking a chance to murder them. Some who thus confessed were unknown by face to the missionaries whose lives they had sought” (Jones, George H. and W. Arthur Noble 1910, p. 22).
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-haired seventy-seven-year-old in Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church in August 1899

Note“The old man is quite a character and it made him very happy to be baptized,” Graham Lee wrote days after the baptismal service, where fifty-eight others also underwent the ritual (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 23, 1899, Pyeng Yang (PHS 178/7/119)). The scholar-missionary James Gale tells a version of the man’s tale in his thinly fictionalized novel The Vanguard (see Gale 1904, 106–10). The man, who started studying under Moffett in October 1893, may even have been responsible for executing the Welsh missionary Robert Thomas, according to South Korean historian Hong Man-ch’un, who gives the man’s name as Pak Ch’un-gon (朴春坤) (Hong Man-ch’un 1998, 647–48). Another source gives the name as Pak Ch’un-gŭn (Ch’oe Chi-yŏn and Hong Mun-jong, Saech’ong ŭro Mujigae Ssogi [Shooting for the Rainbow with a Slingshot] (Seoul: Nexusbooks, 2010), 65). Yet another source gives his name as Pak Ch’un-gwŏn (朴春權 1839–1920) (Kim Kwang-su, “Pak Ch’un-gwŏn (朴春權)” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture; and Chin, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae” (2016), 240). According to Chin Chin-hun, a South Korean historian, this man, Pak Ch’un-gwŏn, was curious about the Bible that Rev. Thomas had, even in his hour of death, sought to share with the Koreans; after reading it, he sought out Moffett and was eventually baptized (Chin, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae” (2016), 240).  THE EXECUTIONER’S NEPHEW: Several sources, meanwhile, write that Pak’s nephew, Yi Yŏng-t’ae (李榮泰 ?–?), was so wracked with guilt over his uncle’s role in the slaying of the missionary that he threw himself into Bible translation, graduating from Sungsil Academy’s vocational school before going on to work closely with Southern Presbyterian missionary William Reynolds after (Hong 1998, 647–48; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 75). Graham Lee describes Pak as the rescuer of a Korean police magistrate who had been taken prisoner by the General Sherman crew, having carried the official back to shore (Lee letter to Ellinwood, August 23, 1899). One source even suggests that two of Korea’s most prominent converts—the Pyongyang innkeeper Ch’oe Ch’i-ryang and the early convert Sŏ Kyŏng-jo—had been young boys playing in the Taedong River during the General Sherman incident, and became Christians after picking up scattered pages from Thomas’ Bible (Chin, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae” (2016), 240)). This claim should be treated with some caution.
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legendary nationalist who won nationwide renown for his gruesome murder of a Japanese man

NoteKim Ku (金九 1876–1949), who became one of the most prominent figures in twentieth-century Korean history, originally hailed from “the nearly untouchable butcher class,” and thus benefited immensely from the missionaries’ efforts to elevate the position of the lowborn class (Joungwon Kim 1976, 40). Kim Ku can perhaps best be described as eclectic when it came to matters of faith. As a teenager, Kim Ku developed a following of thousands of Tonghak adherents who believed he could fly. Kim Ku had earlier become a Buddhist monk for a short time before embracing Christianity. After his gruesome murder of the Japanese man who he claimed, without evidence, to have been Queen Min’s killer, he became known across the country (Joungwon Kim 1976, 41).  KIM KU’S MENTOR: Kim Ku’s mentor was An T’ae-hun (安泰勳 1862–1905), the father of Itō Hirobumi’s assassin, An Chung-gŭn. The elder An had turned to Catholicism, and Kim Ku regarded it as bizarre that such a patriot should embrace “a religion of the Western barbarians” (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 71). However, when An first had a chance to read Christian literature, he became convinced that “those big-nosed people with deeply-set blue eyes were not barbarians close to monkeys. In fact, I learned that those Westerners had beautiful customs and wise laws governing their societies. Now, I came to think that the label of barbarians should be applied not to those Westerners but to those corrupt, fat-bellied government officials wearing big kats [horsehair hats] and wide head bands who pose as sage-philosophers in our nation” (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 94–95).  KIM KU’S FAITH: After his baptism, Kim Ku became a leader in the Methodists’ youth association, the Epworth League, and spent time with other prominent Christian nationalists at Seoul’s Sang-dong Methodist Church (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 148–49). Kim Ku later sent his son to Sungsil Academy (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 269–70). To the end of his life, Kim wedded his Christian faith with his nationalist goals, writing in a manifesto shortly before the end of his life: “If God asked me what was my wish, I would reply unhesitatingly, ‘My wish is Korean independence.’ If He asked me what was my next wish, I would again answer, ‘Our nation’s independence.’ If He asked me the same question for the third time, I would reply in an even louder voice, ‘My wish is our Great Korean Nation’s Complete Independence’” (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 299). Kim Ku’s nationalist aspirations were so central to his life that some have questioned the motives behind his embrace of Christianity, suggesting that the conversion may have been animated more by political hopes than by genuine religious faith. Scholar Kenneth Wells, for instance, writes that “Kim Ku’s thought reflects no specific Christian inspiration and his position was ‘Christian’ mainly by association. His writings betray an interest in Christianity that derived solely from political expectations” (Wells 1990, 84). In that way, Kim Ku may not have been atypical of other nominally Christian Korean nationalist activists during this period, though many were surely genuine in their beliefs. As Wells sees it, An Ch’ang-ho by comparison was far more earnest in the faith; the orator from Pyongyang “deliberately related his reconstruction program to Christian doctrines,” while Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic convert to Methodism, was even more sincere (Wells 1990, 84).  CONFUCIAN CONVERTS: The other prominent convert to Christianity referenced here, Yi Wŏn-gŭng (李源競 1849–?), was “considered to be Korea’s greatest living Confucian scholar” (Wells 1990, 31). Yi converted during his imprisonment alongside Yi Sang-jae and Syngman Rhee in the late 1890s, under the guidance of American Methodist missionary Dalzell A. Bunker (Yi Chong-ch’un, “Yi Wŏn’gŭng (李源競),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). George T. Ladd, a pro-Japanese American pastor, wrote with elation about how one entire Confucian academy in Pyongyang had agreed to be absorbed into the Methodist school next door in 1907. “When the proposal had been made that the ‘heathen school’ should become Christian, it had been promptly accepted! This was, of course, a way of achieving unity entirely satisfactory to the missionaries. At the time of our visit the wife of the head-master of the Confucian school and the wife of one of the teachers had become earnest and active Bible-women” (Ladd 1908, 93).  BUDDHIST BELIEVERS: The missionaries were also electrified when prominent Buddhists converted to Christianity. In northeastern Korea in 1901, a Buddhist abbot named “Yi Cho-chai” (Yi Cho-jae?) converted to Christianity, donating all his possessions to his new church in Wŏnsan and memorized the entire Bible and catechism (MacRae 1993, 96). The following year in the northwest, Pyongyang missionary Charles F. Bernheisel reveled in a Buddhist monk in northwestern Korea who converted to Christianity—and then turned his centuries-old Buddhist temple into a church. “Now the true God is worshipped where for centuries Buddha has received homage,” he beamed (Bernheisel 2004, 375 (April 21, 1902, diary entry)). Korea’s Buddhists, alarmed by the rapid growth of Christianity during this period, began borrowing techniques from the Christians, for instance penning hymns that were deeply indebted to Christian ones (see Kim Sung-hae, “Encounters between Christianity and New Religions in Korea: A Moderated Discussion,” in Encounters: The New Religions of Korea and Christianity, eds. Kim Sung-hae and James Heisig (Seoul: The Royal Asiatic Society Korea Branch, 2008), 143–68, here 152). “It is odd to enter a Buddhist school and find, as one visitor did, a hundred and fifty children lustily singing: ‘Buddha loves me, this I know’; and to note that the organist is playing the tune from a Christian hymnal,” wrote Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown. “If it be true that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, missionaries have abundant reason to feel flattered” (Brown 1919, 332).
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exulted in the conversions of mudang, or shamanesses, and kisaeng, the infamous dancing girls

NoteMissionary Mary A. Sharrocks, based in the northwestern town of Sŏnch’ŏn, wrote glowingly in 1905 of two of the earliest local converts, both former kisaeng who had received a better education than most Korean women, and whose enthusiasm for studying the Bible had given them a “knowledge of Scripture [that] is rare” (Mrs. A. M. Sharrocks [Sharrocks, Mary A.], “Two Humble Workers,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 1 (November 1905), 9). In Pyongyang, Graham Lee recounted the tale of a former kisaeng who decided to give up her profession to become a Christian, even going so far as to dress up as a boy in order to attend church (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, April 8, 1896, Seoul (179/8/72)). One young Korean Christian, meanwhile, recalls his church celebrating the conversion of a kisaeng, and enlisting a former dancing girl to perform a solo hymn in church (Shin, Tai Kyun [Sin, T’ae-gyun], Korean Odyssey: A Family Divided, United (Princeton Junction, N.J.: PDQ Press, 2009), 29).
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“all his life, but now he knew that they were wicked spirits, and he was serving the true God”

NoteOthers, Bishop wrote in this letter, “told of the numbers who had given up devil worship in their villages” (“Another of God’s Challenges,” Church at Home and Abroad (1896), 317). For other such tales, see Annie L. A. Baird [Baird, Annie Laurie Adams], Daybreak in Korea: A Tale of Transformation in the Far East (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1909), 101; and Shearer 1966, 170. One of Moffett’s most trusted men was a former sorcerer who had by 1895 become “a most earnest Christian and preacher of the gospel” (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)). Lee, identifying the man only by his surname, O, describes how Moffett put O in charge of the missions property outside Pyongyang’s West Gate and, during the cholera outbreak in 1895, had O stay behind in Pyongyang to care for the sick. “The people who had been living in darkness and superstition, who had seen ghosts and demons in every rock and tree, in the murmur of the waves, and in the roar of the thunder, heard the missionaries teach in their villages that the Supreme Power was not an evil spirit trying to injure them but a loving Father whose heart went out to them as His wandering children; and who, if they turned to Him in repentance and faith, would bestow upon them the joy and dignity of a new life,” wrote Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary. “Eagerly the people listened, this time with clearer understanding” (Brown 1919, 509).
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the spiritual capital of a country quickly earning a reputation as a “modern Holy Land”

NoteThe description of Korea as a “modern Holy Land” is from Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 114. Hugh Cynn, a Korean Christian nationalist, used the phrase “spiritual capital” to describe Pyongyang (Cynn 1920, 29). The “Jerusalem of the East” moniker came in many varieties, and was sometimes rendered as the “Jerusalem of Chosŏn” or the “Jerusalem of Korea.” Rev. Syngman Rhee, a second-generation pastor from Pyongyang who is not to be confused with the first South Korean president, recalled Pyongyang being called “the Jerusalem of Korea” during the Japanese colonial period (Syngman Rhee [Yi, Sŭng-man], “A Crack in the Barrier of Silence,” A.D. (Anno Domini) 9, no. 10 (November 1980), 21–23, here 23). One scholar describes Pyongyang as having been known as the “Mecca of Korean Christianity” (Wells, “Place of Religion,” in Pares 2008, 250). Yet another calls it the “Jerusalem of East Asia” (Keum 2002, 1).   THE “JERUSALEM OF KOREA”: The headline of a 1934 article in the East Asia Daily referred to Pyongyang as “the Jerusalem of Chosŏn” (朝鲜의 예루살렘 Kor. Chosŏn ŭi Yerusarrem), describing Christians flocking to Pyongyang for a gathering of the Korean Presbyterian Church, which had put “the entire city of Pyongyang in a festive mood” (“Chosŏn ŭi ‘Yerusalem’ P’yŏngyang e Nohoe, Puinhoe, Kakjong Taehoe Kaech’oe” [Pyongyang, the “Jerusalem” of Chosŏn, Opens Various Grand Conferences for Presbyteries, Women’s Associations], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], September 5, 1934, 2). University of California, Los Angeles historian Ok Sŏng-dŭk, who includes this article in a piece on this most famous nicknames of Pyongyang, says that “the Jerusalem of Chosŏn,” and the inverse phrase “the Chosŏn of Jerusalem,” were used more frequently than the now-oft-used moniker “Jerusalem of the East,” for which he can’t find any evidence of usage before 1945 (Ok Sŏng-dŭk, “ ‘ Chosŏn ŭi Yerusalem P’yŏngyang’ Tamron ŭi Silsang” [The Reality of the ‘Pyongyang, Jerusalem of Chosŏn’ Discourse], Kidokgyo Sasang [Christian Thought] 717 (September 2018), 9–18). Eileen Moffett, the daughter-in-law of Samuel A. Moffett, asserts that Pyongyang was being referred to as “Jerusalem” by 1928 (Eileen F. Moffett, “The Korea Bible Club Movement,” self-published article (May 14, 1991), 2). It should be noted that the “Jerusalem of the East” moniker had also been applied to other cities, chief among them Sŏnch’ŏn, the northwestern Korean city that boasted perhaps the highest proportion of Christians in the country (Sawa, Masahiko, “Haebang ihu Pukhan Chiyŏk ŭi Kidokgyo” [Christianity in Northern Korea After Liberation], Han’guk Kidokgyosa Yŏn’gu [Korean Christian History Research] 17 (December 1987), in Kim Hŭng-su, ed., Haebanghu Pukhan Kyohoesa [A History of the North Korean Church After Liberation] (Seoul: Tasan’gŭlbang, 1992), 13–51, here 13).
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now home to the world’s largest Presbyterian mission station, wrote missionary James Gale

NoteBy 1901, when Harlan Beach, an American missionary who later became the first professor of missions at Yale Divinity School, published A Geography and Atlas of Protestant Mission, he tallied up six thousand principal mission stations around the world, along with more than 22,000 outstations (Mott 1904, 11–12, citing Harlan P. Beach, “A Geography and Atlas of Protestant Missions,” II., 19). Beach’s tally double-counted mission stations in a single city from different mission societies.
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“weeping, singing. The world had gone mad over a religion that the fathers had never heard of”

NoteBefore 1907, the missionary James Gale wrote in the full passage, “this city of Ping yang used to be considered the most hopeless part of Korea. It had been a veritable cage of evil birds from all time. Among spirit-worshipping, idolatrous Koreans Ping yang was the vilest of the vile; and yet now everywhere praying was heard, weeping, singing. The world had gone mad over a religion that the fathers had never heard of” (Gale 1909, 210). Also cited in Eui Whan Kim 1966, 81–82. The claim that Pyongyang was the world’s largest Presbyterian mission station is made by several missionaries, including T. Stanley Soltau (1890–1972), a missionary’s son who spent nearly a quarter century in Korea, between 1914 and 1937, as a missionary in Korea—all of it in the northwest (see Soltau n.d., 10). American church leader George T. B. Davis, sailing to Pyongyang in 1909 to witness the phenomenon for himself, could only exclaim: “In the city of Pyeng Yang one is impressed, as perhaps nowhere else in the East, with the victory of the Cross of Christ in the Orient. As I sat one night upon the platform of Central Church and gazed into the rapt upturned faces of nearly 2000 Korean men packed into the building, as I heard them sing with a lusty vigor that one seldom hears even in Christian lands, and as they listened with reverent attention to the story of the Gospel, I realized as never before the miracle of Missions in Korea” (Davis 1910, 20). In the book he wrote based on this visit, Davis estimated that roughly one-fifth of Pyongyang’s population was Christian—a high proportion, but lower than others’ estimates—accounting for “over 8000 believers in a population of 40,000 Koreans” (Davis 1910, 20). Whatever the numbers, he wrote, “their love for God’s Word, their faith in God, and their passion for souls, are an inspiration to every visitor” (Davis 1910, 38).
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Church, visible from any point in the city and a tangible symbol of the faith’s explosion there

NoteON CHANGDAE HILL: The hill on which the church was situated was called Changdae-jae, or Changdae-hyŏn (章臺峴), giving it one of its Korean language names, Changdae-hyŏn Church (章臺峴教會 Kor. Changdae-hyŏn Kyohoe). The church was also known as P’an-dong Church (板洞教會) or Nŏlda-ri Church (널다리教會), after the neighborhood where it was located (Chin, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae” (2016), 244). Another source describes the church as being located in Pyongyang’s Kwanhu-ri (館後里) (Pak Yong-gyu, P’yŏngyang Nohoe-sa [History of the Pyongyang Presbytery] (Seoul: P’yŏngyang Nohoe, 1990), 267). Samuel Moffett initially called it the East Gate Church in English, denoting its location near Pyongyang’s eastern Taedong Gate (Oak 2011, 662).  HOW IT STARTED: Attaching a formal date to the founding of the church, given its start as a makeshift house church, is slippery. One historian gives the date as February 1893, though Moffett was Seoul at the time and wouldn’t acquire the property until May 1893 (Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 267). Another historian gives the date as January 1894 (see Chu Chŏng-hwa, “Kim Il-sŏng ka ŭi Kidokgyo-jŏk Paegyŏng” [The Christian Background of Kim Il Sung’s Family], Pu-Gyŏng Kyohoe-sa Yŏn’gu [Studies on Pusan and South Kyŏngsan Province Church History] 58 (November 2015), 52–69, here 57, citing 한국기독교역사연구소, “북한교회사” (서울: 한국기독교역사연구소, 1996), p. 643)). ((CHECK THIS))  EVER BIGGER AND YET NEVER BIG ENOUGH: Either way, by October 1895, a year after his return to a devastated Pyongyang, Moffett had already concluded that the house church by the Taedong Gate—really, just a large residence capable of packing in 250 people—was too small, and drew up plans “to throw the porch into the room, to floor what is now the kitchen thus joining the two wings of the building so as to place the pulpit at their junction” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1895 (PHS)). But no sooner had those renovations been completed than Moffett concluded that they needed more space for everyone showing up on Sundays. The space was by then already “leaving no room for others,” he wrote (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 21, 1896, Pyeng Yang). By September 1896, the church had expanded several more times to accommodate five hundred people (Moffett letter to Haslup, June 29, 1896; and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, July 20, 1896, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/77)). Thus, writes the church historian Roy Shearer, “the Pyongyang city church was growing so fast that in the one year—1896—the church building had to be enlarged three times” (Shearer 1966, 119). Still, the church was packed as inquirers kept showing up. On Sundays, Graham Lee wrote, “the room is packed. We have just finished enlarging the church and now the enlarged building bids fair to be too small” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, July 1, 1896, Pyeng Yang (179/8/80)). More than 150 people were turning up for Wednesday evening prayer meetings, and the two Sunday morning Bible studies were each drawing more than 150 people apiece (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 20, 1896, Pyeng Yang). “From present appearances we shall soon be over-crowded,” Moffett lamented in September 1896 (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, September 22, 1896, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/76)). The following month, Moffett wrote of the church by Pyongyang Taedong Gate: “The catechumens became so numerous that we were puzzled as to how to provide for their proper oversight and instruction” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1896 (PHS)). Moffett also recounts the expansion of the church in Davis 1910, 26.  TO CHANGDAE HILL: With further expansion now impossible in the original building, the missionaries purchased a new site, on a hill on “the highest point in the heart of the city,” recalls Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, a Korean Christian who recalled attending the church’s inaugural Sunday worship as a young boy. “Honestly, it was the biggest modern building of that kind I had ever seen in my life” (Charr 1996, 91). By building the church on the hill in the center of town, Moffett ensured the church would be “the most notable building” in Pyongyang, visible “from any point in the city” (Harry C. Whiting letter to Forward Movement Secretary, June 10, 1905, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/235/92)). A similar description of the church portrays it as being situated “on a hill in the midst of the city which is visible for many miles in several directions as the traveller approaches the city.” The quote appears in an anonymous tribute to Samuel Moffett on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his arrival in Korea, by a friend who arrived in 1900 (A. Friend, “Honor to Whom Honor Is Due,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 4 (April 1915), 98–99, here 98).  MORAL HIGH GROUND: Moffett was hardly alone in selecting a hill on which to construct the church. In Seoul, the Catholics had chosen one of the highest hilltops in the center of the capital for their cathedral, acquiring the land through local agents unbeknownst to the king—and infuriating the throne (Lillias Underwood 1904, 13). The Catholics’ decision to choose a hilltop also attracted ridicule from the Protestants. Horace Underwood, the Presbyterians’ unofficial leader in the Korean capital, mocked “the Romanists, with their well-known love of chief seats and high places,” for angering the local authorities with this decision (Lillias Underwood 1904, 13). Of course, the Presbyterians would do exactly the same thing, coming to occupy many of these prominent places, particularly in Pyongyang. Indeed, Moffett made a point of buying land on hills around the city, which were barren, uninhabited, and cheap, where he could build churches. “There was nothing more to ask of in terms of its location. This was how great Pastor Moffett’s foresight was,” Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, later a prominent pastor in South Korea, recalled (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 61). In the northeastern city of Hamhŭng, the Canadian Presbyterian missionaries did the same, erecting a large church made of pine and capable of seating a thousand congregants, on a hilltop that had long been associated by the locals with evil spirits (MacRae 1993, 138).
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“The building was packed to the doors, every available inch of space being occupied”

Note“The building was packed to the doors, every available inch of space being occupied,” Graham Lee wrote the following day, in the same letter to Frank Ellinwood. “Once or twice I nearly tramped on people and once dropped some of the bread trying to keep my own balance as I worked my way down among them” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, April 22, 1901, Pyeng Yang (PHS 280/231 (part 2)/53)). See also Bernheisel 2004, 334 (April 29, 1901, diary entry).  AN UPHILL BATTLE: As triumphant as Lee felt, he feared, correctly, that the latest attempt to get ahead of the swelling numbers of parishioners would prove short-lived. “If the congregation keeps on growing as it has done in the last few months it will not be long until we are again crowded for room,” Lee wrote his parents in a separate letter. “Every Sunday now the church is packed to the doors and many can’t get in. We must hurry and get the addition finished so that we can have a place to seat the people that want to come” (Graham Lee letter to Father & Mother, April 14, 1901, Pyengyang, extra section of the letter dated April 21, 1901 (MKC)). Samuel Moffett, writing early in 1902, was coming to that very same realization, having already had to get creative trying to squeeze everyone into the new space. “We built our big city church none too soon for the ordinary congregation nearly always fills it and with the class in session it is packed and crowded. Last Sabbath we had to put the boys on the women’s side, fill the pulpit platform with men and seat the people just as close as they could get together—all on the floor,” he wrote (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 13, 1902, Pyengyang (PHS 280/232/7)). By 1910, Moffett and Lee had added another wing to the church, roughly doubling the church’s capacity to fit about 1,500, from its original capacity of 800 (Davis 1910, 26). Central Presbyterian Church eventually grew to seat 1,800 people.   CARPENTER IN CHIEF: Graham Lee had a greater interest in the physical expansion of the churches than his fellow missionaries, for he also served as the Pyongyang mission’s de facto architect and carpenter. In addition to the new Central Presbyterian Church, Lee also oversaw no fewer than six other construction projections in 1900 and 1901 alone, thus granting Lee “a significant impact on the local built environment of Pyongyang,” in the words of Nate Kornegay, a diligent historian of early modern Korean architecture. Kornegay describes Lee as “the designer of some of the most noteworthy examples of modified Joseon architecture in early modern Korea,” despite working “with no known formal training and without letting any contracts” (Kornegay, “Modifying Joseon Architecture,” Colonial Korea (2019), citing Graham letter to parents, May 27, 1900 (MKC)). Lee appeared to handle the extra duties with grace and humor. One Presbyterian colleague described Lee as the Pyongyang mission’s good-natured “mechanical and musical genius and also always has on tap a fund of pleasantry” (Whiting letter to Forward Movement Secretary, June 10, 1905). The result is that, despite his lack of formal training, Lee left behind a distinctive flavor of architecture that Kornegay calls “modified Chosŏn”—a style that arose almost by accident from the missionaries’ impromptu renovations of Korean buildings for church expansions, blending Korean and Western architectural elements (Kornegay, “Modifying Joseon Architecture,” Colonial Korea (2019)). For a study of one Chinese immigrant to Korea who played a role in the construction of Seoul’s Saemun’an Church, Yonsei University, and YMCA, see Nate Kornegay, “The Life and Times of Harry Chang: Builders in Early Modern Korea (1880s–1910s),” Colonial Korea: Early Modern Architecture in Korea blog, November 4, 2019.
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“the soil like the mushrooms in the balmy springtime,” in the words of one Pyongyang Christian

NoteAs they ran out of room at Central Presbyterian Church, Moffett and Lee continued to snap up land where new churches could be built. It helped that real estate prices in Pyongyang remained undervalued after the devastating war. In April 1896, Graham Lee had personally plunked down $73 for “a splendid Korean house,” hoping to later get paid back for it from the missions board. “Property is very cheap in Pyeng Yang just now but before long it is going to go up in price so I thought best to buy this house and hold it,” he explained (Lee to Ellinwood, April 8, 1896).
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Presbyterian Church, just outside the city’s South Gate, to be overseen by Rev. William Swallen

NoteSOUTH GATE CHURCH: The church was known colloquially among the missionaries as “South Gate Church” (南門外教會 Kor. Nammun-oe Kyohoe), because of its location near the city’s South Gate. However, its precise location remains unclear. Some contemporary sources have placed the church’s site at the current location of Kim Il Sung Square, which would put it north of the South Gate—and thus, presumably, “inside” the gate, rather than “outside” the gate, as is implied by the Korean name of the church (literally, “Outside-the-South Gate Church”). Missionary correspondence from the period also suggests that the church was situated south of the South Gate. One unnamed missionary, writing in the Presbyterian missions station in Pyongyang’s annual report for 1904, describes the church as having been established in the “Middle City” (中城 Kor. Chungsŏng), a village of about three hundred houses situated between the city walls and the so-called “Outer City” (外城 Kor. Oesŏng), where the Japanese were establishing a new settlement around the planned railway station, on the site where Kija, the legendary ancient sage, had first set down roots (“From Annual Report of Pyengyang Station, September 1904,” from The Korea Field (May 1905), as cited in the Moffett Korea Collection).   A CHURCH WITH NO PERMANENT HOME: The church started out with 150 Christians under the leadership of the missionaries William Swallen and William Blair (“From Annual Report of Pyengyang Station, September 1904” (MKC)). Naturally, the congregants were drawn from Korean converts living in the south of the city. But without a suitable building there, the new congregation, carved out from Central Presbyterian Church, met in Moffett’s original chapel by Pyongyang’s eastern Taedong Gate for four months. Moffett had originally moved to sell the original church by the Taedong Gate—what he called the East Gate Church—following the construction of the Central Presbyterian Church at Changdae-hyŏn in April 1901. “Now that this year we have built the new church building in the center of the city the old property has served its purpose. It is also now rapidly being surrounded by Japanese who are moving into that section of the city, so that we do not wish to keep it even for a subsidiary plant,” Moffett explained at the time, evincing no sentimentality about a building he had first bought in 1893 as the first permanent Presbyterian church building in the city (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 31, 1901, Pyengyang (PHS 280/231/20)). Evidently, Moffett didn’t sell the building. After using it as a temporary home for the congregation of what become Second Presbyterian Church, he then used it again later as Fourth Presbyterian Church was being built (Pak Yong-gyu, P’yŏngyang Sanjŏng-hyŏn Kyohoe [Pyongyang Sanjŏng-hyŏn Church] (Seoul: Saengmyŏng ŭi Malssŭm-sa, 2006), 45).  A CHURCH ON THE CHEAP: After the chaos of the Russo-Japanese War, the missionaries saw another opportunity to snap up property on the cheap, as they had done a decade earlier during the turmoil of the Sino-Japanese War, and bought the land for the Second Presbyterian Church by the South Gate in the spring of 1904, shortly after the Japanese had swept the Russians off the Korean peninsula. “We can obtain now what we may not be able to secure again, or if obtainable what will cost several times as much,” Moffett urged the missions board in New York. “The Japanese are already buying up houses and land around Pyengyang and will soon shut us out of the most desirable sites everywhere” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, May 12, 1904, Pyengyang (PHS 280/234/67)). Graham Lee was put in charge of constructing a Korean-style building on the newly purchased site, smaller than the Central Church but capable of seating as many as four hundred people, with the possibility for later expansion (“From Annual Report of Pyengyang Station, September 1904” (MKC)).  AN ”OUTER CITY” CHURCH: The missionaries also operated a chapel in the “Outer City,” in the southern suburbs of Pyongyang, now the site of the city’s main railway station. In 1900, William Baird describes making regular visits to a congregation in the “Outer City,” “about one mile out of town”; that year, the believers, deciding that the private house they were meeting in was insufficient, pooled together seven hundred yen to build a chapel (“Evangelistic and Personal Report for 1900–01: W. M. Baird, Pyeng Yang, Korea,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 331–32). Moffett, in a March 1905 letter, also describes Revs. Charles Bernheisel and Harry Whiting starting services at the “Outer City” chapel in a bid “to relieve the congestion at the South Gate” (Moffett letter to Brown, March 9, 1905). In addition to these congregations beyond Pyongyang’s South Gate, one Pyongyang convert from this period describes a “First Presbyterian Church”—apparently distinct from the Central Presbyterian Church and the home church of Graham Lee—which was built on Saloon Alley (술幕골 Kor. Sulmak-gol) (“Sool-Mak-Gol”) (Charr 1996, 58, 66).
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the problem. “Even before we finish the second building we need a third,” Moffett wrote 

NoteIn his annual report in September 1905, Moffett stated the “evident…necessity for a third church building” (S. A. Moffett [Moffett, Samuel A.], “Pyeng Yang Central Church, from Personal Report of Dr. S. A. Moffett, September 1905,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 1 (November 1905), 8–9).
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been completed on the north side of Pyongyang in December 1905 than another was required

NoteThird Presbyterian Church, known variously as Sach’ang-gol Church (社倉谷教會 Kor. Sach’ang-gol Kyohoe), Ch’angch’ŏn-ri Church, or Ch’ang-dong Church (倉洞教會 Kor. Ch’ang-dong Kyohoe), was opened in the northern part of the city in December 1905, led by Rev. William N. Blair (Pak Yong-gyu 2006, 45; and Jaekeun Lee 2010, 58, n. 101). The Pyongyang missionaries had staked out the site in the northern part of the city by the fall of 1905 (Samuel A. Moffett, “Personal Report 1904–05,” late September 1905, Pyengyang (MKC)).   FROM ONE GENERATION TO THE NEXT: Rev. Blair, who had only recently been dispatched to start the second church with William Swallen, was close to graduation at McCormick Theological Seminary in 1901 when Rev. Swallen—a McCormick graduate who had graduated from McCormick nearly a decade earlier in 1892 and arrived in Korea as a missionary that same year—returned home on furlough to try and convince other McCormick graduates to give their lives to Korea. On a Monday evening in Chicago, Blair later recalled, he watched Rev. Swallen “plead as a man pleads for his life for some of us to go out and help take Korea for Christ.” Later that very same year, on September 12, 1901, Blair arrived in Seoul, sailing from San Francisco with five other Presbyterian missionaries aboard a Japanese ship called the America Maru; he would spend the next four decades of his life in Korea (Blair 1957, 4, 19–20).
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F. Bernheisel, an Indiana native and graduate of Hanover College and McCormick Seminary

NoteFourth Presbyterian Church, better known in Korean as Sanjŏng-hyŏn Church (山亭峴教會 Kor. Sanjŏng-hyŏn Kyohoe), was inaugurated on January 26, 1906. Like Second Presbyterian Church, it first occupied the old East Gate Church before relocating to southwest Pyongyang’s Sanjŏng-hyŏn neighborhood (Bernheisel 2004, 557–59 (January 11 to 25, 1906, diary entries); Pak Yong-gyu 2006, 45, 47; and Jaekeun Lee 2010, 58, n. 101). Pak Yong-gyu, a contemporary scholar, delineates the geographical coverage for the church as covering the area bounded by Yukno-ri (陆路里) and Namsan-hyŏn (南山峴) to the south, Sŏmun-ga (西門街) and Changbyŏlch’ŏng-ro (將別廳路) to the west, and Sungryŏng-jŏn (崇嶺殿) and Tang-dong (糖洞) to the north (Pak Yong-gyu 2006, 50). Fourth Presbyterian Church would fall under the pastoral care of Rev. Charles F. Bernheisel (1874–1958), a native of Jeffersonville, Indiana, just forty miles downstream on the Ohio River from Moffett’s hometown (“Dr. Moffett and Other Hanover College Men Accused of Anti-Japanese Conspiracy in Korea,” Madison Courier, July 24, 1912 (MKC)). Jeffersonville’s Presbyterian church, founded in 1816, was one of the first in the county (Lewis Baird 1909, 260). Like Moffett, Bernheisel was a graduate of Hanover College (class of 1896) and McCormick Seminary (class of 1900) (General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary 1912, 148). Like his fellow Hoosiers Moffett and Baird, Bernheisel attended Hanover College and McCormick Seminary, graduating from McCormick in 1900 and departing from San Francisco for Korea later that year on September 15, 1900 (Ewy 2008, 58).  FOUR CHURCHES, THRIVING: With the opening of Fourth Presbyterian Church around the Lunar New Year in January 1906, Moffett could count four Presbyterian and two Methodist churches in Pyongyang (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 31, 1906, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/236/23); and Pak Yong-gyu 2006, 53). The new Fourth Presbyterian Church building, costing $1,100, was completed in time for its first service on September 1, 1907 (“Extracts from the Report of the Korea Mission of the Northern Presbyterian Church,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 9 (September 1908), 133–37, here 137). When Moffett returned in the fall of 1907 from his yearlong furlough in America, he found Pyongyang’s four Presbyterian churches bursting at the seams: the Central Presbyterian Church packing in roughly a thousand or more in separate Sunday morning and afternoon services; Second Presbyterian Church at the South Gate, newly completed and capable of seating 750; Third Presbyterian Church in the north seating another 450 people; and the new “Fourth Church” able to accommodate eight hundred. “All four of the churches have commanding sites and so located as to touch the entire city. One more church to the West is now needed to relieve the congestion at the Central Church and then what we shall do when all five of the churches are crowded we do not as yet know,” Moffett wrote (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, November 1, 1907, Pyengyang (PHS 281/237/163)).
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a few more years, the Presbyterians had seven churches in the city, all crowded to overflowing

NoteSEVEN CHURCHES, THRIVING: By 1911, there were seven Presbyterian churches in the city, boasting some four thousand congregants, in a city with a population that some sources give as being between 40,000 and 50,000 people (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Fatherdy [Fish, Charles H.], October 19, 1911, Pyengyang (MKC); and Annie Baird 1913, 87). “Church buildings are within a stone’s throw of each other and yet they are crowded,” the missionary editors of the Korea Mission Field wrote in October 1907, describing a city that was “rapidly becoming Christian” (“Field Notes,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 10 (October 1907), 148–50, here 148). Naturally, Central Presbyterian Church, as the oldest, served as “the mother church of Pyongyang,” as one later historian put it (Chin, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae” (2016), 246).  PYONGYANG’S POPULATION: While population figures for Pyongyang varied during this period, as before, most estimates put the number at around fifty thousand. By 1905, Pyongyang boasted a population of around fifty thousand people (Whiting letter to Forward Movement Secretary, June 10, 1905; and Follwell, “Hall Memorial Hospital,” Korea Mission Field (1905), 5). In 1908, Horace Underwood described Pyongyang as being the country’s fourth city with fifty thousand people, behind Seoul, Kaesŏng, and Taegu (Horace Underwood 1908, 41–42).   FIFTH PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH: Fifth Presbyterian Church, referred to most commonly by the missionaries as West Gate Church (西門外教會 Kor. Sŏ’mun-oe Kyohoe), was located on the grounds of the Presbyterian missions compound, just to the north of the Chŏnghae Gate (靜海門 Kor. Chŏnghae-mun), often dubbed the “West Gate,” and was ministered to by Samuel Moffett, who juggled the duties alongside those of the Central Presbyterian Church (Chin, “Sŏn’gyo Hwakdae” (2016), 246; Jaekeun Lee 2010, 54; and Clark 2003, 123). To purchase the parcel of land, Samuel Moffett requested another $500 from New York in November 1911 to seal the real-estate deal (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, November 20, 1911, Pyengyang (MKC)).   MORE AND MORE CHURCHES: By the beginning of 1913, Second Presbyterian Church, founded in the fall of 1903, had spun off two more congregations of its own, even as the Japanese bought up more and more land around the church. “Our church is surrounded by the Japanese,” wrote missionary Sallie Swallen (Sallie W. Swallen letter to Friends, January 22, 1913, Pyong Yang (MKC)). In 1914, there were new churches springing up in a new suburb outside the West Gate, and a new Sunday school started in the original property by the Taedong Gate, while the Central Presbyterian Church, under the leadership of Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, had been expanded to seat more than two thousand (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, November 20, 1914, Pyengyang (MKC)).
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up on Pyongyang’s main thoroughfare became a bustling gathering place for curious passersby

NoteIn 1896—just months after the city’s destruction—Moffett and Lee had set up a Christian bookstore on the main street in Pyongyang, establishing a center of evangelism in Korea’s most wicked city and serving as a distribution center for large quantities of books and pamphlets into Pyongyang and the surrounding area (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1896 (PHS)). By 1914, the bookstore’s large upper room had become a venue for evangelism, with men stationed in the streets to invite passersby upstairs for “what is in effect a Sunday afternoon Bible class for men with about sixty regular attendants, and new ones coming in constantly,” in the words of the Pyongyang Presbyterian James G. Holdcroft (J. G. Holdcroft [Holdcroft, J. Gordon], “The Sunday School as an Evangelistic Agency,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 4 (April 1914), 97–99, here 98). For a striking photograph of the Christian bookstore (耶穌教書院 Kor. Yesu-gyo Sŏwŏn), see Kornegay, “Modifying Joseon Architecture,” Colonial Korea (2019)).
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“reading room, class rooms, etc.,—a work shop for Christian activity,” in Moffett’s words

NoteAccording to Moffett’s contemporaneous correspondence, the Pyongyang missionaries held the opening ceremony for the YMCA building on New Year’s Day 1906. The two-story building, forty feet by eighteen feet, featured one grand upper floor that could serve as library, lecture room, and prayer meeting room, while the ground floor was occupied by a book room, offices, and storerooms. The opening of the YMCA building appears to have been supported financially by Moffett’s father-in-law, along with his own mother and brother, Howard. The opening ceremony for the YMCA building was attended by the Japanese consul, who made a speech and presented a gift of twenty yen for the library (Moffett letter to Brown, January 31, 1906; and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Father Fish [Fish, Charles H.], February 22, 1906, Pyengyang (MKC)). “We started out with rather hazy ideas that a library building in the center of the city with an evangelist in charge would prove a powerful evangelistic agency,” Pyongyang missionary William Blair later recalled. The building had, by October 1906, become a meeting place for the three Presbyterian churches then open in Pyongyang, presided over by Chŏng Ik-ro, an attorney and an elder at Central Presbyterian Church (W. N. Blair [Blair, William N.], “A Public Library in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 12 (October 1906), 234). Some sources suggest that the YMCA itself didn’t open its Pyongyang branch until 1921 (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 134).
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centered around a large church with a belfry, “which can be seen as well as heard from afar”

NoteCITY ON A HILL: The Methodist compound was situated outside—that is, to the south of—the West Gate, situated on a hill and occupying more than four acres of land, with Korean-style residences and Western-style school buildings and churches. “It can be truly said they command the heights” (“City of Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 151–52; and E. M. Cable [Cable, Elmer M.], “The Methodist Theological Seminary,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 4 (April 1913), 100–2, here 101). When the missionaries began worrying in 1904 about an eruption of anti-foreign sentiment—the Tonghaks were still in force, and the Boxer Rebellion had only recently swept across northern China—one Methodist missionary family could take comfort in the fact that “our home was situated on a hill with a large clear space in front, so we were in a good position to spot any approaching intruders. We could have withstood a siege for some time” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 206).  THE HALLS AND THE HOSPITALS: The Methodists’ compound featured several pioneering medical institutions, many of them set up by medical missionary Rosetta Sherwood Hall, the widow of W. James Hall. They included the Hall Memorial Dispensary and Hospital, which was “situated just outside the large west gate…on high ground, and faces one of the prominent streets of the city” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 411). Pyongyang’s first two-story building, a children’s ward named the Edith Margaret Memorial Wing, in memory of the Halls’ infant daughter, was erected in 1898, accompanied by a women’s dispensary that the city’s governor named the “Women’s Dispensary of Extended Grace” (廣惠院 Kor. Kwanghye-wŏn) (Sherwood Hall 1978, 181–83). The dispensary was located “inside of and adjoining the west gate, on high ground, and but seven minutes walk from the commercial center of the city which in Pyeng Yang as in Seoul is marked by the Big Bell” (“The Hall Memorial Dispensary,” Korean Repository 3 (May 1896), 213–14; and Rosetta Hall 1897, 409–11). Another source says the Hall Memorial Dispensary was completed in February 1897 and, two years later, a small building was opened as the hospital, according to E. Douglas Follwell, who replaced Hall as the Northern Methodists’ medical missionary in Pyongyang in April 1896 (Follwell, “Hall Memorial Hospital,” Korea Mission Field (1905), 5). When Rosetta Hall expanded the hospital in 1903 “with staircases and galvanized iron roof and brick chimneys,” her son later recalled, “these features were still a curiosity to the Korean residents of Pyong Yang and people came for miles to see the kind of structures the Western barbarians had designed” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 205). Work on a new hospital for women began in May 1908, again under the auspices of Rosetta Hall (“Cornerstone Laying, Woman’s Hospital, Pyongyang,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 7 (July 1908), 103). The Methodists’ growth in Pyongyang paled in comparison to that of the Presbyterians, though as one historian of Korea missions work later put it: “Presbyterians said, ‘Our method caused us to grow.’ Methodists rejoined, ‘We may not have grown fast, but we have the quality’” (Shearer 1966, 164).
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Presbyterian missionary compound, situated outside Pyongyang’s West Gate to the northwest

NoteThe Presbyterian compound sat to the north of the West Gate (Chŏnghae-mun), and within the Pot’ong Gate in the city’s northwest, in a neighborhood called Sinyang-ri (新陽里). At least one source incorrectly places the Presbyterian missions compound outside—that is, to the northwest—of the Pot’ong Gate (Clark 2003, 122). In 1907, the city’s Presbyterians and Methodists bought a strip of land outside the city wall to physically link the two compounds (McCune and Thompson 2009, 260).
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grounds, and Western-style residences for roughly a hundred missionaries and their families

NoteThe list of Christian institutions on the Presbyterian compound comes from several sources, including Han Kyŏng-jik, one of the most prominent Christian leaders in twentieth-century South Korea, who attended Sungsil Academy in the 1920s (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 54–55; Donald N. Clark, Christianity in Modern Korea (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1986), 7; and Donald N. Clark, “‘Surely God Will Work Out Their Salvation’: Protestant Missionaries in the March First Movement,” Korean Studies 13 (1989), 42–75, here 44–45).The missionaries were so proud of the scale of their efforts that they had a handdrawn map, done up by Evelyn Becker McCune, published on the back of their official stationery, showing off what they called the largest mission station in the world (Robert S. Kim, “A Tour of Union Christian College of Pyongyang,” American Pyongyang blog, January 31, 2018; Clark 2003, 125). Much of this construction was funded by Nettie McCormick, widow of Cyrus McCormick, the conservative Presbyterian whose namesake seminary in Chicago had produced Moffett, Baird and so many others among the Pyongyang Presbyterian missionaries during this period (Blair 1957, 86).  THE HOSPITALS: The hospital and dispensary, which were among the first buildings erected on the compound by Samuel Moffett, had been dubbed—“without his knowledge”—the “Moffett Hospital and Dispensary,” the Presbyterian medical missionary J. Hunter Wells wrote in 1897 (Wells, “Pyeng Yang,” Korean Repository (1897), 58). The hospital came to include the participation of the Methodists and was renamed the Union Christian Hospital (Clark 2003, 123). A Presbyterian women’s hospital, the Caroline A. Ladd Hospital, saw thousands of patients each year—13,094 individuals between October 1907 and October 1908, to give one sample year, according to medical missionary J. Hunter Wells (“Medical Work, Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 10 (October 1908), 154–55).  THE SCHOOLS: The cornerstone for Presbyterian Theological Seminary was laid in May 1908 (“News Notes,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 5 (May 1908), 71–72, here 71). The seminary would soon to grow to become the largest Presbyterian seminary in the world, with more than two hundred students (Goforth 1984, 20). A new school building for Pyeng Yang Foreign School, founded by William Baird to educate missionary children, was opened on the Presbyterian missions compound in 1907 (“Field Notes,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 149). The school had its genesis in June 1900, when Sherwood Hall, the son of W. James and Rosetta Sherwood Hall, and the children of William Swallen, were approaching school age. At the time, the nearest school for missionary children was in China’s Shandong Province, across the Yellow Sea from the Korean peninsula. William Baird, whose own children were nearing school age, found a teacher for the school during his furlough in America—an eighteen-year-old teacher named Louise O’Gilvy (Sherwood Hall 1978, 194–95; and Clark 2003, 73). Pyeng Yang Foreign School would grow to become the foremost academic institution for missionary children from across the region, the most famous of whom was Ruth Bell, who later married Billy Graham. More broadly, across the city, a February 1906 report in the Korea Mission Field tallied up forty-four primary schools for boys and another eight for girls in Pyongyang, and 102 students enrolled at Sungsil Academy (“Figures That Speak,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 69).
p.79

where “a person could be found, saved, healed, educated, ordained, married, and buried”

NoteClark 2003, 122–24. The “found, saved…married, and buried” line is from Martin and Bach 2013, 44–45. The missionary who describes the compound as a “beehive,” Alice M. Butts, had only just recently arrived in Pyongyang to begin her missionary career.  “TEEMED WITH ENERGY”: “Each day, hundreds of people, foreigners and Koreans, worked and studied in the various mission buildings,” writes historian Donald Clark, a descendant of missionaries to Korea, whose grandfather Charles A. Clark served in Pyongyang’s Presbyterian mission for two decades and lived on the compound. “All year long, P’yŏngyang station teemed with energy…For the missionaries, life revolved around ‘the Work,’ and everyone in sight was somehow related to it, whether as co-workers, servants, and employees, or potential converts” (Clark 2003, 124). To get a sense of the number of students flowing into the compound every day, Clark writes elsewhere, the Women’s Bible Institute hosted 150 students, the Women’s Higher Bible School another fifty, the Women’s Industrial School a hundred students, the Primary and High School for Missionary Children another hundred students, the Girls’ Academy 280 students, the Boys’ Academy 570 students, the Presbyterian Theological Seminary 120 students, and the Union Christian Men’s College 150 students (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 45).   AWE AND ENVY: Pae Min-su, a Christian leader who will play a key role in the coming pages, recalls being awed by the size of the Presbyterian presence—“including the schools and Churches, the whole section of 15-20 blocks are a Christian compound” (Pai 2002, 102). The city’s Catholic missionaries, meanwhile, could only look on in awe, and undisguised jealousy. The Maryknoll Mission in Pyongyang sat on one lone acre of land, with a mud-walled convent and a few mud and brick school buildings, “a Spartan operation compared with the Presbyterian compound a mile across the valley” (Clark 2003, 137–38; and Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 248). In the words of one Maryknoller, the Presbyterian compound was “a vast oasis of green in a desert of tile roofs, with splendid churches, schools, and colleges” (as quoted in Clark 2003, 138, n. 24; and Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 248).
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with “big beautiful houses over there with glass windows dazzling in the morning sun”

NoteCh’a Ŭi-sŏk, a young Korean who grew up in a small village nearby, recalled traveling to Pyongyang and catching his first glimpse of the Western-style buildings of the missionary compound, which he referred to as the “Yanggwan” (洋館)—literally, “the Western buildings.” “They were like fairyland palaces looking so grand and elegant, peacefully quiet and comfortable,” he recalled. “Glass windows! That sounded odd to me. ‘Through the glass windows everybody can look into the house, can’t they? And I would be afraid of thieves’” (Charr 1996, 64–65). Indeed, the compound possessed what one visiting missionary called “a peculiar and grotesque beauty all its own,” with Western missionaries’ houses built in the Korean style (“City of Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 150–51).  AMERICAN VILLAGE: It’s hard to know how much of the admiration was simply admiration for America. Sadie N. Welbon, a Northern Presbyterian missionary, writing of a trip to Pyongyang in the fall of 1900, described “what an inspiration it was to see…the dear old Stars and Stripes flying from mission homes and hospital” (Ewy 2008, 99, quoting Nourse letter to Friends, October 9, 1900). For many Korean converts, the church properties almost seemed to be nations of their own. “Koreans began to perceive church compounds as quasi-extraterritorial, wherein one might seek asylum to protect life and property. Christian missionaries took this opportunity to draw in new adherents. Hence, churches hoisted the Star-Spangled Banner in front of their buildings as a symbol of their potency” (Minjung Noh [Ro, Min-jŏng], “The Role of Newspapers in the Early Korean Protestant Community: An Analysis of The Korean Christian Advocate and The Christian News,” Journal of Korean Religions 8, no. 2 (October 2017), 33–60, here 45).
p.80

“the new religious life” sweeping across Korea, in the words of one Japanese newspaperman

NoteThe Japanese editor of The Seoul Press, who isn’t named, wrote after visiting the city in 1907: “As his railway train approaches the city, the first objects that catch his eyes are a cluster of buildings, some in foreign style, others in half foreign and half Korean style, which crown the hilltops and constitute the most conspicuous feature of the magnificent landscape that developes [sic] itself before his eyes. His wonder increases still more, as the visitor inquires into the result of the great missionary activity of which these buildings are outward manifestations. How great the success has been may be imagined, when it is computed by a very competent authority that fully one-third of the entire Korean population of the city (roughly estimated at between 40,000 and 50,000) are professing Christians” (as quoted in Ladd 1908, 94). The Seoul Press was the official English-language newspaper of the Japanese colonial authorities, published between 1907 and 1937. George Ladd, an American scholar, minister, and proponent of Japanese rule in Korea, estimated that, given the numbers of Christians in Pyongang, and, “considering also the fact that each service was stretched out to the minimum length of two hours, there was probably no place in the United States that could compete with Pyeng-yang for its percentage of churchgoers on that day” (Ladd 1908, 96).
p.80

“you can shut your eyes and almost imagine you are standing on Brooklyn Bridge at 10 A.M.”

NoteREMINDERS OF HOME: The full quote from Rev. Charles L. Phillips, a longtime Presbyterian colleague of Moffett and Baird in Pyongyang: “The church bells ring on Sunday morning till you can shut your eyes and almost imagine you are standing on Brooklyn Bridge at 10 A.M.” (C. L. Phillips [Phillips, Charles L.], “A Station Letter, from Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 8 (August 1919), 170–73, here 170). A similar remark was made by Rev. John N. Mills, a frequent visitor to Korea, who described how “a recent Sunday spent in Seoul, a city of nearly 300,000 inhabitants, almost made me feel that I was in America. The six or seven churches which I visited, of the twenty or more in the city, were well filled, some of them with congregations of 500 or more” (John Nelson Mills [Mills, John N.], “The Cause of Changes in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World 45, no. 2 (February 1922), 115–18, here 116). The Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller, standing on his front porch in Seoul on a Sunday morning in 1901, describes the auditory experience of the religious shift in the Korean capital: “From the east came the sweet tones of the cathedral bells calling Catholics to their mass; from the north the chimes at the Russian Legation called ‘devout Greeks’ to their service; from the hill opposite the house came the sounds of the bell calling the Methodists of First Church to their devotion. Thus, in this city where, when we first came, there were no cathedrals, temples or churches, now there are numerous places to which Koreans can go and worship the Lord their God” (Appenzeller 1902, 34).   “THRILLING TO HEAR”: The chimes of the church bell became a vivid motif for many Korean Christians. One young Korean Christian who had moved to Pyongyang and attended Sungsil Academy in the late 1890s came to associate the sound of the bell with a flood of childhood memories in the Jerusalem of the East: “At the sweet sound of that big bell, donated by someone in the United States, whose name I have forgotten, that Sunday afternoon, people from far and wide came pouring into that new church of ours” (Charr 1996, 91). “It was thrilling to hear about 35 bells ringing on Sundays,” added another Korean Christian then living in Pyongyang (Pai 2002, 102). A third Christian convert, growing up in a village in Hwanghae province in the 1930s, reminisced fondly decades later about “the bell which called us to worship” (Awe and Webster 1965, 16). The bell took on a special meaning during the annual Bible study sessions. At the women’s class in Sŏnch’ŏn, a thriving center of Christendom in northwestern Korea, the “subdued roar” of 1,300 women packed into the Presbyterian church “instantly…ceased” as a bell from the pulpit signaled the beginning of the lesson, and “every face was turned with eager anticipation toward the platform,” the Northern Presbyterian missionary Susan D. Miller wrote in 1911. “In the lives of these women this class is the one great event of the year, the one thing talked of, thought about, and planned for from one year to the next” (“Notes from the Stations,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 6 (June 1911), 157–167, here 161–62). In the Korean countryside, the church bells served, as in medieval European villages, as the main marker of time (Murray 1975, 88; and Huntley 1984, 123). Among the Korean churches in Manchuria, the ringing of a church bell—even on a Monday evening—could summon dozens of Korean believers for an impromptu worship service. The missionary Hugh Miller, on a visit to Manchuria in 1918 with his colleague T. Stanley Soltau, described the scene: “At another place we arrived late in the evening but one of the Christians asked if they could have a service. Mr. Soltau said if they wanted one he would preach. The church had a bell and it was rung. In a short time 80 people gathered together although it was a Monday night and the people were working from sunrise to sunset of a May day in the fields” (Miller, “Visit to West Kando,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 229).  PEALS OF PYONGYANG: The missionaries were fastidious about their church bells, which were seen as indispensable by Moffett, Baird, and their peers. At William Baird’s childhood church in Charlestown, Indiana, where “the sweet, silvery tones” of the tolling church bell could be heard across the Ohio River in Kentucky, the bell was extolled as a symbol of the civic role that the faith represented: “A church is incomplete without a bell. Beauty and harmony demand that a church should have a bell to complete its architectural character. A church with one calls attention to the time and place of public worship, that all may have due notice and be impressed to respond to the call of duty. It marks the hour set apart for prayer; it invites the stranger to the house of God; it reminds the careless that it is God’s holy day; and the tardy to a sense of duty to be more prompt in attendance, and thus avoid interrupting the service, while many a stranger is carried by memory back to home associations by its tones…When the bell was rung, as it was brought into the town, it excited so much interest and curiosity that many of the people gathered in the street to see it. The sweet, silvery tones of this bell could be heard clearly several miles, and across the river in Kentucky, where many of the members of the church at that period lived” (Katie T. Bently, “Old Church Bell,” in A History of the Presbyterian Church, Charlestown, Indiana (Charlestown, Ind.: Brayfield & Boyer, 1899), 16–17). See the frontispiece of Korea Mission Field 16, no. 1 (January 1920), for an advertisement for Blymyer church bells, made in the Cincinnati Bell Foundry and shipped throughout the world, promising the “sweetest of all Sabbath sounds.” In May 1903, Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church received a 450-pound bell from a donor in San Francisco with “a beautiful tone, which it is a pleasure to hear,” as Moffett put it (Samuel A. Moffett letter dated May 7, 1903, as cited in The Korea Field (August 1903), 121 (via MKC)). When it arrived, Graham Lee, the resident architect in the Pyongyang mission, built a separate tower for the bell: “When I began to ring the bell the vibration was so great I was afraid it would shake the tower down,” Lee wrote his mother. Worse, Lee’s constant ringing of the bell to test it in its new home led some Pyongyang residents to believe it was the Russians who had arrived and were ringing the bell (Graham Lee letter to Mother, June 21, 1903, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).
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“it has been a long time since I have heard one in any of the villages out near the compound”

NotePresbyterian Margaret Best (1867–1942), who supplies the quote given here, described in the same letter how, on the morning of the Lunar New Year that year, her “Bible woman” rose early and, as she opened the window shades, exclaimed: “It is a new world!” (“새 世上이요!” Kor. sae sesang-iyo) upon seeing smoke rising from the chimneys across the city—a sign that Pyongyang’s citizens hadn’t stayed up all night in ancestral worship, as they had since time immemorial (Margaret Best letter to Arthur J. Brown, March 12, 1907, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/237/52)). Best moved to Pyongyang in 1897.  DRUMS FOR BELLS: In the northeastern city of Hamhŭng, Canadian Presbyterians Edith and Duncan MacRae rejoiced over the supplanting of the mudang drums with the chiming of the church bells and the strains of hymns being sung in the Christian church, though there was also a sense of loss: “All of these sounds and many others were but an indication of the intrusion of the outside world that bore the threat of extinction of their ancient culture. Hamhung had carefully preserved this ancient culture for such a long time. Duncan and Edith felt a degree of sadness” (MacRae 1993, 113). The sight of a mudang ritual, though deafening and “idiotic” to many of the missionaries, was also thoroughly unforgettable: “The impressions of that scene remain with me till this hour. There were drums, bells, and clanking cymbals, all of which were beaten at such a rate as to almost deafen the hearers,” one missionary wrote (Moose 1911, 196). Others were less sentimental. For many early Western visitors and missionaries, the beating drums of the sorceress mudang’s shamanistic ritual, throbbing deep into the night, was a sign of depravity. Isabella Bird Bishop wrote after her 1894 visit to Pyongyang: “Through the night I heard the beat of the sorcerer’s drum and the shrieking chant of the mu-tang” (Bishop 1898, 312). Another described the “tiresome sound of drums of a spirit worshipper driving someone’s trouble or sickness away” as a reflection of the depths of sin the Korean people had fallen into. “To live constantly so close to such heathendom becomes very depressing at times” (Ewy 2008, 150, quoting Sadie Nourse letter to brother Roy, March 2, 1901, Taegu, Korea). Of course, the banging of the mudang’s drums weren’t entirely silenced by the arrival of the missionaries. Second-generation Methodist medical missionary Sherwood Hall, arriving in the northwestern city of Haeju in 1926, described the spookiness of hearing the sorceresses’ incantations through the night (Sherwood Hall 1978, 322). Roy Shearer (1932–1999), a Princeton Theological Seminary graduate who worked as a missionary in South Korea from 1957 to 1967, recalled traveling in the rural countryside, where “I have been lulled to sleep by the pentatonic chanting and the drum beating of the mudang, who attempts by this behavior to drive out the harmful spirits in a sick person. When I awoke in the morning, I again heard the rhythm of the mudang still exorcising spirits. She had been continuously at work all night!” (Shearer 1966, 30)
p.80

through door-to-door evangelism, they found 40 percent of residents were already Christian

NotePyongyang’s believers had been assiduous about “districting,” or divvying up, cities to ensure that every door was knocked on, with rigorous schedules laid out “so that every bit of ground is covered—not a house nor an individual is left out of the invitation to believe in Christ and join in the evening meetings of praise and testimony” (G. S. McCune [McCune, George S.], “The Wonder of It,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 3 (March 1907), 44–45, here 44). Rev. McCune tagged along on some of the house visits, and described them in detail: “We went to a house, asked if the master was at home, and then invited in (we were never turned away) we sat down and introduced ourselves. We told the man the story of fallen man and of Jesus’ coming to save him. Of course we had the whole family for an audience, although we addressed but the head of the house. After talking a few minutes we had all of them bow their heads in prayer with us. Before leaving we gave an invitation to the evening service, promising that some one would call on his way to church to guide him to the church building. This was done at each place…Surely it is the way the apostles did of old” (McCune, “Wonder of It,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 44).   CARVING UP PYONGYANG: In a reflection of how quickly the church was growing in Pyongyang, the Presbyterians and Methodists in January 1906 were compelled to carve up “spheres of influence” within the city, as they would later do all across the Korean peninsula, so as to not duplicate their work (William N. Blair letter to Arthur J. Brown, February 1, 1906, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/236/24)). Blair doesn’t delineate how they divvied up the Christian work in the city. By that time, the Presbyterians and Methodists had just opened their fourth and their second churches in the city, respectively. Sometime in 1908 or 1909, the Presbyterians and Methodists would carve up the Korean peninsula between themselves and other Protestant groups, so as to not duplicate work and step on each other’s toes (Grayson 2002, 158). It should be noted that the 40 percent figure is higher than most historians have given for the high-water mark of Christian penetration in Pyongyang. Historian Andrei Lankov, for instance, asserts that Protestants made up between 25 percent and 30 percent of the city’s population during the colonial period. “In a time when nationwide the share of Christians did not exceed 1 percent, this was a truly remarkable figure” (Andrei Lankov, “Pyongyang Enjoyed Boom in Colonial Era,” Korea Times, December 30, 2010). [[STATS]]
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had nearly all been shut. “The business has become unprofitable,” one missionary wrote

NoteW. Arthur Noble, a Methodist missionary who arrived in Korea in 1892, wrote that the saloons, which said were so plentiful that they accounted for two out of every three houses in the mid-1890s, “have gradually been closed because the business has become unprofitable” (Noble 1906, 230). “Pyeng Yang is changing and becoming more and more nearly a Christian city,” another missionary in the city wrote in 1907 (Best letter to Brown, March 12, 1907; and Oak 2013, 301). “This old city has been shaken up as never before,” missionary Charles Bernheisel wrote the year before (Bernheisel 2004, 560 (February 4, 1906, diary entry)).
p.80

leaders back home in America, who traveled to Korea to see the storied church for themselves

Note“So many in the home land know about the big central church in Pyeng Yang, Korea,” wrote one Northern Presbyterian missionary (Harry A. Rhodes, “An Unusual Christmas Celebration,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 3 (March 1910), 66–69, here 66). “No land interested me more than Korea. Korea was the goal of my desire. Seoul and Pyeng Yang held me almost spellbound. That Wednesday evening prayer meeting with its 1,100 attendants and more, I shall never forget. It was an uplift toward the uppermost heights,” exclaimed one American pastor, a certain Rev. J. E. Kittredge, following a visit to Korea (as quoted in Horace Underwood, “‘Korea’s Crisis Hour,’” Korea Mission Field (1908), 130).
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“anywhere else in the world. The churches are crowded; the opportunities are unlimited”

NoteRobert Speer, the American missions advocate, added after his visit to Pyongyang in the summer of 1897: “I am ready to say that I met in few places in the world Christians so eager and intelligent, with such fresh spiritual experiences, with such simple, practical faith, with minds so alert and quickened by the Gospel. Our stay at Pyeng-yang was very much like a week or fortnight at a summer Bible school in America” (as quoted in Gifford 1898, 227). Speer, who had just finished visiting China and Manchuria, saw the burgeoning ministry in Pyongyang for himself before walking to Seoul with Graham Lee for the annual meeting (Baird 1968, 66). William Baird’s son Richard, himself a missionary to Korea, remarked that, “when the history of the Great Century of modern missionary activity is complete it may well be that Pyongyang Station in Korea will be found to have been the greatest mission station of that period” (Baird 1968, 208). Also cited in Clark 2003, 121, n. 4. Norman C. Whittemore (1870–1952), a Brooklyn-born Presbyterian missionary who arrived in Korea in 1896, a year before Speer’s trip there, was floored by what he saw in Pyongyang. “In Pyongyang,” Whittemore remarked, “one could easily forget that he is in a heathen land” (Shearer 1966, 119, citing Norman C. Whittemore letter to the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church U.S.A., December 26, 1896). That same month, just two years after Pyongyang’s devastation, the Presbyterians in the ancient northern capital had counted up 137 men and women baptized in Pyongyang, worshipping in twenty-two places around the city (“Reports to the Annual Meeting of the Presbyterian Mission North,” Korean Repository 3 (December 1896), 482–85, here 483).
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Pyongyang missionary remarked, “we are almost afraid that the walls will begin to bulge out”

NoteThe “largest Presbyterian mid-week prayer meeting” claim is in Davis 1910, 19; and Brown 1919, 528. The “bulge out” quote is from Charles L. Phillips, a Presbyterian missionary in Pyongyang for more than three decades starting in 1910 (“Notes from the Stations—Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 2 (February 1912), 45–48, here 47). Rev. Phillips offers this vivid description from one of Moffett’s Sunday morning services. “I have never seen a building packed quite so full,” wrote Rev. Phillips, later the inaugural foreign pastor of Pyongyang’s Seventh Presbyterian Church. In the February 1912 article, he narrated in vivid color the process of packing the church sanctuary, which is worth quoting at length: “There is not any wasted floor space taken up with seats or benches or broad isles. Every square inch is utilized. And the Koreans have a novel way of packing a church even after it is apparently full. The leader gets up on the platform and asks all the people to rise, or perhaps he asks them to stand and sing a hymn. And then he says, ‘Now everybody press forward as far as you can.’ Of course the congregation en masse swells up to the front, there is a space left vacant at the back of the room near the doors, and in surge the people who have been waiting outside in the cold. Then the room is full of people standing. The leader says, ‘Now please be seated,’ and there is some great wriggling and squirming to find a seat on the floor. After one or two operations like this a church gets pretty full in fact sometimes we are almost afraid that the walls will begin to bulge out. They were working this ‘squeeze play’ the other day when we arrived. We managed to get in thru the preacher’s door at the back of the room near the platform. I have never seen a building packed quite so full. We could not count the people very well but we know that there were nearly five hundred stowed away in the little church. On the platform sat the speakers, squeezed in one two benches. There were no flowers on the platform but instead each side of the pulpit was draped with little Korean kiddies. They sat between our feet, under the benches, and almost anywhere except in the tiny space that we reserved for the speaker, in the front of the platform. Dr. Moffett led the service. He was the one man to do it—the pioneer missionary to Pyeng Yang” (“Notes from the Stations—Pyongyang,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 45–46).   “ALMOST TO SUFFOCATION”: At first, Moffett and his colleagues weren’t sure if they were fully convinced of the Korean converts’ interest in their church gatherings. “Reading in one of the home papers about our prayer-meeting with 1000 in attendance I was afraid some one had exaggerated slightly—but it is no exaggeration now,” Moffett reported in January 1902. “There were over 1000 at the last meeting, and during the week of prayer—notwithstanding the deep snow and the great cold, each night showed an attendance over a thousand” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 13, 1902). Just a few months earlier, in his annual report for 1901, Moffett wrote that the weekly prayer meeting seldom brought in fewer than seven hundred people (Samuel A. Moffett, “Personal Report of Samuel A. Moffett,” September 1901, Seoul (PHS 285/244)). By 1905, there was no doubting the magnitude of the wave of parishioners washing up at the Presbyterians’ sanctuaries. Increasingly, worshippers had to be sent away simply because there wasn’t enough room. For Christmas Day service in 1905, Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church had so many people trying to cram themselves in there for the women’s service that “the women had to be sent away—with the promise that the program would be given over again for them a couple days later” (Margaret Best letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 2, 1906, Pyengyang (PHS 281/236/2)). Nellie G. D. Adams (1866–1909), the wife of Presbyterian missionary James E. Adams, writing in 1906, drew the contrast with back home: “How pathetic it was to see the crowded church and the many who could not get in and then to remember how many of our home congregations are sitting in luxury in large commodious churches” (Mrs. J. E. Adams [Adams, Nellie G. D.], “Among City Women at Taiku,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 12 (October 1906), 224–25). “It was a rainy day the Sunday we were at Ping Yang, but to test whether the Christians there were fair-weather Christians, we visited several of the Bible classes held before church time,” China-based Canadian missionary Jonathan Goforth wrote after his visit to Korea in 1907. “In some it seemed impossible to cram any more in” (Goforth 1984, 29–30).  PRAY EVERY DAY: By 1908, Horace Allen wrote of Pyongyang, “a congregation of over two thousand is the rule, even for a prayer-meeting” (Allen 1908, 171). Another missionary, Robert Moose, remarked on how thrilling it was “to see these churches crowded at the midweek prayer meeting, when the mercury is playing hide and seek around the zero point” (Moose 1911, 212). Many Korean churches didn’t limit themselves to midweek prayer meetings, as Underwood remarked in 1910: “Some of the Churches in Korea do not know any better than to hold daily prayer-meetings. I could take you to one Church, and I suppose there are many others like it, that has never missed a single night since the organization of the Church without holding a prayer meeting” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 19).
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it allowed for worshippers to be squeezed in “like sardines in a box,” as one missionary wrote

Note  George Leck, a newly arrived missionary to Korea, recounted his impressions of his first Sunday services in Pyongyang in a January 1901 letter, which is worth quoting in full: “It is interesting to see those audiences packed together like sardines in a box, all seated upon the floor. One fellow a few weeks since, being uncomfortable on the floor, in the crowd, climbed into the wood box sitting near the stove and occupied a comfortable ‘box seat’ during the whole service. Another day a fellow in the middle of the room, being cramped from sitting so long with his feet doubled under him, arose in his place to rest himself, but so great was the pressure on all sides that the mass came together and his seat was gone, so he naturally stood during the remainder of the service, he couldn’t do anything else (George Leck letter to Mr. Hand at the New York Board, January 21, 1901, Pyeng Yang, Korea (PHS 280/231/12)).  “EVERY AVAILABLE INCH OF FLOOR SPACE”: This was a frequent problem during this time of breakneck growth, with the church frequently so crowded that even getting up to stretch was a hazard. “I never saw a crowd packed closer than that crowd of women. It was really dangerous and it was a great relief when the program was finished and we got them out,” wrote the missionary Graham Lee following a particularly well-attended Christmas service in Pyongyang in 1906. “There was only one thing to do, rush the program through and get them out before someone got killed…We can never again have a union Christmas service for the simple reason that we have no building large enough to accommodate the crowds that wish to attend. I’m sorry it is so but such is the case” (Graham Lee letter to Arthur J. Brown, December 26, 1906, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/236/163)). “No worshipper could be sure, on rising to his feet, that he would be able to resume his seat again during that service,” added Annie Baird, the wife of William Baird. “The porches were crowded, and even the yard outside” (Annie L. A. Baird [Baird, Annie Laurie Adams], Daybreak in Korea: A Tale of Transformation in the Far East (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1909), 107). Alice Fish Moffett, the wife of Samuel Moffett, struggled to convey the extent of the situation to her parents back home. “When I say this church was packed you must take the words literally,” she wrote in an April 1905 letter. “Every available inch of floor space is covered quite regardless of aisles, so that it is quite impossible to walk through the audience” (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Father and Mother, April 10, 1905, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). In 1906, another missionary described the Wednesday prayer meetings as filling the church “almost to suffocation, while a crowd gathers about all the doors and windows” (E. F. Hall [Hall, Ernest F.], “Buried Among the Heathen,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 8 (June 1906), 155–57, here 155–56). One American visitor, Howard M. Hamill (1850–1915), watched a man lifting no fewer than forty small boys through a window into a church sanctuary already crowded to its “utmost capacity,” with the boys “wedged in among full-grown men wherever the smallest space could be found” (“God’s Hand in Korea’s Bible Study by H. M. Hamill, D. D.,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 8 (August 1908), 114–16, here 114–15). “It was better without chairs as more got in. We had to push the crowd about three or four times from the rear to the front,” recalled one Korean congregant (Pai 2002, 103).   “A RESOUNDING ‘SMACK’”: Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian missions board secretary who visited Pyongyang in 1901, painted the scene from the pulpit: “All Korean congregations sit on the floor, the men with their hats on and the sexes divided by a partition; the preacher standing so that he can see both sexes. When the attendance is so large as to require more room, the minister asks the congregation to rise, to move forward, and to sit down again” (Brown 1919, 527). “It was necessary to see that there were no vacant chinks anywhere between people as they squatted on the straw mats spread on the floor, so that there might be room for all. There was no chance for any movement after the service began, for once a man was wedged in he was obliged to remain there until the close of the meeting,” wrote missionary T. Stanley Soltau, who described the crowds as absolutely riveted, even when sermons would stretch on for hours, “save perhaps when some small boy overcome with sleep, would suddenly fall forward, striking his head with a resounding ‘smack’ on his neighbour’s Bible or hymn book, and every other small boy in the immediate vicinity would endeavour to wake him up with cuffs and pokes, all delighted with the opportunity of showing their virtue and piety” (T. S. Soltau [Soltau, T. Stanley], “Cold and Heat,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 8 (August 1918), 163–66, here 165). This was true outside Pyongyang too, as one missionary in Haeju, in Hwanghae province, wrote in 1913: “I wish you could see the crowd in the church on Sunday—it is a Korean building, very narrow, and when we have once sat down, it is quite a problem how to get up again—we are so packed together!” (Miss Barlow, “A Word from Haiju (From a Private Letter),” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 5 (May 1913), 121).
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with their faces to the floor and singing a rousing hymn that could move a missionary to tears

NoteThe description of the church emptying out with men and filling up with women is from Blair, “Fifty Years of Development,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 120.  THE OLD TESTAMENT MADE REAL: When the congregation bowed in prayer together, the scene was remarkable. “It is hard to find a more impressive scene than that afforded at the close of the service in one of the large congregations, where twelve or fifteen hundred people are seen lying with their faces on the floor, engaged in silent prayer,” wrote one missionary (Moose 1911, 211). “Nowhere could there be found a more attractive sight than the hundreds of white clad women, carrying their books wrapped in cloth tied round their waists in front,” Emily Kemp, a visitor from England, wrote the same year (Kemp 1911, 75). For Arthur Brown, the well-traveled Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary who journeyed to Pyongyang in 1901, seeing the sea of white-clad worshippers was “picturesque to a high degree.” “Sunday is the great day of the week to these Korean Christians. Their best clothes have been carefully laundered for the occasion, and they flock to the church, their clean white figures lending a picturesquely attractive touch to the squalid aspect of a Korean village,” he wrote. “I have since journeyed far and have seen many places and peoples. But there still lives to my vision the humble chapels on those Korean hills, with worshipping Koreans sitting Oriental fashion on the floor…the reverent petition of their leader as he prayed for us all, while the white-robed worshippers bowed with their faces to the floor. A visit to Korea is a tonic to faith” (Brown 1919, 64, 527, 536). See also Brown 1902, 9; and Peerman, “First Impressions of Korea,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 103. To American visitor Howard Hamill, the scenes were reminiscent of the Old Testament. “It was a strange sight—full five hundred men, all in white patriarchal robes, that made the Old Testament very real to me, each with his little black hat surmounting the head, many with flowing beards, all with a look of profound interest and earnestness upon their faces, the pathos of which I can never forget,” he wrote in 1908. “For orderly, reverent behavior, and for unflagging interest in the day’s study, and in the too lengthy exhortation from the desk, I have found no school in my own land that excelled this and the other schools of Pyeng Yang” (“God’s Hand,” Korea Mission Field (1908), 114).  BRIGHT COLORS AND WICKER BASKETS: With the Korean children, all dressed in colorful clothing, there was a different, but equally memorable, impression. George Ladd, an American Congregationalist minister and pro-Japanese scholar who traveled through Korea in 1907, where he delivered addresses under the auspices of the missionaries, recalls speaking at a Methodist church in Pyongyang, where at the front were seated “several hundred school-boys, packed as thickly as herrings in a box. These were dressed in garments of many and bright colors. Back of them and reaching to the doors, massed solidly with no aisles or empty spaces left between, were Korean men, in their picturesque monotone of white clothing and black crinoline hats.” Speaking the next day at Sunday worship, Ladd was struck by the colors, densely packed together: “The girls on the one side, and the boys on the other, in their gaily colored clothing, were massed about the platform; and back of them the women and the men both in white, but the former topped out with white turbans and the latter with their black hats. The entire audience marked out upon the floor an impressive color-scheme” (Ladd 1908, 95–96). At churches across northern Korea, where the women still carried massive baskets to shield their faces when going out in public, the massive wicker baskets that had to be deposited outside the church entrance were piled high. The large hat of split reeds, “measuring often over twelve feet in circumference and three feet high,” wrote Horace Underwood, “adds considerably to the problems that confront church architects…in a fast-growing Christian community…They are not worn indoors and must be laid aside, and a large space is needed for their accommodation” (Horace Underwood 1908, 62–63). In Japan, the missionaries sometimes counted church attendance by counting the number of geta (下駄), or wooden clogs, that were checked (Ion 1990, 45).  “A MIGHTY WIND VIBRATING THRU A FOREST”: Then there was the practice of collective prayer, which became a hallmark of Korean Christianity—hundreds of Korean congregants, each praying out loud, and individually, creating a cacophony of prayer. “I have never been so deeply stirred by any sounds as by those of the first church service I attended in Korea,” wrote one American missionary about her first church service, at Moffett’s Central Presbyterian Church. “The speaker had given an inspiring, soul stirring address to those Pyeng Yang Central Church Christians, 1,700 strong. It was in Korean but we needed no interpreter to feel its spirit. Then pastor Kil said each could pray aloud as his heart dictated. The restrained volume at first was as the rush of a mighty wind vibrating thru a forest. ‘When thou hearest the sound of going in the tops of the mulberry trees then is God gone before thee,’” the author, identified only as “Mrs. Smith” of Andong station, in the Korean southeast, wrote (Mrs. Smith, Andong, “Korean Sounds,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 3 (March 1913), 64–67, here 65).  “DREADFUL GRATING”: For the American missionaries, accustomed to and educated in Western musical traditions, could only gape in horror at the Koreans’ singing of hymns, which conformed to none of the melodic or harmonic ideals they were used to back home. One early Western visitor to Korea, arriving in late 1890, described the music as being “to the average European ear more than diabolical, this being to a large extent due to the differences in the tones, semi-tones, and intervals of the scale, but personally, having got accustomed to their tunes, I rather like its weirdness and originality” (Savage-Landor 1895, 76). Missionary Graham Lee, even less diplomatically, described the Koreans’ attempts to sing hymns as “something frightful” (Graham Lee letter to Father & Mother, January 20, 1901, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). “If you have been to a Korean church service and heard their enthusiastic but very futile attempts to sing our hymn-tunes, you may be ready to say there is no music in them,” added another missionary (J. D. Van Buskirk [van Buskirk, James D.], “Old Korean Music,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 4 (April 1915), 100–2, here 100–1). “I shall never forget the shock that came to my musical sensibilities that first Sunday in Korea,” which “outraged my every musical sense,” added yet another, recoiling at “the agony that would come to me as a result of enforced listening to, and participation in just such heinous offences against the laws of harmony. The slaughter of the century-old Doxology, in no wise mitigated my despondency, but confirmed me in my hopelessness.” That first experience, he continued, “led me to the snap conclusion that the Koreans were hopelessly unmusical. It is three years since then, and my suffering is just as acute as ever” (Paul L. Grove, “Adequate Song-Books,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 4 (April 1915), 110–13, here 110). Missionary Sallie Swallen, deeming the Koreans’ singing style “dreadful grating on our ears,” set herself to teaching the boys the proper tunes, though her husband William Swallen was happy to let the Koreans sing the hymns “in their own style” (Rutt 1983, 24–25). As late as 1917, missionaries were still lamenting the inscrutability of traditional Korean notions of music: “It is as far removed from what Western people call music, as the star Sirius and its system is distant from the sun” (E. T., “Music,” The Korea Magazine (April 1917), 160–64, here 160–61).   “A JOYFUL NOISE”: But the Koreans’ poor singing—at least to the ear of the missionaries—was more than compensated by the enthusiasm that they brought. “I have known a little group to sing words set to a simple school tune for about three hours of an evening, and then demand of the teacher the same thing the next morning, the tune having been repeated for a total of, probably, several hundred times. There is great disappointment at the Class if an hour is not set aside expressly for music. If a missionary is present and wants to save his voice for other work, he must ruthlessly thrust aside some heart-rending appeals,” wrote one missionary (Wm. C. Kern [Kern, William C.], “Music in Men’s and Women’s Bible Classes,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 4 (April 1915), 105–7, here 106). “The voices are not melodious and they do not always keep the key,” wrote Arthur Brown, leavening his criticism with praise for the converts’ passion: “Those Koreans sing as they pray with all their hearts. Unfamiliar as the language is, the visitor is thrilled by the exultant ring of a living, joyous faith” (Brown 1919, 536). A Canadian missionary in the northeast, quoting from Psalm 98 and 100 (KJV), exclaimed: “Though musicians might not consider it music, they raised ‘a joyful noise until the Lord’” (Murray 1975, 92). Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church created the country’s first church choir, which toured the peninsula and inspired the formation of many other like-minded groups (Pai 2002, 86). Homer Hulbert, an American missionary and advocate for Korean nationalism, was an exception among his peers, arguing that the Koreans had as much reason to detest Western standards of good music as the missionaries did towards Korean music (see Hulbert 1906, 314). And some Koreans, immune to the standards of Western music, simply reveled in the musicmaking, as one Korean, after moving to Pyongyang in the 1890s, recalled of his first time in church, with Rev. Graham Lee rising to lead a singing of “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know”: “How sweet and melodious it sounded to me to hear it sung for the first time. We sang it, or rather they sang it, over and over again many times. My folks and I, being newcomers, simply sat down open-mouthed, watching Nee Moksa and the others sing. It sounded so good to me that I wished I could sing it like the rest of them” (Charr 1996, 68). The wide gulf between Western and Korean music, and the eventual triumph of Western-style choral music in modern-day North Korea, helps to underscore how deep the influence and legacy of the missionaries must have been on Kim Il Sung (see Act III, Chapter 30).
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city’s most renowned pastor, a former mystic with a strong tendency toward the otherworldly

Note“RELIGIOMAGICAL ACTIVITIES”: Kil Sŏn-ju (吉善宙 1869–1935) was born on March 15, 1869 in the northwestern Korean city of Anju (安州). He moved to Pyongyang at age seventeen, having barely survived a rival family’s attack on his own family and believing an ancient prophecy that a great teacher was to appear. “While going about the country as a merchant there rang in my ears continually an old Korean saying to the effect that some time a great teacher would appear. Almost every man I met set me to wondering whether he was the great teacher that was to come,” Rev. Kil told visiting American George T. B. Davis during an interview years later, at the home of William Baird (Davis 1910, 34–35; and Timothy Lee 2010, 72–73). During his twenties, Kil dedicated himself to a life of meditation and fasting, retreating to remote mountain locations to engage in what one scholar calls “religiomagical activities,” for example reciting Daoist incantations tens of thousands of times (“Kil Moxa,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 6 (June 1910), 118; Timothy Lee 2010, 72–73; and Oak 2013, 283). “I ate as little as possible and slept scarcely at all. When I felt sleep overcoming me I took sulphur sticks, made a fire, and burned my legs in order to keep awake. When that failed I rubbed my eyes with ice, or sat on a stone beside a brook and poured cold water over my shoulders,” Rev. Kil recalled (Davis 1910, 35). Kil, who believed he could communicate with spirits, taught his wife the mantras, which they would pray together at midnight, trembling; he sought to boost his physical strength through exercise and medical tonics and experimented with sexual techniques in hopes of producing a heroic child who could rescue the nation (Oak 2013, 283–84). But in the 1890s, Kil Sŏn-ju found himself looking for something new. His mysticism hadn’t prevented him from developing strong nationalistic feelings, and when he returned to a flattened Pyongyang in the spring of 1896, he found himself struggling to explain the catastrophe that had befallen his once-proud nation (Oak 2013, 284). Kil’s larger concerns were accompanied by a personal calamity: Around this time, Kil realized that he was beginning to lose the use of his eyes, which came as a blow to the man, once “tall, energetic and physically strong” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 85).   “I’VE FOUND WHAT WE SOUGHT”: When Kil returned to Pyongyang, he was surprised to find that a friend and fellow Daoist, Kim Chong-sŏp (金鍾燮 1862–1940), had become a Christian (Oak 2013, 284; and Davis 1910, 35–37). Like Kil, Kim Chong-sŏp had devoted himself to a life of mysticism; after the loss of his wife, children, and mother in a short span of time, Kim had taken to reciting a mantra that he had written, cloistering himself in Buddhist temples for months at a time and praying to the Big Dipper. Kim had first heard about Christianity in 1891 from Moffett and his assistants but had been reluctant to accept the new faith until shortly before the Battle of Pyongyang (Oak 2013, 280–82). By 1896, when Kil returned to Pyongyang, he found that his old friend had not only been baptized by Moffett, but had become one of Moffett’s assistants and had even brought several of their mutual friends to the faith, creating what one later scholar has described as “the core group of Presbyterian Christians in Pyongyang” (Oak 2013, 280). “What, do you mean to say that you have forsaken the faith that we have labored for so long?” Kil asked his old friend. “But I’ve found what we sought,” Kim answered (Oak 2013, 284). Kil agreed, reluctantly, to read a Christian tract, and soon thereafter, a translation of The Pilgrim’s Progress, which he was deeply impressed by (Oak 2013, 284; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 85). “As I read this book I wept again and again, for I realized for the first time that I was a great sinner,” he later recounted (as quoted in Davis 1910, 36). Sometime in 1897, while praying for the first time to the Christian God at his friend’s urging, Kil found himself again weeping, his body consumed with a burning sensation (Oak 2013, 285–86; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 85). “All at once I saw myself a saved sinner, and I saw God as my Father. I burst out praising God, and crying ‘Father, God! Father, God!’ At the same moment there came surging through my soul what I had never found in all my worship of Buddha, and that was the glorious assurance of salvation,” Kil later recalled. “Following this vision of the Redeemer I felt a rapture that words cannot describe. It thrilled my whole soul and lasted for some hours” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 36–37). Kil was baptized on August 15, 1897; the baptismal service, conducted by Graham Lee and attended by the missions board secretary Robert Speer, included twenty-eight other Christians (Oak 2013, 286). In the spring of 1898, Kil was made a “leader,” or an assistant pastor of sorts, in Moffett’s Central Presbyterian Church (Mills, “Letter from Taiku,” Korea Mission Field (1911), 10; and Kang et al. 2013, 26). He was ordained in 1907 as one of Korea’s first seven Presbyterian ministers (see Act I, Chapter 8). As for Kil’s friend Kim Chong-sŏp, he later became the first elder of Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church in 1899, was ordained in 1911, and ministered at a small church near Pyongyang until he retired in 1926 (Oak 2013, 280). Like many early converts, Kim’s faith was passionate and emotional. “Everything moved him to tears. He wept for an old beggar in the street, for female missionaries who had left their hometowns, for his late mother who had died without faith, and for the sins of the world” (Oak 2013, 282). Notably, Kil Sŏn-ju and his close friends after their conversion to Christianity gave up seeing shamans for fortune-telling, but still regarded The Records of Chŏnggam as a genuine book of prophecy—and, indeed, saw Christianity as a potential fulfillment of the Chŏnggam prophecy’s foretelling of a savior figure (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 151).
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working alongside Samuel Moffett to turn the northwest into a stronghold of Christendom

NoteTHE BLIND PREACHER OF PYONGYANG: In part because of his ailment, by the mid-1910s, Rev. Kil was the most famous preacher in Pyongyang—“the most eloquent preacher and the greatest spiritual power in the Korean Church,” as Moffett put it in 1907, describing described how Kil “swayed them with this eloquence and spiritual power” in Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church (Moffett, “Visions of the Foreign Field,” in Bradt 1907, 56; and Moffett, “An Educated Ministry,” in Bradt 1907, 140). As he entered his thirties, the cataracts that had begun clouding Kil’s vision grew more severe. He lost the use of his left eye by 1903, despite the best efforts of the missionary doctors, and attempted an experimental dissolvent treatment from a Chicago doctor to try and rescue his right eye (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Fatherdy [Fish, Charles H.], February 24, 1903, Pyengyang (MKC)). Following an operation at Kil’s house, the vision in his right eye was salvaged, and Kil was able to preach again with a “cataract glass fitted to the eye that was given back to him” (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Fatherdy [Fish, Charles H.], September 6, 1904, Pyengyang (MKC)). A profile of Rev. Kil in June 1910 described him as being “stone blind” until he was operated upon by the Northern Presbyterian medical missionary in Pyongyang, Harry C. Whiting, after which he was able to have “a measure of sight restored, so that he is able to read his beloved Bible” (“Kil Moxa,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 118). Rev. Kil again had to “undergo a very serious operation in June” 1913 by the medical missionaries E. Douglas Follwell and Alfred I. Ludlow (“Notes and Personals,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 8 (August 1913), 211–16, here 214). See also Moffett, “An Educated Ministry,” in Bradt 1907, 140.  WESLEY, WHITEFIELD, SPURGEON: Rev. Kil quickly emerged as the Korean church’s “most gifted preacher,” inspiring awe even among the missionaries. “In his mouth the word of God is quick and powerful, sharper than a two edged sword. His prayers are wonderful,” one missionary wrote in 1907, drawing comparisons to “the powerful preaching of Wesley and Whitefield” (“Recent Work of the Holy Spirit in Seoul,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 3 (March 1907), 41–42, here 41; and Oak 2013, 296). “Keel was once stone-blind, is partially blind still, but here was a face of great majesty and power; a face on fire with purity and holiness. It was Jesus, it was not Keel. He spoke of John the Baptist, and how he called on men to repent and confess,” James Gale wrote. “The day of judgment had come, and squirm and dodge as they would, there was no escape, none whatever” (Gale 1909, 205). The Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie compared Rev. Kil, “a man of powerful brain, of fine character and with the qualities of real leadership,” to the famous English Baptist preacher Charles Spurgeon (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 242). An unnamed Western missionary, writing in June 1910, testified: “The writer has heard him preach and seldom has listened to one of any nationality who spoke with such wonderful power over his hearers, whether Asiatics or Europeans. His voice is sweet, his manner winning, and he appeals to the heart with wonderful persuasiveness, his hearers, now smiling, now weeping, now thrilling with awe struck conviction” (“Kil Moxa,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 118). One missionary described Rev. Kil as “one of the greatest spiritual powers in all Korea…followed, quoted, adored, and trusted by Koreans all over the land” (Mills, “Letter from Taiku,” Korea Mission Field (1911), 10). “Pastor Kil of Pyeng Yang…is, as you know, halfblind, but has a good voice and presence, a dignified manner, and a wealth of telling illustrations that often held missionaries as well as native audience spell-bound. He preached Christ and God’s love for sinners, the old gospel truths, and his word as well as the work of the church brethren made a deep impression on Andong city. One of the old white bearded yangbans came to my dispensary the day after Pastor Kil left. ‘What did you think of our services at the church,’ I asked him. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘there has never been a man like that man Kil in Andong’” (Ewy 2015, 152, quoting Woodbridge O. Johnson letter to Arthur J. Brown, November 26, 1910, Andong, Korea). Another Presbyterian missionary there, Edward A. Renich, described how at the November 1910 evangelical sessions led by Rev. Kil in Andong, a city in southeastern Korea, “there were 98 decisions recorded. This is more than there were Christians all told, before. At nearly every meeting the church was crowded” (Ewy 2015, 157–58, quoting Edward A. Renich letter to Arthur J. Brown, December 19, 1910, Andong, Korea). One of Rev. Kil’s congregants later recalled that, no matter how long he preached, the preacher would leave his listeners spellbound, winning over hundreds of new believers with one sermon (Pai 2002, 104). Kil’s own son, Kil Chin-gyŏng, estimated that his father preached 20,000 times, reaching some 3.8 million people, baptizing three thousand of them and starting more than sixty churches (as cited in Timothy Lee 2010, 73). “A great longing to rescue the lost possessed me,” Rev. Kil himself later recalled. “I went up to almost every one I met on the streets, urging them to become believers. I seemed to my friends like a crazy man, but I saw people falling into hell and felt that there was no time to be lost in warning them” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 37).
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and launched a personal crusade against smoking, drinking, gambling, and other vices

Note In addition to his insistence on personal probity, Kil Sŏn-ju also brought to Korean Christianity many of the practices that he had picked up in his days as a Daoist mystic, thus Christianizing them and “relocat[ing] them into the church,” in the words of Ok Sŏng-dŭk, a historian at University of California, Los Angeles (Oak 2013, 271–72; and Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], “Epilogue,” in Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], ed., Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Korean Scholar Press, 1996), 183–90, here 185–86).  IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT: One of Rev. Kil’s most lasting contributions was the initiation of predawn prayer meetings (새벽祈禱會 Kor. saebyŏk kidohoe), a practice that had so stunned the missionaries and that is still widely practiced today among Korean Christians (Oak 2013, 287–89; Timothy Lee 2010, 129–31; and Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 150). In the summer of 1909, Rev. Kil, fearing believers had grown cold, announced from the pulpit plans for a morning prayer meeting the next day, beginning at 4:30 a.m. By 2:00 a.m., an astonished William Swallen recounted, several hundred believers had gathered; by the time the bell rang at the appointed hour, there were no fewer than four hundred Christians, a total that would grow in the subsequent days (W. L. Swallen [Swallen, William L.], “A Story of Korean Prayer,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 11 (November 1909), 182). The tale is told again in Charles F. Bernheisel, The Apostolic Church as Reproduced in Korea (New York: Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1912), 4–5. Under Rev. Kil, the predawn prayer meetings became “the established pattern of Korean Protestantism” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 85). “Kil’s life of meditation and prayers,” writes Ok Sŏng-dŭk, “became a paradigm for Korean Protestant Christians,” originating not from Western Protestantism but from Korean tradition (Oak 2013, 287–89).   TITHING TIME: Rev. Kil was also credited with another innovation: The committing of a congregant’s personal hours of service (날 捐補 Kor. nal yŏnbo) towards evangelism and other Christian tasks—“a popular method of giving in a rural economy where cash was hard to come by” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 85). Missionary Charles Bernheisel recounts one anecdote involving Rev. Kil making such a request, and explains the practice, which “had already been worked for several years in Pyeng Yang and has always resulted in large additions to the churches” (Bernheisel 1912, 5, 12–13). For a book-length study of how traditional Korean religious practices—primarily shamanistic rituals, but also those of Buddhism and other religions—found their way into Korean Christian practices, see David Suh 1991, 119–22. 
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and frequently did so with the Book of Revelation—“hundreds of times,” one missionary said

NotePyongyang missionary Charles F. Bernheisel once wrote that Rev. Kil had read the entire Old Testament thirty times, and the portion from Genesis to Esther more than five hundred times. The New Testament, meantime, he had read more than a hundred times, and the Book of Revelation so many times that he had committed it to memory, reciting it thousands of times (Chas. F. Bernheisel [Bernheisel, Charles F.], “Rev. Kil Sunju,” Korea Mission Field 32, no. 2 (February 1936), 29–31, here 30; and Timothy Lee 2010, 73). Another source affirms that Rev. Kil had indeed memorized the entire Book of Revelation (Allen D. Clark, A History of the Church in Korea (Seoul: Christian Literature Society of Korea, 1971), 175; and Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 11). With his sight somewhat restored, Rev. Kil would deliver his Bible lessons “holding up his Bible close to his big, round, radiant face so that through his immense lenses he could himself read the Scriptures and then pour out his great soul in vision” (Blair, “Fifty Years of Development,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 119). Toward the end of his life, writes one scholar, Rev. Kil grew increasingly obsessed with Christ’s Second Coming, becoming “a kind of doomsday prophet preaching the imminent end of the world and divine judgment.” Though Rev. Kil would also involve himself in Korea’s fight for independence, he gave up on almost all political activity in the final decade and a half of his life, believing that the Kingdom of God needed to take precedence over the Korean nation, and directed his efforts towards preaching the Second Coming of Christ and the Book of Revelation (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 150–52).
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of civic pride, after centuries in which Pyongyang’s natives had been spurned by the Seoul elites

NoteThe number of believers in Pyongyang went from 4,356 adherents in 1896—including baptized converts and probationers—to 106,287 in 1907, growing by twenty-four times over the span of just eleven years, according to one scholar (Timothy Lee 2010, 13). In 1905 alone, the Pyongyang Presbyterian mission reported 883 baptisms for the year, with the number of adherents jumping by 27% that year to 16,744 (“Figures That Speak,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 4 (February 1906), 69). “The quick results of the Presbyterian missionaries’ efforts were surprising even to the missionaries,” wrote church historian and Korea missionary Roy Shearer, though before long, “missionaries all over Korea saw that there was something special going on in the Pyongan Provinces” (Shearer 1966, 38, 132).  SEOUL-SEARCHING: The contrast between the vibrant north and the dispiriting south was apparent from the start of missions work in Korea. While there were a few success stories in the capital, for the most part, the response to the Christian gospel there was underwhelming and even disappointing. “We have had much to discourage us,” the Seoul missionary Daniel Gifford, Moffett’s old seminary classmate, wrote the missions board in November 1892 (Gifford letter to Ellinwood, November 2, 1892). While the reports from Seoul were “rather depressing owing to the dearth of interest,” Presbyterian foreign missions board chairman Frank Ellinwood wrote a decade later, in January 1903, the reports from Pyongyang were “full of cheer and hopefulness” (Frank F. Ellinwood letter to Samuel A. Moffett, January 21, 1903, New York (PHS 283/242/70)). For Horace Underwood, the most prominent Presbyterian missionary in Seoul, the disparity between the missionaries’ fortunes in Pyongyang and Seoul was striking. Underwood, writing in 1908, lamented how difficult it was to preach the gospel in the capital, “where the bulk of the people are either office holders or seekers,” in contrast to Pyongyang, where the work, he wrote, “astonishes the world in its extent and breadth” (Horace Underwood 1908, 40–42).  A GOD-GIVEN SOURCE OF PRIDE: For Pyongyang, a city whose natives had been scorned for centuries by the Seoul elites, their city’s unquestioned ascendance in the new faith that was driving sweeping changes across the country was exhilarating—and a new source of civic pride. As one Pyongyang Christian named Kim Wǒn-gun exulted in 1906, God had poured his grace on the once-neglected city: “The non-Christian yangban in Seoul cannot get a position in Pyongyang, which is given by God,” he wrote in a February 1906 article in the Christian News (그리스도新聞Kor. Kŭrisŭdo Sinmun) entitled “Heavenly Positions of the Church Are Better Than Human Positions of the Government” (as quoted in Oak 2013, 300). As Kim’s triumphalism suggests, Pyongyang’s dominance in the Korean church would soon become a source of tension. “Northern men were usually elected to the more important offices and there was a real move by some of the southerners to split the church, using the argument that in America since there is a Northern and Southern Presbyterian Church, a similar arrangement could be a possibility in Korea. The situation grew so serious that some of us (missionaries) got together and arranged a Bible Conference to which were invited a number of leading ministers from both sides,” recalled one missionary of the showdown, which took place in the 1930s (Soltau n.d., 28). See also Chung-shin Park 2003, 154. “The secular rivalry,” scholar Sung Chun Chun wrote in his 1955 Yale University doctoral dissertation, “was carried over into ecclesiastical relations between Pyongyang and Seoul. When the Pyongyang area obtained two-thirds of the total Protestant population, it began to treat Seoul in the same manner Seoul had dealt with it in the past” (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 20).  THE “NEW YANGBAN”: There were other reasons for some long-overdue Pyongyang pride. With Chosŏn-era discrimination against northwesterners a thing of the past, natives of northern Korea were able to assert their educational prowess. By 1925, Japanese scholar Inaba Iwakichi (稲葉 岩吉 1876–1940) remarked that the northern Koreans had, through their commitment to modern education, emerged as the country’s “new yangban,” noting that northerners accounted for roughly 70 percent of the admittees at colonial Korea’s top university, Keijō Imperial University (京城帝國大學 Jp. Keijō Teikoku Daigaku), today known as Seoul National University (서울大學校 Kor. Sŏ’ul Taehakgyo) (as quoted in Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 173). The same trend had taken place at the country’s top women’s university, the Methodist-run Ewha Womans University, where admittees from the north outnumbered those from the rest of the country by the late colonial period (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 173–74). Indeed, Hwang argues that, if not for the division of the Korean peninsula in 1945, northerners would have come to dominate a post-World War II independent modern Korea (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 178).  SECONDARY CAPITAL ONCE MORE: In part because of Pyongyang’s rising clout, the Korean imperial court in May 1902 designated Pyongyang as Korea’s secondary capital and began building a new royal palace there, a move that harkened back to the early days of the Koryŏ dynasty a millennium earlier (Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], “The Phantasm of the Western Capital (Sŏgyŏng): Imperial Korea’s Redevelopment of P’yŏngyang, 1902–1908,” International Journal of Asian Studies 12, 2 (July 2015), 167–91, here 168). The royal palace was nominally planned to mark the fortieth anniversary of Kojong’s accession to the throne in 1864, and tapped into the age-old notion that Pyongyang’s geomantic value made it an attractive site for a capital (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 169–70). By November 1902, with work on the main P’unggyŏng Palace (豐慶宮 Kor. P’unggyŏng-gung) and some of its surrounding buildings complete, portraits of Emperor Kojong and his son, the Crown Prince Sunjong, were ceremonially enshrined at the new palace, alongside a shrine housing the spirit tablet of the assassinated Queen Min, posthumously promoted to Empress Min (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 171, 177–78). The missionaries in Pyongyang lamented the folly of the project, which was widely seen as a wasteful extravagance that Korea could ill afford. Officials memorialized Kojong to rethink the palace’s construction, given its costs and the corruption around the project (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 183–84). Missionary Charles Bernheisel described how the royal court, in order to raise funds for the palace project, was selling yangban titles (Bernheisel 2004, 396 (September 7, 1902, diary entry)). By the time Japan forced its protectorate upon Korea in November 1905, Japanese troops who had flooded into Pyongyang in their war against the Russians had turned various halls of the imperial palace in Pyongyang into temporary barracks; the Japanese authorities eventually turned the P’unggyŏng Palace into a medical clinic (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 183–85).  A CRY FOR HELP: In Seoul and the unresponsive southern half of the peninsula, the growth was so slow in contrast to the booming northwest that believers in Ŭiju had taken notice, demanding to know why the capital got so many missionaries while the fast-growing community on Korea’s northwestern border with China had so few. Leading the charge was Carl E. Kearns, an American missionary in Sŏnch’ŏn—another booming center of Presbyterianism in northwestern Korea, located between Pyongyang and Ŭiju. In a series of scathing letters to the Presbyterian foreign missions board, he urged New York to send more missionaries to the northwest. “I know it is the immemorial policy of mission boards to pour men and money into unproductive fields and economize,” Kearns wrote in one particularly pointed letter to the foreign missions board. “In handling the harvest, but I cannot refrain from saying that it looks to a superficial observer like very poor agriculture” (Shearer 1966, 135, quoting Carl E. Kearns letter to Board of Foreign Missions, Presbyterian Church U.S.A., April 10, 1906, Sunchun, Korea). In another letter that year, Kearns, channeling the believers in Ŭiju, demanded to know: “’Why should Seoul’, they ask, ‘have above 20 clergymen and Eui Ju none, when there are more Christians within 50 li of Eui Ju than there are within 100 li of Seoul. And why should you have schools where you have to pay the pupils to attend when we are willing to pay you for running a school?’” (Carl E. Kearns letter to Arthur J. Brown, June 25, 1906, Syen Chyun, Korea (PHS 281/236/79)). “The center of the Korea Mission moved to Pyeng Yang ten years ago, in fact over half the developed work of the Mission is in Pyeng Yang,” Kearns wrote in a third letter, arguing that while the missionaries in southern Korea also complained of overwork, the situation in the north was on a different scale altogether. “I don’t mean that the southern brethren are not working even harder than we but it is work to create work, while ours is a desperate struggle to overtake work that is already four times too big for us and growing all the time. Miss Chase said the other day that she used to think herself overworked in Fusan with thirty women to care for and used to seriously consider appealing for another single lady to help. With Miss Samuels she only has some 6000 women to look after up here and is probably too busy to think of calling for help. That is about the boat all of us are in up north” (Carl E. Kearns letter to Arthur J. Brown, August 10, 1906, Syen Chyun, Korea (PHS 281/236/97)).
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the Presbyterians decided to hold its annual meeting for the first time in Pyongyang, not Seoul

NoteHolding the annual Presbyterian mission meetings in Pyongyang afforded the other Korea missionaries a chance to “admire the accomplishments of their P’yŏngyang colleagues,” in the words of one scholar and descendant of Korea missionaries (Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 246). The Methodists, for their part, held their annual meeting in Pyongyang for the first time in June 1909 (McCune and Thompson 2009, 292). All told, during the twenty-five years between 1912 and 1936, the native Korean Presbyterian Church—to be introduced later—held its General Assembly in the northwest fourteen times, underscoring the centrality of the northwest (Chung-shin Park 2003, 99, n. 14).
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1901, the natural home for it was in Pyongyang, with Moffett serving as the founding dean

NoteAN INFORMAL START: There is some contention over when the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang got its start, though most agree on 1901 (see, for instance, Paik 1929, 291–92). Stacy L. Roberts (1881–1946), a Pyongyang Presbyterian from Pennsylvania who became the seminary’s president in 1924, describes the seminary as having opened in 1901, and having graduated 229 students by 1920 (S. L. Roberts [Roberts, Stacy L.], “The Presbyterian Seminary of Korea,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1920), 267–69, here 267). Samuel Moffett’s son, Samuel H. Moffett, clarifies that the 1901 date refers to when his father “gathered two converts in a room in his home and began the first systematic theological training for a Christian ministry in Korea” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 151). For alternate dates, in 1902 and 1903, see Charles Allen Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “Theological Seminary,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 10 (October 1909), 175–76; and Shearer 1966, 130–31. See also Chung-shin Park 2003, 99; and Jaekeun Lee 2010, 54.  MOFFETT’S SEMINARY: Whatever the actual founding date, church historian Roy Shearer is clear about the reason for the decision to locate the seminary in Pyongyang: “The huge church growth in the northwest demanded that the seminary be located in Pyongyang, even though it was not the capital or the cultural center of the nation” (Shearer 1966, 130–31). The establishment of the Pyongyang Theological Seminary in the Jerusalem of the East, naturally, had Moffett’s fingerprints all over it. So did the seminary’s theological stance, which was unabashedly conservative, as missionary T. Stanley Soltau described it: “The Bible has always been honoured and recognized as the infallible and inspired Word of God, and the teaching there is characterized by a very strong evangelical and conservative tone, similar to the historic position of Princeton Theological Seminary” (Soltau 1932, 56–57).  METHODISTS IN SEOUL: It should be noted that the Methodists set up their seminary in Seoul. The seminary evolved out of Paejae Academy, where a class in Christian doctrine and the Bible grew into a Biblical Institute held in Seoul and Pyongyang, before the formal establishment in 1910 of Union Methodist Theological Seminary in Seoul (Huntley 1984, 129). Missionary Elmer Cable dates the inception of the Union Methodist Theological Seminary to June 1907 (E. M. Cable [Cable, Elmer M.], “Union Methodist Theological Seminary,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1920), 264–66, here 264).
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in 1907, it, too, was based in Pyongyang, with Moffett elected the inaugural moderator

NoteFor more on this, see Act I, Chapter 8. By that time, Pyongyang and nearby Sŏnch’ŏn accounted for nearly two-thirds of the denomination’s roughly 60,000 adherents in Korea, while Seoul chipped in a meager 12 percent. Of the total 59,787 adherents recorded by the Northern Presbyterians in 1907, Pyongyang had 20,414 and Sŏnch’ŏn 15,348; the other station in the northern half of the peninsula, Hwanghae province’s Chaeryŏng, boasted 7,428 adherents, roughly equal to Seoul (7,435). The two remaining stations, Taegu (6,145) and Pusan (2,017), lagged far behind (“Notes on the Northern Presbyterian Mission Annual Meeting,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 10 (October 1907), 145–46). In the Methodist church, roughly one-third of the roughly 12,000 converts under the denomination’s care were based in Pyongyang (“The Annual Meeting of the Methodist Episcopal Church Mission,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 3 (March 1908), 35–39, here 38).
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the first translations of the Bible into Korean were done in the distinctive northwestern dialect

Note“Most of the earliest Bible translators were from the northwest,” writes University of British Columbia scholar Ross King. “All the translators of the Ross version (1887) were from P’yŏngan Province” (King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 142–43). Indeed, until 1906, the only complete New Testament in Korean—and thus the most significant document in Korean Christianity, whose importance “cannot be understated”—was the John Ross translation, which adopted the northwestern Korean dialect. That the language of the Bible was essentially rendered in the P’yŏng’an dialect meant that the first generation of Koreans came to know the Bible intermediated through northwesterners—to the chagrin of Koreans and missionaries in Seoul and other parts of the country (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 70). Indeed, as one contemporary missionary puts it, it was “down-on-their-luck traders” who first helped John Ross with the earliest Korean-language translations of the Bible “were of questionable character and were certainly not Christian, let alone admirable adherents of any religion,” and yet “this most unlikely group of Bible translators brought the words of Christ to life in the marketplace dialect of northwest Korea” (Foley, “Today’s Most Effective North Korean Missionary,” Voice of the Martyrs Korea (2019)). The difference in pronunciation was noticeable enough that even the earliest Western missionaries, who barely spoke the language themselves, could detect it. “One of the chief dialectic differences in Korea is found in the Pyeng an province,” one noted in 1898. “Many curious ‘freaks’ in pronunciation are the result and this habit of clipping the sound always betrays the northern man and excites a smile among his southern compatriots” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 5 (June 1898), 238–40, here 239).  THE PUREST KOREAN: For all the derision that the northwestern Korean dialect received from the rest of the country, P’yŏng’an natives were nonetheless fiercely proud of their way of speaking, said by some to be the purest form of the language—indeed, the one that was used by the exalted scholar-king Sejong (世宗大王 r. 1418–1450) (King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 142; and Paek Doo-hyeon [Paek, Tu-hyŏn], “Pyŏngan Dialect and Regional Identity in Chosŏn Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim [Kim, Sŏn-ju], ed., The Northern Region of Korea: History, Identity, and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 116–38, here 134–37). What the other seven provinces of Korea pronounced as “d,” the P’yŏng’an natives pronounced as “ch,” a point of pride since this was the pronunciation that they said had been decreed by King Sejong (Paek, “Pyŏngan Dialect,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 136–37). In 1821, one Chosŏn court official from the northwest argued that the revered King Sejong had effectively acknowledged P’yŏng’an province’s place as the birthplace of Korean civilization by adopting the northwestern pronunciation in creating the native alphabet (Sun Joo Kim, “Negotiating Cultural Identities” (2005), 95–96). Still, Koreans from other parts of the country continued to bristle at the northerners’ pronunciation and regional dialect, which persisted well into the twentieth century, deriding it as “the rude dialect of the northerner” (Sun Joo Kim, “Introduction,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 14; and Baird 1968, 129).  A CAPITAL INFLECTION: The eventual decision to adopt the Seoul dialect as the basis for a standardized national Korean orthography was only possible much later—and only with much consternation. When missionary James Gale attempted in 1902 to introduce a new unified orthography for the Bible and other Christian materials that deviated from the northwestern pronunciation, a vociferous backlash from the heavily Christian northwest forced a retreat, including the destruction at the last minute of a print run of five thousand copies of the New Testament in the offending Korean translation, which was coming off the press in Yokohama at the time (King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 146). Similarly, when a standardized orthographic system was finally proclaimed by the nationalist linguistic reform group known as the Korean Language Society (朝鮮語學會 Kor. Chosŏn-ŏ Hakhoe) in 1933, it “garnered enthusiastic support for the new spelling in virtually every corner of Korea”—with the exception of northwesterners, and the guardians of the Korean Bible at the Korean Bible Society and the Presbyterian Council (King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 156). To win over the skeptics to the new orthography, the language reformers presented translations of Psalm 23 in both the old and new spelling systems to make the case, underscoring how powerful and influential the Christians were in making the nationalist goal of orthographic consistency a reality (King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 158). As late as 1938, however, Protestant pastor Ch’ae Chŏng-min (蔡廷敏 1872–1953), a native of P’yŏng’an province, continued to take a hard line, calling the new orthography “heretical” in light of the current spelling used for translating the Bible, whose roots Rev. Ch’ae traced through Horace Underwood, James Gale, and King Sejong himself (King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 162–63). For a map showing the distribution of the five major dialects of Korean, see Shannon McCune 1956, 204.
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in September 1894 and the cholera that followed scattered believers across the region

NoteAs the cholera emanated across northwestern Korea, it dispersed the seeds of the new faith. The Christians, Moffett wrote in an article published at home in November 1895, “were all scattered in every direction, and wherever they went they carried news of the Jesus doctrine…The Lord had taken them through these experiences for a purpose, and all these troublous times were to be made to work out His plans” (Moffett, “Work of the Spirit,” Missionary Review of the World (1895), 833, 836). “Our Pyeng Yang church had been scattered, it is true, but scattered to some purpose, for wherever these poor weak Christians fled they took with them the knowledge of the Saviour they had learned about and preached Him to those with whom they came in contact,” Graham Lee wrote in his annual report that year (Lee, “General Report of Work in Pyeng An (Province),” October 1895 (PHS)). As Robert Speer wrote in 1899: “The Gospel spread from heart to heart, from home to home, from hamlet to hamlet, until all Northwestern Korea is aroused by it” (Robert E. Speer, “Christ Calling from Korea,” The Evangelist 70, no. 12 (March 23, 1899), 10). In the years to come, after Pyongyang’s rise to prominence as the “Jerusalem of the East,” Presbyterian missionaries across the north would count this as a seminal pivot point. As Charles Bernheisel, writing in 1912, recalled: “Wherever the Christians went they ceased not to preach the Gospel. All over those northern provinces are churches today that date their beginning from that time, the seed having been sown by the war refugees” (Bernheisel 1912, 11). Writing decades later, another colleague, William Blair, saw echoes of the early church’s growth in the scattering of the Pyongyang converts: “The little company of Christians was scattered at the time of the persecution in Jerusalem, and like those early Christians they went everywhere preaching the Gospel” (Blair 1957, 18).
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was living in the country’s northwest, making it “the heartland of Korean Protestantism”

NoteRoy Shearer, in his 1966 booklength exploration of the church’s explosive growth in Korea, argued that while the country had won a reputation across the Christian world for its fervor, the story as he saw it was not a nationwide one, but really the story of Korea’s northwest. “Even though missionaries wrote as if the whole Presbyterian Church in Korea were growing fast, the fact remains that an unspectacular picture of a relatively slow-growing Church, struggling and battling against great odds, is found in the intimate non-promotional writing from all of Korea except the northwestern section,” he writes, (Shearer, Roy 1966, pp. 17, 103). By 1904, one-half of the baptisms and adherents in Korea were in the northwest, despite only one-quarter of the missionaries being based there (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 50). In 1910, according to a work published by the Korean Presbyterian Church, there were 260 Presbyterian churches in P’yŏng’an province, as well as another 103 Presbyterian churches in the northwestern province of Hwanghae, to the south of P’yŏng’an—collectively accounting for more than half of the 687 Presbyterian churches across the Korean peninsula at the time. By contrast, according to one tally of numbers, there were just eleven churches in Seoul, another thirty-one in northeastern Hamgyŏng province, fifty-six in central Kyŏnggi province, twenty-five in south-central Ch’ungch’ŏng province, seventy-six in southwestern Chŏlla (Chŏnra) province, and 125 in southeastern Kyŏngsang province (Chung-shin Park 2003, 33, citing a 1910 work published by the Korean Presbyterian Church). It’s unclear whether Kang’wŏn province was included in another province’s sum, or if there were any churches in that relatively rural province by 1910, which had been assigned to the Methodists. It should be noted as well that tallies during this period could vary quite widely depending on what criteria were used, and due to the imperfect nature of the record-keeping. By 1911, another source gives the number of Presbyterian churches in Korea as 1,448 (Chung-shin Park 2003, 33).
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“with the truth of divine grace and almost every village has heard the message of divine love”

Note“The people of Pyeng Yang and north Korea have taken readily to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and have proven themselves to be sincere believers and devoted followers of an energetic evangelism,” the article’s unnamed missionary writer added (“City of Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 150–51).
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of Moffett’s Central Presbyterian Church and all of them funded by Koreans’ own savings

NoteHorace Underwood, writing in 1908, gives detailed year-by-year figures for the years between 1895 and 1899, counting up four churches in all of Pyongyang and the surrounding territory in 1895, some of which weren’t yet fully constructed; the next three years saw the construction of eighteen, forty-seven, and fifty-two churches respectively; by 1899, Underwood writes, there were 153 self-supporting churches (see Horace Underwood 1908, 146–47). Another missionary counted fifteen Presbyterian churches in Pyongyang in 1914, along with more than seventy in the surrounding countryside started by Samuel Moffett’s Central Presbyterian Church (Soltau n.d., 23).   MOFFETT’S MODEL: Many of these churches were explicitly modeled on Central Presbyterian Church, which the missionaries sought to fashion as a flagship church for smaller village churches to emulate—almost certainly including the churches on the western outskirts of Pyongyang, where Kim Il Sung followed his parents to church. “It has been the aim of the station to build up one strong church here in the city to serve as a model to the country churches and also to be a center of religious life and spiritual power to the surrounding country,” Pyongyang missionary Charles Bernheisel wrote in 1901. With Central Presbyterian Church serving as an anchor, the missionaries devised a plan to systematically send Korean Christians into the surrounding countryside each Sunday to visit the village churches and conduct services. “Now every Sunday the weaker churches are visited by these workers from the city, some going as far as fifteen miles or more. This not only greatly helps the country churches but has a reflex influence upon the workers as well,” he wrote (Bernheisel letter to Christian Endeavorers of Chicago Presbytery, May 30, 1901). By 1910, Moffett could count thirty-nine churches that had established themselves in and around Pyongyang as offshoots of his swelling Central Presbyterian Church (as quoted in Davis 1910, 26–27). Some of these village churches would soon emulate the Central Presbyterian Church in another way. Before long, many of them were bursting at the seams, and planning their own expansions. For three examples in March 1907 alone, see Bernheisel 2004, 587–91 (March 15, 1907, March 18, 1907, March 23, 1907, diary entries)).
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“and, against open persecution, sometimes in danger of his life, set up the cross of Christ”

NoteThe Continent was a Presbyterian publication, and this article appears to mostly be the work of J. Hunter Wells (1866–1938), a Presbyterian medical missionary based in Pyongyang from 1895 to 1915.
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Sŏnch’ŏn, a small village of three thousand that exploded as another unlikely center of the faith

NoteThe village was chosen almost at random as the site of a new mission station, primarily because it was situated geographically in the middle of several fast-growing congregations in P’yŏng’an province. By the time the new mission station opened in 1901, however, Sŏnch’ŏn’s one church—a Korean house purchased in 1897 and remodeled and expanded to fit 450 people—was already too small for its congregation (Shearer 1966, 119–20; Horace Underwood 1908, 163; and Brown 1919, 510). By the following year, 1902, one missionary estimated that one in seven Presbyterians across the entire country was being ministered to under the auspices of Sŏnch’ŏn station, while in 1906, another Sŏnch’ŏn missionary asserted—in hopes of securing more support from the missions board in New York—that any one of his thirteen Korean helpers was overseeing more Christians than the entire mission station in Pusan (Shearer 1966, 134–35).  LAYING TRACKS: By then, Sŏnch’ŏn was in rapid expansion mode, aided by two developments in 1905. That year, the Japanese, laying a Pusan-to-Manchuria railroad across the Korean peninsula in 1905, routed the tracks through Sŏnch’ŏn, further supercharging the village’s growth (Shearer 1966, 120; and Baird 1968, 237). In July that same year, the cornerstone of a massive, T-shaped church was laid to great fanfare, and by 1908, the new church building was finished, able to seat 1,500 congregants (C. C. Vinton [Vinton, Cadwallader C.], “Laying a Cornerstone,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 8 (June 1906), 157–58; and Horace Underwood 1908, 163–64). That kicked off a round of church building that didn’t abate for years. “Churches proliferated so fast in this area around Sunchun that the mission and board really did not realize what was going on there; it was so unbelievable,” Roy Shearer wrote. “The little town of Sunchun had an enrollment and average Sunday attendance greater than the three churches in Seoul added together” (Shearer 1966, 121). “No one need spend a Sabbath morning in Syen Chyun without attending Sabbath School,” missionary Helen B. McCune wrote in September 1911. “In fact if one is so inclined he may attend seven sessions provided he is content to keep on the move” (Mrs. Geo. S. McCune [McCune, Helen B.], “Sunday Morning in Syen Chyun,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 9 (September 1911), 258–61, here 258). Missionary-run boys’ and girls’ schools, naturally, accompanied this church boom (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 166).  “KINGDOM OF CHRISTENDOM”: This kind of jawdropping growth helped earn the village of Sŏnch’ŏn a moniker, the “kingdom of Christendom” (基督教의 王國 Kor. Kidokgyo ŭi wangguk). For comparison, Pyongyang had been dubbed the “Jerusalem of Korea” (朝鮮의 예루살렘 Kor. Chosŏn ŭi Yerusarrem) or “the capital of Christianity” (基督教首都 Kor. Kidokgyo sudo), while another missionary hotspot, Hwanghae province’s Chaeryŏng, was nicknamed the “Christian world” (基督教天下 Kor. Kidokgyo ch’ŏnha) (Ok, “ ‘Chosŏn ŭi Yerusalem P’yŏngyang’” (2018), 10). For Pyongyang status as Korea’s “capital of Christianity,” see Nakarai 1921, 30, citing Western missionary F. Herron Smith. Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, writing in 1908, declared Pyongyang and Sŏnch’ŏn “centres of a movement as remarkable as any in the annals of modern Christian propagandism” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 99).   IN THE CROSSHAIRS: Perhaps the best testament to Christianity’s pervasiveness in Sŏnch’ŏn was the fact that, just months after Japan annexed Korea, it cooked up sweeping allegations accusing the Christians in Sŏnch’ŏn of having attempted to assassinate the new governor-general while he was passing through the tiny town, ultimately arresting and trying 105 of them (Shearer 1966, 138). For more on the so-called Conspiracy Case of 1911, see Act II, Chapter 11.  YŎNGBYŎN ON THE OUTSIDE: Sŏnch’ŏn was primarily a Presbyterian hive of activity. The Methodists, for their part, chose to locate their northwestern Korea mission station in Yŏngbyŏn, which had historically been a more important and influential population center than Sŏnch’ŏn—that is, until Japanese railroad planners ran their tracks through Sŏnch’ŏn. That fateful decision meant that Yŏngbyŏn—and the Methodist mission station there—would, like Madison, Indiana nearly a decade earlier, be left high and dry (Shearer 1966, 181). Yŏngbyŏn, however, would win renown decades later as the main center of North Korea’s nuclear program.
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one convert doubted that a revival would even be possible in a city with so few unbelievers

Note“A WIDE SPOT ON THE ROAD”: Prior to the arrival of the missionaries, the village of Sŏnch’ŏn (宣川) was so small and insignificant that it hardly merited the word “town,” never mind “city.” One missionary-historian described Sŏnch’ŏn before its rebirth as a center of Christian faith as “an unwalled town without any known history” (Rhodes 1934, 198). Another historian, cited in the manuscript, goes further, describing Sŏnch’ŏn not so much as a town as “a wide spot on the road,” with a population of “three thousand ordinary, uncultured people…out-of-the-way, unpromising” (Shearer 1966, 119–20).  THE ROMANCE OF MISSIONS: Into this unpromising picture came the Christian gospel, which would—within just a few years of the establishment of a Presbyterian missions station there in 1901—quickly turn Sŏnch’ŏn upside-down. As usual, statistics vary depending on who is tallying up the numbers, and how he or she is doing it. Missionary Carl Kearns, writing in 1906, reckoned the mission station grew to 11,943 adherents that year, from 3,429 four years earlier (C. E. Kearns [Kearns, Carl E.], “More and Yet More,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 9 (July 1906), 171–72, here 172). Another missionary report in 1910 asserted that half of Sŏnch’ŏn’s roughly five thousand residents at that time were faithfully attending church: “In Syen Chen a town of 5,000 people 2,300 attend Christian Church services” (“That the World May Know That Thou Has Sent Me,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 6 (June 1910), 127). The statistic is repeated in Mrs. Sharrocks [Sharrocks, Mary A.], “From Darkness to Light,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 9 (September 1911), 242–43, here 243. Arthur Brown, writing in 1911, put the Christian population of Sŏnch’ŏn as being half of the city’s 8,000 people (Brown 1912, 7). Missionary T. Stanley Soltau, who arrived in Sŏnch’ŏn in 1914, described Sŏnch’ŏn at the time as boasting two churches, each filled with about a thousand congregants each Sunday—in a town that he said boasted only about ten thousand people (Soltau n.d., 10). In 1919, missionary-historian Harry Rhodes counted 15,425 baptized adults in Sŏnch’ŏn, versus 677 in 1901, when the mission station was opened. In the province, roughly one in twenty-five Koreans was a Christian, a ratio that was twice that of the country as a whole, he wrote. “For historical interest, extent of territory, rapidity of growth, and large numbers of Christians there is no more interesting chapter of Missions in any land than can be written from the annals of Syenchun Station,” Rhodes wrote (Rhodes, Harry A., “The Romance of Missions in Syenchun,” Korea Mission Field, May 1919, pp. 96-98). Historian Donald Clark describes the number of Christians in Sŏnch’ŏn’s territory as rising to 4,039 believers in 1907, from 677 five years earlier (Clark 2003, 171–72). By 1919, the missionaries calculated the growth of the church there as a 4,000% increase in the span of fifteen years (Harry A. Rhodes, “The Romance of Missions in Syenchun: Then and Now—A 4,000% Increase in 15 Years,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 5 (May 1919), 96–99). For the entire Sŏnch’ŏn mission station, which included the surrounding countryside, one figure put the number of adherents at 27,000 in 1911, one decade after the opening of the mission station in 1901 (S. L. Roberts [Roberts, Stacy L.], “The Map on the Front Cover,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 9 (September 1911), 238–39). By 1917, Sŏnch’ŏn boasted 187 outstations, or satellite outposts, and 28,350 adherents (Brown 1919, 510).   UN-REVIVAL-ABLE: Whatever the actual statistics were in Sŏnch’ŏn, the growth was so magnificent that, by 1921, one Sŏnch’ŏn missionary, Southern Presbyterian J. Fairman Preston, acknowledged the voices of skeptics warning about a “bubble” in church growth “that was soon to burst” (J. Fairman Preston, “Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 17, no. 11 (November 1921), 221–22, here 221). As early as 1911, when the missionaries sought to stage a revival in Sŏnch’ŏn, the town was so thoroughly Christianized that, as missionary George S. McCune wrote, “one of the Koreans said, ‘You cannot have a revival without unbelievers,’ but he was wrong” (Mr. McCune [McCune, George S.], “The Campaigns in Syen Chen,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 1 (January 1911), 21–22, here 21). Visitors, like China-based Canadian Jonathan Goforth, went so far as to suggest that Sŏnch’ŏn was literally devoid of unbelievers. In the city, he wrote, the main church could easily fill its 1,500 seats each Sunday, and “no street radiating from that church had a heathen family left; all had become Christian” (Goforth 1984, 12–16).
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Yalu, a vibrant church of 1,500 believers had emerged—without a single missionary in the city

NoteOwing to its unique location on the Yalu River at the very northwest corner of Korea, on the country’s main border crossing with China, Ŭiju (義州) has always played an outsized role in Korean history, despite being little more than what Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown dismissed as “a wretched fishing village” (Brown 1919, 16). When British diplomat William Carles visited in the mid-1880s, Ŭiju’s population had spilled well outside the rather confining city walls, transforming itself into a central hub for the ginseng trade with China—a major source of the city’s wealth. Timber, too, was big business, as logs were floated down the Yalu River on rafts from the Mount Paekdu area. Perhaps most importantly, Carles noted, Ŭiju sat on the main road from Seoul to Beijing, thus serving as a critical gateway to the annual tribute missions (Carles 1888, 197–98). As with Sŏnch’ŏn, Japan’s construction of a railroad across the Korean peninsula altered in and around Ŭiju. For the border crossing into China, the Japanese engineers set up a “new city,” called Sin’ŭiju (新義州)—literally, “New Ŭiju”—about ten miles west of the old walled city (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 124; and Brown 1919, 16, 358). One Western journalist at the time described Sin’ŭiju as “a purely Japanese settlement,” with several Japanese hotels, bathhouses, and shops (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 77).   “THE IMMEMORIAL GATEWAY”: Despite the growth in Ŭiju and its strategic position on the Yalu River, the Presbyterian foreign missions board never set up a permanent presence in the city—to the chagrin of American missionary Carl Kearns, who pleaded for exactly that from the earliest days of the church’s expansion in northwestern Korea. Within a twenty-five-mile radius of Ŭiju, Kearns told his colleagues in the pages of the Korea Mission Field, sat thirty churches with nearly five thousand Christians—but not a single missionary, the Presbyterians having chosen to open their new station in Sŏnch’ŏn instead. The number of Christians in Ŭiju, he continued, would be “8,000 next year and 12,000 the next—work enough for one missionary at least,” continuing: “Eui Ju is the immemorial gateway of Korea. Her people have always engaged in foreign commerce…They are a wide awake people. Five years ago when the mission station was opened in Syen Chyun, Eui Ju’s disappointment that their city had not been selected was great. They have rejoiced in the growth of Syen Chyun but they have never ceased to regret that no missionaries have been sent to them” (C. E. Kearns [Kearns, Carl E.], “Eui Ju’s Challenge,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 10 (August 1906), 191–92). Behind the scenes, Kearns fired off a series of urgent dispatches to Presbyterian foreign missions headquarters in New York that year, castigating the missions board for not opening a station in Ŭiju—all to no avail. See related Supplemental Note above.
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settlement, with all but two of the community’s sixty households having converted

NoteSorae (소래), also known as Songch’ŏn (松川) and sometimes referred to as Chang’yŏn (長淵郡), the name of the county in Hwanghae province in which it is located, has a special place in the history of Korean Protestantism. Sorae’s Christian history begins in Ŭiju, home of the pioneering convert Sŏ Sang-yun, who converted to the foreign faith, helped John Ross with the first translation of the New Testament into Korean, and then fled to Sorae in hopes of evading the scrutiny of the Chosŏn authorities. See related Supplemental Note above. The church in Sorae, established by Sŏ Sang-yun in 1883, was formally inaugurated in 1888 (David Chung 2001, 14). Sorae received visits from Ross, Horace Underwood, and a newly arrived Samuel Moffett, who flocked to this out-of-the-way coastal village that had by the early 1890s emerged as perhaps the unlikeliest center of Christendom on the Korean peninsula.  SORAE’S FIRST MISSIONARY RESIDENT: None stayed, however—until February 1894, when a newly arrived Scottish Canadian missionary named William J. McKenzie decided to settle there. Though McKenzie only lived there for a little more than a year, he converted so many locals that, following his death by suicide in June 1895, residents of Sorae sent a letter to the church in Canada begging for more missionaries: “The village of Sorai was always a very wicked place, devoid of blessings. Now there are many who are trying to follow the example of Mr. McKenzie. His body is no longer with us, and we, in prayer, want to know God’s will. We, now waiting before God in prayer, hope that you, our older brothers in Canada, will pray much and send us out a Christian teacher” (as quoted in McCully 1904, 253–54, citing a December 26, 1895, letter from Sŏ Kyŏng-jo published in December 1896 by The Theologue, a periodical of the Presbyterian College in Halifax, Nova Scotia).   A VILLAGE OF “FIRSTS”: Duncan MacRae, a fellow Canadian missionary to Korea, wrote in a letter home after visiting Sorae in October 1898 of how Sorae was, largely as a result of McKenzie’s work, the site of Korea’s first native-built and -financed church, the first endowed native Christian school, the first house for an evangelist, the first Christian flag (the flag of St. George’s cross), the first country baptism, the first country Christian wedding, and the first ordination of a Korean elder, Sŏ Kyŏng-jo. “The little church in Sorai has a church membership of 150 and about 60 catechumens. There is not a single anti-Christian house in Sorai, and only three houses in the neighborhood that do not as yet keep the Sabbath. Sorai is a village that at one time was full of wine-dives; to-day there is not a single one” (as quoted in McCully 1904, 281–82; and MacRae 1993, 30–31, citing Duncan MacRae diary, October 13, 1898, entry). One missionary, writing in 1899, described Sorae as “a little bit of home, with all of the 60 houses in the village, but for two, converted to the new faith (Parsons 1900, 20). Charles Bernheisel, traveling there in October 1901, offers a similar description (Bernheisel 2004, 344–45 (October 22, 1901, diary entry)). Arthur Brown, writing in 1919, came to a slightly different count: fifty Christian houses out of a total of 58 in the village (Brown 1919, p. 510). Brown, who visited Sorae during a trip to Korea in 1909, declared the village entirely free of “vice of any kind”—the kind of town where “the entire population attends church, Sunday-school, and prayer-meeting!” “As we gazed upon the Christian homes clustering at the foot of the hill…the setting sun burst forth in radiant beauty, and at evening-time there was light. A trumpet sounded from the church steps. Softly and yet clearly it echoed among the trees and through the village, and soon answering groups of white-robed figures were wending their way up the hillside to the house of God, where we communed long with them as the shadows fell and the stars came out” (Brown 1919, pp. 510-511).  ŬN’YUL COUNTY: Nearby to Sorae was Ŭn’yul county (殷栗郡 Kor. Ŭn’yul-gun), another heavily Christianized settlement of about four thousand people, became a nearly entirely Christian town without a single visit from the missionaries. As the story had it, one man there visited Seoul, met with Horace Underwood and became a Christian; the man returned to Ŭn’yul with a handful of Bibles and tracts. By the time Charles Bernheisel visited in October 1901, there were more than a hundred baptized Christians by 1901 and “a good sized church,” as he put it (Bernheisel 2004, 346 (October 29, 1901, diary entry)). By the time Arthur Brown visited, the village boasted more than a hundred baptized believers and another hundred or so catechumens (Brown 1919, 105; and Ch’oe, Chae-yŏng 2016, ch. 13). Over the years, the church at Ŭn’yul was enlarged several times, including in 1914 under Rev. U Chong-sŏ (禹鍾瑞 ?–?), an independence activist who was assigned to Ŭn’yul in 1912. Rev. U had famously brought into the Christian faith Kim Ku (金九 1876–1949), who today remains one of modern Korea’s most revered conservative independence activists. Rev. U also assisted local Christians in assassinating a local pro-Japanese official in the Ŭn’yul area (Ch’oe, Chae-yŏng 2016, ch. 13).
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coastal city of Wŏnsan, 80 percent of the Christians were migrants from the northwest

NoteRoy Shearer, writing in 1966, quotes missionary William Swallen, who wrote in 1898—while he was based in Wŏnsan—that 80 percent of the Christians in the area were migrants from the northwestern provinces of P’yŏng’an and Hwanghae (Shearer 1966, 161). Also cited in Baird 1968, 50. Similarly, in 1900, in Korea’s northeast, Canadian Presbyterian missionary Duncan MacRae described meeting Christian converts who had fled P’yŏng’an province during the war (MacRae 1993, 87). Meanwhile, in the southeastern city of Andong, where the Presbyterian church established a missions station in 1910, the church enjoyed strong growth in part because of a family that had fled Pyongyang during the Sino-Japanese War. The church in Andong, wrote missionary Sadie N. Welbon, “owes much its strength to-day to the faithful living and preaching of this one family from Pyeng Yang” (Sadie N. Welbon, “An Dong’s Big Day,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 11 (November 1912), 338–40, here 338–39).
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buildings were the newly constructed Catholic cathedral and First Methodist Church

NoteThe Cathedral Church of Virgin Mary of the Immaculate Conception (서울大教區 主教座 明洞大聖堂 Kor. Sŏul Taegyogu Chugyojwa Myŏngdong Taesŏngdang) in central Seoul, known colloquially as the Myŏng-dong Cathedral (明洞大聖堂 Kor. Myŏng-dong Taesŏngdang), was designed by a French priest, Father Eugéne Jean Georges Coste (1842–1896), who arrived in Korea in 1885—“disguised as a layman,” since France and Korea had yet to sign a treaty (“Father Coste, Missionaire Apostolique,” Korean Repository 3 (April 1896), 143–58, here 151). Bishop Gustav Charles-Marie Mutel (1854–1933), bishop of the Korean apostolic vicariate from 1890 to 1911, and then the head of the Seoul division from 1911 to 1933, who also had to sneak into Korea in 1880, fought to have the cathedral built on the hill where it still stands today—the site where the home of Kim Pŏm-u (金範禹 ?–1785, 1786, or 1787), Korea’s first Catholic martyr, once stood—after Chosŏn officials realized that the new church building would loom over the royal palace (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 48–49). The cornerstone was laid in 1892 and the cathedral was consecrated in May 1898 by French and Korean priests (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (1898), 239). The cathedral cost about $40,000, Henry Appenzeller wrote in 1902 (Appenzeller 1902, 34). See also Nate Kornegay, “The Architectural Roots of Myeongdong Cathedral,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 93 (2018), 67–72.   FIRST METHODIST CHURCH: As for the Methodist church, this was Chŏng-dong First Church (貞洞第一教會 Kor. Chŏng-dong Cheil Kyohoe), situated mere steps from the royal palace in central Seoul. The church still operates today, and has been the home church of some of Korean history’s most famous preachers; onetime lead pastor Rev. Son Chŏng-do will play a central role in the life of Kim Il Sung, and in this work (see Act II, Chapter 19). In Isabella Bird Bishop’s estimation, the Presbyterians’ position in the capital was “lowlier” than that of the Methodists (Bishop 1898, 64).
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homes, fusing their love of God and nation to establish, in 1903, Korea’s first YMCA

NoteY-M-C-A: The Korean nationalists included Syngman Rhee, Yi Sang-jae, Yun Ch’i-ho, and Namgung Ŏk, while the missionaries included Horace Underwood, Henry Appenzeller, James Gale, Homer Hulbert, and missionary-turned-diplomat Horace Allen (Lillias Underwood 1918, 206–7; Rutt 1983, 34; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 96–97). The Seoul YMCA sprang out of small informal meetings of aristocratic young Koreans at the Underwoods’ home. When the group became too large to fit in the home, Horace Underwood came up with the idea of starting a YMCA In 1899, Underwood and Appenzeller reached out to the International Committee of the YMCA to request funding for a meeting place (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 306–7). Philip L. Gillett (1872 or 1874–1938 or 1939) was subsequently sent to Korea as YMCA secretary, arriving in Seoul in 1901; he was credited by some sources with introducing baseball and basketball to Korea, before moving to China in 1913, where he worked at the YMCA until 1932 (Lillias Underwood 1918, 206–7; and Lew 2014, 44; Brother Anthony of Taizé 2011, 17; and Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 309, 504–7). James Gale, who first arrived in Korea as a YMCA-supported missionary in 1888, later became the president of the YMCA branch, and was chairman of the board of directors when the new building was completed on Seoul’s Bell Street (鐘路 Kor. Chong-ro), the major east-west boulevard in the capital, in 1908 (Rutt 1983, 34). “The new building of the Young Men’s Christian Association in Seoul is just finished. It stands in the heart of the city and the center of the land. It is, next to the Roman Catholic Cathedral, and excepting the New Palace, the most prominent building in the capital,” Gale wrote the following year, describing an opening ceremony that featured representatives from China and Japan, with Itō Hirobumi giving a speech (Gale 1909, 238–39). The building was financed by a $40,000 donation from John Wanamaker (1838–1922), a Philadelphia businessman and Presbyterian philanthropist (Brown 1919, 512; and Koen De Ceuster, “Wholesome Education and Sound Leisure: The YMCA Sports Programme in Colonial Korea,” European Journal of East Asian Studies 2, no. 1 (2003), 53–88, here 62). Wanamaker, a cabinet member during the administration of President Benjamin Harrison, a fellow Presbyterian, established one of the largest Sunday schools in the country at Bethany Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia, while also supporting Dwight L. Moody’s evangelistic campaigns (Smylie 1985, 138).   FOR GOD AND COUNTRY: As was true for most YMCAs during this period, the emphasis was on the letter “C”—that is, the Christian elements. “The entire movement revolved around a Christian ethos and the salvation of Korean young men,” writes one historian (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 319, 338). That said, the YMCA also became a convenient vessel for nationalistic aims. Part of the YMCA’s appeal was what historian Koen De Ceuster describes as the group’s “international outlook”: “The distinctive feature of this religious lay association, as opposed to other Korean organisations, was its clear international outlook. The YMCA offered Koreans a window to the world, and served as intermediary for the introduction of ‘Western’ (American) culture” (De Ceuster 2003, p. 56). Before long, the Seoul YMCA was soon facing problems familiar to Pyongyang’s church pastors; before long, Gillett complained, “our rooms are so jammed at the lectures we hold every Tuesday and Thursday evening that men are unable to get within earshot of the speaker…I have frequently seen as many as a hundred gathered outside at the windows” (Brown 1919, 512).  QUASI-YMCAs: In the meantime, Methodist minister Chŏn Tŏk-gi (全德基 1875–1914) had set up a Young Men’s Association (青年學院 Kor. Ch’ŏngnyŏn Hakwŏn) at his Sang-dong Methodist Church (尚洞監理教會 Kor. Sang-dong Kamri Kyohoe) in Seoul, which also became a hub of activity with a formidable roster of nationalist Christian converts whose members would rise to prominence in Korean history, including Syngman Rhee (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 312). Sang-dong Methodist was organized in 1893 (Vinton, “Statistics of the Protestant Churches,” Korean Repository (1895), 382). In Pyongyang, meanwhile, the Presbyterians in the northwestern city had set up what one historian calls “a quasi-YMCA” in the city, complete with its own elected board of directors, president, and secretary, and set up with a building and bookstore (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 312).
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in vain to cram 1,200 or more worshippers into a building capable of seating at most 400

NoteSUNDAYS IN THE CITY: In Pyongyang, one student at Sungsil Academy recalled, the city’s commercial life ground to a halt each Sunday as storeowners, many of them Christians, observed the Sabbath (Pai 2002, 101). “Sundays began with morning bells ringing from every church, and Pyongyang city was busy with children going to Sunday school with well-dressed Christians,” recalled another resident (Hong Tong-gŭn, Miwan ŭi Kwihyang Ilgi (Sang) [An Unfinished Homecoming Diary, Vol. 1] (Seoul: Han’ul, 1988), 102).  SUNDAYS IN THE VILLAGE: On a typical Sunday in some villages, as much as one third of a town’s population could be found at worship service. Most churches boasted active men’s and women’s evangelistic groups, an elementary school, and a social group promoting temperance. The typical village church was an L-shaped traditional Korean-style building where the congregations sat on the floor, divided by gender, and lit by oil lamps while the singing was accompanied by a reed organ (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 129–30). The cramming of congregants into a building unable to accommodate all the worshippers was a common occurrence, and was especially problematic in the northwestern town of Sŏnch’ŏn, from which the cited example of trying to get “twelve hundred or more to worship in a structure capable of comfortably seating not more than three or four hundred” is taken (Vinton, “Laying a Cornerstone,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 158). After several years of trying to squeeze congregants into the woefully small building, the missionaries began building a new, much larger, building in 1905. “The need for this church has long been extreme,” Cadwallader Vinton wrote in June 1906, though another colleague predicted correctly that, even with the new larger church, “the prospect is that soon it will need enlargement, or another church will be needed. Of the 3,000 people in the town, about 1,400 are enrolled as Sabbath school scholars” (Hall, “Buried Among the Heathen,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 155–56).  HOISTING WHITE FLAGS: As for the raising of the flags on Sunday, sometimes white and sometimes bearing St. George’s Cross, they had become a de facto symbol of the “Jesus Church” from the earliest days of Protestant missionary work in Korea, fusing the motifs of “divine and missionary protection” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 82; and Brown 1919 103). “The white banner flies from the flagpole of many a Christian village in Korea on a Sabbath morning, and is the invitation to gather for prayer and Bible study,” wrote one missionary (Walter R. Lambuth, “Introduction,” in Moose 1911, 9–11, here 10–11). American missions advocate Robert Speer recalled drifting down the Taedong River and seeing the Christian faith combined seamlessly with Korean nationalism. In one riverside village, Speer recalled, “there were Korean flags waving from the top of bamboo trees. Flags were also raised outside the homes of Christian families and on the rooftops of churches. The people there hadn’t been instructed to hang the flags on the day of worship. This was a tradition that Korean Christians had naturally adopted on their own. This was an established practice among Christians. ‘Holy reverence’ and ‘patriotism’—these values had constituted the backbone of early Christian faith in the Korean church” (as quoted in Cho Tong-jin, P’yŏngyang ŭro Kan Moksa: Cho Tong-jin Moksa ka Chŭng’ŏn ha-nŭn Hyŏndaesa [The Pastor Who Went to Pyongyang: Modern History as Witnessed by Rev. Cho Tong-jin] (Seoul: East West Center for Missions Research and Development, 2011), 57-58). Presbyterian missionary Sadie Welbon, née Sadie Nourse, describing a trip to Pyongyang in the autumn of 1900, described “what an inspiration it was to see, first at sunrise the dear old Stars and Stripes flying from mission homes and hospital or the White flag from Korean house and shop showing that this was a Christian‘s Sabbath” (Ewy 2008, 99, quoting Nourse letter to Friends, October 9, 1900). James Gale’s lightly fictionalized 1904 novel similarly describes the Sunday morning flying of the white flag with the red cross, “henceforth to become the mark of Christian meeting-place” (Gale 1904, 175). As the missionaries traveled through the north, “from town to town they passed counting the flag poles” (Gale 1904, 182). “Fifteen years ago, when we traveled over Korea, no churches met our view, no one gave us the Christian salutation, and now every where we see the flag pole towering above the houses telling us of a Christian church in the village,” exclaimed Mary Scranton, the elderly woman missionary who founded Ewha Academy, the first school for young women in the country, during an itinerating trip in 1905, when she was already in her early seventies (M. L. Guthapfel [Guthapfel, Minerva L.], “Bearing Fruit in Old Age,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 3 (January 1906), 41–44, here 43). “In a clockless society, church bells served not only to call the faithful but to advertise the place and hour of worship,” as Korea missions Martha historian Huntley put it. “Bells, however, were expensive and their use came later to Korea. For many years it was the flags that identified and advertised Christian presence” (Huntley 1984, 123).  THE McKENZIES AND ST. GEORGE’S CROSS: The practice was started in December 1894 by William J. McKenzie, the Scottish Canadian missionary from Nova Scotia who had relocated to the remote village of Sorae in Hwanghae province, making him the only foreigner for miles. “It was his own idea, thus to distinguish his little church and the holy Sabbath from the unholy shrines and celebrations of the heathen, and a thought so truly inspired of the Spirit that throughout the land of Korea a white flag with St. George’s Cross has become as universal as the church bell of Christian lands,” writes his biographer (McCully 1904, 154–55). As McKenzie raised the flag, which soon came to be known as the “Jesus flag,” he and some converts sang “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name,” while McKenzie himself wondered, “When will the time come when this flag shall wave over every village in Korea?” (McCully 1904, 155) McKenzie tells the tale himself in “Seven Months Among the Tong Haks,” Korean Repository 2 (June 1895), 201–8, here 205. During a Japanese campaign against Korean rebels in 1907, households flew the red-and-white flag over their homes, “thus appealing to…the pity and charity of the Christian nations,” wrote Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, no relation to William McKenzie. In one village southeast of Seoul, Frederick McKenzie wrote, “a dozen red crosses waved over houses at different points. In the main street every shop was closely barricaded, and a cross was pasted on nearly every door. These crosses, roughly painted on paper in red ink, were obtained from the elder of the Roman Catholic church there. A week before some Japanese soldiers had arrived and burned a few houses. They spared one house close to them waving a Christian cross. As soon as the Japanese left nearly everyone pasted a cross over his door” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 192, 199; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 154, 161).  RAISING THE FLAG OF EXTRATERRITORIALITY: University of California, Los Angeles historian Oak Sung-deuk connects the raising of these flags—on “expensive high wooden flagpoles”—during the final years of the Chosŏn dynasty as motivated in part by Koreans’ belief in geomantic and glyphomantic prophecies (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 122). The power of the symbolism was such that the flag, like the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes over British and American properties, respectively, “represented the political power of the missionaries who were protected by extraterritorial rights” (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 138). To be clear, not all missionaries were happy with this. James Gale viewed Koreans’ conflating of the Christian cross’ message of spiritual salvation with political salvation as nothing less than idolatry, and campaigned to have the flagpoles removed from churches (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 142).
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the pews from predawn hours until after dark, their singing of hymns audible for miles around

Note“From early morn people began assembling in the new church, and until late at night it was not once entirely clear of worshippers. The whole day was a continual feast for hungry souls,” William Baird’s wife Annie wrote in 1909. “A sunrise prayer meeting, Sabbath school and dedicatory service in the morning; baptisms and the Lord’s Supper in the afternoon; a prayer, praise, and testimony service in the evening” (Annie Baird 1909, 121). In Pyongyang, Sunday School classes were typically held in the morning at one of three locations across the city—two for men, one for women—with all three of them gathering for a combined afternoon worship service (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1896 (PHS)). In Sŏnch’ŏn, the missionaries could walk the streets late at night or early in the morning and, “passing house after house, they have heard the sound of family prayers or the muffled tone of song” (Blair, “Fifty Years of Development,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 120). Itinerating in the countryside around Pyongyang in 1899, Alice Fish Moffett passed by a small church where the villagers had gathered in the church. “We could hear the hymns ringing out through the village street and over the fields. Oh, what a change it means to this people!” (Alice Fish Moffett letter, August 26, 1899, Pyeng Yang, as printed in The Occident (MKC)).  “TOO FOND OF HYMNS”: Korea’s Christian converts threw themselves into church singing with gusto, with the encouragement of the missionaries, who were deeply influenced by the centrality of hymn-singing in Dwight Moody’s legendary evangelistic campaigns, which paired the evangelist’s simple sermons with the musical accompaniments of the Methodist organist Ira Sankey. “There is often more gospel in gospel hymns than in the sermon. Song carries the gospel into many hearts the sermon does not reach,” Moody once said (as quoted in Day 1936, 156). William Baird’s wife Annie noted that the Koreans almost always seemed to have their hymnals with them, and were looking for excuses to sing (Annie Baird 1913, 134). In June 1898, she sent out an urgent appeal to the missions board in New York complaining of an unending shortage of hymnals: “Our Korean Christians are getting too numerous, and they are too fond of hymns. With the fund that we have on hand, two hundred dollars silver, we can’t keep the book in print but a short time, and then we are besieged on all hands for hymnbooks, until we really almost dread to go out among the people. Everywhere the missionaries go they find that the people have learned, or are learning the whole book by heart. Of course they do not know the tunes, but they chant them over in their own way, and never seem to weary…when after the usual delays in printing, the new book finally made its appearance, about six weeks ago, the people seized on it like starving creatures, and the edition of 6000 is melting so fast that we must see to getting out another and larger edition at once” (Annie L. A. Baird letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, June 10, 1898, Pyeng Yang (PHS 178/7/23)).
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service carrying paper kerosene lanterns “like fireflies coming down toward the church”

NoteMissionary Henry M. Bruen (1874–1959), returning from a countryside itinerating trip in 1914, painted a strikingly consistent picture of the thirty-seven village churches he stopped in at: “Every night spent in the country for the last two months had been spent at a different country church, and each night had seen lanterns flickering through the streets toward the church and in their wake a mixed crowd of men and boys gathered up in the house to house village round-up. The churches were full to overflowing each night. Sometimes the meeting was held in the court-yard with mats spread on the ground. The audiences were always respectful and listened attentively” (H. M. Bruen [Bruen, Henry M.], “Personal Retrospect 1913–1914,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 9 (September 1914), 279–81, here 279). “On dark nights, we carried kerosene lanterns through the unlighted streets,” Canadian missionary Florence Murray, based in northeastern Korea, recalled. “Most of the congregation had paper lanterns, a candle burning brightly in each as it dangled on the end of a hand-held stick. These little lights, flickering and bobbing in the dark streets, made a pretty sight” (Murray 1975, 88). Even into the 1930s and 1940s, lighting in Korea’s countryside was mostly by kerosene. Congregants would show up to Sunday evening church services and Wednesday night prayer meetings carrying paper lanterns. “Now that I think back,” Korean Christian Kang Sang-uk recalled of his village in the northwestern Korean countryside, “I’m tempted to say it looked picturesque, all those little lights like fireflies coming down toward the church. But what I remember is intently watching the person right ahead of me” (Hildi Kang 2007, 185).
p.84

“and our grief that we cannot even reach and teach many who are beseeching us to do so”

Note  William Scranton, the early Methodist missionary in Seoul who is quoted here, continues in this same passage: “The people are hungry…and are teachable beyond any previous conceptions of the meaning of that word: otherwise, how could each of us be leading his or her thousands so easily out of bondage into the wilderness of new teachings and experiences…literally thousands more could thereby be brought into the church, if we only had physical endurance to reach them” (W. B. Scranton [Scranton, William B.], “This Day of Opportunity,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 8 (June 1906), 141–42).  “BUSY DOES NOT DESCRIBE THESE DAYS”: By 1901, the missionaries were so overwhelmed that many groups of Korean converts—even in the rural areas around Pyongyang—had virtually no contact with the missionaries, seeing them once or at most twice a year; many “promising groups” had never been visited at all by missionaries, the Pyongyang station report of 1901 lamented (Baird 1968, 233, citing Pyongyang Station annual report of 1901, p. 2 “Busy does not describe these days,” Moffett wrote his wife in March 1902. “There is three times as much to do as I can possibly get done so some of the things will simply have to be left undone” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Alice Fish Moffett, March 26, 1902, Pyengyang (MKC)). Joseph Gerdine (1870–1950), a Southern Methodist initially posted to the northeastern coastal city of Wŏnsan, visiting for the first time a village in a remote valley where he knew of one convert, returned a year later. There, “calling at the home of this same man, he put into my hand a list of more than two hundred who had been brought to accept Christ,” Gerdine recounted, without naming the village. “From this number we organized within the next few days three congregations” (“Movement in Korea (Address of Rev. J. L. Gerdine, Representing Korea, at Pittsburg),” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 7 (July 1908), 108). Another missionary, writing a year earlier, described one convert walking a hundred miles to present him with a petition and a list of people in his home village, begging for a missionary to come and set up a church (Peerman, “First Impressions of Korea,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 103). Some desperate Koreans even turned to bribery in hopes of luring a missionary. “Last fall some Koreans came in to see me and asked me if I could come out to their village at once and teach them,” recalls a third missionary, Elmer Cable. “When I told them that I could not go they pulled out some bank notes and asked me if I would go if I were paid. They were in earnest. So it is all over this great district. I could keep six missionaries busy all the time, and then have work for more” (as quoted in Gale 1909, 226).  “A CONSTANT MACEDONIAN CRY”: This shortage was being felt even in less traditionally responsive parts of the country, as missionary Frederick S. Miller (1866–1937) wrote from west-central Korea in 1903. “There is a constant Macedonian cry in Korea —‘Come over and help us,’” he wrote, referencing the apostle Paul’s dream of a man from Macedonia appearing and pleading for him to visit (Miller 1903, 7). For the biblical reference, see Acts 16:9. “So rapidly is the work growing that the missionary seldom has time to preach to the heathen directly, his time being largely consumed in caring for the Christians, visiting the churches for the purpose of administering the sacraments, strengthening and directing them, overseeing native agents, instructing helpers and students for the ministry, and generally supervising the work. Preaching directly to the heathen is done chiefly by the natives,” Miller continued. Thankfully, he added, the Koreans were doing a pretty good job of preaching to themselves (Miller 1903, 6–7). Miller made the same argument three years later, suggesting that the situation had not gotten any better (F. S. Miller [Miller, Frederick S.], “The Neglected Provinces of Korea,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 10 (August 1906), 193–95).
p.84

could barely leave his inn, receiving inquirers from dawn until midnight—and often, later

NoteThe missionary, Southern Presbyterian William F. Bull (1876–1941), writes of his trip in once-unresponsive Ch’ungch’ŏng province, south of Seoul: “It was not necessary to go out and seek an audience. All that we had to do was to stay quietly in our rooms at the inns and we would have a constant succession of inquirers coming to us. We often could not get the rest we needed on account of the large number of inquirers. On one occasion, after we had put out the light and retired for the night, three young men of prominent families of the official class came to our room door and asked, if we were not asleep, that we would let them come in, for they had heard that we were there and come from a neighboring village three miles away to inquire about the Gospel. We got up, made a light, and talked to them until quite late” (W. F. Bull [Bull, William F.], “No Need to Seek an Audience,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 9 (July 1906), 168–69). In the areas south of Seoul, which had long been regarded by the missionaries as “the most unpromising in all Korea,” a switch seemed to have been hit, missionary Charles Clark wrote in 1906. “As we went from place to place, the whole country seemed alive with interest. Whole villages threw away or burned their idols. Men came several days journey to meet us and beg us to visit their villages,” he recounted. “The contagion seemed to have spread to all classes, not merely to farmers, but to the highest nobles” (Clark, “Not Unpromising Now,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 198–99).
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effectively reach the entire population in the common cause of winning the country to Christ

NotePENINSULAR CARVE-UP: In 1889, just a few years after the first Protestant missionaries arrived in Korea, the various Presbyterian missions formed a United Council of Missions in Korea, which was expanded and renamed the Council of Missions in 1893, according to one historian (Chung-shin Park 2003, 98–99). Another source confirms the general contours, albeit with slightly different details; according to this historian, the comity arrangement started in 1890 with the formation of a United Council of American and Victorian Presbyterian Churches, between the American and Australians, which then became a broader Presbyterian council in 1893 (Harrington 1944, 88). Further details are offered by other sources, who describe this initial effort as being relatively modest in scale, dictating only that towns with more than five thousand people be allowed to accommodate both Presbyterian and Methodist missionaries, but that those smaller than that be considered occupied if it was already regularly visited by one or the other denomination (Shearer 1966, 183; and Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 45–46). In February 1893, the Korean peninsula was formally carved up, with the Southern Presbyterians given oversight of the southwestern provinces of North and South Chŏlla (新羅 Kor. Chŏnra) and South Ch’ungch’ŏng province, before eventually ceding most of Ch’ungch’ŏng to focus on the two Chŏlla provinces (Nisbet 1919, 20). See also Clark 1937, 132–33; and Clark 1986, 6–7.  “MUCH TRAUMA”: A second division of territory came in 1905, involving the Northern and Southern Presbyterians, the Canadian and Australian Presbyterians, and the Northern and Southern Methodists, which was implemented in 1909 (Nisbet 1919, 78). Church historian Roy Shearer describes this process as taking place in a phased manner, with a deal between the various Presbyterian missions and the Northern Methodists struck in 1905, before expanding to include the Southern Methodists in 1907. The partitioning process was such that some Korean converts would be transferred from one denomination to another. In 1909, Shearer writes, some two thousand Presbyterian adherents in Hwanghae province were placed under the care of the Methodist church, while another two hundred Korean Methodist adherents were entrusted to the Presbyterians (Shearer 1966, 172). In Haeju, in Hwanghae province, the Methodists and Presbyterians jointly ran a hospital until 1909, when the mutual agreement assigned the territory to the Methodists to avoid duplication of efforts (Sherwood Hall 1978, 275). Creating exclusive mission territories “sounded reasonable in theory but resulted in much trauma both to the shepherd and the flock who had developed deep ties of affection and trust while uniting in the work” (Ewy 2015, 7). After all was said and done, Korea’s southwest was assigned to the Southern Presbyterians and the northwest to the Northern Presbyterians; the Presbyterians and Methodists agreed to share the city of Pyongyang (Clark 2003, 88). For a map of the peninsula carved up among the various denominations, see Sung Chun Chun 1955, 51.  A “HOT POTATO”: As difficult as it was to carve up the peninsula in such a fashion, there was great need for such an agreement. In the early years of the twentieth century, before the agreement to carve up the peninsula, the Presbyterians and Methodists jockeyed for influence in cities like the northwestern city of Anju. “Soon all differences dropped out,” one missionary later recalled (Blair 1957, 33–34, 41). That wasn’t entirely true, in fact, and significant friction remained. Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, who was based in Pyongyang, visited a group of Korean inquirers in Sŏnch’ŏn, even though the Presbyterians had already established a presence there. When he returned, he was castigated for it by Samuel Moffett, as Becker recorded in his diary: “You certainly stirred up a bee’s nest there. It makes a problem. You see we already have an itinerating missionary there, Mr. Bernheisal [sic], assigned to take care of all Koreans who want to be Christians,” Moffett told Becker, unsmiling. “So you see you had best drop your hot potato before you get burnt. Trust us to help these young people to the only proper goal—to become ‘consecrated students of the Bible’” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 180–83). As Lillias Underwood put it later: “Missionaries are like other real Christians, no better, no worse. The writer once thought that, arrived on the mission fields, we should somehow be better, but no, as we were in the homeland, so are we on the mission field…Some of us are domineering and seem to want to run things pretty generally; some are quick-tempered; some are selfish; some are narrow and bigoted” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 43). The missionaries, for instance, fought tooth and nail over the proper Korean word to use for “God” and split acrimoniously during the early 1910s in an epic fight over the establishment of a college (see Act II, Chapter 15).  “THE GREATEST HARMONY”: While there were certainly frictions, the overall picture skewed towards concord rather than discord, with the success of “the work” covering over a multitude of issues Indeed, after the initial years of struggle and infighting, suddenly everything seemed to be going right for the missionaries. The fast-growing church meant less time to nurse resentments and to pick fights over obscure theological issues. Elsewhere, denominationalism, as the phenomenon was known, was a frequent scourge of overseas missions work. In Japan, for instance, the arrival of missionaries representing so many denominations in the late nineteenth century was perplexing to the Japanese, and likely counterproductive, the British statesman George Curzon wrote. “When Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Baptists, Evangelicals, Lutherans, Church of England, Methodists, Reformed, Russian Orthodox, Quakers, Unitarians, and Universalists appear simultaneously upon the scene, each claiming to hold the keys of Heaven in their hand, it cannot be thought surprising if the Japanese, who have hardly made up their minds that they want a Heaven at all, are somewhat bewildered by the multiplicity of volunteer doorkeepers” (Curzon 1896, 50). Such problems had, to a lesser extent, existed in Korea, too (Gifford 1898, 160). Denominational rivalries rooted in the home country frequently spilled over into the foreign missions field. For instance, the north-south divide within the two leading denominations in Korea—the Methodists and the Presbyterians—remained so wide back home in America, even three decades after the outbreak of the Civil War, that a newly-arrived Southern Presbyterian missionary in Korea in 1892 still joked about the Northern Presbyterians having “horns and hoofs” (Reynolds letter to Hattie, November 4, 1892). Success, however, quickly helped to paper over these differences, and before long, the missionaries in Korea were getting along better than they could have back in America, as they pursued “the larger and more inspiring ideal of the church unitedly hastening the overthrow of heathenism in this land” (Untitled Editorial, Korea Mission Field 2, no. 1 (November 1905), 11). “People can hardly meet together year after year in Sunday services, weekly prayer meetings, and Bible conferences, and sit by each other’s sick beds, and help to lay away the dead forms of each other’s dear ones, and still maintain the fiction that the differences existing between them of dogma and church government, constitute an impassable barrier,” wrote one missionary (Annie Baird 1913, 110). During a religious revival that swept Korea in 1907, for example, “all sectarian lines were swept away. The Koreans were simply primitive Christians, not Methodists or Presbyterians,” wrote one missionary (Allen 1919, 127). “Korea has been especially favored in the cordiality of the relations that have always existed between the various bodies of missionaries working there,” wrote James Gale, a Presbyterian (Gale 1909, 237). Gale’s biographer described the early Protestant missionaries to Korea having only “minimal interest in denominational loyalties, and it is ironic that the churches they founded have turned out to be so notoriously fissiparous”—hinting at vicious divisions that would widen in the years to follow, persisting to the present day (Rutt 1983, 11–12). When Syngman Rhee, later the first president of South Korea and a former student of the Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul, sought out Gale for baptism in 1904 following seven years in prison, the Canadian Presbyterian refused, reasoning that his education at Paejae meant that “the Methodists had a rightful claim” to baptize the man who would later become the first president of South Korea (Oliver 1954, 95; and Rutt 1983, 34). Instead, Rutt writes, Gale helped Rhee pen a short autobiography in 1904 and encouraged him that year upon his release to travel to America, believing Rhee to be destined for “a higher service” than merely politics (Rutt 1983, 34). Rhee was later baptized at the Church of the Covenant, a Presbyterian church in Washington, D.C., where he rubbed shoulders with John M. Hay (1838–1905), secretary of state under Theodore Roosevelt, though he attended Methodist churches throughout his life (Oliver 1954, 82–83, 124–25). The system had become regularized enough that, by 1921, a Northern Presbyterian pamphlet could boast of how the comity agreement was conducted “by county lines, so that in Korea a man is not a Presbyterian or Methodist from choice, but simply because he happens to live in a certain county. If he moves across a county line, he automatically changes his Church. There is but one hymn-book for all the field, one union Church newspaper, union Sunday School and all other literature”—an example of “the greatest harmony” between the two denominations (Pen Picture 1921, 12). The same phenomenon could be found, too, among the growing population of Christian converts in Manchuria, where the missionaries downplayed denominational differences. “Denominationalism has been conspicuously absent, at least ninety-nine of every hundred members to-day being unaware that there have all along been several independent missionary societies at work, viz. the United Free Church of Scotland, the Irish Presbyterian Church, the British and Foreign Bible Society, and since 1895 the Danish Lutheran Church. To the Chinese mind there is but one—the Christian Church of Manchuria” (Christie 1914, 75).  “THE WORK OF THE DEVIL”: This comity was very much in the spirit of Dwight Moody, who once declared there to be “scarcely any difference” between Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, Congregationalist, and Episcopal, calling denominational divisions “the work of the devil” (Moody 1900, 456). In a 1907 article in the American Journal of Theology, church leader Robert Speer railed against the perpetuation of denominational distinctions in the missions field (Piper 2000, 271). Instead, friendly competition and a spirit of cooperation marked this pioneering period of Protestant missions work in Korea, and fruitful ideas pioneered by one denomination were often adapted and adopted by the other (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 64). One realm in which the two denominations were able to find common cause was in their shared opposition to what might be described as the ultimate denominational difference—that is, between Protestants and Catholics. The two strains of Christianity had often been at odds after the arrival of Protestants in Korea in the late nineteenth century, following several centuries of Catholic persecution in the country. The Catholics, write historians Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim, “saw Korea as their mission territory, which they had won by much suffering, and resented the Protestant incursion and their rivals’ apparently unlimited funds for evangelism” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 78–79). In these early years, violence between Korean Catholics and Protestants, centered around Sorae and Sinch’ŏn in Hwanghae province in the first years of the twentieth century, led to looting and fighting that required intervention from American and French diplomats to contain (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 78). Even after that early violence was quelled, the Catholic missionaries in Korea continued to resent their Protestant counterparts, who they regarded as having “money beyond limit…The Protestant side had 500 foreign missionaries and 2000 Korean pastors and evangelists, whereas the Catholic side had only 60 missionaries,” according to one typical complaint. “What is more, the Protestant side had schools, drugstores, hospitals, newspapers, magazines, and so on” (as quoted in Yun Kyŏng-no [Yun, Kyŏng-ro], “The Relationship Between Korean Catholics and Protestants in the Early Mission Period,” in Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], ed., Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Korean Scholar Press, 1996), 7–38, here 32). The disdain was mutual, to the point where Catholic missionaries “actually had trouble getting treatment at the Protestant-run Union Christian Hospital” (Clark 2003, 139). Among the Catholics themselves, being a more centralized hierarchy under the pope in Rome, had fewer problems, and were more accustomed to the drawing up of dioceses and vicariates. In 1911, Bishop Gustav Charles-Marie Mutel (1854–1933), who oversaw the apostolic vicariate of Korea from 1890 and 1911 and then served as vicar apostolic of Seoul from 1911 until his death in 1933, divided Korea into two vicariates, Seoul and Taegu. In 1920, a northeastern district was assigned to the Benedictines, who were based in and around Wŏnsan, while a northwestern district was assigned to the American Maryknollers (Clark 2003, 137).
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“is demanding attention. We are simply swamped by the demands upon us,” Moffett wrote

NoteMoffett had expressed a similar sentiment in a letter to Brown one year earlier. “These are times of wonderful opportunity,” he wrote at the time. “I would we all had double the physical strength to put into the work just now” (Moffett letter to Brown, May 12, 1904). Rev. Dalzell A. Bunker (1853–1932), a Methodist missionary based in Seoul, added: “Work along all lines goes forward so fast that we are all on the run to keep pace with it” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 509).
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“We are simply unable to take advantage of all the opportunities presented”

NoteThis latter quote comes from a letter from Moffett to one of his financial backers, Robert L. Haslup (1863–1935). “Dr. Ellinwood, how am I to look after this work properly?” Graham Lee wrote New York that same year, 1896. “God has opened here a door of very great opportunity…the people are simply hungry for it. One can scarce conceive of a field more open and ready” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, December 28, 1896, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/74)). Weeks later, another Pyongyang colleague, J. Hunter Wells, found the growth of the church so head-spinning that even bimonthly updates back home were impossible. “Our church here, as you know, regularly outgrows itself every few months. We have enlarged and enlarged,” he wrote in March 1897. “We here find it growing in every line beyond our ability to keep informed, much less to keep up with it” (J. Hunter Wells letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 1, 1897, Pyengyang (PHS 178/6/80)). To Edward Lawrence, a missions advocate who visited Korea in 1890, it was all a great travesty how few missionaries there were in the country: “To have only a dozen missionaries for these eighteen millions is a reproach to Christendom” (Lawrence 1895, 71).
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teach, examine local inquirers, settle disputes, discipline backsliders, baptize, marry, and bury

NoteThe litany of duties is from the longtime Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur J. Brown: “He must labor early and late, for he is expected to assign native workers to their circuits, give the leaders instruction regarding their work, lay out a course of Bible study for those who are prepared to take it, invite selected men and women to attend the training-classes at the nearest central station, examine candidates for admission to the church, settle disputes often prolonged and loquacious, administer discipline, baptize, marry, and perhaps bury” (Brown 1919, 512–13).   BUSY IN THE NORTHWEST: As Carl Kearns, a missionary in the northwest who was responsible for no fewer than eighty churches, explained: “A not uncommon day’s work was a trip of varying length in the morning, examinations and consultations all afternoon, hurried sermon preparation during the evening meal, and an evening service in which might occur baptisms, reception of catechumens, the Lord’s Supper, annual election of officers, and infant baptisms. Often a wedding ceremony or two might follow at the end of a two hours’ service, and then conference with the newly elected officers till far into the night. Late hours, early starts, and the same program day after day” (Kearns, “Itineration,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 225; and Shearer 1966, 134–35). One unnamed missionary in P’yŏng’an province, perhaps Kearns himself, was responsible for traveling half the year, “and during that time has baptized more than a thousand people, besides admitting hundreds of catechumens, administering discipline, and in general looking after the welfare of the churches. The task of caring for such a parish is herculean, and no set of ten missionaries could possibly do it all” (Hall, “Buried Among the Heathen,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 156).   BUSY IN THE NORTHEAST: Meanwhile, in the northeast, Canadian missionary Duncan MacRae was for many years the only ordained Presbyterian minister for his entire swath of the country, and thus responsible for all the marriages, funerals, baptisms, and communion services in the northeast, not to mention giving guidance and advice for converts. During one weeklong itineration in the countryside in the spring of 1905, MacRae’s wife Edith “received requests for Mah Moksa to come immediately to five different localities where there were Christian communities. In one district the church had recently burned to the ground; in another they were building a church and needed advice before they could go on with their work; in yet another community one of their number had fallen from grace and was living in sin. It was felt that only Mah Moksa could bring the sinner back to the fold. A fourth congregation wondered if Mah Moksa had forgotten them as he had not visited them for so long. Finally from a fifth came the plea for Mah Moksa to come at once, accompanied by a message, ‘About forty or more men have decided to consider this Jesus Doctrine and earnestly seek teaching’” (MacRae 1993, 118, citing Edith MacRae letter to Mother, April 22, 1905).
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“evangelize Ohio from Indianapolis, or New Jersey from New Haven,” wrote one Presbyterian

Note“Think, Mr. Pastor-at-home,” added Pyongyang missionary Charles Phillips, “what a problem of locomotion you would have if your field consisted not of one church on the corner of Main St., and Chestnut Ave., but of 43 different churches scattered here and there over 3 or 4 counties” (Phillips, “A Station Letter,” Korea Mission Field (1919), 170).
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“to the strain of properly supervising this great work,” Moffett wrote Ellinwood in June 1898

Note“Think of two men within a month trying to visit over 60 churches—carefully examine over 400 candidates for baptism—hold services one or more in all these places, baptize 300 people and meet and receive nearly 1000 catechumens,—besides discussing all the various phases of the church work, counseling with the officers and members and attempting the solution of many difficult problems presented,” Moffett added in this letter (Samuel Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, June 27, 1898, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/84)).    Graham Lee made a similar appeal to the missions board in New York later that summer, telling Frank Ellinwood that he was looking ahead to the autumn “with a good deal of dread,” thanks to the massive amounts of work awaiting the missionaries. “Take my own district, for an example: there are about seventy five places where people meet on the Sabbath for worship, and some fifteen hundred or two thousand people that live in a district some fifty miles square; and all these people look to me to be taught the way of life. Can one man do such a work as that and do it properly?” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, August 8, 1898, Pyengyang (PHS 178/7/31)) In 1900, at a time when the Presbyterians seeing their numbers grow by a hundred communicants and 230 catechumens each month, there were but sixteen adult Presbyterian missionaries north of Seoul (C. C. Vinton [Vinton, Cadwallader C.], “The Latest Advance in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World, N.S. 23, no. 5 (May 1900), 367–69, here 368, O.S. 13, no. 5). Also cited in Huntley 1984, 121–22.
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“millions” at stake. “We have heard God’s order to advance; the reserve corps is needed”

Note“The application of military terms to the movements of the Church of God is always peculiarly inspiring. Take the hymns of the Church: ‘Like a Mighty Army Moves the Church of God,’ ‘Onward Christian Soldiers, Girded as for war,’ ‘Stand up, stand up for Jesus, Ye soldiers of the cross’; and the Bible is full of such terms,” wrote Annie L. A. Baird. “We on the mission field are a portion of the army, not stationed in barracks or on parade or detailed for sentinel duty or on the defensive, but engaged in active, open, aggressive warfare” (Mrs. W. M. Baird [Baird, Annie L. Adams], “The Relation of the Wives of Missionaries to Mission Work,” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 416-420, here 416).
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on the ultraconservative end of the theological debates then raging within the American church

NoteOF “PURITANICAL ZEAL”: While there was a persistent tension in other missions fields between fundamentalists and liberals—that is, between those who prioritized salvation from a fallen world and those who sought to apply faith to the ills of society—there was never such a debate in Korea, where Moffett, Baird, and other conservatives were in the ascendant. One missionary-scholar describes the Korea missionaries as being “of ‘Puritanical zeal and Wesleyan fervor’” (Palmer 1967, 26–27). Another opts for “pietist fundamentalist” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 55). In one oft-quoted passage from 1919, Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown wrote of the Korea missionaries of the time, likely with Moffett in mind: “The typical missionary of the first quarter century after the opening of the country was a man of the Puritan type…In theology and biblical criticism he was strongly conservative, and he held as a vital truth the premillenarian view of the second coming of Christ. The higher criticism and liberal theology were deemed dangerous heresies. In most of the evangelical churches of America and Great Britain, conservatives and liberals have learned to live and work together in peace; but in Korea the few men who hold ‘the modern view’ have a rough road to travel, particularly in the Presbyterian group of missions” (Brown 1919, 540). Scholar Oak Sung-deuk has objected to this characterization, arguing that it is oversimplistic and reflected Arthur Brown’s own frustration with Moffett and his conservative Pyongyang colleagues during a dispute in the 1910s over whether to open up Christian education to nonbelievers (Oak 2013, 9–11). Still, there is no question that, from the very beginning of their work in Pyongyang, the missionaries were proudly “ultraconservative,” as Rev. William Reynolds, a Southern Presbyterian missionary and close associate of Samuel Moffett who taught theology at the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang, proudly affirmed: “I look upon the relationship between religion and Scripture as absolute. For this I may be considered ultraconservative, but I cannot change my conviction” (as quoted in Chung-shin Park 2003, 54). For an incisive explanation of the divide between fundamentalists and modernists during the late 1910s and into the 1920s and 1930s, see Piper 2000, 346.  “THE ONE AND FINAL RELIGION”: Missionary Charles Clark, looking back on half a century of Protestant work in Korea in 1934, wrote: “From the beginning, nearly all members of the Mission have held notably conservative views on theology. The missionaries in their teaching have always laid strong emphasis upon the sinfulness of men, and the paramount need of getting rid of sin, and upon salvation through the blood of Christ alone. They have accepted the supernatural as presented in the Scriptures, and believe in the Bible as a book of authority. They have believed and still believe that the message of the Gospel is unique in the world, and that Christianity is not one among several coordinate religions ‘searching after God’, but the one and final religion which, through revelation, has found Him” (Clark, “Principles and Practice,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 56). The Presbyterian missionaries, indeed, preached the doctrine of “total depravity”—the belief that humanity was irretrievably wicked at its core (see Gale 1904, 153). Among the Korea missionaries, Samuel Moffett was typically regarded as the embodiment of this conservative theological approach, particularly in contrast to Horace Underwood. As one Manchuria-born Korean scholar of religion put it, Moffett “brought with him from America an ultraconservative type of Christianity, derived from the old Covenanters of Scotland, with which he blended the Nevius method to produce a type of vigorous legalistic Christianity that is peculiar in modern Church history.” In contrast, he writes, Underwood took an approach that was free of Moffett’s “orthodoxy” (David Chung 2001, 73). For more on the “Nevius method,” see Supplemental Notes below.  ON RACE: In the social realm, the missionaries brought with them radically progressive ideas in the context of Chosŏn dynasty-era Korea. But by the 1920s, they were already being seen as a reactionary force by some Koreans—and, by the standards of a century later, many of their social views would be regarded as retrograde. Moffett, for instance, referred to African Americans in his hometown as “the darkies” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie Boy [Moffett, James M.], October 30, 1920, Madison, Indiana (MKC)). One early Korean Christian convert, his son later recalled, regarded Horace G. Underwood in particular as a “dirty racist,” forcing him to do menial tasks that he appeared to believe were beneath him and, on one occasion pointedly wiped the telephone receiver with his handkerchief after the Korean convert had used the phone (Cho Tong-jin 2011, 30–31). At the core of their mission, the Presbyterians and Methodists regarded the Koreans as souls eminently worthy of rescue, a fact that on its own put them ahead of many others of their time. As James Gale wrote in one 1898 passage: “By nature Koreans are quite as good as we—better, I think. They need no Western schooling or higher education to prepare them for the Gospel” (Gale 1898, 242).  ON WOMANHOOD: Hyaeweol Choi, a contemporary scholar of Korea missions, has also derided the American women missionaries for having “cherished the Victorian notion of true womanhood that valued religious piety and domesticity and held unfavorable perceptions of the suffrage movement and the phenomenon of New Women in the West” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 12–13)—a statement that is only partly true.  An informal straw poll of the Korea missionaries in November 1916 found strong support for women’s suffrage, roughly three years before Congress voted to approve the Nineteenth Amendment granting women the vote (“An American Evening,” Korea Mission Field 13, no. 1 (January 1917), 26).
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on any shows of emotion in church—at one point putting a stop even to rhythmic handclapping

NoteArthur Brown, in his sketch of the typical turn-of-the-century American missionary to Korea (see previous Supplemental Note), added: “He kept the Sabbath as our New England forefathers did a century ago. He looked upon dancing, smoking, and card-playing as sins in which no true follower of Christ should indulge” (Brown 1919, 540). Part of the reason for this “puritanical sense of morality,” as one scholar describes it, was simply because many missionaries craved outward signs of the Koreans’ commitment to the faith—an outgrowth of concern about the prevalence of so-called “rice Christians” (Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 9). In the view of Moffett and his colleagues, “a moral life…validated a person’s conversion experience as authentic rather than stemming from emotional experiences in church and revivals,” adds Korean American scholar Albert Park. Moffett believed, Park writes, that “Christians needed to differentiate themselves from nonbelievers and validate their conversion by living a strong moral life that involved abiding by certain rules, such as ceasing to drink, swear, smoke, and commit adultery and rejecting Confucian ancestral rituals and other religious practices.” As a result, he writes, in many Presbyterian churches, “pastors and missionaries withheld membership or baptism if one smoked, drank, failed to keep the Sabbath, committed adultery, or engaged in ancestral rites” (Albert Park 2015, 45, 47–48).  “ROCK-LIKE FIRMNESS”: Samuel Moffett was blunt in his advice to the aspiring missionary: “There will be required the maintenance of his own spiritual life, the deepening of his own spiritual convictions, and the resistance of most subtle, unexpected and unprovided-for temptations” (Moffett, “Pre-Requisites and Principles,” in Counsel to New Missionaries 1905, 63). Among the missionaries, Moffett stood out for what one colleague, Harriet Parker, called his “staunch defense of the true faith.” “You have always been true in message and in life to ‘the faith once delivered’—no wavering there with you, but rock-like firmness,” she wrote (Harriet D. F. Parker, “Early Memories of Moffett as Man and Missionary,” booklet for Samuel A. Moffett’s birthday, January 25, 1934 (MKC)). For the next half-century, Moffett’s theology would be that of “the old time religion,” in the approving words of one of his closest colleagues (Reynolds, “Early Memories of Moffett,” 1934 (MKC)). As one of the earliest and perhaps the most influential of the missionaries in the Korean field, Moffett played a major role in ensuring that the mission as a whole remained true to the highest standards of theological and doctrinal Calvinist purity—and stamped it on the Korean church too. As early as late 1891, roughly two years after his arrival in the country, Moffett could say with great satisfaction that the Presbyterian missionaries in Korea were united in their insistence on theological purity. “We are now a harmonious band—orthodox Presbyterians with a Calvinistic creed,” he wrote Frank Ellinwood (Moffett to Ellinwood, November 27, 1891). At the Presbyterian mission’s annual meetings, Moffett’s “forceful efforts to keep the Mission out of any kind of compromise,” one younger missionary recounted, “have many a day swung the whole Mission to vote with him on some difficult problem of mission policy” (Phillips, “‘The Looking-Up-the-Road Man,’” Korea Mission Field (1934), 99–101).   FROM MOFETT TO GRAHAM: Though Rev. Billy Graham was born two generations later, the North Carolina preacher was raised very much in this mold, as he recalled in his memoir: “As Scottish Presbyterians believing in strict observance of moral values, we stayed relatively uncontaminated by the Great Gatsby lifestyle of the flapper era, with its fast dancing and illegal drinking” (Graham 1997, 4). In the 1940s, Rev. Graham attended Wheaton College, an evangelical college outside Chicago, with “a code of conduct that prohibited staff as well as students from using tobacco or alcohol in any form, dancing, card playing, or joining secret societies,” he recalled. “All these requirements gave Wheaton a reputation in the collegiate world of being rather narrow and bluenose, but the integrity of instruction in all disciplines was widely respected” (Graham 1997, 63).
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brought with them were downright revolutionary in the context of late Chosŏn dynasty Korea

Note“Although the early missionaries and Korean converts were theologically conservative fundamentalists,” as Korean church historian Chung-shin Park puts it, “they were…devoted…to reforming social customs to conform to Christian ethics…As a result, conservative fundamentalist theology worked not as a force for conservatism, but as a force for social reform and change in nineteenth-century Korea” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 51). Thus, he argues, the view in South Korea today that the conservative theology of fundamentalists like Samuel Moffett had no role in social reform in late Chosŏn-era Korea is wrongheaded, “conveniently ignoring the fact that fundamentalists themselves had participated in earlier political activism.” On the contrary, the missionaries’ doctrine, though fundamentalist by the standards of the time and certainly of today, were “truly revolutionary” in the Confucian society of the time. “The Protestant missionaries made no attempt to compromise with the Confucian tradition: Rather they aggressively denounced Confucianism as a form of paganism” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 53, 55). Of course, to Moffett himself and his fellow missionaries, their calling was not to bring a modern education or physical healing to Korea, but rather to meet the needs of what they saw as humanity’s fallenness through repentance before Christ. Despite this calling, Methodist missionary Myrtle E. Cable wrote in 1906, the social changes that they brought were nonetheless profound. “We are living in a new age since Christianity has come to Korea and it is spreading so rapidly that in a few years things will be entirely revolutionized. Christianity is raising the standard of womanhood; it is causing the overthrow of so many of their heathen customs that are demoralizing and is putting a new spirit into the people” (Mrs. E. M. Cable [Cable, Myrtle Elliott], “Expansion Everywhere,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 10 (August 1906), 196–98, here 198).
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period. “To this, Christian thoughts, unheard of in former ages, brought a powerful stimulation”

NoteAs church historian Chung-shin Park writes, “in the late nineteenth century, a desire for reform and modernization on the part of some Koreans coincided with the arrival of Protestant evangelism, and Protestantism and the progressive nationalist forces were brought together under these unique historical circumstances” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 117). More than mere stimulation, these new Western ideas also brought many converts to the flock. As one scholar writes, “much of the success of the Protestant churches in the first twenty-five years after the arrival of the missionaries reflected the association of Christianity with the ‘progressive’ West” (Grayson, “A Quarter-Millennium,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 13–14).
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like cigarettes and alcohol—often to a degree that exceeded that of church leaders back home

NoteINTOLERANCE FOR INTEMPERANCE: Drunkenness was a particularly pernicious vice in Korea and thus a prime target for the missionaries. Drunkenness, wrote Isabella Bird Bishop, is “an outstanding feature in Korea. And it is not disreputable…A great dignitary even may roll on the floor drunk at the end of a meal, at which he has eaten to repletion, without losing caste, and on becoming sober receives the congratulations of inferiors on being rich enough to afford such a luxury” (Bishop 1898, 91). Lillias Underwood attributed Koreans’ propensity to drink as a product of its apparent lack of a tea culture, as in China or Japan, thus depriving them of “a harmless beverage which they can offer their friends on convivial occasions. As it is, they resort only too generally to wines and some very strong alcoholic drinks, which they make themselves” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 83–84). Another missionary decried the fact that in Korea, “intemperance, I fear, is very common, and is so little condemned by public opinion that it is quite as much a national recreation as a national vice…The Koreans drink everything and anything of an intoxicating kind that they can get” (Miln 1895, 204).  THE EVILS OF THE BOTTLE: The early missionaries presented themselves as strict teetotalers to the surprised Koreans, who tried to offer them wine as a sign of hospitality. “We had to tell them that we didn’t believe in wine drinking because we believed in the ‘Jesus doctrine,’” Graham Lee explained (Lee letter to Mother, March 19, 1893). When, a few years later, a village in the Pyongyang countryside fell into “havoc” as a result of drink, Rev. Lee promptly delivered a stern lecture to them on the evils of the bottle (Graham Lee, “Personal Report Given at the Annual Meeting of the Northern Presbyterian Mission, Korea,” September 1900, Pyeng Yang (PHS 181/11/Korea Reports)). Rev. Lee further recounts the firing of a Korean evangelist who, while itinerating in the countryside, “was invited to take a glass of light Korean wine at a roadside inn where he had stopped to preach the Gospel. In a moment of weakness he yielded,” the missionary recounted (G. Lee [Lee, Graham], “A Rigorous Moral Standard,” Korean Mission Field 2, no. 11 (September 1906), 210). Moffett was, unsurprisingly, equally vigilant against the temptations of the bottle. The Indiana native brought his stern Midwestern values to bear, such that he could later declare the Korean church to be “practically a total abstinence temperance organization.” Moffett continued: “The Korean Church conscience has reacted to the exclusion from the office of minister or elder of those who are given to drink or even to the use of tobacco, as detracting from the spiritual influence of officers of the church” (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 44). Back in the U.S., Moffett was virtually a single-issue voter on the question of prohibition. “What about your voting next fall?” Moffett wrote his son James in February 1932. “Have you established a residence somewhere so you can vote for Hoover? It will be a bitterly fought battle between ‘wets’ and ‘drys’ I think” (Moffett letter to Jim, February 11, 1932). James Hall, the Methodist medical missionary who helped Moffett and Lee open up Pyongyang to missionary work, was equally uncompromising—“‘total abstinence’ to the core” and “ready to sacrifice everything else to the determination to make a bold stand for the right, whether for temperance or any other Christian principle,” in the words of Omar Kilborn, a high-school classmate who himself later became a Methodist missionary to Asia—to China’s Sichuan province, in his case (as quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 53).  NO SMOKING PLEASE: Opium and morphine were both problems in Korea, too, though not as extreme as in China (Brown 1919, 390). Smoking tobacco was more pervasive: “One who does not like tobacco smoke should never come out here. They smoke nearly all the time. Tobacco grows nearly like cabbage, and is cheap” (McCully 1904, 106). While the prohibitions on drinking, gambling, keeping concubines, ancestral worship, and slavery were relatively common across mission fields, Moffett added smoking tobacco to his own list of proscribed behaviors, a view that prevails today in the South Korean church (Chaegun Lee 2010, 92). One Englishman living in Korea in the late 1920s found the American Presbyterian missionaries intolerably uptight, and much preferred the company of the Anglican fathers in Korea, who would smoke, drink, and live a little—a contrast with the Americans, who in his characterization “looked on smoking as something damnable, like drunkenness or debauchery; consequently I could never season an after-dinner cup of coffee with a cigarette or a cigar, but must retire to my room and indulge my vice in solitude” (Drake 1930, 175–76).  “THE MISSIONARIES DON’T DANCE”: For any missionary looking for entertainment in these early days, their options were relatively limited. As Horace Allen’s biographer put it, “Allen did skate and his colleagues rode and played a little tennis; but by and large the group was too straightlaced to regard entertainment as quite proper” (Harrington 1944, 77). Jack London, traveling in Korea in early 1904 to cover the Russo-Japanese War, ridiculed the squareness of the missionaries in Korea, joking to his future wife that “the missionaries don’t dance” (Jack London letter to Charmian Kittredge, April 5, 1904, in Hendricks and King 1970, 20). Such prohibitions would reverberate through the decades in Korea. One United Nations International Refugee Organization worker noticed shortly after arriving in Korea in 1950 that “whenever a proffered beer or cigarette was refused in Korea with the phrase ‘I cannot smoke or drink,’ it was invariably voiced by a Christian” (Kennedy 1952, 153). A pastor’s son from northern Korea, who later became a pastor himself, recalled his father’s strict puritanical approach: “He raised me with whips. No cards, no dancing, no drinking, no smoking, and no girls” (David Suh 1991, 14–15).
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America, the missionaries in Korea insisted that converts strictly observe the weekly day of rest

NoteTHE SANCTITY OF THE SABBATH: Samuel Moffett was—surprise, surprise—the chief proponent of the push to keep the Sabbath, the biblical injunction to set aside one day each week for rest, as God did after six days of creation in the account in Genesis. “My experience in the Korean Church would lead me to say that most cases of spiritual declension and loss of power resulting in a falling into sin and a return to the world, can be traced to a lack of the observance of the means of grace on the Lord’s Day,” Moffett wrote, though he was also careful to caution against the legalistic observance of the Sabbath (Samuel A. Moffett, “Individual Life of the Korean Christian,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 4 (April 1914), 93–95, here 94). See also Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 43. Many of Moffett’s colleagues shared his strict views on the sanctity of the Sabbath. Methodist James Hall was so strict about observing the Sabbath that, after learning by telegram that his father was on the brink of death, he hurried aboard a train from New York back to his native Canada but had to transfer to another train departing on Sunday morning. “I went to my room, and with my open Bible before me I fought the hardest battle of my life on my knees. I sacrificed my Isaac upon the altar. I left my father in the hands of God, and the matter was soon settled, and I promised to obey God at any cost” (Rosetta Hall 1897, 322–23).  “A GREAT TEST”: In the context of late nineteenth-century Korea, the Sabbath restriction was a difficult one to keep, particularly for Korean merchants, who depended on once-every-five-day market days in the countryside for their livelihoods. See Edwin Wade Koons letter to Arthur J. Brown, February 4, 1908, Seoul (PHS 282/238/23); and Gifford 1898, 160. Not that this mattered to Samuel Moffett. Though it was difficult for Koreans to keep the Sabbath, Moffett insisted on nothing less for his flock. As Moffett wrote one supporter in 1896, the Sabbath injunction “has been a great test” for many of his converts, and that many merchants and farmers “thought at first that it would be impossible to abstain from work on that day,” but later came around and saw the wisdom of the weekly day of rest (Moffett letter to Haslup, June 29, 1896). That same year, he wrote in his annual report, “it is certainly a new sight in Pyeng Yang to see a dozen or more establishments closed on the Lord’s Day.” He praised one church deacon who operated a paper store in Pyongyang and lost an investor for refusing to open on Sundays—but soon found another to take his place (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1896 (PHS)). It wasn’t all happy news. One church in the Pyongyang suburb of Sun’an, Moffett continued, fell into “a very serious condition of things [that] threatened the very life of the church” when, during the fall harvest, several members of the church “yielded to the temptation to work part of the Sabbath” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1896 (PHS)). Moffett was hardly the only missionary intent on keeping the Sabbath sacred. One American Presbyterian, Cadwallader Vinton, was so outraged in 1897 when he came across Korean laborers building a small wall outside the Russian legation on a Sunday that he attacked them and seized their tools, sparking a minor diplomatic kerfuffle (Harrington 1944, 104–5). Other missionaries did all they could to slow the encroachment of sports and other diversions on Sundays. “To the Christian, the problem of Sunday sport is growing urgent,” Moffett’s colleague Edwin Wade Koons complained in 1934 (E. W. Koons [Koons, Edwin Wade], “Present Day Social Problems,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 179–88, here 184).  A DAY OF PRAYER: Many of the early Korean converts recalled their families fully embracing the day of rest. “We never spoke of the Sabbath as Sunday but as the Lord’s day,” recalls one early convert, adding that many Koreans would gladly walk as many as six miles to make it to Sunday worship service (Pai 2002, 104). Another Korean Christian boy, Kang Sang-uk, recalls vividly the strictures of the Sabbath—no shopping, no playing games and no homework. “It was supposed to be a day of prayer” (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2007, 202–4).
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converting to the faith was thus aware that the decision would come with a steep social price

Note“ABANDONMENT OF EVERYTHING CONFUCIAN”: “The difficulties which beset a Korean as he approaches Christianity,” wrote one early Western writer in Korea, made converting to the foreign faith “a step which only a courageous man can take…Brought through such a crucible as this the Korean christian is truly an admirable man. There is a sturdiness to his convictions, a simplicity to his faith, a strength of purpose and a courage in the midst of seemingly insurmountable obstacles which have often won our admiration” (“Obstacles Encountered by Korean Christians,” Korean Repository 2 (April 1895), 145–51, here 148, 151). “From the moment the man decides for Christ, a complete revolution in the tenor of his life begins,” Daniel Gifford, Moffett’s seminary classmate and fellow Korea missionary, added a bit more optimistically several years later (Gifford 1898, 158). Contemporary scholars emphasize both the difficulty of such a decision and the transformation demanded, as well as the remolding of identity that came with becoming a follower of Christ in late Chosŏn-era Korea. “The price of entrance to the church was a demonstration of a life transformed, and many Koreans paid this price,” writes historian Paul Cha. “Proof that one’s old gods were put away, secondary wives sent away, and sins were forgiven and washed away was required” (Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 16). Adds Korean American scholar Albert Park: “Koreans not only underwent proselytization but also a course of development in which their identities, personalities, and worldviews were targeted for reshaping. Missionaries sought to change the everyday lives of Koreans by unfixing and reforming the very identities” (Albert Park 2015, 49–50). “Not only did the early church emphasize the difference between Confucianism and Christianity on the issues of social status and value of life, but it also demanded from its followers a total commitment to Christian doctrine,” writes church historian Chung-shin Park. “The Protestant missionaries made no attempt to arrive at a compromise with the Confucian tradition…Every action by this new religious community was a challenge to the Confucian establishment…The minimum requirement for church membership was abandonment of everything Confucian. Thus the early converts had to make a total commitment to face the scorn and condemnation that was sure to follow” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 56, 120–21). This was especially true for the aristocratic and the wealthy, who had benefited under the ancien régime and had the most to lose (Chung-shin Park 2003, 26–27).  ANCESTOR WORSHIP: Giving up ancestor worship, as the missionaries demanded, was a particularly “complicated and combustible issue” for the church in Korea (Oak 2013, 193). The missionaries made the renunciation of ancestor worship a prerequisite for baptism and—caught between the conservatism of Chosŏn Korea and the conservativism of Christian missionaries—many converts simply abandoned the faith. Renouncing ancestor worship had for centuries meant certain punishment and even decapitation under the Chosŏn court, as thousands of Korean Catholics learned the hard way (Huntley 1984, 5). The idea that ancestor worship was fundamentally inimical to the Christian faith had been imported from China, where Catholic missionaries had been consumed for centuries over the question. During the reign of the Qing emperor Kangxi, the Jesuit missionaries then in favor at the court in Beijing argued before the pope in Rome that Confucian ancestor worship was but a civic rite that could coexist with Christianity; the Dominicans and Franciscans took a harder line, arguing that it was idolatry and must be outlawed. Pope Clement XI ultimately decided against the practice, and Kangxi banished the missionaries in 1716 (see Herbert A. Giles, China and the Manchus (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 1912), 44–46). In the 1930s, the Vatican began adopting a more tolerant attitude toward ancestor worship and, during the liberalizing reforms of the Second Vatican Council beginning in 1962, the Holy See reaffirmed that view and even linked Confucian ancestor worship with the Communion of the Saints (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 209). John Ross, the Scottish missionary to northeastern China who was responsible for the first Korean converts to Protestantism, was a firm opponent of the view that Christian teachings were incompatible with Confucian ancestral rites. “The role of the missionary was not to change customs but to renew the heart,” he declared (“Revd Dr John Ross,” Newington Trinity Church website).  GIVING UP WIVES: One of the most painful sacrifices for a certain class of Christian converts was polygamy. Wealthy Korean men had multiple wives and tended to ignore their first wives, who had generally been arranged for them at a young age; becoming Christian required them to give up their concubines. “The marriage question is one of the hardest that confronts the Korean Church,” wrote one missionary (Nisbet 1919, 184). “To tear from one’s heart the wife and children of his tenderest affection…and ostracize himself from his peers, was something which would naturally make even a believing nobleman hesitate long,” Lillias Underwood wrote. In order to meet these elites, her husband Horace Underwood, taking a page from Jesus’ furtive nighttime meetings with the curious Pharisee Nicodemus, met quietly with some of Korea’s upper-class inquirers privately at home (Lillias Underwood 1918, 203–4). The difficulty was such that Pyongyang missionary William Swallen even went so far as to argue that the church should accept into the fold Koreans who had married multiple women before converting to the faith (W. L. Swallen [Swallen, William L.], “Polygamy and the Church,” Korean Repository 2 (August 1895), 289–94). William Baird also tried to tackle the issue with a three-part series of articles in the pages of the Korean Repository (see W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “Should Polygamists Be Admitted to the Christian Church? Part I,” Korean Repository 3 (July 1896), 288–92; W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “Should Polygamists Be Admitted to the Christian Church? Part II,” Korean Repository 3 (August 1896), 323–33; and William M. Baird, “Should Polygamists Be Admitted to the Christian Church? Part III,” Korean Repository 3 (September 1896), 350–60). Perhaps unsurprisingly, Baird comes down firmly against admitting men with more than one wife to the church. According to one historian, Sŏ Sang-yun, one of the most prominent of the early Korean converts, refused to give up his second wife—who he had married of his own choosing—which disqualified him from being an elder or a pastor in the church, despite his otherwise outstanding credentials (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 81).  FAMILIES RIVEN APART: Yun Ch’i-ho, an aristocratic convert to Methodism, describes the challenges he faced in embracing the foreign faith. In a candid confession of faith written on March 23, 1887, Yun—then twenty-two—listed the obstacles to his conversion as being: “The fear of persecution and mockery. The liability of making adversaries of former friends. The frequent attacks of doubt and other temptations” (as quoted in Candler 1907, 9). See also Clark 2003, 126. For a detailed exposition on the difficulties of a Korean converting to Christianity and the troubles that early believers faced from relatives, see Gifford 1898, 158–60; and Clark 1937, 179. Converts to the faith were warned by family members that the missionaries would “pull out your eyes and kill you” (Mrs. J. R. Moose, “The Story of the Life of a Korean Woman,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 2 (December 1905), 31–33, here 33). One young Christian boy in Hwanghae province, raised in an aristocratic yangban family, remembers the accusations and screaming matches that followed his father’s embrace of the Christian faith, which was nothing less than “a grave crisis” and “a betrayal of…class and clan.” “Grandfather accused and screamed at his son, ‘How could you deny the hundreds of years of the old tradition of the Shin clan and heritage!’ My father would return by screaming that Confucianism was dead and was a heathen religion. And he said that if my grandfather did not believe in in Christianity as the correct religion, he would go to Hell. He literally believed that Jesus Christ was the only Savior and it was his responsibility to convert each member of his own family to Christianity. Every day he prayed for them to become Christians.” Meanwhile, at school, the boy remembered being “treated as an outcast” and dubbed a “Jesus freak” (耶穌쟁이Kor. Yesujaeng’i) (Tai Kyun Shin 2009, 29–30). For many women, conversion to Christianity ensured them a beating at home. “Women, bewildered and frightened when their husbands, sons or brothers rejected traditional Korean cults for a strange new religion, lashed out at them in angry protest,” in one case threatening a husband and their children with death if he didn’t renounce the faith (MacRae 1993, 68, 71–72). “‘You may beat me to death if you will, or saw me asunder, but I cannot give up my Lord,’” one Korean woman told her husband, according to Annie Baird, the wife of William Baird. “The blows fell then, heavy and merciless” (Annie Baird 1909, 76). In another anecdote, one Korean woman’s conversion was so firmly opposed by her husband that he tried to cut her wrist and hit her on the forehead with a lamp, leaving permanent scars (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 63).   BEATEN OR DISOWNED FOR THE FAITH: While official persecution by the court mostly ended with the signing of treaties with the Western powers in the 1880s, converts to the Christian faith, particularly elites, could still expect to be disowned or beaten by family members, cut off from employment prospects, and ridiculed by their friends. Others, presented with this choice, endured great societal costs—and in some cases, beatings and death—for their faith. In 1891, Moffett met an early convert in Ŭiju whose forehead was scarred after his aunt, furious at his refusal to sacrifice at his father’s tomb, “knocked him senseless with an ink stone” (Moffett, “Good News from the North,” Church at Home and Abroad (1892), 150). Also reproduced in Oak 2011, 298–302. For a dramatic tale of a Korean convert defying her husband and refusing to prepare an ancestral offering, even as he brandished a knife in front of her face, see Nisbet 1919, 31. The stouthearted fervency of the Korean converts impressed the missionaries, who remarked that “they receive abuse, accept ostracism, endure cruel mockings, even bonds and imprisonments, in order to obtain a good report through faith” (Appenzeller 1902, 38; and Gale 1909, 192). Moffett, reporting the beating of a recent convert by his relatives in July 1891, remarked in a letter to the Presbyterian foreign missions board: “His adherence to the faith gives promise of good things” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, July 2, 1891). “The infant Korean church has shown a heroism, has endured sufferings, and has produced a martyr-roll that will compare favorably with the missionary annals of less obscure countries and more forward peoples,” British statesman George Curzon remarked after a visit to Korea (Curzon 1896, 183).
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aside traditions, and steered converts away from changing their hairstyles or other customs

NoteMary Scranton, one of the first woman missionaries in Korea and the founder of what is now Ewha Womans University, was careful about not repeating what she regarded as missionaries’ errors in other countries in seeking to wipe out Korean culture itself. As her son William wrote in 1888: “I emphasize the fact that they are not being made over again after our foreign ways of living, dress, and surroundings, because it occasionally appears from home and even in the field that we are thought to make a change in all ways. This is not so. We take pleasure in making Koreans better Koreans only. We want Korea to be proud of Korean things” (“Notes from Korea,” Gospel in All Lands 9 (August 1888), 373). Also quoted in David Suh 1991, 27; Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 98; and Huntley 1984, 84. Annie L. A. Baird, wife of William Baird and a pioneering missionary in the realm of education, similarly advocated “a system which will train young women and yet leave them indigenous, their thoughts and affections deep in Mother Korea” (Annie L. A. Baird [Baird, Annie L. Adams], “Higher Education of Women in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 4 (April 1912), 113–16, here 114). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi, “‘Wise Mother, Good Wife’” (2009), 13.  LESSONS LEARNED FROM JAPAN: The Korea missionaries were perhaps mindful of the example in Japan, where the missionaries came under fire, even from some of their more devoted charges, of trying to get the Japanese to adopt “not only Christianity but also ‘Christian civilization,’” in the words of the Christian evangelist Uchimura Kanzō (內村 鑑三 1860–1931) (as quoted in Ion 1990, 8). Indeed, Ion writes, “Protestant missionaries in late nineteenth-century Japan…firmly believed in the superiority of Western civilization. The missionaries often instilled in their Japanese converts a similar sense of the superiority of Western civilization and thus the inferiority of Japanese culture” (Ion 1990, 46).  PRIMARILY A RELIGIOUS BUSINESS: That thinking had begun to change by the time the missionaries arrived in Korea. “We do not send Christian missionaries to clothe the heathen or to alter their style of dress,” Robert Speer wrote in 1902. “We do not send missionaries to improve the industrial conditions of Asia and Africa…Nor do the missionaries go out to reform politics…The primary business of the missionary is a religious business” (Speer 1902, 28–30). Thus, when the missionaries created a native Korean Presbyterian Church in September 1907, it was precisely to avoid the Japanese precedent: “Control and destiny of the Church would henceforth be in their hands. Of course, that was just what we wanted. We wanted a Korean church, not an American church” (Blair 1957, 60–61). For more on the establishment of the native Presbyterian church, see Act I, Chapter 8.   TOPKNOTS AND VEILS: Indeed, many Korean converts saw no contradiction between embracing a foreign teaching and hewing to traditional values. Rev. Yi Myŏng-jik (李明植 1890–1973), a revivalist preacher whose Bible knowledge surpassed that of many pastors at the time, nonetheless fervently opposed Westernization (Tai Kyun Shin 2009, 85–86). One clear manifestation of the missionaries’ opposition to needless abandoning of tradition could be seen in the question of topknots, or sangt’u, the elaborate hairstyle that Korean males began wearing as a sign of adulthood during their adolescence. The missionaries were reluctant to push for an end to topknots, and many even objected when their converts announced their intention to chop it off as a symbol of their status as a declaration of modernity, “dislik[ing] to see them laying aside old customs needlessly” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 168–69). Part of it, of course, was that the missionaries knew the chopping off of the topknot was likely to arouse anger and opposition from family members. It was also far less important to the missionaries than, say, discarding their ancestral tablets, an act of defiance that the missionaries regarded in a more favorable light, since it aligned with their views of ancestor worship as idolatry. In any case, the missionaries’ reluctance to force converts to cut off their topknot was such that only one out of the first seven graduates of the Presbyterian Seminary in 1907 had cut off his topknot (Kim Chi-yŏng, “Han’guk Kyohoe Samdae Mokhoeja Kajok e Taehan Yŏn’gu” (Th.M. thesis, Methodist Theological Seminary Seoul, 2014), 9). Despite the missionaries’ best efforts, many Korean men chose to chop off the topknot anyway as a symbol of their own break from the past. When the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown first visited Korea in 1901, all men wore the topknot; by his third visit in the late 1910s, it was exceedingly rare, a trend that he said “testifies, more eloquently perhaps than anything else could do, to the passing of ancient Korea and the dawning of a new era” (Brown 1919, 67–68). Cutting off the topknot didn’t necessarily mean an embrace of Christianity, per se; Kim Sŏng-su (金性洙 1891–1955), later a leading Christian nationalist, cut off his topknot on the eve of sailing for Japan to study, regarding it as a burdensome symbol of traditional Confucianism. He later sent a photo of himself, sans topknot, to his parents, with an apology attached (Choong Soon Kim [Kim, Chung-sun], A Korean Nationalist Entrepreneur: A Life History of Kim Sŏngsu, 1891–1955 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998), 27). Missionaries similarly urged their young female charges to continue wearing veils—despite the Korean girls’ desire to abandon the practice. One Southern Methodist school in Seoul, Paehwa Girls’ School (培花女子學校 Kor. Paehwa Yŏja Hakgyo), required students to cover their faces at chapel, even after 1910, while a Southern Presbyterian missionary and headmistress in southwestern Korea continued to insist on her charges wearing veils in certain circumstances, sparking fierce student resistance (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 51–52).
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a preacher positioned at the corner could be seen by women on one side and men on the other

NoteThe separation of the sexes in church can be seen as a concession by the missionaries to the prevailing mores of the time. Because of conservative Chosŏn-era social customs that kept women cloistered from public life, churches, at least at first, held separate services for men and women, or drew a large curtain down the middle of the sanctuary, so that men on one side and women on the other could both see the preacher standing at the front. As the missionary William N. Blair explains, “this was necessary in early days because a good many young women attended and their husbands were unwilling for them to come to church if they could be stared at by anybody” (Blair 1957, 49–50). The first woman to be baptized in northern Korea, named Chŏn Sam-dŏk (全三德 1840–1932) was baptized through a curtain by the missionary William Scranton (Huntley 1984, 127). Many of Korea’s largest churches, including Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church, were constructed in the distinctive L-shape.
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were particularly assertive, and effective, was in elevating the place of women in Korea

Note“Figuratively and literally, thousands of Korean women received new names and new identities through the church,” writes Martha Huntley, a historian of Korea missions and herself a later missionary to South Korea. “The coming of Christianity revised their image of who they were, what they were capable of, what their worth was” (Huntley 1984, 77-78). Academic scholars, like University of Indiana historian Michael Robinson, have likewise credited the missionaries with fostering the then-radical notion of women’s equality, writing that “the Christian church brought men and women together for public worship; it established schools for women; and it encouraged the organization of emergence of women’s groups devoted to practical reform issues” (Robinson 1988, 35; and Robinson 2007, 30, 91). Hyaeweol Choi, a historian of gender and religion in Korea now based at the University of Iowa, argues in her Gender and Mission Encounters in Korea: New Women, Old Ways (2009), highlights the importance of missionary efforts in the realm of women’s education. “Protestant mission schools offered formal education to girls and women in the late nineteenth century for the first time in Korean history, and…continued to play a key role in women’s education through the first half of the twentieth century,” she writes. “It was women missionaries who founded the first girls’ schools in Korean history, at a time when neither the Korean government nor private citizens paid any attention to female education” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 8, 86).  TAKING AIM AT PATRIARCHY: The missionaries brought with them an assault on societal practices that long favored men, such as polygamy and the barring of widows (though not widowers) from remarrying. In addition, missionaries took aim at early marriages, seeking to end the practice of marrying twelve- or thirteen-year-old girls to men they had never met (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 77–78). In 1914, the Presbyterian General Assembly set a minimum age of seventeen for men and fifteen for women, at least within the church, while also allowing widows to remarry (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 136).  CATHOLIC LIBERATION: One of the earliest examples of Christianity’s role in elevating the place of women in Korean society—predating even the arrival of Protestantism—was Kang Wan-suk (1761–1801), an early aristocratic Catholic convert living in Seoul. Kang, who harbored the Catholic priest Zhou Wenmo at her home for years after he snuck into Korea in the late eighteenth century, was, in the words of one biographer, “a remarkable woman who worked in a cause that unfolded outside the home in public space, something that was hardly imaginable for a woman in her time and probably without precedent in earlier Korean history” (Ledyard, “Kollumba Kang Wansuk,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 38). Another biographer describes Kang as “a single mother, and shockingly nonconformist (even by modern standards)” who “was one of the most influential Catholics in the history of Korea’s Catholic Church,” praised by her fellow Catholic converts “as being intellectually more outstanding than any man” (Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 84–85). As Kevin Cawley, a scholar at University College Cork in Ireland, writes: “Catholicism, though often considered to reinforce patriarchal values, clearly provided the women in the early Catholic Church in Korea with a means for their own liberation from Confucian values that demeaned them mentally, physically, sexually and spiritually” (Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 92). For thumbnail biographies of Kang Wan-suk, see Ledyard, “Kollumba Kang Wansuk,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 38–71; and Cawley, “Dangerous Women,” in David W. Lee 2015, 84–87. As early as 1795, Yu Han-dang (聊閑堂 ?–?), the wife of Yi Pyŏk (李霹 1754–1786, baptismal name John the Baptist), one of the earliest Catholic believers, had published a radical call for equality of husband and wife, pointing to the biblical account of man and woman made in the image of God (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 25).
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after they were baptized, frequently invoking virtues like mercy, faith, love, and patience

NoteNAMES FOR THE NAMELESS: “The little girl is given a name, but it matters little what it is, since it will soon be lost,” missionary Robert Moose wrote in 1911. “She may be called Little Flower, Little Calf, Little Pig, Golden Rat, or anything that may be thought of, just so it will distinguish her from the other children in the family. Sometimes she is called No. 1 or No. 2, and so on, to any number that may come into the family. She is often called ‘Sup-sup-haby,’ the meaning of which is ‘sorrowful’” (Moose 1911, 107). English traveler and writer Emily Kemp, writing that same year after passing through Korea, was similarly struck by the peculiarity of the arrangement: “Womankind in Korea suffers from a strange lack—the absence of names. A woman may possess a pet name, otherwise she has none; frequently she does not even know her husband’s name. If she becomes a Christian and receives baptism she acquires a name, and this must give her quite a new sense of dignity” (Kemp 1911, 76).  “THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE”: Lillias Underwood, who named many of the Korean women that she baptized, described the new names as being rendered using a Chinese character that “agrees” with the name of each woman’s husband. “It is amusing and a little pathetic to see how highly they cherish these Christian names, the first they ever had,” she wrote (Lillias Underwood 1905, 172). One Korean woman, recalling in 1927 the day she was given her name, “Dorcas,” after a disciple in the Book of Acts, described it as “the happiest day of my life. I rejoiced most that I was acknowledging the Lord as my Saviour, but I also rejoiced that freedom had come to me—a woman.” “Think of it—for nearly 50 years without a name,” said the woman, Dorcas Kim Kang, who later became a renowned Bible-woman. “The day that Jesus Christ was preached in Korea began the emancipation of women from the bondage of thousands of years” (Huntley 1984, 80). Though the Korean women themselves were overjoyed, not all scholars have come to look upon this practice with admiration. Historian Hyaeweol Choi, now of the University of Iowa, acknowledges the genuine emotion that many Korean women felt after receiving names from the missionaries: “The day I was baptized was the happiest day in my life. We Chosŏn women lived under the oppression of men for thousands of years without having our own names,” she quotes one such woman as saying. Still, despite the elation, Choi argues that the underlying motive of the missionaries was problematic, with both men and women missionaries having “imagined that it was their role to heroically transform the lot of these Korean women through Christian teachings” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 23, 25).
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early convert declared in 1896, in what was a radical statement for a denizen of Chosŏn Korea

NoteThe speaker is the early convert to Methodism Philip Jaisohn, who added: “Korean women are the most pitiful in the world. Today we address ourselves to the people of our country in support of women” (as quoted in Chung-shin Park 2003, 57). By the following year, 1897, the Methodist church in Seoul was holding debates on whether women should enjoy the same rights as men, while an 1899 article in a Korean Christian newspaper lamented that, though the strength of the nation depended on educated women, in Korea—as in India and China—women were relegated to child-rearing and cooking meals (see Chu, “A New Perspective,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 155). Some Korean men, after converting to the faith, even found themselves ashamed of “talking down” to their wives while they “talked up” to them, in accordance with traditional Korean grammatical norms (Huntley 1984, 77). In neighboring China, a similar process was taking place, with Christian converts being among the first to unbind their girls’ feet (Murray 1975, 43). The relative equality of women in Korean Christian households was as striking to outsiders in 1950, when the U.N. International Refugee Organization dispatched Edgar Kennedy to the peninsula: “Perhaps the most outstanding characteristic of the Korean Christians is the less subservient role of the wives. They are less shy and seem to have better developed social qualities. Their homes are also different in some subtle and undefinable way,” he wrote (Kennedy 1952, 153).
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after serving the men, as had been the practice for as long as anyone could remember

NoteAROUND THE DINNER TABLE: When Protestant missionaries began arriving in Korea, they found that, as Robert Moose wrote in his 1911 book Village Life in Korea, “the family does not eat together. The men have their meals served to them in the best rooms, while the women usually eat theirs in the cook shed, which has nothing but the ground for a floor.” But, with the influence of the missionaries, he wrote, “Christianity is changing this so that Christian families now take their meals together, always asking a blessing before eating, and often reading a portion of Scripture” (Moose 1911, 232). After years in which Korean wives would be cloistered at home and made subservient to their husbands, “now, she often goes side by side with her husband to Church, and is even permitted to eat with him,” Methodist missionary Mattie W. Noble wrote in 1915, following more than two decades in Korea. “The coats, veils, and the enormous hats are fast disappearing and women are beginning to feel the sunshine in the open air” (Mattie Wilcox Noble, “What the Bible Has Done in Christian Korean Homes,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 1 (January 1915), 11–13, here 11–12). For another account from a Korean woman convert about the changed relationship with her husband, see Gale 1909, 94.  “SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF GOD”: It went far beyond dining customs. Prior to the arrival of Western influences, “in Korea a woman was considered no better than a domestic animal,” Korean novelist Yi Kwang-su wrote in 1918. “It is the blessing of Christianity that has induced her to attend church services and to engage in acts of worship along with men, giving her the conception that men and women are sons and daughters of God on equal terms” (Yi Kwang-su, “Benefits Which Christianity Has Conferred,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 35). Yi, who admired Christianity but isn’t believed by many scholars to have converted to the faith, noted with approval that in the church, “a Christian woman enjoys that same power with men to vote for the election of church officers. She shares equally with men the responsibility of supporting the Church. In the roll-book of Christians a woman possesses her individuality as well as a man. Except for the posts of pastors or elders and a few other offices that are defined by the Scriptures, she has the right to be elected to a church office” (Yi Kwang-su, “Benefits Which Christianity Has Conferred,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 35). An even more triumphalist and self-congratulatory tone could be found in remarks by missionary Blanche I. Stevens in 1934, apparently quoting James Gale: “The women of the Far East have waited for nearly two thousand years for the passing of the Man of Nazareth in order that they might lay their burdens and sorrows at His feet, and might speak into His ears, for He is the only Oriental who ever listened to the woes and wants of women” (Blanche I. Stevens, “Contribution to the Christian Movement of Educational Work for Young Women,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 145–54, here 145). Gender historian Hyaeweol Choi doesn’t disagree that the Christian church played an important role in elevating the place of Chosŏn-era women. Even so, Ch’oe is careful to hedge any praise for the missionaries’ contributions to Korean women’s improved status with a countervailing criticism, ultimately concluding that, “while Korean historiography has portrayed women missionaries as modern and liberated, in actuality they assumed unequal, subordinate positions within the larger church organizations.” While the Christian missionaries’ teachings “undoubtedly served as a platform for women to gain unprecedented opportunities and to go beyond traditional gender roles…, these opportunities were consistently promoted through Christian and nationalistic metanarratives that in reality continued to subordinate women and consign them primarily to the domestic or ‘women’s sphere’” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 3, 22). Donald Baker, a contemporary scholar of Korean religion, splits the difference, writing: “Claims that Christianity has granted women equality with men in Korea are exaggerated…Nevertheless, it is clear that women were given new responsibilities under Christianity, responsibilities that gave them greater public visibility” (Baker, “The Impact of Christianity,” (2016), 55).  “AN INDEPENDENT HUMAN BEING”: To hear the women converts themselves tell it, the advent of Christianity was an unadulterated source of joy. Chŏn Sam-dŏk (全三德 1840–1932), the first woman to be baptized in northern Korea, celebrated thirty years as a Bible woman in 1925, exclaiming: “I had eyes but could not see, had ears but could not hear, and had a mouth but could not speak. But once I came to know Jesus I became an independent human being” (as quoted in Timothy Lee 2010, 51–52). See also Kim Kwŏn-jŏng, “Chŏn Sam-dŏk (全三德),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture. As one missionary noted, it was only in the presence of Western missionaries that Korean women were first able to speak publicly to men who weren’t members of their own household (Fenwick 1911, 20). The missionaries were distressed upon arriving in Korea to see scenes like those in which Korean women, while traveling with their husbands, were generally made responsible for carrying the heavy loads, while their husbands rode on carts or strolled alongside with nothing but a pipe (MacRae 1993, 68). More harrowing was the fact that, as some of the missionaries learned firsthand, Korean men were allowed to treat, or mistreat, their wives however they wanted, with no legal consequence. Shortly after his arrival in Korea, William Baird, based at the time in the southeastern port city of Pusan, was informed of a man dragging a woman by her hair along the main road near Pusan; when Baird appeared at the scene, the man had tied the woman’s hands together with rope and was beating her with a stone: “She has run away from his home with another man and he was taking her home much against her will. Koreans would not have interfered much even though he had killed her, contenting themselves with saying, ‘they are man and wife. It is not our business.’ By Korean law a man may beat or mistreat his wife in almost any way with impunity. In cases like the above he often cuts off her nose or burns her body horribly. This land though possessing a very ancient civilization is full of the habitations of cruelty” (William Baird 2013, 154 (April 16, 1894, diary entry)). Needless to say, the missionaries sought to put an end to such practices.
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—not least the women themselves, whom the missionaries eagerly took under their wings

