From Oracle Bones to Alphabets

Language is the lifeblood of culture, but what gives it permanence? Writing. The simple act of putting thought to page is a monumental human achievement. Yet, across the globe, the solutions to this challenge have been stunningly diverse. Nowhere is this more apparent than in East Asia, where three neighbouring cultures developed three radically different approaches to writing.

Join us on a journey from ancient divination rituals to a king’s revolutionary invention as we explore the evolution of Chinese characters, Japanese syllabaries, and the Korean alphabet. It’s a story of influence, adaptation, and pure genius.

The Ancient Foundation: China’s Characters of Meaning

Our story begins over 3,000 years ago during China’s Shang Dynasty. On the flat surfaces of turtle shells and ox scapulae—the “oracle bones”—kings and diviners would carve questions to the gods. When heated, the bones would crack, and the patterns were interpreted as divine answers. The symbols they carved were the ancestors of modern Chinese characters (漢字, hànzì).

These earliest characters were often pictograms: simple drawings of the things they represented. The character for mountain, 山 (shān), still evokes the shape of three peaks. The character for person, 人 (rén), resembles a figure in profile, walking.

But you can’t draw a picture of “thought” or “love.” Over millennia, these simple pictograms evolved into a sophisticated logographic system. In a logographic script, each character represents not just a sound, but a whole word or a unit of meaning (a morpheme). Characters were combined to create more complex ideas. For example:

• 火 (huǒ) = fire
• 山 (shān) = mountain
• 火山 (huǒshān) = volcano (literally “fire mountain”)

The power of this system is its transcendence of dialect. A speaker of Mandarin and a speaker of Cantonese cannot understand each other’s spoken language, but they can both read the same characters and understand that 火山 means volcano. The meaning is locked into the symbol itself.

The trade-off? Immense complexity. To be literate in Chinese requires memorizing thousands of unique characters, each an intricate combination of strokes. This high barrier to entry would become a crucial catalyst for change in neighbouring lands.

The Adaptation: Japan’s Syllabaries of Sound

For centuries, Japan existed in the cultural orbit of China. Along with Buddhism, philosophy, and art, Japan imported the Chinese writing system, which they call kanji. But they immediately ran into a huge problem: the Japanese language is structurally completely different from Chinese.

Chinese is an analytic language with a relatively simple grammar. Japanese, however, is agglutinative, meaning it relies on a rich system of grammatical particles and verb endings to convey meaning. How could they write these purely grammatical, phonetic sounds using a system where every character had a complex meaning attached?

Their first solution was ingenious but cumbersome. They began using certain kanji purely for their sound, ignoring their meaning. This system was called man’yōgana. To write the sound “ka”, for example, they might use the character 加 (to add), simply because it was pronounced “ka” in Chinese.

Eventually, this led to a breakthrough. Scribes, writing quickly, began to simplify these phonetic kanji into streamlined, purely phonetic scripts. This simplification process took two paths, creating two syllabaries—scripts where each symbol represents a syllable (like “ka”, “mi”, “su”).

1. Hiragana (ひらがな): Developed from cursive, simplified versions of whole kanji. For instance, the kanji 安 (peace, pronounced “an”) was simplified over time into the hiragana character あ (a). Hiragana’s soft, rounded forms are used for native Japanese words, grammatical endings, and particles.
2. Katakana (カタカナ): Developed from taking parts of kanji. The kanji 加 (add, “ka”) was simplified to just its left-hand side, creating the angular katakana character カ (ka). Katakana is primarily used today for foreign loanwords (like テレビ, terebi, from “television”), onomatopoeia, and for emphasis.

The result is modern Japanese writing: a hybrid marvel that weaves together three scripts. Kanji are used for the core meaning of nouns and verb stems, while hiragana handles the grammatical heavy lifting, and katakana deals with foreign elements. It is a system born of adaptation, a testament to fitting a foreign tool to a native tongue.

The Revolution: Korea’s Scientific Alphabet

Like Japan, Korea also adopted Chinese characters, which they call hanja. And like in Japan, this system was an awkward fit for the Korean language. More importantly, its difficulty created a vast literacy gap between the educated aristocracy and the common people, who had no effective way to write down their own language.

In the 15th century, one ruler decided this was unacceptable. King Sejong the Great, a visionary leader of the Joseon Dynasty, lamented that his subjects could not express their concerns in writing. He believed that a nation needed its own script, one that was perfectly suited to its language and easy for everyone to learn.

So, in 1443, he and a council of scholars did something unprecedented in the history of writing: they deliberately and scientifically invented an entirely new alphabet. This script was called Hangul (한글).

The genius of Hangul lies in its design. It is a featural alphabet, meaning the shapes of the letters encode phonological features—they look like what your mouth is doing when you say them.

• The consonant ㄱ (g/k) represents the shape of the back of the tongue raised to the soft palate.
• The consonant ㄴ (n) shows the tip of the tongue touching the upper gums.
• The consonant ㅁ (m) outlines the shape of the closed mouth.

The vowels were designed around a philosophical triad representing Heaven (a dot •, now a short stroke), Earth (a horizontal line ㅡ), and Humanity (a vertical line ㅣ). These are combined to form all the vowel sounds.

But King Sejong added one more brilliant touch. Instead of being written in a simple line like the Roman alphabet, Hangul letters are grouped into syllable blocks. The word “Hangul” itself is written as 한글, not ㅎㅏㄴㄱㅡㄹ. Each block (한 and 글) fits into a square space, maintaining a visual harmony with the Chinese characters it was designed to supplement and eventually replace. A common saying goes that “a wise man can learn it in a morning, and a fool can learn it in ten days.”

Three Scripts, Three Stories

The writing systems of East Asia tell three powerful stories of cultural development. China’s logograms represent a story of origin and endurance—a direct, unbroken line to antiquity. Japan’s syllabaries tell a story of adaptation and synthesis—the clever blending of foreign and native elements to create a unique hybrid. And Korea’s alphabet is a story of revolution and access—a conscious break from tradition in the name of scientific elegance and egalitarianism.

From oracle bones to syllabic blocks, these scripts are more than just lines on a page. They are monuments to human ingenuity, each a unique and beautiful solution to the timeless challenge of giving voice to the written word.