How should we live in an age of anxiety and exhaustion?

Alexis de Tocqueville once observed a peculiar melancholy lingering amid abundance. Nearly two centuries later, his insight feels relevant to contemporary Korea.

Recently, I came across a social media post titled, “I love Korea, but I also dislike Korea.” It captured a familiar tension — affection for the warmth of "jeong" and the efficiency of everyday life, alongside discomfort with a culture marked by sharp competition, status-consciousness and the quiet normalization of social indifference. Beneath Korea’s success lies a question many are asking: What kind of society have we become?

For generations, Koreans pursued self-improvement with determination, seeing hard work and discipline as pathways to dignity and social mobility. Yet beneath this achievement lies a persistent anxiety about inequality, insecurity and the future. These pressures shape institutions but also what sociologist Robert Bellah described as the moral and cultural dispositions that quietly guide how people think, value and relate to one another.

In the Korean context, cultural critic Jin Joong-kwon identifies several enduring tendencies that shape collective life: a market-centered logic that often evaluates worth in economic terms, a strong sensitivity to hierarchy and status, and an emotional intensity capable of generating both remarkable solidarity and deep social division. These traits helped drive Korea’s rapid industrialization and democratization, yet they have also contributed to a society that is demanding and lonely. In such an environment, individuals are expected to be adaptable, disciplined and competitive, while recognition is often tied to achievement. As a result, the vulnerable are easily left behind, and the successful remain preoccupied with maintaining their position. The implicit lesson is difficult to miss: Belonging and affirmation are something to be earned rather than simply given.

How should we live in such a performance-driven society?

To begin with, what we need is neither radical individualism nor authoritarian collectivism, but a renewed commitment to personalism, which insists that every person possesses an inherent dignity that cannot be reduced to economic value, social status or utility. It calls us to see others not merely as competitors or categories, but as persons with stories, wounds and hopes. Such a vision requires a willingness to remain open to friendship and mutual care, even in a hectic society. What Korea needs is not a return to collectivism, but a deeper sense of social solidarity — the capacity to share responsibility, work together toward the common good and care for those who are vulnerable.

At the same time, a healthy society depends on the cultivation of autonomous citizens capable of distinguishing the nation from themselves and of evaluating social norms critically rather than merely conforming to them. Too often, public opinion exerts a pressure that encourages accommodation rather than genuine conviction. A mature civil society requires relationships grounded not primarily in hierarchy but in networks of mutual respect among equals.

Most importantly, we need an inner resilience that can withstand the sharp edges of life without being defined by them. Such strength comes from a conviction that life is worth living and that meaning can be discovered rather than inherited. Those who strive to preserve their dignity and the integrity of their lives are often the very people most capable of extending compassion and comfort to others.

Only by embracing this task can Korea achieve not merely economic modernization but a fuller and more humane form of modernity, one guided neither by naive idealism nor cynical realism, but by the audacity to hope that we can build a more humane society.

Chang Se-myeong (semyeongchangx7@korea.ac.kr) is a student at Korea University Graduate School of International Studies, majoring in international peace and security.