Note“MY MIND IS DARK”: The missionaries initially found among the Korean women a deep sense of bewilderment and inferiority that the foreigners were even interested in meeting them or trying to offer them a chance at an education. “The Korean woman often says ‘Oh, I am only a woman, and therefore my mind is dark; how can I understand anything?’ It takes time and effort to persuade her that the feminine mind really can comprehend” (“Field Notes,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 10 (August 1906), 192–93, here 192). One Korean, learning that the missionaries were opening a school for girls, remarked to Methodist missionary George H. Jones that “he expected the next thing from the missionaries would be schools for cattle” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 81).  A MATTER OF POLICY: Despite the puzzlement that Korean women themselves felt towards the idea of educating them, the missionaries understood early on the unmatched role that women played in raising up the younger generation in Chosŏn-era Korea and focused their energies on educating them. “The work among the women is so preeminently important that we have given it most careful attention in our plans,” Samuel Moffett wrote in February 1893 (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, February 1, 1893). When the Presbyterian missionaries at their annual meeting a week earlier posed the question, “By what means can we most rapidly and most effectively evangelize Korea?” the first two answers that they gave were to reach out to the “working classes” of Korea—and to the country’s women (Presbyterian Church U.S.A. Annual Meeting minutes, January 24, 1893 (PHS)). See also Kim Yŏng-jae, “A Re-evaluation of the Mission Policies of Nevius,” trans. Cho Kwang-sun, in Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], ed., Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Korean Scholar Press, 1996), 73–85, here 75–76. That is not to say that the missionaries were able to bring women’s education to all corners of the peninsula. For decades after the missionaries’ arrival, access to schooling for women—at least outside the church—remained rare. “Female education is as much a new thing in Korea as an aeroplane,” Methodist convert Yun Ch’i-ho wrote in 1918. “This very morning an old aunt of mine said to me: ‘For people like you it is all right to educate your daughters; but the poor country girls, what do they want an education for? All they need is to know how to cook and sew.’ I tried in vain to convince her that the poor country girls need to be educated even more than girls of well-to-do families” (T. H. Yun [Yun, Ch’i-ho], “A Korean’s Opinion on Female Education in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 6 (June 1918), 124).
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B. Scranton, to Seoul in 1885, making them two of Korea’s earliest Protestant missionaries

NoteMary F. Scranton (1832–1909) was in fact the Methodist Church’s first woman missionary to Korea. Her son William B. Scranton (1856–1922) was a doctor and graduate of Yale University (Griffis 1912, 56). The Scrantons traveled as a foursome, with William’s wife and infant daughter also moving to Korea (Huntley 1984, 16). The Scrantons sailed from San Francisco on February 3, 1885, together with Henry Appenzeller, who had been ordained a day earlier (Huntley 1984, 23). Martha Huntley, a historian of the Korean church and missionary to South Korea, argues the Scrantons deserve more recognition as the first Methodist appointees to Korea. Mary Scranton had been the first General Secretary of the Methodist Women’s Foreign Missionary Society back home and then their first missionary to Korea, serving in the country for a quarter century until her death in 1909 (Huntley 1984, 16). As one Methodist historian put it: “A young unmarried woman could not have accomplished with Korean women what Mrs. Scranton did—middle-aged, widowed, the mother of a grown son” (Wade Crawford Barclay, History of Methodist Missions, Part 2: The Methodist Episcopal Church, 1845–1939, Vol. 3: Widening Horizons, 1845–95 (New York: Board of Missions of the Methodist Church, 1957), 756). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 89.
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had established Korea’s first school for women—a concept widely ridiculed at the time

NoteIndeed, when Scranton opened the school, with free tuition, room and board, “the missionary could not find a single student” (Soh 2008, 5). The first student was “a child found lying against the city wall with her mother who was suffering from typhus,” and the second student an orphan (Clark 2003, 181). Another account describes the first student as being the daughter of a mother who was so afraid Scranton would kidnap the girl, as the rumor had it foreigners were wont to do, that Scranton had to personally promise she would never take the girl out of the country; the second student, this account says, was found with her sick mother by the city wall (Scranton, “Woman’s Work in Korea,” Korean Repository (1896), 4–5). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 90–91.
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to 120 students, including the first Korean doctor to study and perform Western medicine

NotePEAR FLOWERS: Ewha Academy (梨花學堂 Kor. Ihwa Hakdang), known today as Ewha Womans University (梨花女子大學校 Kor. Ihwa Yŏja Taehakgyo), is one of South Korea’s most prestigious universities, with a large bust of Mary Scranton on display on the Ewha campus (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 33). Ewha, meaning “Pear Flower,” was the name given to the site by the nobleman whose villa once stood there, according to one Korean nationalist (Cynn 1920, 136). Another explanation was given by Mary Scranton in a letter to the publication Heathen Woman’s Friend: “The Koreans call women (when they wish to be specially sweet and poetic) pear-flowers; so our school is the ‘Pear-Flower School’” (“From Missionary Letters,” Heathen Woman’s Friend 19, no. 1 (July 1887), 10–13, here 11–12). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 89. Whatever the real origin, the fact that King Kojong himself had named the private academy gave it what one scholar calls the “imprimatur of prestige that provided Scranton with both power and authority to move forward with her project of educating Korean women” (“From Correspondence,” Heathen Woman’s Friend 17, no. 10 (April 1886), 249–51, here 249). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 89–90.  FROM NINETEEN STRAW HUTS: Mary Scranton, like many of her fellow missionaries, believed that “for the most speedy advancement of the country the women and girls must be educated,” and started by buying up the land on which were sitting nineteen straw huts, as well as another strip of unoccupied land, in Seoul (Scranton, “Woman’s Work in Korea,” Korean Repository (1896), 4). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 33, 89. As Hyaeweol Choi writes, prior to 1886, “no formal educational institute for girls or women existed in Korea. The only education the majority of Korean women received was informal instruction about filial piety (hyo) from their family members within the domestic sphere” (Hyaeweol Choi, “‘Wise Mother, Good Wife’” (2009), 6). By the beginning of the twentieth century, almost all Korean women with a modern middle-school-level education were linked with Christianity, and Ewha went from being a glorified orphanage to the “literal and symbolic center of new womanhood in the country” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 10, 92). In April 1933, wrote Hwang Sin-dŏk, a graduate of a Presbyterian-run girls’ school in Pyongyang, “almost all women over thirty who were educated and had worked in society had been exposed to Christianity, even if it was only minor contact” (as quoted in Hyaeweol Choi, “‘Wise Mother, Good Wife’” (2009), 10).  KOREA’S FIRST WOMAN DOCTOR: Esther Kim Pak was perhaps the most prominent of this early wave of educated Korean women. Pak, also known as Kim Chŏm-dong (金點童 1876–1910), was trained by Methodist medical missionary Rosetta Sherwood Hall before going to the U.S. to study medicine. Rosetta Hall, who published a short pamphlet on Esther Pak, writes about how Pak’s father had found work as an assistant for Methodist Henry Appenzeller in Seoul. At some point, Pak’s father decided to enroll his daughter in Mary Scranton’s newly opened girls’ school. There, Pak became a Christian, started the country’s first women’s prayer group, and, in January 1891, underwent baptism, receiving the name Esther. She married another Christian convert in 1893. After serving as Rosetta Hall’s interpreter in Seoul, she joined the Halls in relocating to Pyongyang in April 1894. After the sudden death of Rosetta Hall’s husband W. James Hall, she returned to the U.S. for a short spell, bringing Pak with her (Rosetta Sherwood Hall, Mrs. Esther Kim Pak, M. D.—Korea’s First Woman Doctor (Boston: Woman’s Foreign Missionary Society, Methodist Episcopal Church, n.d.), 2–9). In September 1895, Pak worked at the New York Nursery and Child’s Hospital while learning Latin, physics, and mathematics, and in October 1896, she enrolled at the Woman’s Medical College of Baltimore and earned her Johns Hopkins M. D. degree in 1900 (Sherwood Hall 1978, 161, 196). See also Rosetta Hall 1897, 197–209. After losing her husband to tuberculosis in Baltimore, Esther Pak returned to Korea that year, and threw herself into medical work in Pyongyang, until her own death of tuberculosis on April 13, 1910 (Rosetta Hall n.d., 11; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 223). Nearly two decades later, on May 28, 1928, Rosetta Hall laid the cornerstone for the first tuberculosis sanitorium in Korea, with Kim Ch’ang-sik, one of James Hall’s first assistants, delivering an address (Sherwood Hall 1978, 381). The missionaries also helped to establish the very concept of nursing in Korea at a time when educating women, and letting them treat men and women, was unheard of. As Samuel H. Moffett, son of the pioneering missionary, pointed out: “It must be remembered that in 1900 Korean girls were scarcely considered worth medical treatment, much less medical training” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 158–59). In September 1928, Rosetta Hall presided over the opening of a Woman’s Medical Training Institute in Seoul, the first in the country (Sherwood Hall 1978, 386–87).  “IN THE DARK LIKE THIS”: Another notable figure was Nancy Ha (Ha Ran-sa 何蘭史 1872–1919), a native of Pyongyang who became the first Korean women to earn a bachelor’s degree in the U.S., graduating from Ohio Wesleyan University in 1906. A decade earlier, Ha had sought enrollment at Ewha Academy, only to be denied entry because she was married and enrollment was full; during the meeting, she blew out the lantern and said, dramatically: “Our country is in the dark like this. We mothers should learn something and teach our children.” She was granted admission (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 93).
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the same sphere as men, and prompting other churches across the peninsula to do the same

NoteThe 1913 move, by Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind preacher of Pyongyang, set a closely watched precedent, and shortly afterwards, Rev. Son Chŏng-do would do the same at Chŏng-dong Methodist Church in Seoul, one of the country’s most prominent churches. Missionary John N. Mills (1856–1922), a frequent visitor to Korea, described in February 1922 how “curtains that used to separate men from women in the churches have largely disappeared,” crediting the move to Rev. Kil (Mills, “Cause of Changes,” Missionary Review of the World (1922), 115–16). By the 1930s, the missionaries could report that much of the segregation of the sexes, both within and without the church, had more or less come to an end: “Men and women still sit in opposite sections of the churches, but the partition is gone. There is a section for women at the movies, but they are by no means restricted to it, and in trains and buses and street-cars there is no distinction” (Koons, “Present Day Social Problems,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 181–82).
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South Korea’s inaugural cabinet in 1948 and become the first woman elected to the legislature

NoteThe woman is Im Yŏng-sin (Louise Yim 任永信 1899–1977), who decades later would go on to take a cabinet position in South Korea’s first government, and lead a university, Seoul’s Chung’ang University (中央大學校 Kor. Chung’ang Taehakgyo). The Korean man who addressed her as an equal was Rev. Kim In-jun, and Yim gives a first-person recounting of the incident in her memoir (Louise Yim, My Forty Year Fight for Korea (London: Victor Gollancz, 1952), 57–58). For more on Kim In-jun, see Act III, Chapters 24 and 27. Meantime, as Nodie Dora Kim, also known by her Korean name Kim Hye-suk (1898–1972), a Korean Christian who was studying at Ohio’s Oberlin College in 1919, put it that year: “Before my grandmother’s days women of Korea had very little to do along political lines or in social work…There used to be a time when it was a disgrace to be born a girl in a Korean family, but boys were welcome. During these late years the girls are the pride of the families, and they are anxious to give them a better chance than many of the boys” (as quoted in First Korean Congress—Held in The Little Theatre, 17th and Delancey Streets, April 14, 15, 16 (Philadelphia: n.p., 1919), 17–18).
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the religion, enjoying positions of prestige otherwise inaccessible to them in broader society

NoteIn 1934, to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the arrival of Protestant missionaries in Korea, Pyongyang missionary Margaret Best summed up the contributions of the missionaries to Korea’s women: “If you ask Korean Christians, what the Gospel has done for Christian women, they will say first of all that it has brought them salvation from the guilt and power of sin. Then will come a long list of blessings, social, moral, educational and religious, sometimes quaintly expressed in English like the following: ‘It broke the door that kept them in houses.’ It gave them liberty to believe in Jesus Christ. It gave them rights to become members of their own families and not merely necessary and useful appendages. It gave them names. It gave them liberty of soul and action. It gave them an education based on Christianity. It gave them work for homes, churches and their own people” (Margaret Best, “Fifty Years of Women’s Work,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 83–92, here 90–91). Also cited in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 180. Indeed, women often became leaders for household family worship services and for local prayer meetings (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 76).
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to move into a village and start prayer and Bible study groups among the other women there

NoteThe very presence of sending unaccompanied women to the country as missionaries—as was the practice from the very beginning of missions work in Korea—allowed the egalitarianism of Christianity to pervade the countryside. By the time the missionaries first arrived in Korea, the church back home in the West was promoting an approach that saw men and women working side by side as a team, invoking the New Testament missionary wife-husband team of Priscilla and Aquila. “If Priscilla be the equal of Aquila, let her rank with him,” missions evangelist Arthur Pierson wrote (Pierson 1901, 486).
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deacon, whose ranks would include the mother of a boy later known to the world as Kim Il Sung

NoteThe Sino-Korean word kwŏnsa (勸士, 勸事, or 勸師) was often translated into English as “Bible-woman” or “female deacon.” For Korea’s early Bible-women, perhaps most remarkable of all was the speed with which their status had changed in the span of just a few years, from a social standing so low they were deprived of names to being tasked with oversight of dozens of churches across wide swaths of territory. One Bible-woman, Dorcas Kim Kang, a Methodist, was given care of northwestern Korea, walking 1,450 miles to visit all the churches assigned to her, all the while confronting robbers and ridicule. In one case, she was said to have converted one of her would-be thieves, putting him on a path that eventually led to his becoming a pastor (Huntley 1984, 126–27). See also Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 55–56. For more on Kim Il Sung’s mother, see Act II, Chapter 10.
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The missionaries’ egalitarian tendencies in Korea extended beyond women

NoteEarly Korean converts freed their slaves, while butchers—the lowest of the low in the traditional Korean Confucian hierarchy—were welcomed into the church as equals (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 26).
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society meant engaging the 90 percent of Koreans that didn’t belong to the aristocratic class

NoteOne of the missionaries’ main principles was that “it is better to aim at the conversion of the working classes than that of the higher classes” (Albert Park 2015, 39–40). “The Presbyterians, whose explicit primary objective was the conversion of the working classes before the aristocracy,” writes one scholar, “enable[d] Protestantism to take root among the rural commoners and merchant class before noticeable interest arose in urban centres and among the higher classes. The few nobles who were converted before 1895 were of high calibre, but were mostly reached abroad” (Wells 1990, 28–29). In doing so, writes Manchuria-born Korean scholar David Chung, reform in Korea came as the mirror image of the top-down, elite-led reforms of Japan’s Meiji Restoration. “The same movement in Korea took the opposite direction, from lower to higher. And it took the form of fermentation. It started at the lower and inner strata, at first, and developed upward and outward with increasing acceleration in speed and volume” (David Chung 2001, 33).
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For those who weren’t noblemen, the appeal of Christian teachings was powerful

Note“This religion, in making all people equal before the final tribunal, offers among other hopes, this great one of being able one day to stand on a footing of equality before their taskmasters,” wrote Horace Allen, the pioneering American missionary, who by 1890 had become an American diplomat—the secretary of the U.S. legation in Seoul (Allen 1908, 168). Kenneth Wells, a leading historian of this period, wrote that “the idea that the humblest person, male or female, could attain moral stature ahead of the highest élites flew in the face of neo-Confucian wisdom” (Wells 1990, 14). Wells cites Sin Hŭng-u, a prominent Korean Christian convert who believed the missionaries’ egalitarian teachings and abolition of sex and class divides in the church helped spark democratic impulses in the country (Wells 1990, 85). Certainly, the Presbyterian system of self-governance gave non-aristocratic Koreans “their first experience with self-governance,” writes historian Donald Baker (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 58). Chung-shin Park, another historian of the early Korean church, writes of how “nobles and commoners, men and women, old and young sat together in one place as equals to hear sermons, sing hymns, read the Bible, and discuss matters of religion. They called each other ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 120).
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to the lowest class of all in Korea—butchers, shunned for centuries for handling raw flesh

NoteLOWER THAN SLAVES AND PROSTITUTES: In Chosŏn-era Korea’s highly stratified society, butchers, along with those in tanning, were “outcasts,” on the same level as slaves, and were forced to live in separate hamlets (Eckert et al. 1990, 121). “The business of butchering is in Korea the most degraded of all trades,” wrote Angus Hamilton, a British correspondent in the region at the time. “It is beyond even the acceptance and recognition of the most humble orders of the community” (Hamilton et al. 1910, 29; and Hamilton 1904, xl–xli). The butchers were so despised in part because of Buddhist teachings against killing animals and were denied the right to wear hats—which mattered in highly-stratified and headgear-obsessed Chosŏn Korea (Shearer 1966, 88–89; and Griffis 1912, 233–34). The term in Korean for members of this underclass was paekjŏng (白丁), and have been described by some sources as being lower even than slaves and prostitutes (Huntley 1984, 68–69).  EMANCIPATOR OF BUTCHERS: Samuel F. Moore (1860–1907) was a native of Illinois who, like Moffett, Baird, and many of the Pyongyang missionaries, had graduated from McCormick Seminary, class of 1892, and served in Korea from 1892 until his death in 1907 (General Catalogue of the McCormick Theological Seminary 1912, 91; and Jaekeun Lee 2010, 51). In 1893, the year after he arrived, Rev. Moore founded Seoul’s second Presbyterian church, known as Kondang-gol Church (“Kongdangkol Church”), known today as Sŭng-dong Church (勝洞教會 Kor. Sŭng-dong Kyohoe) in Seoul’s Insa-dong (仁寺洞) neighborhood. After butchers began to attend the church, Rev. Moore and another missionary, Oliver Avison, appealed—successfully—to King Kojong to extend more legal rights to the long-neglected class (Shearer 1966, 88–89). “The joy of the negroes on hearing of President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation was not greater than that of the Korean butchers when the decree went forth that they should be allowed to wear hats,” Rev. Moore later wrote. “They were so elated that they wore their hats day and night” (S. F. Moore [Moore, Samuel F.], “The Butchers of Korea,” Korean Repository 5 (April 1898), 127–32, here 131). Also cited in Huntley 1984, 72. As one aristocratic convert told Rev. Moore: “I am a Yang Ban (a distinguished person), but God did not make one man a Yang Ban and another a Sang Nom (low fellow). Men have made that distinction. God made all men equal” (S. F. Moore [Moore, Samuel F.], “An Incident in the Streets of Seoul,” The Church at Home and Abroad 16, no. 92 (August 1894), 119–20, here 120). Also cited in Chung-shin Park 2003, 57–58.
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the butchers and the other remaining congregants in a singing of “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know”

NoteRev. Moore recounted the incident in an April 1895 letter to Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood, where he expressed his outrage at what he regarded as attempts by the yangban to deny salvation to lower-class Koreans. “The Yang Bans’ religion would permit only the higher classes to go to heaven,” Rev. Moore wrote. “At first I was disposed to think them sinners above most all others but when another missionary reminded me that at home also there were Christian people who would not allow low people or colored brethren to meet with them for worship and I remembered that these have only just come out of the darkest heathenism, I felt more lenient in my condemnation” (Samuel F. Moore letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, April 27, 1895, Seoul (PHS 178/5/89)). “They were looked upon as lower even than the beggars and were not allowed to wear hats and suffered a great deal of abuse,” Rev. Moore added in a follow-up letter in June 1895. “The disgrace also extended to their children and relatives.” Encountering the Christian gospel, many of these butchers saw their plight reflected in the stories of the Israelites’ captivity under the Egyptians (Samuel F. Moore letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, June 6, 1895, Seoul (PHS 178/5/86)). See also a letter from Samuel Moore, published in the Korean Repository (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (July 1895), 279–80).  THE BLIND AND THE BUTCHERS: Rev. Samuel Moore had a prominent ally in Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind evangelist of Pyongyang, who went out of his way to signal his solidarity with the butchers. Asked to preach in Seoul in January 1907, Kil insisted on sitting together with the butchers. “The people of Pyongyang had obeyed the rules and orders of the Seoul yangban for a long time, but now Elder Kil, a man from Pyongyang, moved the hearts of the people from Seoul,” writes scholar Oak Sung-deuk (Oak 2013, 300–1). One of the most outspoken of the butchers, Pak Sŏng-ch’un (朴晟春 1862–1933), later became a leading advocate for Korean independence (Chu, “A New Perspective,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 156). Pak had first heard of the Christian faith through the Catholics but converted to Protestantism after he came down with a life-threatening illness—either typhus fever or cholera. Finding himself ignored by his fellow Koreans, Pak was nursed back to health by medical missionary Oliver Avison. After his conversion, Pak became an evangelist and a Presbyterian elder (“A Gospel Sermon Preached by a Korean Butcher,” The Church at Home and Abroad 20, no. 116 (August 1896), 115–16). See also Huntley 1984, 68–69. Pak’s outspokenness, and the fact “that even a lowly paekchŏng could join the cause of the nation,” was a powerful metaphor (Schmid 2002, 39).  A LASTING QUESTION: Despite these prominent success stories, the butcher question remained a major issue in the Seoul church for many more years. In the fall of 1906, missionary Charles Clark called the dilemma—“how to win the butchers without losing all other classes of society”— “the greatest one in the church at present” (C. A. Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “Seoul Central Church,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 11 (September 1906), 213–14). Reflecting upon the issue another decade and a half later, Rev. Clark realized that what made the issue so difficult for the missionaries was that some clearly embraced the faith “to improve their social status.” “These latter, presuming upon their position as Christians, insisted upon calling their fellow believers, ‘Brother’” (Charles Clark 1921, 310–11). Indeed, as one scholar has noted, butchers and other low-born commoners (常民 Kor. sangmin) “benefited little from the Confucian establishment. They lost little—politically or economically—by becoming Christians” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 26–27). To others, the readiness of Korea’s butchers to embrace the new foreign faith provided proof positive to some later Korean Christians that the church needed to address “this-worldly” issues rather than simply focus on the “next-worldly” concerns that the missionaries put at the center of their doctrine. Though some might have derided the butchers as “rice Christians,” converting simply for the worldly benefits they could reap—namely, not being discriminated against—these thinkers argued that Christianity’s appeal and power was precisely to address injustices in the present world (see David Suh 1991, 29).
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encountered the Korean language, they found the grammar and syntax exceptionally daunting

NoteSamuel Moffett waited just three days before he embarked on his efforts to master the Korean lesson. “Took my first lesson in the language this morning and hope to continue patiently until I can make use of it,” he wrote that day (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, January 28, 1890). Moffett was determined and methodical in his approach, which he described as being no less than an “attack” upon a language that was “difficult,” but one which he predicted he would be able to use “quite effectively” within three years (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 18, 1890). Indeed, Moffett became one of the most adept at the language among all the missionaries (see later than in this chapter).
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they agreed, of Korea’s cultural independence from its neighbors, and its creative potential

NoteThe first Westerners to encounter the Koreans, including the shipwrecked Dutch sailor Hendrick Hamel in the late seventeenth century, were vocal in their praise of the genius of the Korean script (David J. Silva, “Western Attitudes toward the Korean Language: An Overview of Late Nineteenth- and Early Twentieth-Century Mission Literature,” Korean Studies 26, no. 2 (2002), 270–86, here 276).  “HALF AN HOUR’S STUDY”: John Ross, the pioneering Scottish missionary to Manchuria, and one of the first Westerners to learn Korean, was rapturous about the vernacular Korean alphabet. “Their alphabet is so beautifully simple that half an hour’s study is sufficient to master it,” he wrote, describing how a Korean man who couldn’t read any Chinese “sat down to a M.S.S. copy of John’s Gospel, and left it off only when he had read it all, not a single word having escaped him…The Corean alphabet, for simplicity and utility, is the best known to me” (Ross, “The Corean Language,” The China Review (1878), 396–97). Also cited in Silva, “Western Attitudes” (2002), 277–78. When Ross first tried to persuade Koreans that he met near the Yalu River to teach him the language, they all feigned ignorance of the vernacular—in part out of fear of the foreigner, he wrote, but also because “they do not regard the ability to read and write their own language as sufficient to entitle to the rank of an educated man” (Ross, “The Corean Language,” The China Review (1878), 396). “The Corean alphabet, for simplicity and utility, is the best known to me,” Ross wrote in a separate work more than a decade later. “In simplicity it is greatly superior to the complex alphabets of its neighbours, Manchu, Mongol, and Japanese…The complexity of Manchu is quite a contrast to the beautiful simplicity of Corean” (Ross 1891, 377).   400 YEARS IN THE WASTEPAPER BASKET: Missionary James Gale was similarly fulsome in his admiration of the Korean alphabet: “Korea’s native script is surely the simplest language in the world, invented in 1445 A.D., it has come quietly down the dusty ages, waiting for, who knew what? Never used, it was looked on with contempt as being so easy. Why yes, even women could learn it in a month or little more; of what use could such a cheap script be? By one of those mysterious providences it was made ready and kept waiting for the New Testament and other Christian literature,” he wrote in 1909 (Gale 1909, 137–38). A few years later, Gale lavished even more praise on the language: “Korea, by what prophetic instinct we know not, prepared 466 years ago a simple form of writing, so that the old and the poor, the toil worn, the prisoner, the hidden wife and mother, the slave behind the mill, the butcher, the baker, the hat mender, the water-carrier, the bean-curd peddler, the sorcerer, the witch-wife, the less than no man, all might read” (James S. Gale, “Korea’s Preparation for the Bible,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 3 (March 1912), 86–88, here 88). And in 1934, Gale wrote, even more colorfully, that the vernacular “had been left to slumber in the waste-paper basket for four hundred years, and now came forth anew in hymn, and song, and sacred story. Its printed pages came fluttering down as from heaven all the way from Fusan to Euijoo” (Gale, “These Fifty Years,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 11).
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characters; after all, these scholars scoffed, even housewives could read and write vulgar script

NoteWork on the alphabet was completed in 1443 and given royal approval in 1446, the same year that the script was introduced in a document attributed to King Sejong, entitled The Proper Sounds for the Instruction of the People (訓民正音 Kor. Hunmin Chŏng’ŭm). Despite the royal imprimatur, many Korean scholars derided the script as the “vulgar script” or “vernacular script” (諺文 Kor. ŏnmun), or as “women’s script” or “female writing” (암글 Kor. amgŭl) (David J. Silva, “Missionary Contributions Toward the Revaluation of Hangeul in Late Nineteenth-Century Korea,” International Journal of the Sociology of Language 192 (2008), 57–74, here 60; and McCune and Thompson 2009, 148). “Owing to the great ease with which Coreans can learn to read and write their own language, as a written language, it is regarded with great contempt, and its use is in great measure confined to women and uneducated men,” British diplomat William Carles wrote in 1888 after his visit to the country. “In official documents it is seldom employed except in proclamations to the people or on business relating purely to the court. The literature is exceedingly small” (Carles 1888, 311–12). Russian writer Nikolai Garin-Mikhailovskii (1852–1906) found little changed when he visited a decade later in 1898: “The men’s script is Chinese writing, and the women’s is the Korean script, simplified for the common folk” (as quoted in German Kim and King, “Korea as Portrayed in Russian Sources,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 277). Isabella Bird Bishop, writing the same year, added: “En-mun, the Korean script, is utterly despised by the educated, whose sole education is in the Chinese classics” (Bishop 1898, 21). As historian Michael Robinson has put it, “Korean elite self-consciously participated in a cosmopolitan cultural universe. It owed, in part, its very status to their monopoly on formal education. Yet its East Asian cosmopolitanism was based on a foreign language and foreign intellectual tradition; although it was selectively indigenized, this elite tradition separated the ruling class of the Yi dynasty from the remainder of the population” (Robinson 1988, 18).
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“trashy, and miserably printed novelettes and books of songs” were published in the vernacular

Note  A similar description can be found in the writing of William Griffis, who describes the “grayish paper” in these publications as being “of the coarsest, cheapest, and meanest appearance, while holes, blotches, and bits of straw in the tissue further disfigure them” (Griffis 1912, 187–88). Horace Allen, writing from the capital in October 1884, described the vulgar script as “not much thought of” (as quoted in Baird 1968, 12). “Many books are printed in Korean, but they correspond to our cheap fiction,” added George Gilmore, an early Western resident of Seoul. “Almost all works of a philosophical, religious or ethical character are in Chinese” (Gilmore 1892, 64). While some publications were printed in the vernacular, they were mostly “valueless as literature…injurious to morals, filled with coarse jests and obscene details,” added Presbyterian missions secretary Arthur Brown (Brown 1919, 76).  AMONG THE UNLEARNED: The degree to which ordinary Koreans could even read the script is not a settled matter. One scholar has described Buddhists as keeping the use of the vernacular Korean script alive during the Chosŏn dynasty (Palmer 1967, 72). Another notes that the vernacular had been used, in a limited fashion, in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Korean literature (Eckert et al. 1990, 174). Yet another has argued that a key reason why prophetic texts like The Records of Chŏnggam were able to spread so widely is because they were circulated in the vernacular script, which even uneducated Koreans could read (Sun Joo Kim 2007, 98). And Isabella Bird Bishop, traveling deep into the little-traveled remote corners of Kang’wŏn province in the 1890s, found “a great many men of the lower orders on the river were able to read their own script” (Bishop 1898, 79). Still, as Korean language scholar Ross King writes, the notion that a large proportion of the Korean population could read vernacular Korean is a “myth” (King, “Korean Language Modernization” (2004), 10, n. 6). “Whether the script was ever diffused among the common people to any meaningful extent during the 15th century is doubtful,” writes Gari Ledyard (1932–2021), a Columbia University historian of Korea and the Korean language. “In spite of the great efforts of Sejong and Sejo to propogate [sic] the new alphabet, its influence in this early period did not go significantly beyond the walls of the palace and the large Buddhist community among the royal family” (Gari K. Ledyard, The Korean Language Reform of 1446 (Seoul: Sin’gu Munhwa-sa, 1998), 380–82). Also cited in Silva, “Missionary Contributions” (2008), 59.
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heaven-sent gift granting them—and Korea’s illiterate masses—access to the written language

Note“UNEARTHED…A HIDDEN TREASURE”: “The missionaries were not only forced, but thrilled, to find an excellent linguistic tool in the native Korean alphabet,” writes Martha Huntley, a historian of Korea missions and herself a missionary to South Korea. “It was one of those unintended consequences of history that the missionaries in their search for a key to simplify communication in Korean, unearthed and seized upon a hidden treasure, unmun. The rediscovery and increasing use of the Korean alphabet was revolutionary” (Huntley 1984, 28). Donald Clark, a scholar and descendant of Korea missionaries, adds: “The simple ŏnmun alphabet appealed to the missionaries because it was simple. It seemed the ideal medium for religious literature since foreigners could learn it almost as easily as ordinary Koreans” (Clark 1986, 32). “Many missionaries undoubtedly appreciated the democratic implications of mass literacy as well. But to commoner Koreans above all, it meant access to the power of the written word—a privilege previously reserved by the yangban class,” he added in another work (Clark 2003, 38). Samuel H. Moffett, son of the pioneering missionary, later declared, with evident pride and perhaps some hyperbole, that the missionaries “rescued from oblivion the Korean phonetic alphabet, one of the best in the world, and used it to open the doors of hope for Korea’s gentle, slow-moving, illiterate masses…Until Christians rescued and revived the alphabet for use in the Korean Bible, it had fallen into disuse, scorned by Korean scholars as entirely too easy and fit only for women or slaves” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 123, 139). More colorfully, the writer William Griffis compared the missionaries’ discovery of the vernacular Korean script to a scene from One Thousand and One Nights: “No Ali Baba, with the filched secret of ‘Open Sesame,’ was more thrilled by the discovery of gold and jewels, than were Underwood and Appenzeller over the trover of the Enmun alphabet” (Griffis 1912, 189).  “NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY”: Initially, because of the lowly status of the vernacular Korean script, the missionaries “risked the possibility that their work would not be taken seriously by the populace,” writes David J. Silva, a linguistics professor at the University of Texas at Arlington. At the end of the day, however, the vernacular script’s “lack of prestige was outweighed by its accessibility” (Silva, “Western Attitudes” (2002), 277). Even as the missionaries adopted the vernacular script, some wondered whether it would fall quickly back into disuse, given that it hadn’t been widely used for four centuries since its creation (Harry A. Rhodes, “Fifty Years of Christian Literature in the Korea Mission, Presbyterian Church, U.S.A.,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 68–82, here 69). Also cited in Wi Jo Kang 1997, 31. They needn’t have worried. Roughly a century later, both Koreas have embraced the vernacular alphabet to a degree that only a small, and aging, minority of Koreans feel comfortable with traditional Chinese characters. 
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mission fields, they framed it as a decision to promote “a pure Korean, free from Sinicisms”

NoteREJECTING CHINESE AND WESTERN WAYS: The goal of ridding Korean of Sinocisms was a political act of sorts, reversing the thinking that first greeted the creation of the vernacular Korean script four centuries earlier. When King Sejong first oversaw the creation of the vernacular alphabet in the fifteenth century, resistance from Chosŏn scholars was rooted in fear of abandoning the Chinese characters with which the sacred Confucian classics had been written. They referred to Chinese characters as the “true script” (真文 Kor. chinmun)—a contrast to the native Korean “vulgar script” (Schmid 2002, 65–66). The decision to teach in Korean rather than, say, English, as the missionaries did at first, was similarly rooted in the goal of avoiding Christianity being lumped together with Western culture. “We have done, I hope, with training the heathen in the English language, denationalizing them, educating them away from their own people and the interest of their own work,” Frank Ellinwood, the Presbyterian foreign mission board secretary, wrote Samuel Moffett in March 1893 (Frank F. Ellinwood letter to Samuel A. Moffett, March 11, 1893, New York, NY (PHS 224/31 (part 2)/152)). Cadwallader Vinton, another Presbyterian missionary, writing a few years later, put it thus: “The error was made at first of teaching them in English, but it has been rectified” (C. C. Vinton [Vinton, Cadwallader C.], “Missionary Review of the Year: The Presbyterian Mission,” Korean Repository 2 (January 1895), 19–22, here 21).   A KOREAN FOR KOREANS: For Korean nationalists, who during this period were coming to regard the use of Sino-Korean characters as a source of shame rather than a source of pride, this message would have resonated loud and clear; in the vernacular Korean alphabet, the nation had something that was as close to “pureness” as possible, unsullied by respect and even worship of all things Chinese (Schmid 2002, 64–65). Not only that, but the native Korean script, with its wonderful simplicity, was not seen merely as of benefit by the foreign missionaries, but also by the Koreans themselves, who regarded the ease with which it could be learned a reflection of the new practical age they hoped to usher in, in which the needs of the ordinary people were valued more highly than erudite scholarship in arcane Confucian works that had little to do with the concerns of the masses (Schmid 2002, 67). The criticism that the vulgar alphabet could be comprehended even by women was turned on its head and made a virtue—women who could acquire knowledge through reading the pure Korean script were regarded as of more value than scholars who wasted years of their life mastering Chinese characters there of little practical value (Schmid 2002, 68). The missionaries quickly intertwined their efforts to educate women were closely with their campaign to resuscitate the long-lost vernacular Korean alphabet. Louisa C. Rothweiler, a Methodist missionary, writing about the importance of educating young girls in 1892, vigorously advocated for the use of the vernacular alphabet: “First of importance must of course be the Enmoun, which should be taught as fully and correctly as possible,” she wrote. “If the study of the dead languages is considered a good thing for the minds of students in Europe and America why should the study of the living ones not be good for Korean minds and even for girls?” (L. C. Rothweiler [Rothweiler, Louisa C.], “What Shall We Teach in Our Girls’ Schools?” Korean Repository 1 (March 1892), 89–93, here 90, 92).
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use of the vernacular, benefited from their leading role in elevating this long-disparaged script

NoteTHE LANGUAGE OF NATIONALISM: The salutary effect of Koreans using their own homegrown script on nationalistic sentiment was obvious as early as the mid-1890s (Bishop 1898, 21). As the Japanese would quickly learn, write three contemporary scholars of the Japanese colonial era, “the simple use of the Korean language took on an inevitable and dichotomous political significance in relation to colonial power,” thus forging an “intimate connection between language and ethnic-national identity” (Christopher P. Hanscom, Walter K. Lew, and Youngju Ryu, eds., Imperatives of Culture: Selected Essays on Korean History, Literature, and Society from the Japanese Colonial Era (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press 2013), xv). Indeed, the Japanese were, if anything, relearning an ancient lesson, for the Korean vernacular alphabet had been deployed to great strategic effect by the Chosŏn court during the chaos of the Hideyoshi invasions in the 1590s. King Sŏnjo, having already fled to Ŭiju and contemplating crossing the Yalu into exile in China, decided to issue a royal edict in the vernacular in hopes of rallying the people. “The royal court, in flight and under extreme pressure, adopted it as a desperate measure to reach the scattered, endangered, and embittered population in an attempt to restore its faith,” writes historian JaHyun Kim Haboush. “He must have felt he needed to reach all his people, every Korean, to make them understand his true feelings and to ask them to fight the enemy and rebuild Korea with him. And for this he had to use Korean script to ensure true inclusiveness” (Haboush 2016, 73, 110). See also Westad 2021, 52.  THE “ESSENCE OF INDEPENDENCE”: When the missionaries began arriving in Korea in the 1880s and the 1890s, their adoption of the vernacular aligned perfectly with nationalistic sentiments that were inspiring many Koreans to embrace the once-scorned script. One of the leading nationalist linguists of this period, Chu Si-gyŏng (周時經 1876–1914), was a Christian convert who played a key role in standardizing Korean orthography and grammar during the 1930s (King, “Dialect, Orthography, and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 139). Chu, regarding Korea’s reliance on Chinese characters to be “cultural slavery,” urged the adoption of the native Korean script as the “essence of independence” (獨立의 性 Kor. tokrip ŭi song) (Vipan Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology in the Nationalism of the Independence Club (1896–1898),” Korean Studies 10 (1986), 13–34, here 20; and Robinson 1988, 34). “Let no one waste precious time learning yet another Chinese graph. The Korean letters that were developed by our great scholars for our use are easy to learn and write, and they should be used in recording everything,” Chu wrote in the pages of the Tokrip Sinmun in 1897 (as quoted in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 114).   THE REDEMPTION OF THE NATIVE SCRIPT: Of course, the vernacular script had been around for centuries before the arrival of Westerners, but the missionaries’ adoption of the much-maligned alphabet in their modern schools gave it a legitimacy that had heretofore eluded it. Methodist missionary George H. Jones called it “the redemption of the native script from the contempt in which the educated native once held it,” and regarded the revival of the vernacular as one of the missionaries’ three great social contributions, alongside the elevation of women and the inclusion of the neglected castes (Jones 1916, 9). “The missionaries and the church popularized the people’s alphabet, and brought it into the general use even in non-Christian circles,” adds a later scholar (Palmer 1967, 74–75). “It was only in the late nineteenth century that the significance of han’gul came to be recognized by foreign residents, including missionaries, and reform-oriented Korea intellectuals,” writes scholar Hyaeweol Choi. “Missionaries immediately recognized the unrivaled value of the Korean script not only as an expedient tool for teaching Christian texts and Western knowledge but also a true marker of Korean uniqueness and cultural heritage that Koreans should be proud of. For this, Korean linguists have commended the role of missionaries in the ‘revival, reform and propagation of han’gul’” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 111–13).  FOREIGN CHAMPIONS OF THE NATIVE SCRIPT: Though the missionaries were generally hesitant to wade into Korean politics, on this one count—the alphabet—there was enough else going on that they were willing to take the chance. Indeed, as David Silva, a linguistics scholar at the University of Texas at Arlington, writes, such efforts represent a recognition by Western missionaries of “the need to take a proactive role in the culture” (Silva, “Western Attitudes” (2002), 278). “While missionary involvement in matters of language and literacy is not unique to the Korean context, most striking is the commitment to a script that was not devised by the missionaries themselves, but rather, was extant in the community. The result was a synergistic development of an unequivocally local cultural asset by foreign stakeholders, leading ultimately to a more favorable revaluing of the indigenous resource by the indigenous people” (Silva, “Missionary Contributions” (2008), 69). Ultimately, Silva writes, by publishing most of their material in the vernacular, “the missionaries contributed to a revaluation of Hangeul as a fully legitimate means of written communication in a broader range of functional domains” (Silva, “Missionary Contributions” (2008), 57). Silva notes that the Korean government didn’t begin publishing its official records in vernacular Korean until 1894, part of broader modernizing reforms—and alongside the Western missionaries’ wholesale embrace of the vernacular script (Silva, “Missionary Contributions” (2008), 57–58). “In the end, Western missionaries played an important role in accomplishing what King Sejong was unable to realize: the use of Hangeul as an accepted, socially legitimate means of orthographic representation in a broader range of functional domains,” he asserts (Silva, “Missionary Contributions” (2008), 58). See also Chu, “A New Perspective,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 147–48; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 86.  HISTORY, TOO: In addition to promoting the native Korean script, the missionaries also began to teach a subject that Koreans had not to that point evinced much interest in—namely, Korean history. At Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul, the missionaries in the spring of 1895 began holding weekly lectures on Korean history, a topic that “up to within a few months has received little or no encouragement by Koreans” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (May 1895), 197–200, here 197).
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Sunday school lessons in the vernacular, which were then distributed around the country

Note“Hundreds and thousands of these were turned out and, in the 1900 to 1910 period, were undoubtedly an important factor in the apparently spontaneous springing up of new groups of believers in farming villages and isolated mountain valleys throughout Whanghae and the two Pyongan Provinces” (Baird 1968, 146). Most of these tracts were churned out by a printing press that William Baird had ordered from Chandler & Price in Cleveland, a machine that arrived in Pyongyang by steamer, making stops in Kobe and Chinnamp’o before being “sailed, poled and hauled” up the Taedong River to Pyongyang—“open to the gaze of hundreds of Koreans who gathered to view this latest infernal device of the foreigners” (Baird 1968, 146). One of the first tracts was a catechism created by Mary Scranton, the mother of missionary William Scranton who had accompanied her son and daughter-in-law to Seoul and established her girls’ school, Ehwa Academy, there. Scranton’s book, printed in the native script, was “published in traditional Korean format, right-to-left, on rice paper with oilpaper covers and stitched binding on the right” (Clark 2003, 19).
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vernacular, rendering their sacred scriptures in the earthy language of the lower classes

NoteMuch of the credit for Korea’s extraordinary embrace of the Christian faith was attributed to the accessibility of the sacred scriptures in the local language. “There are many reasons which furnish the composite answer why Korea, as compared with Japan, for example, has been so quickly evangelised—unto the measure of to-day—but not the least ingredient in the answer is that the gospel message, the good news of God, came to the Korean common people in the idiom and writing most familiar,” William Griffis wrote (Griffis 1912, 189–90). “Through the reading of the Bible in the Korean script, Koreans not only learned the religious message of the book, but also discovered the power of their own language to liberate the poor and the ignorant,” added David Suh, a second-generation Korean Christian, noting that the Catholics—unlike the more successful Protestants—continued to use complex Chinese characters. “Reading it in the Korean vulgar script became a dangerous thing for the Japanese, because it aroused in Korean hearts a deep national consciousness” (David Suh 1991, 30–31).  THE BIBLE AS TEXTBOOK: The translation of the Bible into pure Korean script opened up what one pair of historians has described as a de facto program of “mass adult education” in the form of Bible classes, seen most clearly in the hundreds and sometimes thousands of Koreans who flocked to big cities like Pyongyang from the countryside for several weeks of intensive Bible study each year, thus making churches “centres of literacy” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 87). In a reflection of the close ties between literacy and Christian education, Mary Scranton’s Ewha Academy, the country’s first school for young women, the only text used for the first four years was the Bible (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 98).
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credited the missionaries with having given the Korean alphabet “its dignity and universality”

Note“It is probable that the Korean alphabet and the Korean language have become, for the first time, the medium of high and noble thoughts through the translation of the Bible,” Yi Kwang-su added in the same article (Yi, “The Benefits Which Christianity,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 36). Yi, as a native of the heavily Christianized county of Chŏngju in northwestern Korea, had a front-row seat for the influence of the religion during this period of Korean modernization. Yun Ch’i-ho, the scion of an aristocratic family who during his teenage years converted to Methodism, similarly praised the missionaries for having “really re-discovered it, as it were, and popularized it to enjoy its present prestige.” “Of course, we Christians are thankful that the Bible Society has brought the Bible in our own language to us,” Yun added in a 1926 address in Seoul. “But if we were non-Christians or even anti-Christians, we should yet feel grateful toward the Bible Society for this great service of ‘resurrecting’ and popularizing the Korean alphabet” (as quoted in Soltau 1932, 80, footnote).  MISSIONARIES’ ROLE “UNDERESTIMATED”: While there is little question that the missionaries played some role in the popularizing of vernacular Korean script, the extent of their contributions and the amount of credit that should accrue to them is a matter of debate. Ross King, a linguist and professor of Korean language and literature at the University of British Columbia, in a 2004 paper, concludes that, while South Korean scholars have been “usually quite generous in acknowledging the role of Western missionaries and Bible translation in promoting the indigenous Korean script and language modernization,” their role “has nonetheless been underestimated” (King, “Western Protestant Missionaries” (2004), 8–9). That is despite already-fulsome praise from Korean scholars for the missionaries’ role in “illuminating the value of han’gŭl, to demonstrate its brilliance to the entire world,” in the words of one such academic who, writing in 1938, called the missionaries’ resuscitation of vernacular Korean as “the great contribution of Protestantism” to the country; another leading Korean scholar, writing in 1940, praised “the Protestant missionaries for their enormous contribution to the revival, reform and propagation of han’gŭl… As Koreans, there is probably nobody who does not feel gratitude for the great contribution of Protestantism to han’gŭl propagation” (as quoted in King, “Western Protestant Missionaries” (2004), 9). If there is any downplaying of the missionaries’ role in this, King writes, it is because many Korean scholars have focused their attention—perhaps unsurprisingly, given the centrality of the language to Korea’s sense of nationhood—on domestic heroes like Chu Si-gyŏng (King, “Western Protestant Missionaries” (2004), 9, 29). Still, as King notes, even Chu’s accomplishments must be put into the context of the missionary presence; Chu worked for Homer Hulbert on the grounds of the Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul and was William Scranton’s Korean tutor for five years (King, “Western Protestant Missionaries” (2004), 30).  “THE GREATEST EVENT IN THE HISTORY OF THE KOREAN LANGUAGE”: Korean scholars in the decades since have not been shy about celebrating the missionaries’ translation of the Bible into the vernacular as a contribution to the sense of nationhood that Korea enjoyed through its language, even through the gloomiest depths of the Japanese occupation. As one prominent literary historian wrote in the 1960s: “Even when Japanese imperialism crushed the use of Korean language and writing from the public sphere, our language continued to be pronounced in the churches. The merits bequeathed on Korean linguistic and literary life by the translation of the Bible into Korean can by no means be rated any less than its theological salvation work” (as quoted in King, “Western Protestant Missionaries” (2004), 11). Another South Korean scholar, writing in 1980, declared: “The han’gŭl Bible was the greatest event in the history of the Korean language” (as quoted in King, “Western Protestant Missionaries” (2004), 11).
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Koreans began to refer to the script as the “national script,” rather than as the “vulgar script”

NoteThe nationalist Korean leaders who led the Independence Club championed the use of the terms “national language” (國語 Kor. kuk’ŏ), “national script” (國文 Kor. kukmun) and Han’gŭl (韓글), the modern name for the script in South Korea (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 20). For more on the Independence Club, see Act I, Chapter 7. The native script is still referred to as Han’gŭl in South Korea today, and as Chosŏn’gŭl (朝鮮글) in North Korea. In both cases, the nomenclature pairs the pure Korean word gŭl (글), or “letter,” with each state’s preferred name for Korea, Han’guk or Chosŏn. In the meantime, Chinese characters were reconceived as merely that—the script of another country, China (Schmid 2002, 69).
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altogether in two of the daily editions that it published: one in English, one in pure Korean

NoteTHE INDEPENDENT: The newspaper, whose English edition was called The Independent, was founded by Christian converts Philip Jaisohn and Yun Ch’i-ho, with the first issue appearing on April 7, 1896 (Eckert et al. 1990, 234; Palmer 1967, 76; and Schmid 2002, 48). In addition to The Independent, Jaisohn published a vernacular Korean edition called the Tokrip Sinmun (獨立新聞). The Independent was printed on machinery that Jaisohn imported from Japan, with the print run expanded from roughly three hundred copies of its first edition on April 7, 1896, to more than three thousand copies by the end of 1898; Korean government officials and foreign diplomats were among the subscribers (Palmer 1967, 76; and Wells 1990, 57). Explaining its decision to publish in English, the editors of the newspaper expressed their hope that doing so would “act as an incentive to English speaking Koreans to push their knowledge of English for its own sake. An English page may also commend the paper to the patronage of those who have no other means of gaining accurate information in regard to the events which are transpiring in Korea” (“Editorial,” The Independent 1, no. 1 (April 7, 1896), 1).  “STARTED A REVOLUTION”: Jaisohn’s insistence that the newspaper not print a single Chinese character “started a revolution similar to that inaugurated in China by the Peking University group two decades later”—a reference to the May 4, 1919, cultural movement that triggered sweeping changes in China (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 60). Several newspapers, including the Tokrip Sinmun, the Imperial Post (帝國新聞 Kor. Cheguk Sinmun), and Briton Ernest Bethell’s Taehan Daily News (大韓每日申報 Kor. Taehan Maeil Sinbo), all used the vernacular Korean as their main form of writing, in order to reach women and other Koreans otherwise illiterate in Chinese characters (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 113). Another pioneering Korean newspaper during this period, the Capital Gazette (皇城新聞 Kor. Hwangsŏng Sinmun), published numerous articles extolling the virtues of the vulgar script, but didn’t actually publish a single editorial during its thirteen-year run in only the vernacular (Schmid 2002, 71).  THE MEDIUM = THE MESSAGE: The Tokrip Sinmun was a linguistic trailblazer on several counts: It was “the first Korean-language newspaper with an English-language edition” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 34). But it was also revolutionary for publishing in the vernacular script alone—not mixed in with Sino-Korean characters—such that it could be said that, in the words of historian Kenneth Wells, “the medium was part of the message” (Wells 1990, 69). By eschewing traditional Chinese characters altogether, the newspaper’s backers sought to elevate the native script to the more dignified status of “national script” (國文 Kor. kukmun), rather than the “vulgar script” (諺文 Kor. ŏnmun) that it had heretofore been labeled (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 20).  “THE MOST ICONOCLASTIC NEWSPAPER OF THE TIME”: But it wasn’t the medium alone that was so groundbreaking. The subject matter and content, too, aimed to expanding Koreans’ horizons, and The Independent quickly became “the most iconoclastic newspaper of the time,” combining “its zealous calls for reform with a pro-Christian message,” according to Andre Schmid, a University of Toronto historian who has studied the newspaper and its historical milieu (Schmid 2002, 47–48). “To the Korean people who had never heard of any other country except China and Japan, the news about the powerful and advanced Occidental nations—how their peoples lived and governed themselves—sounded amazing,” added Channing Liem (1909–1996), a northern Korea-born pastor and nationalist activist who spent most of his life in the U.S. (Liem 1952, 49). For a missionary announcement celebrating the newspaper’s founding, see “The Seoul Independent,” Korean Repository 3 (April 1896), 171.  NEWSBOYS: The Independent’s arrival in Korea added to a new fervor for journalism in the country. Newspapers—many published in the vernacular by Christian converts—began springing up in Seoul, complete with “the sight of newsboys passing through the streets with bundles of a newspaper in En-mun under the arms” (Bishop 1898, 440). By the 1890s, Bishop noted, there were a handful of newspapers in Korea: The Independent, the vernacular weeklies the Korean Christian Advocate and the Korean Christian News, the monthly magazine The Chosen, a mixed Japanese-Korean newspaper called the Seoul News, and Japanese-language newspapers in Pusan and Inch’ŏn, in addition to the scholarly English-language Korean Repository (Bishop 1898, 440). In addition to The Independent and Tokrip Sinmun, which one historian describes as collectively serving as an “informal mouthpiece” for the group, the Independence Club also published an official monthly magazine, Bulletin of the Chosŏn Independence Club (Chosŏn Tokrip Hyŏphoe Hoebo 朝鮮獨立協會會報) (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 15).  RISE OF CHRISTIAN NEWSPAPERS: American Methodist Henry Appenzeller founded the first Korean Protestant newspaper, the Korean Christian Advocate (朝鮮그리스도人會報 Kor. Chosŏn Kŭrisŭdo’in Hoebo), in February 1897, from Seoul’s Chŏng-dong Methodist Church, published only in Korean vernacular (Noh, “The Role of Newspapers” (2017), 34). Two months later, Horace Underwood launched The Christian News (그리스도新聞 Kor. Kŭrisŭdo Sinmun) (Noh, “The Role of Newspapers” (2017), 34). Other sources swap the affiliations of the two publications: “We have now two weekly church papers,” wrote Methodist missionary Willard G. Cram (1875–1969). “The Christian News, the organ of the Presbyterian Church and the Christian Advocate, the organ of the Methodist Church.” The missionaries published both in vernacular Korean, Cram wrote in 1911, with the aim of placing “a church paper in every home” (Rev. Mr. Cram [Cram, Willard G.], Korea Mission Field 7, no. 10 (October 1911), 285–86). The Korean Christian Advocate printed more than eight hundred issues each week, accounting for roughly one-third of the entire circulation of all weekly periodicals in Korea around 1898 (Noh, “The Role of Newspapers” (2017), 46). For more on these two newspapers, see Noh, “The Role of Newspapers” (2017), 54. With the arrival of The Christian News, a copy of which had already made its way to King Kojong, there were by that time nine newspapers and two magazines in the country, according to the editors of the Korean Repository (“The Christian News,” Korean Repository 4 (April 1897), 151–52). The masthead of the publication in 1892 identified the editors as Franklin Ohlinger and his wife, though by the publication’s last issue in 1898, it was the Methodists Henry Appenzeller and George H. Jones that served as editors (Griffis 1912, 205–6). Indeed, the main native script-printed newspapers were all explicitly Christian or published by groups led by Christian converts (see Gifford 1898, 147–48; and Rutt 1983, 46). In those newspapers, readers wrote in to describe religious experiences and to express their aspirations for Westernizing reforms (Noh, “The Role of Newspapers” (2017), 34–35).
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one prominent Korean nationalist historian asked in 1908, “can we still call them Korean?”

NoteHistorian Andre Schmid here cites a set of March 1908 articles in the Taehan Daily News by Sin Ch’ae-ho. Sin Ch’ae-ho (申采浩 1880–1936) was an anarchist historian and an influential figure in modern Korean history, of whom more will be said later in this work. In addition to advocating for the native Korean script, Sin was also responsible for “rediscovering” and promoting Tan’gun, the mythical progenitor of the Korean people, and Ŭlji Mundŏk, a Korean general during the Koguryŏ dynasty.
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did come—with the arrival of the Japanese, and with more interaction with the outside world

Note“THE ADVANCE AGENTS OF CIVILIZATION”: Charles Bernheisel’s entire quote here reads, rather triumphantly: “Many of the far-reaching social changes that have recently been transforming the country are directly traceable to the influence of Christianity and the example of Christian institutions. A new literature has been created; the native script which was formerly despised by all Korean scholars, has been lifted by the missionaries into the place of dignity and usefulness that it ought to occupy, and several native newspapers are now published in that script, a thing unheard of a few years ago. The raising of the age of marriage and the gradual abolition of concubinage are taking place; torture has been eliminated from the criminal code and modern, sanitary prisons erected” (Bernheisel 1912, 15–16).  Rev. Bernheisel was hardly the only one equating the arrival of Christianity in Korea with the sweeping social changes then sweeping the peninsula. The missionaries, wrote Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, “have been not only teachers of religion, but the advance agents of civilization.” The missionaries, he continued, “are leading the way in sanitation, in the creation of modern literature, in the promulgation of Western scientific ideas, and by arousing communities to new commercial needs. Their hospitals have broken down the prejudices of hundreds of thousands, and the martyrdom of their pioneers has been the voluntary offering of the West for the regeneration of China” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 288, 302). Referring to the Koreans thirteen years later, McKenzie wrote: “Under the influence of the teachers from America, they became clean in person, they brought their women out…into the light of day, and they absorbed Western ideas and ideals” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 7). Samuel H. Moffett, the son of the pioneering missionary, likewise credits Horace Allen and other early missionaries with bringing modernity to the peninsula, namely: “Korea’s first railroad, her first waterworks, her first city lighting, her first streetcars, and her first modern mine—as well as her first hospital…Underwood imported kerosene and agricultural implements, and Moffett and Lee organized a lumber concession on the Yalu, and Swallen brought in Korea’s first apple trees and started an orchard in Wonsan” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 122–23).  TELEPHONE LINES AND APPLE ORCHARDS: The first telephone line in Pyongyang, for example, was laid between the Presbyterian and Methodist compounds, in July 1907, according to Methodist missionary Arthur Becker (McCune and Thompson 2009, 268). And, as the younger Moffett notes above, the missionaries indeed played a key role in introducing apple trees and other fruits to Korea. Graham Lee had already remarked on the fruit-growing potential of the first sites that Moffett had identified in Pyongyang. One missionary recalled planting ten apple trees on his lawn in the Pyongyang missionary compound, “which grew beautifully and produced luscious apples in such quantities that we stored them in bins in the cellar” (Blair 1957, 134). As early as 1892, Koreans were importing American fruit trees to Korea. “We are happy to learn that a few Koreans of rank and influence have imported American fruit trees and vines from the Pacific Coast—the beginning it is hoped of productive orchards and vineyards of good fruit in Korea. We have tasted American apples, pears and grapes grown here and expect a small crop of cherries this year,” wrote the editors of the Korean Repository (“Editorial Notes,” Korean Repository 1 (March 1892), 99–100). For more on the role of missionaries in introducing new fruits, vegetables and other crops to Korea, particularly in Wŏnsan, see Ion 1990, 105; and Wm. McE Dye [Dye, William McEntyre], “Foreign Fruit Culture in Korea,” Korean Repository 2 (December 1895), 445–61. For details on Rev. William Swallen’s apple trees, see Sherwood Hall 1978, 51, n. 3.  RED SPEARS AND BANDIT BRIGADES: Of course, whether the missionaries indeed were the first to bring all of these new technologies to Korea, there is little question that they would have come to the country, one way or another. Certainly, one didn’t have to be inspired by Christianity to introduce some of the moral changes that were sweeping Korea. Even some mystical secret societies in northern China during this period, for example the Red Spears of the late 1920s, enforced strict rules on opium, card games, and sex (Roman Slawinski, “The Red Spears in the Late 1920’s,” in Jean Chesneaux, ed., Popular Movements and Secret Societies in China 1840–1950 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1972), 201–11, here 204). Many bandit brigades of Manchuria, too, abided by a strict moral code—no fortune-telling or astrology, for example—and even, in one case, organized themselves into a communistic ideal village, the so-called Zheltuga Republic in northern Manchuria, in the late nineteenth century (Mark Mancall and Georges Jidkoff, “The Hung Hu-tzu of Northeast China,” in Jean Chesneaux, ed., Popular Movements and Secret Societies in China 1840–1950 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1972), 125–34, here 127–32; and Colin Thubron, The Amur River: Between Russia and China (New York: Harper, 2021), 112). China’s Taiping rebels, inspired by the Christian Bible—though not in ways the Presbyterian or Methodist missionaries to Korea would have approved—also championed many of the same causes in late Qing China, including the equality of women and strict prohibitions on opium, alcohol, and tobacco (Boardman 1972, 27, 120). The Japanese colonial administration would also come to promote many of the same ideals as the missionaries, including women’s education, and encouraging thrift and diligence. After 1945, the North Korean government would similarly take up many of these causes, and claim much credit for elevating the status of women and giving women proper names (see Act III, Chapter 26). Some of the missionaries’ claims were, to be sure, a bit of a stretch. Second-generation missionary Samuel H. Moffett credited the missionaries with having invented a Korean-language word for “nurse,” saying that such a concept didn’t exist before the arrival of Margaret Edmunds, an early Methodist missionary (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 123).
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by the standards of Korea’s neighbors, the missionaries’ reforms were nothing short of radical

NoteThough the reforms the missionaries brought may not have been the unique monopoly of Christians, as Sin Hŭng-u, a prominent Korean convert, wrote in 1920, it was sometimes hard to imagine the changes then convulsing the long-cloistered nation without the missionaries: “Christian teaching makes for an abundant life. The hospitals, the schools for both men and women, the splendid ways of organization, the periodicals, the literature and art, and a host of other things that help to make life full and interesting have followed the train of Christianity. These are the things that help to make life happy and worth while, whether we call them democratic institutions or by any other name. Whether the question that they grew out of the Christian religion is debatable or not, they are now the part and parcel of the church, and wherever the church goes they follow” (Cynn 1920, 140). Indeed, Christianity in the context of the late Chosŏn dynasty “was much more than merely another set of religious beliefs,” but rather “the harbinger of dramatic social change that brought Asia into the modern era,” writes Sydney Seiler, an ordained Methodist minister who later served as a senior Obama administration official on Korea affairs (Seiler 1994, 20). “Christian missionary activity was responsible for a considerable increase in literacy in the phonetic alphabet and for a noticeable change in women’s position in Christian families” (Shinn 1969, 190). Even under Japanese colonial rule, and perhaps especially under Japanese colonial rule, censorship and attempts to cordon off Korea from the outside world meant that foreign ideas entered Korea primarily “through students who had gone abroad, and through the Christian missionaries, most of whom were Americans” (Joungwon Kim 1976, 24).
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becoming clear to Horace Underwood that Korea was undergoing a “sort of mental revolution”

Note“The only ambition of the Korean of yesterday was to find the foot prints of his forefathers and place his own therein; but now he wants to make some prints of his own,” Pyongyang missionary John Z. Moore (1874–1963) wrote in 1906 (J. Z. Moore [Moore, John Z.], “The Day Schools of Pyeng Yang District,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 9 (July 1906), 168).   OLD MEN MADE YOUNG: To Koreans themselves, the fresh ideas that the missionaries brought with them served almost as a youth serum for the old, desiccated worldview of Chosŏn-era Korea. Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic convert to Methodism, delivering an address, “The New Young Man of the Old Far East,” at the World’s Christian Student Federation in Tokyo in 1910, portrayed those who embraced the missionaries’ revolutionary ideas as having traversed a divide separating the old order from the new: “A man of eighty may be younger than a youth of 20 by thinking new thoughts,” he declared (Kimm Kiu Sik [Kim, Kyu-sik], “Hon. Mr. Yun Tchi Ho,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 8 (August 1910), 197–99, here 199). As another Korean church leader told visiting American church leader Robert Speer in 1897: “The only hope of the country is in the churches. There is no moral character in Korea…To convert and educate the common people is the only hope of the land” (as quoted in Beach 1901, 254). The speaker isn’t named, but Speer made his voyage to Korea in August 1897, the first of three that he would make to Korea, each of them including a stop in Pyongyang (McCune, “Fifty Years of Promotion,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 31–34).  “AN IDEOLOGY OF MODERNIZATION”: Contemporary historians describe how shocking Christianity was to the denizens of late-Chosŏn Korea. “Christianity was often perceived in Korea as an ideology of modernization and, partly, of modern nationalism,” Andrei Lankov writes (Lankov 2002, 50–51). Historian Timothy S. Lee describes how Koreans at both the high and low ends of the social spectrum valued the foreign missionaries “primarily for their usefulness as transmitters of Western knowledge and technology” and “for the worldly benefits they could impart”—that is to say, the Koreans valued the foreign missionaries more for the real-world changes they brought than for the spiritual message they preached (Timothy Lee 2010, 9). More broadly, writes one contemporary historian of missions, “missionaries were evangelists first, but they were also part of the introduction of Western civilization to the rest of the world” (Piper 2000, xiv).
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who became a fervent advocate of the Christian faith—though not necessarily a convert himself

NoteYi Kwang-su, in the article, called it “an undeniable fact that Christianity brought to Korea the dawning light of [Western] civilization,” praising Christianity for teaching Koreans to read the vernacular alphabet, and raising the status of women (Yi, “The Benefits Which Christianity,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 34–35). Yi considered himself a Christian, but his relationship with the faith was not straightforward, and many then and now questioned his commitment to the faith (see Wells 1990, 107). As Wells notes elsewhere, Yi “believed that civilisation depended on the quality of a people’s religion and regarded Christianity as the source of the highest civilization. One of Korea’s greatest writers, he wove Christian themes into his novels and more than any other, openly premised much of his nationalist argumentation on Christian doctrines and the sayings of Christ” (Wells 1984, 234).  “THE MOST WIDE-AWAKE PEOPLE”: The editors of The Independent, who did embrace the faith, were unabashed in their praise of Christianity’s impact on the fabric of the nation and the people. In a November 1896 editorial, they argued: “History tells us that wherever Western civilization has made its appearance, the place was transformed into a new country altogether,” pointing to “the tropical coasts of India and Africa [that] have been changed into abodes of some of the most enlightened races of man” (“Editorial,” The Independent 1, no. 96 (November 14, 1896), 1). Also cited in Schmid 2002, 118. On another occasion, the editors of The Independent praised Korean converts to the new faith as “probably the most wide-awake people in the Kingdom. Since they because believers of the new faith they do not only improve in their moral status, but they begin to absorb the Western idea of enterprise in their daily life…They endeavor to be a law-abiding people of the commonwealth and realize that they must units their hearts in the matters of upholding the church and being patriotic to the country” (“Editorial Notes,” The Independent 2, no. 16 (February 9, 1897), 2).
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“We are not commissioned to introduce Western Civilization, but Scriptural Christianity”

NoteSamuel Moffett allowed that some of the supposed “good” that Western missionaries were bringing to Korea might not be any better than what the Koreans already had before they arrived, even from a biblical perspective: “In fact, many Oriental ideas and customs conform much more nearly to the scriptural ideas than do some of the peculiar notions and customs of the Western world, and the introduction of much that is considered a part of Western Civilization is a hindrance rather than a help to spiritual life” (Moffett, “Pre-Requisites and Principles,” in Counsel to New Missionaries 1905, 68–69).
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to the Student Volunteer Movement in 1900: “Korea can be evangelized within a generation”

NoteAlas, John Mott doesn’t give a precise date of the letter from Samuel Moffett, though in it the eager Hoosier pleaded for forty more “thoroughly qualified missionaries of enthusiastic, victorious faith in God and His message.” In this work, Mott also quotes John Ross, the Mukden-based missionary who had laid the groundwork for Moffett’s work in Korea, who expressed a similar confidence in an undated letter: “The world would have been evangelized a thousand years ago had the Christian Church done its duty. And God will do His part any year in the 20th century if man will but do his” (Mott 1900, 150–51, citing a letter from John Ross in the archives of the Student Volunteer Movement).
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of Western dignitaries and church leaders flocked to Korea to witness the boom for themselves

Note“Students of history have come to Korea to ascertain the cause,” wrote George T. B. Davis, an American church leader who was among those who made the long journey to Korea (Davis 1910, 13–14). Many of the most prominent visitors to Korea were drawn from the American industrial and political leaders of Gilded Age America, many of whom were deeply involved in the church as laypeople. As Harvard University historian James Reed put it in his book on what he calls “the Missionary Mind” that dominated American foreign policy in East Asia during this period, “in Boston and New York, where most mission boards maintained headquarters, their executive committees were top-heavy with Christian gentlemen recruited from the national business and professional elites, as were the boards of trustees of the one dozen or so Christian colleges” (Reed 1983, 102).
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Fairbanks, President Theodore Roosevelt’s vice president and a prominent Methodist layman;

NoteCharles W. Fairbanks (1852–1918), for eight years a Republican senator from Indiana alongside his expansionist counterpart Albert Beveridge, is the namesake of Alaska’s second-largest city, thanks to his role in helping settle a boundary dispute with Canada in Washington’s favor. He embarked on an around-the-world journey immediately after his term as vice president ended in March 1909, stopping in Seoul and Pyongyang, where he declared “the teaching of Christianity which the missionaries are doing is the most patent [sic] force in elevating the people” (Untitled Editorial, Korea Mission Field 5, no. 7 (July 1909), 115). In Pyongyang, where Fairbanks had traveled in order to attend the Methodists’ annual meeting that year, the former vice president “gave an eloquent tribute to the power of the religion of Jesus Christ to reform the laws, customs and institutions of nations” (B. W. Billings [Billings, Bliss W.], “Methodist Conference—1909,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 8 (August 1909), 153; and McCune and Thompson 2009, 294).
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William H. Taft, Roosevelt’s secretary of war and successor in the Oval Office;

NoteWilliam H. Taft (1857–1930) was secretary of war from 1904 to 1908, a period that coincided with the Russo-Japanese War, which would start days after his appointment to the office. Taft had more experience in Asia than many American presidents past and future; he had served as governor-general of the Philippines from 1901 to 1903, immediately before being named secretary of war, a position that his father had held under Ulysses S. Grant three decades earlier. Taft, a Unitarian, was a vocal supporter of the church’s evangelistic endeavors, hailing what he called “the immense importance of foreign missions” just before becoming president (see “Foreign Missions—William H. Taft,” Korea Mission Field (1908), 129). At one meeting with Methodist missionaries, Taft praised them for “pushing Christian standards and advancing high civilization in all these far-distant lands.” “You are pioneers in pushing Christian civilization into the Orient,” Taft declared, adding: “These men are not only bishops and ministers, they are statesmen. They have to be” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 471). He would also play a secret, pivotal role in modern Korean history that, once disclosed, would make him a villain in the eyes of many Korean nationalists (see Act I, Chapter 7).
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Roosevelt’s own celebrity daughter, Alice;

NoteAlice L. Roosevelt (1884–1980), the eldest child of Theodore Roosevelt, was a celebrity in her own right, known for her willful streak, her flamboyant personality, and her lurid social life. Alice, then just twenty-one years old, arrived in Korea in September 1905 as part of tour of Asia that also included Japan, China, and the Philippines. Traveling with William Taft and dozens of lawmakers, including her future husband Rep. Nicholas Longworth III (1869–1931), Alice’s notoriety made her an object of fascination; many of the Korea missionaries were able to meet her at a reception at the American legation, which had been made a consulate after the Treaty of Portsmouth a few weeks earlier, according to the Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, who attended (McCune and Thompson 2009, 233). For a description of the visit, including an elaborate concert staged for the honored guests, see McCune and Thompson 2009, 233; and MacRae 1993, 119.
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Heinz, David B. Gamble, and J. C. Penney, all avid donors to Presbyterian or Methodist causes;

NoteHenry J. Heinz (1844–1919), the American tomato-ketchup tycoon and a devout Christian who worshipped in Presbyterian and Methodist churches, visited Seoul in April 1913 as the head of the American Sunday School delegation (“Personnel of Oriental Tour Party,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 4 (April 1913), 109–10; and Lillias Underwood 1918, 299). David B. Gamble, the son of Procter & Gamble co-founder James Gamble (1803–1891), supported the missionary work of Arthur G. Welbon (1866–1928), a Northern Presbyterian who served in Korea from 1900 until his death. “It was the custom among some wealthy people of the day to have their own missionaries. The Gambles, prominent Presbyterians in Cincinnati, selected Arthur and provided for his total support,” writes Priscilla Ewy, a descendant of Welbon (Ewy 2008, 52; and Ewy 2015, 43–44). During Gamble’s visit to Korea, he delivered a lecture at the YMCA in Seoul (“News Notes,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 6 (June 1908), 88–89). In April 1910, Samuel Moffett reported a gift of $2,500, or 5,000 yen, for a Bible institute in Kanggye, from Mrs. Gamble of the Procter & Gamble family (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, April 20, 1910, Pyeng Yang (PHS 282/240/50)). One of Procter & Gamble’s most famous products, Ivory soap, was named for Psalm 45:8—“All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad” (KJV). Decades later, another twentieth-century American business magnate, James C. Penney (1875–1971), would travel to Korea and Japan on a “religious mission.” Penney, a minister’s son and devout Methodist who turned one Golden Rule store in Wyoming into the nationwide J. C. Penney department store chain, donated to missionary causes in Korea (Sherwood Hall 1978, 461).
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William Jennings Bryan, a three-time Democratic presidential nominee and Presbyterian elder;

NoteWORLD JOURNEYMAN BRYAN: William Jennings Bryan (1860–1925), a Presbyterian elder from small-town Illinois who ran for president three times on the Democratic Party ticket, is perhaps best known for arguing against Darwinism, and defending the literality of the Bible, in what became known as the Scopes Monkey Trial. Bryan sailed for Asia in September 1905, in between his second and third presidential runs. Sailing aboard the steamship Manchuria from San Francisco with his family in tow, Bryan visited eighteen countries, including Japan, the Philippines, India, Burma, Indonesia, Lebanon, Syria, Greece, Turkey, Russia (where he met for 12 hours with Leo Tolstoy, who was likewise admiring of Bryan, whose portrait he hung up in his bedroom), Sweden, Norway, Great Britain—and Korea. He arrived at Pusan in November 1905, then traveled by train to Seoul and through northwestern Korea before crossing over into China (Métraux 2017, 196). Like many a Western traveler of that period, Bryan was astounded by the lack of women on the streets, the number of seemingly idle aristocratic yangban, and the filth of Seoul (William Jennings Bryan, The Old World and Its Ways (St. Louis: Thompson, 1907), 93–96). Also cited in Métraux 2017, 196–97. In Seoul, he joined missionary Samuel Moore, the champion of the butchers, in attending a Christian wedding (Bryan 1907, 94). Througout his journey, Bryan visited religious institutions and spoke frequently on spiritual themes, according to one historian. “As he travelled he spoke as often on religious as on political themes, exploiting pre-existing transnational missionary networks in order to piece together his schedule. Missionary stations, schools, and hospitals were a staple of his itinerary,” writes University of Glasgow historian Daniel Scroop. “He believed that individual Christians, as well as what he termed ‘Christian nations’ had an obligation to participate in ‘reforming the world.’” Indeed, “Bryan repeatedly pointed to the inferiority of faiths other than his own,” dismissing Shintōism, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islam each in turn (Daniel Scroop, “William Jennings Bryan’s 1905–1906 World Tour,” The Historical Journal 56, no. 2 (June 2013), 459–486, here 460, 464–472). During his journey, Bryan also wrote what one historian calls several “well-informed” articles about Japan’s presence in Korea, each of which were published as front-page articles in his weekly newspaper, The Commoner, and later included in a book, The Old World and Its Ways (Métraux 2017, 20, 191–92).  BRYAN BETWEEN JAPAN AND KOREA: Bryan’s views on Korea and Japan were complicated. Unlike Roosevelt, Taft, and his other political rivals, Bryan was fiercely anti-imperialistic and deeply critical of American rule of the Philippines (Métraux 2017, 201). When it came to Korea and Japan, Bryan had reason to sympathize with Japan. He was greatly stirred by Japan’s military victory over the Russians, which had ended just months before his arrival in the Far East. Bryan’s views on Japan and Korea were also greatly influenced by a young Japanese man, Yashichiro Yamashita, who lived with the Bryan family for five years (Métraux 2017, 193–94). He was also clearly more impressed with the Japanese as a people than he was with the Koreans. “We saw more idle men in two days in Korea than we saw in Japan in a month,” he remarked (Bryan 1907, 93). Still, Bryan believed, for Japan to succeed further, it had to embrace Christianity, a forward-looking religion to replace what he believed was backward-looking Buddhism (Métraux 2017, 196). Ultimately, when Bryan had a chance to weigh in, he appeared to side with the Koreans. In June 1913, members of the Korean National Association (大韓國民會 Kor. Taehan Kukmin-hoe), a nationalist group, sent a telegram to Bryan, by then Woodrow Wilson’s secretary of state, arguing that, since the Koreans living in California had arrived before annexation in 1910 and were opposed to Japanese rule, the U.S. government should recognize it as a quasi-diplomatic body. Bryan replied quickly and in line with the Koreans’ hopes, paving the way for the body to serve as something of a de facto embassy for the Koreans in America (Lee Houchins and Chang-su Houchins, “The Korean Experience in America, 1903–1924,” Pacific Historical Review 43, no. 4 (November 1974), 548–75, here 561).
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Henry W. Luce, a China missionary whose son would found Time magazine;

NoteHenry W. Luce (1868–1941), the father of magazine magnate Henry R. Luce (1898–1967), was a Presbyterian missionary to China’s Shandong province from 1897 to 1928. The elder Luce, a Presbyterian who was four years Moffett’s junior, traveled to Pyongyang in the fall of 1900, the year of the Boxer uprising, to study the Korea missionaries’ success (Ewy 2008, 99, quoting Nourse letter to Friends, October 9, 1900). As Samuel Moffett wrote at the time, Rev. Luce had come in hopes of “looking into our work and rejoicing with us over what God is doing here” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, October 22, 1900, Pyengyang (PHS 280/231/5)).
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Herbert Hoover, a Quaker who later became president;

NoteHerbert C. Hoover (1874–1964), though a Quaker, was not particularly devout. Like Taft, he spent considerable time in and around Asia, albeit earlier in life while working in the mining industry in Australia and then in and around the Chinese city of Tianjin. Hoover traveled to Korea in 1910 in search of gold and copper mines, taking the Trans-Siberian Railway and traveling up the Yalu River in a junk. “The only profit was a view of the magnificent scenery of the Yalu River and various ornamental Korean chests which I sent home,” he recalled (Herbert Hoover, The Memoirs of Herbert Hoover: Years of Adventure, 1874–1920 (New York: Macmillan, 1951), 100).
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and oil magnate John D. Rockefeller, a devout Baptist

NoteJohn D. Rockefeller, Jr. (1874–1960), the scion of America’s first billionaire and a pious Baptist who gave lavishly to the church, also traveled through Korea in 1921 (“Rockefeller Sees Progress During Trip in Orient,” Wall Street Journal (December 6, 1921), 2). In addition to these prominent figures, the British Army officer and statesman Lord Herbert Kitchener (1850–1916) also passed through Korea toward the end of his life (Ewy 2015, 36; George Arthur, Life of Lord Kitchener, Vol. II (London: Macmillan, 1920), 287; and McCune, “Fifty Years of Promotion,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 34–35). Lord Kitchener was, in the words of one biographer, “a fervent adherent of the High Church, careful of its observances, even down to fasting” (Herbert G. De Watteville, Lord Kitchener (London: Blackie, 1939), 11). Missionary James Gale also played host to the younger brother of Kaiser Wilhelm II, Prince Henry of Prussia (1862–1929), who arrived in Wŏnsan in August 1899 (Rutt 1983, 32). Methodist Henry Appenzeller, sailing home on furlough in 1892, shared his San Francisco-bound ship with J. Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936), returning from his second trip to Japan (Griffis 1912, 216).
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“is an inspiration to the entire Christian world,” one wrote after his visit to Korea in 1910

NoteGeorge T. B. Davis, the missions advocate from Philadelphia who gave the cited quotation after visiting Korea for several months in 1910, added: “The most notable feature in the progress of the Korean Church is not the multiplicity of converts; but the supreme faith and apostolic fervor of the believers…Their trust in God is of the kind that moves mountains” (Davis 1910, 6, 8).  THE CANDLERS: Methodist Bishop Warren A. Candler (1857–1941), who served as president of Emory College in Atlanta and whose elder brother Asa founded the Coca-Cola Company, exclaimed after his visit to Korea: “The people are turning to Christ as I have never seen in any field” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 512). The Candlers helped educate Yun Ch’i-ho, the prominent Korean convert to Methodism, at Emory. Yun became very close with the Candlers, staying at their home before the school year started, visiting every other week and storing his luggage at their house over the summer (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 92–93). Asa Candler also helped kickstart the funding of Yun Ch’i-ho’s school in the central Korean city of Songdo (modern-day Kaesŏng), with a $1,000 donation (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 238). In September 1906, while his beverage magnate brother was finishing off the Candler Building, then Atlanta’s tallest building at seventeen stories tall, Warren Candler traveled to Korea as the bishop in charge of the Southern Methodist Church’s missions efforts in the Far East (Candler 1907, 26). The next year, Bishop Candler published a pamphlet about Yun Ch’i-ho and his educational efforts in Korea, entitled T. H. Yun, of Korea and the School at Songdo (1907). The relationship between the Candlers and Yun Ch’i-ho can be said to have effectively kickstarted a century-long association between the state of Georgia and Christian work in Korea, which by the 1990s included President Jimmy Carter, Methodist minister-turned-Emory president-turned-U.S. ambassador to South Korea James T. Laney (1927– ), and Korean-American scholar Han S. Park (for more, see Act III, Chapter 34). Emory’s Methodist seminary is today named for Warren Candler.
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century AD, in the years immediately following Christ’s crucifixion, were frequent and generous

NoteThe Acts of the Apostles, or simply the Book of Acts, immediately follows the Four Gospels of the New Testament that narrate Jesus’ life. Acts describes the lives of the early disciples of Christ following his crucifixion, as they spread the gospel around the region. It also includes several tales of miracles, as many of the Korea missionaries noted in invoking the Book of Acts. “Miracles are performed. The crazy are made of sound mind, the devil-possessed are set free. Those sick unto death are restored, great sinners are converted, and those that persecute are made preachers of the Word. It is truly the power of Apostolic times,” Southern Methodist missionary Charles S. Deming, wrote in 1906 (Deming, “The Korean Christian,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 153). One newly-arrived missionary, writing in 1909, likewise felt as though he had stepped into the biblical ages: “The dark cave-like room, the flickering candles, and the primitive conditions instinctively reminded one of the early Christians in the Catacombs,” he wrote. “By the flickering lights in the heart of a God-ignorant land this little group lifted up their voices in praise to the King, listened to His Word as it was read and explained and then celebrated the death of the Son, their new found Savior” (Edwin Kagin [Kagin, Edwin F.], “First Year’s Experiences,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 2 (February 1909), 30–32, here 31). Other examples can be found in Fenwick 1911, v; Candler 1907, 14; Pak 2006, 13; and Paik 1929, 252.
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he had faced in Pyongyang to the stoning of Stephen, the New Testament’s first martyr

NoteThe quote about the Acts of the Apostles, which went on to describe the New Testament Book of Acts as “the one unfinished book of the Bible, as if it were intended that later ages should add new chapters,” appears in the introduction to the memoirs of Korea missionary Ellasue Wagner, and attributed to Eugene Hendrix, a Southern Methodist bishop (Wagner 1909, 8). The full quote from Samuel Moffett, meanwhile, reads: “The persecution which arose at the time of the stoning of Stephen, resulting in the scattering of the Christians from Jerusalem and the wider heralding of the Gospel, with the establishment of the Church in many places, finds its counterpart in a measure in the persecution of the Pyeng Yang Christians” (Moffett, “Work of the Spirit,” Missionary Review of the World (1895), 831). The story of the stoning of Stephen can be found in Acts 7:54–60. For American Christian writer George T. B. Davis, the age of the apostles was the only parallel that he could think of when looking upon the work in Korea. “The type of Christianity in vogue in Korea to-day is far more analogous to that of the apostolic age than the lukewarm faith and profession of some Christian lands,” he declared (Davis 1910, 28).
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the missionaries as “the Battalion of Life,” taking possession of Korea “in the Name of the King”

Note“The real conquest of the heathen world has hardly commenced. The battle is just beginning to wage hot,” William Baird, employing the martial language of the time, wrote his brother at the end of 1895, while lamenting the endless infighting in the early missionary ranks. “I wonder if the Great Captain Himself will not have to come in person to reorganize His miserable, boasting, self-satisfied, deluded army before there is any real final victory” (William M. Baird letter to John F. Baird, December 28, 1895, Tāgoo, Korea (MKC)). Methodist Bishop Warren Candler described Korea as being situated in “a strategic point of the most important character,” and urged its immediate occupation by the Southern Methodist Church, describing the imperative as a “manifest call…The man of Korea calls us, saying: ‘Come over and help us.’ We have seen the vision” (Candler 1907, 14, 17–18).
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in the words of one Korean pastor, “accepted the Christian religion as no other race has”

NoteThe text here comes from a speech given by Rev. David J. Cho (Cho Tong-jin 趙東振 1924–2020) entitled, “The Growth of Korean Mission and Its Contribution to World Evangelization: Prepared as the Founder of Korea International Mission, 1980.” Rev. Cho was a native of northwestern Korea whose father had converted to the faith after the devastation of the Sino-Japanese War. Rev. Cho was ordained as a Presbyterian minister just before the outbreak of the Korean War in June 1950 and settled in the U.S. before making several trips to North Korea in the 1980s (David Cho 2012, 68, 438).
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missionaries turned to divine explanations for Christianity’s astonishing successes in Korea

NoteSamuel Moffett, for example, invariably explained the Korean embrace of Christianity by saying that the simple preaching of the Christian message was all that was required—no frills necessary. In this way, Moffett’s debt to Dwight Moody is very clear. Moody extolled the preacher “who takes the Word of God and makes it plain to the people. That man will have a hearing! The Bible and the Cross have power to draw, but a moral essay, never! I’m sick and tired of their essay-preaching. Will Bible preaching ever fail? No, a thousand times, No!” (as quoted in Day 1936, 234–35). Kenneth S. Latourette (1884–1968), a former traveling secretary for the Student Volunteer Movement who spent the bulk of his career at Yale University’s Divinity School, serving fifteen years as chairman of the religion department, ultimately concluded that Korea’s extraordinary church growth “has been through the Holy Spirit, as all true church growth has always been and is” (Kenneth S. Latourette, “Foreword,” in Shearer 1966, 6). Roy Shearer, a Presbyterian missionary to Korea, in a booklength study of the Korean church’s growth, likewise concludes: “God gave the growth to the Church in Korea…this Church in Korea grew as no mere human institution could grow” (Shearer 1966, 9).  THE CHOSEN LAND: Even Korea’s formal name under the Japanese, Chōsen, as the Japanese rendered the Sino-Korean word Chosŏn (朝鮮), was regarded by the missionaries as a divine message of God’s favor, as Lillias Underwood explained: “They always thought it a most suitable name for that country, which though it only meant ‘Morning Calm’ to Koreans, meant English ‘Chosen,’ to them. The place God had chosen to send them, as He sent Abraham, and the place He had chosen for them, the land He had chosen to bless, the chosen or choicest of all eastern lands, and mission fields, the people He had chosen as His own forever, and so on indefinitely, delightfully, with a blessing in every facet of the name that spelled Korea” (Lillias Underwood 1905, 49–50).
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which they believed served as divine preparation for the Christian message of redemption

NoteSCAPEGOATS AND “THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF SIN”: While traveling with James Gale to Pyongyang in the early months of 1891, Samuel Moffett, roughly a year after his arrival in Korea, was struck by a Lunar New Year tradition of erecting straw images to represent themselves; these straw images were then discarded in a field, carrying away the man’s sins and ridding him of any punishment that might otherwise ensue—a tradition that Moffett believed “evidences the consciousness of sin in this people” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Tramp Through North Korea,” Cincinnati Herald (1892), via Oak 2011, 240). In practices like these and others—such as Korean salutations and ceremonial bows—the missionaries saw bountiful similarities between the ways of the Koreans and the ancient Israelites (Palmer 1967, 32–33). The parallels were plentiful enough that Scottish Canadian missionary Duncan MacRae, based in northeastern Korea, began tracking various Korean customs that he believed echoed Christ’s parables and other biblical practices, such as “a custom of shedding blood for the remission of sin” (MacRae 1993, 34, 84–86). “Atonement and penance for sin are a commonplace to them, as is vicarious atonement,” wrote William Sands, an American diplomat in Korea during these years who, though not a missionary, could see the parallels with his own Catholic faith. “The custom of the scapegoat loaded with the sins of the people was current in Korea in my time, in national emergency such as cholera epidemics” (Sands 1931, 96). Sands recounts being told by Koreans, as well as Chinese and Japanese thinkers, that “to the Oriental mind there is no difficulty whatever in Christianity but that it is all marvellously simple to them, and that obstacles to its reception, as elsewhere, are not inherent in the Christian religion but in the materialism that has intruded it, in the ‘fact that Westerners have not understood Christianity and prove it by their mutual divergence and animosities; by their insistence on making Christianity a vehicle for the furtherance of their political views and the advancement of their national ambitions,’ and, finally, in the ‘impertinence of Westerners attempting to explain an Oriental message to Orientals’ anyway, even if they had understood it themselves’” (Sands 1931, 86–87). Horace Underwood, with great excitement, told a lecture hall at New York University in 1910 that “there is a strong possibility of a primitive pure monotheism” in Korea, referring to ancient altars erected by early inhabitants of the peninsula (Horace Underwood 1910, 106).  HA’NA-NIM: Some missionaries believed that Koreans’ ready acceptance of the Christian gospel was a result of God, in his divine providence, leaving behind clues for the Korean people throughout history. The traditional Korean word for “God” was Ha’na-nim (하나님), sometimes rendered as Ha’nŭ-nim (하느님), which could be interpreted to mean “one lord,” representing to many missionaries “a primitive Korean monotheism” and suggesting to others that God had revealed himself to the ancient Koreans, just as he had done to the ancient Israelites (Palmer 1967, 6–7, 18, 32–33; Horace Underwood 1910, 246; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 101). In the early years of the Protestant presence in Korea, the missionaries argued fiercely among themselves how best to translate the Christian concept of “God” into Korean. After much debate, the Protestants settled in 1912 upon adopting the Korean term “Ha’na-nim,” just as John Ross had it in his original translation—even as the Catholics decided on a different term, which can roughly be translated as the “Lord of Heaven” (Ch’ŏnju 天主) (Oak 2013, 80; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 100–1). The missionary-scholar Homer Hulbert regarded “Ha’na-nim” as being the pure Korean analogue of Catholicism’s “Ch’ŏnju” (天主), both of which he approximated as a compound of “heaven” and “master” (Hulbert 1906, 404). See also David Suh 1991, 112; and James S. Gale, “Korea’s Preparation for the Bible,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 3 (March 1912), 86–88). Missionaries’ decision to adopt “Ha’na-nim,” or “Ha’nŭ-nim,” as the Korean word for the Christian God, was done only with much reluctance, and in response to public demand—but ultimately proved to be a masterstroke, helping Christians “to secure their permanent place in Korean society,” argues one Korean Christian (David Chung 2001, 177–79). Leading Korean thinkers like Ch’oe Nam-sŏn, a later convert to Catholicism, also believed deeply rooted Korean monotheistic beliefs laid the groundwork for the people’s embrace of Christianity (Wells 1990, 25–26). Though Kenneth Wells, an esteemed historian of Korean Christianity, is himself skeptical of such arguments, he argues that such views among Korean converts “had a clear nationalistic intent: to convince Koreans that becoming a Christian did not entail any loss of Koreanness and to demonstrate that Korean tradition had always been implicitly Christian” (Wells 1990, 25, n. 13; 26). Scholar Donald Baker likewise argues that in adopting the use of the word “Ha’na-nim” for the Protestant God—and even accepting the variant “Ha’nŭ-nim”—the Protestant missionaries landed themselves a brilliant coup: “By using what sounded like an indigenous Korean name for God, they not only distinguished themselves from the Catholics with their foreign-sounding name for God; they also made it possible for Koreans to convert to Christianity without feeling that by doing so they were rejecting the beliefs and values of their ancestors. In other words, they created a form of Christianity that felt more familiar to most Koreans than the Christianity of Catholicism did, giving Protestants an advantage in the competition to persuade Koreans to attend their churches” (Baker, “Sibling Rivalry,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 289–91).  STANDING ON THE SHOULDERS OF TAN’GUN: Korean’s traditional belief in a progenitor named Tan’gun, born of a divine being and a tiger, also offered the missionaries another potential link with Christianity. “The Immaculate Conception, that has been so hard for so many philosophical minds to accept, offers no difficulty to the average Korean, for does he not know the history of Tangun the first king of Korea?” (Nisbet 1919, pp. 101-102). As the Tan’gun myth blossomed into its own native religion during the early years of the twentieth century, writes one modern scholar, “though most Koreans do not read a trinitarian theology into that myth, Taejonggyo teaches that Hwanin, Hwanung, and Tan’gun are actually three persons in one god” (Baker 2008, 118–19). See also “Tan Goon,” The Korea Magazine (September 1917), 404–14, especially 404–5. Missionary James Gale even argued that the Korean progenitor Tan’gun may have been the third person of the Trinity (Oak 2013, 79). These Presbyterian efforts to, in the words of one scholar, “[search] for the points of contact within Korean religions that had some foundation for accepting the Christian gospel” (Oak 2013, xvi), was not as far-fetched as it sounds. Some historians have since speculated that Christianity might have managed to reach Korea through the Silk Road, since Korean popular Buddhism appeared to share certain doctrinal concepts with Nestorian Christianity, such as the presence of a heaven and hell, salvation by grace, and a coming messiah (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 14). Many missionaries focused on the parallels between Christianity and shamanism, the latter of which, in the words of missionary Roy Shearer, “gave the people an awareness of a higher being” (Shearer 1966, 218). While Shearer doesn’t make this his main argument, he asserts that it is an overlooked factor, arguing that while shamanism pointed many Koreans towards the idea of a higher being, “the people in the northwest were not satisfied with their animistic worship; they were glad to find a high God of love to replace the gods of fear they had known” (Shearer 1966, 218). Some of the practices that became closely identifiable with Korean Christianity—the practice of praying out loud, individually but together (通聲祈禱 Kor. t’ongsŏngkido), for instance—were believed to have been derived from shamanistic practices (Oak 2013, 30). “Although the early missionaries and the churches officially rejected shamanism and denied its influence, ethnographic research suggests that the influence was both profound and widespread,” writes one scholar (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 11–12). One influential Presbyterian pastor and scholar has even argued that shamanism, which he calls “a properly Korean religion”—it having predated Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism—made the spread of Christianity within Korea possible: “Korean Christianity may be characterized as shamanistic Christianity” (David Suh 1991, 89–94). “Although missionaries rejected shamanism and thought it had been destroyed, Korean Christianity has become almost completely shamanized,” Suh writes, in a lengthy passage offering a concrete example of the extent to which shamanistic rituals were absorbed into Korean Christianity (David Suh 1991, 115–17). Decades after the arrival of Protestantism in Korea, Unification Church founder Rev. Mun Sŏn-myŏng (Sun Myung Moon文鮮明 1920–2012) would make a similar argument—the Korean people are inherently and uniquely receptive to the transcendental—to assert that Korea would be the site of the Second Advent of Christ: “The Korean people are by nature endowed with a religious character. Their religious inclination has led them to strive always for that which transcends physical reality and is of more profound value.” For that reason, Rev. Mun argued, name-checking The Records of Chŏnggam: “The Korean people have long cherished a messianic hope, nurtured by the clear testimonies of their prophets” (Exposition of the Divine Principle 1996, 309). For a book-length study on the question of indigenous antecedents of Christianity in Korea, see Spencer J. Palmer, Korea and Christianity: The Problem of Identification with Tradition (Seoul: Hollym, 1967), where Palmer, a Mormon missionary and scholar of religion in Asia, posits that Korea’s traditional beliefs in Tan’gun, Ha’na-nim, and shamanism helped pave the way for Koreans’ embrace of Christianity.  “GOD PUT THEM THERE”: Across the Yellow Sea, in China, the American missionary-turned-diplomat Edward T. Williams regarded parallels between Christianity and Confucianism as evidence that “God put them there. Just as God was responsible for all truth and nobility in Western thought, so too must God be responsible for their presence in Eastern thought. God had obviously revealed His truths to the Chinese at about the same time He revealed them to Enoch, Noah, and the other ‘primeval patriarchs’” (Dimitri D. Lazo, “The Making of a Multicultural Man: The Missionary Experiences of E. T. Williams,” Pacific Historical Review 51, no. 4 (November 1982), 357–83, here 376). Williams eventually drifted away from his conservative beliefs and left the ministry to become a scholar and diplomat (Esson M. Gale, “Edward Thomas Williams, 1854–1944,” Far Eastern Quarterly 3, no. 4 (August 1944), 381–83).
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“of the same coin,” with the Western faith not negating Confucianism but rather enhancing it

NoteThe quoted phrase here was the headline of an 1898 editorial in the Church News (教會通信 Kor. Kyohoe T’ongsin) (Oak 2013, 65–66). One popular Chinese-language tract translated into Korean in 1892 by Samuel Moffett—Dialogues Between Two Friends Zhang and Yuan (張袁兩友相論 Ch. Zhang Yuan Liangyou Xianglun), originally penned by Scottish Congregationalist missionary William Milne (1785–1822)—“lauds Confucianism’s central principles of filial piety (孝道 Ch. xiaodao) and loyalty (忠 Ch. zhong) and applies them to God—in short, insisting that worshiping God is the most authentic way of practicing filial piety (真孝道 Ch. zhen xiaodao)” (Oak, “Chinese Protestant Literature,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 79).
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association with all that was Western and new, at a time of intense craving for modernity

NoteCharles Clark, a missionary to Korea for four decades, listed out fourteen reasons for why the Christian message flourished in Korea, from its novelty to the Koreans’ inherent docility, ultimately concluding that it was the Korea missionaries’ emphasis on the centrality of the Bible and rapid devolution of the church to the native converts (Clark 1937, 255–74). Korean church historian Chung-shin Park sums up three of the leading theories explaining Christianity’s success in Korea: “theological affinities between the Korean folk cults and Protestant Christianity;” the so-called “Nevius method” of self-support championed by Samuel Moffett and other missionaries; and the missionaries’ early social and political activism (Chung-shin Park 2003, 47).
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the world’s nations in being introduced to Christianity unaccompanied by imperial ambitions

NoteThis point was made by many historians and commentators. “One unique feature of Christianity in Korea is that it sided with the people against a colonial power, whereas elsewhere it was often seen as part of the imperialist presence,” writes historian Donald Clark. “In Korea the church was associated with a new nationalism…The church itself was seen by many as a refuge from Japanese rule” (Clark 1986, xi, 8–9). In early twentieth-century Korea, Clark adds later in the same work, “Christianity gathered strength and support from Koreans who used church institutions as havens from Japanese oppression. Much of the early growth of the church and the popularity of its institutions should be understood in light of the fact that Christianity enabled Korean believers to feel both patriotic and modern at the same time” (Clark 1986, 51–52). “Even though Christian missionaries might have acted as the vanguard of Western imperialism…the imperialist enemy in Korea was Japan, not the West,” adds another Korean church historian. As Japan emerged as Korea’s primary threat, “not only did many Koreans change their hostile attitude toward the West, but they also became eager to establish a deeper relationship with Western countries and to seek help from them” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 7, 17, 24–25, 30). Historian Bruce Cumings enumerates the many ways in which Japan’s colonization of Korea was unique. For thing, it came far later than the European colonial efforts, half a century after Belgium’s King Leopold had declared in 1866 that “the world is pretty well pillaged already.” Furthermore, their long history and close proximity made the relationship between Japan and Korea “more akin to Germany and France or England and Ireland, than it is to Belgium and Zaire or Portugal and Mozambique” (Bruce Cumings, “Korea, A Unique Colony: Last to be Colonized and First to Revolt,” The Asia-Pacific Journal 19, no. 21, no. 2 (November 2021), 1–8, here 1). “The fact that Korea was colonized by Japan rather than by a Western imperial power made Western-style religion more attractive than Japanese-style religion” (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 61). See also Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 277–78; Robinson 2007, 36; and Palmer 1967, 51–52.  UNIQUE IN THREE WAYS: In fact, Japan represented a new breed of colonial power in at least three respects, as Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors note: Japan was a non-Western country, its colony was right next door, and its target had long developed a sense of coherence as “an ancient state and society with a long historical experience and high degree of racial, ethnic, cultural, and linguistic homogeneity,” write Eckert and his coauthors. “By colonizing their immediate neighbors, the Japanese occupied a unique niche in colonial history…This was not a remote colony, far removed from the daily concerns of Japan proper. The Japanese conceived their presence in Korea as vital to the general strategic and economic fortunes of the homeland” (Eckert et al. 1990, 256). A similar point about the uniqueness of Japan’s colonial project is made by scholar Bruce Cumings (Bruce Cumings, The Origins of the Korean War, Vol. I: Liberation and the Emergence of Separate Regimes, 1945–1947 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1981), 7–8). “Probably there is no precedent for one country colonizing its closest neighbor, particularly when that neighbor boasts two thousand years of distinctive cultural, historical, political, and ethnic identity” (Hong Yung Lee [Yi, Hong-yŏng], “Introduction: A Critique of ‘Colonial Modernity,’” in Hong Yung Lee, Yong Chool Ha [Ha, Yong-ch’ul], and Clark W. Sorensen, eds., Colonial Rule and Social Change in Korea, 1910–1945 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2013), 3–38, here 4).  “ON THE WAVE OF WESTERN PRESTIGE”: By contrast, Japan and China’s own first interactions with Christianity were, as in the Americas and Africa, one in which Christianity and colonialism came hand in hand. “Protestantism’s interaction with China and Japan was antagonistic, precluding any chance for a positive identification between the religion and either nation,” writes Timothy S. Lee, a historian of the Korean church at the Brite School of Divinity in Fort Worth, Tx., pointing to Chinese and Japanese associations of Protestantism with the gunship diplomacy of the Opium War and Commodore Perry’s black ships, respectively (Timothy Lee 2010, 35). For all of Christianity’s striving to transcend its largely European roots, it largely failed, writes global missions historian Stephen Neill: “Whether we like it or not, it is the historic fact that the great expansion of Christianity coincided in time with the world-wide and explosive expansion of Europe that followed on the Renaissance; that the colonizing powers were the Christian powers…and that in the main Christianity was carried forward on the wave of Western prestige and power” (Neill 1990, 414).  “A NATION OF BENEVOLENCE”: When American Christianity arrived in late Chosŏn-era Korea, by contrast, the U.S. had almost no vested interests in Korea and was therefore regarded as far more benign—and even benevolent—when compared to Russia, Japan, and China (Palmer 1967, 94–95). As one scholar has noted, Korean newspapers during this period, including the Hansŏng Sunbo, The Independent, and the Taehan Maeil Sinbo, described the U.S. to its readers as “a nation of wealth,” “a nation of benevolence and righteousness,” “a nation of truthfulness,” “a brotherly country,” “the nation who can restrain the Japanese oppression in Asia” and, above all, as “a Christian nation” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 25). A similar point is made by historian Hyaeweol Choi: “The contacts between Koreans and American missionaries were not ‘colonial encounters’ in the traditional understanding of that term, and that fact significantly contributed to the mostly positive image of the United States” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 7–8, 17). Elsewhere, Choi writes: “Korea at the turn of the twentieth century was not a typical colonial situation in that it had not been colonized by a Western country, but rather by Japan, a non-Western and non-Christian imperial power. The Westerners, especially American Protestant missionaries, who were present in Korea at that time, were not perceived by Koreans as Western imperialists. In fact, the missionaries were often considered allies of Korean people in their struggle against the Japanese colonial power and were hailed as harbingers of the advanced modern civilization from the West” (Hyaeweol Choi, “‘Wise Mother, Good Wife’” (2009), 4). Indeed, Lillias Underwood, writing in 1904, surmised that “the favor with which all Americans were regarded by the Korean authorities” was due in large part “to the fact that we belonged to a large and powerful nation, which had no object in interfering in Eastern politics in any way to the detriment of Korea, and which might become an efficient ally and defender” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 28). As Korean nationalists would later learn, however, this perception among Koreans, while genuine, was not deeply rooted in reality—with a betrayal by Washington the very next year in the signing of the Treaty of Portsmouth (see Act I, Chapter 7).
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or otherwise, could find himself leading the church as an evangelist, a deacon, or an elder

NoteEvangelists, known in Korean as chosa (助事 or 助師) or chŏndosa (傳道師), were typically unordained men who preached once a month (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 23). “Leaders,” known in Korean as yŏngsu (領袖), were unordained elders or seminary students who helped around the church (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 23–24; and Moffett letter to Ellinwood, June 27, 1898, Pyeng Yang). The position was created by Moffett after the Sino-Japanese War in 1894–1895, as the growth of the faith outpaced the missionaries’ ability to properly staff all the churches springing up around the country. The “leaders” were sometimes elected and sometimes appointed, with the leaders expected to be locally based, proven in faithfulness, and capable in administrative matters (Kidokgyo Taebaekgwa Sajŏn [Encyclopedia of Christianity] (Seoul: Kyomun-sa, 1985), 695). Deacons and elders, mirroring the standard practice in the West, were known as chipsa (執事) and changro (長老), respectively.
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hands of Korean converts also meant that growth wasn’t limited by the number of missionaries

NoteTHE NEVIUS METHOD: These principles formed the heart of what became known among the Korea missionaries as the “Nevius method,” named for an American Presbyterian missionary to China named John L. Nevius (1829–1893). Rev. Nevius was a China missionary who had argued for a new approach to missionary work: Rather than having the home church fund big institutions like colleges and cathedrals, he advocated a principle of self-support, having the native converts pay for their own churches so as to build up a sense of responsibility early on. Nevius first outlined his ideas in a series of articles in the Chinese Recorder and Missionary Journal in 1883, but failed to gain traction among his fellow China missionaries (Jacqueline Pak, “Cradle of the Covenant: Ahn Changho and the Christian Roots of the Korean Constitution,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr., and Timothy S. Lee, eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2006), 116–48, here 127). For a monograph of the Nevius method from the man himself, see John L. Nevius, Methods of Mission Work, 2nd ed. (New York: Foreign Mission Library, 1895).  REQUIRED READING IN KOREA: Rev. Nevius made a trip to Korea in June 1890, just six months after Moffett first arrived in Korea—and profoundly influenced Moffett’s own worldview and approach to foreign missions work (Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 6–8). Moffett was so impressed, in fact, that he made Rev. Nevius’s Methods of Mission Work required reading for all new missionaries in Korea. “Our mission has gone considerably beyond the suggestions of Dr. Nevius on these lines but to him we owe a great debt of gratitude for his advice and counsel when we were first formulating our policies,” Moffett declared nearly half a century later, as he looked back on Rev. Nevius’ visit to Korea (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 38–39). Under Moffett’s Nevius-inspired leadership, the Presbyterians came to rely on the Korean converts to become missionaries in their own right—as quickly as possible. Adhering to “the Nevius method,” Moffett believed, freed up foreign missionaries from having to do much explicit proselytization work, remaining in the mission station for most of the year and traveling into the countryside to visit the various churches once or twice a year—cultivating what one pair of historians has called a spirit of “self-reliance” that came to define the Korean church (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 73–74).  “WELCOMED AS FROM HEAVEN”: Lillias Underwood described the irony of Rev. Nevius’ own recommendations having been rejected by the China missionaries, but “welcomed as from Heaven” by the Korea missionaries, who soon regarded themselves as champions of his principle of self-support (Lillias Underwood 1918, 99–101). By 1912, less than three decades after the arrival of the first missionary in Seoul, the Korea missionaries’ Nevius experiment—emphasizing self-support—had succeeded beyond any of their wildest dreams. “A church of 100,000 Christians had resulted, self-governing, with its own presbyteries and general assembly,” William Baird’s son Richard wrote, noting that the educational work alone had resulted in more than a hundred primary schools in the Pyongyang area alone by 1912, enrolling roughly three thousand boys and girls—without any funding from the missionaries or churches in the West (Baird 1968, 149). For a booklength monograph on the Nevius method and its application in Korea, see Charles Allen Clark, The Nevius Plan for Mission Work (Seoul: Christian Literature Society, 1937). Among the latter-day fans of the Nevius method was none other than Rev. Billy Graham (Graham 1997, 600–1).
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were innate to the Korean people could explain the country’s receptivity to Christianity

NoteThe early Western writer William Griffis, for instance, made the somewhat inchoate argument that Koreans are innately hospitable and nosy, and were thus inclined towards the new Western teaching: “In every house there is the room open to the street, where everybody, friend or stranger, known or unknown, may come and talk or hear the news and discuss events. Nothing is kept secret, and being a nation of gossips and loungers, the news of any event, or the expression of a fresh idea, spreads like fire on the prairie. A doctrine so startlingly new, and preached as it was by men already famous for their learning, would at once excite the public curiosity, set all tongues running, and fire many hearts” (Griffis 1894, 352, n. 1). Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary, chalked up Koreans’ openness to the Christian gospel to what he called the people’s natural “emotionalism,” as well as their inherent docility, willingness to be led by outsiders and an abundance of free time, among other reasons (Brown 1919, 516–19). This emotionalism, Brown maintained, made Koreans more receptive to the missionaries’ message of salvation than the Chinese or the Japanese. “It is comparatively easy to reach his heart and to arouse his sympathies,” Brown explained (Brown 1919, 251). Then again, at other times Brown also seemed to suggest that emotionalism worked against the Christian message in Korea, since the Koreans’ “emotional” response to the faith left them susceptible to a reversal in emotional change. “Emotions that are quickly aroused sometimes subside with equal quickness,” he warned darkly (Brown 1919, 524).
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the people must have “found it fundamentally fitting to their morality and temperament”

NoteWhatever the reasons, divine or mundane, write scholars Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim, somewhat teleologically, “Koreans must have wanted it” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 106). A similar, and similarly elusive, explanation is given by Martha Huntley, a historian of Korea missions who herself later served as a missionary to South Korea: “Many studies have been made in attempts to find the key to the success of the church in Korea. Mission policy, historical, sociological, economic, geographical and psychological elements have been thoroughly examined. But it is the Koreans—the converts who so quickly became disciples and evangelists, reproducing themselves again and again—who are the real secret of church growth” (Huntley 1984, 121–22). Horace Underwood also found himself at pains to explain the Koreans’ embrace of the Christian faith, telling an American Christian writer in 1910 “that the successes which have attended the preaching of the Gospel in Korea have been a source of as much wonder and amazement to the missionaries on the field as to outsiders” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 13). Philip Jaisohn, an early Korean reformer and Christian convert who became the first Korean to naturalize as an American citizen, was equally unable to explain Koreans’ predilection towards the faith: “The Koreans are a simple people, but they have certain mental characteristics which seems to take them in the direction of religion. They seem to have a religious capacity more readily developed and more sincerely practiced than by any other oriental race. The reason for that has to be explained by some men who are eminent in psychology, for I cannot” (as quoted in First Korean Congress 1919, 48).
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trade ties to neighboring China—had created especially fertile conditions for the foreign faith

NoteAll these points are made by Korea missionary and church historian Roy Shearer (Shearer 1966, 143–45). See also Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 1996, 28, 275–79; Chung-shin Park 2003, 27–28; Clark 2003, 38; Sun Joo Kim, “Introduction,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 13–14; and Edwin Kagin, “Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A.,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1919), 314–19, here 315. “Protestantism was most warmly embraced by the non-yangban intellectual class and the business community, particularly in regions where the development of a capitalist economy was well underway, such as P’yŏngan province,” write Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors (Eckert et al. 1990, 249). “It was natural for people who were economically rich but politically abandoned to search for a new ideology,” adds another pair of South Korean scholars (Kam Ch’ang-su and Kim Sŭng-il, Haesŏk Son Chŏng-do ŭi Saeng’ae wa Sasang Yŏn’gu [A Study of the Life and Ideology of Haesŏk Son Chŏng-do] (Seoul: Nexus, 1999), 31). The Japanese, too, would come to a similar conclusion, with one writer describing the northwest as a “magnet for foreign ideas,” making it susceptible to the draws of Christianity and, later, communism and anarchism” (as quoted in Caprio, “Images of the North,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 303).  “MORE MUSCLE AND MORE BRAINS”: In a letter that he wrote to The Independent in Seoul in May 1897, William Baird summed up the fundamental differences that he found in the northwest: “More muscle and more brains,” he wrote, attributing the difference in the northwest to the absence of the aristocratic yangban: “A man seems to be more a man in the North than in the South. In looking for the causes of this I find it in the marked absence of the so-called ‘gentleman’ class. In the South the independent middle class is apt to be crushed out between the upper and the nether millstones, between the strutting, conceited ‘yangban’ and the obsequious, cringing serf. The North is brighter with hope because of the predominance of an independent middle class, who have to work for their own living, and as a result have more muscle and more brains” (“Notes on a Trip into Northern Korea,” The Independent, 2, no. 59 (May 20, 1897), 3). Also reproduced in “Northern and Southern Korea,” Korean Repository 4 (May 1897), 196; and Oak 2013, 227–28. Richard Baird, the son of William Baird who would later return to northern Korea decades later to serve as a missionary, shared his father’s view that there was something special about the northwest. In his view, the strongheadedness of the northerners was attributable in part to their rugged mountain environs, which seemed to encourage independence. “In the north there was less difference between the haves and the have-nots. The rich were not so rich and the poor were not so poor. There was a much higher degree of owner operation of farm land. All this tended to independence and democratic attitudes,” he wrote. In short, concluded the younger Baird, who would later be based in the northern Korean city of Kanggye, Korea’s northwesterners—energetic and aggressive, alienated and accustomed to seeking out new ideas—were ripe for the new foreign religion (Baird 1968, 229–31). Donald Clark, another descendant of missionaries, argues that, in the northwest, “the farms were not as productive as those in the more fertile south, and there were fewer of the land-based aristocracy, who tended to be conservative, Confucian and anti-Christian. Many commoners in this area lacked land and made their living by their wits” (Clark 1986, 7).
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time in northwestern Korea in 1897, following several years in the unresponsive southeast

NoteFROM DEL NORTE TO NINGBO: After graduating from McCormick Seminary, William Baird hoped to follow his old friend and classmate Samuel Moffett to Korea. First, though, he wanted to repay his older brother John, who had lent him money for his seminary tuition. “Will’s stiff Scottish conscience made him unwilling to go abroad with the debt unpaid” (Baird 1968, 5). To pay off his debts, Baird worked as an evangelist in Kansas City, and as a substitute pastor and teacher in Del Norte, Colorado—then, as now, a tiny settlement (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 18, 1890). When Moffett learned of the decision by John Underwood, the typewriter magnate who was Horace Underwood’s brother, to pay the salary of a new missionary to Korea, Moffett immediately wrote to his friend Will, as well as the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions (Baird 1968, 6). Moffett met missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood and John Underwood in New York in 1889 and continued to push for Baird to be sent to Korea. “He is my most intimate friend,” Moffett had begged Ellinwood. “We have hoped that we might work together and so I plead that he be sent to Korea” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 18, 1890). Baird, however, was first appointed to Ningbo, China, before Ellinwood rerouted him to Korea (Baird 1968, 104). Baird was appointed to Korea in the summer of 1890 and, together with his new bride, Annie, sailed aboard the Japanese ship the Owari Maru, arriving at the dock at Chemulp’o (now Inch’ŏn) on the evening of February 1, 1891, a Sunday, where Moffett was waiting with a horse and sedan chair (Baird 1968, 6–7). That day, the entire Presbyterian mission at the time—all seven of them—gathered to welcome the Bairds, including another McCormick classmate, Daniel Gifford. “Though in a strange land the young missionaries were not among strangers” (Baird 1968, 8).  IN THE UNRESPONSIVE SOUTHEAST: For the Bairds, work began immediately. A day after his arrival in Korea, the Bairds joined the Presbyterian mission’s five-day annual meeting (Baird 1968, 8). In fact, the annual meeting had been delayed especially so that the Bairds could join. At that session, Moffett helped establish and adopt the mission’s first set of rules and bylaws, an attempt by Moffett to institutionalize certain regulations to prevent intramural frictions (Huntley 1984, 59). Before the week was out, the decision was made to send the Bairds to the southeastern port city of Pusan to open the mission’s second permanent mission station on the Korean peninsula (Baird 1968, 8). By 1892, there was virtually no history of Westerners there, with just two foreigners having ever passed through Kyŏngsang province, as far as Baird could tell (William Baird 2013, 109 (May 25, 1892, diary entry)). Indeed, Will Baird was only the second missionary to live in Pusan, after the New Zealand-born Joseph H. Davies (1856–1890), who had arrived, and died, the previous year, in 1890 (Insung Lee [Yi, In-sŏng], William M. Baird’s Ministry in Korea and Soongsil (Seoul: Korean Christian Museum at Soongsil University, 2007), 61). Alas, the Bairds would have little more success, struggling in the country’s “unresponsive” southeast for six years (Baird 1968, 63). As Baird’s son Richard later put it, Will Baird proclaimed the Christian gospel of salvation to plenty of “the idly curious and those earnestly desiring a fast buck,” but very few “true seekers” (Baird 1968, 46). “The people in this country shun us…We have scarcely sold a book,” William Baird wrote during one itinerating trip (Baird 1968, 41, citing William Baird’s diary entry from “either October 5th or 6th,” 1893). In the end, Baird didn’t baptize his first convert until more than three years after his arrival in Korea, in April 1894 (Baird 1968, 46).  A TASTE OF THE NORTHWEST: In the spring of 1897, Baird—having relocated to Seoul by this point—made his first trip to the northwest, filling in for Moffett during his first furlough home to Indiana; Baird traveled for the first time through the northwestern cities of Pyongyang, Sŏnch’ŏn, and Ŭiju, in a seven-week trip spanning March and May 1897, with newly-arrived missionary Norman G. Whittemore and Han Sŏk-jin, the assistant of Samuel Moffett (Baird 1968, 63–64). There, the three men found ten places where Christians were gathering regularly and determined that four of them were mature enough to be organized formally into churches (Baird 1968, 64). See also “Reports on Two Visits to the North 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 307–9). For a missionary who had spent six frustrating years in southern Korea, the difference in the northwest was striking, with Baird’s eyes opened to the “thrilling” possibilities in the region (Baird 1968, 63). “I was much pleased with what I saw of the northern work—earnest, aggressive, Scriptural, sensible, seemed to be words applicable to the church work there. The people are mostly able to read, and very eager to read the Bible,” Baird affirmed. “I have not seen any place in Korea where the people seem so attentive to hear as in the north” (“Letter from Rev. W. M. Baird, Seoul, Korea, May 14, 1897,” The Church at Home and Abroad 22, no. 128 (August 1897), 125–26). Also cited in Oak 2013, 227. Baird was so enthralled that he returned for a follow-up trip just weeks later in July 1897 (Baird 1968, 64–65). “A great work is going on in the northern field,” Baird wrote his brother, exulting in a missions field where, in just a few weeks, he could baptize three hundred inquirers and examine many more seeking to join the church. “On the trip I examined seventy four applicants for church membership, admitted thirty one as catecumens [sic] and baptized three hundred adherents” (Baird 1968, 65, citing William M. Baird letter to John F. Baird, undated). Baird also expressed deep surprise that the gospel message had preceded him “into the deep valleys of Northern Korea,” where even Koreans who had never encountered a foreign missionary already “loved the Lord and talked a language which could only have been taught them by the Holy Spirit” (Baird 1968, 65). “I have not seen any place in Korea where the people seem so attentive to hear as in the north. Many of the hindrances to the work which exist in other places do not seem to be found there. The whole north seems to stand much in need of work being done just now, without the delay involved in learning the language by a new missionary. I was much pleased with what I saw of the northern work—earnest, aggressive, Scriptural, sensible, seemed to be words applicable to the church work there. The people are mostly able to read, and very eager to read the Bible,” Baird wrote in a separate letter (William M. Baird letter on May 14, 1897, Seoul, published in Woman’s Work for Woman (August 1897), 125–26, photocopy in MKC). Baird likely could not have predicted just how prophetic he was, argues historian Hwang Kyŏng-mun: “Even Mr. Baird would have found astonishing the extent to which these obscure people…shaped the emergence of modern Korea” (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 137).  THE VIEW FROM ELSEWHERE: Other missionaries found little reason to dispute Baird’s contrasting assessments of the prospects in northern and southern Korea. Missionary T. Stanley Soltau, who started his career in the northern mission stations of Sŏnch’ŏn and Kanggye before relocating the south-central city of Ch’ŏngju, in Ch’ungch’ŏng province, was shocked by the regional divergence. “In the north it was not at all unusual to baptize ten or fifteen people in one church on the occasion of my visit once every six months. But my first year in Chungju where about 25 groups have been assigned to me, I had only 10 or 12 baptisms in all,” he wrote. Soltau chalked up the particular nature of Ch’ungch’ŏng province to the strong influence of the yangban there, and described the missionaries’ biggest concerns there as being simply one of survival for the church (Soltau n.d., 17–18). Robert T. Coit, a Southern Presbyterian in the southwestern city of Kwangju, writing in 1921, similarly found that the Koreans there “not as virile and progressive, nor as capable, as the Koreans in northern Korea.” To that, he added: “They are very clannish, and not inclined to receive leadership from those coming in from the north, although better trained than themselves” (R. T. Coit [Coit, Robert T.], “Our Evangelistic Work,” Korea Mission Field 17, no. 11 (November 1921), 232–35, here 235). Expressing a contrary opinion, another missionary to Korea, Rev. M. Willis Greenfield (1881–1917), predicted in 1912 that while church growth had exploded in the northwest, southeastern Kyŏngsang Province would eventually overtake the northerners: “In time the slow and timid southern [sic] will overtake his strong and independent brother of the north, whose soul is yet untamed by war or famine or persecution” (as quoted in Oak 2013, 228, n. 13). Alas, Greenfield, in ill health, left Korea shortly afterwards and passed away in 1917. Greenfield’s predicted bonanza for the southeast didn’t take place until the Korean War, when Pusan became a center of Christian growth, fueled by northwestern Christian refugees to the south.
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include a generation of Christian nationalists, including the father of the future Kim Il Sung

NoteAfter a few years in unresponsive Pusan and then in Seoul, William Baird was formally transferred to Pyongyang at the Presbyterians’ annual meeting in late August 1897 (Baird 1968, unnumbered page before 57). In Pyongyang, it was determined, Baird would lead the charge in implementing “long-cherished plans for Christian educational work” (William M. Baird letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, June 30, 1900, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/9/67)). Those “long-cherished plans” were the ones that Baird had presented to the mission at the annual meeting in 1897—that is, to establish a school system centered on cultivating the Christian faith and aimed at building up leaders in the church (Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so [Christian School Research Institute], P’yŏngyang Taebuhŭng Undong kwa Kidokgyo Hakgyo [The Great Revival of Pyongyang and Christian Schools] (Seoul: Yeyŏng K’ŏmyunik’eisyŏn, 2007), 113; Baird 1968, 125; and Huntley 1984, 90). Martha Huntley, a historian of Korea missions, describes the annual meeting in 1897 as “an unusually important one,” with newly-appointed Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Robert Speer in attendance to approve Baird’s educational policy, “which was to dominate the history of the mission and relations with its home board for the next 25 years” (Huntley 1984, 90; and Baird 1968, 66). For William Baird’s own description of his decision to move to Pyongyang to pursue educational work, see “Report on Boys’ School, Seoul, 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 304–5. Baird outlines his broader thinking on the Presbyterian mission’s educational policy in “Read in the Mission in Seoul 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 285–90. Prior to that meeting, the Presbyterian mission in Pyongyang operated two boys’ schools in the city—one run by Moffett inside the city walls and another outside the walls overseen by Graham Lee (Graham Lee, “Annual Meeting of the Northern Presbyterian Mission, Pyeng Yang Station General Report,” October 1896, Seoul (PHS 180/11/1896 Reports)).
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missions board to send William Baird, his “most intimate friend,” to join him in Pyongyang

NoteLooking out over his work and his life in his 1901 personal report, Moffett’s contentedness was evident: “More and more we are realizing that the foundations of this work are set deep and strong and that the superstructure which is being built is being fitted to withstand the strong winds of persecution, temptation and of subtle false teaching” (Moffett, “Personal Report,” September 1901 (PHS)).  A “MOST INTIMATE FRIEND”: Moffett called Baird his “most intimate friend” in a letter to Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood in arguing for his college and seminary classmate to be sent to Korea (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, March 18, 1890). Moffett and Baird would remain friends for fifty-two years, starting from their first meeting in 1879 as incoming freshmen at Hanover College, continuing through their graduation from college and seminary together, and their being ordained as ministers together in Madison in May 1888, before both arriving in Korea within thirteen months of each other, and then spending the next forty-one years together on the mission field (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Cleland B. McAfee, December 1, 1931, Pyengyang (PHS II/5/RG 140-4-6)). The detail about them both being ordained in 1888, and the month (May), and the location (Madison), is from a letter that Moffett wrote to his eldest son James (Moffett letter to Jim, February 11, 1932). Throughout their lives, the two best friends from their college days had retained what Baird’s wife called “their dignified gentlemanly bearing toward each other.” “Occasionally they called each other ‘Sam’ and ‘Will,’ but mostly it was Dr. Moffett and Dr. Baird,” she wrote. When Moffett was away on furlough, Baird would miss his friend greatly. “There just isn’t anyone to discuss things with,” Baird would say (Rose M. Baird, “Early Memories of Moffett as Man and Missionary,” booklet for Samuel A. Moffett’s birthday, January 25, 1934 (MKC)).
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a network of churches and schools that was becoming the envy of missionaries the world over

NoteTo give but one early example, the Southern Presbyterian missionaries William Reynolds and William M. Junkin, based in southern Korea, believed Moffett’s “methods of work are so fine they are going to adopt them; for everything he starts seems to go,” Reynolds’ wife wrote in a letter home in 1892, shortly after the men’s arrival (Reynolds letter to Hattie, November 4, 1892).
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leader of the Presbyterian church, “the senior member of the largest station in the world”

NoteJames Gale’s biographer Richard Rutt describes Moffett’s impact on the Presbyterian church as unparalleled. “No single other missionary had a greater personal influence in moulding the Korean presbyterian church,” Rutt writes, noting that Gale made Moffett the main protagonist of his novelistic take on missionary work in Korea, The Vanguard, with a character named Willis modeled closely on Moffett (Rutt 1983, 60).
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as well as by his fellow missionaries. His judgment is good, he is tactful and a man of faith”

NoteHarry C. Whiting (1865–1945), a Presbyterian medical missionary posted to Chaeryŏng, a city in Hwanghae province, who penned the words quoted here, was even more superlative after spending a week in the countryside itinerating with Moffett: “I do not think it incumbent upon missionaries to compare or contrast one with another but in Dr. Moffett’s case he is in a class by himself. It has been his plans and guiding hand under divine blessing that has made the work in North Korea so successful. The Koreans love him and come to him for advice and comfort” (Harry C. Whiting letter to Arthur J. Brown, March 1, 1906, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/236/39)). Whiting, in a third letter the following year, raved that journalist Frederick McKenzie, after passing through Pyongyang, had hailed Moffett in a series of articles for the London Daily Mail as “one of the greatest” men in the world (Harry C. Whiting letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 22, 1907, Chai Ryung, Korea (PHS 281/237/29)).
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of northwestern Korea. “I have for some time regarded him as the father of the Korean church”

Note“The man whose genius has really made the Korea Mission is Dr. Moffett of Pyeng Yang,” continued the missionary who is quoted here, Presbyterian Carl Kearns. “I doubt whether there is anywhere in the world so huge a work as the result of the ideas of one man.” In the north, Kearns proceeded, the other missionaries “have been content to accept Moffett’s leadership and to work along his plans and the result has been glorious success in Pyeng Yang and Syen Chyun, i.e. Moffett’s sphere of influence. I have for some time regarded him as the father of the Korean church” (Kearns letter to Brown, August 10, 1906). Seoul Methodist Henry Appenzeller, who had been one of the first missionaries to pass through Pyongyang, seeing little promise there, proclaimed the missionary work in Pyongyang “under the leadership of the Rev. S. A. Moffett, D. D., one of the greatest works of grace found anywhere in the whole world” (Appenzeller 1902, 32).
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early days in Pyongyang, went even further: “Moffett is a rare man—one in ten thousand”

Note“He has laid the foundation of a grand and growing work—a work that is most promising, most interesting, and one that gives every evidence of being solid,” Graham Lee added in the same letter (Lee to Ellinwood, April 8, 1896). Lee’s esteem for his colleague was such that he gave his son the middle name “Moffett,” as in Henry Moffett Lee (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Boys, January 24, 1937, Madison, Indiana (MKC)).  TRIBUTE TO A CO-LABORER: The admiration was mutual. “I cannot be too thankful that Mr. Lee is my co-laborer for I have found him a rare man in absolute sincerity and integrity combined with good judgment and self-control,” Moffett told Frank Ellinwood in an 1895 letter (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, August 21, 1895). Three months later, in November 1895, Moffett was equally effusive: “I have time and again written of my appreciation of Mr. Lee and of my gratitude in having him for a colleague. There are few men as true, as consecrated, as willing to endure hardness as a good soldier of Christ, few men so thoroughly imbued with the missionary spirit” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank Ellinwood, November 1, 1895, Seoul (PHS 179/8/62)). In 1925, nearly a decade after Lee’s death, Moffett, reflecting on their early challenges in Pyongyang, eulogized his old friend: “No man was ever more blessed than I in his colleague in missionary service and no field ever had a better missionary than Pyengyang had in Graham Lee” (Moffett, “Early Days in Pyengyang,” Korea Mission Field (1925), 53). Finally, in January 1931, just a few years before his own death, Moffett erected a memorial stone at Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church for Rev. Lee, quoting from Psalm 112:6 (KJV): “The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Friends, January 9, 1931, Pyengyang (MKC)). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie praised both Moffett and Lee, who he called “clever, clear-thinking men, possessed of unconquerable energy. They worked at pressure unsurpassed on the Stock Exchange or in the city counting-house” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 293).
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“of all our evangelists,” and the more facetious nickname, the “Archbishop of Pyengyang”

NotePyongyang missionary Charles Clark called Moffett the “greatest of all our evangelists” (Clark, “A Great Pioneer Missionary,” Pyengyang News (1934) (MKC)). The “Archbishop of Pyengyang” epithet is from his son (Samuel H. Moffett, “Seventieth Birthday,” Pyengyang News 1, no. 2 (March 1934), 3 (MKC)). It was a joke; in reality, the Presbyterian church does not have any archbishops or bishops. More accurately, and with less hyperbole, Moffett was hailed by Charles Clark’s grandson, historian Donald Clark, as “in effect the ‘dean’ of P’yŏngyang Station” (Clark 2003, 128). Indeed, Moffett’s word carried extraordinary weight in the Pyongyang mission, but his influence was such that even his silence could speak volumes. In 1905, when the Presbyterians and Methodists initially discussed the possibility of joining forces in union work, most of the missionaries on both sides were eagerly in favor. Moffett, more conservative by nature and apparently unwilling to commit to any partnership that might water down the faith, took a more passive position, not opposing the possibility outright but not lending it vocal support either. The silence was palpable. “When a leader like Dr. Moffett takes no leading part in so grand a movement as this, it is a matter of great regret,” one missionary wrote. “The fact of his passivity practically means opposition” (William L. Swallen letter to Arthur J. Brown, October 10, 1905, Pyengyang (PHS 281/235/127)).
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up a generation of Korean men and women that would shape the church and the nation

NoteMissionary Robert Grierson, writing in 1919, described Moffett as synonymous with the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang, just as Horace Underwood was identified with Chōsen Christian College in Seoul (today, Yonsei University). “To many of us the Chosen Christian College immediately suggests Dr. Underwood, as the Pyeng Yang Seminary suggests Dr. Moffett,” he wrote (Grierson, “Missions’ Responsibility,” Korea Mission Field (1919), 70). The seminary began as a Northern Presbyterian project, but in 1906, the Southern Presbyterians, as well as the Canadian and Australian Presbyterians, also joined (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 326). By 1912, Moffett could happily report that 140 men had enrolled for study at the seminary that year, the largest in the brief history of the institution, with an entering class of forty-eight and a graduating class of eleven men; among the seminarians, every province but one was represented, Moffett noted, with one student from Jiandao, just over the Tumen River in Manchuria (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, April 9, 1912, Pyengyang (MKC)). Unsurprisingly, Moffett ensured that the seminary was conservative in its doctrine, such that it was known as “McCormick Seminary in Pyeng Yang” (Pai 2002, 310). The emphasis at the seminary was very much on practical soul-winning; the students spent just three months a year in the classroom, devoting the other nine months of the year to practical work (Horace Underwood 1908, 159–60). When Moffett handed over leadership of the seminary in 1924, it was to Stacy L. Roberts (1881–1946), another theologically conservative Northern Presbyterian (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 95). Namgung Hyŏk (南宮爀 1882–1950?) became the first full-time Korean professor the following year, in 1925 (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 326). Namgung Hyŏk had studied at Paejae Academy under Philip Jaisohn, fought for Korean independence under the Japanese, and was, during the Korean War, taken by the North Koreans, never to be heard from again, according to a thumbnail biography of Namgung Hyŏk by his grandson Tony Namkung (Namgung Kŏn 南宮鍵 1945– ), a frequent Korean American visitor to Pyongyang (Namkung, Tony 2012).
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“in the length and breadth of all Korea which that man Moffett hasn’t a hand in somehow”

NoteOf course, not everyone regarded Moffett’s influence as a positive thing. Arthur Becker, a Methodist missionary in Pyongyang, decried to his wife the empire-building that he believed was driving Moffett and the Presbyterians’ work in the city: “The reality was that the Pyongyang Presbyterians were developing an exclusive power-center” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 369).
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fascination, his early devotion to language study having paid off in near-native Korean fluency

NoteA STANDOUT STUDENT: The Presbyterian mission created and administered a system of Korean-language examinations for the missionaries to take, and, within fourteen months of Moffett’s arrival, he was clearly a standout student. “Mr. Moffett passed an exceptionally fine examination,” Horace Underwood wrote Frank Ellinwood in March 1891. “He has made a careful study of the intricate grammar and laws of construction of Korean and as a consequence has made a very fine start and bids fair to be one of the first students of the language.” Not everyone got such lavish praise. Moffett’s Hanover classmate Daniel Gifford, for instance, left the language committee “very much disappointed,” Underwood wrote in the same letter. “He has made but poor progress” (Horace G. Underwood letter to Frank Ellinwood, March 27, 1891, Seoul (PHS 175/3/18, 1891)). After a second year of language study, Moffett had no trouble following ordinary conversations in Korean and could convey, “though with effort, …any thoughts he wishes to the mind of the native,” in the words of his colleague James Gale, another acknowledged master of the language in these early years. Moffett still had trouble, however, with quickly translating portions of the English-language Bible into Korean (James S. Gale, “Report of Examination Committee,” January 1892, Seoul (PHS 180/11/1891–1900 Reports)).   “LIKE A NATIVE”: Another missionary, William Reynolds, described how he “sat in spellbound admiration of Moffett’s fluent Korean” while listening to the young Hoosier converse with local magistrates on an itinerating trip to southern Korea that same year (Reynolds, “Early Memories of Moffett,” 1934 (MKC)). By 1895, less than six years after his arrival in the country, Moffett was able to offer a detailed technical assessment of the translation quality of an early Korean-language version of the Gospels of Matthew and John (S. A. Moffett [Moffett, Samuel A.], “Review of the Gospels of Matthew and John,” Korean Repository 2 (October 1895), 361–65). Moffett’s colleague Harry Whiting, writing in 1905, was dumbstruck at how Moffett “speaks the language like a native” (Harry C. Whiting letter to David McConaughy, May 26, 1905, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/235/88)).  SAMUEL THE SHEPHERD: Samuel Moffett was universally known as “Ma Moksa” (馬牧師 Kor. Ma Moksa), combining the abbreviation for his Korean name, Map’o Sam’yŏl (馬布三悅), with the Sino-Korean word for “pastor” (牧師 Kor. moksa). The Sino-Korean term 牧師 is used in China, Japan, and Korea to refer to a Christian pastor; the first character refers to a herder and breeder of livestock, and the term can very literally be translated as a “shepherd.” The fact that Moffett had come to be addressed as “pastor,” with its echoes of “shepherd,” reflects the enhanced stature that he and his fellow missionaries had won among the Koreans—a vast improvement from “black devil” and the other epithets that first greeted him in Pyongyang in 1890. “Thousands who formerly looked upon me in the light of a foreign devil more than anything else now come out to welcome me as their friend and pastor,” wrote Methodist missionary Wilbur C. Swearer (1871–1916). “Old people clasp me in their arms, their eyes shining with tears of gladness, and exclaim how glad they are again to see me” (Swearer, “Gospel Progress,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 85). As Robert Speer, writing in 1904, put it: “The missionary instead of being called ‘foreign devil,’ is addressed respectfully by a word meaning ‘shepherd,’ but which is also an honorable title of respect” (Speer 1904, 392).
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“that I could go to Me-Gook some day and come back as a missionary to my native country!”

Note“Me-Gook” is an English rendering of Mi’guk (美國), then and now the Sino-Korean word for America. The worshipful description by Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, a young Korean covert who describes sitting enraptured as he listened to Moffett’s “inspiring sermon in fluent Korean,” hints at the reverence with which the missionaries were accorded by many Koreans, who in some extreme cases came to regard the missionaries themselves as God (Murray 1975, 69).
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to the train station to send him off with the singing of hymns and a gift of two silver medals

NoteIn fact, Moffett and his colleagues came to develop such close relationships with their charges that they were constantly being feted by crowds of grateful Koreans whenever they departed or arrived. This often happened without the missionaries’ knowledge, or in defiance of their protestations. Moffett, returning to Pyongyang in the spring of 1898 from his first furlough back home, was gratified when, bicycling up from Seoul, he was greeted by roughly sixty Christians who had come out to welcome him back. “My heart has been touched as never before by the love and interest shown by the Christians,” he wrote, drawing a contrast to the stoning that awaited him in Pyongyang in 1890. “Their great joy and the evident sincerity of their welcome was, I can assure you, most touchingly gratifying to me. What a contrast was this ovation to the reception accorded me eight years ago!” “All this month I have had a constant run of visitors from near and far, expressing their joy over my return and the letters have been pouring in from all over the country,” he remarked (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, April 6, 1898). Following a visit to Korea in the summer of 1897, American missions champion Robert J. Speer recalled: “The day we left Pyeng-yang, thirty or forty of the native Christians went with us through the rain many miles into the country. We besought them to return home. ‘No,’ they said, ‘you have come many thousands of miles to see us; it is a small matter that we should walk a few miles with you’…In the drizzling rain they held a farewell meeting for us, thanking God for our visit, and commending us to His love and care. It made us feel like Paul and his company, when the elders of Ephesus came down to take farewell of them at Miletus…It did me more good than all the books on apologetics I had ever read” (as quoted in Gifford 1898, 227–28). During a pony ride to Pyongyang in stormy weather in 1901, the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown recalls being met by “scores of Korean Christians…tramping several miles through the mud and rain to give us hearty welcome” (Brown 1919, 106). Yet another missionary, arriving in Korea for the first time in 1914, was greeted at the train station by more than a dozen missionaries and “several hundred Korean Christians, whose faces radiated their love as they pressed our hands and welcomed us” (Soltau n.d., 10). Canadian missionary Florence Murray, heading back home on furlough, was sent off by a chorus of admiring locals at the railway station. “Their voices singing God Be with You till We Meet Again died away as the train rounded a curve and took them out of our sight” (Murray 1975, 142). One missionary to Japan, following a visit to Korea, could hardly restrain his envy of his colleagues in Korea, who return “after furlough to find fifteen hundred joyous people from far and near waiting to give them welcome” (“An Account of the Travels of the Rev. Frederick S. Curtis among the Japanese in Korea. Reprinted by Request from the Japan Evangelist,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 2 (February 1908), 29–32, here 30).
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back in Indiana, he was promptly elected as moderator of his home presbytery in New Albany

Note  BIG IN NEW ALBANY: Between 1840 and 1857, New Albany, Indiana, was the home of what would later become McCormick Theological Seminary. By 1882, the small city had no fewer than twenty-three churches and was known as “the city of churches. Ever since the city was founded it has been distinguished for the religious character of its citizens” (History of the Ohio Falls Cities 1882, 186).  “A PLAIN PLODDING MISSIONARY”: Though he was half the world away, Moffett’s success wasn’t lost on those back home in Indiana. In June 1901, Moffett’s labors in Pyongyang had garnered enough attention back home that Hanover College, his alma mater, conferred a surprise Doctor of Divinity on the missionary. Moffett declared himself embarrassed by the honor, considering himself merely “a plain plodding missionary, very happily and contentedly laboring away in my little comer of the world.” He then turned to give credit to God: “This is but another illustration of how the Spirit of God works where and how He pleases and uses the weak things of the world for the accomplishment of His own mighty works” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Rev. D. W. Fisher, July 30, 1901, Pyengyang (MKC)).
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“of Pyengyang” should be there to represent the Christian world’s most shining success story

NoteLest Moffett back out, out of humility or otherwise, Brown warned in a separate letter to Moffett: “I know, my dear Dr. Moffett, that your modesty equals your ability…Perhaps therefore I ought to state to you frankly and in confidence that this appointment by the Board is not transferable, and that if you do not accept it, it may mean that Korea will have no representation at all” (Arthur J. Brown letter to Samuel A. Moffett, December 11, 1908, New York, N.Y. (PHS 283/242/44)).  THE PASSING OF THE TORCH: The Edinburgh Missions Conference has gone down in the annals of Protestant history as the grandest of all global gatherings dedicated to missions work—not only the high-water mark of enthusiasm and passion for the cause in the Western world, but a marker of the rise of America’s role in Protestant proselytization. Harvard University historian James Reed describes the Edinburgh conference, presided over by the King George V and chaired by John Mott, as the moment in which “the torch was passed to the Americans…from the British Empire” (Reed 1983, 12). That this conference was held in the heartland of the Scottish Presbyterian tradition that had launched Moffett and so many of his fellow missionaries was not wasted on Moffett, who used the occasion to pay a visit to Moffat, Scotland, where he met up with his younger brother Thomas for some Moffett family tree research (Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010). For more on the Edinburgh conference, see Act I, Chapter 8.
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minister who would prove her husband’s equal in devotion to the missionary cause

Note“ATTEMPT GREAT THINGS FOR GOD”: Mary Alice Fish, or Alice, as she was known, was born in Virginia City, Nevada, on April 8, 1870, and grew up an only child in San Rafael, Calif., in a home “whose very atmosphere breathed ‘Holiness to the Lord,’” according to one guest. Alice’s father, descended from five generations of Presbyterian ministers, was a church elder engaged for more than three decades in evangelistic outreach to the Chinese immigrants in San Francisco; her mother was active in missionary societies. Alice, who like so many other missionaries of the time grew up starstruck by the great missionaries of the nineteenth century—her favorites included John G. Paton in the South Seas, Alexander Mackay in Uganda, and William Carey in India. “Expect great things from God. Attempt great things for God,” Alice wrote her father, quoting Carey’s famous motto (Mary Alice Fish letter to Father [Fish, Charles H.], December 30, 1892, Philadelphia (MKC)).  FROM THE “HEATHEN ISLANDS” TO THE STREETS OF PHILADELPHIA: Alice joined the Student Volunteer Movement at age twenty-two while a student in Philadelphia, inspired in part by dramatic tales of Western missionaries to the cannibals on the heathen islands of the South Pacific. She told her mother of her plans in a November 1892 letter: “In doing so I say I desire and purpose to go to the foreign field unless God blocks the way,—which is only expressing the desire I have had for a long time. There can be nothing compulsory about it because all our future is left in God’s hands. No one has asked me to volunteer, but I have known more or less of the movement ever since I came here, and felt it would be helpful in strengthening my purpose” (Mary Alice Fish letter to Mother [Fish, Martha Ann Warner], November 2, 1892, Philadelphia (MKC)). Less than a week later, Alice gushed to her father about hearing John Paton, a missionary to Vanuatu (then known as the New Hebrides). “My dear Father, Sabbath was a ‘red-letter day for me,” she wrote. “I could hardly believe that I was really looking into the face of the dear old man who lived and labored for thirty five years among the cannibals and has witnessed such triumphs for Christ on those heathen islands.” Alice was especially thrilled to be able to shake Paton’s hand three times. “I am very sure there is not a well known man in the world I would rather see and hear than Dr. Paton, and to think I should have the privilege after my long anticipation seemed too good to be true” (Mary Alice Fish letter to Father [Fish, Charles H.], November 8, 1892, Philadelphia (MKC)). Alice was also inspired by her own college experience volunteering in the slums of Philadelphia, where she was moved watching a packed room of hundreds listening to “the simple story told of the salvation free to all” (Mary Alice Fish letter to Father [Fish, Charles H.], December 5, 1892, Philadelphia (MKC)). Alice later studied at a seminary in Santa Rosa, Calif., where the principal, deeply interested in evangelistic work, later became a missionary among the Hopi Indians (Margaret Best, “A Beautiful Life,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 9 (September 1912), 258–61; and Margaret Best, Helen McAfee McCune [McCune, Helen M.], Henry Charles Whiting [Whiting, Harry C.], “Presbyterian Mission Resolutions with Regard to Mrs. Moffett,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 11 (November 1912), 343–45).  TO KOREA WITH A “PRECIOUS MESSAGE”: Alice arrived in Korea as a medical missionary in December 1897. Before arriving in Korea, Alice took a short course at the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago (Best, “Beautiful Life,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 259). Upon leaving the U.S., she recalled, “the last words I heard from the dock as we steamed away were those of the chorus, ‘Wash me in the blood of the lamb and I shall be whiter than snow.’ This is the message I bring to Korea. Precious message, blessed privilege to bear it. I praise God He has permitted me to come” (Mary Alice Fish letter to Mrs. Horsburgh, December 31, 1897, Seoul (MKC)). In Korea, Alice Fish won a reputation as an even-keeled, selfless and caring colleague. “She had no moods,” wrote the missionary Louise Strang, describing Alice Fish as easy to get along with and “absolutely self-forgetful—so full of thought for others and so happy in it” (Louise H. Strang, “In Memoriam: A Tribute to Alice Fish Moffett,” October 1912, Riverside, Calif. (MKC)). Alice Fish shared much of her fellow missionaries’ condescending view of the Koreans. “The Koreans are a simple, kindhearted, lovable people; there is something fascinating about their very childishness,” she wrote her aunt in September 1898, nearly a year after her arrival. “What an object lesson in the power of the Gospel it is to see these people in their old lives, degraded care-worn and hopeless, and then see them sitting at the table of the Lord, transformed in heart and in face, and worshiping in the simplicity of true faith” (Mary Alice Fish letter to Aunt Lute and Lucia, September 1898, Seoul (MKC)). She threw herself into work with the blind in Pyongyang. “Always tender and compassionate of the weak and helpless, the condition of the blind made a strong appeal to her,” one colleague wrote (Best, “Beautiful Life,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 260).  “A WOMAN WHO CALLED FORTH MY LOVE”: Alice appears to have made a deep impression on Samuel Moffett, for within a year of her arrival, the evidently smitten Indiana native had asked for her hand in marriage (Graham Lee letter to Father & Mother, November 28, 1898, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). Just months after Alice’s arrival, in the spring of 1898, the missionaries in Shandong, China requested that Alice Fish be transferred there, a move that Moffett—newly returned to Korea from his first furlough—vehemently opposed. “Why there was any uncertainty about her destination I know not, but I quite distinctly remember your telling me that she was to go direct to Pyeng Yang,” Moffett wrote the missions board in New York (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, April 6, 1898). For Moffett, falling in love was a novel sensation for the thirty-four-year-old bachelor. In a letter to Frank Ellinwood in February 1899, the same month that Moffett received the blessing of Alice’s parents for their union, he wrote: “I had about come to the conclusion that the Lord intended that I should serve Him as a single man—seeing that He had never brought me into contact with a woman who called forth my love” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, February 11, 1899, Seoul (PHS 179/8/87)).   A WEDDING ON CRUTCHES: Graham Lee married Sam and Alice at noon on June 1, 1899; the wedding took place at the Seoul home of Presbyterian missionary Susan A. Doty, in the presence of the American minister and roughly seventy guests, including the entire missionary community in Seoul. The wedding cakes were made in the U.S. and shipped to Pyongyang and then carried down to Seoul on the back of a pony. “They are much-traveled wedding cakes,” Lee remarked (Graham Lee letter to Father and Mother, May 31, 1899, Seoul (MKC); and Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010). Daniel Gifford offered a prayer and Norman Whittemore and Margaret Best served as the bridal party, according to one wedding guest, who described the ceremony as “an informal, sensible, lovely affair. Miss Fish was very sweet in her creamy silk, made exquisitely with pretty laces, no train, high neck and long sleeves” (H. E. Bostwick letter, May 24, 1899, and June 1, 1899, Seoul (MKC)). Moffett’s best friend William Baird couldn’t attend; he was back in the U.S. on furlough (Annie Laurie Adams Baird letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, June 5, 1899, Topeka, Kansas (PHS 179/7/102)). Ever devoted to his mission, Moffett timed his wedding date so that he could be in Seoul in time for the next meeting of the Bible Committee (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, February 11, 1899). Special provisions had to be made for Alice Fish, who broke one of her legs, badly, in February 1899, and was on crutches for months; she still hadn’t fully recovered by the time of the wedding in June (Lee letter to Father and Mother, May 31, 1899). For a photo of one of Alice’s bridesmaids sitting in the traditional Korean hand-carried chair, with a disabled Alice standing to the side, see Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010. Even months later, in October 1899, Moffett quipped about “the delayed union of the bones in Mrs. Moffett’s broken leg” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, October 17, 1899, Seoul (PHS 179/8/89)).
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and Moffett boasting of marital bliss “as happy…as I think it is ever given to mortals to enjoy” 

Note The entire quote reads: “Alice and I have just finished two of as happy years as I think it is ever given to mortals to enjoy” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mr. & Mrs. Charles H. Fish, June 12, 1901, Pyengyang (MKC)). To Ellinwood, Moffett wrote, “Our skies have been all sunshine” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, July 10, 1899, Pyeng Yang (PHS 179/8/88)). In his letters to Alice, Sam frequently oozed with affection for his wife. “I dream about you all night—start a dozen times a day to run to you, catch myself looking up to see you, etc., etc., etc.” Moffett wrote his wife after she had returned home in the fall of 1901 for medical treatment (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Alice Fish Moffett, December 14, 1901, Pyengyang (MKC)). Two weeks later, on the first day of 1902, Moffett gushed to his wife: “How I love to think about you and how my heart thrills at the thought of you. I think so often, dearest of the first time I was away from you after we knew we loved each other. My heart longs for you just as it did then, only more so, and I find it jumping joyously at the thought of you just as it did then” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Alice Fish Moffett, January 1, 1902, Pyengyang (MKC)). Seven years later, on Valentine’s Day, Sam declared: “Wouldn’t I like to possess you just now for a little while or for a good long while” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Alice Fish Moffett, February 14, 1909, Seoul (MKC)). Alice responded: “Oh, my dearest, how I want you—it seems as if I cannot go on in this way” (Alice Fish Moffett letter to My Dear Sambo [Moffett, Samuel A.], March 12, 1909, San Rafael, Calif. (MKC)). 
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son, James McKee Moffett, who had “rejoiced our hearts and brought sunshine into our home”

NoteThe Moffetts celebrated James’ first birthday a year later with no fewer than 395 boys and girls, all dressed in bright colors for a celebration that felt more like “a general romp,” complete with a phonograph (Whiting letter to Brown, March 1, 1906). James M. Moffett (1905–1986) would go on to become a pastor, serving in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania.
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setting up a tennis court in the compound, where the foreign missionaries held tournaments

NoteBIRTHDAY DINNERS, SANTA CLAUS, AND BASEBALL: Despite the incredible demands on their time, as the missionary community grew in Seoul and especially in Pyongyang, the young Americans, Canadians, Australians, and Britons developed their own traditions as they grew more attached to Korea, where despite the constant health scares and political upheavals they found a community of likeminded, idealistic fellow soldiers for Christ. The missionaries marked birthdays with fancy dinners like Moffett’s forty-seventh birthday in January 1911, when the menu included tomato bisque soup, roast pheasant, chestnut dressing, olives, plum pudding, cocoa, candy, and nuts, among other Western specialties (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Father and Mother, January 31, 1911, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). At Christmas time, one of the missionaries would dress up as Santa Claus and they would sing songs around the Christmas tree (Sallie W. Swallen letter to Unknown, December 30, 1902, Pyengyang (MKC)). Every year around the time of the annual meeting, some missionaries would take advantage of the concentration of Americans in one place to get a mini-baseball season going (Annie Baird 1913, 105).  FLOATING DOWN THE TAEDONG RIVER: For Korea’s hot, humid summers, the missionaries set up beach houses at Sorae, the center of one of Korea’s earliest churches on the west coast of Hwanghae province, and in July and August hundreds of missionaries and their children would flock to the beach for swimming and clam chowder dinners (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [Moffett, James M.], July 23, 1921, Sorai Beach, Korea (MKC)). For Moffett and many of the Pyongyang missionaries, no summertime was complete without a leisurely drift down the Taedong River in a houseboat, often in small flotillas for two weeks at a time or longer. “We hire one of the long flat bottomed, broad upper river boats and build a little house on it and spend from two to three weeks or a month on them, going up into the mountains where the scenery is most beautiful and the water cool and refreshing and trout fishing good,” explained Moffett’s Pyongyang colleague Charles Bernheisel (Charles F. Bernheisel letter to the Christian Endeavorers of Chicago Presbytery, October 7, 1907, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/237/153)). “It affords about the most complete rest that we have been able to find. The time is spent in reading, sleeping, playing games, bathing, fishing, climbing mountains. studying, etc., etc.” Bernheisel wrote in an article for Korea Mission Field, though he also noted that the missionaries, ever attuned to the needs of the faithful, used the boat excursions to visit village churches up and down the river (Bernheisel, “House-Boating,” Korea Mission Field (1914), 227). When Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown visited in 1901, the missionaries organized a grand caravan, with twenty boats floating down the river: “From our boat waved American flags, while from each of the others floated Korean flags. As we started up the river there came from each boat the strains of a Christian hymn. This naturally attracted great crowds of sight-seers to the bank. It was such a scene as had never before been witnessed in Pyeng Yang or indeed all Korea” (Bernheisel letter to Christian Endeavorers of Chicago Presbytery, May 30, 1901). As early as 1895, a year of trauma and pestilence in Pyongyang, Moffett was proclaiming the virtues of drifting down the Taedong River that flowed through Pyongyang: “As we descended the Ta Tong river…, we spread our mats on the deck of the junk and dropped to sleep listening to the dipping of the oars and the song of the boatmen keeping time with their rowing…with its constant repetition of the syllables E-ki, E-ki, E-ki” (Moffett, “Legend of the Hasty Death Gate,” Korean Repository (1895), 414). Likewise, after the sudden death of Moffett’s first wife Alice Fish Moffett in July 1912, Moffett and his sons found solace on the Taedong River. “Here the boys are enjoying the sand, the water, the birds, the fish, the shells, the crabs, the muscles and all that goes with a summer on a houseboat,” Moffett wrote in August 1912. “We are having good times together as I read to them each day, tell them stories, walk with them on the sand, swim with them and watch them at their play. This is an ideal play time for them and close as I was to my boys before, we are growing closer and closer together” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Mother Dear [Moffett, Maria M.], August 13, 1912, Pyengyang (MKC)).   LOATH TO LUXURIATE: The missionaries were perpetually terrified of coming across as living too luxuriously, given criticism from back home—as well as skepticism from many of the very people that the missionaries were seeking to evangelize. Just days after Moffett first arrived in Seoul in January 1890, the missionary John Heron pulled Moffett aside and, with apparent distress, asked the newcomer if his first impression was that the missionaries were “living in too great luxury.” Moffett answered Heron in the negative. “Certainly I had not seen the evidence of luxuriousness other than that servants were many and that all foreigners, including missionaries, were called ‘Tai in’ (great man)” (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 37). A generation later, an influential 1932 report on foreign missions work by the Harvard scholar William E. Hocking captured this widespread perception: “To the average Oriental, he appears to be a man of wealth, living not only in comfort but in luxury. He does not seem to be leading such an ascetic or self-sacrificial life” (Hocking 1932, 295). Including church luminaries, newspaper correspondents, businessmen, and military generals Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind preacher of Pyongyang, spent hours deep in conversation at the Moffett residence and impressed the Moffett boys with his uncanny ability to recite, verbatim, “whatever chapter and verse I might ask of him,” another of Samuel Moffett’s sons, Samuel H. Moffett, later recalled, describing the “big thick glasses” that Rev. Kil wrote to counter his near-complete loss of eyesight (Samuel Hugh Moffett, “Foreword 1,” in Oak 2011, 12–17, here 14). For a photo of the Moffett home, taken around 1900, see Kornegay, “Modifying Joseon Architecture,” Colonial Korea (2019)).
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a brutal war between Japan and Russia then playing out across Korea and Northeast Asia

NoteAlice Moffett had to take up kitchen duties after the family’s cook fell ill. Gen. Arthur MacArthur (1845–1912) later wrote the Presbyterian foreign missions board in New York “in the highest terms of commendation of the missionary work I saw elsewhere in Korea, especially in Pyeng Yang, where a devoted and intelligent body of Presbyterian missionaries are doing the most admirable work and diffusing a general tone of Christianity and civilization throughout an extensive region; such work is certainly deserving of the most cordial and generous support” (Arthur J. Brown letter to the Korea Mission, October 11, 1906, New York, N.Y. (PHS 283/242 (part 3)/58)).
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in northern Korea to cover the hostilities as a correspondent for the San Francisco Examiner

NoteOne historian has described Jack London as having been “drawn to the battle like a missionary to his calling” (Daniel A. Métraux, “Jack London: The Adventurer-Writer who Chronicled Asian Wars, Confronted Racism—and Saw the Future,” The Asia-Pacific Journal 8, no. 4, no. 3 (January 2010), 1–10, here 1). Historian Daniel Métraux writes that London “very dutifully took close to fifteen hundred photographs and wrote twenty-two long feature articles which made their way back to the Hearst chain,” referring to newspaper baron William Randolph Hearst (1863–1951) and his collection of newspapers, which included the San Francisco Examiner and the New York Evening Journal (Métraux 2017, 18).
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found that Moffett’s Korean nickname—“Ma Moksa”—worked wonders everywhere he went

Note“INFINITE COMPREHENSION”: As Jack London found, Samuel Moffett “has a native name, and I am glad that I learned it. ‘Mah-mok-sah’ is the Korean rendering of ‘Moffett,’ and it is a word to conjure with. On the road to Sunan a Korean messenger, bound south, delivered a letter to me from the American mines at Un-san. He could not speak a word of English; nor could I of Korean. ‘Ping Yang?’ I queried, with appropriate gestures…He nodded his head. I handed him a letter. ‘Dr. Moffett, Ping Yang,’ I said. He looked blank…I increased the number and simplicity of my gestures. He gesticulated back. We contorted our faces, wrote Odysseys on the air with our wildly waving arms…I suddenly remembered my notebook and that therein I had inscribed Dr. Moffett’s native name. I pulled the book out eagerly…I caught him by the arm and held him till I found the place, and then I said, slowly and carefully and distinctly: ‘Mah-mok-sah.’ Infinite comprehension dawned upon his face, and there flooded over it waves of happiness like unto that of angels. I knew it was all right and gave him the letter. It went through that very day; and thereafter, not alone in my notebook, but on the tablets of my memory, I carried the magic name, Mah-mok-sah. It is a sympathetic bond capable of connecting me with half the Koreans I encounter,” he wrote. London found success invoking Moffett’s Korean name while visiting another tiny village where “the children fled at sight of me…while the elders, after a while, crept timidly forth…I caught the eye of the chief elder, and said, ‘Mah-mok-sah.’ At once into his face came that familiar dawn of infinite comprehension. He opened his arms to me. So did the village. I was invited to dismount and to enter the houses to be entertained. My horse was entertained. They were loth to have me depart, and when I finally did tear myself away the whole village turned out to guide me” (Jack London, “Dr. Moffett,” March 13, 1904, Sunan, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 82–90, here 82–84). See also Eileen Flower Moffett, “Foreword 2,” in Oak 2011, 18–25, here 22. According to London’s own letters, he had no more than “a 24-word vocabulary and gesticulations” to rely on in Korea (Jack London letter to Charmian Kittredge, February 9, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 8–9, here 9). In Korea’s remote northeast, where the Canadian Presbyterians were active, the missionaries there too could elicit a similar response. The missionary Duncan MacRae was known as Ma Moksa (馬牧師)—the surnames Moffett and MacRae were both rendered in Korean as “Ma”—and Kate McMillan as Maeng Pu’in (孟夫人), which can be translated roughly as “Madame McMillan,” and in and around the city of Hamhŭng in the early 1920s, Ma Moksa and Maeng Pu’in had become general catch-all terms for male and female foreigners, respectively (see Murray 1975, 9).

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a naïve challenger to the “Celestials,” as the newspapers labeled China’s Qing rulers

NoteThere were several exceptions to the general predictions of an easy victory for China, but few more notable than Ulysses S. Grant (1822–1885), the Civil War hero and eighteenth American president, who as early as July 1879 declared with confidence, while conducting a post-presidential world tour including stops in the region, that Japan “was, in point of war materials, army and navy, stronger than China. Against Japan, China, he might say, was defenseless, and it was impossible for China to injure Japan” (John Russell Young, Around the World with General Grant: A Narrative of the Visit of General U. S. Grant, Ex-President of the United States, to Various Countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa, in 1877, 1878, 1879, Vol. 2 (New York: American News Company, 1879), 559). John Russell Young (1840–1899), who accompanied Grant across Asia and in whose book this quote appears, was posted to Beijing as U.S. Minister from 1882 to 1885; there, he was credited with helping prevent a war between Japan and China over Korea in 1882 (Dennett 1922, 468–70). Grant didn’t get to see Japan defeat China, having died a decade earlier in 1885.  THE MIKADO VS. THE CELESTIALS: The Western press dubbed the Japanese “the Mikado” (帝 Jp. mikado), a now-seldom-used term to refer to the Japanese emperor—as well as the name of an 1885 Gilbert and Sullivan musical opera set in Japan. The Japanese were also often referred to at the time as the Yamato people (大和民族 Jp. Yamato minzoku), a reference to the ruling dynasty that has occupied the throne for millennia. The Chinese, meanwhile, were called the Celestials, derived from a poetic name for China, the Celestial Empire (天朝 Ch. Tianchao), that during the nineteenth century was used by Westerners to refer to China and its people, often in a sarcastic way.
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in northeast China, capturing the general mood in the region at the outbreak of the conflict

NoteDugald Christie (1855–1936), a Scottish Presbyterian medical missionary in Manchuria, here encapsulates the prevailing view of the Chinese population towards the fight with Japan. “The Western peoples had never taken Japan seriously,” added another European observer (Diósy 1898, 12). James Creelman, a New York World correspondent who covered the Battle of Pyongyang, described a similar belief among the Korean population of a speedy Chinese victory: “A few gentle, foolish Coreans skulked about the streets of Ping Yang in their white cotton garments and monstrous hats, and watched the swaggering Manchurian braves with a dim idea that the dapper, disciplined Japanese battalions, clad in close-buttoned European uniforms, were marching to their doom” (Creelman 1901, 38–39).
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The Battle of Pyongyang in September 1894 changed everything

NoteJapan’s stunning victories, wrote Arthur Diósy (1851–1923), who in 1891 founded the Japan Society in London, “revealed suddenly, as if by magic, the existence of an entirely new, hitherto barely suspected, condition of affairs in Eastern Asia. That huge Chinese Empire, which the Western world, ever ready to mistake bigness for greatness, had credited with boundless stores of latent strength, was shown to be an inert mass of corruption, feebly drifting towards disintegration, whilst Japan stood revealed in the fall glare of a new light as…a dominant factor in Eastern Asia—a power to be reckoned with, in future, in any political combination affecting the countries which face the rising sun” (Diósy 1898, 2–3). In the press, Diósy continued, “there was much sharpening of editorial pencils and a great exercise of editorial ingenuity in the attempt to explain away those inconvenient leading articles, but a few weeks old, in which Japan’s endeavour against her colossal foe had been foredoomed to utter failure” (Diósy 1898, 13).  WITH APOLOGIES TO FRANZ FERDINAND: More than simply upending the old established order in East Asia, the Tonghak rebellion would set in motion a chain of events that, by the mid-1910s, had sparked World War I—at least in the view of some Koreans. The linkage, it was explained, was that the Tonghaks triggered the Sino-Japanese War that sparked a fight for hegemony over Korea that exposed Russia’s weaknesses, thus emboldening Germany to strike in 1914. “Hence accordingly, the Tonghaks of Korea are the dim, distant cause of Europe’s pain to-day,” one Korean told a missionary (“The Si-ch’un and Ch’un-Do Churches (Tong-Hak),” The Korea Magazine (April 1918), 160–65, here 163).
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merely the tactically and technologically superior of the two, but also the far more dynamic side

NoteThe extent of Japan’s preparations for war in Korea can be seen in Tokyo’s dispatching of several military reconnaissance teams to the Korean peninsula in the first half of the 1890s, including one, traveling under the pretext of a birdwatching expedition, that did survey work for a railroad line connecting Pusan to Seoul (Duus 1995, 138). William Baird, who was based in Pusan at the outbreak of the war, described how Japan’s posting of men to the city to construct telegraph lines linking the city to Seoul, and to survey the countryside in southeastern Korea, had caused great consternation among the local population: “Poor Koreans! They are almost scared to death. They have no idea what it all means. Some are weeping most of the time” (William Baird 2013, 160–2 (July 9, 1894, and July 23, 1894, diary entries)). Lord George Curzon, the British statesman, marveled a few years later at “how ubiquitous and exhaustive, and almost Machiavellian in their patient secrecy, had been her preparations. Skilled topographers in disguise had mapped the high-roads of China, and had plotted their angles over the interior of Korea. Hydrographical surveys, unostentatiously pursued for years, had acquainted the Japanese with every inlet in the Korean coast, and had furnished the chart-room of every vessel in her Navy with hitherto unpublished maps. Her mobilisation proceeded with a smoothness and rapidity that excited the admiration of the European military attachés” (Curzon 1896, 363–64). When Japan defeated Russia a decade later in 1904–1905, again for hegemony on the Korean peninsula, it would serve again to understand just how “amazingly efficient” the Japanese intelligence service was, in the words of a Russia-born American scholar. “Japanese espionage work in Russia during the war was most thorough” (Dallin 1950, 78–79).
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Chinese back over the Yalu into Manchuria, where the stampede continued toward Beijing

Note“The battle of Phyöng-yang ended the war in Corea. The Chinese troops attempted no further resistance in that country, and retired to the Yalu,” writes Vladimir, the pseudonym of Italian diplomat Eugenio Zanoni Volpicelli, who described the Japanese reaching the Korea-China border on October 10, 1894 (Vladimir 1896, 186–87). From there, the Japanese kept the Chinese fleeing: “After the Chinese beat a hasty retreat from Pyongyang, they rushed through Euiju, plundering it as they went. With them departed the old, conservative ways and hopes of the conservative, pro-Chinese Confucian leaders” (Shearer 1966, 116).  DISBELIEF IN MANCHURIA: When word of a “crushing Chinese defeat in North Korea” had begun trickling back to Manchuria, “at first no one cared to believe it,” wrote Dugald Christie, the Scottish missionary in Shenyang. And yet, Christie continued, “it was easily explained. The Commander-in-Chief of the Chinese forces at the front had for weeks been sending false news to Peking of victories over the Japanese, and had received rewards and honours, while in reality he was neither fighting nor making any preparations for the inevitable battle. Many of the Chinese officers were lingering on the Manchurian side of the Yalu, while part of their regiments went to the front. Most of the Generals hated and mistrusted the Commander and each other; those from the metropolitan province looked down on those from Manchuria; Manchus would have no dealings with Chinese; everyone seemed fighting for his own hand” (Christie 1914, 91). As the reality of Japan’s advance sank in, Christie continued, the Chinese and foreign residents of Manchuria quickly fled, many of them boarding junks and steamers in Yingkou (then known as Newchwang) for the voyage across the Yellow Sea (Christie 1914, 95–96). Sir Alexander Hosie (1853–1925), a British diplomat in China who served as British consul at Newchwang from November 1894 to July 1897 and from April 1899 to April 1900, recalls traveling through Manchuria in January 1896, seeing devastation everywhere: “In every village through which we passed traces, in the shape of ruined houses, were visible of the devastation caused by the Chinese forces which were massed during the war between Hai-ch’êng and Liao-yang to prevent the advance of the Japanese to Moukden” (Hosie 1901, 8).
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“full and complete independence and autonomy of Corea” and surrendered control of Taiwan 

Note“FULL AND COMPLETE INDEPENDENCE”: The language in the treaty about the “full and complete independence and autonomy of Corea” was far from straightforward. Rather than clarify the situation around Korea, the Treaty of Shimonoseki instead plunged Korea into a state of deep political ambiguity. As George Curzon put it astutely in 1896, “a more anomalous political condition certainly did not exist in the world than that of a country which itself claimed to be both independent and dependent, and could produce powerful evidence in support of either hypothesis” (Curzon 1896, 188). For Korean nationalist intellectuals, of course, the “independence” here rang hollow—“granted rather than earned, it was sovereignty in name only…proffered by outside forces” (Schmid 2002, 27). For the English-language text of the Treaty of Shimonoseki, along with proposals and counterproposals from China and Japan, see Vladimir 1896, 405–37. As for Taiwan, the colonization of the island by the Japanese would give Tokyo a blueprint to follow in its annexation of Korea fifteen years later. Even before the end of hostilities, Japan’s navy made clear it wanted Taiwan among its spoils of war and even sent signals it intended to invade Fujian province (Caprio 2009, 70).  AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT: During the negotiations, Chinese statesman Li Hongzhang, representing the Qing Chinese court, was nearly assassinated by a Japanese fanatic (Conroy 1960, 293). The near-death experience—at least in theory—gave Li a tactical advantage in the talks, though he was still forced, in the words of one missionary, to “bargain and haggle like a third rate merchant” (“Shimonoseki and Korean Independence,” Korean Repository 4 (May 1897), 187–90, here 187–88). For a Japanese perspective on “this disgraceful act” targeting Li Hongzhang, see Hishida 1905, 178–79.  NOW YOU HAVE IT, NOW YOU DON’T: One of the main spoils of war for the Japanese was the cession of the Liaodong peninsula, the southwesternmost tip of Manchuria that terminates in the city of Dalian and the naval outpost of Lüshunkou (then known as Port Arthur). On the transfer of the Liaodong peninsula, however, the Japanese would soon be dealt a harsh lesson in realpolitik within days of the signing of the treaty. On April 23, 1895, three Western powers—Russia, Germany, and France—stunned Japan by announcing the so-called Triple Intervention (三国干渉 Jp. Sangoku Kanshō), demanding that Tokyo return the Liaodong peninsula to China in exchange for a financial reward. Technically, the Triple Intervention was presented to Japan as “friendly advice” from Russia, Germany, and France though the three European powers, with a considerable military presence in the region, didn’t need to insist for Tokyo to get the message. Though “excited Japanese officers insisted on forcibly resisting the interference of the triple alliance,” as one Japanese writer noted in 1905, “the naval forces of Japan, after hard wrestling with China, were unable to cope with the fresh squadron of the three powers” (Hishida 1905, 181). As another Japanese writer later put it, “Japan had no choice but to bow to this advice. The Chinese campaign had exhausted her treasury, as well as her supply of war material, and it would have been an act of madness to oppose a coalition of three great European Powers. She showed no sign of hesitation,” and within a day of the publication of the ratified treaty, the Meiji Emperor issued a rescript declaring that he had “yielded to the dictates of magnanimity, and accepted the advice of the three Powers” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 26). Even so, the whiplash dealt a severe blow to the morale of Japan, bringing home to the Meiji leaders that they were still too weak to directly challenge the West, despite the gains they had made in the previous three decades. The Meiji elite had few illusions about what the Triple Intervention meant: Japan was still not a member of the club, and would have to shelve, for the time being, any plans to press ahead with a protectorate over Korea (Duus 1995, 98; and Caprio 2009, 71). Japan recognized that it had overplayed its hand, and consequently adopted a lower-key approach to advance its interests in Korea.  RUSSIAN “RINGLEADER”: For ordinary Japanese, “the effect produced upon the nation was profound,” one Japanese writer reflected decades later, fixing public anger on Russian, the apparent “ringleader,” and directing gratitude towards the U.K. for not having joined the intervention, leading directly to two key geopolitical shifts in the coming years—Japan’s alliance with the U.K., and its antipathy towards Russia, which would erupt in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905 (Hosino 1920, 26–27). Indeed, most historians believe St. Petersburg was likely the driving force behind the Triple Intervention. For the fear that the Treaty of Shimonoseki initially sparked in Russia, see S. C. M. Paine [Paine, Sarah C. M.], “The Chinese Eastern Railway from the First Sino-Japanese War until the Russo-Japanese War,” in Bruce A. Elleman and Stephen Kotkin, eds., Manchurian Railways and the Opening of China: An International History (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 2010), 13–36, here 16). By lining up French and German support behind its own interest, Russia made clear to all that it would be Japan’s main rival for hegemony on the Korean peninsula (Duus 1995, 102). The insult was made worse a few years later when Russia, on March 27, 1898, forced China to lease it the southern tip of the Liaodong peninsula, and began developing it (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 31). The Meiji government, for its part, responded to the Triple Intervention by aggressively preparing for a military confrontation with Russia (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 32).  LEGACY OF A TRIPLE INTERVENTION: For Koreans worried about Japan’s designs, the Triple Intervention was electrifying, if only temporarily offering an unexpected ray of hope for nationalists who saw, correctly, that the victory of Japan over China—for all its promise of the “complete independence and autonomy” of Korea—boded ill for its hopes of actual autonomy. Though the Triple Intervention didn’t directly address the fate of Korea, the lesson for despairing Korean nationalists was clear: Perhaps an appeal to the Western powers could be the nation’s salvation from Japan’s wiles. “The psychological and diplomatic impact in Korea was enormous. It demonstrated that despite their military victory over China, the Japanese still had to bend to the wishes of the Western powers” (Duus 1995, 96–97). Seen through the prism of the subsequent half-century of history, however, Hugh Borton, an American scholar of Japan, described the Triple Intervention as “the most important single event in recent times which diverted Japan toward a policy of nationalistic aggression” (Hugh Borton, Japan’s Modern Century (New York: Ronald Press, 1955), 211). Also cited in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 51, n. 69.
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deaths, while the Japanese got to within 300 miles of Beijing having lost just 1,100 troops

NoteSome slightly different numbers are given by Arthur Brown, who writes that the Chinese army suffered some 28,000 deaths in battle and many more from disease, while the Japanese lost just eight hundred troops (Brown 1919, 125).
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by the Japanese to the shrine of his ancestors to proclaim his “independence” from China

NoteBishop describes the ceremony as taking place on January 8, 1895, though the editors of the Korean Repository describe the oath as having been taken on January 7 and proclaimed the next day (see “The King’s Oath at the Ancestral Temple,” Korean Repository 2 (February 1895), 76–77, which includes a translation of the text of Kojong’s oath). “The King was obliged to proclaim his independence,” wrote scholar-missionary James Gale. “That he had no desire to do so, is evident from the very civilization that he and all other kings of Korea prize so highly. China to him was ‘Tă-guk’ or ‘Chun-guk,’ the Great or Middle Kingdom; while Japan was Wai-guk, the despised land of dwarfs” (Gale 1898, 204–5).
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“little they are beginning to have to realize it but it is an awfully bitter pill for a Korean to take”

Note“LIKE A GREAT BIG LUBBER”: In the same letter, written when China’s defeat was in full swing—but when there were still two months left of fighting to go—Graham Lee lamented: “Poor old China, it is rather pitiable to see the state she is in. She is like a great big lubber without any skill or training, trying to fight with a light little fellow who can’t begin to compare with the big fellow in size but who is trained to perfection and skilled in all the arts of fighting. Before the big lubber knows it, the little fellow has knocked him down and trampled all over him. Poor old China—she had better sue for peace on any terms Japan is willing to grant” (Lee letter to Mother, February 9, 1895). In an article he had written just a few days earlier for the Korean Repository, Lee described how, for Koreans, the Battle of Pyongyang upended in dramatic fashion “the deep seated hatred of anything Japanese, and the ingrained, inherited regard for anything belonging to China” (“Visit to the Battle Field,” Korean Repository (1895), 14). Also quoted in Rosetta Hall 1897, 302. See also Chung-shin Park 2003, 24.  DEFEATED BY “MERE SAVAGES”: The sense of shock at the Qing empire’s defeat to the upstart Japanese was widespread across China. “Out of their contemptuous and deluded calm the people had been ruddy shaken,” wrote Dugald Christie, the Scottish Presbyterian missionary in Shenyang. “The foreigner had conquered them! And it was not even the Western foreigner, who with all his barbarian ways had wonderful skill in mechanics, guns, surgery, and such-like; but it was this neighbouring people who had always been their inferiors. Who were these Japs? Mere savages, who had borrowed Chinese civilization, the Chinese written character, Chinese literature. And yet they had conquered China” (Christie 1914, 109). “For nine centuries Korea had been a vassal state of China,” Robert Speer wrote in 1904. “That little Japan should conquer this mighty antagonist with arts and weapons which she made every one understand she borrowed from the West, gave the Koreans a deep respect for the West, and a vivid interest in all that pertained to it or came from it” (Speer 1904, 388). In one reflection of the conflicting feelings many felt after Japan’s victory, one Western writer managed to be simultaneously awestruck and condescending towards the Japanese troops, describing them as “dwarf battalions, a miracle of rigid discipline and good behaviour” (Stoddart 1907, 284).
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explored the city in September 1890, there was but a modest Japanese commercial presence

NoteThe reason for the modest Japanese presence in Pyongyang in 1890 was simple: The city wasn’t open to foreign residence, despite Tokyo’s best efforts, though Moffett reported at the time that Japanese merchants were able to conduct trade and ship out produce from Pyongyang (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, September 15, 1890). Indeed, prior to the opening of Pyongyang as an open port in 1899, writes historian Peter Duus, Japanese merchants typically flowed into Pyongyang during the summer months and headed south to Seoul and Inch’ŏn during the brutal winters (Duus 1995, 331).
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up in vacated storefronts and houses to sell sake, tobacco, and sugar to the victorious army

NoteWhen the Koreans returned to Pyongyang, writes historian Peter Duus, “nasty confrontations occurred”; in many cases, the Koreans were eventually able to retake their abodes (Duus 1995, 267). One Korean family that moved to Pyongyang shortly after the war found the Japanese clustered near the Taedong Gate with their steamboats, painted in black and white, tied up on the river. For one of the family members, Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, it was his first glimpse of the “Wai-nom,” or Japanese dwarves. “They were small in size with cropped heads like the Buddhist monks, and bushy black eyebrows, wearing no trousers but gowns like women, which looked odd to me,” Ch’a recalled (Charr 1996, 62).
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at least more disciplined than the Chinese had been during their recent occupation of the city

Note“During the subsequent occupation the Japanese troops behaved well, and all stores obtained in the town and neighborhood were scrupulously paid for,” Isabella Bird Bishop wrote. “Intensely as the people hated them, they admitted that quiet and good order had been preserved” (Bishop 1898, 313). The good behavior was welcomed by the Korean population, who in turn began to treat the Japanese with more respect. As the editors of the Korean Repository noted as early as March 1895, Koreans had begun referring to the Japanese less frequently as wae’in (倭人) or wae’nom (倭놈)—literally, “dwarves” or “dwarf bastards”—and instead adopting the neutral and more respectful il’in (日人)—“person from Japan,” which the editors regarded as a reflection of the Japanese troops’ “strict discipline and blameless conduct” while prosecuting the war (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (March 1895), 120–22, here 121; and “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (June 1895), 238).
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The Japanese set about remaking the ancient city in the style of its great cities back home

NoteThe devastation of Pyongyang allowed the victors to reshape the ancient Korean city in their image—as Kim Il Sung would do after the Korean War armistice in 1953 (see Act III, Chapter 32). In the case of the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–1895, the reconfiguring of the city may have been prompted more by the Chinese occupation of the city prior to the Battle of Pyongyang, Moffett surmised in February 1895, noting that “the regularly laid out streets of the ancient capital of Ki-Ja have been greatly altered by the Chinese fortifications built” (as quoted in “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (April 1895), 156–57).
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“shops into large, light, airy, dainty Japanese erections, well stocked with Japanese goods”

NoteBy February 1895, Moffett noted, “the Japanese yen has become the currency in use here being used freely in almost all commercial transactions” (as quoted in “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (April 1895), 156–57). He wrote with awe and fear at how efficiently Japan was able to flood Korea with cheap goods churned out by its modern factories, with which Korean goods couldn’t compete, thus establishing Japan’s economic ascendancy in Korea. More broadly, Moffett predicted, with considerable foresight, that Japan’s commercial ambitions in Pyongyang meant that they “will soon control so much of the trade and monopolize so many lines of industry that the Korean will find himself without a trade, forced in order to live to become ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water’ to his recently found friends and protectors, the Japanese” (Samuel A. Moffett, “The Transformation of Korea,” The Church at Home and Abroad 18, no. 104 (August 1895), 134–37, here 136–37). Also cited in Oak 2013, 276; and Huntley 1984, 67.
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set up an office inside the Taedong Gate, not far from Moffett’s Central Presbyterian Church

NoteThe opening of Pyongyang as a treaty port in 1899 was facilitated in part by Horace Allen, the American missionary-turned-diplomat (Harrington 1944, 113–14; and Duus 1995, 331). Yumi Moon, a Stanford University historian, names the right-wing Japanese association as the East Asia Common Culture Society (東亞同文會 Jp. Tōa Dōbunkai) (Moon, “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 181, n. 2).
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as Bishop described it during her four visits to Korea, between January 1894 and March 1897

NoteOUT WITH THE OLD: As Yale University historian Odd Arne Westad writes, this period was “a confusing age, in which all that had seemed certain and durable evaporated in quick succession” (Westad 2021, 84). As scholar-missionary James Gale argued in 1898, the recent destruction of Pyongyang, and of its “ancestral groves and tablets,” helped clear away Koreans’ entrenched reverence for the China, and for the ways of their own ancestors. “Confucianism binds a man to one piece of ground, separate him from that particular place and you have separated him from his gods; so the population that came back after the war, came back to a certain degree without their deities and shrines…We trust that through much of the North the idols are gone never to be replaced” (Gale 1898, 209). That it was the conservative and anti-foreign Tonghak movement that lit the match that set the country aflame gave an added impetus to the drive among Korean reformers to rid the peninsula of the antiquated conservatism that had flowed in from China and dominated Korea’s ideological landscape for so many centuries (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 79).  FROM FONT OF CIVILIZATION TO “LAUGHING STOCK”: Though Korea’s nascent press reacted to Japan’s victory over China in diverging ways, “all agreed that China’s military loss to Japan was symbolic of what they referred to as the ‘old knowledge’ (kuhak) succumbing to the ‘new knowledge’ (sinhak); namely, the Western learning on which Japan based the reform programs enabling its victory,” writes University of Toronto historian Andre Schmid. Many lamented how Korea, once the source of inspiration for “Japanese religion, literature, clothing, architecture, medicine, and tools,” had fallen woefully behind its erstwhile student (Schmid 2002, 57, 108–9). The Sino-Korean words are 舊學 (kuhak) and 新學 (sinhak). As China became convulsed with the Boxer Rebellion a few years later, Koreans began to regard China as a cautionary tale and as “the laughing stock of the world,” now merely a “barbarous” counterpoint to the “civilized” West (Schmid 2002, 59–60).  TICKET TO TOKYO: The changes that the Sino-Japanese War brought to the region were not confined to Korea. Nationalists and reformers across Asia, stunned by Japan’s decisive victory, converged on Tokyo in search of insights on how to modernize their own countries. Among the Chinese intellectuals heading to Tokyo during this period were Kang Youwei (康有為 1858–1927) and Liang Qichao (梁啟超 1873–1929), the two most prominent late-Qing reformers, both from southern China; the nationalist Chinese writer Lu Xun (魯迅 1881–1936); and the man celebrated as the “father of modern China,” Sun Yat-sen (孫逸仙1866–1925), better known as Sun Zhongshan (孫中山) (Frederick R. Dickinson, “Afterword,” in Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 223–31, here 226–27).
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“was thick with rumors of more to come,” she wrote after her first visit to a ruined Pyongyang

NoteBishop was particularly struck by how Korea was torn between a conservative past represented by China and the new path being pushed by Japan. “Everything was in a tentative and chaotic state. Korea was ‘swithering’ between China and Japan, afraid to go in heartily for the reforms initiated by Japan lest China should regain position and be ‘down’ upon her, and afraid to oppose them actively lest Japan should be permanently successful” (Bishop 1898, 265).  BARBARISM VS. CIVILIZATION: For Westerners, who saw the situation in stark moralistic terms, it was an obvious choice. “Japan emancipated the helpless Corean nation from the centuried despotism of China,” American correspondent James Creelman wrote, describing the war as a great battle between “the armies of Asiatic barbarism and Asiatic civilization” (Creelman 1901, 33). In a similar vein, missionary and educator George Gilmore, writing in 1892, framed the situation as a tug-of-war between two stark positions: “Japan and Occidentalism, or China and the Oriental conservatism” (Gilmore 1892, 227–28). Many in Japan, too, had supported the war effort, regarding it as nothing short of a “religious war” between one country that stood for the development of civilization and one that opposed it (as quoted in Conroy 1960, 255).
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known as the Kab’o reforms of 1894, enacted by the Korean court with backing from Japan

NoteTHE KAB’O REFORMS: The Kab’o reforms (甲午更張 or 甲午改革 Kor. Kab’o kyŏngjang or Kab’o kaehyŏk) were kicked off on December 17, 1894, with the creation of a new pro-reform—and pro-Japanese—cabinet called the Deliberative Assembly (軍國機務處 Kor. Kun’guk Kimu-ch’ŏ), or literally the “Military State Command.” The Kab’o year, in the traditional sexagenary cycle, refers to 1894. Under the leadership of Prime Minister Kim Hong-jip (金弘集 1842–1896), the cabinet, which also included Pak Yŏng-hyo, Yi Wan-yong, and others, passed more than two hundred laws in the space of just a few months (Kyung Moon Hwang [Hwang, Kyŏng-mun], Rationalizing Korea: The Rise of the Modern State, 1894–1945 (Oakland, Calif.: University of California Press, 2016), 29; and “A Retrospect,—1894,” Korean Repository (1895), 35–36). Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors date the Kab’o reform period to a broader swath of time spanning July 1894 and February 1896—the period of peak Japanese domination in nineteenth-century Korean affairs. “The reform effort proceeded by fits and starts, reflecting the kaleidoscopic changes that occurred during this period in the political scene,” Eckert and his coauthors write (Eckert et al. 1990, 224). As Korean American historian Yi Chŏng-sik writes, “if all the reforms had been realized, Korea would have been modernized to a substantial degree. But the radical nature of the program and the fact that Japanese military power was behind it provoked the Korean people to regard reform as undesirable. The successive cabinets between 1894 and 1896 were regarded by the Korean elite as puppets of the Japanese; consequently the programs of these cabinets were held in disfavor” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 42).  KOREAN SUPPORTERS: Though the reforms were ultimately promoted by the Japanese, it had plenty of support among reform-minded Korean intellectuals, including the editors of the Tokrip Sinmun: “How could such a small country beat such a large country?” it asked, the answer being that Japan—“in just thirty years of reform,” in an oft-repeated phrase during these years—did a better job educating its people, and learning from the West (Schmid 2002, 106). By the last years of the nineteenth century, the editors noted, Japan was already considered by the West “an equal what will never again fall behind,” citing Japan as a model for Korea (Schmid 2002, 106). As Japan itself had done during its own Meiji reforms, sending delegations to the West to learn from Europe and the U.S., Japan welcomed large delegations of Korean students to visit, including a group of 117 that sailed for Japan in April 1895, the same month that the Treaty of Shimonoseki was signed (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (May 1895), 197).
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the changes that the Christian missionaries had been promoting over the preceding decade

NoteFor an item-by-item assessment of the reforms, from a Western missionary perspective, see Homer B. Hulbert, “Korean Reforms,” Korean Repository 2 (January 1895), 1–9. A translation of twenty reforms can be found in “Great Changes in the Korean Government,” Korean Repository 2 (March 1895), 111–18. One of the most popular reforms was the replacement of the old copper cash with new silver and copper coins, which the Westerners in Seoul by January 1895 noted “is already meeting with general acceptance in the capital” (“A Retrospect,—1894,” Korean Repository (1895), 35). The reforms also included changes aimed at “modernizing” the country’s dress, and the proclamation on October 26, 1895, that Korea would switch to the Western calendar on January 1, 1896, albeit with one concession to tradition: the years would be counted from the foundation of the present dynasty, 505 years prior, rather than counting from the time of Christ’s birth, as in the Western world (“The Official Gazette,” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 438–39; and Pak 2006, 59).  NO LONGER “CHRISTIANS ALONE”: Government reforms often followed in the footsteps of measures taken by the church, for example imposing a minimum legal age for marriage. “Formerly it was Christians alone who enforced strict rules against premature marriages,” Korean novelist Yi Kwang-su wrote (Yi, “The Benefits Which Christianity,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 36). Some of the other reforms that the Christians had advocated for years were eventually taken up by the civilian authorities during other reform campaigns. Attempts by missionaries to uncover Korean women in public, for example, were superseded by an order from the governor of Pyongyang in early 1902 that women must put up their hair and not carry around the big straw hats that were used to shield their faces (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Alice Fish Moffett, February 5, 1902, Pyengyang (MKC); and Bernheisel 2004, 357 (February 2, 1902, diary entry)). Bernheisel added in this diary entry that the order, to go into effect with the Lunar New Year that year, also ordered everyone to wear dark clothes, an apparent attempt to do away with the all-white dress that had come to be regarded by some modernizers as backwards.
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their faith not merely as a personal decision but as a mandate to enlighten and uplift Korea

NoteThe pardons were formally published in the Court Gazette on December 10, 1894 (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (January 1895), 39). The most prominent among those pardoned were Philip Jaisohn, Yun Ch’i-ho, and Pak Yŏng-hyo, whose thumbnail biographies are given below.  PHILIP JAISOHN—“WALKING VOLUME” OF KOREAN HISTORY: Philip Jaisohn (Sŏ Chae-p’il 徐載弼 1864–1951) was a towering figure in modern Korean history, a progressive activist who was forced into exile and became the first Korean to naturalize as an American citizen—all the while becoming a prominent Christian convert and advocate for Korean independence. For a hagiographic English-language biography of Jaisohn, see Channing Liem [Im, Ch’ang-yŏng], America’s Finest Gift to Korea: The Life of Philip Jaisohn (New York: William-Frederick Press, 1952). Channing Liem (Im Ch’ang-yŏng 林昌榮 1909–1996), a protégé of Jaisohn from northern Korea, later became a prominent left-leaning unification activist who traveled regularly to North Korea between the 1970s and 1990s. Liem’s biography opens by listing the many firsts and superlatives attributed to Jaisohn: “the last surviving member of the first progressive party in Korea; the ‘father of the reform movement’ in Korea; the first modern Western-trained General of the Korean Army; the first Korean to become an American educated physician; the first Korean to be naturalized a citizen of the United States; the only Korean to make a fortune in America and spend it all for the cause of Korean freedom” (Liem 1952, 5–6). Liem himself praised Jaisohn as “the walking volume of the history of modern Korea; the living symbol of Korea’s indomitable will for liberty; and the supreme bond of friendship between Korea and the United States” (Liem 1952, 6). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, in more sober tones, described Jaisohn as “a sincere and uncompromising reformer…His brain was humming with ideas…He proposed open-air lectures, the establishment of schools and the general Americanisation of the country. He established a public park outside the city for experiments in the cultivation of fruit-trees, plants, and shrubs. A part of the park was to be reserved for outdoor games. He started a paper” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 83–84).  PHILIP JAISOHN—BECOMING AMERICAN, AND CHRISTIAN: Philip Jaisohn, whose Korean name was Sŏ Chae-p’il, was born into an aristocratic family and, when he was just twenty years old, launched the Kapsin coup of 1884, alongside Kim Ok-gyun and Pak Yŏng-hyo. After the failure of the coup attempt, Jaisohn fled for the U.S., arriving in San Francisco in April 1885. He learned English and converted to Christianity while attending meetings at a YMCA and at a local church. After learning that his family had committed suicide and his confederate Kim Ok-gyun had been killed, Jaisohn gave up any hope of returning to Korea and instead became a naturalized American citizen—the first Korean to do so. After graduating high school at Harry Hillman Academy in Wilkes-Barre, Pa. in 1890, Jaisohn went on to Easton, Pa., where he attended Lafayette College, a Christian school. Though Jaisohn had embraced Methodism, he declined an offer from his initial educational sponsor, an American Christian philanthropist from Pennsylvania named William Hollenback, to study theology and become a pastor; instead, he decided to pursue medicine. With his finances tight, Jaisohn graduated with a medical degree from Columbian College, now George Washington University—studying medicine in the evening while working at the Smithsonian Institution. In 1895, Jaisohn married the daughter of Maj. George Armstrong, a distant relative of James Buchanan (1791–1868), America’s fifteenth president (Liem 1952, 33–41; Palmer 1967, 75–76; Robert Kim 2017, 14; Chung-shin Park 2003, 120; Loomis 1923, 84–85; Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 34–35; and Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 162).   PHILIP JAISOHN—BACK TO KOREA: In December 1895–January 1896, Jaisohn returned to the land of his birth for the first time in more than a decade, following the royal pardon for his role in the Kapsin coup attempt. Jaisohn returned with dreams of bringing U.S.-style reforms to his birth country, seeing in the Christian faith a source of “hope for Korean unity” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 30). Though Jaisohn was offered posts in the government, he declined most of the offers to become an advisor to the Privy Council, while retaining his American citizenship (Liem 1952, 46–47). Instead, in Seoul, Jaisohn launched the newspaper and debate society associated with the Independence Club, while teaching Western history at the Methodist-run Paejae Academy, where his students included Syngman Rhee (Oliver 1954, 24–25).  PHILIP JAISOHN—“WHAT KOREA NEEDS MOST”: In a first-person piece entitled “What Korea Needs Most,” written in English in March 1896 for the Korean Repository, Jaisohn reflected upon returning to Korea after all those years in exile, calling for a gradualist approach to reform, especially to education, that would be taken up by Christian nationalists in the decades to come: “A hungry man will never get rich if he only sits around and complains of his hard lot, but he must got about and sow the seeds in some fertile soil, so that some day he may reap the harvest and enjoy the fruits of his labor. Education of Korean youth is the sowing of the seed. Korea may seem now helpless and hopeless, but everybody in the kingdom must realize the importance of education, and commence to educate the younger generation from this day on” (Philip Jaisohn [Sŏ, Chae-p’il], “What Korea Needs Most,” Korean Repository 3 (March 1896), 108–10). PHILIP JAISOHN—BACK INTO EXILE: After the collapse of the Independence Club, Jaisohn again sought refuge in the U.S., settling in Philadelphia and editing a magazine called Korean Independence (Loomis 1923, 85). In 1922, Jaisohn, writing under the pen name N. H. Osia, published a novella, Hansu’s Journey: A Korean Story, that portrays the America of the missionaries as a place of justice, beauty, and wealth, the Japanese as evil and brutish, and the Korean protagonist as an innocent and well-meaning soul, buffeted by the geopolitical vicissitudes of modern Korean history (N. H. Osia [Sŏ, Chae-p’il], Hansu’s Journey: A Korean Story (Philadelphia: Philip Jaisohn, 1922)).  YUN CH’I-HO—PIONEERING FIGURE IN KOREAN MODERNITY: Yun Ch’i-ho (尹致昊 1865–1945) was a key figure in Korea’s entry into the modern world. He was, historian Donald Clark writes, “one of the first Koreans to travel abroad, to become a Christian, and to learn a foreign language” (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 36). As another scholar has put it, Yun Ch’i-ho had a knack for finding himself involved—centrally or incidentally—in many of the most pivotal moments from Korea’s first foreign treaty in 1882 to its liberation in 1945—though not always in the most heroic of ways: “No study of modern Korean history…may claim scholarly depth or breadth without delving into his role and the impact he had on Korea’s domestic and international affairs” (Hyung-chan Kim [Kim, Hyŏng-ch’an], “Portrait of a Troubled Korean Patriot: Yun Ch’i-ho’s Views of the March First Independence Movement and World War II,” Korean Studies 13 (1989), 76–91, here 76, 78).  YUN CH’I-HO—CHRISTIAN REFORMER: Yun Ch’i-ho regarded Christianity as America’s secret of success, and called on Korea to embrace biblically-based reforms (Albert Park 2015, 51–52). Yun, in the words of fellow nationalist leader Kim Kyu-sik, became convinced that “a Christian education was the only foundation on which new Korea could be built” (Kimm, “Hon. Mr. Yun Tchi Ho,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 198–99). Yun’s conversion had first and foremost been a matter of the heart, though he also understood that his embrace of the faith implied a new outlook on life and governance as well, writing in a March 1889 diary entry that “the pressing need at present is to increase knowledge and experience, teach morality and cultivate patriotism . . . There is no other instrument able to educate and renew the people outside the Church of Christ” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, March 30, 1889, entry, as translated in Wells 1990, 51). Still, as a student in America, Yun Ch’i-ho would also argue at times that the church should not itself get involved in politics, since it distracted from the more important matters of the heart: “A preacher should avoid being entangled in politics…he will be more interested in politics than in preaching” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, December 7, 1890, entry). Also cited in Wells 1990, 39–40. In the end, Yun’s own life was intimately tied up with the vicissitudes of modern Korean history.  YUN CH’I-HO—BORN INTO PRIVILEGE: Yun was born in Ch’ungch’ŏng province on January 23, 1865, to an aristocratic family tied distantly to King Kojong (T. H. Yun [Yun Ch’i-ho], “The Anglo-Korean School, Song Do,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 9 (September 1907), 142–44, here 142; and Wells 1990, 48). Yun’s father, Yun Ung-yŏl (尹雄烈 1840–1911), was a general and at one point Korea’s minister of war (Candler 1907, 7; and Hyung-chan Kim, “Portrait of a Troubled Korean Patriot” (1989), 78). As a teenager, Yun was sent to Japan by King Kojong for education. He learned Japanese and English so well that when Lucius Foote, the U.S.’s first ambassador to Korea, was passing through Japan on his way to Seoul in May 1883, he took Yun on as an interpreter (Wells 1990, 49; McCune and Thompson 2009, 286; Candler 1907, 7; Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 39; and Rutt 1983, 73). See also Eckert et al. 1990, 203; and Clark 2003, 110.   YUN CH’I-HO—A CONVERSION IN EXILE: Yun Ch’i-ho attended the December 4, 1884, banquet that served as the setting for the Kapsin coup, and his father was named a minister in the cabinet before the coup failed, forcing Yun to seek refuge abroad at age twenty (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 39–40). Foote, the American minister, put Yun on a ship to Shanghai, where he studied for three years at the Anglo-Chinese College, founded by Rev. Young J. Allen, a Southern Methodist missionary from Georgia. While studying in Shanghai, on April 3, 1887, Yun was baptized into the Southern Methodist Church; just before that, he lamented in a March 23, 1887 confession of faith to having been “born in a heathen land…brought up in heathen society…taught in heathen literature” before coming to see the light of the Christian gospel (Candler 1907, 7–8; and Wells 1990, 50). Yun’s declaration of faith is now “one of the best-known documents in Korean church history” (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 40). Yun Ch’i-ho’s baptism in 1887 was enough to make him among “a handful of first Christians, as even in 1889 the total number of Korean Protestants would barely reach one hundred” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 59–60). Prior to his baptism, Yun had, in the words of one biographer, “led a debauched life,” often inebriated and frequenting prostitutes. After his conversion, however, “the extent and disposition of his moral pursuits paralleled those of the Puritans” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 61–62). Yun regarded conversion and embrace of Christianity as far more than a personal decision, and “he expanded his vision to the Christianization of the entire nation of Korea” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 65–66). As historian Kenneth Wells writes, “there is no indication that political considerations played any direct part. In fact, Yun later feared that his new faith would be a political liability” (Wells 1984, 98).  YUN CH’I-HO—TO AMERICA AND BACK: After his conversion to Christianity, Yun went to the U.S. to study at Vanderbilt University in Nashville (Rutt 1983, 73; Candler 1907, 7; Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 43; Moose 1911, 226; and Shearer 1966, 168). At Vanderbilt, Yun studied theology, English, and speech, and won a prize in English oratory (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 41; and McCune and Thompson 2009, 286). In 1890, Yun transferred to Emory College in Oxford, Ga., where over the course of the next three years he became close to college president Warren Candler, a Methodist bishop whose brother Asa had founded the Coca-Cola Company (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 42). Yun returned to Shanghai in November 1893, where he taught English at Anglo-Chinese College (Rutt 1983, 73; and Candler 1907, 11). In March 1894, Yun married a Chinese teaching assistant, with whom he had four children, including boys named Allen and Candler in honor of his American patrons (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 42).  YUN CH’I-HO—AROUND THE WORLD: After the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–1895, Yun joined Korea’s reform-minded cabinet of 1895–1896 as vice minister of foreign affairs and acting minister of education (Wells 1990, 48). He also joined Min Yŏng-hwan on a diplomatic mission through Europe to the coronation of Tsar Nicholas II in Moscow in May 1896 (Rutt 1983, 73; Candler 1907, 11; and McCune and Thompson 2009, 286). “Ostensibly the declared mission of the Min embassy was to attend the coronation of Czar Nicholas II. Its real purpose, however, was to negotiate the more substantial and urgent business of obtaining a loan of three million yen from Russia.” The mission traveled to Russia through Vancouver, New York, Liverpool, the Netherlands, Germany, and Poland; after the mission, Yun stayed in St. Petersburg and then moved to Paris for three months, where he learned French—his fifth language, after Korean, Shanghainese, English, and Russian—and eventually returned to Korea via Sri Lanka, Singapore, Vietnam, Hong Kong, and Shanghai in January 1897 (Hyung-chan Kim, “Portrait of a Troubled Korean Patriot” (1989), 80–81).  YUN CH’I-HO—REFORMER, OFFICIAL, RETIREE: Though his travels meant he was removed from any position of making reforms in Korea, he returned to find the atmosphere then buzzing around the Independence Club, which he joined, becoming president in 1898 before its disbanding, and was appointed Korea’s acting minister of foreign affairs during the Russo-Japanese War in 1904–1905 (Wells 1990, 48). After Japan established its protectorate over Korea in 1905, Yun rejected offers for high office from Itō Hirobumi and instead declared his retirement from government at age forty (Candler 1907, 11; and Wells 1990, 48).   YUN CH’I-HO—EDUCATOR: In 1906, Yun founded a Methodist industrial college in his hometown of Kaesŏng, just north of Seoul. He called it the Anglo-Korean School (韓英書院 Kor. Han’yŏng Sŏwŏn), which sought to teach practical skills alongside book learning. A year later, Yun relocated to Pyongyang, where he was appointed principal of An Ch’ang-ho’s newly founded Taesŏng School (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 98–99; and Clark 2003, 202–3). Anglo-Korean School grew quickly to 329 students within its first four years, from an initial fourteen students (Wells 1990, 65). At Anglo-Korean School, Yun was insistent on the learning of English, which he called “a necessity for Korea.” “It is not too much to say, that the next best thing to filling Korea with Christianity, is filling the land with the English literature. The universal desire on the part of the young Korea to learn English—in spite of the overwhelming predominance of the Japanese influence—is one of the few hopeful signs in this land of sorrow and shame,” Yun wrote in November 1908 (T. H. Yun [Yun, Ch’i-ho], “Report of the Anglo-Korean School,—Songdo,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 11 (November 1908), 166–68, here 167).  YUN CH’I-HO—YMCA FOUNDER, PRISONER, COLLABORATOR: In addition to his educational work, Yun helped found the Seoul YMCA and was engaged in promoting the idea of self-strengthening, a movement to “make Koreans ‘worthy’ of independence in the long run through self-improvement,” in the words of one historian; Yun served as president of a club called the Taehan Self-Strengthening Society (大韓自強會 Kor. Taehan Chagang-hoe) (Clark 2003, 202–3). Yun was arrested by the Japanese in 1911 during the so-called Conspiracy Case, a purported assassination attempt on the new Japanese governor general, and jailed for four years. For more on the Conspiracy Case, see Act II, Chapter 11. Upon his release in 1915, Yun became head of the YMCA (McCune and Thompson 2009, 286). Ultimately, Yun’s legacy is now clouded because he accepted—and sometimes appeared in public with—the regalia of a Japanese baron after annexation (Clark 2003, 112–13). For more on Yun’s later life, see Act II, Chapter 21.  PAK YŎNG-HYO: The pardoned reformers also included Pak Yŏng-hyo, described as “a man of commanding ability” who, having fled to Japan after the failed December 1884 coup had been brought back and made minister of home affairs in December 1894, a position that made him one of Korea’s most powerful men—that is, until he was arrested for apparently plotting against Queen Min in mid-1895 (“The Downfall and Departure of the Minister of Home Affairs,” Korean Repository 2 (July 1895), 268–70). Pak was, however, back in his place by the end of July (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 2 (August 1895), 316–20, here 319). For more on the 1884 coup attempt, as well as Pak Yŏng-hyo and his interactions with Samuel Moffett and other missionaries in Korea and Japan, see Act I, Chapter 3.
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conviction that the Western faith could help Korea survive in an increasingly perilous world

NoteThe Independence Club (獨立協會 Kor. Tokrip Hyŏp-hoe) was established on July 2, 1896, according to University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik, with an inaugural membership of roughly thirty people, among them the future Japanese collaborator Yi Wan-yong and the Christian converts Yun Ch’i-ho and Yi Sang-jae, along with several high-ranking Korean officials. Philip Jaisohn—already a naturalized U.S. citizen by this point—served only as an advisor (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 61). Though Yun and Jaisohn were among the leaders of the club, the first chairman of the Independence Club was An Kyŏng-su (安駉壽 1853–1900), then Korea’s minister of war (Oliver 1954, 25–26). See also “The Independence Club,” Korean Repository 4 (November 1897), 436–38.  THE SPIRIT OF PROTESTANISM: The Christian nationalists who formed the Independence Club and drove the political movement that followed it “regarded the spirit of Protestantism as a spirit of self-reliance and public altruism, in opposition to the ‘toadyism’ and corrupt self-seeking of the neo-Confucian establishment,” as one historian writes (Wells 1990, 14). The central message of the Independence Club, wrote Horace Underwood, was an unpopular one that nonetheless resonated with the people, and which would continue to shape the political discourse for decades: “that it was the people’s own fault that they were oppressed; that were they but united on the side of the right, no prince on earth could oppress them” (Horace Underwood 1908, 38). The ideals of the Independence Club were shared by many Korean Christian converts, who “confessed that the fall and colonization of the nation was the result of the accumulated sins of their ancestors and those now living. They had a keen sense of responsibility for the fate of the nation and repented for the sins of the whole country, as its representatives, before God. They pleaded for national independence to God” (Oak 2013, 293). Yun and other leaders of the Independence Club largely embraced the missionaries’ view that a culture’s treatment of its weaker members—women, the young, the weak—was an indicator of its level of civilization (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 22).  SYNGMAN RHEE: Syngman Rhee (Yi Sŭng-man 李承晚 1875–1965), later the first president of South Korea, will play a major role in this work. For now, suffice it to say that Rhee was born in 1875 into an aristocratic family, the eighteenth-generation descendant of Chosŏn dynasty founder King T’aejo (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe [Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho], “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i: His Activities in the Early Years, 1913–1915,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, ed., From the Land of Hibiscus: Koreans in Hawai‘i, 1903–1950 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007), 53–88, here 53). Prior to his involvement in the Independence Club, Rhee—who attended the Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul—had begun to make a name for himself with his rhetoric. For instance, on July 8, 1898, Rhee delivered the valedictorian address at Paejae’s commencement ceremony, expounding in English on “the Independence of Korea” (“The Closing Exercises of Pai Chai,” Korean Repository 4 (July 1897), 271–74, here 272). Also cited in Lew 2014, 10. The speech “won praise from Korean and American dignitaries in attendance” (Han-Kyo Kim [Kim, Han-gyo], “The Korean Independence Movement in the United States: Syngman Rhee, An Ch’ang-Ho, and Pak Yong-Man,” International Journal of Korean Studies 6, no. 1 (Spring–Summer 2002), 1–27, here 7). Shortly after graduation, Rhee began joining in Independence Club activities, especially the debating club (Lew 2014, 10). One theme of Rhee’s rhetoric was an argument that Christianity had overtaken and effectively obviated the need for Confucianism, and a concomitant call for the Korean nation to be founded on the tenets of Christianity (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 81).
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As Yun Ch’i-ho put it, “Christianity is the salvation and hope of Corea”

NoteAlso cited in Wells 1990, 53; and Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 35. Yun made the same point a few months later, declaring: “Christianity is the only salvation to Coreans” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, April 8, 1893, entry). Yun, as editor of The Independent, gave the Independence Club’s influential newspaper “a distinctly Christian tone,” while advocating a relatively moderate slate of reforms (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 81). According to one scholar, Yun “came to believe that in order to make the Koreans survive as ‘the fittest’ in a Darwinist world of competition, they should accept Christianity, which had made Western countries powerful and wealthy” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 24). Yun blamed Korea’s inherent moral weakness for the country’s woes; as an antidote, he advocated self-strengthening and an increase in civic morality and public-spiritedness (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 80).
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to a more gradualist approach that aimed to enlighten and elevate the Korean people

NoteElsewhere, Kenneth M. Wells, a leading historian of this period whose work is referenced in the manuscript, argues that the biggest lesson of the Kapsin coup for many Korean nationalists was that any successful movement had to go beyond merely the elite officials who had launched that ill-fated palace revolution, and that it needed to be “a broad-based national movement…enlightening the people, informing them of Korea’s condition and wooing their support for thorough reform” (Wells 1984, 93). The error of the Kapsin plotters, adds University of Hawaii scholar Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, was in “becoming frustrated and impatient” with a slower approach to reform and having “decided to right all the wrongs of the country with a single blow by staging a coup d’etat” (Ch’oe, “The Kapsin Coup” (1982), 107).   LEARNING TO GO SLOW: As a result, the historian Vipan Chandra highlights the gradualist goals of the Independence Club—namely, to foster a sense of patriotism in Koreans who, in the words of one of its newspaper editorials, “love their own life more than their country’s” (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 15, citing Tokrip Sinmun, May 11, 1897). For the leaders of the club, that meant helping cultivate a love for the Yi royal house, for instance by holding birth celebrations for King Kojong and pushing for Kojong to reimagine the kingdom as an empire (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 16).
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“Gate” on the site in Seoul where Korean officials used to receive visiting Chinese envoys

NoteDECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE: The Independence Arch (獨立門 Kor. Tokrip-mun), dedicated in November 1897, faintly echoed the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and “dominated the city’s skyline to the northwest,” though today, amid Seoul’s skyscrapers and a large overpass that sits directly adjacent to it, it feels small (Dudden 2005, 103). The Independence Arch, with unmistakable symbolism, was built on the former site of the “Gate of Welcoming Grace” (迎恩門 Kor. Yŏng’ŭn-mun), erected in 1539 to welcome the annual embassy from China that came to Seoul to receive tribute (Huntley 1984, 66). According to the editors of the Korean Repository, the original gate, which they translated as the “Gate of Welcome and Blessing,” and also referred to as the “Peking Pass Gate,” was torn down just two years earlier, in February 1895, along with the guesthouse for visiting diplomats from China (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (March 1895), 121–22; and “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 3 (June 1896), 260–62, here 261). That guesthouse, in which the Korean kings had once entertained arriving Chinese officials, was called, embarrassingly for the Independence Club founders, the Muhwa-gwan (慕華館), which can be translated variously as “China Adoration Hall,” the “Hall of Admiring China,” or the “Hall for Cherishing China.” By June 1895, this hall, too, had been taken down (H. N. Allen [Allen, Horace N.], “Places of Interest in Seoul,” Korean Repository 2 (June 1895), 209–14, here 212–13). In May 1897, an “Independence Hall” (獨立館 Kor. Tokrip-gwan) was completed there in its stead (Eckert et al. 1990, 233).  A FOREIGN ARCH: In a reflection of how Kojong might have felt about Korea’s historical reliance on China, he personally donated money to the construction of the Independence Arch (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 44). Interestingly, the Independence Arch, despite the political declaration of independence that it sought to embody, was adorned with Sino-Korean characters engraved by Yi Wan-yong, who would later be reviled as a traitor to the Korean nation, and designed in part by Afanasii Ivanovich Seredin-Sabatin (1860–1921), an architect who hailed from just outside Kyiv (Editor, “The Independence Club,” Korean Repository 5 (August 1898), 281–87, here 285).
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shot to fame after delivering a stirring address condemning the corruption of the Chosŏn court

Note“The Independence Club was strong in the geographic areas where Protestant Christianity grew rapidly,” writes Korean church historian Chung-shin Park, noting that four of the Independence Club’s eight branches were set up in the northwestern heartland of Presbyterianism—Pyongyang, Ŭiju, Kanggye, and the tiny Christian mecca of Sŏnch’ŏn. “It is reasonable to assume that people were mobilized through church organizations and meetings in the city” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 127). For an examination of the close ties between the Independence Club and Christianity, see Yi Mahn-yŏl [Yi, Man-yŏl], “The Birth of the National Spirit of the Christians in the Late Chosŏn Period,” trans. Ch’oe Ŭn-a, in Yu Chai-shin [Yu, Chae-sin], ed., Korea and Christianity (Seoul: Korean Scholar Press, 1996), 39–72, here 59–60.  A PYONGYANG LAUNCHPAD: An Ch’ang-ho (安昌浩 1878–1938) and Kil Sŏn-ju, who were among the founders of the Pyongyang branch of the Independence Club, spoke at that branch’s first mass meeting in 1898, which attracted some five thousand attendees at Pyongyang’s K’waejae Pavilion (快哉亭 Kor. K’waejae-jŏng) (Oak 2013, 286, especially n. 52). An Ch’ang-ho’s speech instantly catapulted the young orator to fame, launching the career of one of the most prominent advocates of Korean independence—and one who will play a key role in the narrative that follows. For one Pyongyang Christian’s recollections of the “silver-tongued orator” and his “stirring oration,” see Charr 1996, 93). After the speech, whose audience included the governor of Pyongyang’s home province, An’s fame “reverberated throughout the Provinces in the northwestern region,” wrote Yi Kwang-su, Korea’s most renowned novelist of this period and a full-throated backer of An Ch’ang-ho (Gwang Su Lee [Yi, Kwang-su], Dosan Ahn Chang Ho (Seoul: Hung Sa Dahn, 2005), 16–17; and Wells 1990, 107).
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draw crowds of thousands as he blurred the line between religious sermon and nationalist rally

NoteMODEST ROOTS: An Ch’ang-ho was born on November 9, 1878, on a small island in the Taedong River, just downstream from Pyongyang. An, unlike other leading nationalists of this period, including Syngman Rhee, Yun Ch’i-ho, and Pak Yong-man, was not born to an aristocratic family, but rather to a poor farming household, though he did receive a Confucian education (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 10). As a fifteen-year-old at the time of the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–1895, An witnessed the destruction of Pyongyang at close quarters and concluded that Korea had become the battleground because of its inherent weakness (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 11–12). An’s philosophy boiled down to one thing: Koreans needed to become morally righteous and strong, working diligently to make the country strong (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 16–17, 29–30).   TO AMERICA AND BACK: An arrived in Seoul in 1895 as a teenager and ran into Rev. Frederick Miller, who was then the principal of Horace Underwood’s Kuse—literally, “Save the World”—Academy (救世學堂 Kor. Kuse Hakdang); An then studied English under Underwood while also working as a teaching assistant. He decided to embrace Christianity at the behest of a classmate named Song Sun-myŏng (宋淳明 1878–?), who later became an elder at Saemun’an Presbyterian Church (Pak, “Cradle of the Covenant,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 129–30; Gwang Su Lee 2005, 17; and Chung-shin Park 2003, 126–27). Rev. Miller later officiated An Ch’ang-ho’s wedding and encouraged him to study in the U.S. in 1902 (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 10–11). An arrived at San Francisco in October 1902, staying five years before his return to Korea in 1907, at which time he became a prolific and popular public speaker, opining on Christian principles and urging his listeners to not to sell land to the Japanese (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 11).  AN CH’ANG-HO AND THE CHURCH: Some debate has surrounded the genuineness of An Ch’ang-ho’s conversion to Presbyterianism. Yi Kwang-su, for instance, writes that while An “read the Bible and the Confucian classics, and adopted his formula from them…he did not favor one or the other” (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 139). In fact, Yi asserts, An “went to church once in a while but never claimed to be a Christian. He only mentioned that Jesus was a great teacher and he admired him” (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 229). At the same time, a chronology in the same work makes clear that An became a Presbyterian while studying under Horace Underwood, converted others to the faith, was married by a missionary and studied the Bible at a Christian school (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 270–72). Another scholar writes that An Ch’ang-ho at first “resisted becoming a Christian, but about a month later, he converted to Christianity.” Even so, this scholar writes, though An “was deeply Christian in all the things he did, he was not church-centred”—that is, he never joined any church as a member (Ilsup Ahn [An, Il-sŏp], “The Founding Father of Korean Democracy Beyond the Ideological Controversy: Tosan’s Political Philosophy of the Humane Democracy and Its Moral Foundation,” Kemanusiaan: The Asian Journal of Humanities 19, no. 1 (2012), 35–58, here 43). During one 1919 sermon at a Korean church in Shanghai, An Ch’ang-ho described the essence of Christianity as being that of love, which inspired believers to manifest it in their lives, in particular by sharing with those in need (Ahn, “Founding Fatherof Korean Democracy” (2012), 47).
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king on affairs of state and hosting what one scholar has called “a miniature People’s Assembly”

NoteThe assembly’s official name was even more grandiose: The Assembly of All Peoples (萬民共同會 Kor. Manmin Kongdong-hoe). It had been organized by Yun Ch’i-ho, who was elected vice president of the Independence Club in February 1898 and elevated to president in May 1898 (Wells 1990, 57).
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“should be permitted to gather together,” or “Christianity should be the national religion”

NoteThe debates were held each Sunday at Independence Hall, attended by hundreds of members of the public (Eckert et al. 1990, 233–34). Technically, the debates were not organized by the Independence Club but by a closely-related debate group called the Union Society (協成會 Kor. Hyŏpsŏng-hoe), based at the Methodist-run Paejae Academy, and like the Independence Club falling under the guidance of Philip Jaisohn (Oliver 1954, 25–26). The debate society started with just thirteen members in 1896, growing within the year to roughly two hundred, and spreading to other churches and mission schools, including to Sorae in Hwanghae province (Chung-shin Park 2003, 123).   FROM SLAVERY TO ROAD PAVEMENT: “The subjects discussed were mostly political and economical questions, but religion and education were not overlooked,” wrote Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie. “In the beginning the Koreans were shy about standing up before an audience to make a public speech, but after a certain amount of coaching and encouragement I found that hundreds of them could make very effective speeches. I believe the Koreans have a natural talent for public speaking” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 68). Scholar Yeon-seung Lee supplies a lengthy list of topics discussed: “the socio-economic issues of slavery, road pavement, hygiene, commercial enrichment of the nation, street lights, prevention of thievery, benefits of the vernacular, industrial revolution through the use of electricity and steam engines, the need of mining for the nation, Korean coins, modern education versus Chinese education, education of women, parity between men and women, iconoclasm, Western medicine, strengthening the nation, industrial development of agricultural products, the role of the newspaper for enlightenment, the vanity of Taoism, unity between the government and individuals, the drawbacks of conservatism, international politics, concession of Deer Island in Pusan with Russia, the disadvantages of becoming Russian subjects, and the validity of labor for unjust concessions” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 192–93). For more lists of debate topics, see Yi Mahn-yŏl, “Birth of the National Spirit,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 57–58; and Chung-shin Park 2003, 123. In addition to debates, Jaisohn also delivered lectures, starting off with “relatively unimportant and noncontroversial” topics, but quickly taking on an “increasing boldness,” arguing for the inalienable political rights of the people, among other topics (Liem 1952, 50–51).
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“Asia and make use of the Creator’s beautiful soil for the good of His people the world over”

