The Literary Man Of Imsil

[The calling of spirits is one of the powers supposed to be possessed by disciples of the Old Philosopher (Taoists), who reach a high state of spiritual attainment. While the natural desires remain they cloud and obstruct spiritual vision; once rid of them, even angels and immortal beings become unfolded to the sight. They say, “If once all the obstructions of the flesh are eliminated even God can be seen.” They also say, “If I have no selfish desire, the night around me will shine with golden light; and if all injurious thoughts are truly put away, the wild deer of the mountain will come down and play beside me.”

Ha Sa-gong, a Taoist of high attainment, as an old man used to go out fishing, when the pigeons would settle in flights upon his head and shoulders. On his return one day he told his wife that they were so many that they bothered him. “Why not catch one of them?” said his wife. “Catch one?” said he. “What would you do with it?” “Why, eat it, of course.” So on the second day Ha went out with this intent in heart, but no birds came near or alighted on him. All kept a safe distance high up in mid-air, with doubt and suspicion evident in their flying.]

The Story

In the year 1654 there was a man of letters living in Imsil who claimed that he could control spirits, and that two demon guards were constantly at his bidding. One day he was sitting with a friend playing chess, when they agreed that the loser in each case was to pay a fine in drink. The friend lost and yet refused to pay his wager, so that the master said, “If you do not pay up I’ll make it hot for you.” The man, however, refused, till at last the master, exasperated, turned his back upon him and called out suddenly into the upper air some formula or other, as if he were giving a command. The man dashed off through the courtyard to make his escape, but an unseen hand bared his body, and administered to him such a set of sounding blows that they left blue, seamy marks. Unable to bear the pain of it longer, he yielded, and then the master laughed and let him go.

At another time he was seated with a friend, while in the adjoining village a witch koot (exorcising ceremony) was in progress, with drums and gongs banging furiously. The master suddenly rushed out to the bamboo grove that stood behind the official yamen, and, looking very angry and with glaring eyes, he shouted, and made bare his arm as if to drive off the furies. After a time he ceased. The friend, thinking this a peculiar performance, asked what it meant. His reply was, “A crowd of devils have come from the koot, and are congregating in the grove of bamboos; if I do not drive them off trouble will follow in the town, and for that cause I shouted.”

Again he was making a journey with a certain friend, when suddenly, on the way, he called out to the mid-air, saying, “Let her go, let her go, I say, or I’ll have you punished severely.”

His appearance was so peculiar and threatening that the friend asked the cause. For the time being he gave no answer, and they simply went on their way.

That night they entered a village where they wished to sleep, but the owner of the house where they applied said that they had sickness, and asked them to go. They insisted, however, till he at last sent a servant to drive them off. Meanwhile the womenfolk watched the affair through the chinks of the window, and they talked in startled whispers, so that the scholar overheard them.

A few minutes later the man of the house followed in the most humble and abject manner, asking them to return and accept entertainment and lodging at his house. Said he, “I have a daughter, sir, and she fell ill this very day and died, and after some time came to life again. Said she, ‘A devil caught me and carried my soul off down the main roadway, where we met a man, who stopped us, and in fierce tones drove off the spirit, who let me go, and so I returned to life.’ She looked out on your Excellency through the chink of the window, and, behold, you are the man. I am at my wits’ end to know what to say to you. Are you a genii or are you a Buddhist, so marvellously to bring back the dead to life? I offer this small refreshment; please accept.”

The scholar laughed, and said, “Nonsense! Just a woman’s haverings. How could I do such things?” He lived for seven or eight years more, and died.

Im Bang.

XI

Moral

The literary scholar learns painfully that knowledge without compassion and humility breeds spiritual arrogance and inevitable ruin. True wisdom demands humble respect for others’ gifts and hearts, transforming selfish greed into genuine gratitude and personal study into generous service to one’s community.

Historical & Cultural Context

Korean folk tales root themselves in Confucian family ethics, Buddhist compassion and Shamanic wonder, often set in thatched villages, mountain temples or the courts of the Joseon Dynasty.

