By Jason Lim
Last November, Se-woong Koo wrote an interesting piece for Korea Expose titled, "What Makes Life Meaningful in Korea? Not Much, It Seems." It was his take on the Pew Survey that had just come out, that showed that, out of 17 advanced countries, Korea was the only country that put material wellbeing as the #1 contributing factor to making life "meaningful, fulfilling or satisfying."
This result was all the more striking when viewed against 14 other developed countries that chose "family" as the top source for life's meaning. Predictably, this situation led to a slew of handwringing headlines by the Korean press decrying the breakdown of the traditional social fabric in favor of Korea's "look out for #1 only" culture, characterized by the selfish pursuit of material satisfaction. Depending on your political slant, this reality is the fault of the baby boomers, Millennials, men, women, the current administration, past military dictatorships, etc.
Anyways, Koo ends with a rather depressing, poignant, conclusion: "In comparison to the populations of the other 16 countries, Koreans are less likely to find meaning of life in anything. There is no enthusiasm for much, and when it can be mustered at all, it's about money and personal well-being. What the Pew survey shows isn't that Koreans are far more materialistic than their counterparts in other developed economies. It's that Korea suffers from an absence of existential purpose."
The last part about existential purpose stood out for me. What does that even mean for a society? I see the Seoul skyline littered with red, glowing crosses from every street corner ― if Koreans were looking for an existential meaning in their lives, there isn't a shortage of supply. Also, others have pointed out in the past when a Christian cult leader was accused of masterminding the Sewol Ferry sinking, Korea has more than its share of self-styled gurus offering enlightenment and meaning. So, that can't be it.
I think that what Korea lost is its mojo. It lost its mojo because it lacks an overriding societal narrative that imbues its citizens with a certain, common direction, unity of purpose and sense of togetherness. Maybe this is what Koo meant about existential purpose. The power of such a narrative is foundational. It's what makes humans evolutionarily successful.
In his talk, titled, "Why Humans Rule the World," Yuval Noah Harari argues that humans rule the world because we are able to "cooperate flexibly over large numbers." He goes on to explain how: "The answer is our imagination. We can cooperate with numerous strangers because we can invent fictional stories, spread them around and convince millions of strangers to believe in them. As long as everybody believes in the same fiction, we all obey the same laws and can thereby cooperate effectively. This is something only humans can do. You cannot convince a chimpanzee to give you a banana by promising that after he dies, he will go to Chimpanzee Heaven and there receive countless bananas for his good deeds. No chimp will ever believe such a story. Only humans believe such stories. This is why humans rule the world, whereas many chimps are locked up in zoos and research laboratories.
So, what happens when you take away that unifying story or when there is no longer a story that people can believe in? That's exactly what's been happening to Korea for the last twenty years since the IMF crisis: there hasn't been a story to replace the old societal story that John Armstrong called the "Yushin Deal." It basically says that "if the people will keep their heads down, work hard first in their education and then in their workplace, and don't ask questions, the powers that be (particularly the partnership of the chaebol and the government) will ensure that they will gain status, money and security in return for their efforts."
The Yushin story became ascendant because it proved itself to be true for the majority of Koreans from the 1960s to the 1990s. Then it outlived its fidelity because it couldn't hold in the changing socioeconomic environment that Korean found itself in as the IMF crisis hit. This isn't a fault of the story. It's happening to all advanced economies that settle into minimum growth, which mostly goes to the top 1 percent, with success and prestige quickly becoming something that you inherit rather than can work toward.
But as one story dies, another one needs to take its place to sustain the cohesion. But that hasn't happened. In the absence of a new story, Korea has been mired in a frustrating stasis in which the nostalgia over the Yushin story is fighting against the nostalgia over the democracy story for control. Left out in this fight are those of the MZ Generation, who grew up in a fractured world without an overriding story to guide their values and efforts. So they came up with their own ― that is the story of Hell Joseon.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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This result was all the more striking when viewed against 14 other developed countries that chose "family" as the top source for life's meaning. Predictably, this situation led to a slew of handwringing headlines by the Korean press decrying the breakdown of the traditional social fabric in favor of Korea's "look out for #1 only" culture, characterized by the selfish pursuit of material satisfaction. Depending on your political slant, this reality is the fault of the baby boomers, Millennials, men, women, the current administration, past military dictatorships, etc.
Anyways, Koo ends with a rather depressing, poignant, conclusion: "In comparison to the populations of the other 16 countries, Koreans are less likely to find meaning of life in anything. There is no enthusiasm for much, and when it can be mustered at all, it's about money and personal well-being. What the Pew survey shows isn't that Koreans are far more materialistic than their counterparts in other developed economies. It's that Korea suffers from an absence of existential purpose."
The last part about existential purpose stood out for me. What does that even mean for a society? I see the Seoul skyline littered with red, glowing crosses from every street corner ― if Koreans were looking for an existential meaning in their lives, there isn't a shortage of supply. Also, others have pointed out in the past when a Christian cult leader was accused of masterminding the Sewol Ferry sinking, Korea has more than its share of self-styled gurus offering enlightenment and meaning. So, that can't be it.
I think that what Korea lost is its mojo. It lost its mojo because it lacks an overriding societal narrative that imbues its citizens with a certain, common direction, unity of purpose and sense of togetherness. Maybe this is what Koo meant about existential purpose. The power of such a narrative is foundational. It's what makes humans evolutionarily successful.
In his talk, titled, "Why Humans Rule the World," Yuval Noah Harari argues that humans rule the world because we are able to "cooperate flexibly over large numbers." He goes on to explain how: "The answer is our imagination. We can cooperate with numerous strangers because we can invent fictional stories, spread them around and convince millions of strangers to believe in them. As long as everybody believes in the same fiction, we all obey the same laws and can thereby cooperate effectively. This is something only humans can do. You cannot convince a chimpanzee to give you a banana by promising that after he dies, he will go to Chimpanzee Heaven and there receive countless bananas for his good deeds. No chimp will ever believe such a story. Only humans believe such stories. This is why humans rule the world, whereas many chimps are locked up in zoos and research laboratories.
So, what happens when you take away that unifying story or when there is no longer a story that people can believe in? That's exactly what's been happening to Korea for the last twenty years since the IMF crisis: there hasn't been a story to replace the old societal story that John Armstrong called the "Yushin Deal." It basically says that "if the people will keep their heads down, work hard first in their education and then in their workplace, and don't ask questions, the powers that be (particularly the partnership of the chaebol and the government) will ensure that they will gain status, money and security in return for their efforts."
The Yushin story became ascendant because it proved itself to be true for the majority of Koreans from the 1960s to the 1990s. Then it outlived its fidelity because it couldn't hold in the changing socioeconomic environment that Korean found itself in as the IMF crisis hit. This isn't a fault of the story. It's happening to all advanced economies that settle into minimum growth, which mostly goes to the top 1 percent, with success and prestige quickly becoming something that you inherit rather than can work toward.
But as one story dies, another one needs to take its place to sustain the cohesion. But that hasn't happened. In the absence of a new story, Korea has been mired in a frustrating stasis in which the nostalgia over the Yushin story is fighting against the nostalgia over the democracy story for control. Left out in this fight are those of the MZ Generation, who grew up in a fractured world without an overriding story to guide their values and efforts. So they came up with their own ― that is the story of Hell Joseon.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