NoteThis editorial is also cited in Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 17; and Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 35.  “A STRONG PURITAN TENOR”: If the Korean people “begin to realize that they are parts of one fabric and one nation, they will stand when their hearts are united in the common cause of patriotism,” Philip Jaisohn wrote in another similarly Christian-tinged editorial in The Independent, adding: “If they should understand that they are the children of the same Heavenly Father, and believers in the same Savior, mutual love and sympathy will naturally spring up” (“Editorial,” The Independent 1, no. 65 (September 3, 1896), 1).  Also cited in Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 17. University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik describes The Independent as being revolutionary in many of the same ways that Christianity itself was when it arrived in Korea. With the fervor of a Methodist convert, writes, “Jaisohn’s arguments had a strong Puritan tenor, and his role, therefore, was not much different from that of the Christian missionaries” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 61). “Christianity was his primary doctrinal source,” adds another scholar (Palmer 1967, 76).   “WESTERN BOURGEOIS IDEAS AND CHRISTIAN MORALITY”: Indeed, the editors of The Independent and the Tokrip Sinmun—not just Philip Jaisohn, but also fellow Christians Yun Ch’i-ho and Namgung Ŏk—argued that one couldn’t separate Christianity from national revival (Wells 1990, 30). “The tone was Christian,” writes historian Kenneth Wells. “Its editorials preached that religion, education and democracy, and hard work, co-operation and honesty, were the only path to self-reliance” (Wells 1984, 113–14; and Wells 1990, 57–58). The newspapers praised the missionaries as honest allies of the victims of injustice, while a Christmas Day editorial in 1897 described Christianity effectively as an eastern religion that the West had nonetheless embraced, a framing that both made the faith seem more indigenous to Koreans while encouraging them to, as Westerners had done, to embrace a religion that wasn’t their own (Wells 1990, 30–31). “It is not an exaggeration to say that Sŏ and Yun shaped the content and perspectives of Tongnip sinmun. Their philosophical and sociopolitical vision was largely drawn from Western bourgeois ideas and Christian morality,” writes Hyaeweol Choi, referring to Jaisohn by his Korean name Sŏ Chae-p’il. Choi describes Jaisohn and Yun’s mission as being to advance the interests of “the most wretched, poor and ignorant population of Korea,” chief among them Korean women, who they believed suffered from centuries of prejudice (Choi 2009, 34–35).
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for reforms through public demonstrations in the capital not being appreciated by the king

NoteSHUT ON CHRISTMAS DAY: The demise of the Independence Club began with an October 30, 1898, protest organized by the club and joined by several top government officials, demanding a shift to a constitutional system (Wells 1984, 118). Some members of the Independence Club had also sought seats on the privy council; instead, on November 4–5, 1898, the overnight arrest of prominent members of the club effectively ended that push (Wells 1984, 119; and Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 48–49). While some sources say that the Independence Club was formally disbanded that night, its status appears to have been in limbo for the next few weeks. Two weeks later, on November 21, 1898, thugs backed by pro-Russian officials and conservatives, led by the assassin of pro-Japanese Korean reformer Kim Ok-gyun, attacked Independence Club members, raided the club’s headquarters, and put up posters purporting to belong to the Independence Club around Seoul calling for the ouster of King Kojong (T. H. Yun [Yun, Ch’i-ho], “Popular Movements in Korea,” Korean Repository 5 (December 1898), 465–69, here 467–68; Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 65–66; Wells 1984, 119–20; and Schmid 2002, 78). After weeks in which rumors—spread by the group’s detractors—purported that the Independence Club was seeking to overthrow the monarchy and establish a Korean republic, on Christmas Day or the following day, King Kojong himself finally shut down the club for good (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 49; and Chung-shin Park 2003, 128, n. 53). In the end, writes one historian, “Kojong opted to uphold the theory of royal authority, however limited it was in reality, rather than risk opening the political system to public participation” (Robinson 2007, 25). For more on the general conservative backlash to Christianity still ascendant in Korea at the time, and the murky circumstances of the Independence Club’s downfall, see Wells 1990, 30, 59–60; and Henderson 1968, 65–67.  A LIFE SENTENCE FOR SYNGMAN RHEE: During the month of turbulence in November 1898, nationalist Syngman Rhee—later South Korea’s first president—led a series of large rallies to the police commissioner’s office, protesting the shutdown of the Independence Club and calling for the release of seventeen Independence Club members who had been imprisoned for allegedly advocating replacing the monarchy with a republican government. Rhee had earlier in March 1898 led a protest of some eight thousand people against what he and his allies regarded as undue Russian interference in Korean state affairs. By January 1899, Rhee and his close allies Hugh Cynn and Pak Yong-man were imprisoned; Rhee was sentenced to life in prison, though his sentence was commuted on multiple occasions, and he ended up serving for roughly five and a half years before he was freed (Lew 2014, 11–13; Oliver 1954, 38–39, 65; and Joungwon Kim 1976, 35).  A NEAR-MISS FOR YUN CH’I-HO: During the wave of arrests, many Independence Club leaders fled to American missionaries’ homes, seeking to benefit from their extraterritoriality privileges (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 139). Yun Ch’i-ho, the Independence Club’s third and final president, was given just a few minutes to dress himself when the police came to arrest him in the middle of the night; Yun fled to Paejae Academy and then to the home of the Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller, while other members of the Independence Club were arrested as traitors (Oliver 1954, 38–39). Yun later learned that he was set to have been executed a day before he slipped away (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 212). Philip Jaisohn, whose American passport, or his general arrogance, had alienated potential allies in the government, was ordered to again leave the country; he remained in the U.S. for the next two decades, returning to Korea only in the immediate aftermath of the March First demonstrations in 1919 (Oliver 1954, 36–37; and Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 63–64). The Independence Club’s pro-Japanese chairman An Kyŏng-su, meantime, escaped to Japan (Oliver 1954, 38).
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Still, the club’s spirit marked a watershed after years of sclerosis under the Chosŏn dynasty

Note“ITS PRINCIPLES WILL LIVE”: The argument has also been made convincingly that the Independence Club, like the Tonghak movement that came before it, were both hamstrung by “a failure on the part of the reformists to find any meaningful common ground between the masses and the upper-class intellectuals” (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 45). Still, even though the Independence Club was short-lived, it was, in the words of one historian, “the only progressive movement in Korea under the old regime” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 67). Another scholar assesses the club’s “hectic three years of activity” as largely a success, prompting only limited reform at the time but unleashing powerful ideas and launching future “stars of the nationalist movement,” thus conferring on it “greater influence as a legacy than as an institution” (Wells 1990, 61). Historian Vipan Chandra likewise argues that, despite the club’s brief existence, “its emotional impact was greater and more lasting than its ideological one…the sentiment of patriotism which the Club was instrumental in nurturing played a vital role in the development of Korean nationalism in the twentieth century” (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 13). Another historian writes that the Independence Club “broke the monopoly on political discussion by the Confucian elites, and it created precedents for the expansion of public life by holding public debates on government policy” (Robinson 2007, 23). As Yun Ch’i-ho himself put it in a December 1898 article in the Korean Repository, he said that the Independence Club taught Korea’s millions that “a government is made for the people and not the people for the government. The Club may disappear but its principles will live—and work” (Yun, “Popular Movements,” Korean Repository (1898), 469). Also cited in Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 50.  “THE SEED OF DEMOCRACY”: The Independence Club’s formidable legacy can be seen in the fact that, two decades later in 1919, six of the eight cabinet members chosen to serve in the Korean Provisional Government were former members of the short-lived group, underscoring its formative role on Korean politics and its modernization process. “The seed of democracy was sown in Korea through this movement,” Philip Jaisohn later recalled (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 73–74). More interestingly, the platform of the Independence Club also foreshadowed some of the core tenets of nationalism that Kim Il Sung would adopt a half-century later. A statement issued by the Independence Club in 1898 called for freedom from all foreign influences, declaring that both the government and people of Korea “shall determine not to rely on any foreign aid” (as quoted in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 65).   A HUNDRED DAYS: Parallels can also be drawn between the Independence Club in Korea and a nascent, abortive reform effort happening at the same time in Qing China. As in Korea, the shock of the Sino-Japanese War had exposed the weakness of the ruling dynasty and kindled hopes for sweeping reforms in China. “The war was hardly over when the Emperor commanded the construction of railways from Shanghai to Nanking, and from Tientsin to near Peking, and instructed his ministers to further the study of Western science throughout the country,” one missionary in northeastern China wrote, reflecting on the optimism of the moment. “The Emperor was privately studying the Bible and other books, Christian and scientific, and insisted on close personal intercourse with a number of progressive Reformers, such as had hardly been granted previously to the highest Ministers of State” (Christie 1914, 125). Alas, as in Korea, the moment didn’t last long, and the so-called Hundred Days’ Reform was squelched in September 1898 by the Empress Dowager Cixi (慈禧太后 Ch. Cixi Taihou), who whisked away the emperor and suppressing any further hope of reform (Christie 1914, 126). Some observers have even argued that the Independence Club, if it had been permitted to thrive, could have placed Korea on course towards the type of revolution that eventually deposed the Qing dynasty in China in 1911, had internal divisions and outside disturbances like the Russo-Japanese War not gotten in the way (Wells 1990, 68).
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facetiously, that Korea’s antiquated customs “will, before long, be ‘improved’ out of existence”

NoteBritish journalist Angus Hamilton made a similar remark in 1904, writing that “the old order is given way to the new. So quickly has the population learned to appreciate the results of foreign intercourse that, in a few more years, it will be difficult to find in Seoul any remaining link with the capital of yore” (Hamilton 1904, 26).  “CLEANEST CITY IN THE EAST”: Despite their lighthearted protests to the contrary, members of the foreign community were, in reality, delighted about the changes and reforms then sweeping Korea. The missionary editors of the Korean Repository noted in January 1895 that “booths are to be removed from the streets of the Capital. We approve. Now for the gutters” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (January 1895), 39). “After the Japan-China war of 1894 most of the streets of Seoul were so improved us to now present a very much better appearance,” Horace Allen, the missionary-turned-U.S. diplomat, noted in 1904 (Allen 1904, 18). “Old Seoul, with its festering alleys, its winter accumulations of every species of filth, its plastering mud and penetrating foulness, has almost totally vanished from within the walls of the capital. The streets are magnificent, spacious, clean, admirably made and well drained,” Angus Hamilton added that same year. “Seoul is within measurable distance of becoming the highest, most interesting, and cleanest city in the East. It is still not one whit Europeanised” (Hamilton 1904, 34). Among the other changes during these years after the Sino-Japanese War: P’yŏng’an province was administratively divided into north and south, along with Kyŏngsang, Chŏlla, Ch’ungch’ŏng, and Hamgyŏng provinces (Gifford 1898, 17).  LET THERE BE LIGHT: Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie noted the change in lighting—and scenery—in the Korean capital: “In Seoul itself many outstanding features of the old life had by now disappeared. Signal fires were no longer lit on the hills, nor were the city gates closed at sunset. Great public buildings in foreign style had arisen in the capital” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 99). Instead of signal fires through the night, officials in Seoul hit the symbolic switch on April 10, 1900, turning on the country’s first electric streetlights, which triggered in the press “numerous metaphors of light to note the event’s significance” (Robinson 2007, 8).  WASHINGTON AVENUE, SEOUL: In the fit of changes sweeping Korea during this period, the name of one of the key roads near the West Gate, where many of the foreign legations and early missionary institutions were established, was a topic of discussion, with Washington Avenue, Victoria Road, Missionary Avenue, and Legation Street among the suggestions (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (April 1895), 155–56). Around the same time, the foreign residents of the nearby Chŏng-dong neighborhood, committed to “the pleasure of at least one good street” in the capital, agreed to pool together their money to create such a road (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (May 1895), 200).  “AN AWAKENING AMONGST THE PEOPLE”: More than the superficial aesthetic changes, what really electrified Westerners in Korea was the sense of a shift in deep-seated ideas. “The country is passing through a crisis which, although very disturbing in some respects, causes us to rejoice in that it indicates an awakening amongst the people,” Canadian missionary Oliver Avison wrote from Seoul in November 1898. Avison also rejoiced at King Kojong’s unprecedented move to hear the grievances of the people by setting up a tent outside the palace to meet petitioners. “This was almost incredible, nothing of the kind ever having previously occurred in the history of Korea” (Oliver R. Avison letter to Robert E. Speer, November 19 and November 29, 1898, Seoul (PHS 178/7/46)). As the editors of the Korean Repository put it in July 1895, “hope has sprung up, even in the Korean’s heart. A year and a half ago every thing was dead, when bottom seemingly had been reached. Now signs of life are found on every side…For the patriot there is no end of hard work, but there is hope for the country. Give her a chance” (“Continued Progress,” Korean Repository 2 (July 1895), 265–68, here 268).
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Koreans, they were a source of consternation to the country’s still powerful conservatives

NoteThe arrival of the modern world crashed up against the entrenched dominance of the conservative aristocrats known as the yangban, as the missionary-turned-diplomat Horace Allen recounted: “The trains would not wait even for a noble. If one such sent word he was coming and arrived in the afternoon for a morning train, he would invariably find it had gone off and left him. Trains have even pulled out on schedule time with some great yangban coming down the street with his chair men on the run and his attendants well ahead shouting ‘yahbo, yahbo come on yeetso’ (say! say! wait a little), to all of which the engine seemed oblivious” (Allen 1908, 133).
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Japanese made them inherently suspect to Koreans who were wary of anything tied to Japan

Note“The Koreans cannot believe the Japanese to be sincere in their professions of good will,” John M. B. Sill (1831–1901), the American minister to Seoul remarked (John M. B. Sill cable to Secretary of State Richard Olney, March 1, 1895, Seoul, in Palmer 1963, 352–54). Also cited in Duus 1995, 96. There was good reason for Koreans’ suspicions of Japanese goodwill. Much of the infrastructure that the Japanese set up during this period was driven directly by Tokyo’s rising military ambitions in Korea, as far as British statesman Lord George Curzon could tell. “The unselfish desire to endow Korea with the beauties of civilization…was less and less heard of as the war proceeded,” he wrote (Curzon 1896, 363–64). “Only secondarily did Japan come to support the reformers’ drive for more fundamental changes in Korean society,” adds historian Martina Deuchler (Deuchler 1977, 221).
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city—though others could sense there, as Bishop wrote, “a hatred three centuries old”

NotePusan had served for centuries as a toehold for the Tokugawa shogunate on the Korean peninsula and was so thoroughly dominated by Japan that the city appeared to many visitors like Japanese territory. Samuel Moffett, writing in 1909, described Pusan as “a Japanese city growing commercially as a Japanese city and port” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 28, 1909, Pyengyang (PHS 282/239/18)).  JAPAN’S PENINSULAR TOEHOLD: Some historians have dated the presence of a Japan House (倭館 Kor. Waegwan, Jp. Wakan) to the early fifteenth century, and may have been founded by the retainers on the nearby Japanese island of Tsushima (Deuchler 1977, 178; and Hamilton 1904, 131–33). The city took on a more prominent role in Japan-Korea ties around the time of the Hideyoshi invasions in the 1590s. In May 1592, more than 150,000 Japanese troops landed in Pusan, where they then launched “the massacres of thousands if not tens of thousands of residents of Pusan and Tongnae” (Haboush 2016, 16). After the war, Pusan played a key role in establishing a diplomatic détente between the two neighbors. Hideyoshi’s successor Tokugawa Ieyasu sought to make amends with Korea, agreeing to Korea’s requirement that Japan formally sue for peace, express contrition, and punish those who had desecrated the graves of Korean kings; the peace deal formally took effect in 1609 and Japan was permitted to trade with Korea at Pusan (Kuno 1940, 17–19). The 1609 treaty allowed Japan to set up its official residence in Pusan, with twenty trade ships permitted to visit annually (Kuno 1940, 277–78). One diplomat portrays this, perhaps incorrectly, as a seizure of Pusan by Japan as a trophy after the Hideyoshi invasions (Vladimir 1896, 33–34). Whatever the case, Pusan became the only place on the Asian mainland with a permanent Japanese presence. By the time of the Meiji Restoration in 1868, Pusan was the site of the only Shintō shrine outside of Japanese territory (Suga Kōji, “A Concept of ‘Overseas Shinto Shrines’: A Pantheistic Attempt by Ogasawara Shōzō and Its Limitations,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 37, no. 1 (2010), 47–74, here 52).  FROM “MISERABLE COLLIERY” TO “CLEAN, WELL-KEPT” PORT: Though German diplomat Max von Brandt (1835–1920) dismissed Pusan as merely a “miserable colliery” at the time of the Meiji Restoration, with just a hundred Japanese living there, within just six years, the Japanese settlement had expanded to 1,800 people, with a bank, a hospital, and a newspaper (Eckert 1991, 10; and Altman, “Korea’s First Newspaper” (1984), 685). After Japan and Korea signed their first Western-style treaty in 1876, Pusan became the first treaty port on the Korean peninsula officially opened to any foreign nationals, with the Japanese winning their concession in Pusan in 1877 (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 29). Before long, the Japanese were virtually controlling Korea’s foreign trade through Pusan (Deuchler 1977, 173). Japan’s Mitsubishi conglomerate, founded in 1870, began operating a regular steamer service in the early 1880s linking Pusan, as well as Inch’ŏn and Wŏnsan, to the Japanese cities of Kobe and Shimonoseki (Deuchler 1977, 186). Korea’s first telegraph line, an underwater cable joining Nagasaki to Pusan, was laid by the Japanese in March 1884 (Deuchler 1977, 187). A second telegraph line was laid, with help from the Chinese, connecting Inch’ŏn, Seoul, and Pyongyang to the Sino-Korean border city of Ŭiju in 1885; this line was eventually linked to the Nagasaki-Pusan line (Deuchler 1977, 187–88). Pusan was also the site of Korea’s first newspaper, the Chōsen shinpō, published by the Japanese starting December 10, 1881 (Altman, “Korea’s First Newspaper” (1984), 685). By 1883, the city was a bustling port with roughly two thousand residents in the “clean, well-kept” Japanese quarter, which housed the office of the consul general, a court, town hall, police station, hospital and shops operated by some of Japan’s biggest companies, including Mitsubishi and Daiichi Ginkō in eleven wide, paved streets (Deuchler 1977, 184).  “A PURELY JAPANESE TOWN”: Japan’s presence by this time was so dominant in Pusan that new arrivals from the West, landing in the port city, found what seemed to be “a purely Japanese town, in which no Coreans resided,” in the words of British diplomat William Carles, who was among the first Westerners to visit Pusan. Though some Chinese had opened some shops in the city, the Japanese had closed them down, Carles wrote—suggesting a great degree of authority on the part of the Japanese by that time (Carles 1888, 81–82). When Horace Allen, the first Protestant missionary to Korea, arrived first in Pusan in 1884, he similarly found it to be a “wholly Japanese” city (Harrington 1944, 3). So too American medical missionary Rosetta Hall Sherwood, arriving in October 1890 only to find “a Japanese settlement almost entirely” (as quoted in Sherwood Hall 1978, 27). “It is not Korea but Japan which meets one on anchoring” in Pusan, Isabella Bird Bishop wrote of her mid-1890s arrival there. “Where are the Koreans?” (Bishop 1898, 23, 26) For similar sentiments, see Whigham 1904, 179–80; Hamilton 1904, xxi; Ladd 1908, 140; and Thornton A. Mills, “Port City and Frontier in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 7 (July 1913), 198–202, here 198. One Japanese book in 1910 noted that many Japanese residents considered Pusan to be effectively a part of Nagasaki prefecture (Conroy 1960, 471–72). By this time, roughly half of Pusan’s population, and all of its most conspicuous buildings, were Japanese, giving the port city an appearance that was, for visiting Japanese who hardly needed to interact with Koreans in the city, “comfortingly Japanese, not all that different from a port town at home” (Duus 1995, 328–29). Needless to say, “the occupation of their southern port by an alien Power was a sore grievance to the proud Koreans” (Brown 1919, 118).
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for his jingoistic conservativism than for his diplomatic experience, which was precisely zero

NoteMiura Gorō (三浦 梧楼 1847–1926) has generally been derided by scholars. One calls him “politically and diplomatically immature” (Malozemoff 1958, 85), while another describes Miura as “a military man who was fairly representative of the extreme expansionist party in Japanese politics” (Dennett 1922, 503). Historian Yi Chŏng-sik depicts Miura as the “stereotype of the simple-minded soldier” and “a bully-like samurai” who was uniquely ill-suited for the role (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 43). Indeed, Miura was very reluctant to take on the job, having argued—correctly—that he was a diplomatic novice. Miura, who had also previously refused a diplomatic posting to be Japan’s minister to France, only accepted the posting of minister plenipotentiary extraordinary to Korea under great pressure, but even then had no idea what was expected of him: “Was Korea to be made independent? Or was it to be annexed by Japan? Or did the government intend to share control with Russia?” (Keene 2002, 513)
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ambitious Russia, while giving Korean nationalists a rallying symbol for years to come

NoteScholars are unanimous in ascribing the nascent Korean anger towards the Japanese to Miura’s two biggest missteps—the killing Queen Min and the topknot decree—but also note other “minor irritations as Miura’s cavalier appearance before the King simply in morning dress,” which “did not escape notice among the Koreans” (Palmer 1967, 61–62).
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the Chinese in her battle against her father-in-law, making her an obstacle to Japan’s designs

NoteJames Gale compared Queen Min to American Confederate Gen. Stonewall Jackson (1824–1863)—that is, a resourceful and wily opponent who “stood in the way of Japan’s reforms. The ablest minister they could send found himself outwitted, checkmated, defeated, until he beat a retreat, gave up the fight, and went home” (Gale 1898, 196). One scholar has described Queen Min as being “pro-Russian” (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 180).
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to an extreme, organizing—apparently without Tokyo’s knowledge—the murder of the queen

NoteMiura plotted the murder of the anti-Japanese Queen Min, apparently, while holed up in the legation reading Buddhist sutras. “In his uncomplicated, soldierly manner (and in the absence of contrary instructions from Japan), he apparently decided that the only remedy for the situation was to get rid of the queen, the major obstacle to good relations with Japan” (Keene 2002, 514). A Japanese court would later hear that Miura, upon arriving in Korea, “had been greatly troubled by discovering that Japanese influence in Seoul was less powerful than he expected. He came to the conclusion that this was due to the Queen, a woman of masterful character, and he decided that the only remedy was to have her killed” (Hugh Byas, Government by Assassination (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1942), 185). It should be noted that this was not the queen’s first brush with death. Queen Min was nearly assassinated during the Im’o Mutiny of 1882, when an angry mob stormed the royal palace; Queen Min only survived after being rescued by a guard who carried her out on his back (Sands 1931, 63–64).  IN LEAGUE WITH THE PRINCE REGENT?: Some sources describe the Japanese as having brought in Queen Min’s father-in-law, the Prince Regent, as part of the scheming (Caprio 2009, 172). According to Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, the Prince Regent and Miura both wanted Queen Min out of the way, and conspired to dispose of her (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 59). The theory is supported by the Prince Regent being brought into the palace by a Japanese military escort even before Queen Min was fully dead, imprisoning his son and attempting to form a cabinet (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 64).
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walls and killed the minister of the royal household before infiltrating the queen’s chamber

NoteThe minister of the royal household, Yi Kyŏng-jik (李耕稙 1851–1895), in an attempt to protect Queen Min from the Japanese invaders, stood with outstretched arms that were eventually slashed off. “He contrived to drag himself along the veranda into the King’s presence, where he bled to death” (Bishop 1898, 273).
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her corpse into the courtyard, pouring kerosene on her body, and setting the queen alight

NoteThe men dragged the palace ladies around by the hair, demanding to know where the queen was (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 62). Once they found her, one writer recounts, Queen Min was burned to death “with petroleum-drenched mats from her own palace floor” (Griffis 1912, 53). Other sources say that her body was “wrapped up with a silk quilt and taken to a grove of trees not far distant” before she was set alight with kerosene (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 45).
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Only a finger, it was said, remained to be buried

NoteJournalist Frederick McKenzie writes that, with kerosene fueling the flames, “everything was consumed, save a few bones” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 63–64). For a detailed account of the incident from a Western perspective, see “The Assassination of the Queen of Korea,” Korean Repository 2 (October 1895), 386–92; and Gale 1898, 196–97.  REDUCED TO THE STATUS OF A PROSTITUTE: To add insult to injury, the Prince Regent “forced upon the bewildered King a cabinet of Korean hirelings and through them caused to be promulgated an edict, purporting to come from the King’s own hand, degrading his dead Queen to the status of a prostitute,” as Homer Hulbert recounted it decades later (as quoted in Korean Liberty Conference 1942, 94). In the Prince Regent-drafted proclamation, the royal palace posthumously stripped Queen Min of her rank and title, adding in a gloriously cruel cheap shot: “We have endeavored to discover her whereabouts, but as she does not come forth and appear, We are convinced that she is not only unfitted and unworthy of the Queen’s rank but also that her guilt is excessive and brimful. Therefore with her We may not succeed to the glory of the Royal Ancestry. So we hereby depose her from the rank of Queen and reduce her to the level of the lowest class” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 137–38). That is, Queen Min was treated as if nothing had happened to her physical person, but that she had merely been demoted to a level “ranking her among the lowest prostitutes” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 69; and Sands 1931, 66). Even before Queen Min’s death was confirmed, King Kojong was presented with a document to sign that would divorce him from his wife; he refused to sign (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 62). He also refused to sign the edict, but the Prince Regent was able to prevail upon the prime minister and eight other members of the Cabinet to approve it (Brown 1919, p. 138). Presumably because of the time required for these unsavory maneuvers, the death of the queen was only formally announced by the Korean government on December 1, 1895, nearly two months after her assassination (Yi, Chŏng-sik 1965, p. 45). As late as mid-November 1895, the editors of the Korean Repository noted, “the mystery surrounding the fate of the Queen still remains unsolved. It is generally admitted in the Japanese Press that she is dead…Nov. 11 was Her Majesty’s birthday…Had the Queen lived to celebrate her 45th birthday it was her intention to appear at the public reception usually given on that occasion” (“The Fate of the Queen,” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 431–35, here 431–32).
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recalled Miura to Japan, where he and forty other Japanese were arrested and put on trial

NoteA CRUDE COVER-UP: Miura sought to keep the details of the murder, which historian Peter Duus describes as “crudely conceived and brutally executed,” obscured from his superiors in Tokyo, portraying the event as a plot cooked up by the Prince Regent, with the Japanese getting involved only to protect King Kojong (Duus 1995, 111). Miura’s cover story was contradicted by members of Seoul’s foreign missionary and diplomatic community, who were close to the royal court and who, in some cases, witnessed the events. Horace Allen, the missionary-turned-American diplomat, for one, described seeing thirty “evil-looking Japanese with disordered clothes, long swords, and sword canes” running away from the palace (as quoted in Duus 1995, 111).  WESTERN HORROR: The Western community in Seoul, in fact, was up in arms, universally condemning the audacious act (Sands 1931, 68). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie described the foreign community receiving news of the queen’s murder “first with incredulity, and then with horror…When details were published in Europe and America, they did Japan more harm than the loss of a great battle” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 67). Itō Hirobumi, then Japan’s prime minister, understood the consequences of Queen Min’s assassination for his country’s international reputation, calling for Japan “to seek out and punish, if possible, every unworthy son of Japan connected with this crime…Not to do so would condemn Japan in the eyes of all the world. If she does not repudiate this usurpation on the part of Tai Won Kun she must lose the respect of every civilised Government on earth” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1908, 68; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 57). Itō’s government, under considerable pressure from the Western nations, recalled Miura back to Japan to stand trial (Duus 1995, 112; Conroy 1960, 318–21; and Keene 2002, 520–21).  “THE TRIAL WAS A FARCE”: Alas, on January 20, 1896, a Hiroshima court determined that there was insufficient evidence to convict Miura (Keene 2002, 520–21). As Hugh Byas (1875–1945), a British journalist based in Tokyo from 1914 to 1941 for the Japan Advertiser, the Times of London, and the New York Times, later wrote, the fix was in. “The trial was a farce and they were acquitted on the ground ‘that there is no sufficient evidence to prove that they actually committed the crime meditated by them’” (Byas 1942, 185). For an English-language record of the investigation into the queen’s death, see “The Queen’s Death Again Investigated,” Korean Repository 3 (March 1896), 118–42. For an English-language translation of the Japanese court verdict in the Miura trial, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 263–68. Miura would later be lionized in Japan for his deed and given a plum position (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 72–73; and Sands 1931, 68–69). As Byas writes, “Miura lived in Japan for many years afterwards in retirement, but not in disgrace nor uninterested in politics. He had influence with the army and he was consulted by governments and party leaders throughout his life” (Byas 1942, 185).
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reviled as she was respected—into a unifying figure for the nascent Korean nationalist cause

Note  “BLATANT JAPANESE OVERREACH”: “If her assassins had not been Japanese, probably the murder would not have aroused popular feeling,” writes University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik. “She was part of the despotic monarchical system and was involved in intrigues and mischief. Her concern was, for the most part, not the welfare of the Korean people, but the enhancement of her own and her clan’s power” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 51). In the words of later South Korean diplomat Ch’oe Un-sang, the assassination of Queen Min “did more harm to Japan in the eyes of the Western world than anything else at that time. Japan, at one blow, lost all the influence in Korea which her success in the war with China had won for her. Indeed, it was not regained until she had fought another and greater war, against Russia” (Woonsang Choi 1967, 30). Also cited in Keene 2002, 517. Yale University historian Odd Arne Westad describes the assassination of Queen Min as a turning point, not just for Japan’s standing in Korea but as “the first case of blatant Japanese overreach that was going to blight the country’s involvement with the rest of Asia for over a generation” (Westad 2021, 85).  DAMAGE CONTROL: The Japanese government, intuiting the likely diplomatic damage, sent Komura Jutarō (小村 壽太郎 1855–1911), a graduate of Harvard Law School and a seasoned diplomat, to fill Miura’s seat in Seoul, with a simple mission: Pacify international outrage, and quickly. Komura, who would later serve as foreign minister and as ambassador to the U.S. and then to the U.K., sought to quickly reassure the other diplomats in Seoul that Tokyo hadn’t countenanced the assassination plot, and that Japan didn’t intend to meddle further in Korean politics. Prime Minister Itō Hirobumi, meantime, sent his diplomats in the Western capitals to express their concern and to pledge to remove Japanese troops from Korea once things stabilized there (Duus 1995, 112–13). None of this meant that Japan would address the international concerns with anything resembling transparency. In a foreshadowing of Japan’s handling of the March First demonstrations in 1919, the Japanese blocked John A. Cockerill (1845–1896), a New York Herald correspondent who was in Seoul at the time, from sending a telegraph to his editors. Instead, Cockerill found “his message was stopped and the money returned to him” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 67). Cockerill succeeded in interviewing King Kojong two days after his wife’s murder, describing him as “small in stature, thin, and bloodless-looking; the events of the past few days have added to his waxiness, and his nervousness was painful to behold” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1908, 71, citing New York Herald, October 12, 1895).
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American military advisor and several missionaries, including Samuel Moffett and William Baird

NoteUP ALL NIGHT: The missionaries keeping watch over King Kojong included the Presbyterian James Gale and the Methodist George H. Jones, who stayed with the king on the evening of October 8, 1895, the day of the assassination of Queen Min, in his palace, along with General William M. Dye (1831–1899), a Civil War veteran from Pennsylvania who was serving in Seoul at the time as an advisor to King Kojong, and Charles Le Gendre (1830–1899), a French-born American army officer who was also working as an advisor to Kojong (Rutt 1983, 29). See also Bishop 1898, 279; Cavendish 1894, 44; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 167. An unnamed missionary, probably James Gale, described two decades later how starkly he “still remembers the look on His Majesty’s face that fatal day when his queen was dead, and his father and older brother seemingly were pitted against him.” King Kojong had already survived the political disturbances of 1882 and 1884, the writer added, and those two scares “so preyed on his mind that he was never after able to sleep at night. His sleeping hours were transferred to the day, while he watched the night through” (“The Late Prince Yi,” Korea Magazine (1919), 51).  SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME: As the weeks went by, the group of missionaries watching over the king included Samuel Moffett, William Baird, Homer Hulbert, Horace Underwood, Henry Appenzeller, and Oliver Avison. Horace Allen, the medical missionary-turned-American diplomat, was also ever close at hand, having won the trust of the royal court (Brother Anthony of Taizé 2011, 6; Insung Lee 2007, 63; and Sherwood Hall 1978, 300–1). “The King asked Dr. Allen if he could not have a few of the foreigners come into the palace that there might be someone near him in whom he could place confidence. So we missionaries all volunteered, and since then have been taking turns in the palace every night,” Moffett wrote his hometown paper, the Madison Courier. “While of course the presence of one or two foreigners is no real protection, the moral effect has been very great and doubtless has helped to avoid more serious difficulties” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Editor of the Madison Courier, October–November 1895, Seoul (MKC)). On the night of November 27–28, 1895, Hulbert, Underwood, and Avison were on hand during an attempt to “save” Kojong by anti-Japanese Korean nationalists, during which the three missionaries likely saved the king’s life (Brother Anthony of Taizé 2011, 6). At one point, Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown wrote, King Kojong “leaned his head upon Doctor Underwood’s shoulder, and the monarch of Korea slept the sleep of exhaustion in the arms of a missionary” (Brown 1919, 140).   “A SOVEREIGN WHO LIVES IN DAILY DREAD”: James Creelman, a New York World correspondent who interviewed Kojong in the 1890s, described the Korean sovereign as a man fearful for his life, keeping close at his side Horace Allen, the medical missionary-turned-U.S. diplomat. “A sovereign who lives in daily dread of poison is bound to be on intimate and friendly terms with his physician. Through Dr. Allen’s intercession I secured his Majesty’s consent to an interview,” Creelman wrote, describing the interview as “the first time that the King had publicly avowed that he was practically a prisoner in his own capital” (Creelman 1901, 62, 70). Clara Loomis, daughter of the Japan-based American missionary Henry Loomis, recounted her father, who had spent time in Korea, also being summoned by the king. “They were received by the king’s older brother, the acting chamberlain, and solemnly presented to the king and the crown prince. They then spent the night keeping watch in the royal library, adjoining the king’s bedchamber. In another room near by slept the king’s father, the former regent…The unhappy king lived in dread of him and his older brother, the chamberlain, as well as of the conspirators,” she wrote. “The only persons whom he trusted were the staff of the Russian Legation, whom he knew to be anti-Japanese, and the missionaries. For some seven weeks two foreigners were asked to sleep each night in palace precincts, within call in case of sudden danger” (Loomis 1923, 88–89).  WITHOUT A SCRATCH: The presence of all these missionaries in Kojong’s informal royal watch-guard was unusual, but so was the performance of Gen. William Dye, a military man who nonetheless came under withering criticism for his role in the events of October 1895. On paper, his credentials were impeccable: A Civil War veteran from Pennsylvania, Gen. Dye had served as a colonel in the Egyptian Army and later as a senior officer in Washington, D.C.’s municipal police before coming to Korea to help develop the country’s military (Sands 1931, 48; and Robert Kim 2017, 7–8). However, it was Gen. Dye—along with Afanasii Seredin-Sabatin, the architect from what is today Ukraine who had helped design the Independence Arch—who had been charged with overseeing the palace guard protecting the ill-fated Queen Min. As Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote, “neither of these came out of the affair with enhanced reputation. General Dye was a very charming old gentleman, skilled in growing apples. The products of his orchard were the admiration of his neighbours, but he was of little use in protecting his Royal employers…Whatever the excuses of these two men, the damning fact remains that they lived through that night without suffering so much as a scratch, and without striking a blow for the woman they were paid to protect” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 62). See Gen. Dye’s letters in Wm. McE. Dye [Dye, William M.], “Correspondence,” Korean Repository 3 (May 1896), 216–20; and Wm. McE. Dye [Dye, William M.], “General Dye on ‘Korea and Her Neighbors,’” Korean Repository 5 (November 1898), 439–42. On Gen. Dye’s horticultural pursuits, see Wm. McE. Dye [Dye, William M.], “In the Orchard,” Korean Repository 3 (March 1896), 117. Gen. Dye ended up staying in Korea for more than a decade, working as a military advisor (Robert Kim 2017, 7–8). Of the two men, Seredin-Sabatin left behind a more concrete legacy, having designed not only the Independence Arch but also the Russian legation building that King Kojong would flee to in February 1896, and part of which still stands today (Kornegay, Nate, “The Compradoric Style: Chinese Architectural Influence on Early Modern Korea,” Colonial Korea: Early Modern Architecture in Korea, April 6, 2019).
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that, simply by harboring the king, announced its arrival as a new force in peninsular politics

NoteIsabella Bird Bishop writes of how King Kojong’s furtive escape to the Russian legation “electrified” all of East Asia (Bishop 1898, 365). “The King had cast himself into the arms of Russia, and the whole Korean people were worked up to a white heat against Japan, comparable only with the feelings elicited by the invasion of 1592,” missionary-historian Homer Hulbert wrote (Hulbert 1906, 148–49).  “LIKE A CLAP OF THUNDER”: The preparations for Kojong’s midnight flight were meticulous. For a week before the daring escape, a steady stream of closed palanquins, used by palace women, had been dispatched in and out of the palace, in order to desensitize the guards there to any strange movements. Meanwhile, Karl Ivanovich Weber (1841–1910), the Russian minister in Seoul, quietly increased the security presence at the Russian legation on February 9, 1896. Finally, before 7:00 a.m. on the morning of February 11, 1896, after a night of a boozy banquet, King Kojong was put into a palanquin and slipped out of the palace gates without arousing any attention (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 77–78; and Brown 1919, 140–41). For a sense of the drama that the king’s flight generated, see the Korean Repository’s “special supplement, which read: “’The King is in the Russian Legation!’ Like a clap of thunder from a clear sky came this news to us on the morning of Feb. 11th. ‘Is it true? If true, what does it mean?’ ‘Will this be the beginning of an armed conflict between Japan and Russia?’ These and similar questions suggested themselves at once. The news spread rapidly and the city was thrown into the greatest excitement” (“The King of Korea in the Russian Legation,” The Korean Repository 3 (February 1896), 82–94, here 82).  A YEAR IN THE RUSSIAN LEGATION: In all, King Kojong hid in the Russian legation for just more than a year, from February 11, 1896, until February 20, 1897. Because he had brought with him the royal seals, Kojong was able to continue to govern (Sherwood Hall 1978, 167). Kojong was so scared of being poisoned, however, that he subsisted only on condensed milk in sealed cans and eggs cooked in their shells (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 70). “He was so afraid of being poisoned that he would eat no food except that which had been brought in a locked chest from the kitchen of an American missionary” (Kennan, “A Degenerate State,” Outlook (1905), 310). Minister Weber was an ideal host, magnanimous in the extreme: “A kindly, simple, straightforward man, his policy was as open as the day, and even the other foreign representatives were amazed at the disinterestedness of his actions. He regarded the King as his guest, and he placed the big Russian Legation at the Royal disposal, asking for nothing in return, not even attempting to secure those concessions for his country which almost any other man of whatever nationality would have obtained under the circumstances” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 82).  A GEOPOLITICAL SHIFT: Russia’s decision to shelter the Korean king was a master stroke in St. Peterburg’s larger efforts to play a greater role in Far Eastern affairs, in conjunction with its great Trans-Siberian Railway (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 89). One Japanese writer, reflecting on the event in 1905, accused Russia of having “exaggerated the insecurity of the Korean royal family” in order to increase their influence over Korea (Hishida 1905, 189). As for all those long nighttime hours that the missionaries spent with the Korean king, protecting him in his palace and then feeding him at the Russian legation, would go a great way toward tipping many of them—initially sympathetic to Japan’s “civilizing mission” in Korea—decisively against Tokyo’s rule. In an editorial published shortly after Queen Min’s murder, the editors of the Korean Repository decried what they called “the murder of a queen, in her own private apartments, in the grey of the morning,” directly addressing the Korean nation: “We are with you” (“Unnecessary Anxiety,” Korean Repository 4 (July 1897), 274–77, here 275).  AN EARLIER ATTEMPT: An earlier attempt to smuggle Kojong out of the palace had been undertaken on November 28, 1895, by Yun Ung-yŏl, the father of prominent Methodist convert Yun Ch’i-ho. When that attempt failed, the elder Yun fled to China, while the younger Yun was dismissed from his posting at the foreign ministry and went into hiding; he emerged the day after Kojong’s successful flight to the Russian legation, whereupon Yun Ch’i-ho was bestowed with a royal pardon and made the acting minister of education the following day (Wells 1984, 111).
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triviality was in fact far more traumatic for many Korean men than the murder of Queen Min

Note“Nothing among all their blunders during the earlier period was more disastrous to them than the regulations compelling the men to cut off their topknots,” journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote. “These did Japan greater harm among the common people than even the murder of the Queen” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 109). McKenzie had earlier compared the topknot decree, which he directly ascribed to the Japanese, as “the equivalent of trying to close the public-houses an hour earlier” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 37). For a contemporaneous explanation of the havoc that the topknot decree unleashed on Korea by Western missionaries, see “The Attack on the Top Knot,” Korean Repository 3 (July 1896), 263–72.
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had been a marker of manhood and identity, a near-sacred embodiment of ancient traditions

NoteThe topknot, known as the sangt’u (상투), was reserved for young men who had married, thus making it a visible source of pride, and a critical rite of passage from boy to man. “A Korean without a Top Knot, even if in middle life, can only be treated as a nameless and irresponsible boy” (Bishop 1898, 360). “The s’angtu was the symbol of their heritage and manhood. It was as holy as their own names as well as the ancestors buried deep within their souls” (John Cha [Ch’a, Hak-sŏng], Willow Tree Shade: The Susan Ahn Cuddy Story (Seoul: Korean American Heritage Foundation, 2002), 38). See also Brown 1919, 67; and Andrews, “Exploring Unknown Corners,” National Geographic (1919), 33.  “THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD”: During these years of rapid change in late nineteenth-century Korea, doing away with one’s topknot became a symbol of modernity, one that was often closely associated with conversion to Christianity or with an embrace of Western ideas. As one young Korean revolutionary later recalled, “there were arguments among the men about whether or not to cut off the topknot, and the question seemed to be the most important thing in the world. Those who had cut the topknot were beings apart from the rest, and we children pointed out fingers at them excitedly as they passed. It meant they were members of the Korean Independence party. They opened new schools to teach the people the meaning of what was about to happen, and the villagers marched to these classes like troops, shouting and making speeches as they went” (Kim San [Chang, Chi-hak] and Nym Wales [Snow, Helen Foster], Song of Ariran: The Life Story of a Korean Rebel (New York: John Day, 1941), 12).  LOCKS OF THE FAR EAST: Korea was not alone in regarding hairstyles as a potent symbol of political allegiance. In Qing China, the queue imposed on all Han Chinese men was a symbol of Manchu domination and cutting it off was a symbol of modernization and subversive revolutionary thought (Giles 1912, 83–84). Similarly, in Japan, the chonmage (丁髷) was a marker of samurai status and, around the time of the Meiji Restoration in 1868, “letting a forelock grow or cutting a chonmage was a statement of progressiveness” (Duus 1995, 115, n. 22). The Meiji emperor cut off his chonmage in 1872, four years into the reforms enacted in his name (Anthony of Taizé 2011, 5).
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break with the past, the royal edict imposed on every Korean man fell “like a thunderbolt”

NoteSNIP SNIP: The topknot decree (斷髮令 Kor. tanbal-ryŏng), one small component of the Kab’o reforms implemented by the progressive government of Kim Hong-jip, came down on November 1, 1895, on the grounds that it would aid with hygiene and “the transaction of business” (Bishop 1898, 363). The edict claimed that King Kojong too had chopped off his topknot “in order to contribute to the great task of modernizing Korea.” “All the people of Great Korea must follow this holy desire,” an accompanying statement by the acting minister of home affairs read. Immediately, writes historian Yi Chŏng-sik, policemen went door to door through Seoul, armed with scissors, to cut off the topknots; weeping and wailing came from those who lost their locks, while only those who managed to hide themselves able to keep theirs (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 48). The chaos was such that missionary Graham Lee, hoping to relocate to Pyongyang from Seoul in the early months of 1895, had to change his plans as a result of what he called “the hair cutting that is going on” (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, January 12, 1895, Seoul (PHS 179/8/53)). Why was the topknot decree so painful? “In effect,” writes historian Peter Duus, “the topknot decree infantilized the entire male population at a stroke, humiliating them and violating the memory of their ancestors. When it was announced that the king had cut his hair short, personal shame was amplified into national shame” (Duus 1995, 116).  ECHOES OF HIDEYOSHI: If it was the intention of Japan to remove a key marker of Korean identity, Lillias Underwood wrote just a few years later in 1904, “never was anything more mistakenly planned. It was hotly resented to the very heart of the country, and added still deeper dye and bitter flavor to the long-nourished hatred Koreans felt for their ancient conqueror and foe” (Lillias Underwood 1904, 170). Homer Hulbert reckoned that the murder of Queen Min and the topknot decree had stirred up anti-Japanese sentiment that could only be matched by the people’s anger, still seething, over the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s. Hulbert, who is today remembered in Korea as a vocal advocate of Korean independence, wrote in the next breath that the backlash caused by these Japanese missteps were “a very great pity, for…the interests of Korea and Japan were identical, or at least complementary, and the mistake which Japan made in the latter half of 1895 was one whose effects will require decades to efface (Hulbert 1906, 148–49). The topknot decree also discredited any other reform measures rolled out under the banner of the Kab’o reforms, writes one historian: “Anti-Japanese sentiment dominated in Korea to the extent that many Koreans opposed any modernist reform if it suggested Japanese involvement” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 25).  “BOUND TO DISAPPEAR”: The heavy-handedness of the topknot decree, and its close association—rightly or wrongly—with the Japanese, was more of a trigger for Korean resistance than the act of losing the topknot itself, transforming the act of chopping off the hair from one of embracing modernity to one of submitting to Japanese rule. The Japanese, as Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie argued a few years later, “were right in supposing that the top-knot was bound to disappear, but their mistake lay in attempting to do by legislation what should have been left to the growing enlightenment of the people. One sees in Russian Manchuria, for instance, where no pressure whatever is brought on the great multitudes of Koreans settled there to alter their ways, that after a very few years the average man abandons his peculiarities of attire and of hair dressing, because he finds it convenient to do so. My own Korean servants, after a time of association with Europeans, came to realise that the top-knot, the long sleeves, and the very big hat were impracticable and a nuisance, and some of them gave them up in consequence. That was a natural and proper evolution. The hasty Japanese action secured a far longer life for the top-knot, for to many people this knot became a symbol henceforth, not merely of old Korean life, but of national loyalty” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 48). University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik writes that, had it not been for the Japanese, “the style might have gradually disappeared as Western ideas and customs were introduced into Korea. But when the topknot was selected by the pro-Japanese cabinet as a target for elimination, it became a symbol to be defended even at the expense of many lives” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 51–52). “It must be frankly admitted that the Japanese advisers, in their reforming zeal, made a gross error in introducing into Korea radically new institutions for which there was no desire and which conflicted with established customs and traditions,” one Japanese writer lamented in 1905. “Not only are the Koreans less adaptable than the Japanese, but they are, on the contrary, peculiarly impervious to new ideas” (Hishida 1905, 189). Indeed, some Christian converts were choosing proactively to cut their topknots off during these years as an expression of their commitment to their new faith—even as others were going to great lengths to defy the topknot decree (Son, “Na ŭi I’ryŏk-sŏ,” Han’guk Ilbo, September 29, 1976).
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“imprisonment of their King, found the attack on their hair more than they could stand”

NoteThe anger was even more pronounced in the countryside, where the populace was, in the words of Bishop, “convulsed.” Those who had traveled to the big cities—where “policemen with their shears were at the Seoul gates to enforce the decree on incomers”—found it difficult to return to their hometowns or to travel in the countryside with their shorter hair, Bishop reports. “Wood and country produce did not come in, and the price of the necessaries of life rose seriously” (Bishop 1899, 364–65).
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Japanese and the suicides of many Korean men who chose death over the loss of their topknots

NoteRISE OF THE RIGHTEOUS ARMIES: Whether it was true or not, many Koreans certainly believed that Japan was behind the topknot decree, lumping it together with the murder of Queen Min—and, yes, the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s—as grievances spurring them to radical action. Many disgruntled Koreans formed so-called “righteous armies” (義兵ŭibyŏng) during these months “to wage an armed struggle against the Japanese troops still on Korean soil, as well as against the pro-Japanese reform officials,” write Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors (Eckert et al. 1990, 228–29). One righteous army leader in Ch’ungch’ŏng province cited Queen Min’s murder as his raison d’être, while another, a Confucian scholar named Yu In-sŏk (柳麟錫 1841–1915), occupied local government offices as a protest against the topknot and other reform measures (Duus 1995, 117).  LOST BUSINESS—AND LOST LIVES: “Almost everywhere that unrest occurred, rebel leaders voiced their anger over the death of the queen and the topknot decree, the two most concrete and vivid symbols of the assault on the old order,” writes historian Peter Duus, who describes the ruinous impact that the topknot decree had on Japan’s rising business interests on the Korean peninsula. In Pyongyang, he writes, the anti-Japanese fervor was so strong that the Tokyo government had to send an armed ship to evacuate the merchants there, though many were reluctant to leave, fearing a loss in their newly won post-war commercial position. (Duus 1995, 116–17). But leave they must, as the violence got worse, “frequently resulting in murder” or in suicide, wrote Isabella Bird Bishop. “A father poisoned himself from grief and humiliation because his two sons had submitted to the decree,” she wrote (Bishop 1898, 364). In Ch’unch’ŏn, a city fifty miles northwest of Seoul, the Korean governor tasked with enforcing the decree was murdered; the people subsequently took possession of the town and the surrounding county (Bishop 1898, 365). “There is intense hatred against the Japanese and Japanese who are alone in the country are in very much danger,” Graham Lee wrote in March 1896 (Graham Lee letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, March 5, 1896, Seoul (PHS 179/8/71)).
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As the common cry went: “Cut off my head, but my hair—never!”

NoteKim Ku, the prominent nationalist leader and later a Christian convert, recalled his fellow Koreans crying out: “I would rather become a devil underneath the ground without a head, than remain a man and cut my hair” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 48). As late as the 1920s, many Koreans continued to wear the topknot, which many Koreans regarded as a symbol of national pride, and which the Japanese rulers regarded as a vestige of feudalism. In one village in South Kyŏngsang province, in southeastern Korea, a boy named Hong Ŭl-su, born in 1905, recalled the police chief shutting down his traditional Confucian academy, then dragging the students by their long braids to the township office, where they were all shorn, right on the spot, and sent back without their long hair. “Grandfather took one look at me with my long braid cut off and went into a great rage. He yelled, ‘You became Japanese. Do not step inside this gate’” (Hildi Kang 2001, 26).
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were dragged through the streets of Seoul and beheaded as pro-Japanese traitors

NoteWith public anger against Japan at a fever pitch following the murder of Queen Min and the topknot decree, Korean prime minister Kim Hong-jip and Chŏng Pyŏng-ha (鄭秉夏 1849–1896), one of his top lieutenants who had personally cut Kojong’s topknot, became the targets of public rage. As Homer Hulbert wrote a decade later, “Kim Hong-jip and Chong Pyung-ha were seized by the Korean soldiers, and immediately rushed by the crowd and killed. Their bodies were hauled to Chong-no, where they were stamped upon, kicked, bitten and stoned by a half-crazed rabble for hours” (Hulbert 1906, 148).  As Yun Ch’i-ho later wrote, Kim and Chŏng, who “had appeared omnipotent in the government for one year, were beheaded by the ‘fury of the mob’” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 161).
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enough to reemerge from the Russian legation, moving back into his freshly restored palace

NoteKing Kojong departed the Russian legation on February 20, 1897, “after a sojourn of one year and nine days under the flag of the great Northern Power,” and moved into the royal palace, the “Palace of Auspicious Fortune” (慶運宮 Kor. Kyŏng’un-gung), the palace in central Seoul today known as the “Palace of Virtuous Longevity” (德壽宮 Kor. Tŏksu-gung) (“The King Leaves the Russian Legation,” Korean Repository 4 (February 1897), 74–75).
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hiding out for a year in a foreign legation did little to inspire confidence among his subjects

Note“The discomfiting sight of the Korean monarch, formally in charge, being unable to venture outside the protective shell of the Russian consulate due to fears of the Japanese…certainly did not project a sense of security and confidence in the monarchy’s legitimacy, much less its capacity,” writes University of Southern California historian Kyung Moon Hwang. Thus, when King Kojong finally did dare to set foot again outside the Russian legation, “it was to reinvent himself…in imperial eminence with claims to equal standing in the community of nation states” (Hwang 2016, 103).
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Empire, putting Korea—at least on paper—on an equal footing with China, Japan, and Russia

NoteBABY STEPS TO EMPIRE: Kojong made the decision to transform the Kingdom of Chosŏn into the Great Han Empire (大韓帝國 Kor. Taehan Cheguk), and to promote himself to the emperorship, only after much hemming and hawing. The idea was first mooted by members of his cabinet in a memorial to the throne two years earlier in 1895, immediately after the assassination of Queen Min. In fact, a date had been appointed for the ceremony—October 26, 1895—and only fell through at the last minute, presumably because Kojong got cold feet about it (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 18). For a description of the abortive ceremony in October 1895, see “‘The Emperor of Korea,’” Korean Repository 2 (November 1895), 435–38. Outside the royal cabinet, the notion of elevating Korea to the status of empire had broad support in the public. During its brief existence, the Independence Club, seeing Kojong as the embodiment of the government, people, and nation that they were seeking to strengthen, had been among the first to petition Kojong to make Korea an empire (Robinson 2007, 23; and Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 45). “Their watchword was, ‘No emperor, no independence,’” underscoring how independence was equated with a ceremonial equivalence with the emperor in Beijing. Others derided the proposal as a superficial relabeling that would do nothing to increase Korea’s stature and may even invite ridicule. It wasn’t until October 1897 that government officials, led by the Prime Minister Sim Sun-t’aek (沈舜澤 1824–1906), knelt in the courtyard for hours on three consecutive days in a petition for Kojong to elevate himself to emperor. The officials submitted the proposal eight times; Kojong declined it eight times, before finally succumbing on the ninth attempt (“His Majesty, the King, is Now Emperor of Korea,” The Independent 2, no. 118 (October 5, 1897), 2). As Yun Ch’i-ho wrote, “one is at a loss which to admire most—the extreme modesty of His Majesty or the persistent loyalty of his officials” (T. H. Yun [Yun, Ch’i-ho], “The Whang-chei of Dai Han, or the Emperor of Korea,” Korean Repository 4 (October 1897), 385–90). See also “H.I.M. The Emperor of Great Han,” Korean Repository 4 (October 1897), 391–93; and Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 19). To be sure, Kojong had taken baby steps over the years to elevate his stature. In July 1894, Kojong had upgraded his title from “Sovereign” (君主 Kor. Kunju) to “Great Sovereign” (大君主 Kor. Taegunju), before raising it one notch higher two years later, to “Royal Highness” (君主殿下 Kor. Kunju Chŏnha), only finally taking the title “Great Imperial Highness” (大君主 陛下 Kor. Taegunju P’yeha) with his elevation to emperor (Schmid 2002, 73). Though the two-year delay meant the ceremony took place under the auspices, and with the encouragement of, the then-ascendant Russians, at least one source says that the decision to elevate Kojong had been pushed by the Japanese in 1895 when they were riding high (Nelson 1946, 235). Presumably, all sides saw some advantage in putting Korea on a par with China and thus formally ending Korea’s centuries of vassalage to the Middle Kingdom (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 18). The grand occasion finally took place on October 12, 1897, complete with ceremonial sacrifices to Heaven and the attendance of Westerners like Isabella Bird Bishop (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 19; and Stoddart 1907, 294–95).  CHINA’S EQUAL: The decision to rename the dynasty from Chosŏn, the name that dynastic founder Yi Sŏng-gye had chosen in nearly exactly six centuries earlier, to one that used the word “Han” (韓)—the name used today by South Korea to refer to “Korea”—was filled with symbolism. For one thing, the dynastic name, “Chosŏn,” had been chosen by the Ming emperor, no doubt an embarrassing detail for Korea’s new empire. The new term, “Han,” a term “traceable to ancient kingdoms on the southern half of the peninsula, an area, most significantly, that had never been invaded by China” (Schmid 2002, 74). To bolster the imperial aura, the yin-yang (太極 Kor. t’aegŭk) design that the Christian convert and reformer Pak Yŏng-hyo had created in 1882 emerged during the late 1890s as a virtually ubiquitous symbol of the new empire, appearing “ in newspapers and magazines, government documents and buildings, currency, stamps, streetcars, and other representations of modernity,” while the new emperor appeared in public “in resplendently martial Kaiser garb” (Hwang 2016, 105). In a set of parallel moves that was similarly replete with significance for Koreans and others living in the Sinocentric world order, Seoul was henceforth to be known as Hwangsŏng (皇城), literally the “Imperial City,” rather than by one of its old names, Hansŏng (漢城), literally “the fortress on the Han River,” or Hanyang (漢陽), which simply meant to the north (or sunny) side of the Han River. In the center of the capital, the emperor ordered the construction of an Altar of Heaven, known as the Circular Mound Altar (圜丘壇 Kor. Hwan’gu-dan or Wŏn’gu-dan). At this Circular Mound Altar, the Korean emperor, as a Son of Heaven (天子 Kor. Ch’ŏnja) on an equal footing with the Chinese emperor in Beijing, could now directly offer sacrifices to Heaven—thus “rejecting the exclusivity of Sinocentric definitions” (Schmid 2002, 75; and Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 49). As one scholar has noted, the Circular Mound Altar not only resembled Beijing’s own Temple of Heaven (天壇 Ch. Tiantan), but was also built on the same soil where visiting Chinese envoys had their residence, the so-called Southern Palace (南別宮 Kor. Nambyŏl-gung) (Henry, Todd A., Assimilating Seoul: Japanese Rule and the Politics of Public Space in Colonial Korea, 1910–1945 (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 2014), 26). In Seoul, the site, much of which was destroyed by the Japanese after annexation to make way for the construction of a hotel, is now home to the Westin Chosun Hotel and a popular Starbucks coffee shop; the building housing the spirit tablets used in the ceremony, known as the “Hall of the Imperial Heavenly Vault” (皇穹宇 Kor. Hwanggung’u), still stands today.  “STRAINING THE TREASURY”: In theory, the Great Han Empire was now on the same level as China and Japan, and the Tokrip Sinmun, the Korean-language version of The Independent newspaper, argued that the move would position Korea to achieve global recognition as a “top-ranking country” (一等國 Kor. il-dŭng kuk) (Hwang 2016, 104). In December 1897, Tsar Nicholas II, whose Russian empire was Korea’s biggest backer during these years, became the first foreign head of state to refer to Kojong by his new appellation, the Kwangmu emperor (光武帝 Kor. Kwangmu-je)—meaning “Bright and Martial” (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 181–82). In fact, though the change in appellation may have given the Korean people a temporary morale boost, the cost of trying to elevate Korea’s stature was disastrous at a time when practical reforms were desperately needed, and when drought was ravaging the country. “While the great mass of the people refrained from work, the Emperor continued to employ many hundreds of labourers upon the construction of the new Palace buildings. This proceeding was held by the superstitious subjects of His Majesty to account for the singular inclemency of the Rain Demon,” one journalist wrote (Hamilton 1904, 256–57). The imperial ceremony cost nearly 100,000 wŏn—roughly equivalent to fifty years’ salary for a provincial governor—which was accompanied by an extravagant funeral for Queen Min, now posthumously elevated to the title of Empress Myŏngsŏng (明成皇后 Kor. Myŏngsŏng Hwanghu), which had the effect of “straining the treasury to the limit” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 56; Sherwood Hall 1978, 167; and “Funeral of Her Majesty, the Late Queen,” Korean Repository 4 (November 1897), 433–34).   THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES: These and other questionable decisions by Emperor Kwangmu—who this work will continue to refer to as Kojong for continuity’s sake—were made under the influence of Kim Hong-yuk, an advisor that history remembers as a venal huckster, a Russian-speaking but nearly illiterate phony who won the ear of Kojong and for several years had replaced the cabinet as the sole maker of policy, often with disastrous results. He was finally dismissed and exiled in 1898, after which he attempted to poison Kojong—an act for which he was executed (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 57–58). It’s an open question whether all this ritual even increased the stature of Korea or its sovereign. For some Western-inspired nationalists, Kojong’s attempt to employ ancient ritual in a half-baked attempt at reasserting monarchical grandeur was deeply embarrassing. “Kojong took on the grand new title of emperor,” notes one historian, “but he was an emperor who had lost sovereignty over his own country” (Robert Kim 2017, 10). The futility of such efforts can be seen in Kojong’s meeting less than seven years later in February 1904 with Horace Allen, by then the American minister in Seoul, inquiring about the possibility of seeking asylum in the U.S. legation (Wilz, “United States Betray Korea?” (1985), 247, citing Horace N. Allen cable to Secretary of State John M. Hay, February 21, 1904). Kojong’s move prefigured a move two decades later by Yuan Shikai, then-president of the Republic of China, to declare himself “Great Emperor of the Chinese Empire” (中國帝國大皇帝 Ch. Zhongguo Diguo Dahuangdi) on December 12, 1915—a move that, like Kojong’s, did more to mark the impending collapse of the government rather than any imminent rise in stature.
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Korea’s own imperial family in disarray, a new sense of uncertainty settled over the peninsula

Note“THICK AS FLEAS IN A KOREAN BLANKET”: In addition to the Chinese and the Japanese, other foreign nationals—primarily the Americans—were pursuing their own interests on the Korean peninsula. As British statesman Lord George Curzon put it, with plenty of sarcasm, in 1896: “Korea is the chief sufferer at the hands of her many friends. She supplies the international football that is kicked about between the rival goal-posts of Vladivostok and Nagasaki” (Curzon 1896, 385). Many merely sought a piece of the peninsula’s rich resources, setting off a scramble for concessions that was so frenzied that the opportunists were “getting as thick as fleas in a Korean blanket,” in Horace Allen’s colorful portrayal (Harrington 1944, 193, citing Horace N. Allen cable to William B. Hunt, November 21, 1899). Also quoted in Duus 1995, 104.  AMERICAN ENTERPRISE: Among the Americans seeing potential fortune in Korea were John D. Rockefeller (1839–1937) and his Standard Oil Company, and gold miners looking for a piece of the peninsula’s mineral riches. Standard Oil had begun selling kerosene in Korea in 1890, and one Southern Methodist missionary in Osaka who had traveled to Korea noted in 1895 that “the oil cans of the Standard Oil Company can be found in every town, village, and hamlet of this empire, and yet thousands of these places haven’t yet received one ray of gospel light” (Candler 1907, 22, quoting W. E. Towson letter to Warren A. Candler, June 15, 1895; and Fenwick 1911, 17–18). Meanwhile, Kojong had thought that granting a gold-mining concession at Unsan in P’yŏng’an province to an American, James R. Morse, would satiate foreign demand for resources, but instead triggered an all-out race for concessions among the various Western powers (Moon, “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 197). All the while, Meiji leaders could only sit by meekly, “helplessly watching.” After all, Duus writes, “what were the alternatives? Neither a renewed resort to force of arms nor a return to the strong-arm tactics of direct intervention in Korean court politics was possible. The country did not have the political or the economic strength to pursue either option” (Duus 1995, 104). For more on the concessions grab in Korea, see Hamilton 1904, 148.
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long before Russia, Korea’s third neighbor, sensing its moment, made its move for control

NoteWriting in 1889, one Westerner described Russia as already by that time being in a position where it “virtually dominates Corea” (Duncan 1889, 9). That is almost certainly an exaggeration, at least in the view of later historians, who generally describe Korea as having come under Russian domination for roughly a decade, between 1896 and 1905. University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik, evaluating these “most crucial years in Korean history,” ultimately finds the Russian period of influence wanting: “Conscientious and efficient use of this decade would have changed the future of the country and might even have changed considerably the history of the Far East and the world. The new, pro-Russian cabinet, however, was not capable of achieving the possibilities of the situation” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 55).
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and half a century later a border was delineated between the Tsardom of Russia and Qing China

NoteRussia first set up an embassy in Beijing in 1567, while the first Cossacks settled on the Amur River, known in China as the Black Dragon River (黑龍江 Ch. Heilong-jiang), in a village called Albazin (or Albazino). After Qing Chinese forces destroyed Albazin in 1686, the ensuing talks led the two sides to sign the Treaty of Nirchensk (尼布楚條約 Ch. Nibuchu Tiaoyue) in 1689, which set the boundaries between the two empires (Thubron 2021, 97–102). The “deeply strange” negotiations resulted in the first treaty that China ever signed with a European nation; the two sides, not sharing a common language, had to rely on Jesuits and a Pole to conduct the talks—in Latin. The treaty, written up in Latin, Russian, and Manchu, would later become a source of discord between China and Russia, notwithstanding the Chinese embassy’s declaration at the time that the two sides had “made a common oath to live forever in harmony” (Thubron 2021, 65–66).
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string of border incursions, St. Petersburg forced a pair of treaties on China in 1858 and in 1860

Note“UNEQUAL TREATIES”: Where the Treaty of Nerchinsk was signed between two relative equals, the two treaties that followed in 1858 and 1860 were markedly different, with the Russians correctly sensing China’s weakness. At the time, the Qing court was reeling from the First Opium War of 1839–1842, the Second Opium War of 1856–1860, and the Taiping Rebellion of 1850–1864, and was in little position to resist. The bilateral Treaty of Aigun (璦琿條約 Ch. Aihun Tiaoyue) of 1858, and the Convention of Peking (北京條約 Ch. Beijing Tiaoyue) of 1860, which included the British and the French as parties to the treaty alongside the Russians and the Chinese, “ceded to Russia the enormous tract of territory comprised between the river Amoor and the mouth of the Tumên,” a massive swath of land 400,000 square miles in size—an area roughly equal to the combined size of Germany and France (Dallin 1950, 23). The treaties ceded to the tsar the Qing lands north of the Amur River—six hundred miles of coastline, as well as the current site of Vladivostok (James 1951, 132). Thus, for the Russians, the treaties of 1858 and 1860 saw “part of her ambition for an outlet on the sea…satisfied by the founding of the great military port of Vladivostok” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 31). The Treaty of Aigun and the Convention of Peking are now inscribed as the second and third “unequal treaties” that China was forced to sign, following the Opium War-ending Treaty of Nanking in 1842. The inscription can be found inside the monument tower at the Memorial Hall of the War to Resist U.S. Aggression and Aid Korea in Dandong, on the border with North Korea. It is there that the Korean War armistice agreement of 1953, which was signed by Chinese Marshal Peng Dehuai, is now celebrated for having “finally put an end to China’s history of unequal treaties” (Keun-Sik Jung [Chŏng, Kŭn-sik], “China’s Memory and Commemoration of the Korean War in the Memorial Hall of the ‘War to Resist U.S. Aggression and Aid Korea,’” Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review 4, no. 1 (May 2015), 14–39, here 21). China has never formally withdrawn its territorial claims, and schoolchildren in China are still taught that only the Treaty of Nerchinsk in 1869 was valid (Thubron 2021, 124, 159). However, given the state of China-Russia relations, Beijing has largely remained silent about Russia’s role in China’s “century of humiliation.”  “A COUNTRY WITHOUT PEOPLE”: Vast as they were, Russia’s newly acquired territories were “a country without people”—a sprawling parcel of land with fewer than fifteen thousand residents (Dallin 1950, 23). So, St. Petersburg embarked on a campaign to populate its immense new territory by having “built a chain of Cossack villages, separated from each other by a distance of 15 to 30 miles,” along the course of the Ussuri and Amur Rivers that separated Russian and Chinese territory, including Khabarovsk and Blagoveshchensk (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 31–32). In Beijing, meantime, the Russian power play “made a deep impression,” putting the Qing court on alert against further Russian aggression (Deuchler 1977, 86). In response to Russia’s attempts to settle its newly acquired border regions, the Chinese established settlements across the river from the Cossack establishments, most notably Heihe (黑河), triggering a burst of economic development that Scottish writer Sir John F. Fraser (1868–1936), traveling through Siberia and Manchuria in the fall of 1901, wrote “outstripped the mushroom growth of ‘boom towns’ in Western America” (John Foster Fraser, The Real Siberia: Together with an Account of a Dash Through Manchuria (London: Cassell, 1904), 209; and Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 32).
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strip of land along the Tumen River in the far northeastern reaches of the Korean peninsula

NoteThe treaties of 1858 and 1860 effectively gave Russia its land border with the Chosŏn kingdom—and one of its successor states, today’s North Korea (Seonmin Kim 2017, 134). The treaties also prompted the Russians to send ships to Korea’s northeastern ports in late 1865 in search of a treaty of commerce (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 319–20).  THE CHINA DISCONNECTION: For China, then and now, the treaties effectively cut the country off from the Sea of Japan (known in Korea as the East Sea)—just ten miles short of the water—a fact that continues to bear geopolitical and commercial ramifications more than a century and a half later, giving Russia a direct land border with the Korean peninsula and denying northeastern China access to the sea (Shannon McCune, “Korean Boundaries” (1946), 280). This unhappy outcome for the Chinese was, to be clear, no accident. Count Nikolay N. Muravyov-Amursky (1809–1881), the Russian general and diplomat sent to govern the Russian Far East in the mid-nineteenth century, argued after the 1858 Treaty of Aigun that, in order to protect China from the English and the French navies, it would be “better that the whole shore, down to Korea, belong to us” (as quoted in Dallin 1950, 20–22). In the end, Muravyov-Amursky not only accomplished his aim, but ended up with even more land than he had been pushing for, as Russia-born American scholar David J. Dallin (1889–1962) wrote. “His initial demands would have left Manchuria with an outlet to the sea between Korea and the new Russian border at Vladivostok; no common frontier between Russia and Korea would have been created. But then Muraviev realized that this short Manchurian shore line, with its excellent harbor facilities, might attract the British to establish footholds in the immediate vicinity of the new Russian territory…Muraviev succeeded in extending the coveted territory down to the border of Korea by incorporating the area lying between the Suifun and Tumen rivers. Thus was the Russian Far East established. Muraviev’s achievement was hailed and he was made a count” (Dallin 1950, 22). Later, Muravyov-Amursky was honored with a bronze statue, which still stands today on a granite pedestal at the highest point in Khabarovsk, the Russian city that sits at the confluence of the Amur and Ussuri Rivers. “It was Muravieff who saw the dream of the Moscovite turned into a reality,” John Fraser wrote while passing through the city in 1901. “Russians as they pass take off their hats” (Fraser 1904, 192–93).
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and St. Petersburg through the construction of an ambitious continent-spanning railroad

Note“WE CAN IGNORE KOREA ENTIRELY”: Despite Russia’s windfall, St. Petersburg showed little interest in its Far East until the mid-1880s, largely because it was preoccupied with its interests in the West, Near East, and Central Asia (Malozemoff 1958, 11–16). And even when Russia signed its own Treaty of Friendship and Commerce with Chosŏn Korea on July 7, 1884, “the treaty made no appreciable difference in Russo-Korean trade relations or the Russian attitude toward Korea,” writes scholar Andrew Malozemoff (Malozemoff 1958, 16–17). In April 1885, King Kojong, in an intriguing “what if” of history, sought a protectorate arrangement under the Russians, as the British, Japanese, and Chinese circled Korea; the Russians refused, seeing in Korea little of strategic value (Malozemoff 1958, 29). When senior tsarist officials gathered in St. Petersburg to consider Korea in May 1888, they concluded that “the acquisition of Korea not only would give us no advantages but would be accompanied by a considerable number of disadvantageous consequences”—chiefly, a lot more land to defend. As one top military official remarked, “we can ignore Korea entirely…As an ally she can do no good; as an enemy she is powerless” (Malozemoff 1958, 16–17).  GO EAST, YOUNG MAN: Around this time, however, a shift in thinking can also be detected. In 1886, Tsar Alexander III (r. 1881–1894) said—somewhat contradictorily, given the other sentiments described above—that “it has long been time” to pay attention to Russia’s Far Eastern lands. And, of course, in 1891, it was he that called for the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railroad (Malozemoff 1958, 36). By the turn of the century, many in Russia began talking about the Far East in the same way some Americans spoke about the Wild West—as a land of historical destiny (see Malozemoff 1958, 43–44). Sergei Y. Witte (1849–1915), perhaps Russia’s most influential minister during this period, regarded the Far East as a laboratory for Russia to quickly modernize itself (Malozemoff 1958, 47). Indeed, Witte, in the words of one scholar, “saw Russia’s eastward expansion in terms of manifest destiny and social Darwinism”—even if it “constituted an enormous public investment, in some of the most sparsely populated regions of the Russian and Chinese Empires, by a government chronically short of investment capital, and by a country with a grossly inadequate transportation grid even in the most densely settled parts of European Russia” (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 13).
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—to declare his desire for a port that didn’t freeze over in the winter, perhaps in Korea

Note“RULER OF THE EAST”: Prior to the founding of Vladivostok—literally, the “Ruler of the East”—as an outpost in June 1860, the settlement had been known by the Chinese as Sea-Cucumber Cliff or Sea-Slug Bay (海參崴 Ch. Haishenwai), and by the British as Port May. By the 1890s, when British journalist and politician Sir Henry Norman visited, the city was heavily fortified. “Everything in Vladivostok is made subservient to military interests, and there is no pretence to the contrary. As is the case in all ‘fortresses’ no civil rights exist, and the merchants can be required to leave at twenty-four hours’ notice, without any explanation being given,” he wrote. As for the Trans-Siberian Railway, Sir Henry argued that it outweighed in importance all other matters in the Far East. “It is my conviction that this colossal enterprise is destined to alter the map of that part of the world” (Norman 1895, 148, 159). British journalist William O. Greener (1862–1935), writing under the pseudonym Wirt Gerrare, traveling across the Russian landmass in 1901, described Vladivostok as the crown jewel of what he called “Russia’s manifest destiny” (Wirt Gerrare [Greener, William O.], Greater Russia: The Continental Empire of the Old World (London: William Heinemann, 1903), v, 299–300).   SEEKING A THAW: Even so, Vladivostok had one fatal flaw: Even with new technology to break the ice, the city’s harbor was frozen for nearly two months of the year, prompting Russia to seek a year-round port that it could call its own, an imperative that only took on added urgency as Germany made steps to seize Qingdao (Tsingtao) and nearby Jiaozhou harbor, just across the Yellow Sea from Korea (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 19). “Russia absolutely needs a port free and open throughout the whole year,” Tsar Nicholas II was said to have written in the spring of 1895 (Harrington 1944, 283). The most obvious candidates were Wŏnsan and Pusan, both on the eastern coast of Korea. Russia continued to crave Korea’s ports for decades to come. After Japan’s surrender at the end of World War II in 1945, the USSR sought to “lease” the northeastern Korean ports of Ch’ŏngjin (清津), Rajin (羅津), and Unggi (雄基), now known as Sŏnbong (先鋒), as the British did with Hong Kong in the nineteenth century (Gwang-Oon Kim [Kim, Kwang-un], “The Making of the North Korean State,” Journal of Korean Studies 12, no. 1 (Fall 2007), 15–42, here 21). Scholar Andrew Malozemoff, for one, has questioned how important the desire for an ice-free port was among Russian leaders, at least at first, though he acknowledges that by 1895, Nicholas II was “convinced” of its need (see Malozemoff 1958, 27–28, 61–62). Nicholas had traveled to the Russian Far East in 1891, when he was the crown prince—and it was a trip he wouldn’t soon forget. After Vladivostok, the crown prince headed to Japan; while traveling between Kyoto and nearby Ōtsu (大津) in May 1891, one of his police escorts tried to kill him with a saber, leaving him with scar on his forehead (Malozemoff 1958, 50). Whether or not an ice-free port was really Nicholas II’s objective, perhaps the most important fact is that it was taken as received gospel by all in the region at the time—and shaped the behavior of regional actors (Malozemoff 1958, 28). “That Russia is not satisfied to have Vladivostock, a port which is icebound for four months in the year, as the only terminus to the Great Siberian Railway, now nearing completion, is well known,” one Presbyterian missionary in Manchuria wrote in 1896 (M’Laren 1896, 105).
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view the Russians as a threat—a sentiment that only grew with the construction of the railway

NoteIndeed, in Manchuria, Sergei Witte harbored ambitions for Russia to be “recognized not as a colony of the West but as a ‘mother country’ equal in status with the other great powers” (as quoted in Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 16–17).   FEARING THE OTHER: More than ambition, though, many of Russia and Japan’s respective maneuvers during these years appear to have been driven by fear of the other side. One of the Japanese government’s first moves after the Meiji Restoration was to extend its control in 1869 over Ezochi (蝦夷地), the northern island that it would rename Hokkaidō (北海道)—part of a broader effort to forestall a feared Russian invasion (Keene 2002, 203). In Moscow, meanwhile, the Soviet leaders who replaced the tsarist government in 1917 would remain ever wary about Japan using Korea as a bridgehead for an attack on its eastern flank (Lankov 2002, 7).
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perhaps with a demilitarized zone in between—though the talks never came to anything

NoteA KOREAN DIVISION, 1590s EDITION: The earliest suggestion of a carving up of Korea into spheres of control was made during the Hideyoshi invasions in the 1590s, when Japan had proposed to divide Korea with China; Japan would get the lands south of Pyongyang, while China would get the land to the north of the thirty-ninth parallel—a proposal that, unsurprisingly, greatly alarmed King Sŏnjo of Chosŏn (Haboush 2016, 99; and Keum 2002, 88). At the time, Ming Chinese official Song Yingchang (宋應昌 1536–1606) reassured King Sŏnjo that China had no intention of accepting the Japanese plan: “Chosŏn has been China’s external periphery in the Eastern Sea and has been sincere in its loyalty and fidelity. It has faithfully carried out the duties of a tributary state…P’yŏngyang is Chosŏn territory. How could China take advantage of the crisis of another country to seize its land while rescuing the very same country?” (Haboush 2016, 99).  A KOREAN DIVISION, 1890s–1900s EDITION: The idea reared its head again in the run-up to the Sino-Japanese War in 1894–1895, when China and Japan jockeyed for hegemony on the peninsula. In all, writes South Korean scholar and lawmaker Cho Sun-sŭng, there were three separate proposals: One by Japan in 1896 to divide Korea along the thirty-eighth parallel, which was rejected by a then-ascendant Russia that hoped to win control of the entire peninsula; a second by 1898 by Russia to divide the peninsula such that Pyongyang would fall in the Russian zone and Seoul in the Japanese zone; and a third and final one in the fall of 1903, when Russia suggested the thirty-ninth parallel, with a demilitarized zone from that line to the Yalu and Tumen Rivers (Soon Sung Cho 1967, 49–50; Malozemoff 1958, 49–50; Shannon McCune, “The Thirty-Eighth Parallel in Korea,” World Politics 1, no. 2 (January 1949), 223–32, here 225; Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 182; Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 24; and Wi Jo Kang 1997, 36). Under a plan proposed by a British official, Japan would occupy southern Korea and China would occupy the northern half, with Seoul being a neutral zone (Koshiro, “Eurasian Eclipse” (2004), 440; and Dallin 1950, 37). Immediately after that war, another similar proposal was made by Japan’s two-time prime minister Yamagata Aritomo in the spring of 1896, when he traveled to Russia for the coronation of Tsar Nicholas II (Duus 1995, 173; Malozemoff 1958, 87; Dallin 1950, 48; and Soon Sung Cho 1967, 49-50). Scholar Andrew Malozemoff gives the proposed dividing line at the thirty-eighth parallel, while Peter Duus gives it as being around the thirty-ninth parallel, thus giving Japan control of the peninsula south of Wŏnsan and Pyongyang, though it’s unclear who would have controlled Pyongyang and Wŏnsan themselves under this proposal. Bruce Cumings writes that there was in fact no set boundary line that Tokyo and Moscow discussed in May 1896—that is, neither at the thirty-eighth nor the thirty-ninth parallel—only that it would be somewhere near the middle of the peninsula and would effectively create a buffer space that could be described as a demilitarized zone (Cumings 2005, 123). If it was indeed at the thirty-eighth parallel, as scholar David Dallin writes, then May 1896 marked the first time that line was specifically suggested as a boundary of demarcation on the Korean peninsula (Dallin 1950, 48).  HISTORICAL PRECEDENTS: Thus, any suggestion that the Americans Dean Rusk and Charles Bonesteel had first conceived of splitting Korea into two zones of control around the thirty-eighth parallel is off by either half a century, or by three and a half centuries. As Shannon McCune, an American geographer and the Korea-born son of Presbyterian missionaries to Pyongyang, wrote seven months after the actual division of Korea in 1945, all these earlier instances of outside forces trying to split Korea in two show that “using a parallel to divide Korea…has had its historical precedents” (McCune, “Physical Basis” (1946), 286; and McCune, “Thirty-Eighth Parallel” (1949), 225).
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upper hand sputtered, it appeared to many observers that the two rivals were destined for war

NoteA TOTAL REVERSAL…: The Russia-Japan tug-of-war for control of Korea tipped decidedly in favor of St. Petersburg after the assassination of Queen Min and the proclamation of the topknot decree. With King Kojong literally taking up residence in the Russian legation in Seoul, a new Korean government was formed in the summer of 1896, which quickly undid all of Japan’s favored reforms, fired Japanese advisors, and disbanded Japanese-trained military units in a “complete and absolute” rejection of Japanese influence, in the words of John Sill, the American minister to Seoul (as quoted in Duus 1995, 118). For Tokyo, this was a bitter blow, fully reversing the gains of the Sino-Japanese War just a year earlier. The Triple Intervention had stripped Japan of the Liaodong peninsula and reminded Japan of its second-class status in the community of nations. Now, the blunders of Queen Min’s murder and the topknot decree had squelched any hope of exerting influence in Korea. For advocates of Japan-led reform in Korean, it was an equally disheartening development; Isabella Bird Bishop, writing in 1898, expressed her frustration and hopelessness at Russia’s ascendancy: “Surrounded by an apathetic, dirty, vacant-looking, open-mouthed crowd steeped in poverty, I felt Korea to be hopeless, helpless, pitiable, piteous, a mere shuttlecock of certain great powers, and that there is no hope for her population,” she wrote. “There was a distinctly retrograde movement, and government was disintegrating all over the land” (Bishop 1898, 330, 359).    …FOR NOW: Alas, Russia’s ascendancy proved short-lived. While Karl Weber, the long-serving Russian minister in Seoul and close friend of King Kojong, was a savvy diplomat, supple and smooth, his successor, Alexis de Speyer (1854–1916), sometimes spelled Alexey Nikolaevich Shpeyer, was cut from different cloth. Widely derided as arrogant and aloof, Speyer from the time of his arrival in 1897 effectively attempted to turn Korea into a protectorate of St. Petersburg, in the characterization of historian Peter Duus, and ultimately overplayed his hand. After Speyer’s request in early 1898 to lease the island of Yŏngdo (影島) in Pusan harbor for the Russian navy was brushed aside by Korea’s foreign minister, Speyer had the minister fired by King Kojong, and then later embarked on what Duus called a “heavy-handed” and “maladroit” campaign for justice after his interpreter was injured, all of which alienated the Koreans and led to anti-Russian statements being posted around the capital while speakers condemned Russia in public. Speyer dug himself in deeper by complaining to his Japanese counterpart in Seoul that Korea was effectively unfit for self-rule and raising one of the several proposals to partition the country between St. Petersburg and Tokyo. When that effort by Speyer, too, failed, the Japanese suggested to the royal court in Seoul that it dismiss the Russian advisors. The Seoul government agreed, and within days, the brief ascendancy of Russia in Korea was over (Duus 1995, 123–24). For more on this brief period of Russian hegemony, see Malozemoff 1958, 107; Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 63; and Nelson 1946, 238–39.  SHARPENING SWORDS IN TOKYO: As Tokyo and St. Petersburg failed in turn to wrest control of the Korean peninsula through peaceful means, both sides began to consider their alternatives. For Japan, its efforts were fueled as much as anything else by a desire to avenge the humiliation of the Triple Intervention that followed the Sino-Japanese War. Japanese writers describe preparations for a Russia war as having begun shortly after the Triple Intervention, which many in Tokyo blamed St. Petersburg for having masterminded. One writer, Hishida Seiji, reflecting on the Russo-Japanese conflict in 1905, was especially exercised by Russia’s move to secure control of the Liaodong peninsula in March 1898, three years after forcing Japan to return it to China. “In the light of subsequent events it is matter for regret that Japan did not take advantage of the situation to exact from China a pledge that the Liao-Tung peninsula should not be occupied by any other power,” Hishida wrote. “Had such a pledge been exacted one of the principal causes of the Russo-Japanese conflict would have been removed” (Hishida 1905, 182). Another Japanese writer concurs, describing the seeds of Japanese war sentiment against Russia having been planted during the Triple Intervention, of which Russia was widely regarded as being the “ringleader,” with which Japan was destined to “one day cross swords with” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 26–27, 54–55). University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik likewise dates the beginning of Japanese war preparations to “immediately after” Russia had persuaded Germany and France to join it in making the Triple Intervention (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 57).
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of Manchuria, from the flailing Qing government, thus removing Russia’s need for a Korean port

NotePORT ARTHUR, “THE GIBRALTAR OF THE EAST”: Port Arthur, with its strategic location just south of the modern Chinese city of Dalian (大連, Russ. Dalny, Jap. Dairen, Kor. Taeryŏn), at the far southern tip of the Liaodong peninsula that juts out into the Yellow Sea, was touted by one Japanese writer as “the Gibraltar of the East”—a reference to its position at the pinch point of the waters controlling access to China’s capital (Hishida 1905, 244). The deep-water, ice-free port of Port Arthur, known in Chinese as Lüshun or Lüshunkou (旅順 or 旅順口), was envisaged by others alternatively as a northern Hong Kong, or as “the commercial emporium of the east—a rival to Shanghai” (Stephen Kotkin, “Preface,” in Bruce A. Elleman and Stephen Kotkin, eds., Manchurian Railways and the Opening of China: An International History (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 2010), xiii–xvi, here xiii; and Gerrare 1903, 231). Port Arthur was named for British naval officer William Arthur (1830–1886), who was commanding a vessel during the Second Opium War when he sought shelter at the port in 1860.  “FAR AWAY” DALIAN: The Russian name Dalny, meantime, means “far away,” and may have been drawn from the original Chinese name of the bay, Dalianwan (大連灣Ch. Dalian-wan), located twenty miles to the northwest (James 1951, 133; and Gerrare 1903, 231). When British journalist William Greener, writing as Wirt Gerrare, paid a visit to Dalian in 1901, he described it as being “little more than a collection of fantsas and rough godowns, with the litter of harbour and dock works in progress” (Gerrare 1903, 234). Sir Alexander Hosie, the British consul in Manchuria until April 1900, described how Dalny’s street layout had been decided by Russia’s ministry of finance, with waterworks, electric lighting, private residences, and a large hotel all built for the city’s future residents (Hosie 1901, 83).  PORT ARTHUR’S CHARMS: Port Arthur’s advantages as a naval base were recognized by all the major players in the region. In 1883, Chinese official Li Hongzhang began fortifying the naval base at Port Arthur as the headquarters of his northern Pei-yang Fleet (北洋艦隊 Ch. Beiyang Jiandui) (Malozemoff 1958, 22–23). Similarly, Japan had long eyed Port Arthur as a potential naval foothold from which it could protect its growing interests in Korea and Manchuria, while the Russians were drawn to its potential use as a warm-water port, which, if Saint Petersburg could secure control of and access to it, would give the Russians a naval outlet in the Far East. “Because Port Arthur provided year-round sea access to Manchuria, it was one of the most fiercely contested of the foreign Treaty Ports of Northeast Asia,” writes one historian (Bruce A. Elleman, “Epilogue: Rivers of Steel: Manchuria’s Railways as a Natural Extension of the Sea Lines of Communication,” in Bruce A. Elleman and Stephen Kotkin, eds., Manchurian Railways and the Opening of China: An International History (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 2010), 195–207, here 196).  A RUSSIAN MANEUVER FOR PORT ARTHUR: When Japan routed China in the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–1895, it bargained hard to wrest from the ailing Qing dynasty control of Port Arthur, and the entire Liaodong peninsula, as part of the Treaty of Shimonoseki. Tokyo was thus incensed, as described above, when Russia cajoled Great Britain and France into joining its Triple Intervention to deny Japan its Liaodong peninsula prize just weeks later. Control of Port Arthur and the Liaodong peninsula thus reverted to the Chinese. After having kept the Liaodong peninsula out of Japanese hands, Russia quickly began making its own plans to win Port Arthur for itself. Russia made its first move in December 1897, when it seized Port Arthur and nearby Dalian under the pretext of upholding its defensive alliance with China and protecting Beijing from the new German naval presence in Qingdao, just across the Yellow Sea from Korea, which Kaiser Wilhelm II (1859–1941) had seized in March 1898, ostensibly in response to the murder of two German Catholic missionaries in Shandong province in late 1897; that same month, Russia made the request formal—accompanied by a thinly-veiled threat of military seizure if China refused. By then, Russia had already struck a secret deal with Germany—and was using Germany’s seizure of Qingdao to justify its own interests on the Liaodong peninsula (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 19–20). Under the terms of the March 27, 1898, agreement between Qing China and tsarist Russia—which appears to have been decided prior to June 1896, and which was called the Pavlov Agreement after Alexander Pavlov, the Russian official who signed the treaty with Li Hongzhang—Russia would hold the Port Arthur concession for a quarter-century (Malozemoff 1958, 79). Russia sealed the deal with a hefty bribe to Li Hongzhang and a subordinate (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 19–20; and Malozemoff 1958, 79). For more on the rumored “private agreement” between Russia and China, see Whigham 1904, 158. For the English-language text of the Pavlov Agreement of March 1898, known today as the Convention for the Lease of the Liaodong Peninsula (旅大租地條約 Ch. Lüda Zudi Tiaoyue), see Hosie 1901, 45–47.  STEEL SHORTCUTS THROUGH MANCHURIA: For the Russians, control of Port Arthur was only useful if it could link the naval base to its other territories in the Far East. Thus, a key part of the China–Russa treaty of 1898 was an agreement by the Chinese to allow Russia to build and control a railroad slicing across Manchuria. In order to do that, the Russians needed two more deft moves of diplomacy. The first came shortly after the Triple Intervention of April 1895. By then, Russia’s Trans-Siberian Railway was nearly complete, missing only the final section connecting the area around Lake Baikal to Vladivostok, the terminus; Russian engineers decided the best option would be to cut straight across northern Manchuria to Vladivostok, thus circumventing the circuitous route that followed the great curve of the Amur River that divides Russia from China. After China’s defeat in 1895, Russia’s Sergei Witte saw an opportunity to take advantage of China’s weakness to secure Russia’s railway rights in Manchuria. At a deal negotiated in part on the sidelines of the May 1896 coronation of Nicholas II, which Li Hongzhang attended, Russia won a concession to set up a joint-stock company to build the Chinese Eastern Railway (東清鐵路 Ch. Dongqing Tielu), a roughly thousand-mile-long track directly linking Vladivostok with Chita, located east of Lake Baikal, and shaving five hundred miles off the journey to the Pacific. Russia also ensured the railway gauge made it compatible with its own network and not China’s; within a few years, following the Boxer Rebellion in 1901, Nicholas II declared extraterritoriality over the railway zone. As part of the deal, Russia would also enter a fifteen-year defensive alliance with China in the event of Japanese aggression (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 15–18).  THE “CHINESE” EASTERN RAILWAY CO.: Despite its name, the newly created Chinese Eastern Railway Co. was a thoroughly Russian-controlled entity under the auspices of the Russo-Chinese Bank, which was “itself an irregular offshoot from the department of the Russian Ministry of Finance” and which had only been created a few months prior, in December 1895. In addition to the use of Russian railway gauge, ownership would remain with the company for eighty years from the completion of the railroad; once that deal was struck, construction along the original northern route “was indefinitely postponed and has not since been prosecuted”—as one traveler noted in 1903 (Gerrare 1903, 224; and Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 49–52). For more on the construction of this new railroad, see Malozemoff 1958, 111–12. For a photograph of the August 28, 1897, groundbreaking ceremony for the Chinese Eastern Railway, see Hosie 1901, 44. Russia only built the final Amur River stretch of the Trans-Siberian Railway after Japan seized some of its Manchurian holdings in the aftermath of the Russo-Japanese War, and finished the line in 1916, just before the overthrow of the Romanovs. Until then, Russia relied on the Chinese Eastern Railway to link Moscow with Vladivostok (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 13, 26).  SOUTHERN LINE TO PORT ARTHUR: The second move came in March 1898 with the Pavlov Agreement, which stipulated that the Chinese Eastern Railway Co. could also build a five-hundred-mile-long branch line, dubbed the South Manchuria Railway (南滿州鐵道 Ch. Nan Manzhou Tiedao), running northeast from Port Arthur at the tip of the Liaodong peninsula up through Shenyang and Changchun to the Chinese Eastern Railway line at a point that would become the highly Russified Chinese city of Harbin (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 40). The very next day, March 28, 1898, the Russians occupied Port Arthur, and over the next five years would construct, with great haste, the new rail line linking the fast-growing city of Dalny, while fortifying nearby Port Arthur (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 40–41; and Hosie 1901, 47).   A RAW DEAL FOR CHINA: The two railways—the Chinese Eastern and South Manchurian—were built between 1897 and 1904 and, as military historian Sarah C. M. Paine notes, “each of the two Russian railway concessions in Manchuria was individually far larger than any other foreign concession ever appropriated from China” (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 20–21). In addition to other considerations, including the bribe to Li Hongzhang, the Qing was willing to turn over control of the Chinese Eastern and South Manchuria railways out of a fear of Japanese encroachment (Kotkin, “Preface,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, xiii). St. Petersburg’s new ascendancy was not well received in Manchuria, as Scottish missionary Dugald Christie wrote: “All Russia asked at first was to be allowed to run the Siberian railway across the north of Manchuria. That was the beginning. In Moukden little was heard of it for some time…but when the news spread that Port Arthur and Ta-lien-wan (Dalny) had been ‘leased’ to Russia, and that the railway was to run right through the heart of Manchuria, there was much fierce indignation, and cursing of Li Hung Chang” (Christie 1914, 123–24). Scottish writer Sir John Fraser, riding the Trans-Siberian Railway shortly after the completion of the Chinese Eastern Railway, referenced the open fiction of Chinese control of the railway, writing that “everybody, except people who frequent Downing Street, knows the line belongs to the Russian government. Shareholders must be either Russians or Chinese. But bonds can only be issued with the consent of Mr. De Witte, the Russian Minister of Finance. The president of the Eastern Chinese Company, as it is called, is a Chinaman. Mr. De Witte, however, appointed the vice-president, all the engineers and officials, and gives sanction to any improvements or modifications. Colloquially the Chinese president is in Mr. De Witte’s pocket” (Fraser 1904, 229). Sir John, in fact, had to sneak into Manchuria, given the secrecy around Russia’s designs on the region. “It is the policy of Russia to keep everything dark about what she is doing with her ‘temporary occupation’ of Manchuria. She publishes nothing about the number of troops or how they are engaged, nothing about the Russian settlements, nothing about the railway. A strict watch is maintained that no prying foreigners should see what is being done” (Fraser 1904, 209). The area around Harbin, though technically Chinese territory, “provided the strongest possible evidence that, whatever diplomatic language may be used, Russia is in possession of Manchuria, and intends to stay,” Sir John wrote. “It is a very large plum drawn out of the Chinese pie” (Fraser 1904, 227).
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in Korea in exchange for implicit recognition of Russia’s interests in southwestern Manchuria

NoteThe so-called Nishi–Rosen Agreement—named for its two signers, Japan’s two-time foreign minister Nishi Tokujirō (西 徳二郎 1847–1912) and Russia’s minister to Tokyo, Baron Roman Romanovich Rosen (1847–1921)—was signed on April 25, 1898. The agreement, in the words of one historian, “slightly favored the Japanese position in Korea” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 70). Diplomatic historian Tyler Dennett describes the Nishi–Rosen agreement of April 1898 as the one of several in which “Japan yielded to Russia to the extent of recognizing, for the first time, the political status quo, in return for which Russia granted to Japan a freedom in its commercial and industrial relations with Korea” (Dennett 1922, 504; and Dennett 1925, 99, n. 2). Though the deal carved out clear spheres of influence—at least until the Russo-Japanese War erupted in 1904—Japan didn’t completely relinquish its interest in Manchuria with the signing of this deal. For a contemporaneous view from the Korean missionary community, see “The Nishi-Rosen Convention,” Korean Repository 5 (May 1898), 189–92.
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apprehension about Russia’s designs reached a fever pitch as the twentieth century dawned

NoteIn addition to the soon-to-be-complete Trans-Siberian Railway, Russia’s control of Port Arthur and its other Liaodong peninsula holdings, together with the two largest foreign concessions in China—the Chinese Eastern and South Manchurian railways—meant that, “at the turn of the century, Russia was poised to establish a permanent and exclusive sphere of interest in Manchuria and eventually to annex part, if not all, of the region” (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 21). As early as 1892, Yamagata Aritomo, the two-time prime minister of Japan, had worried about exactly the outcome that Tokyo was facing at the dawn of the twentieth century: “Ten years from now, with the completion of the trans-Siberian railway, Russia will be in a position to invade Mongolia, and who can tell whether or not in the future she will reach China,” he wrote (as quoted in Duus 1995, 137). For the Japanese, the China–Russia agreement in March 1898 confirmed their worst fears, turning over to Russia much of the Liaodong peninsula—“the very peninsula which had once been ceded to her” when Japan defeated China in war just three years prior. “That peninsula now passed into the hands of one of those very powers from whom the ‘friendly advice’ pleading the permanent peace of the Orient had come,” one Japanese economist wrote decades later (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 38–39). “Through this transcontinental rail link St. Petersburg could now make its political and diplomatic weight felt in East Asia,” writes historian Peter Duus, adding that, for the newly proclaimed Great Han Empire, Russia’s newly won rail access from the Trans-Siberian Railway to Port Arthur meant that St. Petersburg no longer had a need for Wŏnsan or Pusan, thus relieving some pressure on the beleaguered Koreans. “In this new context Korea was less important to the Russians” (Duus 1995, 125–26).  “ENOUGH TO MAKE EVERY TRUE JAPANESE SHUDDER”: For the Japanese, Russia’s dominance of Manchuria’s major cities and control of the railways cutting across northeastern China was a frightening combination. “Once Russia came into possession of Manchuria, her subsequent absorption of Korea would be almost inevitable, and if Korea once came under her sway what would follow? The thought was enough to make every true Japanese shudder,” Japanese economist Hoshino Tokuji wrote in 1920. “From 1896, when China gave consent to the Russian demand to be allowed to construct a railway line through Manchuria, till 1904, when the Russo-Japanese War broke out, Russia may well be said to have dominated Manchuria to the exclusion of other powers. She did not occupy the whole of Manchuria, but at least she could act there as she pleased, and she actually did act in many instances as she pleased” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 42–48, 55). Hoshino was a fervent Christian convert and a close associate of American Presbyterian missionary Henry Loomis. When Rev. Loomis was away from Japan, Hoshino managed the American Bible Society’s presence in Japan, as well as the Bible House that the missionary had set up at Yokohama’s main port, across the street from the country’s first Protestant church (Loomis 1923, 132).
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from Korea, the Japanese responded by demanding Russia remove its troops from Manchuria

NoteAs historian Stephen Kotkin writes, “Russo-Japanese negotiators had tried to find a modus vivendi through a division of spoils, exchanging recognition of a Russian sphere in Manchuria for recognition of a Japanese sphere in Korea, but each side’s ‘patriots’ kept arguing that they absolutely had to have both Manchuria and Korea to protect either one” (Stephen Kotkin, Stalin, Volume I: Paradoxes of Power, 1878–1928 (New York: Penguin, 2014), 72).  BOXER BOON: As St. Petersburg was consolidating its railroad-hold on Manchuria, it soon found itself presented with an additional opportunity in the form of the Boxer Rebellion. As anti-foreign disturbances spread across northern China, Russia used the pretext of protecting its nationals in Manchuria to send in 100,000 troops to occupy Qiqihar, then the capital of China’s northernmost province of Heilongjiang; Jilin City, then the capital of its namesake province; and Shenyang, the old Manchu capital, and Niuzhuang (then known as Newchwang), the port city and traditional gateway to Manchuria. Thus, British diplomat Alexander Hosie wrote, “Russia now holds the capitals of the three provinces” (Hosie 1901, 72; and Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 23–24). Russia moved so quickly to take advantage of the Boxer chaos in northeastern China, in fact, that there were whispers in Europe and Japan “of a possible Russian annexation of Manchuria and Mongolia” (Hishida 1905, 217–18).  “MANCHURIA IS UNDER RUSSIAN RULE”: Even after other Western countries withdrew their troops from Beijing in the fall of 1901, Russia continued to linger in Manchuria. When the British, Americans, and Japanese all backed China in confronting Russia about its presence in Manchuria following the Boxer Rebellion, Russia agreed to a treaty “pledging herself to withdraw her troops from Manchuria in three instalments, each step of evacuation to be accomplished by a fixed date. But when the time came for evacuation Russia behaved as though no promise had been given. She proposed new conditions which would have strengthened her hold on Manchuria instead of loosening it” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 55). As British journalist William Greener, who traveled twice across the expanse of Russia in 1901, put it: “Manchuria is under Russian rule, and is likely to remain so, although the laws and the executive may be actually or nominally Chinese. For all practical purposes the Manchurian territories may be regarded as the complement of eastern Siberia, just as Turkestan, Bokhara and other central Asian States are complementary to west Siberia. Russia will tighten her hold of the newly acquired country, and now could not, if she would, withdraw from the position she has taken up” (Gerrare 1903, 230). Manchuria missionary J. Miller Graham similarly concluded that “Russia has come to stay. It is difficult, indeed, to see how she can retire from the position into which the logic of events has thrust her” (Graham 1902, 227). See also Whigham 1904, 156–57.  JAPAN’S JEALOUS EYE: The main object for Japan, however, remained Korea, writes historian Louise Young. “Although it would later be claimed that the Russo-Japanese War was fought over Manchuria, Korea was the paramount objective and the real prize of the war…at the outset, Japanese interests in northeast China were overshadowed by the then favorite son of the Japanese empire—Korea” (Young 1999, 24). American historian Tyler Dennett takes a slightly different view, arguing that “the Russo-Japanese conflict was essentially a war, not for the integrity or independence of either Korea or China but for the control of both (Dennett 1925, 143). To those on the ground at the time, there was hardly any difference. “Jealous Japan was watching closely all that went on, and steadily and silently preparing for a war on which she knew depended her very existence,” wrote Manchuria-based missionary Dugald Christie. “If she allowed Russia to close her grasp on Manchuria, it meant that Korea would go too. And with Manchuria and Korea in the grip of the Bear, what chance would remain for Japan of that predominance on which she had set her heart, or even of independence and development?” (Christie 1914, 164–65)
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in 1902 when Japan stunned the world by forging an alliance with Russia’s great rival, the U.K.

NoteWith the possibility of war between Japan and Russia looming, the two sides weighed three options between 1900 and 1903: a formal partition of the Korean peninsula; a neutral zone for Korea guaranteed by an international consortium of powers; and a Manchuria-for-Korea swap—essentially, an extension of the Nishi–Rosen agreement (Duus 1995, 173, 175). Tokyo in 1903 formally floated the notion of a Manchuria-for-Korea swap, known in Japanese as Man-Kan kōkan (満韓交換), which had gained currency in Tokyo, finding favor with Itō Hirobumi and Yamagata Aritomo, though it was opposed by others (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 24; and Conroy 1960, 327–28).
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than after the Russians could build up a military presence, accelerated preparations for conflict

NoteSHIVER ME TIMBER: Russia had maintained for several years a military position in the Chinese border city of Dandong, then known as Andong (安東), but Japan grew alarmed when the Korean court in early 1903 sold the Russians a timber concession along the Yalu River at a bargain price, which was soon paired with access to the harbor at Yong’amp’o (龍巖浦), just outside Ŭiju, which St. Petersburg renamed Port Nicholas (Hulbert 1906, 185; and Duus 1995, 136). The vast forests of the upper Yalu River had made Andong “a great centre of the timber trade,” and had helped spark the war between Russia and Japan, according to journalist Frederick McKenzie, who visited in 1906. “These forests represent phenomenal wealth” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 80–81).  “ON THE VERGE OF PARTITION”: Also prompting Japan to action was the rapid unraveling of Qing China, which in many ways loomed larger in Tokyo than Korea’s own instability. In addition to Germany’s seizure of Qingdao in April 1898, Great Britain, inspired in part by Germany’s move, signed a ninety-nine-year-long lease with China for rent-free control of the so-called New Territories abutting British-held Hong Kong and Kowloon on June 9, 1898. With fears of an impending breakup of China at the hands of the Western powers, “the problem of Korea’s independence hardly seems worthy of notice,” Itō Hirobumi said at a conference in early 1898. “Not only is the independence of China in grave doubt, but the country may soon be on the verge of partition” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 169).  A PROTECTORATE IN SIGHT: By 1900, with the Boxer Rebellion consuming northern China and the future of the Qing Empire ever more in doubt, the Japanese leadership’s impatience with the slow pace of reforms in Korea—a prerequisite for the peninsula’s independence, it was believed—led to a shift in thinking in Tokyo, towards the establishment of a protectorate. Establishing a protectorate would tighten Tokyo’s grip on Korea and speed along reforms. And when Katsura Tarō (桂 太郎 1848–1913) became prime minister in June 1901, he made a protectorate an explicit goal (Duus 1995, 172).
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of all the Russians; as with China a decade earlier, nobody thought Tokyo would be so foolhardy

Note“One would think that even the blind could see that war was certain to follow soon. But even then, if there is any truth in direct evidence, the great majority of the Russians laughed the matter aside as impossible” (Hulbert 1906, 193). “War?” one Russian in Shenyang remarked to Scottish missionary Dugald Christie. “There will be no war worth mentioning. Peace will be signed in Tokyo within three weeks of the first shot.” Added another: “It is suicidal folly for Japan to defy us, for now we shall wipe her name off the map” (Christie 1914, 165). Much of this, of course, was driven by a sense of racial superiority—which the Japanese, keenly aware of, were eager to dispel. “The doubtful old world had shaken its head and said: ‘The Japanese are Asiatic. Hitherto they have fought only Asiatics. But what showing will they make when they go up against our own kind, the white kind of the earth?’” Jack London mused in May 1904. “The Japanese have been very sensitive to this, and they have been fiery to prove themselves fit from the white man’s point of view by facing white men” (Jack London, “Give Battle to Retard Enemy,” May 1, 1904, Antung (Manchuria), in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 99–107, here 105). See also London letter to Kittredge, April 5, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 20. Indeed, as London, who was covering the war as a foreign correspondent, followed the victorious Japanese army northward into Manchuria on the heels of the fleeing Russians, a Japanese civilian approached London, declaring to him in English: “Your people did not think we could beat the white. We have now beaten the white” (as quoted in London, “Give Battle to Retard Enemy,” in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 107). Perhaps the Russians had more of a sense of the fate that awaited them, for as Russia-born American scholar David Dallin writes, citing records from this period, “Russian policy on the eve of the Russo-Japanese war appears as a series of zigzags, oscillations, and reversals, a model of confusion and indecision.” As late as June 1903, Tsar Nicholas II toyed around with the idea of simply ceding Korea to Japan, and in September that year, he explicitly called for no war with Japan (Dallin 1950, 76–77).
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potentially disastrous implications for Korea and for their own work of spreading the gospel

NoteHorace Underwood, for instance, predicted that Japan would be crushed by Russia, which he feared would lead to the expulsion of the missionaries (Horace G. Underwood letter to Arthur J. Brown, November 26, 1903, Seoul (PHS 280/233/115)). In northeastern Korea, Canadian missionary Edith MacRae wrote home about “great rumours of war,” fretting that a Russian victory would mean “Goodbye Korea to Christian Missions” (MacRae 1993, 102, quoting Edith MacRae letter to Papa, January 16, 1903). Her husband Duncan, expressing the same concern, predicted that, “should Korea fall into the hands of Russia all missionaries will either have to join the Greek Church or walk” (MacRae 1993, 107, citing Duncan M. MacRae letter to Mother, August 24, 1903).
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“That war is inevitable I have no doubt,” Graham Lee wrote from Pyongyang in March 1900

Note“Russia is determined to have Korea and Japan is determined that she shall not and two such determinations are bound to clash,” Graham Lee added in this letter to his parents in March 1900. In the letter, Rev. Lee also expressed concerns about Pyongyang being on the front lines again, just five years after the destruction of the Sino-Japanese War. “If hostilities begin Korea will be the battleground, and Pyeng Yang from its strategic position is bound to be hotly contested for. What will become of the missionaries I don’t know,” he wrote. “War may not come this year and I hope it does not. But at present things look a little bilious. If war does come don’t worry about us. We can take care of ourselves all right” (Graham Lee letter to Father & Mother, March 1, 1900, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).  WAITING ON A WAR: In reality, the war would not break out for another four years, and over that stretch, Rev. Lee continued to predict an imminent outbreak of hostilities. In June 1903, he wrote that “war rumors have been flying thick and fast and the people through the country are much exercised.” When he visited a country church about twelve miles outside Pyongyang, the congregation was nowhere to be found. “When I asked where they were I was told that they had gone to the mountains to select a place to which to flee if war broke out,” he reported (Graham Lee letter to Mother, June 21, 1903). “A dozen times it has seemed that imminent war was inevitable, but each time the week has passed without the outbreak of hostilities,” Arthur Brown, the foreign missions board secretary, wrote Samuel Moffett in November 1903 (Arthur J. Brown letter to Samuel A. Moffett, November 18, 1903, New York (PHS 283/242 (part 2)/36)). American diplomat William Sands, writing years later, similarly recalled the buildup to war as having been apparent for years before it actually happened: “The atmosphere in the East in the late ‘nineties was of war” (Sands 1931, 57).
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“think all the world against it,” Samuel Moffett’s wife, Alice, wrote her father in February 1903

NoteIn her letter, Alice Moffett added, with characteristic optimism: “We, only, can see the brightness here within the church” (Alice Moffett letter to Fatherdy, February 24, 1903). To be clear, that optimism was not shared by outside observers. British journalist Angus Hamilton put it bluntly: “The position of Korea in regard to the disputed questions is a hopeless one” (Hamilton 1904, xxxix).
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off their books of prophecy again, as the prospect of another conflict grew increasingly clear

Note“The activity of Russia in the north gave rise to the notion that Japanese influence was predominant in the southern half of the peninsula and Russia in the northern half. This gave birth to all sorts of rumours among the Korean people, and the ancient books were ransacked for prophecies that would fit the situation” (Hulbert 1906, 185). Indeed, right around this time marked the appearance of another messianic sect, centered around a young man from southwestern Korea named Kang Il-sun (姜一淳1871–1909), also known as Chŭngsan (甑山), who declaring himself in 1902 to be the “Lord of the Nine Heavens,” sent from above to rescue the nation and fulfill the prophecy in The Records of Chŏnggam, attracting great interest from the people and unnerving the Japanese authorities, who by 1905 had established a protectorate over Korea. Kang Il-sun was arrested by the Japanese on December 25, 1907, and died shortly thereafter in 1909—though not before birthing several other similar millenarian sects, some of which remained popular throughout the Japanese colonial period and beyond. In the 1990s, Kang’s life and teachings attracted a new wave of interest among college students in South Korea, who began forming groups to study Kang’s thought, known as Chŭngsanism (甑山教 or 甑山道 Kor. Chŭngsan-gyo or Chŭngsan-do) (Grayson 2002, 205–6). For more on the link between Chŭngsan and The Records of Chŏnggam, see Jorgensen 2018, 189.
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Arthur and downing two Russian warships in Inch’ŏn harbor—all before formally declaring war

NoteWHILE THEY WERE DANCING AT PORT ARTHUR: The Japanese made their move on the evening of Monday February 8, 1904—a perfectly timed attack, with many of the Russian officers dancing at a ball that evening. “While everything was still tranquil at Port Arthur, and the Russian authorities were confidently announcing that the foe could not be expected for three or four days, the blow fell,” wrote Sydney Tyler, a war correspondent. “Every one at Port Arthur had settled down for the night, when suddenly across the bay reverberated the shock of three violent and successive explosions” (Sydney Tyler, The Japan-Russia War: An Illustrated History of the War in the Far East, The Greatest Conflict of Modern Times (Philadelphia: P. W. Ziegler, 1904), 55). “On the night of the 8th of February most of the officers were actually on shore at a ball,” adds British diplomat Joseph Longford. “Those left on board were probably thinking of nothing less than a coming attack” (Longford 1913, 127). This surprise act of war, which took place while Russian officers were “feasting and dancing on shore,” “was a severe shock to Russian complacency; but it was easy to make excuses for this ‘unfortunate accident,’ and complete confidence was speedily restored. To the last, many officers were always sure that Russia was about to gain a great victory” (Christie 1914, pp. 165-166).  “A NEW ERA HAD BEGUN”: Meanwhile, at the harbor in Inch’ŏn, then known as Chemulp’o, Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie was among those who recalled feeling a distinct sense of foreboding: “Even before the declaration of war had been issued, on the evening of February 8th, a Japanese fleet approached the harbour of Chemulpho, landed troops there, and next day fought and destroyed two Russian warships in the harbour. Those of us who stood on the frozen shores on that cold February night, looking at the trim and alert Japanese infantry, their figures revealed by the glowing coal and paraffin fires on the landing-stage, knew that the old history of Korea was over and that a new era had begun” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 107). Though this second attack on Inch’ŏn “was of much less consequence than the battle at Port Arthur…the incident gave a further and mortifying revelation of the disorganization of the naval forces of Russia in the Far East” (Tyler 1905, 61). For more, see Tyler 1905, 61–66; and Duus 1995, 180.
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Washington’s top diplomat in Seoul, about the possibility of seeking asylum in the U.S. legation

NoteThe Japanese occupied Seoul by February 10, 1904 (Tyler 1905, 428). Ten days later, on the evening of February 20, Kojong, then formally known as the Kwangmu emperor, reached out to Horace Allen, his fears of Japanese domination having grown (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 247). Indiana University historian John E. Wilz (1930–1994) cites a telegram from Horace N. Allen to Secretary of State John Hay on February 21, 1904.  HORACE ALLEN, AMERICAN DIPLOMAT: Horace Allen’s career as a diplomat proved more successful than his tenure as a missionary. As his biographer Fred Harrington writes, “it was natural that Allen should become a missionary diplomat. For five years he had served the cause as missionary doctor. Now he was to serve it for seven as American legation secretary and for eight as full-fledged minister from the United States” (Harrington 1944, 93). In July 1892, Horace Allen became the acting and deputy consul general under American minister resident and consul general Augustine F. Heard II (1827–1905), and the following year became the top American diplomat in Seoul, serving as chargé d’affaires ad interim. On July 26, 1897, Allen, a staunch Republican who had known William McKinley as a Congressman from his home state of Ohio, was sworn in as U.S. minister to Korea (Harrington 1944, 294; “Editorial Notes,” Korean Repository 1 (July 1892), 236; “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository 4 (July 1897), 279–80; and “The New American Minister,” Korean Repository 4 (September 1897), 348–51). Of course, the circumstances of Allen’s career move were far from ideal. Allen, having feuded bitterly with his fellow missionaries, was so enraged that he wanted out, and badly, and accepted the position of secretary in the U.S. legation in Seoul in August 1890 without a moment’s hesitation (Harrington 1944, 91–92).  “DIFFICULT TO SEPARATE THE DIPLOMAT AND THE MISSIONARY”: In his first years under the employ of the U.S. government, Horace Allen used his diplomatic posting to promote Christianity “cautiously to the nation through its ruling stratum” (Wells 1990, 28, n. 26). For the first few years, Allen’s biographer writes, “it was sometimes difficult to separate the diplomat and the missionary. For months after he entered the legation Allen ran the Presbyterian hospital” (Harrington 1944, 93). For more on the conflicts he had with the missionaries during his transition from clerical work to diplomatic work, see Act I, Chapter 4. Tyler Dennett, a Pulitzer Prize-winning American diplomatic historian at Johns Hopkins, Columbia, and Princeton universities and himself a former Congregationalist minister, wrote in his tome Americans in Eastern Asia: A Critical Study of the Policy of the United States with Reference to China, Japan and Korea in the 19th Century (1922): “Except for the briefest intervals, there were some American missionaries employed either in important posts in the consulates or in the legation in China, and it was these men rather than their titular superiors who, in most cases, had the actual contacts with the Chinese officials. A similar condition existed in Siam as well as in Korea.” As examples, Dennett points to Horace Allen and to Chester Holcombe (1842–1912), a Presbyterian missionary and author who became the No. 2 diplomat in Peking (Dennett 1922, 556–57).
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five weeks into the war and three weeks after the arrival of the Japanese army in Pyongyang

NoteWilliam Baird, for his part, continued to hold calm Christian services in the run-up to the fighting, capturing the mood in Pyongyang in a letter on February 20, 1904: “The Koreans are leaving in every direction. We have been holding evangelistic services every night for this week. The people were greatly excited and finding we and the Christians were calm, they came out to the night meetings in large numbers. There were probably two thousand people out one night” (Baird 1968, 74, citing William Baird letter, February 20, 1904). Dr. Alfred M. Sharrocks (1872–1919), a medical missionary in Sŏnch’ŏn, decided that, whichever side won, medical help would be needed on the field (Baird 1968, 87). In Japan, American missionary Rev. Henry Loomis, who had distributed thousands of copies of the Bible to Japanese troops during the Sino-Japanese War a decade earlier, again won the approval of the Japanese prime minister to freely distribute copies of the Bible in the military barracks, hospitals, and prisons (Loomis 1923, 112).
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While Pyongyang emptied out, most of the Christians, again, had stayed

Note“Great numbers of people are leaving the city now. The roads and gates are almost blocked with loads of all sorts. If this keeps on there will soon be very few Christians left here,” Pyongyang missionary Charles Bernheisel wrote on February 19, 1904, reporting on the following day “a continuous stream of people and loads going out all the gates of the city” (Bernheisel 2004, 458–59 (February 19 and 20, 1904, diary entries)). Arthur Becker, a Methodist missionary who had arrived in Pyongyang the year before, estimated that attendance at the city’s Methodist churches dropped to just seventy people from seven-hundred, though “during the first anxious ten days, the churches were open day and night and welcomed anyone who needed asylum” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 166–67). Jack London, who arrived in Pyongyang as a correspondent for the San Francisco Examiner, describes the city being “in a state of panic so far as the natives are concerned. The Koreans seem to feel that this is to be a great battle ground again. Ten thousand of them already have fled the city and others are leaving hourly…The fear of the Russians have become a blinding terror” (Jack London, “Advancing Russians Nearing Japan’s Army,” March 2, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 38–40, here 39). Ironically, the Korean imperial court at this time was considering relocating to Pyongyang, in a bid to steer clear of the frontlines (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 169). For striking photos of the Japanese infantry preparing to march into Pyongyang, see The Russo‑Japanese War: A Photographic and Descriptive Review 1905, 52–53, 56–58.
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“yesterday of about 800 Christians and much of our work goes on as usual,” Moffett wrote

Note“The Japanese are making this place a center for military operations,” William Baird wrote on March 23, 1904. “Our mission premises are between two roads where the troops have to come into the city and also they go out by the same gate when they go northward. We are consequently just in the midst of a military camp. Soldiers are coming in and going out in immense numbers” (Baird 1968, 75, citing William Baird letter, March 23, 1904). The city was, his son Richard Baird later wrote, “crammed with troops and equipment till things were bursting at the seams” (Baird 1968, 79). With so many troops flowing into Pyongyang, the Japanese requested use of Central Presbyterian Church, since it was the largest building in the city. “Practically all the houses in the city are occupied,” wrote Presbyterian missionary William Blair, on March 22, 1904. “They have asked for the central church building although they promised not to use it till every thing else was taken. It is the biggest building in the city and would doubtless have been occupied at the outset if the Japanese had not been anxious to show us every courtesy. They have offered us a guard for our homes but so far we have not needed it. The soldiers are evidently under strict orders not to molest us” (W. N. Blair [Blair, William N.], “Tidings of War—Missionary Work Interrupted by the Japan-Russia War. Japanese Soldiers in Pyeng Yang,” Tidings from Afar 3, no. 5 (May–June 1904), 3 (PHS)). The publication Tidings from Afar was published by the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. In addition to requesting the church for military use, the Japanese consul in Pyongyang advised the missionaries to fly their national flags over their homes (Bernheisel 2004, 458–59 (February 19, 1904, diary entry)). The Japanese also issued special red, white, and blue badges to the Western missionaries so that they would not be confused with the Russians. “These were to be concealed on our clothing and displayed only when we were challenged,” wrote one missionary’s son, who was about ten years old at the time (Sherwood Hall 1978, 207).
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frenzied atmosphere and the high anxieties to stage large-scale evangelistic meetings in the city

Note“The men of the station together with a large band of Koreans, canvassed the city every afternoon, and were everywhere received with wonderful readiness. In the evenings great crowds gathered at the big church, very many of them unconverted people,” Annie Baird wrote in a letter home. “Will spoke Wednesday night and I went down with him. It was a great sight, fully two thousand people present, and packed to the very doors. A large number of Christians were bunched outside, having given up their seats to the unconverted. Will made a splendid talk and held their attention well, but while the service was in progress, a telegram came from Dr. Allen and we learned later of its contents. It said for all the women and children of the community to be ready to start at once over land to some point along the coast where we might be able to connect with a gunboat” (Annie L. Adams Baird, February 24, 1904, in “Extract from Home Letters of Mrs. W. M. Baird,” February 8 to March 7, 1904, Pyengyang (PHS 280/234/22)). “We have had a special tract prepared for the occasion which we distribute,” colleague Charles F. Bernheisel added. “As a result of the afternoon work, about 200 unbelievers attended the evening service for the first time in their lives” (Bernheisel 2004, 455 (February [15?], 1904, diary entry)). In subsequent days, Bernheisel reported packed church services in the city, with dozens of professions of faith. Methodist Arthur Becker, also in Pyongyang, helped organize a revival meeting in February 1905, and in April 1905 headed north on an itinerating tour, where he received a positive response: “In this one trip, I started new groups in three large towns with five to ten heads of families in each group. I have two new churches under construction and there is much enthusiasm,” Becker wrote on April 23, 1905. “The way the gospel has spread is wonderful, not equaled by any other mission in the world, I understand” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 186–87).  AN “INDIFFERENCE TO DANGER”: As Samuel Moffett had learned a decade earlier in Pyongyang, Canadian Presbyterians Edith and Duncan MacRae found themselves feted as heroes by residents of the northeastern city of Hamhŭng for not having abandoned them during a time of trial. “They were welcomed as never before by Christians and non-Christians. Mah Moksa had won their admiration and respect by his apparent indifference to danger” (MacRae 1993, 112–13). In another echo of Pyongyang a decade earlier, the Canadian missionaries in Hamhŭng found the war “doing away with many of its old [prejudices] and giving us opportunities as never before to preach the Gospel to listening ears” (as quoted in MacRae 1993, 115). Like Moffett, MacRae was known to the Koreans as “Pastor Ma” (馬牧師 Kor. Ma Moksa), based on the phonetization of their English surnames.
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morning, February 28, 1904, that ended with a Russian retreat—a foretaste of things to come

NoteLondon described the briefest of engagements between five Japanese and twenty Russian cavalrymen, in which roughly thirty shots were fired by the Japanese. “It is remarkable that none was killed or wounded by such short range fire,” London mused a few days later (Jack London, “Cossacks Fight Then Retreat,” March 5, 1904, Ping Yang, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 51–54, here 52). In Pyongyang, one young Korean student then enrolled at Sungsil Academy’s middle school, Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, recalls getting ready to head to Sunday school several weeks after the declaration of war when he heard gunshots coming from the old city walls. Nobody seemed to know what had happened, though Ch’a’s cousin was taking no precautions; he attached an American flag to a long bamboo pole and erected it outside his house to declare his neutrality (Charr 1996, 99–101). Though the fighting mostly took place north of Pyongyang, it was near enough to the old northwestern capital that the Japanese troops cremated their war dead on the banks of the river—“a ghoulish sight for a young boy to witness as they heaped up hundreds of bodies on the funeral pyres,” recalled Sherwood Hall, a Korea-born missionary kid who was then about ten years old (Sherwood Hall 1978, 207–8).
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dramatic reading of The Call of the Wild, for the benefit of the local YCMA, at Will Baird’s home

NoteTHE CALL OF THE WAR FRONT: Jack London, hot off the publication of The Call of the Wild, had offers to cover the war from Harper’s, Collier’s Weekly, and the New York Herald, but ended up taking the assignment with William Randall Hearst’s San Francisco Examiner because “Hearst made the best offer”; London sailed from San Francisco with several other journalists on January 7, 1904 (Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 3). Though London couldn’t actually travel with, or alongside, the Japanese troops, the fact that he made it to Korea at all was a feat, at a time when the other foreign correspondents who had made it to Tokyo were then effectively forced to stay in Tokyo, being wined, dined—and kept far from the war front. London “surprised and perplexed” Japanese officials by simply finding his own way to Seoul, having taken two “rattle-trap steamers” to Pusan and then to Inch’ŏn (then known as Chemulp’o), according to one source (Métraux 2017, 138). According to other sources, London claimed to have crossed over to Korea from Tokyo by rowboat, or to have purchased his own boat to sail across (Sands 1931, 69; and Springer 2003, 48). Yet another source says that London hired a boat and sailed to catch up with the Japanese troops heading into Manchuria (Paul French, “Remembering Jack London’s Oriental War,” Los Angeles Review of Books blog, February 19, 2014). London’s own account is far less dramatic, though it appears to have been harrowing nonetheless (Jack London letters to Charmian Kittredge, February 9, 11, 13, and 15, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 8–11). Two other journalists—Frederick McKenzie, the reporter for the London Daily Mail, and Robert L. Dunn, a photographer for Collier’s Weekly—had also found their way to Seoul (Métraux 2017, 152). In the end, London was one of just three correspondents who made it as far north as Pyongyang (Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 16). For a photo of Jack London and his fellow correspondents departing from San Francisco aboard the steamship Siberia in January 1904, see The Russo‑Japanese War: A Photographic and Descriptive Review 1905, 88.  AN INFLOW OF CORRESPONDENTS: The missionaries were well aware of Jack London’s literary fame, and Samuel Moffett instructed his father-in-law to save clippings of the newspaper dispatches from London in the San Francisco Examiner. “We shall enjoy seeing how much Jack London can color the facts transpiring about us,” Moffett wrote from the ancient northern capital (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Father Fish [Fish, Charles H.], March 14, 1904, Pyengyang (MKC)). London, “a well known writer, representing the Hearst Syndicate,” in the words of Charles Bernheisel, bought a horse and a saddle from Graham Lee and a tent from Will Baird. Meanwhile, journalist Frederick McKenzie showed up at the missionaries’ prayer meeting to share “a few remarks as to his Christian experience.” The two journalists were accompanied by Collier’s photographer Robert Dunn (Bernheisel 2004, 462–63 (March 2 and 3, 1904, diary entries)). Other correspondents, for the New York Herald and the London Chronicle, also poured into town (Bernheisel 2004, 464–65 (March 8 and 12, 1904, diary entries)). Another correspondent in town was Frederick Palmer, a celebrated American correspondent who arrived in Pyongyang on assignment for the New York Globe—and found himself deeply impressed by the devotion of the missionaries. “In my travels I have seen many missionaries, and there are good missionaries and bad, just as there are good and bad blacksmiths and poets,” Palmer wrote, expressing his awe at how the Pyongyang missionaries, “patiently and hopefully, by example and argument, work for the betterment of their fellow-men…The missionaries of Ping Yang are practising in truth the precepts of the devotion which called the ambition of their theological school days. What a town they dwell in! a town where the human being lives as filthily as only one other animal, the swine, will” (Frederick Palmer 1904, 36–37). As for Graham Lee in particular, Palmer later declared: “I would rather be Graham Lee and be doing what he is doing than to be any other man I ever knew” (Samuel A. Moffett et al. letter to Allen F. DeCamp, July 1917, Pyeng Yang, in Samuel A. Moffett, W. D. Reynolds [Reynolds, William D.], G. Engel [Engel, G. Gelson], James E. Adams, and R. O. Reiner [Reiner, Ralph O.], “Correspondence—IV.,” Korea Mission Field 13, no. 10 (October 1917), 265–66). Other guests of the Moffetts during these chaotic days included U.S. Major General Henry Tureman Allen (1859–1930), who Alice Moffett praised as being “every inch a general, and a delightful Christian gentleman” (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Father and Mother, March 14, 1904, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).  “ILL, IMPATIENT, AND OFTEN SURLY”: London’s main guide during his time in and around Pyongyang was the Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, who was three years younger than the writer. Becker “found Jack London to be a nervous traveler: ill, impatient, and often surly, because he could not get the news he was after and because he did not quite know how to deal with Asians of the caliber of the modernized Japanese military men” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 167–68). In Sŏnch’ŏn, London took ill and was treated in the home of the medical missionary Alfred Sharrocks for several weeks (McCune and Thompson 2009, 167–68). For an obituary of Dr. Sharrocks, see Conference of Federated Missions, Japan 1920, 343.  “HARDEST JOB I EVER UNDERTOOK”: That London failed to keep up with the Japanese was perhaps no surprise, given that he had not seen much promise at all in their fighting ability: “Granting that no revolution arises in Russia and there is no interference of outside powers, I cannot see how Japan can possibly win” (Jack London, “Japan Puts End to Usefulness of Correspondents,” July 1, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 122–26, here 125–26). Also cited in Michael Meyer, In Manchuria: A Village Called Wasteland and the Transformation of Rural China (New York: Bloomsbury, 2015), 116. As London himself later wrote, “I came to war expecting to get thrills” (as quoted in Métraux 2017, 154). Instead, he later described the assignment as the “hardest job I ever undertook” (London letter to Kittredge, February 9, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 9). London spent much of his time in Korea complaining about the myriad restrictions that the Japanese had placed on foreign correspondents, restricting them from getting anywhere near the war front, such that, apart from a few shots at Ŭiju witnessed from afar, London had virtually nothing in the way of eyewitness reportage to show for his travels (see Jack London, “Japanese Officers Consider Everything a Military Secret,” June 2, 1904, Antung, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 118–122; and London, “Japan Puts End to Usefulness,” in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 122–26). Stuck far from the front lines, London had to settle for writing profiles of the Western community in Korea, including Horace Allen (Clark 2003, 29). Jack London describes plans to give his reading of The Call of the Wild on April 6, 1904, for the benefit of the local YCMA, with the author preparing to don his finest threads—“in evening dress!!!” as he put it—to deliver the excerpt (London letter to Kittredge, April 5, 1904, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 20).   A SCUFFLE, AN EXIT, A SOURCE OF ARTISTIC INSPIRATION: Jack London left Korea after an incident in late May 1904, roughly three months after his initial arrival, when the writer got into a physical altercation with a Japanese horse handler, which led to London’s arrest by the Japanese military. London only narrowly avoided a court martial after an intervention from Theodore Roosevelt, and London left for home, transiting in Yokohama (Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 24–25; and Métraux 2017, 18). London later brought his Korean cook, interpreter, factotum, and valet—whom he identifies only as “Manyoungi”— back to the U.S., where he worked as a houseboy until 1907 (Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 15). But London would not soon forget his experiences in the Far East. He mined his time on the Korean peninsula for a short story, “A Nose for the King,” which was based on a Korean folk tale and published in American literary magazine The Black Cat in March 1906 and then again in his short-story collection When God Laughs and Other Stories (1911) (Young-Hee Chang [Chang, Yŏng-hŭi], “Korean Sources and References in Jack London’s The Star Rover,” The Call: The Magazine of the Jack London Society 21, no. 2 (Fall–Winter 2010), 10–14, here 11, no. 7). London also drew upon his Korea experiences for his 1906 short story “The Unparalleled Invasion,” in which Japan, having defeated Russia in 1904–1905, overruns Korea, Manchuria, and eventually China. Japan, stirring China to modernizing reforms as the West had done to Japan, is pushed off the mainland during a war that begins in 1922, and from there, China then expands into Southeast Asia, Siberia, and eventually into all of Central Asia, through a combination of China’s aggressive policy of emigration and colonization. China is only stopped after the Western world, gathering in Philadelphia in 1975, decides to unleash laboratory-made diseases on China, eradicating the population—after which the Western countries sign a convention pledging to never use biological warfare on one another. See “The Unparalleled Invasion,” in Jack London, The Strength of the Strong (New York: Macmillan, 1914), 71–100. More intriguingly, he dedicated one chapter of his 1915 science-fiction novel The Star Rover to Korea, drawing liberally from Hendrik Hamel’s tale of his seventeenth-century shipwreck in Korea and invoking a Queen Min-like figure (London 1915, 165–205). Despite his intemperate nature, and his at-times low views of the Far East, historian Daniel Métraux compares London favorably to George Kennan and Frederick Palmer, two other prominent American correspondents who traveled to Japan with London in January 1904 to cover the war. London, writes Métraux, “was a far more balanced correspondent than either Kennan or Palmer” (Métraux 2017, 17, 87, 139–67).
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northward, had crossed the Yalu, knocking the Russians deeper and deeper into Manchuria

NoteThe Japanese defeated the Russians at Jiuliancheng Village (九連城鎮 Ch. Jiuliancheng-cun) before emerging victorious too at Fenghuangcheng (鳳凰城), known today simply as Fengcheng (鳳城), on May 4, 1904 (Tyler 1905, 428). The town of Fenghuangcheng was the one closest to the Gate of Korea—the one where Rev. John Ross had first encountered Koreans willing to work with him to translate the Bible in the 1880s. Over the years, it had grown as the Chosŏn diplomatic missions to Beijing increased in size, with the market “full of carts and horses, carrying cotton” from all around by the early eighteenth century (Seonmin Kim 2017, 113).  “SPIES EVERYWHERE”: Japan’s string of success in Manchuria would not have been a surprise to anyone paying close attention. Tokyo had long been making war preparations in northeastern China. “She had spies everywhere, posing as Chinese, many of them in Russian employ; she knew all the Russian arrangements, and it was for her to fix the date for the opening of hostilities,” Dugald Christie wrote (Christie 1914, 165). For Manchuria-based missionaries like Rev. Christie, the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War marked the third time in the span of a decade in which they were forced to evacuate, following the Sino-Japanese War and the Boxer Rebellion (Christie 1914, 167). The problem for Russia was that, with its Trans-Siberian Railway and Chinese Eastern Railway still unfinished—and then damaged during the Boxer Rebellion—Russia wasn’t able to send troops to the war front quickly enough to fend off Japan’s blitzkrieg. The early defeats hurt morale and, critically, sparked revolution back home in St. Petersburg, which doomed the Russian war effort (Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 25).
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as a force of modernization, a stark contrast to the corrupt and reactionary Romanov dynasty

Note“OVERWHELMINGLY PRO-JAPANESE”: From the very start of the fighting, sentiment in the U.S. was “overwhelmingly pro-Japanese,” in the words of one historian (see Keene 2002, 612, 618). “American public opinion was pro-Japanese,” adds another. “Each Japanese victory was hailed with delight, and the American press vividly described corruption and atrocities attributed to the Russians” (Dallin 1950, 83). While it’s true that the Russians were white and Christian, Arthur Brown told Samuel Moffett in August 1904, “the sympathy of the American people as a whole is strongly with Japan and the more we hear of the brutality, lust and drunkenness of the Russian troops, the more strongly do we sympathize with the Japanese” (Arthur J. Brown letter to Samuel A. Moffett, August 1, 1904, New York (PHS 283/242 (part 2)/102)). As Robert Speer wrote in 1904, “the influence of Japan has been steadily on the side of reform and progress. If as a result of the war with Russia she retains permanent ascendancy over Korea, yet recognizing Korea’s complete independence as she has done, her influence will continue for good” (Speer 1904, 386). Such pro-Japanese sentiments could be seen among Pyongyang’s missionaries, too. Charles Bernheisel described how, hearing word from a rowdy group of flag-waving Japanese citizens of the capture of two Russian warships during a naval engagement at Inch’ŏn, “we shook hands all around and rejoiced with them” (Bernheisel 2004, 453–54 (February 13, 1904, diary entry)).  “UNWILLING TO BELIEVE ANYTHING BUT THE BEST”: The majority of Korea’s foreign community, including many who would later be the most vociferous critics of Tokyo’s rule, were eager to see what Japanese ascendancy would bring. “At the beginning of the Russo-Japanese War, every foreigner in the country, except a small group of pro-Russians, sympathised with Japan,” journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote. “We had all been alienated by the follies and mistakes of the Russian Far Eastern policy; we saw Japan at her very best, and we believed that her people would act well by this weaker race. Our favourable impressions were strengthened by the first doings of the Japanese soldiers, and when scandals were whispered, and oppression began to appear, we all looked upon them as momentary disturbances due to a condition of war. We were unwilling to believe anything but the best” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 209–10). See also Frederick McKenzie 1907, 40; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 116. Among Japan’s biggest admirers at the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War was Homer Hulbert, the American missionary, educator, and historian, who would later become Tokyo’s most vocal opponent: “A large majority of the best-informed Koreans realize that Japan and Japanese influence stand for education and enlightenment,” Hulbert wrote in February 1904. “The word reform never passed the Russians’ lips. It is the insistent cry of Japan. The welfare of the Korean people never showed its head above the Russian horizon, but it fills the whole vision of Japan” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 116–17). Hulbert’s later turn against Japan is described in Brother Anthony of Taizé 2011, 7–8.  COLOSSUS CRUSHERS: Wherever their sympathies may have lain, few could have foreseen the rapidity with which the Japanese military crushed the Russians. “Japan’s star rose high during the war. There were few who had believed that this small nation, almost unknown to the world, would be able to beat the Russian colossus,” wrote Russia-born American scholar David Dallin. “Japan had displayed a high degree of military preparedness, efficiency, and technical skill and her admirals and generals proved to be not inferior to the military leaders of Europe” (Dallin 1950, 78). Indeed, Japan’s defeat of a white European power reverberated across Asia and Africa. “As the first military victory of an Asian country over a European power in modern times, it captured the imagination of people living in Asian and African countries that were under the yoke of a European conqueror,” writes one historian (Keene 2002, 644). The rest of the world may have been shocked, but many in East Asia were not surprised by Japan’s military prowess. During the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s, the Japanese were so militarily superior to the combined Chinese and Korean forces, and nearly defeated them, such that it “had fully convinced the Chinese and the Koreans that the Japanese were militarily superior and that Japan was invincible. This reputation spread among the Asiatic nations and assured the safety of Japan from invasion by continental nations,” writes one historian (Kuno 1937, 176–77). At the same time, Japanese memories of the Hideyoshi invasions “became a source of great inspiration to the young Japanese. Because of the brilliant victories of Hideyoshi, the Japanese concluded that battles with either Chinese or Koreans meant victory”—thus helping give rise to Japan’s attempts in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century to subdue China and Korea (Kuno 1937, 177).
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Japan as a fellow non-Western power and one that was preferable to Russian dominance

NoteWhen Japan defeated Russia, Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic Korean convert to Methodism, was exultant, writing in his diary, in English: “I am glad Japan has beaten Russia. The islanders have gloriously vindicated the honors of the Yellow race. The white man has so long been the master of situation…For Japan to break this spell single handed, is grand in its very conception.” He concluded: “I love and honor Japan as a member of the Yellow race; but hate her as a Korean from whom she is taking away everyting [sic] independence itself” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, September 7, 1905, entry). See also Vladimir Tikhonov, “The Race and Racism Discourses in Modern Korea, 1890s–1910s,” Korean Studies 36 (2012), 31–57, here 45, citing Yun Ch’i-ho diary, June 2, 1905, entry. The Japanese were at least cautious enough during this period to not have raised the suspicions of many Korean Christian nationalists, who controlled what few media outlets existed in Korea at the time, and who regarded Japan as a largely benevolent force (Schmid 2002, 31).  “WOMEN ARE SAFE; THE MONEY IS SAFE”: It helped that, as Jack London found while covering the war for the San Francisco Examiner, the Japanese troops acquitted themselves far better than their Russian counterparts. “I doubt if there be more peaceable, orderly soldiers in the world than the Japanese,” London wrote. “No one of the civilian population is afraid of them. The women are safe; the money is safe; the goods are safe. The Japanese established a reputation in 1894 for paying for whatever they took and they were living up to that reputation. ‘But if they were the Russians’—say the Koreans” (Jack London, “Vivid Description of Army in Korea,” March 4, 1904, Seoul, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 40–42, here 41). In northeastern Korea, as Canadian missionaries Edith and Duncan MacRae saw with their own eyes, “when the sounds of battle ceased, the Japanese gave the Russian dead a Buddhist funeral with military honours. Edith and Duncan attended as observers, standing respectfully aside while the priests, gorgeously ‘robed in pale green gauze and purple vests with silver embroidery’ conducted the Buddhist rites before the graves…Duncan and Edith agreed that the service had been ‘beautifully and gracefully done’” (MacRae 1993, 111, quoting Edith MacRae letter to Mary Hart, August 15, 1904). The Japanese had a similar reputation in northeastern China, where the public was largely sympathetic to the Japanese, having “left a good record behind them” a decade earlier during the Sino-Japanese War, and who besides many in China regarded as being “of kindred race” (Christie 1914, 182). In contrast, writes journalist Frederick McKenzie, tales of undisciplined Russian troops had spread widely among the Koreans. “I travelled largely throughout the northern regions in the early days of the war, and everywhere I heard from the people during the first few weeks nothing but expressions of friendship to the Japanese,” he wrote (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 110).
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“alienating the sympathy of the whole people and of turning them from friends into enemies”

NoteADMIRATION TO HORROR: Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie describes the changed sentiments among the Western residents of Korea, which mirrored in some ways the feelings of many reform-minded Koreans: “I came across many of my old friends—diplomatic officials, missionaries, teachers, merchants, and natives. In 1904 they had been almost without exception enthusiastic for Japan; in 1906, they were almost as unanimously critical, unsympathetic, and full of denunciation. The change had come because of what they had seen of the methods of Japanese administration. Everywhere, from men of the most varied type, I heard the same story, a tale of oppression, exaction, and wholesale robbery. When the Japanese first came to Korea, they were received by the common people with sympathy and hope. To-day the common people hate them with the most intense bitterness” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 62–63). In northeastern Korea, Edith and Duncan MacRae, who just months earlier had been so impressed by Japan’s conduct in the conflict, quickly saw their admiration curdle into horror. Once the war was over, they wrote, the Japanese, who during the fighting had been “lenient and just in their treatment of Koreans…turned to harsh brutality, injustice and cruelty,” adding in a scathing letter that had to be hand-delivered by a returning missionary due to censorship that the Japanese had already begun to impose on Korea: “The whole world seems to be going crazy over [the Japanese], if they only knew them! They are no more civilized and just as much barbarians as any other country who knows not God, only they have coated it with a veneer of civilization that makes them like sugar-coated pills. They are small in body & mind and it makes us absolutely ill to hear about their love, sympathy, bravery, etc. . . . The injustices now being perpetrated in Korea are simply terrible. Whole villages of poor Koreans turned out homeless & penniless to give a roadway or supply a field, fishery rights seized by gangs of Japanese coolies, whole tracts of land with ricefields taken wholesale by the Japs. They recognize a Korean only to kick him & bullyrag him. Oh! our hearts are torn daily” (MacRae 1993, 125). Within a few months, after several run-ins with the Japanese, the MacRaes had come to regard the Japanese as “those Evil people…uncivilized…lawless and infinitely more murderous” (MacRae 1993, 130, quoting Edith MacRae letter to Mama, October 21, 1906). After a visit to Korea shortly after the conclusion of the war, Rev. R. P. McKay, general secretary of foreign missions at the Canadian Presbyterian Church, who had until the visit been pro-Japanese in his leanings, excoriated the Japanese (as quoted in MacRae 1993, 134–35).
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whatever land was needed to “guarantee the independence and territorial integrity” of Korea

NoteFor the English-language version of the February 23, 1904, document, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 306. More broadly, one historian describes the Japanese slogan of “peace in the East” as “diplomatic propaganda with a richly deceptive meaning and motto for war mobilization” (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 33).
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the Japanese had convinced Korea to turn over its postal, telegraph, and telephone systems

NoteCanadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, who was otherwise a vociferous backer of Korean independence, praised these reforms and others championed by the Japanese during this period. For instance, the unwieldy and unreliable system of coinage was reformed under the Japanese, thus “put[ting] the currency on a sound basis, naturally not without some temporary trouble, but certainly with permanent benefit to the country” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 112).
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ties with St. Petersburg, thus binding Korea’s fate ever closer to the Meiji government

Note“The poor, weak Emperor knows not where to turn,” Jack London wrote of Emperor Kojong. “He cannot elect to fly nor to remain in his palace, so in the meantime he graciously decrees whatever the Japanese politely intimate they would like to have, as, for example, when he turns his soldiers out of their barracks in order that the Japanese soldiers may be made comfortable” (London, “Vivid Description of Army,” in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 41).
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advisor in Seoul; shortly thereafter, it dispatched Durham W. Stevens, a pro-Japanese American

NoteFor the text of this agreement, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 307–8. This agreement and others were signed by Yun Ch’i-ho, the U.S.-educated aristocratic convert to Methodism, the then-acting foreign minister of Korea who, according to one biographer, “fully understood the import of what he was doing when he signed the treaty, yet as acting foreign minister he felt caught between forces over which he had no control” (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 52–53).  “THE TRANSPARENT FICTION OF KOREAN INDEPENDENCE”:  In fact, Yun, who had earlier supported Japan’s war effort and who signed many of these agreements as his boss, Foreign Minister Yi Ha-yŏng, fell “conveniently ill at strategic moments,” fretted privately in his diary that “the life of Korea as an independent country is suspended by a thread” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, May 4, 1904, entry; and Wells 1990, 64). George Kennan, an American correspondent who was generally vocal in his support of Japan’s actions in Korea, likewise described the situation during this period as “the transparent fiction of Korean independence” (George Kennan, “What Japan Has Done in Korea,” The Outlook 81 (November 18, 1905), 669–73, here 669).  DURHAM STEVENS: Durham W. Stevens (1851–1908), a one-time American diplomat, despite not being Japanese, “was a more thorough-going servant of Japan than many Japanese themselves,” in the words of Frederick McKenzie, who wore his pro-Korea leanings on his sleeve (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 117; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 86). Stevens had first arrived in Japan in 1873 as an American diplomat and, having mastered the language, started working for Japan’s foreign ministry in either 1882 or 1883, beginning a long-term working relationship with the government in Tokyo. By the time of the August 1904 diplomatic agreement between Korea and Japan, under which Tokyo was to appoint a non-Japanese advisor to the Korean foreign office, Japan tapped Stevens, a man they deeply trusted; though it likely wasn’t necessary, Japan’s foreign minister Komura Jutarō reminded Stevens of the importance of promoting Japanese interests in Korea. The fiction wasn’t needed for long. After the establishment of Japan’s protectorate over Korea, Stevens again became a publicly acknowledged employee of the Japanese government, this time as counselor to the residency-general (Richard S. Kim [Kim, Sŏk-ju], The Quest for Statehood: Korean Immigrant Nationalism and U.S. Sovereignty, 1905–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 27–29; Dudden 2005, 84; and Wells 1990, 64–65). For a thumbnail biography of Stevens and his involvement with the Japanese government, see Richard S. Kim [Kim Sŏk-ju], “Korean Immigrant (Trans)Nationalism: Diaspora, Ethnicity, and State-Making, 1903–1945” (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 2002), 52.  KOREA’S FOREIGN ADVISORS: The posting of a foreign diplomatic advisor in Korea was not a Japanese innovation. In fact, prior to 1904, the Chosŏn court had employed American advisors under the terms of 1882’s U.S.-Korea treaty. The American advisors were Owen Denny (1886–1890), Charles G. J. E. Le Gendre (1890–1894), Clarence R. Greathouse (1894–1900), and William Sands (1900–1904), the latter of whom wrote a memoir that is cited frequently in this work (Dudden 2005, 83–84). William Sands (1874–1946) was initially dispatched to Korea in 1897 as the first secretary of the U.S. Legation in Seoul. At the time, he had just graduated from Georgetown University, having secured the position through his family ties. The job was, in his recollection, “the only vacant post left; one that nobody wanted; one so unimportant in the eyes of the new assistant secretary of state that he was about to make me minister there” (Sands 1931, 28). Sands’ grandfather was a close friend of Presidents Grant, Hayes, Garfield, and Cleveland (Sands 1931, 10–11).
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In early 1905, Japan took over the policing of Seoul and put an inspector in each province

NoteAt around the same time, Japan “took over” Korea’s currency and its essential communications services (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 53). Furtively, though more importantly, on May 31, 1904, the Japanese cabinet had agreed to a plan for Korea’s postwar future—a blueprint that would unfold over the next few years “with remarkable precision.” After years of frustration with the pace of change in Korea, it was perhaps natural that the May 31, 1904, roadmap, approved as Japan was removing its biggest rival for hegemony over Korea from the battlefield, amounted to what historian Peter Duus calls the “raw pursuit of Japanese advantage in Korea,” greatly boosting Japan’s military and economic presence in Korea while enacting the extensive legal changes that Tokyo had long sought on the peninsula (Duus 1995, 182–83). “In practice, then, if not in law, the Japanese were moving toward a protectorate at all levels of the Korean government well before the end of the war” (Duus 1995, 187). As Tyler Dennett writes, “Japanese war aims revealed a marked tendency to increase as one Japanese victory followed another” (Dennett 1925, 156).
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with diplomatic feelers put out well in advance to ensure the Western powers didn’t balk

NoteIn general, the primary principle for Japan was one of prudence, so as to avoid a repeat of the embarrassment of the Triple Intervention a decade earlier, when the European powers joined forces to deprive Japan of the Liaodong peninsula claim that had been agreed to in the Treaty of Shimonseki in April 1895.
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to Korea and didn’t close the peninsula off to the economic interests of the Western nations

Note“The present war has made Japan the predominant Power in eastern Asia,” American adventurer and war correspondent George Kennan wrote in October 1905, just after the Japanese defeat of Russia and on the cusp of the establishment of its protectorate over Korea. “She is about to assume the leadership of the so-called Yellow Race. In the Korean experiment we may see what capacity for leadership she has” (Kennan, “A Degenerate State,” Outlook (1905), 307).
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the fate of the Korean people over to Japan, it certainly wasn’t leading to many sleepless nights

NoteOn the contrary, as historian Alexis Dudden argues, “when Japan fought and defeated Russia, it did so, Japan claimed, in order to liberate Korea. Thus, because of its apparent beneficence, Japan received Korea as its protectorate from the international community” (Dudden 2005, 9).
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the British consul in Seoul wrote in 1897, “is a privilege she is not fitted to enjoy”

NoteIn that context, argued Walter Hillier, the British consul general in Seoul, the Japanese, while crude in their methods, were nonetheless “earnest and genuine” bearers of enlightenment for the benighted Koreans. Hillier did see some hope for the Koreans—once they had enjoyed the tutelage of “one or other civilized Power,” to be sure—pointing to the Koreans who had settled by 1897 in Russian territory, who showed, he believed, “how capable these people are of improving their condition under wise and paternal rule” (Hillier, “Preface,” in Bishop 1898, 2–3). Hillier, a Sinologist, had first visited Korea in October 1883 with Sir Harry Parkes, a famed British diplomat to China and Japan, in hopes of striking a treaty with Korea. Hillier visited Korea again in April 1884, around the time that the treaty was signed between the U.K. and Chosŏn; Hillier was appointed consul general in May 1889, a position he held for more than seven years (“W. C. Hillier,” Korean Repository (1896), 416). British writer Henry Whigham, though not a diplomat, similarly urged his government in London to quickly help bring Korea under Japan’s control. “There is no independence at present for the Korean people. They would be a thousand times better off under Japanese rule,” he concluded after a visit to Korea and Manchuria during these years. “By every rule of the game Korea belongs to Japan, and could become a Japanese dependency to-morrow if we would use our influence to that end” (Whigham 1904, 216–17). Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary, had similarly concluded as early as 1902 that “Korea is too weak to maintain her independence much longer. She is sure to fall at no distant day” (Brown 1902, 3).  “KOREA IS A SICK MAN”: Japan was more than happy to play to such views in the West. Inoue Kaoru (井上 馨 1836–1915), a prominent Meiji leader, had arrived in Seoul as envoy extraordinary on October 20, 1894, as Japan’s defeat over China in Korea was becoming apparent. “Korea is a sick man,” Inoue told Hillier, according to a memo of the conversation. “The question is how to diagnose the disease, give medicine and bring about bodily recovery” (as quoted in Conroy 1960, 272, citing a memorandum of the meeting between Inoue and Hillier in Seoul on October 29, 1894). See also “A Retrospect,—1894,” Korean Repository (1895), 35. Though Inoue presumably had his own nation in mind when talking of a healer for Korea, Christian leaders saw an opportunity for Western teachings to enter the frame. After a visit to Korea in 1897, Robert Speer, the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary, wrote that Japan’s victory had “made Western civilization and religion more highly esteemed. It also demoralized spirit worshippers, killed the worship of Chinese gods, and dismantled some of the remaining props of Buddhism” (“Christian Mission in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World N.S. 21, no. 9 (September 1898), 680–83, here 681, O.S. 11, no. 9). Also cited in Oak 2013, 276.
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“civilized race taking over the management of these kindly Asiatics for the good of the people”

NoteDespite Horace Allen’s scathing views on Korea’s fitness for self-rule, Emperor Kojong had turned to Allen in 1905, wiring him $10,000 after his return to the U.S. to lobby on behalf of Korean independence. Allen, considering the cause lost, returned the unspent funds to the emperor (Nelson 1946, 265–66). Even with his skepticism about Korean independence, the Japanese regarded him as untrustworthy. That’s because Allen was somewhat conflicted as well and regularly relayed back to Washington some of the less savory aspects of Japanese rule in Korea. “The Japanese came to know it,” explains Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie. “They suggested indirectly that he was not persona grata to them” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 87). In 1905, Tokyo successfully pushed Allen out as U.S. minister. In general, Allen continued to express support for Japanese rule in Korea, telling former U.S. ambassador to the U.K. Joseph H. Choate (1832–1917) in December 1906, shortly after Japan established its protectorate, that “Korea should have some overlord, and it has seemed to me that Japan was the natural and proper one” (Duus 1995, 206, quoting Horace N. Allen letter to Joseph H. Choate, December 18, 1906).
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the bloody crackdowns of January 1905 further weakened morale on the war front

Note“Japan was fortunate in facing an enemy which was as completely unprepared for war as any that had ever risked war by its pretensions,” wrote war correspondent Frederick Palmer (Frederick Palmer 1904, 344). At the time of the outbreak of hostilities, the Romanov dynasty was already “one of the most unpopular in Russian history,” in the words of Russia-born American historian David Dallin. It was, in fact, because of the Romanovs’ sagging public support that St. Petersburg saw an opportunity for “a small victorious war to stem the tide of revolution.” Alas, it didn’t quite work out that way. “The military debacle brought catastrophe to the whole internal political system,” Dallin writes. “By the end of the war the centuries-old Russian monarchy was shaken to its roots” (Dallin 1950, 78–79).  DEFEAT ON THE YALU, DEFEAT AT PORT ARTHUR: Though Japan’s fighting prowess was on display from the outset of the war, it was Japan’s rout of the Russians at the Korea-China border in April–May 1904 that served as perhaps the first major shock to the broader Russian populace. “The signal victory of the despised Japanese at the Yalu River filled official circles in St. Petersburg with the liveliest dismay and shook that determined optimism which had survived even the unexampled series of naval disasters sustained by the power of the Czar in the Far East” (Tyler 1905, 197). It would not be the final humiliation. At Port Arthur on January 2, 1905, Russia was again dealt a severe blow after a standoff of 242 days, capped by a bloody battle. “The siege of Port Arthur takes high rank in the history of all war. Its capture was the most brilliant achievement of Japanese arms” (Tyler 1905, 429).  BLOODY SUNDAY: Attempts by St. Petersburg to drum up patriotic fervor in the face of these defeats only worsened the situation. Before long, the Romanovs were facing protests, including a peaceful one that “included even the most moderate elements of Russian society,” led by Russian Orthodox priest Father Georgy A. Gapon (1870–1906). That protest culminated in a massacre by imperial guards in St. Petersburg on January 22, 1905, events now known as Bloody Sunday. “No other war had engendered among the Russian people so strong a defeatist attitude as did that against Japan,” Dallin writes. “The extreme left, comprising all the Socialist parties, was openly defeatist” (Dallin 1950, 79–80). Though the Romanovs managed to suppress the 1905–1906 protests, it was only able to hang on for another decade after that (Dallin 1950, 88).
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dire for the Russians, the tsar began to explore the possibility of an end to hostilities

NoteThe final death blows to the Russian war cause, following the initial naval defeats, the routs at the Yalu River and Port Arthur, and another humiliation at Shenyang (Mukden), arrived on May 27 and 28, 1905, with the naval Battle of Tsushima, also known as the Battle of the Sea of Japan. There, Admiral Tōgō Heihachirō (東鄉 平八郎 1848–1934) made quick work of the Russian naval fleet after it had sailed 18,000 nautical miles, from the Baltic Sea to the Sea of Japan, to belatedly join the action. “A wave of awe went ‘round the [world] when the full effects of the Battle of the Sea of Japan were realized. Russia stood before the world in the light of a thoroughly vanquished nation,” as one account of the battle went. “Her last great effort to stem the victories of Japan, the sending of a vast Armada to the Orient, had resulted in complete annihilation of that fleet” (Tyler 1905, 557). After the drubbing, the tsar reached out to the Americans to broker a peace deal.
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it the duty of enlightened nations like the U.S. to lead the way for benighted nations like Korea

NoteTheodore Roosevelt (1858–1919) was perhaps the most prominent embodiment of the “muscular Christianity” of this era, turning up at the evangelist Dwight Moody’s annual conference at Northfield, Mass., in September 1902, to give his listeners a presidential exhortation to embrace a breed of Christianity that retained “the robust, virile qualities of heart, mind and body” (Theodore Roosevelt, “At Northfield, Mass., September 1, 1902,” in Theodore Roosevelt, Presidential Addresses and State Papers of Theodore Roosevelt, Part One (New York: P. F. Collier, 1905), 134–136, here 135).  MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY: While Roosevelt was perhaps the purest distillation of muscular Christianity, the ethos could easily be seen among many of the key institutions propelling missionary work during this period, including the Salvation Army and the YMCA, all of which similarly extolled a brand of Christianity that emphasized physical rigor, intellectual achievement, and a martial approach to expanding the Christian faith—and steadfastly regarded the Bible as the sole source of truth. “Take that sacred Book of ours; handle reverently the whole volume; search it through and through, from the first chapter to the last, and mark well the spirit that pervades the whole. You will find no limpness, no flabbiness about its utterances. Even sceptics who dispute its divinity are ready to admit that it is a thoroughly manly book. Vigour and manhood breathe in every page. It is downright and straightforward, bold and fearless, rigid and uncompromising. It tells you and me to be either hot or cold…Only one Name is given among men whereby we may be saved. No other name, no other Saviour, more suited to India, to Persia, to China, to Arabia, is ever mentioned—is ever hinted at,” Oxford University religion scholar M. Monier-Williams declared in 1900, in passages that were quoted approvingly by missions advocates and Korea missionaries alike. “Christianity cannot, must not, be watered down to suit the palate of either Hindū, Pārsī, Confucianist, Buddhist, or Muhammadan” (M. Monier-Williams, The Holy Bible and the Sacred Books of the East—Four Addresses to Which is Added a Fifth Address on Zenāna Missions (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1900), 13, 19; Pierson 1901, 276; and Lawrence 1895, 160). Billy Sunday, one of the best-known and most electric revivalist preachers of this period, was a former professional baseball star who walked away from the sport at age twenty-eight to embark on a preaching career that brought his breed of “muscular Christianity” before a hundred million people between 1896, when he held his first tent revival, and his death in 1935 (A. Cyrus Hayat, “Billy Sunday and the Masculinization of American Protestantism: 1896–1935” (Ph.D. diss., Indiana University, 2008), 2). Sunday’s sermons bore titles like “Show Thyself a Man,” quoting from the Old Testament: “Be thou strong and shew thyself a man” (I Kings 2:2, KJV). For more on Sunday, see Hayat’s 2008 Indiana University Ph.D. dissertation.
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to adopt Western ways, could serve as a guide for its backward neighbor, Roosevelt believed

NoteTheodore Roosevelt was rare among American presidents in having strong views on Japan and Korea, which he made abundantly clear in a letter to a friend in August 1900, a year before he assumed the presidency: “I should like to see Japan have Korea. She will be a check upon Russia and she deserves it for what she has done” (Theodore Roosevelt letter to Hermann Speck von Sternberg, August 28, 1900, Oyster Bay, N.Y., in Elting E. Morison, ed., The Letters of Theodore Roosevelt, Vol. II: The Years of Preparation, 1898–1900 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1951), 1394). Also cited in Métraux 2017, 76; and Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 248.  “DEGENERATE” AND “DECAYED”: Roosevelt’s views of the Koreans were almost certainly influenced by an old friend, George Kennan (1845–1924), an Ohio-born adventurer, author, lecturer, and distant cousin of the better-known George F. Kennan (1904–2005), the American diplomat whose call for containment of the USSR guided American foreign policy throughout the Cold War. At least one source describes the two George Kennans as great-uncle and great-nephew (Thubron 2021, 70). The two men were certainly remarkably similar in many ways, and even shared the same birthday—February 16, albeit fifty-nine years apart—as the younger George Kennan noted (Métraux 2017, 87–88, citing John Lewis Gaddis, George F. Kennan: An American Life (New York: Penguin Books, 2011), 13. The elder George Kennan, a reporter for the Associated Press when President James A. Garfield (1831–1881) was assassinated in 1881, was like his more famous namesake, also a bit of a Russia hand. He was perhaps best known for penning a two-volume study of the tsarist penal colonies in Siberia (Thubron 2021, 69). He was “the first American-born specialist on Russian affairs,” whose work, in the words of one historian, helped “to shape the popular ‘image of Siberia—and to a considerable extent—of tsarist Russia itself—as a prison of peoples.’” His work on tsarist Russia’s persecution of its Jewish population ultimately led to his expulsion from the country in 1891 (Métraux 2017, 83, 86). The elder Kennan later made his name as a foreign correspondent, writing about the American invasion of Cuba in 1898, the Russo-Japanese War of 1904–1905, and World War I, among others. Kennan was also one of the thirty-three founding members of the National Geographic Society in 1888 and contributed regularly to the National Geographic Magazine (Métraux 2017, 13–14, 84). Kennan, writing in the magazine The Outlook of his travels in Korea in 1905, described its government in withering terms in articles entitled “Korea: A Degenerate State” and “The Korean People: The Product of a Decayed Civilization”: “It takes from the people, directly and indirectly…It encourages the lowest forms of primitive superstition; and it corrupts and demoralizes its subjects by setting them examples of untruthfulness, dishonesty, treachery, cruelty, and a cynical brutality in dealing with human rights that is almost without parallel in modern times” (Kennan, “A Degenerate State,” Outlook (1905), 314–15). Also quoted in Grajdanzev 1944, 34–35. The Emperor Kojong, Kennan wrote, was “unconscious as a child, stubborn as a Boer, ignorant as a Chinaman, and vain as a Hottentot. He has read nothing, and has heard only flattery for forty years” (Kennan, “A Degenerate State,” Outlook (1905), 308). As for the Korean people and their “moony, expressionless faces,” Kennan dismissed them summarily: “The first impression that the Korean people make upon an impartial and unprejudiced newcomer is strongly and decidedly unfavorable…As one’s field of observation widens…one’s first impressions harden and one’s bad opinion of the people settles into a conviction…The whole Korean population seems to be lacking in dignity, intelligence, and force” (Kennan, “Product of a Decayed Civilization,” Outlook (1905), 409). Also quoted in Grajdanzev 1944, 35. Of the Koreans, Kennan continued, “a more unpromising, not to say hopeless, people to make anything of I have never yet seen” (George Kennan, “The Story of Port Arthur—XII.—The Surrender of Port Arthur,” The Outlook 81 (September 30, 1905), 257–66, here 257). Thus, Kennan concluded, Japanese attempts to work as equals with the Koreans were doomed to failure, since they were not “equal in mental equipment and experience” (George Kennan, “The Japanese in Korea,” The Outlook 81 (November 11, 1905), 609–16, here 610).  UNDER KENNAN’S INFLUENCE: Though Kennan’s articles weren’t published until after the signing of the Treaty of Portsmouth, it’s clear that such sentiments on Korea and the Korean people had trickled into the Oval Office. An admiring Roosevelt wrote Kennan from the Oval Office, eight days after the publication of Kennan’s “A Degenerate State” article: “I very much like your first article on Korea, in the Outlook” (Theodore Roosevelt letter to George Kennan, October 15, 1905, Washington, D.C., in Elting E. Morison, ed., The Letters of Theodore Roosevelt, Vol. V: The Big Stick, 1905–1907 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1952), 56–60, here 56). Also cited in Métraux 2017, 89; and Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 256. Indeed, Kennan “was very influential in his day,” in the words of one scholar (Grajdanzev 1944, 37). Another scholar describes how Kennan “influenced President Roosevelt to Korea’s disadvantage” (Wells 1984, 3). “Roosevelt paid close attention to the press and actively read material written by Kennan, Palmer and London and regarded Kennan and Palmer as his unofficial advisers,” writes Daniel Métraux, a professor at Mary Baldwin College in Staunton, Va., referring to Kennan, Frederick Palmer, and Jack London (Métraux 2017, 7). Métraux described Kennan and Palmer as “informal but valued advisors to President Theodore Roosevelt,” and elsewhere calls Kennan “an unofficial but very real advisor to President Theodore Roosevelt,” saying that “they seemingly sold their souls to the Japanese,” supporting Japan’s cause in exchange for first-class treatment by the authorities in Tokyo. Both men, Métraux wrote, “provided a distorted image of Japan and Korea that very likely played an important role in the shaping of American foreign policy and public opinion in favor of Japan’s takeover of Korea during the Russo-Japanese War” (Métraux 2017, 15, 21, 71, 82). That said, Roosevelt didn’t accept Kennan’s words uncritically. He later characterized Kennan as being among “the wild pro-Japanese people…Kennan is a very good man, but he gets carried away” (as quoted in Dennett 1925, 286–87).  THE OUTLOOK: Roosevelt’s alignment was perhaps closer with The Outlook, writes historian Jung H. Pak, later a senior official in the Barack Obama and Joe Biden administrations, who described the publication as “one of Theodore Roosevelt’s favorite journals” (Pak 2006, 32). Historian James Reed has described The Outlook as a “relentless partisan of realism in foreign affairs” that nonetheless “believed in the missionary cause,” regarding it as the projection of America’s “world-power in its noblest form” (Reed 1983, 16–17). The publication, he added, was a “popular weekly, a kind of house organ of the Progressive movement, reflecting the thinking of former President Theodore Roosevelt, its Contributing Editor” (Reed 1983, 78). The publication’s political views on East Asia during this period can be characterized as “strenuous espousal of good relations with the Japanese,” the dominant power in the region and, in its words, “the only organized country in the Orient.” “Outlook noted that Japan was the most important part of East Asia and therefore should serve as the focal point of American policy” (Reed 1983, 77–78). Roosevelt contributed many articles to the publication, which was founded in 1870 as The Christian Union, and which was a booster of the missionary enterprise, writing in one article that “wherever our countrymen have taught and toiled among Asiatic peoples, numbering half of the world’s inhabitants, a new spirit of democracy is awakening, in need of Christian teaching…In awakening and fostering that spirit the American missionary has become and is a world-power more potent than fleets and battalions” (“American World-Power,” The Outlook 106 (January 24, 1914), 154–55). The next article continued: “The development of Christian democracy and civilization which Americans are effecting in the non-Christian world, exhibiting world power in its noblest form, is a fact of National interest, entitled to National attention and sympathy” (“American Missions in 1913,” The Outlook 106 (January 24, 1914), 155). Also quoted in Pak 2006, 32; and Reed 1983, 16–17. Though Roosevelt isn’t named as the author of either piece, he is named on the masthead as the “Contributing Editor.” The Outlook was, alongside The Nation and The Independent, among the most influential news magazines of the time, until its closure in 1935, and featured the writings of not only Theodore Roosevelt but also African American educator and orator Booker T. Washington (1856–1915) (Métraux 2017, 87, n. 82). For a description of a post-presidential Roosevelt visiting the Outlook offices in 1911, see Dennett 1925, 1. When Japan formally established its protectorate over Korea in November 17, 1905, The Outlook’s editors wrote, in words that would have outraged the Koreans, that “the elimination of Korea from the list of independent States is, we think, really in the interest of the Koreans themselves,” expressing the view that Japanese rule would bring “real liberty and progress…The Koreans should now enter upon an epoch of civilization, for which they never could have hoped from their own initiative” (“Japan and Korea,” The Outlook 81 (December 2, 1905), 792).   “KOREA IS ABSOLUTELY JAPAN’S”: During the Sino-Japanese War in 1894, writes Tyler Dennett, “from the outset President Roosevelt’s sympathies were with Japan” (Dennett 1925, 27). A decade later, the picture was even clearer. Roosevelt was thrilled by Japan’s battlefield prowess against Russia, seeing it as a victory for progress, though he also worried that Japanese power, if unchecked in the region, could endanger American interests there (Parker, “The Realistic Roosevelt,” The National Interest (2004), 144). Rather than hitch its fortunes to a feeble Korea, Roosevelt saw more value in a U.S. alliance with Japan, which he described in a May 1905 letter to “my dear Mr. Kennan” as something he supported “entirely”—though he also acknowledged that winning Congressional approval would likely prove prohibitively difficult (Theodore Roosevelt letter to George Kennan, May 6, 1905, Glenwood Springs, Colo., in Morison, Letters of Theodore Roosevelt, Vol. IV (1951), 1168–1170). Also cited in Dennett 1925, 115–16; and Dallin 1950, 83. To be clear, Roosevelt was not unaware of the U.S.-Korea treaty of 1882, which he noted in a September 1914 essay for The Outlook “solemnly covenanted that Korea should remain independent.” But, Roosevelt was quick to add, embracing the social Darwinist credo to the hilt, “Korea was itself helpless to enforce the treaty, and it was out of the question to suppose that any other nation, with no interest of its own at stake would attempt to do for the Koreans what they were utterly unable to do for themselves.” Roosevelt concluded with words that left little ambiguity: “Korea is absolutely Japan’s” (Theodore Roosevelt, “The World War: Its Tragedies and Its Lessons,” The Outlook 108 (September 23, 1914), 169–178, here 174). Also quoted in James 1951, 131; Oliver 1954, 71; and Wells 1984, 141–42. Roosevelt reflected in many ways an American foreign policy that was tilting increasingly toward Japan. As Dennett writes, “perhaps the decisive factor in inclining American policy toward Japan, was the Influence of General Grant who had, in 1879, been more favorably impressed by the Japanese. Grant’s visit to the East may be reckoned as a very important date in the history of American policy in Asia” (Dennett 1922, 455, footnote). Despite U.S.-Japanese tensions on a range of issue, including Hawaii and Korea, “among all the possible neighbors to Japan,” Dennett writes, “Japan vastly preferred the United States to any other Western power” (Dennett 1922, 637–38).
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said, though even then the president fretted about an eventual military clash with Tokyo

Note“The Japs interest me and I like them,” Roosevelt wrote in the letter, though his admiration was leavened by a fear—foresighted at the time—that Japan’s rise would eventually put it at odds with the U.S. As he put it in the next sentence: “I am perfectly well aware if they win out it may possibly mean a struggle between them and us in the future” (Theodore Roosevelt letter to Cecil A. Spring Rice, June 13, 1904, Washington, D.C., in Morison, Letters of Theodore Roosevelt, Vol. IV (1951), 829–33, here 831–32). British diplomat Cecil A. Spring Rice (1859–1918) was a confidant and friend who not only served as U.K. ambassador to the U.S. from 1912 to 1918 but also served as best man at Roosevelt’s second wedding. Roosevelt’s letter to Rice is also cited in Meyer 2015, 118, 296; and Halberstam 2007, 64–65. “What wonderful people the Japanese are! They are quite as remarkable industrially as in warfare,” he wrote in another letter to Spring Rice in June 1905. “I believe that Japan will take its place as a great civilized power of a formidable type” (Theodore Roosevelt letter to Cecil A. Spring Rice, June 16, 1905, Washington, D.C., in Morison, Letters of Theodore Roosevelt, Vol. IV (1951), 1233–34, here 1233). “I admire them and respect them. I regard them as a highly civilized people, and thier [sic] feats of heroism in the present war should be an example to us and to all other nations,” Roosevelt wrote George Kennan in a similar vein in May 1905. In the letter, he told Kennan that he didn’t think the U.S. and Japan were on a collision course—in contradiction to his remark to Spring Rice less than a year earlier—though neither was the president so certain about this view as to drop his defenses: “I do not think we shall ever have trouble with Japan; but my own theory is to keep our navy so strong and so efficient that we shall be able to handle Japan if ever the need arises, and at the same time to treat her with scrupulous courtesy and friendliness so that she shall have no excuse for bearing malice toward us,” Roosevelt wrote (Roosevelt letter to Kennan, May 6, 1905). For similar remarks by Roosevelt on Japan and what he called its admirable national character, see Dennett 1925, 163. In addition to Kennan, Roosevelt’s personal warmth for the Japanese people can also be traced to his friendship with one of Japan’s leading modernizers, Kaneko Kentarō (金子 堅太郎 1853–1942), a member of the Iwakura Mission who had, like Roosevelt, studied at Harvard University in the late 1870s, though the two didn’t become friends until the late 1880s (Métraux 2017, 70–72).  VISIONS OF A GREAT PACIFIC WAR: Not that Roosevelt the only one to note the possibility. Jack London, several years after his return from Korea, wondered in a December 1909 article: “Who will dare to say that in the Japanese mind is not burning some colossal Napoleonic dream?…Our machinery of warfare, of commerce, and of industry, she has made hers. And so well has she done it that we have been surprised. We did not think she had it in her” (Jack London, “If Japan Wakens China,” Sunset Magazine, December 1909, in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 358–61, here, 361). The publishers of a book on the Russo-Japanese War by Sydney Tyler, a war correspondent, similarly mused in 1905, referring to the U.S.’s interests in the Philippines: “Will the United States, one day be called upon to go to war in their behalf? The question is one which no American can ignore. The nation must educate itself to decide one day, the issue, for or against a struggle with this wonderful little Empire, the Great Britain of Asia”—that is, Japan (Tyler 1905, 6). As it turns out, the Japanese too were, as early as 1905, coming to the realization that a clash with America was increasingly likely, second only to the more immediate concern of a retaliatory attack by the just-defeated Russians (see Keene 2002, 650).  In part because of his concerns about an eventual military clash with Japan, Roosevelt sent Gen. Arthur MacArthur to Tokyo to witness the war effort and to meet Meiji Japan’s top military commanders. Gen. MacArthur had his son, Douglas MacArthur, join him there. “The purpose of our observations was to measure the strength of the Japanese Army and its methods of warfare. In Washington there was a growing uneasiness,” the younger MacArthur later recalled. “It was here that I first encountered the boldness and courage of the Nipponese soldier. His almost fanatical belief in and reverence for his Emperor impressed me indelibly” (Douglas MacArthur, Reminiscences: General of the Army (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964), 30). On the other side of the coin, University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik, writing in 1965 about the Russo-Japanese War, offers an intriguing counterfactual, arguing that had Tsar Nicholas II “accepted the sane advice of his ministers and averted the disastrous war with Japan, revolution within his country could have been averted or delayed, and Japan would not have gained the overconfidence which eventually led to the disaster of the 1940’s” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 71).
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forced to acknowledge Japan’s “paramount political, military, and economic interests” in Korea

NoteTHE TREATY OF PORTSMOUTH: For the full text of the Treaty of Portsmouth, signed September 5, 1905, at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and made public on October 16, 1905, see Tyler 1905, 564–68; and Hishida 1905, 276–81.  The second article of the treaty explicitly recognized Japan’s “paramount political, military and economic interests” in Korea and pledged Russia “neither to obstruct nor interfere with measures for guidance, protection and control which the Imperial Government of Japan may find necessary to take in Korea” (see Tyler 1905, 564). Also part of the peace treaty was a stipulation that Russia turn over to Japan its leased territory on the Liaodong peninsula and the South Manchuria Railway linking Port Arthur to Changchun; Japan also won the half of Sakhalin Island that fell south of the fiftieth parallel (Young 1999, 25; Kotkin, “Preface,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, xiv; Paine, “Chinese Eastern Railway,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 25–26; and Y. Tak Matsusaka, “Japan’s South Manchuria Railway Company in Northeast China, 1906–34,” in Bruce A. Elleman and Stephen Kotkin, eds., Manchurian Railways and the Opening of China: An International History (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 2010), 37–58, here 38). Thus, Japan won from Russia the Liaodong concession that Russia had snatched from it a decade earlier in the Triple Intervention of 1895. Japan also learned from the debacle of the Triple Intervention following the Sino-Japanese War a decade earlier and won diplomatic support, for instance with its 1902 Anglo-Japanese Alliance, such that it could fend off any challenge to its war gains from other Western powers (Young 1999, 26). As Yun Ch’i-ho put it in his diary: “The war is thus definitively ended. Russia got the lesson of it; Japan, the glory of it; Korea, the worst of it” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, October 16, 1905, entry). Also cited in Hyung-chan Kim, “Portrait of a Troubled Korean Patriot” (1989), 82.  MANCHURIAN PARTITION: Though the Treaty  of Portsmouth stated that neither Russia nor Japan would have any upper hand in Manchuria impinging on China’s sovereignty, it made clear that Russia would keep the Chinese Eastern Railway and hand the South Manchuria Railway to Japan, thus carving up northeastern China into two blocs (Bruce A. Elleman, “Sino-Soviet Tensions and Soviet Administrative Control over the Chinese Eastern Railway, 1917–25,” in Bruce A. Elleman and Stephen Kotkin, eds., Manchurian Railways and the Opening of China: An International History (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 2010), 59–80, here 59). Thus, what in fact happened was an effective “Russo-Japanese alliance directed primarily against China,” in which St. Petersburg and Tokyo agreed to work together and use their control of Manchuria’s railroads to advance their respective interests in China. In a series of four Russo-Japanese treaties in 1907, 1910, 1912, and 1916—many of the terms kept secret—the two sides agreed to an informal division of power in Manchuria, with Russia ascendant in the north and in Mongolia, while Japan would be given dominance in southern Manchuria and Korea. It was only then that Russia laid the final stretch of the Trans-Siberian Railway between Chita and Vladivostok, following the northern bank of the Amur River along its border with China (Dallin 1950, 87–90).  JAPAN’S NEWEST COLONY: On December 2, 1905, several weeks after the Treaty of Portsmouth, Qing China signed a treaty—with a little bit of pressure from Tokyo—that turned over Russia’s holdings in southern Manchuria to Japan, to be called the Kwantung Leased Territory (関東州 Jap. Kantō-shū), also known as Kwantung province. Just like Japan’s other colony, Taiwan, the Kwantung Leased Territory would get its own government-general—headed for the first decade and a half by a Japanese general (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 56–57, 63–64). Within this new Japanese colony, Port Arthur (旅順 Jap. Ryojun) would serve as the political center while Dalny, now renamed Dairen (大連), would serve as the economic center (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 68). Port Arthur would be linked to the rest of Manchuria via its newly acquired, Russia-built railway line, which would be reorganized in 1906 under a Tokyo government-controlled entity that was, at least officially, a private entity (Matsusaka, “Japan’s South Manchuria Railway Company,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 37). The June 7, 1906, imperial ordinance created what was then “the largest company ever founded in Japan,” and Japanese economist Hoshino Tokuji, writing in 1920, described the company as being “no less an organ of the State than the Government-General of Kwantung itself, in that the economic interests of Japan in Manchuria acquired by an immense sacrifice of life and money were now placed under their charge” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 65–66). British traveler Emily Kemp, riding the railway between Shenyang and Dandong shortly after the Russo-Japanese War, was alarmed at the intensity of the Japanese military presence along the railroad. “On all the Japanese lines we were struck with the large number of soldiers hanging about,” she wrote (Kemp 1911, 58–59).  AN EPILOGUE: The two rail lines—the Chinese Eastern Railway and the South Manchuria Railway—were tossed around by the vicissitudes of geopolitical turmoil before they were eventually returned, once and for all, to Chinese sovereign control at the end of 1952—though the Soviet Union, which controlled it until then, required that Mao relinquish any claim on Outer Mongolia (that is, modern-day Mongolia) in return (Kotkin, “Preface,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, xiv). Thus, the prized ice-free port of Port Arthur served primarily as a shuttlecock of geopolitics throughout the final years of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, batted between the Japanese and the Russians—and always out of the reach of the Chinese. Historian Bruce Elleman notes that it was occupied almost continuously by non-Chinese powers for roughly six decades—“by Japan from 1894 to 1895, Russia from 1897 to 1905, Japan from 1905 to 1945 and, finally, after the end of World War II, the Soviet Union once again from 1945 to 1955” (Elleman, “Rivers of Steel,” in Elleman and Kotkin 2010, 196).
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was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, America’s first, though it won him few friends in Korea

NotePANIC IN TOKYO: The Treaty of Portsmouth was unpopular in Korea for having cemented Japanese control of Korea. But it also had few fans in Japan, where the public was infuriated by the terms of the deal, regarding it as a second humiliation to match that of the Triple Intervention a decade earlier. Japanese scholar Hishida Seiji (菱田 誠二 1874–?), writing in 1905, described the ferocity with which the Japanese press denounced the terms of the treaty, helping spark protests that rocked Tokyo and forced authorities to declare martial law. In Kobe, a statue of Itō Hirobumi was knocked down and dragged through the streets (Hishida 1905, 243). “In several cities the populace took violent methods of expressing its dissatisfaction with a ministry that had consented to what was styled a disgraceful peace,” recalled an American missionary in Japan at the time. “In Tokyo a mob burned electric cars, police boxes, and a few buildings” (Cary 1909, 327). For more on popular Japanese dissatisfaction with the Treaty of Portsmouth, see George Kennan, “The Sword of Peace in Japan,” The Outlook 81 (October 14, 1905), 357–65; Loomis 1923, 118; and Dennett 1925, 278.  ROOSEVELTIAN REGRET: Many years later, Roosevelt acknowledged the Treaty of Portsmouth to have been a mistake “because it violated the promises of the treaty of Amity and Commerce” in 1882—at least according to Geraldine T. Fitch (1892–1976), the wife of George A. Fitch (1883–1979), a China-born Presbyterian missionary to China who later served at the YMCA in Korea (Korean Liberty Conference 1942, 57). Writing a century after the treaty, Tom Parker, a onetime British domestic intelligence officer who served as a national security advisor to U.S. secretary of defense Donald H. Rumsfeld (1932–2021) during the George W. Bush presidency, is less harsh on Roosevelt than Roosevelt himself, arguing that, “though not a heroic policy, Roosevelt’s acquiescence in Japan’s position in Korea and southern Manchuria made sense, given the limits of American power” (Parker, “The Realistic Roosevelt,” The National Interest (2004), 144).
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terms of which were being decided by outsiders, it was even worse than they knew at the time

NoteAMERICAN ENABLERS: By this time, there were enough seeds of doubt planted in the Korean mind as to whether the Americans truly had their national aspirations at heart (Allen 1908, 170). And rightly so. The larger question of the U.S. role in determining Korea’s modern history was examined in 1967 by Cho Sun-sŭng (趙淳昇 1929–2022), a scholar and later South Korean legislator from 1988 to 1996 whose book title, Korea in World Politics 1940–1950: An Evaluation of American Responsibility, hints at his charge of American culpability. In the introduction of his book, Cho argues that William Taft’s 1905 agreement with Katsura Tarō to effectively hand Korea over to Japan marked the first key moment of truth in the U.S.-Korea relationship, showing that, “almost from the first American contact with Asia, United States policy toward Korea has been torn between allegiance to lofty moral principles and an acceptance of hard political and geographical realities” (Soon Sung Cho 1967, p. 6). While Japan couldn’t have seized control of Korea without its military victories over China in 1895 and Russia in 1905, Yang Sŏng-ch’ŏl (梁性喆 1939– ), another South Korean scholar and later South Korea’s ambassador to the U.S., argues that “the Japanese free ride in Korea” was also contingent on the complicity of the U.S., which in addition to the Taft-Katsura Memo of July 1905 also included an agreement between Secretary of State Elihu Root (1845–1937) and Japanese ambassador to the U.S. Takahira Kogorō (高平 小五郎 1854–1926) in November 1908 acknowledging Japan’s right to annex Korea in exchange for U.S. interests in Hawaii and the Philippines. Yang points as well to the Second Anglo-Japanese Treaty of Alliance in August 1905, in which Tokyo recognized British interests in India in exchange for London’s acquiescence of Japan’s interests in Korea (Yang 1981, 6).  SEOUL’ED OUT: To be sure, Korea had long experienced the sensation of being cut out of decisions involving its future. The peace talks during the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s took place between China and Japan (Haboush 2016, 113). Those two countries again hashed out the Tianjin Convention of 1885, as well as the Treaty of Shimonoseki in 1895, all without any Korean involvement. After the Treaty of Portsmouth, Korea would again find itself in the position of having its neighbors and the Great Powers determine its future. As Gen. Matthew Ridgway, who succeeded Gen. MacArthur as head of U.N. Command during the Korean War, noted, “the United States, no matter that our government has several times pledged itself to assist Korea in the event of attack, had never, prior to June 1950, raised a hand to rescue this tiny, hapless kingdom from its foes next door” (Ridgway 1967, 2). During the Russo-Japanese War and again after the March First demonstrations of 1919, Ridgway writes, “we were twice invited to honor our original pledge to protect Korea from being eaten alive and twice we rejected the request, specifically and forthrightly” (Ridgway 1967, 6).  AN EVALUATION OF AMERICAN RESPONSIBILITY: Most contemporary Western historians also hold the U.S. responsible for abandoning Korea and its treaty obligations. The Western powers, “with no particular interests in Korea and bemused by the peculiarities of Far Eastern power politics…were unwilling to risk important diplomatic stakes in the peninsula,” writes historian Martina Deuchler. “The United States could have aided Korean independence, but any initiative for action by its representatives in Korea was frustrated by Washington’s indifference and indecision” (Deuchler 1977, 220). George M. McCune, the Pyongyang-born son of missionaries who later led the State Department’s Korea desk, wrote that the U.S. had “a peculiar responsibility for Korea,” given its 1882 pledge to stand up for Korea. This duty became all the more salient by 1905, McCune continued, when one by one, the other major rivals fighting over control of Korea—China and Japan on the one hand and England and Russia on the other—were eliminated one after another, leaving just Washington and Tokyo. When Theodore Roosevelt, lacking an apparent sense of commitment to Korea, gave the implicit green light for Japan to expand its empire onto the Asian mainland, the Koreans were left effectively powerless (McCune and Grey 1950, 3–4). Indiana University historian John Wilz, in his 1985 article “Did the United States Betray Korea in 1905?” answers the question in a straightforward fashion: “The answer is that it did” (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 265). In short, Wilz writes, Roosevelt turned the 1882 treaty between the U.S. and the Chosŏn court “into a scrap of paper—and, more than that, actively encouraged the Japanese in their destruction of Korea’s independence in flagrant violation of the spirit if not the letter of the foregoing document” (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 269). The perceived selling-out of Korea’s nationalist aspirations by the U.S. would continue right up through the end of the Japanese occupation, and beyond. In early 1942, Philip Jaisohn, the first Korean to naturalize as an American citizen, declared at a conference in Washington, D.C., that the 1882 treaty between the U.S. and Korea came into existence “not because Korea came here and asked them to negotiate with them to have intercourse with Korea, but because Americans went there to request the open door of Korea to American trade, and which she did at the signing of the treaty. Signing such a treaty was very unwise, I think. If I were an American statesman I would not permit such a clause going into International Law, but nevertheless, the treaty was signed, ratified and proclaimed by the United States as the Treaty between Korea and the United States and the supreme law of the land. That proclamation still stands on the statute books of the United States, because it has never been repealed, either by the Korean people or the American people. But it has failed to function” (as quoted in Korean Liberty Conference 1942, 67).  “FOR THE BENEFIT OF ITS IMPERIALIST PLANS”: As Syngman Rhee’s publicist and biographer Robert Oliver put it, citing correspondence between Rhee and U.S. assistant secretary of state Adolf A. Berle (1895–1971), recognizing Korean independence before the December 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor risked antagonizing Japan, which claimed sovereignty over Korea; after Pearl Harbor, recognizing Korean independence risked antagonizing Russia, which the U.S. was desperately hoping would enter the Pacific War against Japan (Oliver, Robert T., Why War Came in Korea (New York: Fordham University Press, 1950), 115). All of this would also make perfect material for the Soviet Union and its efforts to convince the Korean people that the U.S. could not be trusted. Pointing to the 1882 U.S.-Korea treaty, and the subsequent abandonment of Korea to the Japanese, one Soviet diplomat in Korea wrote in 1950: “For the benefit of its imperialist plans…the USA sacrificed the independence of the Korean people to Japan without any hesitation” (F. I. Shabshina [Fania Isaakovna Shabshina], Korea After the Second World War (Bombay: People’s Publishing House, 1950), 54–55).
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Tarō, giving Tokyo a free hand in Korea in exchange for U.S. domination of the Philippines

NoteDISAPPOINTMENT IN OYSTER BAY: The betrayal for Korean nationalists was all the more bitter because prominent activists including Syngman Rhee, later the first president of South Korea, had pleaded their shared cause directly with Roosevelt and Taft just weeks earlier. In February 1905, Rhee, newly arrived in Washington, met with Secretary of State John Hay, who seemed to genuinely sympathize with the Korean cause, though he died soon thereafter on July 1, 1905, just before the opening of the Portsmouth peace talks (Lew 2014, 20). Rhee believed that, if Hay had not died, that he could have intervened to protect Korea. Hay had also told Cho Min-hŭi (趙民熙 1859–1931), Korea’s minister in Washington, that the U.S. would help Korea with the fallout from the Russo-Japanese War, without elaborating (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 250–51). In August 1905, Rhee “stormed down to Oyster Bay,” Roosevelt’s longtime summer residence on Long Island, together with a Hawaii-based Korean Methodist leader, Rev. Yun Pyŏng-gu (P. K. Yoon 尹炳求 1880–1949), to seek American help in staving off Japanese colonization of Korea. The two men, bearing a letter of introduction from Secretary of War Taft, were received by Roosevelt at his home, called Sagamore Hill. They talked for half an hour, but Roosevelt, who was in an ebullient mood and dressed in a “Rough Rider” uniform during the meeting, told them that “it would be impossible for him to receive it officially unless it came to him through the usual diplomatic channels” (Oliver 1952, 37; “Koreans See the President,” New York Times, August 5, 1905, 2; and Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 251). See also Erez Manela, The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of Anticolonial Nationalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 123; Lew 2014, 20–24; Oliver 1950, 202; and Halberstam 2007, 65–66.  DISAPPOINTMENT IN HONOLULU: Worse, Rev. Yun, back in Hawaii in July 1905, had rallied many of the four thousand Koreans then living on the islands to welcome Taft as he headed to Tokyo for his fateful meeting with Prime Minister Katsura. Taft was accompanied on his mission to Japan and Korea by the president’s daughter, Alice Roosevelt, and her soon-to-be-husband, Rep. Nicholas Longworth of Ohio. In Hawaii, Rev. Yun and the other Koreans there welcomed the Americans to Honolulu and presented Alice Roosevelt with a petition calling on her father to stand up for Korea’s independence, in line with the 1882 treaty of amity between Washington and Seoul (Oliver 1954, 84). For the full English-language text of the petition, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 311–12. That the signing of “Korea’s death warrant” came just days after the Washington newspapers had carried glowing coverage of Taft’s “cordial friendliness” toward the Korean cause was almost “melodramatically hypocritical,” as Robert Oliver, Syngman Rhee’s biographer and friend, later described it (Oliver 1954, 84–85). Halberstam points to this sequence of events as one of the reasons for the intense caginess and mistrust of American promises by Rhee, who he described as a “professional supplicant” and a “relentless self-promoter” (Halberstam 2007, 68).  “RELIED UPON SOMEONE WHO COULD NOT BE RELIED UPON”: Some of the blame could be placed on the shoulders of Kim Yun-jŏng, the acting minister at the Korean legation in Washington, who was to have forwarded the Korean petition to the State Department so that, Roosevelt said, he could present it at the Portsmouth peace conference when it opened on August 9, 1905; in the end, Kim Yun-jŏng never sent the petition, for reasons that remain mysterious. Even so, historians including Ryu Yŏng-ik say that the larger factor was Roosevelt’s implicit agreement with the Japanese to recognize the others’ primacy over the Philippines and Korea (Lew 2014, 22–23). Indeed, most Koreans even at that time pinned most of the responsibility on Roosevelt. James Gale, writing in 1910, described how Western countries’ standing among ordinary Koreans had fallen as a result of a widely held view that Roosevelt had “given Korea over to Japan” (James S. Gale, “Personal Annual Report for 1910,” June 1910, Seoul (PHS 285/244)). Of course, Theodore Roosevelt likely believed he was doing the best thing for both Korea and the Philippines. As one historian has written, “Roosevelt felt that because it had been so successful in its modernization process, Japan was well positioned to move both China and Korea forward. Just as the United States was promoting the economic and cultural development of less developed countries…Japan should do so with its neighbors in East Asia” (Métraux 2017, 68–69, citing Roosevelt letter to Spring Rice, June 13, 1904). Roosevelt later defended himself, noting that it wasn’t just the Americans who had turned their backs on Korea; Japan, too, had treated its diplomatic agreements with Korea as mere scraps of paper—“as utterly worthless as our own”—Roosevelt wrote in September 1914 (Roosevelt, “Its Tragedies and Its Lessons,” The Outlook (1914), 174). Also cited in Dennett 1925, 305. Dennett, the diplomatic historian who first uncovered the Taft-Katsura agreement, likewise sympathizes with Roosevelt, concluding that “one is unable after most careful search of the evidence to see how or where the American Government could properly intervene. Korea was betrayed not by President Roosevelt but by her own Emperor” (Dennett 1925, 305). That said, in another work just a few years earlier, Dennett sympathized for the Koreans for falling for America’s pledges of goodwill. The Koreans, Dennett wrote, were “misled…into the assumption that the American Government would, in some time of emergency, intervene and assume protectorate functions over the peninsula” (Dennett 1922, 571). Either way, the fallout from the perceived betrayal of ideals and treaty obligations implicit in the uncovering of the Taft-Katsura agreement was not confined to Korea. Sun Yat-sen expressed his mistrust of American intentions, declaring that, after years of close tributary relations with China, “it was the United States that first seduced Korea into separating herself from China . . . Korea perished because it relied upon someone who could not be relied upon” (as quoted in Dallin 1950, 208). Dallin doesn’t make clear the date and context of Sun’s remarks.
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appealing to America’s pledges of goodwill in their 1882 treaty establishing diplomatic ties

NoteRETURN TO SENDER: Homer Hulbert, the American missionary, historian, and advocate of Korean independence, had been sent to Washington with the letter from Emperor Kojong to Theodore Roosevelt, but couldn’t get an audience with the president (Korean Liberty Conference 1942, 101–2). Hulbert did, however, manage to get it to Secretary of State Elihu Root in late November 1905, though upon receiving it the secretary of state blurted: “Mr. Hulbert, do you want us to get into trouble with Japan?” (see Homer B. Hulbert, “American Policy in the Cases of Korea and Belgium,” New York Times, March 5, 1916, 20). See also Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 260. Two years later, in late 1907, it was Root who said that the U.S. would not recognize Korean passports, only Japanese-issued ones (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 556). For the entire sequence of Hulbert’s abortive mission to Washington, see Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 255–61.  THE LETTER: Emperor Kojong’s letter, which sought to remind the American president of the U.S.-Korea treaty of 1882, was instead published in the Taehan Daily News (Taehan Maeil Sinbo), a newspaper published by Briton Ernest Bethell, on February 1, 1906, causing a stir (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 76–77; and Carlton Waldo Kendall, The Truth About Korea, 2nd ed. (San Francisco: Korean National Association, 1919), 11). Hulbert himself published the contents of the letter in a book that he published that same year (Hulbert 1906, 223–24). “If there is any nation on earth that deserves the active and substantial aid of the American people that nation is Korea,” Hulbert wrote in that work. “We were the first Western power to conclude a treaty with her, and in making that treaty we guaranteed to keep a watchful eye upon her safety and interests” (Hulbert 1906, 464–65).   “PREMEDITATION IN THE REFUSAL”: As Hulbert reflected on this sequence of events, he could only conclude that the fix was in from the start: “I received the astounding answer that the President would not receive it. I cast about in my own mind for a possible reason, but could imagine none. I went to the State Department with it, but was told that they were too busy to see me. Remember that at that very moment Korea was in her death throes; that she was in full treaty relations with us; that there was a Korean legation in Washington and an American legation in Seoul. I determined that there was something here that was more than mere carelessness. There was premeditation in the refusal. There was no other answer” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 99–100). See also Frederick McKenzie 1907, 46–47; and Frederick McKenzie 1908, 131. Indeed, as historian Alexis Dudden writes, Root had decided the moment he learned of the incoming Hulbert delegation that the Koreans should not get an official hearing from the U.S. government (Dudden 2005, 23–24).
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“attempt to do for the Koreans what they were unable to do for themselves,” he reasoned

NoteROOSEVELT ON MANCHURIA: By 1910, the year that Japan formally annexed Korea, Theodore Roosevelt, having just returned to private life after completing his second term as president, wrote his successor William Taft, in relation to Manchuria, widely regarded as Japan’s next prize: “I do not believe in our taking any position anywhere unless we can make good; and as regards Manchuria, if the Japanese insist on following a course of conduct to which we are adverse, we cannot stop it unless we are prepared to go to war, and a successful war about Manchuria would require a fleet as good as that of England plus an army as good as that of Germany” (as quoted in Oliver 1950, 44; and Parker, “The Realistic Roosevelt,” The National Interest (2004), 144).  ROOSEVELT ON BELGIUM: Years later during World War I, Roosevelt urged America to do precisely the opposite and intervene, on moral grounds, on behalf of a weak Belgian nation then being overrun by the Germans; Roosevelt’s appeal fell on deaf ears from those in the Woodrow Wilson administration, who regarded Roosevelt’s sudden moral defense of Belgium hypocritical in light of his unwillingness to extend the same courtesy to Korea in 1905 (Manela 2007, 123). The irony was certainly not lost on Homer Hulbert (see Hulbert, “In the Cases of Korea and Belgium,” New York Times, March 5, 1916, 20).
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The U.S. would be the first country to recall its diplomats from Seoul

NoteHORACE ALLEN REMOVED: The Japanese lobbied successfully to squeeze out Horace Allen as U.S. minister to Korea in June 1905, months into Theodore Roosevelt’s second term in office and five months before Japan formally made Korea a protectorate. As Homer Hulbert charged in the pages of the New York Times more than a decade later, directing his ire at Theodore Roosevelt, a member of the president’s cabinet “intimated that Dr. H. N. Allen was so friendly with the royal family in Seoul that without a change in the legation it would be difficult for the Administration to carry out the policy upon which it had determined” (Hulbert, “In the Cases of Korea and Belgium,” New York Times, March 5, 1916, 20). The same assessment is made by historian Donald Clark, who writes that Allen’s view that the U.S. should resist Japanese imperialism in Korea “marked him as disloyal and led to his replacement as minister” (Clark 2003, 32). See also Frederick McKenzie 1908, 209. Allen’s own biographer, Fred Harrington, describes the shock that Allen felt upon being relieved of his duties, which Harrington portrays as an impetuous act by the president and which Allen himself believed was tied to Roosevelt’s countenancing of Japan’s ascendancy over Korea (Harrington 1944, 327–32). Harrington also describes an Oval Office clash between Roosevelt and Allen on the issue of Korea (Harrington 1944, 302–18). American diplomatic historian Tyler Dennett takes a different view, writing that conspiracy theories about Roosevelt’s replacement of Allen can be dismissed by pointing out that the president, upon his inauguration in March 1905, replaced all American diplomatic representatives who had been in their posts for eight years or more (Dennett 1925, 302–3).   EDWIN MORGAN IN—AND OUT: With Horace Allen out, Washington then named Edwin V. Morgan (1865–1934) as envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary in June 1905—though Morgan lasted less than six months in the role. Once Japan established its protectorate over Korea in November 1905, Japan’s ambassadors to Beijing and Washington dropped the appropriate hints to their American counterparts—and the U.S. promptly withdrew its diplomatic ties with Korea; Morgan departed Seoul shortly thereafter (Brown 1919, 200). More specifically, it was on November 21, 1905, that Komura Jutarō, the Japanese minister to China and previously its minister to Korea, told his American counterpart in Beijing, William W. Rockhill (1854–1914), that “his government would view it as an act of great friendship if President Roosevelt would withdraw the American legation from Seoul” (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 262). Days later, on November 24, 1905, Secretary of State Elihu Root directed Edwin Morgan to shut down the legation in Seoul (Dennett 1925, 304–5; and Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 262). In Washington, the Japanese minister sent his “cordial appreciation” to the State Department for its “friendly disposition” in “promptly taking the initiative action to withdraw the United States Legation in Korea” (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 262–63). Homer Hulbert, unsurprisingly, was disgusted at this sequence of events. “While the most loyal, cultured and patriotic Koreans were committing suicide one after the other because they would not survive the death of their country, the American Minister was toasting the perpetrators of the outrage in bumpers of champagne,” Hulbert wrote the following year (Hulbert 1906, 465).  “A STAMPEDE OF RATS”: In the days to come, others followed the U.S. lead in withdrawing their diplomats from Seoul, an exodus that Willard D. Straight (1880–1918), the U.S. vice consul in Seoul, serving under Edwin Morgan, compared to “a stampede of rats leaving a sinking ship” (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 263). Roosevelt didn’t merely close the American legation in Seoul; he also went a step further to ensure that, at the State Department, the official records would place anything to do with Korea under the “Japan” header (James Bradley, “Diplomacy That Will Live in Infamy,” New York Times, December 6, 2009, WK11).
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developed what could be described as a mutually respectful relationship with Emperor Kojong

NoteDuring a visit to Seoul in March 1904, Itō was wined and dined by the Korean emperor (Duus 1995, 189). In fact, Itō was seen by many Korean nationalists as an ally in their fight for independence—so much so that Chang Chi-yŏn, editor of the pioneering nationalist newspaper the Capital Gazette welcomed Itō in its pages during a visit to the Korean capital in March 1904, regarding the Japanese politician as among “those who support us”—though Chang would soon come to regret his warm words for Itō (Schmid 2002, 93, citing Hwangsŏng Sinmun, March 19, 1904). Back in Tokyo, Itō was also extremely close with the Meiji emperor, who refused several attempts by Itō to resign from government, regarding Itō as “the man he trusted most in the government” (Keene 2002, 462).
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Kojong’s ministers were to sign over Korea’s sovereignty to Japan at the imperial palace

NoteThe building where the document was signed, a Western-style red-brick edifice on the grounds of the Palace of Virtuous Longevity (Tŏksu-gung), is now a museum, sitting next to the residence of the U.S. ambassador in central Seoul. The building was designed by Afanasii Ivanovich Seredin-Sabatin, a native of what is today Ukraine.
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With few options at their disposal, the Korean emperor and his cabinet quickly folded

NoteThe actual circumstances remain shrouded in mystery. Pro-Korean accounts like American missionary Homer Hulbert’s tend to suggest that the protectorate treaty was forced on a resistant Emperor Kojong and cabinet with the threat of “personal injury” (Hulbert 1906, 221–22). Another detailed account sympathetic to the Koreans is offered up by Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, who concludes: “This treaty was extracted by force from an unwilling and terrorised Government” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 47–52). See also Frederick McKenzie 1908, 135–37. Pro-Japanese accounts are equally straightforward, portraying the decision of the cabinet as a rational and clearheaded choice, made with little handwringing (Duus 1995, 193).  MINTING NATIONAL TRAITORS: As University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik put it, “many of the national heroes and traitors of modern Korean history emerged during this period.” And the five cabinet ministers who signed the protectorate treaty—Yi Wan-yong, Pak Che-sun, Yi Kŭn-t’aek, Yi Chi-yong, and Kwŏn Chung-hyŏn—are now reviled as traitors in both Koreas (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 72, 74–75). First among equals was Yi Wan-yong, a leader of the Independence Club who went on to serve as minister of education and later as prime minister, “who made the settlement possible on the Corean side,” in the words of Durham Stevens, the pro-Japanese American who Tokyo had brought on to serve as an advisor to the Korean government. “He stood for it from the beginning” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 193, citing Durham W. Stevens letter to Horace N. Allen, January 10, 1906). Yi Wan-yong rationalized his cooperation with a mixture of helplessness and Darwinian survival of the fittest: “Our country has brought this on itself,” he said. “Japan is determined to achieve its goals, and since Japan is strong and Korea weak, we do not have the power to refuse them” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 192).
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an “act of naked aggression,” and a wrenching moment in the history of the Korean nation

Note“TREATY OF COERCION”: Technically, the treaty was signed at 1:30 a.m. on November 18, 1905 (Brown 1919, 196). For the English-language text of the treaty, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 309–10. Though the official name of the treaty is known as the relatively neutral Ŭlsa Treaty (乙巳條約 Kor. Ŭlsa Choyak), named for the traditional Korean label for the year in the sexagenarian cycle, 1905, in which it was signed, it is frequently referred to in South Korea today as the Ŭlsa Treaty of Coercion (乙巳勒約 Kor. Ǔlsa Nŭk’yak), conjuring the spirit of the “unequal treaties” that were imposed on China and Korea during these years (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe [Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho] and Tae-jin Yi [Yi T’ae-jin], “The Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death in 1919: Were the Highest Japanese Officials Responsible?,” Korean Studies 35 (2011), 122–51, here 141). Japanese writers at the time, naturally, couched the agreement in more benevolent terms, portraying the goal of the treaty as “preserving the territorial integrity of the weaker nations of Asia by co-operation with the great powers, while respecting the legitimate rights of other nations” (Hishida 1905, 266).  LONG TIME COMIN’: American missionary Lillias Underwood, writing a few years later, described the establishment of a protectorate over Korea as having “been foreseen by everybody for some time, but nevertheless considerable excitement resulted when it actually occurred” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 234–35). “Despite its seeming inevitability,” writes one historian, “it came as a shock to many of Korea’s ruling elite” (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 53). One historian marvels at how, in the span of just three decades, Korea had gone from signing its first modern diplomatic treaty (1876) to having “devolved into a colony of the only Asian power to join…the imperialist club” (Robinson 2007, 13).
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of Koreans assembled in front of the imperial palace to weep and wail in remonstration

NoteWord of the treaty was published by the Capital Gazette (Hwangsŏng Sinmun) (Duus 1995, 194). “As the news spread through the country, the people of various districts assembled, particularly in the north, and started to march southwards to die in front of the palace as a protest,” wrote journalist Frederick McKenzie. “Thanks to the influence of the missionaries, many of them were stopped. ‘It is of no use your dying in that way,’ the missionaries told them. ‘You had better live and make your country better able to hold its own.’ A number of leading officials, including all the surviving past Prime Ministers, and over a hundred men who had previously held high office under the Crown, went to the palace, and demanded that the Emperor should openly repudiate the treaty, and execute those Ministers who had acquiesced in it. The Emperor tried to temporize with them, for he was afraid that, if he took too openly hostile an attitude, the Japanese would punish him. The memorialists sat down in the palace buildings, refusing to move, and demanding an answer” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 138). See also Duus 1995, 194; and Brown 1919, 196. Willard Straight, the U.S. vice consul in Korea, walking through the crowds in central Seoul in the days after the signing away of Korea’s sovereignty, acknowledged the feelings of betrayal by the U.S. “It may not be the fault of anyone in particular, but certainly because of our treaty they have looked upon the United States as a friend to whom they could turn,” he wrote in his diary (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 263, citing Willard D. Straight diary, November 30, 1905, entry).
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of Queen Min, who fainted several times and vomited blood after learning of the treaty

Note“I DIE TO MAKE YOUR MINDS FIRM”: Min Yŏng-hwan (閔泳煥 1861–1905) had represented Korea in London for Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee celebration in 1887, and again at Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in London a decade later; he had also spent some time studying in America (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 53; and Frederick McKenzie 1908, 138–39). Min, who had regarded America as a friend to Korea and who had helped arrange for Syngman Rhee to travel to the U.S. in 1904, killed himself by stabbing himself in the throat with a knife (Wilz, “Betray Korea?” (1985), 263). In a suicide letter addressed to the Korean people, Min expressed his feelings of “utter despair and hopelessness,” but urged his countrymen to carry on the fight. “I die to make your minds firm; and now farewell, my twenty million compatriots, farewell!” (as quoted in Moose 1911, 45–46). In his letter, which was daringly reproduced in the Capital Gazette, Min invoked Korea’s ancient ties to Tan’gun and Kija in lamenting the demise of the country (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 97). He also called on Koreans to cling to its 1882 treaty with the U.S. (Palmer 1967, 81–82). The British-run Taehan Daily News (Taehan Maeil Sinbo), in an editorial praising Prince Min’s “sacrifice for the 20 million people” of Korea, called on readers to memorize his suicide note and exhorted them to regard one’s life not merely as one’s physical, biological life, and thus to gain true life through death (Schmid 2002, 143)—a concept that was redolent of Christian notions of immortality and which anticipated North Korea’s later notion of dying for the sake of the nation (see Act III, Chapter 32). For a family tree of the admittedly complex Yŏhŭng Min clan, on which can be found both Min Yŏng-hwan and Min Yŏng-ik, the head of the first Korean diplomatic mission to the U.S. in 1883 who was nearly killed in the Kapsin coup of December 1884, see Walter, “Korean Special Mission” (1969), 128.
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“in the streets, wailing with tears streaming down their faces,” in the words of one observer

NoteCharles A. Clark, the Seoul missionary who supplies the description in the text, recounted in detail the commotion that followed: “Suddenly the mood of the mob changed. Orators sprang upon boxes, and began inflammatory addresses. The police tried to stop them. Suddenly, as though by preconcerted signal, the mob charged the police. In a second, the streets were full of the police. Pistols cracked, and sabres hewed. Still the young men from the provinces, sons of the tiger hunters, with their bare hands, charged and charged again, pouring out their blood in a passion of patriotism. It was all useless. The crowd wavered, gave way, and then fled, leaving some scores of young men wounded in the hands of the police” (Charles Clark 1921, 295–96). Clark, in his diary, later described the incident as “a big riot in Seoul,” with some of the “leaders of the mob” being students of Pyongyang’s Sungsil Academy (Clark 2003, 32, citing Charles Clark diary entry).  A MYSTERIOUS BAMBOO SHOOT: Some months after Min’s death, a servant reportedly found, on the site of his suicide, a mysterious bamboo shoot that had sprung up from the blood. “The news went all over Korea that heaven had spoken. The shooting bamboo showed directly from the other world that he had done well. The bamboo became the centre of a pilgrimage, and the Japanese police had to take steps to turn the crowds away” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 54). In fact, the Capital Gazette, which initially hadn’t been able to write about the story due to censorship, used the discovery of the bamboo—news of which “sped through the nation like thunder”—to address Prince Min’s suicide. The newspaper covered the large crowds that turned up outside Prince Min’s home for a glimpse of the bamboo, capturing scenes with citizens “sobbing and crying” at the sight of the bamboo, and, in another piece, declared: “Alas! Min has died, but our Korea has not died, and so long as our Korea is not dead, Min is not dead” (Schmid 2002, 143–44, citing Hwangsŏng Sinmun, July 6 and July 7, 1906). The prominent Christian nationalist Kim Ku, who was in Seoul at the time, recalls traveling with a few friends to Prince Min’s residence to pay their respects. On the way, they saw a bleeding nobleman being carried away on a rickshaw, learning later that they had just witnessed Yi Sang-sŏl (李相卨 1870 or 1871–1917), another Korean nationalist leader, after a failed suicide attempt of his own (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 149–50).
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officials and former officials signed a petition calling for the treaty to be ripped up, to little avail

NoteAt the Seoul YMCA, the Christians petitioned against the protectorate, refused to pay taxes, and protested around the city (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 96–97).
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go down to Seoul to die fighting, refraining only after the missionaries urged them against it

Note“‘Let us go south,’ they said, ‘let us die around the throne of our Emperor. What use is it for us to live when the independence of our country is gone?’” Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie recounted. “At Ping-Yang they were stopped by the urgent counsel of the white men there and the native Christians” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 52–53). As missionary William N. Blair wrote later of this period, “there were not lacking many hot-heads in the church itself who thought the church ought to enter the fight” (Blair 1957, 61). Also cited in Timothy Lee 2010, 18–19.
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“the days of Tan’gun and Kija have perished in a single night. Alas, fellow countrymen! Alas!”

