By Steven L. Shields
"Jeong" is a Korean idea that defies a simple definition. When Koreans ask me what it is I like about Korea and why I've been engaged with the country and its people for so long, I can list a host of positives, but in the end, I can only explain to Koreans who ask, "I got 'jeong.'" Non-Koreans who have never been to Korea or only spent a quick trip here, or heard things in the news, still can't understand this crazy white guy who sees Korea as a second homeland ― who lives here and loves the people and culture, but who will never fully fit in.
I've read books by foreigners who encounter Korea. They try hard to get their heads around "jeong" enough to explain it to others. The challenge is, one must experience "jeong" to start understanding it, and even then, after more than 40 years of engagement with Korea, I suspect I've only just begun to understand ― I can get at "jeong," but I'm not sure I get "jeong."
One writer called it an "invisible hug." That's a symbolic stab at a definition but doesn't get to anything understandable. Korean society, in general, does not have much touchy-feelyness (if I can be permitted to coin a word). Bowing was long the norm. Handshaking is a relatively modern convention, picked up from the West but usually still accompanied by a bow.
Although more common in this century, public displays of affection are still a rarity. I've been surprised by Korean friends physically hugging me on occasion. Growing up in a typical U.S. household of the 1960s, I only shook hands with my father and grandfather. Hugging was not common in my formative years, especially among men.
Each non-Korean who engages in the "Korean experience" will have a slightly different take on "jeong" and other inter-relational actions. A Korean writer said that it's not possible to become friends with someone older or younger than oneself. A Western respondent declared the writer was "clearly unaware" of Korean culture ― an odd thing to say; the Westerner was wrong. He had no idea that the Korean word "chin-gu" does not mean "friend" in the English-Western casual understanding.
Westerners define "friend" loosely. A person I knew took me to restaurants and coffee shops where, she said, the owner or head waiter was her "friend." Meeting these people, I realized that the woman called every casual acquaintance "friend." Koreans are not so loose with their definition.
While Westerners in Korea are given some latitude as to their relations with others (call it "friend," if you will), proper Korean culture does not permit me to be a "friend" with someone of higher rank or age than me. Yes, I can have a close relationship with the person, but calling my 90-year-old retired professor a "friend" in the casual Western sense is quite rude and overreaching. Likewise, it's improper for me to elevate someone younger than me to the same status.
"Jeong" can wrap itself around all this. "Jeong" encompasses a sense of caring for others because you are connected somehow. But at the same time, it is not "friendship" in the Korean definition, nor is it love. In Korea's long-since past villages, there was a strong identity, caring for others, helping one another survive. The villagers would turn out to get all the fields planted, all the harvest collected. Aunties and uncles freely disciplined the village children, something expected by the parents.
There are few villages left, and the village mentality/society is disappearing quickly. Most people live in domino-style concrete boxes and rarely know or interact with the neighbors on their floor, let alone the entire building. No more are there village trees under which the village grandparents gather and chat during the hot afternoons.
Coffee shops have replaced the village gathering place, but few have time anymore to relax with their neighbors. If a non-family member were to discipline a child these days, the parents might become quite upset and tell the person to mind their own business.
In the 21st century, it seems like there is no room anymore for "jeong." We can no longer relax after planting the fields and let the crops grow. We are bombarded with daily claims that we must "grow" the economy to provide enough jobs. But the unspoken message is this: so that more and more of you people can spend more and more money on products that the corporations must sell to reap their billions in profits for a few wealthy owners.
The consumer culture that has gripped all facets of society demands an ever-increasing and individualistic pursuit of the "Almighty Won." More and more money is needed to buy the high-end accessories that society regards as essential. Though hardly a luxury, housing requires more and more effort to accumulate enough to acquire. Cars are no longer essential tools but have become high-end accessories for many.
Sadly, we no longer have time for "jeong." We are no longer a society of one for all, all for one. That has been replaced by "each one for themselves" and "damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead."
