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Rampant in modern life is that a lot of stuff that doesn't matter dazzles people and shows up in the questions they ask each other. Questions such as: Where did you go to college? What score did you get on the TOEFL (or GRE or GMAT or some other test)? What does your father do?
It shows the obsessions people have with appearance and status in obvious ways, such as when somebody flashes a Rolex watch not so they can tell the time but to show everybody else that they have one, or for a similar effect pulls a Mont Blanc pen out of their pocket and makes a show of scribbling with it, or drives a ridiculously expensive car so others can see them sitting behind the wheel.
It shows up in Korea in the final year of high school with the suneung ― the college entrance exam that high school seniors take in their last semester. Their suneung scores determine where they can go to college, and for many students in Korea _ as it is for many in America ― the perception of the college they attend counts for a lot more than what they might learn. This is why the suneung ― a test like the SAT of mostly multiple-choice (that is, multiple-guess) questions ― is more important to them than any ability they can gain through experience.
Despite the fact that many people who studied at regional colleges ― or who didn't go to college at all ― make good in their work, too many students still maintain that even if they learn nothing, the name of the college on their diploma is all that counts, which is an absurd notion that college students all over the world seem to accept without question.
Foibles of status and prestige that infest modern life aren't the virtues that helped Koreans get to where they are and won't be the virtues that will help them go where they want to go. But, luckily for them, they don't have to look far to find what they need.
Since ancient times, the Koreans have valued the quality they call jeong. Jeong is genuine concern for ones fellow human beings and fosters real friendship among people. Inherent in jeong is unselfishness and humility. A person who strives to live up to the ideals of jeong won't let status or appearance consume them, and won't draw attention to themselves by showing off or bragging. They won't try to outdo others or try to be better than them. Instead, they'll to work with others harmoniously out of concern for what they must all do together so they can make life better for themselves and everybody else.
Jeong was born out of the necessity of keeping the group strong in a hostile world because no other way would have worked for the Koreans, living as they always have lived between two giants ― China and Japan ― who at best have been indifferent to them. Jeong has endowed the Koreans with the strength and wisdom to survive through all the calamities that have plagued them throughout their long history. Without jeong, they would have perished long ago. But here they are, and now they have these magnificent possibilities to benefit not only themselves but all of humankind.
The Goldman Sachs forecast of 2007 that I wrote about in "Korea in the next 40 years" (you can find that story here on my blog) is a prediction, not a prophecy. What is prophetic about it, though, is that Koreans won't coast into 2050 and find themselves rich. Nor will they get there trying to outdo each other, battling to see who can get more than anybody else. Indeed, they wouldn't be here now had they not worked together for the good of all, and had they not valued jeong.
Jeong is more than just an ideal. It's nothing less than a Korean birthright, and for any Korean to forsake jeong would not only be a tragedy for themselves, but for their nation.
Lyman McLallen is a professor in the College of English at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies.