NoteThe translation here is from Spencer Palmer and retains his original punctuation. One alternate translation reads: “Ah, how wretched it is. Our twenty million countrymen have become slaves of another country! Should we live, should we die! Has not the spirit of our people, enduring for four thousand years, been annihilated in a single night! How wretched it is, how wretched it is! My countrymen, my countrymen!” (Duus 1995, 195) Another translation reads: “Is it worth while for any of us to live any longer? Our people have become the slaves of others, and the spirit of a nation which has stood for four thousand years, since the day of Tan-Gun and Ke-ja, has perished in a single night. Alas! fellow countrymen, alas!” (Graves 1920, 7). For yet another version, see Frederick McKenzie 1908, 139–40.  “TODAY I BURST INTO TEARS”: The editorial, penned by editor-in-chief Chang Chi-yŏn, was published on November 20, 1905, under the headline Si’il ya Pangsŏng Taegok (是日也放聲大哭), which can be translated as “Today I Burst Into Tears,” or “I Wail Bitterly Today.” Historian Michael Robinson calls it a “now-canonical piece” (Robinson 2007, 34). It is, indeed, canonical enough that North Korea for many years featured the headline of the editorial in its Arirang “mass games” spectacle in Pyongyang, projecting the phrase in large characters along with the year “1905” to drive home the pain of Korea losing its sovereignty to the Japanese (see Frank, Rüdiger, “The Arirang Mass Games of North Korea,” The Asia-Pacific Journal 11, no. 46, no. 2 (December 2013), 1–46, here 11). What made this editorial all the more bittersweet was that Chang had, only a year earlier, welcomed Itō Hirobumi to Korea, praising him for being among “those who support us” (Schmid 2002, 93, citing Hwangsŏng Sinmun, March 19, 1904).  A PUBLIC SQUARE, IN PRINT: Andre Schmid, a University of Toronto scholar, describes the newspapers—among them The Independent, the Capital Gazette, and the Taehan Daily News—as the only thing akin to a public square, facilitating the exchange of ideas during this nascent period of public debate and nationalism: “At a time when universities and research institutions had not yet been established, these newspapers and journals served as the primary producers of knowledge about the nation” (Schmid 2002, 47). Through these newspapers, Schmid writes, “the Korean nation emerged for the first time as the primary subject of public discourse,” helping to create a nascent sense of nationhood and nationalism (Schmid 2002, 54). The use of Capital Gazette as a translation for Hwangsŏng Sinmun is Schmid’s. The Capital Gazette was founded in 1898 by members of the soon-to-be-shuttered Independence Club who were “less enthusiastic about its Christian message and more interested in advocating a hybrid mix of reform rooted in Confucian traditions” (Schmid 2002, 47–48). The paper, which published until annexation in 1910, used a mix of vernacular Korean and Chinese characters and was fond of the classical allusions that Confucian-educated elites in the capital would have been fluent in (Schmid 2002, 47–48). For all the importance of these intellectuals and their ideas in late Chosŏn Korea, their founders were realistic about the limited extent of their ideas. The Independent sold between two thousand and three thousand copies, while the Capital Gazette’s circulation hovered near the top end of that range. Many Koreans “don’t even know what a newspaper is,” the editors of the Capital Gazette acknowledged in 1906. “This newspaper has already been published for eight or nine years, but still there are people who have not given it a glance” (Schmid 2002, 51, citing Hwangsŏng Sinmun, February 16, 1906). On the other hand, as Schmid notes, the newspapers’ influence couldn’t be measured by circulation numbers alone, given that issues were passed around, read aloud at public gatherings, and brought into the countryside (Schmid 2002, 52). No less prominent a figure than Itō Hirobumi declared in February 1907 that “one stroke of a Korean editorial pen had far more power to move Koreans than ‘one hundred words from my own mouth’” (as quoted in Schmid 2002, 53). “Between 1898 and 1910, the Hwangsŏng sinmun was an important forum of ideas and reform, and some of the most important enlightenment writers…participated on its editorial board,” adds another historian (Robinson 1988, 29).
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Japan’s first resident-general to Korea, naturally, was Itō Hirobumi

NoteCanadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, a vocal advocate of Korean independence, wrote of Itō’s appointment a few years later in glowing terms: “There could have been no better choice, and no choice more pleasing to the Korean people. It is noteworthy that, although the Marquis has been the main representative of the Mikado in wresting its independence from Korea, he is yet regarded by the responsible men there with a friendliness such as few other Japanese inspire. Every one who comes in contact with him feels that, whatever the nature of the measures he is driven to adopt because of Imperial policy, he yet sincerely means well by the Korean people. The faults of his administration may be the necessary accompaniments of Japanese Imperial expansion, but his virtues are his own” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 142). For Itō, McKenzie added, taking on this role so late in life was, in a sense, “an act of great self-sacrifice” for Japan’s former elder statesman, “who might well have demanded ease in an honoured old age. Instead he took up the most difficult post his country had to give him” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 55).
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Korea could catch up with the modern world—if only it pursued its own Japan-style reforms

NoteThe “nostalgic mood” description is from historian Peter Duus, who portrays Itō as a grandfatherly figure, given to didactic retellings of his own youth and the reforms that his generation had brought about (Duus 1995, 198–99). For a hagiographic English-language treatment of Itō written during these years, see George T. Ladd’s In Korea with Marquis Ito (1908). One contemporary historian describes the book as a work that “can really only be described as a paean to Itō Hirobumi” (Dudden 2005, 73). Ladd, perhaps the most prominent American defender of Japan’s rule in Korea, was a Congregationalist minister from Ohio and former philosophy professor at Yale University who helped found, and serve as the second president of, the American Psychological Association (Conroy 1960, 342). One source describes Ladd as “a well-known theologian, philosopher, and teacher” (Grajdanzev 1944, 48). In his 1908 book, Ladd makes clear “I have no wish to deny the apologetic character of this book,” describing himself as an “Unofficial Adviser to the Resident-General” (Ladd 1908, viii, 14). Instead, Ladd expressed his desire to counter what he thought were mistruths about the harshness of Japanese rule in Korea being spread by American missionaries in Korea (Ladd 1908, 5). From Ladd’s perspective, after Itō’s appointment as resident-general, the Japanese statesman “was now a Korean himself; he was primarily interested in the welfare, educationally and economically, of these thirteen or fourteen millions of wretched people who had been so long and so badly misgoverned. In their wish to remain independent he sympathized with them” (Ladd 1908, 8–9). In a phrase replete with Christian overtones, Ladd, who campaigned on behalf of Japanese rule through Korea’s network of YMCAs, portrayed Itō’s mission in Korea as “the redemption of Korea” (Ladd 1908, 39). Perhaps unsurprisingly, Ladd had a very low view of Koreans: “What was said of the Cretans in old times may be said of the Koreans to-day: they are liars quite generally. Even when they do not intend deliberately to deceive, they find it impossible to refrain from gross exaggeration” (Ladd 1908, 397).
p.107

throw off its centuries of misgovernment and pull itself up by its bootstraps, as Japan had done

NoteIsabella Bird Bishop, writing nearly a decade earlier, had concluded much the same after visiting the Korean communities in Siberia, beyond the reach of the Chosŏn court. There, she wrote, the better governance and administration in Russia had allowed the Koreans to attain a higher standard of living. The Koreans in Siberia, she noted, “were not exceptionally industrious and thrifty men. They were mostly starving folk who fled from famine, and their prosperity and general demeanor give me the hope that their countrymen in Korea, if they ever have an honest administration and protection for their earnings, may slowly develop into men” (Bishop 1898, 236).
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“new knowledge and technology that would make them strong,” in the words of one historian

Note  CONFUCIAN MIDWIFE: As historian Louise Young writes, Japan, having replaced China as the head of the Confucian family of nations after millennia of Chinese hegemony, now “had the prerogative to guide younger Asian brothers down the path it had itself so recently trod—toward Western-style modernization, civilization, and enlightenment” (Young 1999, 23). See also Keene 2002, 669. As Japanese writer Hishida Seiji put it in 1905, employing a different analogy, Japan was akin to a midwife for the birth of a new East Asia. “In her intercourse with Asiatic powers modern Japan led the way in bringing her sister states into treaty relations and in providing for trade regulations and resident ministers, both of which had been utterly unknown in the international society of old Asia,” he declared, adding that, with respect to not only Korea, but also China, Siam, and other Asian civilizations, “her civilization is superior to theirs.” Thus, he concluded, “Japan would educate the backward nations of Asia in western civilization” (Hishida 1905, 255–56, 260–61). Harnessing the power of pan-Asianism, which would come to its full fruition in the 1940s, Japan pushed a slogan of “The East for the East against the West” that, as early as 1906, cast suspicion on the role of the missionaries in Korea. “Propositions come from the Japanese Christians to the Korean Christians to dispense with the services of the foreign missionary or to put themselves under the Japanese for teaching and pastoral oversight,” Baird noted that year (William M. Baird letter to Arthur J. Brown, March 14, 1906, Pyengyang (PHS 281/236/43)). The Japanese residency-general was particularly proud of a Seoul Exposition that it organized in late 1907, a kind of World’s Fair packed with Japanese-run booths showcasing some of the latest technologies and goods being pioneered in Japan, attracting tens of thousands of Koreans who came, it was said, to gawk and marvel at the superiority of Japanese goods (Hamilton et al. 1910, 292–93).  “CAST YOUR FATE WITH OURS”: In January 1906, Itō told reporters that, in order for Japan’s colonial experiment to succeed, the Japanese had to persuade the Koreans of the importance of reform (Duus 1995, 205). In May 1907, Itō told his Korean cabinet that Korea had no better option than to align itself with Japan’s benevolent guiding hand. “If matters continue as they are today, it will not be some other state which destroys Korea, but Korea itself,” Itō declared. “Therefore, I say to you, the most urgent and appropriate policy for Korea today is to show sincere goodwill towards Japan and for you to cast your fate with ours” (as quoted in Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 145). This view trickled down from Itō at the top to the thousands of Japanese bureaucrats that were dispatched to manage Japan’s new protectorate. One Korean student born in the southeast recalls his Japanese school principal expressing pity for his Korean charges. “I think he felt sorry for us, we were so ignorant in this small, remote village tucked away in a southern corner of Korea. ‘That’s the only way you will improve your lot in life,’ he kept telling us. ‘Improve your own society, so you will come up to the level of us Japanese’” (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 26–27). The Japanese took the long view on their colonial project in Korea, seeing it as one that would, in the words of one scholar, “require decades, and possibly as long as a century, of guidance” (Caprio 2009, 17).
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—one that started with Korea and Manchuria and would eventually encompass all of Asia

NoteA “MONROE DOCTRINE FOR THE FAR EAST”: British politician and journalist Sir Henry Norman saw manifold evidence for Japan’s continental dreams while traveling through the Far East in the 1890s. “I am able to say from positive knowledge that the Government of Japan has conceived a parallel to the Monroe Doctrine for the Far East, with herself at its centre,” he wrote at the end of the Sino-Japanese War (Henry Norman 1895, 396). Jack London, who covered the Russo-Japanese War from Korea in 1904, strongly believed that “Japan’s imperial appetite exceeded its swallowing of Korea in the Russo-Japanese War. He anticipated that Tokyo would eventually take over Manchuria and then attempt to seize control of China in the attempt to use China’s vast land, resources and labor for its own benefit” (Métraux, “Jack London: The Adventurer-Writer” (2010), 3). Writing in 1908, Frederick McKenzie, the pro-Korean journalist for the London Daily Mail, described Japan’s policies in Korea as being “part of a great Imperial scheme. Japan has set out to be a supreme world-Power, and she is rapidly realising her ambition.” Korea’s impending demise was but a foreshadowing of what he predicted, with some foresight, would be “the main world-conflict of the twentieth century—the struggle between an aroused China and an ambitious Japan” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, v, 250). Japan’s total absorption of Korea, one Western observer wrote in 1910, “was vitally necessary for Japan if she is to work out her manifest destiny to entrench herself on the mainland” (Charles Welsh, “Editorial Note,” in Hamilton et al. 1910, xv–xvi). On August 30, 1910—the day after Korea’s formal annexation by Japan was made public—Tokyo’s Asahi Shimbun presented a front-page map of Japan’s empire that colored Korea the same as the Japanese home islands, and showed lines extending west into China and Manchuria, and east over the Pacific Ocean (Caprio 2009, 81).  IRREDENTIST’S OFFICE: Certainly, by the 1880s, leading Meiji reformers were highlighting irredentist claims to Korea and China. In 1889, Kume Kunitake (久米 邦武 1839–1931), a member of the Iwakura Mission and a professor at Tokyo Imperial University, argued that ancient Japan had included the Korean peninsula and southeastern China, which helped build up a justification for annexing Korea (Em, “Nationalism, Post-Nationalism” (1999), 297, especially n. 28). Kume had a hand too in writing an influential university history textbook in 1890, which posited that the brother of Jimmu (神武), Japan’s mythical first emperor, was the king of the southeastern Korean kingdom of Silla (Sinra), thus legitimizing any territorial designs Japan may have had in Korea (Em, “Nationalism, Post-Nationalism” (1999), 299–300). University of California, Berkeley scholar Kuno Yoshi argued as part of his planned three-volume history of Japanese expansion on the Asian mainland that Japan’s continental ambitions date much further back, spanning millennia. “China, Japan, and Korea are so closely connected geographically, intellectually, and politically that the rise of either China or Japan always affects the other two, and small, weak Korea, the military roadway between the two greater powers, always suffers when supremacy in the Orient is transferred from one to the other,” Kuno wrote in 1937, a time when the truth of this assertion was particularly apparent (Kuno 1937, 23).  “SOME KIND OF NEFARIOUS MASTERPLAN”: In the decades after World War II, historians and scholars have offered varying dates for when Japan’s ambitions expanded to cover the Asian continent. “It is doubtful that Japan, as early as the Meiji times, had some kind of nefarious masterplan, even in an embryonic stage, to conquer Asia and beyond,” Yang Sŏng-ch’ŏl, a South Korean scholar and diplomat, argued in 1981. Even so, he wrote, “almost from the outset, the Meiji oligarchs pursued a series of far-reaching domestic reforms and foreign military ventures. They marked Korea as one of the first targets of such foreign expeditions and conceived of it as a strategic foothold in Japan’s ultimate conquest of Northeast Asia” (Yang 1981, 4). Hanyang University scholar Pak Ch’an-sŭng, writing in 2010, dates the expansion of Japanese aims to the late 1890s, when he writes “Japan harbored the ambition of advancing to the Asian continent through the Korean peninsula…Since Japan’s annexation of Korea in 1910 was just one step towards Manchuria, it was necessary for Japan to make Korea a second Hokkaido. In other words, the Korean peninsula was regarded as a region to be integrated sooner or later into mainland Japan” (Park Chan Seung [Pak, Ch’an-sŭng], “Japanese Rule and Colonial Dual Society in Korea,” Korea Journal 50, no. 4 (Winter 2010), 69–98, here 84).
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“swarm of penny capitalists and carpetbaggers” lured by promises of instant riches

NoteCanadian journalist Frederick McKenzie described them as “the Japanese at their worst. The scores of thousands of people who have poured over the Straits of Tsushima since the war have assumed an arrogant and domineering manner, a ruthlessness and a plan of systematic bullying which amazed those who only knew the Japanese at home” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 174). Another Western writer called the first Japanese to arrive in Korea “the crudest and rudest type. Adventurers, ruffians, criminals” (Graves 1920, 24). Graves quotes former Japanese foreign minister Inoue Kaoru as writing in a prominent Japanese newspaper that, given the low quality of this first wave of Japanese migrants to Korea, “it would be a wonder if the Korean developed much friendship with the Japanese…For this state of things the Japanese themselves are responsible” (as quoted in Graves 1920, 25). Angus Hamilton, a British journalist who was otherwise strongly sympathetic to Japan’s program in Korea, wrote that with regards to the animosity of the Koreans towards the Japanese, “the fault lies entirely with the Japanese themselves…Their conduct in Korea shows them to be destitute of moral and intellectual fibre. They are debauched in business” (Hamilton 1904, 135–36). Homer Hulbert wondered “why the Japanese authorities did not hold back this tide of immigration until the war was over and proper steps could be taken to establish sufficient legal machinery to govern the ruffians properly” (Hulbert 1906, 213). Another historian describes them as “Japanese mauvais sujets,” with many among them “simple carpetbaggers in search of a quick fortune” (Ion 1990, 186). George Ladd, an American Congregationalist and another fierce advocate of Japanese rule in Korea, likewise didn’t deny the presence of what he described as irreputable Japanese “adventurers, hangers-on and panderers” in Korea. “But all the robbery and oppression by these unfriendly foreigners was as nothing compared with what the Koreans had suffered from their own countrymen through hundreds of years” (Ladd 1908, 59, 91). The biggest draw for many of these opportunists, writes historian Peter Duus, was the promise of easy riches: “The impulses that drew Japanese to Korea, particularly after 1905, were not unlike those that drew others to the gold fields of the Yukon or the open spaces of California” (Duus 1995, 319).
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quadrupled in just five years following the establishment of the protectorate, to 171,000 people

NoteThere were 42,000 Japanese in Korea in 1905, and 171,000 by 1910 (Yang 1981, 7–8). By mid-1908, there were about 120,000 Japanese on the Korean peninsula, according to another source (F. S. and H. P. Curtis, “Work Among the Japanese in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 10 (October 1908), 155–59, here 155). At the same time, Japan’s emigration plans for Manchuria fell far short of hopes, at least until the Manchurian Incident of 1931 (Sandra Wilson, “The ‘New Paradise’: Japanese Emigration to Manchuria in the 1930s and 1940s,” The International History Review 17, no. 2 (May 1995), 249–86, here 252).  
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a chicken led a Japanese man to burn down a village and take possession of another one nearby

Note“There has been a great deal of unchecked lawlessness from this class of people,” Baird added in the same letter, noting an uptick in the number of houses of prostitution, gambling, opium, cocaine and other drugs that flowed into Korea with the Japanese settlers (Baird letter to Brown, March 14, 1906). Canadian missionary Robert Grierson similarly noted that Japanese troops, in clamping down on Korean resistance, “were acting badly, treating the people as if they were a defeated enemy, forcibly taking chickens, pigs, vegetables etc., and, worst of all, committing rape on women in the secluded far-away farms” (as quoted in Ion 1990, 187, citing Robert Grierson unpublished manuscript). Scottish Canadian missionary William McKenzie, arriving in Korea in 1893, recalled seeing Koreans “suffer kicks and blows from the Japanese without retaliation” (McCully 1904, 75). “The coolies were poor, uneducated, strong, and…they went through the country like a plague. If they wanted a thing they took it. If they fancied a house, they turned the resident out. They beat, they outraged, they murdered in a way and on a scale of which it is difficult…to speak with moderation,” Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote in 1908. The Japanese, he added, had erred “in allowing their own countrymen to swarm into Korea by tens of thousands before they had provided any legal machinery for the adjudication and settlement of disputes between the immigrants and the natives” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 113, 122–23).   “BAD WHISKEY SOLD BY WORSE WOMEN”: The missionaries had other reasons to be unhappy about the arrival of the Japanese. “They assist natives to oppress other natives, beat our helpers sometimes, introduce bad whiskey sold by worse women, and are thus adding to the iniquity of the natives, that has ever been sufficient. They would make Corinth still more Corinthian,” wrote Southern Presbyterian missionary William Junkin in 1906 (“Clippings,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 9 (July 1906), 172–74, here 173). Henry Chung, a Korean nationalist writer and Christian convert, also noted the sudden ubiquity of predatory Japanese loan sharks in Korea (Chung 1921, 121). The behavior of the Japanese settlers was so bad that Tokyo’s military brass in Korea issued regulations to rein in some of the more outrageous acts (Duus 1995, 291).   “GOOD GROUND FOR COMPLAINT”: Even those with serious doubts about the Korean people, such as American war correspondent George Kennan, believed the Japanese had failed mightily in this regard: “The Koreans are mostly exaggerators or barefaced liars, by heredity and by training, and it is therefore impossible to accept, without careful verification, the statements which they make with regard to Japanese misbehavior; but I am satisfied, from cases that I have investigated, and from the testimony of Japanese themselves, that the natives have good ground for complaint” (Kennan, “The Japanese in Korea,” Outlook (1905), 613–14). Kennan’s counsel to Japan: “Pay more attention to the rights of the Korean people” (Kennan, “What Japan Has Done in Korea,” Outlook (1905), 672).
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to Korea—part of a larger campaign to “erect a bulwark for our state” on the Asian mainland

NoteA TENFOLD JUMP: By May 1904, three months into the war with Russia and more than a year before the establishment of the protectorate, the cabinet of prime minister Katsura Tarō had made the promotion of emigration to the Korean Peninsula an explicit part of Tokyo’s overall strategy on Korea, just as they had done with regards to Hokkaidō and Sakhalin. In the case of Hokkaidō and Sakhalin, which had begun shortly after the Meiji Restoration, in the 1870s, Tokyo had encouraged emigration as a way to create a buffer against the Russian threat from the north. During the first decade of the twentieth century, the number of Japanese in Korea multiplied tenfold (Duus 1995, 319). Another scholar gives the number in Japanese settlers in Korea as surging to 708,448 in 1940, from 42,460 in 1905 (Henderson 1968, 75). Yet another source shows a rise to about 650,100 in 1939, from 171,500 in 1910 (Grajdanzev 1944, 75–76). [[STATS]]  INTO MANCHURIA: A similar process was taking place in Manchuria, where the Japanese civilian population grew more than tenfold between 1906 and 1930, to nearly a quarter million people, with employees of the South Manchuria Railway Co., controlled by the Kwantung Army, accounting for roughly one-third of those people (Young 1999, 33). In the city of Dalian, next to Port Arthur, nearly half the population of the city was Japanese by 1930, almost all of them in white-collar professions (Young 1999, 34). Another major emigration push came again in 1936, with plans to send five million farmers to Manchuria over the course of two decades (Young 1999, 44).  AND OVER THE SEAS: At least during the 1890s, the doubling of the Japanese population in Korea, while startling, was relatively modest compared to far more dramatic gains in the other emigration destinations—Hawaii, Taiwan, and the U.S. mainland. Before long, however, U.S. attempts at the time to restrict immigration from Japan also made emigration to Korea and Manchuria more attractive to Tokyo policymakers (Duus 1995, 297–303, 319; and Young 1999, 311).  RAILROADING THE PENINSULA: Once in Korea, the new arrivals energetically refashioned the peninsula in the mold that the Meiji reformers had set back home, laying roads and railroads, telegraph and telephone lines, and instituting a modern postal service and other public works. The government of the new Japanese protectorate turned its immediate focus to improving communications and transportation throughout the Korean peninsula, actions that improved life for Koreans—while also better equipping Japan for its own military and economic priorities, “so as to enable the troops to be moved easily and rapidly from point to point…giving a trunk line that would carry large numbers of Japanese soldiers from Japan itself to the borders of Manchuria in about thirty-six hours” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 143–44). Indeed, this decade-long “railroad-building boom” at the beginning of the twentieth century meant that, by 1910, one could travel from the southeastern corner of Korea to its northwestern border with China in a single day—and in theory, reach Paris via the Trans-Siberian Railway (Robinson 2007, 8). Meanwhile, Japan’s First National Bank (第一國立銀行 Jp. Dai Ichi Kokuritsu Ginkō), which had set up a Korea branch office in 1878 to finance the influx of Japanese merchants, began issuing banknotes in Korea in 1905; four years later, in November 1909, Tokyo established a central bank, the Bank of Korea, to handle its finances in the protectorate (Yang 1981, 7). It was renamed the following year as the Bank of Chōsen after annexation, with no change in the bank’s status or function (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 280–81).  “WHOLLY BENEFICIAL” OR “DELIBERATE UNDERDEVELOPMENT”?: In 1904, British journalist Angus Hamilton described Japan’s involvement in Korean affairs as “wholly beneficial” to the Koreans (Hamilton 1904, 12). For an upbeat assessment of Japan’s modernizing efforts in Korea, written by the same author six years later, see Hamilton et al. 1910, 269–309. Western critics of Japanese rule, of which there were many, conceded the material gains implemented by Tokyo, but argued that “every reform in Korea has been primarily for the benefit of the Japanese resident, and to advance the political plans of Japan, and that the one supreme purpose has ever been the assimilation of the Korean and the destruction of his race” (Graves 1920, 33). Historian Carter Eckert concurs, noting that Japan, for the first decade of its rule, pursued a policy of “deliberate underdevelopment,” so as to ensure that Korea remained a reliable market for Japanese goods (Eckert 1991, 41). Korean American scholar Albert Park nicely summarizes the scholarly debate over Japan’s role in modernizing Korea, between those arguing Korean modernization was expedited by, or impossible without, Japan’s role, on the one hand, and others who say Japan merely exploited Korea (Albert Park 2015, 4). Hanyang University scholar Pak Ch’an-sŭng, meanwhile, sketches out the three schools of thought on the economic ramifications of Japan’s occupation of Korea—that Japan engaged in “colonial exploitation” of Korea; that Japan brought “colonial modernization” to Korea; and that of “colonial modernity,” which deemphasizes the concept of the nation. Pak himself ultimately asserts that Korea under Japanese rule became a “colonial dual society” with “the upper classes majorly comprised of Japanese and a minority of upper-class Koreans, and the lower classes consisting of the majority of Koreans and a minority of Japanese” (Park Chan Seung, “Japanese Rule” (2010), 95).
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promised not only easy riches but the “golden opportunity” of autonomy and upward mobility

NoteThe quote comes from a guidebook published in 1909 that portrayed Korea as a land “where there are green hills everywhere.” The full quote reads: “Success comes to those who seize the opportunity. We must not ignore the great opportunity available today. Those…who have high goals and hopes for success, should not coop themselves up in Japan complaining about their livelihood or their employment difficulties. Without hesitation they should come to Korea as soon as they can to take advantage of this golden opportunity” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 322). Historian Louise Young describes these guidebooks as “tracts”—adopting the religious terminology—and quotes one, written by a member of Japan’s House of Peers, describing Manchuria as a land so large and so sparsely-populated that “a trillion immigrants” could settle there (as quoted in Young 1999, 327). There were religious overtones, too, in Japanese officials’ praise for these Japanese settlers, who one senior official wrote in 1939 were taking up a “holy endeavor of the race” (as quoted in Young 1999, 364).
p.108

up roughly 2.7 percent of all of Korea’s cultivated land—to the consternation of the Koreans

Note“PSEUDO-PRIVATE” PROPERTY BARONS: Leading the land acquisitions, which included substantial holdings in the Pyongyang-Chinnamp’o corridor, was the Japanese colonial government itself, as well as the quasi-official—or, if one prefers, “pseudo-private”—Oriental Development Company (東洋拓殖株式会社 Jp. Tōyō Takushoku Kabushiki Kaisha), established by the Japanese government during this period to subsidize and underwrite the costs of emigration to Korea (Wells 1990, 139; Wells 1984, 147; and Duus 1995, 304, 377). According to Kenneth Wells, the Oriental Development Company’s land holdings in Korea ballooned roughly tenfold to more than 300,000 acres in 1931, from roughly 27,000 acres in 1910—more than one-quarter of Korea’s arable land at its peak, though Japanese represented just 3% of the population in Korea (Wells 1990, 139). While the company was founded to send farmers to Korea, the company would eventually grow into a multinational conglomerate with business interests and investment across Asia (Duus 1995, 304). Duus dates the establishment of the company to 1908, though Wells says it began acquiring land in Korea in 1907. The land purchasers also included some of Japan’s biggest business tycoons, including Shibusawa Eiichi (渋沢 栄一 1840–1931), founder of First National Bank (see chapter 10 of Duus, Peter 1995). THE NAGAMORI PLAN: The aggressive land acquisitions prompted widespread fears among Koreans of their land being snapped up underneath them. The Koreans’ worst fears were inflamed by the so-called Nagamori Plan of 1904, proposed by Nagamori Fujiyoshirō (長森 藤吉郎 ?–?)—of which little is otherwise known, including the pronunciation of his name, which is given by some sources as Nagamori Tokichiro—a recently retired Japanese official, which would have designated any land that wasn’t clearly in private or government hands as “wasteland”—and thus obtainable by Japanese entities, despite restrictions preventing the Japanese from acquiring lands outside the treaty ports. It took a flood of protests from around the country to convince the royal throne to back away from the plan, which the Korean foreign minister noted would put nearly two-thirds of Korea up for grabs (Duus 1995, 368–72; and Cheolbae Son [Son, Ch’ŏl-bae], “The Ordinary Reaction by Koreans Against the Foreign Penetration, 1876 to 1910” (Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 2006), 63–106). Though the Korean court backed off the Nagamori Plan, the new regulations that it eventually pushed through still had the effect of “the practical opening of the whole country to foreigners,” in the view of George Ladd, the American Congregationalist minister and vocal proponent of Japanese rule in Korea (Ladd 1908, 343–44). Frederick McKenzie, the Canadian journalist in Korea who was far more skeptical of the Japanese, credited the ham-fisted Nagamori Plan with souring the public on the benevolence of Japanese rule, coming on the heels of a series of otherwise praiseworthy reforms (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 40–42). See also Hulbert 1906, 208, 463; and Wells 1990, 73.
p.108

42 Japanese houses, 119 Japanese people, and a Japanese-run candy shop and drugstore

NoteThe same source tallied up twenty American missionaries in Pyongyang as of December 1899. George Ladd, offering slightly different numbers, tallies up fewer than twenty Japanese living inside Pyongyang’s ancient city walls prior to the Sino-Japanese War, though that number rose by 1897 to “several hundred souls,” he wrote (Ladd 1908, 90).
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Pyongyang city walls, where plans had been made for a railroad to come into the ancient city

NoteOne of Moffett’s colleagues—William Swallen, who led Second Presbyterian Church, founded near Pyongyang’s South Gate in the fall of 1903—remarked in November 1905 on how the Japanese in the vicinity were “laying out roads, and suggesting that they mean to take this section also into their city…The extravagant prices which they are paying for property also offers an inducement to sell and move away from what by all appearances is fast becoming a Japanese settlement. Some of our best men have already sold out and are about to move out of the district. The fact that the exchange of property is not from Korean to Korean, but from Korean to Japanese, renders the prospects for the future very uncertain” (William L. Swallen, “Personal Report,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 1 (November 1905), 13–14). Indeed, the land under one Presbyterian chapel outside the South Gate was claimed by the Japanese; the Americans were offered a fraction of the market value and ordered to vacate, a directive that Moffett deemed unwise to protest (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Horace Allen, July 14, 1904, Pyengyang (PHS 281/234/91); and Hulbert 1906, 217–18).
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the new arrivals pushed the locals, and the Presbyterians, off some of the best land in the city

Note“NOT THE SAME PLACE IT WAS TWO YEARS AGO”: Arthur Becker, a Pyongyang-based Methodist missionary, wrote in a letter home in 1905 about how, “in one section of Pyongyang the Japanese have pushed or forced all the Koreans living there to leave, not even paying adequately. It is the best part of the city where good families have lived for generations. It makes my blood boil to see helpless Koreans driven from their homes” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 186). Like many in Korea, Becker regarded this wave of Japanese settlers as “the low-class, adventuring, rapacious kind who are inclined to be lawless. They try to seize anything that they can get their hands on. The Russo-Japanese war brought this hoodlum element into Korea and it has caused untold hardships” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 186). In a Christmas letter home on December 23, 1905, Becker remarked further on how quickly the city had changed since before the war: “There are already 500 or more of said people in P.Y. alone. This city is not the same place it was two years ago. There are vast physical improvements in the shape of bridges, wharfs, roads, large houses, etc.” (as quoted on McCune and Thompson 2009, 243). The Japanese were changing Pyongyang—and altering its perceived geomantic properties—so dramatically that, in 1905, the city’s Korean governor complained to Moffett about the laying of railroad tracks, alleging that “since the Japs had built a railroad through their vitals they had lost their strength” (Whiting letter to McConaughy, May 26, 1905). The tensions between the Japanese and the Koreans in Pyongyang can perhaps best be gleaned through the writings of George Ladd, the Japan-aligned American Congregationalist minister and scholar who generally sought to paint a picture of harmony in Japanese-dominated Korea. After a visit to Pyongyang in 1907, Ladd tallied off a list of friction points, including the Japanese military’s misappropriation of land in Pyongyang, which he said was being remedied. “As the two nationalities come to know and understand each other better,” Ladd predicted optimistically that the two sides would “inevitably, but happily,” learn to live in harmony (Ladd 1908, 91).
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“up property right and left in the city, and outside the city,” Moffett wrote in a July 1904 letter

NoteSamuel Moffett told Horace Allen in the same letter of how, just outside Pyongyang’s South Gate, “the expectation is that a large city is to spring up there. The Japanese have staked off their purchases (many of them) marking the stakes as defining Japanese property.” Anyone with crops or houses where the railroad was to be built, Moffett added, found the land condemned, and were told to turn to the Korean government for compensation. “The people are highly enraged—see no hope of redress, do not understand what is being done, cannot trust their own officials, are driven out of house and land and lose their crops. Ignorant and helpless, they are the victims of their own officials and all kinds of sharpers, and when they appeal to the law for justice find the official apparently in league against them and growing rich off of their plight,” Moffett wrote (Moffett letter to Allen, July 14, 1904).  A NEAT AND ORDERLY JAPANESE QUARTER: A less contentious picture emerges from pro-Japanese Westerners who passed through Pyongyang around this time. British journalist Angus Hamilton, visiting in October 1908, said he found “little evidence of foreign domination” within Pyongyang’s ancient walls, with most of the city’s seven thousand Japanese clustered around the railway station to the south of the city walls (Hamilton et al. 1910, 182). This new Japanese section, with its “neat dwellings and shops, its clean and broad streets, and its general air of prosperity, contrasts with, and forms an object lesson to, the Korean city within the walls,” George Ladd wrote after a stopover in the city. “During and after the war with Russia,” he continued, “the increase of this colony was so rapid that it could find no room within the walls of the city. It therefore burst through, as it were, the barrier of these walls and built a new city for itself outside the South Gate” (Ladd 1908, 90–91).
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modern waterworks that would replace the water carriers that had long sustained the Boat City

Note  MILITARY MANEUVERS: During the Russo-Japanese War, the Japanese army made Pyongyang a major stop on its new military railway and set up a large supply depot there, boosting the city’s commercial importance (Duus 1995, 331–32). British journalist Angus Hamilton, who visited in October 1908, described the basing of two Japanese battalions in Pyongyang. “The barracks are commodious blocks of buildings, two stories in height, and substantially built of brick, with a fine parade-ground in front,” he wrote (Hamilton et al. 1910, 182–84). See also Ladd 1908, 91.  TRAMWAY TO CHINNAMP’O: The changes would help establish Pyongyang as the main center of commerce in Korea’s northwest, lifting the fortunes of its port city Chinnamp’o, situated where the Taedong River met the Yellow Sea. Chinnamp’o, the small fishing village at the mouth of the Taedong River known today simply as Namp’o, had first boomed during the Sino-Japanese War as a naval base and army landing ground (Duus 1995, 332). In February 1895, the Japanese had built a narrow tramway twenty-one inches wide and pulled by laborers from Pyongyang down to Chinnamp’o on the Yellow Sea roughly fifty-five miles away (Lee letter to Mother, February 9, 1895). As Moffett noted that same month, the tramway—“this is not a steam railroad as the cars are drawn by coolies”—was Korea’s first railroad, with the tracks terminating in Pyongyang at a depot in the Middle City (中城 Kor. Chungsŏng) to the south of Pyongyang’s South Gate, to this day the location of Pyongyang’s main railway station (as quoted in “Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (April 1895), 156–57). In 1898, Chinnamp’o was made an open port and, after again becoming a key logistical hub for the Japanese military during the war with Russia, was connected by light rail to Pyongyang and to the larger peninsular rail network, allowing it to emerge as the primary outlet for rice and produce in the northwest (Duus 1995, 332). One missionary, passing through Chinnamp’o in the autumn of 1900, described it as a “new and clean…town which is under control of the Japanese”; every morning, she wrote, the Japanese sailors “at the first ray of sunshine all went forward and bowing with folded hand repeating their prayers they worshipped the sunrise” (Ewy 2008, 97, quoting Nourse letter to Friends, October 9, 1900). “Prior to the selection of Chin-am-po as a treaty port, the native village consisted of a few straggling huts and a population of less than one thousand. Now, however, the old order has given way to the new,” Angus Hamilton wrote in 1904, estimating the population at roughly fifteen thousand Koreans (Hamilton 1904, 186).
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“the strange sight of a locomotive in the old city of Pyongyang. Verily civilization is coming”

NoteCharles Bernheisel, in the same diary entry, called the event a “RED LETTER DAY,” adding that “its whistling and noise aroused the community, foreign & native, who gathered to see the strange sight” (Bernheisel 2004, 491–92 (November 21, 1904, diary entry). British adventurer Emily Kemp, who visited Pyongyang in 1910, was surprised to find a large new red-brick barracks and the newly built Japanese suburb near the railway station, stocked with ugly European-style buildings and linked to the ancient city, roughly two miles away, by a bizarre human-propelled trolley. “A sort of building epidemic seems to have broken out, which threatens to sweep away all picturesqueness from the important towns in Korea,” Kemp wrote, describing the tram as “the drollest little trolleys on wheels, like boxes with the front side missing, and containing a bench to seat two persons. These trolleys run on the narrowest gauge tram lines, and are propelled with great rapidity by a coolie running on each side: I have never seen them anywhere but at Pyöng Yang” (Kemp 1911, 67–68). In January 1906, one missionary recounted riding from Pusan to Pyongyang by rail on the newly constructed Japanese line, in a trip that took just two days. Though the Seoul-to-Pyongyang leg was a bit spartan, “the railway from Fusan to Seoul has very comfortable American coaches and a dining car service which is very good, and ridiculously inexpensive” (Best letter to Brown, January 2, 1906).
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for a bright future—provided Korea had the appropriate guides to lead them to enlightenment

Note“If there were an appropriate person or powerful country to control and properly lead [the Koreans], with the intention of reforming them, then there is no doubt that they can be turned into good, law-abiding people sooner or later,” wrote Meiji-era politician Yamamichi Jōichi (山道 襄一 1882–1941), whose name is also given as Yamaji Jōichi (as quoted in Duus 1995, 408).   “LIKE THE TWO WHEELS OF A CART”: For all the talk in Japan of the nation’s shared lineage from the Sun Goddess Amaterasu (天照大御神 Jp. Amaterasu Ōmikami), many Japanese thinkers in this period highlighted the similarities and shared roots of the Japanese and Korean people, for instance arguing that the differences between the two peoples were not “racial” but rather merely “ethnic,” and in fact were the very same people (Caprio 2009, 83; and Duus 1995, 415–17). Therefore, many Japanese believed, the Koreans, slothful and backwards as they were, could yet be redeemed. Building on that thought, many Japanese intellectuals argued that shared ancestry necessitated the union of the two nations into a single polity (Duus 1995, 420). This argument had the benefit of reassuring Japan that, even as it made Korea a colony, what it was doing was fundamentally different than, say, what the U.K. was doing in India, or the European nations were doing in Africa (Duus 1995, 421). The language of annexation, thus, was one not of swallowing up Korea, but of being merged or amalgamated with (併合 Jap. heigō), or reunited to, a long-lost cousin (Duus 1995, 423). “As you well know, what the British are doing in India and what the French are doing in Annam is far from what our country is doing in Korea,” one Japanese lawmaker wrote in 1910 (as quoted in Duus 1995, 433). “Korea and our empire have had a common history for tens of centuries, and that they are countries sharing a common language and a common race. The relationship . . . is deep, like the two wheels of a cart” (Duus 1995, 433). Terauchi Masatake, Itō’s successor as resident-general in Korea, wholeheartedly subscribed to this line of thinking, declaring: “It is a natural and inevitable course of things that two peoples whose . . . interests are identical, and who are bound together with brotherly feelings, should amalgamate and form one body” (as quoted in Wells 1990, 72).  “A LOWER RACE”: There were, of course, limits to such sentiments. Even as Japan sought to uplift Korea, it resisted intermarriage. Kaneko Kentarō, the Harvard-educated Japanese statesmen of this period, put it in even starker terms: “We shall consider the Koreans as a lower race; we will give them all possible liberty, but we shall in every possible way endeavour to maintain the Japanese spirit among the colonists that go among them. We believe in the superiority of the races, and not in the amalgamation” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1907, 12–13). Also cited in Métraux 2017, 182–83. The Koreans, for their part, saw no such affinity either, regarding themselves as ethnically and culturally superior to the Japanese (Wells 1990, 72).
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protectorate government found plenty of willing partners among the native population

NoteThough it is often minimized or glossed over by Korean historians, many in Korea at the time actively supported Japan’s annexation of Korea. “The method by which Japan and her allies within Korea succeeded in mobilizing mass political support for the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1905-1910, is however we judge its morality, one of the most fascinating adventures in the history of political mobilization in any country,” wrote Gregory Henderson, an American diplomat posted to Seoul. “It is, in fact, one of the only instances known to political science of an anti-nationalist mass movement. Because of the understandable objections of Korean nationalists, it is a story substantially overlooked” (Henderson 1968, 67).  MARCHING FORWARD IN UNISON: The most prominent pro-Japanese group during this period was the “Society for Progress” (一進會 Kor. Iljin-hoe), whose name called on the Korean people to “march forward in unison” and which was born in November 1904 from the union of two Japanese-inspired reform-minded groups (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 46–50). Historian Vipan Chandra traces the group’s roots to the plotters of the pro-Japanese Kapsin coup of 1884 and the Tonghak movement that helped trigger the Sino-Japanese War a decade later (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 43–72). One of the Society for Progress’ leaders, Yi Yong-gu (李容九 1868–1912), was a trusted disciple of Tonghak leader Son Pyŏng-hŭi (孫秉熙 1861–1922), with whom he escaped to Japan after their arrest, while the other main leader, Song Pyŏng-jun (宋秉畯 1857–1925), also known by his Japanese name Noda Heijiro (野田 平次郎), had been close to Kim Ok-gyun, the leader of the failed 1884 uprising (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 46–50). Song later worked as a Japanese interpreter during the Russo-Japanese War, and later supported annexation (Soh 2008, 16). Yi Yong-gu claimed the Society for Progress represented “a million compatriots,” a claim that Chandra doesn’t believe is too far-fetched (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 52). Resident-General Itō Hirobumi quickly saw the value of the Society for Progress and began to make use of the group in late 1906, supplying the group with a stipend of 2,000 yen per month (Keene 2002, 669). Many Korean members of the Society for Progress saw little to object to in Japan’s support and indeed emphasized what they saw as the shared heritage of the Japanese and Korean people (Keene 2002, 671). The group’s alignment with Tokyo’s political aims was too close for the comfort of some of its backers. When the group came out in favor of the establishment of a Japanese protectorate over Korea, Yi’s old mentor Son Pyŏng-hŭi severed all ties with the Society for Progress and rebranded the Tonghak religion as Ch’ŏndogyo to gain some distance from Japan (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 58; Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 32; and Timothy Lee 2010, 31). “Even Korea’s keenest collaborators soon voiced dissatisfaction with Chōsen’s first decade,” writes Gregory Henderson, pointing to Song Pyŏng-jun and Yi Yong-gu, who later soured on the benefits of Japanese rule. Yi, in particular, was said to have uttered on his death bed: “I was one of the world’s damned idiots. I seem to have been cheated after all” (Henderson 1968, 76). Nonetheless, Song Pyŏng-jun—together with Yi Wan-yong—are today vilified among Koreans as “traitors for all times” (Dudden 2005, 10).  SEEKING “REBIRTH”: Undeterred, the Society for Progress in December 1909 memorialized the throne and petitioned the prime minister and the Japanese resident-general for a “political merger” between Japan and Korea—that is, outright annexation (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 61–62). The petition described annexation as “our rebirth…The reason our country of Korea exists now is because of Japanese protection…If we stand alone we cannot exist, so the only way to maintain the peace of our people and country is to realize the merger of Japan and Korea” (as quoted in Conroy 1960, 430–31). Its leaders got their wish in August 1910, when Japan formally absorbed Korea—though one consequence of annexation was a crackdown on civil society, including the Society for Progress. “An order of summary dissolution was the last thing that Yi Yong-gu expected. His protests were all in vain; the order was irrevocable” (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 65). The Japanese leaders’ mistrust of the Society for Progress, combined with the revulsion that the group inspired in some Koreans, had led Tokyo to the point of “reconsidering the value of its support.” Katsura Tarō, Japan’s former prime minister, regarded the group’s members as harboring Korean nationalist sentiments—merely hiding them for the time being because of Korea’s weakness. “Should the people become prosperous, then you will see how they devote themselves to protecting the nation,” Katsura said (Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 148, 172–173). By the time of annexation in 1910, membership had shrunk to some 140,715 people (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 52).  DRIVEN BY “HIGH IDEALISM”: Despite the widespread loathing toward the group in modern-day Korea, Chandra places the Society for Progress alongside the Indian National Congress as two groups whose enthusiastic cooperation with their respective colonial governments were ultimately motivated by a “high idealism” (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 43–44). Gregory Henderson, a former American diplomat posted in Seoul, similarly argues that Korean support for Japanese-led reform was broader than many other historians have since given it credit for. The Society for Progress, Henderson argues, “was Korea’s first successful political party,” one that looked to Japan for inspiration because Korea itself offered so little in the way of prospects for reform. In time, of course, the group became “ever more rabidly pro-Japanese,” tarnishing its reputation (Henderson 1968, 68–70). Georgetown University historian Christine J. Kim likewise points to the broad-based appeal of the Society for Progress’ reforms, which also drew upon the foundation laid by the Independence Club (Christine Kim, “Politics and Pageantry” (2009), 839). Other scholars are less convinced, calling the Society for Progress a “front organization” and a “charade…to create the false impression that a protectorate treaty was not a Japanese demand but rather a response to the wishes of the Korean people” (Eckert et al. 1990, 239).
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noted, “the Koreans were strong, patient, and enduring: in sum, perfect beasts of burden”

NoteThe same guidebook added: “Indeed, as they walked slowly down the street, heedless of time and getting into everyone’s way, they seemed not unlike oxen” (Duus 1995, 405). Repulsive as it may to be to modern sensibilities, the Japanese view of the Koreans as little better than livestock was shared by some Westerners. Jack London, who traveled through Korea to cover the Russo-Japanese War, described the Korean as “spiritless.” “He is soft and effeminate when compared with the strong breeds…He is certainly the most inefficient of human creatures, lacking all initiative and achievement, and the only thing in which he shines is the carrying of burdens on his back. As a draught animal and packhorse he is a success. And yet, I am confident—ay, willing to lay odds—that my own breed can beat him at his own game; that my own breed, from what I have seen of it in the West and North, can outwalk him, outpack him, and outwork him at coolie labor” (London, “Royal Road a Sea of Mud,” in Hendricks and Shepard 1970, 44). One British traveler who visited Korea at the beginning of the twentieth century was similarly disparaging: “Taking into consideration the bovine stare and hanging jaw with its sparse tuft, you would best describe him as a mixture between a Quaker and an amiable goat” (Whigham 1904, 184–85). George Ladd, the American Congregationalist and advocate of Japanese rule, described the Korean people as “a slow-moving, stubborn, and stupid crowd” (Ladd 1908, 26).
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level schooling for Koreans—“good enough to perform menial tasks in the Japanese language”

NoteSome Japanese travel writers during this period regarded Koreans’ white robes and long pipes as emblematic of a “backwardness and primitiveness” that was so deeply embedded in the Korean people as to be virtually irredeemable (Sonia Ryang, “Japanese Travellers in Korea,” East Asian History 13–14 (June–December 1997), 133–52, here 136; and Schmid 2002, 122).
p.109

or being occupied by the Western powers—was subjugation by their hated island neighbors

Note“LITTLE CHINA”: Koreans’ well-honed sense of superiority over the Japanese was based largely on the Confucian notion of proximity to the cultured “center” in China. The logic was straightforward: Korea, by virtue of its proximity to China, was superior and more advanced than Japan. Thus, the Korean nation’s subjugation to Tokyo left many Koreans feeling not only disgraced but also bewildered: Many Koreans believed that everything the Japanese knew had been transmitted through Korea from China. “True, we were a small nation and lived in a small country—but…big, glorious China had once called us ‘Little China,’” wrote Korean novelist Yi Mi-rŭk. “We had given Japan her writing, her philosophy, her religion, her architecture, and heaven know what else! Now we were lagging behind Japan in acquiring the new civilization” (Mirok Li [Yi, Mi-rŭk], The Yalu Flows: A Korean Childhood, trans. H. A. Hammelmann (London: Harvill, 1954), 98). For more on Korea’s pride in being praised by the Chinese as being a “little China,” see the very first article of the first volume of the Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society: Jas. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “The Influence of China Upon Korea,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 1 (1900), 1–24, here 24. Also quoted in Nelson 1946, 85.  “FROM TEACHER TO NOVICE”: Korea was not merely the recipient of Chinese civilization, but also the transmitter of this knowledge across the Tsushima Strait to Japan—a one-way flow that was a great source of pride for Koreans. Rev. Hong Tong-gŭn, who will appear later in this work playing a key role in facilitating ties between the Korean Christian diaspora and Kim Il Sung (see Act III, Chapter 34), made exactly this point in his 1981 doctoral dissertation for Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, Calif., writing that, “for a thousand years, up to the thirteenth century A.D., Koreans transmitted their culture to Japan…It was a oneway transmission of culture from teacher to novice…Japan never appeared to have acknowledged the extent of her obligation despite Korea’s cultural debt” (Dong Gun Hong [Hong, Tong-gŭn], “By the Rivers of Babylon: A Mission Strategy for the Korean Minority in Japan” (D.Miss. diss., Fuller Theological Seminary, 1981), 6–7, 18). As a result of this sense of cultural superiority, many Koreans of this era regarded the Japanese as an inferior people—thus making it all the more galling that they should be in the ascendancy. “We never knew about the other side of world but were self-satisfied with ourselves,” lamented Pae Min-su, a Korean Christian nationalist who will play a central role in this work. “We thought we were the most civilized people with higher education and morality. We called Chinese, Japanese, and Westerners savages and thought we were the chosen people” (Pai 2002, 58). For a similar sentiment as expressed by Ham Sŏk-hŏn (咸錫憲 1901–1989), a widely-respected Korean convert to Quakerism, see Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 107.   “THE DUST BENEATH THEIR FEET”: After Japan embarked on its Meiji reforms, however, these feelings of contempt began to flow back in the other directions. “The Koreans appeared to the Japanese very much as the Japanese had appeared to Europeans, giving rise to an attitude of contempt for Korean backwardness that contrasted sharply with the earlier respect for Korea as the transmitter of Chinese culture,” writes one historian (Keene 2002, 220). In so doing, the Japanese, in the words of a pseudonymous columnist in the Tokyo-based English-language Japan Advertiser in July 1919, “forgot that Koreans were an older race than herself, and that they taught her religion and morals; and were her masters in the arts and crafts that make her famous today…Never was there a greater misreading of the other man” (as quoted in Graves 1920, 40–41). The Koreans’ shock at having been annexed by a country they had looked down upon was exacerbated by Japanese haughtiness. “From the time of the reopening of Korea the Japanese have treated the Koreans in personal intercourse as the dust beneath their feet,” wrote Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, and “since the Japanese acquired full power in Korea it has become infinitely worse” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 200).
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as a nation of inferior “dwarf slaves,” stretching back to the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s

Note“GRASS-CLOTHED, WORMLIKE ISLAND BARBARIANS”: The “holy hatred” phrase is from Stephen Bonsal, an American diplomat in Seoul during the mid-1890s who would later go on to serve as Woodrow Wilson’s personal interpreter at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919. Bonsal, in his memoir, described the Koreans as “fine, honest people” who “hate the Japanese with what I hold to be a holy hatred, and some day they may strike a blow for liberty and come into their own again” (Bonsal 1946, 226). As Korean nationalist Pae Min-su put it, the Koreans regarded the Japanese as being little better than “animals and gangsters to rob and kill people of other nations for their own advantage” (Pai 2002, 62). Koreans’ contempt for Japan could be traced back directly to Hideyoshi’s invasions of the 1590s, before which Chosŏn Korea “had enjoyed an uninterrupted peace of two hundred years” (Haboush 2016, 15). During those devastating invasions, one Korean military appeal disparaged the Japanese as “grass-clothed, wormlike island barbarians [who] are impossibly disgusting. They pillage and occupy our land, kill and abuse our people! How can you not seek ways to drive them out, to annihilate them?” (as quoted in Haboush 2016, 42)  “CRUEL AND UNPROVOKED”: The Hideyoshi invasions were, in the words of Kuno Yoshi, a University of California, Berkeley scholar, “one of the most cruel and unprovoked wars that the world has ever witnessed.” Kuno, writing in his planned three-volume history of Japanese expansionism on the Asian mainland, lays out the wreckage for Korea: “Korean civilization was completely destroyed. The Korean people suffered to such a degree that even the graves of their kings were molested and rifled. At the close of the war Korea was a land of ruins, so great had been the devastation. The Koreans have ever since fostered great enmity toward the Japanese. Even today, Korea is filled with monuments, traditions, and literature describing the horrors of the Seven Years’ War. Thus does Korea keep alive the memory of Japanese atrocities, generation after generation” (Kuno 1937, 175). Also cited in Haboush 2016, 16. Kuno, writing from the vantage point of 1937, a quarter century into Japan’s colonization of Korea, blamed the enmities of the day on memories of Hideyoshi: “The difficulties that Japan has experienced in her administration of Korea since 1910 are generally accounted for by this lasting memory of an old war” (Kuno 1937, 175).   “KOREA HAS NEVER RECOVERED”: While Korea suffered, Japan gained immensely, taking from Korea prized techniques like movable type and porcelainware. “World history contains no parallel to this wholesale uprooting of the civilization of one nation and its transplantation in another,” Kuno wrote. The destructiveness of the Hideyoshi invasions also benefited Japan in another way, shifting the nation away from militarism for the next few centuries: “This new national attitude toward warfare contributed to the bringing about of a period of peace. It may be said, indeed, that the period of prosperity and tranquillity [sic] which Japan enjoyed for about three hundred years beginning in the seventeenth century, was a by-product of the war” (Kuno 1937, 176). The Tokugawa shogunate (德川幕府), which governed Japan from 1600 until the Meiji restoration in 1868, “made a clean reversal of [Hideyoshi’s] expansionist policy,” coming to what Hilary Conroy calls “a standoffish sort of modus vivendi” for the next few centuries with Korea (Conroy 1960, 21–22). See also Haboush 2016, 2. Rev. Hong Tong-gŭn, writing half a century later, ventures to say that the Hideyoshi invasions sowed the seeds for the collapse of the Chosŏn dynasty more than three centuries later. “Hideyoshi’s War resulted in a great cultural renaissance to Japan, whereas it turned Korea into ash…[The war] poisoned relations between the two nations for many centuries. Japan betrayed Korea’s confidence and returned evil for good” (Hong Tong-gŭn 1981, 19–20). Ultimately, one British journalist wrote, it took Korea two centuries to recover from the conflict (Hamilton 1904, 132–33). “Korea has never recovered the damage then done,” the Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie countered. “The memories of their terrible sufferings at the hands of the Japanese ground into the Koreans a hatred of their neighbour, handed down undiminished from generation to generation, to this day” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 16–17).  LA REVANCHE: For the Japanese, too, McKenzie continued, the legacy of the Hideyoshi invasions would metastasize in a desire to complete what some in Tokyo regarded as the unfinished mission of the late sixteenth century. “The Japanese desire for Korea, thwarted for the moment, smouldered, waiting for the moment to burst afresh into flame,” he wrote (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 16–17). British statesman Lord Curzon similarly surmised that long-festering Japanese grievances from the ultimate failure of the Hideyoshi invasions had helped to prompt the 1894-1895 Sino-Japanese War. “Japan had never forgiven the humiliation which she then sustained at the hands of China, upon Korean soil, and for three centuries La Revanche had been as fixed an idea in the bosom of Japanese patriots as it has been for the last quarter of a century in a not dissimilar case in Europe. Sooner or later an appeal to arms was almost certain for the settlement of this traditional feud” (Curzon 1896, 361–62). THE CRUSADES, TAMERLANE, NAPOLEON: Indeed, the folly—and the imagined idealism—of the Hideyoshi invasions to the Japanese nation was roughly akin to that of the Crusades on the Western European mind, having “deeply impressed itself on the national mind,” one diplomat and historian wrote during this period. “As those romantic expeditions have greatly contributed to fix the European mind on the East, so Hideyoshi’s invasions have kept Japan’s attention riveted to Corea” (Vladimir 1896, 34). Another early Western historian of Korea describes the Hideyoshi invasions as “one of the bloodiest wars in history; a war so bloody that we are led to regard Tamerlane marking his route by mountains of human heads as but an ordinary Asiatic general” (Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Japanese Invasion, VII. Conclusion,” Korean Repository 1 (October 1892), 308–11, here 311). As one Japanese writer put it, Hideyoshi “tried to subjugate the Asiatic continent after the fashion of the Mongol Tartar…But the ‘Napoleon of Japan,’ encountering disasters at home and abroad, learned the impossibility of realizing the dream of universalism” (Hishida 1905, 252). 
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“massacred in the most horrible manner. Cities and hamlets were burned down to the ground”

NoteFellow Korean nationalist Chŏng Han-gyŏng, also known by his English name Henry Chung, described the following year how, “for a thousand years and more the Korean has viewed the Japanese as his mortal enemy. Three hundred years ago this enemy landed and went through the country with fire and sword, confirming the view, till his name became the synonym for all that was evil” (Chung 1921, 298). Hideyoshi, who Samuel H. Moffett later compared to a “Japanese Napoleon,” ravaged Korea so completely that “not even earthworms could live” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 31).  AMBITIONS FOR ALL OF ASIA: One thing that is little in doubt is the scale of Hideyoshi’s ambitions: He wanted to rule all of Asia. Initially, Hideyoshi’s plan was not so much to conquer Korea as it was to enlist Korea’s aid in seeking to conquer China. But after a series of exchanges between the two neighbors, the Chosŏn court firmly rebuffed Hideyoshi’s suggestion: “Our two nations have acted as a single family, maintaining the relationship of father and son as well as that of ruler and subject,” the Chosŏn court wrote, referring to Chosŏn and the Ming Dynasty. “We shall certainly not desert ‘our lord and father’ nation” (Nelson 1946, 76–77; Westad 2021, 49; and Geo. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Japanese Invasion, II. Diplomatic Negotiations,” Korean Repository 1 (February 1892), 46–50). Incensed by the refusal to join forces, Hideyoshi thus determined to teach the Koreans a lesson as he launched his invasion of the Asian mainland (Jones, “The Japanese Invasion, II,” Korean Repository (1892), 49). Thus, Hideyoshi’s attempted conquest of Korea was merely a steppingstone towards his larger designs, which was motivated in part by a desire to find an outlet for his troops’ energies after having established his dominance over Japan (Nelson 1946, 75; and G. Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “The Japanese Invasion, I. The Preliminaries,” Korean Repository 1 (January 1892), 10–16, here 14).  THE OPENING MOVES: Hideyoshi’s initial landing at Pusan on May 23, 1592, with a force of twenty thousand men, came against the backdrop of Chosŏn dynasty complacency. “Korea, at the time of the invasion, had enjoyed peace and prosperity for more than two hundred years. As a result, she had not only lost all fighting spirit and power, but also, neither her king nor his court placed any credence in Hideyoshi’s threat of invasion,” writes University of California, Berkeley scholar Kuno Yoshi. “They made absolutely no military preparations, and Hideyoshi’s army advanced through Korea as if that country were an open field. His military forces attacked and occupied strategic points and strongholds, one after another, without meeting any considerable resistance” (Kuno 1937, 146). It was a landslide, and within three weeks, Hideyoshi had captured Seoul, shortly thereafter taking the ancient Koryŏ capital of Kaesŏng and then Pyongyang. At that point, he began considering relocating the Japanese emperor to Beijing to rule over what he envisioned as a vast Asian empire (Haboush, 80; and Westad 2021, 50).  DRAGON-HEAD, SNAKE-TAIL: The Chinese would soon recapture Pyongyang from Hideyoshi, foiling the Japanese leader’s plans—at least for the time being. In the larger scheme of things, however, Hideyoshi’s ambitions were disrupted less by military setbacks than they were by diplomatic ones. As the terrified Koreans sought Chinese help, a Chinese official stepped forward claiming to want a peace deal with Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi agreed, and the Japanese stayed their hand as peace talks between Ming China and Japan dragged on for years before the Ming emperor eventually rebuffed Hideyoshi’s demand that Japan be recognized as an equal. For more on the grimly comical peace negotiations between China and Japan, see Kuno 1937, 164–67. Enraged by the insult, Hideyoshi launched an even larger invasion of Korea in early 1597, though owing to the better preparation among the Chinese and Korean armies, the Japanese gains were not as rapid. Then, with little warning, Hideyoshi died on September 18, 1598, bringing the long war to a merciful end (Westad 2021, 55; and Kuno 1937, 168–71). The Chinese and Korean militaries, worn down by Japan’s fighting prowess, “had no fighting chance against the Japanese. Only the death of Hideyoshi saved them from inevitable military calamity” (Kuno 1937, 174). The war is known today in Japan, mockingly, as the “Dragon-head and Snake-tail” (竜頭蛇尾 Jap. Ryuutoudabi) campaign—an anticlimactic outcome that “began with the grand plan of conquering the Asiatic continent and ended with accomplishing barely anything” (Kuno 1937, 173–74). After the failure of the second Hideyoshi invasion, Konishi was executed in Kyōto, according to one source (Longford 1911, 193–94).
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men had cut off and taken back as trophies to Japan during the second of the 1590s invasions

Note“A MUTE MEMORIAL”: The ears and noses that formed the Ear Mound (耳塚 Jp. Mimizuka), which still stands today in Kyōto, were said to have been cut off from the Koreans and Chinese killed during the battle for Pyongyang in 1593 (Gifford 1898, 39). Missionary-historian Homer Hulbert, writing in 1906, called the Ear Mound “a mute memorial of as savage and wanton an outrage as stains the record of any great people” (Hulbert 1906, 101). The origin of the Ear Mound was “traditionally told with pride by the Japanese,” though to Koreans, it was a reminder “of the barbarities perpetrated upon their forefathers,” in the words of one Korean nationalist (Cynn 1920, 83–84). “When one is reminded of the ‘Ear and Nose Monument’ which stands to-day in Kioto, Japan’s old capital, he can hardly be surprised that nearly all Koreans hate Japan with a bitter hatred,” Southern Methodist missionary J. Robert Moose wrote in 1911, describing the Koreans’ feelings towards Japan as one of “the most intense contempt and hatred” (Moose 1911, 35–36). Another Western writer, following the March First demonstrations in 1919, wrote: “Is Japan so obtuse as not to see that despite the surface materialistic reforms she has given to Korea, that her policy remains one of actual oppression to that people and as such a perpetual menace to herself? In Kyoto, that wonder-city of Japan, the Mecca of all tourists, can be seen the Mimi Zuka tomb, where are buried hundreds of thousands of Korean noses and ears, brought back as war trophies at the time of the invasion of Korea by Hideyoshi” (Graves 1920, 43). Rev. Hong Tong-gŭn, a Korean-American pastor who would later go on to play a key role in facilitating ties between the Korean Christian diaspora and Kim Il Sung, regards the Ear Mound and an ancient wooden carving of the Maitreya Buddha in a half-lotus position, created by Korean craftsmen and housed in a temple, the Kōryū-ji (広隆寺), in Kyoto, as a symbol of the destruction and the cultural theft perpetuated by Japan on Korea (Hong Tong-gŭn 1981, 27).  “THE WORST POSSIBLE DESECRATION”: Even worse than the Ear Mound, perhaps, was the order given by Hideyoshi after learning of Seoul’s collapse to incinerate the ancestral temple of the ruling Yi dynasty—“the worst possible desecration of Yi royal monarchy”—and the defiling of royal corpses, with the tombs destroyed—“unimaginably horrible violations of the Yi monarchical body” (Haboush 2016, 82). Before the retreating Japanese troops fled Seoul, the furious Japanese killed every man in the city, leaving the victorious Ming troops to enter a capital “filled with dead humans and horses and survivors so starved and emaciated that they looked like ghosts” (Haboush 2016, 91).
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between Koreans and Japanese…one of the most striking phenomena in contemporary Chosen”

NoteSimilarly, American adventurer and war correspondent George Kennan wrote after a visit to Korea in 1905, the Koreans and the Japanese “had absolutely nothing in common except a mutual feeling of dislike and distrust” (Kennan, “The Japanese in Korea,” Outlook (1905), 610). In 1899, a Japanese merchant was killed in the northeastern city of Hamhŭng after being discovered in the city disguised as a Korean (MacRae 1993, 49). Kim Ku, one of the most prominent Korean nationalists of the twentieth century, came to national fame for his gruesome murder of a Japanese man who he claimed, without evidence, to have been Queen Min’s killer (Joungwon Kim 1976, 41). 
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“of some other kind than this detested nation whose connection with Korea is written in blood”

NoteAs Thomas F. Millard (1868–1942), a widely traveled war correspondent for the New York Herald and a fierce critic of imperialism, wrote in his 1907 book The New Far East: “There exists in the heart of the average Korean a deep and bitter hatred of Japan and everything Japanese” (Thomas F. Millard, The New Far East: An Examination into the New Position of Japan and Her Influence Upon the Solution of the Far Eastern Question (New York: Scribner, 1906), 110). Also cited in Métraux 2017, 227–28.
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In other words, of all the possible colonial masters, Japan was the most distasteful

Note“If domination by some foreign power was inevitable, the Koreans would have been better pleased if that power had been some other than Japan,” wrote Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown (Brown 1919, 341). As pioneering missionary-turned-diplomat Horace Allen wrote of the Koreans, “it is not surprising that they should now resent being absorbed by a race they have long despised, the history of whose intercourse with their land is written in blood, and whose subjects care not for ancient Korean customs and but little for native rights, while respect for age and rank is quite neglected” (Allen 1908, 59). In December 1905, weeks after the establishment of the protectorate, Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, writing from Pyongyang to his family in Michigan, captured the mistrust between Japanese and Korean: “The Koreans are having a hard time of it because a Japanese despises the Korean and his rights, and in dealings between the two, the Koreans rarely gets justice. We have to listen to so many complaints that we are in danger of disliking the Japanese” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 243).  “UNIQUELY INTENSE”: Bruce Cumings, a contemporary University of Chicago historian of Korea, writes that “the very closeness of the two nations—in geography, in common Chinese cultural influences, and in levels of development until the nineteenth century—made Japanese dominance all the more galling to Koreans and gave a peculiar intensity to the relationship” (Cumings, “Historical Setting,” in Worden 2008, 30). Pride in Korea’s role as the transmitter of Chinese culture to Japan left many Koreans “embittered by Japanese condescension,” adds Kenneth Wells (Wells 1984, 145). “Colonizers and colonized were racially cousins and geographically neighbors: cultural, political, and historical experiences, though distinct, were not so diverse as those separating most colonies and their masters” adds scholar Gregory Henderson, a former American diplomat posted to Seoul. Thus, though Japan’s colonial experience was briefer than those of many of its European peers, Henderson writes, it was “uniquely intense. Chōsen was clasped in vise-like grip by the Japanese military with ubiquitous security pre-occupations; the instruments of repression weighed far more heavily than in colonial India, Africa, and Southeast Asia” (Henderson 1968, 72). 
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much by a hatred of the Japanese as by a love of nation—and, frequently, a Christian convert

NoteLike America’s founding fathers, Korean nationalists of this period came to serve as a kind of pantheon of heroes who remain revered today—many of whom were Christian converts, and many of whom hailed from northwestern Korea. By the end of the Japanese occupation in 1945, nationalism would fully enter the Korean political mainstream and come to represent the main ideological glue holding together the two Koreas that emerged after Japan’s military defeat. But dating the beginning of Korea’s sense of nationhood is an exercise in futility.  KOREAN NATIONALISM (1895– ): Some historians have pointed to 1895—the year of Queen Min’s murder and the proclamation of the topknot decree, which sparked widespread resistance under the banner of anti-Japanese sentiment: “There is no doubt that anti-Japanese sentiment brought Koreans of the various classes closer to each other than they had been at any time in the preceding three hundred years,” writes University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik. “The people found a common enemy—a new symbol to rally around. Since animosities between classes were reduced and a new common symbol was provided, we may conclude that modern Korean nationalism was in the process of emerging” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 51). University of Toronto historian Andre Schmid also cites 1895 as the seminal year, though for different reasons. Schmid points to a chapter in a Korean school textbook that opened with the words: “China, like our nation, is one country in the Asian continent.” This seemingly innocuous opening line, writes Schmid, “resonated with meanings that extended beyond its geographical significance. In its first seven words, this single utterance captured the shift in China’s position at the end of the nineteenth century: China was now little more than the equal of its former tributary nation, Korea” (Schmid 2002, 55). “Korea had always organized its foreign relations by recognizing the transcendent position of the Chinese emperor and by taking a ritually subordinate position to China,” writes University of Indiana historian Michael Robinson, who argues that, after 1895, “there was a major shift in the tenor of Chosŏn politics. With the East Asian world order in shambles, China’s power receding in Northeast Asia, and a growing set of bilateral relationships within the new order, Korea began to think of itself as a nation like others in the global order of things. Such thinking required a wholesale reexamination of Korea’s collective identity as a society and led to new forms of imagining Korea’s past and future as part of a global system made up of nation-states. Modern Korean nationalism was born of such reflection” (Robinson 2007, 14, 22). The significance of the shift can be seen in the way that language itself evolved to reflect this new reality. A term such as sadae (事大), literally “to serve the great,” once used as a point of pride in emphasizing Korea’s relationship to the Chinese Empire, quickly became “an epithet that denounced subservience or toadyism to foreign culture in general…a trope for antinational sentiments or subservience to things foreign” (Robinson 2007, 24, 27).  KOREAN NATIONALISM (1896– ): Kenneth Wells, another historian of this period, offers 1896 as his choice, further arguing that, while nationalism was initially “more concerned with reforming or transforming the nation,” after Japan began to take control of Korea in 1905, it “focused almost exclusively on independence from Japan.” With the question of what it meant to be Korean far from a settled or clearly defined concept, anti-Japan sentiment became the common denominator (Wells 1990, 17, 19).  KOREAN NATIONALISM (1908– ): Henry Em, a historian at the University of California, Los Angeles—and now Yonsei University in Seoul—has argued that the very idea of a Korean “nation” or “nationality” (民族 Kor. minjok) is a modern construct that didn’t become a reality until 1908, when the nationalist historian Sin Ch’ae-ho began to published a serialized essay in the pages of the Taehan Daily News (Taehan Maeil Sinbo) entitled A New Way of Reading History (讀史新論 Kor. Toksa Sinron). The work was the first attempt to craft a history of the Korean nation which was effectively a history of Korea itself, rather than one of Korea in relation to China (Em, “Nationalism, Post-Nationalism” (1999), 286–91). Prior to Sin, Em argues, there was no sense—taken for granted today—of a homogenous ethnic Korean nation that dated back to time immemorial (Em, “Nationalism, Post-Nationalism” (1999), 286–90). As Em writes, Sin’s goal in constructing a sense of nationhood was rooted in the geopolitical crisis of the moment: “To arouse, unite, and mobilize the entire Korean population. In place of loyalty to the king, and attachments to the village, clan, and family, and in place of hierarchic status distinctions… Nationalist historiography endeavored to redirect the people’s loyalty toward a new, all-embracing identity of Koreans as a unique ethnic group” (Em, “Nationalism, Post-Nationalism” (1999), 291–92).   KOREAN NATIONALISM (1910– ): Kim Ku, now revered by some South Korean conservatives as the quintessential Korean nationalist, complained that, until 1910, most Koreans “did not even know what a nation was,” and thus sought to promote what he called a “national spirit” in the Korean people (as quoted in Well 1990, 83).  KOREAN NATIONALISM (1590s– ): One leading historian of the Hideyoshi invasions traces the birth of a Korean nationalist sentiment all the way back to the 1590s, when “righteous army” soldiers rising up against the Japanese first “had to articulate a vision of the land and the people for which the volunteers should fight and risk their lives. Thus began a discourse of nation” (Haboush 2016, 3). Also cited in Westad 2021, 17, 53.  FUELED BY HATRED…: Whatever the date one settles on for the birth of Korean nationalism, its inseparability from the history of Japanese incursions on the Korean peninsula have led many historians to posit that Korean nationalism is perhaps impossible without a strong dose of anti-Japan sentiment. As JaHyun Kim Haboush writes in her history of the Hideyoshi invasions, “negative encounters with the other often awaken consciousness of nation and lead to the forging of national identity,” having “produced a sense of national self, constructed, as it were, in opposition to the other that they faced” (Haboush 2016, 3). Michael Robinson, in his analysis of early twentieth century Korea, writes: “The fall of the Yi dynasty and advent of Japanese colonial rule provided strong negative symbols that accelerated the growth of national consciousness as the movement transformed into a struggle for independence” (Robinson 1988, 157). Indeed, as he put it rather more wryly in the same work: “It is often claimed that the by-product of the unsuccessful drive for independence was the creation of a strong national identity. This is correct if one assumes that hatred and loathing of Japanese rule was the main component of national identity” (Robinson 1988, 157). After 1910, Kenneth Wells adds in his incisive study of this period, “the original vision of a reconstructed civilisation had to be defended against mounting pressure to define nationalism negatively as ‘anti-Japanism’” (Wells 1990, 82). Historian Yi Chŏng-sik, looking to the post-1945 period and striking a contrast with the deep-seated regionalism that had pervaded the Korean peninsula for centuries, argued that, even after Japan’s World War II defeat, the Korean people were only “able to unite beyond parochial boundaries when they were spontaneously and emotionally opposing a common enemy…Japan, through her conquest and rule of Korea, awakened and sustained Korean nationalism. Japan provided the negative and yet the most powerful symbol for Korean nationalism, a national enemy” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 271, 275).  …AND LOVE OF COUNTRY: That said, as early as 1892, one American missionary and educator could affirm that, even without factoring contempt for the Japanese, Koreans’ “love of country” was one of their most striking characteristics. “They yield not even to the Swiss in their intense patriotism,” the missionary, George Gilmore, wrote (Gilmore 1892, 89).
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adherents of the Western faith who drew inspiration from the teachings of the missionaries

Note“From the foundation of the Independence Club in April 1896 to the Japanese invasion of China in 1937, Protestants were involved in most phases and streams of the nationalistic movement in Korea and abroad,” writes one scholar (Wells 1990, 8).
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his wife, among Tokyo’s myriad misdeeds, in meetings that “crackled with mutual animosity”

NoteHistorian Peter Duus, who gives us the “crackled with mutual animosity” characterization, describes the later recasting of Kojong as a nationalist hero as “a curious fate for an ineffectual sovereign who presided over the collapse of his country’s independence” (Duus 1995, 210).
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Kojong called for a joint international protectorate to rescue Korea from Japanese vassalage

NoteKojong’s open letter was published in the Taehan Daily News (Taehan Maeil Sinbo), a newspaper edited by Ernest T. Bethell (1872–1909), an Englishman with strong sympathy for Korea’s quest for independence. “He may not have told the literal truth in alleging that his signature was forged, but he certainly did not sign the document voluntarily,” writes Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary (Brown 1919, 196). In addition to the open letter, Kojong sent a cablegram to Homer Hulbert, who was in Washington seeking a meeting with Theodore Roosevelt in 1905, alleging that “the treaty was null and void, that it had been secured at the point of the sword, that it had been wrested from his Foreign Minister under duress, and that he himself had never signed it or acquiesced in its signature” (Hulbert, “In the Cases of Korea and Belgium,” New York Times, March 5, 1916, 20). In general, Kojong’s anti-Japan strategy during this period was one of “cunning,” in the words of Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie: “He would support vigorous action in secret, and then, when men translated his speech into deeds, he would disavow them at the bidding of the Japanese. On one point he never wavered. All attempts to make him formally consent to the treaty of November, 1905, were in vain. ‘I would sooner die first!’ he cried. ‘I would sooner take poison and end all!’” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 156)  BETHELL THE BRAVE: Ernest Bethell arrived in Seoul in March 1904 from Kobe, where he had lived for the previous sixteen years, to cover the Russo-Japanese War for the London Daily Chronicle. Bethell was initially sympathetic to Japan’s aims in Korea but quickly came to see Tokyo as an oppressive force; he was eventually fired for contradicting the newspaper’s openly pro-Japanese stance (Joohyun Jade Park [Pak, Chu-hyŏn], “Journalism Behind Bars: Bethell’s Anti-Japanese English-Korean Newspapers,” Victorian Periodicals Review 51, no. 1 (Spring 2018), 86–120, here 86; and Schmid 2002, 166). After the war front passed over Korea and into Manchuria, Bethell stayed behind and, together with Korean nationalist Yang Ki-t’ak (梁起鐸 1871–1938), co-founded the Taehan Daily News, which enjoyed extraterritorial protections that allowed for more editorial leeway. According to one historian, the newspaper published initially in Chinese script and in the Korean vernacular alphabet, before switching entirely to the vernacular, while also publishing an English edition; according to another, the newspaper, by 1907, was publishing three editions each day—one in vernacular Korean, one in mixed Korean-Chinese script, and one in English (Choong Soon Kim 1998, 73–74; and Schmid 2002, 48, 166). Another historian describes the Taehan Daily News as being published in both English and Korean and employing both English-speaking Koreans and native English speakers (Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 91).  “NO ENTRY TO JAPANESE”: If Bethell’s anti-Japanese feelings couldn’t be gleaned from his decision to publish Sin Chae-ho’s seminal serialized essay on nationalist history, they can probably be detected in the fact that the Englishman hung a sign above the door of the newspaper offices that read: “No Entry to Japanese” (Ki-baik Lee 1984, 330). Also cited in Choong Soon Kim 1998, 73–74. The Japanese, in response, surveilled him constantly, and then launched an English-language rival, the Seoul Press, before finally finding a way to have him jailed for three weeks in a consular court in Shanghai, after which Bethell moderated somewhat the newspaper’s harsh anti-Japan tone (Schmid 2002, 53–54; and Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 106). For a detailed narrative of Bethell’s muzzling, which involved a significant amount of arm-twisting by the Japanese authorities that its British allies “do something about Bethell,” see C. I. Eugene Kim [Kim, Chong-ik], “A Problem in Japan’s Control of the Press in Korea, 1906–1909,” Pacific Historical Review 31, no. 4 (November 1962), 393–402. For Westerners in Seoul like Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, it was unbelievable: “Here we had and have the amazing journalistic situation of two daily papers being published in the English language in a city containing probably not more than a hundred white men” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 212–14). Bethell, however, died just a few months later on May 1, 1909, at age thirty-six, from a dilation of the heart (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 117–20; and Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 106). Almost immediately after his death, the fight over his legacy began. One prominent admirer, Capital Gazette editor Chang Chi-yŏn, had an epitaph chiseled on his gravestone praising him for “inspiring the spirits of twenty million people”—only to have the Japanese authorities chisel over it (Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 106). Another Englishman, Alfred W. Marnham, who had taken over as head of the two newspapers in 1908, was pressured by his government to sell the newspapers, which he did—to the Japanese Residency-General. The deal, which took place in May 1910, just months before Japan annexed Korea, made Bethell’s newspaper the official mouthpiece of the new Japanese Government-General, with the Korean prefix removed so that its name became simply the Daily News (每日申報 Kor. Maeil Sinbo) (Eckert et al. 1990, 247; Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 106–7; and Schmid 2002, 136). The reborn pro-Japanese edition of the Daily News, as the peninsula’s only Korean-language daily newspaper, became the most important voice for explaining colonial policy during a time when the majority of Koreans still couldn’t read Japanese (Schmid 2002, 136). Though it lasted for just six years, between 1904 and 1910, Bethell’s original incarnation of the newspaper “became the first truly mass publication in Korea. It was published in lots of 10,000 and distributed nationally” (Robinson 1988, 29).
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that establishing the protectorate was but a waypoint to wholesale absorption by Japan

NoteMethodist missionary Arthur Becker reflected the broader missionary perspective when he told his family in a Christmas letter home to Michigan on December 23, 1905, shortly after the establishment of the protectorate, that “I am studying Japanese because now that Korea has become a part of Japan, we will have a great deal to do with these people” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 243). Worse than mere political annexation, it was becoming clear by March 1906, at least to the missionaries, that Tokyo was bent on erasing all traces of Korean identity—decades before the Japanese openly adopted a policy of cultural assimilation. As William Baird wrote: “I am told by the Japanese that their hope is not with the present generation of Koreans, but with their children. They plan, it is said, to start schools where the Japanese language will be taught, in every county and principal town, and such schools have been started in many places. It is even said that they expect to supplant the Korean language in time” (Baird letter to Brown, March 14, 1906). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie came to the same conclusion. “It became more and more clear,” he wrote in 1908, “that the aim of the Japanese was nothing else than the entire absorption of the country and the destruction of every trace of Korean nationality” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 145–46). With even more prophetic insight, McKenzie warned, decades before the seizure of Manchuria and the outbreak of the Pacific War, of “harsher rule in Korea, steadily increasing aggression in Manchuria, growing interference with China, and, in the end, a Titanic conflict, the end of which none can see” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 261). Also quoted in Hamilton et al. 1910, 321. George Ladd, an American Congregationalist minister who was a staunch advocate for Japanese rule of Korea, while visiting Pyongyang in April 1907, thought all the handwringing overwrought, mocking the city’s descent into a state of paralysis over rumors, later proven false, that Japan was preparing to annex Korea outright: “For two days and nights the entire native city of Pyeng-yang had been in such a state of excitement as is not easily made credible to citizens of a country accustomed to the exercise of sound political sense and self-control. No business had been done, no buying or selling, on the last market day. All night long the men and women of the city had been sleepless and engaged in wailing and beating the ground and the floor of their houses with their heads” (Ladd, George 1908, p. 105).
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“of a nation,” one American missionary wrote in 1906, already foreseeing the inevitable

Note“SHAPED TOWARD ONE END”: Historians, of course, know that annexation did indeed follow in 1910, raising a follow-up question: When did that plan materialize, and did Japan have its designs on swallowing up Korea from the earliest days of the Meiji Restoration? William Sands, the U.S. diplomat in Tokyo and then Seoul for many of the critical years, effectively answers the latter question in the affirmative, arguing that, of all the various countries jostling for influence in Korea, “whether in consular courts, diplomacy or business policy, everything that Japan did in China, Manchuria, or Korea shaped toward one end. It is impossible to separate their activities. They were the only ones who, having a definite national policy, carried it out to the last detail” (Sands 1931, 78).  “TOO POLITICALLY INEPT”: But Peter Duus, an American historian of the early Meiji period, can find little evidence of a master plan for Japan’s takeover of Korea. When the Japanese cabinet met in mid-August 1894, weeks into its war with China, it was unable to come to a consensus on an overall policy on Korea. “There exists no document that could be called a master plan for Korea,” Duus writes. As for Japan’s long-running calls for self-strengthening reforms in Korea, those too were “too persistent, and in execution often too politically inept,” to support the idea that Tokyo was using its calls for Korean reform as a front for military aggression (Duus 1995, 69–71). In hindsight, Duus concludes, Japan’s drift towards annexation appears inexorable, but it was far from a foregone conclusion at the time, noting that Tokyo had been surprised by the ferocity of elite Korean resistance to the protectorate, and the fears were real in the Japanese capital that annexation would unleash an even more severe backlash (Duus 1995, 209, 425). Another historian, Martina Deuchler, similarly concludes that, despite an unending “clamor for active intervention in the peninsula” from the Japanese public, no senior Japanese officials seriously considered annexing Korea between 1875 and 1885. “It was an emotional call for expansion to which the Japanese government did not respond. Japan’s priorities during these ten years did not and could not include the annexation of Korea. Japan was not prepared to risk defending militarily what she had won from Korea diplomatically” (Deuchler 1977, 219).  NOT SO FAST: Whatever the intention may have been in Tokyo, the rise of the righteous armies made clear to Tokyo, and in particular Itō Hirobumi—who had believed that the Koreans could be won over with appeals to reform and cooperation with their big brother, Japan—that they had “seriously underestimated the strength of popular antipathy toward the Japanese” (Duus 1995, 221). The signs became clear, too, to collaborators like Pak Che-sun (朴濟淳 1858–1916), one of the five Korean cabinet members who signed the Ŭlsa Treaty in November 1905 and who was rewarded with the prime ministership. By the spring of 1907, Pak was ready to resign, convinced that his government had fully lost the support of the Korean public; he resigned in June that year (Duus 1995, 213).
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more likely, it simply reflected Itō’s own longstanding impulse toward imperial restraint

NoteItō Hirobumi told the Korean cabinet in 1906 that Japan could easily “swallow up Korea…without much effort,” but added that doing so would be “foolish,” requiring “great sums of money.” Rather, it was wiser for Tokyo to restrict itself to “supporting Korea, leading it toward prosperity, having the Korean people take complete charge of their own defense, and then allying ourselves with it” (as quoted in Duus 1995, 202). In doing so, Itō, ever sensitive to international perceptions of Japan’s intentions in the region, fought off more militant officials like former prime minister Yamagata Aritomo and former minister of war and Taiwan governor-general Kodama Gentarō (兒玉 源太郎 1852–1906), who, citing the continued Russian threat, wanted Japan to occupy Manchuria after the Russo-Japanese War. “Manchuria is not our territory. It is purely part of China’s territory,” Itō argued, adding in a November 1907 speech before the cabinet: “If we repeatedly follow selfish principles, the Western countries will come to doubt our sincerity and to place no trust in us.” Itō was successful in eventually persuading Japan to pull out from Manchuria altogether (Duus 1995, 203–4, 302). As Itō said, suspicion among Western observers regarding Japan’s designs on Manchuria were indeed rampant in the months following the Russo-Japanese War (Frederick McKenzie 1907, pp. 88-89). For all of Itō’s calls for restraint within the Japanese government, they were ultimately meaningless, journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote: “Whatever the sincerity of his own good intentions, and however kindly disposed he may be personally to the Korean people, he is willing to condone the crimes of his subordinates, when they lead to the increase of Japanese power,” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 69).
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would annex Korea outright in three years; Stevens responded with a forecast of five years

NoteThe Japanese official was Kiuchi Jūshirō (木內 重四郎 1866–1925). Effectively, Kiuchi and Stevens were equally correct. The annexation treaty took effect on August 29, 1910, a little more than four years after the two men’s bet. By then, though, Stevens would be dead, having been assassinated in March 1908 by a Korean Presbyterian nationalist in San Francisco (see later in this chapter).
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“a protectorate, and yet to avoid assuming the responsibilities of a governing power”

NoteThe line is attributed simply to “the Japanese Minister to Korea,” without giving a name (“Japan’s Intentions in Korea,” Missionary Review of the World, N.S. 17, no. 9 (September 1904), 715, O.S. 27, no. 9). It is unclear if “the Japanese Minister to Korea” in question refers to Itō Hirobumi, or instead to Hayashi Gonsuke (林 権助 1860–1939), a former deputy ambassador to Korea who played a key role in the getting the Korean court to sign the protectorate treaty; Hayashi’s title was at times given simply as “minister to Korea.” Historian Peter Duus seems to suggest that the quote is from Itō, writing: “Itō had seriously underestimated the unpopularity of the Japanese and the disruptive impact of reform, and he overestimated the intrinsic appeal of ‘civilization’ to the Korean populace. Contrary to his expectations, the Japanese had to spend ‘great sums of money’ even to maintain the fiction of Korean ‘independence.’ For the same price Japan could enjoy full sovereignty over the peninsula, free to turn it into a springboard for broader and more aggressive actions on the continent. And it was for that reason that Itō acquiesced, albeit reluctantly, to the plans for annexation” (Duus 1995, 241). Meanwhile, Frederick McKenzie, a Canadian journalist with strong pro-Korean independence proclivities, quotes a Japanese man he identifies only as “one of the most influential Japanese in Korea,” speaking to McKenzie in 1906 in what he called an unofficial capacity: “I only see one end. This will take several generations, but it must come. The Korean people will be absorbed by the Japanese. They will talk our language, live our life, and be an integral part of us. There are only two ways of colonial administration. One is to rule over the people as aliens. This you British have done in India, and therefore your Empire cannot endure. India must pass out of your rule. The second way is to absorb the people. This is what we will do. We will teach them our language, establish our institutions, and make them one with us” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1908, 145–46; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 107–8). 
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of all domestic Korean affairs to Japan; and on July 31, it disbanded the Korean army

NoteEMPEROR EMERITUS: Some sources give slightly different dates for Emperor Kojong’s abdication. One says July 18, 1907 (Keene 2002, 643); another says July 20, 1907 (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 33–34). Whatever the precise date, Kojong would henceforth be known as the emperor emeritus, or the retired emperor (太上皇 Kor. t’aesanghwang).  A NEW PROTECTORATE TREATY: The English-language text of the new protectorate treaty, along with a defense of it by a British journalist, can be found at Hamilton et al. 1910, 224–25; and Frederick McKenzie 1908, 310. This development was notable since the 1905 treaty primarily governed Korea’s foreign relations. It was also notable because, prior to this agreement, Japan had kept all of its diplomatic exchanges secret; by July 1907, Japan was evidently feeling confident enough in its place on the global stage to distribute copies of the text to foreign newspapers (Dudden 2005, 11).  AN ARMY DISBANDED: As for the disbanding of the Korean army, the decision was made by Japanese officials and Korea’s defense minister on July 31, with the decree given to Korean military officers the next day, August 1, 1907. The commander of one battalion in Seoul, Pak Sŭng-hwan (朴昇煥 1869–1907), committed suicide rather than disband, and his men fired on the Japanese troops that came to shut them down (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 79–80). The order, drafted by Itō Hirobumi but issued in the name of the newly dethroned Kojong, portrayed the move as one of fiscal exigency, adding that a new conscription system would be implemented (Xu, “Japanese Expansion in East Asia,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 33–34; and Eckert et al. 1990, 240).
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case before the Western powers at a peace conference set to start in June 1907 at The Hague

NoteTHE FIRST HAGUE CONFERENCE: The Hague Conferences of 1899 and 1907 were part of an effort, along with the Geneva Convention of 1864, to establish global norms for war and peace. The first Hague conference had been proposed by Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, and only countries with diplomatic relations with St. Petersburg were allowed to attend (Dudden 2005, 13; and James Brown Scott, “The Work of the Second Hague Peace Conference,” The American Journal of International Law 2, no. 1 (January 1908), 1–28, here 8–9). In a reflection of the optimism that guided the exercise, the First Hague Conference created a permanent tribunal that aimed to avert war by putting international disputes to a panel, which David J. Hill, an American scholar and diplomat, described at the time as being “the most notable and enduring single triumph of human reason of the nineteenth century” (David J. Hill, “The Second Peace Conference at the Hague,” The American Journal of International Law 1, no. 3 (July 1907), 671–91, here 680; and Scott, “Second Hague Peace Conference” (1908), 10–11).  THE SECOND HAGUE CONFERENCE: The Second Hague Conference was originally proposed by Theodore Roosevelt in 1904, but the conference was postponed, incidentally, because of the Russo-Japanese War, the settlement of which Roosevelt won the Nobel Peace Prize (Hill, “Second Peace Conference” (1907), 671; and Scott, “Second Hague Peace Conference” (1908), 13). The venue for the Second Conference was a cathedral-like building in the Hague, with pew-like benches that “dissected the holy space and…gave a higher moral foundation to the convention,” in the words of one historian (Dudden 2005, 14). Though the starry-eyed optimism of the two conferences invited ridicule from some corners—“War was not abolished, nor was peace legislated into existence,” one American jurist, James B. Scott (1866–1943), who represented the U.S. at The Hague, wrote—but still deserved to be recognized as “a landmark in international development,” he wrote (Scott, “Second Hague Peace Conference” (1908), 1, 28).  KOREAN HOPES: The idea to send a Korean delegation was the brainchild of Yi Chun (李儁 1859–1907), a Methodist convert and senior Korean official, and Yi Sang-sŏl (李相卨 1870 or 1871–1917), a former cabinet member (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 77). Kojong was hoping perhaps for a Triple Intervention-like repudiation of Japan’s imperial moves in Korea at the Second Hague Conference. As one historian notes, the Triple Intervention had “only encouraged the Chosŏn leaders to continue their policy of trying to neutralize foreign power on the peninsula by pitting one imperialist against another” (Robinson 2007, 12). In 1905, Kojong had caught a brief glimmer of hope when Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany—which had signed a treaty with Korea in 1883—recognized Morocco’s independence from France; by then, the British had signed a treaty with Japan, but Kojong regarded Germany’s navy as capable of taking on the British navy. Those hopes, however, faded after Russia formally acknowledged Japan’s interests in Korea with the signing of the Treaty of Portsmouth in 1905 (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 183)
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the newly completed Trans-Siberian Railway with a letter pleading for Korean representation

NoteHomer Hulbert sold his possessions in the spring of 1907 and headed to Europe via Vladivostok to board the Trans-Siberian Railway. The biographer of James S. Gale, a fellow missionary who was something of a rival to Hulbert in their literary and scholarly contributions, derides Hulbert as having “up to this time…favoured Japanese policies, [and] suddenly began making efforts as an amateur diplomat to stop their progress,” adding: “History has so far dealt gently with Hulbert because, though belatedly, he vigorously espoused Korea’s cause against Japanese imperialism” (as quoted in Rutt 1983, 40, 47).
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since Korea, now a protectorate of Japan, would be represented at the conference by Tokyo

Note“FOREDOOMED”: As one historian writes, “the move was foredoomed in that it sought to plead with precisely those powers (Russia, Britain, the United States, and France) that had accepted and endorsed the idea of the protectorate. When Japan argued, therefore, that the Korean emperor’s mission had no basis in legality under the new dispensation, the conference refused to give the Korean emissaries a hearing” (Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 59). The only one of the forty-three delegations at the Hague that paid the Korean delegation any notice at all was Russia, which had just been militarily humbled by Japan two years earlier. Otherwise, writes University of Connecticut historian Alexis Dudden, “the Koreans’ attempt to protest—to tell their story— interfered with the world order that the delegates sought to legitimate” (Dudden 2005, 7–8). In this world order, Dudden writes, not a single “legal nation” existed in Africa, since an Egyptian delegation was turned away, while many of the other petitioners at the conference—the Albanians, Armenians, Bosnians, Georgians, and Herzegovinians—would not get a hearing from the rest of the world for many decades (Dudden 2005, 12–14). For the Koreans, the rejection was a bitter one; not only were they denied access, but their presence in the Netherlands was erased from the official record (Dudden 2005, 75). One sympathetic Westerner, writing in 1920, lamented the sad sight of Korea begging for a hearing that it would not receive: “There is much that is pathetic in the spectacle of Korea, so lately the Hermit Nation, at whose barred doors America and Europe had so recently stood knocking, now awakened to a belief in the friendship and good will of the Western world, and the Western religion, herself knocking at the doors of those nations in the extremity of her need, and finding them locked against her. For the pathos is that Korea knocked in vain” (Graves 1920, 28).   “BID FAREWELL TO COREA”: Korea’s attempts to win global recognition were also widely ridiculed at the time in the American and British press. The New York Daily Tribune, editorializing in July 1907, ridiculed Korea’s attempts to seek the world’s help at The Hague. “The title of Japan to deal with Corea as she has dealt is at least as good as that of…other powers to deal as they have with subject nations,” the newspaper’s editorial board wrote on July 20, 1907. “As a bone of international contention we may now bid farewell to Corea. As a protectorate of Japan we may welcome it to a large measure of the prosperity and progress which Japan herself enjoys” (“The State of Corea,” New York Daily Tribune, July 20, 1907, 6). Less than a week later, the newspaper added: “Had Corea manifested a tithe [that is, one-tenth] of Japan’s energy, ability and virtue she would have established and maintained her sovereignty impregnable. Instead, she was cruel, corrupt, ignorant, slothful, destitute of patriotic spirit and regardless of the progress of the world. She displayed none of the essential elements of sovereign nationality” (“Corea,” New York Daily Tribune, July 26, 1907, 6). Also quoted in Conroy 1960, 350. In London, The Times was even more dismissive: “We ourselves have had such long experience of dealing with barbaric or semi-barbaric potentates that we can easily appreciate the position of the Japanese in Korea” (Dudden 2005, 10, quoting The Times (London), July 20, 1907). Kojong was derided as “an Oriental despot of the weaker type,” “a backward Sovereign” who was “foolish” and “fatuous” (Dudden 2005, 16, quoting The Times (London), July 19 and 20, 1907).  DEATH OF A DELEGATE: After the rejection at the Hague on June 27, 1907, Yi Chun collapsed and died, while Hulbert went onto the U.S. to press his case (Clark 2003, 33; and Chandra, “Outline Study of the Ilchin-hoe” (1974), 59). After Yi Chun’s death, Ernest Bethell’s Taehan Daily News and its Korean-language counterpart, the Taehan Maeil Sinbo, printed an extra edition on July 18, 1907, declaring that Yi Chun had, in a fit of “patriotic angst,” “spilt his blood in front of the delegates of the world by committing suicide” (Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 98). Yi Chun’s son, Yi Yong (李鏞 1888–1954), would later become a nationalist fighter of his own and, in 1948, defect to North Korea. Yi Yong appears in North Korea’s historiography in an episode depicting him having linked up with Kim Il Sung through his wife Kim Chŏng-suk (see Kim Jong Suk: Biography (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 2002), 105–12).  HŎ WI’S ASSAY: The Hague effort was not the only attempt by Korean nationalists to win international legal recognition for Korea’s cause in 1907. Another assay was made by a Korean high court judge and righteous army leader named Hŏ Wi (許蔿 1854–1908), who formally declared war against the Japanese in the fall of 1907, arguing that the rebellion that he and other righteous army leaders was conducting should be recognized as legitimate under international law; his appeal was roundly ignored and the same year, he died under torture by the Japanese (Dudden 2005, 75, 80–81). Despite Japanese censorship, the nationalist newspaper Taehan Daily News (Taehan Maeil Sinbo) published a glancing reference to a list of thirty demands that Hŏ had drawn up, including for the restoration of Kojong to the throne (Dudden 2005, 77).  THE BITTER IRONY: The bitter irony is that, by the standards of two of the most essential markers of nationhood, Korea was perhaps more deserving of statehood than the countries hosting the talks. As the Harvard scholars Edwin O. Reischauer (1910–1990) and John K. Fairbank (1907–1991) put it: “Korea was one of the earliest of the present-day nations of the world to emerge and remain clearly on the map of history. By the end of the seventh century it was essentially the same country it is today, in population, underlying culture, language, and general geographical extent. In East Aia only China is clearly older. Certainly none of the countries of Western Europe achieved both its modern boundaries and its present ethnic composition until well after Korea” (Edwin O. Reischauer and John K. Fairbank, East Asia: The Great Tradition (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1960), 411). Also cited in Ellen Brun and Jacques Hersh, Socialist Korea: A Case Study in the Strategy of Economic Development (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1976), 26.
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—but they also served to inflame the passions an increasingly restive Korean population

NoteAs historian Peter Duus writes of the Korean people, “having found that petitions, memorials, and other traditional peaceful methods of resistance and remonstrance had no effect, they turned to resistance by force” (Duus 1995, 221).  SAVINGS CRISIS: Making things even more wrenching for Koreans was a botched currency reform in July 1905 that instantly rendered valueless the old Korean currency, wiping out the savings of a significant portion of the Korean population—“a coup de grâce from which they never recovered.” Even two years later in 1907, wrote the Capital Gazette newspaper, “businessmen are in disorder. Some have closed shop and run away; others have taken poison and committed suicide” (Eckert 1991, 11–12). “The old Korean money has gradually gone out, and the new money seems to have been held in the further southern cities, so that ready money is scarce up here,” wrote Louise Morris, a missionary in the northwestern city of Yŏngbyŏn in April 1906 (Louise Ogilvy Morris [Morris, C. Louise O.], “The Yeng Byen Bible Institue,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 6 (April 1906), 116–18, here 117).  PALACE AMUSEMENT PARKS: In moves regarded by some Koreans as a further indignity, the Japanese converted one of the royal palaces in Seoul, the Palace of Flourishing Rejoicing (昌慶宮 Kor. Ch’anggyŏng-gung), into an amusement park and public recreational area, while buildings in another palace complex, the Palace of Luminous Joy (慶熙宮 Kor. Kyŏnghŭi-gung) complex were destroyed or sold; the Circular Mound Altar was done away with, in favor of the Chōsen Hotel (today, the Westin Chosun Hotel), while the Palace of Radiant Blessings (景福宮 Kor. Kyŏngbok-gung), formerly the king’s main residence, was opened for public viewing in 1908 (Henry 2014, 29; and Henry, “Sanitizing Empire” (2005), 665–66).
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announcement that Kojong had renounced the throne, Korean mobs began rioting in Seoul

Note“The Japanese government could not allow the emperor’s action to pass unpunished,” and on July 18, 1907, Itō demanded that Kojong abdicate (Keene 2002, 643; Graves 1920, 28; Dudden 2005, 10; Ch’oe and Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 143–44; and Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 98). Kojong only agreed to abdicate at 3:00 a.m. on July 19, 1907, after nearly twelve hours of haranguing from the Japanese (Nelson 1946, 279). “In abdicating my throne, I acted in obedience to the dictate of my conviction. My action was not the result of any outside advice or pressure,” Kojong wrote, according to the diary entry that day of Methodist missionary Arthur Becker (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 271).
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mental ailments made him a far more pliable puppet than the increasingly troublesome Kojong

NoteEmperor Sunjong (純宗帝 Kor. Sunjong-je r. 1907–1910), was born Yi Ch’ŏk (李坧 1874–1926), the second son of Kojong and Queen Min. The “puppet” language is drawn from Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie’s 1908 book on Korea, whose chapter on Emperor Sunjong was titled “The Crowning of the Puppet Emperor.”  NATURE OR NURTURE?: It’s unclear whether Emperor Sunjong’s limited mental capabilities were inborn or not. A short book published by An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association in San Francisco, entitled The Truth About Korea, asserted that Sunjong “was known to be mentally incapacitated from birth” (Kendall 1919, 14). The preponderance of other sources, however, points to a more nefarious set of circumstances. According to University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho and Seoul National University historian Yi T’ae-jin, Sunjong’s weak mental faculties were the direct result of him having been poisoned with a cup of opium-spiked coffee during a burst of court intrigue in July 1898, when Sunjong was in his mid-twenties. After having been served coffee one morning, Sunjong—who up until then had received a classical Confucian education and who was strong at both calligraphy and painting—vomited, collapsed and was never the same again (Ch’oe and Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 144). The same general set of circumstances was corroborated by Sunjong’s sister-in-law Nashimoto Masako (梨本宮 方子 1899–1989), also known by her Korean name Yi Pang-ja (李方子), who was married to Sunjong’s half-brother. According to Princess Masako, the poisoning degraded his mental state, as well as his physical body, leaving him, among other things, impotent. “He did not die, but his teeth fell out because of the poisoning. Ever since, he had been weak physically and mentally, until he died for lack of a will to live. His life simply fizzled out” (Yi Pangja [Nashimoto, Masako], The World is One: Princess Yi Pangja’s Autobiography, trans. Kim Sukkyu (Seoul: Taewon, 1973), 127). Also cited in Mark E. Caprio, “The 1920 Colonial Reforms and the June 10 (1926) Movement: A Korean Search for Ethnic Space,” in Hong Yung Lee [Yi, Hong-yŏng] et al., eds., Colonial Rule and Social Change in Korea, 1910–1945 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2013), 173–205, here 184. For more on Sunjong’s poisoning, as supported by Japanese sources, see Keene 2002, 643, n. 46. Yet other sources describe how Sunjong’s mental condition may have been influenced by his having witnessed the assassination of his mother, Queen Min, at age twenty-one, in addition to his poisoning three years later in 1898; an opium addiction may also have played a role, though this is less-firmly substantiated (Christine Kim, “Politics and Pageantry” (2009), 838, especially n. 3).  “GRINNING IMBECILE”: Either way, all agreed that Emperor Sunjong was, in the words of historian Peter Duus, “docile” and “a man of limited mental capacity” (Duus 1995, 210). New York Herald correspondent John A. Cockerill, who was given an audience with Sunjong and his father Kojong in 1895, described the then-Crown Prince as Kojong’s “flabby…grinning, imbecile son” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1908, 71, citing New York Herald, October 12, 1895). Korean independence activist Henry Chung called Sunjong “mentally deficient” and a “mental incompetent” (Chung 1921, 58). One contemporary historian avoids any discussion of Sunjong’s mental faculties, noting only that he “embodied ‘puppet sovereignty’ as much as if not more than the better known ‘Last Emperor’ of China, Pu Yi”—going so far as to condemn the Hague expedition on his father’s behalf (Dudden 2005, 10).  AN HEIR AND A SPARE: Kojong and the missionaries, recognizing Sunjong’s mental deficiencies, had earlier sought to ensure that Kojong’s fifth son, Yi Kang (李堈 1877–1955), also known as Prince Ŭihwa (義和君 Kor. Ŭihwa-gun), had a proper education—positioning him as a potential backup. The missionaries arranged for Prince Ŭihwa to study at a Christian boys’ school in New Jersey. But the strong-headed prince defied their designs, and, after refusing to sail, made a beeline for the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, where he depleted his funds on the finer things in life. He eventually submitted to attending college in Virginia, before withdrawing two years later and sailing for Japan (Loomis 1923, 89–91).
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arrival was greeted with lavish spectacles at every stop—parades, fireworks, and banquets

NoteSunjong’s coronation took place in late August 1907 “amid the sullen silence of a resentful people. Of popular enthusiasm there was none,” Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote in describing the ceremony, throughout which Sunjong—“tall, clumsily built, awkward, and vacant-looking”—“stood still, apparently the least interested man in the room. He did not even look bored—simply vacant…open mouth, fallen jaw, indifferent eyes, and face lacking even a flickering gleam of intelligent interest” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 163–64, 166). In a reflection of Japan’s determination, still unsated, to rid Koreans of the topknot, one of the first acts upon Sunjong’s coronation was to chop off his hair—against the new emperor’s wishes—and to urge his subjects to do the same (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 164).
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Japanese really hit a nerve when they tried to disband the Korean army at the end of July 1907

NoteJapanese concerns about the loyalties of the Korean troops were not unfounded. When Ch’oe Ik-hyŏn (崔益鉉 1834–1907), an aging Confucian scholar who had declared his willingness to cut off his head before cutting off his topknot, started an uprising in 1906 in response to the establishment of Japan’s protectorate, the Korean army disregarded or deliberately undercut the orders of their Japanese superiors (Duus 1995, 223). The same thing happened with an uprising led by Min Chong-sik (閔宗植 1861–1917), a member of the powerful Min clan. And when Kojong’s abdication was announced, far from helping quell the violence, the Korean troops had joined in the looting and pillaging (Duus 1995, 223).
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than a hundred wounded, while more despairing Korean officials were driven to ritual suicide

NoteJournalist Frederick McKenzie gives the basics of the mutiny: “One officer, Major Pak, commander of the smartest and best of the Korean battalions, returned to his barracks in despair, and committed suicide. His men learnt of what had happened and rose in mutiny. They burst upon their Japanese military instructors and nearly killed them. They then forced open the ammunition-room, secured weapons and cartridges, posted themselves behind the windows of their barracks, and fired at every Japanese they saw. News quickly reached the authorities, and Japanese companies of infantry hurried out and surrounded their barracks” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 161–62).
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known as “righteous armies” that would afflict the colonial administration for years to come

NoteThe raising of volunteer “righteous armies” (義兵 Kor. ŭibyŏng) was a recurring theme throughout Korean history; during the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s, vigilante bands rose up to defend the nation, while the Tonghak rebellion was, in a sense, an agglomeration of righteous armies (see Eckert et al. 1990, 221; and Westad 2021, 52). As historian JaHyun Kim Haboush writes, when the Korean nation appeared to be teetering on the brink of survival in 1592, “one volunteer leader after another sent out impassioned exhortations to other civilians, creating a vision of Korea in which all were united in an inseparable and cohesive community, and for which all should fight risking death” (Haboush 2016, 16). At the time, Haboush writes, the very concept of a “righteous army” of volunteers “had no historical precedent,” springing up seemingly spontaneously in all of Korea’s eight provinces, though prior to the 1590s the term “righteous army” had been invoked “as an entity with an abstract meaning as a punitive force of justice (Haboush 2016, 18). The legacy of the righteous armies of the 1590s was illustrious enough that, centuries later, “it is hardly an exaggeration to say, nearly every family scrambled to claim an ancestor who had been active in the volunteer army. Posthumous honors were showered on them, shrines were built in their name, and their resistance activities were researched, revealed, narrated, and even published— an industry that continues to this day in Korea” (Haboush 2016, 26).
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“herself stripped of her dignity as an independent nation and was humiliated beyond measure”

NoteAs William N. Blair (1876–1950), a Presbyterian missionary in Pyongyang between 1901 and 1942, writes, “a wave of intense national feeling swept over the land. ‘Korea for the Koreans’ and ‘It is better to die than to be slaves’ were heard on every hand. Unable to resist the Japanese openly, secret meetings were held throughout the country. Many fled to the mountains taking the name of ‘We-pyung’ or ‘Righteous Army,’ and waged guerrilla warfare on the Japanese” (Blair 1957, 61).
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it to within ten miles of Seoul’s ancient East Gate in December 1907 before being repelled

NoteDuring the offensive, Yi In-yŏng (李麟榮 1867–1909) led more than ten thousand righteous soldiers on an attack on the capital from the north. The attack was repulsed by the Japanese military, who responded with a “ferocious” campaign to erase any vestige of resistance, a campaign that included torching villages seen as supportive of the righteous armies (Schmid 2002, 44–45).
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last stand at the graves of their ancestors, in a symbolic display of devotion to their forefathers

NoteCanadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, who embedded himself with righteous army fighters, quotes at length from one righteous army manifesto, which framed the fight against the Japanese as a life-or-death battle for the very existence of Korea: “Let us strike against Japan, and then, if must be, all die together with our country and with our Emperor, for there is no other course open to us. It is better to lose our lives now than to live miserably a little time longer…We have to choose between destruction or the maintenance of our country. Whether we live or die is a small thing, the great thing is that we make up our minds at once whether we work for or against our country” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 136–37). One righteous army leader that McKenzie spoke to was nonchalant about death. “We may have to die,” he said. “Well, so let it be. It is much better to die as a free man than to live as the slave of Japan” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 164).
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the noble-sounding name, the righteous armies were generally more ragtag than regimented

NoteFrederick McKenzie paints a dreary picture of the righteous army fighters that he got to see up close: “Not one had leather boots. Around their waists were home-made cotton cartridge belts, half full. One wore a kind of tarboosh on his head, and the others had bits of rag twisted round their hair. I looked at the guns they were carrying. The six men had five different patterns of weapons, and none was any good” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 200; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 161–62). Even so, these men were fierce fighters, some of them having learned, while hunting tigers, to kill with a single shot from their old-fashioned blunderbusses. “They never missed,” McKenzie wrote. “They were trained to stalk the tiger, to come quite close to it, and then to kill it at one shot. The man who failed once died” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 134).
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armies, fighting 141,815 guerrillas in the four years between August 1907 and June 1911

NoteHarvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors offer slightly different numbers, citing official Japanese statistics  to tally up 2,819 clashes between the righteous armies and the Japanese army between 1907 and 1910, with more than half taking place in 1908 alone (Eckert et al. 1990, 244). Another scholar gives the number of engagements as four thousand battles, involving some 120,000 Koreans (Oak 2013, 133). By the time the righteous armies were largely put down, some twenty thousand Koreans had died in the fighting, writes Australian diplomat-turned-scholar Adrian Buzo (Buzo 2002, 19). “Despite Japanese claims to the contrary, annexation was anything but a peaceful process,” concludes University of Toronto historian Andre Schmid (Schmid 2002, 44–45).
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taking to Itō’s vision of reform and modernization under the tutelage of their new protectors

NoteBritish journalist Angus Hamilton, a defender of Japan’s reform efforts in Korea, painted a picture of dysfunction in Korea’s imperial court in the years immediately following the establishment of the protectorate in 1905: “The Imperial Palace was…frequented by diviners, fortune-tellers, and other persons, men and women, of obscure origin and questionable character, their sole object being to cheat and extract money from the Imperial purse, in co-operation with native and foreign schemers. Political as well as personal dissensions occasioned plots and counterplots even within the Palace itself. In the face of these perilous conditions the Resident-General could not remain silent” (Hamilton et al. 1910, 235).
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resisting the new rulers or you were a collaborator, or at least in danger of being branded one

NoteThe righteous armies, for instance, killed anyone whose hair was cut, regarding the maintaining of the topknot as a symbol of fealty to traditional Korean values (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 140–41). One February 1908 article in the San Francisco-based pro-independence newspaper Kongrip Sinbo (共立申報) captured the no-win dilemma for Koreans caught in the middle—executed by the righteous armies if they were found with a membership card in the pro-Japanese “self-defense corps,” or shot by the Japanese if they didn’t have such a membership card (Wells 1990, 43, citing Kongrip Sinbo, February 24, 1908).
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“a man’s head in those times to take sides with either party,” recalled one American missionary

NoteAnother missionary, James Gale, received an unsigned letter in early 1908 from a righteous soldier who threatened violence against Christians if they sided openly with the government (Wells 1984, 87, Kongrip Sinbo, March 18, 1908). For the most part, Korea’s nationalist intellectuals—many of them Christian—opposed the use of violence and the entire approach of the righteous armies, deriding them as thieves and bandits—or, more colorfully, as “calamitous demons who are ruining the country and poisonous sores that are harming the people.” They were also dismissive of any hopes the righteous armies might possibly prevail over the Japanese military, which after all had just vanquished the Russian military. Instead, these newspapers preferred to emphasize a more gradualist approach that first raised Koreans’ cultural heft (Schmid 2002, 44–45). To be sure, one man’s bandit was another man’s freedom fighter. As the Korean Christian nationalist leader Henry Chung put it, “they were no more bandits than were Washington’s Continental Army or Garibaldi’s Volunteers” (Chung 1921, 188).
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especially once Tokyo sent three cavalry regiments to Korea beginning in October 1907

NoteHistorian Peter Duus describes the typical righteous soldier as a Korean man driven by a combination of “thwarted ambition, youthful enthusiasm, adventurism, family pride, and even family problems,” citing as one example a thirty-two-year-old illiterate inkmaker named Kang Sa-mun who was upset at Japan for having seized the country’s natural resources and banned the topknot (Duus 1995, 226). They were also pretty poorly organized. Frederick McKenzie, the Canadian journalist, questioned one righteous army leader: “How were they organized? From what he told me, it was evident that they had practically no organization at all. There were a number of separate bands held together by the loosest ties. A rich man in each place found the money. This he secretly gave to one or two open rebels, and they gathered adherents around them” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 164). As the Japanese intensified their anti-insurgency work, the righteous armies turned increasingly to looting and stealing from local villages to sustain themselves, thereby engendering ill will among the Koreans that they purported to be fighting for. As early as 1908, police officials in southwestern Korea were starting to see major disillusionment among the local populace. “The damage they have suffered at the hands of both the insurgents and the pacification forces has been great, and as a result a tendency toward an aversion to the insurgents has emerged,” the officials reported (as quoted in Duus 1995, 231). “Out in the mountains, for a time it was quite a joke to say, ‘Have you no new coat? Go Wipyung and get one. Have you no money? Go Wipyung, and get some,’” wrote one missionary (Charles Clark 1921, 298).
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and the Japanese quickly learned that stamping out dissent would take years, not months

NoteThe righteous armies weren’t fully extinguished in 1915, writes Korean nationalist Henry Chung, citing Japanese official statements (Chung 1921, 188). Over the course of those eight years, however, the righteous army violence was widespread enough that many Japanese settlers simply pulled up stakes and returned home. “Ordinary people cannot live on doing their daily work. Some are fleeing with their families, some have been killed, some have lost their homes,” a Japanese official wrote Itō in December 1907. “It is a calamitous situation” (as quoted in Conroy 1960, 367; and Duus 1995, 225).
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villages to rubble they were also intensifying many Koreans’ hatred for their new protectors

NoteIn the end, stamping out the righteous armies would require a high degree of ruthlessness from the Japanese—one that would grow increasingly apparent with the passage of time. Frederick McKenzie, the Canadian journalist who was the only Westerner to embed himself with the “righteous armies,” describes the scorched-earth strategy that the Japanese employed from a vantage point on a mountain pass, looking down at smoldering villages in the valley below: “The ‘strong hand of Japan’ was certainly being shown here. I beheld in front of me village after village reduced to ashes. I rode down to the nearest heap of ruins. The place had been quite a large village, with probably seventy or eighty houses. Destruction, thorough and complete, had fallen upon it. Not a single house was left, and not a single wall of a house. Every pot with the winter stores was broken. The very earthen fire-places were wrecked…We rode on through village after village and hamlet after hamlet burned to the ground…All along the route I heard tales of the Japanese plundering, where they had not destroyed” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 185, 189). In another account, McKenzie wrote: “I beheld in front of me village after village reduced to ashes…I rode down to the nearest heap of ruins. The place had been quite a large village, with probably seventy or eighty houses. Destruction, thorough and complete, had fallen upon it. Not a single house was left, and not a single wall of a house” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 147–48). At one rural town that McKenzie identifies only as “Chee-chong,” a busy rural recenter had been reduced to “nothing but lines of little heaps of black and gray dust and cinders. Not a whole wall, not a beam, and not an unbroken jar remained… Chee-chong had been wiped off the map” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 156–57). McKenzie heard credible stories of rape by the Japanese, often while armed guards stood watch outside, and strongly suspected that the Japanese killed even those righteous soldiers who had surrendered (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 154–55, 169). Needless to say, McKenzie wrote, “the policy of house-burning had reduced a prosperous community to ruin, increased the rebel forces, and sown a crop of bitter hatred which it would take generations to root out” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 151). A similar list of atrocities was alleged when Koreans staged nationwide demonstrations in March 1919, as will be discussed at length later in this work (see Act II, Chapter 14).
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who had devoted their lives to Korea were genuinely moved by the pathos of its political plight

Note“The spirit of nationalism is also moving in Korea, and the hopelessness of their situation lends an element of real pathos,” American missions advocate John Mott remarked in 1908, the year that the righteous army resistance peaked (Mott 1908, 13–14). Robert Grierson, a Canadian Presbyterian missionary in northeastern Korea, compared the righteous armies favorably to the ancient Greeks (Ion 1990, 186–187, citing Robert Grierson unpublished manuscript). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, who characterized the righteous army fighters he met as “pitiful…men already doomed to certain death, fighting in an absolutely hopeless cause. But as I looked the sparkling eyes and smiles of the sergeant to the right seemed to rebuke me. Pity! Maybe my pity was misplaced. At least they were showing their countrymen an example of patriotism, however mistaken their method of displaying it might be… ‘We may have to die…Well, so let it be. It is much better to die as a free man than to live as the slave of Japan’” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 201, 203). In his two newspapers, the Taehan Daily News and its Korean-language counterpart the Taehan Maeil Sinbo, the pro-Korean English journalist Ernest Bethell criticized the Korean insurgents—but was also “careful to add that Korean violence was a response to the initial violence perpetrated by the Japanese” (Park, “Journalism Behind Bars” (2018), 100).  “REPENT AND BE PARDONED”: The Westerners’ sympathies with the cause of the Korean nationalists were such that when Itō Hirobumi, shortly after his appointment as resident-general, reached out to the missionaries, he found them cold to his entreaties—a snub that, in the words of American Congregationalist minister George Ladd, the vocal advocate of Japanese rule in Korea, was “not only unwise but in a measure un-Christian” (Ladd 1908, 61). The Japanese, too, blamed the missionaries for having inspired the revolts, deriding the righteous soldiers as being “those influenced by Christianity who were manipulated by missionaries seeking to enlarge their own power and advantages,” in the words of the Japanese military leaders in Korea (as quoted in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 82). The Japanese thus turned to the Christian language of repentance and forgiveness in appealing to the righteous army fighters. Hasegawa Yoshimichi (長谷川 好道 1850–1924), at the time the commander of the Japanese occupation army in Korea and later Japan’s governor-general in Korea, urged the righteous army fighters to “honestly repent and…be pardoned” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 135–36). A similar sequence events played out in March 1919 (see Act II, Chapter 14).
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including Kim Il Sung, would draw inspiration from the righteous armies and their fearless spirit

NoteUniversity of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik describes the righteous armies being “the first movement on a mass scale for the Korean identity, rejecting both China and Japan,” alongside perhaps the leaders of the Tonghak movement. Though Yi acknowledges that neither the Tonghaks nor the righteous armies had much in the way of a well-thought-out program for the nation, they nonetheless represented “the beginning of modern Korean nationalism.” “The support given to the Righteous Armies…is evidence of a significant change,” Yi wrote. “The people’s apathy toward political events was lessening” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 52–53, 83).
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nationalist and Christian convert from the Pyongyang area known for his soaring rhetoric

NoteA WHO’S WHO OF KOREAN NATIONALISM: The New People’s Association (新民會 Kor. Sinmin-hoe) was regarded by many as a successor organization to the shuttered Independence Club of a decade earlier. In addition to An Ch’ang-ho, the leaders of the group included Rev. Chŏn Tŏk-gi, pastor of Sang-dong Church in Seoul, where the leaders gathered; Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic convert to Methodism; Syngman Rhee, the Methodist nationalist and later South Korea’s first president; Yi Tong-hwi, a Christian nationalist educator and later a pioneering socialist leader, of whom more will be said later; Yang Ki-t’ak, a close associate of many missionaries and Korean curch leaders; Kim Ku, a prominent conservative nationalist and Christian convert; and Yi Sŭng-hun (李昇薰 1864–1930), a Christian convert and business tycoon who founded the Osan Academy, an important cradle of Korean nationalism. Kim Ku, who was at the inaugural secret meeting, described the New People’s Association as consisting of about four hundred “central figures” (Jongsoo Lee 2000, 160). For more on Kim Ku’s involvement, see Jongsoo Lee, “Introduction,” in Jongsoo Lee 2000, xxv.   NORTHWESTERN CHRISTIAN ROOTS: As with the Independence Club, branches proliferated in the heavily Christian northwest, particularly around Christian schools like Sungsil Academy and An Ch’ang-ho’s Taesŏng School in Pyongyang (Chung-shin Park 2003, 131). One of An Ch’ang-ho’s biographers frames the founding of the New People’s Association as a nationalistic response to the Great Revival of 1907, a religious movement that will be discussed at length in the following chapter: “Ahn returned to P’yŏngyang during the Great Revival of 1907. He went to Seoul, where he created the New People’s Association, Sinminhoe, a secret revolutionary organization, with his Christian colleagues” (Pak, “Cradle of the Covenant,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 126).   A SHORT-LIVED ASSOCIATION: Whatever the details, An Ch’ang-ho founded the group after his return to Korea, likely in December 1907, making Yang Ki-t’ak, a journalist in his mid-thirties, the president (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 12; and Lew 2014, 139). Yun Ch’i-ho also served as president of the group at one point (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 58). The New People’s Association ultimately proved to be short-lived; the 1911 “Conspiracy Case,” a crackdown by the new colonial government on Korean nationalists, led to the arrest of many of the key leaders of the group (see Act II, Chapter 11).
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promoting Korean industry and initiating training for a possible armed confrontation with Japan

Note“DO NOT TELL A LIE”: An Ch’ang-ho founded Taesŏng Academy (大成學校 Kor. Taesŏng Hakgyo) in Pyongyang in 1908. One historian describes Taesŏng Academy as having been jointly founded by An Ch’ang-ho and Yun Ch’i-ho as part of the broader vision of the New People’s Association, with Yun serving as the inaugural principal (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 273–74). An was able to attract prominent Christian nationalists like Yun and Yi Sang-jae to serve as teachers and administrators (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 172–73). The school was seen as a model for a new kind of modern nationalist school that would be established, one per province, across Korea, to help instill An’s values in the people. “‘Never tell a lie even if it means death,’ he used to tell his students. Honor a promise! Keeping appointments was part of the learning process in understanding the value of truthfulness,” his friend, the nationalist author Yi Kwang-su wrote. “‘Even in jest, do not tell a lie. Even in your dreams, when you lose faith, repent’” (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 36–39). Just months into its existence, the school became a flashpoint when the 1909 imperial tour of Emperor Sunjong, meticulously organized by the residency-general to bolster loyalty to the Japanese-backed monarchy, arrived in Pyongyang. There, An Ch’ang-ho refused to display the Japanese rising sun flag (日の丸 Jp. hinomaru) at the school, leading the police to close the school (Christine Kim, “Politics and Pageantry” (2009), 850–52).  THE “AGE OF THE SCHOOL”: Taesŏng Academy was but one of several new modern schools founded by Korean nationalists by the end of 1907, inspired by the missionaries’ own example. In addition to Taesŏng Academy, they included: Yi Tong-hwi’s Poch’ang Academy in Kanghwa Island (1905), Yun Ch’i-ho’s Anglo-Korean School in Kaesŏng (1906), and Yi Sŭng-hun’s Osan Academy in Chŏngju (1907)—all of which would become incubators of nationalist sentiment (Wells 1990, 66). As historian Kenneth Wells writes elsewhere, “the Christian schools, which were mostly boarding schools, were at least as important as the churches in providing the ‘plausibility structures’ of Protestant ideals and more important as vehicles of self-reconstruction thought” (Wells 1984, 187). “The Koreans say that this is the ‘age of the school,’ and everybody is crazy either to go to school or to send their children,” missionary Charles Clark wrote in 1918. “Multitudes of the same class of people fifteen years ago never had the thought of a school enter their minds” (C. A. Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “Evangelistic Work in Korea,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1918), 333–43, here 334).
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prestige to winning Koreans to Japan’s cause—and, by all accounts, his approach was in tatters

Note“During the three and a half years of the protectorate he had not won the allegiance of the Korean people,” writes historian Donald Keene. “His gradualist policy had obviously failed” (Keene 2002, 670). Yamagata Aritomo, a leading voice for militarism among Japan’s ruling elite, pointed to the righteous army struggles to lambast Itō’s gradualist policies in Korea. Though Itō is generally vilified by Koreans today, he was, in the words of one historian, “in fact rather progressive on the issue of Korean sovereignty and, ironically, was forced to resign as the resident-general of Korea due to the rising influence of the Imperial Japanese Army, which sought total annexation” (Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, “Introduction,” in Yi Tae-jin, Eugene Y. Park, and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 1–19, here 4). One South Korean scholar blames factional strife as a main reason for Korea’s ultimate failure to pursue its own Meiji-style reforms (Choong Soon Kim 1998, 7).
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against his attempts to coddle the Koreans, and began sharpening the knives for his removal

NoteIn January 1909, ultranationalist Uchida Ryōhei (內田 良平 1879–1937) wrote a long memorial to the prime minister Katsura Tarō calling for immediate annexation of Korea (Duus 1995, 235). By then, Itō Hirobumi, at sixty-seven years old, was being challenged not just by his peers but by a younger generation of leaders in Japan with a grander vision for the country’s role in the region and on the world stage. Itō’s caution in world affairs, Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote in 1908, “is laughed at by many of the younger men, who declare that while his ways were good enough for their fathers, they have entered into a wider inheritance, and will prove themselves worthy of it. The future of Japan, the future of the East, and, to some extent, the future of the world, lies in the answer to the question whether the militarists or the party of peaceful expansion gain the upper hand in the immediate future” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 261). Also quoted in Hamilton et al. 1910, 321.
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had run out of time, resigned with the hope of “removing himself as an obstacle to annexation”

NoteIn fact, Itō himself became convinced after his disastrous northern imperial tour for Emperor Sunjong that annexation was necessary. In February 1909, Prime Minister Katsura and Foreign Minister Komura Jutarō visited Itō at his home outside Tokyo, where they sought to convince Itō to agree to annexation; Itō didn’t object, only expressing concerns about the timing (Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 157–58). When Itō departed Inch’ŏn on June 14, 1909, he struggled to hide his bitterness, taking some of the blame himself but also laying responsibility at the feet of the Koreans he had expected would embrace his call for reform (Duus 1995, 236). After a short return trip to Korea to formally hand off his duties to successor Sone Arasuke, Itō returned once more to Tokyo, where he was greeted at Shimbashi Station by a guard of honor that escorted him to the imperial palace. “Itō’s reception ranked second only to that accorded to a victorious general of the army” (Keene 2002, 661). Back in Tokyo, Itō returned to his post as president of the Privy Council to the Japanese emperor, a post he had already occupied three times, in addition to his three stints as prime minister. “There can be little doubt that the emperor valued Itō’s opinions more highly than those of anyone else in the government,” writes one biographer of the Meiji emperor (Keene 2002, 594).
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Minister Katsura Tarō and his foreign minister laid the groundwork for the inevitable next step

NoteUniversity of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik dates the decision to April 10, 1909, when Itō Hirobumi, along with Prime Minister Katsura Tarō and Foreign Minister Komura Jutarō met; the Japanese cabinet and Emperor Meiji made it official in a July 6, 1909 (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 79, n. 29). Incidentally, Katsura’s second wife, Katsura Sadako (桂 貞子 ?–1890), was a Christian, a member of the Congregational Church, and her funeral, held in a Tokyo church in September 1890, was attended by more than two thousand people, including a prince and several senior officials (Otis 1909, 225–26, 318, footnote).
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shot to death as he stepped off the train at the railway station in the Manchurian city of Harbin

Note“DAMNED FOOL!”: An Chung-gŭn (安重根 1879–1910) shot Itō Hirobumi on the platform of the Harbin Railway Station with a Browning semiautomatic pistol, hitting the Japanese statesman with three bullets before shouting, in Russian: “Korea! Ura!” (“Long live Korea!”) three times; An later said at trial that he had shouted “Long live Korea!” in Korean (“Taehan mansei!”) (Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 1; and Keene 2002, 662, n. 24). Told that his killer was a Korean, Itō’s uttered his last words: “Damned fool!” (as quoted in Keene 2002, 662). As resident-general of Korea, Itō was under constant threat of violence (Keene 2002, 660–61).   A PARTITION OF CHINA: Itō had traveled to Harbin to meet Russian finance minister Vladimir Kokovtsov (1853–1943), for talks that may have included a discussion of partitioning China between the two countries (Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], “An Chunggŭn and Liang Qichao: Two Lights of Modern East Asia,” in Yi Tae-jin, Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 161–76, here 161). For more on the backdrop to Itō’s visit to Harbin, see Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 4–5.  “LIKE A ‘BOOM’ AMERICAN TOWN”: Harbin (哈爾濱) was very much a frontier city, full of military and political intrigue. One missionary, visiting the Russian-built city in the late 1910s, described pigs running through the main streets of the city, as well as uniformed men from all the major Western powers (Delia May Battles, “With the Chosen Contingent in Siberia,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 6 (June 1919), 114–18, here 116–17). Despite the roughness of the place, there was also a certain European glamor that earned it the sobriquet “Paris of the East” (Meyer 2015, 102). Until 1920, when Harbin came under Chinese control, signs were written in Cyrillic, and the Orthodox Church boasted a strong presence there (Meyer 2015, 122). Harbin was “discovered” and established as a city in the spring of 1898, several months after the beginning of the construction of the Chinese Eastern Railway that would slice west-to-east across Manchuria. According to Sir Alexander Hosie, the British consul in Manchuria at the time, the location of Harbin was chosen by Russian engineers. At the location they chose, the only sign of life there was a single desolate Chinese distillery; within three years, when Hosie wrote his account, the city had grown from those humble beginnings to “a large town of several thousand inhabitants, consisting for the most part of Russians connected with, and for the protection of, the Trans-Manchurian Railway” (Hosie 1901, 50). Scottish writer Sir John Fraser, traveling through Harbin around the turn of the century, described how, in Harbin in 1894, “there was not a single Russian in Harbin. Now there are nearly nine thousand.” “Like a ‘boom’ American town,” he continued, “it has sprung into existence in a few years. Big stores and hotels are being pushed up, and everywhere building is to be seen. Fortunes are made by men who have got patches of land centrally situated…It is a magnet to all the adventurers in Russia. There are two or three murders every week. Respectable folks who go out at night do so in bands, the men armed, and with a Cossack guard…A Russian’s idea of good-fellowship, when in his cups, is to squander, to pour champagne on the floor, just to show he doesn’t mind expense, to light his cigarette with a three-rouble note, and generally splash money round…The night before I was at Harbin, an engineer arrived, his pockets bulging with roubles, and he showed his idea of money by making all the girls sit in a row while he poured champagne on hundred-rouble notes, and then stuck these notes (£10) on the foreheads of each of the eight girls. That is the Harbin idea of having a good time” (Fraser 1904, 226–27). British journalist William Greener, writing under the pseudonym Wirt Gerrare, paid a visit to the city in 1901; in the old city, the newest hotel was called the New York, while the new city was “largely, if not entirely, a railway and government settlement” (Gerrare 1903, 258). One Japanese economist described the establishment of Harbin as Russia’s second-greatest contribution to Manchuria’s economic development, after the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 35).
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The murder of Itō, by a Korean nationalist named An Chung-gŭn, sent shock waves across Asia

NoteAn Chung-gŭn (安重根 1879–1910) was born in Haeju, in the northwestern province of Hwanghae, on September 2, 1879. Underscoring the northern roots of the murder plot, two of An’s accomplices, Cho Kil-sŏn and Yu Kang-ro (柳江魯 ?–?), hailed from the northeastern province of South Hamgyŏng (Caprio, “Images of the North,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 311).
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against the hated Japanese, but in reality his views toward Japan were far more complex

NoteHIGH HOPES (FOR JAPAN): Despite his posthumous reimagination as an avatar of anti-Japanese sentiment, writes Columbia University historian Donald Keene, An Chung-gŭn “was not anti-Japanese. The man he most admired was undoubtedly Emperor Meiji, and one of his most vehement accusations against Itō Hirobumi was that he had intentionally deceived the emperor, who desired not the subjugation of Korea but peace in East Asia and Korean independence” (Keene 2002, 664). Indeed, An had initially rejoiced over Japan’s victory over Russia in 1905 (Moon, “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 181). Frederick R. Dickinson, a historian of Japan at the University of Pennsylvania, adds: “An’s actions ironically seem related to the respect he had for Japan. An appears to have acted on a deep sense of betrayal, which exploded in an act of violence precisely because of the high hopes he had held for Japan” (Dickinson, “Afterword,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 227–28). As An realized he was to be sentenced to death, he spent several months writing an autobiography and a treatise, entitled “On Peace in the East” (東洋平和論 Kor. Tongyang P’yŏnghwa-ron) (Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 7–8).   “THE ORIENT FOR ORIENTALS”: An Chung-gŭn’s advocacy for pan-Asianism has long been forgotten, particularly in North Korea and among South Koreans for whom a one-dimensional picture of an anti-Japanese assassin is more politically palatable, but he was far from the only prominent Korean voice at this time calling for such a program. Indeed, the idea of Japan’s leadership in the Far East was unquestioned by a substantial proportion of Korea’s modernizers in the 1890s, including the members of the Independence Club (Suh, “Genealogy of Modern Korea’s Discourse,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 45–46). Pan-Asianism could also be seen in this period in Tonghak teachings, which eschewed the idea of a Sinocentric world order in East Asia (see Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 23). The idea of Japan leading a pan-Asian coalition against the predations of the Westerners could be seen in a mass-produced porcelain figurine bearing the slogan “The Orient for Orientals,” sold on the streets of the northeastern Korean city of Hamhŭng in 1906 and portraying a Japanese schoolboy pinning down a Westerner while two boys bearing Korean and Chinese flags stood behind, in the protection of the Japanese boy (MacRae 1993, 125–26). Similarly, the editors of the politically centrist—that is, neither pro- nor anti-Japanese—Capital Gazette (Hwangsŏng Sinmun) argued that bringing together the three major East Asian peoples was the only way to fend off domination by the West. The pro-Japanese Society for Progress was also among the leading voices of pan-Asianism during this period (Schmid 2002, 88). As historian Andre Schmid notes, “the political naiveté of this position was revealed when Japan, as a direct result of its victories, was able to impose a protectorate on Korea in 1905, giving credence to oppositional views that the greatest threat to Korea came not from the white West but from a fellow yellow country” (Schmid 2002, 12–13).  “SEEK TO BE MIGHTY FIRST”: Underscoring the power of pan-Asianism during this period, even among Korean converts who were close to the Americans, Yun Ch’i-ho, the U.S.-educated Methodist convert, writing in his diary in May 1902 after reading of an attack on Korean settlers in Vladivostok by Russians, called for the Japanese, Chinese, and Korean people to unite “to keep the Far East the permanent home of the yellow race, and to make that home as beautiful and happy as nature has meant it to be. White Australia! White Philippines! White America! What an amount of arrogance, of unfairness, of downright injustice in these words!” Then, reappropriating the words of Christ, Yun added: “Indignation or rage will not help us. Seek to be mighty first: then all other things, right, justice, and property (other people’s) shall be added unto us” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, May 7, 1902, entry). Also quoted in Tikhonov, “Race and Racism Discourses” (2012), 45. When Japan defeated the Russian navy in May 1905, Yun was similarly exultant, basking in his pride “of the glorious successes of Japan. She has vindicated the honor of our race”—even as he acknowledged that “every victory is a nail in the coffin of the Korean independence” (Yun Ch’i-ho diary, June 2, 1905, entry). Also quoted in Tikhonov, “Race and Racism Discourses” (2012), 45.  ASIATICS VS. OCCIDENTALS: Likewise, Sun Yat-sen, the Chinese revolutionary widely hailed as the father of modern China, saw Japan as a potential ally. Even after Japan imposed its Twenty-One Demands on China, seeking effectively to bring it under Tokyo’s control, in January 1915, Sun remained sanguine. “It is wrong,” Sun wrote in 1917, “to accuse Japan of harboring wild ambitions.” Seven years later, in 1924, Sun still held out hope that Japan would be “the tower of strength of the Orient.” In November that year, just four months before his death in March 1925, Sun foresaw China and Japan making common cause: “We advocate Pan-Asianism in order to restore the status of Asia,” he wrote. “Should all Asiatic peoples thus unite together and present a united front against the Occidentals, they will win the final victory” (Dallin 1950, 207, quoting a Sun Yat-sen speech in Kobe, Japan on November 28, 1924). An Chung-gŭn certainly saw the circumstances through such a racial lens. From prison, he wrote the Japanese authorities to accuse Theodore Roosevelt of being prejudiced in favor of his “fellow Whites” at the Portsmouth peace talks (Tikhonov, “Race and Racism Discourses” (2012), 40).
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What was little in doubt was An’s commitment to his faith

NoteBy all accounts, An Chung-gŭn was a “convinced Catholic active in evangelisation and educational work,” in the words of one pair of historians (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 99). Another calls An “a convinced Catholic to death” (Keene 2002, 663). Far from being motivated by hatred of the Japanese, An Chung-gŭn was animated as much by what historian Franklin Rausch calls “Confucian-tinged Catholicism.” “Not only did An affirm belief in the healing miracles of Jesus and Catholic doctrines such as the incarnation and resurrection, he also believed that his baptism had healed him from a serious illness and that the intervention of the Catholic Church had restored the health of one of his sons,” writes Rausch, a scholar at Lander University in South Carolina (Rausch, “Visions of Violence,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 63–65). An had drawn up a rather outlandish plan in which the Catholic pope would serve as a kind of guarantor for a new order in East Asia in which Korea and other nations would enjoy their own independence, but in which they would work together in a coalition under the leadership of Japan (Rausch, “Visions of Violence,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 74; and Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 147).
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Catholic priest in Seoul in 1895, An learned French and was baptized two years later as Thomas

NoteLIKE FATHER, LIKE SON: During the Tonghak turmoil that began in 1894, An Chung-gŭn’s father An T’ae-hun (安泰勳 1862–1905) had sought refuge in the Catholic cathedral in Seoul (Sasagawa Norikatsu, “An Chunggŭn and the Political Philosophy of Immanuel Kant,” in Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 111–30, here 115; Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 2; and Keene 2002, 663). An T’ae-hun later became “a central figure in spreading Catholicism in Hwanghae Province” (Moon, “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 181, n. 2). Meanwhile, his son An Chung-gŭn, then a young teenager, came under the care of the French Catholic priest Father Nicholas Joseph M. Wilhelm (洪錫九 1860–1938) of the Society of Foreign Missions of Paris, known in French as the Société des Missions Etrangères de Paris (Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 2). An was also influenced by Father Charles Joseph Ange Le Gac (1876–1914), who urged him towards education and civic engagement (Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 133–34).
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Korean settlements in Manchuria and then Siberia in 1907 in hopes of joining a militant group

NoteAn Chung-gŭn studied Catholicism and French under Father Wilhelm, and regularly sought out advice on Korea’s political situation from Catholic priests, but was disappointed when Bishop Gustave Mutel (Min Tŏk-hyo 閔德孝 1854–1933), the bishop of the Korean apostolic vicariate from 1890 to 1933, rejected An’s idea of bringing in Catholic scholars from France to start a Catholic university in Korea, fearing the corrupting influence of modernist ideas (Rausch, “Visions of Violence,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 64–65).  “A VLADIVOSTOK KOREAN”: An then headed up to Manchuria and Siberia (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 99). An’s initial stop was in Jiandao, where he stayed at the home of a Korean Catholic leader in a village called Pul-dong (佛洞), or “French Village,” which was a so-called “believers’ community” (教友村 Kor. kyo’u-ch’on) for Korean Catholics (Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 134, n. 7). His time in Siberia has led one scholar to refer to An as “a Vladivostok Korean” (Jon K. Chang, Burnt by the Sun: The Koreans of the Russian Far East (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2016), 28). In 1908, An led a unit of Korean soldiers, clustered in Vladivostok and fighting under the banner of the Righteous Army of Korea (大韓義軍 Kor. Taehan Ŭigun), over the Tumen River to take on Japanese troops, but was quickly defeated (Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 3–4).
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in Manchuria that An, conspiring with a Protestant convert, plotted Itō’s assassination

NoteThe Christian community was Mingdong, a so-called “ideal village” (理想的農村 Kor. isang-jŏk nongch’on) dominated by Christians. For more on Mingdong and the Protestant church there, see Act I, Chapter 8. An’s co-conspirator was U Tŏk-sun (禹德淳 1880–1950), also known as U Yŏn-jun (禹連俊), who wrote An a patriotic poem calling for Christ himself to care for An Chung-gŭn as he did his deadly deed: “Take care of him, Jesus Christ!/and save the great country in the East!” (as quoted in Yi Mahn-yŏl, “Birth of the National Spirit,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 67). Though An is largely remembered in both North and South Korea today as a nationalist above all, and though he did once claim “There is no religion above the nation,” Yonsei University scholar Han Chi-ŭn has asserted that “An’s life and national movements were all related to his faith in Christian teachings” (Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 138).  SEVERED FINGERS LEAGUE: In early 1909, An Chung-gŭn and eleven other Korean nationalists formed a “Severed Fingers League” (斷指同盟 Kor. Tanji Tongmaeng) while in Siberia; An cut off his left ring finger at the first joint and wrote out a pledge in his own blood vowing to kill Itō Hirobumi within three years, or else to commit suicide (Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 5).
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a Protestant church offered An Chung-gŭn its basement for him to practice his pistolwork

NoteAt age sixteen, An Chung-gŭn was a noted marksman, “famous for never missing an animal or bird at which he had aimed,” in the words of the leading Korean nationalist, Kim Ku, a longtime friend (as quoted in Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 2–3. After killing Itō, An told his interrogators that his profession was “hunter” (Keene 2002, 663).
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the Catholic church attempted to withhold his last rites, considering him no longer a Christian

Note“I JUST ELIMINATED THAT EVIL”: After An Chung-gŭn was arrested, he crossed himself and thanked God that Itō had died (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 57). And during his imprisonment, An devoted significant time—sometimes days at a time—to prayer (Yamamuro Shin’ichi, “The Philosophy and Possibilities of An Chunggŭn’s Unfinished On Peace in the East,” in Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 177–99, here 196). Before his first interrogation, An declared in a note: “For me, doing nothing was unthinkable and so at Harbin, with a single bullet, I declared the crimes of that old thief Itō before the whole world” (Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 138–39). During a later interrogation session, the Japanese prosecutor, Mizobuchi Takao (溝淵 孝雄 ?–?), pointed out the apparent contradiction between An’s Catholic beliefs and the sin of murder, to which An replied: “In the Bible, killing a person is a sin. However, when there is a person who tries to steal another person’s country and take other people’s lives, it is a sin if you sit idle by. Therefore I just eliminated that evil” (Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 139; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 100). Han, a Yonsei University scholar, thus argues that, for An Chung-gŭn, the killing of Itō Hirobumi could be justified under Catholic “just war” doctrine (Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 140–41).  CONTRIBUTIONS, CONDEMNATIONS, AND CONFESSIONS: Other Korean Christians clearly saw nothing wrong in the act. Korean Catholics in Seoul donated 2,000 yen to An Chung-gŭn’s family, while Korean Methodists in Hawaii contributed to An’s legal fees (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 61; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 100). Still, Bishop Mutel and other Catholic priests made sure that they were among the 400,000 mourners at Itō’s funeral in Tokyo on November 4, 1909; there, a large floral wreath was presented in the name of the Catholic Church (Keene 2002, 666; and Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 58). The Sunday after An Chung-gŭn’s identity as the assassin was confirmed, Father Wilhelm used his homily to condemn the act and preach on the commandment, “Thou shalt not kill,” while the Catholic-run Kyŏnghyang Daily (京鄉新聞 Kor. Kyŏnghyang Sinmun) joined in the chorus of condemnation (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 58). When An requested that Father Wilhelm be allowed to see him on death row, Bishop Mutel refused, considering An to no longer be a Christian. An’s cousin and fellow Catholic convert James An Myŏng-gŭn pleaded with Bishop Mutel, to no avail (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 59; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 100). On March 9 and 10, 1910, a few weeks before An’s execution, Father Wilhelm went to visit his former disciple anyway, receiving his last confession, offering him Mass, and administering the sacraments to him (Keene 2002, 663, 666; and Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 9–10). Father Wilhelm’s act of defiance prompted Bishop Mutel to punish the priest by forbidding him from saying Mass for two months; when Father Wilhelm appealed to the Vatican, he was vindicated (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 59–60; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 100).  PRAYERS AT THE GALLOWS: On the day of his execution, March 26, 1910, An Chung-gŭn prayed for three minutes before mounting the gallows (Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 10). An declared in his will his wishes for his son to become a Catholic priest; his son, however, died just a few years later, at age twelve, in Vladivostok, where the rest of An’s family had fled (Keene 2002, 663, n. 32; and Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 9–10). In a postscript, in 2010, the then-Archbishop of Seoul, Cardinal Nicholas Chŏng Chin-sŏk (鄭鎮爽 1931–2021), presided over a memorial Mass to mark the centenary of An’s execution. Cardinal Chŏng, speaking in Seoul’s historic Myŏng-dong Cathedral, praised the assassin as a great patriot and man of peace worthy of emulation (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 44). As Franklin Rausch, a historian of Catholicism in Korea, notes, Cardinal Chŏng argued in his homily that, while his predecessor Bishop Gustave Mutel had officially condemned An’s act and forbade Father Wilhelm from offering An the sacraments, Bishop Mutel had in fact countenanced such a visit (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 44).
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—almost all of them Christian converts—to find political salvation in the barrel of the gun

NoteJames Gale, reflecting on two decades in Korea in a February 1909 article in the missionary periodical Korea Mission Field, reflected on how much had changed since his arrival in 1889. “Then the Korean was a lamb-like man and modest, and would never think of taking human life unless worked up to afrenzy—to-day he can hold a cigarette in one hand and use a revolver on his enemy with the other” (J. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “‘A Contrast!’” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 2 (February 1909), 21). The assassinations by Korean Christians during this period, writes historian Kang Wi-jo, were done “believing that they were fulfilling God’s will to oppose the Japanese control of Korea” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 42). “These assassins were inflamed with a new-found patriotism, and they meant to serve their country,” added church historian George Paik. “They did much harm, however, for these deaths not only destroyed the sympathy of the world toward Korea, but also afforded an opportunity to bring about the speedy accomplishment of the Japanese designs” (Paik 1929, 348). Even so, notes another historian, the Korean Christians involved in more violent campaigns tended to be “mostly ‘independent’ Christians who did not belong to a denomination or a church organization” (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 244–45). The Japanese press blamed the missionaries, in particular Horace Underwood, for having fanned the flames of Korean nationalism that resulted in Itō’s assassination (K. Kale Yu, “American Missionaries and the Korean Independence Movement in the Early 20th Century,” International Journal of Korean Studies 15, no. 2 (Fall 2011), 171–186, here 176). For other assassination attempts, successful and unsuccessful, targeting pro-Japanese Koreans in Seoul during this period, see Ladd 1908, 66–68.
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who could kill Yi Wan-yong, a pro-Japanese senior Korean official, and other “national traitors”

NoteThe pastor was Rev. Chŏn Tŏk-gi, and the church was Sang-dong Methodist Church. For more on Rev. Chŏn and Sang-dong Methodist Church, see Act I, Chapter 6. In taking such a position, Rev. Chŏn was far out of step with the Methodist church more broadly. Bishop Merriman C. Harris (1846–1921), an American missionary who oversaw Japan and Korea for the Methodist church and who was an outspoken advocate of Japanese rule, so enraged Koreans in Hawaii with his pro-Japanese remarks in April 1908—just weeks after Durham Stevens’ assassination in San Francisco—that the local newspaper, the Pacific Commercial Advertiser, was moved to preempt any similar action by the Koreans: “It is well for these Koreans to understand that if a hair of the head of Bishop Harris is injured… those who are responsible for it will find that American law has a keen eye, a long arm and mailed hand…It is time for these semi-civilized Orientals to understand that the Territory of Hawaii is not a place for them unless they are here to obey the laws” (as quoted in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 59, citing Pacific Commercial Advertiser, April 28, 1908). Bishop Harris’s colleague, Rev. John W. Wadman (1857–1923), superintendent of the Methodist mission in Hawaii, was similarly pushed out of his job by the Koreans on the island (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 60).
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Pyongyang had shot and killed Durham Stevens, the American advisor to Japan, in San Francisco

NoteThe assassin was Chang In-hwan (張仁煥 1876–1930), a founding member of the Korean Methodist church in San Francisco and a “fervent” Christian (Noh Jong Son [Ro, Chŏng-sŏn], Story God of the Oppressed: Joshua Syndrome and Preventive Economy (Seoul: Hanul Academy, 2003), 71–72; and Wi Jo Kang 1997, 39–40). The San Francisco Korean Methodist Church was a center of the Korean diaspora in California, and a hotbed of nationalist agitation. At the time in 1908, “there were then about one hundred Koreans living in San Francisco, and practically all of them belonged to the San Francisco Korean Methodist Church” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 39).  “PLAN ASSAULT OVER PRAYERS”: The assassination came after Durham Stevens told the San Francisco Chronicle in an interview that “Japan is doing in Korea and for the Koreans what the United States is doing in the Philippines for the Filipinos, modifying its methods only to suit the somewhat different conditions with which it has to deal” (Richard S. Kim 2002, 53, citing San Francisco Chronicle, March 21, 1908). Another Korean who was involved in the assassination plot, Chŏn Myŏng-un (田明雲 1884–1947), first raised the idea of killing Stevens during a meeting at the church on Sunday March 22, 1908, angered by Stevens’ remarks the previous day. As the San Francisco Chronicle put it in its headline the following day, the Korean Christians had met to “Plan Assault Over Prayers” (Dudden 2005, 85, citing the San Francisco Chronicle, March 24, 1908). See also Richard S. Kim 2002, 53–54. Though Chŏn and Chang claimed to not have known each other and to have been acting independently of one another, both men “perceived themselves as martyrs willing to sacrifice their lives for the sake of their homeland,” in the words of University of California, Davis historian Richard S. Kim (Richard S. Kim 2002, 56–57).   A SUNDAY RATTAN CHAIR BEATDOWN AT THE FAIRMONT: After the March 22 church meeting, the parishioners decided to send four Korean men to confront Stevens at the Fairmont Hotel in downtown San Francisco, where they engaged in a lobby brawl, beating Stevens with rattan chairs. “We are all very sorry that we did not do more to him,” one of the Koreans said afterwards (Richard S. Kim 2002, 54–55, citing San Francisco Chronicle, Los Angeles Times, and San Francisco Call, all on March 23, 1908). Following that Sunday afternoon altercation, the Koreans returned to the Korean Methodist Church, where the congregation had been gathered, awaiting word on what had happened. After the brawlers recounted the incident, the congregation engaged in excited debates over what to do next, prompting the hot-headed Chŏn Myŏng-un to pledge himself to the cause (Richard S. Kim 2002, 55).  A MONDAY SHOOTING AT THE FERRY BUILDING: In a second confrontation the following day, Monday March 23, 1908, on the crowded pavement in front of the arcade of San Francisco’s then-decade-old Ferry Building, Chang fired three shots at Stevens, hitting Stevens twice and his own compatriot Chŏn once (Richard S. Kim 2002, 55–56; Richard S. Kim 2011, 30–32; and Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 556–57). For a detailed sequence of events, see Richard S. Kim 2002, 52–66; Richard S. Kim 2011, 26–41; and Wi Jo Kang 1997, 39–41. Richard S. Kim, in both works, misspells Chŏn Myŏng-un’s name and the name of the Fairmont Hotel, the latter of which was purchased by South Korean investors in 2015. Stevens was treated for several weeks before his death. During Stevens’ hospitalization, the Japanese emperor awarded the American advisor the Grand Cordon of the Rising Sun, the country’s highest individual honor. After a funeral at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Washington with Elihu Root—Theodore Roosevelt’s secretary of state, who had rebuffed earlier Korean attempts at securing an audience with the president—serving as one of the pallbearers, Stevens was buried on April 8, 1908 (Dudden 2005, 81).  “I KNEW I WOULD DIE WHEN I SHOT HIM”: Chŏn, explaining his actions later, wrote in a statement published on the front page of the San Francisco Call: “I shot the man as an expression of the sentiment of the Korean race and its hatred of Japanese government. I knew I would die when I shot him, but so angered was I at his falsehoods and the misuse of his power that, with the knowledge of my own death, I shot him. What is life without liberty?” (“Shot Down by Korean Conspirators, Diplomat Stevens Is at Point of Death,” San Francisco Call, March 24, 1908, 1). Also quoted in Richard S. Kim 2011, 33; and Wi Jo Kang 1997, 41. Chang, for his part, told the press that “I am a patriot and I shot Stevens because I think he is a traitor . . . I do not care what happens to me. I hope I killed Stevens” (Dudden 2005, 82-83, citing San Francisco Chronicle, March 24, 1908). He added: “What is life? It is not enough to die, but one ought to know how to die. To die for having shot a traitor is glory, because I did it for my people” (Richard S. Kim 2002, 57, citing San Francisco Chronicle, March 25, 1908). See also Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 246.  A “NOBLER KIND OF INSANITY”: Chang was eventually charged with murder and Chŏn with accessory to murder (Richard S. Kim 2011, 35). The nationalist leader Syngman Rhee, who was studying for a master’s degree at Harvard University at the time, was tapped as a potential defense lawyer for Chang and Chŏn, though Rhee—a firm believer in the power of diplomacy—ultimately refused, deeming the two of them to have been criminals and in so doing “implicitly condemned the assassination” (Lew 2014, 37; and Henry Cu Kim [Kim, Hyŏn-gu], The Writings of Henry Cu Kim, trans. Dae-Sook Suh [Sŏ, Tae-suk] (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 1987), 182–83, 258). Chang’s legal defense was ultimately handled by a prominent Irish American lawyer in San Francisco, Nathan C. Coughlan, who took on Chang’s case pro bono in a recognition of Ireland and Korea’s shared quest for independence. Coughlan argued that Chang had committed his deed in a fit of “patriotic insanity,” saying he suffered merely from “excessive patriotism” and a “nobler kind of insanity” (Dudden 2005, 82, citing San Francisco Chronicle, March 28, 1908; and Richard S. Kim 2011, 36). Korean Christian nationalists raised funds to pay for Chang and Chŏn’s legal defense, underscoring the breadth of support such an act had (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 102; and Richard S. Kim 2011, 41). Money flowed in from Koreans in Korea, Japan, Siberia, Manchuria, Mexico, Hawaii, and the U.S. mainland, while nationalist Hugh Cynn (Sin Hŭng-u), then a student at University of Southern California, was sent to act as spokesman, legal assistant, and court interpreter (Richard S. Kim 2002, 59). One Korean immigrant newspaper in the U.S., the Kongrip Sinbo, backed by An Ch’ang-ho’s Mutual Assistance Association, called the two assassins’ bullets “the spirit of freedom”: “The assassination was hatched by the spirit of patriotism,” comparing the act to the thirteen American colonies’ rebellion against Great Britain (Richard S. Kim 2002, 61–62, citing Kongrip Sinbo, March 25, 1908; and San Francisco Chronicle, March 27, 1908). Stevens’ lawyer pleaded for the death penalty but the jury only came down with a verdict of second-degree murder on account of his motive of patriotic zeal (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Samuel A. Moffett, January 7, 1909, San Rafael, Calif. (MKC)).  “IMPOVERISHED AND DISAFFECTED”: Chŏn was freed in June 1908 and fled to Siberia, while Chang was convicted on second-degree manslaughter charges and sentenced to twenty-five years at San Quentin State Prison, though he had requested the death penalty: “If sent to prison I will do nothing but weep for my country…I do not want to live.” Chang was released after ten years, but committed suicide in San Francisco in 1930, “impoverished and disaffected.” In 1975, South Korean president Pak Chŏng-hǔi had Chang’s remains repatriated and buried in the Korean National Cemetery (Dudden 2005, 82; Richard S. Kim 2002, 64–65; Richard S. Kim 2011, 39–41; and Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 557–58). Chŏn, meantime, would continue to speak at Korean churches on Korean nationalism, his daughter recalled. Chŏn lived in poverty and died alone in the U.S. in November 1947, though he was posthumously awarded the Order of Merit for National Foundation in 1962 and reburied at the Korean National Cemetery in Seoul in 1994 (Park Jin-hai, “Interview: Daughter Recalls Patriot Dad’s Lonely Fight for Independence,” Korea Times, March 10, 2019). The assassination of Durham Stevens would mark, in the words of one Korean American scholar, “a decisive moment in the development of a diasporic nationalism that would seek to establish a sovereign Korean state” (Richard S. Kim 2011, 27). Not all supporters of Korean independence regarded the assassination as a positive development. Frederick McKenzie, the Canadian reporter for the London Daily Mail and a booster of Korea’s political aspirations, argued that the assassination of Stevens was a misstep since it associated Korea in the Western mind with “terrorism” (Lew 2014, 39, citing Frederick A. McKenzie letter to Syngman Rhee, August 4, 1908). McKenzie downplayed the religious background of the assassination plot, describing Stevens’ assassin as being merely a “nominal” Protestant (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 172).
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Korea on December 22, 1909, as he stepped out of the Catholic cathedral in Seoul

NoteTHE CHESTNUT VENDOR AND THE RICKSHAW DRIVER: South Korean historian Yi Man-yŏl describes the assassination attempt as “a primarily Christian conspiracy” (Yi Mahn-yŏl, “Birth of the National Spirit,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 68). The would-be assassin, Yi Chae-myŏng (李在明 1887–1910), was a native of the northwestern Christian mecca of Sonch’ŏn who had graduated from Pyongyang’s Christian-run Ilsin School (日新學校 Kor. Ilsin Hakgyo) and traveled to the U.S. in 1905 through the help of An Ch’ang-ho. Yi returned to Korea in 1907 and then traveled to Siberia several times in hopes of assassinating Itō Hirobumi. After An Chung-gŭn succeeded in that endeavor, Yi Chae-myŏng instead targeted Yi Wan-yong and other perceived traitors. On the day of the deed, Yi Chae-myŏng, disguised as a chestnut vendor, attacked Yi Wan-yong after the latter man emerged from the Catholic cathedral in Seoul’s Myŏng-dong neighborhood, from a memorial ceremony for Belgium’s recently deceased King Leopold II (1835–1909). Yi Chae-myŏng stabbed Yi Wan-yong three times as he attempted to get into a rickshaw, but an intervention by the rickshaw driver meant that the assassination attempt would end in failure (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 247, citing Taehan Maeil Sinbo, December 23, 1909). See also Yamamuro, “Philosophy and Possibilities,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 177.  BEHIND THE PLOT: For a firsthand account by Kim Ku of the conservative nationalist’s meeting with Yi Chae-myŏng shortly after his return from Hawaii with the express purpose of returning to kill Yi Wan-yong, see Jongsoo Lee 2000, 159. According to one source, the assassination attempt was the product of a secret meeting among leaders of the underground nationalist group the New People’s Association, including An Ch’ang-ho and Yi Tong-hwi, during which Yi Chae-myŏng volunteered, citing his lack of any worldly attachments, including wealth or family (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 248). Another source describes Yi Chae-myŏng receiving financial support for his assassination attempt from the Korean National Association (大韓人國民會 Kor. Taehan-in Kukmin-hoe), another of An Ch’ang-ho’s nationalist groups, of which more will be said later (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 102). Both Chang In-hwan and Yi Chae-myŏng were later extolled as patriots in North Korea’s official history books, albeit without identifying them as Christians (Ri Chong-hyŏn, Kŭndae Chosŏn Yŏksa [Modern History of Chosŏn] (Pyongyang: Sahoe Kwahak Ch’ulp’an-sa, 1984), 331–34). See also Ko Sŏng-hyŏn, “Pukhan ŭi Han’guk Kidokgyosa (Chosŏn hugi—Ilje sidae) Ihae e taehan Yŏn’gu—Haebanghu Palp’yŏdoin Pukhan Munhŏn ŭl Chungsim urŏ” [Understanding Korean Church History in North Korea During the Late Chosŏn and Japanese Colonial Era—With a Focus on North Korean Documents Published After Liberation], in Han’guk Kidokgyo wa Yŏksa [Korean Christianity and History] 10 (April 1999), 137–67, here 153.
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father of modern Japan and a close confidante of the Meiji emperor, was on a different level

Note“TEARS FOR AN…HISSES FOR ITŌ”: “An’s killing of Itō gained him instant renown and notoriety. He was overnight transformed from a relatively obscure figure into a Korean national hero and a model of anti-Japanese resistance” (Yi et al., “Introduction,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 7). Half a century after his deed, historian Hilary Conroy described how much the assassination still stirred sentiment in South Korea. After attending the 1959 screening in South Korea of one of that year’s most prominent films, director Chŏn Ch’ang-gŭn (全昌根 1908–1973)’s King Kojong and the Martyr An Chung-gŭn (高宗皇帝와 義士安重根 Kor. Kojong Hwangje wa Ŭisa An Chung-gŭn), Conroy remarked: “Behind the Korean audience’s obvious emotional involvement, the cheers and tears for An, the hisses for Itō, lay decades of oppression of Korea by Japan” (Conroy 1960, 341). In late 2022, a South Korean musical-turned-biopic about An Chung-gŭn’s assassination of Itō Hirobumi, entitled simply Hero (英雄 Kor. Yŏng’ung), was released by the entertainment subsidiary of the CJ Group conglomerate, one of South Korea’s largest (Kim Eun-jung [Kim, Ŭn-jŏng], “Musical Biopic of Independence Fighter Ahn Jung-geun ‘Hero’ Features Powerful Singing,” Yonhap News, November 21, 2022). And in 2024, CJ Entertainment released a big-budget movie, entitled simply Harbin, starring Hyŏn Pin (Hyun Bin 玄彬 1982– ) as An Chung-gŭn. In North Korea, meantime, An Chung-gŭn Shoots Itō Hirobumi is now considered a classic of cinema. In Seoul today, the former site on South Mountain (南山 Kor. Namsan) of the main Shintō shrine from the Japanese occupation years has been converted into a Patriot An Chung-gŭn Memorial Hall (安重根義士紀念館 Kor. An Chung-gŭn Ŭisa Ki’nyŏm-gwan), while another was built in his honor by the Chinese government in Harbin.  BIG IN CHINA: An Chung-gŭn’s act made him a hero not only among nationalist Koreans, but also among Chinese nationalists, particularly after Japan began setting its sights on China. Before 1909 was out, a Chinese film company, the Harbin Far East Movie Company (哈爾濱遠東影業公司 Ch. Ha’erbin Yuandong Yingye Gongsi) had produced a documentary, “An Chung-gŭn Assassinates Itō Hirobumi” (安重根刺伊藤博文 Ch. An Zhonggen Ci Yiteng Bowen), that “was received with unexpected excitement, arousing great interest internationally” (Wang Yuanzhou, “Three Images of An Chunggŭn in Chinese Narratives,” in Yi Tae-jin [Yi, T’ae-jin], Eugene Y. Park [Pak, Yŏng-jin], and Kirk W. Larsen, eds., Peace in the East: An Chunggŭn’s Vision for Asia in the Age of Japanese Imperialism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2017), 131–59, here 133–34). In Dalian, the famed late Qing reformer Liang Qichao attended An Chung-gŭn’s trial in February 1910 and penned two poems referencing An’s assassination of Itō, including one on August 29, 1910, the day that Japan announced its annexation of Korea (Yi, “An Chunggŭn and Liang Qichao,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 162). Sun Yat-sen, the “father of modern China,” similarly praised An’s act (Dickinson, “Afterword,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 228). After 1927, Zhang Xueliang (張學良 1901–2001), a Chinese warlord in northeast China who will appear again later in this work, had schoolchildren sing songs extolling An’s deed (Yamamuro, “Philosophy and Possibilities,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 179). During the 1950s, Chinese elementary school textbooks told An’s story, while Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai (周恩來 1898–1976), receiving a North Korean visitor in 1963, dated the two nations’ common struggle against the Japanese to An Chung-gŭn’s killing of Itō (Dickinson, “Afterword,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 229). Zhou was deeply connected to An’s act, having put on a stage production memorializing An’s act in 1919 while in Tianjin; through the play, Zhou met his future wife Deng Yingchao (鄧穎超 1904–1992) (Wang, “Three Images of An Chunggŭn,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 134). 
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view at the time: “The worst thing Koreans ever did for themselves was to assassinate him”

NoteThe full quote from William Sands reads: “The worst thing Koreans ever did for themselves was to assassinate him and kill Durham White Stevens, my successor” (Sands 1931, 227). Japan had already decided to annex Korea at least by July 1909, several months before Itō Hirobumi’s death, writes one historian, but the assassination “clearly intensified Japanese public support for annexation” (Yamamuro, “Philosophy and Possibilities,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 177). Immediately following the killing, Yi Yong-gu, head of the pro-Japanese Society for Progress, ramped up his calls for annexation. “Yi Yong-gu was convinced that Korea was moribund, at death’s door, and that the only hope for its recovery was a union with Japan” (Keene 2002, 670–71).  “WISEST AND MOST PROGRESSIVE”: Many Western observers at the time largely regarded Itō Hirobumi as perhaps the friendliest official for Korea among the senior Meiji leaders—and believed that his assassination almost certainly expedited Korea’s annexation by Japan. “The fact remains that he was one of the very wisest and most progressive of the public men of Japan, and that he had large and considerate views of the Koreans and of the duty of his country to them. If Korea was to be ruled by Japan at all, its friends could not have suggested a better Japanese as Resident-General than Prince Ito,” wrote the Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown. “The fanatic who assassinated him did the worst possible thing for Korea.” He added: “The Japanese party which favored stern treatment of the Koreans…vehemently argued that the fate of Prince Ito showed the futility of a conciliatory policy and that if Japan did not want to have a revolution on its hands, it must adopt such sternly repressive measures that the Koreans would learn once for all that Japan would not brook opposition” (Brown 1919, 355–57, 564). The Western missionaries in Japan had held Itō in especially high esteem, and were shaken by his assassination (Ion 1990, 187). In February 1895, as Japan was dismantling China on the battlefield, Rev. Henry Loomis, an American Presbyterian missionary in Yokohama, presented Itō with a copy of the New Testament during a meeting with the then-prime minister, and was given an encouraging reception (Loomis 1923, 102). One needn’t have been pro-Japanese to feel that Itō’s assassination was a disaster. Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, a strong advocate of Korea and a fierce critic of Japan’s colonization of Korea, argued that by killing Itō, Korea had set back its own interests. “Everyone who came in contact with him felt that, whatever the nature of the measures he was driven to adopt in the supposed interests of his Emperor, he yet sincerely meant well by the Korean people,” McKenzie wrote. “For some time the military party in Japan had been clamouring for a more severe policy in the Peninsula. Now it was to have its way” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 104, 174).  “A RESTRAINING INFLUENCE”: Most historians today agree. “Undoubtedly the murder by a Korean of the most respected Japanese statesman intensified feelings in Japan that the Koreans were lawless and could not govern themselves. It is also likely that if Itō had not been assassinated, he would have served as a restraining influence on the advocates of annexation,” writes Columbia University scholar Donald Keene. “His death meant that an important obstacle had been removed from the path of annexation” (Keene 2002, 668, 670). Historian Franklin Rausch adds: “Unlike others in his cohort in the Japanese government, Itō believed that—with proper support, guidance, and a bit of cajoling—the Koreans could reform themselves as the Japanese had done, thus making Korea into a friendly, independent nation-state capable of defending itself, thereby securing Japan’s strategic interests on the cheap” (Rausch, “Visions of Violence,” in Yi et al., eds., Peace in the East (2017), 66). For another paean to Itō’s realism and reasonableness, see Conroy 1960, 339–41, 499. To be sure, this is far from a consensus view. American scholar Andrew Grajdanzev, writing in 1944, dismissed this rosy view of Itō Hirobumi, which he notes “closely resembles the official Japanese version.” Instead, Grajdanzev argued that Itō’s assassination “did not cause or accelerate the annexation of Korea by Japan. In fact, it was postponed for one year, because the Japanese Government sought to avoid the impression that the annexation was an act of revenge” (Grajdanzev 1944, 39–42).  ECHOES THROUGH HISTORY: Whatever the assessment, Itō Hirobumi would not go down as the last Japanese statesman to be assassinated by a religiously inspired killer. In a striking historical echo, Abe Shinzō (安倍 晉三 1954–2022)—who like Itō Hirobumi served four terms as Japan’s prime minister—was gunned down 113 years later by an assassin whose grievances were tied to religion in Korea. Yamagami Tetsuya (山上 徹也 1980– ), a forty-one-year-old man nursing a grudge against Rev. Mun Sŏn-myŏng’s Unification Church, killed Abe at an election campaign event on July 8, 2022, using a homemade gun. Yamagami, whose father had committed suicide when he was young, had said that he grew angry at his mother for donating large sums of money to the Unification Church, effectively leading the family into financial ruin; Yamagami chose Abe as his target because of speeches that Abe had given to groups founded by the Rev. Mun, though he had originally planned to kill Rev. Mun’s widow, Han Hak-ja (韓鶴子 1943– ). As with An Chung-gǔn, the assassin rehearsed for the killing by test-firing his homemade gun at a church building near his home in Nara, putting bullet holes in the wall, police said (Miho Inada, “Shinzo Abe Killing Suspect Wanted Revenge—Against His Mother’s Church,” Wall Street Journal, July 29, 2022). Indeed, Rev. Mun had close ties with three generations of Abe’s family, dating back to the time of his grandfather, former prime minister Kishi Nobusuke (岸 信介 1896–1987) (Peter Landers and Miho Inada, “Shinzo Abe Assassination Stirs Surprise Backlash Against the Former Leader,” Wall Street Journal, September 25, 2022; Kana Inagaki and Eri Suguira, “How Abe’s Killing Exposes Japan’s Thin Line Between Church and State,” Financial Times, August 3, 2022; and Hiroko Yoda, “Shinzo Abe’s Assassin and Japan’s Complicated Spirituality,” The New Yorker, July 26, 2022).
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unyielding demeanor and a missing right hand lost in battle, Korea’s fate appeared to be sealed

NoteTerauchi Masatake (寺內 正毅 1852–1919) was the son of a samurai born at the far southwestern tip of Japan’s main island. He lost his right hand in combat during the Satsuma Rebellion in 1877. Terauchi won the trust of the Meiji emperor and built up a formidable military career in the Imperial Japanese Army before being appointed minister of the army during the first decade of the twentieth century, a position from which he oversaw Japan’s dismantling of Imperial Russia. Terauchi, who later went on to serve as prime minister, didn’t directly replace Itō. In between, Sone Arasuke (曾禰 荒助 1849–1910), Itō’s deputy and a longtime bureaucrat, was tapped to become Korea’s second resident-general. Sone, however, didn’t last a year on the job, forced into retirement by poor health in May 1910 (Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 158–67). That month, Terauchi formally became the third resident-general of Korea; he arrived for his new posting in July 1910.
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“bringing with him the expectation of annexation,” missionary James Gale wrote in August 1910

NoteGale added in this letter: “It is hard to say how matters will be arranged, but annexation sooner or later is bound to come. There is a marked evidence of severity in the Government’s handling of the situation now, that did not exist with Ito” (James S. Gale letter to Arthur J. Brown, August 11, 1910, Puk-han, Korea (PHS 282/240/97)). Gale was not imagining things. As Columbia University historian Donald Keene writes: “From the time of his appointment to the post of resident general, Terauchi waited patiently for the right moment to set in motion the mechanism of unifying the two countries” (Keene 2002, 672). Japan’s then-prime minister, Katsura Tarō, had to first ensure he had backing from Russia before declaring annexation, though by the summer of 1910, he and other senior Japanese officials no longer foresaw that being an issue (Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 167). In the end, Japan and Russia signed an agreement on July 4, 1910, pledging “common action” should either country’s interests be threatened. In practice, the accord paved the way for Japan’s annexation of Korea, and for Russia to seize either Outer Mongolia or Xinjiang (Dallin 1950, 101–2).
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“as chilled steel. Where Ito had beaten men with whips, he would beat them with scorpions”

NoteWhen Terauchi arrived in Seoul, “it was as though a chill had passed over the city,” Frederick McKenzie wrote in the same work. “Strong, relentless, able, he could only see one thing—Japan and the glory of Japan. He regarded the Koreans as a people to be absorbed or to be eliminated…He was going to stamp the last traces of nationality out of existence” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 174–76). Frederick A. McKenzie (1869–1931), born in Quebec but based in Great Britain, described himself as “an Englishman (really I am a Scots-Canadian…)” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 167); Canada remained a dominion under the British crown until Canada assumed full sovereignty in 1982. McKenzie initially came to Korea to cover the Russo-Japanese War, but stayed behind, becoming a champion of Korea’s cause. Though he was initially greatly sympathetic to Japan’s rule over Korea, he gradually found himself disaffected with Japan’s rule, writing a series of books and articles and delivering public lectures on behalf of Korea—and nearly getting himself expelled by Japan, saved only by Tokyo’s unwillingness to sour relations with its British allies (Métraux 2017, 169–70). McKenzie’s assessment of the portentousness Terauchi’s arrival in Korea, for what it’s worth, was not all that different from that of many in Japan. After Terauchi took up his post, wrote one Japanese historian of the occupation of Korea, the new resident-general’s “extreme military dictatorship gave the impression that Korea had returned to the medieval authoritarian regime” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 90, citing Shakuo Shunjō’s History of Korean Annexation (朝鮮併合史 Jp. Chōsen Heigō-shi), published in 1926).
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signed the annexation papers himself at Resident-General Terauchi’s residence in Seoul

NoteUnlike the signing of the protectorate agreement five years earlier, the formalizing of Korea’s annexation occurred without any dramatic acts of last-minute defiance. Instead, Sunjong, the “dull-witted” emperor, declared: “In view of the times, we recognise that the union as one house of Japan and Korea will promote the eternal welfare and happiness of both nations, and here command Prime-Minister Yi Wan-yong to conclude the necessary agreement.” Within ninety minutes, it was all over, with the treaty signed at 4:00 p.m. on August 22, 1910 (Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 151, 171). As Australian historian Stewart Lone writes, some of the final negotiations between Yi Wan-yong and Tokyo concerned the title and status that Kojong and Sunjong would carry after annexation, and what Korea would be called—Han’guk or Chosŏn (the latter was settled upon, albeit in the Japanese spelling, Chōsen) (Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 169–70). Despite Yi Wan-yong’s role in signing away Korea’s sovereignty, it is his handwriting that adorns the Independence Gate in Seoul, both in Chinese characters and in the vernacular Korean (Yi Ki-hwan, “Yi Wan-yong ŭn Wae Tokrip-mun Kŭlssi-rŭl Ssŏss’ŭlgga” [Why Yi Wan-yong’s Handwriting Is on the Independence Gate], Han’gyŏ’re, February 28, 2017).
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the two nations and told Prime Minister Yi that Japan and Korea ought to become “one body”

Note“ONE BODY”: The “one body” (一體 Jp. ittai) language would become a feature of official Japanese discourse about Korea throughout the colonial period (see Act II, Chapter 21). From the beginning, the annexation was framed as an agreement between two equals (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 179). Prime Minister Katsura Tarō declared in December 1910 that Korea was not a “colony” (植民地 Jp. shokuminji) of Japan, but rather an “outer territory” (外地 Jp. gaiji) of Japan, which was, of course, the “inner territory” (內地 Jp. naiji). Thus, writes historian Kenneth Wells, Korea was administratively organized as “an integral member of the Japanese empire,” with a government-general that was not accountable to the legislative Diet and given “almost unlimited power” within Korea, ruling by decree (Wells 1984, 145–46).
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snuffed out, formally deposing a dynastic line that had ruled Korea since the fourteenth century

NoteTo this date, South Korea—and, to a certain extent, North Korea—still marks August 29 as National Humiliation Day (國恥日 Kor. Kukch’i-il). The very next day, August 30, 1910, the front page of Tokyo’s Asahi Shimbun (朝日新聞) presented a map of east Asia, with Korea colored the same as the Japanese islands and other lines added pointing the empire’s new interests deep in China and Manchuria (Caprio 2009, 81).
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Seoul, and the last crown prince of Korea was married off to the daughter of a Japanese prince

NoteJoseph Longford, a longtime British diplomat in the region who first visited Korea in 1875, wrote with sorrow about how Korea, “whose foundation as a kingdom was coeval with that of the Assyrian Empire,” had come to such an ignominious end, with “the two last living representatives of the dynasty exchanged their positions as imperial dignitaries for those of princes and pensioners of Japan” (Longford 1911, 361).  CROWN PRINCE AND LIEUTENANT GENERAL: That last crown prince was Yi Ŭn (李垠 1897–1970), the seventh son of Kojong and a half-brother of Sunjong, who was known as Crown Prince Ŭimin (懿愍皇太子 Kor. Ŭimin Hwangt’aeja). Yi Ŭn served in the Japanese military, eventually rising to the rank of lieutenant general in the Imperial Japanese Army (Keene 2002, 673). His wife, Nashimoto Masako, meanwhile, became the crown princess of Korea, and known by the Korean pronunciation of her Japanese given name, Yi Pang-ja (李方子).  TRAGEDY TRAILS THEM: Their royal wedding in Tokyo on April 28, 1920—the wedding having been delayed a year by the death of Yi Ŭn’s father, Kojong—served as one of “the most symbolically important opportunities to remind Koreans and Japanese of their union” (Caprio 2009, 134–35; and Suk-Young Kim 2010, 133). The couple’s wedding day was marred by an assassination attempt, and their newborn son was poisoned during a trip to Korea just two years later; he died in May 1922 (Yi Pangja 1973, 95, 106–9; and Caprio 2009, 135).  IMPERIAL SOLDIERS: Apart from Crown Prince Yi Ŭn, two of Kojong’s grandsons, both sons of Kojong’s fifth son Prince Yi Kang, also known as Prince Ŭihwa, would go on to take prominent roles as officers in the Japanese Imperial Army, though neither served in combat and their posts were, in the words of one scholar, “largely ornamental” (Palmer 2013, 24). The two grandsons, Prince Yi Kŏn (李鍵 1909–1991), later the head of the Korean royal family, eventually rose to become a colonel. His half-brother Prince Yi U (李鍝 1912–1945), having set himself on a distinguished military career in the Japanese Imperial Army, was killed at age thirty-four when the atomic bomb fell on Hiroshima (Palmer 2013, 131).
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extinguished dynasty, while Seoul and Pyongyang were renamed Keijō and Heijō, respectively

Note  LOST NAMES: The Japanese word for “national language” is kokugo (国語), while the three place names are the Japanese pronunciations of what the Koreans would have called Chosŏn (朝鮮);  Kyŏngsŏng (京城), an alternative name for Seoul, simply meaning “capital city”; and P’yŏngsŏng (平城), an alternative name for Pyongyang, respectively. A Western visitor to the city then officially known as Keijō in 1935 found that many parts of the city had been remade entirely “like any Japanese city and all the streets have Japanese names”—though he also noted that the Koreans there still referred to the city as Seoul (Bergman 1938, 31–32). For a long list of place name changes imposed by Japanese with their Korean equivalents, see Grajdanzev 1944, 310–16. On the pettier end of the spectrum, at least according to North Korean sources, one of the dastardly deeds attributed to the Japanese was the way in which the imperialists—jealous of the fact that “Corea” came ahead of “Japan” in alphabetical lists of nations—“plotted to change the letter C of Corea to the letter K of Korea” (Successive Names of Korea 2009, 46).  A NEW CALENDAR: Terauchi also decreed that, from this time onwards, the Koreans were to refer to the years by the Japanese era name, or nengō (年号), thus binding the people more closely to the Japanese emperor in Tokyo. “Even at this early stage of the union, Terauchi seems to have been determined to destroy the Koreans’ national consciousness,” writes one historian (Keene 2002, 678).
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for some time, and few Koreans were taken by surprise when the formal declaration was made

NoteAfter the 1907 Japan-Korea treaty, writes English-born Methodist Joseph W. Graves, annexation was “almost a foregone conclusion” (Graves 1920, 7). In the run-up to the fateful day, Tokyo had made its intentions increasingly clear. On July 12, 1909, Japanese courts assumed judicial powers over Korea, and police powers were transferred to Japan on June 21, 1910 (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 78–79). “Of course we had anticipated that the date was coming but it was a sad day,” said Pae Min-su, a Christian convert who will figure largely in the next act (Pai 2002, 62).
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with which the new colonial rulers set about remaking the peninsula took many of them aback

NoteNearly a decade before annexation, Japan had made clear it had few compunctions about using its clout in ways that were beneficial to its own interests—even if it was clearly detrimental to Korea. In 1901, Japan had accumulated enough economic leverage on the Korean peninsula to insist on continued grain exports to Japan despite a deadly drought, a policy that according to British journalist Angus Hamilton—who was otherwise sympathetic to Japan—contributed to the death of roughly a million Koreans that year (Hamilton 1904, 254–56). Hamilton describes “appalling loss of life and the grave eruption of disorder” from the famine. “Widespread ruin overtook the country,” he wrote. “Hunger drove whole communities from the villages to the towns, where no provision for their welfare existed. Anarchy prevailed throughout the country, the dire needs of the population goading them to desperation. A horde of beggars invaded the capital.” Amid the appalling loss of life, Hamilton wrote, “the primary responsibility for this great loss of life rests entirely with the Japanese Government…The action of Japan, therefore, in insisting upon the suspension of the prohibition in order that the interests of some half-dozen Japanese rice merchants might not suffer, deserves the utmost condemnation” (Hamilton 1904, pp. 255-256). All of this is not to say, of course, that the Japanese did not enact reforms that were positive. The pro-Korea Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie credited Japan with bringing a number of desperately needed changes to Korea during its first decade as occupier: “The old, effete administration was cleared away, sound currency maintained, railways were greatly extended, roads improved, afforestation pushed forward on a great scale, agriculture developed, sanitation improved and fresh industries begun.” Taken as a whole, however, McKenzie concluded, “this period of the Japanese administration in Korea ranks among the greatest failures of history” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 183).
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shut down almost all forms of civil society, which they regarded as potential threats to its rule

NoteThe Japanese shut down the press and banned political meetings (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 91). For more on this, see Act II, Chapter 11.
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of their land, while in the cities they occupied all the best buildings on the main boulevards

NoteAfter setting up the government-general, the Japanese launched a massive land survey that lasted from 1910 to 1918, aiming to establish a formal system of land ownership that was deemed necessary for taxation and a modern capitalistic economy.  While that may have been the aim, the land survey also resulted in uneducated Korean farmers losing their land while the savvier and better-connected could further consolidate their land holdings. For many newly dispossessed Koreans, the annexation of Korea by the hated Japanese and the lack of any prospects at home only made emigration, for instance in to Manchuria, all the more attractive (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 93–95). Meanwhile, in Seoul, recalled Korean writer Yi Mi-rŭk, “all the best houses on the main street were occupied by Japanese. Their clattering sandals made me quite restless. Screeching, blowing their horns, and ringing their bells, rickshas, motor-cars, and bicycles plunged through dense crowds of pedestrians” (Mirok Li 1954, 127–28).
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teachers and civil servants, too—all the better, Terauchi said, “to control a primitive people”

NoteAt least for the first decade of the Japanese occupation of Korea, wrote Korean nationalist Henry Chung, “all teachers were required to wear swords in schoolrooms. Think of a teacher of little boys and girls of eight and nine strutting into a schoolroom rattling a sword! It is an interesting commentary on Japan’s lack of humour” (Chung 1921, 136–37). The Koreans, meanwhile, were barred from possessing guns, swords, and even kitchen knives (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 91; and Kendall 1919, 82). Governor-General Terauchi, asked why the military police presence was so formidable in Korea, replied: “It is easier to use gendarmes than police to control a primitive people” (Woonsang Choi 1967, 74; and Keene 2002, 672). More than the swords themselves, what was perhaps more egregious, writes University of Indiana historian Michael Robinson, was that the rules governing the gendarmerie “allowed the police to be both judge and jury, deciding punishments on the spot for minor infractions…Perhaps the most obnoxious feature of this legal apartheid was the use of traditional punishments, such as whipping, for Koreans, while the practice was deemed too barbaric for Japanese citizens” (Robinson 2007, 38–39).
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In the villages, the men, drunk with despair, cursed the day itself as “doomsday”

Note“WE HAVE ALL GONE TO THE HELL!”: Younghill Kang (Kang Yong-hŭl 姜龍訖 1903–1972), a celebrated Korean novelist, in his best-known work The Grass Roof, describes that day in vivid detail: “Children were standing around with scared blank faces. The village was quiet. Nobody spoke. Later on, in the afternoon, there was a general weeping, everywhere the sound of mourning, as if each house in the village were wailing for somebody dead. Some men began to drink and drink, shouting: ‘The doomsday has come! We have all gone to the Hell!’” The next morning, Kang wrote, it was discovered that several of the young men who had been drinking the night before had committed suicide. The same day, armed Japanese officials appeared at the protagonist’s home to ask why the Japanese flag wasn’t flying outside. “My father shrugged his shoulders and pretended not to understand. The small Jap policeman then flew at my father, kicking and striking him, with menace of the sword” (Younghill Kang [Kang, Yong-hŭl], The Grass Roof (New York: Scribner, 1951), 168–69).  “EVERYBODY…WAS CRYING”: In Hawaii, where thousands of Koreans were working on sugar plantations at the time of annexation, one young Korean boy recalls: “Everybody at our Kauai plantation was crying. I can’t forget it. Nobody worked that day…They all brought out Japanese things from every house and burned them in a big bonfire. And they cried all night” (as quoted in Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho, “The Early Korean Immigration: An Overview,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe [Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho], ed., From the Land of Hibiscus: Koreans in Hawai‘i, 1903–1950 (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2007), 11–40, here 14). Others rallied righteous armies in a desperate final bid at staving off the inevitable. Activity on the righteous army front increased as rumors of annexation spread, and in the Korean northeast, one longtime convert and Bible seller named Kim Yŏng-hŏp (“Kim Yung-hup”), as well as his son and a friend, had been beaten or imprisoned for allegedly joining a righteous army. In prison, Kim conducted three services a day to the assembled prisoners, before their release on the day of annexation (MacRae 1993, 143).  “WHAT A GOOD SURGEON WOULD HAVE DONE”: Some Japanese openly acknowledged the pain that many Koreans likely felt. One Japanese writer sympathized with what he called “that temporary feeling of humiliation,” noting that it was natural to feel pride in one’s nationality, and to regard annexation as “an event tragical in the highest degree.” But, invoking the language of the “sick man of Asia,” he painted Japan’s annexation as a necessary act to rescue Korea: “What a good surgeon would have done to a patient in order to save his life” (Hoshino Tokuji, Economic History of Chosen: Compiled in Commemoration of the Decennial of the Bank of Chosen (Seoul: Bank of Chosen, 1921), 27–28). Also cited in Conroy 1960, 476–77.
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and of the country’s very existence as an independent entity, was akin to national death

NoteKoreans during this period suffered a deep bout of existential angst over the future of their nation, wondering whether the soul of the Korean nation could still be preserved. Korean nationalist historian Pak Ŭn-sik (朴殷植 1859–1925), for instance, saw inspiration in the ability of Chinese civilization—he regarded literature as the essence of “Chineseness”—to withstand foreign domination under the Mongols and the Manchus, who largely assimilated into Chinese culture despite having conquered China militarily (Schmid 2002, 141).
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Christians, annexation was a specific form of death, amounting to nothing less than crucifixion

NoteIn 1942, Paul F. Douglass (1904–1988), a Methodist minister who served as president of American University in Washington, D.C., between 1941 and 1952, and who was a fervent supporter of Syngman Rhee, described Japan’s annexation of Korea as a “long forty years of crucifixion” during which the U.S. “stood by in silence” (Korean Liberty Conference 1942, 28).
p.116

NoteHugh Cynn (Sin Hŭng-u 申興雨 1883–1959), a leading Korean Christian nationalist of this period, attended the Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul before graduating from the University of Southern California in Los Angeles.

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that this ancient nation was only awakening from its long slumber just as it was being destroyed

NoteThe awakening-from-its-long slumber motif was picked up by several Western writers during these years. “After a Rip Van Winkle sleep of centuries, Korea is waking up, rubbing her eyes, looking around and asking ‘Where am I?’” one Seoul missionary wrote in February 1906. “She is crying for help, wisdom, knowledge and power” (C. G. Hounshell [Hounshell, Charles G.], “Christian Education for Korea,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 4 (February 1906), 71–73, here 71). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, meanwhile, opened his 1908 book The Tragedy of Korea by declaring: “I have to tell the story of the awakening and the destruction of a nation” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, v). As Yale University historian Odd Arne Westad writes, “the key tragedy was that their country had been annexed just as modern Korean nationalism was coming into full force” (Westad 2021, 90).
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new chapter in Korea’s history. “The dream is done and now comes the struggle for existence”

NoteThe full quote reads: “Perhaps had your land been tossed and riven by earthquakes and volcanoes you might have been shaken out of your contented sleep. But while you slept and dreamed and cared for naught but to be let alone, your ancient enemy has been busy learning the arts of those strange folk you see even now, wending their way up your ancient path to yon fortress of your ancestral kings. Having learned these arts she has even vanquished one of her teachers, and you, once a teacher but now a decrepit old ex-officio, what can you hope for when your land is wanted by your energetic erstwhile pupil. The sleep is o’er, the dream is done and now comes the struggle for existence” (Allen 1908, 59). When, three years earlier in 1905, Japan established its protectorate over Korea, Allen—having recently been removed as American minister to Korea, and having returned to Toledo to set up a medical practice—knew that full annexation was just around the corner. “Sad and depressing…I confess it simply sickens me” (Harrington 1944, 332–33).

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Overnight, tens of millions of Koreans were left with few appealing choices

NoteThe pioneering missionary-turned-American diplomat Horace Allen, writing shortly before outright annexation, laid out what he described as the four primary Korean responses to Japan’s seizure of the country: Fighting the Japanese, descending into a kind of paralysis, working with the Japanese to make money, and retreating deeper into the church. Those who chose to take up arms and fight had decided to “thus virtually commit suicide,” he wrote, while those who chose the fourth option effectively found “solace for their woes” in the Christian faith (Allen 1908, 173). “Despite diplomatic efforts, no foreign nation was willing effectively to espouse their cause,” writes Gregory Henderson, a scholar and former American diplomat in Seoul. “Short of suicidal violence, the Koreans thus had to become accustomed to a rule of complete despotism dedicated to their ‘Japanization’” (Henderson 1968, 74).
p.117

under the Japanese—among them many prominent Christians and in some cases entire families

Note“Man after man, scholars, old soldiers, men who loved Korea, committed suicide, after telling of their grief. ‘Why should we live when our land is dead?’ they asked” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 178).  “I ONLY HAVE DEATH LEFT IN FRONT OF ME”: The prominent Christian suicides included Yi Kyu-ŭng (李奎應 1862–1907); Chŏng Chae-hong (鄭在洪); and Hong T’ae-sun (洪太順) (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 89; and Yi Mahn-yŏl, “Birth of the National Spirit,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 67). Yi Kyu-ŭng killed himself by taking opium on July 23, 1907, leaving behind a despairing letter urging Emperor Kojong to not sign away Korea’s independence: “I feel like my heart is ripped to pieces and I’m crying tears of blood. I do not know what to do; therefore, I only have death left in front of me.” Hong T’ae-sun, meantime, killed himself by consuming poison outside the Taehan Gate (大漢門 Kor. Taehan-mun), at the entrance to the Palace of Virtuous Longevity (Tŏksu-gung) in central Seoul (Tokrip Undongsa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏn-hoe [History of the Independence Movement Editorial Committee], Tokrip Undongsa Che Ch’il Kwŏn: Ŭiyŏl T’ujaengsa [History of the Independence Movement, Vol. 7: History of the Righteous Struggle] (Seoul: Tokrip Yugong-ja Saŏp Kigŭm Unyong Wiwŏn-hoe, 1976), 182–83).  “A PATRIOTIC ACT”: For one particularly harrowing example, consider the grandparents of David Suh (Sŏ Kwang-sŏn 徐洸善 1931–2022), a Presbyterian pastor from Kanggye in northernmost Korea. His grandfather, an aristocratic yangban and military man, formed a “righteous army” with other like-minded Korean soldiers after Japan disbanded the Korean army in 1907 and staged an attack against the Japanese, leading to his arrest. In response, Suh’s grandmother, regarding life under Japanese rule to be not worth living, poisoned herself and her sons in an act of ritual suicide, sparing only her then-five-year-old son—Suh’s father, Rev. Sŏ Yong-mun (徐用文 1905–1950). “Her action was a virtuous thing for the wife of a patriot to do, and it was in the Korean women’s tradition. It was a patriotic act on her part, according to my father,” Suh wrote later (David Suh 1991, 16).
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as Australia, Cuba, and, in the case of roughly a thousand laborers, Mexico’s Yucatán peninsula

NoteTO POLYNESIA, ABOARD THE GAELIC: Hawaii was a particularly popular destination for Koreans in the early years of the twentieth century. The Polynesian archipelago was formally annexed by the U.S. in 1898 and Korean emigration there began shortly thereafter. Some sources name one Peter Ryu as the first Korean immigrant to arrive in Honolulu, on January 9, 1901 (Centennial Committee of Korean Immigration to the United States, The Centennial of Korean Immigration: Banquet Program (Honolulu: Korean Association in Hawaii, 2003), 15). But the era of Korean emigration to Hawaii really began with 102 Koreans, dressed in traditional robes and sailing aboard the RMS Gaelic, landing at Honolulu on January 13, 1903. Over the next two years, some 7,200 Koreans would arrive aboard sixty-five steamers to work on sugar plantations in Hawaii—part of the first-ever officially sanctioned immigration of Korean people to any foreign country (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 553; Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 2; and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe [Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho], “Introduction,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, ed., From the Land of Hibiscus: Koreans in Hawai‘i, 1903–1950 (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2007), 1–9, here 1, 13). Perhaps as important as the “push” factors driving the Koreans away from their homeland were the “pull” factors: “The missionaries linked Christianity with the good life in America,” writes historian Wayne Patterson (Wayne Patterson, “Christianity, American Missionaries, and Korean Immigration to the United States, 1903–1915,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 88 (2013), 59–78, here 62).  PRAYER MEETINGS IN STEERAGE: Largely responsible for this Korean influx into Hawaii were American missionaries to Korea, including Horace Allen, the missionary-turned-diplomat, who convinced Emperor Kojong of the virtues of the plan (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Introduction,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 3). As a result, there was a strong Christian presence among the Korean migrants to Hawaii. Methodist missionary George H. Jones, a close friend of Horace Allen, encouraged his own flock to emigrate, and roughly fifty of them took him up on the offer, joining that first group of Koreans to sail for Hawaii. “So pervasive was the Christian influence among this first group that during this pioneer voyage they organized a prayer-meeting in the steerage of their ship and carried on Christian work among their fellow emigrants,” writes historian Wayne Patterson (Patterson, “Christianity, American Missionaries,” Transactions (2013), 61). As one of them put it: “The United States was the hope of Korea, for was it not there that the wondrous Cross had brought beneficent results? Was it not there that the pagan ceased from troubling and the Christian could rest?” (as quoted in Wayne Patterson, The Korean Frontier in America: Immigration to Hawaii, 1896–1910 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1988), 108). “We can’t blame them for wanting to go to America,” remarked missionary Sallie Swallen (Wayne Patterson, “Introduction,” in Charr 1996, xiii–xxxviii, here xviii, citing Sallie Swallen letter to Jennie Ashbrook, October 9, 1903).  FIRST CHURCHES IN HAWAII: There is some debate over the first Korean church services and church building in Hawaii. One source dates the first Korean Methodist worship services taking place in March 1903 in Waialua-Kahuku, followed the next month by Episcopal worship services at St. Augustin Church in Kohala (Centennial Committee of Korean Immigration 2003, 15). Other sources say the first Korean church service in Hawaii was held on the suitably patriotic July 4, 1903 (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 4; and Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 564). As for churches, one historian says the first Korean Methodist church was set up in Hawaii in November 1903, followed by the Korean Episcopal Church in January 1905 (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 564). Another source gives credit for being first to the Ewa Korean Methodist Church, dedicated at Ewa Plantation, just outside Honolulu, on April 30, 1905 (Centennial Committee of Korean Immigration 2003, 16).  “CHRISTIAN IN A VERY SHORT TIME”: Whatever the details, there is little question that the Christian presence pervaded the early Korean settlements in Hawaii. Among the roughly 7,500 Koreans who had arrived by the summer of 1905, a “considerable majority” were Christians or products of the missionary system (Patterson, “Christianity, American Missionaries,” Transactions (2013), 60; and Patterson, “Introduction,” in Charr 1966, xvii). According to Richard S. Kim, a historian at University of California, Davis, some 40 percent of the Koreans who emigrated to Hawaii were recent Christian converts (Richard S. Kim 2002, 41–42). Methodist missionary to Korea W. Arthur Noble wrote after a visit to the Korean camps in Hawaii in 1905 that “in some camps as high as 50 per cent of the Korean laborers were Christian,” predicting that “if the Korean people on those plantations have the proper religious care an overwhelming majority will become Christian in a very short time” (W. A. Noble [Noble, W. Arthur], “Koreans in Hawaii,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 1 (November 1905), 14–16, here 15). See also Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 548, 564.  “A SOURCE OF HOPE FOR AN UNCERTAIN FUTURE”: Noble’s prediction looked prophetic. By 1906, there were thirteen churches, thirty-five mission stations (傳道所 Kor. chŏndo-so), and several dozen Korean pastors in Hawaii (Mahn-Yol Yi [Yi, Man-yŏl], “Korean Immigration to Hawai‘i and the Korean Protestant Church,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, ed., From the Land of Hibiscus: Koreans in Hawai‘i, 1903–1950 (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2007), 41–52, here 48). By 1912, roughly a decade after the first Korean migrants arrived in Hawaii, the Koreans had more than thirty-one churches and church schools, with a total congregation of 2,800, all of which “served as community life centers and provided a source of hope for an uncertain future” (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 563–64). This despite the fact that the Koreans never made up a large part of the population in Hawaii. The 1910 U.S. census showed roughly 4,500 Koreans in Hawaii at the time, accounting for just 2.4% of the islands’ overall population (Centennial Committee of Korean Immigration 2003, 17). The Koreans were outnumbered in Hawaii by the Japanese, with whom they had a particularly adversarial relationship, and with whom they had been brought to Hawaii to compete and bring down labor costs (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Early Korean Immigration,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 15).  “TOGETHER IN A STRANGE LAND”: What the Koreans, and the Korean Christians in particular, lacked in numbers, they made up for in fervency. Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, a young Korean Christian stopping in Hawaii on his way to the U.S. mainland around this time, recalled being moved while joining Hawaii’s Koreans for Sunday service—some in white and brown suits and others in Korean costume, celebrating “together in a strange land where we had come to stay and to make a living” (Charr 1996, 123). Few of the Koreans had expected to stay long in Hawaii. Many of them were city-dwellers back home who regarded the agricultural labor they were doing in Hawaii as demeaning and, it was hoped, only temporary (Patterson 1988, 122). Also cited in Richard S. Kim 2002, 45–46. By 1910, however, many of them found their plans of returning home with the fortunes that they had been promised complicated by Japan’s colonization of their homeland (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Introduction,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 2). Many instead put down roots and built up a community that continues to the present day. A celebration of twenty-seven “Eminent Koreans in Hawaii,” compiled by the Centennial Committee of Korean Immigration in 2003 to celebrate a hundred years of Korean history on the islands, suggests that almost all the most prominent Korean leaders in Hawaii were closely affiliated with the church (see Centennial Committee of Korean Immigration 2003, 8–14).  TO THE MAINLAND: Korean emigration to the continental United States began shortly after the first arrivals in Hawaii—and with it came Korean churches and church schools. In fact, many of the Koreans who ended up in the continental U.S. had first intended on settling in Hawaii. Once there, however, recruiters for the Great Northern Railway and the Northern Pacific Railway—the latter of which borrowed the yin-yang design of the Korean t’aegŭkki for its own logo—sought to bring in Korean laborers to help lay tracks for the Minneapolis-to-Seattle railway (Richard S. Kim 2002, 46). In total, some one thousand Koreans left Korea for the U.S. mainland between 1905 and 1910, with the majority settling in California and scattered populations putting down roots in Washington, Utah, Nevada, Colorado and Nebraska (Richard S. Kim 2002, 47–48). The biggest community was perhaps in the San Francisco Bay area, where by 1908 there were more than a thousand Koreans (Schmid 2002, 237). By the end of the twentieth century, the San Francisco Bay area had a Korean population of more than 100,000 (Hildi Kang 2001, xiv). In San Francisco, the Korean Methodist Church met for its first service in October 1905, and a few months later, Los Angeles saw its first Korean Presbyterian Church (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 564). By the mid-1920s, Korean churches had sprung up across California, and in Chicago and New York (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 564). “Korean immigrants set up Christian churches wherever they grouped, and each church opened a Korean language school,” Henry Cu Kim, a Korean American nationalist who spent more than half a century in the U.S. after his arrival in New York 1910, recalled years later. “Thus great strides were made in both religion and education” (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 268). When Samuel Moffett returned to the U.S. on furlough in 1906, Moffett stopped in Hawaii for two weeks to check on the Presbyterians in the budding Korean community there, before stopping in with the Korean Christians in Riverside, Calif., and in San Francisco (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, August 1, 1906, San Rafael, Calif. (PHS 281/236/94)).  LOS COREANOS: For the tale of the roughly one thousand Korean laborers who ended up in Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula in May 1905, see Schmid 2002, 237. Missionaries, naturally, soon followed to evangelize to this overseas flock (Clark 1937, 156; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 104). For a fascinating tale of how one descendant of Korean emigrants to Mexico, Jerónimo Lim Kim (林殷朝 1926–2006), the son of nationalist activist “Ernesto” Lim Ch’ŏn-t’aek (林千澤 1903–1985), joined the Cuban Revolution alongside Fidel Castro and Che Guevara and later served as a senior Cuban official, see Jeronimo, a documentary film directed by Joseph Juhn (Chŏn Hu-sŏk), 2019. And then, off in another direction altogether, some Korean merchants, perhaps selling ginseng, sailed to Australia around 1900, many of them from northwestern Korea (Moon, “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 196).
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Christian converts carrying the zeal of the Jerusalem of the East beyond the Korean peninsula

NoteThe one in six estimate is from Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors, who suggest that four million of Korea’s roughly twenty-five million people, or 16 percent, had emigrated by 1944 (Eckert et al. 1990, 322). “For every Japanese who came to Korea, thirty Koreans left the country,” according to Kim San, the pseudonym of a Korean Christian nationalist who was among those who sought a new life in China. Though Kim San’s estimate of the number of Koreans who ended up moving abroad is sharply lower than Eckert’s—Kim estimated that one in twenty Koreans ended up moving abroad—“most of those who went abroad were Christians,” he claimed (Kim and Wales 1941, 45–46). Kim himself eventually abandoned the Christian faith (see Act II, Chapter 15).
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“distrustful of all Japanese promises, and bitterly resent Japan’s preeminence in Korea”

Note“Many Koreans desire to leave the country, and if the opportunity opens in the Spring for the people to go to Hawaii, I look for a large exodus of the better class,” Baird wrote in the same letter (Baird letter to Brown, March 14, 1906).
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cultivation of virtues that could one day serve as the bedrock for an independent Korean nation

Note“A VIRTUAL GOVERNMENT”: The Korean National Association (大韓人國民會 Kor. Taehan’in Kukmin-hoe) was widely recognized in the U.S. and Hawaii as “a virtual government of the Koreans,” writes historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho. “Not only did the KNA claim governmental authority, but it also exercised actual police and judicial power over Koreans to a considerable extent…Minor crimes and illegal acts by Koreans were adjudicated by the KNA police and justice officers” (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 76–77). The group, in another characterization, “acted as a quasi-consular agency, requiring all Korean residents to become its members and pay dues…Most Korean political organizations in America were soon ‘consolidated’ into the KNA” (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 3).  A GROUP, AN ASSASSINATION, A CAUSE: Historians trace the roots of the group that would come to be known as the Korean National Association to 1903, when An Ch’ang-ho started a small group of Korean students in the San Francisco area called the Friends’ Association (親睦會 Kor. Ch’inmok-hoe); two years later, in 1905, the group had become the Mutual Assistance Association (共立協會 Kor. Kongrip Hyŏp-hoe)—also translated as the Mutual Cooperation Federation, the United Korean Association, or the Commonwealth Association—which had grown to 130 members scattered across six chapters in California (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 565–66). A key turning point came with the assassination in San Francisco of Durham Stevens, the American advisor to Japan, by two Korean Christians, in March 1908. On the night of the Stevens shooting, San Francisco’s Korean Christian nationalists gathered at the city’s Korean Methodist church and agreed to organize a campaign to defend the assassins, raising money and merging An Ch’ang-ho’s Mutual Assistance Association with another diasporic group in San Francisco known as the Taedong Fatherland Protection Society (大同保國會 Kor. Taedong Poguk-hoe)—also translated as the United Korean Protection Society or the Great Unity Fatherland Protection Society—which was backed by natives of central Korea (Richard S. Kim 2002, 58–59; Lew 2014, 39; and Henry Cu Kim 1987, 116). As University of California, Davis historian Richard S. Kim writes, the Stevens assassination “provided an impetus for unifying Korean immigrants under a common cause” (Richard S. Kim 2002, 67). The merged group was initially called the Korean People Consolidated Association (韓人合成協會 Kor. Han’in Hapsŏng Hyŏp-hoe), and after another meeting later that year, was reborn as the National Association (國民會 Kor. Kukmin-hoe) on November 20, 1908, encompassing all Koreans in the U.S., Hawaii, Mexico, and, later, the Far East, with the official inauguration date set for February 1, 1909, in Honolulu (Warren Y. Kim, Koreans in America (Seoul: Po Chin Chai, 1971), 53; and Richard S. Kim 2002, 66–67). After its formal inauguration, the new umbrella group had two regional headquarters: the Korean National Association of Hawaii, in Honolulu, and the Korean National Association of North America, in San Francisco, each led by an executive committee and a legislative assembly (Richard S. Kim 2002, 66–69; and Richard S. Kim 2011, 35–36, 41). This group, and others representing members of the Korean diaspora, were eventually subsumed into the All-Korea Korean National Association, or simply the Korean National Association (大韓人國民會 Kor. Taehan’in Kukmin-hoe), as the larger group became known in May 1910 after expanding to cover the Korean diaspora in Mexico, Manchuria, and Siberia.  INSPIRED BY PRESBYTERIANISM: The group, which was dominated by northwestern Koreans like An Ch’ang-ho, based its constitution in part on the Presbyterian church’s system of self-government. Indeed, An Ch’ang-ho was “an avid constitutionalist” who wrote constitutions for every one of the groups he helped found (Pak, “Cradle of the Covenant,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 118–19; and Ilsup Ahn, “Founding Father of Korean Democracy” (2012), 40). In addition to the Presbyterian church-inspired constitution, the group’s Christian inspiration could also be seen in the by-laws of the Korean National Association’s Hawaii branch, which explicitly invoked “the name of the Almighty and Holy God” (as quoted in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 76).  A “GOVERNMENT WITHIN A GOVERNMENT”: After Japan’s annexation of Korea in 1910, the Korean National Association declared itself the legitimate democratic representative of all Korean people (Richard S. Kim 2011, 44). During a dispute involving Korean laborers near Riverside, Calif., in June 1913, the Korean National Association appealed to Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan, a fervent advocate of Christian missions who had visited Korea in 1905, arguing that, since the Koreans living in California had arrived before annexation in 1910 and were opposed to Japanese rule, the U.S. government should recognize it as a quasi-diplomatic body. According to historian Richard S. Kim, Bryan issued a press release saying that the incident had been resolved, adding—crucially—that the State Department recognized the separate identities of Koreans and Japanese, saying that Washington would henceforth interact directly with the Korean National Association whenever the welfare of Koreans in the U.S. was involved (Richard S. Kim 2002, 70–74). That paved the way for the body to serve as something of a “government within a government,” with a quasi-diplomatic function; the association was incorporated in California in April 1914 as a nonprofit social service organization (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 561, 566). Apart from consular affairs, the group aimed to conduct religious, cultural, and educational activities for the larger nationalist cause, and launched two newspapers: the New Korean (新韓民報 Kor. Sinhan Minbo) on the U.S. mainland, and the United Korean News (新韓國報 Kor. Sinhan Kukbo) in Hawaii (Richard S. Kim 2002, 67–68). Issues of The Korean often found their way back into Korea, where it offered reports on Korean politics—without censorship (Schmid 2002, 248; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 97). When Han Kyŏng-jik, later one of Korea’s most prominent Presbyterian pastors, arrived in San Francisco in 1925 for his studies, he was impressed by the association’s office on one of the higher floors of a sixteen-story building in downtown, where the New Korean was being printed from a press there (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 71).  “WE ARE NOT SOJOURNERS”: The group was to have four regional headquarters—the continental U.S., Hawaii, Manchuria, and Siberia. The North America headquarters, based in San Francisco, eventually grew to thirty-eight local chapters consisting of 850 members, while the Hawaii headquarters at its peak oversaw seventy-three chapters with nearly 2,400 members (Warren Kim 1971, 55–57; and Richard S. Kim 2002, 68). In 1909–1910, chapters were established on the Yucatán Peninsula as well as in Siberia and in Manchuria, home to sixteen and seventeen local chapters, respectively (Richard S. Kim 2002, 68–69). On November 8, 1912, all four of the regional headquarters sent delegates to what was dubbed the All-Korean Leaders Congress in San Francisco, which formally made the city the new central authority of the 116 chapters of the Korean National Association then scattered across North America, Latin America, Hawaii, Korea, Manchuria, and Siberia, who were expected to pay annual dues to the new central body, which was “invested…with the diplomatic authority of a quasi-provisional government to represent exiled Koreans around the world” (Richard S. Kim 2002, 69). With this meeting, Kim writes, the scattered Koreans around the world, deprived of their sovereignty back home and officially regarded as subjects of the Japanese empire, could embrace their preferred identity as political exiles. As the group’s official newspaper declared in January 1910, “we are not sojourners, but political wanderers, and we are not laborers but righteous army soldiers” (Richard S. Kim 2002, 69–70, citing Sinhan Minbo, January 12, 1910). But, in a foretaste of the infighting that would divide the Korean nationalist diaspora, the Korean National Association would go through various iterations in the subsequent years. In 1915, Syngman Rhee wrested control of the group, renamed it and then lost it in a fight to his rivals in 1931; those who opposed Rhee formed a splinter group called the Great Chosŏn Independence Corps (大朝鮮獨立團 Kor. Tae Chosŏn Tokrip-dan) (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Introduction,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 6; and Do-Hyung Kim [Kim, To-hyŏng] and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe [Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho], “The March First Movement of 1919 and Koreans in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, ed., From the Land of Hibiscus: Koreans in Hawai‘i, 1903–1950 (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2007), 123–52, here 143–46).
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Christian began training up a military corps that might grow strong enough to challenge Japan

NoteThe young man, a former prison cellmate of Syngman Rhee back in Seoul named Pak Yong-man, would later lead the Korean National Association in Hawaii. According to Henry Cu Kim, a Korean American nationalist of this era who later served as president of the Korean National Association, writes that the Korean National Association’s constitution wasn’t written by An Ch’ang-ho, but rather that the group adopted the constitution of Pak Yong-man’s Korean Residents Association of Nebraska “in its entirety,” applying it as well in China and Russia (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 264–65). If true, it would instead reveal a large debt to Pak Yong-man, a conservative Christian nationalist who will play a larger role later in this narrative (see Act II, Chapter 12).
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rather the location that could be most easily reached on foot—the great expanse of Manchuria

NoteThis was not just a matter of proximity, but of limited options for Koreans seeking a new life abroad. After Theodore Roosevelt signed an executive order in March 1907 restricting entry to the U.S. by Koreans and Japanese, the numbers of Koreans heading to Manchuria and Siberia naturally swelled. In 1912, the Japanese reported a surge in Koreans heading to Russia, especially as “those proceeding to the United States have decreased and even practically ceased, as the United States regulation limiting Asiatic immigrants is being strictly observed” (Joungwon Kim 1976, 29, citing the Government-General of Chōsen’s 1912–1913 annual report). Japanese writers described Manchuria’s to Koreans during this period as “an immense expanse of cultivated field extending from horizon to horizon…The soil is apparently richer, and the houses, though as dirty, are built more solidly than those in Chosen, showing that the people are better off…The drowsiness that so often characterizes a Korean town, gives place to lively markets and streets thronged with busy traders. In every respect he is now in a different land” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 3-4).
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of the peninsula turned what had been a trickle of refugees into a deluge of political exiles

Note“A CONSTANT STREAM OF IMMIGRATION”: The lure of Manchuria was a powerful draw for Koreans. One Korean American boy, reflecting on his grandfather’s decision to emigrate to Manchuria, could only offer up: “Why Manchuria? No one knows. Wanderlust? Adventure? A way to escape the Japanese? They say he went so he could make ‘oodles of money’” (Hildi Kang 2007, 151). In 1910, Canadian missionaries in northeast Korea reported “a constant stream of immigration” into Manchuria (“What Happened in Song Chin in 1910,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 1 (January 1911), 16–19, here 16). By 1910, there were more than 100,000 Koreans in Manchuria’s Yanbian (延邊 Kor. Yŏnbyŏn) region, and a total of 238,000 Koreans across Manchuria by 1912 (Schmid 2002, 235). By 1916, the Korean population in Manchuria had hit half a million people (Moore 2016, 58). That mass emigration, combined with the flood of Japanese settlers flowing into Korea, was a source of grave concern for Korean nationalists like novelist Yi Kwang-su, who told listeners at the Korean YMCA in Tokyo on January 22, 1916: “There is a great obstacle in our future. It is the migration of the Japanese into Korea which I am speaking about. The Japanese are continuously migrating into Korea and taking all the profits [while] our people are leaving their homeland and moving to foreign lands. Is this not miserable?” (as quoted in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 99).
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—and thus, an ideal base for Koreans seeking to resist, or simply flee, the Japanese occupation

NoteOne British visitor, traveling through Manchuria shortly after the turn of the century, predicted that Manchuria would soon be swallowed up by Russia—“perhaps in five years, perhaps in ten” (Whigham 1904, 129). Though that prediction missed the mark, the remark underscored the unsettled nature of the geopolitical landscape in Manchuria during this period.  CHINESE VISAS, JAPANESE IMMIGRATION OFFICIALS: The ambiguity of the situation was such that, though Manchuria was legally China, it was Japanese officials who oversaw passport and customs control for those coming in from Korea. “Though we were entering China and had Chinese visas on our passports, the immigration and custom officials were Japanese. China naturally didn’t like this, but such was the state of affairs at that time,” wrote one Canadian missionary crossing the Tumen River in the early 1920s (Murray 1975, 22–23). Japan—having justified its expansion into Manchuria by declaring itself the legitimate protector of all Koreans—established a consulate and a military garrison in the heavily Koreanized settlement of Longjing (龍井 Kor. Yongjŏng), building a high brick wall around their holdings in the city, “even closing off some of the main streets. The Japanese had their own school and medical service, which further isolated them” (Murray 1975, 29).   FLAGS AND UNIFORMS OF EVERY COLOR: Adding to the confusion, after the Boxer Rebellion of 1900, China had to grudgingly extend extraterritoriality to foreigners, and during the March 1, 1919, demonstrations for Korean independence, Canadian missionary Stanley H. Martin (1870–1941) hoisted the British flag at the mission compound in Longjing (Murray 1975, 37). One missionary, touring Manchuria in 1918, described Harbin as a particular locus of political and military intrigue: “Practically every man on the street appeared in uniform. While I was there I saw Russian, Czecho-Slovak, Chinese, Japanese, English, French, Italian and last but not least American soldiers. Great military questions were discussed there and every day saw international problems solved and resolved” (Battles, “With the Chosen Contingent,” Korea Mission Field (1919), 117).
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four times the size of the Korean peninsula but home to fewer than 10 million people in 1890

NoteCLOSED TO THE HAN: For three centuries under the Qing dynasty, Manchuria was closed to settlement by Han Chinese, and special passports were needed for Chinese to enter (Malozemoff 1958, 22; and Hyun Ok Park 2005, xiii, n. 5). “The Manchu homeland was to be preserved from the Han Chinese, because it was arguably the place where the Manchu ethnic identity and military prowess—the ‘Manchu way’—were maintained,” writes historian Kim Sŏn-min. As late as the 1850s, the Qing government was still trying to restrict Han Chinese inflows into its historic homeland, but financial necessity, and the threat of Russian incursion, prompted Beijing to finally loosen its policy in 1860, and over the subsequent decades it continued to open up more land in northeastern China for settlement. “The only way for the Qing court to uphold its territorial sovereignty in Manchuria was to encourage Chinese farmers to move to the region and thereby fill it with Qing subjects. The previously restrictive Qing Manchuria policy, consisting mainly of the stationing of banner soldiers and unwavering insistence on the evacuation of the region, was gradually replaced by a new plan of ‘recruiting civilians to populate, cultivate, and settle’” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 2, 130, 134). “Nobody was allowed to enter the country save those sent thither to collect wild ginseng, or falcon feathers (used for feathering arrows) by government orders. This lasted for about a century. After that period the prohibition began to be relaxed, and the Chinese began to migrate to this vast country” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 10–11).   HOW VAST AND HOW POPULOUS: Reliable statistics on the population and even the geographic size of Manchuria were surprisingly hard to come by during this period. One Japanese economist, writing in 1921, noted that, “in the face of the total lack of cadastre and census register,” even the fastidious Japanese were forced to “base their figures on conjecture” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 7). According to one American scholar, Manchuria’s population hovered between eight and ten million people in 1890 (Dallin 1950, 133–34). But around that very time, one Scottish missionary in Manchuria, writing in 1896, wrote that the population of Manchuria—known to the Han Chinese as the lands “east of the barrier” (關東 Ch. guandong)—was “supposed to be about 25,000,000,” while the land was said to cover 300,000 square miles (M’Laren 1896, 23). The Japanese-controlled South Manchuria Railway Company, in a 1916 study, found that the roughly 380,000 square miles of Manchuria were populated by roughly twenty million people, or roughly fifty-three people to the square mile—“whereas Chosen [Korea], with only half the density of population as compared with Japan, has 199 per square mile, or nearly 4 times as many” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 6). One British writer, sizing up Manchuria in 1888, noted that it was larger than the entire Austro-Hungarian Empire, which was about 240,000 square miles (James 1888, 3). Yet another source during this period described Manchuria as boasting an area of 364,000 square miles (Gerrare 1903, 223). Isabella Bird Bishop estimated the population at twenty million people, spread over an area of land the size of Great Britain, Ireland, and Austria put together, which she wrote “offers a vast field for emigration” (Bishop 1898, 188). Another scholar has described Manchuria as containing twenty-five million people in a land mass the combined size of modern-day France and Germany (Chong-Sik Lee [Yi, Chŏng-sik], Revolutionary Struggle in Manchuria: Chinese Communism and Soviet Interest, 1922–1945 (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1983), 22). For reference, Manchukuo, the puppet state founded in Manchuria by the Japanese in 1932, boasted an area of some 460,000 square miles. Today, the three Chinese provinces that make up Manchuria—the southwestern province of Fengtian (奉天), today known as Liaoning (遼寧), home to the old Manchu capital of Mukden, also known as Shengjing (盛京) and today as Shenyang (瀋陽); Jilin, or Kirin (吉林), in the center, bordering much of the Yalu and Tumen Rivers; and Heilongjiang (黑龍江) in the northeast—cover a combined area of 300,000 square miles, versus 85,000 square miles for modern-day North and South Korea.
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missionary there described as “constant immigration,” much of it from China’s heartland

NoteIndeed, Owen Lattimore (1900–1989), a prominent China scholar and foreign policy advisor, described the flow of Chinese migrants into Manchuria as perhaps “the greatest peaceful migration in history” (Owen Lattimore, Manchuria: Cradle of Conflict (New York: Macmillan, 1932), 3). For more on the allure of Manchuria to Chinese and Korean migrants by the missionary Hugh Miller after a visit in 1918, see Miller, “Visit to West Kando,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 227.  “ALMOST INCESSANT”: Sir Alexander Hosie (1853–1925), a British diplomat in China who served as consul in the Manchurian port city of Yingkou (then known as Newchwang)—first from November 1894 to July 1897 and then from April 1899 to April 1900—described how, on the sea route from Yantai (then known as Chefoo), in Shandong, to Yingkou, some 20,000 Chinese laborers would sail each spring, from which they would scatter across Manchuria and Mongolia (Hosie 1901, v, 173). “As soon as spring comes there is a steady stream of workers to be seen arriving from China proper, especially from the province of Shantung, to which they return when the harvest is ended,” wrote adventurer Emily Kemp. Many come to accumulate enough money during eight or nine years to buy land and bring their families up to live here” (Kemp 1911, 6). By 1908, Japanese diplomats were tallying up 300,000 Chinese laborers sailing for Manchuria each year, more than half of them passing through Yingkou (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 20). One Westerner, riding a steamer from Shandong to Manchuria around this time, painted a scene of controlled chaos as he was packed in with a ship full of laborers. “Fortunately for the coolies it was not a very long crossing—a matter of ten hours or so—for they were so closely packed between decks that they could hardly sit down. The stream of labourers into Manchuria is almost incessant, because the majority do not settle in the country but return to…Shantung as soon as they have saved up a few roubles” (Whigham 1904, 3–4). Despite the influx of migrants, Manchuria, owing to its vast acreage, was by 1914 still “not nearly so crowded as the rest of China” (Christie 1914, 14).
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century, by which time Manchuria’s population had doubled to roughly 20 million people

NotePopulation figures for Manchuria remain slippery, but Scottish writer Sir John Fraser, heading into Manchuria during a long trip through Siberia in the fall of 1901, cited a figure of seventeen million people in Manchuria, with the land mass accounting for “about one-tenth of China’s entire area” and being “six times as large as England and Wales,” with “mountains…said to ooze gold” (Fraser 1904, 227–28). Manchuria’s population surged to about twenty-three million in 1920, according to scholar Yi Chŏng-sik, and would roughly double again between 1920 and 1940, to about forty million people (Chong-Sik Lee 1983, 22).  MANDARIN MANCHURIA: By 1921, Japanese scholar Hoshino Tokuji reported, the inflows of Han Chinese into Manchuria were such that 90 percent of the population there was Chinese, the remainder consisting of Manchus, Mongols, and other nomadic peoples (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 11). Dugald Christie, a Scottish missionary in Manchuria, writing shortly after the Japanese annexation of Korea, describes how quickly Mandarin Chinese became dominant in Manchuria: “Farther north the Manchu element is more distinct, but in the greater part of South Manchuria it is very little in evidence…The Manchu language has completely died out and Chinese is universally used, the dialect spoken being Mandarin, the same as at Peking” (Christie 1914, 13).
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mostly flat and “astonishingly fertile,” producing wheat, rice, corn, and soybeans in abundance

NoteArthur Brown judged the prairie-like portions of Manchuria to be “one of the finest agricultural regions in the world” (Brown 1919, 208).   THE ALMIGHTY SOYBEAN: Of all the various grains that Manchuria produced, none was more important than soybeans, which “are, in a word, the wealth of Manchuria,” in the words of Sir Alexander Hosie, the British consul at Yingkou (Hosie 1901, 245). Japanese economist Hoshino Tokuji, writing in 1921, described the rise of soybeans—which by that time accounted for roughly one half of all of China’s exports by value—and Manchuria’s central role in the global soybean trade as “one of the most remarkable commercial events of recent times. It was the soya bean that introduced Manchuria into the trade comity of the world, and it is still the soya bean that makes Manchuria famous” (Hoshino, Manchuria (1921), 137). During the early 1930s, half of all the world’s traded soybeans were from Manchuria (Hyun Ok Park 2005, 17). In such an environment, Korean migrants who headed into Manchuria quickly found work. “The Koreans who went in cleared the brush off the low hills and raised tremendous crops of soya beans and brown corn,” wrote missionary T. Stanley Soltau, who spent a significant amount of time in Manchuria. “In the valleys most productive rice fields were created out of swamp land so that although money was scarce, the settlers did not want for food” (Soltau n.d., 12).
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—a stark contrast to Korean white—while in more remote places, opium poppies were grown

NoteMargaret M. Moore, the source cited in the manuscript here, was the daughter and biographer of Stanley H. Martin, a Canadian Presbyterian missionary in Longjing, a village just north of the Tumen River that had emerged as a center of the Korean diaspora in Manchuria.
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region was believed, like Korea, to be rich in minerals, including gold, silver, copper, and coal

NoteJust as in northern Korea, prospectors had found in the southern Manchurian region of Jiandao “ample proof that her mineral resources are of great proportions, already coal and gold have been found in large quantities. She has also many fine rivers and streams, and forests of serviceable timber,” as one missionary wrote in 1909, describing Manchuria as “Korea’s Canada”—a northern wilderness rich in natural resources (“An Interesting Tour Through Korea’s Canada,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 5 (May 1909), 66–73, here 66). That said, superstitious fears of disturbing the earth effectively blocked any major attempts at mining (M’Laren 1896, 25).
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“this new territory,” one missionary wrote in 1918. “They have much to gain and little to lose”

NoteEven so, one British diplomat noted in 1888, well before annexation, the Korean in Manchuria “wears a mild and melancholy look, like a political martyr” (James 1888, 144).
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bumpy that “your teeth are nearly shaken out of your head, and your breath out of your body”

NoteTravel during this time was also frequently done by donkey and, in northern Manchuria, by camel (Moore 2016, 84).
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—and churches—in Manchuria, and occasionally over the Yalu and Tumen Rivers into Korea

NoteSee Sands 1931, 157–58. For more on the “red beards” (紅鬍子 Ch. hong huzi), see Mancall and Jidkoff, “Hung Hu-tzu,” in Chesneaux 1972, 125–34.  “NO MAN’S LIFE WAS WORTH AN HOUR’S PURCHASE”: Manchuria had always been a frontier no-man’s land. Rev. Robert Thomas, the ill-fated Welsh missionary aboard the General Sherman voyage to Pyongyang in 1866, wrote earlier that year about how “the entire country of Manchuria is in a state of agitation. Long since, small bands of mounted robbers were the terror of the lonely highways of the Far East. Latterly these bands have combined together, and assumed such alarming proportions as to characterize the movement a downright rebellion” (Thomas letter to Tidman, January 12, 1866, as reproduced in Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 102–4). But things got much worse as the Qing dynasty’s weakness around the turn of the twentieth century degraded its ability to maintain order in the vast region. During the Boxer Rebellion in 1900, some Chinese fled to the Yalu River region of Manchuria, where they killed several Korean Christians and displayed their bodies on the riverbank (Moon, “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 204–5). Scottish writer Sir John Fraser, heading into Manchuria during a long trip through Siberia in the fall of 1901, was greeted with shock that he wasn’t traveling armed. Speaking with one such interlocutor, “a chubby young Cossack officer,” Fraser recalls: “I told him I was a sufficiently experienced traveller not to carry a revolver at all. Thereupon he gave a not very appetising account of the things likely to happen to a man foolish enough to go into Manchuria without a revolver—about train thieves and marauding bands of Chinese” (Fraser 1904, 211). British writer Henry Whigham, writing in 1904, described the Manchurian countryside as “unsettled and turbulent,” so much that even the missionaries didn’t dare to go out. “When a missionary considers it dangerous to travel in China, one may take it for granted that the country is in a bad state,” he wrote (Whigham 1904, 109). In “the great borderland of the bandit regions” between Korea and Manchuria, journalist Frederick McKenzie warned in 1907, “no man’s life was worth an hour’s purchase” (Frederick McKenzie 1907, 33). T. Stanley Soltau, a Presbyterian missionary who began traveling to Manchuria in the mid-1910s, described it as a treacherous land. “On several occasions we passed the smoking ruins of large inns where we had planned on spending the night but which had been set on fire by these bandits after robbing the inmates. On other occasions we deliberately took a wide detour in order to avoid meeting a band who were pillaging the country through which we intended to travel,” he wrote (Soltau n.d., 12). Another Presbyterian missionary, Canadian Stanley Martin, who arrived in Manchuria in 1916 to conduct medical missionary work among the Korean diaspora there, was told by one of his colleagues that the “primary dangers are Chinese warlords with their bandits, the Bolsheviks, both Korean and Chinese, trained in Moscow, and the activities of the Korean Independence fighters” (Moore 2016, 64).   “LIFE IS NOT SAFE”: Needless to say, the bandits made little exception for churches and other places of worship. “Several of our chapels there have received repeated visits from brigands and soldiers in turn this year,” missionary Alexander R. MacKenzie (1879–1929) wrote in 1919. “Life is not safe. An ex-evangelist of ours was killed by robbers in the summer. The honour of women is not safe. Property is not safe” (A. R. MacKenzie [MacKenzie, Alexander R.], “A Night with Brigands: The Strange Experience of a Missionary,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 1 (January 1919), 19–21, here 21). The Japanese fared no better. Japanese surveyors doing reconnaissance work in Manchuria during this period became targets of mounted bandit attacks, with eleven such people being killed in 1907 alone (Kobayashi, “Japanese Mapping” (2012), 150–51). When the Japanese later sought to encourage emigration to Manchuria, they initially tried to downplay the dangers of the land, but it proved such a difficult task that after 1937 the propagandists changed tack, puffing up the heroism of frontier life (Young 1999, 383).
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ambitious Chinese warlord named Zhang Zuolin, known in the West as the “Mukden Tiger” 

