In this blog post, I’ll draw on my personal experiences to explore how the habit of thinking diversely contributes to personal growth and societal development.
When I first entered college, there was one classmate who was five years older than me. He had an unusual background: he had dropped out of Pohang University of Science and Technology (POSTECH) before enrolling at Seoul National University. Since he was someone who regularly read books in the humanities and social sciences, he seemed extremely well-informed to me, a freshman at the time. One day, while we were having lunch and chatting, he told me about the way engineering students are often perceived once they enter the workforce. He explained that at company dinners or alumni gatherings, they often couldn’t join in the conversation because they lacked general knowledge. He added that he didn’t want to live his life being called an “engineering empty shell” in such settings. Looking back on how I’ve lived my life since then, it seems those words had a significant, subconscious impact on me. From the moment I heard them, I began to live my life with greater vigilance, determined not to become just another cog in the machine of society.
However, my seniors, juniors, and peers at university were different. Whenever I encountered barriers to conversation that I hadn’t even experienced in high school, I’d get so confused that I’d wonder whether I was at Seoul National University or a local cram school. They were skilled at calculations. Or rather, they seemed skilled at nothing but calculations. They were practically human calculators. What disappointed me most, however, was their attitude. Rather than acknowledging their shortcomings and reflecting on them, they failed to recognize the necessity of that knowledge itself. Their response was simply that it wasn’t required for their careers. The professors in my major weren’t much different either. One professor proudly declared in front of the students, “You can change your nationality, but you can’t change your GPA.” At that moment, his way of thinking seemed so limited that I felt I wouldn’t be outmatched even if I were to debate his values. I couldn’t bring myself to confidently tell anyone outside that I was studying alongside such people.
They had a mindset that viewed themselves as nothing more than cogs in the machine of society. I wondered whether such people truly possessed the appropriate attitude to be members of South Korea’s premier university community. Have they ever truly engaged in thoughts that sprang from within themselves? Are they living according to values that originate from their own inner selves?
I believe that human beings possess their own inherent value only when they think, choose, and act according to their own will. Conversely, those who view themselves as mere tools end up limiting their own potential and human dignity. I do not intend to delve into grand philosophical discourse here. Rather, I wish to present an example from a society where people live with diverse perspectives and, through a personal experience, illustrate the actual problems that can arise when such thinking is lacking.
Before we criticize the narrow-mindedness of those around us, we need to first reflect on whether an environment has been sufficiently established where we can naturally encounter and embrace diverse ideas.
In terms of opportunities to encounter diverse perspectives, South Korea’s college entrance exam system and higher education are skewed toward an educational approach that demands “correct answers,” which limits the breadth of thinking.
In particular, students in science and engineering are continuously exposed to concrete and logical thinking, while they have relatively few opportunities to experience abstract or emotional thinking. I believe that educational institutions have an important role not only in fostering expertise but also in providing opportunities to think in diverse ways. A prime example of this is France’s Baccalauréat. The Baccalauréat is widely known for including essay-style questions with no single “correct” answer in its philosophy exam. When the topic for the philosophy exam is announced, not only students but also the general public, scholars, and politicians engage in discussions around it, fostering a broader social discourse.
The topics addressed there include questions such as “Can we judge others?”, “What tells me what actions I should take?”, and “Can one act morally without taking an interest in politics?”
To answer these questions, people pose further questions and continue to ask more, tracing their thoughts back to the very roots of ideas they had taken for granted.
It is a process of reexamining and questioning premises that were once accepted without doubt, much like mathematical axioms. Based on this attitude, the process of critically reflecting on familiar ideas can be called philosophical thinking. To become accustomed to this kind of thinking, one needs to cultivate the habit of asking questions and thinking for oneself in everyday life. Of course, even after lengthy reflection, one may reach the same conclusion as before. However, the depth of one’s thinking clearly changes before and after going through that process. Such experiences strengthen one’s thinking and prompt a reexamination of one’s intrinsic value as a human being. Ultimately, the repeated experience of genuine, thoughtful reflection becomes a vital force that prevents people from living merely as instrumental beings.
One need not even make a direct comparison to readily imagine the difference in civic consciousness between citizens of two nations: those who have learned and grown in such an environment, and those who have been raised to expect only predetermined answers. I believe that nurturing thoughtful individuals is precisely the right direction that education with a century-long vision should aim for.
Thoughtful thinking is what makes a person truly human. I, too, cannot confidently say that I always live my life engaging in deep thinking. However, I would like to share an example from a major course I took in the second semester of last year that made me realize the consequences shallow thinking can lead to.
The course involved a model-building project in which students competed to see how accurately they could guide their models to a target point set on the bottom of a tank measuring 4 meters long, 8 meters wide, and 3 meters deep. Since group performance in the final experiment served as the final exam, we were given more than a month to prepare.
Our group held over ten meetings over the course of a month, starting with brainstorming. After reviewing various ideas, we selected a model inspired by an omni-wheel structure as our final design and built it. Viewed from above, the completed model was cross-shaped, symmetrical in all directions—front, back, left, and right—and was equipped with waterproof propellers at each end. Viewed from the side, it had a layered structure resembling a biplane used during World War I. A sealed container was installed in the center to house the power supply and control devices, and wheels were attached to the bottom to allow for easy movement in any direction. Unlike the other three groups, which all built boat-shaped models and attempted to reach the target point using a keel, our group took a different approach: we sank the model itself underwater so it would roll along the bottom of the tank.
