My first philosophical mentor,
Uncle 석형산

If you think profoundly, you can define something above its dictionary definition.

My life lesson started over twenty years ago. My uncle and aunt from Gyeongju used to talk about philosophy with me when I was young. Why they did this was vague to me back then. I was a normal boy who liked to play soccer and hang out with friends. But sometimes during summer, my parents sent me to their house for a week, and we usually talked about philosophy. I don't remember exactly what we discussed, but it was fine. I didn't complain. I just followed along and spent time with them.

My uncle passed away around a year and a half ago. My aunt was going through one of the hardest times in her life.

She missed her husband and didn't want to feel the emptiness. But when I think about her and my uncle, they were quite different people. Because of my aunt's illness, they couldn't have children. So if she had had kids, would she feel less lonely? I don't think so. Here's why.

The level of my uncle's thought was deep, and most of my family couldn't understand him. He was born in North Korea (at that time, the boundary between North and South Korea was vague, and people could cross easily, like going from California to Nevada). His whole family moved to South Korea, and he finished Seoul National University, one of the best universities in South Korea. My aunt didn't really see him. She didn't see where he came from, or what he had done with his life. To her, he was a muse, an axis, a patch covering something missing inside her. She leaned on him to feel complete instead of building her own ground. When he died, the patch was gone, and the missing piece came back, unfilled. Marcus Aurelius wrote in Meditations that even when you lose someone you love, you should not reveal too much grief, because your philosophy should have already absorbed the truth that loss is part of life. My uncle had built that kind of philosophy. My aunt had not.

I am not sure how they met, but the age difference between them was about twelve years. My uncle did not really work, and all the bills were on my aunt. My family could not understand why he did not want to make money. I could not either. But after I learned more about philosophy and started thinking more deeply, my point of view changed. Based on what I see now, he was fighting his own materialistic ideology with his philosophy.

My uncle studied Asian art about fifty years ago. His cohort became quite rich with their art skills, and some became professors. I do not think he was jealous of his friends, or of people with money. What he tried to do was set up a place where he could improve his theory. I know this is abstract, so I will explain piece by piece.

My uncle and aunt built their house when they were young, and it was quite far from downtown Gyeongju. My uncle did some farming (he had a small garden, and my dad and I used to help him a lot) for his food and my aunt's. When his students came to visit (he used to teach art and debate a lot with them, according to my aunt), they walked and had dinner at his house. One of his acquaintances wanted to buy his old house, so he built a new house adjacent to where they used to live.

When they moved to the new place, my uncle's mom (who was full of love and kindness) passed away. I am not sure, but I can imagine what he thought. He wanted to focus on his art and drawing, but he never went back to it. Time passed. He grew older. One day my mom called me and said, "your uncle is weird." That was when I felt he was ready to close his last lesson. He did not really eat, and of course his gut stopped working. I don't blame him. But my aunt was panicking. At least he should have shown a glimpse of will to live with his wife. His mind could not deal with that.

I keep thinking: what if I had called him? Or facetimed? I would have loved to show him that I had grown up, and that I was finally trying to understand what he wanted to teach me.

His lessons were too profound for anyone in my family to understand what he wanted to tell us. Even now, I still cannot fully understand them. But I can feel them. His main lessons were:

• Set your philosophy for your life, and improve it all the time.
• The philosophy I taught you is not perfect.
• If you feel that you have accomplished or lost your philosophy, there is no meaning to live. But there is no accomplishment in philosophy. It is always unfinished.

One thing I would ask him: what you taught me, I could not learn anywhere else. Your legacy has passed to me, and I have improved and enhanced it. Now it is my turn. I have set my goals and dreamed of what kind of person, what kind of man, I should be. If I meet you again, I would love to tell you my philosophy and debate what you have improved over there. Please keep watching how I change. And if I am about to do something wrong, or something I should not do, please give me a signal.