NoteZhang Zuolin (張作霖 1875–1928) was born to a poor family in southern Manchuria, but rose to become a fearsome warlord and briefly made himself president of the Republic of China from June 1927 until his assassination a year later on the outskirts of Shenyang by the Japanese. Though Zhang’s severity was legendary, his political inclinations were rather more malleable: “As long as the Emperor was on the throne, he strenuously resisted any attempt to raise the standard of Revolution, and would have fought against it even had no other General sided with him. Now that the Republic has taken the place of the Empire, he stands loyally by it, recognizing Yuan Shih Kai as a man whose lead it is possible to follow” (Christie 1914, 279).
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including Nationalist Party founder Sun Yat-sen, a Christian convert, were receptive to the faith

NoteSun Yat-sen had been educated by missionaries in Hawaii and baptized in Hong Kong in 1884. When, as a young revolutionary, Sun was detained by the Qing government at its legation in London, Sun was said to have declared: “But for the comfort afforded me by prayer, I should have gone mad” (O’Neill 1919, 113). Sun referred to Jesus as a “religious revolutionist” and adopted a favored expression, of “universal love” or “universal fraternity” (博愛 Ch. bo’ai), that may have been based on the Greek concept of agape embraced by Christians (Guo, “Modern ‘Ai,’” Sixth Tone, September 1, 2020). “Dr. Sun Yat Sen, the leader of the revolutionary party, has advised his people to listen to the missionaries, and to believe in their Gospel, because Christianity is the best religion for China to-day,” wrote George Pardington, a Western missions leader who helped found the Christian and Missionary Alliance, a major sender of foreign missionaries (Pardington 1914, 154).  “MISSIONARIES ARE OUR FRIENDS”: “Missionaries are our friends,” said Li Yuanhong (黎元洪 1864–1928), a two-time president of the Republic of China and commander of Sun Yat-sen’s military forces during the Xinhai revolution (辛亥革命 Ch. Xinhai geming) of 1911. “I am strongly in favor of more missionaries coming to China to teach Christianity. We shall do all we can to assist them” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 476). See also C. T. Wang [Wang, Zhengting], “The New Conditions in China,” Missionary Review of the World, N.S. 29, no. 8 (August 1916), 569–75, here 570, O.S. 39, no. 8. Wang Zhengting (王正廷 1882–1961), a former YMCA leader best known for serving as co-head of China’s delegation to the Paris Peace Conference in 1919 and later as China’s foreign minister, held Bible classes for members of the Republic of China’s first legislature in 1913, in which he served as vice chairman of the upper chamber (O’Neill 1919, 113). In that first national legislature, more than one-fifth—that is, sixty—of the 274 members were Christian, in a country where Christians made up less than one percent of the population (Guo Ting, “Modern ‘Ai’: Love and Socialism in Republican China,” Sixth Tone, September 1, 2020). Huang Xing (黃興 1874–1916), another of Sun’s top lieutenants and a co-founder of Sun’s Nationalist Party of China, or Kuomintang (國民黨 Ch. Guomindang), later claimed that Sun’s 1911 revolution toppling the Qing dynasty was driven to a great extent by Christian ideals of universal love, peace, and freedom (as quoted in Kenneth Scott Latourette, A History of Christian Missions in China (New York: Macmillan, 1929), 609–10). Also cited in Neill 1990, 289–90. For Li Hongzhang’s relationship with Christian missionaries, see Speer 1902, pp. 406-411.  SUN ON KOREA: Sun was also genuinely sympathetic to the Korean nationalist cause, though by 1924, feeling out the possibility for an alliance with Tokyo, Sun was giving speeches praising Japan’s modernization and avoiding mention of Korea’s plight, which alarmed Korean nationalists. Even so, more than eight hundred Koreans joined the Chinese Nationalists’ “Northern Expedition” (北伐 Ch. Beifa) to unify China—a military campaign that the Koreans hoped might also lead to their own nation’s independence (Westad 2021, 89, 97–98). Sun’s eventual successor as the leader of the Chinese Nationalists, Jiang Jieshi (Chiang Kai-shek 蔣介石 1887–1975), was sympathetic to the Korean cause, but never extended recognition to later efforts to organize a Korean government-in-exile (Westad 2021, 98–99).
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the president of the new Chinese republic, publicly urged American Christians to pray for China

Note“The appeal for prayer caused considerable excitement in the United States. On April 17, the Associated Press bureau chief in Peking cabled the news home, where editors, presumably recognizing good copy, placed it on page one. When newspaper readers opened their papers on April 18, they saw headlines reading ‘China Asks for Prayers,’ and, reading on, they learned that Yuan’s message represented ‘striking evidence of the extraordinary changes which have taken place in the nation since the revolution.’ Even the uninnocent New York Times carried the story on the front page,” writes Harvard University historian James Reed (Reed 1983, 36, citing New York Times, April 18, 1913, 1).  In Wilson’s cabinet meeting that morning, secretary of state and missions advocate William Jennings Bryan read aloud from the Associated Press report in that day’s Washington Post, calling Yuan’s appeal “the most remarkable official document that had been issued in a generation.” Wilson very nearly called for American churches to pray with Chinese churches before thinking better of it, in deference to the separation of church and state, but declared that “he did not know when he had been so stirred and cheered as when he read that message in the paper,” according to Wilson’s secretary of the navy Josephus Daniels (1862–1948). Wilson dismissed any cynicism about Yuan’s aims and called on others to join him in praying for China (Reed 1983, 36–37, 142). Reed slyly notes that “Yuan Shih-k’ai, who was not a Christian man, was nevertheless familiar with political calculus, so that seasoned interpreters naturally viewed his move as a means to manipulate American public opinion. Old China hands, those habitually jaundiced observers, expressed grudging appreciation” (Reed 1983, 35–36). See also Manela 2007, 107.
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and mythologized by future generations of historians, writers, and nationalist fighters

NoteAn Ch’ang-ho, the prominent Christian nationalist, immortalized his departure from the Korean homeland with a poetic ode, “Farewell to the Motherland” (去國歌 Kor. Kŏgukga) that became a popular folk song of sorts for a generation of Koreans—playing a small role in Kim Il Sung’s own origin story (see Act II, Chapter 19).
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to a brood of pups pushed away from “the teats of the motherland” by the wolflike Japanese

NoteCho Myŏng-hŭi (趙明熙1894–1938), who later cast his lot with the North Korean state, was the author of Nakdong River (洛東江 Kor. Nakdong-gang), a 1928 short story collection whose translation by Brother Anthony of Taizé is the source of this line about the “teats of the motherland.”
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“‘uprooted from their homeland. Forced out of their land and their homes by the Japanese’”

NoteIn a separate, nonfictional account of the same passage across the Yalu River, told years later by Richard E. Kim’s mother Yi Ok-hyŏn (1911–?), a native of northwestern Korea, she recalls: “A passerby took us to a spot along the riverbank where people got to Manchuria by walking across the frozen Yalu River. A path stretched ahead of us, beaten down through the snow, exposing the slippery, treacherous ice. Lights blinking on the far shore guided us. I had on cotton socks, my feet were bitter cold, but somehow they did not freeze. I was terrified that the ice would crack beneath us” (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 81).
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refugees in the subzero winters, where it was said that “trees and rocks cracked from the cold”

Note“In the early twentieth century,” writes Judy Han, a professor of cultural geography at University of California, Los Angeles, “Koreans looked upon Manchuria as a brutally cold, subarctic northern destination of labor migration where anti-Japanese, anticolonial political activism brewed” (Ju Hui Judy Han [Han, Chu-hŭi], “Beyond Safe Haven: A Critique of Christian Custody of North Korean Migrants in China,” Critical Asian Studies 45, no. 4 (2013), 533–60, here 534).
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“the nearer they came to the border, the more beautiful and unforgettable it seemed to them”

NoteThis North Korean depiction echoes closely the eyewitness testimony of Western missionaries from this period. Presbyterian missionary Norman Whittemore, who, after making three trips to Manchuria in 1913, described the trek with great pathos. While wealthier Koreans could hire Chinese carts, with as many as twenty-five women and children crammed on the back, Whittemore wrote, “the poorer ones all trudged on together, the men carrying the family baggage, and the women, the children. It was pathetic to see them with their heavy burdens, especially as most of them were little used to our severe northern winters” (Whittemore, “Call of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field (1913), 327).  “THE SILENT STREAM OF WHITE CLAD FIGURES”: W. T. Cook, a Presbyterian missionary at the Manchuria Christian College in Shenyang (then known as Mukden), similarly described with great pathos the suffering that the Koreans endured in a report to the Presbyterian board of foreign missions: “In the still closeness of a forty below zero climate in the dead of winter, the silent stream of white clad figures creeps over the icy mountain passes, in groups of tens, twenties and fifties, seeking a new world of subsistence, willing to take a chance of life and death…Many have died from insufficient food. Not only women and children but young men have been frozen to death. Sickness also claims its toll under these new conditions of exposure. Koreans have been seen standing barefooted on the broken ice of a riverside fording place, rolling up their baggy trousers before wading through the broad stream, two feet deep, of ice cold water, then standing on the opposite side while they hastily readjust their clothing and shoes. Women with insufficient clothing, and parts of their bodies exposed, carry little children on their backs, thus creating a mutual warmth in a slight degree, but it is in this way that the little ones’ feet, sticking out from the binding basket, get frozen and afterwards fester till the tiny toes stick together. Old men and women, with bent backs and wrinkled faces, walk the uncomplaining miles until their old limbs refuse to call them further…In this way over 75,000 Koreans have entered during the past year, until the number of Koreans now living in both the north and western portions of Manchuria now totals nearly half a million” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 202–3). Exacerbating the situation, Manchuria was hit by a “pneumonic plague” in the winter of 1910–1911 that the missionaries there compared to the Black Death, killing all 43,942 of those infected (Christie 1914, 234–35).
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families were faced, for the first time, with the prospect of losing their language and culture

NoteBy the 1920s, a whole generation of Koreans had been born and raised in exile, and tours were being organized for Koreans in Manchuria to travel back south of the Yalu River to deepen their understanding and connection to the homeland. For one report of twenty-one Koreans residing in Jilin City arriving in Seoul for a tour, two of whom “have never before set eyes on the motherland,” see “Pan’ga’on Mo’guk P’unggwang” [The Delightful Scenery of the Motherland], Maeil Sinbo [Daily News], March 9, 1924, 2.
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pride while in an exile that they regarded, like the ancient Israelites in Babylon, as temporary

NoteSee Wells 1990, 89, 96; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 117–18. Sin Ch’ae-ho, a nationalist historian who regarded emigration to Manchuria as a potential path to what he hoped would be the reclamation of territory once believed to be under the control of Tan’gun, he also worried about Korean emigration resulting in a degradation of Koreans’ “national essence” (國粹 Kor. kuksu), or “Koreanness” (Schmid 2002, 239). At least in the early years, he needn’t have worried too much, since many “Koreans outside the peninsula had become the custodians of the nation,” freer to express themselves and explore Korean history and culture than they were back home under Japanese rule (Schmid 2002, 248). This was very much the case for Korean migrants to Hawaii and the U.S. mainland during these years. As one historian has written, “when their worst fears were confirmed with outright annexation in 1910, large numbers of them became virtually obsessed with maintaining their identity as Christians and as Koreans” (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 564).
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“by collaboration and compromise that would one day return and ‘restore the kingdom’”

NoteIn some ways, these Korean exiles regarded themselves as purer than those who remained back in Japanese-occupied Korea, where “bureaucratic recruitment was the only door to political involvement…Since the function of the bureaucracy was to implement Japanese rule, such employment bore the stigma of collaboration” (Wells 1990, 73).
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—and breeding grounds for the faith, fueling a Christian nationalist resistance in exile

NoteThe number of Koreans in Manchuria roughly doubled to 109,000 in 1910, from 65,000 in 1894 (Eckert et al. 1990, 273). Isabella Bird Bishop calculated that there were approximately thirty thousand Korean families in Manchuria by 1897, almost all of whom had left Korea in the past three decades (Bishop 1898, 187). For many of these Korean migrants, life on the frontier wasn’t easy. Some had cleared away forest and swampland to set up settlements in remote places, and many succumbed to disease in large groups (T. Stanley Soltau, “Work Among Koreans in Manchuria—II. Western Manchuria,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1918), 442–44, here 442–43).  ECONOMIC MIGRANTS: Most of the Koreans who left the country for Manchuria cited economic reasons for their decisions to emigrate, according to a survey conducted during the late 1920s of 201 Korean settlers in Manchuria. According to the poll, two-thirds left because of “difficulty in living,” economic difficulties, or a lack of money back home. Only seven respondents, or 3.4 percent, cited political reasons (Yang 1981, 36–37). By the 1980s, the motivations driving Koreans into northeastern China was strikingly similar. As China-born University of Georgia scholar Han S. Park wrote after a series of visits to northeastern China in the early 1980s, most Koreans had “moved to an alien land for the singular reason of finding a place where they could cultivate crops and maintain their physical subsistence” (Han Shik Park [Pak, Han-sik], “Political Culture and Ideology of the Korean Minority in China,” Korean Studies 11 (1987), 13–32, here 20-21). Today, after another mass exodus of Koreans over the Yalu and Tumen Rivers into Manchuria, the United Nations High Commissioner on Refugees acknowledges the difficulty in distinguishing between economic migrants and political refugees, noting that the two categories are “sometimes blurred”: “The distinction between economic and political measures in an applicant’s country of origin is not always clear. Behind economic measures affecting a person’s livelihood there may be racial, religious or political aims or intentions directed against a particular group” (see United Nations High Commissioner on Refugees, Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status and Guidelines on International Protection (April 2019 revision), 22).
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a military force beyond Tokyo’s reach that could one day challenge the Japanese with arms

NoteAmong these Koreans were Kim Ku and Yi Tong-hwi, prominent Christian nationalists who represented respectively the far-right and the far-left ends of the political spectrum (Wells 1990, 83). The more martial approach among Manchuria-based Korean nationals stood in contrast to those who fled to the U.S., “where Koreans were comparatively few, well-fed and distant from Korea,” and, thus, where “the gradualist approach of advancing knowledge and expertise in commerce, industry, modern political systems and theology was more popular” (Wells 1990, 89–90).
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the authorities to cap immigration to the region—only to see their numbers continue to rise

NoteRUSSIA’S FIRST KOREANS: Isabella Bird Bishop dated the first wave of Korean emigration to the Russian Far East to 1863, when thirteen families crossed the Tumen River (“Koreans in Russian Manchuria—Notes by Mrs. Bishop,” Korean Repository 4 (February 1897), 41–44, here 42–43). Andrew Malozemoff, writing in 1958, describes the first Koreans arriving in the Russian Far East in 1862, to the region around the Ussuri River region north of Vladivostok, fleeing famine by the thousands and quickly adopting the local customs and language (Malozemoff 1958, 11). The source of this information is unclear, though Russian archival evidence has since provided evidence of Koreans entering the Russian Far East as early as the 1850s (Chang 2016, 11). “Famines, natural disasters, exploitation by Korean government officials, lack of land ownership, and (later) oppression at the hands of the Japanese colonizers pressured many people to emigrate from Korea to Russia” (German Kim and King, “Korea as Portrayed in Russian Sources,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 261). Specific numbers during this period are hard to pin down. One Korean historian tallies about 6,500 Koreans having crossed over into Russian territory in the first half of 1869 (Chong-Sik Lee 1968, 271).  “OF SETTLED LIVES AND GOOD CONDUCT”: Whatever the magnitude of the first waves of Korean emigration to Russia, the trend had accelerated to such a degree by 1884 that Russia, after signing a treaty with Korea that year, began putting limits on the number of Koreans settling in Russian territory (Malozemoff 1958, 25; and Chang 2016, 14–15). In 1885, writes British statesman Lord George Curzon, there were roughly twenty thousand Koreans in Russian territory (Curzon 1896, 209). Bishop, writing shortly thereafter, gave that same figure of twenty thousand, which she said was enough to fuel persistent rumors in Korea that the Russian authorities, alarmed at the increase, were sending many of them back over the Tumen River into Korea (Bishop 1898, 223). Only those who had settled in Russia prior to 1884, or who were living on purchased land and said to be “of settled lives and good conduct,” could claim the rights of Russian subjects (Bishop 1898, 234; and “Manchuria—Notes by Mrs. Bishop,” Korean Repository (1897), 42–43).   CAN’T STOP: The numbers of Koreans flowing into the Russian Far East only continued to rise, making clear that St. Petersburg’s attempts to slow the pace of immigration wasn’t working. One source shows the number of registered Koreans in the Russian Far East rising from about 3,300 in 1869 to more than ten thousand in 1882, and about 16,500 in 1892 (see Chang 2016, 11). Another shows that by 1906, there were still fewer than 35,000 registered Koreans; by 1914, there were more than 64,000 (Haruki Wada, “Koreans in the Soviet Far East, 1917–1937,” in Dae-Sook Suh [Sŏ, Tae-suk], ed., Koreans in the Soviet Union (Honolulu: Center for Korean Studies, University of Hawai‘i, 1987), 24–59, here 30). Korean emigration continued in such large numbers that, by the time of the Russian Revolution in 1917, roughly a hundred thousand ethnic Koreans were living in the Russian Far East (Lankov 2002, 110–11). As with Manchuria, migration to Siberia was primarily for economic reasons, though escaping the political rule of Japan also played a large role for many of these Koreans (Lankov 2002, 137).
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living off the land, others making fortunes as they reveled in their newfound political freedom

NoteBOOMTOWN: As Koreans surged into the Russian Far East, Vladivostok boomed from a village of about 1,400 people in 1878 to about 25,000 civilians two decades later, of whom three thousand were Koreans living in their own settlement outside the city walls (Bishop 1898, 219). Dr. James A. Greig, an Irish Presbyterian missionary in northeastern China who visited Vladivostok in 1898, gives somewhat similar numbers, finding in the city a population of about forty thousand people, three thousand of whom were Koreans (James A. Greig, “A Journey from Kirin, Manchuria, Overland to Moscow,” Scottish Geographical Magazine 14, no. 5 (May 1898), 241–54, here 245). This influx of Koreans was not welcomed by the Russians. Sir Henry Norman, a British politician and journalist, visiting Vladivostok in the 1890s, found the Chinese and Koreans “under very strict regulations, being only allowed to reside in their own quarter.” A strict curfew was also imposed, for the Koreans intensely hated the Russians, Norman wrote. “Whenever they can get hold of a Russian by himself, they are very apt to murder him out of hand” (Henry Norman 1895, 147). British journalist William Greener, writing under a pseudonym, described Vladivostok after a visit in 1901 as being “not quite Russian, nor Chinese, and its population is equally foreign. The inhabitants are not scrupulous: their methods are those of the East, and at most they obey the letter rather than the spirit of the law” (Gerrare 1903, 193).  FLOURISHING IN THE HINTERLAND: It was beyond Vladivostok, however, that Western travel writers were most stunned by the ability of the Korean migrants to flourish in the region. As Greener found, some Koreans had settled as far north as Blagoslovennoye (四萬里 Kor. Saman-ri), more than two hundred miles due north of Vladivostok on the Amur River, maintaining their national costume and way of life in contravention of Russian orders. The Koreans, Greener wrote, “have as little as possible in common with their Russian rulers as they have with their Chinese competitors. A quiet, inoffensive people, they endure whatever treatment may be accorded them, and in the end go on as they have done from time immemorial” (Gerrare 1903, 214). In the hinterland of the Russian Far East, Bishop found, Koreans had established a near-monopoly supplying the Russian military with beef, vegetables, and grain, which required them to outhustle the more numerous Chinese and Russians present there, and which allowed them to live “in a very prosperous condition” unthinkable back in the motherland. “The houses are large and well built, and the farmyards are well stocked with domestic animals, the people and children are well clothed, and the village lands carefully cultivated” (Bishop 1898, 225, 229). Bishop was frank about her own personal surprise at the success of the Koreans in Russia. “To those who have only seen the Koreans in Korea, such a statement will be hardly credible,” she wrote. “In Korea I had learned to think of Koreans as the dregs of a race, and to regard their condition as hopeless, but in Primorsk I saw reason for considerably modifying my opinion” (Bishop 1898, 225, 236). Scottish writer Sir John Fraser, traveling through Siberia and Manchuria in the fall of 1901, found Korean gold miners in Blagoveshchensk—“loose shirts, open at the throat, thick belts, and big slouching Californian hats” (Fraser 1904, 175).
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drawing Koreans from across the diaspora—and serving as a bastion of Korean nationalism

NoteIsabella Bird Bishop, who refers to the Eastern Orthodox Church as “the Greek Church,” found roughly four hundred Koreans who had received baptism by the church (Bishop 1898, 227). Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, visiting Vladivostok in August 1909, found a Protestant church situated in “a large Chinese-style house, about 20 feet by 20 feet,” just past the city’s red-light district, where “the woman’s side of the church was full and they gave good attention,” though the men’s side of the church was far less engaged in religion than in politics. “After the service we quizzed quite a number of the men, and from what we could gather there seemed to be more politics than religion discussed at the church. Koreans from Hawaii and America, and Koreans who could not stay in Korea under the Japanese, had come here, and they enjoyed quite a bit of liberty to publish their political view” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 297–98). Indeed, it was precisely because of this more expansive religious liberty that many Koreans fled to Russia. The Chosŏn dynasty’s greatest Catholic persecution, in 1866, was one factor driving the earliest waves of Korean emigration, as believers spilled over the Yalu and Tumen Rivers into Manchuria and Siberia (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 48). Within Russia, there was little religious liberty in Russia’s more populated metropolitan regions—but much more creativity and permissiveness out in the Far East, as Scotsman Sir John Fraser found during his travels. “Sects objectionable to the Orthodox Church are driven beyond the Urals,” he wrote. “Once in Siberia they can do much as they like. It is the same in politics. Politics are tabooed in Russia, but in Siberia more freedom is exercised. Strange faiths appeal to the untutored mind. So among the Siberian peasantry flourish fantastic beliefs. There are many of them, and a narration of some of their tenets would raise a smile” (Fraser 1904, 112).
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frontier, excluded from power in Seoul and seeing little to lose in venturing into Manchuria

NoteSun Joo Kim, “Introduction,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 15. Kim San, a Korean Christian-turned-Communist radical from Pyongyang, described northerners as being “brave and eager for struggle, while the southerners are more cultured and passive” (Kim and Wales 1941, 51). For more on Kim San, see Act II, Chapter 15.
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There, they were more willing to engage with missionaries and to embrace their teachings

NoteThese northern Koreans, writes Harvard historian Kim Sŏn-ju, “were willing to venture beyond Korea’s borders and were not hesitant to step out of their ideological and ethical prescriptions, which did not provide much benefit to them in late Chosŏn, and were ready to learn new ideas and religious practices (Sun Joo Kim, “Introduction,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 15). Northerners’ propensity to absorb foreign ideas may have begun with Christianity but later encompassed Communism and anarchism (Awe and Webster 1965, 2; and Caprio, “Images of the North,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 303). It was also northern Koreans that turned disproportionately to violence under Japanese colonial rule (Caprio, “Images of the North,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 311).
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advocates in the West to praise the “marvelous…triumphs” that were being made there

Note“The year 1874 began with three baptized men as the nucleus of the present Presbyterian Church in Manchuria,” John Ross, the pioneering Scottish Presbyterian missionary to Manchuria, wrote in 1903. “The year 1900 began with more than 27,000 persons on the rolls of the Church, either as baptized members, or as accepted applicants for baptism” (Ross 1903, 5). American missions advocate Arthur Pierson, citing a figure of fifteen thousand believers in Manchuria around this time, declared the region “uniformly a conquest for the Gospel,” noting the “marvelous…triumphs” that had taken place there. He continued: “The marked feature of the Manchuria work has been that eager readiness of converts to become bearers of the good tidings, which has led these stolid people, so averse to any change of ideas or to any unselfish exertion, to carry the Gospel freely to thousands in villages hitherto unvisited. The readiness to give and give liberally, even to the point of extreme self-denial, and to suffer for conscience’ sake, to any extent, and the steadfastness manifested in Christian life, are an example to all believers. Not one convert has been known to recant his faith or conceal his religion” (Pierson 1901, 319). After making a trip there in 1917, Korea missionary T. Stanley Soltau declared Manchuria the “Promised Land,” offering exciting new vistas for the Korea missionaries. “Why delay? When the right effort now, guided by the hand of God may mean,  THE SALVATION OF MANY SOULS  THE EVANGELIZATION OF THE EIGHT AND A HALF MILLIONS OF MANCHURIA  THE BEGINNING OF THE FORWARD MOVEMENT OF THE KOREAN CHURCH FOR THE EVANGELIZATION OF CHINA?” (T. Stanley Soltau, “Between Two Empires—God’s Chance,” Korea Mission Field 13, no. 3 (March 1917), 68–73, here 72).
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the move north of the Yalu and Tumen Rivers, carrying the fervency of their faith into exile

NoteCHURCH TRANSPLANTS: After annexation, writes historian Kenneth Wells, “the exodus of Christians that had begun before 1910 increased, and such large numbers emigrated north to Manchuria and Siberia that, even as far south as Pusan, missionaries reported cases of almost entire congregations emigrating. Dispossessions of land provided a major inducement to leave, but in some cases emigration was blamed directly on the wave of persecution against Christians” (Wells 1990, 82). Indeed, as the Presbyterian missionaries in Pusan reported in 1913, “in a few instances, nearly all the members of a church have emigrated, leaving only the bare building” (as quoted in Shearer 1966, 60–61). This phenomenon, of entire Korean church congregations migrating en masse to Manchuria or Siberia, was stunning to the missionaries, who struggled to respond. “There are to-day many churches in Korea empty because the village migrated into Kando,” wrote missionary William Scott in 1918, referring to Longjing village (龍井村 Kor. Yongjŏng-ch’on) in the heavily Koreanized southern Manchurian region of Jiandao (間島 Kor. Kando). “Yong Jung church alone has gained over twenty families during the past half-year, and last year’s record attendance of 369 has been capped this year by an attendance of 470. Here then is our first opportunity. The Church in Korea is losing and the Kando Church gaining…The non-Christian Koreans in Kando are more responsive to new truth and new ideas than those in old Korea. They listen well to the gospel and envy the brotherly spirit of the Christian community” (William Scott, “The Church in Kando,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 9 (September 1918), 187–88, here 187). “Whole churches [have] migrated from some villages—and these, while they have retained their faith, live in districts entirely unvisited by any pastor or Christian worker and, from the statistical point of view at least, they are a loss to the Church,” wrote one missionary (Soltau 1932, 75–76). In other words, the extent to which faith communities had sprouted in Manchuria was likely even larger than the missionaries themselves were aware. For one such church community of about 250 people that effectively transplanted itself in toto to Manchuria, see W. T. Cook, “Koreans in Manchuria and Siberia,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1920), 347–49, here 348.  GO NORTH, YOUNG MAN: As early as 1892, Rev. John Ross, the pioneering Scottish Presbyterian missionary to Manchuria, urged his fellow Presbyterian missionaries in Korea to take charge of the work among Koreans in Manchuria, though the transfer didn’t take place until a decade later, according to Norman C. Whittemore (1870–1952), who took up the call (N. C. Whittemore [Whittemore, Norman C.], “Fifty Years of Comity and Co-operation in Korea,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 93–103, here 96). At that time, in 1901, Whittemore and a Korean convert, An Sŏng-wŏn (安承源 ?–?), began conducting missionary work among the Koreans in southern Manchuria. Rev. Whittemore then sent two more Koreans to the region, Chu Sang-do and Kim Sang-nyŏn, in 1901 and 1903, respectively (Rhodes 1934, 368; and Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 191). As the exodus of entire churches to Manchuria began to accelerate, Rev. Whittemore, a Presbyterian based in the northwestern Korean town of Sŏnch’ŏn, urged his colleagues to turn their focus to the lands north of the Yalu River. “We have all been more or less cognizant of the recent great migration of Koreans to Manchuria, especially during the last year, but probably few realize how many, and widely scattered, they are,” Whittemore wrote after his third visit to Manchuria in 1913 (Whittemore, “Call of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field (1913), 327). In all, Whittemore estimated, there were some 300,000 Koreans in Manchuria, having “settled by the tens of thousands” in northern Jiandao, near the Russian border. The largest settlements, however, were to the southwest, in west Jiandao; other Koreans were scattered around Dandong, Shenyang, and Fushun (Whittemore, “Call of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field (1913), 327). These Koreans, Whittemore added, included “several thousand Christians” who had formed “over twenty groups” in western Jiandao, a congregation in Shenyang, and several more scattered Christian communities (Whittemore, “Call of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field (1913), 327–28).
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nationhood in a land where they were demeaned by the Chinese as “slaves of a ruined nation”

NoteOne Korean growing up in Manchuria during this period recalls the Korean exiles being derided as “slaves of a ruined nation” (亡國奴Ch. mangguonu) (Cho Tong-jin 2011, 59–60). The skewed power dynamics can be clearly seen in the heavily-Koreanized region of Jiando in southern Manchuria, where Koreans accounted for 92.9 percent of the tenants—while some 51.1 percent of the landlords were Chinese (Hongkoo Han [Han, Hong-gu], “Wounded Nationalism: The Minsaengdan Incident and Kim Il Sung in Eastern Manchuria” (Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 1999), 11). Also cited in Suzy Kim, Everyday Life in the North Korean Revolution, 1945–1950 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2013), 66.
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that played a central role in these diasporic settlements, serving as a central gathering place

NoteDuring this period, prominent Korean Christians set up “Jesus villages” (耶穌村 Kor. Yesu-ch’on), or “ideal villages,” in Manchuria, as in Korea. As one Presbyterian leader, Rev. Yu Chae-gi (1905–1949), put it, the aim was to create places of refuge where “people would live without sin and according to Jesus’ love. Materially, there would be no hunger; people would love another and assist each other. People would work freely under the spirit and people would find enjoyment everyday . . . In the peaceful village, on Sundays, people would follow the church bell and worship the saints gathered in the church” (as quoted in Albert Park 2015, 134). In April 1907, Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic convert to Methodism, seriously pursued the idea of setting up a Christian ideal village, which he believed could offer Korean Christian nationalists an alternative to what he regarded as the folly of the “righteous armies.” “We shall present to our non-Christian population of the whole country a model settlement,” complete with “a hospital, a school, a missionary settlement, and cheap and beautifully located sites and farms.” Yun’s efforts ended, however, as political turmoil in Korea led to Yun’s arrest by the Japanese authorities in 1911 (Wells 1990, 67–68; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 98–99). Meanwhile, Pae Min-su, a close friend and classmate of Kim Il Sung’s father, recalls moving into a community of likeminded believers in 1909 in his hometown of Ch’ŏngju, in Ch’ungch’ŏng province, where the Korean converts had set up a village at the foot of a hill where the missionaries had erected their homes, and attempted to live by Christian ideals. “There were many dear women who were just like those in the time of Jesus,” Pae later recalled. “Most of the women were poor but very rich in spirit. They all had tried to live the life as taught by Jesus. I called every one of them aunt and they called each other sister” (Pai 2002, 59–60).
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served as a key source of information on political developments in Korea and around the world

NoteOne Korean church scholar, writing more broadly about the role of the church in Korea during these difficult times, describes the church as “a place for solace, a political forum, a communication network, and an organizational base for Korean nationalist activities” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 117).
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the Koreans up to Manchuria, setting up their own schools, hospitals, and other institutions

Note“ALMOST ALL INACCESSIBLE TERRITORY”: American Presbyterian missionaries based in the northern Korea stations of Kanggye and Sŏnch’ŏn had already begun to devote any excess capacity they had to Manchuria starting in 1902 (Shearer 1966, 60–61). By early 1907, the Northern Presbyterians oversaw two churches of about seventy members each in Manchuria (C. E. Kearns [Kearns, Carl E.], “Get Out of Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 1 (January 1907), 7). The challenge of covering a land as vast and rugged as Manchuria was daunting, however. “The extent of territory involved is greater than all Korea. And it is almost all inaccessible territory,” American Presbyterian Harry Rhodes wrote in August 1914. “Not only so but in this inaccessible territory the Koreans are in the most inaccessible parts; they are not to be found, as a rule, along whatever poor highways the country affords; that land has been preoccupied by the Chinese. The Koreans are back in the mountains and undeveloped lowlands. They are pioneers; it is the pioneer spirit for the most part that took them into Manchuria” (Harry A. Rhodes, “Koreans in Manchuria: The Problem of Their Evangelization,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 8 (August 1914), 234–37, here 234).  OH CANADA: For all the Americans’ efforts, it was the Canadian Presbyterians who really took charge in Manchuria. Under the division of labor agreed upon between the various denominations in 1909, the Canadian Presbyterians had been assigned northeastern Korea, which bordered Jiandao; after that agreement, the number of Canadian missionaries to Korea “virtually doubled” between 1909 and 1915, with thirteen new Canadians arriving in 1913 and 1914 alone, clustered in Wŏnsan, Hamhŭng, Sŏngjin, Hoeryŏng, and Longjing—all but the last of them located on the Korean peninsula (Ion 1990, 170–171). In Manchuria, the missionaries, naturally, brought the same fastidiousness to the faith as in Korea proper. “I have been considering the advisability of starting a ‘Sabbath Observance’ pledge, after the style of our ‘Temperance’ pledge at home,” Canadian missionary William Scott wrote (Scott, “Church in Kando,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 188). And they also brought their institutions, including hospitals and schools, which became centers of Korean nationalism, owing to their extraterritorial status. This could be seen most evidently in the heavily Koreanized village of Longjing, which by 1918 had a Korean population of 233,000, of whom 6,700 were Christian (Clark, “Evangelistic Work in Korea,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan 1918, 343).  ST. ANDREW’S HOSPITAL: Stanley H. Martin, a Canadian Presbyterian medical missionary, was initially set to conduct his work in Korea in 1916, before word came from the mission board that he would be sent instead to Manchuria, though his mission was still to the Korean people (Moore 2016, 50). In Longjing, the missionary presence by then included four large houses set on a little hill, which was dubbed “English Hill” (Moore 2016, 66, 102). In Longjing, Dr. Martin called his hospital St. Andrew’s Hospital, so named after a church in his native Newfoundland (Moore 2016, 51). Known in Korean as Chech’ang Hospital (濟昌病院 Kor. Chech’ang Ŭiwŏn), the basement became a center for Korean independence work (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 271). The Canadians also ran a Myŏngsin Girls’ School in Longjing and in 1920 opened a boys’ academy, which can be translated as Grace and Truth Middle School (恩真中學校 Kor. Ŭnjin Chunghakgyo) (Moore 2016, 101, 119). By 1916, there were 161 Korean schools in Jiandao, with seventy-eight of them—nearly half—founded by religious groups, including fifty by Protestants (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 269). The institutions fulfilled the same function as they did elsewhere, serving as a model of Christian modernity while also offering employment to local converts. The two parents of Korean American novelist Richard E. Kim were hired by the Canadian missionaries in Longjing, with the husband, Hwanghae native Kim Ch’an-do (金燦道 1907–1994), using his post teaching biology and chemistry at Ungjin High School to implant anti-Japanese ideas in his Korean students (Hildi Kang 2001, 81–82). Meanwhile, the Anglican Mission to Korea, within two years of setting up in Seoul and Inch’ŏn (then known as Chemulp’o) in 1890, added a third mission station in Manchuria (C. J. Corfe [Corfe, Charles J.], The Anglican Church in Corea (Seoul: Hodge, 1905), 7; and Trollope 1915, 34).
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that the missionaries had to set up new presbyteries to oversee the rapidly expanding work

NotePLANTING ROOTS IN MANCHURIA: The first Korean Presbyterian church in southern Manchuria was Liyangzi Church (里楊子教會 Ch. Liyangzi Jiaohui), built in 1898 and destroyed two years later during the Boxer Rebellion. After that incident, Presbyterian Norman Whittemore was sent over the Yalu River to comfort and reestablish the church there, which led to the establishment of a more established presence (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 191; and Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so [Korean Christian History Research Institute], Han’guk Kidokgyo ŭi Yǒksa II [A History of Christianity in Korea, Vol. II] (Seoul: Kidokgyo Munsa, 2012), 116). In 1907, the Presbyterian missionaries established a presbytery for its churches in Korea, which then spun off another presbytery just for the churches in northwestern Korea five years later in 1912, and began sending evangelists to the Korean communities in Manchuria (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 191; and Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 2012, 117). The Northern Presbyterians at their annual meeting in 1916 began discussing the opening of a presbytery in Manchuria. Because many of the Koreans emigrating across the Yalu were Christians, and preached as they went, there were already roughly six thousand believers in Manchuria at the time, with one church quadrupling in size to four hundred members in just two years—and without any missionary presence. “The Christians are very anxious for the Foreign Missionary to come among them and locate. They say that as soon as a Station-site is deciced [sic] upon a large number of Christians will flock to the place, purchase land and take up their abode” (Edwin Kagin [Kagin, Edwin F.], “Annual Meeting of the Presbyterian Mission, North,” Korea Mission Field 12, no. 11 (November 1916), 295–97, here 296–97).  PRESBYTERIES FOR MANCHURIA: The establishment of a presbytery for the heavily Koreanized Jiandao region in southern Manchuria finally came in April 1921; by then, there were roughly a hundred Korean churches in the four counties that make up Jiandao (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 269; and Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 2012, 117). This new Southern Manchuria Presbytery (南滿老會 Ch. Nanman Laohui) was split out of the Presbyterians’ station in northwestern Korea, and within the next few months, a Jiandao Presbytery and a Siberia Presbytery were carved out of the presbytery in northeastern Korea (Cho Tong-jin 2011, 59–60). Some sources describe the Korean presbytery in Manchuria as having been carved out of a Chinese presbytery in 1921 (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 118; and Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 191–92). Another contemporaneous source describes the Northern Presbyterians establishing a mission station in Manchuria in 1919 (C. S. Hoffman [Hoffman, Clarence S.], “A Year of Advance in Kangkei Station,” Korea Mission Field 17, no. 8 (August 1921), 169–71, here 170).
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banks of the Tumen River, a waterway whose course had shifted several times over the decades

NoteThe enclave known to history by its Chinese appellation “Jiandao” (間島), or by its Korean pronunciation “Kando,” has been contested territory for centuries—and played a key role in Kim Il Sung’s own life, and hence in this narrative. The appellation of “Jiandao” or “Kando” was officially acknowledged in a 1904 resolution between China and Korea, referring to the “middle land between China and Korea.” In addition to the “Middle Island” or “In-Between Island,” other translations include historian Pak Hyŏn-ok’s suggestion of “Reclaimed Island” (Hyun Ok Park 2005, 98).  “TO WHOM THE COUNTRY BELONGS”: “It is difficult to say to whom the country belongs,” one missionary wrote of Jiandao in 1909. “Both the Chinese and Japanese lay claim to it, and in each Magistracy we found a Chinese prefect and a Japanese official living in close proximity, and both doing their best to regulate and control the affairs of the state. It may resolve itself into a serious diplomatic problem as to who shall be the rulers of this promising country,” one missionary wrote in the missionary periodical Korea Mission Field in May 1909 (“Tour Through Korea’s Canada,” Korea Mission Field (1909), 66). The dimensions of Jiandao were also somewhat indistinct. Canadian Presbyterian missionary William R. Foote (1869–1930) described the section north of the Yalu River as West Jiandao and the section north of the Tumen River as North Jiandao, which included the modern Chinese city of Hunchun (琿春), though he acknowledged that the boundaries could be quite fuzzy to the north and the west. North of the Tumen in particular, Foote noted, “the soil is, almost without exception, a deep, dark loam, exceedingly fertile, even on the hillsides, yielding abundant crops of millet, beans, wheat, corn and roots” (W. R. Foote [Foote, William R.], “Work Among Koreans in Manchuria—I. North Kanto,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1918), 437–41, here 437–38). One Scottish-born missionary in Seoul, traveling to Jiandao that same year, wrote: “Kando means an island, because its boundaries are rivers and the Koreans usually speak of it as West and North Kando,” with the west used to signify Shenyang and its environs, and the north to designate Jilin City and its surroundings (Miller, “Visit to West Kando,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 227). A more maximalist argument asserted that Jiandao’s northern boundary was not the Tumen River, but rather a branch of the Songhua River (also known as the Sungari River), much farther to the north. For a detailed historicogeographic explanation of Jiandao’s shifting borders over the years, see Hyun Ok Park 2005, xiii, n. 5. For more on the geography and history of the Jiandao enclave, see McCune, “Physical Basis” (1946), 278–80; and Hongkoo Han 1999, 7, n. 20. For a map that marks West and North Jiandao, at least according to one definition, see Conference of Federated Missions, Japan 1920, between 346–47.
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wedged between Korea, China, and Russia—a fitting home for a newly stateless people

NoteIf Manchuria’s political status was uncertain, Jiandao’s was all the more so. The ambiguity could be explained, in part, by the long-running confusion over where exactly the border between China and Korea lay, stretching back to well before the Chosŏn dynasty’s foundation in 1392 (see Act I, Chapter 4). But while the border had more or less been settled on the Yalu River by the dawn of the twentieth century, significant ambiguity remained on the upper Yalu and the Tumen Rivers to the east (Schmid 2002, 204; and Eggert, “A Borderline Case,” in Dabringhaus 50–57).  TUMEN, TUMAN, DOUMAN, T’O’MUN: The problem was that, unlike across the Yalu River, where the cultural divide between Korea and China was stark, the shallowness and changing course of the Tumen River meant that the flow of people back and forth was much greater, and the cultural differences between the northern and southern banks therefore less pronounced. “Koreans through the past centuries and, at an accelerated rate, in recent decades have been crossing the Tumen and settling among the valleys on the Chinese,” wrote Shannon McCune, an American geographer and the Korea-born son of Presbyterian missionary George S. McCune (McCune, “Physical Basis” (1946), 279). It’s not even clear if the Tumen River is one river or two with similar names. The river, whose name is derived from the Mongolian language, is spelled various ways in Chinese and Korean, and may refer to different streams. Among the names are 圖們江 (Ch. Tumen-jiang Kor. Tuman-gang);土門江 (Ch. Tumen-jiang Kor. T’o’mun-gang); or 豆滿江 (Ch. Douman-jiang Kor. Tuman-gang).  BLANK SPACE: Jiandao was first set aside as a neutral zone in the seventeenth century, such that neither country could settle there. In 1848, a Chinese official was sent to enforce the edict, with the power to execute anyone living there. “Thus for over two hundred years Kanto was a deserted land, covered in some places by dense forests inhabited by only wild beasts and birds,” as Canadian Presbyterian missionary William Foote recounted it in a 1918 article on the region. Settlement began in the mid-nineteenth century as famine in Korea drove desperate settlers there (Foote, “North Kanto,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan 1918, 437–38). Though the initial driver was indeed famine in northern Korea during the 1860s, the number of Korean migrants crossing the Tumen River into Jiandao shot up again after the loosening of a Manchurian ban on settlement in 1881 (Gomà, “Chinese-Korean Border Issue” (2006), 870). Though the Chosŏn court still forbade its people from migrating northwards across the Yalu and Tumen rivers without official permission, those prohibitions began loosening in the late 1860s, until by 1871 no disciplinary action was taken at all, and by 1880, the Chosŏn court even sent bureaucrats across the Tumen to collect taxes, writes Korea University historian Kim Sŏn-min (Seonmin Kim 2017, 139). By the 1880s, Kim writes, “with the rapidly increasing number of immigrants, the last remainders of the empty space at the boundary between the Qing and the Chosŏn gradually disappeared” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 138). In 1885 and again in 1887, the Qing and Chosŏn courts conducted two joint surveys of the area, seeking to build on an earlier joint survey dispatched by the Qing emperor Kangxi in 1712 to find the riverhead of the Tumen River; though a stone stele was erected at the supposed origin of the Yalu and Tumen Rivers, uncertainty about which of the northeasterly streams of water represented the border meant that Jiandao itself was disputed territory (Seonmin Kim 2017, 10). Thus, the long-time “no-man’s land” between Qing China and Chosŏn Korea had by this time become a dead letter as the formerly bountiful yields of high-quality wild ginseng in this region began to fall after centuries of overharvesting, and the Qing strictures on settlement in its historic homeland were loosened; instead of ginseng hunters, it was timber harvesters and farmers who flowed into this area during this period (Seonmin Kim 2017, 130–31, 135). In Beijing, the Qing emperor Guangxu ordered Korean residents north of the Tumen to be placed under Qing jurisdiction and asked to pay taxes, a plan that the Chosŏn court resisted (Seonmin Kim 2017, 141–42).  JAPAN ENTERS THE PICTURE: Amid all of this uncertainty over the status of Jiandao, the Japanese defeat of Russia in the Russo-Japanese War in 1904–1905 led to Japan claiming in 1906 that Jiandao belonged to Korea—and thus to the nation it had only just recently brought under its protectorate status (Seonmin Kim 2017, 149–50). As all this was happening, the name “Jiandao” (Chinese) or “Kando” (Korean) began to emerge in the late nineteenth century, initially referring to all of Manchuria but coming to specifically denote what is modern-day Yanbian (Seonmin Kim 2017, 138). In 1906 or 1907, Japan set up a police presence in Longjing, the largest settlement in Jiandao and a hotbed of Korean Christian nationalism, and began asserting Jiandao’s status as part of Korean territory (Hyun Ok Park 2005, 36; and Seonmin Kim 2017, 150). After Japan established its protectorate over Korea in 1905, the new residency-general negotiated a clearer settlement, signing a Sino-Korean Frontier Agreement with the Qing Chinese government in September 1909. Under that landmark agreement, China and Japan agreed to three main points: Japan would recognize China’s sovereignty over Jiandao; China, however, allowed Japan to secure railway concessions and to set up consulates in four cities in Jiandao—at Longjing, Toudaogou (頭道溝), Juzijie (局子街), and Baicaogou (百草溝); and Koreans who lived and owned property in Jiandao would not become Chinese citizens, thus making them Japanese subjects after Korea’s annexation the following year. While Japan acknowledged China’s sovereignty over Jiandao, the presence of Japanese consulates and the dense population of Japanese subjects there gave Japan an opening to increase its influence there (Foote, “North Kanto,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan 1918, 438–39; Hyun Ok Park 2005, 36; and Seonmin Kim 2017, 150). Another source describes the 1909 agreement as providing for the creation of a consulate-general at Longjing with 42 police officers, and four sub-consulates at Toudaogou, Juzijie, Baicaogou and Hunchun, staffed with roughly six police officers each (Erik W. Esselstrom, “Rethinking the Colonial Conquest of Manchuria: The Japanese Consular Presence in Jiandao, 1909–1937,” Modern Asian Studies 39, no. 1 (February 2005), 39–75, here 43). Historian Kim Sŏn-min describes the September 4, 1909, treaty as the “Six Treaties on the Three Eastern Provinces” (三東省六案 Ch. Sandongsheng Liu’an), a deal that allowed Japan to set up railroads and mines in Manchuria, while also effectively acknowledging China’s sovereignty over Jiandao—though by the time the boundary was finally agreed upon, “both the Qing and the Chosŏn courts were doomed” (Seonmin Kim 2017, 150). As historian Pak Hyŏn-ok writes, “Japan hoped that the migration and settlement of Koreans in Manchuria would neutralize Chinese resistance” (Hyun Ok Park 2005, 43).  THE AMBIGUITY REMAINS: Even with the signing of the September 1909 agreement, the ambiguity of Koreans’ status in Jiandao only grew as a volatile issue in Sino-Japanese relations. This was especially true after Japan, two months before annexing Korea in 1910, defined all Koreans everywhere, including those who had naturalized as Chinese citizens in Manchuria, as Koreans—thus making them Japanese subjects upon annexation (Hyun Ok Park 2005, 50). When Stanley Martin, a Canadian Presbyterian medical missionary, arrived in Longjing in 1916, he was surprised to find that the customs building was managed by the Japanese: “Although this was China and the Martins had Chinese visas on their passports, they were surprised to find that the Immigration and Customs officials were Japanese. It was an indication of the weakness of the Chinese government” (Moore 2016, 64–65). The 1909 treaty continues to be controversial into the present day. Some South Korean nationalists have argued that the 1909 agreement, though invalid, formally turned over Jiandao to China in exchange for Japanese mining and railway concessions in Manchuria, thus implying that there was a mutual understanding between imperial Japan and Qing China that Jiandao belonged to Korea (Gomà, “Chinese-Korean Border Issue” (2006), 868–69). Gomà, a professor at the University of Barcelona, rejects this logic, arguing that Jiandao has indisputably under China’s sphere of influence stretching back to the twelfth century (Gomà, “Chinese-Korean Border Issue” (2006), 869). Either way, in September 2004, a bipartisan bill in South Korea’s National Assembly called for nullification of the Jiandao agreement, after the People’s Republic of China expunged all references to pre-1948 Korean history from the website of its Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Gomà, “Chinese-Korean Border Issue” (2006), 867). In China, the appellation “Jiandao” fell out of favor after the Communist Party won control of the country in 1949, regarding it as a legacy of Japan’s colonial occupation of Manchuria. Instead, the region is today the Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture (延边朝鲜族自治州 Ch. Yanbian Chaoxianzu Zizhizhou) (Gomà, “Chinese-Korean Border Issue” (2006), 869, n. 2).
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missionary explained, “‘Kando’ means to the Korean what ‘The West’ means to the American”

Note“As happened in the history of ‘The West,’” Canadian missionary Rev. William Scott (1886–1979) continued in this article, so in Jiandao did stories abound “of the cold and hardships to be encountered, and a certain indefinite mysteriousness as to the nature of the country and life” (Scott, “Church in Kando,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 187).
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That is, it was a land of danger, but also more importantly, of freedom and opportunity

NoteCanadian missionary James S. Gale, crossing the Yalu River into Manchuria with Samuel Moffett in the early months of 1891, found a world of difference “between Korea and China. The people there were all busy, either with carts or carrying bundles, or out cultivating every foot of arable land, no loungers anywhere. Even the Koreans across the line seemed to have breathed a new life and were at it something like men” (Gale, “To the Yaloo and Beyond (III),” Korean Repository (1892), 77). Duncan MacRae, a Canadian Presbyterian colleague based in the Korean northeast, writing shortly after annexation, emphasized the freedom that Jiandao represented for many Korean nationalists: “The Kando immigration fever ran high this year. There, they say, they can breathe the free air without dread of arrest and torture for their thoughts on annexation” (as quoted in MacRae 1993, 144).
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annexation in 1910, the number of Koreans in Jiandao nearly doubled, to about 109,000

NoteAnother sixty thousand would join them by 1912, write Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his colleagues (Eckert et al. 1990, 273). Canadian Baptist missionary Malcolm Fenwick, writing in 1911, estimated there to be between 100,000 and 200,000 Koreans in all of Manchuria, and about the same number in Siberia (Fenwick 1911, 95).
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Jiandao’s counties reported with alarm that roughly a hundred Koreans were arriving every day

NoteThe county was Jiandao’s Wangqing County (汪清縣 Ch. Wangqing-xian), just over the Tumen River from Korea. The report sounded the alarm about the inability of the Chinese authorities there to stem the flow of Korean immigration, given the large numbers. Still, authorities struggled to get the problem under control, and by 1928, Chinese officials were still expressing concern about the influx of Koreans (Hyun Ok Park 2005, 86). During this period, with the links between Manchuria and Korea growing ever tighter through migration, nationalist Korean newspapers in 1909 began to refer to Manchuria and Korea as being so close that the “dogs and chickens could hear each other” (Schmid 2002, 227, quoting Hwangsŏng Sinmun, June 30, 1909).
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million or more, accounting for roughly three-fourths of the overall population in the enclave

Note“ONLY A NAME TO US”: The half-million figure comes from Canadian Presbyterian missionary William Foote: “Kandō was only a name to us three years ago,” he wrote in 1910. “We never considered it an important part of our field. It was largely unoccupied tract of land, capable under cultivation of sustaining a large population. After the Japanese rule in Korea became oppressive many natives moved there until now some estimate the Korean population at 500,000” (William Scott, Canadians in Korea: Brief Historical Sketch of Canadian Mission Work in Korea (Self-published manuscript, 1975), 71). Also cited in Ion 1900, 170. In 1914, one missionary, citing supposedly “definite” statistics supplied to him by a Korean friend, reported 208,900 Korean households in Manchuria, amounting to, in his estimation, more than a million Korean people (Rhodes, “Koreans in Manchuria,” Korea Mission Field (1914), 237). Another missionary, writing in November 1918, cited official statistics showing a quarter million Koreans in Manchuria, but suspected that even this figure grossly understated the real picture. “Many of them settle far from the Japanese Consulates and fail to register and the census statistics must be incomplete. l saw more Koreans on the trip than I expected to see. On our first Sunday at the meeting place 180 people met for divine worship,” he wrote (Miller, “Visit to West Kando,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 228). Canadian missionary William Scott, writing in September 1918, gives starkly lower numbers, counting roughly 233,000 Koreans in Jiandao, and 90,000 Koreans in northern Jiandao, at the time (Scott, “Church in Kando,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 187). Another source gives the number of Korean immigrants in Jiandao as 71,000 in 1907, rising to 109,000 in 1910, to 163,000 in 1912 and to 253,961 in 1918 (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 268–69. For all of Manchuria, the numbers of Koreans are given as 100,000 in 1910, 460,000 in 1920, 610,000 in 1930, 1.1 million in 1940, and 2.1 million in 1945 (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 189. Suffice it to say that solid numbers are hard to come by.   OVERWHELMINGLY KOREAN: Just as the overall numbers were slippery, so was the proportion of the population that was Korean in Jiandao, though most estimates converge around three-quarters being Korean. At one point, writes University of Hawaii historian Sŏ Tae-suk, 78 percent of the population of Jiandao was Korean and the remaining 22 percent Chinese, a mirror image of southern Manchuria, where roughly 80 percent of the population was Chinese (Dae-Sook Suh 1988, 32). In Helong County (和龍縣 Ch. Helong-xian), part of Jiandao, the population was 94.4 percent  Korean as of 1930 (Chong-Sik Lee [Yi, Chŏng-sik], “Witch Hunt Among the Guerrillas: The Min-Sheng-T’uan Incident,” The China Quarterly no. 26 (April–June 1966), 107–117, here 108). Shannon McCune, an American geographer born to Pyongyang-based missionaries, described the population of Jiandao in 1940 as 849,819 people, 72.6 percent of whom were Korean (McCune, “Physical Basis” (1946), 279). For a table of Jiandao’s population between 1910 and 1943, divided into total population and Korean population, see Hongkoo Han 1999, 8. According to Korean historian Han Hong-gu, Jiandao represented just 1.5 percent of Manchuria’s land, but was home to 60 percent of Korea’s population in China’s northeast (Hongkoo Han 1999, 7–8).
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Korean Christian nationalists had sprung up around churches and their accompanying schools

NoteSee Sŏ Chŏng-min, Yi Tong-hwi wa Kidokgyo: Han’guk Sahoeju’ui wa Kidokgyo Kwan’gye Yŏn’gu [Yi Tong-hwi and Christianity: A Study on the Relationship Between Korean Socialism and Christianity] (Seoul: Yonsei University, 2007), 447–454. According to one source, the church in Longjing was started in 1902 and the Mingdong Church in 1909 by Robert Grierson, a Canadian medical missionary to northeastern Korea who had arrived in 1898 (Chŏng Kyŏng-ho, “Pukgando Chiyŏk Yŏksa T’ambang, P’yŏnghwa Sunrye ŭi Kil” [A Historical Tour of North Jiandao, the Road of Peace Pilgrimage], Kidokgyo Sasang [Christian Thought] 706 (October 2017), 116–26, here 117). According to another source, the Presbyterians sent Ku Sun-ch’ŏn and Yi Po-ryŏn to establish Longjing Church in 1907, before the establishment of Mingdong Church in 1909, led by Kim Yak-yŏn and others (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 2012, 122). Yet another sources describes Yi Sang-sŏl, a prominent Korean nationalist and former cabinet member, establishing Longjing, roughly two or three hours away from Mingdong, in 1906 (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 90). Yi Sang-sŏl believed that the best way to win independence for Korea was with a firm rooting in the Christian gospel, and in the church that he established in Longjing, he would preach both Christ’s gospel and Korea’s liberation (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 37). In addition to the church, Canadian medical missionary Stanley Martin had erected a modern hospital in Longjing, where he saw some 22,000 patients a year (Murray 1975, 27–28). And all around Longjing were smaller church communities; according to Canadian Presbyterian William Foote, who was based in Longjing, there were some eighty Korean congregations within twenty-five miles of Longjing by 1918 (Foote, “North Kanto,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan 1918, 441). On Christmas Day, students at the missionary schools would wake at 4:00 a.m. to go door-to-door singing carols in the subzero temperatures “till their throats were hardly fit to take part in the regular Sunday morning service,” where the building was packed so full that, when “not another person could squeeze through the door, some opened the windows and slipped in” (Murray 1975, 30–31). Yi Sang-sŏl was also credited with setting up a modern Korean school in Longjing in 1906 called the Sŏjŏn Academy (瑞甸義塾 Kor. Sŏjŏn Ŭisuk), though it folded within a year (Hansung Kim, “Myungdongchon” (2015), 273).  DRAGON’S WELL: The name Longjing (龍井 Kor. Yongjŏng) is perhaps most literally translated as “Dragon’s Well,” though the Canadian missionaries who were there translated it, perhaps more lyrically, as “the Dragon’s Pool” (see MacRae 1993, 166, 182, 185). The village name Mingdong (明東 Kor. Myŏngdong) is not to be confused with the similar-sounding Myŏng-dong (明洞 Kor. Myŏng-dong) neighborhood in Seoul, home to the peninsula’s oldest Catholic cathedral.
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minister from northern Korea who crossed the Tumen River with dozens of Koreans

NoteThe church was Mingdong Church (明東教會 Kor. Myŏngdong Kyohoe) and the school was Mingdong Christian School (明東學校 Kor. Myŏngdong Hakgyo), which taught the Bible and held daily worship services (Ion 1990, 192; Sŏ Chŏng-min 2007, 456–57).  “AN ORGANIZED AND PLANNED EMIGRATION”: Mingdong Village was first settled by twenty-five aristocratic Confucian families from northeastern Korea, who in February 1899 undertook what one scholar calls “an organized and planned emigration,” complete with an advance reconnaissance team sent to purchase land, a hired interpreter, and a budget for setting up a school (Hansung Kim [Kim, Han-sŏng], “Myungdongchon: A People Movement Among Diaspora Koreans in the Early 20th Century,” Missiology: An International Review 43, no. 3 (2015), 270–85, here 272–73). Kim Yak-yŏn (金躍淵 1868–1942), the Confucian-turned-Presbyterian minister, had organized a group migration of roughly 150 Koreans from the northeastern Korean province of North Hamgyŏng in 1899 to establish what would become Mingdong. Following Kim Yak-yŏn’s conversion to Christianity in 1909, he established “faith, hope, and love” as the guiding principles of Mingdong Academy; the school would churn out a string of famous Korean poets, pastors, and nationalist leaders (Chŏng, “Pukgando Chiyŏk Yŏksa T’ambang” (2017), 120; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 90).  A TEACHER, A REVIVALIST, AN EVANGELIST: In April 1908, a new modern school, Mingdong Academy (明洞義塾 Kor. Myŏngdong Ŭisuk), was established, supplanting the three existing traditional Korean Confucian academies in the village; the following year, it recruited as teacher Chŏng Chae-myŏn (鄭載冕 1884–1962), a twenty-five-year-old teacher and second-generation Methodist from Seoul who was steeped in the practices of predawn prayer, revival meetings, and messianism—and of Korean nationalism, having joined a secret anti-Japanese organization (Hansung Kim, “Myungdongchon” (2015), 273–74). Chŏng agreed to teach at Mingdong Academy on the condition that the Bible was taught and chapel services instituted (Hansung Kim, “Myungdongchon” (2015), 273–74). Mingdong Christian School, as one historian calls it, “which was the main Canadian Presbyterian middle school in Lungchingtsun, was an especially important centre of independence activity where an independence newspaper was published” (Ion 1990, 192). As Chŏng’s approach won support, the residents of Mingdong village decided en masse to convert to Christianity, meeting for several days before making the decision; though not everyone converted, the holdouts were said to have joined in soon thereafter (Hansung Kim, “Myungdongchon” (2015), 274–76). Chŏng, who saw the conversion of Mingdong as “a shortcut to the Christianization of Manchuria,” helped found some seventy schools and churches between 1911 and 1914 (Hansung Kim, “Myungdongchon” (2015), 275–76). That included the first girl’s school in Manchuria, opened in Mingdong in 1911 (Hansung Kim, “Myungdongchon” (2015), 279).  FOSTER THE PEOPLE: In 1909, Kim Yak-yŏn became the first chairman of a Korean quasi-governmental organization called the Cultivate-the-People Association (墾民會 Kor. Kanmin-hoe), which in 1913 was renamed the Cultivate-the-People Educational Association (墾民教育會 Kor. Kanmin Kyoyuk-hoe), and in 1919 became the National Association (國民會Kor. Kukmin-hoe)—though it’s unclear if this was affiliated with any of the other prominent groups that carried this moniker (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 271). Later on, Kim Yak-yŏn “became influential in the socialist movement,” having represented Jiandao at the All Russia Korean People’s Congress in Vladivostok (Ion 1990, p. 192).
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principles, with neighborhoods given names like Salvation, Eternal Life, Grace, and Paradise

NoteThe names of the neighborhoods were Salvation (救世洞 Kor. Kuse-dong), Eternal Life (永生洞 Kor. Yŏngsaeng-dong), Grace (恩惠村 Kor. Ŭnhye-chon), and Paradise (樂園洞 Kor. Rak’wŏn-dong) (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 37; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 90). Another village, almost entirely Christian, was called New Korea Village (新韓村 Kor. Sinhan-ch’on) (Wells 1984, 229).
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the Christian nationalist and orator, set up an office of his Korean National Association in town

NoteOther prominent Korean Christian nationalists—all of whom will play a role in Acts II and III of this work—passed through Longjing. Rev. Kim Ik-du, a prominent revivalist preacher who later worked with Kim Il Sung, albeit reluctantly, also spoke at Longjing (Sŏ Chŏng-min 2007, 447–54). Missionary T. Stanley Soltau, writing in August 1918, described watching Kim Ik-du speak to a church in Manchuria (Soltau, “Cold and Heat,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 163–66). Pae Min-su, a close friend of Kim Il Sung’s father, was married in Longjing in 1928 to a bride whose family had relocated to the village, a reflection of just how large the Korean community there had grown to become (Pai 2002, 314). And Yi Tong-hwi, a Christian orator and pioneering socialist who will feature in Act II, fled to Jiandao in 1914 (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 2012, 123).
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a generation of Koreans with “a cross on their backs and the Korean flag in their hands”

NoteMingdong School, naturally, was eyed with suspicion by the Japanese authorities. It was, after all, where Itō Hirobumi’s assassin An Chung-gŭn had plotted his deed (see Act I, Chapter 7). Mingdong School was regarded by the Japanese authorities as one of several anti-Japanese schools operating in Jiandao at the time, alongside Ch’ang-dong School, Yaso School, Tongch’ang School, Sinp’ung Yaso School, Kidok Tongmyŏng School, Kwangjin School, Ch’ŏngho School, and Kildong Middle School—all of them Protestant-run (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 270). These schools fed Korean students a steady diet of strong Korean patriotism, with textbooks that were banned back home in Korea. In one example, a history teacher named Hwang Ŭi-don, who had worked at An Ch’ang-ho’s Taesŏng School in Pyongyang before moving to Mingdong School in 1912, held debates on independence and praised students who in their essays advocated action to “restore national sovereignty” (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 270). By 1907, the Japanese, aware of the growing presence of Korean nationalists in and around Longjing, had established a police presence there (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 270).  PRIME PROPERTY FOR PROPHETIC PATRIOTISM: Of course, heavily-Koreanized Jiandao also became a hotbed of other nationalist religions, including Taejong-gyo, the worship of the mythical state founder Tan’gun, as well as modified versions of the millennialist prophecies known as The Records of Chŏnggam. One such teaching, an offshoot of the Tonghak movement called Ch’ŏngrim-gyo (青林教)—literally, the Teachings of the Green Forest—sprang up in Jiandao, prophesying that Japan and Korea would be wiped out in World War I and that a man surnamed Chŏng would establish a new dynasty at Mount Kyeryong, prompting concern among the Japanese (Jorgensen 2018, 187). In 1933, the group’s leader, Chŏng Su-bok, prophesied a major war starting in 1939, at which time he would descend from the Diamond Mountains (金剛山 Kor. Kŭmgang-san) in east-central Korea and establish an independent Korean kingdom with its capital at Mount Kyeryong (Jorgensen 2018, 188). The Japanese colonial authorities regarded Ch’ŏngrim-gyo as the biggest threat, especially as it spread to Manchuria, interpreted by the new religion as foretelling of the downfall of the Japanese emperor in 1914 (Shin, “Text Beyond Context” (2020), 130–31).
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embraced the new colonial presence, seeing Tokyo as the best hope for Korea’s future

NoteThe early Presbyterian missionaries often found themselves sympathizing with Japan’s prescribed policies in Korea, even if their motivations and methods diverged at times, particularly in the face of what they regarded as reactionary resistance from China and the domestic Confucian literati (McCune and Grey 1950, 13). Such views, of course, were only more pronounced among American missionaries posted to Japan. Henry Loomis, a pioneering American Presbyterian missionary in Yokohama, “hoped that when the Japanese finally took Korea, gave it a stable government, set about developing the natural resources of the country, establishing courts, banks and public schools there would follow a better time of peace and progress” (Loomis 1923, 91). For a time, especially during the Russo-Japanese War, many reform-minded Koreans had likewise supported the prospect of greater Japanese influence, seeing them as a progressive force to modernize the country, particularly when considering the Russian and Chinese alternatives (see Act I, Chapter 7).
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in Korea began to turn to the church for solace and the promise of eventual independence

NoteAs the Japanese aims became more apparent to Koreans, “the religion of the Americans became not only less objectionable but even politically attractive,” writes one pair of historians (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 82). One third-generation Korean Christian set his grandfather’s conversion to the foreign faith against the backdrop of the country’s political woes. “Grandfather’s adult life was a time when cultural earthquakes rocked our country. The modern world knocked, pounded, and battered its way into our consciousness,” recalled the third-generation Christian, Kang Pyŏng-ju (1910–1986) (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 6).
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of his compatriots saw a divine hand in the political woes driving many Koreans into the church

NoteThis was a long-running theme among the Western missionaries in Korea during the entire late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. “Korea! There is no hope for her in man. Oh, that they would turn to God for help,” William Baird had written in 1895 after the crisis around the killing of Queen Min (William Baird letter to John Baird, December 4, 1895). The missionary periodical Korea Mission Field, weighing in a decade later as Japan established its protectorate over Korea, declared: “A crisis has been reached. The political situation brings the entire people to a state of unrest. The hope of the nation and the individuals that compose it lies not in agitation and discussion, but in God. The way to combat the unrest in the Church is to stress the hope that the Gospel offers. A living faith begets the hope that enables men to ‘reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed’” (“The Time Opportune,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 2 (December 1905), 29–30).   “IN THE VALLEY OF ANNEXATION”: In 1908, months after Japan’s varied moves the previous year to bring Korea under its control, the Taehan Daily News—the leading nationalist Korean newspaper published by Briton Ernest Bethell—reappropriated the martial language of the missionaries for nationalist ends, telling readers that, “as long as Koreans marched under Christ as ‘commander-in-chief,’ fortified with the Holy Spirit as their sword and faith in God as their shield, there would be none to resist them” as they sought to make Korea stronger (Chung-shin Park 2003, 132, citing Taehan Maeil Sinbo, March 12, 1908). “All ye that grieve over lack of freedom and equality, if you do grieve, accept Protestant Christianity,” the newspaper declared in 1910, months before the long-expected annexation of Korea. “If you are in sorrow over your plights, adhere to Protestant Christianity” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 32, quoting Taehan Maeil Sinbo, March 13, 1910). That same year, Canadian Presbyterian missionary Duncan MacRae, writing from the harsh and remote Korean northeast, saw a similar direct link between Koreans’ loss of nation and their embrace of the Christian faith: “The fire is spreading rapidly. In the valley of Annexation the hearts of the people have been melted. In their sorrow and anguish of heart they are turning to the Church of God for a place of comfort” (as quoted in MacRae 1993, 142).
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“glad of it. I thank God for that, because this is Korea’s opportunity. This is God’s opportunity”

Note“In the lowest pitch of their national humility, the Koreans at once realize the need of some great power to lift them up. They know well enough that no earthly power could do that. Their rotten government has to be purified, their hearts and strength have to be renewed,” Rhee continued in the same address. “He gave us this great opportunity so that the Koreans might give up their national pride, ancestral beliefs, and hereditary superstitions, that in their empty hearts and humble spirit they might make room for Jesus Christ. That is what Korea is doing now” (“Appeals of Native Christians (Address of Mr. E. Sung Man, at Pittsburg Convention),” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 6 (June 1908), 96).  “CHRISTIANITY WILL BE THE MOTHER OF KOREAN INDEPENDENCE”: Other Korean leaders made similar remarks, seeking to turn the people’s hopes to the Christian God. In 1907, one senior Korean official—a Christian—declared: “We are placed in a position where there is no alternative path to take other than believing in the Christian God.” This is according to the Presbyterian missionary Rev. Charles E. Sharp (1870–1952), who was posted to Seoul and Chaeryŏng between 1900 and 1921 and heard the remark made by the provincial governor at a Sunday evening service, though neither the name of the governor nor the province is given (as quoted in Wells 1990, 33). Kim San, the nom de guerre for a Christian nationalist who later became an early socialist, similarly recalls his teacher comforting his class over the loss of the nation’s sovereignty, admonishing them to turn to the church: “Christianity will be the mother of Korean independence.” Christianity in Korea, Kim San recalls his teacher telling the class, “is a symptom of revival, not a mere spiritual religious institution. In the name of religion many great historical happenings have been brought to pass.” Kim, at the time, agreed (Kim and Wales 1941, 20).
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“of Christ, the King of Kings, was stronger than the Japanese,” one Korean Christian explained

Note“Christ was the only hope and we believed Korea would be liberated only by the way of the King of Kings,” continued the young convert, Pae Min-su, a friend of Kim Il Sung’s father who will play a key role in this narrative (Pai 2002, 103–4). To Pae, the Japanese were no less than a “satanic power,” worshipping their false sun goddess Amaterasu (Pai 2002, 118). Pae was far from the only Korean Christian who saw parallels between their plight and that of the ancient Israelites. “It is Christianity that will save Korea’s twenty millions from their sins and restore freedom to our citizens; and it is Christianity that will rescue our Taehan race from the hands of the enemy just as the children of Israel were delivered from Egypt,” declared Rev. Yang Chu-sam (梁柱三 1879–?), a prominent Methodist leader, in 1908 (as quoted in Wells 1990, 96). Louise Yim (Im Yŏng-sin 任永信 1899–1977), another high-profile Christian convert, drew a direct line between political and personal salvation: “To me the Bible and the whole Christian religion pointed the road to freedom from the Japanese” (Wells 1990, 88–89, citing Louise Yim, My Forty-Year Fight, 93, 100).
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“the hands of the Egyptians. The parallels with the sufferings of our people were many indeed”

NoteECHOES OF NEHEMIAH: As another Korean Christian recalled, “the new Christian churches taught us stories about the exiled Israelites on the banks of Babylon who longed to return to Jerusalem, and sympathized that our lot was akin to theirs” (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2007, 157). As the above quote highlights, it wasn’t just Moses and the deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt that the Koreans responded to as they read the Bible. Many also took inspiration from the Old Testament tale of Nehemiah, who helped rebuild the Second Temple in Jerusalem after the Israelites’ captivity under the Babylonians (Wells 1990, 89). In 1916, An Ch’ang-ho’s New Korean newspaper published a series of articles on Nehemiah and his nation-building activities, describing Koreans as a holy race, like the Jews (Wells 1990, 96, citing Sinhan Minbo editorial, September 5, 1913; and Sinhan Minbo letter to the editor, April 29, 1914).  ECHOES OF EZRA AND ESTHER: Similarly, the Old Testament stories of Ezra, who was among the Israelites who returned to Jerusalem from exile in Babylon, and of Queen Esther, who rescued the Jews from slaughter by the Persians and instead convinced her husband, the Persian king Xerxes (also known as Ahasuerus), to allow the Jews to kill their enemies, served as inspirations to Korean nationalists. Louise Yim, a prominent Korean convert who later became the only woman to serve in South Korea’s inaugural cabinet, described the feeling she had of playing the role of Esther in a school drama: “When I pleaded with King Ahasuerus to save the Hebrews, the words became a plea for Korea” (Wells 1990, 97, citing Louise Yim, 55–56). Historians Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim have argued that the frequent invocations of the Israelites show how, “in the climate of Japanese racism, ethnic nationalism became a greater part of Christian rhetoric too” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 147).
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“that we have to stick to Jesus Christ as our Saviour, and then the future would be bright”

NotePae Min-su doesn’t give the date of the rally, but Syngman Rhee returned to Korea only once during the Japanese occupation years, immediately after annexation, when he worked for the YMCA. Altogether, Rhee was in Korea from October 10, 1910, until March 26, 1912 (Lew 2014, 296). Rhee fled the country in March 1912 amid the Conspiracy Case of 1912 (see Act II, Chapter 11).
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“principal motive has been a desire for protection and power,” wrote one missionary in 1906

Note“THE PROBLEM CONCERNING NEW BELIEVERS”: A similar motivation, Presbyterian missionary Charles Sharp added in the same article, were those who saw Christianity merely as a manifestation of Western civilization and power: “They see that the nations styled Christian are the ones that today possess the highest civilization and culture, and, turning from the old, they are now seeking the new. But with many of these Christianity means a kind of civilization only. They do not distinguish between Christianity itself and some of its results” (Charles E. Sharp, “Motives for Seeking Christ,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 10 (August 1906), 182–83). William Baird, writing in January 1907, expressed concern about what he regarded as Koreans flocking to the church for political salvation (Shearer 1966, 51, citing William M. Baird letter to the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions, January 3, 1907, Pyongyang). In July 1910, Lillias Underwood warned that “the necessity for a careful watch over the crowds of new believers cannot be emphasized too strongly.” “Many come seeking an earthly sort of Heaven, and relief from present burdens, the cure of their sickness, the driving out of their devils, national independence, and so, with perhaps one or another low hope, many of them are willing to put away the old gods,” she wrote (L. H. U. [Underwood, Lillias H.], “The Problem Concerning New Believers,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 7 (July 1910), 182–85, here 182–83).
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of insurrection and, some church leaders feared, seeking a pretext to crack down on the faith

NoteThe term “rice Christian” was not coined in or for Korea, where the problem was, arguably, less acute than in other countries like India, China, and Japan. As one historian writes, “by the late nineteenth century, the term ‘rice Christian’ was entrenched in the vocabulary of missionaries—especially those sent to East Asia. Strictly defined, this phrase referred to those natives who entered the church simply to gain a meal. More generally, rice Christians came to denote those who converted only for material gain, whether in terms of employment or political favors” (Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 9).  “CHILDLIKE AND SIMPLE IN MANNER”: To Ernst Oppert, the German Jewish businessman and adventurer who made three early trips to Korea from his base in Shanghai, the Koreans were far more sincere in their embrace of Christianity than, say, the Chinese, who he considered “sly and calculating” and who he said “consider conversion almost always in the light of a business transaction” and later abandon the faith. “A motive of this kind cannot be brought into account with the Coreans,” he added. “Childlike and simple in manner and temperament, they only require some inducement to stir them from the sluggishness which prevails with the mass of the people” (Oppert 1880, 117–18).  “EXCEEDINGLY CAREFUL AND CAUTIOUS”: Despite the relative sincerity of the Koreans and the missionaries’ heightened vigilance about Koreans flocking to the church out of impure motives, allegations of “rice Christians” continued to haunt the missionaries during this period. From very early on in his time in Korea, Samuel Moffett was exceedingly careful about any potential convert’s motives. Indeed, if there were any “rice Christians” among Moffett’s early followers, the young missionary was determined to root them out. In 1895, just two years after opening his first church in Pyongyang, Moffett blocked a Korean convert who had been promoted to a position of leadership from attending church until he had made a public confession of a “grievous sin” he had committed—Moffett doesn’t specify what, exactly—and to make full restitution for it. “The salutary influence of this discipline was marked. The church has been made to know that a fall into sin will not be overlooked nor lightly considered,” Moffett wrote. With regards to those seeking baptism, he added: “We have been exceedingly careful and cautious” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1896 (PHS)). Moffett was also very careful about not overstating the number of converts under his care. While the early returns in Pyongyang were encouraging, Moffett wrote to Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood in May 1896, many members of their flock “will prove insincere” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, May 4, 1896). William Baird was, if anything, stricter than his old college classmate, having not baptized a single Korean in his first three years in the country—in part because of the relatively tepid response to Christianity in the Korean southeast, but also because he remained deeply distrustful of the motives of those who did express an interest in the faith. “They had no difficulty in satisfying their ambition, greed or curiosity by ‘giving Christianity a try,’” Baird’s son Richard, also a missionary to Korea, wrote. “The poor, the greedy, the opportunist, the political reformer, the adventurer, the downright scoundrels, as well as the sincere seeker after God, each saw in the missionary an immediate opportunity to gain the thing he desired. In this mountain of chaff Dr. Baird was seeking the few grains of genuine faith in Christ. He had many disappointments” (Baird 1968, 46). The effect of Moffett and Baird’s stringent requirements was that the Pyongyang church membership rolls typically understated the crowds that flocked to church each Sunday. While churches in the Western world could boast high membership numbers, attendance on Sunday was usually far short of that figure. By contrast, in Korea, weekly church attendance was typically roughly three times that of its membership (Brown 1919, 527).  “AYE, A GLORIOUS OPPORTUNITY!”: Of course, not all missionaries were as stringent in their approach as Moffett and Baird. In the case of some converts, the nationalist motivations for joining the church were baldly transparent—but served as no hindrance to the missionaries. Southern Methodist missionary Charles T. Collyer, operating in the relatively less responsive cities of Kaesŏng (then known as Songdo) and Ch’unch’ŏn, saw through the ploy, but unlike Moffett and Baird, who would have turned these politically-motivated Korean nationalists away, Rev. Collyer embraced the opportunity—perhaps because his designated mission field was otherwise so discouraging: “What easier way of getting the desired connection with a westerner than by starting a church and getting a missionary to visit it? Very largely as the result of this, we have between 70 and 80 groups on our hands, whose membership desire anything but spiritual religion; yet, nevertheless, these are people who are breaking away from the old things, people who have destroyed their fetish and at least profess to keep the Sabbath. Whatever may be their motives, the people come out to our meetings and listen to what we have to say. Is this not an opportunity? Aye, a glorious opportunity!” (C. T. Collyer [Collyer, Charles T.], “Chun Chen Circuit,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 9 (September 1907), 137–39, here 137–38). Similarly, Arthur Becker, the Pyongyang-based Methodist, recalls some of the city’s most prominent magistrates approaching him about opening a school “so that their sons and daughters could learn Western methods and ways of life. They did not want to become slaves of the Japanese, they said.” Were they interested in the Christian faith? Not especially, though that didn’t stop Becker from feeling “supremely happy” with the outcome, his biographer writes (McCune and Thompson 2009, 188–89). Becker, in general, was on the opposite side of the ideological divide from conservatives like Moffett and Baird, believing it to be in the church’s interests to educate and heal the local elites, even if it had little direct connection with winning them to Christ. This debate over educating non-Christian Koreans would boil over and lead to lasting bitterness within the missionary community. For more, see Supplemental Notes on “the College Question” in Act II, Chapter 15.
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of its own—a powerful religious revival that would prove to be the greatest to ever sweep Asia

NoteDuring the Great Pyongyang Revival (平壤大復興 Kor. P’yŏngyang Tae Puhŭng) of 1907, writes one scholar, “thousands experienced an intensity of religious emotion that had previously seemed impossible” (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 14). Rev. Pang Chi-il (方之日 1911–2014), a native of the northwestern Christian stronghold of Sŏnch’ŏn and a graduate of the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang, regards the Great Pyongyang Revival of 1907 as the moment when the ancient northwestern capital became the “Jerusalem of the East” (Christopher Richardson, “Revolution and Revival: Ideology and Faith in North Korea,” Sino-NK, June 23, 2017). As the missionaries George H. Jones and W. Arthur Noble wrote: “It was an exceptional time, one that rarely comes in the history of the church” (Jones and Noble 1910, 9–10).
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“at the mouth, and paroxysms of varying intensity, culminating in complete insensibility”

NoteThe duration of the Great Pyongyang Revival was debated among the missionaries and church historians, though most trace the roots of the revival to 1903, when Canadian Methodist missionary Robert Hardie presided over a revival that year in the northeastern port city of Wŏnsan. In late 1905, Methodist missionaries in Seoul had planned the “holding of a simultaneous revival throughout the church in Korea,” set for around the time of the Lunar New Year in late January 1906—more than a year before the revival finally exploded in Pyongyang (J. R. Moose [Moose, J. Robert], J. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], D. A. Bunker [Bunker, Dalzell A.], and W. D. Reynolds [Reynolds, William D.], “A Call to A Special Effort,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 2 (December 1905), 30). One of the Seoul Methodists, North Carolina native J. Robert Moose, wrote the following month: “I believe we are on the borders of Canaan, so to speak, and that we are now face to face with such an opportunity as the Lord seldom gives to a generation. If we do not rise to the privilege and do our duty we shall be sorry for it some day. By the ‘borders of Canaan’ I mean the great revival that the Lord is going to give to Korea if we are only faithful…It is bound up in one word REVIVAL!” (J. R. Moose [Moose, J. Robert], “A Great Awakening,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 3 (January 1906), 51–52, here 52).
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monthly journal, wrote as the embers of revival finally began to diminish in early 1908

NoteAfter the revival had run its course, Western missionaries uniformly declared it “one of God’s great wonders, and that they expect to see nothing like it till the gates of paradise unfold and God himself is with us,” in the words of James Gale (Gale 1909, 213).
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sparked an unexpected torrent of religious fervor in rural New Jersey as a young seminarian

NoteDuring the summer of 1883, while a young Horace G. Underwood was preaching from Psalm 103 at a church in Pompton, N.J., his wife later recounted, “a woman threw up her arms screaming, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner,’ and fell forward sobbing on the floor. She was followed at once by one and another until nearly the whole roomful were sobbing, mourning their sins, or lying unconscious on the floor” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 32–33).
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Billy Sunday, a baseball star-turned-revivalist preacher with a frenzied, carnivalesque delivery

NoteFROM THE BASEPATHS TO THE PULPIT: William A. Sunday (1862–1935) would later serve as a favorite reference point for the Korea missionaries, who compared several Korean converts and pastors to the former baseball player from Iowa. As with Dwight Moody, Billy Sunday based himself in Chicago, where he started his baseball career playing for the Chicago White Stockings, a predecessor of the Chicago Cubs, in 1883 (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 68). There, he was known as “the speediest base-runner and the most daring base-stealer” in all of baseball—though one who refused to play on the Sabbath (William T. Ellis, “Billy” Sunday: The Man and His Message (Philadelphia: L. T. Myers, 1914), 33, 37). Sunday converted to Christianity in 1886, when he was three years into an electrifying baseball career in Chicago; he joined the Presbyterian church and, at age twenty-eight in 1890, Sunday abruptly retired from baseball—he was then playing for the Philadelphia Phillies—to go into the ministry, launching a career that would have him speaking to an estimated one hundred million people between 1896 and his death in 1935 (Hayat 2008, 2, 26–27). By 1914, Sunday was praised as “the most conspicuous Christian leader in America today,” a preacher who “has broken through the thick wall of indifference which separates the Church from the world (Ellis 1914, 5, 16). By that time, Sunday was said to have converted 300,000 listeners (Ellis 1914, 327–28). At one evening address in New York that year, “the throngs were so great that the police were overwhelmed by the surging thousands…he has put religion on the front pages of the dailies; and has made it a present issue with the millions” (Ellis 1914, 18–19).  “REPENT OR YOU WILL GO TO HELL”: Like Dwight Moody before him, Sunday was obsessed with saving his listeners from the damnation of hell: “Repent or you will go to hell…Do you think your scoffs can extinguish the flames of hell? Do you think you can annihilate hell because you don’t believe in it?” (as quoted in Ellis 1914, 390, 397). And like Moody, it was Sunday’s earthy appeal that won over so many: “Perhaps he is not as polite as is professionally proper for a preacher…He dares call sin by its proper name. He excoriates the hypocrite…He talks religion as he talked base ball. His words smack of the street corners, the shop, the athletic field, the crowd of men. That this speech is loose, extravagant and undignified may be freely granted; but it is understandable” (Ellis 1914, 70). “The reason you don’t like the Bible, you old sinner, is because it knows all about you,” he would preach (as quoted in Ellis 1914, 77). “Don’t tell God you can’t. Just say you don’t want to be a Christian, that’s the way to be a man. Just say, ‘I don’t want to be decent; I don’t want to quit cussing; I don’t want to quit booze-fighting; I don’t want to quit lying; I don’t want to quit committing adultery. If I should be a Christian I would have to quit all these things, and I don’t want to do it.’ Tell God you are not man enough to be a Christian. Don’t try to saddle it off on the Lord” (as quoted in Ellis 1914, 385).  “DIRTY, ROTTEN, HELL-SOAKED”: Criss-crossing the podium with his acrobatic, kinetic delivery style, while railing against the vices of the day: “Cards and dancing are doing more to dam the spiritual life of the Church than the grog-shops—though you can’t accuse me of being a friend of that stinking, dirty, rotten, hell-soaked business” (as quoted in Ellis 1914, 73). Sunday also preached a muscular form of Christianity with which he hoped “to masculinize American Protestantism” (Hayat 2008, 3). However, Sunday’s legacy was tarnished by his association in the 1920s with the Ku Klux Klan, from which he received funding and worked together, though he doesn’t appear to have joined as a member (see Hayat 2008, 90–123).  FROM BILLY SUNDAY TO BILLY GRAHAM: Among those influenced by Billy Sunday was his more famous evangelistic torchbearer Rev. Billy Graham, who recalled being taken by his father to see the ballplayer-turned-preacher during a stop in Charlotte in the early 1920s, when Rev. Graham was but five years old. “I was overwhelmed by the huge crowd and properly subdued by my father’s warning to keep quiet during the service lest the preacher call out my name and have me arrested by a policeman!” (Graham 1997, 18) In the late 1940s, as Rev. Graham began attracting large crowds to his speaking campaign in southern California, he recalled reporters comparing him with Billy Sunday (Graham 1997, 149–50).
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missionaries were a sober bunch, frowning on even the most modest displays of emotionalism

NoteThe Presbyterians, in general, had long been suspicious of revivalists, dating back to the early nineteenth century (Smylie 1985, 53). As Martha Huntley, a missionary to South Korea and historian of Korea missions, put it, “the majority of the missionaries were not revival oriented. They feared dramatic emotional displays; leery of emotionalism, they certainly did not envision a revival like the one ahead.” Instead, she writes, they pictured something along the lines of the winter Bible classes that they held in Pyongyang just a few years earlier in 1905, when more than eight hundred Koreans decided to become Christian—one that the Pyongyang missionary Charles Bernheisel praised for its “utter lack of undue excitement. The hundreds of conversions have not been under the impulse of excited emotions but deliberate decisions made after careful consideration” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 132–33). For more on the missionaries’ lingering concerns that the revival would lead to visions, trances, rolling on the floor, and—perhaps most frightful of all—dancing, see the exchange in Blair, “Fifty Years of Development,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 130–31.
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swiftly to head off any shifts toward what he regarded as mysticism during his famous revivals 

NoteIn one revival meeting in London, Dwight Moody, hearing two or three shrieks from the audience, immediately launched into a hymn while he called on ushers to pull the woman from the crowd, according to a visiting American in attendance (William Moody 1900, 238–39). That said, Moody declared himself a supporter of revivalism, at least in theory, declaring in an August 1899 message in East Northfield, Mass.: “I think you will find that revivals or awakenings are perfectly scriptural. In all ages God has been quickening his people” (D. L. Moody [Moody, Dwight L.], Moody’s Latest Sermons: Authorized Edition, Printed from Verbatim Reports (Chicago: Fleming H. Revell, 1900), 106). As for concerns around the “excitement” that revivals could stir, Moody said: “I would rather have sensation than stagnation any time” (Dwight Moody 1900, 111). And indeed, the Korea missionaries were not entirely immune to the spiritual inclinations that drove many of their Korean charges. At times in these early days, the lines between American Christianity and what the missionaries described as sorcery and shamanism could be indistinct. Richard Baird, William Baird’s son and a second-generation missionary to Korea, recalled how, in these early days, “exorcism was an important church activity. Instances almost identical with New Testament casting out of demons accompanied the starting of many—perhaps most—new churches in the early days” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 123–24). But in general, writes second-generation Korea missionary Richard Baird, when the Koreans began conducting exorcisms—partly a legacy of Korea’s own animistic past, but also because the Koreans, many of them untutored by the missionaries, simply emulated what they read about in the New Testament’s casting out of demons—the missionaries frowned on it (Baird 1968, 239). 
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in mind was a powerful, but orderly, sense of divine conviction sweeping down from heaven

NoteThough many of the missionaries saw God’s divine providence in the Great Pyongyang Revival, many also seemed relieved to return afterwards to a more soberminded approach to the faith, missionary James Gale wrote in 1909. Of the revival itself, he added, “they do not say much about it to-day and advertise it not at all” (Gale 1909, 213). Gale’s colleague, Charles Sharp, offered a contrasting picture of the legacy of the Great Pyongyang Revival eight years after the fact, lamenting what he regarded as the church’s reliance on dramatic revival meetings, rather than more sober-minded bread-and-butter Bible classes (Charles E. Sharp, “Bible Classes,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 11 (November 1915), 315–19, here 317).
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to unleash was of a different variety altogether—and one that deeply unnerved them at first

Note“DEMONIACAL POSSESSION”: Just days before the outbreak of the Great Pyongyang Revival, Presbyterian missionary George S. McCune had praised one particularly moving church meeting for its “absence of the sensational, the ‘emotional’ (in the sense in which the word is so often used)” (McCune, “Holy Spirit in Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 1). And in at least one church at the beginning of the Great Pyongyang Revival, handclapping and shouting were “sternly suppressed” so as to head off even the possibility of emotionalism (Charles Clark 1921, 272–73). The Methodists initially attributed the Great Pyongyang Revival of 1907, which first exploded in the Presbyterian churches, to “demoniacal possession rather than the work of God’s Spirit”; at least at first, “many of the church leaders were violently against it” (“The Religious Awakening of Korea, Selected,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 7 (July 1908), 105–7, here 106). “The one thing I cannot understand is how coolheaded, dispassionate Presbyterians like yourself, who do not believe in or allow the emotional to be stressed in your religion, could have led and participated for many weeks in meetings that were characterized by such tremendous upheavals of human feeling!” Howard Hamill, a Methodist and president of the International Sunday School Association, remarked upon visiting Graham Lee in Pyongyang in 1908, shortly after the end of the revival (“God’s Hand in Korea’s Bible Study,” Korea Mission Field (1908), 114). Similarly, Rev. Thomas C. Fulton (1855–1942) of the Irish Presbyterian mission in Shenyang reflected later on how upset he was to see the first waves of emotionalism during the 1907 revival: “Hitherto I have had a horror of hysterics and emotional in religion, and the first outburst of grief from some men who prayed displeased me exceedingly. I did not know what was behind it all” (as quoted in J. Webster [Webster, James B.], “Times of Blessing” in Manchuria: Letters from Moukden to the Church at Home, February 17–April 30, 1908, 3rd ed. (Shanghai: Methodist Publishing House, 1909), 63).  FROM MOCKERY TO “UTTER ABANDON”: “A spirit of deep-seated and intense antagonism opposed it. In Pyengyang many of the church leaders were at first violent in their opposition to it,” the missionaries George H. Jones and W. Arthur Noble wrote three years later, pointing to one missionary who warned parishioners of prompt expulsion from the church if they were to make any emotional confessions of sin as in Pyongyang. The pastor, however, soon reversed himself after watching the outpouring of repentance (Jones and Noble 1910, 6). One native believer at first mocked the outpourings of emotion, “imitating the revival scenes. He would throw himself on the floor and pretend to beat it with his fists, and amid shouts of laughter go through the physical contortions which were so often witnessed in the church.” Within days, he too had joined the wave of confession and, “in utter abandon, he ran to the platform and crawling on his hands and knees, flung himself at the feet of the missionary who employed him, and begged forgiveness for all the wrongs that he had committed against him” (Jones and Noble 1910, 35). Another Pyongyang Presbyterian missionary, William N. Blair, was also “greatly troubled” by the revival, at least at first, fearing that, in the excitement, many would make “insincere confessions, perhaps from wrong motives.” But he soon came around: “Once the Spirit convicted a man, he seemed to get no rest day or night until he had unburdened his heart to the church and done what we could to repair the wrong” (Blair 1957, 70).  “A VITAL KOREAN ELEMENT”: Emory University church historian Arun Jones has argued that the Great Pyongyang Revival was inspired as much by indigenous religious concepts as it was by the ideas that the Western missionaries brought. “There was a vital Korean element arising from the pre-Christian religions of the people who were caught up in the movement,” Jones writes, drawing parallels between the Great Revival’s explosion of emotion and traditional Korean shamanic rituals, during which “the clients cried out and wept profusely, collapsing to the ground in anguish, all the while communicating with the spirits of the deceased young men” (Arun Jones, “The Great Revival of 1907 as a Phenomenon in Korean Religions,” Journal of World Christianity 2, no. 1 (2009), 82–110, here 83, 105).
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“to suffocation with hearers of their strange words, and witnesses of their unwonted actions”

Note“CRAZY AND DRUNK”: The “crazy and drunk” remark is from Charles Bernheisel, the Indiana native, McCormick Seminary alumnus, and Pyongyang missionary who led the city’s Fourth Presbyterian Church (Bernheisel 1912, 7). Rev. Bernheisel, reflecting on the Great Pyongyang Revival a few years later, acknowledged that he too was initially skeptical, believing that miracles didn’t happen anymore. “The gift of miracle is generally considered to…have ceased with the death of the Apostles. In common with the generality of Christians I, too, used to hold this view but certain experiences on the Mission field caused me to reexamine the Biblical teachings on this subject,” he wrote. Before launching into tales of a crippled girl regaining the ability to walk, and a woman’s demons exorcised, Rev. Bernheisel declares his newfound belief in the miraculous: “Now it is with a good deal of hesitation that I say what I am going to say because of the skepticism with which I fear it will be received, a skepticism that I myself shared ten years ago. Are these miracles being enacted in the Korean church today? I answer unhesitatingly, Yes” (Bernheisel 1912, 7–8).  “STRANGE WORDS…UNWONTED ACTIONS”: The “strange words…unwonted actions” quote is from George Ladd, the American Congregationalist minister and a pioneering Yale professor of psychology who was traveling through Korea shortly after the events of January 1907, and who personally witnessed the revival (Ladd 1908, 408). “In numerous instances, the penitent rose with an appearance of enforced calmness and began quietly to tell of the sinful experiences of the years both preceding and following his adoption of the Christian name. But as he proceeded his excitement grew; his voice rose to a higher and yet higher pitch and assumed a tone of ever-increasing shrillness; sobbing and wailing intervened; and, finally, he began to sway to and fro, to beat his head against the mats, sometimes so violently as to cause the blood to flow; then he fell to the floor, where he ended his experiences in a complete nervous collapse and lay prostrate, frothing at the mouth and groaning piteously, or became quite unconscious” (Ladd 1908, 408–9). Despite witnessing such sights, Ladd—who had a generally low view of the Korean people—was not entirely convinced of the genuineness of the religious experience, suggesting that this was perhaps merely “the Korean mode of manifesting any strong emotional excitement”: “At the very time that the native Christians of Pyeng-yang were wailing and sobbing, and beating their heads on the mats, on account of their sins, the multitude of the same city were doing the same things because they had been deceived into believing that their Emperor was to be dethroned and carried off to Japan.” In the final analysis, however, Ladd concludes that “to discredit altogether the sincerity of these confessions or the genuineness of the following conversion would be a no less grave mistake… than to place a specially high value on them” (Ladd 1908, 410–11).
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in a letter to Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur J. Brown the following day

NoteFor James Gale’s entire account of the events of Monday, January 14, 1907, see Gale 1909, 201–21.  “A HUSHED, UPTURNED SEA OF SOLEMN FACES”: That evening’s extraordinary happenings seemed to come out of nowhere. In the early days of 1907, the missionaries had gathered believers in the northwest for their annual Bible classes in Pyongyang, which by that time were regularly attracting more than one thousand men, some walking from as far as seventy miles to attend. “The strongest men from all the churches are there,” Presbyterian missionary William Blair recalled. The gathered believers, led by the missionaries, began praying on January 6, 1907, at the Central Presbyterian Church in Pyongyang for what they hoped would be an unbridling of the Holy Spirit—a sense of personal repentance brought into the hearts of believers by the third member of the Trinity. But, at least at first, there was no sign of anything different that year: “Nothing unusual happened. We were not looking for anything unusual. Only a hushed, upturned sea of solemn faces” (Blair 1957, 64–65). Even after several days of large evening meetings, the missionaries conceded that the atmosphere remained cold. Still, there were flickers of potential. Hints of the outpouring to come would become more apparent on the evening of Sunday, January 13, 1907. On that evening, Kil Sŏn-ju (or “Elder Keel,” as the as-yet-unordained Kil Sŏn-ju was known) stood up and confessed to stealing from a widow, according to Jonathan Goforth, a University of Toronto classmate of James Gale and missionary to China who later wrote a book about the Korean revival. “Instantly it was realized that the barriers had fallen, and that God, the Holy One, had come. Conviction of sin swept the audience. The service commenced at seven o’clock Sunday evening, and did not end until two o’clock Monday morning, yet during all that time dozens were standing weeping, awaiting their turn to confess,” Goforth wrote (Goforth 1984, 8–9).  MONDAY NIGHT MANIA: But it was at the Monday evening session on January 14, 1907, that the levee would truly break. There, the evening began with Rev. Graham Lee delivering a short sermon and then asking for prayers, as colleague William Blair recounted: “So many began praying that Dr. Lee said, ‘If you want to pray like that, all pray,’ and the whole audience began to pray out loud all together. The effect was indescribable. Not confusion, but a vast harmony of sound and spirit, a mingling together of souls moved by an irresistible impulse to prayer. It sounded to me like the falling of many waters, an ocean of prayer beating against God’s throne. It was not many, but one, born of one Spirit, lifted to one Father above…As the prayer continued, a spirit of heaviness and sorrow came upon the audience. Over on one side, someone began to weep and, in a moment, the whole congregation was weeping” (Blair 1957, 66–67). As Graham Lee later recalled in his letter to Arthur Brown, “at times the whole audience would break out in prayer together and then some man in trying to make a confession would break down and from all over that room would come the sound of men crying to God in prayer and weeping with an uncontrollable emotion.” Rev. Lee’s own personal cook confessed to deceiving him, “and cried aloud to me in agony, ‘Is there any hope of forgiveness for me’? I tried to tell him there was hope but he still continued to cry out in an agony of spirit such as I have never seen. ‘If I am not forgiven I shall die’” (Graham Lee letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 15, 1907, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/237/20)). In a separate account published in the Korea Mission Field, Lee wrote: “Man after man would rise, confess his sins, break down and weep, and then throw himself to the floor and beat the floor with his fists in a perfect agony of conviction” (G. Lee [Lee, Graham], “How the Spirit Came to Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 3 (March 1907), 33–37, here 34). Samuel Moffett, who was back in the U.S. on furlough during the Great Pyongyang Revival, later lavished praise on his good friend Graham Lee for his role in the revival, writing: “He, more than any other single man, was the soul of that revival. God used him to begin that work” (Moffett et al. letter to DeCamp, July 1917, in Moffett, Reynolds, Engel, Adams, and Reiner, “Correspondence—IV.,” Korea Mission Field (1917), 265–66).
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“—it verily seemed that we were getting a glimpse of the judgement, it was so awful” 

NoteMissionary George S. McCune, who was also in attendance, wrote of that first night: “At certain times in the meetings the whole audience would break out unitedly in prayer for the Holy Spirit. It was wonderful to hear over 1000 voices praying at one time in perfect harmony with no confusion whatever…It was so wonderful that when I begin to tell about it I cannot stay the tears and words do not express it” (George S. McCune letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 15, 1907, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/237/21)). “The meeting was so explosive, like a volcanic upheaval, that no one could help but confess his sins,” wrote one later theologian (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 81). Another similar account that is described as taking place in Pyongyang’s largest Methodist church is given by the Methodist missionaries George Jones and W. Arthur Noble, though it sounds identical to what took place in the Central Presbyterian Church (Jones and Noble 1910, 6–7). 
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“had never seen before, nor wish to see again unless in God’s sight it is absolutely necessary” 

NoteTechnically, Kil Sŏn-ju, though referred to as the blind preacher of Pyongyang, wasn’t ordained as a minister until later that year, in September. During the revival, however, Kil worked closely with the missionaries as a prominent lay evangelist (Timothy Lee 2010, 73).   “TERRIBLE BEYOND DESCRIPTION”: During this harrowing second night of revival, “men fairly writhed in agony and almost shrieked for mercy. Man after man would tell of his sins and then break down and fairly throw himself to the floor and pound on the floor with his fists, crying to God for mercy,” Graham Lee wrote. “It just seemed as if a wave of emotion swept over those men. We were all weeping and we couldn’t help it. Really it was terrible. Men were crying out in agony asking for God’s forgiveness” (Graham Lee letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 16, 1907 (addendum to January 15, 1907, letter), Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/237/20)). In a later article for the Korea Mission Field, Rev. Lee described one convert who went through torment confessing his sins at the Tuesday evening meeting: “It was terrible beyond description, the agony that man went through. He fell to the floor and acted like a man in a fit. When he broke down the whole audience broke out in a perfect storm of weeping and they wept and wept and wept. We missionaries were weeping like the rest, and we simply couldn’t keep from it…The audience kept on weeping and it seemed as if they could not stop” (Lee, “How the Spirit Came to Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 34–35).  “PLEADING WITH GOD FOR MERCY”: A hint of Tuesday evening’s frenzied meeting came during a noon prayer meeting earlier in the day, when one of the Korean elders at Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church, surnamed Kim, coming to the front of the sanctuary and gripping the pulpit tight, confessed that he had been harboring feelings of hatred towards another elder, and toward Rev. William Blair. “I never had a greater surprise in my life. To think that this man, my associate in the Men’s Association, had been hating me without my knowing it,” Rev. Blair later wrote. “Turning to me he said, ‘Can you forgive me? Can you pray for me?’ I stood up and began to pray, ‘Aba-ge, Aba-ge,’ ‘Father, Father,’ and got no further. It seemed as if the roof was lifted from the building and the Spirit of God came down in a mighty avalanche of power upon us. I fell at Kim’s side and wept and prayed as I had never prayed before. My last glimpse of the audience is photographed indelibly on my brain. Some threw themselves full length on the floor, hundreds stood with arms outstretched towards heaven. Every man forgot every other. Each was face to face with God. I can hear yet that fearful sound of hundreds of men pleading with God for mercy” (Blair 1957, 67–68).  WEDNESDAY NIGHT WRITHING: Tuesday’s hysterics laid the groundwork, in turn, for a Wednesday night of more agony and anguish. On Tuesday evening, one church elder at Central Presbyterian Church, a Mr. Chu, held back, though it looked clear to Rev. Lee that he “had a burden of sin upon his heart…All through that long meeting of Tuesday night he looked like a man who had received his death sentence.” The next evening, on Wednesday, Rev. Lee presided over another evening service, and when the confessions began, Lee was startled to find Elder Chu standing next to him: “Suddenly I noticed that Elder Chu was standing beside me on the platform asking for an opportunity to confess and then began a scene the like of which I never saw and which I am not anxious to see again very soon. He was trembling from head to foot and he fairly shrieked in agony as he told of the sins he had committed. It was terrible the night before when Mr. Kim made his confession but this night it was worse. I have never seen a mortal in such agony of mind. I thought he would fall to the floor so I put my arm about him and held him while he beat the pulpit with all his strength, crying out that he was the worst mortal that ever lived. He confessed to adultery and misappropriation of funds and at last he sank to the floor and fairly writhed and writhed in agony. He looked as if he would die if he didn’t get relief. As soon as he began to speak the people began to weep and a perfect wave of emotion seemed to sweep over them. They wept and wailed and wailed and it seemed as if they couldn’t stop. At last I had to begin singing a song to quiet them. We didn’t stay as late as we did the two nights before. We couldn’t stand any more. It was a terrible scene but it gave me such a great joy for I knew this man needed to confess and was so afraid he couldn’t get the strength. It was beautiful beyond expression to see the Korean brethren get their arms about a man and comfort him in his time of agony” (Graham Lee letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 17, 1907, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/237/24)). Rev. Lee also recounts the story in Lee, “How the Spirit Came to Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 35–36.   “PULLING HIS HAIR WITH AGONY”: The missionary William Swallen, watching Elder Chu on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, offered his own separate account: “One of the pitiable sights that night was to see a most trusted elder sitting with the rest on the platform with clenched fists and face distorted as with pain, now holding his head in his hands, now pulling his hair with agony. Oh, it was not hard to tell that he had a heavy load upon his heart. Somehow he managed to fight it out only to go home in awful distress of mind. The next night he laboured through the meeting in the most terrible agony until near the close of the meeting. He was lying on the floor with his face downward, striking the floor and pulling his hair, and writhing as if in a death struggle. When suddenly it was announced to close the meeting, as if with superhuman effort, he arose and walked out on the platform and began to tell his sins, sobbing and wailing and writhing and striking upon the pulpit with his fist while he tried to speak that awful sentence of sin. It was so terrible his bodily frame began to give way and he would have fallen over had he not been supported by the missionary” (William L. Swallen letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 18, 1907, Pyeng Yang (PHS 281/237/26)). William Swallen, a McCormick graduate and classmate of Graham Lee, arrived in Korea in 1893 and oversaw Pyongyang’s Second Presbyterian Church. 
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Carl E. Kearns, publicly confessed to adultery and ended up leaving the mission field altogether 

NoteThe Kearns—Northern Presbyterians Carl and Daisy, along with a newborn baby, Joey—had arrived in Korea in 1902 and were assigned to the northwestern Christian mecca of Sŏnch’ŏn in the summer of 1903 (Clark 2003, 22). Shortly after his arrival, Rev. Kearns, witnessing the great explosion in the faith in Korea’s far northwest, argued passionately with the Presbyterian foreign missions board in New York for missionaries to be sent to the Yalu River border city of Ŭiju (see Act I, Chapter 6).  “SHOCKED BEYOND MEASURE”: Rev. Kearns’ public confession of adultery caused a debate within the missionary community about the wisdom of airing such sordid sins before hundreds of congregants. “That it might be unwise to confess adultery or other sins publicly in America would depend upon circumstances,” another missionary, Herbert Blair, wrote to the missions board in New York. “When God by His Holy Spirit, clear as the voice of a friend says this is sin, rise and confess it, tarry not a moment, dare you hide sin and be ashamed of me and not trust my power to save, rise now whatever the cost and confess it and I will have mercy upon you” (Herbert E. Blair letter to Arthur J. Brown, May 23, 1907, Syen Chun, Korea (PHS 281/237/94)). Rev. Graham Lee similarly wrote Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown arguing that Rev. Kearns’ confession “saved [him] from eternal destruction and if nothing else was gained, it was worth it for that” (Graham Lee letter to Arthur J. Brown, June 14, 1907, Minneapolis (PHS 281/237/110)). In New York, Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown remained unconvinced: “Of course I believe in the confession of sin, and that the confession should be as public as the knowledge of the sin. But when the sin is adultery and known only to a very few, I see no good but only harm by allowing it to have wide publicity not only among mature Christian people but boys and girls and a scoffing, irreligious foreign community which will be certain to use it to the disadvantage of the cause” (Arthur J. Brown letter to Graham Lee, June 20, 1907, New York (PHS 283/242 (part 3)/unnumbered)). Samuel Moffett, who was in Los Angeles at the time on furlough, declared himself “shocked beyond measure” upon hearing news of the Kearns’ withdrawal from Korea, and the reason behind the move. “That repentance has come and is sincere is cause for gratitude but oh! the sorrow of the situation” (Moffett letter to Brown, April 17, 1907). See also Bernheisel 2004, 585–86 (March [4?], 1907, diary entry). Missionary-turned-diplomat Horace Allen mentioned the Kearns case obliquely while trying to capture the magnitude of the upheaval from the Great Pyongyang Revival. “So contagious was this upheaval that the very missionaries themselves began confessing petty lapses from the strict ideals they had set for themselves, and one actually confessed shortcomings of such a grave nature that he had to leave the country and the work,” he wrote (Allen 1908, 171). Annie Baird, the wife of William Baird, writing not specifically about the Kearns case in 1913: “Many of us are apt to imagine that—having once made the great decision to follow Christ to the ends of the earth—we will have entered upon a high plane of spiritual being where ordinary temptations are unknown. We fail to take into consideration that—of the ancient trinity of soul-enemies, the world, the flesh and the Devil—only the first is partially left behind” (Annie Baird 1913, 7–8). 
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—just one of many confessions of murder that were publicly aired at church that week 

Note“DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!”: As the twenty-year-old man confessed: “’I wanted him to die, and one day I went out of doors and hunted for a block of wood. I picked up an old wooden pillow and came into the room. I seized the crying child and dragged him into the middle of the room and beat his head till he was dead! dead! dead!’ On the instant of the last exclamation the young man fell to the floor, himself as dead, and remained so a long time after the meeting had closed…It sent a shudder of horror over the congregation, and threw many prostrate on their faces in sobs and prayers” (Jones and Noble 1910, 9–10). Confessions of murder were a surprisingly frequent occurrence. Ruth Noble Appenzeller (1894–1986), the daughter of one Methodist missionary to Korea and the daughter-in-law of another who went on to serve as a missionary herself in Korea, recalled Korean women confessing to “throwing their infants against a stone wall in order to kill them” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 134–35).  “EVERY SIN A HUMAN BEING CAN COMMIT”: “‘Awful’ is the only word that will express the feeling we had,” wrote Presbyterian missionary George S. McCune. “Some men confessed to having murdered fellow men before becoming Christians; many confessed to having broken every one of God’s laws; church officers had stolen (taken what some call a legitimate squeeze), and there were jealousies and hatreds confessed among them…Every man in the house was weeping. The hardest, coldest, most indifferent man was wonderfully moved. A deacon of one of the churches confessed to having poisoned a daughter before he became a Christian, a sin which he had never confessed” (McCune letter to Brown, January 15, 1907). “Every sin a human being can commit was publicly confessed,” Presbyterian missionary William Blair later recalled. “Pale and trembling with emotion, in agony of mind and body, guilty souls standing in the white light of that judgment, saw themselves as God saw them…Everything else was forgotten; nothing else mattered. The scorn of men, the penalty of the law, even death itself seemed of small consequence if only God forgave” (Blair 1957, 68). That general idea—that “every sin in the decalogue was confessed”—was also expressed by the Pyongyang Presbyterian Charles Bernheisel (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 134) For a further sampling of all the sins that were confessed, see Goforth 1984, 9–10. 
p.127

man beating the wooden floor in anguish until his hands bled. “We never knew it was so awful” 

NoteThe Methodists also saw a similar outpouring of horrific confessions. Pyongyang Methodist Arthur Becker describes the pastor of the main Methodist church in the city confessing to him his hatred of Rev. Becker, while others witnessed confessions of adultery and murder (McCune and Thompson 2009, 251–52). 
p.127

“powerfully affected were some of the boys that three became unconscious,” Rev. Lee wrote 

NoteThe entire quote from Graham Lee reads: “Just as soon as the service began the girls began to weep and confess their sins and there was no more thought of study that morning. Again this morning the same thing happened. On Wednesday morning the boys in the primary school at the Central Church gathered for study as usual but there was no study that morning. The teacher began with the regular religious exercise and immediately the boys began to weep and confess their sins and this went on until one o’clock. So powerfully affected were some of the boys that three became unconscious” (Lee letter to Brown, January 17, 1907). Rev. Lee, recounting the incident again in Korea Mission Field, recalled walking by one of the school buildings in Pyongyang and hearing the sound of weeping and wailing inside, knew without even having to investigate that the wave of penitence had arrived there too (Lee, “How the Spirit Came to Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 36).  “HANDS FULL OF TRACTS AND HEARTS FULL OF LOVE”: At Sungsil Academy, both in the middle school and the college, Revs. William Baird and Arthur Becker decided to dispense with classes for a whole week and instead to devote themselves to Bible study and evangelism around the city. After several hours of Bible study and prayer in the morning, “the students were given tracts and Gospels, and were sent out in bands to every section of the city to do personal work and house-to-house visitation for the rest of the afternoon. Each group had a competent leader, and they visited a large portion of the city each day. It was an inspiring sight to watch those hundreds of stalwart Korean young men evangelizing the city with hands full of tracts and hearts full of love in their soul-winning quest” (Davis 1910, 41). 
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in a mass outpouring of anguish that wouldn’t be repeated in the city for nearly a century 

Note“Everywhere the story was told the same Spirit flamed forth and spread,” Presbyterian William Blair later recalled. “Practically every church not only in North Korea, but throughout the peninsula received its share of blessing. In Pyengyang, special meetings were held in the various churches for more than a month” (Blair 1957, 69). Graham Lee, writing in March 1907, described how he and Rev. Blair found the same revival hysteria at classes that they held in the countryside around Pyongyang. “Mr. Blair and I have just returned from a country class and at that class the manifestations were exactly the same, terrible agony on account of sin and great joy and peace resulting from confession of it” (Lee, “How the Spirit Came to Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 37). For a description of an even larger torrent of agony and anguish sweeping through Pyongyang roughly nine decades later in July 1994, see Epilogue. 
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into a citywide evangelistic campaign, blanketing the city anew with the Christian gospel 

Note“The entire City was mapped out, and each church made responsible for its prescribed territory,” wrote Pyongyang missionary William Swallen. “The churches are all filled and overflowing. Central Presbyterian Church for lack of room has had again to send off two more congregations” (W. L. Swallen [Swallen, William L.], “God’s Work of Grace in Pyeng Yang Classes,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 5 (May 1907), 77–80, here 78). 
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forty miles down the Taedong River, where men broke down confessing to adultery and theft 

NoteChinnamp’o (鎮南浦) is today known simply as Namp’o (南浦). Another similar wave of confessions and revival struck Chŭngsan county (甑山郡 Kor. Chŭngsan-gun), a coastal county due west of Pyongyang, where, it was said, there had been no prior notice of the startling events in Pyongyang. “A strange new life had come into the church in a way so mysterious that the leader was quite puzzled by it and hastened to Pyongyang to report to the missionary and to get his judgment upon it,” Methodist missionaries George Jones and W. Arthur Noble wrote of a native church leader in Chŭngsan. “This instance gives evidence of how the revival seemed to be independent of human agencies and would appear as mysteriously as the falling of dew” (Jones and Noble 1910, 26–27). At another place, identified only as “Yungyou,” the missionaries Graham Lee and William Blair held a class in February 1907, where a man rose to confess that he had killed a man not far from the church—before promptly fainting and collapsing before the pulpit (Blair 1957, 70). 
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city of Inch’ŏn, the revival meetings stretched from 6:00 a.m. until after midnight every day 

NoteChurch leaders in Inch’ŏn (仁川), previously known as Chemulp’o (濟物浦), were initially “greatly alarmed” at the stories they were hearing from the revival in Pyongyang. “It was even suggested that one of the visiting brethren should be put to death as an emissary of the devil, if not a devil himself,” wrote George Ladd, a Congregationalist minister and a pioneering Yale University professor of psychology. “But the zeal of the preachers from Pyeng-yang finally triumphed; and the church at Chemulpo itself became the scene of similar confessions and convulsions of penitence” (Ladd 1908, 410). Soon, church leaders in the city had set aside a table where stolen articles could be returned, discreetly; within days, the table was stacked high with pilfered goods. “Sometimes the evangelists would be in the church for twenty-four hours at a time. No long sermons were preached, though there were frequent exhortations. There was little singing. The characteristic of the revival was confession, and so deeply in earnest were the people that the hours of the day and night would be spent in this one thing” (Jones and Noble 1910, 29–30). As early as December 1900, Rev. Jones had reported on the number of converts having grown so quickly that the church building could no longer accommodate them all (George Heber Jones [Jones, George H.], “Methodist Episcopal Mission in Chemulpo,” The Gospel in All Lands 21 (December 1900), 529–30). 
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Even Taegu, in the unresponsive south, was inflamed with revival passion 

NoteSimilar reports of revival poured in from other cities across the Korean Peninsula. For an example from Kaesŏng, in central Korea, see W. G. Cram [Cram, Willard G.], “A Genuine Change,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 5 (May 1907), 67–68. For the northeastern coastal city of Hamhŭng, see L. H. McCully [McCully, Louise H.], “Fruits of the Revival,” Korean Mission Field 3, no. 6 (June 1907), 83–84.  “GET BACK ON THAT TRAIN”: Herbert Blair, a missionary based in the remote northern city of Kanggye, was unaware of the dramatic developments taking place elsewhere in the country, and when he arrived by train in Sŏnch’ŏn, a fellow missionary greeted him on the platform with the words: “Blair if you have any sins you do not want to confess, you had better get back on that train.” Only after walking through town, past the main church, when “at mid-day, I saw the whole Christian community prostrate, weeping in prayer, and later joined the missionaries in the afternoon in an agony of prayer, did I begin to realize what had happened.” Later, traveling through a circuit of village churches, Rev. Blair recounted, “for two sacred weeks, in a new church each day, I saw the terrors of the fire of repentance let loose in the hearts of God’s people. The sight at first was almost overwhelming. In church after church we went through the same mortal agony” (as quoted in Blair, “Fifty Years of Development,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 122–23). 
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Skeptics who came to ridicule the revivalists found themselves pulled in 

Note“In the later stages of the revival, those who went to mock remained to be carried away by the same impulse,” wrote Congregationalist minister and Yale psychology scholar George Ladd. “They experienced the relief and happiness of ‘being converted’” (Ladd 1908, 409–10). James Gale, writing a year later in 1909, captured the futility of resistance to the revival fervor: “There are no criticisms to offer. Why was it thus and thus? Why such confessions? Why not more order? Where were the Methodist Discipline and the Presbyterian Rules for Worship? These are all vain and useless questions” (Gale 1909, 220). As the spirit of revival flourished, some of the more buttoned-up missionaries eventually relented in loosening up a bit on their restrictions of handclapping and speaking in tongues, though even then, they kept a tight leash (Baird 1968, 238). They could at least take solace from their fears of emotionalism taking over the church in the fact that the revival had been accompanied by a hundredfold jump in sales of Bibles and tracts (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 95). 
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“to tell it and get rid of the burden,” which he wrote covered “all of the vilest sins imaginable” 

Note“From time to time a hymn was started, but the instant it was over a dozen were on their feet begging to be allowed to speak,” Clark added in the same letter. “It seemed to matter little whether there was any leader or not. The leader scarcely was given an opportunity to speak” (Charles A. Clark letter to Friend, March 1, 1907, Seoul (MKC)). See also Clark 2003, 39.   “LIKE A PROPHET’S RISEN FROM THE DEAD”: Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind preacher, was treated as something of a prophet, bringing the embers of revival down to Seoul from Pyongyang. “Led through the streets of the capital, he takes command of the meetings. What a thrill of influence accompanied, what deep and lasting results followed,” James Gale wrote of Kil, quoting one early convert saying of the blind preacher that “he seemed to pray all night, pray all night and then speak three or four times a day, led here and there by the hand, and never seemed to be tired. His words were like a prophet’s risen from the dead, none could withstand them” (Gale 1909, 214–15).  “SHIFTED THE CENTER OF GRAVITY”: If there was any question about the primacy of Pyongyang or Seoul in Korea Christianity, writes the University of California, Los Angeles historian of Korean Christianity Ok Sŏng-dŭk, the revival of 1907 definitively “shifted the center of gravity of the church from Seoul to Pyongyang, which became the ‘Jerusalem of the East.’” While there had been stirrings of revival before 1907, it was Kil Sŏn-ju and his messages in Seoul that “made it a nationwide movement,” Ok writes, thus helping to transform “Protestantism from a foreign religion into a new national religion” (Oak 2013, 271–72). “It makes our pulses leap and fills us with joy,” Lillias Underwood added, describing Pyongyang as a place where “miracles as astounding as [God] leading His people out of Egypt” were happening (Lillias H. Underwood letter to Alice Fish Moffett, February 16, 1908, Brooklyn, N.Y. (MKC)). 
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population inward, rather than towards the fraught questions of imperialism and sovereignty 

Note“THE FORCES OF NATURE”: Some church leaders compared the Great Pyongyang Revival to a series of Christian revivals that swept through Melbourne, Australia, in 1902; through Wales in 1904–1905; and through India in 1905—though the one that blew Korea surpassed them all in scale and fervor. “We have read of the revivals in Wales, India, etc., but this surpasses anything that we have read about,” Pyongyang Presbyterian George S. McCune wrote days into the initial outbreak of revival (McCune letter to Brown, January 15, 1907). The missionaries George H. Jones and W. Arthur Noble, while similarly acknowledging “the great revival in Wales [and] the outbreak in Australia,” described the revival in Korea as an “overwhelming storm.” “It would be no more possible to write an adequate description of this revival than it would be possible to describe some terrific conflict of the forces of nature as witnessed by some one standing at the storm center” (Jones and Noble 1910, 5).   AN ENDURING LEGACY: To this day, the revival of 1907 is credited with having shaped many of the practices now considered central to Korean Presbyterianism—in the words of Donald Clark, a descendant of Korea missionaries and a scholar of religion: “an emphasis on fervent prayer, often before dawn or at retreats in the mountains, confessional prayer, often before dawn or at retreats in the mountains, confessional prayer, prayer for healing and wholeness, and prayer for deliverance” (Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 242). More than a century later, the Great Pyongyang Revival played a role in motivating Korean American missionary Kenneth Bae to engage in undercover evangelistic work in North Korea, leading to his two-year-long detention, the longest known detention of a U.S. citizen by the Pyongyang authorities (see Bae 2016, xviii, 35). For more on Bae’s detention, see Epilogue. 
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In so doing, it may have staved off a broader rebellion 

Note“FEELINGS WERE RUNNING RIOT”: Arthur Becker, the Methodist missionary in Pyongyang, writing on February 24, 1907, at the height of the Great Pyongyang Revival, tied the extraordinary religious fervor he saw all around him to the Koreans’ frustrated political aspirations. “The church was packed, and I mean packed, in the back of the church no one could sit down. About 1,500 were seated closely together on the floor up in the front,” Rev. Becker wrote of one particular evening worship service. “Hundreds stood up after he finished manifesting their wish to become real Christians!…Without doubt, the movement gave direction and purpose to many…The impact of the flood of Japanese immigrants into Korean life was keenly felt all over the nation. In early 1907, hope was not yet extinguished and disillusionment had not yet set in. Feelings were running riot” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 252–54). American missions leader John Mott, a later Nobel Peace Prize laureate, who was in Seoul around the time of the revival, sought to directly translate the political passions of the moment into a commitment to Christ, telling an overflowing audience at Seoul’s Independence Hall in January 1907: “Has there been a nation in the history of nations where one country within so short a time has had to face and adjust itself to what is all new? The present is the time for inner spiritual strength and the Christian faith can empower you to take advantage of the best in modern life” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 254). Mott gave a similar set of remarks to a gathering of the Student Volunteer Conference in Liverpool a year later, in January 1908: “Has there been a case in the history of nations where one country in so short a time has had to face and adjust herself to so much that is modern? The present time is the time of times to impress Korea with Christian truth and spirit” (Mott 1908, 8–9).   “A DEEP-SEATED CONVICTION THAT EVERY KOREAN BORE A RESPONSIBILITY”: James Gale, writing a few years after the revival, made the link between the political and the spiritual even more explicit, writing that, prior to the Great Pyongyang Revival, “the boys in the middle school, modern-day young men, who had spent years in Western study, had filled up on politics and were ready to sacrifice anything in behalf of their nation.” But when the winds of revival came in 1907, “there was silence as if no man were present, but that suddenly when the name of Jesus was mentioned the whole place was electrified by the spirit of conviction” (Gale 1909, 211). American church leader George T. B. Davis, who visited Korea shortly after the revival, put it in even more spiritual terms: “It cleansed and purified the church, which in the lusty vigor of youth, had not fully realized the awfulness of sin” (Davis 1910, 62). “The agony of confession came not only from a sense of individual unworthiness but from a deep-seated conviction that every Korean bore a responsibility for the tragedy that had befallen the nation,” Canadian missionary William Scott wrote (Scott 1975, 57). Also quoted in Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 15. Historians, in studying this remarkable period, have come to regard the spiritual fervor of the Great Pyongyang Revival as a kind of sublimation of the people’s frustrated political ambitions. One historian, for instance, calls the revival of 1907 “an expression of national catharsis whereby the feelings of hatred toward the Japanese were transferred to others and confessed, thus releasing pent up feelings and emotions.” The world was sinking, and the church was akin to a Noah’s Ark, as scholar Daniel Adams writes: “The evangelical message was simplified to something like: ‘Come to church; believe in Jesus; and go to heaven’” (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 14, 16).  “STRESS THE HOPE THAT THE GOSPEL OFFERS”: More than mere providence, some historians have suggested that the missionaries actively “sought to head off any nationalistic movement from arising within the church” and thus deliberately held revival meetings in order “to prevent any political unrest from developing within Korean churches” (Timothy Lee 2010, 15–17). In December 1905, shortly after Japan’s establishment of the protectorate over Korea and not long before the outbreak of the Great Pyongyang Revival, one article in Korea Mission Field, the main organ of the Western missionaries in Korea, had advocated: “The way to combat the unrest in the Church is to stress the hope that the Gospel offers” (“The Time Opportune,” Korea Mission Field (1905), 29–30). Also quoted in Timothy Lee 2010, 17. And on June 1, 1907, William Baird presided over the graduation exercises at Sungsil Academy, keeping the topics of discussion firmly focused on the hereafter, as his Methodist colleague Arthur Becker recalled: “The topics on which the honor students gave talks were religious owing to the fact that such ideas were of great importance to these students because of their experiences during the Revival, and also to the fact that Dr. Baird (who monitored the orations) wanted to keep the students away from political issues” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 264, quoting Arthur Becker diary, June 1, 1907, entry). Becker, however, also noted in a diary entry a few weeks later that, as a result of the revival that year, “Discipline became comparatively easy . . . The revival did for the characters of some, what two years of training could not have done” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 266, quoting Arthur Becker diary, June 18, 1907, entry).   “REPENTANCE RATHER THAN REVENGE”: Steering the Koreans towards spiritual sublimity may have saved the American missionaries from becoming targets themselves of the Koreans’ anger, given the U.S. government’s role in acquiescing to Japan’s designs on Korea, writes one scholar, who notes that “just prior to the revival there was an outbreak of anti-Americanism in Korea due to the recognition on the part of the United States of Japanese control over Korea,” and the American missionaries, perhaps self-servingly, urged “personal repentance rather than revenge” (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 15). Indeed, not all nationalist Korean Christian leaders were happy that the revival, whatever its spiritual value, had directed Korean Christian fervor inwards. An Ch’ang-ho, to offer one high-profile example, regarded the Great Pyongyang Revival as something of a distraction, “irrelevant to Korea’s burning problems,” in the words of historian Kenneth Wells, who acknowledges views among some scholars that the revival was “actually an anti-nationalist campaign among the churches under missionary direction.” An, it was said, even went so far as to exclaim: “How shall we ever wake up this foolish race!” (Wells 1984, 67; and Wells 1990, 34, 38). Some later Korean church scholars have gone further, arguing that the missionaries deliberately “programmed” the Great Pyongyang Revival, effectively taking advantage of the political hopelessness to direct the people towards a pietistic, inward-looking faith that benefited the American missionary-built church. Thus, goes this line of argument, “the Korean Christians’ aspirations for national ‘salvation’ were completely ignored” (Keum 2002, p. 50-51). “If economic and political problems arose, the church taught Koreans to pray, ask God for the forgiveness of sins, and wait for the next kingdom when Jesus returned to earth; Koreans were taught not to question and to attempt to solve major problems in society,” Korean American scholar Albert Park writes in a similar vein (Albert Park 2015, 50). 
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“with the Emperor’s abdication, was quieted by Christians going about urging peace and order” 

Note“THESE WERE ALL SUPPRESSED”: Many Koreans at this time hoped to use the YMCA and the church as a base to launch a broader counteroffensive to the Japanese. “These were all suppressed,” wrote one missionary at the time, “not because of any lack of sympathy on the part of the missionaries for all who were being wronged, but to prevent the Church becoming a political organ” (as quoted in Wells 1990, 36–37). “Both at Seoul and Pyengyang, and throughout the disturbed sections, the Christians exerted their influence on the side of law and order and contributed very largely to keeping the spirit of disorder under control,” as Methodist missionaries George Jones and W. Arthur Noble wrote in 1910. “In the north, no uprising against the government occurred, and this was all the more remarkable, as the people in Pyengyang and the northern provinces are the most excitable and turbulent in the empire” (Jones and Noble 1910, 41–42).  “THE POWERS THAT BE ARE ORDAINED OF GOD”: In a demonstration of the stabilizing role that the Christian leaders played at this pivotal moment in Korean history, when the “righteous armies” began recruiting fighters in northwest Korea in 1907, Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind evangelist of Pyongyang, pleaded with his congregation not to join them, dispatching believers in twos to go out into the city pressing their friends not to join. Kil urged a doctrine of non-resistance, arguing that “the powers that be are ordained of God,” according to Walter C. Erdman (1877–1948), a Presbyterian missionary in the southern city of Taegu (Walter C. Erdman letter to Arthur J. Brown, February 5, 1908, Taiku, Korea (PHS 281/238/1)). As Arthur Brown later put it: “Pastor Kil called all the people together and pleaded with them not to go out, and he held them firm, and then the Christians went out two by two throughout the city urging their friends as individuals to be quiet. They stopped the movement in Pyongyang, and it was stopped all over those two provinces in the same way” (Brown 1919, 350). Early in 1908, when Korea’s minister of justice, with backing from Resident-General Itō Hirobumi, sought to order righteous army leaders to cease fighting, it chose twenty influential Christians, including Kil Sŏn-ju, who had played a central role in the Great Pyongyang Revival, to deliver the message (Wells 1990, 43–44).  “OPENLY CALLED TRAITORS”: The entrusting of such a mission to Korean Christian leaders underscored the moderate nature of Christian opposition to Japanese rule, but it also quickly earned the church a backlash from fervent nationalists, one of whom delivered an anonymous threat to the missionary James Gale in 1908, warning that if the Christian messengers weren’t recalled that Christians’ lives would no longer be safe. Gale, after meeting with the U.S. consul, leaned upon Itō to recall the delegation (Wells 1990, 44). Similarly, Kil Sŏn-ju’s suggestion that the “righteous armies” put down their weapons won him no friends among more radical Koreans, who left the church, dubbed Kil a traitor, and even threatened the blind evangelist (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 98). “Some of the Korean leaders were openly called traitors, some had their lives threatened…These young men caused us much trouble,” wrote Korea missionaries William Blair and Bruce F. Hunt (1903–1992), the latter of whom was born in Pyongyang to missionary parents. “It took high courage, coupled with wisdom and great love to lead the Church aright, to stand up before men burning with indignation at their nation’s loss and preach the doctrine of love and forbearance, and forgiveness even of enemies. Yet this is just what the missionaries and our best Korean leaders did” (William Newton Blair and Bruce F. Hunt, The Korean Pentecost and The Sufferings Which Followed (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth Trust, 1977), 63–64).  “ANOTHER ROMAN CHURCH”: Thus, the missionaries effectively credited themselves with quelling the furies of restive Koreans angered by the forced abdication of the emperor, arguing that, without the interventions of the church, the northwest would have erupted in rebellion against the Japanese (Brown 1919, 574). “It has been said that the influence of the Christian church in northern Korea was the only thing which kept the people of the brave-spirited north country from rising in rebellion, as some other parts of the country have done,” the missionaries wrote. “During the abdication period of some few weeks since Christian men of the churches in Pyeng Yang walked up and down the streets of the city and exhorted the people to be quiet and make no attempt at rebellion or arms. That is the spirit and temper of the Christian church and the missionaries in this country” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 10 (October 1907), 153–56, here 155). If not for the pleas of missionaries and Korean church leaders like Kil, the “righteous army” movement “would positively have swept the entire population,” missionary Charles Clark wrote at the time. “They stopped the Wipyung movement in Pyeng Yang city” (Charles A. Clark letter to Arthur J. Brown, February 5, 1908, Seoul (PHS 281/238/25)). Blair and Hunt similarly argued that if the church had openly aligned itself against the Japanese at that critical moment, the Korean people would have adopted the faith “in a day,” though in that case, it would have effectively established “another Roman Church,” in which the church was overtly wedded to a political ideology (Blair and Hunt 1977, 63). Also cited in Wells 1990, 36. Though he forestalled an open political fight with the Japanese, Kil also preached frequently during this period from the Book of Exodus, drawing comparisons between the Korean nation and the Israelites of old, seeking deliverance from Pharaoh—thus raising hopes not just for the salvation of their souls but also of their nation (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 113). 
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“of men, no matter what their grievances may be,” the missionaries declared in October 1907 

NoteThough this Korea Mission Field editorial was open about the suspicions that the Japanese harbored towards the missionaries—“the Japanese authorities both in Japan and Korea are suspecting the missionaries in Korea of complicity with the Koreans in the present uprisings”—it insisted that “a strict neutrality has been maintained and a determination to keep hands out of politics is a well known fact to all who are acquainted with the missionary plans and policy of the Christian church” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 155).  WITH A “SWEET MIND”: The message had been made firmly enough, affirmed missionary Charles Morris, that “it is now a rare thing when anyone ever seeks the influence of the missionary in any political matter. Our fixed determination to attend wholly to our work of preaching the Gospel is now so well understood that the request to render any assistance in any outside matter is scarcely ever heard” (C. D. Morris [Morris, Charles D.], “Yeng Byen Station,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 10 (October 1907), 158). Missionary Edwin Wade Koons, speaking in 1908, gushed with pride at how the church had called upon Koreans not only to obey the Japanese authorities, but to do so with a “sweet mind,” while trying to persuade his flock of the benefits of Japanese rule (Paik 1929, 401). Also cited in Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 15). Though the missionaries patted themselves on the back for steering their charges clear of politics, writes one historian, “it is clear that the missionaries failed to understand sufficiently the Koreans’ pain at Japan’s predations” (Wells 1990, 37).   
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church leaders back home and spurring a fresh wave of global missionary interest in Korea 

Note“KOREA IS BECOMING FAMOUS”: For some time, “the attention of the Christian world was briefly fixed on Korea” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 104). “Korea is becoming famous for her large congregations of Christians,” the editors of the Korea Mission Field wrote in October that year (“Field Notes,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 150). John Goucher, the Methodist educational leader in Baltimore who had been an early champion of missions work in Korea, declared himself impressed after a visit to Korea that year by “the surcharged spiritual atmosphere which he met everywhere. He said he had not seen its like before” (“What Prominent Men Have Said,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 10 (October 1907), 158–59).  “WONDERFUL! WONDERFUL!! WONDERFUL!!!”: “I asked one of the many distinguished visitors we have had this year what he thought of Christianity in Korea,” Pyongyang missionary John Z. Moore wrote in August 1907. “He had just spent a Sunday in Pyeng Yang city where five or six thousand Christians gather for worship, and his reply was ‘Wonderful! wonderfull!! wonderful!!!’ Not only ministers and missionary secretaries, but scores of newspaper correspondents and business men have expressed their approval of, and amazement in, the marvelous effects of Christianity in Korea” (J. Z. Moore [Moore, John Z.], “The Great Revival Year,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 8 (August 1907), 113–20, here 118–19).
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“of centuries,” wrote one American writer. “The whole country is fruit ripe for the picking” 

NoteThe American Christian writer is William T. Ellis (1873–1950), a church elder, a correspondent for several newspapers in New York and Philadelphia, having covered the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the Paris Peace Conference of 1919, and the author of a bestselling book on Billy Sunday, which is cited above. Ellis, according to missionary John Moore, added in this same exchange: “If the Christian church has any conception of strategy, and appreciation of opportunity, and any sense of relative values, she will act at once—not next year, but now!” (as quoted in Moore, “The Great Revival Year,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 119). Details on Ellis’ background are drawn from “Presbyterian Mission Annual Meeting,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 145. More than merely great opportunity, Ellis and other Western church leaders found inspiration from the devotion of the Koreans throughout the revival. “These revivals have taught me, that in the matter of making all life religious, in prayer, and in a simple, child like trust, the East not only has many things, but profound things, to teach the West” (Moore, “The Great Revival Year,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 118). Also quoted in Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 24. 
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about what had taken place there, bringing the evangelistic embers back to northeastern China 

NoteFor a detailed account of how the Great Pyongyang Revival spilled over into and spread across Manchuria, see J. Webster [Webster, James B.], “Times of Blessing” in Manchuria: Letters from Moukden to the Church at Home, February 17–April 30, 1908, 3rd ed. (Shanghai: Methodist Publishing House, 1909). In Manchuria, the spiritual awakening was known simply as the “Korean Revival,” a clear nod to the geographical origins of the spectacle that they witnessed in northeastern China (Jones and Noble 1910, 43). In Manchuria, as in Korea, some prominent Christians confessed to murder (Webster 1909, 48–49, 53). Earlier, the missionaries in Manchuria had experienced their own, albeit more modest, revival between 1895 and 1900—though they were hesitant to use the word “revival,” and attributed the phenomenon largely to the same factors that the Korean missionaries had in the last five years of the nineteenth century, namely, the overturning of the established Sinocentric world after the Sino-Japanese War ended in 1895 (see Graham 1902, 149–58). 
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from the frigid chill, crammed themselves into Seoul’s Independence Hall to hear Mott speak 

Note“LIKE PLUNGING THE LINE IN FOOTBALL”: In addition to the 2,500 tickets they had already distributed, Mott recounted, another 3,500 people stood outside in the freezing January cold, listening intently to the three-and-a-half-hour-long lecture (Mott 1908, 2). Robert E. Lewis (1869–1969), who served as Secretary of the YMCA in Shanghai starting in 1898, and who traveled to Seoul for Mott’s visit, later described the chaos of the scene: “I attempted to get into Independence Hall, but it was like plunging the line in football. At length I was hauled in by a strong arm reached down from above. What a scene! Mr. Mott was in the midst of his address on the power of Jesus Christ; beside him as interpreter was the slight, lithe frame of H.E. Yun Tchi Ho, ex-Minister of Education (Vanderbilt University); before them was a mass of 3,000 men sitting on mats on the floor so close together that there was no room to move or change position. The windows were packed, and back from the three entrances large blocks of people were straining to hear. The short, incisive sentences were translated into musical Korean, the audience was a sea of fast-fixed eyes, the speaker had reached the conclusion of his powerful two-hour address; the appeal was made, reiterated, explained, emphasized—and then one by one 200 and more men rose and stood in the presence of their sitting nationals as evidence of their desire to accept Jesus Christ. It took nearly half an hour to persuade the rest of the audience to go away” (as quoted in Mathews 1934, 189–90).  “THE VAGUE FEELING THAT IT IS SOMEHOW FOR THE POLITICAL INTEREST”: George Ladd, the pro-Japanese Congregationalist minister and longtime Yale University professor, offers a counterpoint, dismissing the gathering as a political rally in a book published the following year: “Of these, however, nine-tenths came with the vague feeling that it is somehow for the political interest of Koreans to seem friendly to citizens of foreign Christian countries especially of the United States in order to secure help for themselves in an appeal to interfere with the Japanese administration. In this case the speaker was at first supposed to have great political influence. But the audience, seeing that the subjects of address were religious rather than political, fell off greatly on the second occasion” (Ladd 1908, 11). 
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“the first non-Christian nation thoroughly evangelized in this modern foreign missionary epoch” 

NoteJohn Mott tells the tale in a lecture that he delivered to the Student Volunteer Conference held in Liverpool, England a year later, in January 1908. Mott, in fact, was so encouraged by what he saw in Korea that he saw the whole future of the Christian faith in the Far East: “If some great catastrophe to-morrow made it necessary for all the missionaries to withdraw from Asia, Christianity is so securely planted in the lives of the Orientals that it would spread from them to all parts of the East; and were Christianity to die out in the Occident, in my judgment it has such propagating power in Asia that it would ultimately spread back to us” (Mott 1908, 7). On that same trip through Asia, Mott organized a conference of his World’s Student Christian Federation in Tokyo in April 1907, which was accompanied by an evangelistic campaign, sparking hope that the fervor could spread to Japan, which became increasingly clear to the missionary eye was the emerging regional hegemon (Mott 1908, 5; and Mathews 1934, 131).   THE “DOMINANT FIGURE OF THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE”: Mott was, in the words of Harvard historian James Reed, the “dominant figure of the missionary enterprise” (Reed 1983, 10). Though Mott—who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1946—wasn’t himself a missionary, he was perhaps its most prominent cheerleader, and made multiple trips around the world touting the Christian gospel and the need for more missionary efforts. For a description of Mott’s travels through India, China, and Japan in January 1897, see Shedd 1934, 368. On a later trip to the region in 1912–1913, Mott held another tent revival meeting in Seoul, where he came away even more assured of this belief. “Beyond question this can be made a Christian nation if the Christian Church continues to make the most of its advantage. I came away from Korea believing that if Christianity were to die out in America and Europe, it exists with such vitality in Korea that it would ultimately spread from there to our shores and reestablish itself” (Mott 1914, 43). By March 1913, Mott was traveling through China and Manchuria, where YMCA branches were springing up. At one address in Shenyang, Mott was given the red-carpet treatment, meeting with the governor and speaking before five thousand young people (Christie 1914, 283–85). 
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under the principles of self-governance that Samuel Moffett and his colleagues cherished 

NoteTHREE-SELF MOVEMENT: The principle of devolving church oversight to the native believers as quickly as possible was a core tenet of the so-called Nevius method, of which Samuel Moffett was one of the most vocal supporters (see Supplemental Notes for Act I, Chapter 6). Guided by this Nevius method of building a “self-propagating, self-supporting and self-governing” native church, many of the missionaries, writes one scholar of the Canadian Presbyterian missionaries, “presumed that their mission presence in Korea would be relatively short Iived. They expected to withdraw and allow Korean converts to take over positions of leadership within the churches and mission centres. The Canadian missionaries hoped to leave Korea once the Presbyterian presence solidified to the point where the Koreans were able to carry on itinerant visits into the countryside, garner additional converts, inform rural villagers of the mission centers in the cities, and manage their own affairs” (MacDonald 2000, 39–40). Thus, the goal of the missionaries, writes historian Donald Clark, himself the son and grandson of Korea missionaries, “was to establish a Christian community of churches on the peninsula and eventually, perhaps after generations, to withdraw and leave the church in self-supporting Korean hands” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 43).  “A SCAFFOLDING TO BE TAKEN DOWN”: As the editors of the Korean Mission Field once declared, “the missionary is a temporary makeshift; a scaffolding to be taken down at the earliest moment that the spiritual house growing within is sufficiently advanced to develope [sic] alone” (“Editorial Notes,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 4 (April 1919), 67–68, here 68). Though this position was far from mainstream among missions advocates, Moffett and his likeminded colleagues in Korea—though conservative on a theological and social level—were in fact “moderate evangelicals” because of such views, in the words of one scholar, who cared deeply about Korean culture and sought to directly connect their own faith with the indigenous culture they had encountered; while they were “not free from spiritual imperialism, it was the most liberal missionary attitude toward non-Christian religions at that time” (Oak 2013, xvii). The missionaries had also long tried to do use native terms for God and to incorporate practices from native religions into Christianity, like predawn prayer. Thus, writes historian Ok Sŏng-dŭk, “a well-naturalized Anglo-American-Sino Christianity was grafted onto Korean religions, so that a new Korean Christianity could flourish” (Oak 2013, xvii). Isabella Bird Bishop, the British explorer—and firm supporter of missionary causes—said after her fourth and final visit to Korea in 1897 that, “already, many Oriental Christians are claiming with earnest voices an Oriental Christ instead of a Christ disguised in Western garb” (as quoted in Stoddart 1907, 338).  IN MANCHURIA: A similar dynamic was at play among the Scottish Presbyterians in Manchuria, who were also greatly inspired by the Nevius method. After the establishment of the presbytery at Shenyang in 1891, one of the first resolutions was that the new Presbyterian Church of Manchuria would conduct its deliberations in Chinese, with efforts made to expedite the ability of local church leaders to take the reins (Ross 1903, 124–25; and M’Laren 1896, 79–80). By the time of the Great Revival in 1907 and 1908, the missionaries in Manchuria felt confident in handing over the church to the native believers (Webster 1909, 50).  “SELF-EUTHANIZE”: Though Moffett and his colleagues across Korea and Manchuria were most directly influenced by the ideas of John Nevius, the ideas he propagated in fact predated him by many years. Henry Venn (1796–1873), a British Anglican missions advocate, argued in 1854 that a mission, after establishing an independent church in a missionary field, should “self-euthanize; that is, after it erects a church in the mission field it should die away there as a mission” (as quoted in Kim Yŏng-jae, “Mission Policies of Nevius,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 78). 
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had already begun crafting plans to turn over leadership of the Korean church to the Koreans 

NoteSEEKING “TRANSFERENCE”: As early as the spring of 1898, five years after the opening of the Pyongyang mission station, Moffett had expressed his intention to quickly transfer control of the Korean church to Koreans. “One of the most important steps before us,” Moffett wrote the missions board in New York, is “the gradual and judicious transference of the government and management of the native church to those Koreans whom we have been and are training to meet the responsibilities of leadership” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, April 6, 1898). As Moffett put it in a 1910 article, “I believe with a deep conviction that just as soon as men are ready for ordination to the ministry, they should be placed according to their gifts in the positions of leadership and responsibility in the evangelization of their people” (Moffett, “Place of the Native Church,” Union Seminary Magazine (1911), 234). It was a view Moffett maintained throughout his life. “It is our duty to give the Gospel to China, India, Korea, Africa and all non-Christian peoples and to establish the church among them, but it is not our duty to support the churches so established,” he wrote in 1927 (Samuel A. Moffett et al. letter to the Secretaries of the International Missionary Council, September 15, 1927, Pyengyang (MKC)).  “LITTLE BY LITTLE”: A description of Moffett’s plans to begin gradually devolving responsibility for the church to Korean believers can be found in an October 1900 letter to Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood, in which he laid out steps to train up native elders and pastors to run the church, though, ultimately, the judgment call on the appropriate moment to hand over control remained with the missionaries themselves. “As in all other steps in our work we here also aim to develop a natural, gradual growth, giving power, authority and responsibility to the Koreans little by little, increasing it as they show by trial that they are fitted to bear the responsibility and worthy to exercise authority,” Moffett wrote (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1900). One Yale doctoral dissertation traced efforts to form a presbytery to 1902, when the Committee on Church Government of the Council of Presbyterian Missions made and adopted a formal recommendation along these lines. The recommendation called for a presbytery to be organized once there were three suitable Korean pastoral candidates and at least a dozen churches with ordained elders, with the missionaries still retaining their formal affiliations to their churches back in the homeland (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 108–9). Another source traces talks on the formation of the presbytery beginning as early as 1901 (MacRae 1993, 97). 
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And as Japan made its first move to swallow up Korea in 1905, he accelerated those plans 

NoteIn January 1905, months before the Japanese established a protectorate over Korea, Moffett urged the Presbyterian foreign missions board to give Korean Christians more standing in the church so as to ensure that “the incoming of the Japanese who are…so jealous of foreign influence in the East will very soon make it even the more essential that we retain the entire confidence of the Koreans and give no occasion to them to feel that we withhold from them what they are prepared for” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 25, 1905, Pyengyang (PHS 281/235/20)). It wasn’t empty talk. As early as 1911, just four years after the ordination of the first Korean ministers, the number of ordained Korean pastors surpassed that of foreign missionaries. “Never again would the number of ordained missionaries outstrip Koreans,” one scholar writes (Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 27). 
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their operations and amalgamated them into a new native Korean Presbyterian Church 

NoteThe new Presbytery of the Korean Presbyterian Church (朝鮮耶穌教長老會 大韓老會 Kor. Chosŏn Yesu-gyo Changro-hoe Taehan Ro-hoe), created on September 17, 1907, was also referred to as the National Presbyterian Church or the Independent Presbytery (獨老會 Kor. Tok Ro-hoe) (Clark 1937, 159–60; and Shearer 1966, 58). The newly created presbytery had jurisdiction over the seven Korean ministers ordained that day, as well as thirty-three elders, thirty-eight fully organized churches, and another 984 churches, 402 day schools, roughly seventy thousand adherents, 21,000 catechumens, and eighteen thousand communicants spanning the Korean peninsula (Horace Underwood 1908, 173; Eui Whan Kim 1966, 59–60; and Ion 1990, 168). The creation of the new presbytery was preceded by the formation of a Presbyterian Council, made up of the four Presbyterian missions in Korea—the Northern and Southern Presbyterians from the U.S., and the Canadian and Australian Presbyterians (Shearer 1966, 59). The Methodists would not take their own such step and establish a Korean Methodist Church (基督教大韓監理會 Kor. Kidok-gyo Taehan Kamri-hoe) until 1930, with Rev. Yang Chu-sam (J. S. Ryang 梁柱三 1879–?) elected as general superintendent (Sherwood Hall 1978, 479; Eui Whan Kim 1966, 65; and Sung Chun Chun 1955, 116). 
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a few years earlier, seven graduates were ordained as the national church’s first ministers 

NoteSamuel Moffett had established the seminary several years earlier, though it wasn’t until that very day—September 17, 1907—that the formal name of the seminary was adopted as “The Presbyterian Theological Seminary of Korea” (長老會神學校 Kor. Changro-hoe Sinhak-gyo) (S. L. Roberts [Roberts, Stacy L.], “Fifty Years of Christian Training in Korea,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 104–116, here 110). The timing of the establishment of the new Korean Presbyterian Church may have been set to coincide with the graduation of the first class of native Korean seminarians (Blair 1957, 60–61). For Moffett’s own reflections that year on the establishment of the seminary, see Moffett, “An Educated Ministry,” in Bradt 1907, 137–41. Recalling the moment three years later in 1910, Moffett said, referring to his missionary colleague Graham Lee and Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind evangelist of Pyongyang: “In 1907 Mr. Lee and I exchanged places with the assistant pastor, Mr. Kil, he becoming pastor and we gladly taking the position of advisers; so that the ideal for which we had long been striving became a reality—a fully organized, self-supporting Korean Church, with a Korean pastor and board of elders and deacons” (as quoted in Davis 1910, 27). 
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national church was to be based in the Jerusalem of the East, with Moffett elected moderator 

NoteTHE “RED-LETTER DAY OF KORAN PRESBYTERIANISM”: Rev. William D. Reynolds, a Southern Presbyterian missionary to Pyongyang and a close associate of Samuel Moffett, regarded the establishment of the new presbytery, with Moffett as its inaugural moderator, as a reflection of the centrality of “the Jerusalem of the East” in Korean Christianity: “It was highly fitting that this historic event should take place in Pyeng Yang, the ancient capital of the country, and in the great Central Presbyterian Church—the mother of three large city churches and some scores of country churches, herself scarce ten years old!” (William D. Reynolds, “The Presbytery of Korea,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 11 (November 1907), 162–64, here 162). Rev. Reynolds elsewhere hailed the day as the “red-letter day of Korean Presbyterianism,” which a later scholar described as “a classic understatement,” the spirit of independence unleashing “a rapid and phenomenal growth for which it is difficult to find a parallel anywhere in mission history” (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 115). Church historian and Korea missionary Roy Shearer, writing decades later, described it as “a solemn occasion, significantly held in Pyongyang, the site of the first great growth of the Church. Pyongyang Central Church was scarcely fourteen years old herself, but had in these years mothered three large city churches and scores of country churches” (Shearer 1966, 58). Korean church historian Pak Chŏng-sin adds: “With two-thirds of the Korean Presbyterian Christians located in the northwestern part of the peninsula, leaders from that region carried considerable weight in the new presbytery; major church meetings and activities all centered in P’yŏngyang rather than in the capital city of Seoul” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 99). Though the election of an American missionary as moderator for the newly formed native Korean presbytery may sound self-defeating, the vote was seen as a stabilizing transitional choice—and a tribute to Moffett’s central role in the birth of the Korean church. Church historian Roy Shearer notes that, even then, Korean church leaders were in the majority from the beginning of the presbytery and, after the formation of the General Assembly in 1912, a missionary was only ever elected moderator once after 1915—in 1919, amid the possibility of persecution from the Japanese authorities if a Korean was picked in that fraught political year (Shearer 1966, 58). For more on the turbulent political events of 1919, see Act II, Chapter 14. 
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one of the men who stoned Moffett on the streets of Pyongyang some two decades earlier 

NoteAlso among them was Sŏ Kyŏng-jo, also known as Sŏ Sang-u, the early Ŭiju convert and younger brother of Moffett’s assistant Sŏ Sang-yun (see Act I, Chapter 4). The list also included Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind evangelist, who was formally appointed as minister of Pyongyang’s Central Presbyterian Church; the following year, 1908, Rev. Kil baptized 201 people in what was the first baptism ceremony presided over by a native Korean pastor (Shearer 1966, 59; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 103). 
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a native church founded by foreign missionaries sent out, as its first act, a missionary of its own 

Note“QUEL PARTE”: Cheju (濟州), more commonly spelled Jeju, was known at the time as Quelpart, named by Dutch sailors who were the first Europeans to describe the island. For a detailed inquiry into the historical names of Cheju island, see the work of Stanford political scientist Anthony E. Sokol, who noted in a 1948 article that the Portuguese, who encountered the island before Hendrick Hamel and his Dutch crewmates shipwrecked there, called the island “Ilha de Ladrones”—“Island of Beggars,” or “Island of Bandits”— having apparently come away with a less-than-charitable view of the local inhabitants. Sokol also offers several compelling explanations for the origin of the name “Quelpart,” by which Cheju was most widely known for decades in the West, including its use as a Dutch slang word for a galiot, a small dispatch boat which the island was said to have resembled from afar; a reference to a small guide boat that Cheju—positioned at the far end of the Japanese island chain for sailors, like the Dutch, coming north from Formosa—seemed to function as, figuratively speaking; or a derivate of the French word “quelque part” (meaning “somewhere”) (A. E. Sokol [Sokol, Anthony E.], “The Name of Quelpaert Island,” Isis 38, no. 3–4 (February 1948), 231–35). The latter theory is endorsed by Southern Presbyterian Anabel L. Nisbet (1869–1920), who wrote that “the first French navigators, not knowing where they were when they reached it, cried, ‘Quel parte’ (What place?), and so it gained its name” (Nisbet 1919, 83).  A MISSIONS-MINDED CHURCH: After the dispatching of Yi Ki-p’ung (李基豐 1865–1942) to Cheju in 1907, a Korean woman convert named Yi Sŏn-gwang (李善光 ?–?) was sent there the following year by the Presbyterian women of Pyongyang (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 72; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 104). In 1909, the Korean Presbyterian Church ordained another missionary, this time to Vladivostok; and in 1912, the Korean Presbyterian Church sent missionaries to China’s Shandong province, upon the invitation of the presbytery there (Blair 1957, 72). By the 1930s, women missionaries were heading to India and Japan on behalf of the Methodist Church. Dispatching women missionaries, write historians Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim, showed that women, “like men, were called and equipped by God, and that women were the equal of the Western missionaries who had come to Korea” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 137–38). See also Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 72–75. 
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“now he goes as the first missionary of the Presbyterian Church in Korea!” Moffett exclaimed 

NoteThe quote also appears in Horace Underwood 1908, 173; and Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 56, though here, Moffett fils misidentifies Yi as “Poong-Ki Lee.”   FROM STONE-THROWER TO GOSPEL EVANGELIST: According to one Pyongyang Presbyterian missionary, Yi Ki-p’ung was a professional actor and entertainer in his younger days, only giving up that career when he became a Christian (Clark 1937, 160–61). At Yi Ki-p’ung’s farewell ceremony on January 11, 1908, the blind preacher Kil Sŏn-ju sent off his seminary classmate as the Korean church’s first missionary, and “during his remarks said that this missionary must not be discouraged should he have rocks thrown at him by the Quelpart people. ‘For,’ said Mr. Kil, ‘remember how you threw rocks at the first Pyeng Yang missionaries.’ And the missionary who was Mr. Yi Ki Pung sat with the tears running down his cheeks as Mr. Kil spoke. It was a meeting never to be forgotten by those who were present” (Martin, “Three Pictures,” Korea Mission Field (1911), 171–72). Graham Lee had earlier exulted in Yi Ki-p’ung’s transformation from stone-thrower to “one of our best workers…it shows what the Gospel does for these men” (Graham Lee letter to Mother, January 1, 1903, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). Charles Bernheisel made the same remark in his diary entry that day (Bernheisel 2004, 416 (January 1, 1903, diary entry)).  THE “THUG”: Years later, according to one source, Moffett joked before an assembled congregation that, after having been stoned by Yi Ki-p’ung, “this chin was split, then put back together, and now I have this dent…Before I got this, I was a handsome man.” Moffett then identified the “thug” responsible for this act, turning dramatically to Yi Ki-p’ung: “The man who did it has now repented, believes in Jesus, graduated from seminary and went all the way down to Jeju to evangelize, and that man is Rev. Yi Ki-p’ung” (as quoted in Hong Man-ch’un 1998, 634). This account—charming though it is—should be taken with a grain of salt, since it doesn’t appear elsewhere and since Hong Man-ch’un asserts, strangely, that Moffett was a political figure before coming to Korea. See also Nisbet 1919, 144–45; and Brown 1919, 531. A February 1941 article describes the retirement that year of Rev. Yi, who in the words of Pyongyang missionary William Swallen “has served as pastor longer than any other Korean” (Swallen, “Forty-Eight Years of Service,” Korea Mission Field (1941), 19). 
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over the next five years, enough to organize a General Assembly on September 1, 1912 

Note“A NATIONAL CHURCH WAS PERFECTED”: On September 1, 1912, a meeting in Pyongyang formally reorganized the presbytery into a General Assembly of the Korean Presbyterian Church, which was then itself divided into seven presbyteries—with Horace G. Underwood elected inaugural moderator of the General Assembly, the blind preacher Kil Sŏn-ju elected vice moderator and Moffett’s former assistant Han Sŏk-jin elected clerk (Huntley 1984, 130; Eui Whan Kim 1966, 62; and J. K. S. Kimm [Kim, Kyu-sik], “The Erection of the First General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 11 (November 1912), 323–25). The meeting in Pyongyang was attended by fifty-two Korean pastors, 125 elders, and forty-four missionaries, writes one scholar (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 62). The event marked the day when the Korean church’s “full organization as a national Church was perfected,” in the later words of one Pyongyang missionary (Clark 1937, 176).  As with the establishment of the first Korean presbytery in 1907, the first act of the new General Assembly was to send missionaries abroad—this time to either China or northern Thailand (then known as Siam), with a final decision to come. By then, the Korean Presbyterian Church had sent missionaries not only to Cheju, but also to Vladivostok, Manchuria, and the students in Tokyo, “but it was decided that this could not be called foreign work,” Kim Kyu-sik noted, since these were not reaching foreigners but rather Koreans overseas in the nascent diaspora (Kimm, “Erection of the First General Assembly,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 324).  AN EXTRA PRESBYTERY FOR THE NORTHWEST: Again underscoring the dominance and centrality of Pyongyang, the seven presbyteries were allotted one to each of Chosŏn Korea’s eight traditional provinces, with the exception of the two relatively unresponsive provinces in and around Seoul—Kyŏnggi and Ch’ungch’ŏng, which shared one presbytery; and rural Kang’wŏn province, which was assigned to the Methodists and didn’t have any representation at all—and northwestern P’yŏng’an province getting two presbyteries, each of which on its own was bigger than any of the others in terms of the number of ordained ministers (Kimm, “Erection of the First General Assembly,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 324–25; and Chung-shin Park 2003, 33–34, n. 81). “The transition from the single presbytery to a General Assembly was relatively easy, for the seven sub-presbyteries were simply advanced to full presbyteries with their borders and personnel unchanged and the presbytery became a General Assembly” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 62).  A PROLIFERATION OF PRESBYTERIES: For the explosion in the number of Korean presbyteries, from one in 1907 to seven in 1912, reorganized under a General Assembly that year, and then expanding again to twenty-seven presbyteries by 1933, see Sung Chun Chun 1955, 115. Another source says there were twenty-four presbyteries in 1934 (C. A. Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “The Missionary Work of the Presbyterian Church of Korea,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 201–6, here 201). 
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“Movement” with the lofty goal of bringing one million Koreans to the faith within a year 

NoteThe Southern Methodist missionaries in Kaesŏng (開城), then known as Songdo (松都), came up with the idea for a “Million Movement” in the winter of 1908–1909. Initially, the missionaries prayed for fifty thousand souls, and then set as a watchword the far more ambitious “this year 200,000 souls for Christ.” As the idea circulated among the missionaries, the target kept rising until, before long, the missionaries were calling for a million souls for Christ (Dr. Reed [Reid, Wightman T.?], “1,000,000 Souls This Year,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 11 (November 1909), 196–98, here 198; McCune and Thompson 2009, 287–89; and Huntley 1984, 138). The “Dr. Reed” here appears to refer to Wightman T. Reid (1883–1954), a Southern Methodist medical missionary based in Kaesŏng and Seoul starting in 1907. The campaign gained momentum with the support of the blind Pyongyang pastor Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju and a certain Elder Han, likely Han Sŏk-jin, who asked congregations to volunteer time for evangelism (McCune and Thompson 2009, 289–90; and William L. Swallen letter to Arthur J. Brown, December 10, 1910, Pyeng Yang (PHS 282/240/140-a)). As part of the campaign, two well-known American evangelists, John Wilbur Chapman (1859–1918) and Charles M. Alexander (1867–1920), arrived in Seoul in October 1909 (Davis 1910, 7–8).
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“in each of the six daily papers. Every family in the city was visited every day for six days” 

Note“The present is without doubt God’s opportunity for making Korea a Christian nation,” the General Council of Evangelical Missions in Korea, an umbrella group for the missionaries on the Korean peninsula, added in March 1910. “Korea is the strategic point of the Far East, and to win Korea NOW means to help immeasurably in the evangelization of the East” (“A Call to Prayer for Korea,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 3 (March 1910), 54).
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the “Million Movement,” the country had been thoroughly saturated with the gospel message 

NoteBritish journalist Angus Hamilton, describing a trip to an inaccessible gold mine in the north, underscored the remoteness of the place by writing that “even the ubiquitous evangelist had not penetrated to these peasant homes” (Hamilton 1904, 208).
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“souls for Jesus! Lord, grant our heart’s-desire!”—added new energy to the evangelistic effort 

NoteMARK, TIMES A MILLION: In this letter to Arthur Brown, Horace G. Underwood describes the initial order size being for 400,000 specially-translated copies of the Gospel of Mark—though that was, as he wrote, “practically you might say, the beginning.” With this starting point, Underwood continued, the missionaries had plans to mobilize the country’s missionaries and native converts in “a determined effort” to distribute more than a million copies of the gospel across the peninsula. “The whole country will be districted, and in some way or other every house will be reached and an effort will be made to put a copy of one or other of the Gospels, or of the New Testament, in every house in the land,” he wrote (Horace G. Underwood letter to Arthur Brown, January 6, 1910, Seoul (PHS 282/240/2)). Arthur Brown, the missions board secretary, later described the British and Foreign Bible Society printing a large run of the Gospel of Mark, translated into Korean, for sale the Christians, who would then distribute them far and wide: “The Society first ordered 100,000, and then cabled to make it 200,000. Finding the orders were nearly 300,000, the edition was made 400,000. We expect considerably over a million of these Gospels will be distributed during the year, and a determined effort will be made to see that every household in Korea during this year hears the story of Christ in an intelligent manner” (Brown 1919, 530). Brown here is quoting a letter from an unnamed missionary, though it appears that it is Underwood that he is citing. The visiting American Christian leader George T. B. Davis describes the sequence of events slightly differently: “The Bible Society printed a first edition of 300,000 copies of the Gospel of St. Mark. In a few weeks they were all sold, while the demand seemed undiminished. A fourth, fifth and sixth hundred thousand were ordered. But the demand increased more rapidly than the supply. At length the Bible Society had to telegraph for 100,000 of the St. Mark’s Gospels, to be forwarded by train instead of by steamer from Yokohama to Seoul to meet the orders which were pouring in from all parts of the country” (Davis 1910, 52). Whatever the details in the arrangements, all sources seem to converge around the claim that, as missionary William Blair writes, one million copies of the Gospel of Mark were translated, and some 700,000 copies sold (Blair 1957, 72). The Gospel of Mark was chosen in part because it was the shortest of the four Gospels (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 171).   “LORD, SPREAD THE GOSPEL FIRE”: The lyrics for the Million Movement theme song were penned by Canadian missionary Robert Harkness (1858–1938) in October 1909 in Seoul:  “A million souls for Jesus!/Sound out the watchword true!  A million souls for Jesus/The work of God to do.  Korea’s cry is mighty,/But God is mightier far;  No band of evil forces/His purposes can mar.  Refrain:—A million souls for Jesus!/Lord, grant our heart’s-desire!  A million souls for Jesus!/Lord, spread the Gospel fire” (“A Million Souls for Jesus,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 11 (November 1909), 181; and Davis 1910, 8–9). 
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in January 1910. “We shall soon see the whole church once more on fire with evangelistic zeal” 

NotePLEDGING HOURS: Under this “pledging,” or subscribing, to a certain number of hours or days of evangelism, a believer would, often after a period of prayer, commit to giving that amount of time to the work of sharing the Christian gospel. This idea sprang out of the Bible training classes, and became a uniquely Korean form of evangelism, “according to which the Christians spend the determined number of days in going from village to village and from house to house telling the story of the Gospel,” as Moffett put it the following year (Moffett, “Place of the Native Church,” Union Seminary Magazine (1911), 230). See also David Cho 2012, 545–48. As another missionary explained: “To distinguish this service from the daily witnessing to unbelievers which each Christian does as a matter of course, the terms of subscription required that the volunteer preacher leave home and spend the specified number of days at his own expense in a heathen village. Subscriptions were for five or ten days, or a week or a fortnight, to be fulfilled within six weeks after the class closed” (“A Collection in Days of Preaching—From Personal Report of Rev. C. E. Kearns, September 1905,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 1 (November 1905), 7–8).  CAMPAIGNS MAPPED, REGIONS EVANGELIZED: The practice of pledging hours was paired with the divvying up of Korea into lots, such that each believer would be assigned a geographic area to cover during their volunteer hours (Brown 1919, 530–31). “Campaigns are mapped out, and in some cases whole regions have been systematically evangelized,” James Gale explained (Gale 1909, 200). In Pyongyang alone, roughly a thousand believers pledged a collective 22,000 days’ worth of personal evangelism, a sum that, if fulfilled, would have blanketed the city and its surrounding villages with the Christian message, to the point that no one could credibly claimed to escape without having been accosted with the teaching (Shearer 1966, 57). In a meeting of one country church of about 250 believers, the Koreans pledged 2,700 days’ worth of preaching (Brown 1919, 529–30). According to the visiting George T. B. Davis, the first three months of 1910 saw an aggregate of 75,000 days, or 205 years, worth of evangelism pledged by Korean Christians. “This is the equivalent of five men preaching the Gospel continuously in Korea for 41 years each,” he wrote (Davis 1910, 40).  “AT THEIR OWN EXPENSE”: “Many Koreans give three months of the year to evangelistic campaigns at their own expense,” another missionary added (Hounshell, “Korea’s Message to the World,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 310). “Thousands have heard the Gospel for the first time not from a paid evangelist whose motives might be questioned, but from private church members doing the Master’s service at their own expense,” missionary Carl Kearns noted (“A Collection in Days of Preaching,” Korea Mission Field (1905), 8). Though Kearns was describing an earlier evangelistic campaign in 1905, the principle was the same here: Having real converts do the preaching gratis was far more effective than hiring people to do the same. One young Christian in northwestern Korea recalls leaving his remote hometown to spread the gospel even deeper in the surrounding villages (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 57). 
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“Gospel was sent to me during the class, and in less than half an hour they were all gone” 

NoteBrown doesn’t name the missionary, but it tracks with the experience of Pyongyang missionary William Swallen, whose correspondence was reported in Korea Mission Field in early 1910: “An ox load of the special gospels, 4,000 volumes, and 10,000 tracts, reached him from Pyeng Yang. He adds ‘In less than half an hour they were all gone and I did not have enough to supply the demand’” (as quoted in Untitled Editorial, Korea Mission Field 6, no. 2 (February 1910), 25–28, here 26). 
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“Movement” ultimately fell short of its lofty target, the missionaries had plenty to rejoice in 

Note“THE SLOGAN ITSELF WAS A MISTAKE”: Set against the stated target of “a million souls,” the “Million Movement” of 1909–1910 fell well short of the goal. “Although thousands had given in their names to the churches, the average church membership had not perceptibly increased over the previous year,” the YMCA secretary in Seoul, Frank M. Brockman (1878–1929), wrote (as quoted in Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 341). Many missionaries later expressed regret that the idea had ever been floated. Missionary Harry A. Rhodes (1875–1965), for instance, cites widely held views that “the slogan itself was a mistake. Within another year many of the new converts had lapsed.” Pyongyang Methodist Arthur Becker, who later recalled feeling uneasy about the wild optimism of the time, was even more downbeat: “Did the disadvantages of the Million Movement outweigh its advantages? I’m inclined to think they did” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 255, 289–90).  “WRITTEN IN HIS BOOK OF LIFE”: A January 1911 article in the Korea Mission Field acknowledged that the campaign had fallen short, but accentuated the positives: “It is very certain that neither the million, nor any large part of them can to-day be found in our churches, or even reckoned among the adherents, in our statistics, yet nevertheless we are by no means sure that God has not them all written in His Book of Life“ (“The Million Movement and Its Results,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 1 (January 1911), 5–6, here 5). Pyongyang Presbyterian missionary William Blair went a step further, rejecting the very notion that the Million Movement had flopped. “How could it be a failure? The whole church entered into the campaign with faith and unparalleled enthusiasm. The Gospel was preached as never before all over Korea…Personally, I believe that when all is known, more than a million souls will be found to date their interest in the Kingdom from this Million Year” (Wm. Blair [Blair, William N.], “Report of an Address to the Presbyterian Mission on the Million Movement,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 11 (November 1911), 310–11, here 310). Marion B. Stokes (1882–1968), a Methodist missionary to Wŏnsan, described the Million Movement, while falling short of its headline goal, as serving as “an absorbing campaign which, amid the defeated temporal, raised aloft the spiritual and eternal” (as quoted in Allen Clark 1971, 184–85). Later church and missions historians have generally sided with the rosier assessment. One Korean theologian later described the Million Movement as the “first national scale evangelistic campaign,” which, despite falling short of its lofty numerical target, “shook the whole nation” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 85). “Although it failed to reach its objective of a million converts,” historian Hamish Ion writes, “the campaign did strengthen church life and was beneficial to the general morale of the Christian movement” (Ion 1990, 168).  A QUARTO-CENTENNIAL TO REMEMBER: If the Million Movement was a mixed bag, there was plenty else to celebrate. By August 1909, when the growing band of missionaries gathered to celebrate twenty-five years of Protestant gospel-spreading in Korea, they could look back and celebrate one of the most remarkable runs in the history of foreign missions work. The celebration of what the Presbyterian missionaries called a “quarto-centennial” in Korea was celebrated, fittingly, in Pyongyang, with tributes from Moffett, Baird, Underwood, Gale, and others, extolling the importance of prayer, the native alphabet, education, and other factors in their success (L. H. U. [Underwood, Lillias H.], “The Anniversary of the Twenty-Fifth Year of Protestant Missions,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 11 (November 1909), 198–200). A quarto-centennial, despite the missionaries’ usage of the term, typically refers to a four-hundred-year anniversary. “God seemed to call this mysterious land into the forefront of the world’s activity. As if moved by an Invisible Hand the doors of the country swung open,” wrote George T. B. Davis, the Christian missions advocate from Philadelphia who was among the many Western visitors to Korea at this time. “During the past quarter of a century there has taken place in Korea the most sudden turning of a nation to God that has been witnessed in the world’s history” (Davis 1910, 5–6). “Seldom has it been given to the first generation of missionaries in any land to witness such rich fruitage while yet in their prime,” wrote Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown, who oversaw the work from New York. “Every year, it seemed that the movement must have reached its climax, and that there would certainly be a reaction; but every year saw it broadening and deepening until it looked as if Korea would be the first of the non-Christian nations to become evangelized” (Brown 1919, 514). 
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Korea appeared to all like it could really become the world’s first fully Christianized country 

Note“WHAT HATH GOD WROUGHT”: In October 1907, the editors of the Korea Mission Field had remarked: “At this rate of yearly increase we exclaim, What God hath wrought!” (“Field Notes,” Korea Mission Field (October 1907), 150). “Remembering that this is the result of only twenty-four years of work we exclaim, ‘What hath God wrought,’” the editors marveled six months later. “If this percentage of increase of Christians continues, many years will not pass before it will be chronicled that Korea stands among the Christian nations of the world” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 4 (April 1908), 56–57, here 56). Between 1905 and 1907, the number of churches, preaching places, communicants (baptized adherents), and probationers (adherents) had all jumped threefold or more (see Horace Underwood 1908, 148). Numbers are given in tabular form in Chung-shin Park 2003, 29, though one of the numbers is reproduced incorrectly.   PYONGYANG PARAGON: Horace Underwood, writing from Seoul, described Moffett and Lee’s reentry into the war-stricken city of Pyongyang in 1894 as the turning point for the entire Korea mission—“the most marvelous movement in missions that Korea has seen, one of the most marvelous in the world’s history of missions” (Horace Underwood letter to Ellinwood, July 11, 1899). A year later, he hailed the explosion of the faith in Pyongyang as something “seldom seen in the history of the church” (Horace G. Underwood letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, September 14, 1900, Seoul (PHS 179/9/80)). “The churches are all filled and overflowing. Central Church for lack of room has had again to send off two more congregations: and even now in order to relieve the congestion the men and women are compelled to meet for worship at separate hours of the day,” American church leader George T. B. Davis wrote in 1910 after a visit to Korea’s ancient northwestern capital (Davis 1910, 64).  “CAPTURE THE WHOLE COUNTRY”: John B. Sleman (1874–1911), a businessman who founded the Laymen’s Missionary Movement, told a conference of the foreign missions boards in the U.S. and Canada after visiting Korea: “We ought to capture the whole country. It is possible to capture the whole country in this generation if we are faithful. And China! words fail to describe the opportunity there” (“Mr. John B. Sleman Before the Fifteenth Conference of Foreign Mission Boards of United States and Canada,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 8 (August 1908), 116–17, here 116). Within Korea, missionaries echoed such calls. Surveying the breadth of missionary work being conducted in the country, Homer Hulbert described the efforts as “the foundations…for a work that should not stop short of the Christianising of the entire nation” (Hulbert 1906, 126). Such appeals were a fixture of this buoyant and even exuberant period. In November 1907, the Korea Mission Field declared in an editorial: “The evangelization of Korea is a matter that is not far distant in the minds of some of the prominent and oldest missionaries in the country” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 11 (November 1907), 169–70, here 169). To be sure, the missionaries in Korea themselves were among the most surprised by the rapid Christianization of Korea. “We have had so little confidence in our own judgment and too little faith in God; all that we have been seeing these twenty-three years past have astonished our own eyes to such a degree; that we have hesitated again and again to tell the whole truth, because we could not expect it to be believed” (“The Printed Page in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 12 (December 1907), 189–92, here 189–90). Missionary Alfred Sharrocks, writing in 1906, noted the incredible leap in conversions during 1905 in his booming mission station of Sŏnch’ŏn in northwestern Korea—some 453 people per month, by his calculation. “Could this be the result of our small band of missionaries? Could it be from the $72 spent on local evangelists during the year?” (as quoted in Gale 1909, 195) The Methodists, marking their own “quarto-centennial” in Korea in November 1, 1910, could only credit the divine for the providential harvest: “If results had been less we might have felt that we had done it ourselves, but as it is, we can only stand back and give God the glory. He alone could bring such things to pass,” one missionary remarked (Mrs. J. D. Van Buskirk [Van Buskirk, Harriet W. Evans], “Quarter-Centennial Celebration of Methodist Episcopal Mission in Chosen,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 1 (January 1911), 19–21, here 20). 
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arrival in Seoul in 1884 marked the formal advent of Protestant Christianity in the country 

NoteMary Ellinwood doesn’t give the date of the Horace Allen letter, only saying that her father received the letter in 1908, shortly before his death. In the same letter, Allen expressed a sentiment that would become common around this time—namely, that Korea’s conversion to the faith could pave the way for China to do the same (Horace N. Allen letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, as quoted in Mary Ellinwood 1911, 107).  POLITICAL LOW, SPIRITUAL HIGH: In an age when might made right, Korea’s political weakness was, to many Western eyes, a reflection of a moral degraded people—“lazy, dirty, unscrupulous, dishonest, incredibly ignorant, and wholly lacking in the self-respect that comes from a consciousness of individual power and worth,” in the acerbic words of writer George Kennan, who visited in 1905 (Kennan, “Product of a Decayed Civilization,” Outlook (1905), 409). In a nod to the differing opinions of Koreans among Christian and non-Christian Westerners, Kennan wrote that the Koreans are “unattractive and unsympathetic to a Westerner who feels no spiritual or religious interest in them” (Kennan, “Product of a Decayed Civilization,” Outlook (1905), 409). To the missionaries, of course, Korea was “a Sahara of paganism transformed into a garden of Christian hope”—a “heartbroken nation” now writing “a glorious chapter in the history of…Christianity” (Griffis 1912, 16; and Candler 1907, 32). William Griffis, the American Congregationalist minister and scholar of Japan, wasn’t one to leave the Sahara metaphor at that, arguing in the same work that, if Korea was a garden of Christian hope, then Pyongyang, “once the Sodom of Korea…is now one of the fairest flowers in Christianity’s newest garden” (Griffis 1912, 23). A similar argument was made by Uchimura Kanzō (內村 鑑三 1861–1930), a prominent Japanese Christian evangelist, pacifist and thinker, who labeled Korea “Happy Chosŏn” (幸福なる朝鮮国 Jp. Kōfuku naru Chōsengoku) in the title of an October 1907 article, referring to Korea’s embrace of the Christian faith. Writing both of Korea’s status as a subjugated protectorate of Imperial Japan and the Great Revival that had swept through Pyongyang and the rest of the peninsula that year, Uchimura compared Korea to Judea, a nation that was politically weak but spiritually strong: “Happy Chosŏn! As she has lost her political freedom and independence, it seems that she has obtained spiritual freedom and independence. She who once became a center of Eastern culture and influenced it even to the archipelago in the East, has now become a center of the evangelization in the East again. Hopefully her lights will spread out everywhere. The Lord does not despise Chosŏn. God loves its people. He does not present them with the army and the ships. Instead, He has sent them the Holy Spirit which is much more powerful” (Han, “A Christian Pacifist” (2018), 142–43, citing Uchimura Kanzō article in Seisho no Kenkyū (聖書之研究), October 1907).  “MALTREATMENT WILL HAVE DONE GREAT SERVICE”: “It now seems that Korea as a whole, rebounding from oppression and maltreatment, may well turn into a Christian nation,” the Korean editors of one nationalist newspaper declared. “If so, the oppression and maltreatment will have done great service to Protestant Christianity” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 34, quoting Taehan Maeil Sinbo, August 21, 1907). There may indeed have been a direct correlation between Korean’s loss of nationhood and their embrace of the Christian faith. As one historian of Christian nationalism in this period put it, “the political and religious aspects are interrelated: the troubles of the one were the fortunes of the other” (Wells 1990, 29). “The remarkable appeal of Protestantism in Korea was partly due to a psychological factor: the feeling of many Koreans that conversion to Christianity was an act of penance for the failings of their traditional society that had led to the loss of Korea’s nationhood,” add Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors (Eckert et al. 1990, 250). It certainly appeared that way to many missionaries at the time. As one put it in 1906, a year after “the loss of their country” to the Japanese protectorate: “The past year has been a year of rejoicing to the Koreans as well as one of trial and sorrow; a year of rejoicing because of the numbers who have forsaken idolatry and turned to Christ; a year of trial and sorrow on account of the loss of their country” (Cable, “Expansion Everywhere,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 196–97). “Korea has passed through a grave political crisis,” Methodist missionary George Jones wrote in May 1908, shortly after the political ructions of 1907. “The people feel that all worldly sources of strength have failed them as a nation and only God is left. While adjusting themselves to the new, they need the comfort and consolation of our Christian faith,” (“Rev. George Heber Jones,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 5 (May 1908), 68).  “THE GREAT INGATHERING”: “Almost the whole population of Korea is now ready to listen to the Gospel,” the foreign missions advocate John Mott declared in the critical year of annexation. “The troubles through which these people are passing are causing them to turn in great numbers to Christianity for comfort and strength” (Mott 1910, 223). Pyongyang Presbyterian William Blair argued that God had led the missionaries to launch the Million Movement campaign precisely because of the national calamity that was to come. “God foresaw the danger and prepared His people for it by pouring out upon His Church a great baptism of evangelistic fervor,” he argued (Blair, “Presbyterian Mission on the Million Movement,” Korea Mission Field (1911), 310). Samuel H. Moffett, the son of the pioneering missionary and himself a later missionary to the country, described the five years between 1905 and 1910 as “the great ingathering,” a period of meteoric growth during which Korea appeared to be “a nation on the run to God” (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 51). 
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True, the proportion of believers remained relatively modest 

NoteThe editors of the Korea Mission Field, writing in June 1910, noted that, for all the stunning success the missionaries had enjoyed, they had barely scratched the surface, converting roughly 200,000 Koreans but leaving the other roughly 11,800,000 natives “in a critical condition” in “the darkest heathenism,” basing their rough numbers on a presumption of Korea having a population of “at least 12,000,000” (“The State of the Case,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 6 (June 1910), 121–23, here 121). Historian Kenneth Wells, using the same 200,000 number for the end of 1910 but estimating the country’s population as being thirteen million, worked it out to just 1.5 percent of the country’s people (Wells 1990, 32–33). In fact, the missionaries wrote, the widespread perception back home that Korea had already been Christianized was one that they were actively working hard to dispel (“The State of the Case,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 121–22). “We have found that some folks in America are under the impression that this part of Chosen is all but evangelized, and that these hard-working missionaries, their work finished and eager to conquer other worlds, are just about ready to pack up their trunks and return to America to show Billy Sunday how to gather in the heathen there,” Pyongyang Presbyterian Charles Phillips wrote in August 1919. “No, dear friends, we have our difficulties, our little ups and downs, our setbacks, our discouragements, and sometimes we sit down tired and worn out, and wonder whether we are not losing ground, instead of pressing forward and accomplishing great things for God.” Rev. Phillips noted that six out of seven people in Pyongyang were still “going about their business without seriously considering their relation to Jesus Christ,” while across P’yŏng’an Province, “19 persons out of every 20 are as yet unconverted” (Phillips, “A Station Letter, from Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1919), 170).
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hope that, with a concerted push, the entire country could be evangelized within a decade 

NoteROMANCE AND FAIRY TALES: Southern Methodist missionary Joseph L. Gerdine predicted in May 1908 that the evangelization of Korea could be accomplished “within a decade” (“J. L. Gerdine, Southern Methodist Mission,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 5 (May 1908), 68–69, here 68). The gains were coming so fast that to many missionaries, it didn’t seem real. “The story of the establishment and progress of the Church in Korea reads like a romance,” Rev. Gerdine wrote a few months after offering his timeline for Korea’s complete evangelization (J. L. Gerdine [Gerdine, Joseph L.], “Korea—A Great Religious Awakening,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 8 (August 1908), 127–28, here 127). Horace Underwood, writing that same year, compared everything that was happening in Korea to a fairy tale: “For almost ten years the story of the work in that land has been entrancing. It has read almost like a fairy tale, and veritably it has seemed like a chapter from the Acts of the Apostles,” he wrote (Horace Underwood, “‘Korea’s Crisis Hour,’” Korea Mission Field (1908), 130). Samuel Moffett’s colleagues, considering his central role in the conquest of Korea during a celebration of his twenty-fifth year in Korea in 1915, called his life’s work “one of the romances of modern missions. The loneliness, the patient waitings, the apparent reverses, the renewed evidences of hope, were rewarded as on few mission fields that the world has ever seen” (“An Appreciation,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 97).  A NEW WATCHWORD: The editors of the Korea Mission Field, adopting a more conservative timeline, described the opportunity in Korea as being “so pregnant with possibilities that especial effort should now be put forth to evangelize Korea within the shortest possible time…Why not…finish this job of evangelizing Korea within the next 50 years? Can it be done? Yes. Men and money will do it. Let the great boards which are backing the work in Korea rally generously and heartily to the cry, ‘Korea in this generation,’ and it shall be done” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 3 (March 1908), 41–42, here 41). “Now is the time to advance. Let the Church at home say ‘Forward! March!’ and the Christian army and its leaders in Korea will march to conquest in Christ’s name,” the Korea Mission Field exclaimed in an editorial the following month, adopting the martial rallying cry favored during these years (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field (April 1908), 56). Another two months later, in June 1908, they proclaimed: “Korea is a ripe harvest field to-day. The entire land is open for the preaching of the gospel” (“Korea Ripe for the Gospel,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 6 (June 1908), 82). Yet another two months later, the editors added a new slogan to the arsenal: “Let our watchword be: Korea wiped off the map of unevangelized and non-christian nations” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 8 (August 1908), 121–122, here 121. If the watchword of the Student Volunteer Movement was to see the evangelization of the world in one generation, it was said, the first step was a country like Korea (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 104). “The Evangelization of all Korea stands closely related to world evangelization because of the measure of its accomplishment,” wrote one Christian leader in April 1914, adding that the zeal of the believers there “has gone abroad among the nations as a synonym for evangelism” (M. Willis Greenfield, “The Evangelization of All Korea,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 4 (April 1914), 91–93, here 92). 
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“The new Korea will be a Christian Korea and that within a comparatively short period of time” 

Note“The discovery of an unoccupied continent by Columbus was not as great as this opening of territory on the continent of Asia which has taken place and is now going on in your day. Who are to be the colonists to make the New Englands and Virginias in this region of the intellect and soul?” Gale continued in this passage. “Churches are multiplying in all directions. It is not possible for a foreign missionary to keep in personal touch with the multiplied groups which spring up everywhere. Evangelistically, the opportunity of the Asiatic continent of the present day is to be found in Korea. No other field compares with this in the urgency and the promise of its condition. This is the strategic people and the present is the strategic time in this land. Ten millions of souls await help and instruction which the Christian Church can give” (Gale 1909, 229, 244).   “A NEW KOREA…A CHRISTIAN KOREA”: Horace Underwood, too, could envision a Christian Korea within the missionaries’ grasp, writing with prophetic assurance. “I can see plainly before me to-day a new Korea—a nation emancipated, completely emancipated, politically, intellectually, spiritually, from a thraldom of misrule, ignorance, and superstition—a Christian Korea,” he wrote. “I see, in the future, schools. Christian in teaching—in teachers—in esprit de corps—in every town and village, with academies and high schools in the principal cities, and in every city of the land self-supporting Christian hospitals” (Horace Underwood 1908, 125). Underwood’s vision of a Christian Korea came in a book, The Call of Korea, which he wrote in 1908 with the express aim of convincing just twenty more would-be Samuel Moffetts to sail for Korea as missionaries. Arthur Pierson, penning an introduction for Underwood’s book, excoriated American Christians for doing nothing at a moment of great crisis and opportunity for Korea: “Korea might be evangelized, with incredible rapidity, for all things are now ready—except the Church at home!” he wrote, urging Christians in America to “respond to the Macedonian call of Korea—nay, to the majestic summons of the Captain of the Lord’s Host” (Arthur T. Pierson, “Introduction,” in Horace Underwood 1908, 11–13). In the same work, Underwood quotes missions advocate John Mott declaring: “Give the laborers now and Korea will be the first nation Christianized in modern times” (Horace G. Underwood, “Preface,” in Horace Underwood 1908, 5–7, here 6). As excitement built up around Korea’s evangelization, American missions advocates like Mott, fresh off his visit to Korea in early 1907, feverishly rallied the troops. “Has there been a case in the history of nations where one country in so short a time has had to face and adjust herself to so much that is modern?” Mott wrote in his own book that year. “The present is the time of times to impress Korea with Christian truth and spirit” (Mott 1908, 8–9). In April that same year, the Korea Mission Field offered a full-page front-page quotation from Mott: “If the present work on the part of the cooperation missions in Korea is adequately sustained and enlarged in the immediate future Korea will be the first nation in the non-Christian world to become a Christian nation. I know of no mission field where larger or more substantial results have been secured, in proportion to the expenditure, than in Korea” (Untitled Article, Korea Mission Field 4, no. 5 (May 1908), 67). Methodist missionaries George Jones and W. Arthur Noble called for more missionary reinforcements, so as to “make good the opportunity which has been given her of God—to bestow upon one nation, during this generation, the priceless boon of becoming Christian in its national and individual life” (Jones and Noble 1910, 44–45).
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and 1,200 of the leading lights in Protestantism as “one of the marvels of modern history” 

NoteJOHN MOTT, “A VERY LION”: At the gathering in Edinburgh, known formally as the 1910 World Missionary Conference and attended by representatives from the major Protestant denominations and missionary societies, conference chairman John Mott cited Korea as an example of how Christianity could transform a country—not only spiritually but also politically and socially (Mott 1910, 6–7; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 104). According to the official history of the Edinburgh missions conference, written by William H. T. Gairdner, a lifelong missionary to Cairo, “not one man from either hemisphere could have filled that chair as it was filled by John R. Mott…When a point of unusual interest was being hazarded, forward would come the big head, quick and light; the strong square jowl would be thrust forward, the broad brow knit…while from under their shadow shoots a gleam from suddenly kindling eyes:—a very lion prepared to spring at an idea” (Gairdner 1910, 63). The setting in Scotland, the ancestral origin of so many of the most storied Protestant missionaries, from David Livingstone to John Ross and Samuel Moffett, was no accident. For a tribute to Scotland’s missionary heritage, see Taylor 1898, 368–74.  KING GEORGE, THEODORE REX, “THE GREAT COMMONER”: The conference opened with a greeting from the newly-enthroned King George V (r. 1910–1936), who was hailed by conference attendees by one of his titles, “the defender of the faith,” and honored with a lusty rendition of “God Save the King,” while the Archbishop of Canterbury and the missionary advocate Robert Speer spoke at the opening session (Gairdner 1910, 39–40). Theodore Roosevelt, a little more than a year removed from the Oval Office, had initially planned to attend but instead sent a letter praising the conference organizers and its goal of worldwide evangelization. “Your Conference represents the practical effort to apply the teachings of the Gospel to what the Epistle of Jude calls ‘The Common Salvation.’ An infinite amount of work remains to be done before we can regard ourselves as being even within measurable distance of the desired goal,” Roosevelt wrote, pointing to “those dark places of the earth where blackness is as yet unrelieved by any light” (as quoted in Gairdner 1910, 45–46). Though Roosevelt wasn’t present, his longtime political rival, the influential progressive and three-time Democratic presidential nominee William Jennings Bryan, who had just traveled to Korea five years earlier, spoke at the conference (Gairdner 1910, 53). Attendance at the conference is also discussed in Mathews 1934, 232; and Gairdner 1910, 50.  “THE END OF AN EPOCH”: “Comparison between the state of missions in 1810, in 1860, and in 1910 seemed to justify the hope that very rapid expansion might not be beyond the powers of the Western Churches,” missions historian Stephen Neill writes of the conference’s historical milieu and legacy. In the end, Neill writes, “Edinburgh 1910 marked, more than was realized by most of those present at it, in many respects the end of an epoch…The Protestant Christian forces of the world would never again assemble in quite a spirit of high-hearted joy and confidence” (Neill 1990, 331–34). Billy Graham, writing in his memoirs, described the Edinburgh conference of 1910 as the culmination of what he called “the greatest…explosion in evangelism…in the history of the Church,” describing it as a time when “the goal of world evanglization seemed to be in reach” (Graham 1997, 559).  CARNEGIE HALL, 1900: The Edinburgh conference in 1910 came one decade after a similarly spectacular global missionary event in Manhattan, which had likewise put Korea up on a pedestal. The so-called Ecumenical Missionary Conference, held at New York’s Carnegie Hall in April 1900, was presided over by then-president William McKinley, future president Theodore Roosevelt, and former president Benjamin Harrison, and attended by Horace Underwood, William Baird and his wife Annie Baird, Oliver Avison, and other Korea missionaries, some of whom spoke during the proceedings. There, the tireless missions advocate John Mott cited the Presbyterian work in Korea as his first example in justifying his claim that “it is possible to evangelize the world in this generation in view of recent missionary achievements of the Church” (Ecumenical Missionary Conference, New York, 1900—Report of the Ecumenical Conference on Foreign Missions, Held in Carnegie Hall and Neighboring Churches, April 21 to May 1, Vol. I (New York: American Tract Society, 1900), 97). 
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energies to winning souls for Christ in India, China, and Japan—with little to show for 

NoteKOREAN EXCEPTIONALISM: The comparison was frequently made between efforts to spread the Christian gospel in Korea and in its larger neighbors. As early as 1892, just two years after Moffett’s arrival in Korea, one early Western resident could assert, using a now-antiquated term for the people of East Asia, that “none of the work among the Mongolian races has shown so large a return for the money and labor expended as that among the Koreans” (Gilmore 1892, 319). In 1898, a decade and a half after the arrival of the first Protestant missionaries in Korea, James Gale remarked: “There are now over a thousand Christians, whereas after the same time in Japan there were only ten, while in China they worked nearly forty years for ten” (Gale 1898, 255–56). Also quoted in Keith and Scott 1946, 21–22. In a similar vein, American church leader George T. B. Davis remarked in 1910 that “in Japan they had to wait six years before they baptized their first convert, and twelve years before they had six members with which to organize their first church; while in China they had to wait nearly a score of years for their first convert” (Davis 1910, 15). While the number of missionaries in China far outstripped the number in Korea—by a ratio of nearly fourteen to one, according to a calculation in 1920—and had been in the country for nearly a century longer than in Korea, the proportion of Christians was much higher in Korea—one in every fifty-five people in Korea, versus one in every eight hundred in China, as Korean Christian nationalist Hugh Cynn estimated (Cynn 1920, 139).  JAPANESE DISENCHANTMENT: If Korea was an outperformer, then few mission fields were more disappointing than neighboring Japan. In the early years of the Meiji Restoration, the country had seemed a promising field to many Protestant missionaries. As in Korea, the Catholic missionaries had paved the way, suffering numerous brutal persecutions. By the time of the arrival of the first Protestant missionaries, many of Japan’s leading reformers regarded Christianity as key to the success of Western civilization, and the foreign faith was adopted by many former samurai as a kind of moral code to replace the one that faded with the demise of the Tokugawa shogunate. After several decades of positive headway, by the last decade of the nineteenth century, the slowdown in growth became apparent amid a broader public backlash against the faith. On October 30, 1890, the Meiji emperor proclaimed an Imperial Rescript on Education, which, though seemingly benign in its wording, created a new environment in which the emperor was increasingly deified, and Christians seen as enemies of the burgeoning national creed (Cary 1909, 226–28). Writing in 1909, Otis Cary, an American missionary to Japan, called the 1890s “the period of retarded growth,” adding that, despite a subsequent improvement for the missionaries, “even then the rate of apparent progress would be much slower than it had been before the reaction set in” (Cary 1909, 212). The difficulties prompted even the usually optimistic John Mott to remark during a long visit to the country that Japan was “without doubt…the most difficult field we have ever visited” (C. Howard Hopkins, John R. Mott, 1865–1955: A Biography (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1979), 195). Also cited in Jung-Sun N. Han [Han, Chŏng-sŏn], An Imperial Path to Modernity: Yoshino Sakuzō and a New Liberal Order in East Asia, 1905–1937 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2013), 33–34. Methodist bishop and China missionary James Bashford, speaking at the Edinburgh conference, noted how “Japan a quarter of a century ago constituted the most important and hopeful mission field on earth”—with the emphasis on the past tense (J. W. Bashford [Bashford, James W.], “Changes in the Character of the Missionary Problem—I. In the Far East,” in World Missionary Conference, The History and Records of the Conference, Together with Addresses Delivered at the Evening Meetings (Edinburgh: Oliphant, Anderson & Ferrier, 1910), 238–50, here 241). Also quoted in Reed 1983, 27. By 1912, the Missionary Review of the World noted with alarm that “Japan, once the most popular of subjects for a home audience, no longer, it is said, arouses any enthusiasm” (“Missionary Problems in Japan,” Missionary Review of the World N.S. 25, no. 9 (September 1912), 659–64, here 661, O.S. 35, no. 9). “For some years, in spite of a great need, there has been a difficulty in obtaining candidates for missionary service in the Japanese Empire. Volunteers have discriminated against the country. They have been ready for India, China, Africa, Arabia, in fact almost anywhere, but many have actually declined to consider a call to Japan” (“Missionaries Needed for Japan,” Missionary Review of the World N.S. 25, no. 8 (August 1912), 618–19, here 618, O.S. 25, no. 8). Both are quoted in Reed 1983, 26.  SIAMESE DREAM: Then there was Thailand, where American Congregationalist missionaries first arrived in 1831, only to withdraw in 1849 without having baptized a single convert (Neill 1990, 245). By 1967, Spencer Palmer, a Mormon missionary to Korea and scholar of religion in Asia, noted that in Thailand, there were only twenty thousand Protestants among a population of twenty million, “despite intensive missionary work for a century.” In Burma, Japan, and India, less than two percent of those two countries were Christian, versus more than seven percent in Korea—where, Spencer added, the enrollment in just one Korean seminary, Seoul’s Presbyterian Theological Seminary, nearly matched the number of ministerial students in all of India’s Protestant seminaries (Palmer 1967, v–viii). “No mission field has yielded such large results in so brief a time as Korea, the Hermit Kingdom of less than twenty years ago,” noted Harlan Beach, a former missionary to China, in one widely read study of foreign missions work (Beach 1901, 247). Beach, a Yale graduate, spent six years in China in the 1880s, where he opened one of the country’s first YMCAs before returning to the U.S. to become educational secretary for the Student Volunteer Movement. In 1906, he came the first professor of missions at Yale Divinity School (“Beach, Harlan Page (1854–1933),” Boston University School of Theology History of Missiology website).  “THE QUICKEST WAY TO EVANGELIZE CHINA”: Many believed that the missionaries could create “the first Asian Christian nation in Korea, which…would be the staging point for the spread of Christianity throughout Asia” (Albert Park 2015, 44). “No other field compares with this in the urgency and the promise of its conditions. This is the strategic people and the present is the strategic time in this land,” the editors of the Korea Mission Field wrote in March 1908. “In Korea we have a field in which there is promise of the rapid evangelization of the entire nation…Few people realize the important position that Korea is destined to occupy in the development of the Asiatic world. History has shown that a people may lose their national independence without losing their influence on the life of the world. The position occupied by Korea as first neighbor to China will make her influence upon that country of the greatest moment” (Untitled Editorial, Korea Mission Field 4, no. 3 (March 1908), 33). John Nevius, the China missionary whose method of self-support was so influential in Korea, argued that “the quickest way to evangelize China, was first to evangelize Korea, for he saw thro it, the open door to Chinese hearts and homes” (as quoted in “The State of the Case,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 6 (June 1910), 121–23, here 123). With Koreans flooding into Manchuria, the Korea missionaries saw a chance for their fervent new converts to begin the process (Harry A. Rhodes, “The Chief Interest of the Church in America in the Church in Chosen,” Korea Mission Field 13, no. 9 (September 1917), 236–37). See also Jones and Noble 1910, 42–43. 
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had, in the span of just a few years, become home to “the most religious people of the Far East” 

NoteThis assertion, which was widely held among the Korea missionaries, is all the more striking in light of the fact that most of them, upon first arriving in the country just a few decades earlier, declared it the most areligious country they had ever visited (see Act I, Chapter 3). It was just a quarter-century earlier that the first Protestant missionaries had arrived in Seoul, finding in Korea “darkness of the densest kind,” as missionary James Gale recalled of his first seven-hundred-mile trip with Samuel Moffett through Korea’s northwest in February 1891. In the intervening years, Gale noted that the region had transformed so much in the intervening time that he could scarcely believe how bleak things looked back then. “In Pyeng Yang, to-day the center of Christian influence, we did not meet a single man who had ever read God’s word or known definitely of a savior…Was there ever such a wilderness?” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field (April 1909), 57). By 1898, Gale had his mind entirely transformed, declaring Korea “perhaps the most startling field opened up during this missionary century” (Gale 1898, 194).  DARKNESS AND LIGHT: During the Presbyterian missionaries’ “quarto-centennial” celebrations in 1909, missionary Annie Baird published a tale of the ancient kingdom’s Christian transformation, portraying the arrival of the faith as Daybreak in Korea: A Tale of Transformation in the Far East (1909), with the unmistakable imagery of Christ’s light piercing over the veil of darkness over the peninsula. Together with two other key books she published, one on the Korean language and another on missionary life, Annie Baird, the wife of missionary William Baird, had established herself by this time as “one of the most influential women missionaries to serve in Korea,” in the words of University of Iowa historian Ch’oe Hye-wŏl (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 123–24). As Ch’oe writes, “the daybreak of the title symbolizes hope and a new beginning that enables Koreans to join in the march toward universal Christian civilization. Ironically, this upbeat tone takes place at the historical point when Koreans were undergoing Japanese colonization, the ultimate humiliation for the Korean nation and the total loss of national autonomy, which can be characterized as a ‘dark’ period in its history” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 129). American missionaries “promoted themselves as agents that brought light to the presumed darkness of Korea,” providing a “metaphorical contrast between the ‘utter degradation of a Christless world,’ dark, ignorant and impure, and the Christian world, bright, pure and peaceful” (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 2). Annie Baird was far from the only missionary who leaned heavily on the motif of light and darkness to capture the triumph of the Christian gospel in Korea. Edith McRae, a Canadian missionary to the Korean northeast, wrote in January 1906: “What pen could picture that gathering of dark-skinned brethren and sisters just out of the depths of heathenism, gazing through the revealing Light of the Holy Spirit upon the blackness of their sin! Can we, born in Christian homes, form any conception of their agony!” (Edith F. McRae, “ ‘For Thine Is the Power,’” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 4 (February 1906), 73–75, here 74). “The new believer who has been bred in the midst of the darkness of heathenism, not merely without gospel light, but without even that reflected light which shines nearly everywhere in Christian lands,” Lillias Underwood added in 1910, “have no Christian memories, no knowledge but the crudest, of holy things, no words even capable of expressing some spiritual truths, and have behind them only the blackness of heathenism” (L. H. U., “Problem Concerning New Believers,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 182–83).  “THE SUN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS”: Tinged with triumphalism though it was, the light-and-dark imagery was a rich one for the missionaries, as they sought to bring the “Sun of righteousness” to a people mired in the “blackest heathendom.” Pyongyang Presbyterian missionary Margaret Best (1867–1942), for instance, described the arrival of Protestant missionaries to Korea as “the dawn time of the Sun of Righteousness in the Land of Morning Calm—the beginning of a New Day” (Best, “Fifty Years of Women’s Work,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 84). American missions advocate Arthur Pierson, meanwhile, turned to an extended metaphor to describe the proclamation of the Christian message—that is, the arrival of the “Sun of righteousness”—around the world: “Whichever way we turn our eyes to scan the harvest field, the signs of the times betoken the immediate duty of putting in the sickle. There are sure signs of a day-dawn. We have passed the dull gray that is the first advance herald of the morning, and even the purple and crimson tints that tell of the glory hastening on; the east shows something more than dark clouds edged with gold,—the Sun of righteousness is rising on the world!…God simply shone, as only He can shine. The Sun of Righteousness exerted His power: there came supernatural light and love and life all mysteriously conveyed in one ray, before which Brahmin and Karen, Siamese and Japanese, pagan and papist, were alike made new men in Christ Jesus” (Pierson 1886, 199, 206). The “Sun of righteousness” phrase is used several times in the Bible, most notably in Malachi 4, the final chapter of the final book of the Old Testament—that is to say, the last chapter before the arrival of Christ in the New Testament that followed in the Presbyterian missionaries’ King James Bibles—and thus, a passage of great prophetic import, pointing to the promised advent of the Messiah: “Unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings” (Malachi 4:2, KJV). Kim Il Sung, as we shall see in Act III, is praised in North Korea as “the Sun of the nation,” “the Sun of mankind” and “the Sun of the people” (Act III, Chapter 32).   “THE BLACKEST HEATHENDOM”: The “blackest heathendom” phrase is from J. Z. Moore [Moore, John Z.], “The Fullness of the Gospel,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 12 (December 1907), 178–180, here 179). Moore’s colleague George H. Jones described the nineteenth-century Catholic persecutions of the Chosŏn court as the product of the “blackest heathenism” (Jones, “The Taiwon Kun,” Korean Repository (1898), 246). The related phrase “darkest heathenism,” used to describe the state of Koreans who hadn’t been exposed to the Christian message, was also frequently invoked (see Samuel Moore letter to Ellinwood, April 27, 1895; and “The State of the Case,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 121). As Arthur Brown recounted following his two trips to Korea during these early years of the twentieth century, invoking the metaphor repeatedly: “Almost every night we had a picture in chiaroscuro of the spiritual condition of Asia. A humble church, whose flickering oil-lamps made the room bright in contrast with the surrounding darkness, was filled with believers who were rejoicing within the pale of ‘His marvellous light.’ Beyond them crowding the doors were many others, not yet wholly in the light, but partially illuminated by it, their eager faces turned toward the place from which it was shining, and where a man was speaking of the Light of the World. Behind these were still others, whom I could not count, standing in deeper shadows. Now and then a flare of the lamp shot a ray of light into the gloom and showed scores of spectators, some indifferent, some curious, some gravely wondering; and then the darkness silently enfolded them again so that only indistinct masses of heavier blackness showed where an unnumbered multitude was gathered. As I looked upon this scene night after night, I was encouraged by the number of those who had come into the light; but my heart was moved for those who were standing in the dark…As I sat in their lowly chapels and communed with them, I could see how the gospel had enlightened their hearts and how their once joyless lives now centred in the Church of God which gave them their only light and peace” (Brown 1919, 514, 537).  A “DISASTROUS…MISSIONARY CAST”: The light-and-darkness motif, of course, was not one that belonged only to the Christian missionary. One of the earliest Western uses of the light and darkness motif to describe Korea, albeit not strictly in a religious sense, can be found in the pages of the Edinburgh Review, which in an October 1872 article described “the shadow—or, perhaps, it were better to say the light—of Western advances has already fallen upon its borders, and the bulwarks of the last refuge of Turanian self-seclusion are visibly doomed to overthrow” (“Corea,” Edinburgh Review (1872), 300). The Japanese likewise regarded themselves as “the Light of Asia,” seeking to bring the “light” of progress to benighted Korea (Wells 1990, 72). But because of American policymakers’ close association with Christianity during this period, the darkness-and-light dichotomy seeped over easily from the missionary realm into the world of diplomacy, influencing American foreign policy for generations, as Harvard historian James Reed argues in a book on what he calls the “Missionary Mind.” “The Missionary Mind could be sternly righteous. It tended to view the world as a struggle between darkness and light. In the Missionary Mind, that sense of the moral ambiguity of political affairs, which comes naturally to most officials responsible for conducting them day in and day out, usually gave way to the more sweeping sense that good must be championed and evil must not be recognized” (Reed 1983, 149). Reed, turning his focus to the impact of this missionary mindset on American policy, argues that, “though the missionary enterprise started to collapse in the 1920s, the Missionary Mind lived on, metaphorically speaking, for another generation, giving our East Asia policies a missionary cast which was not in the national interest” and even “disastrous” (Reed 1983, 198). 
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the “final achievement of the task of the church in Korea appears to be within reach” 

NoteAccording to the Korea Mission Field editors, the consensus in Edinburgh was that the missionary force in Korea must be increased by at least half, to about 480 missionaries from the then-current three hundred (“The Work to Be Done in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 8 (August 1911), 220–222, here 221). The emissaries of the Christian gospel got their wish. By April 1914, the missionary force topped five hundred (Greenfield, “Evangelization of All Korea,” Korea Mission Field (1914), 92). 
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to ancient Judea—“little, despised, subjugated, humiliated” and surrounded by powerful rivals 

NoteKOREA AS JUDEA: Samuel Moffett’s quote here described Korea as “little, despised, subjugated, humiliated” and surrounded by powerful neighbors, just like “little Judea, subjugated, humiliated, yea, carried into captivity by the great commercial and military nations, Assyria, Babylon and Rome” (Moffett, “Place of the Native Church,” Union Seminary Magazine (1911), 226). The comparison between Korea and ancient Judea was frequently made by the missionaries during these years—including by Moffett himself, who had made similar remarks in 1907 about Judea and Korea and their outsized spiritual influence (see Moffett, “Visions of the Foreign Field,” in Bradt 1907, 50). “Korea as a country might very well be compared to Judea of old,” Moffett’s Pyongyang colleague Charles Bernheisel wrote in 1912. “Judea was very much of a buffer state in its relation to these mighty surrounding nations. Now look at Korea. On the east that mighty, modern nation of Japan which has so recently succeeded in swallowing up Korea; on the west is China and on the north is Russia” (Bernheisel 1912, 1). The Presbyterian foreign missions board, in a 1921 pamphlet, described Korea as being “like Palestine…It is insignificant politically, financially and educationally, but, like Palestine, its people seem to be possessed of a peculiar genius for religion which gives to those who know it the hope that it will be one of the primary agencies of the evangelization of all the Orient” (Pen Picture 1921, 5).   “THE WEAK THINGS OF THE WORLD”: More generally, the point that Korea, despite its political weakness, could play an outsized role in the spiritual realm, was a frequent feature of missionary discourse. As Robert Speer put it, Korea, “though weak, based, and despised,” had been chosen by the Christian God, who he wrote, citing scripture, had chosen “the weak things of the world that He might put to shame the things that are strong” (Speer 1902, 388). Methodist missionary John Z. Moore, writing in 1906, shortly after Japan’s establishment of its protectorate over Korea, mused: “What then is left for Korea? Poor, despised, oppressed Korea, what is to be her part in the great East that is to be? Not commerce, not learning, but infinitely greater than these, she is to be God’s messenger bringing the true light of Christianity in the midnight darkness of the Eastern situation. This light and this light alone can solve the Eastern question…Korea is to be the lamp, the Christian lamp that is to lighten the Eastern world” (J. Z. Moore [Moore, John Z.], “The Vision and the Task,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 6 (April 1906), 107–9, here 108). James Gale, writing in 1909, put it more succinctly: “Korea has suddenly emerged from the unknown into the widely advertised of to-day. Politically she is nil, but in the missionary circle she is a first-rate power” (Gale 1909, xiii). And the editors of the Korea Mission Field, writing in January 1917, echoed that point again: “Korea, though in a lesser sense small, is really large, the largest place on our planet for it is the pivot of the Orient; the axle of the wheels of the chariot which may bear the Oriental nations into the Kingdom of God with the rest of the world as trailers” (“The Coming of Bishop Welch,” Korea Mission Field 13, no. 1 (January 1917), 1–2, here 1). Kim Ku, the prominent conservative Korean nationalist, in the famous epilogue to his memoir, made a similar point years later, writing: “I want our nation to become the most beautiful nation in the world. I do not want our nation to become the richest and powerful nation in the world…It is sufficient that our wealth is such that it makes our lives abundant and our military strength such that it is able to repel others’ invasion. The only thing that I desire in infinite quantity is the power of a highly-developed culture.”  A SORT OF HOMECOMING: Samuel Moffett, speaking in the historic seat of Presbyterianism and of his own Scottish forefathers, reflected deeply on the divine plans that God might have for the distant nation that he had first committed his life to as a young man two decades earlier. By then, Moffett, having spent two decades in Korea—already most of his adult life at that point—had reflected on the role of providence in his being sent to Pyongyang so many years ago. When Moffett last departed Korea, on June 1, 1906, to return home on furlough, “more than a thousand Christians, men, women and children, merchants, scholars and officials walked three miles to the railway station to bid us farewell and as they lined up there singing the Christian hymns, and the fifty theological students whom I had been teaching the previous two months stepped forth to pin on our breasts little silver medals in token of their love and appreciation, one of their number having stoned me through the streets sixteen years ago, do you wonder that my wife and I with tears in our eyes said to each other that the privilege of our lives had been to bring the gospel to this most wicked city in Korea?” (Moffett, “Visions of the Foreign Field,” in Bradt 1907, 51) Moffett used his time in Scotland to explore his family’s ancestral roots, including paying a visit to the town of Moffat, Scotland, roughly fifty miles southwest of Edinburgh (Moffett letter to Alice My Dearest, June 26, 1910; and Vallevieni, “Presentation 4: Samuel & Maria Moffett Children,” 2010). 
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“profoundly effecting in a spiritual way the great nations of China, Japan and even Russia?” 

Note“Twenty years ago when I first visited Pyeng Yang there was not a Christian in the City or Province,” Samuel Moffett said during his address at the World Missionary Conference in Edinburgh, which is reproduced in a Union Seminary Magazine article. “To-day there are nine churches, fifty churches within fifteen miles of the city, 300 churches within that one Province, where fully four-fifths of the population are now within three miles of a Christian church” (Moffett, “Place of the Native Church,” Union Seminary Magazine (1911), 228). Moffett indeed uses the word “effecting,” as in “to effect change.” In his address, Moffett threw more statistics at his audience—namely, that the Korean church had baptized more than sixty thousand Koreans and gathered a membership of some 250,000 Koreans over the prior fifteen years; that of 840 church buildings in Korea, no more than twenty had received any foreign funding—and even in those cases, it was never more than one-third of the cost; and that, in cities like Pyongyang and Sŏnch’ŏn, where one-fifth and one-third of the city attended church, respectively, “Christianity is the greatest factor in the life of such towns” (Moffett, “Place of the Native Church,” Union Seminary Magazine (1911), 227–28, 232).  CHŌSEN REPRESENTATIVES: Moffett wasn’t the only Korea delegate at the World Missionary Conference. Also in attendance were Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic convert to Methodism; Methodist Bishop Merriman Harris, an advocate of Japanese rule; Moffett’s Pyongyang colleagues William Reynolds and Charles Bernheisel; and the Methodist missionaries George Jones, Arthur Becker, and Rosetta Sherwood Hall, some of whom were en route from furlough (“Editorial Notes and Personals,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 10 (October 1910), 241–44, here 243–44, citing a letter from Rosetta Sherwood Hall; Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 292; and Gairdner 1910, 57). Yun, one of only five Asian delegates and the only Korean at the conference, was hailed as one of the “eminent Christians of the yellow race” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 292; and Gairdner 1910, 57). There, Yun warned that the evangelization of Korea was taking place so rapidly that “there was a danger that the converts might not be taught as thoroughly as was necessary in order to lay deep and wide the foundation of the Church of the future” (Gairdner 1910, 79). “The Korea missionaries were presented to the conference as being members of so remarkable a development that its success was called ‘one of the marvels of modern history,’” write Arthur Becker’s biographers. “Arthur found himself a celebrity and was spoken to wherever he went (McCune and Thompson 2009, 348–49).   CHICAGO 1912: Korea was held up again as an exemplar for the global church at a missionary conference in Chicago two years later, as Southern Methodist missionary Charles Hounshell reported in Korea Mission Field. “The reports of marvelous prayer meetings, sweeping revivals and far reaching evangelistic campaigns in Korea have been made everywhere,” he wrote, “cited in all great missionary gatherings to prove that foreign missions are not a failure.” During a keynote address at the Chicago Congress of the Laymen’s Missionary Movement, Rev. Hounshell added, one longtime missionary to India, “used the triumph of the gospel in Korea as an inspiration for the evangelization of the world in this generation and proved that if churches everywhere were to catch the spirit of Korean Christians and adopt their methods of evangelism that it need be only a few years until every man, woman and child in the world would hear of the Savior” (Hounshell, “Korea’s Message to the World,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 309–10). 
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fate would be reshaped by the birth of a man hailed as a savior from among the chosen people 

NoteLike the Israelites, and many in postbellum America, the Koreans have long regarded themselves as a “chosen people.” This belief could be found in many of the so-called “new religions” that sprang up in Korea throughout the twentieth century, perhaps most notably in Rev. Mun Sŏn-myŏng (Sun Myung Moon)’s Unification Church, which proclaimed Korea as a land chosen and blessed by God, and the site of Christ’s Second Coming (see Act III, Chapter 33). Many missionaries pointed out the similarity between the name “Chosŏn” (spelled even more felicitously as “Chōsen” under the Japanese authorities) and the English word “chosen,” which they suggested reflected God’s divine purposes for Korea (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 93). As Pae Min-su, a Christian nationalist and one of the closest friends of Kim Il Sung’s father, would later write, “we thought we were the most civilized people with higher education and morality. We called Chinese, Japanese, and Westerners savages and thought we were the chosen people” (Pai 2002, 58). For more on ethnic nationalism in Korean Christian teaching this period, see also Wells 1990, 175–76; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 147. 
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world, born less than two years later in a thatched hut on the edge of the Jerusalem of the East 

NoteAround the time of Kim Il Sung’s birth in April 1912, the Presbyterians had just opened their seventh church in Pyongyang, a city of about a hundred thousand people, squeezing thousands into their packed halls, “holding the largest attendances of Christians in any one city in Asia” (J. W. Wells [Wells, J. Hunter], “Report of the Caroline A. Ladd Hospital Pyengyang (Condensed),” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 7 (July 1912), 209–11, here 209–10). Meanwhile, the Methodists were squeezing another 1,200 believers into the four churches and chapels that they were operating in the city at the time (B. W. Billings [Billings, Bliss W.], “A Few Notes Concerning Pyeng Yang Methodists,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 3 (March 1913), 70–71). 

