Shamanism in the Modern Era

A pig ready to be balanced on a pitchfork, offered to the Gods, then eaten by all

             I stand amidst a rural garden, listening to constant drumming and chanting, surrounded by close friends and strangers from distant cities.  I traveled to a small town outside of Seoul to witness a Korean shaman’s ritual, but I did not only find superstitious elders and a rural population.  Instead, at this ritual in the middle of nowhere I found CEOs, politicians, artists and scholars, all in attendance out of respect for this Korean shaman and the necessity of this ritual to their lives.  Here I saw that the Kut (the Korean traditional shamanist ritual) remains alive as an integral part of modern Korean life.

             A Mudang is a profession and lifestyle that can take 2 minutes or 2 weeks to explain, and even in my extensive time working with Korean performance I have not fully grasped it.  At its core, a Mudang is someone who becomes possessed by what they call a “ghost” or a “god,” using the Mudang’s body as a translator between the material world and what Mudang call the “spirit world.”  This results in a period where the Mudang becomes possessed by their ghost and enters what anthropologist Michael Harner calls the SSC – a shifted state of consciousness.  During this shift, the Mudang’s ghost may tell fortunes and give advice on the future, perform a Kut (which ranges from dancing on knives to the slaughtering of a pig), or simply enter a clever banter with the client, remarking on their dress or demeanor.  While many skilled anthropologists have looked at the work of Mudang in greater detail, my observations deal more with their roles as performers in society and how they fill the needs of their clients.  Further information on the fine details and rules of Kut can be found in alternative sets of literature.

                In the West and especially modern North America, many tend to have a mystic or dismissive view of shamanism, either viewing them as near ephemeral beings who live as their ancestors did 200o years ago and can invisibly solve all our problems, or swindlers who take advantage of the faith and fear of others for financial gain and an ego boost.  During my time in Fulbright I have found a number of opportunities to visit, interview, live and train with Mudang in and outside of Seoul, an opportunity that I owe to the many friends and colleagues who helped me connect with them, as they are often wary of foreigners (especially researchers).  During my first-hand work, while it only deals with a small percent of all Mudang in Korea, I have found that neither assumption about shamanism is true, at least in this nation.  Mudang are neither living gods nor are they a league of greedy psychopaths. Although fake Mudang do exist, most are extremely practical, accepting the existence and use of their skills to aid their clients in whatever ways possible while pointing to other sources like modern medicine for other needs.

                During my time in Korea, I have had the opportunity to observe and participate in a number of Kut, and as a director and artist I have viewed a number of ways in which a Mudang’s actions serve their clients through performance.  Beyond the Kut themselves, I also find a unique one-on-one performance aspect in their most regular function: fortune telling.  In the West we often discount the concept of fortune telling with good reason, as many will pay large amounts of money to be told of future riches, status or power.  However, a Mudang’s fortune is quite different; most often I have observed that they will speak about health, family or mental issues or a future career, but not in terms of absolutes or specific desires.  Rather, Mudang usually comment on how we fill our role in the greater workings of our environment, and speak with the assumption that the future can always be improved.

                While the accuracy of these predictions, at least by the most well-reputed Mudang I have met, have been eerily accurate, I understand the skepticism many will have on the truth of their ability to predict.  Rather, I ask us to consider the value of fortune telling as a source of self-reflection, a practice that seems to fade away as life becomes more and more busy.  While a therapist might provide a similar (and very important) service, they will often ask about a person’s issues and then build analysis off of those ideas, explaining your psyche to you and offering advice.  A Mudang’s predictions on the other hand will blatantly tell you who you are, what you feel, what you dream of and the quality of your health.  When faced with these ideas, which may range from “your stomach cannot handle meat” to “deep down, you are greedy and only want money, so simply embrace it,” we can no longer hide behind the basic logic of “Why do I make the decisions I make?” and rather must face the fundamental questions of “Who am I?  What do I naturally want to do?”  In this way, the fortune-telling ritual of Mudang forces us to assess and evaluate our fundamental person without hiding behind a chosen morality or philosophy.  If we feel they are correct in their fortune telling, we further understand ourselves and how we function, if not, then we become stronger in the conviction of who we are.  In either sense, this work by Mudang helps us approach a part of life we naturally fear, but I feel we must confront to become stronger and more honest in our every day lives.