However, the results of our performance tests in a small tank differed from our expectations. The propeller’s thrust was weaker than anticipated, preventing the model from moving forward. After much deliberation, our team removed the wheels—which had been our most distinctive feature—and modified the design to float on the water’s surface, like the other teams. As a result, our model—which hadn’t been built with a boat shape in mind from the start—became structurally disadvantaged compared to the other teams’ boat models, and the project hit a snag.
A week before the final experiment, we had the opportunity to conduct a mock test in a large tank. Out of the four teams, only two—including ours—had brought completed models. The opposing team’s model consisted of a large plastic kimchi-making tub equipped with an engine and an ultrasonic sensor to navigate to the target point. The opposing team’s propeller was so powerful that it produced a loud noise that echoed throughout the large tank, but our team’s propeller—designed with maneuverability in mind—was less powerful and didn’t make much noise. Moreover, far from moving toward the target point, our model kept spinning in one direction like a boomerang and repeatedly returning to its starting point. The one silver lining was that the opposing team’s model was also still unable to move in a straight line.
Even after completing the mock test, the team members did not disperse immediately. We moved to a small water tank for final adjustments and began modifying the programming code. We made countless changes to the code in an attempt to use sensors to correct the direction and make the model move in a straight line, but even after more than eight hours of discussion, we saw no results. As I watched the team members gathered around a single laptop, I realized that simply continuing to tweak the code with them wouldn’t lead us to a solution. So, I began exploring new possibilities, wondering if there was a way to solve the problem from a different perspective.
First, I mentally recalled and simulated the models from our team and the opposing team that I had seen that day, one by one. Due to budget constraints, both teams were using inexpensive acrylic sheets and plastic containers as their basic frames. Furthermore, both models shared the common issue of being unable to move in a straight line on the water, with their bows continuously rotating. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to me that both models resembled a panokseon. Unlike a waeseon, the panokseon had a flat bottom, which was advantageous for changing direction but limited its ability to travel in a straight line. In contrast, the waeseon had a long, sleek lower hull, making it well-suited for cutting through the water and traveling straight. In that instant, I realized that our team’s model also needed a long, extended rudder. I wondered why, even though we were all naval engineering students, none of us had thought to add a rudder.
Looking back, the reason I was able to think of a rudder wasn’t simply because of my knowledge of naval engineering. It was because I had developed a habit of thinking that went beyond trying to solve problems solely within existing designs or programs—instead, I sought to connect knowledge from history, ship structure, and other disciplines. It was then that I truly realized for the first time that the habit of thinking from diverse perspectives enables one to connect knowledge from entirely different fields to current problems and create new solutions.
The results exceeded expectations. Once we added the rudder I had proposed, the model began to move forward in a straight line with almost no deviation. With that, our team was able to wrap up our lengthy meeting and, in the final experiment, achieved an unexpected first-place finish.
However, what I want to emphasize through this example is not that my idea was outstanding. On the day of the final experiment, out of the four models built by each team, ours was the only one equipped with a structure that could be called a rudder. As expected, the other teams’ models merely floated on the water like water striders and struggled to reach their destinations. Meanwhile, they kept gathering in front of their laptops, repeatedly modifying their programs in an effort to find a solution.
That scene also served as an example of the limitations one can face when lacking experience in viewing problems from diverse perspectives.
I believe this isn’t a problem with STEM thinking itself, but rather a trap anyone can fall into when they become overly fixated on a single way of thinking. In reality, I simply made a small effort to look at the problem from a different angle. And what helped me in that process was my experience of cultivating knowledge and maintaining an interest in other fields, such as history, on a regular basis.
Thinking more broadly, as we go through life, we will face countless challenges—such as career decisions, legal issues, interpersonal relationships, and social conflicts. These problems are often difficult to solve with just a single body of knowledge or a single way of thinking. Therefore, thinking that is overly focused on a single field can be far more dangerous than we might realize.
It is not easy to live a life of deep, thoughtful reflection as a human being. However, why not start by taking an interest in fields outside your major? I believe that as the breadth and depth of your thinking expand, you will be able to view life’s challenges—which you may not have noticed before—more wisely, and your inner values will also grow.
Fortunately, there has been a steady movement recently to emphasize the importance of the humanities, and educational initiatives—such as encouraging humanities students to learn programming and emphasizing humanities literacy among engineering students—are gradually expanding. Ultimately, rather than drawing a distinction between the humanities and STEM fields, an attitude of seeking to learn and understand knowledge in fields one has not yet encountered will serve as a crucial foundation for deepening one’s thinking.
At this point, someone might ask, “What exactly is the ‘quality of thought’?” But I would like to ask in return: If, after reading this article to the end, you still feel that you can only understand it once everything is clearly defined, isn’t it time to reflect on that familiar way of thinking itself? The quality of thought is not something that is fully defined by a single definition; rather, it deepens little by little through the process of constantly asking questions, reflecting, and expanding one’s own thinking. I hope that anyone who has shared their thoughts with me through this article will continue to make intellectual reflection a habit and further enhance their own value.