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“us as many comrades as possible…We ask these in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen”

NoteIn his memoir, Who Shall Enter the Kingdom of Heaven?, which Pae Min-su first self-published in 1944 and republished in 1951, he describes this prayer as one that he frequently prayed with Kim Hyŏng-jik in sojourns to Kija’s Tomb, before describing this particular Sunday afternoon in 1913 (Pai 2002, 92–93). The quotes here are drawn from the 2002 edition of Pae’s memoirs, which were republished by Yonsei University’s Union Theological Seminary.
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and women across Korea to think seriously for the first time about their nation and its future 

NoteOne Korean nationalist, in a particularly poignant and incisive passage, described how, through its annexation of Korea, “Japan, unconsciously, and in spite of herself, gave Korea a new hope, an ideal and a fighting spirit. Now Korea is no longer the Korea of traditional sloth. A fresh impulse has been generated throughout Korea, and the awakening of a vital nationalism has taken place. The people have become conscious of the meaning of their nationhood, and are sacrificing themselves for the realization of it…The Korean’s love of country has been learned in the losing of it, and the value of liberty in the deprivation of it. The process of denationalization, forced upon Korea by Japan, served as a crucible in which Korean patriotism was crystallized” (Chung 1921, 191). The nationalist here, Chŏng Han-gyŏng (鄭翰景 1890–1985), was a native of northwestern P’yŏng’an province who later was known as Henry Chung De Young. A convert to Presbyterianism, Chŏng arrived in the U.S. as a young teenager in 1904, earned his bachelor’s and master’s degrees at Nebraska State University and his honorary doctorate at American University in Washington, D.C. Chŏng married an American woman and became an assistant professor at Northwestern University (Lew 2014, 111–12; and “The Proud Stories of Korean American Patriots: Henry Chung De Young,” Korean National Association Memorial Foundation website, January 25, 2019). 
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all traces of Korean identity—the language, the way of life, even the names that Koreans used

NoteAKIN TO APARTHEID: The comparison to apartheid was made by Gregory Henderson, a scholar and former American diplomat in Seoul. “The Japanese lived mostly in tight, exclusive swarms in Korea; deprecation of Koreans was part of the ethos of these groups,” Henderson wrote in 1968. “Despite widespread Korean fluency in Japanese, a surprising lack of Japanese insight into or sympathy for Korean feelings and attitudes was the legacy of this de facto apartheid” (Henderson 1968, 76). In Korea, unlike in Japanese-ruled Taiwan, he added, “many local customs were suppressed. Koreans’ first and all-absorbing duty was to be ‘Japanized’” (Henderson 1968, 101).   SOMETHING LIKE SLAVERY: Historian Frank P. Baldwin, Jr., turning to a different historical precedent, highlighted parallels between the Koreans’ treatment under the Japanese and “the plight of the American Negro living a precarious, subservient existence in America” (Frank Prentiss Baldwin, Jr., “The March First Movement: Korean Challenge and Japanese Response” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1969), 12). Also cited in Timothy Lee 2010, 37. Australian scholar Christopher Richardson refrains from a historical analogy, but describes the four decades of Japanese imperial rule in Korea as one in which “Koreans endured a cultural genocide, forced to take foreign names and learn the occupier’s language” (Richardson, “Revolution and Revival,” Sino-NK (2017)).  “AS YOU WOULD PUT SALMON INTO A TIN”: As the fiery Korean nationalist Chŏng Han-gyŏng wrote in 1921, Japan “actually thought that she could make the Koreans Japanese; wipe their language off the slate; remake their history; bury their literature out of sight, and cause them to forget 4,000 years of a civilization quite equal to that of Japan…She has set to beat up and hammer them into freshly made Japanese, and put Bushido patriotism into their souls, as you would put salmon into a tin” (Chung 1921, 298). Instead, the Japanese efforts to suppress Korean culture and national identity backfired, Chŏng alleged, with young men like the three Koreans in the park that day clinging to their national identity all the more tightly. “The youngsters gather in little groups of three and four after school to study the Korean language. Indeed, the earnestness with which the Korean children cling to their own nationality is an interesting study, if not an inspiring lesson” (Chung 1921, 142–43).
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just outside Pyongyang in a village called Man’gyŏngdae—“the terrace of ten-thousand vistas”

NotePae Min-su (裵敏洙 1896–1968) was born on October 8, 1896, in Ch’ŏngju, a city in the south-central province of Ch’ungch’ŏng with a population at the time of about ten thousand (Pai 2002, 13). Though North Korean sources describe Kim Hyŏng-jik as growing up primarily in Man’gyŏngdae (萬景臺), Pae recounts in his memoir how Kim Hyŏng-jik “came from Manchuria and was most enthusiastic about the restoration of our country. He told me all about the underground and guerrilla movements in Manchuria” (Pai 2002, 91).  ELDER RO: Pae recalls meeting Kim Hyŏng-jik (金亨稷 1894–1926) through the introduction of another schoolmate named Ro Tŏk-sun (盧德純 or 盧德淳 1895?–?), who at eighteen was a year older than Pae and a year younger than Kim Hyŏng-jik (Pai 2002, 91). Ro, a Pyongyang native, was prototypical of Korea’s moderate capitalist nationalists, moving to the far northern city of Hoeryŏng (會寧) after graduating from Sungsil Academy’s middle school and becoming a wealthy dry-goods merchant, while also serving as a Presbyterian elder (“Minhwal-han Saŏpga Changrogyo Changno Ro Tŏk-sun Ssi” [The Nimble Tradesman, Presbyterian Elder Ro Tŏk-sun], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], August 18, 1936, 6). In 1931, Elder Ro led a boycott in Hoeryŏng against high electricity prices under the colonial government (see “Chŏndŭngryo Pulgam ha’myŏn Sodŭng ŭl Tanhaeng” [Blackouts Will be Carried Out Unless Electric Lighting Rates Are Reduced], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], February 1, 1931, 3). Elder Ro was also a leading donor to educational causes (see “Wŏn’a Ŭm’akhoe Tongjŏnggŭm Tapji” [Kindergarten Musical Performance, Donations that Flocked In], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], November 2, 1932, 4).
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before; just a year earlier, his wife had given birth to a baby boy on the outskirts of Pyongyang

NoteMAN’GYŎNGDAE—OR CH’ILGOL: North Korea today celebrates Man’gyŏngdae as the birthplace of state founder Kim Il Sung, with tens of thousands of visitors streaming through the reconstructed thatched hut where he was said to have been born and raised (see Act III, Chapter 32). In reality, the North Korean leader may actually have been born in the nearby village of Ch’ilgol (七谷), the home village of his mother Kang Pan-sŏk (康磐石 or 康盤石 1892–1932). Russian historian Fyodor Tertitskiy, for instance, places Kim Il Sung’s birthplace in Ch’ilgol’s “Lower Village” (下里 Kor. Ha-ri), located today in Pyongyang’s Yongsan township (龍山面 Kor. Yongsan-myŏn) (Tertitskiy 2025, 8, 61–62; and Tchaerŭch’ijŭsŭk’i P’yodorŭ [Tertitskiy, Fyodor], Kim Il-sŏng Chŏn’gi [Kim Il Sung Biography] (Paju, South Korea: Han’ul, 2022), 16). One 1964 biography of Kim Il Sung, published in Japan with North Korean support, similarly describes Kim Il Sung as having been born in his mother’s home in Ha-ri, Ch’ilgol, though the young boy then grew up in Man’gyŏngdae (Lankov 2002, 50, n. 1). Yu Sŏng-ch’ŏl (俞成哲 1917–1995), a former close ally of Kim Il Sung, also affirms that Kim was actually born in Ch’ilgol (Yu Sŏng-ch’ŏl, “Synopsis,” Han’guk Ilbo, December 1, 1990, in Sydney A. Seiler, Kim Il-sŏng 1941–1948: The Creation of a Legend, The Building of a Regime (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1994), 195–200, here 196–97). Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, a Yonsei University professor in Seoul whose family was close with Kim Il Sung’s, identifies Ch’ilgol as Kim Il Sung’s birthplace, adding that he was fed by a wet nurse because Kang Pan-sŏk was short on breast milk. Later, when the wet nurse’s son was taken away by the Communists, she said with a sigh: “I fed Kim Il Sung for three months, and now he takes my son” (Ŏm, Chu-yŏp, “P’awŏ Int’ŏbyu: Isip’il Segi nŭn Nuga Tŏ ‘Yŏl’lin sahoe’ ro Ka’nŭ’nya esŏ Sŭngbu” [Power Interview: The Winner of the Twenty-First Century Will Be Decided by Who Reaches an “Open Society” First], Munhwa Ilbo, December 31, 2015). Kim Hyŏng-sŏk gives a slightly different version of the anecdote in “Kim Hyŏng-sŏk Kyosu—Chŏlm’ŭn Salm ŭl Sa’nŭn Ch’ŏlhakja” [Professor Kim Hyŏng-sŏk—A Philosopher Living a Young Life], TV Hoegorok: Ullim [TV Memoir: Echoes], Han’guk Pangsong Kongsa [Korean Broadcasting System], July 26, 2015. Kim Il Sung himself confesses in his memoir that he is not sure exactly where he was born, and that his birthplace may have been attributed to Man’gyŏngdae simply out of feudal custom, which placed a child’s birth at the father’s home (Kim Il Sung, With the Century: Reminiscences, Vol. 3 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1993), 180–83). In any case, Man’gyŏngdae and Ch’ilgol were not far apart; in general, this work defaults to describing Man’gyŏngdae as Kim Il Sung’s birthplace.
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woes in Christianity, the new Western faith that had so quickly taken root in Pyongyang

NoteFrom his base in Korea’s ancient northwestern capital, Samuel Moffett had begun making itinerating trips into the villages around Pyongyang as early as the early 1890s, finding great success in the surrounding countryside. It is unclear when Kim Hyŏng-jik and his family would have first been exposed to the foreign doctrine, but the Christian gospel likely penetrated the villages of Man’gyŏngdae and Ch’ilgol by the time Kim Hyŏng-jik was born in 1894.
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pine forest, was hallowed ground, and anyone on horseback was compelled to dismount 

NoteKija’s Tomb (箕子陵 Kor. Kija-nŭng), also known as Kija’s Grave (箕子墓 Kor. Kija-myo), was “a holy spot in the eyes of all Koreans,” in the words of one longtime British diplomat in the region (Longford 1911, 19). Southern Methodist missionary J. Robert Moose, writing that same year, noted that “the visitor to Pyeng-yang never thinks of leaving the city till he has made a visit to Kija’s grave” (Moose 1911, 33). Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown, who paid two visits to Pyongyang, describes the scene. “A stone tablet on the road below bears an inscription to the effect that those who approach on horseback should dismount at so sacred a place,” he wrote. “Ponderous images guard the spot, and a large flat stone serves for the sacrifices which are offered to the spirit of the mighty dead” (Brown 1919, 21). Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, visiting Pyongyang for the first time in 1903, devoted his first day in the city to making a trip to the tomb of the man he considered to be Korea’s “patron saint,” later writing in his diary: “As I sat on a stone dog in front of the mound I wondered how it came about that a foreign usurper like Kija became so revered in Korea that his tomb was kept up and preserved for so many centuries” (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 142).  “THE QUIET OF THE SPOT WAS PERFECT”: William Carles, a British diplomat in Beijing who was dispatched to Korea as vice consul in the mid-1880s, offers a detailed description of his visit to Kija’s Tomb—Carles’ first order of duty on the morning after his initial arrival in Pyongyang: “Ki Tzu’s tomb…lies a little way outside the north gate, on a hill partially wooded near the high-road to the north. Passing-through a low gateway we entered the enclosure in which the grave stands. A small clump of fir trees grew on either side of the path, which led to a flight of eight or ten stone steps. On a terrace above stood three pairs of stone figures—the first that of a man holding a tablet in his hands, the second that of a warrior with helmet on his head and mace in hand, the third that of a sheep. Beyond them was a mound of earth, about four feet high, in front of which was placed a stone bearing on the face three Chinese characters, Ki Tzu mu, ‘Ki Tzu’s tomb.’ At its back was another Chinese inscription, dated 1595 A.D., to the effect that the first character of the stone on Ki Tzu’s grave having been lost during the military occupation of 1533 A.D., this stone had been placed behind the original stone in the hope of saving it from further damage.” Other than a caretaker who asked them for a donation for the maintenance of the grounds, no other people were present, “and the quiet of the spot was perfect” (Carles 1888, 163–64). The shrine was guarded by the Sŏn’u (鮮于) clan, said to be direct descendants of Kija (Jang, “Regional Identities of Northern Literati,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 69). Just a few years later in September 1894, of course, Kija’s Tomb would be scarred by the Battle of Pyongyang during the Sino-Japanese War. Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller, visiting shortly thereafter in May 1896, wrote that “all around the grave and in the building on the hill are the marks of bullets evidently fired by the Japanese as they advanced upon the north gate of the city” (H. G. A. [Appenzeller, Henry G.], “A Visit to Pyeng Yang and the Battle-field,” Korean Repository 3 (June 1896), 241–47, here 246). Daniel Gifford, the McCormick Seminary classmate of Moffett and Baird, described Kija’s Tomb as a “curious composite…of ancient and modern history…upon the top of a knoll the semi-globular grave, with a low, tiled stone wall half surrounding it, and stone images and a sacrificial slab in front of the mound, reminding one of a far antiquity; then the wooden shrine, below the knoll, with its walls scarred and perforated in every direction by the bullets of the battle which raged over the site, very much in evidence of the recent past” (Gifford 1897, 5–6).
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the cult of Kija retained a powerful pull on the Korean imagination, particularly in the northwest

NoteTAN’GUN UP, KIJA DOWN: The construction of the shrine to Kija at Pyongyang helped elevate Kija worship from what was primarily a local cult centered around Pyongyang to that of a national religion, writes one scholar, who describes Kija’s function as being to legitimize and establish Korea’s cultural identity, while Tan’gun and Tongmyŏng were worshipped “in order to emphasize the homogeneity of the Korean race” (Han Young-woo, “Kija Worship,” in de Bary and Haboush 1985, 353–54). Thus, for centuries, Kija had served as the central figure in Koreans’ sense of cultural and civilizational pride. That began to change with the rise of modern Korean nationalism in the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, when Kija was downplayed in favor of a new cult of personality around Tan’gun. This new generation of Korean nationalists lamented the fact that most Koreans knew more about Chinese history than about their own history, and, in a bid to rectify this grievous state of affairs, produced a multi-volume tome entitled the History of the Great Eastern State (大東歷史 Kor. Taedong Yŏksa), which elevated the Tan’gun founding myth at the expense of Kija’s. Instead of referring to China by its traditional title, which can be rendered as “The Elegant Middle Kingdom” (中華 Kor. Chunghwa), it referred to China simply as “China” (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 25). Though neither Tan’gun nor Kija likely existed as a historical personage, the vigorous promotion of the Tan’gun myth in the early twentieth century, writes Yale historian Odd Arne Westad, foreshadowed a broader effort among “many Koreans today to make their nation ancient and significant” (Westad 2021, 22).  “AS SACRED WRIT”: By the time Pae Min-su and Kim Hyŏng-jik were praying at Kija’s Tomb in 1913, however, that process was only just getting started, and Kija still exerted a powerful pull in many Koreans’ sense of national pride. “To every Korean child, this legend is as sacred writ interpreted by infallible orthodoxy,” one Western scholar wrote of Kija in 1912. “A hundred gravely written books and the encyclopedias repeat this pretty tale” (Griffis 1912, 30). By 1915, one Westerner in Korea wrote that year, Kija’s tomb was “still the object of great reverence” (Trollope 1915, 15). As late as 1986, Peter Hyun (Hyŏn Chun-sŏp 玄駿燮1906–1993), the son of nationalist Methodist pastor Rev. Hyŏn Sun (玄楯 1880–1968), could proudly boast of his ancestors’ ties to a follower of Kija whose descendants were said to have spread across P’yŏng’an province (Hyun 1986, 2). When Japan established its protectorate over Korea in 1905, the famous editorial in Seoul’s Capital Gazette (Hwangsŏng Sinmun) framed the shame of national death in the context of Korea’s pride in its links to both Tan’gun and Kija: “Is it worthwhile for any of us to live any longer? Our people have become the slaves of others, and the spirit of a nation which has stood for 4,000 years, since the days of Tan’gun and Kija have perished in a single night. Alas, fellow countrymen! Alas!” (Palmer 1967, 81). Min Yŏng-hwan, the popular general and royal prince of the Chosŏn dynasty’s ruling house, similarly invoked Korea’s ancient ties to both Tan’gun and Kija in lamenting the demise of the country in his post-protectorate suicide letter that year (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 97). For both episodes, see Act I, Chapter 7.  KIJA OF THE NORTHWEST: The importance of the Kija myth was especially pronounced in the Korean northwest, where Kija was said to have settled—and which had suffered centuries of regional discrimination from the elites in Seoul. For many residents of P’yŏng’an province, this state of affairs “could…precipitate a psychological desire for compensation on some other level. The Kija legend provided a perfect cultural resource for such a demand and thus the people of P’yŏngan lived with and expressed a sense of pride in their residing in Kija’s provenance” (Paek, “Pyŏngan Dialect and Regional Identity,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 134). That Kija’s tomb was situated on the outskirts of Pyongyang served as testament to his association with the ancient western capital. “Koreans, I think, believe in his existence,” Methodist missionary Henry Appenzeller wrote in 1895. “They point confidently to his well and grave in Pyeng Yang as at least ocular evidence” (Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 86–87). In 1889, the provincial governor of P’yŏng’an, identified as a member of the Min clan known as “Min Yung Jun,” had collected a special tax from every resident of the province to repair the tomb. “The levying of the tax and the payment show the interest in and the influence of the sage” (Appenzeller, “Ki Tza,” Korean Repository (1895), 86). When then-Emperor Kojong redesignated Pyongyang as Korea’s secondary capital in 1902, the move only “reaffirmed the city’s association with Kija,” in the words of one scholar (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 173). Kojong promptly ordered the cutting down of trees around Kija’s Tomb for timber to construct his new palace south of the old city walls, “a very large building” whose “only purpose seems to be to squander money,” in the skeptical words of Charles Bernheisel (Bernheisel 2004, 391 (July 8, 1902, diary entry)). The trees were “some thirty or forty magnificent pine trees, so large that two of us could not reach around the base, & the government has compelled the people around here to chop these trees down” (Bernheisel 2004, 424–25 (May 1903 diary entry)). For more on Kojong’s misguided decision to establish the secondary capital in Pyongyang, see Act I, Chapter 6. Interestingly, the site, because of Kija’s central place in Korean national identity, was also a favorite place for conservative Confucianists who loathed the presence of foreign barbarians in Korea. Pyongyang missionary Charles Bernheisel, writing in May 1902, recounted reports of “a large gathering of several thousand persons of the scholar or Confucian class, at Kija’s grave. Their object is said to be to drive out all foreigners & to kill all Christians & return to the old customs” (Bernheisel 2004, 379–80 (May 16, 1902, diary entry)).
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“law and civilization, as a sacred shrine, and pilgrims pay annual visits to this Mecca of Korea”

NoteSTILL KIJA’S CITY: “It is still Keui-ja’s city after all this long lapse of time,” an unnamed missionary author, likely James Gale, wrote in 1918, noting that Kija’s ancient mud wall still stood, running behind the Presbyterian missionary compound and reaching all the way to the Taedong River. “Keui-ja was undoubtedly here and his footprints dimly mark the land” (“Ancient Korean Remains I,” Korea Magazine (1918), 354). Within Pyongyang, a temple to Kija dating to the fourteenth century served as evidence of the Chinese sage’s centrality in the city’s mythology. “Keui-ja’s temple in Pyeng-yang stands to-day firm on its base though built in 1325 A. D.,” another unnamed missionary, likely also James Gale, wrote in 1918. “To think that in a land where posts rot so easily, and where eaves break and give way, that any form of wooden structure would outlast the slash of wind and weather for 600 years is astounding. What master-builders they must have been in those days. This house takes us back to the Battle of Bannockburn when Edward II was on the throne of England. Marco Polo had only been dead a year when it was built. Could it but speak, what a story of the yellow East it could tell” (“Antiquarian Study,” Korea Magazine (1918), 2). Gale, writing under his own name in 1914, a year after Kim Hyŏng-jik and Pae Min-su had spent that fateful afternoon at Kija’s Tomb, saw a resonance in the inscription on a memorial tablet placed in front of Kija’s Temple, which, in Gale’s own translation, read: “God’s not permitting Keui-ja to be killed in the convulsions that closed the Eun Kingdom of China, was because He reserved him to preach religion to us, and to bring our people under the laws of civilization. Even though Keui-ja had desired death at that time he could not have found it; and though King Moon had determined not to send him to Korea he could not have helped it, seeing that God had him in store for this service.” To that, Gale, who was fond of finding foreshadowings of the Christian message in feudal Korea, could only utter an appreciate “Amen” upon reading the inscription (Gale, “A Missionary Retrospect,” Korea Mission Field (1914), 261). According to the missionaries—again, possibly Gale—the original memorial tablet was destroyed during the Hideyoshi invasions of the 1590s, and replaced in 1615 (“Korean Literature,” Korea Magazine (1918), 294). That said, even basic questions, like whether Kija’s remains were even located there, remained unresolved. As Pyongyang Presbyterian Charles Bernheisel wrote, “no less than seven cities claim the honor of his burial place. Just to the north of the city of Pyengyang is a beautiful grove surrounding a large mound which is declared to be the grave of Kija. But even so it is sometimes said that only one of his shoes is buried here” (Bernheisel, “Something About Kija,” Korea Magazine (1918), 245–46). See also Brown 1919, 21.
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decades earlier, was a popular picnic spot and retreat for American missionaries in Pyongyang 

NoteAs early as 1894, before the missionaries had even won permission to set up in Pyongyang, Methodist medical missionary husband-wife duo W. James and Rosetta Sherwood Hall “enjoyed a picnic on the scenic grounds above Kija’s famous burial place,” their son later wrote (Sherwood Hall 1978, 145). When Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown visited Korea in 1901, one of the first places the missionaries took him was to Kija’s tomb (Bernheisel 2004, 336 (May 15, 1901, diary entry)). On the verdant surroundings around Kija’s Tomb, see Bishop 1898, 318; Gale 1904, 101; and Brown 1919, 21. For a photograph of Kija’s tomb taken in 1938 by American geographer Shannon McCune, the Pyongyang-born son of Presbyterian missionaries, see Shannon McCune 1956, photo 14 (between pages 74 and 75). See also Shannon McCune 1956, 233.
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early on Sundays or late at night when the moon was out, to pray for the country’s salvation

NoteEven decades later, young Korean Christian nationalists continued to make Kija’s Tomb an early-morning pilgrimage for prayer and reflection. O Ch’ŏl-ho, a high school student living in Pyongyang under the Japanese in 1940, recalled waking up early at 5:30 a.m. at the beginning of each week and meeting with other Christian boys to walk to “a pine grove in the park on the outskirts of the city at the foot of Mt. Moran” for predawn prayer. “From those daybreak prayer meetings we drew the spiritual fortitude to sustain us through another week of living under the Japanese,” he recalled (Awe and Webster 1965, 7).

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He came from a humble family with ancestral roots in southwestern Korea 

NoteKim Il Sung’s family traces its roots back to Chŏnju  (全州), a city in the south-central Korean province of Ch’ungch’ŏng that is perhaps best known today for its large number of traditional Korean homes, known as Han’ok (韓屋) in South Korea and as Chosŏn-jip (朝鮮집) in North Korea, and the mixed rice dish known as bibimbap.  ECHOES OF HISTORY: Intriguingly, the Kim family’s roots in Chŏnju tie North Korea’s ruling dynasty to the ancestral line of Chosŏn dynasty founder Yi Sŏng-gye, whose Chŏnju Yi clan (全州李氏 Kor. Chŏnju Yi-ssi) also traces its origins to the city in southwestern Korea—an irony, given North Korea’s deep-rooted disdain for the Chosŏn dynasty (see Act III, Chapter 33). To be sure, Yi Sŏng-gye also discriminated against his own people; though Yi’s roots were in Chŏnju, he himself hailed from Korea’s northeast; after rising to power and founding the Chosŏn dynasty, Yi Sŏng-gye limited the number of northeasterners in high government positions (see Act I, Chapter 4). Interesting, Chŏnju also figures in the centuries-old prophetic text known as The Records of Chŏnggam (see Act I, Chapter XXX). According to that esoteric work of prophecy, the Chosŏn dynasty’s Yi lineage would be supplanted by the Chŏng clan, who would in turn be replaced by a Cho family and finally by a Pŏm dynasty, who would rule from Chŏnju for six hundred years (see Karlsson, “Challenging the Dynasty” (2001), 257). 
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outskirts of the ancient northwestern capital, in the village now known as Man’gyŏngdae 

NoteFROM CHŎNJU TO MAN’GYŎNGDAE: Kim Il Sung writes in his memoirs that the family moved to P’yŏng’an province from Chŏnju six generations earlier, during the middle of the eighteenth century, under an ancestor named Kim Kye-sang (金繼祥 ?–?), settling in Man’gyŏngdae in the 1860s during the lifetime of Kim Il Sung’s great-grandfather, Kim Ŭng-u (金膺禹 1845–1878); there, Kim Ŭng-u worked as a sharecropper and tended to the grave of a wealthy aristocrat named Yi P’yŏng-t’aek (李平澤 ?–?) (Kim, Il Sung [Kim, Il-sŏng], With the Century: Reminiscences, Vol. 1 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1994), 5; Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi [Biography of Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik] (Pyongyang: Chosŏn Rodong-dang Ch’ulpan-sa, 2004), 8; Dae-Sook Suh 1988, 4; Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” [Kim Il Sung’s Family and Christianity], lecture at Unification Missions Academy, October 18, 2014, Seoul; and Chu, Chŏng-hwa, “Kim Il-sŏng ka ŭi Kidokgyo-jŏk Paegyŏng” [The Christian Background of Kim Il Sung’s Family], Pu-Gyŏng Kyohoe-sa Yŏn’gu [Studies on Pusan and South Kyŏngsan Province Church History] 58 (November 2015), 52–69, here 54–55). Some sources give Kim Ŭng-u’s birth year as 1848. One South Korean scholar describes Kim Il Sung as being the twelfth-generation descendant of Kim Kye-sang—not the sixth-generation descendant—and further posits that Kim Kye-sang migrated north during the first Hideyoshi invasion of Korea in 1592 (Yang 1981, 29). Other sources point to North Korean scholarship that at one point concluded that Kim Il Sung’s family had indeed moved to the Pyongyang area twelve generations earlier (Dae-Sook Suh 1988, 5; and Chu, “Kidokgyo-jŏk Paegyŏng” (2015), 54–55).  GRAVEKEEPERS: Kang Myŏng-do (康明道 1958?– ), a member of Kim Il Sung’s extended family who defected to South Korea in 1994, wrote after arriving in Seoul that “the Man’gyŏngdae area is very hilly so naturally there were many graves,” referring to the propensity in East Asia to bury elders in the mountains, in keeping with traditional geomantic principles. “Kim Il Sung’s grandfather rented a room and worked as a gravekeeper (山堂지기 Kor. sandangjigi) who looked after the mountain and the grave” (Kang Myŏng-do, P’yŏngyang ŭn Mangmyŏng ŭl Kkumggunda [Pyongyang Dreams of Exile] (Seoul: Chung’ang Ilbo-sa, 1995), 57). The graves are no longer visible today (Dae-Sook Suh 1988, 4). Whatever the exact chronology, official North Korean sources attest that the Kim family initially moved to a village near Pyongyang called Chungsŏng-ri (中城里) before Kim Ŭng-u was forced “to abandon the ancestral home” and relocate to Man’gyŏngdae because of “constant want” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 39; and Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 8). New York Times journalist Harrison Salisbury, who traveled to Pyongyang in 1972 to interview Kim Il Sung, was told on a visit to Man’gyŏngdae that the Kim family had lived in a cottage there since “about 1850,” when Kim’s great-grandfather was given a compound of mud huts in which to live in exchange for guarding the landlord’s private cemetery (Harrison E. Salisbury, To Peking—And Beyond: A Report on the New Asia (New York: Quadrangle, 1973), 207). Kim Hyŏng-jik himself was born in South Village (南里 Kor. Nam-ri), situated in Kop’yŏng township (高平面 Kor. Kop’yŏng-myŏn), a part of Taedong county, on July 10, 1894 (Bonghwa-ri, Historic Place of Revolution (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1969), 4). 
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would later write, personally led that heroic first charge against the American imperialists 

NoteThough it is, of course, possible that Kim Ŭng-u joined the attack on the U.S. merchant ship, there is scant independent evidence to support the claim. Sŏ Tae-suk, one of Kim Il Sung’s most authoritative biographers, dismisses North Korea’s later claims about Kim Ŭng-u’s involvement in repelling the General Sherman as “politically motivated fabrications of little importance” (Dae-Sook Suh 1988, 5). 
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Korean topknots, and didn’t see much point in bestowing their daughters with given names 

NoteOne of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s sisters was referred to as “Kim Kuilnyo”—literally, “the Kim girl born on the ninth” (金九日女 Kor. Kim Ku’il-nyŏ) (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 6). See also Kim Il-sŏng, Segi wa Tŏbur’ŏ: Hoegorok 1 [With the Century: Reminiscences, Vol. 1] (Pyongyang: Paekdusan P’yŏnjib-bu, n.d.), 12. Still, two of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s sisters were bestowed with proper names: Kim Hyŏng-sil (金亨實 ?–?) and Kim Hyŏng-bok (金亨福 ?–?) (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 6). See also Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Puknyŏk’ ŭi Kyohoe rŭl Kada [Going to the Churches in the North] (Seoul: Tong’yŏn, 2019), 137. 
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as Kim Hyŏng-jik’s younger brother later recalled: “Poverty had our family in its merciless grip” 

NoteThere is no reason to doubt these words, which an official North Korean history attributes to Kim Hyŏng-rok (金亨祿 ?–?), the younger brother of Kim Hyŏng-jik. “When guests would come to our hut my grandmother began worrying whether there would be enough food for them. Once I told her, as she was fussing around the kitchen: ‘Guests have arrived again. That means there won’t be enough gruel again.’ And she replied: ‘Yes, darling, if guests are here, we’ll just have to add more water to the gruel pot…’” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 40). Another official North Korean source, an official biography of Kim Hyŏng-jik, describes his father, Kim Po-hyŏn (金輔鉉 1871–1955), as having grown up in particularly dire circumstances, with his father, Kim Ŭng-u, having died when his son was just seven: “One hut and the painful life of a tenant farmer was all the inheritance Mr. Kim Po-hyŏn received from his father. Even that hut was not their own, nor was the field” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 8). 
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Kim Hyŏng-jik was able to enroll in a small Confucian academy to study the Chinese classics 

NoteIt’s unclear how he was able to enroll in this Confucian school, but one North Korean source describes Kim Hyŏng-jik as being so eager to receive an education that he would travel around Pyongyang with paper, brush and ink in search of teachers to teach him (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 22). 
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kind of Western-style schooling that William Baird and Samuel Moffett had brought to Korea 

NoteSunhwa School (順和學校 Kor. Sunhwa Hakgyo) was named for a tributary of the Taedong River. Korean Chinese historian Yu Sun-ho supplies the January 1908 date, while an official North Korean source gives the date of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s enrollment at Sunhwa Academy as 1903 (Yu Sun-ho, Kim Il-sŏng P’yŏngjŏn, Sanggwŏn: Manjubŏl Nunbaram’a, Iyagihara [A Critical Biography of Kim Il Sung, Vol. 1: Speak, Manchurian Snowstorm] (Seoul: Chiwŏn, 2017), 35; and Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 15). The apparent discrepancy can perhaps be explained by an official North Korean “learning dictionary” published as a companion to Kim Il Sung’s memoirs, which states that Sunhwa was established in 1898 as a traditional Confucian academy (書堂 Kor. sŏdang) before converting to a “modern school” in January 1908, the same month that Kim Hyŏng-jik would have enrolled there (“Segi wa Tŏbul’ŏ” Haksŭp Sajŏn 1 [“With the Century” Learning Dictionary, Vol. 1] (Pyongyang: Kwahak Paekgwa Sajŏn Chonghap Ch’ulp’an-sa, 1998), 162). Thus, it is perhaps possible that the Confucian academy and the “modern school” were one and the same, with Kim Hyŏng-jik having enrolled in 1903, when he was nine. North Korean sources describe enrollment at Sunhwa School as consisting of roughly twenty students (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 22). 
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account has Kim Hyŏng-jik angrily cutting off his topknot after losing an athletics competition 

Note“A SILENT PROTEST”: Kim Hyŏng-jik represented Sunhwa School at a competition involving students from Ch’uja, Sinhŭng, and Ch’ilgol Schools, winning first place in the horizontal bar, wrestling, and running, according to Kim Il Sung’s memoirs, though the North Korean leader notes that his father lost in the high jump when “his pigtail was caught in the crosspiece” (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 7). Though Kim Hyŏng-jik’s decision to lop off his topknot may have been an eminently practical one, the North Korean record makes clear that there is a deeper message here—one tied to a rejection of traditional Confucian values and an embrace of modern ones. “This was a silent protest against a feudalist tradition which was centuries-old,” North Korea’s historians tell us (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 31).  “THE BARBER-SHOP…THE PORTAL OF THE CHURCH”: The reality is likely far more complex. During Tokyo’s brief period of ascendancy following the Sino-Japanese War in 1895, the Japanese-backed government in Seoul decreed that all Korean men chop off their topknots—an act that triggered a fierce backlash that turned the topknot into a symbol of Koreanness (see Act I, Chapter 7). For Korean converts to Christianity, however, there was yet another additional layer of meaning, for many willingly decided to cut off their topknots—decree or no decree—as a symbolic declaration of “modernity.” Thus, for a certain class of young Korean men during this period, cutting off the topknot was not a symbol of compliance with the Japanese, but rather a profoundly Christian act. As Canadian missionary Duncan MacRae noted in 1900, Christian converts could be easily identified by their lack of a topknot and their willingness to take on more of the household burdens traditionally assigned to women. Christianity, he wrote, was “doing more to cut off the topknot than any edict from the throne” (MacRae 1993, 73, citing Duncan MacRae diary, November 28, 1900, entry). Many Korean converts upon conversion cut off the topknot, “not by compulsion but as his own personal testimony to the change in his life” (“God’s Hand in Korea’s Bible Study,” Korea Mission Field (1908), 115). As another missionary based in the southeastern city of Andong put it memorably in 1913: “Missionaries do not preach ‘Believe and cut your top knot,’ but some people practice it to such an extent that the barber-shop seems the portal of the church” (“A Letter from Andong,” Korea Mission Field 9, no. 5 (May 1913), 121–23, here 122). The close association with Christian conversion and the chopping of the topknots was so strong that, at a village north of Wŏnsan in the summer of 1914, one Western Bible-seller recounted how “it somehow got rumoured about that we were round for the purpose of cutting off top knots, and consequently on entering one village we saw all the men folk running up the mountain side; when they were assured that we were not on a hair-cutting expedition they came down and bought our books” (Thomas Hobbs, “Reminiscences of a Colportage Tour. (Concluded.),” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 8 (August 1914), 238–40, here 239).  “A SURE MARK OF A CHRISTIAN SCHOOL”: One of the first to chop off their topknot as a symbol of their embrace of the Christian faith was Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind evangelist of Pyongyang, following his conversion in 1896. Kil, preparing to be baptized that year, submitted himself to the shears in a symbolic break with the Confucian order of Chosŏn-era Korea (Timothy Lee 2010, 72–73). Pyongyang missionary John Z. Moore, writing in 1907, reported that at Sungsil Academy, “nearly every one of these 500 boys has his hair cut, and a bright clean face under a neat cap is a sure mark of a Christian school” (Moore, “The Great Revival Year,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 113). A decade later, the topknot had almost entirely disappeared across Korea, as James Gale wrote in April 1917, describing how “the topknot has all but disappeared in the larger centres, and in more remote places many men with short hair are seen” (“Editorial Notes,” The Korea Magazine (April 1917), 145–46, here 145). In short, though we may not know for sure why Kim Hyŏng-jik decided to chop off his topknot, on balance, North Korean portrayals of it being a revolutionary anti-Japanese act should be taken with a grain of salt. For the Christian conversion and topknot-shedding experience of one of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s closest friends and ideological allies, see the case of Son Chŏng-do in Act II, Chapter 19. 
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Christian missionary school, teaching the Bible alongside subjects like chemistry and geography 

NoteKim Hyŏng-sŏk (金亨錫 1920– ), who hailed from the same hometown as Kim Hyŏng-jik and who later became principal of Sunhwa School’s middle school before fleeing to South Korea and becoming a professor at Yonsei University in Seoul, described the Bible as an essential part of the curriculum, with Sunday worship attendance a given and the pastor of Songsan Church serving as one of the school’s two teachers (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, Han In’gan ŭi Iyagi [Story of a Man] (Seoul: Samjungdang, 1969), 36). In addition to studying at Sunhwa School, Kim Hyŏng-sŏk also attended Ch’angdŏk School and Sungsil Academy—two schools that play an integral role in the future North Korean leader’s upbringing, and of which more will be said later. Kim Hyŏng-sŏk’s family was close with Kim Il Sung’s, and he recalled the fondness that the future North Korean leader’s grandfather had for him; he also recalls having taught Kim Il Sung’s cousins in school (“Kim Hyŏng-sŏk Kyosu,” TV Hoegorok: Ullim, Han’guk Pangsong Kongsa (2015)). At one point, Kim Hyŏng-sŏk describes having shared breakfast with Kim Il Sung one day shortly after the latter’s return to Pyongyang in 1945 (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, Na ŭi Insaeng, Na ŭi Sin’ang [My Life, My Faith] (Seoul: Kidokgyo Munsŏ Sŏn’gyo-hoe, 2004), 56; and Pak Ton-gyu, “ ‘80-se e Chom Sui’ŏ’boass-nŭndae No’nŭn’ge Tŏ Himdŭl’ŏ’” [“I Took a Break at 80 Years Old, But It Was Harder to Play”] Chosŏn Ilbo [Chosŏn Daily], June 24, 2017, D1). 
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a hallmark of the missionaries’ desire to cultivate a “muscular Christianity” in their converts 

Note“THE SPORTS FRENZY”: The school athletic meet was a staple of missionary education in Korea during this period, part of the “muscular Christianity” that organizations like the YMCA, the YWCA, and the Salvation Army sought to impart on a generation of young Christian men and women (see Act I, Chapter 7). “Physical education as part of school instruction was a novelty in Korea. In the traditional Confucian educational establishments, where the stress lay on the study of the Chinese classics, physical exertion was utterly disdained,” writes Koen De Ceuster, a Belgian scholar of athletics in Korea during this period. In this milieu, Protestant organizations like the YMCA and the various mission schools spearheaded “a bourgeois movement for the improvement of the masses, calling for frugality, religiosity and study. Physical exercise was an important part of their programmes, because it both kept the toiling masses fit and ‘protected them against the temptations of city life’”—goals that Korean Christians adopted with gusto during this period. “Although they initially considered it an oddity, Koreans would eventually join the sports frenzy”—in particular the “field days” (運動會 Kor. undong-hoe) that the missionaries popularized (Koen De Ceuster, “Wholesome Education and Sound Leisure: The YMCA Sports Programme in Colonial Korea,” European Journal of East Asian Studies 2, no. 1 (2003), 53–88, here 55–60). See, for instance, a list of the various athletics competitions and events the missionaries brought to Korea in “Royal English School Athletic Sports,” Korean Repository 4 (June 1897), 235–37. Some of the athletic meets could be massive in scale; one field day for the Christian schools in Pyongyang in May 1907 gathered no fewer than fifteen thousand people (Huntley 1984, 86, citing Charles Bernheisel letter, June 1907 (MKC)). One can only wonder if Kim Hyŏng-jik was among them. Marathons, meanwhile, were being run in Pyongyang as early as 1921 (“The 1921 Pyongyang Marathon,” Koryo Tours, June 11, 2018). By 1936, Son Ki-jŏng (孫基禎 1912–2002), a native of the northwestern Korean city of Ŭiju, had won Olympic gold in the marathon, albeit on behalf of colonial occupier Japan (see Act II, Chapter 15). 
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better known at the time by its other name, Sinmang School—literally, “Faith-and-Hope” School 

NoteFAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE: According to Kim Ki-hyŏk, the son of a church elder who was involved in administration of the school, the name Sinmang School (信望學校 Kor. Sinmang Hakgyo), or “Faith-and-Hope” School, was directly inspired by the oft-quoted verse from Paul’s first epistle to the church in Corinth: “Now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love” (I Corinthians 13:13, NIV) (Kim Ki-hyŏk, Kim Hyŏn-sŏk Changro Chŏn’gi [Biography of Elder Kim Hyŏn-sŏk] (Seoul: Maekmirran, 1982), 212–13). Also cited in Yun So-yŏng, “Ilje Kangjŏm Malgi Songsan Kodŭng Nongsa Hak’wŏn kwa Kim Tu-hyŏk ŭi Tokrip Undong” [Songsan Agricultural High School During the Late Japanese Colonial Period and Kim Tu-hyŏk’s Independence Activities], Han’guk Tokrip Undongsa Yŏn’gu [Journal of Korean Independence Movement Studies] 62 (2018), 207–53, here 217. Yun So-yŏng gives the wrong page reference in Kim Ki-hyŏk’s book. The details and chronology of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s education and then employment at Sinmang School matches that of North Korea’s description of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s learning and teaching career at Sunhwa/Sinmang (see The Mother of Korea 1978, 42, 54, 61–63). Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, a native of the Pyongyang area who attended Sunhwa/Sinmang School and then became principal of its middle school before later fleeing to South Korea and teaching at Yonsei University in Seoul, described Sunhwa/Sinmang School as the only school within ten ri, or roughly three miles (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk 1969, 25). One Chinese Korean historian has described Sunhwa/Sinmang School as being the only private school in the village, which was known as South Village (南里 Kor. Nam-ri) (Yu Sun-ho 2017, 35). 
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William Swallen, and later William Baird, ascended the pulpit each Sunday morning 

NotePINE MOUNTAIN CHURCH: Sunhwa/Sinmang School was attached to a Presbyterian church called Songsan Church (松山教會 Kor. Songsan Kyohoe), which translates literally as “Pine Mountain Church.” Rev. William Swallen was pastor of Songsan Church from the time of its opening around the turn of the twentieth century until 1916, when leadership of the church came under a Korean assistant pastor named Kim Sŏng-ho. This would have been the time that a young Kim Il Sung attended the church. After Kim Sŏng-ho’s tenure ended in 1918, Kim Kyŏng-sam (金敬三 1871–?), previously the pastor of Lower Village Church (下里教會 Kor. Ha-ri Kyohoe) in Ch’ilgol, took the reins, before William Baird subsequently assumed leadership of the church in 1921 (Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” (2014); Yu Kwan-ji and Pak Esŭt’o, “Hwangp’yehan Sŏngso e Pich’ŭl (0065)—Songsan Kyohoe” [Light in a Desolate Sanctuary (0065)—Songsan Church], Chyubirri T’ong’il Kuguk Kidohoe [Jubilee United Movement of Prayer], 2015; and Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 101). Some of Sunhwa/Sinmang School’s classes were held inside Songsan Church, recalls Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, who attended the school and later became principal of its middle school before fleeing to South Korea (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk 1969, 25; and Kim Hyŏng-sŏk 2004, 9). An image purporting to show the school, included in the frontispiece of Kim Il Sung’s With the Century memoirs, shows a traditional Korean school, not physically attached to anything else. The explanation may lie in the fact that, as stated a few footnotes above, Sunhwa School was converted to a modern, Western-style school in 1908.   UNDER BAIRD AND SWALLEN: In Rev. Baird’s 1916–1917 annual report to the Presbyterian foreign missions board, he noted that Rev. Kim Kyŏng-sam, who he described as his former helper for the circuit of churches that included Ch’ilgol Church, had “been ordained as associate pastor over two churches,” which Baird doesn’t name (“Personal Report of W. M. Baird, 1916–17,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 287). In his 1924–1925 annual report, Rev. Baird named the church at “Songsanni,” or Songsan Village (松山里 Kor. Songsan-ri), as one of “my country churches,” noting that Rev. Kim Sŏn-du (金善斗 1876–1949) was working as a part-time pastor there (“Personal Report of W. M. Baird, Pyeng Yang, 1924–1925,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 337). Rev. Baird’s ties with Songsan Church are also mentioned in Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 60. Rev. Swallen’s are also mentioned in Kang et al. 2013, 90; and Yu and Pak, “Songsan Kyohoe” (2015). For more on Rev. Swallen, see Act I, Chapters 4 and 6. In addition to the missionaries Revs. Swallen and Baird, and the Korean pastor Rev. Kim Kyŏng-sam, Songsan Church’s leadership also included elders Im Che-hun and Im T’ae-hun, whose names suggest that they were brothers (Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 101).  LIGHT IN A DESOLATE SANCTUARY: One of the sources cited here, “Hwangp’yehan Sŏngso e Pich’ŭl (0065)—Songsan Kyohoe,” offers a thumbnail history of Songsan Church. The article is the sixty-fifth in a series of 121 such histories penned by Rev. Yu Kwan-ji, chairman of the North Korean Church Research Institute (北韓教會研究院 Kor. Pukhan Kyohoe Yŏn’gu-wŏn), and Pak Esŭt’ŏ (“Esther Pak”), identified only as a “North Korean defector.” The articles were written for Jubilee United Movement of Prayer, a nationwide network of prayer gatherings across South Korea; Rev. Yu, who wrote about Rev. Kang Yang-uk for his doctoral dissertation at Hoseo University (河西大學校 Kor. Hosŏ Taehakgyo) in Asan, South Korea, penned the monthly articles, under the title “Light in a Desolate Sanctuary” for the bulletins distributed at the Jubilee United Movement of Prayer’s gatherings in Seoul. They have not been published in book form. 
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a private residence, but was gradually expanded to accommodate five hundred worshippers 

NoteSongsan Church sat along the banks of the Taedong River, in Songsan village (Songsan-ri), which was situated in Kop’yŏng township of Taedong county, a part of South P’yŏng’an province (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 59; and Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 101). Songsan Church was established on March 1, 1900, after splintering off from another church called Sinhŭng-ri Church; initially, Songsan Church was called South Village Church (南里教會 Kor. Nam-ri Kyohoe) and served as a so-called prayer-house (祈禱處 Kor. kido-ch’ŏ) before moving over the hill to Songsan-ri (Kang et al. 2013, 90; and Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 101). The church enjoyed close ties with another church called Lower Village Church (下里教會 Kor. Ha-ri Kyohoe) in Ch’ilgol, of which more will be said later (Kim Chi-yŏng 2014, 14). 
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their diligence in holding predawn prayer meetings—a peculiar innovation of the Korean church 

NoteKim Hyŏng-sŏk, a former attendee of Songsan Church, recalled a stream of white-robed Korean believers gathering at the church for weeklong revival meetings during the winter, with the church lit up by candlelight until late in the evenings. “It was like a part of a feast in heaven was taking place there,” he wrote (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk 1969, 25). 
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of the church elders and attracted well-known nationalists as teachers, directors, and advisors 

NoteSunhwa/Sinmang School’s founder was Im Che-hun (?–?), one of Songsan Church’s elders, who wanted to ensure an education for the poorer children of the village who couldn’t travel to Pyongyang for schooling (Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 101). If not for Elder Im founding the school, writes another historian of this period, Kim Hyŏng-jik might not have been able to receive a modern education (Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2): Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi Kagye” [The Boyhood of Kim Sŏng-ju (2): The Family of Kim Sŏng-ju], Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974, 3). Kim Hyŏng-sŏk writes that Sunhwa/Sinmang School was later moved to a new building on the east side of the village (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk 1969, 25).  SONGSAN MIDDLE SCHOOL: In addition to the primary school Sunhwa/Sinmang School, Songsan Church would later go on to boast an agricultural high school called Songsan Agricultural Academy (松山高等農事學院 Kor. Songsan Kodŭng Nongsa Hak’wŏn), founded in the mid-1930s and later renamed Songsan Middle School (松山中學校 Kor. Songsan Chunghakgyo) (Kim Ki-hyŏk 1982, 215; Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 101; Yun, “Songsan Kodŭng Nongsa Hak’wŏn” (2018), 220; and Yu and Pak, “Songsan Kyohoe” (2015)). The agricultural school was led by Kim Hyŏn-sŏk (金賢錫 1903–1950?), a Presbyterian church elder who was chairman of the board, and the similarly named Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, later the principal, both of whom would play key roles in Kim Il Sung’s early interactions with the church after Japan’s surrender in 1945, and neither of whom is related to Kim Il Sung’s family (Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 101–2; and Yu and Pak, “Songsan Kyohoe” (2015)). Two of Korea’s most prominent nationalist leaders during this period—Cho Man-sik and An Ch’ang-ho—were made a director and an advisor, respectively, to Songsan Middle School, which was initially led by Kim Tu-hyŏk (金斗爀 ?–?), a nephew of Kim Hyŏn-sŏk (Yun, “Songsan Kodŭng Nongsa Hak’wŏn” (2018), 221). Another prominent nationalist tied to the middle school was Quaker convert Ham Sŏk-hŏn (咸錫憲 1901–1989), who taught at the school (Yu and Pak, “Songsan Kyohoe” (2015)). Among his other accomplishments, Ham published a widely-read treatise in the late 1930s, entitled Korean History from the Biblical Point of View (聖書的 立場에서 본 韓國歷史 Kor. Sŏngsŏ-jŏk Ipjang esŏ Pon Han’guk Yŏksa), on what one later historian has called the “meaning of Korean history…attitudes of sadness, frustration, and shame” (Palmer 1967, 77). Though Cho, An, and Ham were all technically affiliated with Songsan Middle School, the shared association with Songsan Church ensured that the three men were all involved, if only indirectly, in the affairs of Sunhwa/Sinmang School. 
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alphabet—not the erudite but difficult-to-master Chinese characters of the Confucian pedagogy 

NoteThe official North Korean history contrasts the modern education that Kim Hyŏng-jik received at Sunhwa/Sinmang School with the study of Chinese characters that he had received earlier (The Mother of Korea 1978, 42). 
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“prepared for any emergency”), and climbing a nearby hill every morning to practice his oratory 

NoteAccording to the North Korean record, Kim Hyŏng-jik used his rhetorical training to compete at a students’ oratory competition held at an army barracks in Pyongyang in 1909 (The Mother of Korea 1978, 43). 
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“prepared for any emergency”), and climbing a nearby hill every morning to practice his oratory 

NoteAccording to the North Korean record, Kim Hyŏng-jik used his rhetorical training to compete at a students’ oratory competition held at an army barracks in Pyongyang in 1909 (The Mother of Korea 1978, 43). 
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on Sunday mornings, receiving instruction in the Christian gospel from American missionaries 

Note Perhaps unsurprisingly given his young age, the future Kim Il Sung later attended Songsan Church alongside his father, though according to Rev. Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, a frequent traveler to North Korea and historian of the North Korean church, the young boy sometimes would join his mother Kang Pan-sŏk and attend Lower Village Church in Yongsan township (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 49). 
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the young man, then twelve years old, into that remarkable outpouring of religious penitence 

NoteGermany-based Korean Methodist pastor Rev. Yi Ch’ang-gi, writing in a 2019 article in a Methodist historical journal, attests that Kim Hyŏng-jik had met Kang Pan-sŏk at a revival meeting during that seminal year in Korean church history (Chang Ki Lee [Yi Ch’ang-gi], “Die christlichen Wurzeln der Kim-Dynastie in Nordkorea” [“The Christian Roots of North Korea’s Kim Dynasty”], Evangelisch-methodistischen Kirche Geschichte [United Methodist Church History] 1–2 (2019), 25–47, here 30). The claim should be treated with some caution. 
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His dream, it was said, was to become a pastor 

NoteYu Sun-ho also adds here, without offering any sourcing or citation information, that the missionaries would dole out candy and pencils to Korean children who came to church, and a coin to the most promising student; when Kim Hyŏng-jik received his coin, Yu writes, he impressed the missionaries by promptly depositing the coin in the offering box (Yu Sun-ho 2017, 35). There is some independent corroboration for part of this claim. In a June 1952 speech, Kim Il Sung told senior party cadres: “To attract young men and women, Christian pastors used to give them first such things as notebooks and pencils and got them to sing songs when they came to the church. After rousing their interest in this way, they gradually preached the Christian doctrine to them” (Kim Il Sung [Kim, Il-sŏng], “Strengthening of the People’s Power Is an Important Guarantee for Victory in the Fatherland Liberation War—Speech Before the Teaching Staff and Students of the Central Higher Cadres Training School, June 23, 1952,” in Kim Il Sung Works 7: January 1952–July 1953 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1981), 233–46, here 240). Also cited in Adam Cathcart, “Song of Youth: North Korean Music from Liberation to War,” North Korean Review 4, no. 2 (Fall 2008), 93–104, here 95. Alas, the credibility of this account—that Kim Hyŏng-jik was swept up in the Great Pyongyang Revival, that he learned to write Chinese characters by copying passages from the Bible, and that he wanted to become a pastor—rests on Yu Sun-ho himself. Unfortunately, whether in this passage or in other details given by Yu Sun-ho, he simply doesn’t provide sourcing or citations for many of his assertions. Thus, Yu Sun-ho’s claims should generally be treated with some care and ultimately await further independent corroboration (if such a thing is possible). Certainly, the idea that Kim Hyŏng-jik was involved in the 1907 revival and that he wanted to become a pastor are consistent with everything else we can verify about Kim Hyŏng-jik and his youth, as this work takes pains to demonstrate.  YU SUN-HO: Yu Sun-ho (俞順浩 1963– ), born to parents whose families had fled from Korea to Manchuria during the 1930s, grew up in the Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture in northeastern China, the area once known as Jiandao, just across the Tumen River from present-day North Korea. Yu has authored numerous non-fiction historical works on the Korean independence movement in Manchuria, as well as biographies, essays, columns, and novels, though none more ambitious than his three-volume work on Kim Il Sung, based on his extensive travels across Manchuria and interviews with survivors and relatives of principal players. Yu has lived in the Flushing neighborhood of New York City since 2002 (Yi Chun-sŏ, “Int’ŏbyu: ‘I’minja Nyuyŏk’ŏ ŭi T’ŏjŏn’ Mi Pŭllŏsing Ti’asŭp’ora Chakga Yu Sun-ho” [Interview: ‘Immigrant New Yorkers’ Home Base: Diaspora Writer Yu Sun-ho, of Flushing in America], Yŏnhap Nyusŭ [Yŏnhap News], August 2, 2019; and Cho Chŏng-jin, “Chosŏnjok Ch’ulsin Yu Sun-ho Chakga, Nonp’iksyŏn Tak’yu P’yŏngjŏn ‘Kim Il Sung 1912–1945’ P’yŏ’nae” [Korean Chinese Author Yu Sun-ho Publishes Non-Fiction Documentary Biography ‘Kim Il Sung 1912–1945’”], Segye Ilbo [World Daily], October 22, 2020). Yu Sun-ho’s three-volume biography of Kim Il Sung has won praise from Chu Sŏng-ha (周成賀 1975– ), a prominent North Korean-born journalist living and working in South Korea, who calls Yu’s work “remarkable” and “the best of the best, surpassing all previous books of research on Kim Il Sung’s life” (Chu Sŏng-ha, “Chu Sŏng-ha Kija ŭi Sŏ’ul kwa P’yŏngyang sa’i—‘Kim Il-sŏng P’yŏngjŏn’ kwa Kim Il-sŏng ŭi Silch’e” [Between Seoul and Pyongyang With Journalist Chu Sŏng-ha—“A Critical Biography of Kim Il Sung” and the Truth of Kim Il Sung], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], December 29, 2016, A33).  CHRIST IN THE PATERNAL LINE: The larger question of whether Kim Hyŏng-jik was the first person in his family line to become a Christian is, alas, impossible to answer. Little is known of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s father Kim Po-hyŏn, and while South Korean historian Yu Kwan-ji has offered some circumstantial evidence that his grandfather, Kim Ŭng-u, had converted to the faith, the connection is tenuous at best (see Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” (2014)). Indeed, given Kim Ŭng-u’s death in 1878—six years before the first Protestant missionary arrived in Seoul—and his only known interaction with the faith having been the General Sherman incident, it seems very unlikely indeed. More likely is the idea that Kim Hyŏng-jik was the first of his family line to embrace the faith, perhaps after his enrollment at Sunhwa/Sinmang School, though there is little beyond conjecture to support such an idea. South Korean historian Yi Myŏng-yŏng (李命英 1928–2000), a native of northeastern Korea and a longtime professor at Sŏnggyun’gwan University (成均館大學校 Kor. Sŏnggyun’gwan Taehakgyo) in Seoul, who conducted some of the first—and, to this day, most controversial—research into Kim Il Sung’s family background during the early 1970s, wrote that it was Im Che-hun, the church elder at Kim Hyŏng-jik’s childhood congregation, Songsan Church, and the founder of Sunhwa/Sinmang School, who attested to Kim Hyŏng-jik’s Christian faith and convinced his reluctant father to send the boy to a school where he could receive a modern, Christian education (Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2),” Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974). One other unsolved mystery from this period of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s life is whether he spent any time in Manchuria during these years. North Korean sources mention no such thing, but Pae Min-su, who first met Kim Hyŏng-jik at Sungsil Academy in 1912, described his classmate as a young Korean nationalist who had already spent time in Manchuria, sharing tales of underground and guerrilla activities there. “He came from Manchuria and was most enthusiastic about the restoration of our country,” Pae wrote (Pai 2002, 91). 
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in the nearby village of Ch’ilgol, or “Seventh Valley,” and shared Kim Hyŏng-jik’s Christian faith 

NoteMuch of what is known about Kang Pan-sŏk (康盤石 1892–1932) and her upbringing comes from official North Korean sources, though some independent research done outside the country has filled in many of the gaps. University of Hawaii scholar Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, who conducted groundbreaking work on Kim Il Sung’s familial ties to Christianity beginning in the 1980s, supplies Kang’s birthdate (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe [Ch’oe, Yŏng-ho], “Christian Background in Early Life of Kim Il-Sŏng,” Asian Survey 26, no. 10 (October 1986), 1082–91, here 1087). Kang Pan-sŏk had three brothers: Kang Chin-sŏk (康晉石 or 康晉錫 ?–?), Yong-sŏk (康用石 or 康用錫 ?–?), and Ch’ang-sŏk (康昌石 or 康昌錫 ?–?) (Hong Man-ch’un, “Pukhan Inmul Yŏn’gu: Pukhan Ch’ogi ŭi Kidokgyo wa Kang Yang-uk” [North Korean Character Study: Christianity in Early North Korea and Kang Yang-uk], Pukhan [North Korea] 218 (February 1990), 76–85, here 80; and Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2),” Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974).  SEVENTH VALLEY: Ch’ilgol (七谷), or “Seventh Valley,” is sometimes given as “Chil’gok.” Ch’ilgol was a three-family village, with a roughly equal number of members of the Kang (康), Cho (趙), and Yi (李) clans, according to one member of the extended Ch’ilgol Kang family who fled to South Korea in 1994 (Kang Myŏng-do 1995, 56). North Korean sources describe the village as being split between the Kang, Yi, and Ch’oe (崔) clans (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng [A Life That Shines Like a Rock] (Pyongyang: Chosŏn Rodong-dang Ch’ulpan-sa, 2012), 7). “Although administratively part of Pyongyang, Korea’s second largest city,” writes historian Fyodor Tertitskiy, “Chilgol was just a small village of thatched roof houses” (Tertitskiy 2025, 8). The name “Seventh Valley” denotes its location as the seventh valley from Mount Yong’ak (龍岳山 Kor. Yong’ak-san), to the west. Yong’ak, which means “Dragon Peak,” was said to resemble a dragon flying into the sky, leaving smaller peaks and valleys rippling out around it, including Ch’ilgol; P’algol  (八谷), or “Eighth Valley”; and Kugol (九谷), or “Ninth Valley” (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 7; and “Ch’ilgol Hyŏkmyŏng Sajŏkji rŭl Ch’aja-sŏ” [Finding Ch’ilgol’s Revolutionary Historical Sites], Chosŏn ŭi O’nŭl [Chosŏn Today], July 30, 2018. 
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having been raised in a devout family renowned for its church deacons, elders, and pastors 

NoteThis is according to Kang Myŏng-do, a high-level defector to South Korea who fled the North in 1994, at age thirty-five (Kang, Myŏng-do 1995). In the North, Kang Myŏng-do had been a senior official in the Ministry of People’s Armed Forces before deciding to defect. 
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disciple Peter, whose Greek name, Petra, or “rock,” was rendered as “pan-sŏk” in Korean 

Note“UPON THIS ROCK”: Kang Pan-sŏk’s Sino-Korean name is generally given by scholars as 康盤石, with 盤石 carrying the literal meaning of “rock,” “boulder,” or “foundation stone” (see, for instance, Wada Haruki, Kim Il-sŏng kwa Manju Hang’il Chŏnjaeng [Kim Il Sung and the Anti-Japanese Resistance in Manchuria] (Seoul: Ch’angjak kwa Pip’yŏng-sa, 1992), 26). Though contested by some scholars, the association between Kang Pan-sŏk’s apparent baptismal name and that of Peter the Apostle is widely cited in South Korean Christian circles, and the Sino-Korean characters that make up Kang Pan-sŏk’s given name (盤石 or 磐石) are indeed the same as those used for the Greek word petra, a reference to Jesus’ oft-cited words to Peter the Apostle in the Gospel of Matthew: “I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church” (Matthew 16:18, KJV). University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, who was among the first English-language academics to publish scholarship on the Kim family’s links to Christianity, argued in his 1986 article that the biblical reference apparently embedded in her given name “suggests that her faith in Christianity was extraordinary” (though Ch’oe gets the Bible verse reference slightly wrong) (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1087). Rev. Luke Kim (Kim Sŏng-rak 金聖樂 1904–1989), a Korean American pastor who prayed with Kim Il Sung during a 1981 visit to Pyongyang and whose father taught Kim Hyŏng-jik at Sungsil Academy, described Kang Pan-sŏk’s name as meaning “rock of faith” (as quoted in Hong Tong-gŭn, Miwan ŭi Kwihyang Ilgi (Ha) [An Unfinished Homecoming Diary, Vol. 2] (Seoul: Han’ul, 1988), 230). For more on Rev. Luke Kim, see Act III, Chapter 34. Kang Myŏng-do, the distant relative of Kang Pan-sŏk, believes that her name was indeed derived from that of Peter, the disciple of Christ (Kang Myŏng-do, Ije nŭn Malhal Su Issda [Now I Can Speak] (Seoul: Kingdom Books, 2017), 241). Chu Chin-o (朱鎮五 1957– ), a prominent South Korean historian, also believes that Kang Pan-sŏk was named for Peter, which he argues shows the deep Christian faith of the family that she grew up in; in other words, he writes, Kang Pan-sŏk had “faith from the womb” (母胎信仰 Kor. mot’ae sin’ang) (Chu Chin-o, “Kidokgyo, Kim Il-sŏng ege ŏttŏn Yŏnghyang ŭl Mich’yŏssna” [What Influence Did Christianity Have on Kim Il Sung?], Yŏksa Pip’yŏng [Historical Criticism] (August 1992), 321–26, here 322). Historian Yu Sun-ho, who traveled extensively in North Korea, reports that tour guides in Pyongyang privately affirm that Kang Pan-sŏk’s name was derived from the Christian name, Peter, saying that Pan-sŏk was not a name that would otherwise have been given to a girl (Author interview with Yu Sun-ho, December 6, 2018, Seoul).  “BOULDER OF TIN”: Other scholars, referencing North Korean sources, have suggested that the Sino-Korean characters underlying Kang Pan-sŏk’s given name were actually盤錫 or 磐錫 (literally, if nonsensically, “boulder of tin”)—sharing a final character (錫, lit. “tin”) with her brothers, who per tradition all shared a common final character (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 58; and Yu Sun-ho 2017, 30). South Korean historian Yu Kwan-ji argues that since Kang Pan-sŏk was born in 1882, predating the widespread diffusion of the Christian scriptures in Korea, it’s likely that Kang Pan-sŏk’s name was simply meant to “rhyme” with that of her brothers Kang Chin-sŏk and Kang Yong-sŏk. Yu also points to Rev. John Ross’s pioneering Korean translation of the Bible, where he rendered Paul as “P’an-sŏk” (판석)—not quite the same as the “Pan-sŏk” (반석) of Kang’s given name. However, Yu doesn’t rule out definitively the possibility of the Christian scripture having reached Ch’ilgol in time for her father Kang Ton-uk to give his daughter a biblically inspired name (Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” (2014)). The idea that “Pan-sŏk” was a baptismal name, coming after her acceptance of the Christian faith, would allow for a more coherent timeline.  A FOUNDATION FOR THE NATION: Today, some biblical scholars question whether Jesus really meant to refer to Peter as a rock, though that would have been the mainstream understanding among the Presbyterian missionaries who brought the Bible to Pyongyang in the 1890s. Northern Korea-born Christian leader and scholar Hong Man-ch’un adheres to the same logic of matching given names among Kang Pan-sŏk and her siblings, but, in a family tree of Kang Pan-sŏk’s family, Hong renders her Sino-Korean name as 康盤石, and those of her siblings Kang Ch’ang-sŏk, Kang Yong-sŏk, and Kang Chin-sŏk as 康昌石, 康用石, and 康晉石, respectively (Hong Man-ch’un, “Pukhan Inmul Yŏn’gu,” Pukhan (1990), 80). The strongest argument for Kang Pan-sŏk’s name being the same as that of Peter the Apostle, however, comes from North Korea’s own official publications, which render her given name as 盤石 (“rock”) in official Chinese translations (Jin Richeng [Kim, Il-sŏng], Yu Shiji Tongxing: Huiyilu [With the Century: Reminiscences] (Pyongyang: Waiwen Chubanshe, 1994), 6; and “Ch’ilgol Hyŏkmyŏng Sajŏkji rŭl Ch’aja-sŏ,” Chosŏn ŭi O’nŭl, July 30, 2018). One North Korean hagiography of Kang Pan-sŏk goes further in offering an origin story for Kang Pan-sŏk’s given name, making clear that Pan-sŏk was indeed a reference to her being a foundation stone, albeit without biblical overtones. In the hagiography, we learn of an anecdote from the winter of 1903, when Kang Pan-sŏk was about eleven years old, in which Kang Ton-uk drew a sketch of a roof held up by four pillars and then urged his children to be pillars and a foundation for the nation. “I want to be the cornerstone that supports the pillars, and become someone who supports the country,” Kang Pan-sŏk is said to have exclaimed. After some deliberation, Kang Ton-uk decided to give his daughter “a strong name,” in line with her wishes, and thus named her “Pan-sŏk”—together with the Chinese characters 盤石—in the winter of 1905, when she was thirteen (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 34–36, 235). The decision to give Pan-sŏk her own name was said by this North Korean hagiography to have come from her paternal grandfather, Kang Pyŏng-hŭi (?–?), who recognized the young girl’s precocious diligence and strong will (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 34–35). If Kang Pan-sŏk was indeed bestowed with her name in 1905, that would better fit the notion that it was biblically inspired and supports the notion that “Pan-sŏk” was a baptismal name. Of course, this North Korean hagiography mentions no such biblical inspiration, pointing instead to the use of “pan-sŏk” in a novel about the Tonghak rebellion of 1894, referring to founding the Korean nation on a foundation of stone (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 36–37). However, the novel in question, Kab’o Peasant War (甲午農民戰爭 Kor. Kab’o Nongmin Chŏnjaeng), by the North Korean novelist Pak T’ae-wŏn, was not published until 1965, more than three decades after Kang Pan-sŏk’s death, and couldn’t have been Kang Ton-uk’s inspiration for naming her daughter. (For more on the 1965 novel, see Kim Mi-ji, “Kab’o Nongmin Chŏnjaeng (甲午農民戰爭),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture).   “LITTLE GIRL FROM THE EAST”: The same North Korean hagiography further tells us that Kang Pan-sŏk’s older sister had been given the name Hwak-sil when she was young, and that Kang Pan-sŏk, prior to her renaming, was referred to in her childhood only as “Little Girl” (작은 女 Kor. Chak’ŭn Nyŏ) or as “Little Hwak-sil” (작은 확실이 Kor. Chak’ŭn Hwak-sil’i), in line with the feudal Korean practice of not giving daughters a proper name (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 34–35). Several non-North Korean sources tell us that, prior to her being named Pan-sŏk, she was called “Little Girl from the East” (東쪽 작은女 Kor. Tongjjok Chak’ŭn Nyŏ) (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 58; Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” (2014); and Yu Sun-ho 2017, 30).   RINGING THE WRONG BELL: Historian Yu Sun-ho gives Kang’s original given name as being Kang Sin-hŭi—a name that would neither rhyme with her brothers’ nor with her older sister’s—at least until Kang Pan-sŏk’s baptism at Ch’ilgol Church by a missionary that Yu identifies as Rev. L. Nelson Bell (1894–1973), the father-in-law of the famed American evangelist Billy Graham (Yu Sun-ho 2017, 30). This claim should be treated with extreme caution, however, since the idea of Rev. L. Nelson Bell’s involvement—asserted by Yu Sun-ho as well as by North Korean defector-journalist, Chu Sŏng-ha—is almost certainly incorrect, as dramatic as the connection would be between Kim Il Sung and the most renowned evangelist of the twentieth century. In fact, Rev. L. Nelson Bell was a missionary to China who didn’t arrive in Asia for the first time until 1916, when Kang Pan-sŏk would have been a twenty-four-year-old mother, well after her baptism; far likelier is that the missionary involved was Rev. Eugene Bell (1868–1925)—no direct relation of L. Nelson Bell—who was a Southern Presbyterian missionary who arrived in Korea in 1895 and began teaching at the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang in 1907. The mix-up between L. Nelson Bell and Eugene Bell will lead to several other inaccurate conclusions, as this work will point out below. 
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of her relatives were said to control a monopoly on Pyongyang’s glass and rubber industries 

NoteKang Myŏng-do was well-positioned to know, being a member of the Ch’ilgol Kang clan (七谷康氏 Kor. Ch’ilgol Kang-ssi); unfortunately, Kang Myŏng-do doesn’t specify which family members owned which companies. More generally, however, Christian businessmen in Pyongyang had built up a strong presence in the rubber and sock industries during these early decades of the twentieth century. “In industries that the Japanese did not yet dominate, such as production of socks, cotton-knit underwear, and rubber shoes, thousands of small Korean firms emerged in the 1920s,” writes one historian (Szalontai 2005, 5, citing Zo Ki-zun, “Korean Industry under the Japanese Colonial Rule,” in Chun, Economic Life in Korea, 158–167).  RUBBER BARONS: In 1920, one Christian entrepreneur named Yi Pyŏng-du (李丙斗 ?–?) founded Chŏngch’ang Industries (正昌工業社 Kor. Chŏngch’ang Kong’ŏp-sa), which found great success manufacturing rubber shoes. In 1923, Yi Ch’un-sŏp (?–?), a prominent local figure in Pyongyang and a Christian elder at Ch’angchŏn-dong Church, founded Taedong Rubber Industries (大同고무工業社 Kor. Taedong Komu Kong’ŏp-sa). Korean Christian businessmen were able to retain a dominant position in Pyongyang’s rubber industry into the 1930s, even as the Japanese sought to make inroads (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 337–38, citing민경배, 한국민족교회형성사론 (연세대출관부, 1974), 221–32).  
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stake in Korea’s fledgling capitalist order with membership in the booming Presbyterian church 

NoteChristian nationalists were at the forefront of state-permitted Korean capitalism during the Japanese occupation. J. Hunter Wells, a Presbyterian medical missionary who moved to Pyongyang in 1895, described two years later how the city’s “commercial supremacy is a thing of the not impossible future and a well known and well versed Korean of Seoul remarked to me some months ago that he would not be surprised if it again became the capital of the country. Stranger things than that have happened and it does not take a very vivid imagination to see how such a condition could be arrived at” (Wells, “Pyeng Yang,” Korean Repository (1897), 59). For a look at the Christian capitalist class centered in Pyongyang in the early years of the twentieth century, see O Mi-il, “1910–1920 Nyŏndae P’yŏngyang Chiyŏk Minjok Undong kwa Chosŏn’in Chabon’gach’ŭng” [The Nationalist Movement and the Korean Capitalist Class in the Pyongyang Area, 1910s–1920s], Yŏksa Pip’yŏng [Historical Criticism] (February 1995), 269–304.  PYONGYANG PORCELAIN PURVEYORS: Korea’s first modern joint-stock company was the Pyongyang Porcelain Co. (平壤瓷器會社 Kor. P’yŏngyang Chagi Hoesa), also known as the Masan Porcelain Co. (馬山瓷器會社 Kor. Masan Chagi Hoesa), founded in Pyongyang’s Masan-dong neighborhood in 1908 by Yi Sŭng-hun, a prominent industrialist and Christian convert, with the help of fellow believer and nationalist leader An Ch’ang-ho and his New People’s Association (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 156; Eckert et al. 1990, 292; Robinson 1988, 94; Robinson 2007, 63; Suh Sang-mok [Sŏ, Sang-mok] and Ahn Moon-hye [An, Mun-hye], Dosan’s Way to Leadership: Love Yourself, Love Others, trans. John Cha [Ch’a, Hak-sŏng] (Seongnam, South Korea: Bookorea, 2011), 224–25; Albert Park 2015, 52; and Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 337). Yun Ch’i-so (尹致昭 1871–1944), a relative of Yun Ch’i-ho, had started the Heijō Cord Co. Ltd. (京城織紐株式會社 Kor. Kyŏngsŏng Chiknyu Chusik Hoesa), a maker of clothing accessories also rendered in English as the Kyŏngsŏng Spinning and Weaving Co. Ltd., in 1910; a year later, it became the first joint-stock textile company in Korea, with eighteen shareholders, and in 1917 it was taken over by Kim Sŏng-su, a leading Christian capitalist of the day (Choong Soon Kim 1998, 62).  “WESTERN CAPITAL”-ISTS: Many of these companies and other entities established in Pyongyang during this period touted their connection to their city’s glory days as Korea’s “Western Capital” (西京 Kor. Sŏgyŏng), including Sŏgyŏng Transportation Co. Ltd. (西京運輸株式會社 Kor. Sŏgyŏng Unsu Chusik Hoesa) and a joint-stock company founded in the city in 1926, the Sŏgyŏng Commercial and Industrial Co. Ltd. (西京商工業株式會社 Kor. Sŏgyŏng Sanggong’ŏp Chusik Hoesa); a soccer team established in 1938 was similarly called the Sŏgyŏng Football Club (西京蹴球團 Kor. Sŏgyŏng Ch’ukgu-dan) (Park, “Phantasm of the Western Capital” (2015), 185). 
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dynamic commercial enterprises and the biggest churches in all of Asia, was the place to be 

NoteAs early as the 1880s, Pyongyang’s capitalistic chops were evident. When Korea’s first modern commercial venture opened in 1883, it was in the city of Pyongyang—a short-lived company called Taedong Enterprises (大同商會 Kor. Taedong Sanghoe). Despite government support in the form of tax and duty relief, however, Taedong Enterprises, along with two similar outfits set up in Seoul and Inch’ŏn in 1884, were all shuttered by 1885 (Deuchler 1977, 193–94).  “TRADE IS BRISK”: British diplomat William Carles, traveling in the port city of Inch’ŏn, remarked that the only Korean business of any note in town was run by natives of Pyongyang (Carles 1888, 109). Two years earlier, Carles had described Pyongyang as “the only city which impressed me favourably regarding capabilities of trade” (W. R. Carles [Carles, William R.], “Recent Journeys in Korea,” Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society and Monthly Record of Geography 8, no. 5 (May 1886), 289–312, here 300). That said, when Carles visited Pyongyang, he found it oddly devoid of anything but the simplest of shops on the streets, despite its reputation for producing merchants and businessmen: “The Mayor had, at my request, notified to all the shopkeepers that I was anxious to buy any curios in porcelain or bronze, but nothing of any kind was brought to me, and the shops and stalls seemed quite bare of anything of the kind.” He did, however, meet with local traders who described a flourishing trade in animal hides, silks, cotton, and beans (Carles 1888, 166–68). Charles Campbell, another British diplomat and a friend of Carles, visiting Pyongyang a few years later, came away with a favorable impression of the city’s capitalistic capabilities. “Peng-yang, with its large population of probably 100,000, impressed me more favourably, from a commercial point of view, than any other place I had visited in North Korea,” Campbell wrote. “Trade is brisk at Peng-yang. The quantity of foreign goods, chiefly Manchester cottons, exposed for sale was very large” (Campbell, “A Journey Through North Korea” (1892), 157).  REACTIONARY REDOUBT: Wilfred G. Burchett (1911–1983), a leftist Australian journalist who spent a considerable amount of time in North Korea under the auspices of Kim Il Sung, highlights Pyongyang’s unusual status in late colonial Korea: “In general there was little scope for national capitalism in Korea because of the almost complete Japanese monopoly in all fields. But in Pyongyang, there was a certain amount of light industry, cotton-weaving, small textile plants, shoe-making and other small manufacturing enterprises in the hands of Koreans and especially Korean Christians. Most of the latter were educated in American missionary schools, some of them in America itself.” While the relative economic autonomy of the Pyongyang Christian community was something to be celebrated by Burchett, he also noted more ominously that “this tightly-welded national capitalist group in Pyongyang, highly susceptible to American influence, represented the only reactionary political grouping in the whole of North Korea. They had no counterpart in other centres outside of Pyongyang” (Wilfred G. Burchett, This Monstrous War (Melbourne, Australia: Joseph Waters, 1953, repr. Red Star 2013), 23–24). 
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a former student of Samuel Moffett who would later emerge as a prominent revivalist preacher 

NoteKang Ton-uk (康敦煜 1871–1943) and his stature in the church is described by historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, based on an interview he conducted with Chu Ho-rim (?–?), a villager who had lived in the same county (see Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1087). According to a July 1927 profile in the Korean nationalist newspaper East Asia Daily (東亞日報 Kor. Tong’a Ilbo), Kang Ton-uk had been raised as a man of letters (文翰家 Kor. munhan-ga) and began attending a private school at age eight, studying for a total of twelve years (“Chosŏn ŭi Chalang, Sagye ŭi Chungjin: Hŭnhŭi Murang” [Pride of Chosŏn, Giant of the Field: Joy Without End], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], July 3, 1927, 2). Official North Korean sources describe Kang Ton-uk as having been born in Ch’ilgol as the second son of Kang Pyŏng-hŭi on February 3, 1871, dying more than seven decades later on November 14, 1943 (Haksŭp Sajŏn 1998, 31). As for Rev. Kang Yang-uk (康良煜 1904–1983), he will play a prominent role later in this narrative. 
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of the Kang lineage arrived in Korea three millennia earlier alongside the Chinese sage Kija 

NoteThe surname Kang (康)—literally, “health”—is far less common in Korea than the homophonic surname Kang (姜)—literally, a variant of “ginger”—according to an October 1985 census in South Korea (Hildi Kang 2007, ii). Most of the details in this paragraph come from the work of Hildi Kang (1934–2019), who married a Korean American member of the Sinch’ŏn Kang clan named Kang Sang-uk (康相昱 1935–2021); their son is University of Southern California political scientist David Kang (Kang Ch’an-ung 康燦雄 1965– ). Hildi Kang traced her husband’s genealogy, including its embrace of the Christian faith, in her 2007 book Family Lineage Records as a Resource for Korean History: A Case Study of Thirty-Nine Generations of the Sinch’ŏn Kang Family (720 A.D.–1955). 
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a remote village near the Chinese border by the nineteenth century and embraced Christianity 

NoteHUNKERING DOWN IN HWANGHAE: One branch of the Kangs put down roots in Hwanghae province, establishing itself in Sinch’ŏn county (信川郡 Kor. Sinch’ŏn-gun), where one descendant, a certain Kang Chi-yŏn (?–?), was awarded lordship in the late thirteenth century A.D., thus inaugurating the Sinch’ŏn Kang clan (Hildi Kang 2007, 17). Sinch’ŏn county served as the backdrop for one of the bloodiest incidents of the Korean War—one that would feature prominently in Kim Il Sung’s later attempts to generate popular anger against the church (see Act III, Chapter 31). One North Korean source describes Kang Pan-sŏk as being a descendant of the Koksan Kang clan (谷山康氏 Kor. Koksan Kang-ssi) (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 7). Like Sinch’ŏn, Koksan is situated in Hwanghae province, though it is roughly eighty miles to the northeast. It’s unclear if the Koksan Kangs were a subset of the Sinch’ŏn Kangs, or vice versa, or if they were closely related, but in all likelihood, given the relative scarcity of Kangs (康) in this part of the country, they were likely closely linked with the Ch’ilgol Kangs. Like other families with their roots in the northwest, the Kangs were passed over for court positions because of discrimination by the Chosŏn court (Hildi Kang 2007, ii).  CHRISTIAN KANGS: One sub-branch of the Kangs, meanwhile, arrived in the remote township of Tŏkdal (德達面 Kor. Tŏkdal-myŏn), situated in northwestern Korea, some five miles away from the city of Chŏngju (定州), in the seventeenth century (Hildi Kang 2007, 157). In 1895, Kang Chŏn-dal (“Kang Chundal”), a member of the Sinch’ŏn Kang clan who served as the village elder in Tŏkdal, became one of Korea’s earliest Protestant converts after he stopped to listen to a foreigner preaching in Chŏngju in broken Korean. “Out of curiosity, Great Grandfather listened, and went back to listen again. That day he became one of the first converts to Protestant Christianity. It is said that he went into town, heard the missionary speak, and returned home believing in Jesus Christ as his Savior and Lord” (Hildi Kang 2007, 143–44). As was so often the case in Korea at this time, the conversion of the family patriarch meant that virtually everyone else in the village would adopt the new faith as well; upon his return to Tŏkdal, Kang Chŏn-dal decreed that everyone in the village convert to Christianity. Within five years, Tŏkdal township had a Presbyterian church built in the most prominent place in town, making it the only one in the larger surrounding area (Hildi Kang 2007, 143–44). When Christian industrialist Yi Sŭng-hun founded Osan School nearby in 1907, Kang Chŏn-dal sent his son Kang Sŏ-hyŏng—by then a 21-year-old married father—to enroll (Hildi Kang 2007, 141, 145). Kang Sŏ-hyŏng later renounced the faith, remarried, and moved to Manchuria to practice medicine (Hildi Kang 2007, 151). His first wife, however, remained a Christian and rose to the highest position allowed at the time in the Presbyterian church, and one of his sons-in-law later served as moderator of the Korean Presbyterian Church (Hildi Kang 2007, 152–53). 
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offshoot of the larger Sinch’ŏn Kang lineage, had also encountered the new Western religion 

NoteIt is unclear when members of the Kang clan first settled in Ch’ilgol, but according to North Korean sources, “it can be assumed that the ‘Kang village’ started to be formed in the early- or mid-seventeenth century” (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 7). 
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actively spreading the gospel in the villages immediately around Pyongyang as early as 1894 

NoteThe missionaries also relied on Man’gyŏngdae as an embarkation point for boat journeys down the Taedong River (see Bernheisel 2004, 387 (June 26, 1902, diary entry)). 
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“that the force of men available has been totally inadequate to supervise it carefully” 

Note“GREATEST PROGRESS IN THE WORK”: There were several efforts during this period to evangelize the villages around Pyongyang. In 1896, the Central Presbyterian Church in Pyongyang had developed plans to systematically reach out to all villages within fifteen miles of the ancient northwestern capital, particularly those where there were already one or two believers. “In and around Pyeng Yang,” Samuel Moffett wrote in his annual report to the Presbyterian Foreign Missions Board that year, “the native Christians have by word of mouth and by printed page and by the testimony of reformed lives carried the news of the gospel into hundreds and hundreds of towns and villages and could we but follow this up I believe we should see most remarkable movements in the ingathering of thousands of believers…The time is ripe and now is our opportunity,” Moffett continued, saying that if the Mission Board could send more workers to cover the other parts of northern Korea, “the present members of the [Pyongyang] station could give their undivided time to the 15 or 20 districts nearest Pyeng Yang and soon have this region dotted with churches in hundreds of villages” (Moffett, “Evangelistic Work in Pyeng Yang and Vicinity,” October 1896 (PHS)). While Moffett was stretched by the remarkable growth and demands of that period, any time he was able to devote to evangelism came in these outlying areas around his home base in Pyongyang. “Greatest progress in the work has been made in Pyengyang county, that nearest at hand to which I have been able to give the closest attention,” Moffett wrote (Moffett, “Personal Report,” September 1901 (PHS)). In February 1897, Graham Lee reported in a letter to Moffett—roughly four months after the Hoosier had returned home to Indiana on furlough—that “there must be over fifteen new places where work has started since you left,” adding: “We are outgrowing everything and sometimes I feel just dumbfounded and do not know which way to turn or what to think” (Graham Lee letter to Samuel A. Moffett, February 20, 1897, Pyengyang (MKC)). Indeed, during these years of explosive growth in and around Pyongyang, writes one church historian, missionaries didn’t have time to distribute tracts or evangelize to those who hadn’t heard about the faith; their time was entirely consumed with examining those who had already decided to become Christians, and to baptize and administer the Lord’s Supper to new Christians. By 1897, the Christian gospel had been preached in all but one of the fifty-four counties covered by the mission station in Pyongyang station, with fifty-three groups meeting regularly to worship. That year alone, some forty-four new church buildings had been built in the area around Pyongyang (Shearer 1966, 121–25).  “EVERY VILLAGE HAS BEEN VISITED”: All around Pyongyang, Moffett wrote in March 1905, “from every country church and group we hear of larger congregations, too small buildings, new believers in other villages, and other groups being formed” (Moffett letter to Brown, March 9, 1905). Pyongyang missionary William Blair, too, noted that year how the fervor for the faith in Pyongyang radiated out into the neighboring villages. “Glad tidings of victory are coming to us from every quarter. I have care of twenty country churches and nearly every one reports large increase,” he wrote (Blair letter to Our Friends in Solomon, Kansas, March 12, 1905). The following year, missionary Charles F. Bernheisel, traveling in Kangdong county (江東郡 Kor. Kangdong-gun), east of Pyongyang, encountered villages full of Koreans who, despite not being Christian, had learned to sing Christian hymns, offering another look at the extent of the Christian gospel’s penetration into the countryside around Pyongyang. “When last entering the city I heard the sound of singing in several houses that I thought were not Christian. On inquiry I was told that many unbelievers had learned to sing Christian songs” (C. F. Bernheisel [Bernheisel, Charles F.], “Itinerating Experiences,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 6 (April 1906), 113–15, here 114). By 1914, the area around Pyongyang had been positively saturated with the Christian gospel, Moffett wrote: “I find that every village has been visited by the colporteur and the gospel made known.” Even so, he added, he was planning a campaign to start a few more churches “in order to fill in the gaps so that we shall have a church at least every 3 miles, within easy reach of the whole population” (Moffett letter to Brown, November 20, 1914).  “ANY GREATER HAPPINESS IN THE WORLD”: When Alexander A. Pieters (1871–1958), a seller of Christian books and pamphlets for the American Bible Society in Seoul, traveled in the villages southwest of Pyongyang in late 1896, he found that the Christian gospel had already penetrated every nook and cranny of the valleys around the ancient northern capital. “Almost in every place there were several men who tried to show that they were acquainted with the ‘Jesus Doctrine,’ as they call it,” Pieters reported with evident delight. “One would say that he knew the followers of this doctrine have to keep Sabbath. Another would say he knew a Christian must not drink, lie, steal, etc.” (A. A. Pieters [Pieters, Alexander A.] letter to Unknown Recipient, January 6, 1897, Seoul (PHS 178/6/68)). In this early 1897 letter, Pieters captured the joy that the missionaries felt at the astounding progress they were making in Korea: “I don’t think there is any greater happiness in this world than to see those heathen, who a few years ago did not know anything about God or salvation, and who are now not only worshiping the only true God, but also giving all their time to preaching the Gospel” (Pieters letter, January 6, 1897). Pieters was a Russian Jew who converted to Christianity after fleeing to Nagasaki to escape persecution during the pogroms of the late nineteenth century in his home country. He changed his surname to Pieters after the American missionary who baptized him (Kim Narae, “Han’guk Kyohoe ka Ij’ŭn P’idŭk Sŏn’gyosa…Kŭ Ssŭlssŭl-han Mudŏm ŭl Ch’ajda” [Finding of Forgotten Missionary Rev. Alexander A. Pieters’ Grave], Kukmin Ilbo, November 28, 2017; and Kim Narae, “Finding of Forgotten Missionary Rev. Alexander A. Pieters’ Grave,” Kukmin Daily, December 1, 2017). For Pieters’ extraordinary personal story, see Loomis 1923, 92–94; and especially the pamphlet, H. Loomis [Loomis, Henry], The Story of a Russian Jew Who Became a Christian Colporteur in Korea (Yokohama: Yokohama Bunsha, 1896). 
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and, five years later, committed his life to Christ at the leading of one of Moffett’s assistants 

NoteHong Sin-gil (洪信吉 or 洪新吉 ?–?) was one of the Koreans who boarded the General Sherman and received a Bible from Rev. Robert Thomas in 1866, according to O Mun-hwan, a Presbyterian elder who conducted years of exhaustive research on the life of Rev. Thomas (Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), 116). For a photo of an elderly Hong Sin-gil, see Oh, “The Two Visits,” Transactions (1933), between 106–7. Other sources affirm that Hong Sin-gil indeed received a Bible from Rev. Thomas during the General Sherman incident, but assert that Hong didn’t actually read the Bible and was only converted decades later in an unrelated sequence of events (see, for instance, Kim Chi-yŏng 2014, 14, no. 21; and Yu Kwan-ji and Pak Esŭt’o, “Hwangp’yehan Sŏngso e Pich’ŭl (0023)—Hari Kyohoe” [Light in a Desolate Sanctuary (0023)—Lower Village Church], Chyubirri T’ong’il Kuguk Kidohoe [Jubilee United Movement of Prayer], 2015). That unrelated sequence of events began in July 1894, when Hong Sin-gil began attending Samuel Moffett’s Central Presbyterian Church in Pyongyang. According to these sources, Hong Sin-gil became a Christian through a man named Yi Yŏng-ŏn (李榮彥 ?–?) (Kang et al. 2013, 80; Hong Man-ch’un 1998, 106; and Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 116). Samuel Moffett had earlier named Yi Yŏng-ŏn as an assistant pastor, or “leader” (領袖 Kor. yŏngsu), at Central Presbyterian Church, making Yi the first person to hold this newly created position in the Korean church (Kidokgyo Taebaekgwa Sajŏn 1985, 695). 
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gold coins—for a modest thatched hut in Ch’ilgol’s Lower Village, where he set up a church

NoteOne of the sources says that the church was called Ch’il-dong Church (七洞教會 Kor. Ch’il-dong Kyohoe), and was started in Yongsan township in 1899 (Kang et al. 2013, 80–81). Another gives the founding date of the church more specifically as February 15, 1899 (Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 270). The difficulty of ascertaining and verifying the history of one particular rural church from more than a century earlier is compounded by the fact that, perhaps unsurprisingly, there was more than one village known as “Lower Village” in Korea, including at least three others in South P’yŏng’an province. According to Rev. Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, a Korean American pastor-historian who has traveled extensively in North Korea to conduct research on the country’s Christian roots, identifies the “Lower Village” Church where Kim Il Sung’s maternal family was based as being situated in Yong’ak township (龍岳面 Kor. Yong’ak-myŏn) of Taedong county. That “Lower Village” is today known as Ch’ilgol-dong (七谷洞) in Pyongyang’s Man’gyŏngdae district (萬景臺區域 Kor. Man’gyŏngdae chiyŏk) (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 54–55). For more on the “Lower Village” in Yong’ak township—said to have been established in 1900 by a certain Ch’oe Pong-jun (?–?)—see Kang et al. 2013, 86; and Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 271. Further adding to the confusion, the Methodist missionaries in their June 1906 annual meeting described a “Chil San circuit” under the care of Rev. Arthur Becker, composed of four churches within walking distance of Pyongyang, two of them having been built eight to ten years prior. The central church in Chil San was said to have a boys’ school and a girls’ school, with an enrollment of 219 believers (Official Minutes of the Second Annual Session, Korea Mission Conference—Methodist Episcopal Church, Seoul, Korea (Seoul: Methodist Publishing House, 1906), 57–59). It’s unclear what the relation is between Ch’ilsan (七山), or “Seventh Mountain,” and Ch’ilgol/Ch’ilgok (七谷), or “Seventh Valley,” not to mention Ch’il-dong (七洞), or “Seventh District.”
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baptized all thirteen original congregants, including three members of the Ch’ilgol Kang clan

NoteIn his annual report for 1901, however, Samuel Moffett noted that “Chil Kol” had not yet been set aside as a separate church (Moffett, “Personal Report,” September 1901 (PHS)). It’s not clear exactly when the church was officially classified as such.  THIRTEEN KANGS AND A CAST OF ELDERS: All thirteen of the original congregants were baptized by Samuel Moffett at Central Presbyterian Church, including the three Kangs, of which little is known beyond their names: Kang Pyŏng-dam (康秉淡 ?–?), Kang Myŏn-ik (康冕益 ?–?), and Kang Mong-ŭn (康夢殷 ?–?), except that Kang Pyŏng-dam became the church’s first assistant pastor, or “leader” (Kang et al. 2013, 81). Pang Ki-ch’ang (邦基昌 1851–1911), an early convert and church leader who was among the first seven Koreans to be ordained in September 1907, served as an assistant at Lower Village Church in Ch’ilgol, while Hong Sin-gil was a deacon. Hong’s son, Hong Sŏng-jun (?–?), became the church’s first elder, in 1914, while other elders included Ch’oe Tong-sŏk (?–?) and Cho Ik-jun (?–?); the church’s pastors included Kim Kyŏng-sam, Kim Ch’ang-mun (?–?), Yi Chae-p’ung (?–?), and Sim Ik-hyŏn (Kang et al. 2013, 81; Hong Man-ch’un 1998, 106; Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 56; and Yu and Pak, “Hari Kyohoe” (2015)). Church leader and historian Hong Man-ch’un names some of Ch’ilgol Church’s other early leaders: Chŏng Ki-ch’ang (?–?) and Kim Chong-sŏp (?–?), who served as evangelists or unordained pastors (助事 or 助師 Kor. chosa), and Yi Yong-hwa (?–?) and Yi Kyŏng-min (?–?), who were “ordained deacons” (將立執事 Kor. changrip chipsa), a church position that is no longer in use today (Hong Man-ch’un 1998, 106). For a thumbnail biography of Pang Ki-ch’ang, see Moffett, “An Educated Ministry,” in Bradt 1907, 139–40.
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closely associated with the Ch’ilgol Kang clan that it became known as the “Kang family church” 

NoteRev. Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, a Korean American pastor who has traveled extensively in North Korea conducting research on the church, uses the phrase “clan church” (門中教會 Kor. munjung kyohoe) to describe the Kang family’s ties with Ch’ilgol Church (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 56). 
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the relative who would later become a prominent revivalist preacher, was also a regular 

NoteELDER KANG TON-UK: A July 1927 profile in the flagship nationalist newspaper East Asia Daily describes how Kang Ton-uk became a Christian at age thirty-eight—corresponding to 1907, according to the traditional Korean system of tallying one’s age. The article suggests that, just two years later, he was made a deacon, a “leader,” or an elder—the Sino-Korean term is somewhat hazy (執事領袖長老 Kor. chipsa yŏngsu changro) (“Chosŏn ŭi Chalang,” Tong’a Ilbo, July 3, 1927, 2). According to another source, Kang Ton-uk was made a deacon in 1910, a “leader” in 1915, and then finally an elder in 1917 (Kang et al. 2013, 82–83). Yet another source gives the date of Kang Ton-uk’s elevation to elder as January 1, 1917 (Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 196).  THE OTHER ELDERS KANG: The two relatives who became elders were Kang Ki-su (康紀守 ?–?) and Kang Kwan-uk (康寬煜 ?–?), of which little is known beyond their names (Hong Man-ch’un 1998, 106; Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 56; Yu Kwan-ji, “Chŏngch’i Kongjakdae ŭi Sŭpgyŏk Sagŏn i Kang Ryang-uk ege Mich’in Yŏnghyăng Sogo” [The Impact that the Political Action Corps’ Ambush Incident Had on Kang Yang-uk], in Kamri-gyo Sinhak Taehakgyo Hanban-do P’yŏnghwa T’ong’il Sinhak Yŏn’gu-so [Methodist Theological University Korean Peninsula Peace and Unification Theological Research Institute], T’ong’il ihu Sinhak Yŏn’gu [Post-Unification Theological Studies], Vol. 2 (Seoul: Sin’ang kwa Chisŏng-sa, 2009), 281–310, here 294; and Yu and Pak, “Hari Kyohoe” (2015)). One source says Kang Ki-su became a deacon in 1915 (Kang et al. 2013, 83). Another source says that both Kang Kwan-uk and Kang Ki-su were made elders in January 1923 (Pak Yong-gyu 1990, 270).  KANG YANG-UK: For reasons unknown, Kang Yang-uk left Lower Village Church for a time to attend a nearby church called Soyong-ri Church (小龍里教會 Kor. Soyong-ri Kyohoe) (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 56; Yu and Pak, “Hari Kyohoe” (2015); and Yu Kwan-ji and Pak Esŭt’ŏ, “Hwangp’yehan Sŏngso e Pich’ŭl (0067)—Kojŏng Kyohoe” [Light in a Desolate Sanctuary (0067)—Kojŏng Church], Chyubirri T’ong’il Kuguk Kidohoe [Jubilee United Movement of Prayer], 2015). Yu Kwan-ji, a biographer of Kang Yang-uk, suggests that he switched churches because of an alcohol abuse problem that he didn’t want his family to see (Yu and Pak, “Hari Kyohoe” (2015); and Yu and Pak, “Kojŏng Kyohoe” (2015)). It is also possible that Kang left because of the kind of church dispute that was common in the Korean church—and from which the church in Ch’ilgol was certainly not immune. Missionary Graham Lee, visiting the church in 1905, found a quarrel between two leaders, which left Rev. Lee and his traveling companion “with heavy hearts, for this group and this old man have been a sorrow to me for some years. The work has not grown, and I seem to have failed to find any remedy for the trouble.” The quarrel was eventually resolved when one of the men made a public confession before the other (G. Lee [Lee, Graham], “A Quarrel the Means of Grace,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 12 (October 1906), 229–30).  KIM HYŎNG-JIK, CH’ILGOL CHURCH DEACON?: One South Korean pastor, Kim Chin-sŏp, has claimed—intriguingly, albeit without evidence—that Kim Hyŏng-jik was also a deacon at Ch’ilgol Church (as quoted O Sang-a, “Kim Chinsŏp Kyosu, ‘Yŏkdaeha 7:14, Nambuk T’ong’il Undong Sŏng’gyŏng-jŏk Ch’ulbaljŏm’” [Prof. Kim Chin-sŏp: “2 Chronicles 7:14 is the Biblical Starting Point for the Korean Unification Movement”], Kidok Ilbo [Christian Daily], May 30, 2014). 
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“The women assembled in the adjoining kitchen and listened through the cracks in the wall” 

NoteIn the same report, William Baird mentions one of the early catalysts of the faith’s growth the conversion of a woman from a prominent family in town who fell ill— “possessed of a demon, they said.” When the Christians prayed earnestly for her, and she recovered, the woman and her son converted to the faith over the opposition of their family. Later, the son attended Sungsil Academy and the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang, and by 1930 was “an earnest preacher” (“Personal Report of W. M. Baird, Pyengyang, Korea for 1930–1931,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 385). The identity of the woman and her son, who Rev. Baird doesn’t name, are unknown. Rev. Baird served at Ch’ilgol Church between 1901 and 1917, succeeding William Hunt, another Northern Presbyterian missionary based in Pyongyang, who ministered to the church in 1900 (Kang et al. 2013, 81). The segregation of men and women described by Rev. Baird was a common feature of the early Korean church, with the missionaries initially reluctant to overturn the late Chosŏn-era practice of strictly separating men and women in public spaces. For more on the construction of “L-shaped” churches that could allow men and women to attend the same church meeting without intermingling of the sexes, the use of curtains to divide the congregation by gender and the eventual rending of the curtain by Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind evangelist of Pyongyang, see Act I, Chapter 6. 
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“books purchasable comes to every church and group of Christians once or twice each year” 

NoteIn 1910, for example, William Baird reported the construction of a new church building at Ch’ilgol with a tile roof, “patterned after the city churches,” with membership growing and a new helper named Song Ch’ang-hwan (“Mr. Song Chang Whan”) appointed to oversee Ch’ilgol (“Personal Report of W. M. Baird for 1909–10,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 415). However, the next year, Song, who Baird described as “my faithful helper,” was stricken with cholera, and died of the disease, and replaced with a new assistant who Rev. Baird only identifies as a “Mr. Kim” (“Personal Report of W. M. Baird for the Year 1910–11,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 419–20). As for the Bible distribution, a 1924 “Who’s Who in Pyengyang” published by the Presbyterian mission in Korea described Rev. Baird as having “charge of the colporteurs of the Pyengyang Station. He selects for them the books that he wishes the Korean Christians to read, plans their tours, and thus provides that a donkey-load of the best Christian books purchasable comes to every church and group of Christians once or twice each year. This method has greatly increased the sale and reading of good books” (“Who’s Who in Pyengyang: Annual Report of Pyengyang Station, Chosen Mission, 1924,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 334). 
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in western Pyongyang, could count twenty-one churches within a twenty-five-mile radius 

Note“This is one of the most densely populated sections in the Station’s territory,” the missionary, George S. McCune, added in his annual report that year, remarking on the fervency of the converts living around Pyongyang. “What a joy it has been to work hand in hand with such men and women! They are so enthusiastic! They have a burning zeal to preach the Gospel! It is a ‘Woe is me if I preach not the Gospel,’” he wrote, singling out for praise two elderly women, sixty-seven and seventy-three years old respectively, who had spent several weeks in an all-expenses-paid missionary tour of the “heathen villages” in the Pyongyang area (“Personal Report of G. S. McCune, Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 10 (October 1908), 149–50). McCune’s colleague, Charles Bernheisel, writing a year later in 1909, noted: “Pyongyang is getting to be quite a large Christian educational center with its lower schools, academies, college and theological seminary” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 93–94). 
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roughly forty churches had been established; the church at Ch’ilgol was the county’s twelfth 

NoteCh’ilgol and Man’gyŏngdae belonged to Taedong county. Offering further evidence that Ch’ilgol and Man’gyŏngdae offered particularly fertile soil for the new teachings from the West, one of Korea’s first Seventh-Day Adventist churches was established in 1904 in the Man’gyŏngdae’s “South Village” (南里 Kor. Nam-ri) (Kim Yŏng-guk, Pukhan Chonggyo Malsal ŭi Chinsang [The Truth About the Destruction of the North Korean Church] (Seoul: Paekhap Ch’ulp’an-sa, 1979), 145–46). Indeed, Kim Il Sung’s own family members may have attended Seventh-Day Adventist churches in the area too (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Pukny’ŏk’ ŭi Chonggyo rŭl Ch’aj’akada [Searching for Religion in the North] (Seoul: Tong’yŏn, 2019), 391–94). 
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a school abutting the “Kang family church” in Ch’ilgol’s Lower Village, called Ch’angdŏk School 

Note“A CHURCH GRAMMAR SCHOOL”: In his memoirs, Kim Il Sung praises his maternal grandfather Kang Ton-uk as “an ardent patriot and teacher” who founded the “private school” in his home village, without making clear that Ch’angdŏk School (彰德普通學校 Kor. Ch’angdŏk Pot’ong Hakgyo)—the name can be translated as “Manifest Virtue School”—was a Christian missionary school attached to a church (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 10). Ryu Tae-yŏng, a historian of religion at Handong Global University (韓東大學校 Kor. Handong Taehakgyo) in P’ohang, South Korea, is more explicit about Ch’angdŏk School’s Christian identity, describing it as “a church grammar school” (Dae Young Ryu [Ryu, Tae-yŏng], “Kim Il-Sung and Christianity in North Korea,” Journal of Church and State 61, no. 3 (2019), 403–30, here 404).  CH’ANGDŎK SCHOOL, EST. 1907?: The founding date of the school is somewhat murky, though the spring 1907 date offered here is drawn from North Korea’s official hagiography of Kang Yang-uk (Rim I-ch’ŏl, Sarang kwa Mid’ŭm Sok e Pich’nae-in Salm [A Shining Life of Love and Faith] (Pyongyang: P’yŏngyang Ch’ulp’an-sa, 2013), 11). Another North Korean hagiography, this one of Kang Pan-sŏk, gives the founding date as a slightly-less specific 1907 (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 8). Confusingly, yet another official North Korean source gives the founding date as 1908 (Haksŭp Sajŏn 1998, 31). Other sources offer yet more alternate dates. Cho Ŭi-jun (趙義俊 ?–?), a former Ch’angdŏk student, dates the school’s establishment to 1905 (as quoted in Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2),” Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974). Yet other sources give the establishment date as 1909 (Kang et al. 2013, 82; and Wada 1992, 30). A July 1927 profile of Kang Ton-uk in the East Asia Daily described Kang Ton-uk as having begun his educational work on April 1, 1912, though it also quotes him saying that “it has been almost twenty years since I started teaching,” which corresponds roughly with 1907 (“Chosŏn ŭi Chalang,” Tong’a Ilbo, July 3, 1927, 2). 
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Note
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students and adequate facilities to comfortably accommodate such a large student body 

Note“ON THE LEAST PROVOCATION”: Despite its size, the fact that Kang Ton-uk opened a private school was not all that noteworthy, in and of itself, and its existence may not have been noted if not for the attendance of his grandson. George Ladd, an American Congregationalist minister and prominent scholar who advocated for Japanese rule over Korea, put it rather dismissively after a visit to the country in 1907: “A Korean will start a private school on the least provocation. It runs a few months and then closes, nobody being the wiser, though some be sadder” (Ladd 1908, 329). It soon became standard for village churches in the Korean countryside to open a modern elementary school attached to it. As the Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown put it, “the missionaries, like the Pilgrim Fathers of New England, had planted the church and the schoolhouse side by side. Every chapel, however small, had an attached primary school” (Brown 1912, 9). Two of the first to do so were Samuel Moffett’s Central Presbyterian Church in Pyongyang and Namsan Church in Ŭiju, which opened their schools in 1898, helping spur the creation of several such institutions, which paired religious instruction and modern education. “The purpose of churches establishing schools was all the same: ‘to educate the children of Christians’” (Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 114). By 1908, there were 897 Presbyterian churches in Korea, with 542 affiliated elementary schools (Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 117). By 1910, the year of Korea’s annexation, 457 of Korea’s 823 church-related schools were situated in the northwestern provinces of P’yŏng’an and Hwanghae; they made up a substantial portion of the total 1,130 modern schools in the northwest—roughly half of the peninsula’s overall total of 2,250 schools at the time (Chung-shin Park 2003, 99, 105).   “THE ONE WEAPON AT HAND”: The Korean missionaries’ plunge into education was well-timed. In 1895, Korea abolished its centuries-old system of civil-service exams, known as the kwagŏ (科舉), boosting demand for “modern” Western-style schooling. “With the end of this examination, the Confucian academies spread across the country lost their raison d’être and the rising generations soon turned toward modern, western-style schools,” as one historian writes (Brother Anthony of Taizé 2011, 5). In the absence of a comprehensive Korean public education system, the Christian institutions served as feeders for the prominent missionary-backed schools in the larger cities, and parents sent their children to the modern church schools in the villages in hopes of securing more opportunity for the next generation (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 69).  There was also a distinct political motivation behind the enrollment in the schools, as church historian Martha Huntley, later a missionary to South Korea, notes: “Anxiety over the political situation spurred many to arm themselves against Japanese encroachment with the one weapon at hand: education” (Huntley 1984, 93–94). 
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the nominal founder of the school was Samuel Moffett, and its principal was William Baird 

NoteAN “INTIMATE CONNECTION”: At least three sources describe Kang Ton-uk as Ch’angdŏk School’s vice principal (校監 Kor. kyogam) (Rim 2013, 11; Lim 2015, 57; and Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 56). Moffett and Baird’s role as the school’s nominal founder and principal, respectively, is given by several sources (Kang et al. 2013, 82; Springer 2003, 104–5; and Keum 2002, 135). Another source describes Kang Ki-su, another of the Lower Village Church elders, as principal of Ch’angdŏk School, and Kang Ton-uk as teacher of Chinese and Bible studies (Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2),” Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974). Yang Sŏng-ch’ŏl, a South Korean scholar-turned-diplomat, at one point describes Kang Ton-uk as not having founded Ch’angdŏk School but having funded its establishment and thus being named the “honorary principal” (Yang 1981, 32). However, at another point, Yang refers to Kang Ton-uk as founder and principal of the school, while also noting that one North Korean publication referred to him as “assistant school master” (Yang 1981, 35, n. 21). Whatever the particulars, Yang concludes, there is little denying Kang Ton-uk’s “intimate connection” with the school (Yang 1981, 32).  A “COURTESY…CO-PASTOR”: Despite Moffett and Baird’s role as the school’s nominal founder and principal, respectively, it’s unclear the actual extent of Baird’s involvement at Ch’ilgol Church and Ch’angdŏk School. Since he only visited the village several times a year, his day-to-day involvement was likely limited. As Baird noted in his annual report to the Presbyterian mission decades later in relation to Ch’ilgol Church, “I have been connected with Chilkol, with some interruptions, since the church was first started. Though they have now a Korean pastor they continue by courtesy to call me co-pastor” (“1930–1931,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 387). We can surmise that a similar approach may have been taken at Ch’angdŏk School, with Baird nominally the principal, and Moffett nominally the founder, but with Kang Ton-uk managing the school’s day-to-day affairs. As one scholar has noted, under Japanese law, every school was required to designate a legal “founder” (An Jong Chol [An, Chong-ch’ŏl], “No Distinction Between Sacred and Secular: Horace H. Underwood and Korean-American Relations, 1934–1948,” Seoul Journal of Korean Studies 23, no. 2 (December 2010), 225–46, here 228, n. 12). 
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Japanese overlords—only to give most of it away to Christian and nationalist Korean causes 

Note“VIRTUOUS DEEDS”: During the colonial period, Paek Sŏn-haeng (百善行 1848–1933) emerged as a symbol of how Korea could thrive even under the thumb of the hated Japanese, becoming so famous and well-regarded during her lifetime that the public bestowed upon her the name Sŏn-haeng (善行)—literally, “virtuous deeds.” Born in 1848 without a name to a poor farmer—some sources say in Suwŏn, near Seoul; others point to Pyongyang—Paek lost her father at age seven, was married off to another poor farmer without an education at the age of fourteen, and became a widow shortly thereafter (Kim Hyŏng-mok, “P’yŏngyang Che’il ŭi Kapbu Paek Sŏn-haeng, Chŏn Chaesan ŭl Kibu-ha’nŭn Sŏnhaeng ŭl Sirch’ŏn-hada” [Pyongyang’s Richest Woman Paek Sŏn-haeng Practiced the Good Deed of Donating All Her Wealth], Tokrip Ki’nyŏm-gwan [Independence Hall] 318 (August 2014), 20–21; Chŏn Pong-gwan, “Ton ŭn Ssŏya Kabs ŭl Haji, An Ssŭ’ryŏ myŏn Moa Mwŏhae” [Money Is Worth It if You Spend It; If You Don’t Spend It, What’s the Point of Saving It?], Sin Tong’a [New Tong’a] (December 2006), 514–26, here 516; and “P’yŏngyang ŭi ‘Nyŏgŏl’—Paek Sŏn-haeng” [The “Heroine” of Pyongyang—Paek Sŏn-haeng], Ch’ŏnrima [Chollima] no. 12, cumulative no. 559 (2005), 83–84).   ART OF THE DEAL: Despite her difficult circumstances, Widow Paek scraped together money to build up a fortune, working day and night selling flower seeds and raising pigs and silkworms. Her most lucrative, and famous, deal, however, was on a neglected piece of mountainous property that she bought on the cheap, and which happened to house lucrative mineral resources (“P’yŏngyang ŭi ‘Nyŏgŏl,’” Ch’ŏnrima (2005), 83–84). Widow Paek sold the property for “dozens of times more than she had paid,” an approving Kim Il Sung wrote in his memoirs (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 84). The mountain was Mount Mandal, a remote mountain rich in limestone to the east of Pyongyang near a tributary of the Taedong River, which later became home to Sŭngho-ri (勝湖里) Cement Factory (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 84; and Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Kinyŏm-gwan (2014), 20–21). Widow Paek began donating from her enormous fortune in 1908, when she turned sixty, building a bridge in Taedong county (Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Ki’nyŏm-gwan (2014), 21).  CHURCH SCHOOL BENEFACTOR: More importantly for this narrative, Widow Paek also donated land and money to the Presbyterian church for Ch’angdŏk School in 1927—the land alone was worth 6,000 wŏn, according to one source (Chŏn, “Ton ŭn Ssŏya,” Sin Tong’a (2006), 523). She also donated to other schools—all of them run by Christians: Sunghyŏn Girls’ School (崇賢女學校 Kor. Sunghyŏn Yŏ Hakgyo); Kwangsŏng Middle School (光成高等學校 Kor. Kwangsŏng Kodŭng Hakgyo); and Sung’in Commercial School (崇仁商業學校 Kor. Sung’in Sang’ŏp Hakgyo), according to a laudatory North Korean article (“P’yŏngyang ŭi ‘Nyŏgŏl,’” Ch’ŏnrima (2005), 83–84; and Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Ki’nyŏm-gwan (2014), 21). Widow Paek often offered financial support to projects by Cho Man-sik, the Presbyterian elder of Pyongyang known as the “Gandhi of Korea” and the founder of Sung’in Commercial School, of whom much more will be said (Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Ki’nyŏm-gwan (2014), 21). According to one source, Kwangsŏng School— located just outside the front gates of the Presbyterian compound in Pyongyang—was established in 1894 by Methodist missionary W. James Hall, though this would have been just shortly after his arrival in the city and just prior to the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War (“Kwangsŏng Middle School (光成高等學校),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Other sources credit Rev. Hall’s colleague John Z. Moore with founding the school (Chŏn, “Ton ŭn Ssŏya,” Sin Tong’a (2006), 522–23). Either way, the school was. Sunghyŏn Girls’ School, meanwhile, was run by the Presbyterian church (Chŏn, “Ton ŭn Ssŏya,” Sin Tong’a (2006), 523).  PUBLIC ASSEMBLY HALL: Widow Paek used her fortune not just to advance Christian causes, but also Korean nationalist ones. Perhaps her best-known donation was to fund Cho Man-sik’s plans for the construction of a three-story assembly hall for Koreans called the Pyongyang Public Assembly Hall (平壤公會堂 Kor. P’yŏngyang Konghoe-dang), and known after her death as the Paek Sŏn-haeng Memorial Hall (白善行紀念館 Kor. Paek Sŏn-haeng Ki’nyŏm-gwan); she donated 150,000 wŏn (roughly $15 million) to build a hall that was, pointedly, larger than the one for the Japanese in Pyongyang (Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Ki’nyŏm-gwan (2014), 21). The hall opened in May 1929 (Chŏn, “Ton ŭn Ssŏya,” Sin Tong’a (2006), 524). She further burnished these credentials by turning down in 1925 an award from the Japanese colonial government (Song Yun-gyŏng, “Righteous Rich Woman, Paek Sŏn-haeng,” Tokrip Ki’nyŏm-gwan [Independence Hall] 295 (September 2012), 30–31). 
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leaders and with the American Presbyterians, and Ch’angdŏk School was but one example 

NoteWidow Paek was thus at the leading edge of a new phenomenon of Christian philanthropy in Korea, which attracted attention and admiration from the Western missionaries. “The Koreans have more money than before,” Charles Bernheisel wrote in 1920, and “they are generous in the use of it” (Charles F. Bernheisel, “Annual Report of the Pyengyang Station of the Korea Mission, 1919–1920—On Behalf of the Station,” mid-June 1920, Pyengyang (MKC)).  “LIKE A SEA OF PEOPLE”: Widow Paek was so beloved that, after rumors of her death circulated in 1928, flower prices across the city shot up (Chŏn, “Ton ŭn Ssŏya,” Sin Tong’a (2006), 524). When Widow Paek did finally die in May 1933, the crowds that lined the streets of Pyongyang for her public funeral were “like a sea of people” (人山人海 Kor. insan inhae) (“Kojŏl Yuksip Yŏ’nyŏn Man’e Namp’yŏn ŭi Myoso’e anwa” [After Being Separated for More Than Sixty Years, She Will Rest at Her Husband’s Grave,” Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], May 14, 1933 (morning edition), 2). The public funeral was, some sources say, the first ever for a woman in Korea (Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Ki’nyŏm-gwan (2014), 21; and “P’yŏngyang ŭi ‘Nyŏgŏl,’” Ch’ŏnrima (2005), 84). The East Asia Daily article describes a vivid scene in which two thousand students led the funeral procession from her famous assembly hall through the city, across the Pot’ong River, and to her husband’s burial site at Tangsang-ri, where she was buried next to his grave. “People thought of the sixty years she had been living as a widow since her husband passed away when she was twenty-six and quietly cried as she was finally laid down next to her husband,” the report read. “The funeral march for Madame Paek Sŏn-haeng created a scene unlike any other in Pyongyang’s history. She did not have a single blood relation, but for her great work, street by street, house by house, she gained thousands of family members. Twenty thousand attendants and a street crowd of a hundred thousand sent their farewells to her” (“Kojŏl Yuksip Yŏ’nyŏn,” Tong’a Ilbo, May 14, 1933, 2). Other accounts calculate the attendance at her funeral as being roughly 150,000 people, or about two-thirds of the city’s population at the time (Chŏn, “Ton ŭn Ssŏya,” Sin Tong’a (2006), 515; and Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Ki’nyŏm-gwan (2014), 21). Among the mourners were two hundred students from Ch’angdŏk School; nine hundred from Kwangsŏng Middle School; five hundred from Sung’in Commercial School; and 450 from Sunghyŏn Girls’ School, which had all closed for the day so that students could attend the funeral; the head of the funeral committee was O Yun-sŏn (“I’ch’ŏn Haksaeng ŭl Sŏndu-ro O’ri e Kŭnghan Haengryŏl” [A Five Ri-Long March With Two Thousand Students in the Lead,” Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], May 14, 1933 (evening edition), 2).  “DEARLY REMEMBERED IN ALL OUR HEARTS”: Today, North Korea’s official publications extol Widow Paek as a “heroine…dearly remembered in all our hearts” (“P’yŏngyang ŭi ‘Nyŏgŏl,’” Ch’ŏnrima (2005), 83). In Kim Il Sung’s own memoir, Kim Il Sung expresses his admiration for Widow Paek for having made such a fortune, and funded the school he attended (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 84). The three-story stone memorial hall that she funded still stands in central Pyongyang, having managed to avoid destruction during the Korean War (“P’yŏngyang ŭi ‘Nyŏgŏl,’” Ch’ŏnrima (2005), 83–84). In the early 2010s, reports circulated that North Korea’s main film studio had partnered with a New Zealand-based non-governmental organization to make a film about Widow Paek’s life, though the production appears to have been scrapped (Kim Hyŏng-mok, “Che’il ŭi Kapbu,” Ki’nyŏm-gwan (2014), 21; Park In-ho [Pak, In-ho], “Christian Movie Being Shot Inside North Korea,” Daily NK English, January 17, 2011; and Im Jeong Jin [Im, Chŏng-jin], “Christians to Make Inroad in Atheist NK?” Daily NK English, January 20, 2011).
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husband, and she appears to have been at least his equal in devotion to their shared religion 

Note“MARRIAGE WITH UNBELIEVERS IS SIN”: The fact that both Kim Hyŏng-jik and Kang Pan-sŏk were fervent believers can be seen in the strictness that the missionaries applied to such unions. In 1904, the missionaries had established rules to prohibit Christians from marrying non-believers. As Presbyterian missionary Charles Clark wrote in 1919: “From 1901 to 1904 the Presbyterian Council conducted a wide correspondence upon this matter with missionaries all over the world, and in 1904 announced the following rules to govern these matters:— 1. Those living in improper marriage relations shall not be accepted for baptism until those relations have been properly adjusted. If any have been unwittingly baptised who are living in improper relations, they must be disciplined until they correct those relations. 2. Adultery is the only ground for divorce that can he recognized by the church. Those getting divorces for other reasons shall be suspended from church membership. 3. Marriage with unbelievers is sin. 4. When it is impossible to change the status of the applicants, they shall be kept under suspension indefinitely or in the catechumenate.” In case there was any confusion, Rev. Clark added: “In the marriage laws, note that marriages with non-Christians are forbidden. There is no question that the marriage of a Christian girl to a non-Christian boy is a terrible thing” (Charles Allen Clark [Clark, Charles A.], “Marriage Questions in Chosen,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 8 (August 1919), 159–63, here 160, 162). Indeed, right around the time that Kim Hyŏng-jik and Kang Pan-sŏk were married, a Presbyterian missionary in Ch’ungch’ŏng province recounted how a promising young convert had to be reprimanded for having married “a heathen.” “He was a promising member, but he had to lay aside the offices of trust that had been committed to him and be made an example of for the sake of the purity of the church,” the missionary wrote (Edwin Kagin [Kagin, Edwin F.], “In Difficulties,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 8 (August 1909), 143–46, here 144–45). 
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within the church to become a “Bible-woman”—roughly equivalent to a deacon or an elder 

NoteThough the definition could vary, a “Bible-woman” was generally “a Christian woman employed in the distribution of Christian literature, and in biblical instruction” (傳道婦人 or 傳道夫人 Kor. chŏndo puin) (see Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 65–66). Third-generation Korea missions historian Donald Clark describes “Bible-women” as a general term referring to paid Korean assistants of women missionaries, who helped the foreigners learn the language and who traveled with them on their evangelistic tours. Some were students or former students, others were deaconesses and yet others were laywomen (Donald N. Clark, “Mothers, Daughters, Biblewomen, and Sisters: An Account of ‘Women’s Work’ in the Korea Mission Field,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr., and Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), 167–92, here 170).  TEACHER, EXHORTER: Another scholar traces the origins of the notion of “Bible-women” to Kang Wan-suk (1761–1801), the pioneering—and daring—eighteenth-century Catholic convert in Seoul who for several years sheltered Father Zhou Wenmo, the Chinese priest who snuck into Korea to support the nascent and heavily persecuted Catholic church. During the 1790s, Kang—whose surname is different from that of Kang Pan-sŏk—was made a “catechist” by Father Zhou, giving her considerable responsibility within the church in evangelism and caring for converts (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 55; and Ledyard, “Kollumba Kang Wansuk,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 63). Donald Baker notes that while the Catholic Church had nuns, the Protestant “Bible-women” of the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century “not only brought the word of God to their fellow women, they also taught them to read at a time when most women in Korea could not read,” and got formal titles in the church such as “exhorter” (勸事, 勸師 or 勸士Kor. kwŏnsa) and “deaconess” (執事 Kor. chipsa) (Baker, “Impact of Christianity” (2016), 55–56).   “IF SHE KNEW JOHN 3:16 SHE WAS FIT FOR SERVICE”: During the earlier years of Protestant missionary work in Korea, when women converts were still scarce, missionaries required only that a Bible-woman be able to read. “One old Bible woman tells of how the missionary who proposed to employ her said in answer to her protestation of unfitness that if she knew John 3:16 she was fit for service,” Methodist missionary Kate Cooper wrote in January 1917. As the pool of Christian women expanded, Cooper wrote, Bible women were expected to be “without home responsibilities; widows are preferred. She must be able to give her whole time and service to the Lord’s work; she must be a woman whose life has proven her to be a doer of the word and a follower of the Master not for any earthly gain but because of her love for the salvation of souls. She must be a graduate of a Bible Institute able to teach the home course for many of the country women are dependent almost entirely upon the Bible women for all their help in the study of this course” (Kate Cooper, “The Bible Woman,” The Korea Magazine (January 1917), 6–10, here 7–8). Also quoted in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 66.  “BUNDLES OF ENERGY”: Bible-women, though not always given a formal role in the Presbyterian church hierarchy, were “bundles of energy” that were often the most vibrant and dynamic members of a church (for one example, see Murray 1975, 175). According to one tally, the Methodists had eighty-five Bible-women in Korea in 1917, five the times the seventeen that they had five years earlier in 1912, while the Presbyterians boasted 114 Bible-women in 1919, compared to thirty-nine in 1907 (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 66). The missionaries entrusted their Bible-women with great responsibilities, including foreign missions work. Between 1908 and 1945, some 164 Korean Bible-women were sent out as foreign missionaries to Manchuria (108), Siberia (22), Japan (17), China (8), Cheju (7), and even the U.S. (2) (Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 72).  DEACONESS KANG: Most sources agree that Kang Pan-sŏk likely fit the loose definition of a “Bible-woman,” though there is some disagreement as to whether she held a more formal title in the church. Yu Kwan-ji, a South Korean historian of Christianity in North Korea, notes that Kang Pan-sŏk died at age forty, making her likely too young to have earned a title like “deaconess.” Prior to her death, Kang Pan-sŏk moved around so often that the likelihood of her having ascended in the hierarchy of any given church is also low, Yu argues, though he allows that she could have attained that rank at Songsan Church (Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” (2014)). Yu Sŏng-ch’ŏl, a former ally of Kim Il Sung, explicitly describes Kang Pan-sŏk as a deaconess (Yu, “Synopsis,” Han’guk Ilbo, December 1, 1990, in Seiler 1994, 196–97). 
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received under the missionaries, her knowledge of the Bible would have been voluminous 

Note“A KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST AS THEIR PERSONAL SAVIOR”: The main work of the Bible-women, missionary Lulu E. Frey wrote in March 1907, consisted of sharing the Christian gospel during house visits, teaching women to read using the Bible as a primer and answering questions on the ancient tale. “In examining a class of some fifty probationers for baptism a short time ago it was delightful to see how well the Bible-women had taught them. All except a very few had learned to read. They had memorized the Lord’s Prayer, Apostles’ Creed, and the Ten Commandments. Some knew the catechism as well. When examined as to their faith their answers showed a knowledge of Christ as their personal Savior. This was due mainly to the efforts of the Bible-women, who for many months previous had been teaching each one individually” (L. E. Frey [Frey, Lulu E.], “The Bible Woman,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 3 (March 1907), 42). The typical Bible-woman of Pyongyang, according to longtime missionary Sallie Swallen, the wife of William Swallen, would be trained in Pyongyang in a centralized, standardized lesson that she would then take out into the countryside, delivering the lesson many, many times to as many women as they could (“Native Bible Women,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 6 (June 1910), 119–21). The Presbyterian women’s class for Bible women and teachers in 1910 attracted 1,175 women, including more than five hundred from the countryside, a figure that—perhaps—included Kang Pan-sŏk (“That the World May Know,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 127). In June 1910, Elizabeth H. Fuller Whiting (1869–1918?), a missionary at Hwanghae province’s Chaeryŏng station, not far from Pyongyang, outlined the curriculum of a typical Bible study, which required the women to read the Gospel of John five times within six months, and to summarize the theme of each chapter, memorize a verse from each chapter, and make an outline of the gospel. Of the twenty-one students, she wrote, “four…could have been marked almost perfect,” while many of the others showed promise—not a bad outcome in a country where women were almost entirely illiterate a generation earlier (Mrs. J. Whiting [Whiting, Elizabeth H. Fuller], “Home Bible Study,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 6 (June 1910), 106–7).  “INTIMATE…SYMPATHIES”: More important than sheer Bible knowledge, though, was the emotional connection that many Bible-women made with their listeners. As Donald Clark, a scholar of religion and descendant of Korea missionaries, writes: “The Presbyterians ran ‘Bible Institutes’ to teach church women to be lay leaders and Sunday school teachers. They organized seasonal institutes for farm women to come in to the city, their bedrolls balanced on their heads, to live and attend classes together under the direction of Korean pastors and foreign missionaries. At these institutes the women were taught to read simple han’gŭl scriptures, how to pray, and how to teach. Many of them went home to promote Christianity in their home villages…‘biblewomen’ met and talked with women in their quarters, learned intimate things about them, shared sympathies, and coaxed them to participate in the local church” (Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 245).
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church’s predawn prayer meetings and rarely skipping a revival meeting or Bible study session 

NoteThis remark comes from Rev. Luke Kim, the Korean American pastor whose father taught Kim Hyŏng-jik at Sungsil Academy, and who met with Kim Il Sung in Pyongyang in June 1981. Rev. Kim was also the president of Sungsil University between 1959 and 1966, after its reconstitution following the Korean War in Seoul (see Act III, Chapter 34). Sonia Ryang, an anthropologist and scholar of North Korea at Rice University, asserts that Kang Pan-sŏk was “a religious woman—references to her attending church services in Kim’s memoirs remove any doubt about this…Given that her entire upbringing was Christian and that, at the age of eighteen, she married Kim Hyung Jik (Kim Il Sung’s father), who was two years her junior and a student at a missionary high school at the time of their marriage, as stated earlier, it would be safe to assume that her life was immersed in Christianity” (Sonia Ryang, Language and Truth in North Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2021), 161). 
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apart, separated by a small hill—families from the two villages were often linked by marriage 

NoteOne North Korean hagiography describes the distance as being 10 ri, or about three miles; the two villages were so close that a walk between them was “as if to a neighbour’s house,” and Kang Pan-sŏk used to make the walk several times a day (The Mother of Korea 1978, 39, 141). 
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before later transferring to Songsan Church in Man’gyŏngdae, where Kim Hyŏng-jik worshipped 

NotePYONGYANG TO CH’ILGOL, CH’ILGOL TO MAN’GYŎNGDAE: Kim Kyŏng-sam began his studies at Samuel Moffett’s Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang in 1911, according to Rev. Kim’s third daughter, Kim Yŏng-bok (?–?) (as cited in Kim Chi-yŏng 2014, 11). Upon graduating, Kim Kyŏng-sam was sent by William Baird in 1916 to minister at Lower Village Church in Ch’ilgol, the “Kang family church” whose roots could be traced to Central Presbyterian Church in Pyongyang. Shortly after Rev. Kim’s arrival there, the church experienced a revival and the congregation quickly swelled in size, growing to about two hundred congregants (Kim Chi-yŏng 2014, 14). Another source says Rev. Kim was appointed a pastoral assistant (助事 Kor. chosa) at the church in Ch’ilgol in 1910, and then named pastor on June 16, 1916, before departing in 1918 (Kang et al. 2013, 82–83). In his annual report for 1916–1917, Rev. Baird notes only that Kim Kyŏng-sam, who he described as his former helper for the circuit of churches that included Ch’ilgol Church, had “been ordained as associate pastor over two churches,” which Baird doesn’t name (“Personal Report of W. M. Baird, 1916–17,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 287). Either way, because Lower Village Church in Ch’ilgol was his first posting as a minister, Rev. Kim threw himself into the task, fasting often and performing faith healings, according to one source (Yu and Pak, “Hari Kyohoe” (2015)). After his time at Lower Village Church, Rev. Kim was dispatched to Songsan Church in Man’gyŏngdae, where Kim Hyŏng-jik worshipped, according to historian Wada Haruki (Wada 1992, 27). Another source says that Kim Kyŏng-sam began ministering at Songsan Church in 1920 (Kang et al. 2013, 90).  PASTOR MATCHMAKER?: Could Rev. Kim Kyŏng-sam have been the pastor responsible for introducing Kang Ton-uk to Kim Hyŏng-jik? Japanese historian Wada Haruki suggests that that might have been case, given that Rev. Kim had ministered at both Kang Pan-sŏk and Kim Hyŏng-jik’s home churches. “It is natural to think that Rev. Kim introduced his church member Kim Hyŏng-jik as a prospective son-in-law to an elder at his previous church” (Wada 1992, 27). Chang Hae-sŏng (張海星 1945– ), a North Korea-born journalist who formerly worked as a writer for Pyongyang’s Korean Central Television (朝鮮中央텔레비죤 Kor. Chosŏn Chung’ang T’errebijyon), asserts that the match between Kim Il Sung’s parents had been made by a man, identified only as a Mr. Kim, who hailed from the same South Village as Kim Hyŏng-jik in Kop’yŏng township and who had attended the “Kang family church” in Ch’ilgol (Chang Hae-sŏng, “Kim Il-sŏng, Kŭ nŭn Nugu Inga?—O’hae wa Chinsil” [Who is Kim Il Sung?—Misunderstandings and the Truth], lecture at Pukhan Chŏnryak Sent’ŏ [North Korea Strategy Center], April 24, 2009, Seoul). While this is a tempting theory, there is one major flaw—namely, that Rev. Kim Kyŏng-sam didn’t pastor these two churches until long after Kim Hyŏng-jik and Kang Pan-sŏk married. Even if Rev. Kim himself wasn’t the matchmaker, his ministerial career underscores the close relationship between Kang Pan-sŏk and Kim Hyŏng-jik’s home villages and churches.  BROTHER MATCHMAKER?: Other theories have also been raised, though with equally tenuous chronologies. North Korean sources have suggested that Kang Chin-sŏk, the older brother of Kang Pan-sŏk, may have introduced the two teenagers to one another. One hagiography of Kang Pan-sŏk describes Kang Chin-sŏk as getting to know Kim Hyŏng-jik in the course of the nationalist movement, hinting—though ultimately stopping short of asserting outright—that it was through Kang Chin-sŏk that the future Kim Il Sung’s parents met one another (The Mother of Korea 1978, 39). Like the Kim Kyŏng-sam theory, there is good reason to question the notion that Kang Chin-sŏk might have introduced the two. Since Kim Hyŏng-jik married at the age of thirteen or fourteen, Kim Hyŏng-jik would have to have truly gotten an early start to distinguish himself as “an outstanding person and an ardent patriot of his country” and thus to have met his future brother-in-law in this fashion, with enough time for him to be introduced to Kang Pan-sŏk as a prospective marriage partner (The Mother of Korea 1978, 39).  A BILLY GRAHAM CONNECTION?: Yet another tempting claim suggests that the matchmaker may have been none other than Rev. L. Nelson Bell, the father-in-law of Billy Graham (see, for instance, Yu Sun-ho 2017, 30–31). While Nelson Bell was indeed a missionary to China whose daughter Ruth attended high school in Pyongyang, the chronology again is problematic. Nelson Bell didn’t even arrive in Asia until 1916, when he became a medical missionary based in Qingjiangpu (清江浦), in the coastal Chinese province of Jiangsu. By that time, Kim Hyŏng-jik and Kang Pan-sŏk had been married for at least seven years, and Kim Il Sung himself was four years old. Nelson Bell’s daughter Ruth didn’t move to Pyongyang to attend high school until 1933, when Kim Il Sung was a young revolutionary in Manchuria.  RINGING A BELL: More likely, historians are confusing Nelson Bell with Eugene Bell, the latter of whom was indeed a missionary to Korea, and who was a professor at the Presbyterian Theological Seminary from 1907 to 1923, thus placing him in Pyongyang at a time that would have allowed for an introduction. A list of seminary faculty in October 1909 includes Eugene Bell among the professors, with Moffett as chairman of the faculty (Clark, “Theological Seminary,” Korea Mission Field (1909), 176). Eugene Bell, a Southern Presbyterian, came to Korea in 1895 with his wife Charlotte I. Witherspoon Bell (1867–1901). After spending two years in Seoul studying the language and working with the other missionaries, Rev. Bell made several trips to southwestern Korea and helped open the mission station in the port city of Mokp’o (木浦) in the fall of 1898 (Nisbet 1919, 32). Thus, Rev. Bell has been credited as having “pioneered the Presbyterian endeavor” in Korea’s southwest, with a reputation for maintaining high standards for the faith of his Korean charges (Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 15). For a photo of Eugene Bell’s family home in Mokp’o, taken around 1900, a year after he finished building the home, see Kornegay, “Modifying Joseon Architecture,” Colonial Korea (2019). ((INSERT THIS PICTURE HERE)) It is unclear if L. Nelson Bell and Eugene Bell were related, though their many shared attributes as Southern American missionaries with family ties to Korea. In a further twist, L. Nelson Bell’s daughter and Ruth Bell Graham’s younger sister, Virginia Bell Somerville (1927–2006), became a missionary to Korea, based in Taejŏn (大田)—makes any confusion at least understandable.  DING-DING-DING: So what is the truth? Chronologically, Eugene Bell is the only hypothesis that fits—though there is no actual evidence one way or the other that Eugene Bell had done such a thing. Kim Il Sung, in his own memoir, says only that a local matchmaker first introduced the two families—an assertion that, notably, wouldn’t rule out Eugene Bell, though it also does little to prove it one way or the other (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 3, 179–80). 
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trees, and scented sticks burning through the summer nights to keep the mosquitoes away 

NoteTHE “BIG HOUSE”: There is some inconsistency here in Kim’s description of his maternal family’s financial situation. In the first volume of his memoirs, Kim describes the Kang family in Chilgol as “living in dire poverty, eating gruel made from coarsely ground grain or boiled rice mixed with ground beans” (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 82). That is quite a contrast from the tranquil comfort described here in volume three. Another North Korean hagiography of Kang Pan-sŏk describes her childhood home being known within the village as the “Big House” (k’ŭnjip)—though it is quick to point out that this was not because the house was physically larger than other houses in the village, but merely “out of endless respect for the family members of this house, who had benevolent character, a noble heart for patriotism and excellence in academics” (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 8).  “THEY ALL WENT TO CHURCH”: The simplest explanation is that Kim’s own political imperatives required him to portray his family—both his father’s side and his mother’s side—as having come from the poorest of the poor, though in fact his mother’s side was living quite comfortably for the time. Kang Myŏng-do, the North Korea-born member of the Kang clan who resettled in the South, confirms the Kang clan’s wealth. Growing up as a member of North Korea’s extended royal family, Kang Myŏng-do was told by his elders that the Ch’ilgol Kangs were higher up in the social hierarchy than the Man’gyŏngdae Kims, and that Kang Pan-sŏk’s marriage to Kim Hyŏng-jik was seen as “marrying down” (Kang Myŏng-do 1995, 57–58). Kim Hyŏng-jik’s family, Kang Myŏng-do added, had only three thousand square meters of land, or roughly three-quarters of an acre. What brought the two families together, Kang Myŏng-do says, was their shared Christian faith. “They all went to church,” he wrote (Kang Myŏng-do 1995, 58). 
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son-in-law, fearing that his daughter would struggle materially if the match was made 

NoteThe characterization of Man’gyŏngdae as “an out-of-the-way village” is from Kim Il Sung, in a later volume of his memoirs (Kim Il Sung [Kim, Il-sŏng], With the Century: Reminiscences, Vol. 6 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1995), 189). According to an official North Korean hagiography of Kim Hyŏng-jik, Kang Ton-uk was pleased with his prospective son-in-law, but worried about having his daughter live in hardship, was unable to decide. He visited Kim Hyŏng-jik’s house several times before making the final call, but Kim’s family was too poor to treat him to a meal even once (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 19). 
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several more times; following his sixth visit, Elder Kang consented to the engagement 

NoteYu Kwan-ji, who has conducted extensive research into the Christian background of Kim Il Sung and his family, argues that “while there are those who believe that Kim Hyŏng-jik received the faith through Kang Pan-sŏk after marrying Kang, who was raised in a Christian household, it is clear that Kim Hyŏng-jik had the Christian faith even before his marriage. More than anything, when the future church elder Kang Ton-uk was choosing a son-in-law, he couldn’t have accepted someone who wasn’t a Christian” (Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” (2014)). Kang Ton-uk, after all, was a teacher of Bible studies, among other things, which would incline him towards a boy of such evident faithfulness as Kim Hyŏng-jik (Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2),” Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974).  “ON THE BASIS OF SHARED FAITH”: This theory is supported by other scholars, one of whom argues that “Kang Ton-uk gave away his daughter Kang Pan-sŏk in marriage to him because of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s devoted belief” (Chu, “Kidokgyo-jŏk Paegyŏng” (2015), 56). See also Brandon K. Gauthier, Before Evil: Young Lenin, Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, Mao, and Kim (Chicago: Tortoise Books, 2022), 168. Rice University anthropologist Sonia Ryang, who was steeped in the mythology of the Kim family while growing up in the North Korean educational system in Japan, concludes from a reading of Kim Il Sung’s memoirs that “the marriage was no doubt an arranged one, and it would seem justifiable to assume that it was arranged on the basis of shared faith and religious devotion” (Ryang 2021, 161). See also the claim above, albeit thinly sourced, that Kim Hyŏng-jik met Kang Pan-sŏk during the Great Pyongyang Revival of 1907, and that Kang was drawn to Kim Hyŏng-jik’s fervent prayers (Chang Ki Lee, “Die christlichen Wurzeln der Kim-Dynastie” (2019), 30).  “WELDED”: The North Korean history, naturally, downplays any Christian elements in their courtship, though it does describe the match as one that was able to transcend class differences through the power of shared (in this case, nationalist) convictions. “The marriage of Kang Pan-sŏk to Kim Hyŏng-jik welded two patriotic families together,” Kang Pan-sŏk’s hagiographers write (The Mother of Korea 1978, 40).
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in Man’gyŏngdae, a large and poor household of twelve people spanning three generations 

NoteThe actual date of their wedding remains unknown, though most North and South Korean sources converge around 1908, when Kim Hyŏng-jik was fourteen and Kang Pan-sŏk was sixteen (The Mother of Korea 1978, 39; Yang 1981, 33; and Pak Chong-ch’ŏl, “Kim Hyŏng-jik (金亨稷),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Some North Korean sources are more specific, offering up the spring of 1908 (see, for instance, Pul’yo Pulgul ŭi Hyŏkmyŏng t’usa Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Hyŏkmyŏng Hwaldong Chuyo Nyŏnp’yo [Timeline of the Revolutionary Feats of the Invincible Revolutionary Warrior Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik] (Pyongyang: Chosŏn Rodong-dang Ch’ulp’an-sa, 1994), 6). Historian Yu Sun-ho dates the marriage as likely having taken place around the spring of 1909 (Yu Sun-ho 2017, 29). Kim Il Sung biographer Sŏ Tae-suk says the two were married when Kim Hyŏng-jik was fifteen and Kang Pan-sŏk was seventeen (Dae-Sook Suh 1988, 5). Some of this confusion and discrepancy might be explained, at least partially, by the fact that Koreans traditionally count a baby as being one year old at the time of birth. As for Kang Pan-sŏk “marrying down” into her husband’s less affluent circumstances, Kang’s North Korean hagiographers describe her facing her new reality with equanimity: “Kang Ban Sok knew that the huge family was very poor,” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 44).  
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that sprang up in the early twentieth century in a city dubbed the Jerusalem of the East 

NoteAs University of Chicago historian Bruce Cumings writes, this “Christian, upwardly mobile, budding middle class that originated in the rich alluvial rice paddies and growing urbanism of the Seoul-Kaesong-Pyongyang region…would quickly have led Korea into the modern era had the Japanese not snatched away its sovereignty in 1910” (Cumings 2004, 108). 
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birth foretold on the very night that Korea was annexed by Japan on August 29, 1910 

NoteThe night of Korea’s annexation, Pyongyang’s hagiographers write, the entirety of the Korean peninsula struggled to sleep, for “in the sky they sought that miraculous star that would rouse them to battle for the independence of this country” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 54). As hyperbolic as such a claim may seem, as one scholar of North Korean mythology writes, the Kim cult begins by establishing the “sacrality” of the mythic figure and his connection with the divine world, which “implies that the hero is all set and ready to perform the divine task. The world welcomes the sacred and mythic figure as the new-born initiate such that the birds and animals respond joyously, the heaven and the earth tremble, and the Sun and Moon become brighter in accord with the sacral status of the mythic figure” (Hye-sin Yun [Yun, Hye-sin], “The Kim Il-sung Discourse as a Modern Myth: The Classic Mythic Format and Ego-Oriented Modernity,” North Korean Review 17, no. 2 (Fall 2021), 76–92, here 83). 
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day of his birth, cranes were said to have flocked to his window, flying and dancing outside 

Note  “The fellow-villagers had the honour of greeting the birth of Marshal Kim Il Sung, the respected and beloved leader,” the hagiographers write, adding that “cranes flew to the windows of the room where the future Marshal was born and began to dance under them,” though it obscures whether this is meant to be taken literally, suggesting that this assertion was merely a reference “to any old expression” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 66). Stepping back, his hagiographers continue: “This holiday will be observed eternally. The history of the nation seems to have begun on that day. Our entire life of today and our future are connected with the name of Comrade Kim Il Sung…Our yesterday, today and tomorrow are so closely connected with his name that we feel as if our nation’s history restarted on that very day. So we consider our age as the age of Kim Il Sung and with pride we sing his praises.  The Korean people live with the name of Marshal Kim Il Sung on their lips…  Marshal Kim Il Sung is the sun of our nation!  He guides our nation along the path of glory.  Marshal Kim Il Sung is the great leader and chief of the Korean people” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 65–66).  “BORN INTO A BLOODY VORTEX”: As Australian scholar Christopher Richardson notes, Kim’s April 15, 1912 birth was situated in the official North Korean hagiography in the context of “a litany of colonial crimes,” including incursions by the U.S., France, and Italy in Honduras, Morocco, and Turkey, respectively: “Like the nativity of Christ in the time of Herod and Caesar Augustus, Kim is born into a bloody vortex of native feudalism and foreign imperialism…Korean history is divided, into an era before his birth, a time of subjugation and national humiliation, and a time to come, the era of his anti-Japanese guerilla struggle and the redemption of the Korean race” (Christopher Richardson, “Childhood Policies and Practices in the DPRK: A Challenge to Korean Unification” (Ph.D. diss., University of Sydney, 2015), 49). 
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Atlantic Ocean and the disaster dominated the world’s newspaper headlines the following day 

Note“AS THE SUN SET IN THE WEST”: North Korean hagiographers have since played up the timing of Kim Il Sung’s birth and the sinking of the Titanic as a metaphor for the demise of the West as Kim Il Sung’s sun rose over Korea: “As the Sun set in the West, it rose in the East,” as one former member of the North Korean elite recalled a senior colleague’s description of the portentousness of the moment (as quoted in Jang Jin-sung [Chang, Chin-sŏng], Dear Leader: Poet, Spy, Escapee—A Look Inside North Korea, trans. Shirley Lee (New York: Atria, 2014), 13). Also cited in Christopher Richardson, “Hagiography of the Kims & the Childhood of Saints: Kim Il-sung,” Sino-NK, January 31, 2015. Many writers have made much of the timing of the RMS Titanic’s sinking and Kim Il Sung’s birth. Russian historian Fyodor Tertitskiy, for instance, writes that, while the Titanic grabbed the global headlines, it would be Kim Il Sung’s birth that would have a bigger impact on world history (Tchaerŭch’ijŭsŭk’i 2022, 16). The sinking of the Titanic was portrayed as “an omen of imperialism’s doom,” Richardson writes. “In North Korea’s revolutionary cosmology, there is no such thing as chance. There is only destiny” (Richardson 2015, 50). One Russian teenager, Yuri Frolov, who visited North Korea in 2015 and 2016 to attend the Songdowŏn International Children’s Camp (松濤園國際少年團野營所 Kor. Songdowŏn Kukje So’nyŏn-dan Yayŏng-so) in Wŏnsan, recalled being brought to Man’gyŏngdae, the birthplace of Kim Il Sung, where he was told: “Kim Il Sung was born because the universe had to bring something positive to this world after so many people died in the Titanic crash in 1912 to compensate for the great loss of human lives” (Anton Sokolin, “Burgers and Booze: A Russian Man Recalls His Time at North Korean Summer Camp,” NK News, February 8, 2024).  A NEAR MISS: Incidentally, John Mott, the Christian evangelist who had advocated so forcefully for Korea’s evangelization, had booked tickets on the Titanic’s maiden voyage. “He missed the boat by a change of plans some forty-eight hours before she sailed,” his biographer writes (Mathews 1934, 140).
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faith, Kim Hyŏng-jik gave his son an auspicious name: Sŏng-ju—literally, “pillar of holiness” 

Note“PILLAR OF HOLINESS”: The official North Korean narrative gives Kim’s birth name as Sŏng-ju (成柱)—literally, “to become a pillar,” a reflection of his hopes that the boy would one day become a pillar for the nation (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 10). And Korean Chinese historian Yu Sun-ho describes Kim Hyŏng-jik asking his father-in-law Kang Ton-uk to give the boy a name, and Kang bestowing upon him the name Sŏng-ju (成柱 “become a pillar”) (Yu Sun-ho 2017, 31–32).  “PILLAR OF FIRE”: However, two sources with close ties to Kim Il Sung’s family suggest that this official translation—“become a pillar”—is a retroactive revision by North Korean propagandists, meant to give the Great Leader a less overtly Christian name than “pillar of holiness” (聖柱). Both “pillar of holiness” (聖柱) and “to become a pillar” (成柱) are pronounced as sŏngju in Korean. Pae Min-su, a close friend of Kim Hyŏng-jik from Sungsil days, wrote in 1951, well before the link between Kim Il Sung and his boyhood identity were widely known in the West, that he met the young boy at the age of four or five, and recalls the boy’s name as “Sungju” (Sŏng-ju), which he translated loosely to mean a “pillar of fire” (Pai 2002, 416)—an apparent reference to the divine pillar that accompanied Moses and the Israelites through the desert in the Old Testament (see, for example, Exodus 13:21–22). Son Wŏn-il, who attended the same school as Kim Sŏng-ju did in Jilin City, and the oldest son of Rev. Son Chŏng-do—who Kim Sŏng-ju lived with in the late 1920s and who will figure largely in the narrative to follow—wrote in 1976 that North Korea was trying to retroactively portray Kim Il Sung’s original name Kim Sŏng-ju as meaning “to become a pillar” (成柱), while asserting with no ambiguity: “聖柱 is correct” (Son Wŏn-il, “Na ŭi I’ryŏk-sŏ” [My Personal Story], Han’guk Ilbo (serialized from September 29 to December 21, 1976), October 16, 1976).   “FOUNDATION OF THE HOLY ONES”: Russian historian Fyodor Tertitskiy confirms that Kim’s birth name was 聖柱, and says that he used the name until at least 1929. Tertitskiy translates 聖柱in the English version of his Kim Il Sung biography as “foundation of the holy ones,” and成柱as “becoming the foundation” (Tertitskiy 2025, 17). In the original Korean-language version of the biography, 聖柱 can perhaps better be translated as “bedrock of the saints” (聖人들의 떠받침 Kor. sŏng’in-dŭl ŭi ttŏbatch’im) (Tchaerŭch’ijŭsŭk’i 2022, 16). For what it’s worth, a series of articles in South Korea’s Chung’ang Ilbo on Kim Il Sung’s childhood was entitled “金聖柱의 少年시절” (Kor. Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl)—or “Kim Sŏng-ju’s Boyhood,” using the “pillar of holiness” rendering of his name (see, for example, Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2),” Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974). 

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of age under foreign occupation, emerged as the leading force in the nationalist resistance 

Note“By the 1910s,” writes historian Fyodor Tertitskiy, “Christianity in Korea—both its Catholic and Protestant denominations—was firmly associated with the West and Western progress” (Tertitskiy 2025, 9). Between 1905 and 1915, at least nine independence groups were struggling to cast off the Japanese presence on the Korean peninsula (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 17). While the alliance between Protestantism and nationalism took centuries to coalesce in West—with faith long regarded as something universal and transcending national boundaries—it “occurred extremely rapidly” in late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century Korea, historian Kenneth Wells writes in his booklength study of what he calls the “self-reconstruction nationalist” movement (Wells 1990, 1). 
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arms; after annexation, even speaking out against Japanese rule meant certain imprisonment 

NoteEven short of imprisonment, there were reasons for Korean church leaders to rein in any instinct towards anti-Japanese activism. As one Korean church historian aptly put it: “As their position in society changed from that of outcasts to that of recognized professionals, church leaders tended to avoid any militant stand against Japanese rule which might destroy their position” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 52). 
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prayer and Christian schooling, so the nation could stand on its own when the time came 

NoteThis attempt to save Korea politically by awakening it spiritually was a continuation of similar efforts made by Korean Christian nationalists after the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–1895, including through the Independence Club. Like that earlier generation of leaders, Korean nationalists in the post-annexation period made their appeals through the founding of newspapers, public debate groups, and secret societies.  “PRAYERS FOR THE NATION”: In Pyongyang, the blind preacher Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, channeling the Old Testament prophets, preached that the country’s tribulations were divine punishment for disobedience, calling on the faithful to repent (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 89). In Seoul, Rev. Chŏn Tŏk-gi led thousands of Christians in a week of prayer for the country, while the Taehan Daily News published a series of “prayers for the nation” (為國祈禱文 Kor. wiguk kido-mun), which were to be prayed each day between 2:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m., calling among other things for God to “have mercy on Korea and save the nation” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 89).  “SELF-RECONSTRUCTION” AND CULTURAL NATIONALISTS: Two of the best portraits of Korea’s Christian gradualist nationalists can be found in Kenneth M. Wells, New God, New Nation: Protestants and Self-Reconstruction Nationalism in Korea 1896–1937 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1990); and Michael E. Robinson, Cultural Nationalism in Colonial Korea, 1920–1925 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1988). Wells describes the gradualists as “self-reconstruction nationalists,” who sought to build a “democratic, self-reliant, ‘Christian’ society through spiritual renewal, moral reformation and purposeful action” (Wells 1990, viii). Many of these Christian moderate nationalists, including Pak Yŏng-hyo, Syngman Rhee, An Ch’ang-ho, Yi Sŭng-hun, Yi Sang-jae, Philip Jaisohn, Sŏ Kwang-bŏm, Namgung Ŏk, Cho Man-sik, and Yun Ch’i-ho, believed that “inward, spiritual and ethical strengthening was required before outward, material strength could be achieved…Korea’s material weaknesses were regarded as symptoms of moral and spiritual decline, and self-strengthening was reinterpreted as the religious and ethical renewal of individual and society” (Wells 1990, 9, 47). Kenneth Wells, writing in an earlier work, describes An Ch’ang-ho and Yun Ch’i-ho as being entirely in sync with the idealism of Russian “religious intelligentsia” like the novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821–1881), who wrote a year before his death that “the moral issue always preceded the genesis of the nationality itself, for it is the former which created the latter” (Wells 1984, 29). Michael Robinson, meanwhile, prefers the terms “moderate nationalists” and “cultural nationalists,” and describes the movement as being one that started with intellectual elites around the turn of the century, eventually spreading, through increased literacy, “to wider circles of Korean society, and by 1920, nationalism was a mass phenomenon” (Robinson 1988, 13).  “FIFTY, ONE HUNDRED, TWO HUNDRED YEARS”: Yi Kwang-su, alongside An Ch’ang-ho perhaps the most eloquent spokesman for cultural nationalism, argued in a landmark May 1922 essay, “On National Reconstruction,” that there were no quick fixes to Korea’s predicament, and that decades of patient cultivation of national strength and virtue were the only path to avoiding ruin: “It is perhaps possible to become an overnight millionaire through luck, but becoming a scholar or a great man (wiin) requires hard work and diligence, not fortune. The rise and fall of a nation is not like becoming an overnight millionaire but akin to becoming a scholar or a great man…National reconstruction will be an ongoing project spanning fifty, one hundred, two hundred years” (Yi Kwangsu, “On National Reconstruction,” trans. Ellie Choi, in Hanscom et al. 2013, 1–28, here 15, 18). Song Chin-u (宋鎮禹 1890–1945), an aristocratic who became one of the most prominent voices of gradualist nationalism during these years, argued in an April 9, 1915, speech at the Korean YMCA in Tokyo for a less confrontational approach to the cause of independence: “Four powers are necessary to destroy the present situation. One is public opinion; the second is oratory stimulus; the third is writing; and the fourth is actual execution of plans” (as quoted in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 99). 
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“of the race has to be changed by a new education, a new government and a new religion” 

Note“With such a people and for such a people, to start any popular demonstrations would be madness,” Yun Ch’i-ho wrote of his Korean people. “The blood of the race has to be changed by a new education, a new government and a new religion” (Yun Ch’i-ho’s diary, February 1, 1899, entry). 
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thrift, having come to regard the country’s loss of sovereignty as a direct consequence of sin 

NoteAn Ch’ang-ho was inherently skeptical of revolutionary action, urging instead a “national evolutionary process” that would keep Korea moving up “one rung at a time” (Wells 1990, 92, citing Sinhan Minbo, January 22, 1916). Part of that effort was the “Gradual Progress School” (漸進學校 Kor. Chŏmjin Hakgyo), which An founded in 1899 in his home county of Kangsŏ (江西郡 Kor. Kangsŏ-gun), to the west of Pyongyang; according to some sources, it was the first Korean-founded coeducational private school (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 165–66, 271; and Son, In-su, “Chŏmjin Hakgyo (漸進學校),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture).  “I AM A SINNER”: An Ch’ang-ho’s nationalist appeal often went hand in hand with his own sense of Christian sin. Writing in 1907, An argued that the Korean people had to first renew themselves personally and spiritually before the nation as a whole could be renewed. “Christ told the Jews that it was because they were full of evil deeds and devoid of all goodness that God took their rights from them and handed them over to others, and this surely applies to Korea today,” An wrote in his Kongrip Sinbo newspaper (Wells 1990, 40–41, citing Kongrip Sinbo, October 25, 1907). In another speech freighted with this distinctly Christian worldview, An began a message at Pyongyang’s South Gate Presbyterian Church in 1938, given shortly before his death under the Japanese, with a confession: “My dear Brothers and Sisters—I am a sinner.” This word—“sinner”—recalls Pae Min-su, who attended the sermon, “aroused such a strong patriotic sentiment that many people could not keep from weeping and crying” (Pai 2002, 364–65). At heart, An’s message, Pae wrote, was one of sacrificing everything temporal and worldly, including life and nation, for the sake of the eternal life that Christ promised: “By sacrificing a small thing, you can secure a greater reward. This is why Jesus Christ our Lord commanded us to take up our crosses and follow Him” (Pai 2002, 365).  A REVOLUTIONARY IN MODERATE CAMOUFLAGE: Some scholars, including Jacqueline Pak, have argued that An was far more of a revolutionary than a moderate, asserting that “his adoption of a moderate reformist stance” was meant “to camouflage and yet advance his ultimate revolutionary agenda of waging an independence war to reclaim his country” (Pak, “Cradle of the Covenant,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 118). In fact, Pak argues here that An’s camouflage was so successful that even many of his closest associates, including Yi Kwang-su, not to mention scholars like Yi Chŏng-sik, Michael Robinson, and Kenneth Wells, have all “misinterpreted or misjudged” An as a “gradualist-pacifist” (Pak, “Cradle of the Covenant,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 120). 
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clustered in the industrial northwest, were naturally inclined toward capitalism 

NoteAs Kenneth Wells points out, some of the most prominent northwestern Korean converts to Christianity “celebrated their discovery of the new faith and learning by embarking on commercial enterprises, while trade, industry and economic mobility became emblematic of the Protestant communities in the northwestern provinces in particular” (Wells 1990, 138–39). One of Samuel Moffett’s first converts was a man named Chŏng Ik-no (鄭益魯 ?–?), a wealthy Pyongyang merchant who became an elder at the Central Presbyterian Church in Pyongyang, and who would stay close by Moffett and Baird’s sides throughout their lives (Baird 1968, 64). Chŏng’s political activism can be seen in the fact that he was later arrested by the Japanese for his role in protesting for Korea’s independence in 1919 (Pak Yong-gyu 2010, 125). Similarly, Yi Sŭng-hun, who founded Osan School in northwestern Korea, was a brassware manufacturing magnate who also set up a ceramics company (Andrew C. Nahm [Nam, Ch’ang-u], Korea: Tradition and Transformation: A History of the Korean People (Elizabeth, N.J.: Hollym, 1988), 213; and Hildi Kang 2001, 8).  “KOREA’S FIRST GREAT CAPITALIST”: Perhaps the paragon of gradualist capitalist nationalism, however, was Kim Sŏng-su, an aristocratic Japanese-educated convert to Christianity who Bruce Cumings calls “Korea’s first great capitalist” (Cumings 2004, 161). Though he wasn’t a native of the northwest, Kim Sŏng-su started textile companies, political study groups, one of South Korea’s leading universities, and one of its leading newspapers. Textiles was the principal industry in pre-1930s Korea, and his Kyŏngsŏng Spinning and Weaving Co. Ltd., with a significant proportion of Japanese shareholders, was created at a general stockholders’ meeting on October 5, 1919 (Eckert 1991, 36, 57, 78). 
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their warnings against more radical approaches inherently suspect to some younger Koreans 

NoteThough many of these Christian nationalists were later tarred as collaborators, writes Harvard historian Carter Eckert, during the first two decades of the colonial period, “it was still possible for a Korean to claim with some conviction to be both a member of the emerging bourgeoisie and a nationalist at the same time.” That said, Eckert adds, “by the late 1930s, most of Korea’s major businessmen found themselves actively or passively helping to implement a policy that was aimed at the destruction of a separate Korean national identity” (Eckert 1991, 32, 225–26). 
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step with a new, more satisfying explanation for Korea’s woes—the predations of the Japanese 

NoteTo be clear, there are myriad reasonable reasons to point the finger at Japan and its governance of Korea, which by any standard definition of the word was exploitative. It was apparent to Korean and foreign missionary alike that, under the Japanese occupation, “control of a very large proportion of enterprizes involving capital, do not go to the Koreans. The Koreans will supply the labor, ‘cheap labor,’ and the capital will come from the home land [Japan] to which also will accrue the profits,” wrote Edward Adams (1895–1965), a second-generation Korea missionary based in the southeastern city of Taegu (Edwards Adams [Adams, Edward], “Present Day Economic Problems,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 189–200, here 192). 
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the here-and-now, where the only sovereign, as far as Tokyo was concerned, was the emperor 

NoteThe Japanese imposed rules that barred gatherings of Koreans, including YMCA meetings, without explicit permission, Korean Christian nationalist Hugh Cynn complained. “The most frequent excuse is that, if associations and meetings are permitted, the Koreans would meddle in politics,” he wrote (Cynn 1920, 119).  “A DANGER”: Indeed, colonial officials in Seoul were vigilant against any religious activities on the Korean peninsula. “They are propagating Christianity in Korea, but pay no attention to the interests of Japan, the sovereign of Korea,” as Komatsu Midori (小松 緑 1865–1942), a Princeton- and Yale-educated Japanese colonial official in Seoul, sniffed. “While engaged in Christian propaganda work, the American Missionaries run schools and diffuse foreign political and social ideas among the half-civilized people. The principle of liberty is recklessly advocated among them” (as quoted in Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 66–67, with original italics and punctuation). Also cited in Huntley 1984, 156. Similarly, Katō Hiroyuki (加藤 弘之 1836–1916), an early Meiji reformer who advocated Western-style reforms, warned about the fundamental conflict between Christianity and veneration of the emperor. Writing in 1907, Katō concluded: “Christianity can never be assimilated to the national organization (kokutai) of Japan. Assimilation to the national organization of Japan would mean the complete destruction of the fundamental nature of Christianity. This being the nature of Christianity, it is impossible to say that Christianity is not a danger to the Japanese national organization” (as quoted in Holtom 1922, 121).  “BOTH ENTITIES STRIVED FOR FINAL AUTHORITY”: “Even before the annexation in 1910, Japanese observers in Korea had eyed the growth of Korean Protestantism with great suspicion, fearing its potential as a bastion of Western-inspired, anti-Japanese nationalism,” writes University of Southern California historian Hwang Kyŏng-mun, and the Western missionaries in particular “functioned continually as examples of a non-Japanese path toward civilizational advancement” (Hwang 2016, 161). Pulling back the lens even further, Hwang adds—perceptively, in words that could apply equally to Kim Il Sung’s later attempts to subdue the Christian church in his North Korean state—that “the state was one of many, though perhaps the most formidable, challengers to religion’s comprehensive command over truth. The longstanding rivalry around the world between Church and State, to use a shorthand, stemmed from the fact that both entities strived for final authority in communal identity, social organization, and behavior. One might go so far as to suggest that religion and state, particularly as they came into the institutionalized forms that are familiar today, served as mutual metaphors: Religion emulated the state in its extensive claims over behavioral norms and truth; and for its part, the state attempted not only to regulate religions but also to act in a religious capacity, including through its attempts to control individual actions, even beliefs” (Hwang 2016, 146). 
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Japan was well aware of the political troubles that Christians could stir up 

NoteSee Wells 1984, i. Back in Japan, the Western faith had been a constant concern of the court dating back to the initial arrival in 1549 of Saint Francis Xavier (1506–1552). In subsequent centuries, Japan’s Tokugawa rulers persecuted Christian converts, most of whom were in the southern main island of Kyushu.  
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the most outspoken Korean nationalists were missionary-educated converts to Presbyterianism 

Note“Despite the repeated assurances by Western missionaries that they were not anti-Japanese, it was from the graduates of mission schools that many of the leading opponents of the Japanese came, for which missionaries had to take some responsibility,” writes one scholar (Ion 1990, 188). For the string of assassinations and assassination attempts by Korean Christian converts in 1908 and 1909, see Act I, Chapter 7. “Christians had openly celebrated those assassinations, which in turn infuriated and frightened the Japanese in Korea, who feared the Koreans “all rising up on a set day, attacking the Japanese individually and slaying them all” (Wells 1984, 151–52). 
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during the Koryŏ dynasty and Confucianism under the recently departed Chosŏn dynasty 

NoteThis claim is made by David Chung (Chŏng Tae-wi 1917–2003), a Korean scholar of religion (David Chung 2001, 18). Scholars Robert Buswell and Timothy Lee, writing in the context of postwar South Korea, similarly compare Christianity’s stature in public life to that of Koryŏ-era Buddhism and Chosŏn-era Confucianism. “A modern South Korea without Christianity is hardly conceivable,” they write, though they allow that the comparison can go too far (Buswell and Lee, “Introduction,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 1). 
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of autonomy that made it “basically a dictatorship administered through a large bureaucracy” 

Note“VIRTUALLY AN ABSOLUTE MONARCH”: “Whatever his rank and power may be in Tokyo, in Korea the Governor-General is virtually an absolute monarch; he is the head of the administration, including the police; and he is also the law maker,” scholar Andrew Grajdanzev wrote in 1944. “The Governor-General is in practice the source of all authority in the peninsula” (Grajdanzev 1944, 238–39). Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors write that the colonial government enjoyed “virtual independence and tremendous flexibility with regard to policy” (Eckert et al. 1990, 257). “The governor general reported to the emperor directly, creating an ambiguity in the lines of authority that gave this office considerable autonomy”—far more than Japan’s other colonies, which in the words of Indiana University historian Michael Robinson “remained firmly under the thumb of the home government,” or even other empires’ colonies. Japan’s governor-general in Korea “governed 25 million subjects, controlled enormous tax revenues, commanded Japanese military forces in Korea as well as the colonial gendarmerie, issued laws, and directed a bureaucracy that by 1945 employed 246,000 people. This was a state of enormous size” (Robinson 2007, 37). As a result, the position of governor-general was “almost as prestigious” as the position of prime minister itself, and was thus filled “from amongst the highest ranks of the Japanese leadership. In all cases save one…they were high-ranking generals in the Japanese army” (Robinson 2007, 37). The one exception, two-time governor-general and later prime minister Saitō Makoto, was a retired admiral. See also Eckert 1991, 70–71; Palmer 2013, 16; and Robinson 1988, 39.  TEAM OF RIVALS: One counterargument comes from University of Southern California historian Hwang Kyŏng-mun, who has argued that the governor-general was far from unfettered in his powers. He “hardly acted unilaterally, much less as an absolute dictator. He stood at the top of a multipronged bureaucracy with internal rivalries and disagreements, divisions that left the regime prone to public pressure…Despite the continuing insistence on their formal independence by the Governor-General and his administration, the metropolitan government, with its own array of interest groups, also exerted strong influence over the colonial regime, which remained fiscally dependent on Tokyo and thus had to report to and gain approval for major changes” (Hwang 2016, 36). 
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Tokyo was careful to tiptoe carefully around the missionary-run institutions, at least at first 

NoteBANNING AND BURNING: In 1909, even before the formal annexation of Korea, Japanese authorities banned and burned thousands of copies of Yun Ch’i-ho’s collection of stories—entitled Usun Sori, but also known as Sohwa (笑話)—which was suffused with what historian Kenneth Wells calls “patriotic overtones and civic morals” (Wells 1990, 78). Meanwhile, the order to ban all political organizations, meetings, debates, and speeches, regardless of their particular nature, was made on August 25, 1910, three days after the signing of the annexation treaty and four days before the treaty was made public. In addition, the new government-general muzzled the press, suppressing unwelcome news stories, shutting down five Korean newspapers in Seoul, and forcing the sale and repurposing of the anti-Japanese Taehan Daily News (大韓每日申報 Kor. Taehan Maeil Sinbo), founded by Briton Ernest Bethell, into the pro-Japanese Daily News (每日申報 Kor. Maeil Sinbo) (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 90). As it clamped down on Koreans’ ability to publish, the Japanese between 1905 and 1910 established a number of their own publications, which, in the words of one scholar, marketed assimilation between the people of Japan and Korea: “The English-language Seoul Press informed Korea’s small, but influential, Western population of the amicable relations that the Japanese and Koreans shared; the Korean-language Maeil sinbo (Daily News) instructed Koreans on the efforts required to gain Japanese acceptance; and the Japanese-language Keijō shinpō (Keijō [Seoul] News) warned Japanese settlers in Korea that assimilation would fail unless they adopted a more positive attitude toward Koreans. Collectively, the newspapers’ messages suggested the potential conflict in this relationship should the colonizing settler population, often touted as a model of civilization, fail to display an attitude that encouraged Korean acceptance of Japanese culture” (Caprio, “Marketing Assimilation” (2011), 2–3). For a table of all the newspapers confiscated in 1908 and 1909 by the Japanese authorities, which consists almost entirely of Korean-language papers produced by the overseas diaspora and smuggled into the peninsula, see C. I. Eugene Kim, “Problem in Japan’s Control” (1962), 395. 
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Westerners to whom it was hoping to demonstrate its bona fides as a fledgling imperial power 

NoteDespite their suspicions about the church, the colonial authorities’ efforts to suppress Christianity had its limits. When the Japanese protectorate government in Korea banned social and political organizations, as well as the right of assembly, under a Peace Preservation Law in 1907—an exception was made for religious groups (Chung-shin Park 2003, 117, n. 1). “However much the Japanese colonial officials wished to crush the patriotic forces represented by the Protestant church, they felt obliged to play their hand carefully,” writes one church historian. “The Japanese wished to be seen as civilized, and persecution of any religion might have had adverse repercussions at home and abroad” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 134). Because Japan by 1905 was the first non-Western power to establish a protectorate over another country, it was particularly keen to ensure that it was regarded by the U.K., France, and other colonizers as a co-equal. As historian Mark Caprio writes, Japan expanded in Korea with one aggressive eye fixed on the desired territory, but another cautious eye focused on Western reactions (Caprio 2009, 17). Franklin Rausch, a historian of Catholicism in Korea, notes that, “if the Japanese sought to control the Christian institutions coercively, they would alienate the great powers whose support Japan desired. If Japan was seen as oppressing religious freedom in Korea, those powers would question Japan’s claim that it was truly a civilized country that had come to enlighten the Korean people” (Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 54).  “JAPAN STANDS FOR RELIGIOUS FREEDOM”: As American missionary to Japan Cary Otis wrote in his 1909 history of Christianity in Japan, “the Government and…leaders of national thought…saw how important it was that Japan should preserve the good opinion and, if possible, have the moral support of Western nations, especially of England, with which it was in alliance, and of America, whose friendship at such a time would be of great value” (Cary 1909, 316). Like any country aspiring to win the respect and favor of the Western powers, Japan’s 1889 Meiji Constitution explicitly protected the freedom of religion, a constitutional protection that was, at least in theory, later extended to its subjects in Korea. Even so, the colonial government classified only Christianity, Buddhism, and Shintōism as legitimate religions, relegating newer religions like Ch’ŏndogyo, and older ones like shamanism, to a status that denied it of any official recognition (Albert Park 2015, 81; and Baker, “A Slippery, Changing Concept” (2010), 66). More than accommodate Christianity, many in Tokyo leaned into an embrace of Christianity. For example, just before Japan launched its 1904 war with Russia, Prime Minister Katsura Tarō invited Presbyterian missionary Rev. William M. Imbrie (1845–1928) for a two-hour meeting—just before the missionary was to return home on furlough. During the meeting, Katsura sought to dispel the notion that Japan was a Buddhist or non-Christian nation. “The truth is that Japan stands for religious freedom,” Katsura proclaimed. “There are Christian churches in every large city, and in almost every large town, in Japan; and they all have complete freedom to teach and worship in accordance with their own convictions…What then becomes of the argument that Japan stands for Buddhism?” (William M. Imbrie, The Church of Christ in Japan (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1906), 24–26). Also cited in Cary 1909, 316–17. To drive the message home, the Japanese military welcomed the YMCA to send evangelists alongside the troops during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904–1905 (Cary 1909, 319–21). In 1907, Japan hosted a meeting of the John Mott-founded World Student Christian Federation, and welcomed Salvation Army founder William Booth (1829–1912) to the country; both events not only seemed to signal growing tolerance of Christianity in the country, they were also welcomed by Japan “as another proof that they had gained a recognised place among the nations of the earth” (Cary 1909, 343–47). In 1920, Tokyo hosted the World Sunday School Convention, another coup for Japan’s attempts to portray itself to the Western powers as an enlightened part of the international community (Ion 1990, 158). Japan’s involvement in global church events like these was simple, historian Hamish Ion writes: “To gain international esteem” (Ion 1990, 8). 
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assiduously, portraying them as equal partners in the task of uplifting the Korean people 

NoteThe Japanese knew how to present themselves and their aims in ways congenial to their Western counterparts, as Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote: “Foreign visitors of influence were naturally drawn to the Japanese rather than to the Koreans. They found in the officials of the Residency General a body of courteous and delightful men, who knew the Courts of Europe, and were familiar with world affairs. On the other hand, the Korean spokesmen had no power or skill in putting their case so as to attract European sympathy” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 211).  “WORKING FOR A COMMON OBJECT”: At a tea party in the garden of Methodist missionary William Scranton—the date isn’t given—Itō Hirobumi called for the missionaries’ help in Japan’s civilizing project in Korea: “You, ladies and gentlemen, are also here for serving and saving the Koreans. The only difference is that, while I seek to serve them through political and administrative channels, you work for the same end by means of religious influences. We thus stand on common ground, we are working for a common object” (as quoted in Ladd 1908, 169). During a speech before an audience at the Metropolitan Club in New York in 1901, Itō told John Jacob Astor and other listeners that “we are the only people in the Orient who can fully understand the import and significance of the two civilizations, and I consider it a noble mission of our country to try to play the part of the ‘broker Nation’ in the future maintenance in the peace of the Orient” (“Dinner Given to the Marquis Ito—Japanese Statesman Entertained at the Metropolitan Club,” New York Times, October 25, 1901, 9). Also cited in Hishida 1905, 265. Here, Itō is referring to Japan and China as the two civilizations, though it can be read more broadly as an intermediary role that Japan wanted to play between the West and Japan’s benighted neighbors in Asia. Itō went out of his way to ensure that the YMCA in Korea was well-funded and sent a gift of 10,000 yen to the World Christian Student Federation meeting in Tokyo in April 1907 (Ladd 1908, 396, n. 2).  “LEADING HER SISTER NATIONS”: In 1905, the year that Tokyo established its protectorate over Korea, one Japanese writer portrayed Japan and the Christian West as co-laborers in civilizing Korea. “Japan will continue to play a significant part, as she has done heretofore, in harmony with her own interests and with those of Christendom, and in the same chivalrous spirit in which she is now leading her sister nations of Asia to a higher plane of political, social, and moral responsibility,” he wrote (Hishida 1905, 273). The Japanese expended considerable energy during these years to portraying their occupation of Korea as one of enlightened rule, thus placing Japan alongside the other Western colonial powers. English-language annual reports published by the Japanese Government-General in Seoul often included the approving testimonials of foreign residents, making it clear that, as University of Southern California historian Hwang Kyŏng-mun writes, “the Japanese remained dependent on Western approval for their most recent and challenging imperialist venture” (Hwang 2016, 107). University of Toronto historian Andre Schmid describes how the Japanese authorities during this period placed articles in publications like the Atlantic Monthly and Missionary Review of the World, presenting Japan as partners with the Western powers in the common cause of advancing “civilization,” the message being that “Japan was now not only the prodigal student who had reformed itself to the point that it could vanquish a major power, it could now also reform others, participating in the global project of civilizing the noncivilized” (Schmid 2002, 161–63). For a booklength critique of Japan’s savvy lobbying efforts in the U.S. during this period, see Montaville Flowers, The Japanese Conquest of American Opinion (New York: George H. Doran, 1917). In it, Flowers highlights America’s generally favorable coverage of Japan, including headlines like “The Great Advance Japan is Making Toward Christianity” (Flowers 1917, 177). 
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“to the propagation of all religious doctrines, provided they do not interfere with politics” 

NoteThe quote from Terauchi Masatake, as given by George H. Scidmore (1854–1922), the U.S. consul general in Seoul, continues: “I am one of those who fully appreciate the good work of foreign missionaries, and as we have the same object in view as they, the improving of the general conditions of the people, their work will by no means be subject to any inconvenience” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 48; and Clark 2003, 41, both citing George H. Scidmore telegram to Assistant Secretary of State F. M. Huntington Wilson, September 1, 1910). In general, writes Clark, the government-general was “headed by a succession of urbane, English-speaking Japanese officials who were skilled at soothing the sensibilities of Western missionaries and their consuls” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 48). Despite the suaveness of the Japanese approach, suspicions always lingered. Hasegawa Yoshimichi, who arrived in Seoul in 1916 as Terauchi’s successor as governor-general, expressed concerns about the close ties between Korean Christians and foreign missionaries, and—in a foreshadowing of the North Korean state’s later charge against the missionaries—accused them of using “freedom and pro-Americanism” as evangelistic lures (as quoted in Wells 1984, 154). 
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“a state,” with a system of self-government that could rival that of the colonial administration 

Note  ERRATA: The citation here is incorrect; it should read: Chung-shin Park 2003, 35, quoting novelist and intellectual Yi Kwang-su. The Kenneth Wells citation here simply explains Yi Kwang-su’s ambiguous relationship with Christianity; he held favorable views on Christianity and even considered himself a Christian, but his commitment to the faith was somewhat murky (Wells 1990, 107).  “THE APPEARANCE OF A STATE”: Yi Kwang-su, pointing to the influence of the Christian converts, described the foreign faith as a leader not just in spiritual affairs, but also in political and societal matters, with a formidable membership and communication network—that is to say, it possessed “the appearance of a state” (as quoted in Chung-shin Park 2003, 35). Pak Chŏng-sin, a Korean church historian who offers Yi Kwang-su’s quote here, notes that the formation of the Presbyterian Church of Korea as a single entity in 1907 consolidated and centralized the power of what was already the largest Christian denomination in Korea at the time. “This meant the development of a full and close liaison around 1910 among more than one thousand Presbyterian churches, nearly 150,000 adherents, and some one hundred schools and other outreach agencies across the country. The Protestant church thus emerged as the largest organized Korean community, with its own hierarchy as well as a nationwide organizational and communication network,” Pak writes (Chung-shin Park 2003, 32–34). In 1912, Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian missions board secretary, laid out the church’s formidable presence in Korea, describing “a mission work which now represents approximately 330 foreign missionaries, 962 schools, a medical college, an orphanage, a nurses’ training school, thirteen hospitals, eighteen dispensaries, an orphanage, a school for the blind, a leper asylum, a printing press, 500 churches, a Christian community of 250,000, property worth approximately a million dollars, and an annual expenditure of over $250,000” (Brown 1912, 22). At the time of annexation, according to another source, there were more than 200,000 self-identified Christians in Korea (Paik 1929, 409). Also cited in Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 47. Again, the numbers here may not be entirely consistent, owing to different record-keeping and classification standards.  
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like Kim Hyŏng-jik could express their desire for independence, at least in a limited fashion 

Note“ORGANIZATIONAL COVER”: Importantly for many Koreans, who were denied political power under the Japanese during these years, the Presbyterians’ hierarchical church governance system provided a sphere in which they could exercise self-government, even if it was only limited in scope, writes historian Pak Chŏng-sin. “At a time when politics and social activities were prohibited, Koreans joined the Protestant church and practiced ‘Korean politics’ in the church community” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 96, 106). After the establishment of the Japanese colony, writes Gregory Henderson, a scholar and former American diplomat in Seoul, churches “were almost the only cohesive element” in Korean society (Henderson 1968, 208). “Religious groups alone had an effective machinery of communication on a national scale, since all political organizations had been dissolved at the beginning of Japanese rule,” adds University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik, noting that there was no organized labor movement, nor any meaningful agricultural associations (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 120). “After the Japanese took control of Korea, the Church was the only establishment not dominated by the colonial government and as such became a meeting point for Korean nationalists,” writes one historian (Frederick J. Glover, “Korean Christian Nationalists and Canadian Missionaries, 1919–1945: Voices from the Helen Fraser MacRae Oral History Project,” Transactions of the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 90 (2015), 1–20, here 4). Amid the broad shutdown of all private organizations, “only religious organizations escaped the crackdown,” leaving only the Christians, the Buddhists, and the Ch’ŏndogyo believers with any kind of “organizational cover” (Robinson 2007, 41).  SUBSTITUTE FOR A LOST STATE: This point is also made by scholars Han Pae-ho and Kim Kyu-t’aek, who noted: “Under the Japanese, the Christian churches were the only mass organizations allowed to meet regularly and often served as strongholds for the independence movement. In this sense, the churches in Korea virtually assumed the character of political organizations” (Bae-Ho Hahn [Han, Pae-ho], and Kyu-Taik Kim [Kim, Kyu-t’aek], “Political Leaders (1952–1962): Their Social Origins and Skills,” Asian Survey 3, no. 7 (July 1963), 305–23, here 316). Indeed, many Korean Christians regarded the church as exactly that—a substitute for the lost state (Wells 1990, 84, citing an interview with L. George Paik (Paek Nak-jun), August 27, 1981). 
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complacent, having astutely identified the church as a vehicle for Korea’s independence hopes 

NoteFor Korean nationalists, the church emerged as a unique place of refuge for political dissidents—and thus, for the Japanese colonial authorities, it became a source of trouble.  “THE MOST PAINFUL THORN IN THE SIDE”: “Although established Protestant Christian churches and institutions and foreign missionaries never promoted nationalist causes, the colonial state perceived religion as a threat because of its strong institutional presence in the country, the influence of foreign missionaries over Koreans, and nationalist activities conducted by followers,” writes one historian (Albert Park 2015, 81–82). Thus, writes another historian, “Western missionaries represented the most painful thorn in the side of the regime, which had to tread carefully before attempting any crackdown on Westerners’ activities in an era when the Japanese remained sensitive to perceptions and pressures from the outside. There seems no other explanation, for example, for allowing Protestant parochial schools to remain operating for three decades in open defiance of expressed colonialist goals concerning public education” (Hwang 2016, 161).  Y-M-C-A: “The Christian community, though not a strongly organised force politically, was yet the most troublesome single focus of national identity,” writes historian Kenneth Wells, who notes that, at least in the Japanese authorities’ eyes, “wherever a dispute arises between Japanese and Koreans, missionaries take up the case of the Koreans” (Wells 1984, 161; and Wells 1990, 33, 77). The Japanese regarded the Christians as the subsection of the Korean population that had opposed Japan’s annexation “the most vehemently,” regarding the YMCA and the Christian schools in northwestern Korea as the most suspicious elements (Wells 1984, 150). Indeed, compared to the Presbyterian church, the YMCA was far more politically liberal, and thus emerged as a hotbed of nationalist unrest (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 48). In April 1913, the Korean YMCA, which had until then been formally affiliated with the Chinese YMCA, was forced to bind itself to the Japanese YMCA., in a Tokyo signing ceremony attended by Korean Christian nationalists Hugh Cynn (Sin Hŭng-u) and Namgung Ŏk, and the missionaries Horace Underwood and Oliver Avison (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 325).  “THE SO-CALLED CONVERTS”: To be sure, not everyone was so concerned about the Korean Christians. George T. Ladd, an American educational reformer, Congregationalist minister, and close friend of Itō Hirobumi, dismissed Korean converts as being, effectively, rice Christians. “In a large percentage of the so-called converts,” Ladd said, reflecting a view held in Tokyo, “the underlying motives for a first adherence to Christianity are…economic and political rather than moral and spiritual” (Ladd 1908, 391). See also Ladd 1908, 11–12. 
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its vaguely martial bearing attracted Koreans keen to literally take up arms against the Japanese 

Note“In 1908, the Salvation Army began its work in Korea,” wrote historian Paek Nak-jun. “Coming at a time when political agitation was high, the uniform and bugle and drum and the intense zeal of the Army drew large numbers” (Paik 1929, 396). The Salvation Army would not have been unfamiliar to the Japanese government, the Christian organization’s work having begun in Japan in September 1895 (Cary 1909, 260). Still, around this time, one Japanese newspaper worried darkly about the possibility of the missionaries instilling their Korean charges with militaristic influences: “The reason so many Korean boys attend Christian Field Day events was political with all their military-like drills introduced by the missionaries.” While the newspaper isn’t identified, Pyongyang Methodist Arthur Becker recalls the missionaries gathering to discuss the allegation (McCune and Thompson 2009, 261). Perhaps the Japanese needn’t have worried. In their haste to arrive in Korea and get to work, the Salvation Army representatives had no mastery of the language and struggled to connect with their listeners through interpreters (Paik 1929, 396). The bemused editors of the Korea Mission Field urged them to learn the basics of Korean culture, so that, “equipped with this power of knowledge and the power of the Holy Spirit, these devoted, self sacrificing, Colonels, Captains, Ensigns and privates, of the great religious Army, would do an inestimable amount of good” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 10 (October 1908), 152–53, here 153). 
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said to be questioned, at the tip of the sword, as to why they had joined “the Jesus Church” 

Note“HELP US, HELP US”: One longtime American Presbyterian missionary to Korea, John F. Genso (1884–1950), wrote in October 1910, two weeks after Governor-General Terauchi Masatake arrived in Seoul to take up his post, that “our watchword this year is a ‘Million Souls’, so they are wondering if we are raising an army against the government.” Rev. Genso added that one Korean Christian, after praying “Help us, help us,” in church one day, was arrested by Japanese authorities who, having surveilled the man, demanded to know why he had prayed for help (John F. Genso letter to The Dear Friends in the Homeland, October 14, 1910, Seoul (PHS 282/240/ 123)). Australian missionaries in the southeastern city of Chinju described Japanese police following evangelists as they went door-to-door during the Million Movement, asking whether anyone had decided to become Christians (Huntley 1984, 157). While the missionaries didn’t speak out publicly against Japanese rule, the churches regularly invited prominent foreign Christian leaders to Korea, and their influence in the Western capitals unnerved Tokyo (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 110–11). In a city like Sŏnch’ŏn, where nearly half of the residents were Christian, massive crowds flocked to the churches every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening. “As the Japanese police noted the multitudes of Christians flocking to the churches, they irritably wondered why these Christians met so often and what they were doing,” wrote Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian missions board secretary (Brown 1919, 568–69). It didn’t help that the missionaries raised the Cross of St. George; the Japanese quickly put an end to that practice (Clark 2003, 43). 
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“within an Empire,” preaching a different vision of modernity than the one that Japan proffered 

NoteA CHRISTIAN EMPIRE IN PYONGYANG: The “Empire within an Empire” quote is from George W. Fulton (1865–?), a McCormick Seminary graduate who was one year behind Samuel Moffett and who became a longtime Presbyterian missionary to Japan. Rev. Fulton referred generally to the mission stations in Korea, with the church, school, and hospital all within an enclosed compound; the Pyongyang Presbyterian mission station, of course, was the apotheosis of the Korea missionary compound (An Jong Chol, “No Distinction Between Sacred and Secular” (2010), 227, citing George W. Fulton letter, September 6, 1912). By 1910, when Japan seized control of Korea, a government survey found that P’yŏng’an province was home to 38 percent of the country’s private schools, more than any other; the other northern provinces of Hwanghae and Hamgyŏng ranked second and third, though they had a smaller combined population than the fourth-ranked province of Kyŏngsang, in the southeast (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 172–73). By 1913, writes historian Kenneth Wells, “the five Presbyterian schools in P’yǒngyang—Sungdǒk Primary, Sungyǒn Primary, Sungshil Middle, Sŭngǔi Girls’ Middle and Sungshil College—boasted 1220 pupils and together were considered the most influential educational enterprise in the land” (Wells 1984, 167). Part of the Japanese bias and mistrust against natives of northwestern Korea may have also been a carryover from the Chosŏn dynasty. The new Japanese colonial rulers regarded northwesterners, with their mistrust of the central government, as having a strong sense of “self-reliance” not found in the central and southern parts of the Korean peninsula (Caprio, “Images of the North,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 307). The Japanese government payscale preserved many of these policies, considering the northern reaches of Korea a hardship posting that merited extra pay (Hildi Kang 2001, 56).  CAPTURE THE FLAG: More generally, a large proportion of the 2,250 private schools that had been founded in Korea by 1910 were based in the north, which “served as hotbeds of the nationalist movement. Debates, oratorical contests, and campaigns of various sorts were held under school sponsorship, fanning the patriotic ardor of the students” (Eckert et al. 1990, 248). Even before the annexation of Korea, Japanese authorities were confronted with the bitterness of the northwest’s resistance while arranging for their carefully choreographed imperial tour for Sunjong, the Korean emperor, across the peninsula. An earlier leg of the imperial process through southeastern Korea in early January 1909 was greeted with cheers of “Mansei!” and helped to bolster feelings of patriotism and loyalty towards the Japanese-backed monarch. However, when the imperial tour headed to the northwest, things started to go awry. In Pyongyang, An Ch’ang-ho refused to display the Japanese rising sun flag at his nationalist Taesŏng Academy as the residency-general had demanded, though he made a point of flying the traditional t’aegŭkki flag that would, decades later, serve as the South Korean regime’s emblem. In the ensuing showdown, the police ultimately closed the school—but not before sparking a spirit of defiance that would dog the procession across northwestern Korea, as Korean nationalists burned, trampled on, or otherwise defaced the Japanese flag, while in Ŭiju nationalists ravaged a Japanese flag-making factory (Christine Kim, “Politics and Pageantry” (2009), 850–52). Thus, an imperial procession meticulously planned by Itō Hirobumi to shore up public support for Japanese oversight instead ended up stoking Korean nationalistic feelings, and Itō, whose management of the Korean protectorate until then had generally won him plaudits, was now attacked for his “Korea-First ideology” from impatient hardliners who advocated immediate annexation (Christine Kim, “Politics and Pageantry” (2009), 853–56). As Georgetown scholar Christine Kim puts it: Itō’s “plans to prolong the Japanese hold on Korea through means of informal control were completely side lined by the show of flags in the north” (Christine Kim, “Politics and Pageantry” (2009), 856). 
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the faith, with more than half the city Christian. “Everything is run by Christians,” he grumbled 

NoteThe ultranationalist was Uchida Ryōhei (內田 良平 1874–1937), founder of the Black Dragon Society (黑龍會 Jp. Kokuryūkai), which advocated Japanese annexation of Manchuria and Korea, among other goals. Uchida had been asked by Itō Hirobumi to travel to Korea to study the circumstances there, and came back with the conclusion that the church was a force to be reckoned with (Wells 1984, 64). Indeed, Uchida firmly believed that Christianity and anti-Japanese sentiment were one and the same (Wells 1990, 33)—a belief that Kim Il Sung would later turn on its head. Though Wells notes that Uchida’s remark that more than half of Pyongyang’s population being Christian was a vast overstatement, that it felt that way is indicative of the influence of Christian converts. Uchida would have been even more dismayed at Sŏnch’ŏn, the Mecca of the Korean northwest. As the Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown put it, “a Japanese town of 8,000 inhabitants probably has one or two hundred Christians. The church edifice is a comparatively small building and the congregations are largely outnumbered by Buddhist or secular gatherings. But of the 8,000 inhabitants of the Korean town of Syen Chyun…about half are Christians, while the adjacent villages are also largely Christian. The church and the mission school are the largest and most conspicuous buildings in the place. There are no Buddhist temples and no secular attractions which can draw more than a few score persons” (Brown 1912, 7).  BLACK DRAGON SOCIETY: Despite its imposing name, the Black Dragon Society, founded by Uchida in 1901, was little more than what one journalist described as “an association of patriotic busybodies, led by an arch-busybody” (Byas 1942, 193–209, especially 202). The Black Dragon Society’s name itself proclaimed its aim of expanding Japan’s dominion to the banks of the Amur River, known in China as Heilong Jiang, or the Black Dragon River (黑龍江 Ch. Heilong-jiang). The Black Dragon Society and two other ultranationalist Japanese secret societies “were the church militant, so to speak, of the powerful and popular creed which in Japan calls itself patriotism. It is difficult for any sober-minded person to study their principles and objects and take them seriously,” wrote Hugh Byas, a British journalist based in Tokyo from 1914 to 1941 for the Japan Advertiser, the Times of London, and the New York Times (Byas 1942, 208). Uchida, Byas notes, was employed by Itō during his tenure as resident-general of Korea, where he helped gather a million signatures from illiterate Koreans begging for the Meiji emperor to annex Korea (Byas 1942, 197). He also served briefly as an advisor to Sun Yat-sen, though Sun didn’t adopt many of Uchida’s suggestions (Byas 1942, 201). One source describes Uchida as an “informal member of the Residency-General and unofficial adviser to the Ilchinhoe,” the latter being the pro-Japanese Korean group known as the Society for Progress (Lone, “Failure of East Asian Co-Prosperity” (1991), 154). 
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several prominent Christians in northwestern Korea and accused them of plotting subversion 

NoteARRESTS IN AN’AK: This first wave of mass arrests, sometimes known as the An’ak Incident (安岳事件 Kor. An’ak Sa’gŏn), took place in November 1910 in An’ak (安岳), a heavily Christianized town in Hwanghae province, with Kim Ku, the prominent Christian conservative nationalist, and others arrested, sentenced and imprisoned for an alleged plot said to have been masterminded by James An Myŏng-gŭn (安明根 1879–1927), a Catholic convert and the cousin of An Chung-gŭn, who had killed Itō Hirobumi just a year earlier (Wells 1990, 75–76; Wells 2004, 255; and Eckert et al. 1990, 261). Though the police supplied little actual proof of such a plot, An Myŏng-gŭn was sentenced to life in prison, while Kim Ku was given fifteen years in jail (Robert Kim 2017, 35–36). Some sources incorrectly identify An Myŏng-gŭn as the brother of An Chung-gŭn (Eckert 1990, 261; and Wells 1984, 156). What is little in doubt is that An Myŏng-gŭn was a vociferous critic of Japan. On the date of Itō Hirobumi’s funeral, November 4, 1909, James An went ahead with plans to celebrate the opening of a school, telling Catholic leaders who suggested that they postpone the ceremony: “Because of that dirty Jap bastard we can’t do what we planned? What does Itō’s dying have to do with us? He shouldn’t have gone to Manchuria anyway” (as quoted in Rausch, “Bishop’s Dilemma” (2013), 60). The An’ak Incident is sometimes considered a part of the so-called Conspiracy Case, or the 105-Man Incident, of which more will be said momentarily. Historian Kenneth Wells, for instance, describes the arrests in An’ak in November 1910 as being the first move of a wider campaign, the full scope of which “was only understood at the close of 1911” with the arrests in September 1911 of dozens of Christians in Sŏnch’ŏn (Wells 1984, 156–157).  
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some American missionaries—alleging an assassination plot against Governor-General Terauchi 

Note The so-called Conspiracy Case, also known as the 105-Man Incident (105人事件 Kor. Paek’o’in Sa’gŏn), began with the detentions of more than 80 people in the tiny northwestern Christian stronghold of Sŏnch’ŏn in September 1910, though none of them were told what they had been charged with. It was only later that they were accused of having been involved in a failed plot to kill Governor-General Terauchi Masatake—later Japan’s prime minister and, at the time, just months into his tenure as the inaugural governor-general of Chōsen.  SHORT SWORDS UNDER LONG CLOAKS: The allegation was that the plotters were conspiring to kill Terauchi at Sŏnch’ŏn railway station while he was due to pass through on December 28, 1910, en route to a celebration of the completion of a bridge across the Yalu River at Sin’ŭiju—an accusation that was met with widespread incredulity. As the Japanese government-general described it, the alleged plot was uncovered when one of the supposed plotters, under questioning for an unrelated crime in Sŏnch’ŏn, was said to have confessed to this one (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 57; and Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 37). Japanese prosecutors alleged that the plan was for the conspirators to have “ranged themselves on the platform with the Japanese and Koreans who came there to welcome the Governor General. The train arrived about noon, and every one of the would-be assassins watched intently for the opportunity, having ready his revolver or short sword under his long cloak” (Brown 1912, 5, quoting the prosecutors’ statement). Adding to the outlandishness of the alleged plot, identical assassination attempts were said to have been planned in Pyongyang, Seoul, and other places where the arrested Christians had been (Wells 1984, 158). Needless to say, writes Kenneth Wells, the accusations—which weren’t made public until well after the arrests—“were met with disbelief among Koreans and foreigners alike” (Wells 1984, 157).  A “SECOND AN CHUNG-GŬN INCIDENT”: As preposterous as the assassination plot may have sounded, it wasn’t all paranoia, as historian Kenneth Wells notes elsewhere. After all, Durham Stevens and Itō Hirobumi had just been assassinated by a fervent Korean Protestant and a passionate Korean Catholic, respectively, and the Christians had just come out of their Million Movement, which helped further feed those concerns in Tokyo. And as early as March 1915, just a few years after the Japanese accused the Korean Christians of such a plot, Korean students in Japan were openly advocating for the assassination of Terauchi—what they termed a “second An Chunggŭn incident” (Kenneth M. Wells, “Background to the March First Movement: Koreans in Japan, 1905–1919,” Korean Studies 13 (1989), 5–21, here 9). By then, Terauchi—the decorated former minister of war who had spearheaded Korea’s annexation and served as Korea’s first governor-general—had returned home in October 1916 after six years in Seoul to become Japan’s prime minister, a position he would hold for the next two years.  SUSPENDED BY THUMBS, BURNT WITH CIGARETTES: Preposterous or not, more than six hundred people were detained in the Conspiracy Case, including those arrested in Pyongyang, Seoul, and other cities in which Christians were plentiful (Wells 1990, 76; and Eckert et al. 1990, 261). Other accounts tally up the number of arrested Koreans as being around seven hundred, with charges laid against 123 of them and 105 of them ultimately convicted—hence, the 105-Man Incident (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 92–93). Some were subjected to brutal torture, including one man who had his arms tied behind his back and then was suspended by his thumbs, beaten and burned with cigarettes and left to hang outdoors (Dudden 2005, 128).  PACKING GUNS INTO ORANGE CRATES: As University of Connecticut historian Alexis Dudden writes, “hundreds of Koreans were imprisoned, tortured, and in some cases beaten to death, yet the whole affair would probably have remained unnoticed—as similar events most likely did—if Terauchi’s investigation had not implicated a number of American Presbyterian missionaries. The ‘foreign foreignness’—and specifically, the white foreignness—of some of the suspects exploded the affair into an international incident” (Dudden 2005, 121). Those foreigners included Samuel Moffett and George S. McCune, who were accused of packing guns into orange crates for the purported assassination attempt; it didn’t seem to matter that Moffett, it turned out, was not even in Korea at the time (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 68). McCune’s home, however, was searched by police (Dudden 2005, 123). The American Presbyterian William Blair later recounted how the missionaries were at first “entirely in the dark as to why so many were being arrested,” until he read in one of the government-controlled newspapers that an elder in his church who had been arrested confessed “that several missionaries including myself had attended one of their meetings and had urged the Koreans to be brave and kill the governor-general without fail” (Blair 1957, 75).   “IN A PANIC”: The charges were serious and, as Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown put it in his account of the incident, “the whole Christian population was in a panic” (Brown 1912, 12). Brown, who lobbied aggressively on behalf of the Koreans and foreign missionaries implicated in the plot, ultimately remained confident about the outcome, given Japan’s sensitivity to public opinion in the West. “The rights of American citizens are involved in Korea in that they have been implicated in a conspiracy against a foreign government,” Brown wrote. “The Japanese are justly sensitive to the public opinion of the western world…It will be a serious thing, and one which may profoundly affect the relations of America and Japan, if this anti-Japanese element is re-enforced by the millions of intelligent Americans who are interested in the large missionary work in Korea” (Brown 1912, 1–2). Brown, for his part, tried to empathize with the Japanese, drawing a connection between the assassinations of Durham Stevens and Itō Hirobumi and the Japanese clampdown on the Korean church (Brown 1912, 4). 
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underscore the authorities’ perception of the northwestern Christians as a menace to their rule 

NoteA CHRISTIAN CONSPIRACY: Different scholars and historians have offered different tallies, but all agree that the overwhelming majority of the 105 convicted men were Christians, most of them Presbyterian and most of them from northwestern Korea. One count has identified ninety-one of the convicted men as Protestants, two as Catholic, two as followers of Ch’ŏndogyo, and ten without any church affiliation (Robinson 2007, 38; and Chung-shin Park 2003, 135). Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim tally up ninety-two of the 105 convicted men being Protestants, most Presbyterian—at a time when fewer than two percent of Koreans were Christians (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 112). Writer Mike Breen has a higher count of ninety-eight Christians among the 105 men (Breen 1997, 20).   A NORTHWESTERN CONSPIRACY: Perhaps more striking was the fact that all but three of the 105 arrested suspects were from the northwest (Caprio, “Images of the North,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 311). Half of those arrested came from a single town, Chŏngju (Breen 1997, 20). That so many of the suspects were from Chŏngju reflects the city’s proximity to the alleged assassination attempt; but Chŏngju was also the home of a disproportionate number of successful civil-service examination takers who were then excluded from positions of power during the Chosŏn dynasty, thus making it a longtime hotbed of dissatisfaction against the powers that be. Most notably, Chŏngju was the home of the Osan School that was founded and run by prominent Christian nationalists—the founder was the wealthy Christian businessman Yi Sŭng-hun, and its principal was Cho Man-sik, “a follower of Gandhi” who will play a bigger role in the narrative (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 116–17). At Sŏnch’ŏn’s Hugh O’Neill Jr. Industrial Academy, known in Korean as the “Faith and Holiness School” (信聖學校 Kor. Sinsŏng Hakgyo), the largest Presbyterian mission school in that part of northwestern Korea, had to shut down after its American principal, Presbyterian George S. McCune, was indicted as an instigator of the conspiracy (Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 37; Wi Jo Kang 1997, 45; Wi Jo Kang [Kang, Wi-jo], “Church and State Relations in the Japanese Colonial Period,” in Robert E. Buswell, Jr., and Timothy S. Lee [Yi, Sang-hun], eds., Christianity in Korea (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), 97–115, here 99; and Clark 2003, 44).  A “PREEMPIVE STRIKE”: Taken together, the profiles of the convicted men made clear that the Japanese authorities regarded the Christians of northwestern Korea as a major threat. Other notable defendants included Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic Methodist convert; Kil Chin-hyŏng (吉鎮亨 1891–1917), the son of blind Pyongyang preacher Kil Sŏn-ju; Yang Ki-t’ak, a newspaper publisher and close associate of the missionaries; Yi Sŭng-hun, the wealthy Christian businessman and school founder; and Rev. Chŏn Tŏk-gi, whose Sang-dong Methodist Church, organized in Seoul in 1893, had become a magnet for Christian nationalists including Syngman Rhee and others (Eckert et al. 1990, 261; Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 68; Clark 2003, 44; Sungsil 110-Nyŏn Hwabo [110-Year Pictorial History of Sungsil University] (Seoul: Sungsil Taehakgyo, 2007), 70; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 112–13). The younger Kil was charged with “singing a dangerously inflammatory anti-Japanese song at a secret meeting,” though in fact, it was a U.S. minstrel song, “Way Down Upon the Swanee River,” that he was singing, at a party (Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 68). The Japanese were likely alarmed by Syngman Rhee, Yun Ch’i-ho, and other Korean Christian nationalist leaders’ travels around the country during this period, where they held large gatherings of Christian students featuring foreign speakers and discussing joining the John Mott-founded World Student Christian Federation (Lew 2014, 52–54). Rhee was only spared from arrest by Philip Gillett, the YMCA secretary in Seoul, and by a visiting John Mott, who warned the Japanese that Rhee was so well-known in America that arresting him would cause an international incident (Oliver 1954, 118). In the end, it was Yun Ch’i-ho who became the main defendant in a case that scholar Timothy S. Lee describes as “the governor-general’s preemptive strike against nationalist leaders who might resist Japanese rule in Korea” (Timothy Lee 2010, 34, n. 150). Yun was charged on February 9, 1912, with being the lead conspirator, apparently because of his repeated snubs of Japanese entreaties to serve in the colonial administration (Wells 1990, 76, 78). Still, the flimsiness of the allegations can be seen in the fact that the dates on which prosecutors said Yun Ch’i-ho was conspiring in Seoul, he was found to have been in Kaesŏng (Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 38). Prior to his arrest, An Ch’ang-ho had Japanese detectives on his tail, who “attempted to entrap him with spies in order to link him with the assassination” (Wells 1984, 136). Samuel Moffett, Horace Underwood, and even Merriman Harris, the pro-Japanese bishop of the Methodist Church, who had spent roughly two decades in Japan and was an outspoken proponent of annexation, were also implicated in the plot (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 222).  “DECIMATED THE PROGRESSIVE CHRISTIAN LEADERSHIP”: The arrests, according to Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors, “decimated the progressive Christian leadership”—which perhaps was the intent (Eckert et al. 1990, 261). But the Korean Christians were undaunted, writes historian Donald Baker, and in fact “this Japanese attempt to accuse Christians of being terrorists served primarily to enhance the image of Protestant Christianity as promoting the best interests of the Korean nation” (Baker, “Sibling Rivalry,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 295). According to another scholar, “the trial had the effect of creating a link in the popular imagination between Korean nationalism and Christianity. In Korea, imperialism was Japanese, not Western” (Grayson, “A Quarter-Millennium,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 15). When the Sŏnch’ŏn believers were marched through the streets of Seoul to prison in handcuffs and chains, they sang the hymn “Glory to His Name”—“lustily,” Arthur Brown hastened to add (Brown 1919, 534).  KIM HYŎNG-JIK AND THE CONSPIRACY CASE: Interestingly, North Korea today asserts that Kim Il Sung’s father, Kim Hyŏng-jik, was also arrested as part of the Conspiracy Case, though there is scant independent evidence to support the claim, given that Kim Hyŏng-jik was at the time an anonymous sixteen-year-old in the Pyongyang suburbs, far from the incident of the alleged assassination attempt, in Sŏnch’ŏn, roughly a hundred miles to the northwest. Even so, Kim Il Sung told a visiting childhood friend in 1991, “my father was arrested by the Japanese police in Pyongyang during the ‘105-Man Incident’…The imperial Japanese police bastards tortured my father severely to reveal the secrets…Those who were arrested ahead of him didn’t reveal the secrets, and neither did my father, who was arrested the last. That’s why he got the most beating. My father was taken ill at that time and suffered greatly” (Kim Il-sŏng [Kim, Il Sung], Chaemi Kyop’o Son Wŏn-t’ae wa Han Tamhwa—1991 Nyŏn 5 Wŏl 15 Il, 31 Il, 6 Wŏl 2 Il [Dialogue with Korean American Son Wŏn-t’ae—May 15, 31, and June 2, 1991] (Pyongyang: Chosŏn Rodong-dang Ch’ulp’an-sa, 1992), 4). Most likely, Kim Il Sung here appears to conflate the Conspiracy Case with the separate Chosŏn National Association incident, seven years later, in which Kim Hyŏng-jik indeed was imprisoned (see Act II, Chapter 12). After Kim Il Sung says his father was released from prison for what he calls the Conspiracy Case, “my father went to Chunggang” (Kim Il-sŏng 1992, 4). This move to Chunggang in fact took place in 1919, after Kim Hyŏng-jik’s release from prison for his involvement in the Chosŏn National Association (see Act II, Chapter 16). 
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“different from those of former years,” Samuel Moffett wrote as troubles mounted in 1911 

NoteAccording to the Presbyterian mission’s reports that year, Japanese police also began regularly dropping in on church meetings in the northwestern Christian stronghold of Sŏnch’ŏn (Wells 1990, 75). Moffett also had to contend against George Kennan, the journalist who had the ear of Theodore Roosevelt and other prominent American policymakers. Kennan, who had already established by this time a high regard for Japan’s rise, published an article in The Outlook magazine in December 1912, dismissing claims that those arrested in the Conspiracy Case had undergone torture, and urging American missionaries to stay out of Korean politics. In response, Moffett wrote a letter to Kennan accusing him of supporting Japan and telling him to learn more about the situation in Korea before weighing in (George Kennan, “Is Japan Persecuting Christians in Korea?” The Outlook 102 (December 14, 1912), 804–10; and Nagata, “U.S.-Japan Relations 1910–1920” (2005), 163–64). 
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scheme, apart perhaps from the colonial government’s attempts to frame Korean Christians 

NoteA PIG-CIRCUS: In contrast to An Chung-gŭn’s assassination of Itō Hirobumi two years earlier, “photographers caught An on film with his smoking revolver. Two years later the only weapon ever found in relation to Terauchi’s supposed near-death experience was a two-inch-long penknife in a ten-year-old’s backpack” (Dudden 2005, 121). “It became soon evident that the whole case was forged in order to get rid of the most intelligent and progressive Korean Christian leaders” (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 108–9). Historian Michael Robinson describes the whole case as “a blatantly fabricated plot” and a “major political show trial” (Robinson 2007, 38). The trial of the 105 men was a circus for the Japanese, exposing the emptiness of the charges to such an extent that “even the more naïve among Western Christians” could see through it (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 112). On January 23, 1912, Moffett and fellow Presbyterian missionaries Oliver Avison and Norman Whittemore met with Terauchi, telling the governor-general that it was absurd that such respectable public citizens could be implicated in such a plot; Terauchi retorted that the involvement of so many Korean Christians had come as a shock to him (Akifumi Nagata [Nagata, Akifumi], “American Missionaries in Korea and U.S.-Japan Relations 1910–1920,” Japanese Journal of American Studies 16 (2005), 159–79, here 161).  “THEY COULD NOT POSSIBLY UNDERTAKE ANYTHING IDIOTIC”: And indeed, the case quickly became a boondoggle for the Japanese authorities. Charles W. Eliot (1834–1926), traveling in Japan as the recently-retired president of Harvard University following four decades at the helm, called on Tokyo to make “judicious modifications of her preliminary proceedings against alleged criminals,” warning that “the standing of Japan among Western nations” was at stake (as quoted in Brown 1912, 15). Also cited in Chung 1921, 162. See also Dudden 2005, 123; and Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 39. Separately, in July 1912, Arthur Brown and another Methodist leader traveled to Washington to discuss the case, securing meetings not only with Japan’s ambassador in Washington but also with President William Taft and Secretary of State Philander C. Knox (1853–1921) (Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 39–40). As Brown, albeit not a disinterested party, put it: “These are not the type of men to be guilty of such a plot as that with which they are charged. They are too intelligent. They might be capable of a desperate venture for a great cause, but they could not possibly undertake anything idiotic. It is about as difficult for those who know them to believe that any such number of Christian ministers, elders and teachers had committed crime as it would be for the people of New Jersey to believe that the faculty, students and local clergy of Princeton were conspirators and assassins” (Brown 1912, 13). Two prominent Tokyo lawyers, too, condemned the trial (Wells 1990, 77).  PERSECUTION STOPPED, RELATIONS IMPROVED: With the political winds blowing against them, the Japanese authorities began to buckle. “Their charges against the Korean Church aroused much criticism in the west, and when they appreciated that a reaction was imminent, the persecution of Korean Christians stopped and limitation of the activities of the Church took its place” (E. S. Bisbee, “Korea Appeals to Wilson for Freedom,” New York Times Magazine, January 26, 1919, 7). Still, the case dragged on until March 1913, when ninety-nine of the 105 men were acquitted, and the remaining six men given long prison sentences (Dudden 2005, 127). During a retrial in July 1913, the prosecution focused on Yun Ch’i-ho and his leadership of the New People’s Association, which the prosecution argued had been created to spread anti-Japanese thought in preparation for the overthrow of the empire (Wells 1984, 162–63). With American public opinion having turned on the Japanese, in large part because of the work of Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown, the Japanese released all of the accused Koreans early on February 13, 1915 (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 49; Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 40; and Chung 1921, 163–64). As the case fizzled out, the authorities began suppressing all reference to it in the newspapers, and the missionaries described a changed atmosphere in which Japanese officials were allowed to drop any suspicions they may have held against the missionaries: “After the case was over our relations with the government improved markedly” (Blair 1957, 76–77).  TO “REPRESS, IF NOT TO SUPPRESS”: It’s possible that the Japanese in fact meant the entire Conspiracy Case as a thinly veiled warning to the Korean converts and American missionaries. University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik describes the mass arrest of the Christians as a deliberate decision by Terauchi and Akashi Motojirō (明石 元二郎 1864–1919), then commander of the military police and later the governor-general of Taiwan, “to arrest the most vocal elements in the northern provinces and show them what the Japanese were capable of doing” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 92–93). See also Dudden 2005, 123. “The Conspiracy Case was more than simply vengeance for Itō’s assassination or spite against influential Koreans snubbing officialdom,” writes Kenneth Wells. “It was a clear signal of Japan’s determination to eliminate any independent element that might endanger its strategic stake in the peninsula” (Wells 1990, 78). Historian Ryu Yŏng-ik, meanwhile, writes that “the ultimate motive of the Japanese officials who drew up the charges was to weaken the Protestant movement, particularly in the province of North P’yŏngan, which was considered a hotbed of Korean Protestantism, but also in Seoul, where the YMCA had been growing in influence. A prerequisite to this goal, at least in terms of Japanese thinking at the time, was the infiltration and rooting out of the New People’s Society (Sinminhoe), a secret society founded by An Ch’ang-ho in 1907 and deemed to be a continual source of consternation for colonial policy makers” (Lew 2014, 52). As Korean American historian Albert Park writes: “The case fell apart, but it revealed that the state was serious about controlling the church” (Albert Park 2015, 81–82). Rev. Yang Chu-sam (梁柱三 1879-?), a prominent Methodist pastor, said in 1913 that the colonial authorities were seeking to “repress, if not to suppress,” the church (as quoted in Albert Park 2015, 82). If so, then Moffett was—as he was during the earliest waves of Christian persecution in early 1890s Pyongyang—impressed by the faithfulness of his flock. “The Church is standing up bravely and steadfastly notwithstanding the very severe trial,” Moffett wrote in April 1912, as Japanese authorities arrested Christians in Pyongyang (Moffett letter to Brown, April 9, 1912; and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, April 12, 1912, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). It’s possible that Tokyo considered the Conspiracy Case a success in a sense, having sent a chilling effect through the Korean Christian community. “There is no zeal in preaching and personal work and since the arrests, there has been some falling away among the catechumens and new believers,” missionary Henry W. Lampe wrote in the initial aftermath of the arrests (as quoted in Shearer 1966, 138). One Korean American nationalist during this period, Henry Cu Kim, described the Conspiracy Case as a scheme “designed to kill two birds with one stone—that is, to strike down the Korean patriots and wipe out the Christian faith” (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 186–87). Historian Donald Clark, describing the incident, describes how “everyone had seen that the Japanese were watching the Christian community closely and that many colonial officials regarded the church as a hotbed of sedition” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 50; and Clark 2003, 44). 
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on David and Goliath—the biblical tale of the plucky underdog slaying the fearsome giant 

NoteDAVID AND GOLIATH: Missionary George S. McCune was reported to the authorities for preaching on David and Goliath, fearing the biblical tale of a plucky underdog slaying his much larger and mightier rival (Brown 1912, 8; and Brown 1919, 569). “To the spies, this was nothing but a direct incitement to the weak Koreans to fight strong Japan. Mission premises were searched. Still more dangerous material was found there, including school essays, written by the students, on men who had rebelled against their Governments or had fought, such as George Washington and Napoleon” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 219).  “ONLY ONE KINGDOM”: Another Methodist pastor was arrested for preaching about the Kingdom of Heaven—“There is only one kingdom out here and that is the kingdom of Japan,” he was told (Brown 1912, 8; Brown 1919, 569; Chung 1921, 129–30; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 219). Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, one of the best-known Presbyterian pastors in the country, recounts being questioned by a Japanese officer after a sermon in which he had mentioned Mount Paekdu, the Yalu and Tumen Rivers, and the 3,000-ri span of Korea. “Why are you using words that are not even in the Bible? Is this a ploy to encourage nationalist and patriotic ideas?” he was asked. It was only after Japan’s surrender, Rev. Han recalled, “that I was able to freely hang the Korean flag and sing our national anthem” (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 63). Even preaching against the vices of prostitution or tobacco, for instance, were potentially treasonous, since the Japanese had monopolized and taxed those practices (Brown 1912, 8; Brown 1919, 569; Kendall 1919, 19–20; and Chung 1921, 155–56).  “TOO VIVIDLY RELATED”: Such attempts at suppression didn’t stop missionaries from discussing the similarities between Korea’s plight and that of the Israelites under the Egyptian Pharaoh (Glover, “Korean Christian Nationalists,” Transactions (2015), 16). As one Korean pastor’s son later recounted, “Neither the preachers nor teachers would speak directly about the Korean people under the Japanese rule. They spoke only of the people of Israel under the rule of Egypt and of their hardship and servitude, but all of us who heard the story knew what was meant by it…The story of Moses and the Exodus were too vividly related to the national destiny of the Korean people. The story exerted in spiritual power when it was told in the light of the political fate of the Korean people” (David Suh 1991, 18, 34–35).  “HALLELUJAHS AND SONGS OF PRAISE”: Still, as missionary historian Donald Clark writes, “a detective might listen in on a missionary’s classes and report the Bible stories as anti-Japanese allusions, thereby setting off a police investigation (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 49). One Presbyterian pastor in Pyongyang was under particular scrutiny. Each week, a Japanese detective and his Korean assistant would attend Sunday worship service to take notes; each time, he was jailed afterwards, his grandson recalled, often for a day or more before being released (Richard E. Kim, Lost Names: Scenes from a Korean Boyhood, 40th Anniversary Edition (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1998), 159). When Rev. Yi was released each time, “his body [was] all black and blue,” his daughter, Yi Ok-hyŏn, later recalled (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 82). Yi recalled being puzzled by the response of the congregants at her church. “Instead of being concerned about my father’s well-being, the congregation launched into hallelujahs and songs of praise” (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 82).  “IT HAPPENED TO ME”: The pastor, Rev. Yi Hak-bong (?–?), was the father-in-law of Kim Ch’an-do and the grandfather of the novelist Richard E. Kim (金恩國 1932–2009), whose classic novel Lost Names, where this anecdote appears, is technically a work of fiction—though it is also deeply autobiographical, as Richard Kim has himself acknowledged. He later reflected on the difficulty of categorizing the book, saying that he used literary techniques and meant it as a work of fiction, but also asserts the truth of what he describes: “All the characters and events described in this book are real, but everything else is fiction” (“Author’s Note,” in Richard E. Kim 1998, 197–98). In a separate interview in 1998, Richard E. Kim said: “Everything in the book actually happened. It happened to me. So why am I always insisting it’s not autobiographical? I think because of the way I used the things that actually happened. You have to arrange them, mix them up” (Kathleen Woods Masalski, “History as Literature, Literature as History,” Education About Asia 4, no. 2 (Fall 1999), 23–27, here 23). Also cited in Heinz Insu Fenkl, “Introduction,” in Richard E. Kim [Kim, Ŭn-guk], The Martyred (New York: Penguin, 2011). In this work, I have treated this work as a primary source, as well as his novel The Martyred (London: Hutchinson, 1964). After Japan’s surrender in 1945, Rev. Yi Hak-bong was part of the Christian celebration of March 1, 1946, and was imprisoned after the Sunday election showdown of November 3, 1946, but refused to abandon his flock in Pyongyang, and may have been executed on October 18, 1950, on the banks of the Taedong River (Im Sun-man, “Ingan ŭi Kuwŏn Ka’nŭng-sŏng ŭl Sŏlp’a-hada” [Proclaiming the Possibility of Human Salvation], Kukmin Ilbo, January 22, 2014). 
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sowed doubts about the Americans, and clamped down on martial-sounding hymns 