Rev. Steven L. Shields (slshields@gmail.com) has lived in Korea for many years, beginning in the 1970s. He is president of the Royal Asiatic Society Korea. He served as copy editor of The Korea Times in 1977.
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I've read books by foreigners who encounter Korea. They try hard to get their heads around "jeong" enough to explain it to others. The challenge is, one must experience "jeong" to start understanding it, and even then, after more than 40 years of engagement with Korea, I suspect I've only just begun to understand ― I can get at "jeong," but I'm not sure I get "jeong."
One writer called it an "invisible hug." That's a symbolic stab at a definition but doesn't get to anything understandable. Korean society, in general, does not have much touchy-feelyness (if I can be permitted to coin a word). Bowing was long the norm. Handshaking is a relatively modern convention, picked up from the West but usually still accompanied by a bow.
Although more common in this century, public displays of affection are still a rarity. I've been surprised by Korean friends physically hugging me on occasion. Growing up in a typical U.S. household of the 1960s, I only shook hands with my father and grandfather. Hugging was not common in my formative years, especially among men.
Each non-Korean who engages in the "Korean experience" will have a slightly different take on "jeong" and other inter-relational actions. A Korean writer said that it's not possible to become friends with someone older or younger than oneself. A Western respondent declared the writer was "clearly unaware" of Korean culture ― an odd thing to say; the Westerner was wrong. He had no idea that the Korean word "chin-gu" does not mean "friend" in the English-Western casual understanding.
Westerners define "friend" loosely. A person I knew took me to restaurants and coffee shops where, she said, the owner or head waiter was her "friend." Meeting these people, I realized that the woman called every casual acquaintance "friend." Koreans are not so loose with their definition.
While Westerners in Korea are given some latitude as to their relations with others (call it "friend," if you will), proper Korean culture does not permit me to be a "friend" with someone of higher rank or age than me. Yes, I can have a close relationship with the person, but calling my 90-year-old retired professor a "friend" in the casual Western sense is quite rude and overreaching. Likewise, it's improper for me to elevate someone younger than me to the same status.
"Jeong" can wrap itself around all this. "Jeong" encompasses a sense of caring for others because you are connected somehow. But at the same time, it is not "friendship" in the Korean definition, nor is it love. In Korea's long-since past villages, there was a strong identity, caring for others, helping one another survive. The villagers would turn out to get all the fields planted, all the harvest collected. Aunties and uncles freely disciplined the village children, something expected by the parents.
There are few villages left, and the village mentality/society is disappearing quickly. Most people live in domino-style concrete boxes and rarely know or interact with the neighbors on their floor, let alone the entire building. No more are there village trees under which the village grandparents gather and chat during the hot afternoons.
Coffee shops have replaced the village gathering place, but few have time anymore to relax with their neighbors. If a non-family member were to discipline a child these days, the parents might become quite upset and tell the person to mind their own business.
In the 21st century, it seems like there is no room anymore for "jeong." We can no longer relax after planting the fields and let the crops grow. We are bombarded with daily claims that we must "grow" the economy to provide enough jobs. But the unspoken message is this: so that more and more of you people can spend more and more money on products that the corporations must sell to reap their billions in profits for a few wealthy owners.
The consumer culture that has gripped all facets of society demands an ever-increasing and individualistic pursuit of the "Almighty Won." More and more money is needed to buy the high-end accessories that society regards as essential. Though hardly a luxury, housing requires more and more effort to accumulate enough to acquire. Cars are no longer essential tools but have become high-end accessories for many.
Sadly, we no longer have time for "jeong." We are no longer a society of one for all, all for one. That has been replaced by "each one for themselves" and "damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead."
Rev. Steven L. Shields (slshields@gmail.com) has lived in Korea for many years, beginning in the 1970s. He is president of the Royal Asiatic Society Korea. He served as copy editor of The Korea Times in 1977.
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