                While fortune-telling is often a one-on-one experience, Mudang perform many larger scale Kut for more specific problems.  One that I have observed can be best described colloquially as a “Passing On” ritual, performed for the recently deceased as a means of helping their soul sail into the afterlife peacefully.  While one might address this as a funeral with different sets of clothes, the performance aspect of this Kut provides much that aids family and friends in dealing with the complex emotions that form during the passing of loved ones.  These Kut will often last 6 to 7 hours, involve a large amount of song, dance and traditional music played using loud percussion instruments.  Moreover, the room is decorated with bright and vibrant colors, more reminiscent of a celebration than a tragic goodbye.  As various songs are performed to say farewell to the loved one, the ritual culminates in the Mudang channeling the deceased one last time to give final goodbyes and messages to those in the audience.  For the finale, a small model boat that is said to hold the spirit is sent off on a long white cloth, which everyone in attendance holds onto and uses to pull the boat to the heavens.  Within these moments of laughing, singing and crying the audience is able to embrace and move on in response to what we might view as the cathartic nature of death.  When a loved one passes on, it is no doubt painful, but as we embrace the memories they created and the love they gave, do we not also feel a need to celebrate and sing?  Do we not feel a desire to hear them one last time, to ask one last question?  Rather than arguing about the reality of the spirit’s presence or not, I noticed the ease and happiness the audience felt in the ritual; the Mudang provided a service in dealing with the harrowing and terrifying concept of death, something that requires more than a formal suit and a simple prayer.  Within this ritual I felt the Mudang connect with the genuine emotions of the audience, helping them to face the simultaneous fear and joy that comes in human life and death, moving forward instead of remaining haunted by their fears.

The shrine of a Mudang is often decorated with offerings to the Gods, especially during a Kut. These foodstuffs are later consumed by or given as gifts to guests who attend the ritual.

                Another Kut I have had the privilege of observing is one that we could dub in English as a “Good Luck Kut.”  This Kut is often performed during the opening of a restaurant, a business transaction, the ending of a building’s construction and more.  Often considered the most popular Kut of recent times, the patrons I have met have ranged from neighbors down the street to high level politicians and CEOs.  Whether or not one believes in Kut or the legitimacy of Mudang, one cannot deny their important role in the financial, political, social and spiritual aspects of Korea.  Though it can be seen as primitive or embarrassing, even (and especially) the very powerful feel a deep need for these performances by Mudang.  The primary goal of this ritual is to channel and drive out evil ghosts in the area, allowing good business and fortune to come to the owners.

Oftentimes copious amounts of alcohol are as important as the offerings of food

                This will last usually from 1 to 2 days, beginning with music and dancing by a number of Mudang, culminating in an impossible act that proves the presence of a good spirit (ex: balancing an entire pig upright on a pitch fork, a Mudang dancing on knives without being cut).  Afterwards, several Mudang will channel  and exorcise the various negative spirits in the area from goblins (Tobegi) to deceased children crying for their mother.  Whether or not one believes in the presence of spirits, this ritual has often put the mind of many owners at ease when entering the terrifying world of business.  Moreover, such rituals provide a communal setting where all involved and celebrate and observe the beginning of a new venture while avoiding the political and social issues of the average “office party.”  In the presence of Mudang and spirits, all are subject to the spirit world, and in turn equal (even child spirits must be revered with the highest honorifics, no matter the age or position of those involved).  This creates a unique sense of community and security between all who observe the Kut, a bond that lets all know that what they will work with goes beyond just a net profit – they all participate in the life and health of the organization as a whole.  In turn, during interviews I have found that business owners and employees see the Kut as a method of trust and confidence building, that the owners understand that business is an entity upon which they all rely, and must be taken care of in its service to the community.

                The big question in performing arts today is still the same as it was when film was first invented; now that there are other methods of visual storytelling, how and why do we survive?  I feel that the answer to this question lies in addressing that performance, if we allow it to include the ancient aspects of shamanism and ritual, is something that has achieved an indigenous presence in almost every human culture.    Moreover, performance was not always used to tell stories, but was to serve a need for catharsis, a need for collective emotional experience, and a need to build our communities.  Rather than trying to compete with film (which now faces its own similar struggles with the advent of digital media), I feel that we should instead address what can be given only through live interaction.   My closest Mudang contact taught me the ancient Korean word “Ppunryu” – meaning the fundamental exchange of feeling and spirit we have when we are with another human being.  As we live more through screens and digital technologies, I feel that the need for this will only grow in the future.  As a result, performers in the West must learn to embrace and serve this concept of Ppunryu. We must become guides, teachers and friends to our global community in dealing with those few, but inescapable problems that cannot be solved by our minds, but only  by our hearts.

Note: Both for the sake of brevity and protecting the identities of those I have worked with, specific details of these Kut have been left out.  If anyone is interested in learning more about what exactly happened and peoples’ reactions, feel free to contact me and we can talk about it through e-mail or otherwise. 

Works Cited:

Harner, Michael J. The Way of the Shaman. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1990. Print.

Hogarth, Hyun-key Kim. Gut, the Korean Shamanistic Ritual. Seoul, Korea: Jimoondang, 2009. Print.

Kim, T’ae-gon, and Soo-kyung Chang. Korean Shamanism-muism. Seoul: Jimoondang, 1998. Print.