NoteTRACTS OF MY TEARS: The Japanese authorities regarded many of the textbooks used in missionary-run schools as effectively “political pamphlets” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 133). Officials thus demanded that two copies of any texts to be published be submitted four days in advance for approval (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, March 10, 1914, Pyengyang (MKC)). They also strictly limited Christian publications to religious topics and confiscated anything that even hinted at Japan’s colonial rule. In 1911, for example, the Japanese authorities imposed a press law that required a government permit before publishing any newspaper or magazine. For most of the first decade of colonial rule, the Japanese authorities only approved Korean newspapers under their direct control, and confined Christian periodicals to religious topics alone, with no mention permitted of, say, developments in World War I or even “ordinary passing events,” as the missionaries complained in an open appeal to the Japanese colonial authorities in 1919 (as quoted in Cynn 1920, 203–4).  HOW TO GET RID OF THE DEVIL: The missionaries were careful not to cross any lines but still managed to upset the authorities. In 1914, Moffett reported that one batch of thirty thousand tracts, a reprint of a decade-old pamphlet entitled How to Get Rid of the Devil, was confiscated for reasons unknown (Moffett letter to Brown, March 10, 1914). While the tract called on Korean Christians to conquer the devil within each of them, the Japanese authorities apparently believed that the devil must refer to the colonial government (Nathaniel Peffer, The Truth About Korea (Shanghai: China Press, 1919), 19–20; Chung 1921, 128; and Oliver 1954, 117). Korean Christian nationalist Hugh Cynn quotes a missionary letter that names the tract as How to Drive Away Devils, which apparently “was confiscated because the police thought it had political significance” (as cited in Cynn 1920, 203).  “REFUSED TO SERVE HIS SECOND MASTER”: A weekly publication, The Christian Messenger, was censored for publishing an editorial about the “new life” of spring, fearing it to be a call to rise up against the Japanese (Oliver 1954, 117; and Chung 1921, 127–28). The Christian Messenger, added Hugh Cynn, had been seized “several times” on the grounds that it could incite anti-Japanese feelings (Cynn 1920, 203). One textbook prepared by the missionary James Gale was censored for including a Rudyard Kipling story about an elephant who, in the words of the Japanese official, “refused to serve his second master” (Rutt 1983, 47; Chung 1921, 127; and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 193–94). The story is “Moti Guj—Mutineer,” in Rudyard Kipling, Mine Own People (Boston: Desmond, 1899), 83–94.  PREACHING “ANTI-WHITE DOCTRINES”: The Japanese authorities also took steps to distance Korean converts from the American missionaries, who offered a channel through which they could reach the outside world. “Careful and systematic efforts were made, in particular, by the Japanese newspapers and some of the officials to make the native Christian converts turn from their American teachers, and throw in their lot with the Japanese. The native press, under Japanese editorship, systematically preached anti-white doctrines,” Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 108). As Korea missions historian Martha Huntley writes, the Japanese were particularly worried about how the Korean Christians, through the foreign missionaries, could tap “overseas ties, communication, and a broad base of sympathy” (Huntley 1984, 156). Scholar Andrew Grajdanzev, writing in 1944, describes the Korean church as being the “only one institution in Korea that had foreign connections” (Grajdanzev 1944, 53). Missionaries were even constrained in what they could write in private letters home. With Japan laying the groundwork for its censorship system as early as 1905, missionaries writing critically about Japan were forced to find alternative methods of getting their messages home, the postal system already having been compromised (MacRae 1993, 124–25).  “ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS”: When it came to hymns, the Japanese authorities certainly didn’t like the songs that the Christians sang in church. “Onward, Christian Soldiers” was one obvious irritant, with its martial lyrics: “Onward, Christian Soldiers/Marching as to war!/Stand up, stand up for Jesus/Ye soldiers of the Cross!” (Kendall 1919, 20; Brown 1912, 7–8; and Brown 1919, 569) Charles Wesley’s 1749 hymn, “Soldiers of Christ Arise,” similarly bothered the Japanese authorities, for obvious reasons (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 219). Martin Luther’s 1529 hymn “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” (내 主는 強한 城이요 Kor. Nae Chu nŭn Kanghan Sŏng’iyo), one of the Korean church’s favorite hymns, was prohibited by the Japanese for being “too provocative” (“The Spiritual Journey of Rev. Dr. Syngman Rhee,” Atlanta Interfaith Broadcasters, April 14, 2015, 28:30). 
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also took to scheduling teachers’ examinations and mandatory assemblies for Sunday mornings 

Note NEW REGULATIONS: The new rules were part of a revision of the “Regulations on Private Schools” (私立学校規則 Jp. Shiritsu Gakkō Kisoku) released in the spring of 1915, requiring private schools, teachers, and curricula to be approved by the government-general, in line with those in public schools, though existing private schools were given five- or ten-year grace periods (Hwang 2016, 162). In October 1915, the Japanese introduced a new set of “Regulations on Religious Propagation” (布教規則 Jp. Fukyō Kisoku Kor. P’ogyo Kyuch’ik), which imposed sweeping new limits on the church and its institutions (Hwang 2016, 156; and Takayoshi Matsuo, “The Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part One: The Missionary Activity of the Japan Congregational Church in Korea,” trans. S. Takiguchi, Modern Asian Studies 13, no. 3 (1979), 401–29, here 420). According to University of Southern California historian Hwang Kyŏng-mun, the latter document “clearly and systematically placed religious activity under state dominion,” under which the colonial government would operate an extensive network of official evangelizing offices (布教管理所 Jp. fukyō kanrisho) that would vet and approve any efforts to promote religion, erect a place of worship, requesting “very detailed information” about the applicants and his or her intended activity (Hwang 2016, 156). Though the new regulations applied to all religions, and sought to formally define which religions were officially sanctioned—specifically, Sect Shintōism, Buddhism, and Christianity—and which were effectively unrecognized, it was widely interpreted (“for good reason,” Hwang writes) as targeting the Protestant church (Hwang 2016, 156; and Baker, “A Slippery, Changing Concept” (2010), 66). Certainly, though the Japanese forbade all public schools from teaching religion, Shintō ceremonies weren’t included in this proscription, despite the evident religiosity of the ceremony to the missionaries and to even many of the Japanese (Brown 1919, 321). For the full text of a government-general ordinance on the propagation of religion, which came into force in October 1915, see “Chosen Government General Ordinance No. 83,” The Korea Magazine (August 1917), 350–54. By the end of the decade, the Japanese authorities had also required the YMCA, which was high on the government-general’s watchlist, to report the date, hour, speaker, and topic of discussion of any meeting for advance police approval (Cynn 1920, 119).  “KEEP EDUCATION INDEPENDENT OF RELIGION”: Upon taking the reins in 1910, Governor-General Terauchi warned that “extreme care must be taken to control” the private schools, at some of which “the desire for independence is propagated and opposition to the Empire is encouraged” (as quoted in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 97). An alternative version of the sentiment quotes the governor-general as huffing that “private education in Korea nurtured a national consciousness, which encouraged Koreans to strive for independence from Japan” (as quoted in Ion 1990, 136–37). A third variant specifically targets religion, warning against education that should “go contrary to the general principle of the State” and emphasizing the importance of striving “to keep education independent of religion” (Wells 1990, 79). As Wells writes, Japanese authorities may have been openly worried about nationalist groups stirring up anti-Japanese ideas, “but Christian leadership of the major schools was no less irritating” (Wells 1984, 163). Just as the Japanese had to tread lightly when dealing with the Christians, so did they suspect the missionaries of playing coy with their teaching program: “Since after 1910 it was no longer possible to voice ‘dangerous thoughts’ explicitly, the values had to be implicit in the teaching and theological principles of the Protestant churches and schools” (Wells 1984, 184). The Japanese certainly wouldn’t have liked the fact that the missionaries were teaching their students the vernacular Korean alphabet and Korean history (see Act I, Chapter 6).  CHRISTIAN CURRICULA: How many schools are we talking about here? Various sources offer differing numbers for the scale of the missionary-run educational enterprise in Korea, but most sources generally agree that, by the time of annexation in 1910, Korea boasted more than two thousand private schools, with hundreds of them Christian in nature, enrolling some two hundred thousand students—including Yun Ch’i-ho’s Anglo-Korean College (Han’yŏng School) in Kaesŏng; Yi Sŭng-hun’s Osan School in Chŏngju; and An Ch’ang-ho’s Taesŏng School in Pyongyang (Chung-shin Park 2003, 99, 105; and Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 97). Another source says that, as of May 1910, 801 of Korea’s 2,250 private schools were religious in nature, 750 of them Protestant (Kyuhoon Cho [Cho, Kyu-hun], “Protestantism, Education, and the Nation: The Shifting Location of Protestant Schools in Modern Korea,” Acta Koreana 19, no. 1 (June 2016), 99–131, here 102). Yet another source gives the number of missionary-run schools in Korea at the time of annexation as being 746 schools (as cited in Ion 1990, 136–37). Certainly, when it comes to sectarian schools, almost all were Christian, as historian Kenneth Wells writes: “By 1910, only about ten religion-based schools were not under Christian management. The Presbyterians and Methodists ran 805 schools, while Anglican and Catholic schools numbered at least eighteen” (Wells 1990, 32).  “A MAJOR THREAT TO…ASSIMILATIVE DESIGNS”: Whatever the exact number, the number was higher than the Japanese authorities would have liked. As Wells writes, the Japanese “perceived in [Christian-run] schools a major threat to their assimilative designs,” and were particularly unnerved by the success of Yun Ch’i-ho’s Anglo-Korean College and Yi Sŭng-hun’s Osan Academy in attracting nationalist Korean students (Wells 1990, 74, 78). According to Wells, the Japanese residency-general had as early as 1909—a year before annexation—mulled closing all of Korea’s religious schools (Wells 1990, 78). The Japanese didn’t take that dramatic step. Still, the government-general quickly got to work, and they soon succeeded in dramatically curbing the missionaries’ educational influence. “With regulation it became more difficult to operate private schools, and the numbers of such schools decreased as the public system expanded” (Eckert et al. 1990, 262–63). By 1911, the number of private schools in Korea had fallen to 1,700 and to 970 in 1916, with just 392 of them religious in nature, according to official Japanese government data (as quoted in Cynn 1920, 110). Other sources note that there were just 473 mission-run schools in Korea in 1914 (Wells 1984, 166; and Ion 1990, 136–37). In this context, Samuel Moffett wrestled with Japanese authorities for years to have Sungsil Academy’s college, known in English as Union Christian College, designated as a “special school” (專門學校 Kor. chŏnmun hakgyo), which allowed the missionaries to include Bible instruction in the curriculum—though it was a twelve-year-long battle (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [Moffett, James M.], May 26, 1925, Pyeng Yang (MKC); and Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [Moffett, James M.], June 9, 1925, Pyeng Yang (MKC)).   SUNDAY MORNING CALL: In addition to the various new regulations, teachers’ examinations were typically scheduled for Sundays, and students were often ordered to skip church on Sundays to welcome visiting Japanese officials (as cited in Cynn 1920, 208). In a reflection of how widespread the Japanese practice was by 1908, an editorial in March that year in the Korea Mission Field, sternly warned the missionaries against accepting the inevitable invitations for Sunday mornings: “Just as we would expect a missionary to turn down his wine glass at receptions where the red liquid flows freely, so would we expect him to turn down an invitation to a Sunday reception,” the publication’s editors wrote (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field (1908), 41). After nationwide demonstrations rocked Japanese-occupied Korea a few years later in March 1919, one of the key grievances, at least according to the missionaries, was the clampdown on Christian-run schools. In a May 10, 1919, document prepared by foreigners—likely missionaries—and presented to “important Japanese in Tokyo,” outlining the grievances that many Koreans felt towards the Japanese authorities, entitled “Some Reasons Underlying the Present Agitation in Chosen,” one of the reasons given was that any private schools opened after March 1915 were barred from teaching the Bible (see Cynn 1920, 120–25, especially 124). 
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to satiate demand for a modern education—free of the pernicious influence of the missionaries 

Note“AN EDUCATIONAL REVOLUTION”: As late as 1907, the number of Korean students enrolled in church and mission schools was more than twice that of government schools (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 86). This would soon begin to change in dramatic fashion. In 1910, the Presbyterian missionaries in Sŏnch’ŏn described what could be called an arms race of school-building: “We are in the midst of an educational revolution. Schools spring up in a night, heathen and Christian. The governor, the magistrate, the town and village officials start schools” (as quoted in “The Pyeng Yang Union Christian College and Academy, Received Jan 19, 1910, Dr. Brown,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 425). In 1910, the year of Japan’s annexation of Korea, American missions advocate John Mott could see the threat that Japan’s own educational efforts would pose to Christian-run schools: “In Korea, the activity of the Japanese Government in establishing schools all through the land, and the hunger of the Korean people after any kind of knowledge will result soon in the education, to an extent hitherto unknown, of large numbers of young men. It is feared that they will become a menace rather than a blessing to the nation, because the education which they are receiving through the government institutions is planting rationalistic ideas in the minds of the hitherto simple-minded people. This may make it more difficult for them to adopt a new religion” (Mott 1910, 47). Pyongyang Methodist missionary and educator Arthur Becker, returning from furlough in 1911, found the Japanese had opened schools at a breakneck pace—without the religious or ethical instruction (McCune and Thompson 2009, 362–63). This was hardly a new tactic by the Japanese. At least as early as the mid-1890s, William Baird reported Koreans leaving his Christian-run school in Pusan, “drawn away by the well manned Japanese school” (“Evangelistic Report of Pusan Station for 1895,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 258). Still, between 1910 and 1918, the effort accelerated, and enrollment in Japanese-run government schools jumped to 95,000 students, from 16,000 eight years earlier. By 1930, the number of Japanese schools had increased to 1,831—three times the 595 schools in 1920 (Caprio 2009, 130). Laying out the political stakes involved, one senior Japanese education official, a certain T. Sekiya, told a meeting of the Christian Education Association of Korea in June 1917: “The fundamental principle of Korean education, stated in a word, is to bring up the Koreans as citizens or subjects of the Japanese empire; to foster a loyal and patriotic spirit in the minds of the Korean pupils” (as quoted in Huntley 1984, 94–95). The Japanese were surely aware of the how in China, as in Korea, education quickly became a hallmark of missionary work. In China, “the mission schools throughout the country have led the way and in many cases have been the cradle of the modern Chinese educationalists,” in the words of one Chinese diplomat (Wang, “The New Conditions in China,” Missionary Review of the World (August 1916), 570–72). Also cited in Brown 1919, 473.  A STRUGGLE FOR THE “SOUL” OF THE NATION: George Ladd, an American Congregationalist minister and former Yale University philosophy professor who advocated vigorously for Japanese rule over Korea, praised the missionaries’ educational efforts in Korea, but called them wholly insufficient for Korea’s millions, calling instead for “the organization and advance of a national system of public education in Korea”—operated, naturally, by the Japanese (Ladd 1908, 337). Of course, the Japanese authorities allowed some Christian schools to remain open, though they also actively dissuaded Korean parents from sending their children to missionary schools, seeking to steer them towards Japanese government schools instead (as cited in Cynn 1920, 208). As Kenneth Wells put it, Korean Christians “found themselves locked in a struggle with the Japanese for the ‘soul’ of the nation and their own survival. Education…was the principal avenue open to Protestants. Together with the churches, schools became the means of forging Protestants’ identity as a reconstructive community on which, its members believed, the fate of the nation rested” (Wells 1990, 71). As Tokyo persuaded good teachers to move to Korea, and the quality of education improved, “thereafter, government control of education was unbreakable” (Henderson 1968, 88–89). Perhaps “unbreakable” is too strong, for though the Japanese had built hundreds of government schools and waived tuition fees, some Korean parents still preferred to send their children to Christian schools, in large part because the language of instruction was Korean rather than Japanese (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 116).  SEIZE THE HOSPITALS, LEPER COLONIES, AND WORKSHOPS: Schools were not the only institutions in which the Japanese sought to prove themselves the equal of the Christian missionaries. The Japanese applied a similar strategy to public health as well. One ordinance in November 1913, for example, narrowed the scope for medical missionary work, requiring all medical practitioners to first obtain governmental approval, which one historian notes “made medical practice by American missionaries in Korea impossible” (Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 40–41). At the same time, the new colonial authorities opened government-run hospitals that met many of the same needs that the missionary-run hospitals had fulfilled for so many years (Moore 2016, 118). The Japanese also set up leper wards, as the Christian missionaries had done, and “advertised this deed publicly as a successful example of their colonial policy” (Keunsik Jung [Chŏng, Kŭn-sik], “‘Colonial Modernity’ and the Hegemony of the Body Politic in Leprosy Relief Work,” in Hong Yung Lee [Yi, Hong-yŏng], Yong Chool Ha [Ha, Yong-ch’ul], and Clark W. Sorensen, eds., Colonial Rule and Social Change in Korea, 1910–1945 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2013), 234–263, here 235). For another vivid example of Japanese colonial efforts to directly compete with the Christian missionaries and their tactics, the Japanese authorities created industrial institutes, which aimed to teach practical skills to Koreans in much the same fashion as the Christian-run schools’ industrial workshops. For photos, see Nate Kornegay, “Building the Seoul YMCA (1900s–1910s),” Colonial Korea: Early Modern Architecture in Korea, December 16, 2019. Kornegay, however, implies that the Christian industrial workshops were created in response to the Japanese counterparts, when most likely the opposite was true. 
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to the Presbyterian- and Methodist-backed institutions, and aggressively funded its expansion 

NoteThe Japanese encouraged the Christian churches in Tokyo to expand into the Korean peninsula and many of them did, supporting Tokyo’s civilizing mission while folding the Korean arms of their denominations into their Japanese hierarchies (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 111). As early as 1895, as the Japanese were defeating the Chinese on the battlefields of Korea and Manchuria, Japanese Christian missionaries were arriving on the peninsula to join the Western missionaries in their task of Christianizing the Korean people (William Baird 2013, 169 (February 25, 1895, diary entry)). That year, the Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul welcomed a Japanese chaplain named Rev. Y. Honda, who had accompanied the Japanese army through Korea, who delivered before “a large audience of Koreans, an instructive address on his experiences” (“Notes and Comments,” Korean Repository (June 1895), 239).  “RELIGIOUS DOMINATION”: The instrument of this strategy was the Congregational Church of Japan (日本組合基督教会 Jp. Nihon Kumiai Kirisuto Kyōkai), which back home in Japan was, alongside the Japan Christian Church and the Japan Methodist Church, one of the three biggest Protestant churches in the country (Takayoshi Matsuo, “The Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two: The 1st March Movement and the Japanese Protestants,” trans. S. Takiguchi, Modern Asian Studies 13, no. 4 (1979), 581–615, here 581). The Congregational Church of Japan set up its first church in Korea in July 1904, in Seoul, and another followed in Pyongyang in October 1907; in 1910, the church proposed that all evangelism in Korea be undertaken not by Western missionaries but by Japanese Christians alone (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part One” (1979), 401–3). Also cited in Wells 1990, 74. In 1911, the Congregational Church of Japan established a mission in Korea, and begun the work of trying to fold the Korean churches under their Japanese counterparts, in line with the new political and diplomatic realities (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part One” (1979), 417). Governor-General Terauchi personally persuaded Mitsubishi and other large Japanese zaibatsu (財閥) to help fund the Congregational Church’s growth during this period, lambasting Western Christianity as being “no good” (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part One” (1979), 415). Meanwhile, in July 1911, the Japanese YMCA invited thirty Korean pastors to Japan for a two-week visit “to promote good feeling, etc. between Japanese and Korean Christians,” which Moffett and the other missionaries immediately realized would force a dilemma on the Korean pastors, who were hard-pressed to attend but also wary of appearing to capitulate to the new Japanese ascendancy (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Arthur J. Brown, July 21, 1911, Pyeng Yang (PHS II/2/RG 140-3-1/60)). Thus, writes Kyōto University historian Matsuo Takayoshi (松尾 尊兌1929–2014), Korean Christians “were subjected to religious domination just as they and other Koreans were subjected to the political domination of the Government-General of Korea” (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part One” (1979), 428–29). Between 1911 and 1919, during which time the Congregational Church of Japan in Korea actively sought to persuade, and in many cases pressure, churches to join its ranks, the organization ballooned to include 150 churches, with more than 14,000 members (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part One” (1979), 413). Also cited in Albert Park 2015, 82; and Wells 1990, 74. Canadian missionary James Gale, writing in 1918, gives slightly different numbers, dating the first Congregational Church of Japan missionary arriving in Korea in July 1911, and adding that ten thousand Koreans joined the church over the next seven years (J. S. Gale [Gale, James S.], “Work Among Koreans by the Congregational Church of Japan,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1918), 393–95, here 393). [[STATS]]  POISONED HEARTS: Ultimately, the returns were only rather modest (Wells 1990, 74–75). The Korean nationalist Henry Chung, writing a decade later, describes how the “Koreans saw the intention of Japan in all this, and turned a deaf ear to those religious propagandists of the Japanese Government. The whole project of peaceful conquest of the Korean Christians turned out to be a fiasco” (Chung 1921, 160–61). After the March First demonstrations in 1919 and Japan’s appointment of a more moderate governor-general, Tokyo relied less on the Congregational Church, largely because Korean Christians, who had joined the church after annexation, were again abandoning it, thus stripping it out of its utility to Tokyo (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 612–13). Still, the willingness of Japanese and some Korean Christians to go along with the Congregational Church of Japan, writes Matsuo Takayoshi, “shows how seriously imperialism can poison the human heart and it also shows that imperialism can corrupt the spirit of Christians who preach ‘Love Your Neighbour’ and ‘Equality before God’” (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 615).  “BUDDHA LOVES ME, THIS I KNOW”: Even as the Japanese outlawed the teaching of anything Christian at public schools, Japanese Buddhists sought to undermine the power of Christian Sunday schools by pouring money into starting a network of eight hundred “Buddhist Sunday schools” enrolling roughly 120,000 students (Brown 1919, 331). These Buddhist Sunday schools so obviously borrowed from the Christians’ model that the missionaries were struck at the similarities. “Some of them are taken almost bodily from the Christian hymn-book words, tune, meter, and chorus, the only change being the substitution of the name Buddha for Jesus and the omission of an occasional stanza whose Christian meaning cannot be twisted to fit Buddhist teachings. It is odd to enter a Buddhist school and find, as one visitor did, a hundred and fifty children lustily singing: ‘Buddha loves me, this I know’; and to note that the organist is playing the tune from a Christian hymnal,” Brown wrote in 1919 (Brown 1919, 332). The imitation of Christian practice had begun among the Buddhists in Japan proper, where they had learned from Christian evangelistic techniques and set up schools, philanthropic societies and even a Young Men’s Buddhist Association (Cary 1909, 263). In Korea, the pattern continued for decades, as Buddhists there began singing hymns with tunes borrowed from the churches, sometimes with robed choirs, sent out missionaries and, decades later, started a Buddhist Broadcasting System to mimic that of the Christians (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 296). 
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Korean church leaders and foreign missionaries with pledges of support for religious freedom 

Note Governor-General Terauchi invited nineteen Korean church leaders to visit Japan in the fall of 1910 (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 43). When Terauchi visited the northeastern Korean city of Hamhŭng in the summer of 1913, he lavished attention on Canadian Presbyterian Duncan MacRae, sharing a “heart to heart talk” in which he “showed a great deal of interest in the work of the church. He said that he would speak to the officials and give them to understand that the work of the church in all its departments should have their sympathy and he wished me to bring any trouble I might have immediately to the notice of the resident officials” (MacRae 1993, 145–46, citing Duncan M. MacRae letter to Edith MacRae, July 3, 1913). 
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audience in Tokyo in 1913. “Therefore [we] must keep especial watch on the Christians there” 

Note In both places, Kenneth Wells is citing Sinhan Minbo, February 26, 1914. The spread of the foreign faith was such that, within a few years, Nakarai Kiyoshi, a Japanese colonial official in Korea, would write with foreboding: “The influence of Christianity came to be felt even in the remotest parts of the peninsula” (Nakarai 1921, 6). As Korean nationalist Rev. Cho Tŭk-rin (1864–1943), put it: “To the Japanese, the most troublesome element is the Christians. To the Koreans, the most hopeful thing is the expansion of the Christian Church” (Wells 1984, 161–62, citing Sinhan Minbo, September 16, 1915). 
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American missionaries merely for spiritual salvation, regarding them also as political liberators 

Note“EVERYONE LOOKED UP TO THEM”: It was precisely because the missionaries had come to be regarded by the Koreans as political saviors that the Japanese were so wary of the Westerners—and especially the Americans, emissaries of the world’s most powerful nation and a “Christian nation” in the minds of many Koreans. With hundreds of Korean congregants sitting rapt and cross-legged on the floor each Sunday, gazing up at the missionary pastors, it could literally be said that, as one young Korean convert later put it, “everybody looked up to them” (Charr 1996, 67–68). This young convert, Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, recalls being starstruck as he watched Samuel Moffett preach for the first time: “I can still remember that I used to sit right in front of the church platform. Can anyone imagine how closely I watched and observed Dr. Moffett, my pastor? O, how anxiously I wished that I could wear a suit of clothes like he did!… O, how eagerly I tried to secure information concerning America, the land of untold opportunities, a promised land flowing with freedom and happiness, and how desirous I was to see it once in my lifetime!” (as quoted in Patterson, “Introduction,” in Charr 1996, xvii–xix, citing “A Korean Student Writes,” Park College Record (Parkville, Mo.), March 12 and 19, 1921). Ch’a was later so impressed by Moffett’s colleague, Presbyterian medical missionary J. Hunter Wells, that, he later wrote, “I have desired to be a medical missionary ever since, to carry the Bible in one hand and a medicine case in another to render a similar service to my own people” (as quoted in Patterson, “Introduction,” in Charr 1996, xix). Unable to go to the U.S., at least right away, Ch’a did the next best thing, moving to Pyongyang so as to be near Samuel Moffett’s Presbyterian missionary compound, which left him thinking “I had already come pretty close to Me-Gook where I longed to be some day” (Charr 1996, 83). When in the late 1910s Ch’a finally arrived in the U.S.—“Me-Gook,” as he called it, using the Korean word for the U.S. (美國 Kor. Miguk)—to attend college, he declared America “the New Promised Land…flowing with milk of wisdom and honey of freedom” (E. E. C. [Ch’a, Ŭi-sŏk], “Preface,” in Charr 1996, xxxix).  “ON A PEDESTAL BESIDE BUDDHA”: Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk may have represented a particularly extreme Korean Christian version of America-worship, but he was by no means alone. The Americans were aware of their status in Korea as early as August 1885, when Methodist Henry Appenzeller, noted that, unlike others who harbored more obvious colonial ambitions on the Korean peninsula, the “American stands very high with the Koreans. We care nothing for their land and are anxious only to do them good, both of which they seem to recognize” (as quoted in Hyaeweol Choi 2009, 10). As historian Kenneth Wells put it, it was perhaps natural for Koreans of this period to regard America as the most benign and attractive of the powers then circling it. “China had been discredited…Japan had betrayed its claim to be the Light of Asia…Russia had been eliminated from consideration at this stage by its defeat by Japan in 1905…Koreans did not, like the Japanese, sense any threat from the West, but rather regarded it as their natural ally” (Wells, “Background to the March First Movement” (1989), 11). Rep. Stephen G. Porter (1869–1930), a Pennsylvania Republican who chaired the House Committee on Foreign Affairs from 1919 to 1930, described the Koreans’ attitude towards America as one of “worship” that he remarked “virtually puts us on a pedestal beside Buddha” (as quoted in Chung 1921, 264–65, citing Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 14, 1920). Kim Il Sung, of course, would later ridicule this as flunkeyistic “America-worship” (崇美主義 Kor. sungmijuŭi). For more on the Great Leader’s disdain for such pro-America attitudes, see Act III, Chapter 27.  “DIRECTLY TRANSLATED INTO POLITICAL LIBERATION”: Even for religious fundamentalists like the father of Rev. David Suh (Sŏ Kwang-sŏn), a second-generation Presbyterian pastor, “he understood the Christian Gospel in political terms. To him Christianity was a political religion…Korean Christians took the Gospel as a liberating message. To the Korean people, spiritual salvation was directly translated into political liberation…Korean Christians heard the Gospel as the message of liberation—not just as an abstract kind of spiritual salvation, but as a concrete message of liberation” (David Suh 1991, 19). Despite this reality, Suh argues, “the definite intent of the missionaries was to spiritualize the Christian message and thus to depoliticize and even de-nationalize Korean Christianity”—a task that Suh regards as ultimately futile (David Suh 1991, 22–23). 
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they hadn’t sailed halfway around the world to help Korea win political autonomy from Japan 

Note“EVANGELISTS ABOVE ALL ELSE”: For Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown, this singular insistence on faith first, and politics second, was based on the notion that Christ didn’t become man in order to bring social change, but rather spiritual salvation. “Missionaries are preachers and evangelists above all else,” he wrote. “They have presented Christ not only as the best man that ever lived but as the incarnation of God. They have proclaimed the gospel not simply as a code of ethics but as what St. Paul declared it to be: ‘the power of God unto salvation’” (Brown 1919, 477). Spiritual considerations aside, Brown viewed nationalism as the very evil—”thoroughly pagan,” he said—that had inflamed passions and laid the foundation for the devastating Great War that came just a few years after Korea’s annexation (Brown 1919, 479).  “THIS WORLD WOULD SOON BE DESTROYED”: Indeed, the missionaries’ premillennial theological convictions meant that Koreans’ eternal fates were of more concern to them than their earthly political fates. “The Korean Presbyterian Church, especially churches in northwestern area around Pyongyang, accepted and internalized the idea that this world would soon be destroyed, an idea originating in premillennialism,” writes one scholar (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 100–2). In 1905, as Japan established its protectorate over Korea, William Swallen helped popularize a hymn, “The Bright, Heavenly Way,” that is still popular among South Korean Christians today, a snippet of which implores the believer, looking around at trials and worries that “seems nigh too much for me; But the blood of Christ our Lord/Puts them wholly to the sword” (as quoted on Jaekeun Lee 2010, 102). Certainly, “the state hoped that Koreans would be distracted from their ‘suffering under colonial rule’ by religious activities and become depoliticized, passive subjects who were number to immediate political, economic, and social concerns,” in the words of one Korean American historian (Albert Park 2015, 82–83).  “HELPED WITH THE CHILDREN…AND PICKED PERSIMMONS”: In a reflection of how divorced some missionaries were from the political reality in Korea during this period, one diary of Sadie Welbon, for nearly three decades a Presbyterian missionary in Korea, hardly mentions the Japanese at all. On August 29, 1910, the day that Korea’s annexation was made public, Welbon’s diary entry, written from the southeastern Korean city of Andong, reads: “Helped with the children, a big washing and bread baking. A woman came thro the west hedge and picked persimmons. Dr. F. had part of his best black suit stolen.” Indeed, there is virtually no mention of the political realities at all between 1909 and 1911 (Ewy 2015, 118, quoting Sadie N. Welbon diary, August 29, 1910, entry).   “UTTERLY DESTROYED”: Many missionaries believed that becoming politically active would ruin the church in the face of the determined Japanese. “The country wanted a leader and the Christian Church was the strongest, most influential single organization in Korea,” recalled William Blair, a Presbyterian missionary in Korea from 1901 to 1942. “Had she departed even a little from the strict principle of non-interference in politics, thousands would have welcomed her leadership and flocked to her banner. But the church would have become a political organization instead of a spiritual institution, and the church itself would have been utterly destroyed” (Blair 1957, 61).  “VIRULENTLY ANTI-JAPANESE”: That is not to say that many missionaries didn’t sympathize with the Koreans’ political plight. Among the Canadian Presbyterian missionaries, who were charged with overseeing the Korean northeast and the Korean diaspora in Manchuria, “there is no doubt that the majority of Canadian Presbyterian missionaries in Korea were virulently anti-Japanese,” writes one historian (Ion 1990, 206–7). When George Ladd, an American Congregationalist and vocal advocate of Japanese rule over Korea, arrived in 1907 as a special adviser of Itō Hirobumi, he reached out to the missionaries and sought to propagate his ideas through a speaking tour at Korea’s YMCAs, only to find many of the missionaries in Seoul unwilling to do anything to help with Ladd’s attempts at “smoothing the way” for the Japanese; Ladd eventually came to regard the American missionaries in Korea as an obstacle to Japan aims, though he also found a warmer welcome in Pyongyang and eventually did give many talks hosted by the missionaries (Ladd 1908, 43, 48–49). 
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—to “render unto Caesar the things which be Caesar’s,” in Christ’s oft-quoted formulation 

NoteJesus is quoted making the remark in Matthew 22, Mark 12, and Luke 20, where Pharisees attempt to entrap him by asking whether Jews should pay taxes to the Roman emperor. A separate passage from Paul’s epistle to the church in Rome adds more texture: “Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation. For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same” (Romans 13:1–3, KJV).  “OBEY…WITH A ‘SWEET MIND’”: Even before the annexation of Korea, missionaries invoked the “render unto Caesar” principle, arguing, as Pyongyang Presbyterian Edwin Wade Koons did in 1908, that “their duty was to obey the Japanese and to do so with a ‘sweet mind’ and not to work for independence.” Indeed, Rev. Koons went so far as to patiently devote describing many hours to “explaining to the church officers and teaching men advantages of Japanese rule” (Paik 1929, 401, citing Koons letter to Brown, February 4, 1908). Also cited in Yu, “American Missionaries and the Korean Independence Movement” (2011), 175. Horace Underwood likewise argued that sticking to religion would allow the missionaries to continue operating their schools in Korea, even after the imposition of Japanese rule. “It is in our favor that we are preaching about a Christ who lived in a colonial area ruled by Rome. Christ gave some good advice then about separating politics from religion,” he wrote (as quoted in McCune and Thompson 2009, 426). Some Korean Christians took this idea of “rendering unto Caesar” to extremes. When the Society for Progress, the pro-Japanese civic group that advocated for annexation, was started in 1904, against the backdrop of Japan’s crushing victory over the Russians, it counted a number of prominent Christians among its founders, and its first meetings were opened with a word of prayer. One prominent Christian evangelist was appointed to report to the Japanese authorities on the group’s activities (Brown 1919, 348).  “HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH POLITICS”: As the Japanese authorities made it clear early in the colonial period that they would brook no dissent from the church, particularly through incidents such as the Conspiracy Case, it became increasingly “clear to the missionaries that unless the Japanese could be assured that the church was ‘apolitical’ and was not being used for the independence movement, their prime mission of preaching the Gospel would be imperiled” (Timothy Lee 2010, 34). Thus, as Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Arthur Brown put it in 1912, “obedience to ‘the powers that be’ was preached from every pulpit. The Church must have nothing to do with politics, the Christians were told” (Brown 1912, 6; and Brown 1919, 566). Brown, writing in another passage in 1919, took it several steps further, urging the Korea missionaries to “cultivate friendly relations with Japanese officials who are willing to be on such terms with them; scrupulously respect and obey, and teach the Korean Christians to respect and obey, the lawfully constituted authorities; limit their activities to missionary duties and keep themselves and, as far as possible, the Korean churches wholly apart from all political matters; take any necessary complaints directly to the Japanese and not to the consular or diplomatic representatives of their respective governments save when their treaty rights as American or British citizens have been violated, and even then not unless the violation was very serious; refuse to shield any Koreans who, although calling themselves Christians, are justly accused of crime; recognize the Japanese nation as the absolute legal master of Korea, which, on the whole, means well and which should be helped and not hindered in all its legitimate policies and methods; and, finally, encourage such relations between Korean and Japanese Christians as will tend to unite the two peoples in bonds of amity” (Brown 1919, 582).  “ABSOLUTELY NEUTRAL PARTIES”: Not that the diplomats were very far from this position. As early as May 1897, the U.S. minister in Seoul, John Sill, had admonished all Americans “to strictly refrain from any expression of opinion or from giving advice concerning the internal management of the country, or from intermeddling in its political questions. If they do so, it is at their own risk and peril” (Dennett 1922, 571–72). Dennett notes that the diplomat was merely following instructions from Secretary of State Walter Q. Gresham (1832–1895), who had cabled him, tersely, in October 1895: “Intervention in the political concerns of Korea is not one of your functions” (Dennett 1922, 505). It was, in fact, Sill’s perceived failure to stay out of Korea’s domestic politics that led to his replacement with Horace Allen, who upon his appointment in 1897 was instructed by Secretary of State John Sherman (1823–1900): “It behooves the United States and their representatives, as absolutely neutral parties, to say or do nothing that can in any way be construed as taking sides with or against any of the interested powers” (Dennett 1922, 506, citing John Sherman telegram to Horace N. Allen, November 19, 1897). Japan’s skill at navigating the delicate diplomacy of this period, and its success in winning treatment as an equal of the Western powers, could be seen not only in Western acquiescence of Japan’s establishment of its protectorate over Korea in 1905, and its outright annexation of Korea in 1910. It could be seen too on April 21, 1913, when Japan revoked extraterritoriality in Korea—and the U.S., the U.K., Germany, France, Italy, and Belgium turned over all their property to Japan and submitted their nationals in Korea to Japanese law (Dudden 2005, 100, 127). 
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“and advised His apostles to submit themselves to a far worse government than the Japanese” 

NoteHanihana Masanao (埴原 正直 1876–1934), the recipient of the letter from Arthur Brown, was a Japanese diplomat who served several postings in the U.S. in the 1910s and 1920s.  “PATIENTLY ENDURE SOME INJUSTICE”: On a philosophical level, Brown wrote, “the missionaries strongly believe that all due respect should be paid to the lawfully constituted civil authorities, that care should be observed not to embarrass them needlessly, that the laws of the land should be obeyed, and that it is better for the followers of Christ patiently to endure some injustice than to array the churches in antagonism to the governments under which they labor” (Brown 1919, 475). It wasn’t a difficult argument for Brown to make, since he had little sympathy for Korean nationalism, viewing it as a distraction from the missionaries’ divine assignment. Brown was hardly an outlier in taking such a position. The Presbyterian foreign missions board’s basic policy manual, first published in 1862 and revised several times afterwards, including in 1896 and 1922, instructed missionaries “to refrain from direct political activities and not be involved in political movements or disputes,” though how that worked in practice, in the words of one historian, “was particularly hard to interpret” (Piper 2000, 177–78). As a Presbyterian missionary journal article declared in September 1885, just as the first Protestant missionaries were arriving in Korea: “Nothing could be more uncalled for, or more injurious to our real missionary work, than for us to seem to take any part in the political factions of Korea” (“The Hour for Korea,” The Foreign Missionary 44, no. 4 (September 1885), 153–56, here 156). Also cited in Wi Jo Kang, “Presbyterians and the Japanese” (1984), 36. Indeed, among the Korea missionaries, wrote L. George Paik, a pioneering historian of missions work in Korea, “a large number favored and coöperated with the Japanese and made an effort to quiet the restlessness of the Christians” (Paik 1929, 401). Also cited in Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 15, n. 44. Emory University church historian Arun Jones likewise writes that “American Protestant missionaries in general…quickly recognized and supported Japan’s claims over Korea in the first decade of Japanese rule; it was only the pressure from both Korean Christians and Japanese colonialism as the years wore on that made the missionary community change its mind about the desirability of colonial rule” (Jones, “The Great Revival of 1907,” (2009), 89).  “A SPIRITUAL ORGANIZATION”: The General Council of Evangelical Missions, formed in 1905, avoided making any public comments on Korea’s sovereignty, cooperating with the Japanese authorities and discouraging any nationalistic activity within the church, fearing a clampdown by the Japanese (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 90–91). In 1908, the Presbyterian missionaries told the Koreans that their duty was to obey the Japanese (Jaekeun Lee 2010, 101). As missionary Charles Clark wrote in a letter that year to Arthur Brown: “Our position has been that the church is a spiritual organization and as such is not concerned with politics either for or against the present or any other government. Literally hundreds of times in the past we have stood by when our people have been suffering persecution and we have refused to speak one word to any magistrate that might free them. Since the Japanese came to Korea we have consistently and persistently maintained our policy as in the past. We are not and have not been anti-Japanese but in the same sense we are not and have not been pro-Japanese. We are absolutely not concerned with political matters as a body. We have rigidly held our people as a body from any anti-Japanese demonstration and even as individuals we know of a bare handful who have taken any active measures against the Japanese. Every one of these was immediately struck off our church rolls and although dozens of Korean insurgents have begged to be enrolled in our churches hoping for protection thereby we have rigidly refused to enroll any such or permit them to attend our churches until they have first made their peace with the authorities” (Clark letter to Brown, February 5, 1908). 
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“is neither pro-Chinese nor pro-Japanese. We want most of all to see Korea benefitted” 

Note“OUR ALL-ABSORBING PASSION”: Samuel Moffett had written this in November 1894, in the immediate aftermath of Pyongyang’s destruction during the Sino-Japanese War that year. For Moffett, “rendering unto Caesar” came naturally, regardless of whether the Japanese authorities were pressuring the church to stay out of politics. As Moffett saw it, everything must take a back seat to the salvation of souls—whether it be politics or even the operation of modern Western schools and hospitals. “I have been foremost in the Mission in advocating thorough first class medical and educational work—but I insist with all the strength of deep conviction that that development must succeed, not precede the establishment of the Church” (Moffett letter to Ellinwood, October 22, 1900). For missionaries like Moffett, the swallowing up of Korea by its hated rival was all the more reason for Korea’s Christians to look inward and focus on their faith and the afterlife, rather than get entangled in any political intrigue. In 1905, the year that the protectorate was established, Moffett reaffirmed that belief, declaring: “What we need is to have our life interest, our all-absorbing passion the work of soul-saving, of soul-developing” (Moffett, “Pre-Requisites and Principles,” in Counsel to New Missionaries 1905, 67). Also cited in Jaekeun Lee 2010, 97. “The only and only way of salvation,” Moffett added in the same piece, is “through faith in Christ…this gospel only is the power of God unto salvation” (Moffett, “Pre-Requisites and Principles,” in Counsel to New Missionaries 1905, 61). Moffett’s closest friend and confidant William Baird agreed wholeheartedly. “I am absolutely certain that the new Korea will be saved only by the gospel of Christ preached to them by an earnest aggressive church,” Baird wrote in 1905 (“Personal Report of W. M. Baird for 1904–05,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 406–7). Two years later in 1907, amid the political and spiritual turbulence that year, the missionaries could boast about their aloofness from any allegation of political meddling. As the editors of Korea Mission Field wrote in October 1907: “We have heard it rumored in some quarters that the Japanese authorities both in Japan and Korea are suspecting the missionaries in Korea of complicity with the Koreans in the present uprisings and also suspect them of a secret campaign against the Japanese regime in this country. I am sure that we represent the thought of the entire missionary body in Korea when we say that such a suspicion is unfounded and such cannot be inferred from the actions and words of the general missionary body in Korea. A strict neutrality has been maintained and a determination to keep hands out of politics is a well known fact to all who are acquainted with the missionary plans and policy of the Christian church” (“Editorial,” Korea Mission Field (October 1907), 155).  “WOULD HAVE ARISEN IN REBELLION”: Moffett, of course, was fully aware of the church’s political power, boasting in the summer of 1912 that, if the missionaries had given the word, “the whole north of Korea would have arisen in rebellion under the leadership of the Christians” (as quoted in George W. Fulton letter to Unknown [possibly Arthur Brown], September 6, 1912, Karuizawa, Japan (MKC)). Instead, Moffett served as a restraining force on any attempts by Korea’s Christian leaders to use their position in the church to confront the Japanese. “The Korean leaders were on the point of directly defying the Japanese but were won over by Dr. Moffett in such a way that in the future they will more willingly take his advice,” colleague Harry Whiting recounted following an earlier political standoff in February 1909 (Harry C. Whiting letter to Arthur J. Brown, February 11, 1909, Chai Ryung, Korea (PHS 282/239/26)). Another missionary, Charles Clark, boasted that the foreign evangelists had stood by “literally hundreds of times,” refusing to help their believers and thus remaining blessedly above politics, when being punished by the authorities (Paik 1929, 401–2, quoting Charles A. Clark letter to Unknown, February 15, 1908, Seoul). Also cited in Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 15. The Pyongyang Presbyterians were also proud of the distance that they kept from Ernest Bethell and Homer Hulbert, the two most noisily pro-Korean foreigners in the country. “We have had nothing to do absolutely with either of the men,” Clark wrote (Clark letter to Brown, February 5, 1908). As Arthur Brown boasted, “if it had not been for the missionaries, a revolution would have broken out when Korea was annexed to Japan” (Brown 1919, 574). The Japanese apparently agreed. Tokyo’s senior official in Ŭiju remarked, according to the editors of the Korea Mission Field periodical, “that there were no uprisings in the northern province of Pyeng An simply because of the presence and power of the missionary. That the missionary has been a factor in keeping down a general uprising and has exhorted the church membership to constancy is a matter so well known that it is not necessary to elaborate upon it” (“News Notes,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 2 (February 1908), 24).  
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the early missionaries tried to ingratiate themselves with King Kojong and the royal court? 

NoteThe missionaries had long played a direct role in encouraging Korean nationalistic aspirations. They certainly had no problem with early Korean converts hanging national flags from their churches and houses on Sundays, and after Queen Min’s assassination in 1895, the Presbyterians and Methodists held a joint memorial service in her honor (Chu, “A History of the Protestant Church,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 149).  “CHRISTIANITY PROMOTES LOYALTY”: For King Kojong’s forty-fifth birthday, the missionaries in Seoul joined the leaders of the Independence Club, which was agitating for Kojong to formally elevate the Korean kingdom to an empire, in organizing a lavish celebration on September 2, 1896 (Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 16–17). The gathering, held on what Westerners would consider Kojong’s forty-fourth birthday at the site where the Independence Hall was to be constructed, resembled a Christian meeting, with prayer and praise songs. With Korean flags draping the building, Horace Underwood packed thousands of Koreans into a large public building, where tracts were handed out explaining the Christian gospel and the service bookended by prayers, including the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer to close the session. Those Koreans who attended, Lillias Underwood recounted later, “learned that Christianity promotes loyalty, that there is only one God, and that only in serving Him can prosperity come.” They also sang a hymn, set to the tune of a patriotic song, “America”—presumably, “America (My Country, ‘Tis of Thee)”—with lyrics modified to pray for God to bless Kojong:  “By Thine Almighty Power  Our royal emperor  Has been Enthroned.  Thy Holy Spirit grant  Our nation never fail,  Long live our emperor  Upheld by Thee.”  The meeting, which Lillias Underwood called a “Christian meeting of prayer and praise to celebrate His Majesty’s birthday,” served as “an advertisement of Christianity”: “The news was carried everywhere that the Christian religion was a good and loyal doctrine, worthy to be looked into, considered with favor by the best; it was no occult, secret sorcery, hiding in the dark to draw men into its toils, but proclaimed the power of Almighty God and sought His favor” (Lillias Underwood 1918, 163–66). Graham Lee, apparently writing about the same birthday bash in 1896, put it in even more straightforward terms: “We are trying to train our Christians to be patriotic and the idea has taken root,” Lee wrote. “The sarang at the church was beautifully illuminated with lanterns and a large transparency was erected on a high pole in the center of the compound. There were plenty of fire crackers, rockets that wouldn’t go up and other fireworks of various kinds. It was a grand success and if the people didn’t feel patriotic they certainly acted like it. The whole affair was originated and engineered by the church members” (Lee, “Pyeng Yang Station General Report,” October 1896 (PHS)).  “AN UNABASHEDLY ‘CHRISTIAN ASSEMBLY’”: In 1897, Methodist leaders organized a large-scale celebration for the 505th anniversary of the founding of the Chosŏn dynasty, as well as a celebration for King Kojong’s birthday weeks later, featuring speeches by Yun Ch’i-ho and missionary Henry Appenzeller. “No one specifically talked about Christianity at the venue, but Methodist Christianity was certainly the driving force advancing the nationalist cause,” writes one historian of the former celebration, adding of the latter, quoting Yun Ch’i-ho: “A great many attended the celebration, as if to pay homage to the nation in an unabashedly ‘Christian assembly’” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 195–96; and Chandra, “Sentiment and Ideology” (1986), 17). The Korean Christian Advocate, a Korean vernacular-only newspaper founded in February 1897 by Henry Appenzeller, “offered a photograph of Kojong as a subscription gift. It was the first mass distribution of an image of the monarch in the history of the Chosŏn dynasty” (Noh, “The Role of Newspapers” (2017), 45).  “REPRESENTING A CHRISTIAN NATION”: As late as 1912, the U.S. consulate in Seoul hosted Christian prayer meetings, which the missionaries wrote went a long way towards “representing a Christian nation.” “We are glad that now we have a man and woman who can demonstrate to the world, that we believe the worship of God has at least as much right in our national offices, as any other kind of affairs of dignity and national importance,” the editors of the missionary periodical Korea Mission Field wrote (“Notes and Personals,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 2 (February 1912), 39–40, here 40).  ESCORTING A PRINCE TO VIRGINIA: Samuel Moffett, for all his professions of political disengagement, took it upon himself to personally escort one of King Kojong’s sons—Yi Kang, known as Prince Ŭihwa—to the U.S., where he would study at Roanoke College in Virginia, part of a broader effort that, it was hoped, would give the American missionaries more influence at court (see Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, December 15, 1896, Colorado Springs, Colo. (PHS 179/8/79); Mary Ellinwood 1911, 105–7; and Loomis 1923, 89–91). Moffett also hoped to bring Prince Ŭihwa to Dwight Moody’s Northfield Conference so “he would see a phase of life which might greatly contribute to his good” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Frank F. Ellinwood, June 21, 1897, Madison, Ind. (PHS 179/8/unnumbered)). However, the missionaries soon became dismayed as the prince “steadily undermined all Protestant influences,” remaining in Washington, D.C., and “evincing more inclination for pleasure than for study, and showing only antipathy to the Korean minister.” Eventually, the prince, chafing under the various demands being put upon him, secretly escaped, traveling to Japan (Mary Ellinwood 1911, 106–7). More details on Prince Ŭihwa’s dissolute ways can be found in the Supplemental Notes for Act I, Chapter 7. For a detailed look at how closely aligned the Korean church and the missionaries were with the Korean royal family during the final years of the nineteenth century—and how quickly the missionaries, under Japanese scrutiny, later distanced themselves from any hint of pro-Korean nationalism, see Yi Mahn-yŏl, “Birth of the National Spirit,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 52–54, 61–64. 
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for the Japanese, looked suspiciously like cowardice—or, worse, like support for colonial rule 

NoteThe notion that opposition to Japanese rule could be construed as hatred of the Japanese people emerged as a recurring theme during this period. Amid the Great Pyongyang Revival of 1907, Rev. William Blair had preached that it was un-Christian for Koreans to hate the Japanese—a stance that upset Korean nationalists within the church, who believed the missionaries’ stance overlooked Japan’s repressive policies and suspected that it was aimed merely at keeping the church in Tokyo’s good graces (Timothy Lee 2010, 20, 27). Christ’s command to “render unto Caesar” was especially welcome to Japanese colonial officials, one of whom approvingly quoted a Scribners’ Magazine article in March 1920 by Charles H. Sherrill, an American diplomat and writer, who invoked Christ’s command to “render unto Caesar” after visiting Korea in 1919: “Missionary methods that are subversive of foreign governmental systems are un-Christian and need changing—and so do the missionaries,” Sherrill wrote (as quoted in Nakarai 1921, 27–28).  “UN-CHRISTIAN RACE-HATRED”: George Ladd, the American Congregationalist minister and advocate of Japanese rule over Korea who witnessed the aftershocks of the Great Revival during a visit to Pyongyang in April 1907, recalled witnessing confessions of “bitter hatred of the Japanese, and even of murderous thoughts and plans toward them. These wholesome self-accusations were in several instances followed by earnest and pathetic petitions not only for forgiveness of themselves, but for the Divine blessing upon their enemies.” Ladd, addressing the audience afterwards, asked the students to banish from their hearts “the unreasonable and un-Christian character of race-hatred” (Ladd 1908, 109–10). Helen Kim (Kim Hwal-ran 金活蘭 1899–1970), one of Korea’s most prominent early woman converts and later the headmistress of what is today Ewha Womans University, recalled a vision coming to her while praying as a student: “I struggled and prayed this prayer all night long. Suddenly the illumination came to me that my sins were pride, self-will, and hatred for the Japanese. I fell upon the floor and asked God to forgive all my sins committed against Him. I immediately felt His forgiveness,” she wrote years later. “This was followed by a remarkable vision. I seemed to see Him take the three bags of sin away, showing me what to do the rest of my life” (Helen Kim [Kim, Hwal-ran], Grace Sufficient: The Story of Helen Kim, ed. J. Manning Potts (Nashville, Tenn.: The Upper Room, 1964), 29–30). Also quoted in David Suh 1991, 28. 
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the Western missionaries genuinely regarded Japanese rule as the best political hope for Korea 

NoteAs Korea church historian Donald Clark put it, “quite a few missionaries saw the Japanese as reformers who would improve conditions and perhaps even make missionary work easier” (Clark 2003, 40–41). Of course, it wasn’t just the missionaries; many other Westerners felt the same way. British journalist and politician Henry Norman wrote in 1895 after a trip through the Far East: “Is there, then, any hope for Korea? Only from outside—that is, under present circumstances, from Japan” (Henry Norman 1895, 346). British journalist Angus Hamilton added five years later: “From the very beginning, it has been the unbroken policy of Japan to open the ‘Hermit Kingdom’ to the world, to establish terms of neighbourly friendship with the peninsular nation, to strengthen the Korean Imperial House, and to maintain the independence of the country.” In Hamilton’s view, Japan’s good faith efforts to reform backwards Korea were met with little more than “plots and counterplots,” and Japan was forced again to again to fend off China and then Russia to pursue its friendly reform program (Hamilton et al. 1910, 218–23). 
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“themselves to it and scrupulously avoid acts and utterances that are incompatible with it” 

NoteArthur Brown had told a Japanese colonial official in 1912 that “Japanese administration is far better than Korea would otherwise have had and far better than Korea had under its own rule” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 43–44, quoting Arthur J. Brown letter to Hanihana Masanao, February 16, 1912). It is noteworthy that Brown wrote this even as the Japanese arrested dozens of prominent Korean Christian nationalists in the so-called Conspiracy Case, which Brown himself had published a pamphlet on, denouncing the Japanese action as an attempt to shut down the Korean church (see Arthur Judson Brown, “The Korean Conspiracy Case” (Northfield, Mass.: Northfield Press, 1912)). Indeed, despite their occasionally suffocating clampdowns on the Christian faith, many missionaries saw common cause with Tokyo in uplifting the benighted Koreans and came to believe that Japan shared many of the same goals that they did (Timothy Lee 2010, 34; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 92).  
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“the Korean government has forfeited a right to a hearing because of their centuries of misrule” 

Note“The Japanese are here to stay, and that inclines me to believe that they are here by the direction of Providence to accomplish a good purpose,” William Baird added in this letter to Arthur Brown (Baird letter to Brown, March 14, 1906). Some Western missionaries went so far as to deride Korean nationalists, particularly those of the “righteous armies,” who took up arms against the Japanese in 1907. “They have from being professed patriots degenerated into a lot of thieves and robbers,” James Gale wrote in 1908 (James S. Gale letter to Arthur J. Brown, February 3, 1908, Seoul (PHS 282/238/21)). “The so-called ‘Righteous Army’…is neither an army or righteous,” added missionary Edwin Wade Koons, who openly supported the Japanese suppression efforts. “The Japanese course seems very wise & I hope they will now get the matter over with” (Edwin Wade Koons letter to Arthur J. Brown, January 12, 1908, Tura Dong, Korea (PHS 282/238/7)). Another American, a Seoul-based missionary named F. Herron Smith (1879–1965), argued more generally that Korea’s Christians, by having “made themselves revolutionaries and rebels,” had “made an enormous blunder” by grandstanding in such a way, as he characterized it. Smith also reserved some scorn for his missionary colleagues, who he argued had made it impossible to defend their political neutrality by so vehemently condemning Japan’s crackdown on nationalist activity (as quoted in Nakarai 1921, 29–31). In a posture that would enrage some Korean nationalists—including a future Kim Il Sung—“preachers argued from the pulpit that the humiliating loss of national independence was brought on by Koreans themselves; that Korea had sinned as a nation; and that independence would not be regained until Korea repented its sins. Korean Christians blamed not the Japanese, but themselves first” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 31–32). 
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Catholics, who could sometimes be obsequious in their dealings with the colonial authorities 

NoteThe Methodist Church in Japan, headed by Bishop Merriman Harris, aligned itself closely with Tokyo’s aims, setting up a presence in Seoul after the establishment of the Japanese protectorate in 1905 (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 111). The Anglican Church, with its historic ties to the British crown, similarly cast its lot with the Japanese after the signing of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance in 1902. And the Catholics were arguably the most enthusiastic supporters of Japan’s colonial dominance.  “AN AGENT OF THE JAPANESE GOVERNMENT”: One of Itō Hirobumi’s first acts upon arriving in Seoul that year to oversee the newly-established residency-general was to meet with the Bishop Harris, telling him that while the Japanese were here to oversee “the political side of the Korean problem,” he looked to the church to tend to “the moral and spiritual salvation of the Korean people”—music to the missionaries’ ears—while personally donating 10,000 yen for the construction of a Methodist church in Pyongyang; Itō would also contribute 10,000 yen per year for several years to the YMCA in Seoul (Nakarai 1921, 6). Bishop Harris, a longtime missionary to Japan who was elected bishop of both Japan and Korea in 1904 but who never lived in Korea, was a “pro and ultra Japanese,” in the eyes of Methodist missionary William Scranton, and, as Presbyterian missionary to Korea Walter E. Smith (1874–1932) put it, was “quite generally considered an agent of the Japanese government rather than a bishop in the Christian church” (Huntley, Martha 1984, p. 155). Scranton himself had stated as early as 1905 that, “as foreigners living in Korea, we are nearly all pro-Japanese to the extent of wishing well for Japan in Korea, if she will do well by Korea” (Huntley 1984, 155, citing William B. Scranton letter to Adna B. Leonard, May 15, 1905). Bishop Harris, in the words of another historian, “strongly favored the Japanese domination of Korea,” and vowed in 1908 to tell President Theodore Roosevelt and Secretary of State Elihu Root that “the occupation of the country by the Japanese seems to be the hand of Providence working for the good of Korea” (as quoted in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 58).  “ACCEPT THE FACT OF JAPANESE RULE”: When Bishop Harris and the nationalist Christian leader Syngman Rhee sailed together across the Pacific Ocean from Korea to the U.S. in 1912, the Methodist clergyman tried to convince Rhee to “accept the fact of Japanese rule” (Oliver 1954, 120; and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 56). At a Methodist conference in Minneapolis in 1912, Rhee took the floor to urge the church to retain an independent Korean church rather than subsume itself to the Japanese church—only to find himself coming under harsh censure for imperiling the ongoing Methodist missionary work taking place in Korea, which was only possible with Tokyo’s approval. By the end of the conference, the Methodists passed resolutions recommitting the denomination to working closely with the Japanese to conduct missions work in Korea—a bitter defeat for Rhee (Oliver 1954, 120–21). For more on the Methodist Quadrennial Conference, which lasted from May 1 to 29, 1912, including mention of an initial attempt to incorporate the Korean Methodist Church into the Chinese Methodist Church Association, see Lew 2014, 59–60. The Presbyterians generally came off looking better in the eyes of impatient Korean nationalists than the Methodists. Whereas the Methodists administratively had one bishop overseeing both Japan and Korea—who, until 1916, was based in Japan, “Japan had his first consideration because her mission was established first.” The Presbyterians, by contrast, retained a separate Korea mission, for which one scholar remarks: “Dr. H. G. Underwood and Dr. S. A. Moffett must be given full credit for championing this cause” (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 116).  ANGLICAN ACQUIESCENCE: The Anglican Church, with its historic ties to the British crown, similarly cast its lot with the Japanese after the signing of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance in 1902. By siding with the Japanese, the Anglican Church thrived in Korea. In 1910, the same year Japan annexed Korea, construction on an elaborate cathedral was started in central Seoul in 1922 (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 109). The sense of betrayal among Korean nationalists would have been particularly bitter in the case of the Anglicans, whose Book of Common Prayer for Korea had earlier included a prayer for the Korean emperor: “We are taught by Thy Holy Word that the hearts of kings are in Thy rule and governance and that Thou dost dispose and turn them as it seemeth best to Thy godly wisdom” (Corfe 1905, 42).  CATHOLIC COMPROMISE: Among the various Christian groups in Korea, however, the Catholics likely take the cake as the most enthusiastic supporters of Japan’s colonial rule, lending their full-throated support to Tokyo’s hegemony and using the church’s official newspaper, Kyŏnghyang Daily (京鄉新聞 Kor. Kyŏnghyang Sinmun) to deride, for example, the “righteous armies” as opponents of Japan’s enlightened leadership. The Catholics took up what one scholar calls a “definitive position” in support of Japan’s protectorate over Korea, with the official newspaper arguing for the lawfulness of Japan’s authority over Korea. Bishop Gustave Mutel, appointed the vicar apostolic of Korea in 1890, had by 1906 given his full support to Tokyo, regarding Korea’s demise as “the inevitable result of global politics,” in the words of one pair of historians (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 90). Perhaps not coincidentally, the Catholic church experienced considerable growth during the first decade of Japanese rule, creating two new vicariates apostolic in south-central Korea in 1911—in Seoul and in Taegu—followed by a third in the northeastern city of Wŏnsan in 1920; by the early 1940s, before the Japanese surrender in 1945, there were 308 Catholic priests overseeing 183,000 communicants in Korea (Grayson, “A Quarter-Millennium,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 14). Most controversially, in May 1936, the Catholic church signed a convention acknowledging that Shintō shrine worship as a civic rite, not a religious one (Grayson, “A Quarter-Millennium,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 15). For more on the Shintō shrine issue and how it divided the various Christian churches in Korea, see Act II, Chapter 21.  
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were accomplishing in Korea, concluding with a prayer that Japan would rule Korea forever 

NoteAdna B. Leonard (1837–1916) was editor of The Christian Advocate and made these remarks in a speech at the Great Auditorium in Ocean Grove, N.J., a storied Methodist meeting place. Reading about this speech in New York, the Methodist nationalist Syngman Rhee, then thirty years old, fired off a letter of protest and told reporters that the Koreans “will never submit to the Japs” (Oliver 1954, 103). Meanwhile, George H. Jones, a Methodist missionary who had been in Korea since 1887, told the First General Conference of the Methodist Church in Japan that “Providence has bound up together the destinies of the two nations.” Rev. Jones affirmed that, “as a church in Korea we deliberately stand aloof from all politics,” but also made clear that he believed “a new life opens up before Korea. Japan has sent her veteran statesman to advise and guide Korea, the man to whom in the largest sense Japan owes so much the most conspicuous statesman in Asia to-day, Marquis Ito” (as quoted in Ladd 1908, 168–69). 
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with cleaning up what she called the filthy, lazy habits that were “a racial trait of the Koreans” 

NoteThe writer, a Methodist medical missionary to Japan and India named Belle J. Allen (1862–1946), was unsparing in her assessment of Koreans’ need for Japanese rule: “A racial trait of the Koreans most repellent to the foreigner is their unspeakable uncleanliness. All refuse is thrown on the ground and left in the hot sun. Liquid filth is carried in open trenches and left to seep into the soil and contaminate the wells. In the wet season a Korean city becomes a hotbed of cholera, typhus, and like diseases. The Korean, naturally indolent, resents the determined efforts of the usurping Japanese authorities to clean his filthy alleys and inaugurate sanitary measures, but it cannot be denied that, as regards the physical basis of life, the taking over of the reins of power by Japan is all to the good. Korea is rousing to a realization of her abject poverty, ignorance, and backwardness as related to modern civilization; she clamors for enlightenment and education. Japan is not only cleaning her up, but waking her up” (Allen 1919, 118). In the next breath, Allen could also be more empathetic, making the point that “those who live for any length of time in the Orient come to realize that the difference between the Occidental and the Oriental is largely superficial” (Allen 1919, 118–19). She also praised what she regarded as Koreans’ in-built trait of hospitality, such that inns and hotels weren’t needed in Korea, since “the most sacred” of the Koreans’ traits was hospitality, and “houses are so built that the exterior room may provide rest and welcome even for the stranger” (Allen 1919, 119). Allen’s complaints of filthiness, of course, were not an outlier, and was frequently remarked upon by missionary and non-missionary alike. One unnamed nineteenth-century English world traveler was quoted, for instance, quipping that the dirtiest man he ever met was a clean Korean (Gilmore 1892, 72; and Beach 1901, 239). 
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sentiment, they could still come across as being uncomfortably close to the colonial powers 

NoteAs Korean church historian Pak Chŏng-sin notes: “For their mutual benefit, the missionaries and the colonial government began to establish a friendly relationship. Itō Hirobumi, the Resident-General, established especially good relations with missionaries. The missionaries recompensed the colonial government for its support by announcing that Japanese rule would be beneficial for the Koreans and by teaching Korean Christians that religion should be separate from politics” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 31). Though the missionaries regularly hobnobbed with Japanese colonial officials in Korea, mostly out of a sense of honoring earthly authorities and rendering unto Caesar, it wasn’t always fun. “A nuisance & a bore!!!” Samuel Moffett wrote of a black-tie reception in late January 1909 to mark the anniversary of the Meiji emperor’s accession to the throne (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Alice, My Dearest [Moffett, Alice Fish], January 26, 1909, Pyengyang (MKC)). A few days later, on February 1, 1909, Resident-General Itō met with four prominent Korean Christians, including Moffett (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Girlie Dearest [Moffett, Alice Fish], January 31, 1909 (addendum on February 1, 1909), Pyengyang (MKC)).  JUDGE WATANABE: Watanabe Noboru (渡邊 昇 1838–1913), who was appointed as chief justice of the supreme court in Korea in 1908, came to play a particularly important role in bridging the divide between the colonial authorities and the American missionaries. Judge Watanabe was a Presbyterian elder who Arthur Brown, the Presbyterian missions board secretary, regarded as “a Christian gentleman of as fine a type as one could find anywhere.” After arriving in Seoul, Judge Watanabe was invited to preach at a church in Seoul, where he read from Ephesians 4:4–6 and “preached Christ with earnestness and power” (Brown 1919, 361). Judge Watanabe was a close friend of Rev. Henry Loomis, the American missionary to Japan. Loomis’ biographer describes Watanabe as someone who had been exposed to Christianity relatively early, but who didn’t embrace it until he married a woman who had been raised in a Christian home. Watanabe served as chief judge of the higher court in Yokohama, and president of the Yokohama YMCA before his appointment to Seoul as chief justice; there, he served as president of the Seoul YMCA (Loomis 1923, 108, 128–29).  
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in anti-Japanese political activities were “kept from responsible positions in the Church” 

NoteThe quote here is from a memorandum penned by the missionaries Samuel Moffett, Norman Whittemore, Oliver Avison, George S. McCune, and Charles E. Sharp to Governor-General Terauchi in January 8, 1912 (as quoted in Wi Jo Kang, 44). As Arthur Brown wrote shortly after annexation: “Some Christians who were suspected of activity in political movements were not permitted to hold office in the Church, and in some cases were excommunicated. So strong was this determination of the missionaries and Korean Church leaders that it was not uncommon for Koreans outside of the Churches to taunt Christians with being on the side of the enemies of their country and for the missionaries to be told that if it were not for them, a revolution would have been started long ago” (Brown 1912, 6).  “HE CHANGED FROM BEING SINGLE-HEARTED IN GOSPEL WORK”: When Han Sŏk-jin, Moffett’s original helper in Pyongyang, had begun to become more politically engaged around 1901, Moffett began nudging him aside, according to James Gale. “One of the first helpers that our mission had in Pyengyang was a Mr. Han. He was first in the early days and had the confidence of the missionary, he preached, he prayed, he was evident in all gatherings; now I visit Pyengyang and Han sits among those who are not heard from. He is set aside. Why? because he changed from being single-hearted in Gospel work to become a political agitator and the missionary most wisely set him aside and chose others” (James S. Gale, “Personal Annual Report for the Year 1900–1901,” September 1901, Seoul (PHS 285/244)). Moffett may have nudged Han aside, but it was only a nudge. Han Sŏk-jin remained an important leader in the Korean Presbyterian church and was on the stage at Moffett’s fifty-first birthday party, identified as “pastor of one of the largest Presbyterian churches in Seoul” (“Twenty-Five Years of Missions in North Korea,” The Continent 46, no. 10 (March 11, 1915), 308). For a direct confrontation between Moffett and Han over political engagement, see Act II, Chapter 15. 
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had embraced the faith but also sought to resist the Japanese, thus splitting the Korean church 

NoteWhile Japan’s attempts to win the support of Korean elites during the five-year lifespan of the protectorate failed, ultimately forcing Itō’s resignation, the tighter grip allowed by the full-scale annexation of Korea gave the colonial rulers enough room to maneuver—and the Japanese used it shrewdly to coopt enough influential Koreans to break the united resistance to Japanese domination.  INSIDIOUS CLEAVAGES: Rather than fighting the Japanese as a cohesive front, radical nationalists and moderate accommodationists were instead riven by ideological infighting—an “insidious strategy” that continues to form one of the major fault lines of politics in South Korea nearly a century later (Choong Soon Kim 1998, 15–16). “The very success of its cooptive political control policies exacerbated internal cleavages among Korean independence fighters” (Eckert et al. 1990, 255). The Japanese policy worked wonderfully well in this period, and the demonization of Christian gradualist nationalists by the radical left, writes one defender of the Christian conservatives, reflected the “skillful Japanese manipulation that divided Korean nationalists to conquer them effectively… Even a half century after Korea’s independence from Japanese occupation, many Koreans have not thrown off the influence of the Japanese colonialists” (Choong Soon Kim 1998, 158). The lack of any political representation for Koreans meant that the only route to any involvement in affairs of state was through the Japanese bureaucracy—thus giving any Korean who took this path “the stigma of collaboration” (Wells 1984, 146). After March 1919, when the Japanese pivoted to a new “cultural policy” allowing more political freedoms, “moderate nationalists became less and less active in the face of Japanese pressure, while socialists and radicals, no longer constrained by united front politics, sought more direct forms of action” (Buzo 2002, 45). 
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they regarded as indistinguishable from a policy of accommodation with the hated occupiers 

Note“IT WAS LUKEWARM”: As late as 1909, “it was the popular thing to be a Christian, till it was discovered that the Church was ‘hands off’ as regards Caesar, that it was apathetic,” James Gale wrote that year, as the prospect of annexation loomed over Korea. “The converts seemed to sit by and see the country go to the dogs, so it was not for the patriot…the Church was not an enemy of Japan or the Japanese, therefore it was no good; it was neither for nor against, it was lukewarm, and the moving spirits of the land laughed it to scorn” (Gale 1909, 164–65). After 1910, though, for many Korean nationalists, there was simply no such thing as neutrality, writes Timothy Lee, a church historian at Brite Divinity School in Fort Worth, Tex.: “One had to choose a side. And if one refused to take a side—which was what the missionaries did with their declaration of political neutrality—it merely meant that one was accepting the status quo, which was just a passive way of accepting the Japanese rule” (Timothy Lee 2010, 33–34). There may have been a sound argument for the gradualist moderate approach—a belief that education and enlightenment would eventually pave the way for Korea independence—but, as Carter Eckert and his coauthors write, the argument was “never carefully explained” (Eckert et al. 1991, 31).  PRESERVING THE WORK: Jung H. Pak, a historian-turned-senior U.S. official in the Obama and Biden administrations, argues that the missionaries were ultimately motivated by a desire to preserve their ability to proselytize in Korea: “As long as Japan ensured freedom of religion in their newly acquired colony, the missionaries were content with Japanese rule. In other words, missionaries had little criticism for Japan’s secular maneuvers in Korea, however unfair or oppressive to Koreans, as long as Japan did not try to extend its power into the sacred sphere” (Pak 2006, 62). As Roy Shearer, a more sympathetic church historian, wrote: “When the missionary, wisely, did not become involved in any revolutionary movement to throw out conquering Japan, the common people of Korea had some question as to whether the missionaries had the Koreans’ best interests at heart” (Shearer 1966, 63). And historian Hamish Ion has argued that the missionaries could easily have gone even further in currying favor with the Japanese. “It would have been more logical for missionaries to have acted as agents of Japanese cultural imperialism by helping to foster the Japanese language. This would have gained official support from the Japanese, which in turn could have been used to get official support for teaching Christianity in Japanese” (Ion 1990, 138). That they didn’t is, Ion suggests, is a merit that the missionaries can claim. 
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church leaders were called traitors by their Korean charges, and others received death threats 

Note “Great was the disappointment everywhere when the United States, following England’s example, hastened to recognize Japan’s control of Korea,” adds William Blair, who supplies the detail here about death threats to missionaries. “A violent anti-foreign, especially anti-American storm swept over the land” (Blair 1957, 62). One source points to An Ch’ang-ho, the prominent Korean nationalist orator and Christian convert, assaulting Moffett and Graham Lee on the streets of Pyongyang for apparently “distracting Korean believers from the nation’s political woes” (Timothy Lee 2010, 34–35, n. 151 (footnote on 166)). This portrayal of An Ch’ang-ho as violent and impulsive should be taken with a grain of salt, and doesn’t square with the general picture of the consummate gradualist nationalist—though some scholars have argued that he was more radical than he let on (see, for instance, Pak, “Cradle of the Covenant,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 118–20). 
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about Koreans joining the church in search of political salvation rather than the spiritual variety 

Note “NO RELATION WHATEVER TO POLITICS”: Arthur Brown, the ever-vigilant Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary in New York, warned of nationalists seeking to borrow the legitimacy of Christian groups and even to coopt the church, filling the ranks of the Korean peninsula’s YMCAs and the Methodist Church’s Epworth Leagues for young believers with members of the righteous armies. “The Presbyterians warned their churches against the societies, dismissed evangelists and teachers who were active in them, and sharply disciplined members whose activities were more political than religious,” Brown noted with satisfaction (Brown 1919, 350). For the most part, Brown believed the missionaries to be largely successful in clearing the church of political mischief-makers. “The Koreans now clearly understand that the Christian Church and the Y.M.C.A. have no relation whatever to politics, and that those who wish to foment revolutionary ideas must do so outside of the churches” (Brown 1919, 526). The Methodists went so far as to shutter their Epworth Leagues in Korea in November 1905, the same month that Japan established its protectorate, seeking to prevent them from becoming bastions of anti-Japanese youth nationalism: “With the universal unrest, our Epworth League has become filled up with undigested new members. It is being used for political purposes entirely obscuring its purpose,” missionary William Scranton wrote that month (Huntley 1984, 155–56, citing William B. Scranton letter to Adna B. Leonard, November 1905). A slightly different chronology is offered by historian Donald Clark, who writes that, by 1908, the Epworth Leagues in Korea had morphed from a religious association for young Methodists into “a nationalist front,” which the Methodists proactively dissolved for fear of Japanese anger (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 56). 
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system—not a hotheaded and possibly suicidal attempt to quickly throw off the Japanese 

Note “ADOPTED A WRONG METHOD”: Hugh Cynn (Sin Hǔng-u), an upper-class Korean Christian convert who later became headmaster of the Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul, urged such a measured approach, arguing that while the revolutionaries of the failed Kapsin coup d’état of 1884 had the right spirit—they were “progressive and sincere,” Cynn wrote—they had “adopted a wrong method,” seeking a shortcut in an armed rebellion, rather than patiently laying the groundwork for Korea to “build up a strong and healthy constituency which [would] ultimately overwhelm the conservatives who favored China” (Cynn 1920, 144). So too did An Ch’ang-ho, the renowned orator from Pyongyang, who argued against what he called the futility of armed rebellion without having first reformed the character of the Korean people, pointing to the failed Kapsin coup of 1884, the failed Independence Club efforts of 1897, and the assassination of Itō Hirobumi in 1909 (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 30–31, 53–54).   “IT IS STRENGTH ALONE THAT WILL SAVE KOREA”: Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic Methodist convert, likewise urged a rejection of violence and a pursuit of patience and integrity following his release from prison in the wake of his conviction in the Conspiracy Case of 1911. Yun, who almost died in prison, emerged convinced that only religious renewal could address the deep problems that Korea faced, and told a full house crowd at the Seoul YMCA that “rash, imprudent behaviour can yield no gain. It is strength alone that will save Korea, and strength derives from the youth cultivating themselves morally and mentally; and again after that, from perserverance in education and industry” (as quoted in Wells 1990, 95). See also Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 112–13. Among the 105 men convicted in the Conspiracy Case, Yun was one of just six who received the maximum sentence, though his term was reduced to six years upon appeal; he was released in 1914 through a special amnesty tied to the death of Empress Dowager Shōken (昭憲皇太后 Jp. Shōken Kōtaigō 1849–1914), the wife of the Meiji emperor (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 59–60). Other than a few hymns he wrote during his four years in prison, little else is known of his time behind bars (Clark, “Portrait of a Korean Intellectual” (1975), 59). 
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by Korean nationalists, who regarded the missionaries as too cozy with the imperial authorities 

Note CORNERSTONES, RIBBON-CUTTINGS, AND SPEECHES: In a reflection of how cozy the ties could be between the missionaries and the Japanese authorities, it was Itō who laid the cornerstone for the YMCA building in Seoul in 1907 (“The Y.M.C.A. Building,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 12 (December 1907), 189). The next year, at the first graduation ceremony for Severance Medical College in Seoul, it was Itō again in the place of honor, delivering the congratulatory speech (“Severance Hospital Medical College,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 7 (July 1908), 98–102, here 98). Korean nationalists wouldn’t have been privy to Itō Hirobumi’s private correspondence, but many would not have been shocked by Itō’s remark in a letter to Thomas J. O’Brien (1842–1933), then the U.S. ambassador in Tokyo, that not only had the missionaries not opposed the Japanese administration in Korea, but “they are in sympathy with the new regime…and are endeavoring to interpret to the Korean people the true purpose of that regime” (as quoted in Brown 1919, 577). At the annual meeting of the Presbyterian missionaries in the fall of 1911, the Japanese colonial governor in Pyongyang showed up to deliver an address (“Notes of the Annual Meeting of the Northern Presbyterian Mission,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 11 (November 1911), 332–34, here 332)—a far cry from when Pyongyang’s governor was ordering the storming of the General Sherman in the 1860s, and expelling the missionaries from the city in the 1890s. And in 1915, the Christians participated in a large-scale exhibition staged to mark the fifth anniversary of Japan’s annexation of Korea, setting up a large evangelistic booth at which some eleven thousand people signed cards expressing interest in learning more about the Christian message (Shearer 1966, 62).  “OUR GOVERNOR GENERAL”: One particularly telling moment came in January 1918, when the Western missionaries’ monthly publication, the Korea Mission Field, dedicated its entire issue to “honor our Governor General,” boasting for instance about the “very enjoyable Garden Party” that Governor-General Hasegawa Yoshimichi threw at his residence, complete with “Oriental viands,” a Western-style brass band, and the giving of three “banzais” to the Emperor. The issue plastered a portrait of Hasegawa on the cover and offered up an ode to the onetime field marshal in the Japanese Imperial Army, with whom the missionaries believed shared the common goal of helping “the Koreans to improve their condition. Though the methods employed are different they need not conflict, but, on the other hand, should be mutually helpful and complementary,” the missionaries testified (“Editorial Notes,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 1 (January 1918), 1–3). The issue also included a guest article by the editor of the Japanese-run Seoul Press on the colonial government’s industrial policy. “What some may have thought a dark side may be seen to be even brighter than our own. Surely bigotry and ignorance are prime henchmen of Satan,” the editors wrote (“Editorial Notes,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 2). The missionaries even went so far as to offer up a biographical sketch that wrote glowingly of how, during the righteous army uprisings of 1907, “General Hasegawa directed the campaign of suppression with consummate skill and completely put down the Korean insurgents in a short time.” It praised Hasegawa as “a broad-minded and far-sighted statesman…a born commander…one of the most kind-hearted of men…one of the most sympathetic friends of the Korean people and…eminently fitted for the post of great responsibility he now occupies” (“Count Hasegawa,” Korea Mission Field 14, no. 1 (January 1918), 4). Making this kowtowing to the governor-general all the more infuriating for Korean nationalists was that Hasegawa, of all the various governors-general, was among the harshest towards the Koreans. In addition to having served as a Japanese garrison commander during the “righteous army” uprisings of 1907, Hasegawa “was notorious for persistently, if usually unsuccessfully, asking his superior for permission to conduct punitive raids on Korean villages,” writes historian Fyodor Tertitskiy. “Unlike his predecessor, Hasegawa did not implement any meaningful reforms in Korea. His sole policy was to maintain control and order through the governor-general’s paramilitary force, the gendarmerie, which was always ready to crush dissent” (Tertitskiy 2025, 10). And the outbreak of the March First movement, scarcely a year after this encomium was published in Korea Mission Field, together with Hasegawa’s ruthless crushing of those protests, would cast the missionaries’ obsequious words in a different light.  “WARM PERSONAL FRIENDS”: Another glimpse of the warm ties between the Western missionaries and the Japanese colonial authorities can be seen in the accolades heaped on the family of Rosetta Sherwood Hall, the Methodist medical missionary and widow of pioneering missionary W. James Hall. As World War I raged in Europe in 1915, the Japanese authorities lavished praise on the work of Rosetta Hall among the blind and deaf in Pyongyang, using the moment to align themselves with the work of the missionaries, while landing a jab at Europe’s less enlightened colonial powers. “When nations are at war with each other in civilized Europe,” the Japanese-run English-language newspaper the Seoul Press wrote in 1915, “it seems that the angel of love and civilization has bade good-bye to Europe for awhile and come to Chosen to bless the blind and the deaf of the Far East.” Added one Japanese official: “It is a great privilege that we have attended this meeting, greater, in my opinion, than commanding a great army in the field of Belgium or leading great fleets in the North Sea” (as quoted in Rosetta S. Hall [Hall, Rosetta Sherwood], “Department for Blind and Deaf, Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 8 (August 1915), 227–28). A few months later, the Japanese-backed Seoul Press published a retrospective on Rosetta Hall’s quarter-centennial in Korea, praising her as a “great friend and benefactress of the Korean people” (“Two Native Appreciations of the Character and Labors of Mrs. Rosetta Sherwood Hall, M.D.,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 12 (December 1915), 342–44). When Rosetta Hall’s son Sherwood decided to himself become a medical missionary to Korea in 1926, the elder Dr. Hall took great care to ensure her son paid his respects to Governor-General Saitō Makoto and to other colonial leaders. “The Japanese officials on my mother’s list were not simply government officers to her, but warm personal friends who had already expressed to her a wish to meet us,” the younger Dr. Hall later recalled (Sherwood Hall 1978, 285–86). The Halls’ close friendship with the governor-general ensured that when the younger Dr. Hall arrived in Haeju, where he would conduct missionary work, “we were especially well received everywhere we called,” including with the governor of Hwanghae province and the Japanese chief of police in Haeju, a Mr. Sasaki, whose wife had struggled to find families in Haeju “with whom it was considered proper to fraternize”—a likely reference to the enduring tensions between the Japanese overlords and their Korean subjects. “We invited this lovely family to our home and were often guests in theirs. We grew increasingly fond of them and with the passing years our friendship became stronger” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 313). Later, the younger Dr. Hall received a certificate of merit from the Japanese emperor, along with a monetary gift for the tuberculosis work he was doing (Sherwood Hall 1978, 397). And for the twenty-fifth anniversary of Japan’s annexation of Korea, Dr. Hall was awarded another certificate of merit at what Japan called the Silver Jubilee Awards—“a grand affair” where he was honored alongside “those who had shown marked bravery in the fighting in Manchukuo” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 486–87). By the 1930s, Dr. Hall recalled years later, “our preoccupation with our own personal crises and family events had tended to turn our attention away from what was happening…the Japanese military had been taking a larger and larger role in the everyday life of Korea” (Sherwood Hall 1978, 517).  A “VENERABLE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN”: Samuel Moffett, too, developed a cordial relationship with the colonial authorities over the years, hosting colonial officials and accepting prizes and baubles from the authorities. On Japan’s Empire Day (紀元節 Jp. Kigen-setsu) in February 1925, for instance, Moffett was awarded honors as a “venerable American gentleman” who had founded, by that point, no fewer than sixty schools in Korea—a tally that would have included Ch’angdŏk School. Moffett and the Methodist missionary John Z. Moore were the two lone American recipients of the award that year, singled out as the “two foreigners whose names are now almost household words among a great many inhabitants of the peninsula” (“Empire Day Honors,” Seoul Press, February 11, 1925, Seoul (MKC)). The Moffetts returned the favor a few months later in May 1925, hosting the Japanese governor on their lawn in the sprawling Presbyterian compound (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [Moffett, James M.], May 12, 1925, Pyengyang (MKC)). Other examples of chumminess between the missionaries and the Japanese authorities abounded. In the 1920s, Methodist missionary Arthur Becker received a special award from Governor-General Saitō—a two-foot-high silver vase engraved with a phoenix, and a certificate commemorating his two decades of educational work in Korea (McCune and Thompson 2009, 459–60). When William Baird marked his fortieth anniversary in Korea in 1931, the Japanese governor of South P’yŏng’an province, a Mr. Fugiwara, threw a lavish dinner in his honor at Pyongyang’s finest hotel and presented Baird with a bronze figurine, along with a silver vase on behalf of Governor-General Ugaki Kazushige (宇垣 一成 1868–1956) (Baird 1968, 99).  LEARNING JAPANESE: Horace H. Underwood (1890–1951), the son of the pioneering missionary and himself a second-generation missionary to Korea, started his career in 1916 by studying Japanese in Tokyo, all the better for him to interact with the colonial authorities in Korea, writes Donald Clark, a historian of missions work in Korea (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 47). Clark, the son and grandson of missionaries to Korea, adds that, for American missionaries in particular, they had an incentive to look favorably upon the Japanese civilizing mission in Korea, since the U.S. government was attempting the same in the Philippines: “To reject as immoral Japanese colonial rule, or tutelage, was to deprecate the civilizing mission of the United States in the Philippines” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 48). 
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“is something they cannot possibly recognize…The missionary’s power must be broken” 

Note George Fulton, a McCormick Seminary graduate and longtime Presbyterian missionary in Japan who served for a time as president of Osaka Theological Seminary, wrote in the same September 1912 letter quoted in the text that, from Tokyo’s perspective, the Koreans were “taking counsel of the missionaries in every emergency, and ready to be stubborn or submissive as the missionary dictates.” Rev. Fulton thus suggested that, amid the tensions within Japan’s newly established colony in Korea, Presbyterian missions board leaders extend furloughs for some of the stronger-willed missionaries in Korea as a way of easing tensions (Fulton letter to Unknown, September 6, 1912). Robert Speer, writing in 1923, summed up the difficult political position in which the missionaries found themselves in Korea, describing the past few decades as “years when it was not easy for one who loved both Japan and Korea as he did to hold his affections together.” The best that could be said, Speer continued, was that “in such years he did his best to judge justly” (Robert E. Speer, “Introduction,” in Loomis 1923, 7–9, here 8–9).  SUSPICIOUS MINDS: Despite all the mutual congeniality described in the previous note, the Japanese authorities likely suspected deep down—correctly, in most cases—that the missionaries’ sympathies lay with the Koreans, even if the foreign emissaries were resolved, to varying degrees, to stand firm on their pledge of political neutrality. The Christian church, after all, had educated and cultivated many of the Korean nationalist leaders now giving them a headache, and had also championed the vernacular Korean alphabet that Japan was seeking to suppress and generally symbolizing “an alternative modernisation as represented in the Western-style hymns they sang and in their choice of a hybrid Korean-Western or simple Gothic architectural style” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 91). For that reason, the missionaries’ attempts to appease the Japanese authorities did the church little practical good. As one historian put it, despite the missionaries’ solicitous approach, “the Japanese government began to distrust them. It suspected that covert political activities were being carried on within the churches” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 44). Such mistrust would burst into the open after March 1919 (see Act II, Chapter 14). 

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Sungsil Academy, the American missionaries’ most prestigious school on the Korean peninsula 

Note There is some discrepancy over when Kim Hyŏng-jik entered Sungsil Academy (崇實學堂 Kor. Sungsil Hakdang). One North Korean historical reference guide on the life of Kim Hyŏng-jik says that he started his studies at Sungsil Academy in the spring of 1911 (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 15). But another North Korean source, a hagiography of his wife Kang Pan-sŏk, pushes the timeline back to the fall of 1911, after Kim Hyŏng-jik’s withdrawal from Sunhwa/Sinmang School for lack of money in the spring of 1911 (The Mother of Korea 1978, 54, 57). As for the assertion that Sungsil Academy was the American missionaries’ most prestigious institution of higher learning on the Korean peninsula, the only rival for that title is Chōsen Christian College in Seoul, the forerunner of modern-day Yonsei University, but that was only founded in 1915. 
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Baird, Moffett’s old college and seminary classmate, in the parlor of his home in Pyongyang 

Note FROM A LIVING ROOM: After arriving in Pyongyang on October 2, 1897, William Baird wasted no time in setting up a sarang—the traditional Korean sitting room open to outsiders—at his home in Pyongyang. The sarang quickly took on the embryonic characteristics of a school, with thirteen students to start (Insung Lee 2007, 67; and Yu Sun-ho 2017, 29). By the following year, Baird had sixty applicants; he accepted eighteen of them, with their ages ranging from sixteen to thirty (Insung Lee 2007, 67–68; and Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 115). Within three years, when Rev. Baird returned from his yearlong furlough in June 1900—William Swallen oversaw the school in Baird’s absence—the school had expanded to thirty students, outgrowing his home and migrating temporarily to a mission building (Baird 1968, 135). “I am profoundly convinced that the development of a first-class vernacular school is one of the greatest present needs of our work,” Rev. Baird wrote Presbyterian foreign missions board secretary Frank Ellinwood that month (Baird letter to Ellinwood, June 30, 1900). Prior to his move to Pyongyang, Rev. Baird had experimented with setting up a school in Pusan. There, the school day consisted of one hour of Bible instruction each morning, as well as the teaching of Chinese characters and the vernacular Korean alphabet, with Rev. Baird gradually swapping out secular books for Christian tracts. Rev. Baird’s wife, Annie, meantime, taught the boys singing and Bible stories. “It is our hope that several of the boys really understand the gospel and are believing in Jesus,” Baird wrote (“Evangelistic Report of Pusan Station for 1895,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 259). 
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name, Sungsil, that reflected his belief in the infallibility of the Bible: “Worship the Truth” 

Note RECTIFICATION OF NAMES: The Sino-Korean name Sungsil (崇實), literally “Worship the Truth,” was contributed by Pak Cha-jung (朴子重 ?–?), a Korean scholar of the Chinese classics, who taught alongside Rev. Baird (Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 115). According to Yi In-sŏng, Rev. Baird’s biographer, Pak “intended the meaning as ‘promoting positive knowledge,’ and Baird interpreted it as a ‘school which respects truth’” (Insung Lee 2007, 67–68). The “Sungsil” name served as a template for the Presbyterian missionaries’ other schools in Korea, which included Sungdŏk (崇德), or “Worship Virtue”; Sunghyŏn (崇賢), or “Worship Virtue”; and Sung’ŭi (崇義), or “Worship Righteousness”; among others. Over time, the names “Sungsil Academy,” “Sungsil College,” and “Union Christian College” were often used interchangeably. “It was decided therefore not to separate the college and academy as such. It was one institution, under one board of control, divided into quite autonomous departments,—history, mathematics, natural science, etc.,” Baird’s son Richard later wrote. “Each department offered college or academy level classes according to the current needs” (Baird 1968, 139). Another source notes that the school was known through this period variously as “Union Christian College,” “Pyongyang Christian College,” “Pyongyang Sungsil College,” and, after winning formal recognition by the education ministry, “Sungsil College” (Insung Lee 2007, 68). And, as already noted, Rev. Baird’s school was initially dubbed the “Living Room School,” or the “Guestroom School” (舍廊房學校 Kor. Sarang-bang Hakgyo) (Insung Lee 2007, 61). One source gives the specific address as being Sinyang-ri (新陽里) 26 (Yu Sun-ho 2017, 36). For the sake of simplicity, this work refers to the institution(s) throughout as “Sungsil Academy,” specifying the middle school, high school, or college, as needed.  ASTRONOMY, U.S. HISTORY, AND THE BIBLE: In 1903, Sungsil Academy organized itself into five grades and graduated its first class of three alumni on May 15, 1904 (Insung Lee 2007, 68; and Richard Baird 1968, 67). From the beginning, the five-year curriculum was ambitious in its breadth, spanning U.S. history, map drawing, astronomy, botany, calisthenics, and, of course, “the study of the whole Bible” (“Annual Report of Pyeng Yang Station, for the Year 1900–01,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 333–34). The teaching duties were to be divvied up among at least ten missionaries, including William Baird and his wife Annie, Samuel Moffett and his wife Alice, Graham Lee, and others (“For the Year 1900–01,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 334).  ADDING A SECONDARY SCHOOL: In 1905, Baird expanded Sungsil Academy’s remit into secondary education, requiring six years of elementary school education for admission (Insung Lee 2007, 68). By March that year, Moffett reported, Sungsil Academy was developing into a “strong, influential institution” (Moffett letter to Brown, March 9, 1905). In the five years between 1900 and 1905, Sungsil’s student body had more than tripled, to 102 students from thirty; by 1910, the student body had multiplied another five times, to 498 students, according to a school brochure (“The Pyeng Yang Union Christian College,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 5 (May 1911), 138). Also cited by Baird 1968, 139.  ADDING A COLLEGE: When the first students graduated from the secondary school, Sungsil Academy simply added college-level courses and, in May 1908, graduated its first class of college alumni, consisting of two students (Baird 1968, 67, 139; and Insung Lee 2007, 81). By 1910, there were more than fifty students at Sungsil Academy’s college (Baird 1968, 139). As scholar Albert Park notes, Sungsil Academy was designated by the Korean government as a university in 1907, and then downgraded by the Japanese colonial government as a four-year technical school, though “it carried out its mission and activities like any university at the time” (Albert Park 2015, 41, n. 82).  A UNION NOT FIT TO LAST: At some point, Rev. Baird welcomed the Methodists to make what became known as the Pyeng Yang Union Christian College and Academy (W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “Pyeng Yang College and Academy,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 11 (November 1907), 174–76). William Baird gives the date of the opening as October 10, 1906 (Baird, “Pyeng Yang College,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 175). his son gives the date as September 1906 (Baird 1968, 67). Another missionary describes the union academy as starting in the 1905–1906 school year (Mrs. Ernest Freeman Hall [Hall, Harriet McLear], Presbyterian Schools and Colleges in Korea (New York: Women’s Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church, 1908), 8). Yet another source describes the union arrangement, together with opening up of the school to college-level students, as starting in September 1905, with the Union Christian College name applied a year later in September 1906 as a combination of Sungsil Academy and Sungsil College, under the auspices of the Northern Presbyterian and Methodist churches (Insung Lee 2007, 68). The Union College building was constructed on Methodist land next to the Presbyterian missionary compound, at a cost of $10,000 (McCune and Thompson 2009, 238). Though the Methodists contributed roughly one-third of the expenses, the Presbyterians gave them equal control of the school (Baird 1968, 136, footnote). The Methodists’ participation was led by Arthur Becker, who arrived in Pyongyang in 1903 and stayed until 1948. For a biography of Rev. Becker, see Evelyn B. McCune and Heather M. Thompson, Michigan to Korea: Arthur Lynn Becker (Morrisville, N.C.: Lulu, 2009). The collaboration, however, was far from harmonious. The Methodists never felt comfortable with the system and by 1912, “they were anxious to get out of the Pyongyang College and get a different one started in Seoul” (Baird 1968, 152). 
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as the language of instruction; faced with a lack of suitable textbooks, they wrote their own 

Note Annie Baird taught botany, astronomy, chemistry, physics, geography, arithmetic, mathematics, art, and composition at Sungsil Academy, and wrote many of the textbooks herself (Insung Lee 2007, 63–64). Samuel Moffett also tried to address the shortfall in suitable teaching materials by asking his brothers in the fall of 1891 to ship some of his college textbooks to Korea, including those for geology, zoology, physiology, chemistry, and botany, along with a small globe, a Greek-and-English New Testament, and a book by American linguist William D. Whitney (1827–1894), according to a letter from Samuel Moffett’s oldest brother, William M. Moffett (1853–1939), to his youngest brother, Rev. Thomas C. Moffett (1869–1945) (William Moffett [Moffett, William M.] letter to Tom Moffett [Moffett, Thomas C.], September 30, 1891, Madison, Ind. (MKC)). 
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church leaders and evangelists “who could proselytize the Gospels of Christ in this land” 

Note As University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho writes, “Sungsil Academy was not an ordinary Korean school, but was an American missionary school whose main objective was to train Korean Christian leaders who would proselytize for Christianity” (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1083). William Baird’s lesson from other mission fields was that the greatest tragedy of all was to pour large sums of money into mission schools and hospitals that “may not result in any indigenous Church worthy of the name,” according to his son Richard Baird—himself a later missionary to Korea (Baird 1968, 118). The debate over the function of hospitals and schools in the missionary community reflected the divide between premillennialists like Moffett and Baird—for whom the life hereafter was of paramount importance—and the growing ranks of proponents of the “social gospel”—the view that Christians must improve life for those in the here and now. “Pre-millennialists were self-conscious institution builders, and constantly reminded themselves that their raison d’etre was the evangelization and the conversion of the individual, not the building of schools and hospitals. The Kingdom of God must be built on the solid foundation of individual morality and spirituality” (Pak 2006, 54). 
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“may be as an educator,” Rev. Baird told his colleagues in 1897, the year he founded the school 

Note “BEND TO EXALT CHRIST”: William Baird, addressing the Korean Presbyterian missionaries’ annual meeting in 1897, added in the same speech: “Schools of other kinds and with other purposes have their place and utility but let us not burden ourselves with them while the great commission is still unobeyed. Benevolence, philanthropy, and education are all good servants, but they must be second to evangelism or they cease to become missionary” (“Read in the Mission in Seoul 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 285). As far as Rev. Baird was concerned, the duty of missionary schools was not to offer a high-quality education in the traditional sense, but rather to crank out “active preachers of the gospel,” whether the students should become “farmers, blacksmiths, doctors, teachers, or Cabinet officers” (“Read in the Mission in Seoul 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 285). Also cited in Baird 1968, 116; and Huntley 1984, 90. Baird repeated many of these same ideas at the Presbyterian mission’s annual meeting in the fall of 1899, where he said that the mission’s educational program ought to be Christian “in teaching, in tone, in example, and in spirit,” and “designed primarily for the training of Christian men.” While he was open to the idea of admitting non-Christians, the majority of the student body must be Christian, Baird insisted: “Every influence in a Mission school should bend to exalt Christ rather than to curry favor with a non-Christian public” (William M. Baird, “Educational Report Given to the Presbyterian Mission Annual Meeting,” September–October 1899, Seoul (PHS 180/11/Korea Reports, Sept./Oct. 1899)). Another year later in 1900, Baird added: “There should be no doubt in any of our minds as to the purpose of our schools. They should be purely and essentially Christian, primarily and all the time” (“Education Report 1900: W. M. Baird, Pyeng Yang, Korea,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 323–25).  “KEEP THE STUDENTS COMING”: In the earliest years, Rev. Baird and his colleagues did have to rely on more than just the Christian message to keep students engaged, balancing religious lessons with practical teaching about the world around them. Thus, Baird “artfully mixed into the curriculum enough Chinese…to keep the students coming,” while getting in as much of the Bible (as well as other subjects like arithmetic and geography) that they really wanted to impart to their Korean charges, as Rev. Baird’s son Richard later described it. Rev. Baird’s students were expected to take part in weekly Sunday service as well as daily worship in the sarang—the latter task having been made somewhat easier by the popularity of the missionaries’ hymns (Baird 1968, 45). Presbyterian colleague Graham Lee, writing in January 1895, similarly declared himself happy to work with what he called “simply a Korean heathen school” in Seoul, though he also looked for opportunities to slip in the Christian gospel. “In a little while after I gain the confidence of the boys and their parents, [I] will begin to introduce the Christian text books,” Rev. Lee wrote (Lee letter to Ellinwood, January 11, 1895). 
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—comparing it to putting “a knife in the hands of a child lacking the discretion to use it” 

Note William Baird’s complete quote, from this same address to the Presbyterian mission in Korea’s annual meeting in 1897, reads: “The teaching of everything else should be Bible- or Christo-centric, and the atmosphere should be that of a Christian brotherhood. Without these a mere education would be like a knife in the hands of a child lacking the discretion to use it” (“Read in the Mission in Seoul 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 288). The boldface is in the original text. Baird further argued in this address that the Christian school “should be located in the midst of an earnest, wide awake, Christian constituency…located at a sufficient distance from distractions, political and educational” (“Read in the Mission in Seoul 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 290). In that respect, Sungsil Academy, situated on the sprawling Presbyterian mission grounds in Pyongyang, was perfectly suited to Baird’s requirements. 
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decades later, he declared flatly: “The education of non-Christians is not our commission” 

Note The entire quote reads: “‘Do we need a college to educate non-Christian students under Christian influences?’ I answer that question emphatically, no. The education of non-Christians is not our commission” (W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “Educational Mission Problems,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 10 (October 1914), 296–99, here 297). Also quoted in “Educational Mission Problems, W. M. Baird,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 407–8. “It is not my idea of a mission school that its chief work is to train up interpreters and office seekers,” Baird sniffed in an earlier speech he gave that year (“Report on Boys’ School, Seoul, 1897,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 304).  “PERSISTENT, AGGRESSIVE, ALL ABSORBING EVANGELISTIC EFFORT”: As a likeminded Pyongyang colleague put it in 1909: “No greater mistake could be made than for the Korean Church to get the idea that we came here to educate…Persistent, aggressive, all absorbing evangelistic effort is the only salvation at this hour” (Harry C. Whiting letter to Arthur J. Brown, September 15, 1909, Chai Ryung, Korea (PHS 282/239/112)). In May 1910, amid a fierce debate over the missionaries’ policy on higher education that came to be known as the “College Question,” Moffett and Baird described their greatest fear as that of a school that became “but nominally Christian or even non-Christian,” which they warned would be “ruinous” to the missionary cause. To forestall such a disastrous outcome, they demanded that any new university mandate “daily chapel attendance and daily Bible study in the classroom, a student body that was overwhelmingly Christian in name and sentiment, and a faculty whose manner of appointment would secure their being in sympathy and full cooperation with the missions” and have these requirements “definitely stipulated” in the school’s constitution, so that there could be no mistaking the school’s priorities. “This position is not taken from an unwillingness to teach the heathen. It was for this purpose that we came to this land, but we believe that they should be instructed first in the Gospel, and after they have accepted Christ and submitted their wills to the discipline of his laws that they should be offered the advantages of a Christian education,” the Pyongyang missionaries added (Pyengyang Missionary Community letter to the Promoters of the Union University in Seoul, May 1910, Pyeng Yang (PHS 282/240/58)). 
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“very strong, because there are no students at present in the Academy who are not Christians” 

Note The professor here is American Methodist Arthur Becker, a native of Reading, Mich., who arrived in Pyongyang in 1903 and who would stay until 1948. “The students have developed a tender conscience. During the year several have come to me with tears in their eyes and confessed to having done wrong in some way,” Rev. Becker continued in the same article. “I can see a distinct spiritual advancement in nearly all our boys” (“Clippings,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 173). Another Pyongyang missionary, Alice M. Butts (?–?), made a similar claim the following year, namely that “only Christian students are admitted, as we feel that we do more by educating them and sending them forth as leaders among their own people” (Butts letter to McIntyre, November 16, 1907). Rev. Baird himself had made the claim in 1901, reporting proudly: “The pupils in present attendances are all Christians, and they seem to consider preaching the Gospel as the natural duty of every believer” (“For the Year 1900–01,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 335–36). 
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at the school as pressure grew from other missionaries urging a more broad-minded approach 

Note Rev. Baird was so insistent on the core Christian nature of his educational mission that when the Presbyterian mission decided to take a more inclusive approach towards admitting non-Christian students, Rev. Baird used his annual report to the Presbyterian mission in 1914–1915 to rail against his colleagues’ push toward secularizing the schools, calling the education of non-Christians “not suited to our requirements and repugnant to our convictions” and urging them to “withstand the evil influences of a secular system.” After concluding that such a battle was in vain, Baird finally declared: “Considering these things it will be necessary for me to resign from all connection with educational work” (as quoted in “Personal Report of W. M. Baird for the Year 1914–15,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 263–64). Rev. Baird subsequently threw himself into other projects, including literary translations of John Bunyan’s 1682 allegorical novel, Holy War (“Report of William M. Baird for 1918–1919,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 297). 
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the overwhelming majority “in order to keep the fountain from becoming poison at its source” 

Note This became a consistent theme for Rev. Baird during his years in Pyongyang. “Education has its dangers, many, subtle, and destructive,” he wrote in 1900, chief among them “the danger of its becoming predominatingly a secular education, and in appealing to purely secular motives, giving a second place to the Christian character of the school” (“Education Report 1900,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 323–24). As Baird’s own son Richard put it decades later, his stern Indiana missionary father was “most conservative, both in his theology and as an educator” (Baird 1968, 152–53). 
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Moffett were building nothing more than “a preparatory school for the theological seminary” 

Note“CONFESSEDLY ‘NARROW’”: The younger Rev. Underwood, Seoul-born Horace H. Underwood (Wŏn Han-gyŏng 元漢慶 1890–1951), added in the same piece: “The policy was confessedly ‘narrow’ in the sense that it sought to serve the Christian community only and to attain a single objective rather than offer a broader selection from which the student himself might choose the end toward which he would strive” (Horace Horton Underwood [Underwood, Horace H.], Modern Education in Korea (New York: International Press, 1926), 127). In a similar vein, his father Rev. Horace G. Underwood said decades earlier, with a hint of derision, “the aim of their schools has not been so much to use them as evangelistic agencies, but rather to provide a Christian education for the children of Christians” (as quoted in Mrs. Ernest Hall 1908, 4). Modern historians generally agree. Donald Clark, a Korea church historian and the son and grandson of missionaries to Korea, describes Sungsil Academy during these early years as “really a Bible institute run by a combination of denominations and was intended to train future seminarians” (Clark 1986, 26).  PYONGYANG VS. SEOUL: The Presbyterian foreign missions board in New York generally sided with the Underwoods’ philosophical approach, preferring “a broader educational policy which did not concentrate on education for Christians but was rather aimed at the whole Korean population,” in the words of church historian Roy Shearer. “They made it plain that they thought the Korea Mission was narrow-minded in its policy of directing its education toward Christians and their children only” (Shearer 1966, 201). The tensions generally fell along Pyongyang-Seoul lines. In Seoul, Shearer writes, there simply weren’t enough Christians to insist upon educating only professed believers, whereas in the northwest, “in the midst of pentecostal growth, it would have been foolish to divert any part of the available resources to a program for preparing people to hear the Gospel” (Shearer 1966, 202–4). As one scholar of schisms in the Korean Presbyterian church put it in his 1955 Yale doctoral dissertation, Underwood represented “the liberal wing” and Moffett “the conservative element” within the Presbyterian mission, each man wielding significant influence among Korean believers and missionaries alike. “Dr. Underwood died in 1916 and left his rival ‘champion of the field.’ From then on the Pyongyang was the actual center of total Presbyterianism in the land and the most conservative Presbyterians were considered the best Christians” (Sung Chun Chun 1955, 141–42). Still, Rev. Underwood would ultimately win the battle over the Presbyterian mission’s educational policy, primarily through Chōsen Christian College, the forerunner to today’s Yonsei University in Seoul, which then as now educated Christian and non-Christian students alike. Still, the secular presence at Chōsen Christian College should not be overstated. As late as 1934, the Seoul institution restricted acceptances of non-Christians to less than one-quarter of the student body, such that the missionaries overseeing the school could report, approvingly, that the student body there “always has been composed almost entirely of professing Christians” (E. M. Mowry [Mowry, Eli M.], “The Contribution of Educational Work for Young Men to the Christian Movement,” in Harry A. Rhodes and Richard H. Baird, eds., The Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration of the Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., June 30–July 3, 1934 (Seoul: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1934), 155–68, here 157). 
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was still being run out of his living room, Baird turned away more than two-thirds of applicants 

Note In 1898, Rev. Baird admitted eighteen of the sixty students who applied (Insung Lee 2007, 67–68; and Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 115). 
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following year, Baird rejected five out of every six candidates in the fast-growing applicant pool

Note A “MANIA” FOR LEARNING: The number of applicants would continue to surge over the subsequent years, allowing Rev. Baird to grow ever more selective in his admissions policy. See earlier Supplemental Note in this chapter for some snapshots capturing the rise in applicants. “The past year has witnessed more stir and agitation for an intellectual advancement than has probably ever before been known in the Land of the Morning Calm,” missionary Elmer Cable wrote in 1906. “I have been besieged all year by boys, young men, and old men in regard to schools. From all sides comes the cry for schools, teachers, and western learning” (E. M. Cable [Cable, Elmer M.], “The Longing for Education,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 8 (June 1906), 144–45, here 144). “In this land there is a passion, amounting to mania, for learning,” wrote Presbyterian missionary Martin L. Swinehart (1874–1957). “Social position, as such exists, is measured and determined by the standard of knowledge, not dollars; the most respected man in a village often living in the meanest house, but possessing an intimate and affectionate acquaintance with ‘han moon’ (Chinese)” (M. L. Swinehart [Swinehart, Martin L.], “Heathen Children in Sunday Schools,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 4 (April 1914), 99–101, here 99). In the northwestern Korean city of Sŏnch’ŏn, a thriving center of Christian influence, a missionary writing in 1908 described “an epidemic of primary schools” there. “Schools spring up in a night, heathen and Christian. The Governor starts schools, the Magistrates start schools, the township officials start schools, and the villages start schools. Seven School Boards lay hold of the flowing coat-tails of one poor teacher, salaries have gone up, and the Pyeng Yang graduate is the man of the hour” (as quoted in Mrs. Ernest Hall 1908, 18).  “THE NEW MORAL INSTITUTION”: When the Korean court put an end to the Confucian educational and civil service examination system in 1895, it left a vacuum that the authorities were slow to fill. As one church historian later recounted, Rev. Baird’s former Living Room School was the perfect alternative: “The Bible was the new classical text; Christian theology and Western thinking, which Koreans did not yet distinguish, provided the new philosophy; and the church was the new moral institution” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 85). Rev. Baird, of course, understood this well himself. “The eagerness of the people for study seemed unfailing,” he wrote after an itinerating trip to the west of Pyongyang in 1897 and 1898. “Long before daylight in the morning I could hear them singing, praying, and studying in the next room. The same sounds might be heard throughout the day until late at night” (“Report on Training Classes,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 312–13). Also quoted in Baird 1968, 128. “One of the first results of the establishment of a little group of Christians in a town or village is the desire on the part of the people to give their children a Christian education,” Mary Alice Fish (1870–1912), a missionary who would marry Samuel Moffett, wrote her cousin Hester in February 1905. Primitive as they were, the curriculum was very simple: “The Bible is the chief text book, and Chinese, the proper use of Korean, elementary geography and arithmetic, and cleanliness form part of the course” (Alice Fish Moffett letter to Hester (cousin), February 27, 1905, Pyengyang (MKC)). Though the thirst for education was long apparent to the missionaries, they noted a dramatic increase in interest among young Korean nationalists as Japan swallowed up Korea. “The political domination of another people over them has lately aroused the Korean people of every rank to an almost unparalleled desire for the acquisition of substantial knowledge, in order that they may become the equal of their rulers,” the missionaries wrote in January 1907. “Where before the Russian war the highest ambition of youth was for the years of droning over Chinese characters which marked the entrance to official preferment, now on every hand are springing into existence academies, grammar schools, and primary schools, with an occasional incipient university, organized with whatever of financial backing or of teaching force may be locally attainable” (“Korean Religious Tract Society,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 61).  GOING COUNTRY: Rev. Baird, with his midwestern love of the soil and disdain for the haughty elites that had held a monopoly on education throughout Korea’s history, drew many of his students from the country’s rural population, who after all accounted for somewhere between 70 percent and 85 percent of the church’s faithful. Rev. Baird’s son Richard put the figure at 85 percent, while Samuel H. Moffett, son of the pioneering missionary, pegged the number at 73 percent, a proportion that he said matched the broader trend in Korea (Baird 1968, 141–42; and Samuel Hugh Moffett 1962, 125). In that respect, the church was a fairly accurate representation of Korean society more broadly. One scholar describes more than 80 percent of Korea as living in “small, clan-dominated rural villages” as of 1932 (Buzo 2002, 36). 
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“must be enthusiastic and last, they must be looking forward to service in the Christian church” 

Note William Baird’s exchange here was with Methodist missionary Arthur Becker, whose liberal inclinations would frequently chafe with Baird’s conservatism. At a tense Sungsil Academy board meeting in the summer of 1907, Rev. Becker advocated a modest loosening of admissions requirements so that the school could, in his words, “take a few non-Christians of exceptional qualifications from private non-Christian primary schools, a few of exceptional ability and training, who might be led to become Christian leaders.” Though Rev. Becker framed his suggestion in conservative terms—he predicted that admitting these non-Christians to Sungsil Academy “will free their minds and souls from the bondages of heathendom”—Baird was not impressed, rising to his feet and declaring: “I’m not in favor of the proposal. It’s insidious, admitting a few well-selected non-Christians at first, then more as the pressure increases until the fence is down and our safe-sane rule of a pure Christian leadership will be lost and our objective vitiated!” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 277–78) The situation got so contentious between the two men that Rev. Becker feared he would be branded a “traitor” and forced to leave Korea if he insisted on his core view that “teaching only the Bible is too narrow to arm the Korean young man for life in the modern world” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 372).  “PYENG YANG ADMITS CHRISTIANS ONLY”: Becker and his colleagues, comparing the role of faith in the admissions processes at Sungsil Academy and Seoul’s Paejae Academy, wrote: “Pyeng Yang admits Christians only and Seoul only one-tenth non-Christians” (W. Carl Rufus, W. C. Swearer [Swearer, Wilbur C.], and A. L. Becker [Becker, Arthur L.], “Methodist Episcopal Mission Action Concerning Union College Work,” Korea Mission Field (August 1912), 229–32, here 230). The same standards are affirmed in Sungjŏn Taehakgyo P’alsip-nyŏnsa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏn-hoe [Sungjŏn University Eighty-Year History Editorial Committee], Sungjŏn Taehakgyo P’alsip-nyŏnsa [Eighty-Year History of Sungjŏn University] (Seoul: Sungjŏn Taehakgyo Ch’ulp’an-bu, 1979), 103. The work cited here is an official history book published by Sungjŏn University (崇田大學校 Kor. Sungjŏn Taehakgyo), a South Korea-based successor institution of Sungsil Academy that operated from 1971 to 1987. 
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was not simply Korea’s most prestigious modern school, but also one of the hardest to get into 

Note “NONE BUT CHRISTIANS, HIGHLY RECOMMENDED”: The most rigorous admission requirements were set not for academic qualifications but for demonstrations of one’s Christian zeal: “None but Christians, highly recommended, who are able to pass a severe examination are received” (“Mission Education in Korea,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 4 (April 1910), 88–92, here 91). According to this unsigned article, written presumably by William Baird, Sungsil Academy’s students “are like those of nearly all our high schools, all Christians. In fact none but Christians, highly recommended, who are able to pass a severe examination are received,” adding: “There is scarcely a mission academy or boarding school which is any way adequate to the need…In consequence many must be refused and Christians are naturally and rightly given the preference” (“Mission Education,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 91). Rev. Baird, writing under his own name that same year, underscored the same sentiment, warning that “a merely secular education is a dangerous thing, and the only way to protect our church against it is to provide our young people with a strong Christian education” (“For the Year 1910–11,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 416).  ADMISSIONS PREP: Roughly a decade earlier, as word got out about the difficulty of getting into Sungsil Academy, Rev. Baird noted a drop in the number of applicants—at least for the moment—as well as the rise of a rudimentary admissions preparation industry beginning to take shape. “As the standard required for entrance becomes generally known, applicants become fewer, and those who are known to be preparing themselves for entrance to the academy become more numerous” (“Annual Report: Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in U.S.A., Report of the Pyeng Yang Station, 1901–02,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 358). By 1911, Sungsil Academy’s college sat atop a vast network of feeder schools that included 488 primary schools and ten high schools run by the Presbyterians in the Pyongyang area, while the Methodists boasted another 134 primary schools and eight high schools in the vicinity, educating some 17,000 students (McCune and Thompson 2009, 367–68).   SPELLED OUT VERTICALLY: With young Koreans from across the peninsula keen to attend Sungsil Academy, Rev. Baird was not ashamed of spelling out his mission in crystal clear language, including in one rather corny acrostic poem one imagines was personally written by the Indiana educator, using Sungsil’s original “Soongsil” spelling:  “Soongsil calls you to unlimited  Opportunities for taking  Over responsibilities in the  New life which  God has  Set before you  In this age that demands  Live men of determined action.  “College life will give you  Orderly Development which will bring you to  Leadership and a realization of  Life at its best.  Every boy may share in the   Glory of Union Christian College, and in the  Equality and friendship of college life” (as quoted in Sungjŏn Taehakgyo P’alsip-nyŏnsa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏn-hoe 1979, 180). 
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Academy precisely because of Rev. Baird’s unyielding insistence on placing faith at the center

Note Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, a longtime University of Hawaii scholar who wrote in one of the earliest scholarly English-language articles on Kim Il Sung’s and Kim Hyŏng-jik’s Christian background, notes that in order “to meet the objective of training those who could proselytize for Christianity, Sungsil Academy had rather stringent requirements for admission” (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1083). “Had he not been a professing Christian, he could not have been admitted,” adds South Korean historian Ryu Tae-yŏng of Kim Hyŏng-jik. “Only those who clearly demonstrated their Christian faith and character were accepted” (Dae Young Ryu, “Kim Il-Sung and Christianity” (2019), 406). Though the earnest young convert was already receiving a modern education at Sunhwa/Sinmang School, Kim Hyŏng-jik yearned to attend Sungsil Academy—so much so that, according to the official North Korean history, he had to convince his reluctant father to let him enroll at the foreign-run school (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 8). 
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characters, mathematics, and Japanese—“the worst strain of anxiety,” in Annie Baird’s words 

Note Indeed, for someone as poor as Kim Hyŏng-jik, writes South Korean historian Chu Chin-o, it was nothing short of “exceptional” that he was able to overcome his circumstances and attend such a prestigious school (Chu, “Kidokgyo, Kim Il-sŏng,” (1992), 323). The contents of the examination are drawn from an August 13, 1912, recruiting advertisement for new students that William Baird placed in a Christian newspaper, the Christian News (耶穌教會報 Kor. Yesu-gyo Hoebo). The advertisement makes clear that a letter of recommendation from one’s church was also required (Sungjŏn Taehakgyo P’alsip-nyŏnsa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏn-hoe 1979, 162–63).  ANNIE BAIRD: Annie Baird was beloved among the Koreans, and when she was diagnosed with cancer for a second time during a trip to the U.S. in 1915 and, “without any hesitation, she chose to come back to Korea to die, despite dissuasion from her family and friends,” the decision had an “almost electric effect” on the Koreans (Insung Lee 2007, 66; and Baird 1968, 86). Annie Baird’s 1916 funeral in Pyongyang was attended by so many Koreans that the decision was made to hold it outdoors, “under the trees of the Bairds’ yard,” amid “an outburst of affection and appreciation,” in the words of her son Richard (Baird 1968, 86). “Her decision to die in Korea evoked profound emotional responses in the heart of the Korean people, who always wish to die and be buried in her homeland,” adds Yi In-sŏng, William Baird’s Korean biographer. “To the Korean people, Annie Baird showed that she considered Korea her homeland. Mourners from all over the country filled the entire funeral hall to express their deep affection and appreciation for her. And due to the unexpected large number of mourners, the funeral service had to be held outdoors” (Insung Lee 2007, 66).  ROSE BAIRD: Remarriage was common at a time when illness claimed many a life, and that was true among the Korean missionaries too. William Baird’s second wife, Rose M. Fetterolf (1881–1946), graduated from the Moody Bible Institute before joining her new husband as a missionary in Korea, where “her rare talents and earnest Christian spirit have won for her a place in the hearts of all and especially do the Korean women enjoy her wonderful singing and artistic drawings” (“Who’s Who in Pyengyang: Annual Report of Pyengyang Station, Chosen Mission, 1924,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 334–35). 
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present recommendations from missionaries and Korean church leaders testifying to his piety 

Note REC LETTERS REQUIRED: Rev. Baird, writing in 1901, described with pride a “triple system of selection” which he believed would ensure a student body of the highest devotion to Christ: “Co-operation of the other missionaries, helpers and church leaders was secured in selecting from among the candidates for admission only those best qualified, mentally, morally and physically, to profit by the advantages of the school. Perhaps it was due to this triple system of selection that a high standard of Christian character was attained” (“For the Year 1900–01,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 335). “Attention was also given to the selection of students, taking in only those who…were recommended by the missionaries and Korean leaders of their churches,” adds L. George Paik, one of the first historians of the Korean church (Paik 1929, 307). Also cited in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1084. See also Yu Sun-ho 2017, 36.  FACE TO FACE WITH WILLIAM BAIRD: By then, Kim Hyŏng-jik had established a reputation as a faithful Christian—and, perhaps, a personal connection to Rev. Baird. If Kim Hyŏng-jik didn’t already have a personal relationship with the Hoosier through Ch’ilgol Church or Sunhwa/Sinmang School, he would have at the very least been subjected to a face-to-face interview with the stern Indiana educator (see McCune and Thompson 2009, 212). One historian of North Korea surmises that Kang “Pan-sok’s family likely helped him gain admission” (Gauthier 2022, 168). 
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Kim Hyŏng-jik lambasted the teacher and, quitting on the spot, stormed out of the school 

Note According to this hagiography of Kim Il Sung’s mother, the unnamed teacher begged Kim Hyŏng-jik’s father for forgiveness the next day, to no avail (The Mother of Korea 1978, 42). Another North Korean source, a biography of Kim Hyŏng-jik, describes Sungsil Academy as having been founded by predatory American missionaries in the name of “charity,” with the real aim of “ideological cultural invasion.” If so, that means that Kim Hyŏng-jik was either complicit in this cultural invasion in order “to learn the new studies, regardless of the school’s Christian purpose,” or that the father of Kim Il Sung was too naïve to have picked up on the missionaries’ devious aims (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 38). 
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missionary William Swallen, simply longed to study at Korea’s most respected Christian school 

Note “There were many middle schools in Pyongyang but because we grew up in church, and in the Presbyterian church, Sungsil Middle School was the only one as far as we were concerned,” writes Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, who came from Kim Hyŏng-jik’s hometown and attended Sunhwa/Sinmang School, Ch’angdŏk School, and later Sungsil Academy—all of which were attended either by the future Kim Il Sung or by his father (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk 2004, 13). Sungsil Academy was for the “fortunate few,” adds Donald Clark, a historian and a descendant of Presbyterian missionaries to Pyongyang (Clark, “Missionary Presence in Northern Korea,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 244).  
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“will be easier for you also. But this is wrong now, when the country is in a wretched situation” 

Note By the fall of 1911, the time of this purported exchange, Kang Pan-sŏk would have been pregnant with their son, the future founder of the North Korean state. 
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intellect, and nurturing a hands-on industriousness in the school’s Manual Labor Department 

Note Annie Baird similarly dubbed the Sungsil Academy approach the “Megook Plan,” referring to America as “Megook” (美國 Kor. Miguk), since it was inspired to a large degree by the model used at Park College in Parkville, Mo., founded by Methodist theologian and hymn writer Cleland B. McAfee (1866–1944) (Clark 2003, 107, n. 82). For what it’s worth, Hanover College, Moffett and Baird’s alma mater in southern Indiana, was a pioneer of industrial education from its very founding in the early nineteenth century and maintained a “manual labor system” both as a means for students to support themselves financially, and as a form of vocational education (Millis 1927, 144–45). Be that as it may, Sungsil Academy’s structure was unusual enough that it impressed visitors from the American church, including Christian writer George T. B. Davis, who exclaimed: “This is one of the most unique and practical plans for a school of which I have ever heard, and I only wish it might be widely copied in America, England and Australia” (George T. B. Davis, “The Million Soul’s Movement—Notes on Visits to Pyeng Yang; Syen Chyun; Chemulpo; and Taiku,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 4 (April 1910), 83–85, here 84). 
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pastors and nationalist leaders took the pulpit to hold forth on love of God and country 

Note One student, Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, recalled Cho Man-sik, An Ch’ang-ho, and Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik as being among the Presbyterian leaders who spoke at the chapel, adding that, since the Presbyterian Theological Seminary sat next to Sungsil Academy, the students would often be addressed by seminary professors. “We studied in school, but we felt more with our hearts, during chapel,” he recalled (Kim Hyŏng-sŏk 2004, 21; and Ŏm, “Isip’il Segi nŭn,” Munhwa Ilbo, December 31, 2015). An Ch’ang-ho has already featured in this narrative, and will appear more in the pages ahead; Cho Man-sik and Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik will take center stage in Act III. 
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enroll, but he certainly wasn’t going to let such “pliable pupils” graduate in their heathen states 

Note “WE PRAYED BEFORE EVERY CLASS”: Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, who enrolled at Sungsil Academy in 1922, roughly a decade after Kim Hyŏng-jik, recalled his education as being “through and through a Christian one.” “Faculty and students attended service everyday. Not only that, we first prayed before every class. In order to observe Sunday as the Lord’s Day, all sports were forbidden on Sundays. A ban on smoking and drinking was strictly enforced as well. This also applied from junior high to college, as all of the students and teachers were Christians. The purpose of this mission school was not to evangelize and educate non-believers but to train and educate Christian students to become faithful workers of God,” recalled Rev. Han, later one of the most prominent pastors in South Korea. “Many Soongsil College graduates went on to become pastors, deacons, and elders that dedicated themselves to building churches and spreading the gospel in Korea. In this sense, Soongsil College has played the greatest role in the development of the church in Korea” (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 47). Comparing Sungsil to Yu Sŭng-hun’s Osan School, which he had also attended, Rev. Han described Osan as the more nationalistic school, and Sungsil as the more religious school: “Although I received a Christian education at both Soongsil College and Osan School, I feel as though Osan School stressed patriotism while Soongsil College placed the Kingdom of God before our nation. It might have been for that reason that many Osan School graduates became dedicated leaders for society and our country, rather than pastors and church leaders” (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 47).  “EVERY STUDENT BECAME A CHRISTIAN”: “The students are a promising body of youth. They are subject, however, to the same temptations to which all youth are liable,” Baird wrote in 1904. “We have pliable pupils in our hands, and by giving some strong men a strong religious training may fortify them against the coming flood of worldly inducement” (“Personal Report for 1903–04, W. M. Baird, Pyeng Yang, Korea,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 390). The students, Rev. Baird noted in a separate report that year, “all were either professing Christians on entering, or became so in school. In some cases those who entered as inquirers became earnest Christians” (“Annual Report: Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church in U.S.A. Report of the Pyeng Yang Station, July 1st, 1903 to June 30th, 1904,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 397). In 1905, a fellow missionary wrote with satisfaction, if not a touch of hyperbole, that “every student became a Christian while here,” due in large part to Rev. Baird, who “stamps his strong personality on some 80 or 90 boys each year” (Whiting letter to Forward Movement Secretary, June 10, 1905). Pyongyang Presbyterian missionary John Z. Moore wrote that, at the beginning of the 1906–1907 academic year, many of Sungsil Academy’s students were “nominal Christians when they entered,” though by the end of the winter, “nearly every one of them” had become “earnest, Spirit filled Christians, burning with zeal for the Master” (Moore, “The Great Revival Year,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 114).   “THE FLOWER OF THE KOREAN CHRISTIAN CHURCH”: Writing in December 1909, Rev. Baird affirmed that all of the school’s students were professing Christians, “the flower of the Korean Christian church,” many of them actively engaged in Christian work (William M. Baird letter to Arthur J. Brown, December 21, 1909, Pyeng Yang (PHS 282/239/140)). “We have never had so fine a body of students,” he boasted a few months later in March 1910. “One and all they seem bent on the business of acquiring a Christian education.” He added, with optimism, that “the effects of an established church and school system are beginning to tell on the character of the applicants…Wild political ambitions, if present at all, are dormant. Sectarian bitterness is dead” (W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “The Pyeng Yang Academy and College,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 3 (March 1910), 61–62, here 61). Methodist convert Hugh Cynn (Sin Hŭng-u), writing in 1914, similarly noted that, while the missionary schools might admit some non-believers, the strength of the Christian education was such that, according to his own calculation, 94 percent of the second-year students and all of the fourth-year students were Christians, many of them having converted after enrolling at the school. “It has been said that the schools that admitted non-Christian students would train up skilled antagonists or, at the best, indifferent friends rather than real Christians; but this assertion is contrary to facts,” Cynn wrote. “What if some of the students are non-Christians? Christianity is not so soft backboned and weak-kneed as to be afraid of them” (H. Heung-wo Cynn [Sin, Hŭng-u], “The College Question—From a Korean Standpoint,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 10 (October 1914), 299–302, here 300). 
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classes including “Evidences of Christianity,” “Christian Civilization,” and “Scriptural Geography” 

Note A table of the curriculum for the 1912–1913 academic year, when Kim Hyŏng-jik would have been enrolled at Sungsil Academy, shows a steady mix of courses on various books of the Old and New Testaments, alongside church history and other non-religious subjects including astronomy, algebra, trigonometry, American economic history, psychology, physics, logic, writing, Japanese, and debate (Sungjŏn Taehakgyo P’alsip-nyŏnsa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏn-hoe 1979, 156, n. 2). One source says that Sungsil Academy students were expected to attend roughly five hours of Bible study each week (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1084).  SAMUEL MOFFETT, U.S. HISTORY TEACHER: When Samuel Moffett was in Pyongyang, he would teach two hours each week of the Bible and of John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, Baird wrote in 1902 (“Educational Report for 1901–02: W. M. Baird,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 350). By 1909, Moffett was teaching the Bible and U.S. history for five hours each week, according to Methodist Arthur Becker, who led the school for some years alongside Rev. Baird (McCune and Thompson 2009, 293). Moffett was “not only pious but also very conscientious and hard working,” Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik recalled (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 48). 
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preparing them to be sent out as teachers to church schools scattered across the peninsula 

Note “The boys are all engaged in Christian work of some kind…and many are expecting to become teachers or pastors,” as one Korea Mission Field article put it in April 1910, as Kim Hyŏng-jik was preparing to apply for admission to Sungsil Academy (“Mission Education in Korea,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 91). A Sungsil Academy brochure from that year boasted of an annual monthlong summer program for hundreds of country school teachers, with grade certificates handed out. The brochure gave an annual attendance figure of between 150 and three hundred teachers, who were collectively responsible for instructing thousands of students across Korea (Baird 1968, 132, citing a Sungsil Academy college brochure, 1910). “Teachers are everywhere too few, so that no one can do his best, and all are working at full pressure, and over time, with reckless waste of power, because of the scarcity of men,” the missionaries warned in June 1910 (“The State of the Case,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 122). 
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the missionaries, and, on Sunday afternoons, evangelistic missions in and around Pyongyang 

Note The evangelistic missions, Rev. Baird noted in the militaristic language he often favored, showed how Sungsil Academy students “could become a still more valuable auxiliary to the evangelistic forces of the region” (“Educational Report for 1901–02,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 351). The students, Rev. Baird elaborated the following year, “go out into the streets on Sabbath and invite strangers to church, and for the purpose of street distribution, they have had printed at their own expense, five thousand copies of a tract written by one of their number, which exhorts to forsake idols, repent of sins, and believe in Christ, and these they use freely in doing personal work. They visit the aged and sick, reading and praying with them, and teaching some to read, and in various ways they show their love to Christ” (“Personal Report for 1902–03: W. M. Baird, Pyeng Yang, Korea,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 373–74). In the 1908–1909 school year, the formation of a Student Evangelical Society at Sungsil Academy raised 200 yen to send a student missionary to the southern Korean island of Cheju (McCune and Thompson 2009, 292–93). 
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Church attendance, needless to say, was mandatory 

Note Official North Korean historical sources confirm that attendance at Sunday worship service was mandatory, portraying it as part of an insidious plot by the agents of imperialism: “American missionaries forced students to go to church every Sundays and controlled it, even using a register. Any absentees were not allowed to work in the ‘industrial center’ and sometimes were even punished with expulsion” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 61). 
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cover tuition could earn their school fees—all while learning the value of an honest day’s work 

Note At least that’s how the missionaries portrayed it, anyway. According to North Korea’s official history, “in reality it was a labor center which exploited students” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 38). Roughly a decade before Kim Hyŏng-jik’s arrival at Sungsil Academy, Rev. Baird wrote in 1901 that roughly half the student body was enrolled in the “manual labor department,” working half the day in return for food; clothes and books were the responsibility of the student (“For the Year 1900–01,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 336).  LUSTY STRAWBERRIES OVER SHAKESPEARE: The ethos of the Christian modern education that the missionaries brought to Korea prioritized practical real-world skills over the kind of grandiose literary aspirations that were valued in the traditional Confucian educational system. As missionary Harry Rhodes wrote in 1909: “Until the Korean learns to glory in hard work, and to appreciate the value of time, they will not improve, and if among other things Christianity doesn’t teach him these things it will fall far short of fulfilling its mission…And one splendid result of Christianity in Korea is, that it has changed idle, long finger-nailed, listless men, into industrious, energetic workers, both in their own affairs and in the affairs of the Kingdom” (Rhodes, “Down the Yalu,” Korea Mission Field (1909), 97). “To be able to read a play in Shakespeare would be a good thing; but to know how to raise a patch of lusty strawberries would be better,” wrote the aristocratic Methodist convert Yun Ch’i-ho, who himself founded a modern Christian school inspired by Sungsil Academy, the Anglo-Korean School, which had students engaged in growing fruits and vegetables, carpentry, textiles, and dairy farming. “If our boys have to choose one of the two, let them take the strawberries. Shakespeare can wait.” Summing up his philosophy, Yun wrote: “We must teach the boys what they can practice on leaving the school, with the least outlay of money and time” (Yun, “Anglo-Korean School,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 144; and Wells 1990, 65). Yun had earlier argued to his close friend Rev. Warren Candler, then-president of Methodist-run Emory College in Georgia, that if “we desire to have a school of any sort at all, it must be an industrial school where the Corean youth may learn through saving truth that Christianity is a working religion” (Wells 1990, 65, citing Yun Ch’i-ho letter to Warren A. Candler, October 22, 1895). 
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roll up his sleeves in a cauldron of activity “full of busy workers with hammer, plane and saw” 

Note According to the biographers of Methodist missionary educator Arthur Becker, who ran Sungsil Academy alongside William Baird, “the Academy students were divided into two sections: one studied in the forenoon and the other in the afternoon. The morning session was supervised by Arthur and the afternoon group was supervised by Dr. Baird. The groups could then work in their free periods” (McCune and Thompson 2009, 247). 
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Kim Hyŏng-jik’s father sold melons, his mother radishes, and his younger brother straw sandals 

Note Another North Korean source describes Kim Hyŏng-jik as initially living on the Sungsil Academy campus—that is, in the heart of the Presbyterian missionary compound—before moving back home in April 1912, the month that he became a father, in an apparent attempt to reduce the cost of attendance (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 41). It is also possible, though impossible to prove, that Kim Hyŏng-jik may have benefited from the generosity of other, wealthier students. The missionaries described Sungsil Academy students offering one another mutual aid. “Among other things which might be noted was the spirit of helpfulness among the students,” one missionary wrote in July 1911. “Finding that there were several students who would be unable to continue in their studies without help, they took up a subscription among themselves and raised 130 yen to help these poorer students. This meant much sacrifice on the part of many” (“Notes from the Stations,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 7 (July 1911), 180–84, here 181). 
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to make breakfast before his ten-mile-long journey, on foot, to the Presbyterian compound 

Note Kim Il Sung gives the distance of the journey, which his father made on foot each day, as twelve kilometers (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 6). Other North Korean sources describe the distance as being 30 ri, or about ten miles; thus, Kim Hyŏng-jik walked some twenty miles each day (The Mother of Korea 1978, 57; and Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 41). 
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into the night before returning home for more study, followed by just one or two hours of sleep 

Note “Despite this,” the North Korean account adds here, “Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik was never late or absent to school” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 41). 
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“morning star so bright, that can be seen and looked up to from every direction, far and wide” 

Note “AMERICA ALONE COMES TO GIVE”: Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, a Christian convert from Pyongyang who would later emigrate to the U.S., recalled looking upon America as “the New Promised Land…flowing with milk of wisdom and honey of freedom” (E. E. C., “Preface,” in Charr 1996, xxxix). Ch’a’s father, who encouraged his eventual departure for America to study, similarly regarded the U.S. as “the best country in the world. “The others come to take and destroy,” he told his son. “America alone comes to give and save, to help and cure, to teach and preach the great Gospel of peace and salvation” (Charr 1996, 107–8).  “A SIGHT TO BEHOLD…A DRAMATIC ADVERTISEMENT”: Ch’a’s remarks here also reference the architectural style that predominated in Pyongyang’s Presbyterian compound. One building, Ch’a later wrote, was “the only two-story building that I had ever seen in the city except the old pavilions or towers over the city gateways,” and was ringed “with glass windows all around” (Charr 1996, 94, 97). As Ch’a’s quotes here show, for the Koreans, the missionary compounds’ locations, “invariably on high ground…and their buildings, which included schools, hospitals, churches with spires, and Western-style red brick homes, sometimes roofed Korean-style but furnished and equipped inside in the Western manner,” were a sight to behold. For many Koreans, “it all served as a dramatic advertisement for Christianity, Western ideals, materialism, and modernization—not necessarily in that order” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 46). Nate Kornegay, a contemporary writer on early missionary architecture in Korea, notes that “it was Western diplomats, the missionary community, and church congregations that first started adapting and modifying Joseon architecture, becoming responsible for a number of interesting hybrid structures in pre-colonial Korea. To this day, some of the most recognized extant fusions of early modern Western and Korean design are Christian religious structures” (Kornegay, “Modifying Joseon Architecture,” Colonial Korea (2019)).  “NOTHING OBTRUSIVELY ALIEN IN THEIR APPEARANCE”: The early days of missionary construction in Pyongyang had been characterized by buildings built in the “native Korean” style. For instance, when construction work began on a permanent “large seven-room building” for Sungsil Academy in spring 1901, financed by a gift of 1,800 yen by missionary William Swallen, the building was built in a traditional Korean style—a metaphor for the missionaries’ attempts to create a truly indigenous Korean Christianity (“For the Year 1900–01,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 333). In addition to his other skills, Graham Lee served as the Pyongyang mission station’s resident carpenter, and laid the cornerstone for Sungsil Academy on April 11, 1901. “Last Thursday we laid the corner stone with appropriate ceremonies. What seemed to be the most impressive part was my striking the stone three times with a mallet and declaring it laid,” Lee wrote his parents a few days later. “None of us have ever had any experience in corner-stone laying at home, so we don’t know whether we did everything properly or not, but the Koreans were satisfied” (Graham Lee letter to Father & Mother, April 14, 1901, Pyeng Yang (MKC)). Also cited in Baird 1968, 135. Arthur Brown, the missionary board secretary, visiting that same year, wrote that “the exterior lines are in such harmony with the native buildings about them that a stranger on the hill a quarter of a mile away would hardly recognize them as foreign at all. There is nothing obtrusively alien in their appearance, nothing to suggest that Christian institutions are essentially exotic” (Brown 1902, 28). Also cited in Baird 1968, 135.  “HIDEOUS” RED BRICKS: By 1908, one missionary wrote, the Sungsil Academy building was “outgrown and crowded to the fullest capacity” (Mrs. Ernest Hall 1908, 7). What followed was a noticeable shift in the architectural style of the missionary buildings towards Western-style red-brick buildings for dormitories and other school buildings. One Western visitor to Pyongyang around this time writes of “a hideous new school on the brow of the hill…which stands in conspicuous nakedness like a blot on the landscape” (Kemp 1911, 68). More buildings followed, including a science hall opened in 1907 to house the country’s first modern physics and chemistry laboratories (McCune and Thompson 2009, 238). “Red brick houses are the order of the day now and they change the appearance very greatly,” Moffett wrote one of his sons in 1921. The Methodists had just built a “huge new” red-brick school building, while as a whole, “the city is growing rapidly and houses are everywhere” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Jamie [Moffett, James M.], August 30, 1921, Pyengyang (MKC)).  
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students’ association, which held weekly lectures and debates on literature, music, and sports 

Note During one such meeting of what one North Korean hagiography of Kim Hyŏng-jik simply calls the Student Association (學友會 Kor. Hak’u-hoe) debate in the fall of 1911, Kim Hyŏng-jik participated in a debate concerning the question: “What does this era require of young students?” “Unlike some upper-year students who argued that they must be ‘apostles’ loyal to ‘God,’ Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik pointed to the misfortune and suffering of Koreans forced to live as colonized slaves,” the North Korean account reads, quoting Kim Hyŏng-jik directly: “Believe in a Korean God, if you believe in one!” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 59–60) In this passage, the North Korean text uses the word ha’nŭl (하늘) for “God,” which North Korean sources have variously translated as “sky,” “heaven,” or “God.” 
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an “illegal revolutionary organization,” swearing to fight to the death for Korea’s independence 

Note The name of this “illegal revolutionary organization,” given by official North Korean sources as the Toksŏ-hoe (讀書會), can be translated literally as the “Bookreading Society,” or, to use the official English translation of Kim Il Sung’s memoirs, simply a “reading circle” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 50; and Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 20). In June 1912, the official narrative continues, Kim Hyŏng-jik gathered some of his fellow student leaders for a gathering at Ŭlmil Pavilion on Pyongyang’s Peony Point to create a new group, which can be translated as the “One Heart Student Association” (一心親睦會 Kor. Ilsim Ch’inmuk-hoe), or, to use the official English translation, a “single-hearted friendship association.” Kim Hyŏng-jik was said to have been inspired to form the group after determining that there was a need to unite the students as one and fight for Korean independence (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 53–54; and Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 20). 
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homework, that he regularly skipped meals: “His tireless activities impressed students greatly” 

Note This version quotes Ch’oe Tal-hyŏng (崔達亨 ?–?), a classmate that the North Korean narrative describes as a confederate of Kim Hyŏng-jik in his revolutionary struggle against the missionaries; in reality, his sister was a cook for Samuel Moffett and Ch’oe himself appeared to have been deeply involved in the church (Pai 2002, 129). 
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of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”—celebrating the school’s foundation on the Rock of Ages 

Note An earlier version of the school song, penned by William Baird during the 1907 revival and set to the melody of an old hymn called “March We Onward, Doing Battle,” spoke of Sungsil Academy students “gathered at the will of God.” In the later version that Kim Hyŏng-jik sang, a lyrical reference to the “Rock of Ages” (萬歲磐石 Kor. Manse Pansŏk) echoed the biblical reference behind his wife Kang Pan-sŏk’s name. 
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who had recently converted to the new faith being propagated by the American missionaries

Note Pae Min-su’s father, Pae Ch’ang-gŭn (裵昌根 1869–1909), had joined one of the many “righteous armies” that had sprung up to fight the Japanese after the establishment of the protectorate. After the defeat of the righteous armies, the Pae family moved to the nearby provincial capital of Ch’ŏngju (清州), a small city of about ten thousand in the south-central Korean province of Ch’ungch’ŏng (忠清道 Kor. Ch’ungch’ŏng-do) (Pai 2002, 13).  “WE CALLED HIM A MONKEY”: There, in the home of a family friend named Kim Ŭng-sam (?–?), the Pae family found their friends and neighbors had begun worshipping a new foreign god being preached by the Americans who had set up in the city. Together with another convert, the Pae family joined their host in attending the church where the local missionary, an American named Frederick S. Miller (1866–1937) who was one of the first foreign missionaries in the province, was preaching (Pai 2002, 41). Pae Min-su recalls his first impressions of Rev. Miller: “It was so funny to see the missionaries. Mr. Miller’s nose was even higher than the average American and his eyes were deeper. His hair was yellow and legs were so long. So we called him a monkey” (Pai 2002, 58). As rumor had it, the crafty foreigners used tricks, money and medicine to deceive the Koreans, and those who consumed their drugs “became crazy about Christianity” (Pai 2002, 58). 
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sinister stories about the foreigners, his family embraced the new religion almost immediately 

Note Like so many other Koreans in those days, “my father believed he had found the way, not only to save his soul, but his country,” Pae later recalled. “He thought he could cooperate with the U.S. missionaries and crush the Japanese power” (Pai 2002, 41–42). Despite the sinister rumors about the foreign missionaries, Pae’s father Ch’ang-gŭn accepted the new faith as his own almost “right away,” his son recalled, finding in Christianity not only the promise of personal salvation, but also an answer for Korea’s national plight. In the Christian faith, Pae wrote, there was an attractive egalitarianism: “There was no difference between Yang-ban and common people, rich and poor, and educated and uneducated” (Pai 2002, 57). This was no small attraction in the two Ch’ungch’ŏng provinces, which Rev. Miller described as the “Gentleman Provinces” because of all the aristocratic yangban who lived there—an obstacle to the advance of the faith, he believed (Miller 1903, 4–5). Rev. Miller urged Christians at home in America to pray for the people living in Ch’ungch’ŏng—“one million souls who sit in darkness,” as he called them (Miller 1903, 5). 
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his new favorite hymns—“Nearer My God to Thee,” “Haven of Rest,” and “O Happy Day”

Note “I remember my father sang very well. It has been ringing in my ears ever since,” Pae Min-su recalled. Later, Pae tells of his father, and then the whole family, being thrown into jail for his father’s anti-Japanese activities. While in jail, Pae and his family prayed and sang hymns day and night—in particular one entitled “Trusting,” by William G. Fischer (1835–1912), which Pae had copied the verses of into a notebook (Pai 2002, 43). 
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missionary, while Pae attended a Christian school where he was instilled with nationalist values

Note The missionary that Pae’s mother went to work for was Walter C. Purviance (1875–1952), a medical missionary from Kansas. Pae names his school as Chung-nam Christian School, with the name “Chung-nam” (忠南 Kor. Ch’ungnam) referring to South Ch’ungch’ŏng province. 
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“songs and encouraged us to be ready to fight for the freedom of our country,” Pae recalled 

Note “Alas! our people!/What made us lose our land?/She is our country of four thousand years,” Pae Min-su recalled singing, exclaiming: “Oh! how I loved to sing hundreds of these songs!…Through the music sports and Christianity, I could learn the value of freedom and democracy” (Pai 2002, 45–46). 
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resolve was cemented when his father was executed by the Japanese for his nationalist activity 

Note According to the South Korean government, which in 1993 posthumously honored Pae Min-su’s father for his contributions to Korean independence, Pae Ch’ang-gŭn was sentenced to death by hanging in June 1909 for killing several Japanese soldiers involved in the suppression of the righteous armies. According to the commendation, Pae Ch’ang-gŭn was born in Pyongyang and served in the Korean imperial army (大韓帝國軍 Kor. Taehan Cheguk-gun) until its disbanding in July 1907 (Tokrip Yugong-ja Konghun-rok, Che 11 Kwŏn: 1993–1994 Nyŏndo P’osang-ja [Record of Contributors to Independence, Vol. 11: 1993–1994 Honorees] (Seoul: Kukga Pohun-ch’ŏ, 1994), 135). 
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“with tears,” he wrote later. “After our prayers, we felt heaven and earth were upholding us” 

Note The word that Pae Min-su uses here, which he spells “Wai-nom” (倭놈 Kor. Waenom) was a derogatory term for the Japanese—literally translating to “dwarf bastards,” but often rendered, as Pae does here, as “Japs.” Kang Yong-hŭl (Younghill Kang), one of modern Korea’s best-known novelists, describes engaging in a similar vow of his own with two friends: “We blackened white thread with Chinese ink, and put a needle and thread through, but the ink remained behind, so as to form a small black spot impossible to remove by washing. By nice calculation, we made the spots on each wrist the same. It hurt a little, but you are supposed to have a hard time, in making vows,” he wrote (Younghill Kang 1951, 24). 
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Out in the provinces, even a modern education typically ended after primary school 

Note During this period, a modern Western-style high school education was still so rare that many of the students were men in their twenties or thirties who had never had a chance when they were younger, as Pae describes it. “In these days, the ages of grade school children was from six or seven to about 25 years. I was not so old but not too young. I finished my primary school when I was 16 years old,” he recalled. “We did not have any high school” (Pai 2002, 76). 
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If Pae Min-su were to advance to high school, he had two options: Seoul or Pyongyang 

Note “Since we did not have any high school, we had to go to Seoul or Pyeng Yang,” Pae Min-su recalled. There was a real novelty at the time to going away for schooling. When other high school boys came home for the summer, “they taught us sports, music and made good speeches. They spoke some English words and I thought it was wonderful. They were all patriotic and taught us to love our country and God,” he recalled (Pai 2002, 76).  “AROUSE WHAT IS NEW”: Pae could have chosen to attend Seoul’s Kyŏngsin High School (儆新高等學校 Kor. Kyŏngsin Kodŭng Hakgyo), founded in 1886 by Horace Underwood before it moved across the city in 1902 and under the supervision of James Gale, with the informal name Christian Middle School (耶穌教中學校 Kor. Yesu-gyo Chunghakgyo). In 1905, the school was moved again into a formal brick building in Seoul’s Chŏng-dong neighborhood and given its Korean name Kyŏngsin—literally, “to arouse what is new.” At least one source gives the Sino-Korean name as Kyŏngsin (敬新)—to “enlighten with the new.” Its English name was the John D. Wells Training School for Christian Workers (Rutt 1983, 36; and Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 116). Edwin Wade Koons, the Presbyterian missionary who by the late 1910s was principal of the school, dates the “ancestry of the school…back, in a broken line, to an orphanage established by Dr. Underwood in 1885,” though the school itself—Koons ventures that “‘New Enlightenment’ is perhaps as good a translation as any”—dates to 1901, with its inaugural graduating class in 1906 consisting of one student and quickly growing in size (E. W. Koons [Koons, Edwin Wade], “Private Higher Common Schools for Korean Boys in Seoul—II.,” The Korea Magazine (January 1919), 6–11, here 9–10). In line with the tenets of the missionary-established schools, “each student attends church on Sunday morning, and must be able the next day at chapel to show his church attendance card properly marked by the officers of the church he chooses to attend. The Bible is studied 3 periods a week in each class, by all students,” Koons wrote. “All are Christians, and nearly half are church members” (Koons, “”Private Higher Common Schools,” Korea Magazine (1919), 11).  MODERNITY AND PIETY: Ultimately, Pae may have been inspired to choose Sungsil Academy because of the allure of Pyongyang, which to his mind represented both modernity and piety. One of his teachers in Ch’ŏngju had come from Pyongyang, and his sister was the first Korean woman that Pae ever saw who dressed in the Western style (Pai 2002, 45). At church, Pae’s pastor, a certain “Elder Chung-chan Park,” wore a Moses-like beard and preached like a prophet, his voice like thunder; he too hailed from Pyongyang (Pai 2002, 60–61). 
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“My ambition was, to liberate my country and wanted to be a great man like Abraham Lincoln” 

Note The quote here is accurate, if not entirely grammatical—a reflection of Pae Min-su’s non-native grasp of English. By his own admission, Pae was not a great student and his main inspiration from Abraham Lincoln seems to have been primarily that the American president, while not very handsome, was able to rise to such heights because he was a good Christian. “I thought that was the secret and reason. I tried to find out how I could be the best Christian,” he recalled (Pai 2002, 75). 
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like-minded classmates—four young men with whom his fate would soon be inextricably bound 

Note Pae Min-su names his classmates as Ro Tŏk-sun, who is briefly mentioned in the Supplemental Notes for Act II, Chapter 9; Kim Chi-su (金智洙 ?–?); Yi Po-sik (李輔植 ?–?); and Pak In-gwan (朴仁寬 ?–?) (Pai 2002, 91). A similar list is given in the official North Korean narrative, which includes Yi Po-sik; Paek Se-bin (白世彬 ?–?), also known as Paek Yŏng-mu; Pak In-gwan; Ro Sŏn-gyŏng (慮善敬 1893–1993); Ro Tŏk-sun; and Pae Min-su in its roll call of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s closest associates at Sungsil Academy (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 78).  ASSOCIATION OF FUTURE CHURCH LEADERS: Some of these men went on to become leaders in the church, including Pak In-gwan, who became a pastor, as North Korea’s official history acknowledges (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 80, 359). Pae Min-su, too, would become a prominent Christian leader in South Korea, including serving as the president of Sungsil University. Yi Po-sik, too, would become a pastor (Hong Tong-gŭn, “Na nŭn Ŏddŏh’ke Kŭrisŭdo’in i Twe’ŏt nŭn ga 1” [How I Became a Christian, Part 1], Kidokgyo Sasang [Christian Thought] 700 (April 2017), 104–18, here 108). 
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had checked into an inn one evening when they were robbed by bandits and strung up on trees 

Note There is no reason to think that Pae Min-su, writing in the 1940s, had any reason to misrepresent Kim Hyŏng-jik or his tales of traveling around Manchuria as a young teenager. That said, as noted in the endnotes to the main text, the official North Korean history doesn’t portray Kim Hyŏng-jik as having spent any time in Manchuria.  “THE NATIVES IN TERROR”: As discussed in Act I, Chapter 8, banditry was prevalent in Manchuria during this period. “Wandering gangs of Chinese and Korean bandits have ranged along the forest borders, keeping the natives in terror and exacting tribute from every caravan which passed through the territory under their control” (Andrews, “Exploring Unknown Corners,” National Geographic (1919), 39). Owen Lattimore, writing in 1932, noted that there was probably nowhere on earth where bandits set up more settlements and villages than in Manchuria (Lattimore 1932, 229). By the late 1930s, Westerners taking the train through Manchuria expressed concerns about bandits attacking the train, usually by loosening the tracks, such that the train would derail, allowing a band of thieves to plunder the injured passengers and carry some off into the mountains to be held for ransom, with the stretch between Harbin and Shenyang (Mukden) being the worst. That, or they would board the train as a third-class passenger and then, when the train climbed slowly up a hill, would pull out a revolver and rob passengers before jumping out the train (Berman 1938, 17–19).  
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passersby in the morning but had to walk another twenty-five miles in search of food and water 

Note After struggling on for some miles, Kim Hyong-jik recalled the oldest of the five companions collapsing in exhaustion, utterly unable to carry on. One of the others came up with a plan and huddled within earshot of the older man to conspire with the others. Complaining of hunger and brandishing a knife, the friend stage-whispered: “There is no other way gentlemen. Let’s eat the old man.” At that, the old man jumped to his feet and denounced the others. “You Devils, you are going to eat me? I think you are worse than those gangsters. But I will see you later!” he yelled, before sprinting off towards the nearest town. “Hyungchickie laughed with tears when he finished the story,” Pae Min-su recalled. “It was the spirit of comradeship which made them reluctant to go without the old man” (Pai 2002, 93–94). 
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Pae implored. “Let him be Thy faithful servant to save our people. Bless his family and friends” 

Note An affectionate style of creating Korean nicknames was simply to add the extra syllable to the end of a given name. It should be noted that Pae Min-su’s account, first published in 1944, was written before the Japanese had surrendered, before Kim Il Sung had returned to Korea, and before there was any real reason to pay notice of Kim Hyŏng-jik and his son. 
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the days to Bible study and prayer, with the evenings set aside for devotional services 

Note “At the meeting of the second evening, before even the leader took his place, the tide of prayer began rising,” Annie Baird recounts in this same article. “As prayer continued the building began to resound with groans and cries. Many fell forward on their faces and wallowed on the floor.” After a public call for forgiving any grievances held against others present, the meeting then dissolved into “numberless groups of students, weeping in each other’s arms” (Mrs. W. M. Baird [Baird, Annie L. Adams], “The Spirit Among Pyeng Yang Students,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 5 (May 1907), 65–67, here 66).  “NOT POSSIBLE…TO DIRECT THEIR THOUGHTS TO THEIR STUDIES”: “The students fell under its influence even more readily than had the general membership of the church,” read one unsigned June 1908 article in the Korea Mission Field, almost certainly referring to Sungsil Academy. “The Spirit of God moved so mightily upon the students that it was not possible for them to direct their thoughts to their studies” (“The Revival,” Korea Mission Field 4, no. 6 (June 1908), 84–85). Even after the missionaries steered their charges back to their books, “they would study in quiet interest, but during the day, when an opportunity was given them for prayer, scenes of overwhelming sorrow for their own sins or for the sins of fellow students would be repeated” (Jones and Noble 1910, 12–13). 
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“down to hatreds, spites, and envyings, was emptied out, and with what shame and loathing!” 

Note “AS THOUGH THE DEMONS…WERE TEARING THEM”: “No attempt was made to lead these meetings. Indeed, any leadership would have been impossible,” Annie Baird wrote in this article, describing the Sungsil Academy revival meetings as taking place over the course of “two very dreadful and yet very wonderful weeks.” “No human power could have dragged these confessions to light, and many of the Koreans themselves were horror-struck at what they heard” (Mrs. W. M. Baird, “Spirit Among Pyeng Yang Students,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 65). Methodists George Jones and Arthur Noble, describing the revival at Sungsil Academy, wrote: “First came the physical distress, penitents beating the floor with hands and with head, and their screams and outcries were as though the demons whose name is legion were tearing them; then followed sobbing confessions of sinful and unclean lives” (Jones and Noble 1910, 12–15, especially 14). “In sobs and cries of anguish they have confessed their sins to one another, to teachers, parents, and kindred,” added missionary William Hunt (W. B. Hunt [Hunt, William B.], “Impressions of an Eye Witness,” Korea Mission Field 3, no. 3 (March 1907), 37–38, here 38). 
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campaign, characterized by systematized door-knocking and nightly evangelistic services 

Note “TINY BOYS FILLED WITH FIERY ZEAL”: The church in Pyongyang was “waking up and entering with consecrated zeal into the campaign for the million,” Pyongyang missionary William Swallen declared in March 1910. “The spiritual condition is most promising” (“Campaign Notes from the Stations,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 3 (March 1910), 58–60, here 59). George T. B. Davis, the American Christian writer, had traveled to Wales to write about the 1904–1905 Christian revival there. But in Pyongyang, Davis found himself swept up in the fervor: “The cry of ‘One million this year!’ has swept over Korea like wildfire; the Korean is proving his unparalelled [[sic]] zeal as a soul-winner; and hundreds are being swept into the Kingdom” (George T. B. Davis, “Progress of the Million Movement—A Visitor’s Impressions,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 3 (March 1910), 56–58, here 56). Davis, in a separate piece the following month, described seeing boys as young as seven joining the frenzy. “The little tots of seven years…gathered together and brought money to buy tracts and Gospels. They took these out on the streets, and took turns at preaching. These tiny boys filled with fiery zeal, stood telling the story of Jesus, with tears streaming down their faces. They went to individuals, seized them by their wrists and plead with them to accept Jesus as their Savior” (Davis, “Million Soul’s Movement,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 84). 
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year, the Presbyterian station in Pyongyang recorded the opening of forty-two new churches 

Note The missionary quoted here, Canadian Jonathan Goforth, had traveled to Pyongyang from his base in Manchuria to witness the revival for himself. In 1911, the Presbyterian mission station in Pyongyang, tallying up the numbers across its territory in northwestern Korea, recorded 2,417 baptisms—the largest number for a single year—with forty-two churches built that year alone (“Notes from the Stations,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 10 (October 1911), 276–81, here 280–81).  “WE MUST HAVE ANOTHER CHURCH”: In December that year, the Presbyterian mission station in Pyongyang opened its seventh church, located south of the ancient city walls in a neighborhood called “Yung Wha Dong” (蓮花洞 Kor. Yŏnhwa-dong), where lotus ponds once sat near the old palace grounds. The church, situated near the new railway station, was built after the six existing Presbyterian churches in the city had reached their breaking point. “All over the city the Christians began to say, ‘Yes, we must have another church; we Presbyterians need seven now,’” recounted Charles Phillips, a Pyongyang Presbyterian who served as the inaugural foreign pastor of Seventh Presbyterian Church. At the dedication ceremony in the closing days of 1911, “half an hour before meeting time the church was full to the doors.” For the first service, Moffett preached from Matthew 16:18, recounting the humble roots of the church in Pyongyang before arguing that “the church is not man’s, but God’s, that it is not a western church, but a world church, that it has rock foundation and that it is ‘in Pyeng Yang to stay’” (“Notes from the Stations—Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 45–48). 
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had been preached to at home, which he said “proves that a whole city can be evangelized” 

Note Similarly, the Pyongyang missionaries noted in January 1912, “more new groups have been organized the past year than in the five preceeding [sic] years” (“Brief Notes of Evangelistic Progress in Pyeng Yang During 1910–11,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 1 (January 1912), 17–18).  “DISTRIBUTED EVERYWHERE”: In February 1910, the missionaries flooded Pyongyang with simple leaflets quoting John 3:16, “printed by the tens of thousands, and distributed everywhere by the Christians” (Untitled Editorial, Korea Mission Field (February 1910), 26). By the end of June 1912, the missionaries reported that circulation of their books and tracts had more than doubled from the previous year—a remarkable feat that came just as Kim Il Sung was coming into the world (“Striking Facts—Tract Society, For Year Ending June 30th, 1912,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 11 (November 1912), 317). For the three years between 1910 and 1912, the missionaries sold 1.4 million copies of the Bible, in part or in whole. “No other book printed in the Korean language anywhere nearly approaches the Bible in circulation,” wrote Methodist missionary George Jones (Jones 1916, 5). When cholera ravaged Pyongyang in October 1910, prompting authorities to shut schools and churches, the city’s Christians took that merely as an excuse to take Christ’s message to the countryside. “So at the October time, we were able to hold Bible classes for men and women at Pai Me Chang in N.E. Whang Hai Do,” wrote one missionary (B. W. Billings [Billings, Bliss W.], “What a Missionary Does By The Way—A Message from Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 8 (August 1911), 222–26, here 225). 
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had formed a “Preachers’ Society” to support local churches and deliver streetside homilies 

Note Rev. Bliss W. Billings (1881–1969), a Methodist missionary from Ohio who was in Korea from 1908 until 1940, described the “Preachers’ Society” in an article for Korea Mission Field, writing: “Believing that the main purpose of this Christian school is to raise up a trained and intelligent leadership for the Christian conquest of Korea, every effort is put forth to make the school an evangelizing agency” (Rev. Mr. Billings [Billings, Bliss W.], “A Christmas Vacation,” Korea Mission Field 6, no. 4 (April 1910), 92–93, here 92). As given in a Supplemental Note above, Pak In-gwan and Yi Po-sik—both members of Kim Hyŏng-jik and Pae Min-su’s inner circle—became pastors (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 80, 359; and Hong, “Kŭrisŭdo’in i Twe’ŏt nŭn ga 1,” Kidokgyo Sasang (2017), 108). Pae also names two other classmates-turned-pastors as “Rev. Ilhyung Chang” (Chang Il-hyŏng) and “Rev. Kakchun Park” (Pai 2002, 97).   SEOUL PREACHING CLUB: In a similar development in Seoul in early 1912, fifty-eight zealous members of the YMCA organized themselves into a “Preaching Club,” targeting student centers and spreading the Christian gospel there (Frank M. Brockman, “A Resume of Evangelistic Work in Seoul Y.M.C.A. For the Year Ending Sept. 30, 1911,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 2 (February 1912), 54–58, here 55–56). 
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“Society,” which, while voluntary, counted more than half the student body as members 

Note An October 1909 report by missionary-educator George S. McCune described the evangelistic fervor of Sungsil Academy’s missionary organization, which, “begun some years ago, has grown gradually until it now includes a majority of the student body.” Many of them, Rev. McCune noted, had signed a pledge akin to that of the Student Volunteer’s Movement—“a pledge of full consecration to the Master’s service, while all promise to preach the Gospel at every opportunity,” he wrote (George S. McCune, “Korean Students’ Enthusiasm,” Korea Mission Field 5, no. 10 (October 1909), 180). Pyongyang missionary Charles Bernheisel, writing about the Missionary Society six years after his colleague, added: “Membership is voluntary on the part of the students yet, it has always been a fact, that the most [sic] of the students were members of the society. Regular monthly meetings are held, the meeting generally taking the place of the weekly prayer meeting for that week,” (C. F. Bernheisel [Bernheisel, Charles F.], “Missionary Society of Union Christian College, Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 7 (July 1915), 199–200, here 199). 
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mid-1890s, of fanning out into the surrounding countryside to spread the Christian message

Note ANY GIVEN SUNDAY: As missionary-educator George S. McCune explained, “they preach regularly on the streets of Pyeng Yang on Sabbath and some of them go out to churches a short distance from here, preaching on the way. All of them are pledged to spend their time as far as possible in assisting their home churches during vacation” (McCune, “Korean Students’ Enthusiasm,” Korea Mission Field (1909), 180). “Almost any Sabbath afternoon,” Charles Bernheisel wrote of Sungsil Academy’s Missionary Society, “bands of the students can be seen preaching the Gospel in the streets of the city to assembled crowds. They teach in the Sabbath schools, and go to near-by country churches and conduct the Sabbath services and do it, also, to the edification and spiritual stimulus of the congregations to which they minister. This last winter and spring the members of the society have been going in a body and giving a Sabbath to each of the churches in the city. In the earlier hours of the morning they would go into the region of that church and preach the Gospel in the streets and from house to house and invite the unbelievers to attend the church services of the day. Then they would take charge of the regular preaching services of the church for the day, one or more of the boys doing the preaching and the rest helping in the singing and in personal work. In this way they have made their influence felt very largely and the churches have been the recipients of much help and inspiration” (Bernheisel, “Missionary Society,” Korea Mission Field (1915), 200). Young boys and girls would join in the campaigns, added visiting Canadian missionary Jonathan Goforth: “Even little tots of schoolboys, eight and nine years of age, as soon as school was dismissed, would go out on the streets and, taking hold of the passers-by by the sleeves, would plead with tears that they yield to Jesus the Saviour” (Goforth 1984, 24–25).  “BECOMING EARNEST CHRISTIAN WORKERS”: Such efforts dated to at least the mid-1890s, as American Presbyterian missionary Graham Lee described in an October 1896 report: “What pleases us most is the fact that the boys are becoming earnest Christian workers. For some time now two of the oldest have taken it upon themselves to visit all the schools in the city and preach the gospel to the boys attending. The idea emanated from the boys themselves and they have been carrying it out in their own way” (Lee, “Pyeng Yang Station General Report,” October 1896 (PHS)). The practice was so effective through the years that, by 1934, the missionaries could report that no fewer than thirteen churches in and around Pyongyang “owe their origin and nurture for a few years to the efforts of the students of the Soongsil Academy and Union Christian College” (Mowry, “Contribution of Educational Work,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 161–62). 
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and women in their starched white robes, flocking to the church on the hill as the bell tolled 

Note Writing shortly before Kim Hyŏng-jik’s arrival at Sungsil Academy in 1911, Presbyterian Harry Rhodes described Central Presbyterian Church as “one of the great sights of mission work in Korea, and the one most interesting to our many visitors, to see this great building, standing like the temple on Mt. Zion, packed with Christians” (Rhodes, “An Unusual Christmas Celebration,” Korea Mission Field (1910), 66). 
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“once I started, I couldn’t stop. I thought it was my duty to save the souls of others for Jesus” 

Note “SIMPLE AND EFFECTIVE,” “WIDESPREAD AND LASTING”: The program, Pae Min-su added in this passage, was “very simple and effective.” “When they went out to one village where no believers were, they played and sang. The children, men women gathered to listen. Then somebody told a story and preached the Gospel. The children enjoyed every bit of it, and wanted to meet another time on the following Sunday. After several times, a prayer meeting house was obtained from one of the men or women. This was the beginning of the church in that village. Very often the people went out to speak the gospel and take at, least, one to the church before they got Baptized” (Pai 2002, 103). Methodists George Jones and Arthur Noble testified to the success of such evangelistic endeavors, describing “an organized effort to send the stronger men who had experienced the cleansing power in Pyongyang to other churches and localities to carry on revival effort. The results were widespread and lasting” (Jones and Noble 1910, 23). 
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hosting schoolmates at his home, in the village of Man’gyŏngdae every week—on Sunday 

Note The closest thing that exists in the official North Korean history is a description of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s participation in an itinerating performance troupe into the suburbs of Pyongyang in the summer of 1912, where he and his classmates would put on a cultural performance consisting of singing, dancing, and comedy—and, naturally, a play about the atrocities of the Japanese killing Koreans—which it was said “greatly impressed the village folk” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 76–77). 
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in carpentry, metalworking, landscaping, or toiling at the print shop to help pay off his tuition 

Note “THE DIGNITY OF LABOR”: At Sungsil Academy’s Manual Labor Department, formally known as the Anna Davis Memorial Industrial Center (안나데이비스 紀念工作所 Kor. Anna Tebisŭ Ki’nyŏm Kongjak-so), students would typically work half the day in exchange for tuition, food, and “heated and lighted rooms” (Baird 1968, 142, citing William Baird’s 1902–1903 annual report). In so doing, Rev. Baird sought to drive home to his young charges the value and virtue of physical toil—something that the traditional ruling elite, the yangban, with their carefully cultivated long fingernails, were loath to consider. “We want to inculcate the dignity of labor,” Annie Baird wrote in 1913 (Annie Baird 1913, 22). Perhaps just as important, Rev. Baird was determined to avoid building a school that could only survive financially on the charity of donors (Baird 1968, 141–42).  KIM HYŎNG-JIK, MISSIONARY LABORER: Sungsil Academy’s “earthwork” center mostly engaged in digging and groundwork for the purposes of laying foundations for school buildings and houses; the “steelwork” center produced chapel bells, furnaces and stoves; and the “woodwork” center churned out desks and chairs (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 38). There is some discrepancy between sources as to exactly what kind of work Kim Hyŏng-jik was primarily engaged in. One North Korean source says that he worked primarily as a smith and a carpenter (The Mother of Korea 1978, 57). Another says Kim Hyŏng-jik dabbled with steel and wood, “but mostly worked in the most difficult ‘earthwork’ center” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 38). A third, non-North Korean, source describes Kim Hyŏng-jik as devoting most of his time to woodwork and the print shop (Yu Sun-ho 2017, 36).  SEWING, EMBROIDERY, CABINETMAKING, WEEDING, PIGGERY: In addition to workshops focused on woodworking, steelworking, and other tasks that appealed to the missionaries’ breed of muscular Christianity, Han Kyŏng-jik, who attended Sungsil Academy a few years after Kim Hyŏng-jik, describes how the missionary-run women’s schools, too, included small factory spaces where students could earn their tuition doing sewing and embroidery (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 14). The Seoul YMCA had a similar arrangement, setting up a trade school and de facto commercial cooperative where students could make benches and other furniture for sale, giving them a source of income and a practical skill (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 407–8). At the Hugh O’Neill Junior Academy—known in Korean as Sinsŏng School—a Presbyterian missionary-run school in the northwestern Korean city of Sŏnch’ŏn, headmaster George S. McCune ran a range of different work-study programs, including industrial shops where carpentry, cabinetmaking, metalworking, blacksmithing, glass-cutting, wood-staining, and painting took place; and in the industrial farms, where the focus was on ploughing, sowing seeds, weeding, irrigating, and harvesting; and in a range of other tasks in the school’s mill, garden, orchard, dairy farm, and piggery. “The students learn many lessons daily in their busy life while in school and it spreads to their homes,” Rev. McCune wrote, with the goal of producing “a good citizen who will make a practical leader in his church and community. Money means something to him for he has earned it by the sweat of his brow and he learns care in the spending of this hard earned cash” (McCune, “Hand Training,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 9–10). See also Yi Myŏng-yŏng, “Kim Sŏng-ju ŭi So’nyŏn Sijŏl (2),” Chung’ang Ilbo, March 26, 1974.  “WITH HANDS DIRTY AND ROUGHENED BY WORK”: “From time immemorial work and study have been segregated, so the changing of the attitude of the Korean mind toward work has been difficult,” added Rev. McCune’s wife Helen B. McCune (1872–1952), writing in 1918. “It has been the privilege of our schools through required and voluntary manual labor to show that a Korean can be a student and at the same time can come in with his hands dirty and roughened by work.” Even so, she noted, “it has taken a hard struggle on the part of some of the boys to lay aside the traditions of their fathers” (Mrs. G. S. McCune [McCune, Helen B.], “Industrial Education and Self-Help Departments,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1918), 384–89, here 384). 
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they were doing it with a tyrannical edge, at least according to the official North Korean history

Note According to another official North Korean source, the unnamed American church elder who oversaw Kim Hyŏng-jik at the “earthwork” center was villainously abusive, denying students time to rest and cooking up excuses to dock their pay—all part of the missionaries’ larger aim of using the work-study program as “a labor center which exploited students” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 38–39). North Korean sources uniformly paint Sungsil Academy’s industrial center as “a workhouse created by American missionaries to exploit students under the guise of charity work” (Pansŏk ŭro Pich’naeisin Hansaeng 2012, 58; and Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 38). 
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for their poor work ethic, threatening expulsion, according to the official North Korean account

Note   “THE TREACHEROUS SCHEMES”: The version in North Korea’s hagiography of Kang Pan-sŏk describes how Rev. Baird, identified only as “the American missionary in charge of the school,” insulted the students and threatened them with expulsion, before caving in to Kim Hyŏng-jik after the Korean student organized a strike against the missionaries’ high-handedness. “Outwardly it was a struggle for the improvement of working conditions, but in actual fact it was an anti-Japanese and anti-American action directed against the treacherous schemes of the US imperialists and against the colonial and slavish education introduced by the Japanese imperialists,” the account reads (The Mother of Korea 1978, 58).  “THE DECEPTIVE NATURE OF ‘CHARITY’”: North Korea’s official biography of Kim Hyŏng-jik offers a more detailed version that may or may not be of the same incident. In this account, Kim and five other students were working on a pillar for a large house, but some of the specifications were not properly aligned, thus rendering the pillar unusable. When the church elder in charge of the program found out about the problem days later, he docked the students three days’ worth of pay. Kim Hyŏng-jik complained and, along with the rest of his illegal revolutionary organization, the “Bookreading Society,” escalated the issue to the principal, Rev. Baird, who ultimately ruled in favor of the students—“a major accomplishment of the members of the Bookreading Society, under the guidance of Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik. In the process, the students realized the deceptive nature of ‘charity’ and ‘philanthropy’ preached by U.S. missionaries” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 53). The elder’s name is given only as Maeng, which appears to comport with Robert M. McMurtrie (1863–1946), a Presbyterian missionary who was in Korea from 1907 to 1933, and who ran Sungsil Academy’s Manual Labor Department (Miguk Changro-gyo Han’guk Sŏn’gyo-hoe [Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)], Miguk Changro­gyo Naehan Sŏn’gyo-sa Ch’ongram, 1884–2020 [Directory of American Presbyterian Missionaries to Korea, 1884–2020] (Seoul: Korea Mission of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), 2020), 124). 
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“the inhumane treatment and exploitative practices perpetrated by the school authorities” 

Note Again, the more detailed account comes from the North Korean biography of Kim Hyŏng-jik, which describes another incident involving the missionary identified only as Maeng (perhaps Robert M. McMurtrie), who complained about student workers taking a brief break during work on a dormitory construction site on the Presbyterian compound. When one student talked back to the missionary, Maeng slapped his face, according to the North Korean account: “A Korean student is being rude, talking back to an American.” At that point, the missionary dismissed the remaining students from their jobs, thus depriving them of their ability to continue earning money for their tuition. When Kim Hyŏng-jik heard of this incident, the account continues, he stormed over to the work site and organized a general strike. Kim Hyŏng-jik, who was chosen by his peers to lead the movement, according to the official history, then challenged the principal, presumably William Baird, organizing a boycott of all classes for six days before the missionaries relented (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 65–66). Another North Korean account describes the Kim Hyŏng-jik-led student strike as having “denuded the veils of the perfidious American imperialists, who, wearing the mask of religion, were acting behind the Japanese imperialists in the name of ‘charitable work’” (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1084–85, citing a North Korean history text from 1981). 
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missionary-run schools across Korea, often targeting policies seen as excessively pro-Japanese 

Note “THE STORM OF INTENSE EXCITEMENT”: Rev. Baird described several instances of student restiveness at Sungsil Academy. Perhaps the first mention appears in 1903, when he noted in his annual report “various waves of unrest among the pupils” (“Personal Report for 1902–03,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 373–74). In the winter of 1905, shortly after Japan forced Korea to accept a treaty establishing its protectorate over Korea, Sungsil Academy students, swept up in “the storm of intense excitement” and filled with “shame, resentment, and hate,” according to Rev. Baird’s annual report that year, left school to return home in great numbers, while twelve others went to Seoul—against the orders of the missionaries—to demonstrate and give their lives to the cause of Korean independence (W. M. Baird [Baird, William M.], “Pyeng Yang Academy,” Korea Mission Field 2, no. 12 (October 1906), 221–24, here 221). “Owing to the intense excitement over the political situation incident to Japan’s assumption of power over Korea…the whole body of students was in danger of being carried away,” Moffett reported in January 1906, adding that the twelve students who went down to Seoul were imprisoned and, consequently, suspended from Sungsil Academy for one year (Moffett letter to Brown, January 31, 1906; and Baird, “Pyeng Yang Academy,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 221). Nonetheless, some semblance of normalcy had returned by the time of graduation on June 2, 1906, when the four members of Sungsil Academy’s third graduating class collected their diplomas, with jobs waiting for them teaching in Christian schools in Ŭiju and Pyongyang, and requests for more teachers flowing in from across the peninsula (Baird, “Pyeng Yang Academy,” Korea Mission Field (1906), 222).  “AN UNREST IN THE VERY AIR”: Just up the road in Sŏnch’ŏn, the Presbyterian-run Boys’ Academy—presumably the Hugh O’Neill Junior Academy also known in Korean as Sinsŏng School—experienced a stirring up among the student body of eighty students in 1908, the third year of the school’s existence: “The spirit of ‘liberty’ so-called, which is awakening throughout the North, caused a disturbance when the boys found they were not allowed to choose their own curriculum, but the removal of a few leaders made them pause to consider, and the year was brought to a successful close,” missionary Harriet McLear Hall wrote that year (Mrs. Ernest Hall 1908, 8–9). More broadly, Hall worried that “because of the political troubles, but also with the coming in of new ideas and the beginnings of the dawn of an outside world upon heathen communities comes an agitation, an unrest in the very air, which brings up new problems for the Christian schools to face, a testing of their principles such as has not been known hitherto” (Mrs. Ernest Hall 1908, 15). As a result, the missionaries reorganized their schools after one institution became “a centre of political agitation,” prompting the missionaries to bring the schools “wholly under the control of the Church,” and thus, in the words of Presbyterian educator George S. McCune, “to turn out a product that the whole Church and nation will be proud of” (Mrs. Ernest Hall 1908, 17–18).  “UNGOVERNABLE TO A VERY LARGE DEGREE”: By the time of Korea’s annexation, the surge in nationalistic sentiment among the student bodies of the missionary-run schools had become apparent to all. James Gale, writing in August 1910, painted a picture of a restive generation of newly awakened young Koreans. “The young men in our schools are the most radically anti-government natives that one sees. They are ungovernable to a very large degree; want to dictate to directors, principals, superiors, king, cabinet and everybody,” Gale wrote. “I see very little chance of governing such hot-headed youths in any mission school…To govern the church is difficult enough, but to govern a lot of students whose creed is ‘agin the government’, and ‘down with the Japs’ is quite impossible.” In such an environment of heightened political sensitivities and tensions, Gale wrote, “missionaries have to walk very carefully not to give offence…if one does not take sides with the ultra-independents against the present government they regard it as the mark of the enemy” (Gale letter to Brown, August 11, 1910). In one dramatic case, this time in February 1922 in the northeastern city of Hamhŭng, students at the Canadian missionary-run Boys’ Academy burned down the school, which historian Frederick Glover suggests may have been caused by “a lack of familiarity with Korean culture on the part of newer missionaries” (Glover, “Korean Christian Nationalists,” Transactions (2015), 10–12). 
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largely because of his spiritual fervor—could personally attest to the Hoosier’s legendary wrath

Note Not long after Pae Min-su’s arrival at Sungsil, Rev. Baird summoned the young man to his office, as Pae recounts in his memoir. “I went and saw him. He wore whiskers and a mustache. He looked very gentle and scholarly but very strict. It was the first time I had met him but he didn’t ask my name but said, ‘Are you working, playing, or resting?’ I thought it was an impolite question without knowing the whole situation concerning me. I thought I worked too hard, but he was scolding me as if I were not working. So I replied immediately, ‘Yes, I have been working hard.’ ‘No you have not been working but sitting and resting all the time. Either you better go back home or do your work!’ he said” (Pai 2002, 87). A decade earlier, Rev. Baird had described being forced to suspend a student at Sungsil Academy for what he called “lack of diligence”—a reflection of his view that laziness was among the worst of the vices they faced. The expulsion, Rev. Baird noted, “had a good effect upon all the others who needed it” (“Education Report for 1901–02: W. M. Baird,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 351). Whatever the merits of Rev. Baird’s critiques, it’s clear from such examples that he took a great personal interest in his students—and would have applied the same level of rigor and attention to Kim Hyŏng-jik. 
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a student association to oppose some kind of a pro-Japanese school policy, without elaborating

NoteRichard H. Baird (1898–1995), born in northern Korea and himself a missionary to Korea from 1923 to 1941 and again from 1957 to 1960, is quoted recounting the story here in the memoirs of Rev. Hong Tong-gŭn (洪東根 1926–2001), an Ŭiju-born pastor who later fled to South Korea and then the U.S. before later traveling to Pyongyang to meet with an elderly Kim Il Sung (see Hong Tong-gŭn, Kwihyang Ilgi, Vol. 1 (1988), 83–84). This story is also recounted by Rev. Luke Kim, again indirectly channeled through Rev. Hong’s memoirs. In that work, Rev. Luke Kim, whose father Rev. Kim Sŏn-du had been a teacher at Sungsil Academy, recalled Kim Hyŏng-jik having started a rebellion against an American missionary identified only as “Elder Cho,” who had given the worst tasks to poor Korean students, and who also humiliated them. The younger Rev. Kim, who was nine years old at the time of this alleged student uprising, said that he remembered the strike well, according to Rev. Hong, but offered little in the way of further details (see Hong Tong-gŭn, Kwihyang Ilgi, Vol. 2 (1988), 229–30). “Elder Cho” may refer to a teacher that Pae Min-su recalls as Mr. Cho Sull, a teacher of Chinese classics who was so sincere in his prayer life that “I don’t know how many times he and I went to pray” (Pai 2002, 95).  A “MISUNDERSTANDING”: William Baird’s own papers offer a close echo of the turbulence described by North Korean historians in Sungsil Academy’s Manual Labor Department in the winter of 1912. During the 1914–1915 school year, Rev. Baird described a wave of student violence—something to do with a “misunderstanding” in the school’s work-study department—that led to the two-week suspension of fifty-four students (“Report of the Principal for the Year 1914-15,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 268–69). It is possible that Richard Baird and Rev. Luke Kim’s recollections refer to this incident, mistakenly dating it to 1912. Beyond these sets of recollections, two of which are reported indirectly by Rev. Hong Tong-gŭn—who will himself feature again in Act III, Chapter 34—the evidence is thin of such an incident in the otherwise meticulous Presbyterian missionary archives. In his pioneering study of Kim Il Sung’s Christian upbringing, Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, a longtime University of Hawaii scholar of Korea, flatly dismisses the possibility: “The Sungsil history records no such event as ever having taken place among students” (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1085). 
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“in the number of hours for religious study and an increase in those of natural sciences”

Note Despite these claims that Kim Hyŏng-jik and his Sungsil Academy classmates “strenuously fought against the American missionary gangs,” writes historian Brandon Gauthier, “no records indicate that he and his peers were anything but normal students” (Gauthier 2022, 168). 
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famous at the school, as the unnamed teacher hurried out of the classroom, speechless 

Note Later, the official North Korean narrative adds, Kim Hyŏng-jik mounted a similar campaign in July 1912 to combat a similar plan to increase Bible classes at the expense of science instruction: “However, the school did not conform easily. The missionaries insisted they must increase the ‘Bible’ class hours and the principal said the purpose of the school is in providing religious education. They threatened students who did not agree with the school’s decision with expulsion. They also tried to undermine the fight by preaching the ‘benefits’ of religion. Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik was furious at the missionaries for ignoring the students’ unanimous demand. He confronted the U.S. missionaries and told them that Korean students had come to school to learn, not to believe in religion. He strongly demanded that they not increase ‘Bible’ classes, and the students followed him in strongly protesting. The protest became more heated, so the school finally surrendered and accepted the demands of students” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 58).   “STUDENT STRIKES”: While Kim Hyŏng-jik’s well-documented piety make such a confrontation—which isn’t recorded in non-North Korean sources—unlikely, there is an unmistakable element of truth to this North Korean version of events. Around this time, younger Korean students sympathetic to socialist ideas indeed complained to the missionaries about the lack of science instruction and the overemphasis on religion classes, and about the preaching of an escapist theology of personal salvation even as worldly matters weighed heavily on Koreans’ hearts. Such “student strikes,” though short-lived, could be traced back almost to the beginning of missionary education work in Korea (Paik 1929, 297–98, 382, 384–85; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 134–35). 
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a degree that the missionaries worried that their Korean charges would stop going to church 

Note “News of the match spread so far and wide that not only the students of the school but also their parents couldn’t attend church because they had to cheer at the match,” reads one official hagiography. “After this, sports games were often organized on Sundays with various schools in town including Taesŏng School and Sungdŏk School. Churches were all worried because the number of students going to church decreased week by week” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 61–62). Taesŏng School was the An Ch’ang-ho-founded academy and Sungdŏk School was one of the Presbyterian mission’s institutions. North Korea’s history doesn’t explain how, despite all his anti-Christian fervor, Kim Hyŏng-jik continued to associate so closely with so many future pastors and church leaders. 
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lack of tuition—Kim Hyŏng-jik left Sungsil Academy in the spring of 1913, without graduating 

Note North Korea’s official biography says Kim Hyŏng-jik left Sungsil Academy in the spring of 1913 (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 90). Historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho gives the date only as 1913 (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1084–85). 
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childhood school, the church-run Sinmang, or “Faith-and-Hope,” School—this time as a teacher 

Note Unfortunately, the hagiography of Kang Pan-sŏk cited here offers a convoluted and sometimes contradictory timeline of events, describing Kim Hyŏng-jik as having entered Sungsil Academy “in the autumn of 1911” and leaving the school “at the end of his second year of studies,” implying sometime in 1913 (The Mother of Korea 1978, 57–58). At another point, however, the book says that Kim Hyŏng-jik had already left Sungsil Academy by late 1912 to begin teaching at Sunhwa/Sinmang School (The Mother of Korea 1978, 61). Kim Hyŏng-jik’s official North Korean biography gives the start date of his time at Sunhwa/Sinmang School as being April 1913 (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 92). Another North Korean source gives the dates of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s teaching career at Sunhwa/Sinmang School as being from 1913 to the spring of 1916 (Haksŭp Sajŏn 1998, 162). Historian Chu Chin-o describes Kim Hyŏng-jik’s departure from Sungsil Academy as taking place in the winter of 1912, following his son’s birth, though Chu says it’s unclear whether he left because of financial difficulties or because of complaints over wages from the school work-study program (Chu, “Kidokgyo, Kim Il-sŏng,” (1992), 323). Aside from the muddled chronology, the North Korean account doesn’t explain why, if Kim Hyŏng-jik had indeed left Sunhwa/Sinmang School in anger over school corruption, he would return there to teach less than two years later. Kim Il Sung writes decades later that he established Man’gyŏngdae Revolutionary School (萬景臺革命學院 Kor. Man’gyŏngdae Hyŏkmyŏng Hak’wŏn), an elite academy set aside for the children of war dead, on the site of the former Sunhwa/Sinmang School (Kim, Il Sung [Kim, Il-sŏng], With the Century: Reminiscences, Vol. 2 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1994), 189). 
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as fathers and some even as grandfathers. Not all graduated, as the demands of life intruded 

Note “Although an unexpectedly large proportion of pupils has continued in school from year to year, yet there is more or less loss from time to time, owing to poverty, sickness, and various hindrances and temptations,” William Baird wrote in 1904. “Partially educated though they are, their services are in demand. Temptations to discontinue school and earn a better living for their families have necessarily drawn some away” (“July 1st, 1903 to June 30th, 1904,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 1 (2016), 397–98). 
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spreading the missionaries’ credo of a modern education underpinned by Christian tenets 

Note The need for more Christian teachers was acute during these years, and many of the young Koreans who passed through Sungsil Academy would, like Kim Hyŏng-jik, end up as teachers in the missionary schools scattered across the Korean peninsula. In September 1907, Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic Methodist convert who started a modern Christian school in his hometown of Kaesŏng, described how difficult it was for modern schools to find qualified teachers, making a student like Kim Hyŏng-jik, with his training at the foremost modern Christian school in Korea, high in demand (Yun, “Anglo-Korean School,” Korea Mission Field (1907), 143).  “BETTER CHRISTIANS, AND BETTER CITIZENS”: Rev. Baird, at the helm of Sungsil Academy, made it an explicit goal to produce pastors and teachers—and many graduates happily obliged. Rev. Baird, in his 1914–1915 annual report as principal of Sungsil Academy, wrote that of the 288 students who had graduated since the school’s founding, “I believe that without exception all of these are better Christians, and better citizens.” By then, according to his tally, forty-two of the alumni were studying in college and nineteen were abroad, including “five in advanced study in America,” while another four had become pastors and ninety-four had become teachers in Christian schools (see “Report of W. M. Baird, Principal of the Pyeng Yang Academy of the Board of Control for the Year 1914–15,” in Kim Yong-jin, Missionary Reports, Vol. 2 (2016), 275).  “PRACTICALLY NO FAILURES”: At Sungsil Academy’s graduation ceremony in 1914, roughly a year after Kim Hyŏng-jik’s departure, one of the nine graduates delivered a “class prophecy,” predicting that some among Kim Hyŏng-jik’s former schoolmates would, “like Abraham, …be called to leave home and country and go into a land which they knew not,” while others, like Isaac, would be called upon, rather ominously, “to offer their bodies a living sacrafice [sic] to God” (Helen Taylor Billings, “Class Day at Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 10, no. 6 (June 1914), 177–78, here 177). Broadening the frame to include all three thousand students who had cumulatively come through Sungsil Academy by 1914, a group that included Kim Hyŏng-jik, missionary Helen Taylor Billings writes that “there were practically no failures; all had become respectable citizens, and most of them had gone into definite Christian work” (Billings, “Class Day,” Korea Mission Field (1914), 177). By 1927, Sungsil Academy reported that it had produced 633 graduates, of whom 199 had become teachers and another forty-four had become pastors. Another 116 were studying in colleges, medical schools and elsewhere, and 88 were students abroad in Japan or the U.S., while the remainder were farmers, merchants and businessmen (“Facts About Pyengyang Boys Academy Graduation,” March 1927 (PHS II/5/RG 140-7-44)). At the Presbyterian-run Hugh O’Neill Jr. Academy in Sŏnch’ŏn, principal George S. McCune reported in 1918 that, in the nine years since the school opened, the 130 living graduates included sixty-four Sunday school teachers, thirty-nine deacons, ten church-supported evangelists, and one ordained minister, with forty-three of them primary school teachers, five of them school principals, and seven in government positions (McCune, “Hand Training,” Korea Mission Field (1918), 10).
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that, for the next three and a half years, Kim Hyŏng-jik worked as a teacher—at least by day 

Note Kim Hyŏng-jik taught at Sinmang, or Faith-and-Hope, School—described in North Korean sources exclusively as Sunhwa School, the neutral name that refers to the tributary of the Taedong River—between either late 1912 or early 1913 until the spring of 1916 (The Mother of Korea 1978, 80; and Haksŭp Sajŏn 1998, 162).  A “VILLAGE TEACHER”: Soviet accounts would later refer to Kim Hyŏng-jik as a “village teacher”—an appellation that, as historian Andrei Lankov notes, “for a Soviet editor, sounded respectable since teaching is a noble vocation and also an ‘appropriate’ occupation for the father of a Communist leader.” Lankov himself describes Kim Hyŏng-jik as belonging “to the world of the Korean petty intellectual, semi-modern and semi-traditional, not always poor but seldom affluent, who earned his living either by teaching or by doing office work, or in some other way” (Lankov 2002, 50). During these years, among Kim Hyŏng-jik’s most celebrated accomplishments—at least according to the official North Korean history—was hanging up a scroll in the classroom that read, in traditional Sino-Korean characters, 志遠 (Kor. chiwŏn Ch. zhiyuan), which North Korean sources typically translate as “Aim High,” calling upon his students to nurture grand ambitions (Haksŭp Sajŏn 1998, 162). 
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Association, a nationwide network of revolutionaries dedicated to overturning Japanese rule 

Note In his memoirs, the North Korean leader lists Chang Il-hwan, Pae Min-su, Paek Se-bin, Chang Ch’ŏl-ho, Kang Che-ha, Kang Chin-gon, and Kim Si-u as being among his father’s co-conspirators (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 27, 29). The Chosŏn National Association (朝鮮國民會 Kor. Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe), sometimes translated as the Korean National Association, is not to be confused with An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association (大韓人國民會 Kor. Taehan-in Kukmin-hoe), founded in San Francisco in 1909. For more on this confusing state of affairs, see Supplemental Notes later in this chapter. 
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any Christians he encountered from their misguided reliance on the God of the Americans 

Note PENINSULAR PEREGRINATIONS: Kim Hyŏng-jik peregrinations took him across the northern half of the peninsula, according to North Korean sources. “It would be impossible to describe all the painstaking efforts made by my father,” Kim Il Sung wrote in his memoirs. “He did not mind walking hundreds of miles if it was to meet a comrade” (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 29). One hagiography of Kang Pan-sŏk describes her husband conducting his ideological work in Pyongyang’s neighboring counties of Kangdong, Sŏngch’ŏn, Maengsan, and Anju (The Mother of Korea 1978, 80). Late in 1912, according to another account derived from North Korean sources, Kim Hyŏng-jik headed to Mount Kuwŏl (九月山 Kor. Kuwŏl-san) in Hwanghae province, where the eighteen-year-old participated in a meeting of anti-Japanese fighters (Ch’oe Chae-yŏng, Kyohoe rŭl Kada (2019), 135–36). In one supposed incident from July 1913, Kim Hyŏng-jik and his brother-in-law Kang Chin-sŏk held a secret meeting in Pyongyang calling on pastors to use their pulpits to spread anti-Japanese hatred (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 109). For more such examples, see Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 110–15.  “NOT THE WORK OF ‘GOD’”: Though he frequently appeared at churches across northern Korea, modern-day historians in Pyongyang describe Kim Hyŏng-jik as driven purely by nationalist inclinations during these years, using his travels to speak about Korea’s suffering, to teach Korean history and geography—and even to weigh in on the laws of nature, disputing the notion of a creator God. During one gathering with young nationalists in the northwestern city of Ŭiju, according to this narrative, Kim Hyŏng-jik intervened in a debate about the sun’s rising and the wind’s blowing. “After closely listening to the argument, Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik explained that the sun rising and the wind blowing is not the work of ‘God,’ using actual examples,” his North Korean hagiographers write (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 75). Throughout this whirlwind of activity, Kim Hyŏng-jik is presented in the North Korean hagiographies as a righteous—almost holy—figure. “Your husband is not an ordinary person. He is an important man,” Kang Pan-sŏk’s brother tells her in one passage (The Mother of Korea 1978, 60).  REVOLUTIONARY LAUNDERING: Meantime, Kang Pan-sŏk, we are told, played her revolutionary role by doing the family laundry and keeping Kim Hyŏng-jik looking fresh. “The wife of a revolutionary considered it her revolutionary duty to help Kim Hyong Jik in his clandestine work…People often noticed Kim Hyong Jik’s neatness. He was always very tidy. No one would guess anything about his night wanderings from his clothes, about the fact that Kang Ban Sok’s solicitous hands had no respite even for a moment. They were constantly mending, washing, cleaning…Laundering, sewing, ironing—that is how Kang Ban Sok helped Kim Hyong Jik’s revolutionary activities all her life. Every stitch seemed to heal the country’s wounds, and her iron smooth out its scars” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 81). Indeed, Kang Pan-sŏk is described consistently in The Mother of Korea as a faithful wife who follows her husband’s commands faithfully, with a blissful ignorance of what Kim Hyŏng-jik is doing. Later, when the family moves to the east of Pyongyang, Kim Hyŏng-jik, according to the official North Korean account, offers no explanation. “She did not ask him the reason, for she realized that everything he did was connected with his great plans. She only worried about…whether her husband would be comfortable” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 85).  MEETING SUN YAT-SEN: According to Kim Il Sung’s memoirs, sometime in 1916, Kim Hyŏng-jik, then twenty-two, embarked on a trip to Manchuria and then Shanghai, where he was said to have met members of Sun Yat-sen’s Nationalist Party, or Kuomintang (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 24–25). If this is indeed true—and there is reason to be skeptical—he was far from the only one reaching out to the Chinese revolutionary. Sin Kyu-sik (申圭植 1880–1922), a moderate nationalist who founded a group known as the Mutual Assistance Society (同濟社 Kor. Tongje-sa) in 1912, was the first Korean nationalist to link up with Sun Yat-sen’s Chinese nationalist movement (Robinson 2007, 53). Another Korean nationalist, Methodist minister Rev. Hyŏn Sun, also approached Sun for aid in the Korean nationalist cause, but was rebuffed—a rejection that Rev. Hyŏn’s son chalked up to a moral cowardice among the Chinese in standing up to Japan (Hyun 1986, 96). The reason for the Korean nationalists’ interest in Sun’s work is straightforward. In 1911, a year after Korea’s annexation, the Chinese Nationalists had led the overthrow of the Manchu Qing dynasty—a model for a Korean nation looking to throw out a foreign occupier—though by the time Kim Hyŏng-jik was said to have been in touch with him, in 1916, the morass of what exactly would replace the Qing was far from clear, and indeed would soon lead to decades of political upheaval in China, including Sun’s own flirtation with socialism. 
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the Japanese authorities dedicated officers to keeping tabs on the revolutionary schoolteacher

Note “Sometimes a military police’s assistant, in full uniform and brandishing his sabre, would come to observe the lessons of Kim Hyong Jik, and a plainclothes policeman found fault with everything,” we are told (The Mother of Korea 1978, 63). If true, it perhaps would not have been as remarkable as North Korean hagiographers are making it out to be. The American missionaries complained about Japanese surveillance constantly, and one of the major reforms instituted by the Japanese after March 1919 was to strip the colonial police of their sabers. 
p.167

Kim Hyŏng-jik moved to a remote village east of Pyongyang called Ponghwa, or “Beacon Fire” 

Note Ponghwa village (烽火里 Kor. Ponghwa-ri) was located roughly twenty-five miles to the east of Pyongyang, in Kangdong county (江東郡 Kor. Kangdong-gun). Some sources give the village name as Tongsam-ri (Yang 1981, 35). For Kim Hyŏng-jik’s precise address, given in both the contemporaneous and modern-day forms, see The Mother of Korea 1978, 84–85. The selection of Ponghwa-ri appears to have been prompted by the suggestion of a fellow Sungsil Academy classmate named Chang P’il-sŏk (?–?), who had taught in the village before moving to Pyongyang (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 132). The mid-March 1916 date comes from the official North Korean hagiography of Kim Hyŏng-jik, which clarifies that Kang Pan-sŏk and Kim Sŏng-ju followed in his footsteps a year later in mid-March 1917 (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 132). Other North Korean sources say Kim Hyŏng-jik moved in “the early spring of 1916” (The Mother of Korea 1978, 84–85; Bonghwa-ri 1969, 6; and Indomitable Anti-Japanese Revolutionary Fighter Kim Hyong Jik (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1973), 5). Kim Il Sung, in his memoir, writes that he moved in the spring of the year when he was five years old—that is, 1917 (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 53).  “A MOST PROMISING CONDITION”: Pyongyang missionary Charles Bernheisel, itinerating through Kangdong county a few years earlier in November 1904, described an “old man Kim who lives in the church [who] is one of the most devoted & earnest Christians I have ever known. He preaches the Gospel constantly, never missing a fair day…He goes out in the street & preaches. One unbeliever today spoke with high praise of the old brother and said if all Christians were as good & as active as he, there would very soon be a great turning to Christianity” (Bernheisel 2004, 489 (November 7, 1904, diary entry)). There is no suggestion that the surname Kim here is anything but coincidental, especially given the large number of Kims in Korea. On a subsequent visit, Rev. Bernheisel declared the church in Kangdong county “in a most promising condition” (Bernheisel 2004, 517 (June 13, 1905, diary entry)). 
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academy known as Myŏngsin School, while secretly engaged in anti-Japanese resistance work

Note Another North Korean source describes Kim Hyŏng-jik converting the traditional Confucian village school in Ponghwa village—originally made of mud walls and stone tiles—into a modern school, complete with a new exercise yard, which he opened on March 20, 1916 (“Myŏngsin Hakgyo” [Myŏngsin School], Uri Minjok Kangdang [Our Nation School], n.d.). 
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nationwide effort, and employing an elaborate system of code words to maintain their cover

Note All the while, Kim Hyŏng-jik formed a trio of legally-approved, innocent-sounding organizations—the “School Association,” the “Stone Monument Association,” and the “Home-town Association”—that in fact served as fronts for his anti-Japanese revolutionary activities (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 28; The Mother of Korea 1978, 92; and Bonghwa-ri 1969, 7). 
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cut their fingers and wrote “Korea’s independence” and “Resolved to give our lives” in blood 

Note More than three decades later, when Kim Hyŏng-jik’s son Kim Il Sung launched the Korean War, many North Koreans signed their enlistment statements with their own blood (Szalontai 2005, 23). As late as the 1990s, North Korean university students were asked to sign petitions in blood pledging to volunteer to fight in the event of war (Demick 2009, 97). 
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Association was also a political group thoroughly grounded in moderate Christian principles 

Note Among the earliest English-language scholarship pointing out this connection is from University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, whose 1981 and 1986 articles led the way in pulling back the shroud around Kim Il Sung’s Christian heritage. Much of what is described in this section was first pointed out in English by Ch’oe in a May 1981 article (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Reinterpreting Traditional History” (1981), 520–21). 
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Association founder who was perhaps Korea’s best-known nationalist leader at the time 

Note Also cited in Kang Yŏng-sim, Pan Pyŏng-ryul, Han Sang-do, Kim To-hun, and Kim In-dŏk, “1910 Nyŏn-dae Minjok Undong ŭi Chŏn’gae” [The Development of the Nationalist Movement in the 1910s], in Han’guk-sa 47: Ilje ŭi Mudan T’ongch’i wa 3·1 Undong [History of Korea, Vol. 47: Japanese Military Rule and the March First Movement] (Kwach’ŏn, South Korea: Kuksa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏn-hoe [Editorial Committee on National History], 2001), 124–298, here 168–69. 
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named Pak Yong-man, who in 1905 became one of the first Koreans to study in the U.S. 