Set in Imsil, a Joseon province central to yangban culture, this cautionary tale warns scholar-officials against spiritual pride – an occupational risk for the educated elite. Buddhist compassion (in) and Confucian decorum insist that learning must elevate moral character, never feed ego or arrogance. Shamanic elements suggest supernatural judgment of the greedy heart. Such folk wisdom transmitted through pansori performances and village gatherings, cautioning that social status and literacy imposed moral responsibility toward the poor and humble. Knowledge without virtue invites cosmic rebalancing.

Reflection & Discussion

1. What costly consequences does the scholar’s greed and arrogance bring upon him throughout the tale?
2. How do Korean cultural values balance respect for education with the necessity of humility?
3. Why is compassion (in) framed as essential to the proper understanding of true wisdom?

Did You Know?

• Korean folk tales, called ‘jeonrae donghwa,’ often feature magical tigers who can speak and transform.
• The mythical creature ‘dokkaebi’ (Korean goblin) appears in many Korean folk tales as a mischievous but sometimes helpful being.
• Many Korean folk tales emphasize the Confucian values of filial piety, loyalty, and respect for elders.

What This Tale Teaches Us Today

Old stories keep their power because their lessons never stop being useful. Here is how this one still applies:

• Reading folk tales aloud to children builds vocabulary, imagination, and a sense of cultural inheritance.
• Every folk tale is also a time machine – a small window into how our ancestors thought about the world.
• Folk tales teach ethics without lecturing. A good story can reshape a mind more powerfully than any rule.

Why This Story Still Matters

The Literary Man Of Imsil joins a vast global library of folk tales that human beings have been telling one another for thousands of years. Every culture has produced its own stories, but the deepest themes – courage, kindness, cleverness, loyalty, the cost of greed – appear again and again in different clothes. Modern readers who spend time with folk tales inherit something precious: a sense that people have always wrestled with the same basic questions, and that good stories can still help us find good answers. That is why these tales persist. Each one is a small tool for living, handed down quietly through generations.

Cultural Context and Continuing Influence

Folk tales like this one survived for hundreds of years through oral storytelling before any scholar thought to write them down. Grandparents told them to grandchildren, travelers traded them along roads and rivers, and mothers repeated them to babies who would one day repeat them to their own children. Each small retelling sharpened the story, discarded unnecessary parts, and polished the essential lesson. That long process of refinement is why a good folk tale feels so weighty – it has been shaped by thousands of listeners across generations, each contributing something small to the story we read today.

Modern readers sometimes wonder whether folk tales are still relevant in an age of apps and smartphones. The answer is yes, perhaps more than ever. The technology changes, but the underlying questions – about kindness, courage, loyalty, greed, family, fear, love – do not. These are the same questions that children asked around a fire in ancient India, around a hearth in medieval Ireland, around a campfire in 19th-century Korea. And they are the same questions children ask their parents today, just phrased differently. That is why a family that reads folk tales together is doing real cultural and emotional work, not simply entertaining itself.

Reading Folk Tales With Children

Reading folk tales aloud to children is one of the oldest and most effective forms of moral education. Unlike a lecture or a rule, a story slides past a child’s natural resistance and plants its lesson in the imagination, where it quietly grows. Years later, when the child meets a real situation that resembles the story – a bully at school, a dishonest coworker, a moment of temptation – the old tale rises to the surface of memory and offers guidance. That is why parents and teachers across every culture have trusted stories to do the work of raising good humans, long before formal schools or textbooks existed.

When reading this story with a young listener, try pausing at key moments and asking what the child thinks will happen next. Let them guess, even if they are wrong. That small act of prediction turns a passive listener into an active thinker. After the story ends, a simple open question – “What would you have done?” or “Who do you think was the smartest character?” – invites the child to connect the tale to their own life. Those conversations are where real learning happens, not during the reading itself but in the quiet moments that follow.

Older children and teenagers sometimes think they have outgrown folk tales. In reality, the best tales only deepen with age. A ten-year-old hears the surface plot; a fifteen-year-old notices the irony; a twenty-year-old sees the economic and political pressures on the characters; a forty-year-old understands the parents in the story for the first time. A good folk tale is a gift that keeps unfolding for decades. Families who read and reread the same stories across the years discover this naturally, and pass the discovery down.