Note Pae Min-su, whose central role in the establishment of the Chosŏn National Association in Pyongyang is uncontested (and indeed well acknowledged) in North Korean sources, himself names Pak Yong-man and Ro Paek-rin as the group’s founders (Pai 2002, 97). South Korean historian Chu Chin-o likewise writes that the Chosŏn National Association was founded in Hawaii by Pak Yong-man and Chang Il-hwan—the latter of whom we will encounter shortly (Chu, “Kidokgyo, Kim Il-sŏng,” (1992), 324). Historians Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim describe the Chosŏn National Association, accurately, as “a branch of the Korean National Association,” which had been founded by An Ch’ang-ho, Syngman Rhee, and other overseas Korean leaders in 1909, advocating military solutions to achieve its program of “Korea for the Koreans” (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 116–17).  A TALE OF TWO NATIONAL ASSOCIATIONS: Much of the confusion can be blamed on the fact that the Chosŏn National Association (朝鮮國民會 Kor. Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe) is translated in many sources—including North Korean sources—as the Korean National Association, muddying the waters with An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association (大韓人國民會 Kor. Taehan’in Kukmin-hoe), which after its founding in San Francisco in 1909 commanded “influence over expatriate communities in North America, Mexico, the Russian Far East, and North Jiandao” (Lew 2014, 141). For more on An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association, see Act I, Chapter 8. Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, a University of Hawaii historian who published some of the earliest English-language scholarship tracing the Christian origins of Kim Il Sung’s family, writes that the Chosŏn National Association that Kim Hyŏng-jik joined was a similar—albeit different—organization than An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association; Ch’oe calls Kim Hyŏng-jik a founding member of the group at its establishment in 1917 (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 55, n. 7). South Korean historian Ryu Tae-yŏng similarly asserts that the name of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s group was the “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe,” which he translates as the “Korean People’s Association” (Dae Young Ryu, “Kim Il-Sung and Christianity” (2019), 406). Still, the confusion is considerable, and many sources conflate the two groups. To be clear, this work uses “Chosŏn National Association” to refer to the group that Kim Hyŏng-jik joined in 1917, and “Korean National Association” for the group founded in San Francisco by An Ch’ang-ho.  CONFUSION REIGNS: Historian Kenneth Wells describes the founding of a domestic Korean branch of An Ch’ang-ho and Syngman Rhee’s “Korean National Association” (大韓國民會 Kor. Taehan Kukmin-hoe) at Pyongyang’s Presbyterian Theological Seminary and Sungsil Academy in early 1917, which created two bodies in June 1917: the Korean Independence Corps and the “Suicide Squad” (決死隊 Kor. Kyŏlsa-dae) (Wells 1984, 180). This Korean National Association, Wells writes, was tied to Pak Yong-man’s martial approach to winning a “Korea for Koreans,” but was broken up in February 1918; of the twenty-five arrested, half were tied to the Pyongyang Seminary, Sungsil College, and the Presbyterian-run Yŏnhŭi Special School in Seoul (Wells 1984, 180). See also Wells 1990, 83–84. Here, Wells appears to refer to the group that I call the Chosŏn National Association, a subsidiary of the Korean National Association linked to An Ch’ang-ho and Pak Yong-man. Adding to the confusion, Pak Yong-man had served as editor of the Korean National Association’s San Francisco-based newspaper, the New Korean (新韓民報 Kor. Sinhan Minbo) (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 55). Clouding the situation even further, Pak In-gwan—acknowledged by North Korean and non-North Korean sources as a classmate and close associate of Kim Hyŏng-jik and Pae Min-su at Sungsil Academy—is credited by some sources with having started a Korean National Association (大韓國民會 Kor. Taehan Kukmin-hoe) with other nationalists in Pyongyang in 1919. See Sin Chae-hong, “Taehan’in Kukmin-hoe (大韓人國民會),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture; Sin Chae-hong, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe (朝鮮國民會),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture; and Sin Chae-hong, “Taehan Kukmin-hoe (大韓國民會),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture. Unsurprisingly, official North Korean histories don’t address the possibility that the nationalist group to which Kim Il Sung’s father belonged was started in Hawaii by a Christian nationalist who had gone to the U.S. to study. 
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that called for a military challenge to Japanese hegemony—with Washington’s backing 

NotePak Yong-man (朴容萬 1881–1928) was born on July 2, 1881, to a military aristocratic family in rural Kang’wŏn province, in east-central Korea. Pak, however, was orphaned at a young age and raised by an uncle who moved to Seoul and then to Japan for his studies; Pak thus studied in Japanese-language schools and, in Japan, met the exiled reformer Pak Yŏng-hyo, to which he wasn’t related (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 16).  STEEPED IN THE FAITH: It’s unclear when Pak Yong-man embraced Christianity, but his early adulthood can be characterized by his fervor for the Christian gospel—and for the independence of Korea. As a young man in Seoul, Pak was among the many fervent nationalists who attended Sang-dong Methodist Church (see Act I, Chapter 7). Pak was imprisoned in Seoul in mid-1904, where he met and befriended Syngman Rhee, the future founding president of South Korea who had been jailed for his involvement in the Independence Club. There, the two conservative nationalists sealed a blood oath, making them “sworn brothers.” When Pak was released later that year, he helped smuggle out Rhee’s prison memoir, The Spirit of Independence, and to the U.S., thus helping Rhee attain nationwide fame. Rhee entrusted Pak with bringing his son, Pong-su, to the U.S.; a year later, however, Pong-su died of diphtheria (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 17; and Lew 2014, 4). Underscoring Pak Yong-man’s connection to the church, Pak also taught briefly after his release from prison at a local private school in the heavily Christianized northwestern city of Sŏnch’ŏn (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 17).  “EVERY SUNDAY A PRAYER MEETING”: Pak arrived in the U.S. in February 1905, finishing high school in Denver and then moving to Nebraska to attend university (Lew 2014, 83–84). During his time at Hastings College, a Presbyterian school located about a hundred miles west of Lincoln, Nebraska, from which he earned a bachelor’s degree in political studies, Pak was a natural leader for the small band of young Korean men there. Henry Cu Kim (Kim Hyŏn-gu 金鉉九 1889–1967), a Korean-American nationalist who studied and lived alongside Pak in Hastings, recalled how, under Pak’s supervision, “every Saturday a discussion meeting was held on current events, and every Sunday a prayer meeting” (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 104). Pak, regarding both Confucianism and Catholicism as authoritarian in nature, “called for a conversion to Protestant Christianity and the practice of philanthropy and self-sacrifice,” Kim recalled (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 261–62). In the summer of 1908, Pak organized a conference in Denver, where the Democratic National Convention was being held, to advocate for Korea’s cause (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 258; and Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 17). For more on this conference, see Act II, Chapter 13. Henry Cu Kim writes that Pak wrote his graduation thesis, “The History of the American Revolution,” in English, though he identifies it as a paper for the University of Nebraska, not Hastings College (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 262).  A NATIONALIST GIANT: Though he has since been overshadowed by many other Korean nationalists from this period, Pak Yong-man enjoyed considerable stature at the time. “During these formative years, the three most notable leaders in the Korean community in America were Yong-Man Pak, Chang- Ho Ahn, and Syngman Rhee,” Warren Kim writes in his history of the Korean American diaspora (Warren Kim 1971, 61). According to Henry Cu Kim, a Korean-American nationalist of this era who later served as president of An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association, the San Francisco-based group adopted the constitution of Pak Yong-man’s Korean Residents Association of Nebraska “in its entirety,” applying it as well in China and Russia (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 264–65). 
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location of Kearney, Nebraska; within three years, it had graduated thirteen students 

Note Even today, Kearney, Nebraska, with a population of thirty thousand, would be an unusual base for an overseas Korean military school. At the time, it was perhaps even more unusual, with a population of just six thousand. Still, by April 1911, there were sixty Korean Christians studying across Nebraska—in Lincoln, Omaha, Hastings, and Kearney—according to “a delightful letter” sent to the missionaries in Korea that month (“Notes and Personals,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 4 (April 1911), 95–97, here 97). Another letter from Nebraska a few months later spoke of the high regard in which the Korean students were held: “We all think a great deal of them. They are good, earnest and energetic fellows,” wrote the correspondent, presumably an American, who spoke of the Korean students’ enrollment in Bible class (“Our Correspondence,” Korea Mission Field 7, no. 7 (July 1911), 201–2, here 201). 
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and began training 130 military men for a potential war of independence against the Japanese

Note “A MARTIAL ATMOSPHERE”: To accomplish this, Pak rented a farm on Hawaii’s Oahu island, where he organized a military school to produce troops for what he called the Great Chosŏn National Military Corps (大朝鮮國民軍團 Kor. Tae Chosŏn Kukmin Kundan). At the barracks’ dedication ceremony on August 30, 1914, Syngman Rhee delivered a sermon entitled “Faith” (Mit’ŭm) before 150 Korean cadets and five hundred Korean spectators (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Syngman Rhee in Hawai‘i,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 77–79, citing Sinhan Minbo, September 24, 1914). According to historian Sŏ Tae-suk, “Pak used to train the tired Korean workers, after they had finished their long shifts of more than ten hours laboring in the sugar and pineapple plantations in Hawaii, teaching them how to fight the Japanese in combat” (Dae-Sook Suh, “Introduction,” in Henry Cu Kim 1987, ix–xix, here xiv). The constant military exercises helped foster what one historian describes as “a martial atmosphere” that pervaded civilian life among the Koreans in Hawaii (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe Yŏn’gu” [A Study of the Chosŏn National Association], Han’guk Tokrip Undong-sa Yŏn’gu [Research on the Korean Independence Movement] 3 (November 1989), 165–94, here 179). By then, Pak Yong-man’s commitment to a military campaign against the Japanese occupation had crystallized fully. Pak spread his ideas through two books that he had written on military preparedness, as well as his editorship of the Korean newspaper in Hawaii, which was filled with so much military-related content that it served as something of “a Bible for soldiers” (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 179; and Sin Chae-hong, “Pak Yong-man (朴容萬),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Pak, whose vision for Korea was of a strong democracy backed by military might and economic strength, even sought to impose a mandatory contribution from all Koreans in Hawaii for military use (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 185–86). Hawaii during this period served as a critical node for nationalist leaders from several nations, including Syngman Rhee and Sun Yat-sen, who had graduated from Honolulu’s ‘Iolani School in the 1880s (Lew 2014, 68).  “A BLOODBATH OF FRENZIED ATTACK”: Pak Yong-man was one of the most full-throated advocates of a violent approach to Korean independence. In 1915, Pak Yong-man departed Hawaii for Manchuria and then Shanghai, and around the time of the March First demonstrations in 1919, openly pushed for a violent uprising—“a bloodbath of frenzied attack”—to capture the imagination of the world for the Korean people’s demands for self-determination (Oliver 1954, 135). In 1915, Pak Yong-man published a book, “American Revolutionary” (아메리카革命家 Kor. Amerik’a Hyŏkmyŏng-ga), and in 1917 issued a declaration, along with Sin Kyu-sik and Cho So-ang, to fight to the death. In 1918, Pak started a newspaper, the Pacific Times (太平洋時事 Kor. T’aep’yŏngyang Sisa), which became the main newspaper of the Great Chosŏn Independence Corps (大朝鮮獨立團 Kor. Tae Chosŏn Tokrip-dan) that he founded after the March First demonstrations in Korea. Pak Yong-man was named minister of foreign affairs for both the provisional governments formed in Seoul and in Shanghai, though he declined the post in Shanghai owing to his differences with Syngman Rhee, who was president of the Korean Provisional Government in Shanghai. For more on the March First demonstrations of 1919 and the Korean Provisional Government that sprang up in its wake, see Act II, Chapters 14 and 15. In May 1919, Pak headed to Beijing, where he started another martial group, the Military Unification Realization Association (軍事統一促成會 Kor. Kunsa T’ong’il Ch’oksŏng-hoe) with others, including Sin Ch’ae-ho and Sin Suk (申肅 1885–1967), who opposed Rhee’s diplomacy-centric approach. Pak Yong-man showed up in Shanghai in 1923 to help push through a vote of no confidence in the Korean Provisional Government there during its days of disarray, and had returned to Hawaii in 1925. In 1926, he went back again to Beijing for more military plotting before finally being shot in October 1928 there by a left-leaning nationalist named Yi Hae-myŏng (李海鳴 1896–1950?) (“Pak Yong-man,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Yi Hae-myŏng apparently believed Pak was acting in cahoots with the Japanese, a charge that Henry Cu Kim, one of his contemporaries, vehemently denies (Dae-Sook Suh, “Introduction,” in Henry Cu Kim 1987, xv).  RIVALROUS WITH RHEE: Pak Yong-man is perhaps best-known today, however, for having been a close ally and later—following a bitter falling-out—a bitter rival of Syngman Rhee. The two men’s differences were almost certainly exacerbated by their egos but were also fundamentally grounded in a philosophical difference about how to win Korean independence, with Pak Yong-man’s uncompromising advocacy of violence leading to a split between the two one-time sworn brothers, who had shared a jail cell years earlier. At least at first, following their release from prison around 1904, the two men supported one another. After two Korean nationalists assassinated pro-Japanese American adviser Durham Stevens in 1908, Rhee declined to defend his two compatriots in court, seeing the two men as criminals—immediately tanking his reputation in the Korean community in San Francisco. At the time, recalls a third Korean-American activist at the time, Pak Yong-man helped rescue his old friend’s reputation by raising $2,500 to have Rhee’s prison treatise The Spirit of Independence (Tongrip Chŏngsin 獨立精神) published (Sŏ, Tae-suk 1987, pp. 183 and 258). After Pak Yong-man arrived in Hawaii in December 1912, he began raising funds for a Korean school that he envisioned would be led by Syngman Rhee. But not long after Rhee arrived in Hawaii in February 1913, on Pak’s invitation, the two men, though both conservatives, began to feud over means and methods (Oliver 1954, 122, 128–29; and Lew 2014, 87–88). Rhee believed Pak’s obsession with military strength as the only way to defeat Japan was not only foolish and quixotic and would alienate the very people in the West that Korea needed in order to win its independence (Oliver 1954, 128–29). Rhee withheld public endorsement of Pak’s martial plans, and Pak, in return, used his newspaper to attack Rhee, after which they fell out for good (Oliver 1954, 129–30). Though one historian dates their falling out to a gradual process between 1915 and 1918, there is little doubt that any goodwill was gone by March 1918, when Pak used a public statement to openly criticize Rhee’s “dictatorial” and “nasty and brazen-faced” behavior. Pak’s rivalry with Rhee was such that he turned down his appointments by two of the Korean provisional governments that formed themselves after the March First demonstrations in 1919 (Lew 2014, 87–88). Over the next few years, the two former friends would jostle for influence among Hawaii’s Koreans (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 179).  “NO QUALMS ABOUT…THE BOLSHEVIKS”: Though he was a staunch conservative, and feuded gloriously with his ideological compatriot Syngman Rhee, Pak Yong-man could also be surprisingly ecumenical about who he worked with—that is, basically whomever could help him advance his goals. After the end of World War I, Pak joined the American Expeditionary Force in Siberia, which fought against the eventually victorious Soviets in the Russian Civil War—though Pak also worked with a Communist International agent, M. I. Yurin, head of the Sino-Russian Joint Propaganda Department (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 174–75; and Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 18). Instead of joining the Korean Provisional Government with his hated rival Syngman Rhee, Pak organized a “Military Unification Conference” (軍事統一會議 Kor. Kunsa T’ong’il Hoeŭi) in Beijing in April 1921, attended by the likes of the anarchist nationalist historian Sin Ch’ae-ho; there, Pak denounced Rhee (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 151, 175; and Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 18). Pak was also willing to work with the Japanese and Chinese warlords, including Zhang Zuoxiang and Feng Yuxiang (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 18–19). As historian Kim Han-gyo writes, Pak “had no qualms about working with either the Bolsheviks or the right-wing militarists, as long as they could help him fight the Japanese” (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 21). 
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a recent Sungsil Academy graduate who had founded a school in Pyongyang with An Ch’ang-ho

Note Chang Il-hwan (張日煥 1886–1918) founded Ch’ŏngsan School (青山學校 Kor. Ch’ŏngsan Hakgyo) in the summer of 1913 with An Ch’ang-ho (Yi Hyŏn-hŭi, “Chang Il-hwan (張日煥),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). The following year, Chang founded a nationalist youth group called the Chosŏn Independence Youth Corps (朝鮮獨立青年團 Kor. Chosŏn Tokrip Ch’ŏngnyŏn-dan), composed primarily of Sungsil Academy students and seminarians from Samuel Moffett’s Pyongyang Theological Seminary. The group published a periodical called Youth Corps (青年團誌 Kor. Ch’ŏngnyŏndan-ji) (“Chang Il-hwan,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Chang Il-hwan is not to be confused with the similarly-named Chang In-hwan (張仁煥 1876–1930), the founding member of the Korean Methodist church in San Francisco who assassinated the pro-Japanese American diplomatic advisor Durham Stevens in San Francisco in March 1908 (Yi Mahn-yŏl, “Birth of the National Spirit,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 67; and Wi Jo Kang 1997, 39–40). 
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—of setting up a branch of the Korean National Association in Japanese-occupied Korea

Note Historian Kang Yŏng-sim, citing contemporaneous Japanese records, writes that plans for the formation of the group began in April or May 1915. In addition to forming a branch of the Chosŏn National Association within Korea, Chang Il-hwan also sought to publish reports from inside Korea so that those outside the country could get an accurate sense of domestic opinion about life under Japanese rule, to counter the voluminous glowing reports from the official colonial government (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 180). In these efforts, Chang Il-hwan was not alone. Working alongside him were two natives of the southwestern Korean city of Mokp’o: Kang Sŏk-bong (姜錫奉 1890–1956), who had also recently returned from Hawaii, where he had been active in the nationalist movement; and Kang’s childhood friend, Sŏ Kwang-jo (徐光朝 ?–?) (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 180; “Chang Il-hwan,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture; and Wada 1992, 28, citing Japanese police records). There was more than one Korean nationalist activist during this period named Kang Sŏk-bong, with the same Sino-Korean name; one later became a socialist, but was not tied to the Chosŏn National Association (see Yi Ki-hun, “ ‘Sam·il Undong’ ŭi Hyŏkmyŏng-jŏk Sŏnggyŏk” [The Revolutionary Nature of the “March First Movement”], in ‘Sam·il Undong’ ŭi Hyŏkmyŏng-jŏk Sŏnggyŏk [The Revolutionary Nature of the “March First Movement”] (Seoul: Minjok Munje Yŏn’gu-so, 2018), 50–58, here 57–58). 
p.169

according to Japanese police documents, were none other than Kim Hyŏng-jik and Pae Min-su

Note Pae Min-su describes how it was through Kang Sŏk-bong and Sŏ Kwang-jo that he got to meet Chang Il-hwan (Pai 2002, 97). Historian Kang Yŏng-sim also names Paek Se-bin, at the time a relatively prominent nationalist activist, as one of the earliest recruits, brought onboard in the winter of 1915 to serve as a contact point with Koreans abroad and to distribute issues of overseas nationalist newspapers within Korea (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 180). 
p.169

students of Sungsil Academy had gathered in the high school building to plot, and to pray 

Note Pae names the others as Sŏ Kwang-jo, Yi To-chong (“Tochong Lee”), Ro Tŏk-sun, Kang Sŏk-bong, Paek Se-bin, and Ro Sŏn-gyŏng (Pai 2002, 97–98). The Christian fervor that coursed through Pyongyang when Kim Hyŏng-jik was a student at Sungsil Academy continued even after his departure. In May 1915, Pyongyang’s Presbyterians launched yet another ambitious evangelistic campaign, which included a grand evening church gathering that missionary William Blair hailed as “the most enthusiastic evangelistic service I have witnessed in Korea” (William N. Blair, “More Good News From Pyeng Yang,” Korea Mission Field 11, no. 5 (May 1915), 131–32). 
p.170

and thirty members, with most of the new recruits brought in by Kim Hyŏng-jik and Pae Min-su 

NotePae Min-su gives the number of members as “about 30,” listing among the others Ch’oe Tal-hyŏng, Kim Pyŏng-du (金炳斗 ?–?), Cho Ok-ch’o (趙玉肖 ?–?), and a seminarian named Yŏ Pyŏng-sŏp (“Pyungsub Yuh”). For another partial list of members, see “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture. Wada Haruki credits Kim Hyŏng-jik and Pae Min-su with recruiting most of the members, which Wada tallies up at about twenty-five people (Wada 1992, 28).  SET BACK BY A CRACKDOWN: The time gap between the fall of 1915 and the eventual founding ceremony in March 1917 can be explained by what appears to be a crackdown by Japanese authorities on overseas Korean nationalist activities, particularly those tied to Christian schools. Later in 1915, after Chang Il-hwan’s return to Korea, one of Pak Yong-man’s groups, the New Korea Revolutionary Party (新韓革命黨 Kor. Sinhan Hyŏkmyŏng-dang) was busted by the Japanese authorities after approaching the deposed emperor Kojong to try and set up a provisional Korean government, setting back the plans for the Chosŏn National Association for a time (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 181). Scholar Frank Hoffmann describes the New Korea Revolutionary Party, also known as the New Korea Revolutionary Corps (新韓革命團 Kor. Sinhan hyŏkmyŏng-dan), as having been founded in Shanghai in March 1915 by Pak On-sik, Yi Sang-sŏl, and Sin Kyu-sik, working with Pak Yong-man and other exile nationalists in Russia and elsewhere, pinning their hopes in large part on a German victory in World War I, after which Germany would attack Japan (Frank Hoffmann, “The Muo Declaration: History in the Making (Translation and Commentary),” Korean Studies 13 (1989), 22–41, here 27). Hoffmann further describes the New Korea Revolutionary Party as a forerunner of a Chosŏn Socialist Party (朝鮮社會黨 Kor. Chosŏn Sahoe-dang) formed in Shanghai in the summer of 1917 (Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 27–28). Curiously, Hoffmann names Pak Yong-man, the militant conservative nationalist, as having been a part of these proto-socialist efforts, including drafting a declaration for an International Socialist Conference in Stockholm slated for September 1917 (Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 28). Strange as Pak’s involvement appears on ideological grounds, the group’s clearly militaristic approach to winning back Korean independence may help explain Pak Yong-man’s involvement, given his well-established proclivity towards military action. As Hoffmann notes, Pak was one of thirty-nine signatories to the Mu’o Declaration, a November 1918 document that some regard as Korea’s first Declaration of Independence—and one that calls for an armed rebellion against Japan (see Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989)).  HIDE AND BIDE: The New Korea Revolutionary Party was not the only Korean nationalist effort to be busted up by the Japanese authorities that year. And during these years immediately following annexation, most of the nationalist Korean secret societies, of which there were many, were populated by pastors, evangelists, teachers, and students in the Presbyterian church (see O, “1910–1920 Nyŏndae P’yŏngyang Chiyŏk Minjok Undong” (1995), 282). In March 1915, writes historian Kenneth Wells, police shut down two nascent Korean nationalist efforts, both spearheaded by Christian converts. In one case, they found that Sŏ Kyŏng-sun (?–?), a graduate of An’ak’s Yangsan School and Pyongyang’s Sungsil Academy who was then teaching at a Christian school in northeastern Korea, had linked up with exile Korean nationalist groups in Manchuria, Shanghai, and San Francisco; in the other, students and graduates of three Christian schools in Pyongyang, including Sungsil Academy and An Ch’ang-ho’s Taesŏng School, were found to be in contact with Pak Yong-man’s military college in Nebraska, among other exile military nationalist groups (Wells 1984, 179, citing Japanese police records). This final case, which may or may not be the same as the one described at the beginning of this footnote, would seem to offer a clear reason for the Chosŏn National Association efforts to be put on a temporary hiatus. With the Japanese authorities clamping down so heavily, the young men behind the Chosŏn National Association would understandably have wanted to lay low and bide their time, giving them time to recruit more members (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 181).  
p.170

Three months later, they signed their names in blood 

Note Pae Min-su himself writes that “whoever wanted to join, was supposed to sign his secret name with his own blood,” though he doesn’t give a date for when it happened (Pai 2002, 99). 
p.170

regional offshoot of a regional offshoot of the San Francisco–based Korean National Association 

Note The first article of the Chosŏn National Association’s charter describes its primary objective as being “to realize our ideals by coordinating our activities with the Korean National Association of the United States and the compatriots in other countries”—referring to the Pak Yong-man-led Korean National Association (as quoted in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1086). To further buttress this argument, historian Kang Yŏng-sim points to Chang Il-hwan’s time in Hawaii, the inclusion of a codeword for “Hawaii,” and the group’s plans to disseminate within Korea a newspaper published by Pak Yong-man in Hawaii (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 185). 
p.170

military installations in Korea, and in so doing to somehow win Korea’s independence 

Note In fact, their plan may have gone far beyond that. Later, Pae compares himself to Benjamin Franklin, seeking funds so that he too can travel to the U.S. and make Korea’s cause of independence known to America, as Franklin did in France in 1775. Then, Pae said, “we will plan sabotage and kill all Japs in Korea whenever the war comes between the U.S. and Japan” (Pai 2002, 108). Kang Yŏng-sim thus describes the Chosŏn National Association as being less an “enlightenment group” than it was a violent nationalist group that was primarily martial in nature, attempting to procure arms to carry out an armed uprising (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 190). 
p.170

from its headquarters in Pyongyang, working closely with Korean nationalists the world over 

Note According to the North Korean history books, the group assigned one young man each to oversee affairs in the Hwanghae, Kyŏngsang, and Chŏlla provinces, and sent a liaison officer to Dandong, on the Chinese side of the Yalu River, and another to Beijing (The Mother of Korea 1978, 94–95). 
p.170

letters that revealed their concealed message only when every tenth character was read 

Note Pae Min-su’s code name, he reported, was “Snow Pine” (雪松 Kor. Sŏl-song), reflecting his desire to remain unbreakable in spirit no matter the challenges (Pai 2002, 98). 
p.170

and cloaked their clandestine activities under the language of “business, agriculture, trade” 

Note “Pig’s leg” was twaeji-tari or ton’gak (豚腳), and “business, agriculture, and trade” are sil’ŏp (實業), nong’ŏp (農業), and sang’ŏp (商業), respectively (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 184; and Pai 2002, 98). They also used the metaphor of a thermometer (寒暖計 Kor. hannan’gye) to describe one another’s “ideological state” (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 184). North Korea’s official history credits Kim Hyŏng-jik with having developed the codewords (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 152).  “DEADLY SERIOUS”: Such young revolutionary fervor was not uncommon among colonial-era Korean nationalists. Peter Hyun (Hyŏn Chun-sŏp 玄駿燮1906–1993), the son of Rev. Hyŏn Sun, a key Methodist nationalist, recalls joining a “Young Revolutionary Society” (少年革命團 Kor. So’nyŏn Hyŏkmyŏng-dan) in Shanghai with others who, like him, “were only thirteen or fourteen years old, but…deadly serious. Our pledge: To be ready to sacrifice our lives, if necessary, for Korean independence, to be fearless, and never to betray anyone. Our activities covered a wide range—from all kinds of sports for strong bodies, to distributing leaflets for mass meetings, and, finally, to tracking down suspected spies and traitors. We jealously guarded our secrets: names of members, secret codes for special signals and messages, and, most important of all, the amount of money in our treasury and where the money was kept” (Hyun 1986, 123). At another school, years later, a Korean student from Ch’ungch’ŏng province named U Ch’an-gu (1916–?) recalls the Japanese police interrogating protesting Korean students to try and learn their secret communication methods—“signals, codes, people’s names” (as quoted in, Hildi Kang 2001, 47). 
p.170

period and a central player in the resistance to the Japanese occupation, are implausible 

Note This version of events can be found not only in the official North Korean history books, but also in the writings of left-leaning Australian journalist Wilfred Burchett (see Burchett 1968, 92–93). This is not to deny Kim Hyŏng-jik’s nationalist credentials. At Sungsil Academy, Kim Hyŏng-jik “did play a rather active role in an underground nationalist group organized by the students of his school,” historian Andrei Lankov writes (Lankov 2002, 51). 
p.171

branch of the Chosŏn National Association, with Kim Hyŏng-jik “just one of its first members” 

Note This is according to University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, who published some of the earliest work in the English language on Kim Il Sung’s family and its ties to the Christian faith (see Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1086). South Korean historian Kang Yŏng-sim writes, similarly, that Kim Hyŏng-jik’s role was “only that of a regular member” (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 187, n. 87). Indeed, it stretches credulity for Kim Hyŏng-jik to have created and led the group from Kangdong county, which is a full day’s walk from Pyongyang, at a time of limited communication, particularly given Japanese surveillance. Chang Il-hwan’s centrality in the Chosŏn National Association can be gleaned from the fact that he was tortured more severely than the others, dying on April 9, 1918, after two months of imprisonment (see later in this chapter). 
p.171

at the Presbyterian missionary schools, including Samuel Moffett’s theological seminary 

Note Historian Kenneth Wells describes a revival that surged through Pyongyang in the spring of 1914, carrying over into 1917: “Compared to several years ago, our people have progressed remarkably,” one Pyongyang pastor, Rev. Cho Tŭk-rin (?–?), wrote in September 1915. “Our people are definitely alive, not dead. They possess an independent, no longer a slavish, character” (Wells 1984, 190, citing Sinhan Minbo, September 16, 1915). 
p.171

Sungsil Academy’s spring semester, a golden opportunity to recruit young Christian nationalists 

Note As Kim Il Sung wrote in the first volume of his memoir, the Chosŏn National Association—which North Korean translators render as the “Korean National Association” in English, but which is given as “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” in the Korean and Chinese editions, not the “Taehan’in Kukmin-hoe” that would have referred to An Ch’ang-ho’s group—“planned to hold a general meeting of its members every year on the day of starting a new school year at Sungsil Middle School” (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 28). Japanese police reports likewise describe Chang Il-hwan focusing his recruitment efforts on young Christians traveling to Pyongyang to attend Samuel Moffett’s Presbyterian Theological Seminary (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1086; Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 181; and Yang 1981, 33–34). At the annual meeting, the confederates would also collect membership dues of 20 wŏn per person (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 184, n. 74). 
p.171

a pastor after graduation—on the grounds of Pyongyang’s Presbyterian missionary compound 

Note UNDER THE ROOF OF A PASTOR-TO-BE: Kim Il Sung described the first meeting of the Chosŏn National Association as being held “at Ri Po Sik’s house at Haktanggol, Pyongyang” (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 27). Yi Po-sik later became a pastor, overseeing a church in northwestern Korea called P’ihyŏn Church (枇峴教會 Kor. P’ihyŏn Kyohoe), near Ŭiju. This is according to South Korean pastor Rev. Hong Tong-gŭn, who later became close with Kim Il Sung and whose own father had joined the Chosŏn National Association under Kim Hyŏng-jik’s leadership, Rev. Hong claimed (Hong, “Kŭrisŭdo’in i Twe’ŏt nŭn ga 1,” Kidokgyo Sasang (2017), 108).  ACADEMY ALLEY: North Korean state media now celebrates the centennial of this date, describing the founding of the secret society—which it translates into English as the “Korean National Association”—as having taken place “at Hakdang-gol in Pyongyang on March 23, Juche 6 (1917)” (“Korean National Association,” Korean Central News Agency, March 23, 2017). Though neither the North Korean leader nor his state media outlet mention it, Hakdang-gol (學堂谷), which can literally be translated as “Academy Alley,” was located on Pyongyang’s Presbyterian missionary compound. The North Korean government has now erected a stone monument here, with a relief of a tree, to mark the occasion (Springer 2003, 47–48). South Korean sources affirm that the host of the day’s events, Yi Po-sik, lived in Pyongyang’s Sinyang-ri (新陽里), the neighborhood where the city’s Presbyterian compound was located (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 181; and “Chang Il-hwan,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). 
p.171

a graduate of the Presbyterian Theological Seminary, a church elder, and two evangelists 

NoteREV. KIM IN-JUN: One member was Rev. Kim In-jun (金仁俊 1886–?), who graduated from Sungsil Academy’s college in 1910 as a member of the college’s third graduating class, and then went on to teach at Sungsil Academy’s middle school, overseeing the publication of the school paper, the Sungsil Hakbo (崇實學報). In 1945, Kim In-jun became president of Pyongyang’s Presbyterian Theological Seminary (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 187). For more on Rev. Kim, see Act III, Chapters 24 and 27.  PAK IN-GWAN: Pak In-gwan, another prominent confederate, was, according to North Korea’s official history books, “a true friend and comrade” of Kim Hyŏng-jik—as well as a pastor (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 80). North Korean historians report that Kim Hyŏng-jik later paid Rev. Pak In-gwan a visit when his old friend was pastoring a church in Sukch’ŏn county, to the west of Pyongyang (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 359). Pak In-gwan graduated from Sungsil Academy’s college and went on to teach at a Presbyterian school called Kwang’ŭi School (光宜學校), where he assigned student essays asking students to describe how they felt about Korea, inspiring stirring nationalist responses from his students (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 191–92). Rev. Pak later went on to found a new secret society in 1919 called the Taehan National Association (大韓國民會 Kor. Taehan Kukmin-hoe)—not to be confused with An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association (大韓人國民會 Kor. Taehan-in Kukmin-hoe) or the Chosŏn National Association. Pak In-gwan’s Taehan National Association was based in Pyongyang and worked with the Korean Provisional Government that was formed in Shanghai after the March First demonstrations in 1919 (“Taehan Kukmin-hoe,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Pak was arrested along with seven others, but the group continued to operate until March 1921 (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 192–93). When Pak In-gwan’s house was raided by the Japanese authorities, they had found student essays in his possession lamenting Korea’s status as “just a colony with no freedom,” and calling for “the destruction of the enemy”—all of which garnered strong grades from Pak (Wada 1992, 29–30). Both Kim In-jun and Pak In-gwan were among those imprisoned after the March First demonstrations (Pak Yong-gyu 2010, 125).  DEVOTED TO CHRIST: Kim Chi-su, another member, was a student at Yŏnhŭi Professional School (延禧專門學校 Kor. Yŏnhŭi Chŏnmun Hakgyo), the Seoul missionary school founded by Horace Underwood (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 186). The Chosŏn National Association also included five provisional members (準備會員 Kor. chunbi hoewŏn), including one Sungsil Academy professor named An Se-hwan (安世桓 1887–1926), who had earlier attended Sungsil Academy and had been involved in An Ch’ang-ho’s secret society, the New People’s Association (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 184). An Se-hwan enrolled at Sungsil Academy in 1911, was imprisoned for five years during the Conspiracy Case in 1911, and jailed again for five months for his participation in the March First demonstrations in 1919; he died under interrogation by the Japanese (“Wi Myŏng’ye Chol’ŏp-ja 5-in Oe 3476 Myŏng ŭi Chol’ŏp ŭl Ch’ukha-habnida” [Congratulations to the Five Honorary Graduates and the 3,476 Other Graduates], Sungdae Sibo [Sungsil University News], February 5, 2018, 1). 
p.171

to speak on Bible study night, conducting a blood oath ceremony with the assembled believers 

Note This North Korean hagiography describes Kim Hyŏng-jik traveling with his confederate, future pastor Pak In-gwan, addressing a gathering at Ŭn’yul Church that evening that included teachers from all the surrounding schools, including one called Sungsil School. Later in his journey, we are told, Kim Hyŏng-jik spoke at this Sungsil School—which, as the name suggests, was likely named in tribute to the famous Christian school (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 163–64). 
p.171

a lecture to the students and faculty—and then “taught them songs, playing the organ himself” 

Note According to the official North Korean history, Kim Hyŏng-jik delivered an anti-Japanese lecture at this stop at Kanggye’s Presbyterian-run Myŏngsin School—the school shares the same name as the school that Kim Hyŏng-jik taught at after leaving Sungsil Academy. At another stop on his journeys, this time in another city called Masan, Kim Hyŏng-jik traveled with a member of Pyongyang’s Presbyterian Theological Seminary named Yŏ Pyŏng-sŏp (?–?), the hagiography tells us (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 166). At yet another stop in June 1917, in a corner of particular Christian influence in Hwanghae province, the official narrative continues, Kim Hyŏng-jik was said to have warned his listeners not to idolize the American Christians, urging the Koreans to accomplish independence through the Chosŏn National Association (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 170–71). In many of the places he traveled, Kim Hyŏng-jik visited and spoke at schools with familiar names like Myŏngsin and Sungdŏk that suggested a Christian backing (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 181). When he visited the northwestern city of Sunch’ŏn in the fall of 1917, the official North Korean narrative continues, Kim Hyŏng-jik spoke at a private school that was meeting in a church building, though we are told that he then helped the school finance its own building (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 182). 
p.171

means to enlighten his fellow Koreans on the necessity of opposing Japanese imperialism 

Note North Korea’s hagiographic account of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s life offers a simple, if not entirely convincing, explanation for his predilection to hold revolutionary meetings in church contexts, such as in Bible study meetings (查經會 Kor. sagyŏng-hoe): “Church buildings were where Christians and the general public gathered, and the only place one could legally carry out meetings outside of Japanese surveillance,” the official historians write. “Under such circumstances, Mr. Kim Hyŏng-jik used churches as places to instruct people of various classes and Christians in national conscience and anti-Japan spirit.” In one example, the hagiography describes Kim Hyŏng-jik speaking at a church at the invitation of its pastor, a Rev. Pak, where he pleaded with the congregation to not simply be bystanders in their country’s demise (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 145–46). 
p.172

tied to the Presbyterian church; according to one source, it was founded by Samuel Moffett

Note A CHRISTIAN SCHOOL: South Korean historian Chu Chin-o, for one, argues that Myŏngsin School was Christian, citing the prayer meeting held there for Kim Hyŏng-jik’s release (Chu, “Kidokgyo, Kim Il-sŏng,” (1992), 324). Historian Yu Sun-ho likewise described the school as Christian (Author interview, December 6, 2018). The Academy of Korean Studies (韓國學中央研究院 Kor. Han’guk-hak Chung’ang Yŏn’gu-wŏn), South Korea’s official public research institution, describes Myŏngsin School in its Encyclopedia of Korean Culture, as a Christian school (“Kim Hyŏng-jik,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). Myŏngsin’s school song, the lyrics of which are reproduced in North Korea’s official biography of Kim Hyŏng-jik, includes a line about the school standing on a rock (盤石 Kor. pansŏk)—unusual language except in the Christian context, echoing the meaning of the name of Peter the disciple, from which Kang Pan-sŏk got her name (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 173).   “ENLIGHTEN THE NEW”: Naturally, the North Korean sources don’t make any mention of any church affiliation at Myŏngsin School. Part of the confusion, and a potential key to resolving the mystery, can be found in the Sino-Korean characters underlying the name of Myŏngsin School (明信學校 or 明新學校 Kor. Myŏngsin Hakgyo). Official North Korean sources, such as the Chinese translation of Kim Il Sung’s memoirs With the Century, renders the characters as the neutral-sounding 明新, which can be translated as “Bright and New” or “Enlighten the New” (see, for instance, Jin, Yu Shiji Tongxing: Huiyilu 1 (1994), 15). Kim Hyŏng-jik’s official North Korean biography describes the name of the school as an allusion to the hope that it would “raise the next generation who will bring the new day of a free country”—likely a florid description of those Sino-Korean characters, 明新 (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 133).  “BRIGHT FAITH”: Several other Myŏngsin Schools in Korea, all of them opened by missionaries or operated by Christians, add more nuance to the question. One Myŏngsin School, in Hwanghae province’s Chaeryŏng, was founded by the Presbyterian church in 1898, using the religiously-inflected Sino-Korean characters 明信, which can be translated as “Bright Faith,” or “Enlightening Faith.” In 1921, however, it changed its name to the more neutral sounding “Bright and New” characters (see “Myŏngsin Hakgyo (明信學校),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). A second Myŏngsin School, established by missionaries in the far northern city of Kanggye likewise used the “Bright and New” characters (see Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 328–29). A third Myŏngsin School was founded in the Christian Mecca of Sŏnch’ŏn in 1900, abutting the town’s Presbyterian church (Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 116). That school, which used the overtly Christian-sounding “Bright Faith” characters, was founded by Yang Chŏn-baek (梁甸伯 1869–1933), a church leader who was one of the thirty-three signers of Korea’s Declaration of Independence in March 1919; Yang later helped establish Sinsŏng School (信聖學校 Kor. Sinsŏng Hakgyo) in July 1905, whose name can be translated as “Faith in the Sacred”—and which later became known as the Hugh O’Neill Jr. Academy for Boys (Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 116–17; and Kang Myŏng-suk, “Sinsŏng Hakgyo (信聖學校),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). A fourth missionary-founded Myŏngsin School can be found in Longjing, in Manchuria’s heavily-Koreanized region of Jiandao, where Canadian missionaries had opened a Myŏngsin Girls’ School (龍井私立明信女子國民高等學校 Ch. Longjing Sili Mingxin Nüzi Guomin Gaodeng Xuexiao Kor. Yongjŏng Sarip Myŏngsin Yŏja Kukmin Kodŭng Hakgyo), using the “Bright Faith” translation (Moore 2016, 101).  FOUNDED BY MOFFETT?: For what it’s worth, South Korean historian Chu Chin-o renders the characters of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s school in Ponghwa Village as the Christian-tinged “Bright Faith” (Chu, “Kidokgyo, Kim Il-sŏng,” (1992), 324). More intriguing may be the founder of Myŏngsin School. While some North Korean sources say that Kim Hyŏng-jik founded Myŏngsin School, one prominent North Korean defector-journalist has pointed to an existing memorial stone for the school on display in the North which lists Kim Hyŏng-jik’s name in the third position (Chang Hae-sŏng, “Kim Il-sŏng, Kŭ nŭn Nugu Inga?” (2009)). Instead, Yu Kwan-ji, a South Korean historian who has dug deep into Kim Il Sung’s Christian roots, describes none other than Samuel Moffett as the founder of the Myŏngsin School that Kim Hyŏng-jik worked at in Ponghwa village (Yu Kwan-ji, “Kim Il-sŏng Kagye wa Kidokgyo” (2014)). 
p.172

Kang Pan-sŏk became like father and mother to the students, educating girls as well as the boys 

Note Other official North Korean sources portray Kim Hyŏng-jik as a tireless promoter of educational advancement, traveling door-to-door to recruit poor students with the promise of free tuition, telling them that “learning was the only way to escape poverty and to regain the nation” (“Myŏngsin Hakgyo” [Myŏngsin School], Uri Minjok Kangdang [Our Nation School], n.d.). 
p.172

concert and sports competition at Myŏngsin School, telltale signs of missionary influence 

Note Pro-North Korean sources characterize Myŏngsin School as merely being a place where “the excellent leader of the nationalist anti-Japanese liberation movement cultivated future generations on the basis of chiwŏn thought”—a reference to Kim Hyŏng-jik’s “Aim High” slogan (志遠 Kor. chiwŏn), literally, to aspire to go far. This same source also describes Kim Hyŏng-jik as instilling in his students the need and the desire to “defend the nation against the encroachment of foreign conquerors,” and to “become pillars in the holy war for the independence of the nation” (“Myŏngsin Hakgyo” [Myŏngsin School], Uri Minjok Kangdang [Our Nation School], n.d.). 
p.172

Andrei Lankov. “The parents of Kim Il Sung were not just Christians but Christian activists” 

Note Is it possible that Kim Hyŏng-jik may have been influenced by the church, only to later abandon it, as his son has suggested? Though it’s certainly possible, there is little evidence to suggest that this was the case. In 1934, roughly a decade after Kim Hyŏng-jik’s death, the Presbyterian missionaries, tallying up the roughly six thousand students who had attended the main Christian academies for at least some time—a number that would include Kim Hyŏng-jik—found that only a small minority, between 4 percent and 14 percent, had stopped attending church (see Mowry, “Contribution of Educational Work,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 162). 
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that fateful fall of 1917, Kim Hyŏng-jik was arrested as he was teaching at Myŏngsin School 

Note Official South Korean sources say that the arrests happened in February 1918 (see, for example, Tokrip Yugong-ja Konghun-rok (1994), 135). University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho separately points to a secret February 18, 1918, report by the Japanese police commissioner in South P’yŏng’an province that describes the arrest of twenty members of the Chosŏn Nationalist Association (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “Christian Background in Early Life” (1986), 1085). One South Korean scholar offers both 1917 and February 1918 as possible dates of Kim Hyŏng-jik’s arrest (Yang 1981, 34).  “THE BIGGEST SUPPRESSION CASE”: The latter source, an official hagiography of Kim Hyŏng-jik, describes the crushing of the Chosŏn National Association as “the biggest suppression case in Korea before the March First Movement,” which it argues “shows the Chosŏn National Association was the biggest threat to the Japanese” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 189). These two superlative claims should be treated with extreme caution, given extant historical records. A third North Korean source describes the arrests as happening in the fall of 1917, adding that the police arrested more than a hundred nationalists, including Kim Hyŏng-jik, in this sweep (The Mother of Korea 1978, 129). 
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the only official North Korean acknowledgment of the Korean church’s fervent prayer rituals

Note The official North Korean hagiography of Kim Hyŏng-jik adds some detail, describing the village’s “patriotic religionists” (愛國的宗教人 Kor. aeguk-jŏk chonggyo-in) as persevering in their prayer meetings even through the coldest part of the year. “It snowed especially hard that year, and each morning at dawn the Christians put on clean clothes and headed to church, stepping on fresh snow. They did not even sweep the snow, because if they swept the snow their hands would become dirty and their prayers would not be fully sincere” (Kim Hyŏng-jik Sŏnsaeng Chŏn’gi 2004, 191). A separate North Korean source, a hagiography of distant family member Rev. Kang Yang-uk, also recounts this incident, quoting Kim Il Sung describing the Christians’ prayers as a patriotic act—especially since these Christians were praying to God not only for Kim Hyŏng-jik’s release, but also for “the demise of Japan” (Rim 2013, 19). 
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and accused of having stirred up “a most dangerous idea for an Anti-Japanese Empire” 

Note Pae Min-su identifies the prison he was held in as Pyongyang’s “State Prison.” An unnamed prison can be found marked on a 1950 map of Pyongyang used by the U.S. military (see Briscoe, “UN Occupation of Pyongyang” (2010), 68). 
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Hyŏng-jik was given a more lenient ten months; others received jail terms of eight or six months

Note That Kim Hyŏng-jik wasn’t the leader of the organization can be seen in the fact that he didn’t receive the most severe sentence. In addition to Kim Hyŏng-jik, three other conspirators—Ku Hyŏng-p’il (?–?), Sŏ Kwang-jo, and Yŏ Pyŏng-sŏp—were each sentenced to ten months, according to Pae Min-su, while Ro Tŏk-sun, Ch’oe Tal-hyŏng, Kim P’yŏng-du, and Cho Ok-ch’o got eight months each; the remaining conspirators were imprisoned for six months each. Chang Il-hwan’s one-year sentence wasn’t announced in court, Pae says, for reasons that he doesn’t explain (Pai 2002, 123). South Korean government records offer a slightly different version of events. On the day of sentencing, March 16, 1918, Pae Min-su was said to have received ten months imprisonment for breaching the national security law, according to the South Korean government’s posthumous award for his contributions to Korean independence (Tokrip Yugong-ja Konghun-rok (1994), 135). It’s possible that Pae’s sentence was initially ten months, and then later reduced. 
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—who was beaten so severely that, after two months of torture, he died on April 9, 1918 

Note As Pae Min-su recalls, Chang Il-hwan cried out before his death: “Minsoo, I will be in heaven with Christ, but how can I let you suffer alone?” (Pai 2002, 141). In 1906, roughly a decade before Kim Hyŏng-jik’s imprisonment, Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie visited two prisons in Korea’s northwest—one in Pyongyang and the other in Sŏnch’ŏn, both strongholds of the Christian faith—offering a hint of the “barbarities” that Kim Il Sung’s father was likely subjected to. In the Pyongyang prison, McKenzie wrote, “I found eighteen men and one woman confined in one cell. Several of the men were fastened to the ground by wooden stocks. The prisoners were emaciated, and their bodies showed plain signs of horrible disease. Their clothing was of the poorest, the cell was indescribably filthy, and the prisoners were confined in it, without exercise and without employment, year after year. One man had been in the cell for six years” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 120). 
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By then, the young men had been moved to a prison in northern Pyongyang 

Note Pae describes his new prison as the “Taihungboo,” describing it as being a “little temporary prison” situated right below Mansu Hill in central Pyongyang, housing just one-tenth the number of inmates as the place where he had originally been locked up (Pai 2002, 126–27). 
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to the God who they believed would ultimately deliver them from their Japanese oppressors 

Note The other two young men were Kim P’yŏng-du and Ch’oe Tal-hyŏng (Pai 2002, 126–27). 
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the father of the future Kim Il Sung. “Give us freedom and Independence like the Americans” 

Note Ultimately, Pae Min-su came to regard the death of his friend Chang Il-hwan as a sign of God’s favor, comparing his death to the sacrifice that Abraham made of his son Isaac (Pai 2002, 141). In the biblical case, however, Isaac’s life was spared. 

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peoples of the world, no matter how powerless, to have a hand in shaping their own destinies 

NoteAt the Paris Peace Conference, President Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924) declared: “We…are here to see that every people in the world shall choose its own masters and govern its own destinies, not as we wish, but as they wish” (“Extracts from an Address Before the Plenary Session of the Peace Conference, Paris, January 25, 1919,” in Woodrow Wilson’s Message for Eastern Nations—Selected by Himself from His Public Addresses (Calcutta: Y.M.C.A. Press, 1925), 86–87). Also quoted in Chung 1921, 192.  FROM THE IVORY TOWER TO THE OVAL OFFICE: T. Woodrow Wilson (1856-1924), a native of Staunton, Virginia, enjoyed a prestigious academic career before his rapid rise in politics. Wilson, who was born eight years before Samuel Moffett, graduated from the College of New Jersey, now Princeton University, in 1879, with a degree in political philosophy and history, and after a brief dalliance with law threw himself instead into the world of academia. By 1890, Wilson had earned a doctorate and, after teaching at Bryn Mawr College and Wesleyan University, returned to his alma mater, the College of New Jersey, as the chair of jurisprudence and political economy. Twelve years later, in June 1902, Wilson was elected president of the by-then-renamed Princeton University, replacing Francis L. Patton (1843–1932), an enthusiastic supporter of missionary causes who spoke at Dwight Moody’s annual conference in Northfield, Mass. Another eight years after that, Wilson decided to run for governor of New Jersey as a Democrat; he won, and by March 1911, less than two months after he had moved into the governor’s mansion, Wilson had set his mind to the presidency. In July 1912, Wilson won the Democratic nomination for president and triumphed in the general election that fall over Republican incumbent William Howard Taft—and Theodore Roosevelt, running as a third-party candidate under the Progressive banner—to become the twenty-eighth president of the United States in March 1913. 
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“exists to hand peoples about from sovereignty to sovereignty as if they were property” 

Note “No nation should seek to extend its polity over any other nation or people,” Wilson continued in his address. “Every people should be left free to determine its own polity…the little along with the great and powerful” (“Last Hopes of Peace—President Wilson’s Address to the Senate of the United States, January 22, 1917,” in Woodrow Wilson, President Wilson’s Great Speeches and Other History Making Documents (Chicago: Stanton & Van Vliet, 1919), 144–52, here 151). Prior to Wilson’s January 22, 1917, speech, no American president had personally addressed Congress, opting instead to send delegates to read his messages in the chamber. Wilson, however, appeared in the Senate Chamber that day and “from this pulpit…issued his most important foreign policy declarations” (Manela 2007, 21). Among these declarations was a plea to stay out of the Great War and to seek a lasting “peace without victory.” Three months later in April 1917, however, the U.S. would indeed enter the Great War, with Wilson this time calling for the world to “be made safe for democracy” (“Why We Went to War—President Wilson’s Famous Address at the Opening of the War Congress, April 2, 1917,” in Wilson 1919, 11–22, here 20). 
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Wilson’s political views were deeply rooted in his upbringing in the Presbyterian church 

NoteSOUTHERN PRESBYTERIANS: Woodrow Wilson’s life was steeped in Presbyterianism. He was born shortly before the outbreak of the Civil War, in December 1856, to a Presbyterian family of Scottish and Irish descent. Wilson’s father, Rev. Joseph R. Wilson (1822–1903), was a prominent pastor and theologian who, though born in Ohio to a father whose newspaper railed against slavery, had moved to the South and become a slaveowner. Rev. Wilson, who defended slavery and set up a Sunday school for his own slaves, helped found the Southern Presbyterian Church in the Confederate States of America in 1861, when it split from the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America over the question of slavery. Woodrow Wilson’s own views, while more progressive than that of his father, was very much a southerner in his views, as one biographer later wrote (Manela 2007, 26).   THE SON, SON-IN-LAW AND NEPHEW OF PROMINENT PRESBYTERIANS: After the Civil War, an adolescent Wilson grew up in Columbia, S.C., where his father taught at the seminary; in 1873, the same year he entered college, Wilson joined the Presbyterian church, a membership he would retain until the end of his life. Wilson married Ellen L. Axson (1860–1914), herself the daughter of a Presbyterian minister. In addition, Wilson’s uncle, James Woodrow, was a prominent Presbyterian scholar who caused a stir in the 1880s by cautiously supporting an aspect of evolution, which he argued was compatible with the Bible—and for which he was eventually expelled by the Southern Presbyterian church (Smylie 1985, 134). Woodrow Wilson’s future son-in-law, Francis B. Sayres (1885–1972), had worked as a missionary under Sir Wilfred T. Grenfell (1865–1940), a British-born missionary to Newfoundland (Moore 2016, 14–15).  “A DEEPLY RELIGIOUS MAN”: “Woodrow Wilson was a deeply religious man. Men who do not understand the religious spirit need not even try to understand him,” Edwin A. Alderman (1861–1931), president of the University of Virginia, told a memorial service for the then-recently deceased Woodrow Wilson before the two houses of Congress in December 1924. “No man in supreme power in any nation’s life, since Gladstone, was so profoundly penetrated by the Christian faith. He was sturdily and mystically Christian…He had the habit of prayer, and he read and re-read the English Bible” (Edwin Anderson Alderman, “Memorial Address—Delivered Before a Joint Session of the Two Houses of Congress, December 15, 1924, in Honour of Woodrow Wilson, late President of the United States,” in Woodrow Wilson’s Message for Eastern Nations 1925, 3–38, here 32). In his address, Alderman described Wilson as “the son…of a Presbyterian minister of such distinction that it was in his house that the Southern Presbyterian Church was organized…His mother was the daughter of a Presbyterian minister, in Carlisle, England. He married, in his young manhood, the daughter of a Presbyterian minister. His grandfather, Thomas Woodrow, for whom he was named, was a learned, doughty servant of God, and his uncle, James Woodrow, was a modern-minded Presbyterian minister…His elementary and undergraduate education was under Presbyterian influences and in Presbyterian colleges” (Alderman, “Memorial Adress,” in Woodrow Wilson’s Message for Eastern Nations 1925, 6–7).  THE “GOLDEN RULE” IN INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS: Wilson’s Presbyterianism influenced his foreign policy. John Mott, the missions advocate and Nobel Peace Prize winner who counted Wilson among his closest friends, described the American president in 1914 as a forceful advocate of what Mott called the “Golden Rule” in international relations—the “do unto others” principle that Jesus espoused in his Sermon on the Mount. “Toward the non-Christian nations, whether they be strong or weak, we should exercise a spirit of restraint, of generous confidence in their good-will, and of unselfish regard for their interests,” Mott wrote in 1914, summing up Wilson’s political philosophy. “We should treat backward races and nations with justice, sympathy and kindness. No race should be regarded as inferior” (Mott 1914, 135). Mark Benbow, a historian at Marymount University in Arlington, Va., and the former historian-in-residence at the Woodrow Wilson House Museum in Washington, writes that “Wilson’s principles were always firmly grounded in Christian beliefs, specifically those from American Presbyterianism” (Mark Benbow, Leading Them to the Promised Land: Woodrow Wilson, Covenant Theology, and the Mexican Revolution, 1913–1915 (Kent, Oh.: Kent State University Press, 2010), 3). Wilson looked with reverence on his father, and preserved his sermons, which Benbow writes propagated the “steadfast belief that God has established an order in the universe and a role for man in it to do His will” (Benbow 2010, 3). As for Wilson himself, Benbow writes, “Wilson had no doubt that God intended the United States to assume the role of teacher of democracy to the world” (Benbow 2010, 8). 
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“and for their territorial integrity that great and powerful nations expect and insist upon” 

NoteSpeaking at George Washington’s home on the Fourth of July 1918, Wilson declared that the U.S. had entered the Great War to “make not only the liberties of America secure but the liberties of every other people as well” (as quoted in Leonard V. Smith, Sovereignty at the Paris Peace Conference of 1919 (Oxford, U.K.: Oxford University Press, 2018), 12). Though Wilson frequently invoked the idea of the “consent of the governed,” Wilson’s rhetoric would gradually evolve over time to more strongly emphasize the phrase “self-determination” (Manela 2007, 42). 
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hopes across the colonies of the world that a new order was possible and, perhaps, imminent 

Note Manela 2007, 24. Woodrow Wilson’s “peace without victory” speech on January 22, 1917, for instance, “marked the first time that any statesman of stature had launched such a penetrating critique of European imperialism, militarism, and balance-of-power politics,” in the words of American scholar Thomas J. Knock (Thomas J. Knock, To End All Wars: Woodrow Wilson and the Quest for a New World Order, new ed. (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2019), 115). Also cited in Manela 2007, 24. Stephen Bonsal, an American war correspondent-turned-diplomat in Beijing, Seoul, and Tokyo, who went on to serve as Wilson’s private translator at the Paris Peace Conference, later described another of the president’s speeches during this period as being “the first trumpet note with which President Wilson electrified the world.” In that speech, delivered on December 4, 1917, Wilson declared: “The voices of humanity insist that no nation or peoples shall be robbed or punished because the irresponsible rulers of a single country have themselves done deep and abominable wrong” (as quoted in Bonsal 1946, xii–xiii). Wilson’s idealistic calls for self-determination didn’t just excite oppressed people outside America. They also had an impact within America’s own borders, taken up by African Americans who petitioned Wilson in the run-up to the Paris conference for “full liberty and equality of rights” (Manela 2007, 34). 
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to believe that a League of Nations, as Wilson envisaged, could offer them a seat at the table 

Note This moment is expertly captured by Harvard University historian Erez Manela, whose work, The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of Anticolonial Nationalism (2007), I draw upon for this section. Another scholar, writing about mass demonstrations in Korea, Egypt, India, and China between February and May 1919, all inspired by Woodrow Wilson’s ideas, describes the Wilsonian moment as a “remarkable” one (Caprio 2009, 46).  HOPE IN A NEW YORK BALLROOM: In one reflection of excitement, in December 1918, just weeks after the declaration of the armistice on November 11, 1918, the League for Small and Subject Nationalities, a group of would-be nations seeking formal recognition, held a congress at a New York hotel. Among its attendees were W. E. B. DuBois (1868–1963), the American civil rights activist, while the Koreans were represented by Rev. Min Ch’an-ho (閔贊鎬 1877–1954) and Henry Chung (Chŏng Han-gyŏng) of the Korean National Association and Kim Hŏn-sik (金憲植 1869–1951?), a member of a nationalist group called the New Korea Association (新韓會 Kor. Sinhan-hoe) (Do-Hyung Kim and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “March First Movement,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 124). Though Woodrow Wilson and U.K. Prime Minister David Lloyd George (1863–1945) would later claim that their sweeping calls for self-determination applied only to Europe and the former Ottoman empire, their contemporaneous speeches included no such restrictions (Manela 2007, 39). 
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of the world, where it was believed that he was “a friend of peace, liberty, and democracy” 

Note As James R. Mock and Cedric Larson wrote in 1939, in one of the first studies of Wilson’s Committee on Public Information, “by the time of the Armistice, the name of Woodrow Wilson, and a general idea that he was a friend of peace, liberty, and democracy, were nearly as familiar in some of the remote places of the earth as they were in New York, St. Louis, or San Francisco” (James R. Mock and Cedric Larson, Words That Won the War: The Story of the Committee on Public Information, 1917–1919 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1939), 235). Also cited in Manela 2007, 21. 
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centerpiece of an effort “to convince all the world that hope for the future lay in Wilson alone” 

Note Within days of Wilson unveiling his Fourteen Points, translated copies of the address were disseminated “everywhere the committee could reach” (Manela 2007, 52). It’s unclear which speeches were translated and disseminated to Korea, but more generally, the Committee on Public Information campaign created window displays for audiences in China, Korea and Japan (Mock and Larson 1939, 241–42). Also cited in Manela 2007, 50. 
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George E. Creel, proudly informed the president. “Your declarations had the force of armies” 

Note Also cited in Manela 2007, 51. University of Virginia president Edwin Alderman, delivering Wilson’s memorial address before the two houses of Congress in December 1924, turned to a similar analogy, speaking of how, at a moment of global turmoil, “his speeches had the strength of battalions along the front of battle; his voice was the voice of free peoples; and all over the earth, in the great capitals, among the tribes of the desert, in the islands of the sea, men felt the moulding of his thought and sensed the grandeur of his aims” (Alderman, “Memorial Adress,” in Woodrow Wilson’s Message for Eastern Nations 1925, 22–23). 
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Initially, Wilson had worked assiduously to keep America out of the fighting engulfing Europe 

Note Wilson’s reelection campaign in 1916 touted the president’s success in having “kept us out of war.” 
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line, arguing before Congress in April 1917 that “the world must be made safe for democracy” 

Note Wilson’s second swearing-in took place at the Capitol building on March 5, 1917. His speech before Congress was on April 2, 1917 (“Why We Went to War,” in Wilson 1919, 11–22). Four days later, on April 6, 1917, Congress voted overwhelmingly to enter the war against Germany. 
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of the free world, with rapturous crowds greeting him as he rolled down the Champs-Élysées 

Note To cross the Atlantic Ocean, Wilson boarded a repurposed German-built ocean liner, now christened the USS George Washington, on December 4, 1918, just weeks after the signing of the armistice. In the words of American novelist John Dos Passos (1896–1970), Wilson “sailed for France aboard the George Washington, the most powerful man in the world” (as quoted in Manela 2007, 15). The claim that the trip was the first by a sitting American president to Europe is from Manela 2007, 4. 
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“as though one of the great teachers of humanity, Christ or Buddha, had come back” 

Note “Imagination fails to picture the wild delirium of joy with which he would have been welcomed in Asiatic capitals,” wrote Indian independence activist V. S. Srinivasa Sastri (1869–1946), who had a chance to meet Wilson in 1921. “It would have been as though one of the great teachers of humanity, Christ or Buddha, had come back to his home, crowned with the glory that the centuries had brought him since he last walked the earth” (V. S. Srinivasa Sastri, “Foreword,” in Woodrow Wilson’s Message for Eastern Nations 1925, iii–v, here iv–v). Also cited in Manela 2007, 55.  A SUBCONTINENTAL SUPERSTAR: The great Bengali nationalist and poet Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941) was similarly so captivated by Wilson that he considered dedicating his 1917 work Nationalism to the American president (Manela 2007, 92). Ganesh & Co., a prominent Indian publishing house, promoted a collection of Wilson’s speeches entitled President Wilson: The Modern Apostle of Freedom with newspaper advertisements calling the American president “the most striking personality in the world” and a “man of destiny” (Manela 2007, 93). 
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In Egypt, Wilson’s teachings were said to be “the new bible of humanity” 

Note Here, Harvard historian Erez Manela cites an Egyptian writer who attributes this comment to the prime minister of Italy, who may or may not be Vittorio Emanuele Orlando (1860–1952), who served in that role from October 1917 to June 1919 and who represented Italy at the Paris Peace Conference. Whatever the exact provenance of this phrase, these kinds of overt religious descriptors were a hallmark of the praise lavished on Wilson from nationalist leaders all over the colonized world, who, precisely because Wilson “had couched his principles in sweeping, universal terms, …saw little reason that they should not apply outside Europe as well as within it” (Manela 2007, 11). Egyptian revolutionary and later prime minister Sa’d Zaghlul (1859–1927) offered his homage to Wilson in a January 1919 letter as “the eminent philosopher and statesman who occupies today a preponderant place among the leaders of peoples” (Manela 2007, 72, citing Sa’d Zaghlul letter to Woodrow Wilson, January 13, 1919). When Zaghlul was arrested on March 8, 1919, amid a Wilson-inspired nationwide revolution against British rule, he was found to be carrying a copy of Wilson’s Fourteen Points on his person (Manela 2007, 141). Manela, describing the incident, says it is impossible to verify the anecdote for certain, but affirms Zaghlul’s evident admiration for the American president. Meanwhile, Egypt’s leading national newspaper, Al-Ahram (The Pyramids)—then and now one of the most influential in the Arabic-speaking world—devoted a full page to Wilson’s April 1917 speech calling for the world to be made “safe for democracy,” and generally portrayed America as a nation driven by universal ideals rather than by selfish interest (Manela 2007, 63–64). 
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churches across the country, Wilson was praised as “a beacon of light for the world’s peoples” 

Note The task of distributing and displaying tens of thousands of images of Wilson was undertaken by Carl Crow (1884–1945), a Missouri-born writer and longtime China-based businessman. In addition to churches and missionary schools, the posters also went up in branches of Western companies like Standard Oil and British American Tobacco (Manela 2007, 101). In Beijing, U.S. minister Paul S. Reinsch (1869–1923) had by 1917 recruited missionary volunteers to translate Wilson’s speeches into Chinese to be published in newspapers or in leaflets (Manela 2007, 101). Reinsch was a devout Christian and a former academic colleague of Wilson’s, a professor of political science at the University of Wisconsin at Madison who had co-founded the American Political Science Association with Wilson and other scholars (Manela 2007, 111). Feng Yuxiang (馮玉祥 1882–1948), the Chinese warlord known as the “Christian General,” purchased five hundred copies of a collection of Wilson’s speeches for his officers (Manela 2007, 102). 
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cofounder of China’s Communist Party, praised Wilson for putting ideals above power politics 

Note The prominent late Qing Dynasty reformer Kang Youwei linked Wilson’s League of Nations to his own notion of a peaceful utopia, known as the Great Unity (Manela 2007, 107–8). The Chinese concept of the Great Unity (大同 Ch. Datong) is rooted in classical Confucian thought, but was popularized again as a concept by Kang Youwei in the waning days of the Qing dynasty, and later invoked by Mao Zedong. Datong, rendered in Korean as Taedong, is the origin the name of the Taedong River (大同江 Kor. Taedong-gang) that flows through Pyongyang. Kang Youwei shares a surname with the family of Kang Pan-sŏk, but since Kang Youwei was from southern China, this should be regarded as no more than a coincidence. 
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nationalist later known as Ho Chi Minh wrote Wilson a letter to plead his nation’s cause 

Note Ho Chi Minh (胡志明 1890–1969), who at the time of the Paris Peace Conference went by the name Nguyen Tat Thanh, may have been in touch with Korean nationalists during an earlier stay in New York sometime in the 1910s. 
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“undertaken should be continued, and continued, as far as possible, at its full force,” he said 

Note Asked on another occasion how churches could aid the war effort, Wilson had responded: “By magnifying their office in the promotion and maintenance of vital spiritual power!” (as quoted in “Editorial Notes,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 2 (February 1919), 23–24, here 23).  “THE MOST DANGEROUS TIME”: Such words, naturally, would have been music to the ears of the Western missionary leaders, for whom World War I posed deep existential questions. The seemingly meaningless death and destruction of the Great War, triggered by an assassination in faraway Sarajevo, heightened the sense among Christian leaders that the end of days was undeniably near. Many of the warning signs had been apparent to these Christian leaders: The rise of nationalism across Europe and around the world in the first decade of the twentieth century; the challenge to the Christian faith from modern science; the newfound popularity of atheistic philosophies like anarchism and Bolshevism. But to John Mott, the tireless missions advocate and Christian thinker, the outbreak of the Great War presented not only challenges, but also opportunities to bring more people into the faith than ever before. “We are living at the most dangerous time in the history of the world,” Mott declared at the outbreak of the war (Mott 1914, 5). Despite the danger, Mott also declared the moment “unprecedented in opportunity. There has been nothing like it in the annals of the Christian faith” (Mott 1914, 3). As Samuel Moffett and his colleagues would surely have agreed, “the only program which can meet all the alarming facts of the situation is the world-wide spread of Christianity in its purest form,” Mott wrote that year. “The disposition of men must be changed. Their motive life must be influenced. The springs of conduct must be touched. Right ideals must be implanted. A new spirit must be imparted” (Mott 1914, 10). “The time has come to reap on a scale which transcends anything hitherto attempted. The plans of the Kingdom must be greatly widened” (Mott 1914, 54–55).  “THESE ARE NOT ORDINARY ‘TIMES’”: Those same concerns were prevalent among the Korea missionaries. “How can the missionary keep up with the times? The question is not an easy one to answer; the object is still more difficult to attain. For these are not ordinary ‘times,’” Canadian missionary William Scott wrote in 1919, after four years of brutal war and an outbreak of political turmoil in Korea that year. “Political or social, educational or scientific, religious or moral, all life is more complex and more difficult to comprehend today than ever” (William Scott, “ ‘Keeping Up with the Times,’” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 7 (July 1919), 141–43, here 141). In keeping with the times, Robert Wilder, the Princeton undergraduate who had helped found the Student Volunteer Movement a generation earlier, had in 1914 adapted the movement’s famous pledge to the battlefield: “I pledge my allegiance to the Lord Jesus Christ as my Saviour and King and by God’s help will fight His battles for victory of His Kingdom.” “He enjoyed a relatively smooth transition from student to military audiences,” one historian writes of Wilder. “Apparently he discerned continuities in recruiting efforts for missionary and national crusades” (Patterson, “Wilder” (1991), 29).  COUNT THE HANGING CHADS: For all of Wilson’s cheerleading for the work of evangelism, the missionaries in Korea were evenly split on the American president. In a light-hearted election-night event at Ewha Academy in Seoul in November 1916, the American missionaries only narrowly favored Wilson, 40–38, in an informal straw poll. Wilson’s opponent, the Republican Charles Evans Hughes (1862–1948), was the son of a Baptist minister, as well as a Supreme Court chief justice, New York governor, and secretary of state (“An American Evening,” Korea Mission Field (1917), 26). 
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“believed him as the bringer of untold blessings; thousands would gladly have died for him” 

NoteThough English writer H. G. Wells (1866–1946), a contemporary of Samuel Moffett, is best known today for his works of science fiction, he was also deeply engaged in journalism and political commentary, particularly in his later years. The 1933 work from which this quote is drawn, The Shape of Things to Come, inserts elements of political commentary into a speculative novel, which purports to describe the emergence of a utopian society in the year 2106 from the ashes of a major war in Europe. In the novel, Wells is unsparing in his criticism of Woodrow Wilson, who despite being “re-elected as ‘the man who kept the United States out of the war,’ brought his people from a phase of hypocritical pacificism and energetic armament into the war in 1917” (H. G. Wells, The Shape of Things to Come (New York: Macmillan, 1933), 72). In the run-up to the Paris Peace Conference, Wells adds, “the essential Wilson, the world was soon to learn, was vain and theatrical, with no depth of thought and no wide generosity” (Wells 1935, 82–83). 
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in 1919 “enjoyed a prestige and a moral influence throughout the world unequaled in history” 

NoteAlso quoted in Manela 2007, 45. As Harvard historian Erez Manela writes, “the millenarian, quasi-religious renderings of Woodrow Wilson…reflected a powerful if fleeting sense in the immediate wake of the war that a historical moment had arrived in which humanity could transcend the logic of Darwinian competition and long-established power relationships and found an international community in which all nations would enjoy recognition and dignity” (Manela 2007, 219–20).  “HELP THESE GROPING PEOPLES”: French writer Romain Rolland (1866–1944), who had just a few years earlier in 1915 been awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, channeled these millenarian hopes in a worshipful letter to Wilson: “You alone Mr. President are endowed with an universal moral authority. All have confidence in you. Respond to the appeal of these pathetic hopes! Take these outstretched hands, help them to clasp each other. Help these groping peoples to find their way, to establish the new Charter of enfranchisement and of union whose principles they are all passionately if confusingly seeking” (as quoted in Manela 2007, 19).  AN OMEN: In reality, the record was more checkered, with Wilson having shown his willingness to sacrifice the aspirations of Chinese and Japanese immigrants for electoral advantage. Traveling in California in May 1912 while seeking the Democratic nomination for the presidency, Wilson declared himself a supporter of exclusion laws to block the immigration of Chinese and Japanese coolies to America. “We can not make a homogeneous population of a people who do not blend with the Caucasian race. Their lower standard of living as labourers will crowd out the white agriculturist and is in other fields a most serious industrial menace. The success of free democratic institutions demands of our people education, intelligence, and patriotism, and the State should protect them against unjust and impossible competition,” Wilson declared (as quoted in Flowers 1917, 23). 
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in no adverse manner by the victory of the Allies,” as the U.S. consul general in Seoul reported 

NoteAlso cited in Manela 2007, 131. 
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would hear the appeal of a people that had flocked so dramatically to the Christian faith 

Note As Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote in 1920: “One sentence went round among the Koreans, and its effect was electrical. ‘What is the task that this League of Nations is to do? IT IS TO PROVIDE FOR THE FREEDOM OF SMALL NATIONS, TO PREVENT THE DOMINATION OF SMALL NATIONS BY BIG ONES.’ Here was the clarion call to Korea. Here was hope! Here was the promise of freedom, given by the head of the nation they had all learned to love. If any outsider was responsible for the uprising of the Korean people, that outsider was Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States of America” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 243). It is unclear if Wilson actually uttered these exact words, but the American president certainly expressed similar sentiments on more than one occasion. The willingness of Koreans, and Korean Christians in particular, to accept Wilson’s promises was partly a result of the stature that missionaries had enjoyed in Korea up to that point as bearers of progressive ideals. “The missionaries brought liberal Western thoughts upon which much of Korean nationalism was nurtured,” writes University of Pennyslvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik. “Liberalism in the West preached equality of mankind and liberty and welfare of individuals. Koreans therefore accepted Woodrow Wilson’s doctrine of self-determination at face value” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 277–78). 
p.176

from Seoul, “that outsider was Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States of America” 

Note “Wilson could hardly have anticipated the extent to which the people of many countries would be stirred by his statement, or have foreseen the effect in Korea,” Yi Chŏng-sik added. “What he did was to stir up hope” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 101). 
p.176

“one of the toughest problems that we have,” he wrote as Japan annexed Korea in August 1910 

Note As James Gale’s Canadian Presbyterian colleague Duncan MacRae put it in December 1918, just ahead of the opening of the Paris Peace Conference, “there is an agitation among the Koreans in America requesting President Wilson to give this country thought at the coming conference…This is disturbing the minds of young Korea and we see that if they are not given some consideration, along with the other weak nations of the earth, at the coming conference, the anti-foreign feeling is going to increase” (MacRae 1993, 149, citing Duncan M. MacRae letter to Mother, December 26, 1918). 
p.177

Hugh Cynn, a prominent Korean convert who came of age as Korea fell into Japanese hands 

Note Hugh Cynn’s two older brothers had studied alongside Syngman Rhee at Paejae Academy. Cynn himself would later attend the University of Southern California in the early years of the twentieth century, speak out on behalf of Korean independence, and later challenge Syngman Rhee for the presidency of South Korea in 1952 (Oliver 1954, 79). 
p.177

“is fighting for the rights of nations great and small? For Korea is included in that, too, isn’t it?” 

Note Ch’a Ŭi-sŏk, who I have quoted extensively earlier in this work, grew up in a small village in northwestern Korea before emigrating to Hawaii and then the continental U.S., where he studied at the Presbyterian-run Park College (now Park University) in Parkville, Missouri. It’s unclear if Ch’a acted on his determination to enlist, or if he was even eligible as a new relatively arrival to America, but he later described his enthusiasm to fight for Wilsonian ideals as “perhaps…merely a boyish fancy” (Charr 1996, 179). 
p.177

competing for America’s attention, Rhee could count Woodrow Wilson as a personal friend 

Note This personal connection mattered. “Like most members of the national elite,” Harvard historian James Reed later wrote of Woodrow Wilson and East Asia in general, “Wilson knew very little about the region apart from what he heard in church or learned from China missionaries, who numbered among his most frequent correspondents” (Reed 1983, 168). 
p.177

Club, and penned a prison manifesto that would make his name famous across Korea 

Note Syngman Rhee was a native of the northwestern Korean province of Hwanghae and attended the Methodist-run Paejae Academy in Seoul before becoming involved in the Independence Club and being sentenced to life imprisonment for the trouble. By then, notably, Rhee had not yet accepted the Christian faith, though it was during his time behind bars that Rhee converted to Christianity, and there that he penned the political manifesto that would first bring him to national attention.   A PRISON CONVERSION: Rhee converted to the faith in prison after reading Christian tracts and books translated into Chinese (Oak, “Chinese Protestant Literature,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 75). “Lying there, the mind of the young reformer went back to the messages he had heard at the mission school. He turned to the Christians’ God, and his first prayer was typical of the man,’ O God, save my country and save my soul,’” Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote of Rhee’s conversion story. After having a Bible smuggled into him by a friendly guard, “from the faint light of the tiny window, he read passage after passage, one of the under-jailers holding the book for him—since with his bound hands he could not hold it himself—and another waiting to give warning of the approach of the chief guard.” Before long, McKenzie recounts, many of Rhee’s fellow prisoners, including the future nationalist leader and YMCA leader Yi Sang-jae, along with one of the jailers, had converted (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 75–76). Missionary James Gale recounts that Rhee and his fellow prisoners came into possession of the New Testament, a copy of the Pilgrim’s Progress, and some of Dwight Moody’s tracts translated into Chinese. Rhee and his fellow prisoners were visited regularly by the Methodist missionaries Dalzell and Annie E. Bunker before converting (Gale 1909, 183–84). Indeed, so many Christian books circulated among the inmates that the prison, in Seoul’s downtown Chongro neighborhood, was “transformed into a furnace for molding elite Koreans into Christians,” becoming what one later historian has facetiously described as Korea’s “first modern library” (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 213).  A POLITICAL PRISONER: Rhee’s sentence was ultimately commuted three times, likely at the behest of the American missionaries, and in the end, Rhee’s incarceration lasted five and a half years, from January 1899 until August 1904. Though Rhee himself said he was in prison for six and a half years, his biographer affirms that it was five years and eight months (Lew 2014, 11–13). Though James Gale credits the Bunkers with Rhee’s conversion, he may have been overly modest; Gale’s biographer writes that the Canadian missionary also visited Rhee in prison, and when Rhee was released in 1904, he sought Gale out for baptism and worked with Gale to pen his autobiography (Rutt 1983, 33–34). More generally, Rhee after his release became known to the missionaries in Korea as “the leader of the now famous band of political prisoners whose conversion, while still in prison, and whose subsequent religious life made such a deep impression upon the churches of Seoul” (Brockman, “Evangelistic Work in Seoul Y.M.C.A.,” Korea Mission Field (1912), 56). 
p.177

had come to the “widespread acquiescence” that Japan was the best hope for Korea 

Note Some, in fact, were enthusiastic about Japan’s decisive defeat of the backwards and feudal Russians regarding Japan as “the rising star of progress for all Asian peoples,” recognizing Tokyo’s “superiority over the obvious incompetence of the decaying Korean monarchy,” writes Robert Oliver, a close confidant and publicist of Rhee (Oliver 1954, 73). 
p.177

the U.S., where he believed that an appeal to America’s Christian ideals could aid Korea’s cause 

Note Rhee was encouraged in this decision by missionary James Gale (Rutt 1983, 33–34). Rhee’s departure came on November 4, 1904, three months after his August 7, 1904, release from prison. At the time, two reformist officials, including Min Yŏng-hwan, lobbied Emperor Kojong to send Rhee to the U.S. to appeal for Washington’s assistance under the terms of the U.S.-Korea treaty of 1882 (Lew 2014, 18). 
p.177

1904, Rhee nearly accepted admission at nearby San Anselmo Seminary to train as a minister 

Note Though he passed up a life of Christian ministry, Rhee would enroll at George Washington University a few weeks later on a “ministerial scholarship,” and would later spend two years living in the dormitory at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he audited theology classes (Lew 2014, 25, 33, 77). Rhee also founded the Korean Christian Church in Honolulu a few years later in December 1918; the church still stands today (Lew 2014, 77). 
p.177

Washington University in 1907 before starting a master’s degree at Harvard the next year 

NoteRhee enrolled at George Washington University in February 1905, armed with recommendation letters from some nineteen missionaries, including Horace Underwood and James Gale (Lew 2014, 24–25). 
p.177

alongside John Hay, an urbane Indiana native then serving as Roosevelt’s secretary of state 

Note Rhee was baptized there shortly after his arrival (Lew 2014, 25). According to John DeFerrari, a historian of Washington, D.C., the church, established near DuPont Circle in 1883, was known as the “Hagia Sophia of Washington.” The Church of the Covenant later absorbed the congregation of the historic First Presbyterian Church, whose pews had once seated Presidents Jackson, Polk, Pierce, Buchanan, and Cleveland, and became known as Covenant-First Presbyterian Church. In October 1947, the church was redesignated the National Presbyterian Church in a ceremony attended by President Truman. President Dwight D. Eisenhower later attended the church, though in 1966, the church was sold and torn down. The new National Presbyterian Church was opened in 1969 in Washington’s northwestern Cathedral Heights neighborhood (John DeFerrari, “The Church of the Covenant on Connecticut Avenue,” Streets of Washington blog, January 12, 2011). For more on Eisenhower, his membership at the National Presbyterian Church, and his close spiritual relationship with Rev. Billy Graham, see Graham 1997, 199–200. 
p.178

to develop trade with Korea and took a special interest in the missions work taking place there 

Note Hay told Rhee that he hoped to extend his “Open Door” policy, which had given the Western powers equal access to the Chinese market, to Korea (Oliver 1954, 82–83). 
p.178

opening, though one that closed just as quickly when Hay died suddenly in the summer of 1905 

NoteSyngman Rhee had initially reached out to John Hay through Hugh A. Dinsmore (1850–1930), the U.S. Consul-General to Korea from 1887 to 1890 and by 1905 a Congressman for Arkansas in the House of Representatives for more than a decade. Rhee and Dinsmore met with Hay for half an hour on February 20, 1905, and seemed to win Hay’s support, only to have him die on July 1, 1905—just before the Portsmouth peace conference was opened on August 9, 1905, in a bid to end the Russo-Japanese War (Lew 2014, 20; and Oliver 1954, 81). 
p.178

to his disappointment, he found his listeners sympathetic to Japan’s administration of Korea 

NoteAccording to Rhee’s own count, he spoke fifty-six times on Korea and Christian education between February 1905 and June 1906; for the six years he spent in the U.S. during this stint, he was said to have given 170 speeches in all (Lew 2014, 26, 36, n. 51). At Northfield, Mass., in July 1906—a continuation of the student conference started decades ago by Dwight Moody—Rhee was the chief Korean delegate to the conference; there, according to his biographer, he sang “a rendition of a song of independence at the top of his voice before leading the crowd in three cheers each for the Great Korean Empire and the United States” (Lew 2014, 26, 36). Also at Northfield that year was Wellington Koo (Gu Weijun 顧維鈞 1888–1985), Republican China’s delegate to the Paris Peace Conference in 1919 and later its foreign minister, acting president and premier (Lew 2014, 28). 
p.178

“over 4,000 years, and these no nation can sweep from the face of the earth,” he proclaimed 

NoteThe conference was held at Grace Methodist Church in Denver, Colo., where the Democratic Party was gathering to hold its 1908 national convention. At the convention, William Jennings Bryan was chosen to top the party’s presidential ticket for a third time. According to Robert Oliver, Syngman Rhee’s publicist and confidant, the Korean independence conference had been organized by Rhee and Rev. Yun Pyŏng-gu, a Korean Methodist pastor in Hawaii. Rev. Yun, a native of Seoul, converted to Christianity at a young age and graduated with the inaugural class at the Methodist-run Paejae Academy. He studied at the Methodist-run University of Denver, became president of the headquarters of An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association in 1920, and later served as pastor of the Korean Methodist Church in New York, according to Henry Cu Kim, a Korean-American active in the independence movement at the time (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 107, 110). According to Henry Kim, the nationalist conference in Denver in July 1908 had been organized by Pak Yong-man (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 258; and Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 17). It’s possible that all three of them had a hand in organizing the conference, since Pak and Rhee were, at the time, close associates. Just a few years earlier, Rhee and Rev. Yun had appealed directly, and unsuccessfully, to President Theodore Roosevelt at the end of the Russo-Japanese War on Korea’s behalf (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 102). See Act I, Chapter 7 for more on this abortive lobbying effort. 
p.178

took up residence at the Princeton Theological Seminary, where he was taking courses 

Note Syngman Rhee was Princeton Theological Seminary’s first-ever Korean student (John DeLooper, “Syngman Rhee’s Time at Princeton,” Princeton University Mudd Manuscript Library blog, March 1, 2011). Though Rhee was the first, many more Korean students would follow, and by the time Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, one of twentieth-century Korea’s most prominent Presbyterian ministers, arrived at Princeton Theological Seminary in the mid-1920s, there were “numerous” Korean students there, including Yun Ha-yŏng (尹河英 1889–1956), who would later become a pastor in the First Church of Sin’ŭiju; Song Ch’ang-gŭn (宋昌根 1898–1951?), later a pastor at Pyongyang Fourth Presbyterian Church; and Rev. Luke Kim, later the pastor of Los Angeles Korean Presbyterian Church and dean of Sungsil University (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 80–81). For more on Rev. Luke Kim, see Act III, Chapter 34. In addition, George Paik, a Presbyterian leader and later briefly the acting president of South Korea, had just recently graduated from Princeton seminary (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 81). At the time, Rev. Han recalled, the Korean theology students gathered each Sunday afternoon to pray, read the Bible and share stories from home (Han, Kyŏng-jik 2010, 81).  L. GEORGE PAIK: L. George Paik had been orphaned at age fourteen, and begged George S. McCune, the principal of the Christian Sinsŏng School, also known as the Hugh O’Neill Jr. Academy, in Sŏnch’ŏn, to admit him; Rev. McCune agreed, and took Paik under his wing. Paik later studied at Christian-run Park College in Missouri, then Princeton Theological Seminary and Yale University for his doctorate, before returning to teach at Chōsen Christian College, rising to become its dean (Clark 2003, 106–8). Paik’s 1929 dissertation was published as A History of Protestant Missions in Korea, which recounted the missionaries’ accomplishments but also criticized some of their practices (see Cha, “Unequal Partners” (2012), 20–22). After Pearl Harbor in December 1941, Paik and other prominent Christian nationalists were taken to Japan and forced to speak out in favor of the Japanese war effort (Clark 2003, 272, n. 50). Worse, Paik was said to have traveled to the Japanese city of Ise (伊勢) to visit its famous Shintō shrines, and bow before the spirit of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu (Clark 2003, 298, n. 36). 
p.179

doctorate at Princeton—and crammed his doctoral coursework and thesis into just two years 

Note Princeton University archivist John DeLooper notes that Syngman Rhee didn’t receive his master’s degree from Harvard until 1909, when he completed his necessary requirements while also working on his doctorate at Princeton (DeLooper, “Syngman Rhee’s Time” (2011)). Another source, Rhee biographer Ryu Yŏng-ik, says Rhee received his master’s degree from Harvard on February 23, 1910 (Lew 2014, 36). Rhee’s doctoral thesis at Princeton, Neutrality as Influenced by the United States, was an examination of the U.S.’s role in shaping modern views of neutrality and its practice in international relations. “The declaration of the independence of the United States in 1776 marks the introduction of a new era in the history of the laws of neutrality,” Rhee concluded (Syngman Rhee [Yi, Sŭng-man], “Neutrality as Influenced by the United States” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1912), 104). Nowhere in the dissertation does Rhee mention the word “Korea” or even “Asia.” 
p.179

alone each Sunday, “tastefully attired in a cream colored silk suit and wearing a panama hat” 

Note Oliver is quoting a New Jersey woman named Ethel Boyer Kamp (1885–1970), who is said to be describing Syngman Rhee at the age of twenty-nine—though that would correspond to 1904, before his time in Princeton, suggesting some chronological confusion somewhere here. 
p.179

dinner guest at the Wilson home, where students would gather around the piano to sing 

Note Though others may have sang, Rhee did not join in. During these years, Rhee also got to know Wilson’s daughter Jessie W. Wilson (1887–1933), who later married Francis Sayre, Sr., a former missionary to Newfoundland and Labrador; when they married at the White House in December 1913, Rhee was invited, though he did not attend (Lew 2014, 61, 68). Rhee was also invited to the wedding of Wilson’s third daughter, Eleanor R. Wilson (1889–1967), who wed Treasury Secretary William G. McAdoo (1863–1941) at the White House in 1914, according to Henry Cu Kim, a U.S.-based Korean nationalist who had known personally and worked alongside Rhee for many years, though Henry Kim mistakenly names the bride as Margaret, Wilson’s second daughter (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 179, especially n. 24). The couple divorced two decades later. 
p.179

“their interest in Korea and Korean missions gave me every encouragement,” Rhee later wrote 

NoteIn another article, Rhee later wrote, “during my Princeton years it was my privilege to make intimate friends with Woodrow Wilson, then President of the University, and his family,” who he described as being “particularly interested in mission work in Korea” (as quoted in Lew 2014, 89, n. 1). 
p.179

him to strangers, apparently half-jokingly, as “the future redeemer of Korean independence” 

Note Henry Cu Kim, the U.S.-based Korean nationalist who served as president of the Korean National Association and who once worked closely with Rhee before falling out with him, recalled in his memoir: “It was the lifelong pride of Syngman Rhee that at public functions such as international student gatherings, Princeton University President Woodrow Wilson used to introduce him as Korea’s representative or Korea’s savior” (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 179). Speaking before a gathering of dignitaries in Washington in February 1942, just weeks after Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, Paul Douglass, president of American University in Washington, gestured to Rhee, who was in the audience, introducing him as “a pupil of Woodrow Wilson in Princeton” (as quoted in Korean Liberty Conference 1942, 31–33). Historian Erez Manela says it’s possible that the extent of the two men’s relationship was exaggerated by Rhee and his supporters, chief among them Robert Oliver, but the two men certainly did exchange letters. See, for example, Manela 2007, 201, n. 22, citing Syngman Rhee letter to Woodrow Wilson, July 1, 1910. When Wilson was elected to the White House in November 1912, Rhee sent a congratulatory cable (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 179). 
p.179

Syngman Rhee graduated from Princeton in 1910, it was Wilson who handed Rhee his diploma 

Note “In 1910, he received the Ph.D. degree from Woodrow Wilson’s own hands, for a dissertation written on United States neutrality policies” (Oliver 1950, 202). The same claim is made in a New York Times article from 1919: “At least one name was familiar to the former President of Princeton University. This name was that of Syngman Rhee, Ph.D., who received that degree from ‘Old Nassau’ while Mr. Wilson was its President” (Bisbee, “Korea Appeals to Wilson,” New York Times Magazine, January 26, 1919, 7). Rhee biographer Ryu Yŏng-ik makes the same claim, dating the commencement ceremony specifically to July 18, 1910—the final university function attended by Wilson before his election as governor of New Jersey later that year (Lew 2014, 35). 
p.179

by his fellow nationalists to submit a petition to the former Princeton University president 

Note Syngman Rhee was chosen by the An Ch’ang-ho-founded Korean National Association to make the assay alongside two other Korean nationalists—Henry Chung and Methodist minister Rev. Min Ch’an-ho (Manela 2007, 126; Lew 2014, 89–90; Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 103; and Henry Cu Kim 1987, 195). Rev. Min was Rhee’s classmate at Paejae Academy, studied theology at the University of Southern California, and became one of the most influential Christian figures among the Koreans in Hawaii (Lew 2014, 80). By then, Rhee had already petitioned Wilson on more than occasion on the question of Korea’s independence, visiting Wilson’s summer residence in Sea Girt, N.J., on June 19, June 20, June 30, and July 6, 1912, around the time that Wilson was securing the Democratic Party nomination for the presidency. He met then-Governor Wilson on the first of those occasions, and hand-delivered a copy of his doctoral thesis, Neutrality as Influenced by the United States, which Princeton University Press had published as a book earlier that year. It’s unclear whether Wilson personally received Rhee during his subsequent calls at Sea Girt, though Rhee did appear to have met with other family members; Jessie Wilson invited Rhee to her wedding at the White House in December 1913 (Lew 2014, 61–62, 68). 
p.179

“against by the Japanese authorities,” while highlighting America’s religious interest in Korea 

Note For the full text of the petition, signed by Syngman Rhee and Henry Chung on February 25, 1919, see Lew 2014, 313–15. Notably, the letter didn’t include any attempt at a personal appeal to Wilson and their days together at Princeton University. 
p.179

before studying at Roanoke College and Princeton University, to the Paris Peace Conference 

Note The petition was drafted by the New Korea Youth Party (新韓青年黨 Kor. Sinhan Ch’ŏngnyŏn-dang), which Yŏ Un-hyŏng (呂運亨 1886–1947)—a left-leaning Christian nationalist who will appear again and again throughout this work—had founded months earlier in June-July 1918 in Shanghai with other prominent leaders, including Chang Tŏk-su (張德秀 1890–1947) and Kim Kyu-sik (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 103).  POOR, SWEET KOREA: Kim Kyu-sik (金奎植 1881–1950) was chosen to travel to Paris in part because of his fluency in English, having studied alongside An Ch’ang-ho at Horace Underwood’s Kyŏngsin Middle School before studying at Roanoke College and Princeton University (Chung-shin Park 2003, 126–27). Kim Kyu-sik traveled to the Paris Peace Conference with the Chinese delegation, departing Shanghai in January 1919 (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 570). In Paris, Kim Kyu-sik wrote letters to Woodrow Wilson appealing to the American president as a fellow Christian and highlighting the oppression of Korea’s many Christians, while warning Wilson about Japan’s growing ambitions to, as he put it, use Korea as a bridgehead to win China and to eventually turn the Pacific Ocean into a “Japanese lake” (Manela 2007, 208, citing Kim Kyu-sik letter to Woodrow Wilson, May 12, 1919). Ultimately, Kim succeeded only in bending the ear of lower-level American officials, failing even to reach Secretary of State Robert Lansing (Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 572–73). Still, while in Paris, Kim Kyu-sik “carried out extensive propaganda activities for Korea” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 104). In August 1919, Kim Kyu-sik presided over a sumptuous banquet for supporters of Korean independence, at the Foreign Press Association on Paris’s Champs-Élysées, including American, French, and British journalists and officials and diplomats. With the Korean flag displayed alongside the French Tricolore—and printed copies of a French translation of the Korean Declaration of Independence and a book, Georges Ducrocq’s Pauvre et Douce Corée, on every seat—Underwood’s former charge declared that the Korean people had absorbed and adopted Wilson’s declarations and wished too that Korea could join the “family of nations of the world” (Manela 2007, 215–16). Georges A. J. Ducrocq (1874–1927), a French adventurer, diplomat, and writer, gave his 1904 work the rather condescending title of Poor, Sweet Korea (Georges Ducrocq, Pauvre and Douce Corée (Paris: Librairie H. Champion, 1904)).  THE MILLARD EXPRESS: Another version of the New Korea Youth Party petition was carried to Paris by Thomas F. Millard (1868–1942), an American journalist in China for the New York Times, New York Herald, and other newspapers; at the time, Millard was the publisher of his eponymous Millard’s Review of the Far East. Millard was heading to Paris, and the Korean nationalists in Shanghai hoped that Millard could pass along their petition (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 104; and Houchins and Houchins, “The Korean Experience” (1974), 570). Millard’s China Weekly Review, as the publication became known after 1923, would be the first employer in China of Edgar Snow (1905–1972), who later won renown with his sympathetic writings on Mao Zedong’s Communist revolution. 
p.180

Korea’s nationalists weren’t content to leave their cause in the hands of the Western leaders 

Note Other attempts to make it to France were unsuccessful. In the Soviet Far East, Korean nationalists including Yun Hae (尹海 1888–1939) secured Russian passports and traveled across the continent, from Vladivostok to Paris, though not in time to plead Korea’s case (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 195; and Sin Chae-hong, “Yun Hae (尹海),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). One source describes a General Pak, a Korean nationalist living in China, walking along the tracks of the Trans-Siberian Railway in order to reach Paris; he arrived far too late for it to have mattered (Pankaj Mishra, From the Ruins of Empire: The Revolt Against the West and the Remaking of Asia (New York: Picador, 2013), 191–93). 
p.180

Independence from Japanese colonial rule, issued in the northeastern Chinese province of Jilin 

Note This statement, which is largely overlooked in the mainstream history of Korea’s independence movement, is known as the Mu’o Declaration of Independence (戊午獨立宣言書 Kor. Mu’o Tokrip Sŏn’ŏn-sŏ), named for the Mu’o (戊午) year in the traditional sexagenary cycle. The most rigorous English-language examination of the Mu’o Declaration of Independence is Frank Hoffmann, “The Muo Declaration: History in the Making (Translation and Commentary),” Korean Studies 13 (1989), 22–41. See also Kyung Moon Hwang [Hwang, Kyŏng-mun], “The Birth of Korean Nationhood,” New York Times, March 1, 2019; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 120.  “RISE UP, INDEPENDENCE FIGHTERS!”: The Mu’o Declaration was likely drafted by Cho So-ang (趙素昂 1887–1958) and probably proclaimed in November 1918, perhaps in the Manchurian city of Jilin City (吉林市 Ch. Jilin-shi), and was signed by a total of thirty-nine overseas Korean independence activists, including Yi Tong-hwi, Kim Kyu-sik, Sin Ch’ae-ho, An Ch’ang-ho, Yi Tong-nyŏng, and Syngman Rhee (Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 22–37). The Mu’o Declaration, Hoffman writes, stood in stark contrast to the more famous February 8, 1919, and March 1, 1919, documents that it was said to have influenced in that it called openly for an armed rebellion against the Japanese: “Rise up, independence fighters!…There is no one who…wishes to live like dogs or pigs…To establish our country’s freedom from all evil and regain our independence we must engage in a heroic and armed struggle” (as quoted in Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 36–37). Interestingly, given the presence of staunchly conservative signatories including Syngman Rhee, the Mu’o Declaration proclaimed socialist goals for a new Korean nation: “We intend to distribute wealth and power equally in our society, create harmony between men and women, the rich and the poor, introduce equal opportunities for the educated and the illiterate and the young and the old among all classes of society” (as quoted in Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 36). Unlike the Christian-dominated March First Declaration of Independence, the Mu’o Declaration—though signed by many prominent Korean Christian nationalists—was also informed by the spirit of Taejong-gyo, the cult of Tan’gun; the Mu’o Declaration openly invokes a divine order from Tan’gun (Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 26, 36). For an English translation of the text of the Mu’o Declaration, see Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 34–37.  THE “FORGOTTEN DECLARATION”: Despite its forceful language and historical significance, the Mu’o Declaration has been mostly overlooked to the point where it is known as the “forgotten declaration”—likely because it was written in secret, without a public reading or accompanying demonstration (Ye Yŏng-jun, “Manju esŏ 3·1, 2·8 Sŏn’ŏn Poda Ap’sŏn ‘Mu’o Tokrip Sŏn’ŏn’ Iss’ŏssda” [Before the March First and February Eighth Declarations, There Was a “Mu’o Declaration of Independence” in Manchuria], Chung’ang Ilbo [Central Daily News], February 1, 2015, 11). Also fueling its obscurity is the fact that, notwithstanding Hoffmann’s tentative conclusions about the who, what, when and where of the document, even basic facts about the Mu’o Declaration remain beyond the realm of certainty; Hoffmann, for example, offers nine possible dates cited by historians, ranging from sometime in March 1918 to March 11, 1919 (Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 26). In addition to the thirty-nine signatories, Hoffmann also points to evidence of a central role for the left-leaning Christian nationalist leader Yŏ Un-hyŏng, then an assistant pastor in the Presbyterian church, in planning the declaration, though his signature doesn’t appear on the document (Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 33; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 120). Another historian dates this first Korean declaration of independence to November 1918, placing it in Manchuria’s Jiandao region and crediting a man named Kim Kyo-hŏn (金教獻 1868–1923) with drafting of proclamation (John Jorgensen, “Taejonggyo,” in Lukas Pokorny and Franz Winter, eds., Handbook of East Asian New Religious Movements (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2018), 279–300, here 284). Other sources, including Henry Cu Kim, a Korean American independence activist during this period, describe conservative militant nationalist Pak Yong-man as the author of this first declaration of independence (Henry Cu Kim 1987, 273; and Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 18). Both these claims appear to refer to the Mu’o Declaration, as described by Frank Hoffmann; Kim Kyo-hŏn and Pak Yong-man were both among the thirty-nine signatories (see Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 37).  PRELUDE TO A SECOND DECLARATION?: University of Southern California historian Hwang Kyŏng-mun, in a New York Times op-ed timed for the centennial of the most famous Korean Declaration of Independence—that is, the one issued on March 1, 1919—describes the Mu’o Declaration of Independence as having been issued in Manchuria just a few days before the second Korean declaration, of February 8, 1919, describing the Mu’o Declaration as having been drafted “by Korean resistance leaders in Manchuria [who] aimed to rally the fighting spirit of fellow Koreans” (Hwang, “Birth of Korean Nationhood,” New York Times, March 1, 2019). Hwang describes the Mu’o Declaration as a major inspiration for the February 8, 1919, declaration in Tokyo, which “was directed at the ‘world’s nations,’ particularly the United States and Britain, the ‘masters of world reform’” (Hwang, “Birth of Korean Nationhood,” New York Times, March 1, 2019).  CHO SO-ANG: Cho So-ang, one of the purported authors of the Mu’o Declaration, was a native of P’aju, just north of Seoul (Im Chung-bin, “Cho So-ang (趙素昂),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). One historian describes Cho as a “die-hard Rhee loyalist” (Lew 2014, 57, 170). Frank Hoffmann, meanwhile, describes Cho as a key member of an early Chosŏn Socialist Party (朝鮮社會黨 Kor. Chosŏn Sahoe-dang) that was formed in Shanghai in summer 1917 (Hoffmann, “Muo Declaration” (1989), 27–28). Decades later, during the Korean War, Cho So-ang was captured by North Korean forces; he agreed to work with the Soviet-backed regime in Pyongyang but was charged with spying and subversion and purged in 1958 (Andrei Lankov, “The Demise of Non-Communist Parties in North Korea (1945–1960),” Journal of Cold War Studies 3, no. 1 (Winter 2001), 103–25, here 123).  A 1904 MANIFESTO: An entirely separate manifesto written by Hŏ Wi (許蔿 1855–1908), a Korean nationalist, judge, and “righteous army” leader, and published on July 1, 1904, in the Capital Gazette (Hwangsŏng Sinmun) newspaper, was described by Japanese officials as a “declaration of independence from Japan” (as quoted in Dudden 2005, 79). Arguably, that manifesto was not a declaration of independence, since Korea was, in 1904, still not yet a protectorate or a colony of Japan. 
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statement was proclaimed on February 8, 1919, in the heart of the imperial capital, Tokyo 

Note In contrast to the thirty-three signers of the March First Declaration of Independence, who for the most part were prominent and established nationalists, with an average age of forty-seven, the organizers of the February 8 declaration were mostly in their mid-twenties (Wells 1989, 5). Yi Kwang-su and other students at the Korean YMCA in Tokyo decided on January 6, 1919, to draft a declaration of independence to be sent to the Japanese Diet. After two days of heated debate among the roughly two hundred Korean students, they agreed to form a Chosŏn Youth Independence Corps (朝鮮青年獨立團 Kor. Chosŏn Ch’ŏngnyŏn Tokrip-dan) and to draft their declaration of independence in Korea, English, and Japanese (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 104–5). According to historian Kenneth Wells, the drafting of the declaration was organized by a committee of ten Christian students inspired by Wilson’s call for national self-determination, including Sŏ Ch’un (徐椿 1894–1944), who would later teach at Osan Academy, the prominent Christian school in northwestern Korea, and Chang Tŏk-su, who later served as editor-in-chief of the Korean nationalist newspaper East Asia Daily (Tong’a Ilbo) (Wells 1990, 94, 106). 
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out a Declaration of Independence vowing to “never stop fighting to the last drop of blood” 

Note For the full English-language text of the February 8, 1919, Declaration of Independence, see Hong Tong-gŭn 1981, 256-259. The most martial portion of the February 8, 1919, Declaration of Independence reads: “Chosun will seek its freedom by all justifiable means. If this desire does not come true, Chosun will never stop fighting to the last drop of blood. This will truly be the beginning of disaster in the Orient. Chosun does not have one single armed soldier, and is in incapable of any military confrontation with Japan. However, if Japan keeps ignoring our rightful demands, our people will fight with blood for as long as it takes to regain our independence” (as quoted in Hong Tong-gŭn 1981, 258).  A LEAK, A CONFUSED AFFAIR: Two days earlier, on February 6, 1919, word leaked of the plans to proclaim independence, and authorities interrogated some of the Korean student organizers; the actual event on February 8, 1919, appears to have been something of a confused affair (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 105–6). Historian Yi Chŏng-sik describes there being a crowd of about two hundred people, though Kenneth Wells doubles that estimate to four hundred, while a third historian, O Pyŏng-hak, gives a figure of six hundred (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 105–6; Wells 1989, 12; and O Pyŏng-hak, Cho Man-sik, rev. ed. (Seoul: Kyujang, 1994, revd. 2012), 55).   A KOREAN YMCA IN THE HEART OF TOKYO: The fact that this Declaration of Independence was proclaimed at the Korean YMCA in Tokyo was hardly an accident. By the late 1910s, the Korean YMCA had established itself as a key base for the Korean student community in Japan, serving as both a center of Christian activity and a hotbed of revolutionary organizing. The explosion in the number of young Korean Christians in Tokyo can be traced back to Kim Chŏng-sik (金貞植 1862–1937), a former Seoul police captain who became secretary of the Seoul YMCA in 1904 (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 315, 382). In 1906, Kim Chŏng-sik was sent to Japan as the Seoul YMCA’s first foreign missionary, converting 163 of the roughly five hundred Korean students then in Tokyo within six months of his arrival (Yeon-seung Lee 2011, 379–80). In 1909, the newly formed General Assembly of the Korean Presbyterian Church sent Rev. Han Sŏk-jin, Samuel Moffett’s old helper, to Tokyo, where he set up a congregation at the Korean YMCA. Within three years, there were some 150 Korean students attending Sunday worship in Tokyo (Clark 1937, 170; and Hong Tong-gŭn 1981, 109–10). Note that numbers here can vary slightly, depending on the source. In July 1912, an article in the Korea Mission Field noted that roughly 40 percent of the 509 Korean students then in Tokyo, including almost all the leaders, were Christians, owing to the influence of the Korean YMCA there. “It is said that prior to the beginning of work for these men by the Young Men’s Christian Association they looked upon Christianity with disfavor and unfriendliness whereas, at present practically all the leading men among them are Christians” (Phillip L. Gillett, “Christian Work Among Korean Students in Tokyo,” Korea Mission Field 8, no. 7 (July 1912), 199–201, here 199). A 1918 report by Western missionaries in Japan hailed the roughly 550 Korean students in Tokyo as “destined to be men of influence upon their return.” At one Sunday service with ninety Korean Christians, twenty-two of them said they had converted since coming to Tokyo (“Tokyo Korean Young Men’s Christian Association,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1918), 206). By the end of the 1920s, there were some twenty-one Korean Christian congregations in Japan, including in Tokyo, Kobe, Osaka, and Kyoto (Hong 1981, p. 110).  
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in Paris, as well as to Japanese officials, resulted in the arrest of twenty-seven attendees 

Note The February 8, 1919, document was distributed to Woodrow Wilson, U.K. Prime Minister David Lloyd George, and French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau (1841–1929), as well as to Japanese politicians and the Japanese governor-general in Korea (Wells 1989, 12). Nine of the organizers were sentenced to between seven and nine months in prison (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 106). After the incident, the Japanese authorities, recognizing the Korean YMCA as a hotbed of separatist activities, put the building under the control of the Japan Congregational Church and moved the students living in the Korean YMCA dormitory into government-run housing (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 583). The Korean YMCA building still stands today on a quiet street near Tokyo’s Jinbō-chō (神保町) neighborhood, and in 2019 hosted celebrations of the centennial of the February 8, 1919, Declaration of Independence. A handwritten copy of the English-language text of the February 8 declaration was discovered by South Korean historians in 2023 (Ch’oe Hun-jin, “2·8 Tokrip Sŏn’ŏn-sŏ ‘Yukp’il Yŏngmunbon’ 104 Nyŏn Man’e Palgyŏn” [“English Handwritten” February 8 Declaration of Independence Discovered After 104 Years], Tong’a Ilbo [East Asia Daily], February 23, 2023). 
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plotting nonviolent protests across Korea, which they hoped would appeal to global sympathies 

Note PLANS HATCHING: The early momentum behind the planning for what would come to be known as the March First Movement (三一運動 Kor. Sam’il Undong) came from Shanghai, where Korean Christian nationalists including Yŏ Un-hyŏng had formed the New Korea Youth Party. The party sent another Christian named Sŏn’u Hyŏk (鮮于赫 1882–?) to Pyongyang, where he recruited Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, the blind preacher of Pyongyang; another Presbyterian pastor named Rev. Yang Chŏn-baek (梁甸伯 1869–1933); and the Christian elder and benefactor Yi Sŭng-hun—all of whom would later sign the Declaration of Independence on March 1, 1919.   CH’ŎNDOGYO COLLABORATION: As Revs. Kil and Yang, Yi Sŭng-hun, and other prominent Christian nationalists in northern Korea began laying out plans for a peaceful protest in Pyongyang, Ch’ŏndogyo leaders reached out about joining forces. The Christian leaders, who also included Methodist pastor Rev. Hyŏn Sun, envisioned a moderate action that consisted of submitting a petition to the Japanese requesting independence, while the Ch’ŏndogyo plan was for nationwide demonstrations; while Yun Ch’i-ho and YMCA youth secretary Rev. Pak Hŭi-do (朴熙道 1889–1952) were skeptical about collaborating with Ch’ŏndogyo, Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju and Yi Sŭng-hun agreed after a February 22, 1919, meeting in Seoul, under the condition that any demonstration be peaceful (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 109; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 119–20). During this period, Christianity and Ch’ŏndogyo had been “serious rivals,” in the words of one scholar, and their tentative alliance almost foundered after a flare-up over whether students should be involved or not (Wells 1984, 214; and Wells 1990, 100).  THE MOVEMENT FORMERLY KNOWN AS TONGHAK: Ch’ŏndogyo had risen out of the Tonghak movement, which had helped spark the Sino-Japanese War of 1894-1895. Though Tonghak’s roots were in southeastern Korea, many Tonghak followers later “found a safe haven in the north, which was mountainous, distant from the capital, and open to new ideas,” writes historian Mun Yu-mi, adding that, even after that war, “Tonghak remnants irritated government officials and continued to surface on and off” (Moon, “From Periphery to a Transnational Frontier,” in Sun Joo Kim 2010, 182–83). Tonghak formally renamed itself Ch’ŏndogyo in 1905, and continued to grow after annexation in 1910, thanks to leader Son Pyŏng-hŭi’s insistence that Ch’ŏndogyo conduct itself primarily as a religion as opposed to a political entity. The gains were particularly notable in northern Korea, and though Ch’ŏngdogyo’s claim to have two million followers was “likely a considerable exaggeration,” in the words of scholar Carl Young, other historians affirm that, between 1910 and 1916, the number of Ch’ŏndogyo followers jumped fivefold to more than a million adherents, mostly clustered in Korea’s three northern provinces: P’yŏng’an, Hamgyŏng, and Hwanghae (Albert Park 2015, 139; and Carl Young, “Into the Sunset: Ch’ŏndogyo in North Korea, 1945–1950,” Journal of Korean Religions 4, no. 2 (October 2013), 51–66, here 52–53). 
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“the oppression of Japan, the long-cherished wish may be attained at the peace conference” 

Note Historian Erez Manela, likely reproducing Yi Chŏng-sik’s error, identifies the American missionary as “Shannon McCune,” though Shannon B. McCune (1913–1993), who was born in Korea but didn’t serve as a missionary, would have been five years old at the time; more likely, the reference is to his father George S. McCune (1873–1941), whose pro-Korea sympathies made him a perennial suspect of the Japanese authorities. Alas, it’s hard to know whether this meeting between George S. McCune and Woodrow Wilson truly took place. 
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fairly at the peace table; if they remained passive, there would be no hope for independence 

Note Roland S. Morris (1874–1945), a Princeton alumnus who was appointed U.S. ambassador to Japan by Woodrow Wilson, reported that he had heard the rumor many times (Manela 2007, 135, n. 47 (footnote on 264)). 
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Inch’ŏn; or that world leaders gathered in Paris had resolved to recognize Korean independence

NoteHistorian Donald Clark, citing correspondence from Leo A. Bergholz (1857–1945), the U.S. consul-general in Seoul, and from Methodist missionary Frank H. Smith (1879–1965), in October 1919, adds that “there was such a cult of Wilson in Korea that the Japanese had to cut his pictures out of newsreels ‘as they evoke much enthusiasm among the Koreans in the audience’” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 53, citing Leo Bergholz cable to Secretary of State Robert Lansing, April 4, 1919). The rumor that President Wilson would personally pilot an airplane to Korea and bomb the Japanese governor-general’s office appeared to continue even after the March First demonstrations. On March 29, 1919, the Nippu Jiji (日布時事), a Japanese newspaper in Hawaii, published a cable from Tokyo that reported such rumors, which it claimed had “misled” and “incited…the ignorant mass” (as cited in Do-Hyung Kim and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “March First Movement,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 140). As one exasperated U.S. lawmaker, Sen. Miles Poindexter (1868–1946), a Republican from Washington state, noted from the Senate floor: “The Koreans believed President Wilson would appear in an aeroplane and set them free from Japan.” Such unrealistic hopes, Sen. Poindexter said, had led to “hopeless insurrection and many deaths” (“American Independence (Speech of Senator Poindexter at Rochester, N.Y., July 4, 1919),” July 15, 1919, in United States Congressional Record, 66th Cong., 1st Sess., Vol. 58 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1919), 2590–91). 
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a “new world order”—and that Korea needed to make its voice heard before it was too late 

NoteErez Manela cites a cable here from Pyongyang-based missionary Ralph O. Reiner (1882–1967) to Paul Reinsch, the U.S. minister in Beijing, on March 10, 1919. According to Reiner, a Northern Presbyterian from Nebraska who arrived in Korea in 1908, many educated Koreans believed that the Paris Peace Conference would rectify “every political ‘sore’ and difficulty throughout the whole world,” and that once the conference was over, there would be no further opportunities (Manela 2007, 135). 
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Christian preachers, met in secret to draft a Declaration of Independence for their fallen nation 

Note THE THIRTY-THREE: The signers of the March First Declaration of Independence of 1919 have been immortalized in Korean history as “the thirty-three representatives of the nation” (民族代表33人 Kor. Minjok Taep’yo Samsipsam-in). Though there weren’t that many of them, scholars have nonetheless come up with slightly different tallies for how many Christians, or Christian leaders, were represented. Historian Donald Clark writes that fifteen were Christian, while Kenneth Wells and David Suh counted sixteen of the thirty-three men as Protestants (Clark 1986, 10; Wells, “Place of Religion,” in Pares 2008, 256; and David Suh 1991, 38). Hugh Cynn (Sin Hŭng-u), a Korean nationalist leader during this period, counts fifteen as Christians, adding that among those Christians, they were “mostly preachers” (Cynn 1920, 26).  SITTING ON THE SIDELINES: Further complicating the task of trying to quantify the involvement of Christian leaders, some of the organizers were Christian leaders who didn’t end up affixing their signatures to the document, generally for fear of arrest. They included Rev. Hyŏn Sun (玄楯 1880–1968), pastor of Chŏng-dong First Methodist Church in Seoul, one of the country’s most prominent Protestant churches. Rev. Hyŏn helped draw up the plans for the demonstrations and then spread the word across the country under the guise of a traveling preacher before smuggling himself out of Korea to China to help organize diplomatic activity (Hyun 1986, xi, 5, 17). Rev. Hyŏn also helped translate the March 1, 1919, Declaration of Independence into English, together with writer Yi Kwang-su (Hyun 1986, 96). Also among the organizers who didn’t sign the document was Rev. Kim P’il-su (金弼洙 1892–1969) (Hyun 1986, 92). Perhaps most notable in his absence was Ch’oe Nam-sŏn (崔南善1890–1957), a Catholic convert who drafted the Declaration of Independence but didn’t actually sign it. See subsequent Supplemental Notes for more on Ch’oe Nam-sŏn. Others who were approached about signing the declaration but declined were Yun Ch’i-ho, the aristocratic convert to Methodism, and Pak Yŏng-hyo; both men are now regarded as collaborators (Wells 1990, 115). In the case of Yun specifically, his unwillingness to sign the declaration—and his refusal, made on at least three separate occasions, to take a lead in propelling the movement—later came to be regarded as one of his two cardinal sins against the nation, along with his later advocacy for Japan’s war aims in China (Hyung-chan Kim, “Portrait of a Troubled Korean Patriot” (1989), 83–85).  REV. HYŎN SUN: In 1899, a teenaged Hyŏn Sun moved to Japan in pursuit a modern education; there, he converted to Christianity and was baptized by missionary Galen M. Fisher (1873–1955). “Confucius teaches ethics, morals, and government; Buddhism teaches about three lives—former, present, and future life; Christianity teaches eternal life,” Rev. Hyŏn later wrote of the reasons for his conversion (Hyun 1986, 25–26). After returning to Korea in 1902 and finding himself disappointed in the pace of reform, Rev. Hyŏn and his wife Maria sailed to Hawaii in February-March 1903 to work with the Korean laborers there, formally joining the Methodist church and combining his Christian teachings with Korean nationalist aspirations. Upon his return to Korea in May 1907, Rev. Hyŏn became principal of Methodist-run Paejae Academy, while also preaching at the Seoul YMCA and at Chŏng-dong First Methodist Church, where he earned a reputation as “the Billy Sunday of Korea” (Hyun 1986, 26–28). Ahead of the March First demonstrations in 1919, Rev. Hyŏn took advantage of his position as superintendent of Korea’s Methodist Sunday schools to “travel unnoticed” by Japanese authorities around the peninsula, making plans for the demonstrations to come (Yu, “American Missionaries and the Korean Independence Movement” (2011), 181). Rev. Hyŏn then left for Shanghai (Vladimír Hlásny and Byung Joon Jung [Chŏng, Pyŏng-jun], “Wellington Chung: Child of the Korean Independence Movement Crushed by Cold War Regimes,” Korea Journal 54, no. 4 (Winter 2014), 106–46, here 108). From there, Rev. Hyŏn traveled to Vladivostok, Manchuria, and Washington as part of Syngman Rhee’s diplomatic efforts to secure independence for Korea, eventually falling out with Rhee and returning to Shanghai in 1921 (Hlásny and Jung, “Wellington Chung” (2014), 108).  POPULATED BY PRESBYTERIANS: Though some refrained, others stepped forward to sign the document. Among the signers was Yi Kap-sŏng (李甲成 1899–1981), a Christian convert who had been banished from his home for having embraced the new faith; Yi was taken in by Hugh Miller, a Seoul-based missionary with the British & Foreign Bible Society (see Moore 2016, 96–99). Whatever the exact number, “Korean leadership in 1919 hence came from the Christian church communities, especially in areas such as P’yŏngan-do where they had the strength to be centers of community action,” writes Gregory Henderson, a scholar and former U.S. diplomat in Seoul, who noted that among the Christian signers, there were no Catholics but many Presbyterians. “The strength of presbytery rule is demonstrated by the fact that none of the church signers were, in themselves, leaders of national repute, nor did they or their descendants become so. They were, in fact, more representatives of church communities and presbyteries than individual leaders” (Henderson 1968, 83). 
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of self-determination—all in lofty language that explicitly invoked “the clear leading of God” 

Note A slightly different translation, which renders the “clear leading of God” phrase as “the clear command of Heaven,” is in Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 1–4.  A “THEOLOGICAL” STATEMENT: Many came to regard the declaration as being, at heart, religious in nature. “The important motif of the Declaration was theological. The claim of independence and claim of the people of the right to liberty and the pursuit of happiness and life was ordained by God. The Declaration stated that ‘this is the clear leading of God, the moving principle of the present age, the whole human race’s just claim’” (David Suh 1991, 40). One Korean theologian, filled with pride, later described Korea’s March First Declaration of Independence as ranking with the Magna Carta and the American Declaration of Independence (Eui Whan Kim 1966, 115). South Korean scholar Kim Chŏng-wŏn argues that “Christian-Wilsonianism,” as he calls it, “along with a conviction that Wilson would indeed become the savior of the oppressed nations at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, infused the 1919 uprisings with conviction.” In other words, he writes, Christianity “became in the minds of its native adherents a religious sanction for self-determination” (Joungwon Kim 1976, 25–26).   MEA CULPA: Notably, the March 1, 1919, Declaration of Independence pointed the finger of blame inward rather than at any external villains: “We shall not blame Japan; we must first blame ourselves before finding fault with others…Our task today is to build up our own strength, not to destroy others…it should not engender antiforeign feelings” (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 1–4). In addition to the inspiration that it drew from the American declaration in 1776, the decision to frame the March First document as a declaration of independence—rather than, say, a petition or some other format—was influenced by the February 8, 1919, declaration (Wells 1989, 14). 
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“in the Bible,” led by Ch’oe Nam-sŏn, a prominent Catholic convert and nationalist writer 

Note “RICH AND FERVENT BIBLICAL PHRASEOLOGY”: Marjorie Barstow (1891–1976) and Sydney Greenbie (1889–1960), an American wife-husband journalistic duo, praised the Korean Declaration of Independence for its “loftiness and sober dignity of thought and speech, in which some fine old strain of Confucianism mingled with rich and fervent Biblical phraseology” (Marjorie Barstow and Sydney Greenbie, “Korea Asserts Herself,” Asia: Journal of the American Asiatic Association 19 (September 1919), 921–26, here 925). Also cited in Chung 1921, 204. The Los Angeles Times, in an April 6, 1919, editorial, likewise hailed the Korean Declaration of Independence in the highest terms: “In our opinion this Proclamation will stand on a plane of exaltation with our own Declaration of Independence” (Editorial, “The Dignity of Life,” Los Angeles Sunday Times, April 6, 1919 (Part II), 4). The clear debt to Christianity could be traced directly to the influence of Western missionaries, who had, as Frederick McKenzie, a Canadian journalist in Korea at the time, put it, turned the nationalist Koreans who drove the March First movement “a people saturated in the Bible” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 7).  CH’OE NAM-SŎN: The drafting of the Declaration of Independence was led by Ch’oe Nam-sŏn, a Catholic convert who was baptized as Peter (Wells 1989, 14; Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 95). Though Ch’oe wrote the declaration, he didn’t sign it; even so, he was imprisoned for three years for his involvement (Han-Kyo Kim, “Korean Independence Movement” (2002), 1). Beginning in 1908, Ch’oe, then still a teenager, launched the periodical Youth (少年 Kor. So’nyŏn), which covered politics, economics, religion, and society, with a focus on the Western world. In Youth, Ch’oe, who would later convert to Catholicism, published biographies of Abraham Lincoln, extolled the American Revolution of 1776, and talked about the importance of civic duty (Wells 1990, 67). Young Koreans “bought the whole set of about 30 monthly volumes and read every word of them,” Pae Min-su later recalled. “I could see that we were in a world struggle for existance [[sic]]. The pictures of great men and cities of the world opened my eyes to see the vast world” (Pai 2002, 77).  A REPUTATION TARNISHED: Despite writing perhaps the most revered document in the Korean independence canon, Ch’oe’s nationalist credentials are mixed. That’s because, less than a decade later, in 1928, Ch’oe worked on a Japanese colonial government-backed committee on Korean history. He supported Shintō shrine worship and, in 1939, he joined the faculty of Kenkoku University (建国大学校Jp. Kenkoku Daigakkō) in the Japanese puppet state Manchukuo in 1939. Between 1937 and 1945, Ch’oe produced a string of pro-Japanese articles and speeches and joined other prominent independence leaders in speaking out in support of the Japanese war cause. In 1949, Ch’oe was arrested as a Japanese collaborator by the South Korean government (Chizuko T. Allen, “Northeast Asia Centered Around Korea: Ch’oe Namsŏn’s View of History,” Journal of Asian Studies 49, no. 4 (November 1990), 787–806, here 788; Nayoung Aimee Kwon [Kwŏn, Na-yŏng], “Ch’oe Namsŏn—Introduction,” in Christopher P. Hanscom, Walter K. Lew, and Youngju Ryu, eds., Imperatives of Culture: Selected Essays on Korean History, Literature, and Society from the Japanese Colonial Era (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press 2013), 64–87, here 65; Clark 2003, 272, n. 50; and Caprio 2009, 156).  KOREAN CHAUVINIST: Some historians have since sought to rehabilitate Ch’oe’s reputation. Historian Chizuko T. Allen, now affiliated with University of Hawaii at Mānoa, argues that Ch’oe’s two most important works of history, including a 1926 Treatise on Tan’gun (檀君論 Kor. Tan’gun-ron), show him to have in fact been a very devoted Korean nationalist who “sought to glorify Korea’s past by elevating Korea’s historical position above that of Japan or China, thus confounding Japanese scholars’ negative views of Korean history.” Like other nationalists during this period, Ch’oe was “unsatisfied with the emulation of the West that replaced the age-old Korean emulation of China”; thus, “he stressed the peculiarities and uniqueness of Korean culture, including language, literature, and folklore, as well as history” (Allen, “Northeast Asia Centered Around Korea” (1990), 788). Ch’oe, unsatisfied with merely placing Korea on an even footing with Japan, China, and the Western powers, called on Korean youth to rise up and establish world domination on Korea’s behalf: “How long will it take us to accomplish the goal of flying our sacred national flag above the world and having peoples of the five continents kneeling down before it?” Ch’oe wrote in 1906 (Allen, “Northeast Asia Centered Around Korea” (1990), 789–90). Notably, Ch’oe used the Tan’gun calendar—pegged to the purported founding of the Korean nation 4,242 years earlier—in the Declaration of Independence. Ch’oe’s contribution in popularizing the Tan’gun origin story and opening it up for serious academic inquiry—Ch’oe posited that the Tan’gun tale referred to the combination of two tribes in the region—laid the foundation for modern South Korean historians to argue that Tan’gun may in fact refer to “a shaman-ruler in Korea’s ancient past,” Allen writes, thus connecting the Tan’gun myth with archaeological findings on tribes then active in the region (Allen, “Northeast Asia Centered Around Korea” (1990), 795–96).   
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had, by signing the document, effectively chosen martyrdom, in the words of one scholar 

Note The notion that signing the Declaration of Independence was tantamount to choosing martyrdom is from Rev. David Suh (Sŏ Kwang-sŏn), a second-generation Presbyterian minister and scholar (David Suh 1991, 38).  SON PYŎNG-HŬI: For a capsule biography of Son Pyŏng-hŭi (孫秉熙 1861–1922) and his involvement in the March First demonstrations, see Chung 1921, 198–99. Son’s statue now stands in Pagoda Park, where the Declaration of Independence was proclaimed on March 1, 1919 (Beirne and Young, “Tonghak/Ch’ŏndogyo,” in Pokorny and Winter 2018, 262).  REV. KIL SŎN-JU: Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju’s was the second name on the declaration, after Son Pyŏng-hŭi’s, and the “blind preacher” of Pyongyang was intimately involved in organizing the demonstrations (see Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 106–7; and Huntley 1984, 162). Rev. Kil’s decision to sign the Declaration of Independence, even as many other Christian leaders refrained, was particularly brave because he had just lost his eldest son to Japanese torture for his involvement in the underground organization known as the New People’s Association (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 245).  NOT SO APOLITICAL?: Rev. Kil’s deep involvement in the March First Movement offers a conundrum for church historians who have long held the preacher as the chief representative of an apolitical, spiritually minded Christianity. Korean American historian Albert Park, for instance, describes Rev. Kil as “an example of classic escapist theology, for he exhorted individuals to focus solely on themselves, strengthen their relationship with God, and patiently wait for deliverance from their political, economic, and social problems. He supported the idea that there was nothing people could do to change the political, economic, and social conditions in which they lived. Kil taught Korean Christians to stop concerning themselves with the problems around them and, instead, to wait for God to bring about fundamental changes” (Albert Park 2015, 53–54). To be fair, Park acknowledges Rev. Kil’s participation in the March First Movement but doesn’t regard this as representative of the preacher’s views. South Korean church historian Pak Chŏng-sin, meanwhile, argues that though Rev. Kil was “a most otherworldly preacher,” he could also be very active in social concerns, pointing to his signing of the Declaration of Independence, his use of the church to organize mass demonstrations on behalf of an overseas Korean nationalist group, and his own eldest son’s early death under torture, which Pak argues flowed from Rev. Kil’s own activism. “The revival movement he led was not simply religious escapism and…the millenarian and eschatological theology behind it was not apolitical at all,” Pak writes (Chung-shin Park 2003, 62–63).  A “METAMORPHOSIS”?: Whether Rev. Kil is regarded as being fundamentally engaged or disengaged from the politics of the day, there is little question that he began to drift further from the political scene after the March First demonstrations. After those chaotic events, writes Pak Chŏng-sin, Rev. Kil underwent a “metamorphosis,” in which he “avoided controversial issues” and “his otherworldly theology, previously oriented to a political activism, became a religious rhetoric of escapism” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 67). From 1921 until his death in 1935, Rev. Kil turned his attention from raising awareness about the plight of the Korean nation to a preoccupation with the Kingdom of God and Christ’s return, with some 90 percent of his preaching during these years focused on the end times. As another scholar writes, “after March First, Kil became one of the foremost opponents of Protestant involvement in nationalist politics, believing that the Church should occupy itself with strictly spiritual matters” (Chong Bum Kim, “Preaching the Apocalypse,” in Buswell and Lee 2006, 151–52, 160). 
p.181

Queen Min, a sympathetic figure in death, and a potent symbol of the Korean nation’s plight 

Note “UNPREPARED TO MEET THE AGE HE LIVED IN”: Emperor Kojong’s funeral offered a reminder that many Koreans still regarded the luckless sovereign in less than rhapsodic terms. For a flavor of the posthumous derision aimed at Kojong by the denizens of Seoul in March 1919, see Hyun 1986, 19. “He was a kindly disposed man, gentle and winning, quite kingly in his way, but unprepared to meet the age he lived in,” one Western missionary, likely James Gale, wrote of Emperor Kojong shortly after his death. “He knew nothing of preparing his country for self-government or self-defence, and consequently left it a menace to all the East. His lot was not easy. Let all who think of him and his difficult times, remember that many a wiser than he might have equally failed” (“The Late Prince Yi,” Korea Magazine (1919), 51). James Creelman, a New York World correspondent who interviewed Kojong in the 1890s, had earlier described him as an unambitious, pleasure-seeking man content “to be the vassal of China or Japan, or both at the same time. All he asked was to be let alone with his gentle, dreamy people and his soft-eyed dancing girls” (Creelman 1901, 59).  AN OUTLET FOR “ANTI-JAPANESE FEELING”: Though Kojong was largely seen as an inept leader by many of his subjects, his death still prompted an outflowing of emotion. As one missionary later put it: “Corrupt and unworthy as their old government was, they loved it as we love ours, loved it all the more no doubt as they saw it taken from them. It has been pitiable to see them grieve, to see strong men weep over national loss. To hear them say, ‘Is there any country so weak and unfortunate as ours?’” (Blair 1957, 12) The Japanese authorities suspected as much, regarding the sudden outbreak of mourning among the Koreans less as a reflection of genuine respect for Kojong and more, in their words, “to express their anti-Japanese feeling which they felt every day and to express their complaints against the present government” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 108, citing a Japanese police report). 
p.181

Rumors that the Japanese had poisoned Kojong only added to the intrigue 

Note A MOST SUSPICIOUS DEATH: The official cause of death, as reported by the Japanese government-general, was cerebral anemia (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 107–8). But Kojong had not been suffering from any serious illness prior to his death, nor was there an autopsy or serious investigation into his death (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe and Tae-jin Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 123). The belief that Kojong had been poisoned by the Japanese for defying their attempts to present him as the happy face of a colonized Korean nation at the Paris Peace Conference in early 1919 was widespread in the weeks leading up to March 1, 1919. Korean nationalist activist Henry Chung, writing two years after the events, lays out the most popular theory, as well as another similar one (see Chung 1921, 193–95). University of Pennsylvania historian Yi Chŏng-sik, writing in 1965, similarly mentions two variants on the rumor: that Kojong had been poisoned by the Japanese for sending emissaries to The Hague or because he had refused to denounce Korean independence; or that he had killed himself (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 107–8).  A THEORY OF MURDER MOST FOUL: A 2011 paper by University of Hawaii historian Ch’oe Yŏng-ho and Seoul National University historian Yi T’ae-jin (李泰鎮 1943– ) presents a compelling case for the idea that “the highest Japanese officials were behind the poisoning of Emperor Kojong,” based on close readings of the diaries of Yun Ch’i-ho and Kuratomi Yūzaburō (倉富 勇三郎 1853–1948), an official in the Government-General’s office; and the memoirs of Princess Nashimoto Masako, Kojong’s Japanese daughter-in-law (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe and Tae-jin Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 122). Ch’oe and Yi, drawing on Yun’s diary and Masako’s memoirs, note that Kojong died shortly after drinking some kind of herbal medicine or rice water, whereupon he was found with his teeth having fallen out and his tongue having been swallowed; two palace servants were also found dead soon thereafter (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe and Tae-jin Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 124–25, 129–30). Ch’oe and Yi write that An Sang-ho (?–?), a Korean physician to Kojong, was coerced and bribed into administering the poison, though they argue that it was Governor-General Hasegawa Yoshimichi and his predecessor Terauchi Masatake who were ultimately responsible (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe and Tae-jin Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 122, 130, 145). The reason for the assassination, Ch’oe and Yi write, is that Kojong was preparing— as he had done in 1907 before a similar conference at The Hague—to send a secret envoy to the post-World War I peace conference in Paris, where Japan was set to play a prominent role (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe and Tae-jin Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 137–39).   A ROYAL WEDDING, INTERRUPTED: Adding another twist was the fact that Kojong had died just days before his seventh son, Yi Ŭn, Korea’s last crown prince and the half-brother of Sunjong, was set to be married (Barstow and Greenbie, “Korea Asserts Herself,” Asia (1919), 924). The crown prince’s marriage, originally set for January 28, 1919, was postponed for a year, and on April 28, 1920, he finally married Japan’s Princess Nashimoto Masako, known in Korean as Yi Pang-ja, in Tokyo (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe and Tae-jin Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 128). Both Yi Ŭn and Princess Masako had earlier been in line to marry other people—a member of the Min family and the future Emperor Hirohito, respectively, but the Japanese court engineered this match instead, “to bring together solidly the two royal families of Japan and Korea,” in the words of Governor-General Terauchi; the fifteen-year-old Masako only found out about her impending marriage when she read about it in the newspapers (Yŏng-ho Ch’oe and Tae-jin Yi, “Mystery of Emperor Kojong’s Sudden Death” (2011), 126–27). 
p.181

the country, Korean students printed out copies of the Declaration using mimeograph machines 

Note See also Ko Yŏn-sŏk and Na Mi-sŏn, “3·1 Tokrip Sŏn’ŏn-sŏ ŭi Pok’wŏn Ch’ŏri” [The Process of Restoring the March First Declaration of Independence], Kirokmul Pojon Puk’wŏn [Conservation of the Archives], no. 4 (2011), 5–18, here 5. The magazine is published once a year by the National Archives of Korea (國家記錄院 Kor. Kukga Kirok-wŏn) in South Korea. The missionaries’ network of colporteurs, or traveling booksellers, helped disseminate copies of the Declaration of Independence across the country ahead of the March First demonstrations (Wells 1990, 89). 
p.181

the Japanese—that they then mounted on small bamboo sticks and surreptitiously distributed 

Note The Japanese suppression of Korean nationalist sentiment was so successful that Son Wŏn-il, at the time the nine-year-old son of a nationalist Korean pastor growing up in Pyongyang under the Japanese occupation, had no idea what the traditional Korean t’aegŭkki flag looked like (Son, “Na ŭi I’ryŏk-sŏ,” Hanguk Ilbo, October 7, 1976). Son would later go on to found the South Korean navy, sailing under the t’aegŭkki flag. For more on Son Wŏn-il, see Act II, Chapter 19. 
p.181

now-busted-up Chosŏn National Association became closely involved in the planning 

Note The members of the Chosŏn National Association who were involved in the planning were An Se-hwan, Pak In-gwan, and Yi Po-sik (Kang Yŏng-sim, “Chosŏn Kukmin-hoe” (1989), 187, n. 87). Meantime, in Seoul, YMCA youth secretary Rev. Pak Hŭi-do, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, was involved in recruiting younger Koreans (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 119). 
p.181

“DO NOT HIT WITH YOUR FISTS/For these are the acts of barbarians” 

Note The appeal to nonviolence, Harvard historian Carter Eckert and his coauthors write, reflected “the conservative bent of its organizers” (Eckert et al. 1990, 278). The insistence on nonviolence made Korea’s March First demonstrations of 1919, in the words of another scholar, the world’s first nonviolent independence movement of its kind, predating Indian nationalist Mohandas Gandhi’s Non-Cooperation Movement by more than one year (Yu Chai-shin, “Epilogue,” in Yu Chai-shin 1996, 188).  A DESIRE FOR BLOOD: Nonviolence was by no means the default position for many Koreans at this moment. Suicidal as it would have been, militant nationalists “argued that the Koreans have suffered long enough, that they should set a day on which all Korea should rise and kill every Japanese in the land. There was only one Japanese to every sixty Koreans in the land, and it could be accomplished,” as the conservative Korean nationalist Henry Chung (Chŏng Han-gyŏng) wrote two years later. “Come what may, they would be ready to meet the consequences. But thanks to the influence of Christianity, the Christians, representing the school of moral suasion, opposed this program of wholesale massacres” (Chung 1921, 196). Of course, as Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie noted wryly: “It was unnecessary to tell the people not to shoot, for the Japanese had long since taken all their weapons away, even their ancient sporting blunderbusses” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 244). An American visitor to Korea in 1919 noted that, with the Japanese having seized all Korean firearms, “wild game is caught only in traps and pits” (Andrews, “Exploring Unknown Corners,” National Geographic (1919), 33). 
p.182

the Japanese, they moved up the big day to March 1, 1919—two days before Kojong’s funeral 

Note March 1, 1919, was the date of the funeral rehearsal, a spectacle “almost as magnificent as the event itself; so the sudden influx of Koreans into Seoul at the rate of five thousand a day to witness the rehearsal was nothing extraordinary” (Kendall 1919, 27). 
p.182

“the square before the palace gate and the main thoroughfares were thronged with mourners” 

NoteBy February 26, 1919, the declaration had been drafted by Ch’oe Nam-sŏn, and by midnight of February 27, the organizers had printed out 21,000 copies (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 110, citing Ch’oe Nam-sŏn’s recounting of the events in Saebyŏk magazine, March 1955). On the evening of February 28, 1919, the night before the planned action, the activists met in basement of Sŭng-dong Presbyterian Church in Seoul (Robert Kim 2017, 22). 
p.182

oppressive Japanese rule, Korea by this time “resembled an enormous pressure cooker” 

Note Elsewhere, University of Indiana historian Michael Robinson completes the metaphor, writing that Japan’s draconian policies “had sealed a lid over political and cultural expression while turning up the heat under the pot; ultimately the Korean pressure cooker exploded” (Michael Robinson 2007, 46). Kenneth Wells, employing a similar metaphor, wrote: “The huge crowds that gathered at the end of February were as dry as tinder, fully primed for an explosion of national feeling” (Wells 1990, 99). 

p.183

claiming that Kojong, the former emperor, was poisoned by Japanese-backed mercenaries 

Note The handbills said Kojong had been poisoned because he had refused to sign a Japanese statement to be presented to the Paris Peace Conference claiming that the Koreans were entirely satisfied under Japanese rule (Cynn 1920, 18). The handbills also claimed that Czechoslovakia, Poland, Ireland, and others were winning their independence in line with Woodrow Wilson’s principle of self-determination: “Since the American President proclaimed the Fourteen Points, the voice of national self-determination has swept the world, and twelve nations, including Poland, Ireland, and Czechoslovakia, have obtained independence. How could we, the people of the great Korean nation, miss this opportunity?” (as quoted on Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 112) 
p.183

Christian schools to question staff there, chasing a nebulous rumor of some kind of disturbance 

Note“The atmosphere was becoming tense. Evidently the authorities had an inkling that something was brewing” (Commission on Relations with the Orient of the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America, The Korean Situation: Authentic Accounts of Recent Events by Eye Witnesses (New York: Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America, 1919), 12). 
p.183

recalled, “was electrified with some vague expectancy, mingled with anxiety and boldness” 

NoteOne Pyongyang missionary later described “considerable suppressed excitement” and “rumors that something important was going to take place” (Charles F. Bernheisel, “A General Review of the Independence Movement in Chosen,” March–April 1919, Pyengyang (MKC)). 
p.183

to the capital from a faraway revival meeting—gathered for a late lunch at about 2:00 p.m. 

NoteRev. Kil Sŏn-ju’s absence has been noted in several accounts (see Frederick McKenzie 1920, 246; and Bernheisel, “A General Review,” March–April 1919 (MKC)). Some sources note that not only Rev. Kil, but also three others among the thirty-three declaration signers, weren’t able to attend since they were outside of Seoul that day (David Suh 1991, 38; and Yi Sang-hyŏp, “T’aehwa-gwan (泰和館),” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture).  “THE MOST FAMOUS CAFÉ IN KOREA”: According to nationalist activist Henry Chung, the restaurant was called “Bright Moon” and was “the most famous café in Korea.” Chung writes of the meal with the gravity one might expect of, say, the Last Supper: “It was one of the most significant and romantic banquets in history. Every one of them present knew what was before him. The die was cast, and the hour was approaching…They knew that at the best they must undergo unspeakable torture and flogging, and at the worst they would be put to death. They had no delusions. They were more than calm and collected; they were happy and cheerful to face the approaching fate” (Chung 1921, 205). While “Bright Moon” most literally points to Myŏngwŏl-gwan (明月館), other sources describe the meal as taking place at the T’aehwa-gwan (泰和館 or 太華館), which is rendered by one source as “‘the Bright Moon Restaurant (Tai-Wha-Kwan) in Seoul, the fashionable and most imposing eating-house in the capital” (Keith and Scott 1946, 55). Hugh Cynn writes that, at the “Tai-Wha Kwan,” “all the Japanese high officials had been invited to the function, and that there had come one, representing all the others who had official duties elsewhere” (Cynn 1920, 25). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, writing several months after the historic events, names the restaurant as the “Pagoda Restaurant” in Seoul, and describes the gathering as taking place in the morning of March 1 (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 246). Swedish adventurer Sten Berman recounts being feted by the Japanese authorities during a visit to Seoul in 1935 at a restaurant that he calls “Full Moon,” the “leading Korean restaurant” in the city then known as Keijō. There, “we had the opportunity for the first time of sitting on an artificially warmed floor, and making acquaintance with the Korean cuisine’s many strange and strongly-flavoured delicacies” (Berman 1938, 28). On a subsequent visit there, Berman describes how “Korean dancing girls entertained us with songs and dances until midnight and we all enjoyed ourselves very much” (Berman 1938, 182). Perhaps the most satisfying explanation comes from the Encyclopedia of Korean Culture, which identifies the restaurant as the “T’aehwa-gwan,” a branch of the “Bright Moon” Restaurant that was located in downtown Seoul’s Insa-dong (仁寺洞) district, a stone’s throw from Pagoda Park. There, at 2:00 p.m. on March 1, 1919, twenty-nine of the thirty-three signers of the Declaration of Independence called the Japanese government-general and informed officials of their plans, before having the statement read aloud and accepting arrest (“T’aehwa-gwan,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). 
p.183

sent a copy to the governor-general, and promptly turned themselves in for arrest 

NoteAs they were being taken to the prison, writes Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, the nationalist leaders were feted by rapturous crowds on the streets cheering “Mansei,” while the late-arriving Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, upon arriving in Seoul, “hurried to the police station to take his place with his comrades” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 246; and Chung 1921, 205). According to one American missionary, Rev. Kil had been holding a revival meeting in a distant city at the time; the preacher was given one year of solitary confinement for his involvement (Blair 1957, 79). Two of his sons were also imprisoned, prompting Pyongyang’s Presbyterians to collect 1,200 yen for his family (Wells 1984, 225, n. 35). 
p.183

Mansei!”—using a word, Mansei, that is roughly akin to rallying cries of “Long Live” 

NoteThe name of the young Methodist convert was Chŏng Chae-yong (鄭在鎔 1886–1976) (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 120).  LONG LIVE: “Mansei”—also spelled “Manse” (萬歲 Kor. Manse)—literally means “Ten Thousand Years,” but is used in a fashion akin to cries of “Long Live” in the West. During the March First demonstrations in 1919, “Long Live Korean Independence!” (大韓獨立萬歲 Kor. Taehan Tokrip Manse) became the central rallying cry, to the degree that the demonstrations is known in Korea as the Mansei (or Manse) Movement (萬歲運動 Kor. Manse Undong). Like most other writers, I deviate from the standard orthography to spell it “Mansei” rather than “Manse”—both to better convey the pronunciation of the word, and to avoid confusion with the English word “manse”—referring to the home of a Protestant minister. “Mansei” is perhaps better known in the West in its Japanese iteration, “Banzai,” and also appears on the façade of Beijing’s Tiananmen Square, where it reads: “Long Live the People’s Republic of China” (中华人民共和国万岁 Ch. Zhonghua Renmin Gongheguo Wansui) and “Long Live the Great Unity of the World’s People” (世界人民大团结万岁 Ch. Shijie Renmin Datuanjie Wansui) on either side of Mao Zedong’s portrait. “Mansei” is pronounced “Wansui” in Mandarin Chinese.  PAGODA PARK: Seoul’s Pagoda Park (塔谷公園 Kor. T’apgol Kong’wŏn) was Korea’s first attempt at a public park, and one that—more than century later—remains a lively public space today (Ladd 1908, 33). The park was conceived and created in 1897 by Sir John McLeavy Brown (1835–1926), an Irishman who was serving at the time as Korea’s customs commissioner. By March 1919, “literally tens of thousands are annually benefitted by having free access to this open-air garden near the centre of Seoul,” the missionaries wrote a year before the March First demonstrations. “Not only do the people flock there by thousands, gratefully enjoying the refreshing shade and the beautiful flowers, but the trees also entice many birds” (“Editorial Notes,” The Korea Magazine (February 1918), 49–50). For a description of the namesake pagoda, which was said to have been carved in China in the thirteenth century or earlier, see Horace N. Allen, “Places of Interest in Seoul with History and Legend: The Marble Pagoda,” Korean Repository 2 (April 1895), 127–31; and Savage-Landor 1895, 111–12. 
p.183

spreading its admonition against violence: “Do not hit the Japanese, not even in retaliation” 

NoteThe Korean national anthem was sung to the tune of “Auld Lang Syne,” a reflection of the missionaries’ influence among Korean nationalists. The setting of the Korean national anthem to the tune of “Auld Lang Syne” will be discussed further later in this chapter. The Independence News (獨立新聞 Kor. Tokrip Sinmun), not to be confused with the identically named newspaper from two decades earlier tied to the Independence Club, was one of roughly thirty underground newspapers circulating in Korea around the time of the March First demonstrations in 1919 (Choong Soon Kim 1998, 74–75). “It was published in caves, in fishermen’s junks, in an artificially made grave at the churchyard. Its distribution was so arranged that it was scattered all over the country, not only among the Koreans, but also among the Westerners and the Japanese; the Governor-General found two copies on his desk every morning. The Japanese were completely baffled” (Chung 1921, 215). 
p.183

packed the courtyard of the Presbyterian boys’ school on the sprawling missionary compound 

NoteThe gathering in Pyongyang took place in the courtyard of Sungdŏk School (崇德學校 Kor. Sungdŏk Hakgyo), the “Worship Virtue School” that had been created from the amalgamation of separate Presbyterian-run boys’ schools in 1907 (Kidokgyo Hakgyo Yŏn’gu-so 2007, 119). There, Samuel Moffett and three colleagues found a large crowd—three thousand in the school courtyard, in the estimate of Charles Bernheisel, who said the crowd appeared to include all of Sungdŏk School’s students, as well as many students from government schools too (Bernheisel, “A General Review,” March–April 1919 (MKC)).  CHIMES OF FREEDOM: The ringing of the church bells as a signal is described by no less an authority than Kim Il Sung, who describes the ceremony as taking place at Sungdŏk School at noon—though he describes Sungdŏk, incorrectly, as a girls’ school situated on Changdae Hill (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 37). He may have been referring to Sung’ŭi School, which was a missionary-run girls’ school that is indeed closer to Changdae Hill. The ringing of the Central Presbyterian Church bells is also described by a South Korean historian, who describes the service beginning at 1:00 p.m. (Kim Sŭng-t’ae, “P’yŏngyang esǒ ŭi Sam·il Undong kwa Kim Sǒn-du Moksa” [The March First Movement in Pyongyang and Rev. Kim Sŏn-du], Kidokgyo Sasang [Christian Thought] 713 (May 2018), 91–100, here 91). Nationalist activist Hugh Cynn, writing the following year, similarly describes the services at both Protestant churches as beginning at 1:00 p.m. (Cynn 1920, 29). 
p.184

the Christian doxology and benediction that typically conclude a Sunday worship service 

NoteKIM SŎN-DU: Rev. Kim Sŏn-du (金善斗 1876–1949) was teaching at Sungsil Academy while Kim Hyŏng-jik was a student there, and when Kim Il Sung welcomed Kim Sŏn-du’s son to Pyongyang in the early 1980s, the two men reminisced about their fathers’ time in Pyongyang (Shungnak Luke Kim [Kim, Sŏng-rak], “A Visit Home,” Monday Morning: A Magazine for Presbyterian Ministers 46, no. 20 (November 30, 1981), 4–6, here 5). See Act III, Chapter 34.   KANG KYU-CH’AN: The other pastor was Rev. Kang Kyu-ch’an (姜奎燦 1874–1945), a well-known scholar of the Confucian classics who served two years in prison as part of the Conspiracy Case of 1911, before graduating from the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang and taking up the pastorship of Fourth Presbyterian Church (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 55; and Kim Kwang-su, “Kang Kyu-ch’an,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). According to Charles Bernheisel, Rev. Kang told him later that day—the two men served together at Pyongyang’s Fourth Presbyterian Church—that “while the Peace Conference was in session at Paris they wanted to have their own cause presented and hoped that it would result in their obtaining their freedom” (Bernheisel, “A General Review,” March–April 1919 (MKC)). Both Revs. Kim and Kang were arrested (Pak Yong-gyu 2010, 125). 
p.184

“For it is better, if the will of God be so, that ye suffer for well doing, than for evil doing” 

NoteCharles Bernheisel, who was present in the courtyard that day, recalls Rev. Kim Sŏn-du also reading from Romans 9:3 (Bernheisel, “A General Review,” March–April 1919 (MKC); and Frederick McKenzie 1920, 276–77). 
p.184

“to-morrow, I cannot help but read,” the young man exclaimed to a great cheer from the crowd 

NoteThe speaker was Chŏng Il-sŏn (丁一善 ?–?), a graduate of Sungdŏk School then working as a helper at Fourth Presbyterian Church, who, like Revs. Kim Sŏn-du and Kang Kyu-ch’an, was also arrested that day (Pak Yong-gyu 2010, 125). Chŏng eventually became pastor of Fourth Presbyterian Church, though he was killed after the Soviet-backed North Korean regime took power in 1945 (Hong Ch’i-mo, “Sanjŏng-hyŏn Kyohoe,” Encyclopedia of Korean Culture). The direct quote here is taken from Frederick McKenzie. The other sources given in the footnote give slight variants on the quote. 
p.184

when the police chief arrived, he quickly summoned the ringleaders into the school building 

NoteIt was perhaps because of concerns about such a Japanese response that, according to Kenneth Wells, the organizers of the demonstrations hadn’t wanted a public reading of the document (Wells 1989, 7). 
p.184

the memorial service, obeyed, shouting: “He told me to tell you to go back to your homes!” 

NoteSamuel Moffett, recalling the events fifteen years later, said he would never forget that day, while denying any advance knowledge of the preparations (Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 46). 
p.184

compound was just one of three such ceremonies taking place across the city that day 

NoteMissionary Charles Bernheisel and journalist Frederick McKenzie both describe there having been three simultaneous memorial services taking place in Pyongyang that day—one in the compound of the Christian Boys’ School (Sungdŏk School), another at the main Methodist church compound (Namsan-hyŏn Church), and a third at the headquarters of the Ch’ŏndogyo (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 276; Bernheisel, “A General Review,” March–April 1919 (MKC); and Huntley 1984, 171–72). In general, during the nationwide demonstrations, McKenzie wrote, Korean Christians and non-Christians worked together, sometimes holding joint ceremonies and sometimes holding separate ones before joining forces for a combined “Mansei” march (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 251). 
p.184

as schoolchildren passed out hand-drawn Korean flags and copies of the Declaration 

NoteSon Wŏn-il, the then-nine-year-old son of a Korean nationalist pastor, recalls gathering at a crowded intersection in front of Pyongyang’s Taedong Gate on that momentous day. When someone yelled out “Long Live Korean Independence!” Son helped deliver crudely hand-drawn Korean flags that had been prepared beforehand to those around him, and the crowd flowed towards the Japanese part of the city, near the railway station to the south of the city walls (Son, “Na ŭi I’ryŏk-sŏ,” Hanguk Ilbo, October 7, 1976). 
p.184

outside a police station, authorities turned hoses on the people, dousing them in freezing water 

Note“The police ordered the hose to be turned on them. The Korean policemen refused to obey their Japanese superiors, threw off their uniforms and joined the mob,” journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote, adding that, after some time, “the hose at last got to work” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 278). The participation of uniformed Korean policemen in the demonstrations is also described by nationalist activist Henry Chung (Chung 1921, 209). 
p.184

before long, the police had opened fire as demonstrators threw stones and smashed windows 

NoteSon Wŏn-il recalls being soaked by the water (Son, “Na ŭi I’ryŏk-sŏ,” Hanguk Ilbo, October 7, 1976). In Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie’s telling, “the mob,” as he described the Korean nationalists, were merely responding to the provocation of the unexpected hosing, adding: “This was the only violence” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 278). 
p.184

pastor of Fourth Presbyterian Church and placed sentries outside Central Presbyterian Church 

NoteThe arrested pastor referenced here is Rev. Kang Kyu-ch’an (Bernheisel, “A General Review,” March–April 1919 (MKC)).  SCRUPULOUS ABOUT THE SABBATH: While the Japanese may have ordered Moffett to refrain from holding any worship services on Sunday, Frederick McKenzie also portrays the lack of protests that day to the piety of the Christians who made up such a large part of the movement (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 254). Other sources have corroborated this. Christian nationalist Hugh Cynn, for instance, notes that some young Koreans had been planning a follow-up demonstration for March 2, but the Christians among them, “true to their apostolic scruples about Sabbath observance, prevailed upon them to postpone it to a later date” (Cynn 1920, 33). “The demonstrations in Seoul were suspended on the second day because it was the eve of the emperor’s funeral and also was Sunday, which was observed as a day of rest by the Christians,” adds historian Yi Chŏng-sik. “On the third day the demonstrations in Seoul were resumed” (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 114). In the end, according to one account of the demonstrations published that summer, “on Sunday, March 2nd, no demonstrations occurred in Seoul” (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 13). Pyongyang’s Christians instead met in their homes or in the mountains (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 120). 
p.185

drills, menacingly, on the grounds, before another clash broke out, this time with the students 

NoteBy then, with martial law having been declared, soldiers were posted all over the city, writes Charles Bernheisel, who describes the ensuing showdown at Sungsil Academy in detail: “The college and academy students were standing on the bank in front of the college building watching the soldiers drill when suddenly the soldiers came charging up the hill whereupon the students took to their heels and fled. Then everybody including the students commenced to cheer. Two or three men refused to run but quietly stood their ground. The soldiers rushed up to them. One of them they struck with the butts of their guns and kicked with their feet till he had to move away to keep from being seriously injured. Another man refused to run and commenced to shout ‘Mansei.’ The soldiers struck him several times with the butts of their guns and then one hit him over the head with the barrel of his rifle. Another poked him in the face with his rifle butt so that the blood was flowing from several wounds of his head and face and the side walk was covered with drops of blood. Then two soldiers led him off between them and I saw him no more” (Bernheisel, “A General Review,” March–April 1919 (MKC)). Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie offers a similar account (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 279). 
p.185

“The whole country was a seething cauldron of political unrest,” one missionary wrote 

NoteAs Peter Hyun, son of March First plotter and Methodist Rev. Hyŏn Sun, later wrote: “For ten years, under the Japanese, we had suffered merciless oppression and humiliation. ‘Lazy Koreans!’ ‘Stupid Koreans!’ ‘Cowardly Koreans!’ These were the epithets the Japanese hurled at us. To sweep away this national shame, the Koreans were now marching and shouting” (Hyun 1986, 1). 
p.185

“all day. I think millions of Koreans forgot to eat on March First,” one young Korean later wrote 

NoteThe young Korean quoted here is Kim San, the pseudonym of a Christian-turned-socialist-turned anarchist who will feature more prominently in Act II, Chapter 15. As Henry D. Appenzeller (1889–1953), son of the pioneering Methodist missionary and himself a missionary to Korea, declared: “We are in a new Korea. Like some mighty tidal wave thrown from the tempestuous heaving bosom of the mighty ocean of human thought, so the tides of life sent a great wave of feeling from one end of this peninsula to the other…the mind of the people has turned” (H. D. Appenzeller [Appenzeller, Henry D.], “Methodist Episcopal Church,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1920), 219–22, here 219). 
p.185

of Pyongyang, demonstrations broke out before they were quickly and brutally suppressed 

NoteThe demonstrations on March 7, 1919, in villages named only as “Po Paik and Kan” by Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, were met by several soldiers, who, failing to find the pastor they believed to be the ringleader, instead maimed a schoolteacher and a church elder. The harassment continued for several more weeks (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 286–88). 
p.185

businessman and church elder who was among the thirty-three signers of the Declaration 

NoteThe March First demonstrations in Chŏngju (定州), in North P’yŏng’an province, were witnessed and described by Kang Pyŏng-ju (1910–1986), a member of the Sinch’ŏn Kang clan (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 49).  YI SŬNG-HUN: Osan School (五山學校 Kor. Osan Hakgyo) was founded on December 24, 1907, by Yi Sŭng-hun (李昇勳 1864–1930), a prominent business magnate, Korean nationalist, and Christian convert from Chŏngju. Left fatherless at a young age, Yi became an apprentice to a wealthy factory owner, collecting cigarette wrappers and other scraps of paper to use for practicing his study of Chinese characters, before building a business of his own using loans from wealthy families in the area (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 31–32). As the Japanese established its protectorate over the country in 1905, Yi Sŭng-hun, then already in his forties and wealthy, was invited by a friend to Pyongyang to hear the Christian nationalist orator An Ch’ang-ho, who lamented Korea’s demise while delivering a cry for education and industrialization. In Pyongyang, Yi also attended a talk at Fourth Presbyterian Church delivered by Rev. Han Sŏk-jin, the onetime helper of Samuel Moffett who helped him open Pyongyang to foreign missions all those years ago. “We have nothing to be discouraged about,” Rev. Han preached. “The Almighty God exists. God created this earth and made man. He determines our history today. We must have faith in this God and not be discouraged.” Upon returning home in 1907, Yi Sŭng-hun established Osan School, despite only having received two years of formal education himself (Gwang Su Lee 2005, 40–41; and Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 32–33). The tale had become so renowned that even Kim Il Sung himself felt compelled to recount it: “Ri Sung Hun, a man of such high renown and reputation, had once been a brassware peddler intent on making money and had made a fortune of more than 500,000 won in the form of real estate. He, a man of fortune, had happened to hear in Pyongyang a public lecture delivered by An Chang Ho in which he said that the cultivation of strength through education was the basis of national independence. Moved by this lecture, he had cut off his topknot, returned to his home town and started an education movement” (Kim, With the Century, Vol. 1, 285). In addition to his business career and his founding of Osan School, Yi had become involved in many other prominent Korean nationalistic causes, starting with An Ch’ang-ho’s secret society, the New People’s Association, founded in 1907. Yi also helped set up Korea’s first modern joint-stock company, the Pyongyang Porcelain Co., in 1909 (Albert Park 2015, 52). For more, see Act II, Chapter 10. Yi also took the reins of the East Asia Daily (Tong’a Ilbo) for four months in 1924 when the Japanese were pressuring the leadership of the nationalist newspaper (Choong Soon Kim 1998, 90).  OSAN SCHOOL: With his thick white beard, Yi Sŭng-hun became a symbol of Osan School. “I can still picture him with his white beard flowing in the wind, walking towards the school,” one student later recalled decades later (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 28). Osan School, which started with just seven students, had, by 1910, become increasingly Christian in its orientation, reflecting the faith of its founder (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 325). Like so many other of Korea’s best-known private schools at the time, Yi’s philosophy towards education was threefold, and came to define Osan School: It must be patriotic, Christian, and modern (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 29–30). In part because of Yi’s renown, Osan School became a magnet over the years for a who’s who of Korean Christian nationalist figures, who either attended the school as a student or taught there as a teacher (Hwang, “From the Dirt to Heaven” (2002), 173). The list included Yi Kwang-su, Cho Man-sik, Rev. Chu Ki-ch’ŏl, Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, and Ham Sŏk-hŏn—all of whom appear in this work (Wells 1984, 187). Rev. Han Kyŏng-jik, the prominent conservative Christian leader in post-division South Korea who attended the school as a young man, recalls how, each morning, students would listen as nationalist leaders like Osan School’s then-principal Cho Man-sik, the “Gandhi of Korea,” would “pour out their patriotic zeal and nationalistic views” in “passionate sermons” (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 30).  SUSPICION CENTRAL: More than merely the school itself, “Yi’s example turned practically the whole population of Chŏngju to Christianity,” as Yi Kwang-su, the celebrated Korean writer, said (as quoted in Wells 1984, 233). Thus, by the Conspiracy Case debacle of 1911, shortly after annexation, Chŏngju became a prime target of the Japanese—no fewer than half of the alleged 105 plotters hailed from this one small city (Breen 1997, 21). Yi Sŭng-hun himself was imprisoned twice by the Japanese—for roughly six years in relation to the Conspiracy Case, and again in March 1919 for being one of the thirty-three signers of Korea’s Declaration of Independence. In 1915, the Japanese authorities declared that they had uncovered ties between Christian private schools, including Osan School, and military training camps in Manchuria and North America, leading to another spate of arrests of nationalist leaders (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 116). Four years later, Osan School was set on fire and its teachers detained (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 42–43). Cho Man-sik, Osan’s principal, was eventually pushed out and the school brought under the direct control of the Japanese authorities. “From then on, the spirit of Osan School began to wither away” (Han Kyŏng-jik 2010, 30–31). The crackdown on Osan Academy was effective enough that, by 1925, Moffett was complaining that the school, which was started “as a distinctively Christian [school] in its management, character and ideas,” had over the years “come under the domination of the secular and political element” (Samuel A. Moffett letter to Norman C. Whittemore, August 28, 1925, Pyengyang (MKC)). 
p.185

“kids—shouted independence slogans until our voices cracked,” one student later recounted 

Note At the train station behind Osan School, added the student, Kang Pyŏng-ju: “Japanese soldiers jumped out, dropped down on their bellies, and started shooting right into the crowd! The gunfire was deafening! People froze in terror. Others dropped to the ground in panic. But the bullets weren’t real. Blanks! They were shooting blanks” (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2007, 159). 
p.185

Pae was arrested for the second time in two years, and sentenced to three years in prison 

NoteIN SŎNGJIN: At the time, Pae Min-su had been released from prison just three months earlier for his role in the Chosŏn National Association case, and had moved up to Sŏngjin (城津), a small port city on the northeastern Korean coast (Pai 2002, 164). As he tells it in his memoirs, Pae played a key role in Sŏngjin’s March First demonstrations, crafting large and small Korean flags before blowing a bugle at 2:00 p.m. on the appointed day to summon thousands of residents to the city’s Christian neighborhood. There, the assembled residents listened as a minister, Rev. Kang Hak-lin (姜鶴麟 1885–1937), offered up a prayer seeking Woodrow Wilson’s help in securing Korea’s independence: “We thank Thee for President Wilson, Thy servant, and Thy children the people of America who started the movement to liberate the oppressed peoples of the world. Forgive our sins, and help all Koreans to return to Thee and become Thy children. We beseech Thee to grant us freedom and Independence either by life or death. Give us courage and power that we may fight until the last one left. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ our King of Kings. A-Men” (Pai 2002, 151–54). As Pae recounts it, he and the other protest leaders then surrendered themselves to the authorities and were taken to the police station, where the rooms were already filled with other protesters, including his own mother (Pai 2002, 161). An American missionary doctor named Mansfield, based in Vladivostok, hurried down the coast to Sŏngjin, where the Japanese police chief questioned him on the presence of all these Christian troublemakers. “I believe it is right for any Christian to want freedom and liberate all oppressed peoples from slavery. It is written in the Bible that we must help those who need help,” Mansfield replied, unhelpfully (Pai 2002, 162–63). The prison sentence for Pae and the pastor, Rev. Kang, was either three years or one and a half years apiece (Pai 2002, 170, 185). Pae likely didn’t help his cause by yelling at the chief Japanese guard, in Japanese: “Unless it is to pray to God, we Koreans do not kneel before any man!” (Pai 2002, 168).  “PRESIDENT WILSON, THY SERVANT”: Pae Min-su’s arrest and sentencing did little to dent his faith in the American president’s salvific power. Even after his arrest and imprisonment, Pae continued to hold out hope that Wilson would somehow intervene. At prayer meetings each day at 6:00 a.m. and 4:00 p.m., Pae continued to pray for spiritual and national salvation, his prayers reverberating around the prison: “We pray Thee to forgive the sins of our people. Bless them to repent their sins and come back to Thee and be Thy people and children. Bless the people of America and President Wilson, Thy servant” (Pai 2002, 171–72). Pae’s hopes may have been spurred on by a Christian lawyer who, visiting Pae in prison, painted a rosy picture of America’s response to Japan’s crackdown on the Korean independence movement. “Everything looks very hopeful,” Pae recalled the lawyer telling him. “The Japanese themselves understand the failure of their policy. At the same time, President Wilson and the people of America have heard about the revolt of the Koreans” (Pai 2002, 180). Even after it later became clear that no help was forthcoming from Washington, Pae seems to have absolved Wilson of responsibility: “Could we murmur about President Wilson and Americans? No, they had done their part as much as they possibly could” (Pai 2002, 197). Pae also remained convinced that Korea would be favored by God, as the Israelites had in the Book of Exodus. “We pray Thee to liberate them just as Thou did for the Israelites from Egypt,” he prayed following the Japanese crackdown, referring to Koreans both at home and abroad (Pai 2002, 243).  RENAMED FOR A COMRADE: In 1951, Kim Il Sung rechristened Sŏngjin as Kimch’aek City (金策市), in honor of his fallen comrade Kim Ch’aek (金策 1903–1951), who hailed from the area (Pak Su-jin and An Yu-sun, eds., Pukhan Chiri Paeksŏ: Inmun, Chayŏn, Hwan’gyŏng [White Paper on North Korea’s Geography: Human, Natural, and Environmental] (Seoul: P’u’rŭn’gil, 2020), 29). 
p.186

representing nearly every segment of society and all but seven of the peninsula’s 281 counties 

NotePANIC IN LONGJING: For instance, word didn’t reach Longjing, the predominantly Christian settlement of Korean émigrés in Manchuria’s Jiandao region, until nearly two weeks later, when Korean nationalists there gathered near St. Andrew’s Hospital at noon on March 13, 1919, to wave flags and shout “Mansei.” The ensuing violence led to the deaths of at least ten demonstrators and the serious wounding of another forty people, who were treated by Canadian missionary Stanley Martin (see Moore 2016, 101–5, which includes Stanley H. Martin letter home, March 30, 1919). According to one source, more than ten thousand Koreans were involved in the demonstrations in Longjing (Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 272). Another source says that some thirty thousand Koreans in Longjing were involved before they were fired upon by Chinese troops (Hansung Kim, “Myungdongchon” (2015), 279).  ACROSS THE PACIFIC: In the U.S., members of the Korean diaspora first learned of the demonstrations on the morning of March 9, 1919, when telegrams from protest movement organizer Rev. Hyŏn Sun, based at the time in Shanghai, reached the Korean National Association offices in San Francisco and Honolulu (Do-Hyung Kim and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “March First Movement,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 126). Because March 9 was a Sunday, news of the demonstrations was proclaimed at church services, and in the afternoon, a “national convention” of the Hawaii branch of the Korean National Association was quickly organized at its Honolulu headquarters, drawing six hundred people (Do-Hyung Kim and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “March First Movement,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 127).  TWO MILLION DEMONSTRATORS: Across the Korean peninsula, official Japanese estimates put the number of participants in the March First demonstrations at about one million people, with 26,713 people arrested in the first two months alone (Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 114). Nationalist leader and historian Pak Ŭn-sik estimated in 1920 that there were more than two million participants, including some fifty thousand Koreans in Manchuria (as cited in Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 114). Scholar Timothy S. Lee acknowledges the challenge of pinning down an exact number, citing estimates ranging between one and two million (Timothy Lee 2010, 39, n. 170). The two million figure has been more commonly cited by later historians. One historian, for instance, offers a conspicuously concise figure of 2,023,098 participants in Korea and in Manchuria’s Jiandao region, of whom 7,509 were killed and 46,948 imprisoned (Ion 1990, 193). Other sources offer the two million figure, along with seven thousand killed and fifteen thousand wounded (Huntley 1984, 168; Michael Robinson 2007, 48; and Choong Soon Kim 1998, 59). Indiana University historian Michael Robinson cites Japanese government-general figures that tallied up 553 deaths and 1,409 injured (Robinson 2007, 48). Korean Christian institutions took a leading role in many cities across Korea and the Korean diaspora. As one historian writes, “Christian churches became gathering places for demonstrators to hear the declaration read” (Wi Jo Kang 1997, 52). For a complete list of Christian schools across Korea that took part in the March First demonstrations, see Han’guk Kidokgyo Yŏksa Yŏn’gu-so 1996, 328–29.  
p.186

hills to scream “Mansei!” with all their might—a cathartic if largely futile act of resistance 

Note“We all shouted mansei at the top of our lungs, then we just came down. Not much else happened. I don’t remember any police coming,” one young girl from North P’yŏng’an province named Yi Ok-hyŏn (1911–?) later recalled (as quoted in Hildi Kang 2001, 20). 
p.186

stories of dreadful crackdowns by the Japanese authorities spread across the Korean peninsula 

NoteAs historian Michael Robinson writes, the Japanese response “bordered on hysteria” (Robinson 1988, 44; and Robinson 2007, 48). It consisted, according to Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie, of the stripping, beating, flogging and violating of schoolgirls and young women, and the torture, confinement and killing of others (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 8–9). “Terrorism was the watchword adopted by the military authorities for dealing with the situation in the country. Whenever the crowds assembled for shoutings—any town or village or cluster of hamlets…—they were fired upon,” wrote one unnamed missionary in Seoul, who cited official figures showing nine Japanese killed and 186 wounded, versus 631 Koreans killed and 1,415 wounded (Anonymous by Request, “Korea—General Survey,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1920), 199–212, here 200, 202). For a complete catalogue of Japan’s alleged crimes, as reported by missionaries and foreign correspondents, see Chung 1921, 346–58.  
p.186

pronounced in prisons; instances of sexual abuse and mistreatment of young women abounded 

Note  “THE NEAREST APPROACH TO HELL I HAVE EVER SEEN”: The prison stories were some of the worst. One student, arrested at home and released after twenty days of beatings, “saw another man beaten ten times into unconsciousness, and ten times brought round; and a boy thrown down hard on the floor and stamped on repeatedly until he lost consciousness,” as the Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie reported (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 285–86). McKenzie was familiar with the insides of a Korean prison, having visited the jails in Pyongyang and Sŏnch’ŏn more than a decade earlier, in 1906. Of the prison in Sŏnch’ŏn, McKenzie wrote shortly after the visit: “The place was the nearest approach to hell I have ever seen…In the inner room there—so dark that for some moments I could see nothing—I found three men fastened flat on the ground, their heads and feet in stocks and their hands tied together. The room had no light or ventilation, save from a small hole in the wall. The men’s backs were fearfully scarred with cuts from beatings. Their arms were cut to the bone in many places by the ropes that had been tightly bound around them, and the wounds thus made were suppurating freely. The upper parts of the limbs were swollen; great weals and blisters could be seen on their flesh. One man’s eyes were closed, and the sight gone, heavy suppuration oozing from the closed lids. Presumably the eyes had been knocked in by blows. The men had lain thus confined without moving for days…They were all starved and so broken that they had not even spirit to plead” (Frederick McKenzie 1908, 120–21).  “A MASS OF BLEEDING SORES”: Older Koreans weren’t spared. “Men from seventy to eighty years of age were flogged until they were a mass of bleeding sores, from which many of them never recovered,” wrote William R. Giles (?–?), a Beijing-based journalist for the Chicago Daily News, who visited Korea after the demonstrations and described “horrible conditions that made the blood boil” (as quoted in Chung 1921, 225). A firsthand account published in the Toronto Globe, meanwhile, decried the Japanese crackdown as “absolutely Prussian to the core. Nay, worse.” “The Japanese military system is modelled on the German system, and when there is added to it the Oriental fine art of cruelty, there is a resultant combination which leads many, who know the system as it operates in Korea, to speak of it as surpassing the Huns and the Turks in inventive barbarity and fiendish ferocity,” read the report, written by Rev. Allan E. Armstrong (?–?), the assistant secretary of the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church in Canada, who was traveling in Korea in March 1919 (as quoted in Chung 1921, 229–30, citing Toronto Globe, July 12, 1919). In another firsthand article published by the New York Times on April 23, 1919, Rev. Armstrong described the Korean demonstrations as peaceful and entirely indigenous, without any foreign involvement. “Even the oldest British and American citizens had no idea that the Koreans were capable of planning and conducting such a widespread rebellion,” he wrote (as quoted in Chŏng 1921, 208–9). According to a pamphlet published in the summer of 1919, Rev. Armstrong had been traveling for ten months visiting the Canadian Presbyterian mission stations in China, Korea, and Japan, and was about to sail back across the Pacific in March 1919 when he was urged to return to Korea; he arrived in Seoul on March 16, 1919 (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 5). 
p.187

who had not even taken part in the protests being “beaten to a pulp under police orders” 

Note“BEATEN…TILL THEY BECOME UNCONSCIOUS”: “A few hundred yards from where I am writing, the beating goes on, day after day,” wrote one American. “The victims are tied down on a frame and beaten on the naked body with rods till they become unconscious. Then cold water is poured on them until they revive, when the process is repeated. It is sometimes repeated many times.” The writer here isn’t named but is identified by Frederick McKenzie as “a cultured American holding a responsible position in Korea”—presumably a missionary (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 267–68). Also quoted in Pai 2002, 174. McKenzie also describes one younger Korean in Seoul who may not even have joined the demonstrations, who “was unarmed and alone. They cut off his ears, cut them off level with his cheek, they slit up his fingers, they hacked his body, and then they left him for dead” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 253). 
p.187

his sword into a young Korean man standing at the side of the road, right before their eyes 

Note The man was helped to a nearby hospital by some passersby, while the indignant Japanese official, who Moffett identifies as a school inspector surnamed Yamada, pledged: “I shall tell Governor Kudo just what I have seen and tell him in detail.” It is unclear what prompted the attack on the man; Moffett said that throughout their stroll, “we saw thousands of Koreans on the streets, the shops all closed and Japanese soldiers here and there. Frequently the Koreans would throw up their hands and shout ‘Mansei’ and the soldiers would rush upon and disperse them” (Samuel A. Moffett, untitled signed affidavit, March 5, 1919, Pyengyang (MKC)). 
p.187

dozens of young women, no older than twelve or thirteen years old, for some apparent offense 

NoteThis statement appears to be drawn from an affidavit-style attestation that Samuel Moffett signed on March 5, 1919, four days after the initial incident. It’s not clear what audience was intended, but it closes with: “The above I saw myself, and testify to the truthfulness of my statements” (Moffett, signed affidavit, March 5, 1919 (MKC)). 
p.187

“is in this land. I could hardly believe these things if I had not seen them with my own eyes” 

Note Rev. Edward W. Thwing (1868–1943) was working in Beijing as a regional secretary of the International Reform Bureau, a Christian temperance and anti-vice organization. Rev. Thwing, writing in a signed statement on April 5, 1919, that was picked up by the Associated Press and published in the Philadelphia Inquirer (May 25, 1919), the Los Angeles Times (June 1, 1919), and the Atlanta Constitution (May 31, 1919), among other outlets, described personally witnessing the Japanese authorities cruelly beating young children and old men, firing guns into crowds of girls and women, as well as men beaten on wooden crosses. “These things have been witnessed not by one or two, but by scores of missionaries and others in many parts of Korea during March,” he wrote (as quoted in Chung 1921, 220–22). 
p.187

at the Japanese: “Do you think you can put out the fire in their heads by splitting them open?” 

Note The answer to Rev. Duncan MacRae’s question, of course, was no. At one point, Rev. MacRae marched back and forth before a row of Japanese machine gunners, daring them to shoot a British subject. (At the time, the Anglo-Japanese Treaty of 1902 was still in place, though Rev. MacRae urged Britain to renounce what he called “that abominable Alliance.”) During these perilous days, Rev. MacRae’s wife Edith described the missionaries as “living on the edge of a volcano,” wishing her mother a final farewell: “As things are now we may never see you again. We are in God’s hands. His will be done” (MacRae 1993, 153–54, citing Edith MacRae letter to Mother, March 8, 1919; and Edith MacRae letter to Mother, April 25, 1919). After returning home to Nova Scotia, Rev. MacRae, “fists clenched, face pale, and tears streaming down his cheeks,” penned a fiery eyewitness account of the atrocities he witnessed to the British Foreign Office, which still governed Canada’s overseas affairs (MacRae 1993, 152). 
p.187

Many of the most horrific attacks involved Christians 

Note In the northwestern Korean town of Chŏngju, Rev. Mun Yun-guk (文潤國 1877–1958), a graduate of the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pyongyang who helped lead the March First demonstrations at Osan School, was tortured and sentenced to two years in prison. Rev. Mun Yun-guk was the great-uncle of Rev. Mun Sŏn-myŏng, the Unification Church founder better known as the Rev. Moon (Breen 1997, 21). 
p.187

and beaten unconscious, and then ordered to expose her breasts before being stripped naked 

Note Ewha College was established in 1910 to expand women’s education at Ewha Academy to the college level (Kyung-lim Shin Lee [Yi, Kyŏng-rim], Pear Blossoms Blooming: The History of American Women Missionaries at Ewha Womans University (Seoul: Ewha Womans University Press, 1989), 27).  STRIPPED NAKED: “The rule in many police stations was to strip and beat the girls and young women who took any part in the demonstrations, and to expose them, absolutely naked, to as many Japanese men as possible,” wrote journalist Frederick McKenzie (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 292). A 125-page pamphlet collecting reports of Japanese abuses compiled by the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America in the summer of 1919 includes testimony from one young Korean Christian woman in Seoul who was arrested and ordered to expose her breasts and, when she refused, had her top torn off. “I prayed, and seemed to see Jesus, and was much comforted from on high,” she recalled, before being sent to Seoul’s West Gate Penitentiary, where “I was stripped naked and was looked at by the men.” She describes having been beaten so cruelly “that at times I did not realize whether they were beating me or someone else…My hands and legs were bleeding terribly. My body was black and blue from their blows” (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 48–49). The story is also told in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 300.  CHAINED TO A DEAD MAN: Another Korean Christian woman in Pyongyang, twenty-one years old, described how the police asked who the Christians were, and forced twelve Methodist women, two Presbyterian women, and one Ch’ŏndogyo woman to strip, after which they doused them with cold water, burned them with lit cigarettes, and taunted them for their faith. “The Japanese know the Bible and blaspheme the name of Christ,” she wrote, describing how one of the Methodist women, a Bible woman, was deliberately chained to a dead man overnight (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 50–51; and Chung 1921, 96–98). The pamphlet also describes another Korean Christian student at a girls’ school being taunted by the Japanese police officers, having been told “that the Bible taught that sinless people were naked (some coarse references to Adam and Eve being intended) and ordered to disrobe” (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 17–18). 
p.187

legs to a large wooden cross and beating them with sticks until they were bruised and broken 

Note Some of these details can also be found in Samuel A. Moffett, “History of the Presbyterian Theological Seminary of Korea read by Dr. Moffett at the time of the installation of Dr. Roberts as President, 1924” (MKC). Another description of Koreans being stripped, tied to crosses, and beaten is given by American author Carlton Kendall (see Kendall 1919, 33).  NORTH KOREA ALLEGES RELIGIOUS CRIMES: Even more dreadful allegations have come, curiously, from North Korea, who alleged that the Japanese lashed some Koreans—it doesn’t explicitly identify them as Christians—to wooden crosses before decapitating them (see “Chinjŏng-han Aeguk-ja Chosŏn Kongsandang Manse!—Sam’il ŭl Ki’nyŏm ha’nŭn Ŭi’ŭi” [Long Live the True Patriots, the Chosŏn Communist Party!—The Significance of Remembering March First], Chŏngro [Righteous Path] (Pyongyang), March 1, 1946, 3). However, the photograph that appears in the newspaper Righteous Path (正路 Kor. Chŏngro), a forerunner of the party-run Workers’ Daily, appears to incorrectly describe the circumstances around the photograph, which University of California, Los Angeles professor Ok Sŏng-dŭk identifies as having been taken in 1907, long before the March 1919 demonstrations (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 146–47). Nonetheless, it does appear to be accurate insofar as it captures the Japanese authorities executing Koreans on wooden crosses.  CHOSŎN-STYLE CRUCIFIXION: There was a long history of authorities on the Korean peninsula executing political prisoners—particularly converts to Christianity—on wooden crosses (see Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 144–47; and Oak 2013, 133–35, with images). The Chosŏn court flogged and tortured Catholic converts after strapping them on crucifixes during the persecutions of 1801, 1834–1835, and 1866, thus making it “a symbol of treason” (Oak, “Images of the Cross” (2010), 126; and Oak 2013, 135). Though Ok Sŏng-dŭk, a historian at University of California, Los Angeles, wasn’t able to find any clear explanation for why the Japanese mounted the Koreans on crosses, he surmises that many of the Koreans executed in this fashion were indeed Christians (Oak 2013, 134, n. 114). A short book published by An Ch’ang-ho’s Korean National Association in 1919 described Koreans protesting against Japanese land seizures in the early years of the Japanese occupation of Korea as being “fastened to crude wooden crosses and shot” (Kendall 1919, 18). 
p.187

there, they were to sleep, eat, and defecate while standing together for more than two weeks 

Note Samuel Moffett reports that the mission school secretary was eventually released as innocent. Canadian journalist Frederick McKenzie tells what appears to be the same anecdote, writing in his 1920 book: “Sixty people were confined in a room fourteen by eight feet, where they had to stand up all the time, not being allowed to sit or lie down. Eating and sleeping they stood leaning against one another. The wants of nature had to be attended to by them as they stood” (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 285). 
p.187

having his head held back by police as they poured three kettles of water into his nostrils 

Note This incident took place in February 1920—well after the Japanese, under growing international pressure, said they had abolished torture. Another similar case was reported in the far northern Korean city of Kanggye, where an assistant of the medical missionary John D. Bigger (1881–1959) who had been arrested for “reading an Independent newspaper” was subjected to the nostril treatment and beaten to the point where the Japanese were concerned he might die, and called for Dr. Bigger to resuscitate him (Anna S. Doriss letter to Samuel A. Moffett and Margaret Best, September 11, 1920, Pyengyang (MKC)). 
p.187

local Methodist church, where they were shot and bayoneted before the church was torched 

NoteThe so-called Che’am-ri (提巖里) incident of April 15, 1919, was made known to the world by Albert W. Taylor (1875–1948), a Seoul-based businessman and sometimes-correspondent for the Associated Press and United Press International, who visited the church with Horace H. Underwood and Raymond S. Curtice (1887–1922), the U.S. vice-consul to Korea, and questioned residents of nearby villages afterwards. For a reproduction of the report, see Kendall 1919, 44–45.  “AN INDELIBLE STAIN ON JAPANESE HISTORY”: When a group of Korea-based missionaries met with Japanese governor-general Hasegawa Yoshimichi, he expressed his sorrow—and even reached into his pocket to offer 1,500 yen for the church’s reconstruction, a move that according to some sources “instantly” resulted in his recall to Tokyo, because of its appearing to have been an indemnity (see Clark 2003, 52, n. 27; and Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 57, n. 57). The incident at Che’am-ri prompted a small minority of Japanese Christians within the state-back Congregational Church of Japan to speak out against colonial rule in Korea. One prominent Protestant pastor, Rev. Kashiwagi Gien (柏木 義円 1860–1938), called the incident “an indelible stain on Japanese history…Why do Japanese politicians not burn with righteous indignation about this Incident, if they think that Korea is Japan and her people are brothers?” (as quoted in Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 594–95). For a long poem condemning the Che’am-ri incident, written by a young Japanese scholar and entitled “A Massacre,” see Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 598.  RIPPLES THROUGH HISTORY: The site of the massacre has since become a pilgrimage site in South Korea, and in 1959, Syngman Rhee, by then president of South Korea, had a monument built there (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 215; and Timothy Lee 2010, 44). In 1964, as Tokyo and Seoul were negotiating a controversial restoration of diplomatic relations, the United Church of Christ in Japan formally apologized to South Korea’s then-president Pak Chŏng-hŭi (Park Chung Hee 朴正熙 1917–1979), to lawmakers, and to the National Christian Council in Korea for the Che’am-ri incident, and offered to pay for the restoration of the church there (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 215; and Timothy Lee 2010, 44).  “SEVEN IN ONE AFTERNOON”: Che’am-ri, though the best-known of the alleged Japanese atrocities after March 1919, may not have been the only village to have suffered such a fate. Gerald W. Bonwick (1872–1954), a missionary in Seoul, wrote in May 1919 that “no-one knows at present how many villages have been burnt. I myself saw seven in one afternoon in April, that had not been reported before, where a thousand people were homeless and scattered on the hills” (Gerald Bonwick [Bonwick, Gerald W.], “Korea—Introduction,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1919), 293–94, here 293). See also Anonymous, “Korea—General Survey,” in Conference of Federated Missions 1920, 200. 
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and the foreign missionaries, as the malevolent force behind the March First demonstrations 

Note“Officially the Government attitude toward the Church is that of religious toleration,” the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America wrote in its April 1919 report. In practice, however, it continued, “from the very first day of the demonstrations the officials have paid more attention to Christian participation than to that of any other class” (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 87, 89). “There is some evidence to indicate that there might have been special suppression imposed on Christians,” Kyōto University historian Matsuo Takayoshi wrote decades later. “This is not because the Christians were particularly active in the Movement, but because the police had previously decided to make the most arrests among the Christians” (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 587). Indeed, adds another scholar, “it is doubtful that Christians played a more significant role in instigating the March First Independence Movement than did the Ch’ŏndokyoists, but there is no question that the Japanese blamed the Christians more than all others” (Palmer 1967, 65). The Japanese authorities’ focus on the missionaries left them in a precarious position. On the one hand, they were seen by some nationalist converts as remaining hypocritically silent when it came to Koreans’ aspirations for independence in order to curry favor with the Japanese, while on the other hand they were seen by the Japanese as being complicit with the Koreans in pushing their nationalist aims (Shearer 1966, 64). 
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“beating and burning,” Moffett recalled later: “Who instigated you? Was it the foreigners?” 

Note “The questions were all directed towards one end, to discover who inspired them, and more particularly if any foreigners or missionaries had influenced them,” journalist Frederick McKenzie wrote (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 296). The answer, as Korean nationalist Henry Chung put it: “The Koreans to-day are united in their opposition to the whole Japanese propaganda, and will have nothing to do with it. It is not a question of Christians; peers, literati, farmers, labourers are all in it” (Chung 1921, 298). As historian Matsuo Takayoshi tells it, many Korean Christians, under harsh police interrogation, replied: “We have planned the independence movement with the help of God and we cannot stop even at the expense of our lives” (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 584).  A CONSPIRACY OF MILLIONS: Questioned by the Japanese as to the conspirators behind the protests, Yi Sang-jae (李尚在 1850–1927), a prominent convert and onetime leader of the YMCA in Seoul, replied: “All the Korean people from Fusan to the Ever-White Mountains and beyond. They are all in it. They are the committees back of the agitation” (as quoted in Cynn 1920, 79). Also quoted in Huntley 1984, 162. Two old Korean aristocrats, Kim Yun-sik (金允植 1835–1922) and Yi Yong-jik (李容稙 1852–1932), meanwhile, renounced the “viscount” titles conferred on them by the Japanese colonial government and instead penned a petition describing the independence protests as nothing less than “the mind of God Himself.” “Every man has written in his soul the word ‘Independence,’” the two men wrote. “When those in the front fall others take their places with no fear of death in their hearts…Will you arrest and kill them all?” (“Petition by Viscounts Kim Yoon Sik and Yi Yong Chik,” April 9, 1919 (MKC); Keith and Scott 1946, 39–41; and Chung 1921, 343–45, which reproduces the petition). Yi Yong-jik, under police questioning, is said to have told his interrogator that the demonstrations’ “headquarters are in heaven, and there are twenty million Koreans at the back of the movement!” (Keith and Scott 1946, 41). Chris Marker, the pseudonym of the French writer and filmmaker born Christian François Bouche-Villeneuve (1921–2012) who visited North Korea in 1957 and published a book of photographs from his journey, later described this reply as “an answer worthy of Joan of Arc” (Marker 2009, 4). 
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the initial demonstrations, “there is scarcely a city church which has not its minister locked up” 

NoteSince the demonstrations first broke out, one Christian writer in Korea noted on March 21, 1919, “arrests have been made daily, until at present there is scarcely a city church which has not its minister locked up” (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 13). The decimating of the Korean church’s (still largely male) leadership meant that many congregations were left “almost empty,” in the words of one church historian, who cites the annual report that year of missionary Alexander Pieters, who described the emptying out of two churches in his base in Hwanghae province’s Chaeryŏng station. “Almost all the men of these two churches took part in the demonstrations and fight,” Pieters wrote. “Those who were not arrested fled so that now the congregation consists only of women” (Shearer 1966, 65, citing Alexander A. Pieters, Annual Personal Report, 1919). One consequence of this mass incarceration of Christian leaders is that the prisons were full of preachers, which led to many other prisoners emerging from jail as new converts to the faith (Shearer 1966, 66, citing the Pyongyang station report of 1920).  “A ‘WHO’S WHO’ OF THE KOREAN CHURCH”: Official Japanese numbers show that, of the more than 19,500 Koreans arrested in March and April 1919, 3,373 (17 percent) were Christians, by far the largest single grouping, other than those with no known religious affiliation, who accounted for more than two-thirds of those arrested; the figures show that those arrested included fifty-four ministers, 127 evangelists and teachers, and sixty-three elders—a total of 244 church leaders (David Suh 1991, 40–41; Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 115, 117, citing a Japanese government-general report published in 1924). By the fall of 1919, the Presbyterian church counted up 134 arrested pastors and elders, another forty-one members shot to death, and six beaten to death (David Suh 1991, 40–41; and Wi Jo Kang 1997, 53). Scholar Timothy S. Lee describes the 17 percent figure as being “an impressive proportion, considering that by 1919 they constituted a little over 1 percent of the total population of Korea.” The 244 Christian clergymen represented half of the 489 religious leaders arrested more broadly, Lee notes, while Christians composed two-thirds of the 471 women detained (Timothy Lee 2010, 43). Historian Kenneth Wells writes that “the highest proportion of the nearly 20,000 Koreans arrested who had religious affiliations were Protestants, while almost all the women arrested were active in Christian schools or churches” (Wells, “Place of Religion,” in Pares 2008, 256). Another scholar writes that, of the roughly 9,400 Koreans sentenced to prison, more than two thousand were Protestant converts, “a ‘who’s who’ of the Korean church” (Adams, “Church Growth in Korea,” Transactions (2004), 17). For the full year of 1919, according to official Japanese statistics, some 831,667 Koreans were arrested, more than thirteen times the number arrested in 1917 (Oliver 1954, 349, citing a Chōsen Government-General report). 
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in just the first four months, with believers around Pyongyang the most heavily targeted 

NoteSouth Korean scholar Pak Yong-gyu describes the Pyongyang area as being the most heavily targeted region by the Japanese authorities. He also cites evidence showing that a “leader” (yŏngsu) at Ch’ilgol Church named To Ik-jun (?–?) was imprisoned, while an elder and a deacon (chipsa) had been whipped (Pak Yong-gyu 2010, 123, 129). 
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Nearly two-thirds of women arrested were Protestants 

NoteProtestants thus composed two-thirds of the 471 women detained (Timothy Lee 2010, 43; and Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 121). The list included many who would become prominent civic leaders and nationalist icons: Maria Kim, Esther Hwang, Louise Yim, and Yu Kwan-sun.  WHEN SHE WAS JUST SEVENTEEN: Yu Kwan-sun (柳寬順 1902–1920), the granddaughter and niece of Christian converts who was studying at the Methodist-run Ehwa Academy in Seoul at the time of the March First demonstrations, organized a rally. In the crackdown that followed, Yu’s parents were killed, while Yu herself was arrested and tortured, dying at the age of just seventeen (Huntley 1984, 163–164; and Timothy Lee 2010, 44). The death of Yu Kwan-sun instantly made her a secular icon and a sacred martyr—a “potent symbol of the March First Movement” and, later, one of the “nationalist icons” of the anti-Japanese struggle in post-division South Korea. Yu has been honored with a museum, a medal of honor, a statue on Seoul’s South Mountain, and a song, “Sister Yu Kwan-sun,” that is sung each year on March 1 by South Korean schoolchildren (Timothy Lee 2010, 44).  LOUISE, MARIA, AND ESTHER: Louise Yim (Im Yŏng-sim), who would serve decades later as commerce minister in South Korea’s first cabinet, was imprisoned during the March 1919 crackdown, stripped, beaten, tortured, and eventually sentenced to more than three years of house arrest (Huntley 1984, 163–64). Maria Kim (Kim Chin-sang 金真常 1891–1944), who was arrested and tortured for her role in the demonstrations, was dubbed Korea’s “Joan of Arc” (Hyaeweol Choi, “‘Wise Mother, Good Wife’” (2009), 17). Esther Hwang (Hwang Ae-dŏk 黃愛德 1892–1971), a native of Pyongyang who was a close associate of Maria Kim, was also a prominent leader of the February 8, 1919, moved to the U.S. after the March First demonstrations and subsequent crackdown. 
p.188

“of the Japanese officials in Korea towards the Christians was given vent,” as one convert wrote 

NoteHere, the convert, Korean Christian nationalist activist Henry Chung, quotes a list of twelve grievances by the Presbyterians in Pyongyang in the wake of the March First crackdown, including the singling out of Christians for punishment, the closure of churches, the seizure of Christian literature, and even the smashing of church bells (Chung 1921, 171–72). In large part because of the troubles of 1919, writes Kenneth Wells, “Korean Christians probably suffered more than any other group during the first decade of full Japanese rule” (Wells 1984, 142). 
p.188

on Christians spread into Manchuria, where Korean church communities were targeted 

NoteOn March 12, 1919, Chinese troops, believed to have been acting at the behest of the Japanese, fired on a crowd in the heavily Christian community of Longjing, in Manchuria’s predominantly Korean region of Jiandao, killing fourteen (“mostly shot through the brain”) and seriously wounding eighteen others (“so badly wounded that they will probably die”), according to Stanley Martin, the Canadian Presbyterian medical missionary who treated the patients (Ion 1990, 191–92).  BLOODSHED IN JIANDAO: By August 1920, a large band of Korean nationalists, many of them Christians, had assembled in Jiandao, around Hunchun, prompting Japan to send in hundreds of military police. The so-called First Hunchun Incident of September 12, 1920, and the Second Hunchun Incident of October 2, 1920—the latter of which involved the ostensible burning of Japan’s consulate in the city by “Korean revolters, Chinese bandits and Russian Bolsheviki”— led to a fierce counterattack by the Japanese (Ion 1990, 197–98). During that latter incident, thousands of Japanese men burned Korean villages and churches and fired on Koreans. “The Japanese control the whole Kando Province,” Dr. Martin wrote in a letter home that month, eventually tallying up more than sixty destroyed villages and more than eight hundred Koreans killed. “Koreans are daily being shot, and whole villages are being burned” (see Moore 2016, 127–30). In a letter published by the Toronto Globe on January 20, 1921, Dr. Martin described the atrocities that he witnessed from Longjing: “Japan, under the strongest protest from China, has sent over 15,000 troops into this part of China, with the seeming intention of wiping out of existence, if possible, the whole Christian community, especially all young men. Village after village is daily being methodically burned and the young men shot, so that at present we have a ring of villages surrounding this city that have suffered from fire or wholesale murder, or both” (as cited in Ion 1990, 200). W. B. Cunningham (?–?), a diplomat in the British Foreign Office, traveled to the heavily Koreanized Manchurian settlement of Longjing in June 1921 to investigate the Japanese crackdown there. He concluded that the Japanese indeed had singled out the Korean Christians for suspicion, believing them to form the core of the independence movement (as cited in Ion 1990, 205). The Japanese defended the burning of churches, saying that they had become centers of Korean separatism (Ion 1990, 199). The political troubles helped spark a revival in Longjing the following year, while the Japanese authorities recalibrated their strategy and, in a repeat of the policy adopted after the March First demonstrations in Korea, wined and dined the missionaries (Moore 2016, 144–47). For more on the Korean nationalist clashes with Japanese authorities in Jiandao in 1920, see Moore 2016, 127–42; Chung 1921, 318–19; Chong-Sik Lee 1965, 159; and Grajdanzev 1944, 65–67. 
p.188

remained largely convinced that they had played a key role in fomenting the demonstrations 

Note As mentioned earlier in this chapter, Samuel Moffett claimed to have been genuinely surprised to stumble upon the ceremony in the courtyard of Sungdŏk School on March 1, 1919 (see Moffett, “Fifty Years of Missionary Life,” in Rhodes and Baird 1934, 46). And it is true that many Korean converts deliberately kept the missionaries in the dark—in part to provide a semblance of plausible deniability (see, for example, Glover, “Korean Christian Nationalists,” Transactions (2015), 6). And there was enough intrigue in the air following Kojong’s death on January 22, 1919, that the U.S. consul-general in Seoul, Leo Bergholz, had warned Americans in Korea “to be extra careful not to do anything which might look political” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 52; and Nagata, “American Missionaries in Korea” (2005), 165).  DIDN’T SEE IT COMING: One of the strongest pieces of evidence that the missionaries had no advance knowledge of the protests was the number of them that were simply impressed that the Koreans, whom many had believed to be incapable of such action, had pulled off such a coup. “Seldom, if ever, have a people changed so suddenly and to such a marked degree,” the missionaries in Chaeryŏng, in Hwanghae province, wrote Presbyterian missions board secretary Arthur Brown in New York several weeks after the demonstrations. “We have been surprised at the suddenness of the change that has taken place before our eyes. They have shown qualities of leadership, of heroism, of sacrifice, of patience and self-control and endurance that would do credit to any people. A new spirit has taken hold of them, from the highest to the lowest, the young and the old. Whatever the attempts to fetter them, though their bodies may be bound, their thoughts and minds now range freely over the whole world—to China, Palestine, Germany, Paris, and America. The Koreans are awake” (Robert Kim 2017, 23, citing Chaeryŏng station letter to Arthur Brown, spring 1919). Indeed, part of the reason the Japanese suspected missionary involvement was simply that many of them “had not thought the Koreans capable of such concerted action” (Eckert et al. 1990, 279). But, Korean American scholar Timothy Lee argued decades later, “the truth was that the demonstrations surprised the missionaries no less than the Japanese.” Lee cites a July 1919 report by the U.S. State Department concluding that the “missionaries have had no direct relation to this present movement. It was but natural that the charge should at once be made in the Japanese press that missionaries were the instigators of the uprising. This may be categorically denied. It arose without their knowledge” (Timothy Lee 2010, 39–40).  “OVER MY DEAD BODY”: Those who caught an inkling of what was to come urged their Korean charges not to get involved, with one missionary calling the plans “madness” (Clark 2003, 46, n. 9; and 48). One oft-repeated anecdote described how Lulu E. Frey (1868–1921), a longtime Methodist missionary who taught at Ewha Academy, the pioneering girls’ school in Seoul, “stood by the bolted gate, facing the girls with her arms outspread to make sure that none would pass. ‘Well, girls, you will go out over my dead body’” (Clark 2003, 183; Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 55; and Huntley 1984, 163, citing Helen Kim, Grace Sufficient, 42–43). Mattie Wilcox Noble (1872–1956), another Methodist missionary teaching at Ewha Academy, described in her diary on March 1, 1919, watching as “the girls rushed out to go but Miss Walter in her kimono ran down to bolt the big gate and head off the girls. Mr. Tayler and Mr. Appenzeller went over to her assistance and they succeeded in keeping the Ewa girls from going. They cried, and some of the boys grew almost wild, but had to go on and leave them” (Timothy Lee 2010, 40, citing The Journals of Mattie Wilcox Noble, 1892-1934 (Seoul: Han’guk kidokkyo yŏksa yŏn’guso, 1993), 275).“Miss Walter” appears to refer to Althea J. Walter (1885–?), another missionary teacher at Ewha Academy. For an extended account of what is either the same or a similar incident involving an American missionary headmistress struggling to hold back her charges, see Keith and Scott 1946, 36–38. Elizabeth Keith, who arrived in Korea a few weeks after the March First demonstrations, writes that “not a foreigner had been taken into Korean confidence” (Keith and Scott 1946, 39).  ADVANCE WARNING: To be sure, within a Protestant missionary community in Korea that, at the time of the demonstrations, was made up of four hundred Americans, Britons, Canadians, and Australians, along with another fifty Catholic missionaries, it’s unrealistic to think that no missionaries were aware of the plans (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 43). Indeed, historian Donald Clark, the son and grandson of American missionaries to Korea, is skeptical of the notion that the missionaries were entirely in the dark about the events being planned. Clark writes, for instance, that some were inadvertently roped in, like Canadian Presbyterian missionary Robert Grierson, who unwittingly hosted a secret planning meeting at his home on February 27, 1919, as he discovered later (see Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 51, citing Robert Grierson’s unpublished memoir). One Western missionary who was given a clearer warning was British Canadian medical missionary Frank W. Schofield (1889–1970), who was informed by his Korean colleague at Severance Hospital in Seoul that there would be a demonstration at Pagoda Park. The colleague, Yi Kap-sŏng (李甲成 1889–1981), hoped Dr. Schofield could photograph the event (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 43, 51). Clark also writes that Pak Hŭi-do of the YMCA had shared some details of the planning with American missionaries at Chōsen Christian College (today, Yonsei University) in Seoul. Thus, the idea “that the missionaries had had no influence on the movement was hardly to be believed” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 53). Taken as a whole, however, Clark concludes that “a distinction should be drawn between planning the movement and reacting to it. There is no evidence that the missionaries helped organize it” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 42–43). Insofar as they were sympathetic to the Koreans, it came less in the form of support for Korean independence and was primarily limited to “stopping the brutality and ensuring religious freedom” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 43). 
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for nights afterward, Moffett’s colleagues and friends kept guard over his home at night 

NoteGovernor-General Hasegawa Yoshimichi summoned U.S. Consul-General Leo Bergholz to ask him to warn American citizens in Korea to stay home after dark for fear of reprisals; Bergholz, outraged, said he would issue no such warning and demanded a written guarantee of the safety of American citizens in Korea (Chung 1921, 182). It was no errant threat. One missionary, John Thomas (1868–1940), a British subject who had arrived in 1910 as a representative of the Oriental Missionary Society, also known as the Holiness Church, was badly beaten by Japanese soldiers while traveling in the countryside less than three weeks after the March First demonstrations (Chung 1921, 185–86). For more on John Thomas, see Nell Becker Sweeden, “Korea Evangelical Holiness Church of America,” in George Thomas Kurian and Mark A. Lamport, eds., Encyclopedia of Christianity in the United States, Volume 3: H–M (Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016), 1290–92). 
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after his conviction, Mowry was led away with a wicker basket thrown over his head 

NoteEli M. Mowry (1880–1971), an Ohio native, was perhaps the first foreign Protestant missionary to be imprisoned in Korea. “Never before have we had to report one of the missionary community as being in jail,” the editors of the Korea Mission Field wrote in May 1919. “We are glad to report that according to the ‘Seoul Press’ he ‘is obedient and well behaved in prison’” (“Notes and Personals,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 5 (May 1919), 110). The wicker basket was a feature of the Japanese judicial system. “The courtroom spectators were shocked to see the wicker basket, traditionally used for Japanese criminals, placed over Mowry’s head before he was led from the courtroom” (Huntley 1984, 181–82). A photo of Rev. Mowry, handcuffed with the wicker basket placed over his head, can be found in Chung 1921, 184–85. Rev. Mowry’s conviction was later quashed upon appeal (Frederick McKenzie 1920, 289). A full description of Rev. Mowry’s case, as seen by the missionaries, is given in “A Matter of Interest,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 6 (June 1919), 131. The incident is also recounted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 288–89; and Chung 1921, 183–84. The five students that Rev. Mowry was accused of harboring included Kil Chin-gyŏng (?–?), the second son of Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, who would later become a pastor, serving as acting general secretary of the National Christian Council of Korea (Sebastian Kim and Kirsteen Kim 2015, 122, 232). Rev. Mowry wasn’t the only foreign missionary lending their Korean charges a safe shelter. Canadian Presbyterian missionary Duncan MacRae also sheltered a wanted Korean activist, disguising him as a cowherd and only narrowly avoiding detection (MacRae 1993, 154–55). 
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“about the self-determination of nations and hide behind their religion and stir up the people” 

NoteThis accusation comes from a March 12, 1919, article in the Chōsen News (朝鮮新聞 Jp. Chōsen Shimbun), a Japanese newspaper in Korea (as quoted in Cynn 1920, 63–64; Chung 1921, 179–80; and enclosed in Unsigned letter to the New York mission board office (PHS II/6/RG 140-4-27)). “From the part that even girl students in Christian schools have taken it is very evident that this uprising has come from the missionaries,” the article added. “The missionaries have tried to apply the free customs of other nations to these Korean people who are not fully civilized.” Carrying on the metaphor of missionary as “a ghostlike apparition waving his wand,” the article continued: “This ghost is really hateful, malicious, fierce. Who is this ghost wearing the dark clothes? …These missionaries who have come out to Korea—their wisdom, character, and disposition—is of the low trash of the nation. They have sold themselves for the petty salary of $150 a year, and they have crept out as reptiles on their belly, as far as Korea; there is nothing good that can be said of their character, knowledge, and disposition” (as quoted in Cynn 1920, 63–64). Another similar denunciation, published in the Japan Advertiser on March 9, 1919, and attributed to the director of foreign affairs in the Government-General, can be found in Kendall 1919, 45–46.  PAID TO PROTEST?: At times, some in Japan went so far as to suggest that the missionaries were paying otherwise apolitical Koreans to protest colonial rule. One Japanese journalist, writing in the Sun (太陽 Jp. Taiyō) magazine, suggested that Koreans were paid 10 cents each to join the demonstrations. “Ten cents to be hacked and shot!” a Korean nationalist scoffed in response. “Life (of others) is held by some people very cheap, but it is worth more than ten cents (to those who live it)” (Cynn 1920, 129–30). The same claim was made by a Japanese official to the New York Times, with a similar rebuttal from the Korean nationalist Henry Chung (see Chung 1921, 251–52, citing New York Times, May 11, 1919). Historian Matsuo Takayoshi cites official Japanese archival documents that posited that the independence movement was based out of Chŏng-dong Methodist Church and Sŭng-dong Presbyterian Church in Seoul, as well in churches in Chinnamp’o and Sin’ŭiju. But Matsuo himself is unconvinced by such theories. “The Japanese authorities and Japanese press exaggerated the role of foreign missionaries and Korean Christians,” the Kyōto University historian concludes (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 582–84). 
p.189

baptizing Korean converts in “anti-Japanese sentiment” in the name of the crucified Christ 

Note“When the 1st March Movement started, none of the newspapers was able to realize that it was an expression of national consciousness. Instead, they thought it was caused by conspiratorial agitations of a few Christians (especially American missionaries) or Ch’ondo-gyō adherents, and condemned their ‘futei’ (rebelliousness),” writes historian Matsuo Takayoshi, with a sense of regret. “In April, they began to maintain rather belatedly that the policy of militaristic administration in Korea should be changed, but denied the principle of self-determination for Korea completely. They remained silent about the cruel suppression of the independence movement” (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 588). 
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“girls’ school—in the compound of these foreigners. Really this foreign community is very vile” 

NoteThe article appeared on March 17, 1919, in the Osaka Asahi News (朝日新聞 Jp. Asahi Shimbun), then and now one of Japan’s oldest and most consistently left-leaning newspapers. This translation is taken from the Peking and Tientsin Times, which translated and reproduced it on March 28, 1919 (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 283–84). In this version, “bought” appears to have been misspelled as “brought.” It is also reproduced in Chung 1921, 180–81; and Clark 2003, 49. See also Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 52, n. 32; and 55. The Japanese press in Hawaii, too, piled on. As early as March 7, 1919, the Nippu Jiji was blaming the foreign missionaries in Korea for having “instigated…riots” on the peninsula (Do-Hyung Kim and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “March First Movement,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 139).  “NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE TO DISABUSE”: These reports had their intended effect, as one foreign missionary later wrote. “Because of the false and exaggerated reports of many newspapers, the Japanese who live in Korea, believed generally that the movement was a Christian one, and had the support not only of the churches but of the Missionaries as well. It has been next to impossible to disabuse the minds of the Japanese non-Christians of this belief” (F. Herron Smith, “Christian Work Among the Japanese in Korea,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1920), 321–23, here 321). It wouldn’t have helped soothe Japanese suspicions of the church that, by 1910, in the calculation of one Japanese writer, 338 out of 464—or roughly three of every four—American citizens in Korea was a missionary (as quoted in Conroy 1960, 470). By 1919, the Northern Presbyterian missionaries alone consisted of 130 adults in Korea, “stretching from the southern part of the peninsula to the Yalu” (Kagin, “Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A.,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan 1919, 314). [[STATS]]  “WEARING THE MASK OF MISSIONARIES”: It was not the first such anti-missionary campaign in the Japanese press—one that would foreshadow similar language during the 1950s under Kim Il Sung (see Act III, Chapter 31). In May 1907, the Yomiuri News (讀賣新聞 Jp. Yomiuri Shimbun) had railed against foreigners in Korea who, “wearing the mask of missionaries…endeavor to thwart our policy by disseminating baseless rumors and mischievous insinuations, there ought to be no hesitation to deport them out of the country” (as quoted in Ladd 1908, 167–68). 
p.190

The Japanese fixation on the role of the missionaries was understandable 

Note  “THE POWERS THAT BE”: In the days and weeks after the demonstrations, Japanese authorities sought to engage the purported instigators. At a March 24, 1919, meeting in Seoul with Western missionaries, including Samuel Moffett and James Gale,  Sekiya Teizaburō (関屋 貞三郎 1875–1950), a senior education official in the Japanese colonial administration, invoked the New Testament to rebuke his listeners: “I may be speaking too boldly and frankly, but the Bible teaches that Christians should obey ‘the powers that be.’ Is not this the time to teach that commandment?…Is it not time to act and tell them to obey as Paul told the Romans?” In reply, Joseph L. Gerdine (1870–1950), a Methodist missionary in Korea for more than three decades, countered that the Japanese, having asked the missionaries to stay out of politics for so many years, were now “being urged to advise the people on a political question.” Another missionary, the Canadian medical missionary Oliver R. Avison (1860–1956), added: “One thing that has troubled me in Korea during all the past number of years has been the constant display of the sword as the symbol of government. Who can love a man who always wears a sword?” (“Report of Second Session of Unofficial Conference,” March 24, 1919, Chosen Hotel, Seoul (MKC)). Also cited in Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 54.  RECRUITING POLITICAL SPIES: While directly engaging with the missionaries, the Japanese also attempted to win the cooperation of some Korean converts in keeping an eye on the foreigners, with mixed results (for one example, see Glover, “Korean Christian Nationalists,” Transactions (2015), 15). At the same time, the Japanese authorities called on the missionaries to inform them if they heard of any further demonstrations coming, though the missionaries bristled at the approach: “We did not come to be political spies, and had to tell them so,” wrote Canadian missionary Archibald H. Barker (?–1927), who was based in Korea’s northeast. “Because we take that stand they suspect us of having something to do with this” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 54, citing Archibald H. Barker letter to Robert P. Mackay, March 20, 1919). 
p.190

of them pastors, including Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju, who was indeed a close associate of Samuel Moffett 

NoteThese points are made by historian Donald Clark, the son and grandson of American missionaries to Korea, who describes Rev. Kil Sŏn-ju as being “as close as a brother to Samuel A. Moffett,” who in turn is described as the unofficial “pope” of Pyongyang station (Clark 2003, 49; and Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 52). Church organizations provided clandestine meeting places and communication centers for event preparation,” adds South Korean church historian Pak Chŏng-sin, noting that the Christian leaders “Sŏnu Hyŏk, Yi Sŭnghun, and Pak Hŭido all operated through the network of churches to keep different groups in touch with one another” (Chung-shin Park 2003, 137). The missionaries’ promotion of the native Korean script, meanwhile, was seen as having helped foster nationalistic sentiment among the Koreans. “Their purpose had been single-mindedly evangelistic, but one of their effects had been to stimulate the development of the national culture,” writes one historian (Rutt 1983, 67).  “INFECTED” WITH WILSONIANISM: It was also true that many missionaries had come to sympathize with Korea’s political plight. As one historian writes, “Wilsonianism clearly infected the missionary community with a desire to see the Japanese Empire changed. The political idealism of President Wilson easily meshed with the social idealism which the student volunteers brought to their missionary work” (Ion 1990, 179). The missionaries, simply by having effectively recruited Koreans to an organization that at odds with Tokyo’s program of national assimilation, “directly and indirectly inspired in the Koreans the spirit of independence” to a degree that was “incalculable,” argues historian Kenneth Wells (Wells 1990, 84). “The March First Movement,” Wells adds elsewhere, “might not have occurred…if Korea’s Protestant leaders had not discerned God’s hand in Woodrow Wilson’s championing of national self-determination” (Wells 1989, 7–8). 
p.190

“influence, too,” as one young Korean Christian nationalist in Pyongyang later recalled 

NoteKim San was the pseudonym of a young Pyongyang Christian and lifelong Korean nationalist who later became an anarchist (see Act II, Chapter 15). As Kim Ku, one of Korea’s most revered conservative nationalists, remarked: “Those who promoted the development of a new civilization devoted themselves to Christianity…It is an undisputable fact that the majority of patriotic people are Christian” (as quoted in Oak 2013, 290–91).
p.190

the demonstrations, there were plenty of reasons to keep up the pressure on the foreigners 

NoteOOPS: Usami Katsuo (宇佐美 勝夫 1869-1942), director for home affairs in the Government-General of Chōsen, initially believed that Woodrow Wilson had told visiting Koreans that their appeal for independence would not succeed if things were quiet on the Korean peninsula. Later, though, “Usami, like most senior Government-General officials, came to accept the missionaries’ professions of innocence” (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 53–54). Governor-General Hasegawa, who presided over the post-March First crackdown, similarly came to acknowledge that the Christians “did not participate in the Movement as any religious body” (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 582). And, two years after the demonstrations, the colonial authorities acknowledged that some of the Japanese press attacks on the missionaries were little more than “groundless accusations,” saying: “The Government fully recognizes the beneficial influence Christianity has upon Korean minds as well as the splendid educational and social works undertaken by Christian missions for the benefit of the Korean people” (Nakarai 1921, 21). As historian Alexis Dudden writes, this blemish on Japan’s global image came at a delicate time for Tokyo’s leaders, who were “testing their international muscle by clamoring for inclusion of a racial-equality clause into the League of Nations charter” (Dudden 2005, 118).  SUSPICIOUS MINDS: These attempts to belatedly absolve the missionaries of blame came across as somewhat halfhearted, an exercise in political expediency aimed at smoothing over Japan’s dealings with the West. As late as December 7, 1920, a senior official at Japan’s Ministry of War (陸軍省 Jp. Rikugun-shō) wrote The Times in London, noting the “curious circumstance that most of the insurgents are Christians while the mission schools are their headquarters.” The senior official, a Major-General Satō, continued: “The insurgents consider it to their own advantage to rely on foreigners in order to further their aims, flocking together under the shelter of missionaries and assuming the name of Christians with the same design. The missionaries and mission schools have exceeded the bounds of duty. Some directly encouraged the insurgent bands, the schools being training places.” He also pointedly threatened to expel the Christians from Korea: “Japan grants freedom of religious belief, but cannot allow treason that threatens to undermine the foundations of the Empire” (Ion 1990, 200–1, quoting The Times (London), December 7, 1920). The same piece was apparently published in the Japanese Advertiser on December 8, 1920, with slight variations in wording: “Missionaries and Mission schools have transcended their sphere as religionists and religious institutions. Some of them have given encouragement to the insurgent bands and their schools have been made training places for them” (as quoted in MacRae 1993, 159).  NAMING RINGLEADERS: The Japanese authorities would, despite their occasional acknowledgements that the missionaries hadn’t instigated the demonstrations, in fact continue to accuse the missionaries of instigating the demonstrations. In a 1921 pamphlet entitled Relations Between the Government and Christianity in Chosen, Nakarai Kiyoshi (半井 清 1888–1982), head of the religious affairs section of the educational affairs bureau in the Government-General of Chōsen, described the March First demonstrations as having been led by Christians. “Of the forty-eight ringleaders nineteen were Chyondokyo men, twenty-one were Christians and eight were unconnected with either the Chyondokyo or Christianity, while of the Christians eleven were pastors and four were teachers in mission schools. There is thus no denying the fact that many Christians were arrested and punished in connection with the independence disturbances” (Nakarai 1921, 11). Nakarai quoted an unnamed judge in Seoul who affirmed that any judicial punishment meted out to Christian leaders was “not because of their faith, but because of their participation in the rising.” “They thought that President Wilson’s theory would be applied to Korea, if the Korean people showed their desire for independence in some concrete way or other and thus bring the matter to the attention of the Peace Conference at Paris,” the judge wrote (as quoted in Nakarai 1921, 8–10, 12). One secret Japanese police report was said to have accused “Shannon McCune” (likely a reference to George S. McCune) of organizing the March First demonstrations at the behest of Woodrow Wilson (Robert Kim 2017, 75).  
p.191

authorities were muzzling the press and censoring letters to maintain an information blockade 

NoteSAY NO MORE: Canadian missionary James Gale’s The Korea Magazine, a literary, cultural, and current events periodical started in January 1917, had barely marked its second anniversary when the March First demonstrations broke out. In its April 1919 edition, the magazine simply wrote: “Momentous events are taking place in Korea of which it is not the privilege of THE KOREA MAGAZINE at present to speak. It is hoped that in the near future we may be granted some of the rights which daily papers now alone possess” (“Editorial Notes,” The Korea Magazine (April 1919), 145). Alas, it was not to be. The April 1919 edition marked the final issue of the short-lived magazine. Similarly, the missionary periodical Korea Mission Field made no direct reference to the chaos of the previous few weeks in its April 1919 issue, saying explicitly that “this magazine is limited by the police authorities to items dealing with religious propaganda only and our readers are referred to the secular press for particulars regarding the uprising that has taken place throughout the peninsula” (“Editorial Notes,” Korea Mission Field 15, no. 4 (April 1919), 67–68, here 68). Rather than explicitly address the March First demonstrations, the missionaries called, obliquely, for unity and a calming of tensions. “We hear a good deal to-day about races, and how one race discriminates against another race. All such language is careless and absurdly untrue because the Bible, science, history and experience attest that there is and never has been more than one race upon Earth viz. the human race,—verifying the Scripture ‘God hath made of one blood all nations of men,’” wrote Allen F. DeCamp (1848–1928), the publication’s Presbyterian editor at the time (“Editorial Notes,” Korea Mission Field (1919), 67–68).  EVADING CENSORS: News of the crackdown only made its way to the outside world when newspapers in Beijing and Shanghai began publishing letters from foreign residents in Korea, while missionaries in Korea traveled to China for the express purpose of evading Japanese censors and mailing their letters home from there (see Chung 1921, 252–53). William Griffis, one of the West’s most prominent voices on Japan and Korea, writing in The Nation, argued that “the united testimony of many witnesses, long resident in the land of the Morning Calm, speaking the vernacular and beholding deeds which they have associated hitherto only with the worst brutalities of war, will, in the end, outweigh the moral value of official bulletins or even annual publication of ‘reforms’”—referring to Japanese colonial government efforts to project a benevolent face to their imperial project (William Elliot Griffis, “China and Japan—III. An American View,” The Nation 108, no. 2812 (May 24, 1919), 830–31). Also cited in Chung 1921, 244–45. 
p.191

the Declaration of Independence, which would then be sent to the Paris Peace Conference 

NoteThough these Koreans refused, Rev. Charles Bernheisel added, the Japanese paid the expenses of Merriman Harris, the pro-Japanese Methodist bishop for Japan and Korea, to the Paris Peace Conference to downplay the Korean uprising. Bishop Harris’s pro-Japanese proclivities have been noted above in Supplemental Notes, but by 1919, they were so well known as to make his very involvement here a cause for outrage. At the Methodists’ annual conference in 1913, for instance, Bishop Harris “nearly caused a revolt amongst Koreans…because of his pro-Japanese sentiments,” as one historian writes (Grayson 2002, 160). Historian Kenneth Wells goes so far as to call Bishop Harris a “Japanese agent” (albeit with quotation marks intact) and “biased towards Japan” (not in quotation marks) (Wells 1984, 69). 
p.191

“in the Bible about ‘Independence’ and the shouting of ‘Mansei,’” the authorities fumed

NoteThe state-backed Congregational Church of Japan held the American missionaries responsible for the March First demonstrations but reserved its harshest words for Korean Christians, accusing them of having succumbed to narrow-minded patriotism. Watase Tsunekichi (渡瀬 常吉 1867–1944), head of the Congregational Church’s department of missionary activity in Korea, described annexation as a source of hope for Korea, which would otherwise be destroyed without Japan’s guiding hand. “There is really difference between democracy and radicalism,” Watase wrote (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 590–91). Within the state-backed Japanese church, a small minority of voices accused Tokyo of being the one who had inflicted violence upon peaceful Korean demonstrators, though such dissenting voices were rare. “The majority of the Christian Churches lacked the courage with which to condemn the authorities’ atrocities,” writes historian Matsuo Takayoshi (Matsuo, “Japanese Protestants in Korea, Part Two” (1979), 599–603, 614). 
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as a brazen attack on the faith, rallying under a shared slogan: “No neutrality for brutality”

Note“A QUESTION OF HUMANITY”: One prominent American in the country, writing immediately after the March First demonstrations and crackdown, argued that “the appeal of the Koreans had been met in such a way that it has been taken out of the realm of mere politics and has become a question of humanity. When it comes to weakness and helplessness being pitted against inhumanity, there can be no such thing as neutrality” (as quoted in Frederick McKenzie 1920, 267). Frederick McKenzie doesn’t name the writer, identifying him or her only as “a cultured American holding a responsible position in Korea.” One missionary in Seoul put it in similar terms the following years: “On the political question the foreign missionaries adopted an attitude of neutrality, but they were never neutral on the question of brutalities” (Anonymous, “Korea—General Survey,” in Conference of Federated Missions 1920, 204).  “SHOCKED INTO…SYMPATHY”: Some missionaries who had earlier looked upon Japan’s swallowing up of Korea with some measure of approval turned dramatically against Tokyo after the events of March 1, 1919 (Clark 2003, 41, n. 27). With the Japanese crackdown, many missionaries were effectively “shocked into a de facto stance of sympathy for the Koreans,” writes historian Donald Clark. In a report prepared at the request of U.S. Consul-General Leo Bergholz, which he then sent to Secretary of State Robert Lansing on May 22, 1919, members of the Presbyterian and Methodist missions wrote: “The civilized world has fought a four years war with incalculable expenditure of blood and treasure to stamp out in the West the kind of thing that is going on here today” (as quoted in Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 55).  “TURNED INTO SOMETHING EVIL”: Indeed, the foreign missionaries in Korea had effectively recognized Japanese sovereignty over Korea and would likely have opposed the March First plans if they had known of them in advance—but flipped when they saw how cruelly the Japanese responded, Methodist Bishop Herbert G. Welch (1862–1969) wrote in March 1920. Of the Koreans, Bishop Welch wrote: “All can agree in recognizing the clean patriotism, the love of liberty, the courage, the resourcefulness, the sacrifice, that have characterized the participants in this movement” (Herbert Welch [Welch, Herbert G.], “The Missionaries’ Attitude Towards the Government in the Present Crisis,” Korea Mission Field 16, no. 3 (March 1920), 56–58, here 57). So it was with diplomats like Ransford S. Miller, Jr. (1867–1932), who returned to Seoul for a second stint as U.S. consul-general in November 1919. He arrived with warm memories of the good relationship he had nurtured with the Japanese authorities, and with skepticism about the grim accounts his predecessor had reported. But it didn’t take long for Miller to conclude upon his return to Seoul “that Japanese rule had turned into something evil” (Clark 2003, 61).  REDEMPTION: Scholar Timothy Lee writes that the missionaries’ clear stance with the Koreans, their slogan of “no neutrality for brutality,” and “their humanitarian treatment of the injured, and their publicizing of the Korean plight, went a long way toward redeeming them—and their religion—in the eyes of many Koreans” (Timothy Lee 2010, 41). Even so, Lee’s argument in this same passage that, as a result of the efforts of a few missionaries like Frank Schofield, “from 1919 on, no Korean could blindly accuse the missionaries of being self-serving or of having no sympathy for the Korean people, without provoking a loud cry of dissent from their more discerning countrymen,” goes perhaps a step too far, as the vehement and long-lasting criticism and suspicion of the missionaries among Koreans would attest (see, in particular, Act II, Chapter 15). Many missionaries continued to insist in the months and years after the March First demonstrations that they were to stay strictly out of politics. “To say that politics are not in the minds of the Koreans at this time would be untrue, but politics are not preached in the churches,” one missionary wrote in May 1920. “For whatever reason people may come into the Church the fact remains that eventually they either get truly converted or else go out” (Thomas Hobbs, “The Forward Movement of the Korean Church,” Korea Mission Field 16, no. 5 (May 1920), 90–92, here 92). 
p.191

Korea as “one large prison” from which “the avenues of escape are just about all closed up” 

Note The feelings were so strong during this period that, as Kenneth Wells writes, “there is even evidence of the Presbyterian and Methodist Assemblies contemplating official patronage of the cause” (Wells 1984, 224). 
p.191

“or fail to protest against it, are already condemned,” the Philadelphia Presbyterian thundered 

NoteSome of the publications even went so far as to suggest that righteous war might have to be waged against Japan, for “the honour of Christendom,” in the words of the New York Christian Advocate (as quoted on Chung 1921, 267).
p.191

nationalist converts, began working to drum up support for Korea’s cause in Western capitals

NoteFor instance, Pyongyang missionary Sallie W. F. Swallen (1863–1945), wife of Rev. William Swallen, described the events to her brother, an Ohio congressman (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 59).  O CANADA: However, many of the most outspoken Westerners were not Americans, but rather Canadians (Glover, “Korean Christian Nationalists,” Transactions (2015), 3). James Gale, for example, reached out to James Bryce (1838–1922), a former British ambassador to Washington and then a member of the U.K.’s House of Lords (Moore, Margaret Martin 2016, location 2403). On July 10, 1919, the Canadian Presbyterian mission in Korea lodged a formal protest to the Japanese Governor-General and to the British Foreign Office in London (MacRae 1993, 106).   RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE: Rev. Allan Armstrong, assistant missions secretary of the Canadian Presbyterian Church, happened to be traveling through the region at the time to mark the twentieth anniversary of the Canadian Presbyterians’ presence in Korea, and the missionaries in Seoul asked him to take back word of the Japanese atrocities. In a letter to John Mott, Armstrong wrote that “the cause of the poor defenceless Korean is on my heart and conscience,” calling the Japanese authorities in Korea “the ‘GERMAN MACHINE’” (Ion 1990, 188–89, citing Allan E. Armstrong letter to John Mott, April 9, 1919). Armstrong’s superior, Canadian Presbyterian missions secretary Robert P. MacKay (1847–1929), wrote a leading Cabinet minister in Ottawa, Newton W. Rowell (1867–1941)—he was Canada’s minister of health, as well as a prominent Methodist lay leader and prohibitionist—comparing the actions of Japan’s “German Machine” to the atrocities in Armenia (Ion 1990, 189). 
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that one pair of journalists called the descriptions “reminders of the Spanish Inquisition”

NotePOWER OF THE PAMPHLET: The pamphlet, The Korea Situation: Authentic Accounts of Recent Events by Eye Witnesses, was published by the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America’s Commission on Relations with the Orient, collecting dozens of eyewitness accounts of what it described as Japanese brutality—but was insistent in stopping short of weighing in on the political question of Korea’s independence: “The Commission wishes to state with utmost clearness that as a Commission it is not concerning itself with the political questions involved in the Korean Independence Movement. Whether or not Korea should be granted political independence is not a question upon which it is called to express judgment” (Commission on Relations with the Orient 1919, 6). The pamphlet’s authors self-consciously invoked the Bryce Report of May 1915, which looked into German war atrocities in Belgium during World War I, galvanizing Western public opinion against Germany (see Commission 1919, 8).  NOT EXPECTING THE SPANISH INQUISITION: The American husband-and-wife journalists and historians Marjorie Barstow and Sydney Greenbie, writing about the pamphlet in September 1919, said that “the list of authentic cases of sheer inhuman cruelty—which to one who knows the Japanese somewhat intimately seem almost incredible—covering nearly a hundred printed pages, and issued by Commission on Relations with the Orient of the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America—is simply heartrending…reminders of the Spanish Inquisition” (Barstow and Greenbie, “Korea Asserts Herself,” Asia (1919), 925). For more on Greenbie, see Peter B. Flint, “Marjorie Greenbie Dead at 84; Wrote About American History,” New York Times, January 29, 1976, 35. Nagata, “American Missionaries in Korea” (2005), 165). One historian has noted that, though the pamphlet was 125 pages long, “the information it had received would have added up to 1000 pages if they had published all of it” (Nagata, “American Missionaries in Korea” (2005), 170–71).  A MISSIONARY MANIFESTO: The following year, the Korea missionaries collectively published a declaration calling for the Japanese authorities to formally halt what they described as an attempt “to control the churches” (as quoted in Cynn 1920, 195–200). In the unsigned manifesto, entitled “An Opinion of Missionaries as to What Changes are Desirable in the Existing Laws and In the Attitude of the Government Toward the Christian Church and Mission Work in Korea,” the missionaries also called for the Japanese colonial government to clamp down on “false and unfounded charges” against Christians in the Japanese-controlled press and to compensate the church for buildings torched by Japanese officials. For the full manifesto, see Cynn 1920, 191–214. The manifesto was a response to rising pressure being felt by the missionaries, who wrote that, as a result of all the political turmoil, “it was considered unwise to go into the country. The churches were disrupted and in many places forbidden to meet, and the leaders often arrested and the whole work brought to a standstill” (M. L. Swinehart [Swinehart, Martin L.], “The Presbyterian Church in the United States,” in Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, The Christian Movement in the Japanese Empire, Including Korea and Formosa (Tokyo: Conference of Federated Missions, Japan, 1920), 223–28, here 224).
p.191

had taken of the Koreans’ peaceful demonstrations and the Japanese atrocities that followed

NoteFrank Schofield was “one of the most hostile missionary critics of Japanese rule in Korea,” whose activism made him “a pest to both the Japanese authorities and the British Foreign Office,” in the words of historian Hamish Ion. “Schofield did not know when to stop” (Ion 1990, 193). Saitō Makoto (斎藤 実 1858–1936), who was made governor-general after the March First demonstrations, singled Schofield out as “a most dangerous man, assiduously carrying on the independence agitation in Korea” (as quoted in Ion 1990, 194). Schofield even took his cause to Japan itself, where he penned articles in the press advancing his cause and scored a meeting with Prime Minister Hara Takashi (原 敬 1856–1921), Japan’s first Christian prime minister—a Catholic who was baptized as David (Ion 1990, 193). What made Schofield “most dangerous” to the Japanese colonial authorities—his unalloyed belief in the righteousness of Korea’s cause—is precisely the reason that South Koreans celebrated Schofield as the “thirty-fourth patriot,” a reference to the thirty-three signers of the Korean Declaration of Independence (Clark 2003, 53). When Schofield died in 1970—in Seoul—he became the first foreigner to be buried at Seoul National Cemetery (國立서울顯忠院 Kor. Kukrip Sŏul Hyŏnch’ung-wŏn).
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“atrocities,” but also for persecution that he said “had assumed an anti-Christian form”

Note“BARBAROUS AND REVOLTING ATROCITIES”: Lord George Curzon, who had visited Korea in 1892 and written a book on his Asia travels in 1894 before going on to serve as the British viceroy of India (1899–1905), a cabinet member under Prime Minister David Lloyd George during World War I, and, starting in October 1919, Britain’s foreign secretary, was so incensed by the reports he read from Korea, including from Frank Schofield, that in July 1919 he summoned the Japanese ambassador for a grilling. “I had lying before me pages of evidence describing the most barbarous and revolting atrocities, the publication of which would produce a sensation in the civilized world,” Curzon later wrote. “The persecution of the Koreans had assumed an anti-Christian form, and deeply affected all foreign nations whose subjects were either resident or interested in that country.” The meeting was said to have been so fiery in tone that Japan nearly withdrew its ambassador from London (as quoted in Ion 1990, 195).  ASHAMED TO BE ALLIED: The developments in Korea prompted many Canadian missionaries, who were British subjects, to oppose the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, which was first signed in 1902 and still in force in 1919. Duncan MacRae, one of the Canadian missionaries working in Korea, “told the Japanese authorities I am ashamed to have my country allied with a nation like Japan, who treat human beings as they treat Koreans” (Ion 1990, 20, citing Duncan M. MacRae to Allan E. Armstrong, December 24, 1920). Schofield was eventually recalled to Canada, in large part because he had become a political liability to the work of the Canadian Presbyterians (Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 64).
p.192

“the officials have paid more attention to Christian participation than to that of any other class”

NoteON THE FLOOR OF THE U.S. SENATE: The quote is from the missionary-penned pamphlet, The Korea Situation: Authentic Accounts of Recent Events by Eye Witnesses, published by the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America’s Commission on Relations with the Orient, mentioned earlier. The pamphlet was formally entered into the U.S. Congressional Record in the Senate on July 17, 1919 (“The Japan-Korean Situation,” July 17, 1919, in United States Congressional Record, 66th Cong., 1st Sess., Vol. 58 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1919), 2698–2717, here 2711). See also Cynn 1920, 77–79. As the report declared, according to the Congressional Record, “it cannot be doubted that a persistent campaign is being carried on against Christianity under the plan of suppressing revolt. Vilifying, beating old men and little children, breaking up meetings by armed officers and men, wholesale arrests, brutal treatment of those under arrest, threats and intimidation, and massacre are all being employed to break the spirit of Christians and to prevent the spread of Christianity” (“Japan-Korean Situation,” Congressional Record, July 17, 1919, 2712). Horace H. Underwood’s eyewitness account of the Che’am-ri incident had been read into the Congressional Record two days earlier (“Christian Village Wiped Out,” July 17, 1919, in United States Congressional Record, 66th Cong., 1st Sess., Vol. 58 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1919), 2599). See also Huntley 1984, 179; Clark, “‘Surely God’” (1989), 59; and Cynn 1920, 66. Sen. George W. Norris (1861-1944) lamented that a people “on the eve of a great upheaval for Christianity and civilization” was being persecuted for protesting for freedom (Caprio 2009, 113; Richard S. Kim 2002, 100–7; and Lew 2014, 117).  YEA TO THE IRISH, NAY TO THE KOREANS: As historian Ryu Yŏng-ik writes, “the Korean question was intermittently debated in the U.S. Congress in the latter half of 1919,” culminating in a Senate debate on March 17, 1920, over whether to recognize the independence of Ireland and Korea; the Irish vote passed 38 to 36, while the Korean vote failed 34 to 46 (Lew 2014, 117). For more on the mostly futile efforts of several congressmen—Sen. George Norris, a Nebraska Republican; Sen. Selden P. Spencer (1862–1925), a Missouri Republican; Sen. James D. Phelan (1861–1930), a California Democrat; and Rep. William Mason (1850–1921), an Illinois Republican—to advance Korea’s cause on Capitol Hill between June and October 1919, see Richard S. Kim 2002, 100–7. Sen. Spencer penned the foreword of Korean nationalist Henry Chung’s 1921 book, The Case of Korea, describing America’s responsibility to Korea as one of solemn duty, pointing to the U.S.’s 1882 treaty with Korea. “We built the first railroad, the first electric light plant, the first water works in Korea; we constructed the first large Korean steamboats, we equipped her mines with modern machinery,” he wrote (Selden P. Spencer, “Foreword,” in Chung 1921, 7–10, here 8).
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home as “the greatest example in world history of an organized passive resistance for an ideal”

NoteCalifornia newspaper publisher Valentine S. McClatchy (1857–1938), traveling in Korea at the time of the demonstrations, described them as “the greatest example in world history of an organized passive resistance for an ideal” (as quoted in Chung 1921, 199.) The eyewitness account by McClatchy was published in Hawaii’s two main newspapers, the Star-Bulletin and the Advertiser (Do-Hyung Kim and Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, “March First Movement,” in Yŏng-ho Ch’oe 2007, 131). McClatchy, together with his brother Charles K. McClatchy (1858–1936), helped turn the Sacramento Bee into one of America’s biggest publishing empires, known as McClatchy Co.  PROMISES NEVER KEPT: Words of support flowed in from the American academy, too. “The recent proclamation of Japan…should deceive no intelligent and informed man,” Methodist Bishop Warren Candler, president emeritus of Emory University in Atlanta and a prominent patron of missionary work in Korea, wrote after witnessing firsthand Japan’s oppression during a trip to Korea. “Japan’s promises with reference to Korea have never been kept” (Chung 1921, 283–84, quoting Warren Candler article in the Atlanta Journal, September 7, 1919). In addition to his leadership positions at Emory University, Candler was the brother of Coca-Cola Co. founder Asa G. Candler (1851–1929).
p.192

the brutality that they had suffered at the hands of the Japanese would make any difference

Note“For the organizers of the movement,” writes Harvard historian Erez Manela, “the most important audiences for their declarations and demonstrations were not the Japanese authorities but the world leaders gathered at the other end of the Eurasian land mass” (Manela 2007, 133).
p.192

“you as a father. ‘Hear our declaration of independence and tell it to the world,’ is our prayer”

NoteHere, Donald Clark cites “A Letter to President Wilson and the Members of the Peace Conference from Korean School Girls,” March 10, 1919 (PHS).